Tom Swift and the Electronic Hydrolung

by II Victor Appleton

  CHAPTER II

  UNDERSEA SURVEY

  With an effort, Tom forced all thoughts of failure out of his mind andconcentrated on the job at hand. In an hour he had the computer programblocked out.

  Mr. Swift and several of the other scientists checked his work. Eachnodded approval. By this time, the fused blip had long since disappearedfrom the radarscopes, indicating that the Jupiter probe missile--or whatwas left of it--had plunged to the ocean bottom.

  "What's your next move, Tom?" Admiral Walter asked.

  "No point in wasting time waiting for the computer results," Tomdecided. "Suppose Bud and I fly back to Swift Enterprises and organize asearch party."

  "Good idea." As Admiral Walter extended a hand, his weather-beaten facesoftened. "And don't feel downhearted, son. You rate a Navy 'E' for theway you handled this operation. It would have succeeded if it hadn'tbeen for that confounded enemy missile!"

  "Thank you, sir." Tom managed a grateful grin, in spite of hisdiscouragement.

  Minutes later, the two boys embarked in a motor launch that took them toan aircraft carrier standing by in the vicinity. From the flattop theytook off in a Navy jet for Shopton.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Swift remained aboard the _Recoverer_ to supervise thedata processing. Tom, looking back from the soaring jet, could see oneof the helicopters on its way to the missile ship to deliver the firstbatch of tapes.

  It was late afternoon when the Navy jet touched down on the Enterprisesairfield. The Swifts' sprawling experimental station was a walled,four-mile-square enclosure with landing strips, work-shops, andlaboratories, near the town of Shopton. Here Tom Jr. and his fatherdeveloped their amazing inventions.

  Tom and Bud hopped into a jeep at the hangar and sped to theAdministration Building, where Tom shared a double office with hisfather. Bud sank down into one of the deep-cushioned leather chairs,while Tom adjusted the Venetian blinds to let in the afternoon sunshine.

  The spacious office was furnished with twin modern desks, conferencetable, and drawing boards which swung out from wall slots at the pressof a button. At one end of the room were the video screen and controlboard of the Swifts' private TV network. Here and there stood scalemodels of their inventions, a huge relief globe of the earth, and areplica of the planet Mars.

  "What are your plans for our search expedition, skipper?" Bud asked.

  Tom ran his fingers through his crew cut. "Let's see. We'd better takethe _Sky Queen_, I think, and also--"

  Tom broke off as the desk intercom buzzed. Miss Trent, the Swifts'secretary, was on the wire.

  "Your father's calling over the radio, Tom."

  "Swell!" Tom flicked a switch to cut in the signal of his privatetelephone. "Hi, Dad! We just got back. Any news?"

  "Yes, son. We have the computer results," Mr. Swift replied. "Got apencil handy?"

  Tom copied down the latitude and longitude figures as his fatherdictated.

  "According to the latest hydrographic maps, based on IGY findings," Mr.Swift went on, "this area is a high plateau of the Atlantic Ridge--it'snear the St. Paul Rocks."

  "What about the depth?"

  "It averages between a hundred and three hundred feet," said the elderscientist.

  Tom gave a whistle. "Lucky break, eh?"

  "Maybe and maybe not," Mr. Swift said cautiously. "The bottom there isheavily silted."

  "Oh--oh." Tom made a wry face. "In that case, we may have some diggingto do."

  "I'm afraid so. However, no use borrowing trouble." After a shortdiscussion, the elder scientist added, "I'll probably fly home tomorrow,son. Give my love to Mother and Sandy."

  "Right, Dad. So long!" Tom hung up and reported the news to Bud.

  "What kind of underwater gear will we use?" Bud inquired.

  "I'm not sure myself," Tom admitted. "Guess we'll have to take along avariety of equipment and play it by ear."

  Before proceeding with his search plans, Tom phoned home to inform hismother of his arrival. Mrs. Swift was sympathetic when she heard of thefailure to recover the probe missile.

  "I'm sure you'll locate it," she said encouragingly.

  "Some of your cooking will sure help brighten the picture," Tom repliedwith a grin. As he put down the receiver a moment later, he told Bud,"You're having dinner with us tonight, pal. Fried chicken and biscuits."

  Bud licked his lips. "Lead me to it!"

  Chuckling, Tom began drawing up a list of supplies for the expedition.Bud helped with the details, after which Tom phoned the undergroundhangar and the Swifts' rocket base at Fearing Island to give the ordersfor the next day. Crewmen were also detailed for the trip.

  It was six o'clock when the two boys finally piled into Tom's low-slungsports car and drove to the Swifts' big, pleasant house on the outskirtsof Shopton. Sandra, Tom's blond, vivacious sister, greeted them at thedoor.

  "About time!" she teased. "We were beginning to think you two had takenoff somewhere."

  "Think I'd leave town while you and that fried chicken are in Shopton?"Bud grinned.

  "What a line!" Sandy's blue eyes twinkled. "I know it's the friedchicken you're really interested in."

  "Where's the rest of that 'we' you were referring to?" Tom inquired.

  "I'm sorry, Tom," Sandy said in a mournful voice. "Phyl couldn't makeit."

  As Tom's face fell, she burst out giggling and a second later PhyllisNewton emerged from the kitchen. Brown-eyed, with long dark hair, Phylwas the daughter of Tom Sr.'s old comrade-in-arms and lifelong chum"Uncle Ned" Newton. Like Sandy, she was seventeen.

  "You didn't think I'd miss this rare evening, did you, Tom?" she said,laughing. "After all, it isn't often we see you two."

  Sandy and Phyl liked to needle the boys about their infrequent dates,due to Tom's and Bud's busy schedules.

  Mrs. Swift, slender and sweet-faced, gave Tom a hug and greeted Budwarmly. Over the delicious dinner, the conversation turned to themysterious thief missile.

  "Who on earth could have fired it?" Sandy asked.

  Tom shrugged. "No telling--yet. There's more than one unfriendly countrywhich would give a lot for the data picked up on our Jupiter shot."

  "You aren't expecting more trouble, are you?" Phyl put in uneasily.

  Tom passed the question off lightly in order not to alarm his mother andthe two girls. But inwardly he was none too sure of what his surveyexpedition might encounter in trying to locate the lost probe missile.

  Ever since his first adventure in his Flying Lab, the youthful inventorhad been involved in many daring exploits and thrilling situations. Timeand again, Tom had had to combat enemy spies and vicious plotters benton stealing the Swifts' scientific secrets.

  His research projects had taken him far into outer space and into thedepths of the ocean. With his atomic earth blaster, Tom had probed underthe earth's crust at the South Pole, and in other adventures he hadfaced danger in the jungles of Africa, New Guinea, and Yucatan. Hislatest achievement, receiving the visitor from Planet X, had been toconstruct a robot body for this mysterious brain energy from anotherworld. Now, Tom realized, he was on the brink of another adventure whichmight hold unexpected dangers.

  Early the next morning the majestic _Sky Queen_ was hoisted from itsunderground hangar berth and hauled by tractor to its special runway.This mammoth, atomic-powered airplane had been Tom's first majorinvention. A three-deck craft, it was equipped with complete laboratoryfacilities for research in any corner of the globe. Jet lifters in thebelly of the fuselage enabled the craft to take off vertically and alsoto hover.

  As Tom supervised the loading of the equipment, a foghorn voice boomed,"'Mornin', buckaroos!"

  The chunky figure of Chow Winkler came into view. Formerly a chuck-wagoncook in Texas, Chow was now head chef on Tom's expeditions. As usual, aten-gallon hat was perched on his balding head and he was stomping alongin high-heeled boots.

  "Wow! A shirt to end all shirts!" Tom chuckled.

  "Real high style, eh?" Chow twirled about to display his latest Wester
ncreation. The shirt seemed to be made of silvery fishlike scales, whichglistened like a rainbow.

  "I figured as how this was just the thing fer an ocean jaunt," Chowadded with a grin. "How soon do we take off, boss?"

  "As soon as we get the rest of this gear stowed," Tom replied.

  Twenty minutes later the _Sky Queen_ soared toward the ocean. Soon theycame in sight of Fearing Island rocket base, a few miles off the coast.Once a barren stretch of sand dunes and scrub-grass, the island was nowthe Swifts' top-secret rocket laboratory, guarded by drone planes andradar. It served as the supply base for Tom's space station and as thelaunching area for all space flights. Seacopters and jetmarines werealso berthed here.

  A radio call from Tom brought a sleek, strange-looking craft zooming upto join them.

  It was the _Sea Hound_, latest and largest model of Tom's amazing divingseacopter. It had an enclosed central rotor, powered by atomic turbines,with reversible-pitch blades for air lift or undersea diving.Superheated steam jets provided forward propulsion in either element.

  As the _Sea Hound_ streaked alongside the Flying Lab, two figures in theseacopter's flight compartment waved to Tom and Bud. One was HankSterling, the blond, square-jawed chief pattern-making engineer ofEnterprises. The other was husky Arv Hanson, a talented craftsman whotransformed the blueprints of Tom's inventions into working models.

  "All set," Hank radioed. "Lead the way."

  "Roger!" Tom replied.

  Flying at supersonic speed, they reached the area of the lost missile inthe South Atlantic soon after lunch. Already on hand were ships of theNavy task force assigned by Admiral Walter to participate in the missilesearch. The _Sea Hound_ settled down on the surface of the water, whilethe _Sky Queen_ hovered at low altitude nearby.

  Tom contacted the government craft and learned that as yet no sign ofthe lost Jupiter prober had been detected. Then he made ready to beginhis own search.

  "Let's try the Fat Man suits first," Tom told Bud. Turning to SlimDavis, a Swift test pilot who was in the crew, the young inventor added,"Take over, will you, Slim?"

  "Righto." Slim eased into the pilot's seat.

  "Got a job for me, skipper?" asked Doc Simpson, Swift Enterprises' youngmedic.

  "Yes. Help the boys, if you like, rig the undersea elevator, and thenassemble a tractorized air dome," Tom suggested.

  "Will do," Doc promised.

  A ladder was dropped. Tom and Bud excitedly descended to the _SeaHound_. The search for the lost missile was about to begin!

  Once the boys were aboard, the seacopter submerged and dived quickly tothe ocean floor. Tom and Bud each climbed into a Fat Man suit and wentout through the air lock. The suits, shaped like huge steel eggs with aquartz-glass view plate for the operator seated within, had mechanicalarms and legs.

  The boys waddled about, the built-in searchlights of their suitspiercing the murky gloom. They saw nothing but the deep accumulation ofsilt on the ocean bottom, which made the going difficult.

  "This is too slow," Tom called over his sonarphone. "Let's try the airdome."

  The dome was a huge underwater bubble of air, created by a repelatrondevice which actually pushed the ocean water away. The air supply insidewas kept pure by one of Tom's osmotic air conditioners which made use ofthe oxygen dissolved in the water.

  The air bubble, however, even with its jet-propelled platform, alsoproved inadequate for the research job. Its caterpillar treadsrepeatedly bogged down in the silt.

  "Maybe the seacopter itself is our best bet," Bud suggested.

  "Worth a try," Tom urged.

  But the _Sea Hound_, too, had a serious drawback. Even with its powerfulsearch beam sweeping the ocean floor as it prowled along, the explorersfound their vision too limited.

  Finally Tom said, "Bud, we could skin-dive at this depth."

  "Let's give it a whirl," Bud urged.

  The seacopter surfaced again, while the boys donned flippers, masks,and air lungs. Then they dropped over the side and made their way slowlydownward into the gray-green depths, accustoming themselves gradually tothe increased pressure.

  "A lot more freedom of action," Tom thought. "If only we didn't have tocommunicate by signals!"

  There was a sudden _swoosh_ somewhere on his right. A projectile, Tomrealized! Turning, his eyes widened in horror as he saw an uprush ofbubbles.

  Bud's air tank had been hit!