Tom Swift and His Jetmarine (12 page)

Tom and Mr. Swift said nothing.

"Well," said George Dansitt, "I was in the Caymans on business, as I often am, when I heard that you two were visiting Kingston. Wasn’t too hard to look you up."

"Evidently not," said Tom, "considering that we just arrived this morning."

"Oh, I have my ways," Dansitt responded with a wink. "That’s how the game of business is played, you know. At any rate, I wanted to apologize, and tell you I’ll do whatever I can to help you locate Sid."

Damon Swift gave a polite nod. "Thank you."

"And then," Dansitt continued, "there’s the other thing."

"What?" asked Mr. Swift.

"Business idea—a deal between Dansitt Shipping and Swift Enterprises."

Tom and his father exchanged glances. "What did you have in mind?" asked Mr. Swift.

"Development—new technology," responded George Dansitt. "Submarine technology, in fact. But let me be direct. I want to hire you folks to build and demonstrate a submersible that can
break the sound barrier under water!"

"SURELY YOU’RE JOKING, Mr. Dansitt!" exclaimed Damon Swift. "What you’re suggesting is not only well beyond the reach of present technology, but may be physically impossible!"

Dansitt smiled blandly, almost mockingly, and turned his gaze toward Tom. "Now that we’ve heard from the older generation, what do
you
say, young man?"

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Obviously, it would be quite a challenge. But I can see how it might be done." He turned toward his father, looking a bit sheepish. "Dad, the atomolecular-decoupler engine prototype has shown a lot of promise in the tank tests."

"There, you see?" Dansitt said, smugly.

"And what do you know about this, Dansitt?" demanded Mr. Swift.

"Only what I read in the funny papers. Or rather, what my staff reads in the scientific journals. You’ve had the Gervaise engine under development for more than a year, haven’t you? Time to take it on the road! And I’m just interested in breaking the speed of sound as it is in air, not water—you know,
Mach 1.
It’s air transport we’re competing with."

Damon Swift gave Dansitt a skeptical look. "But of what benefit is this project to you and your company?"

"What
benefit?"
George Dansitt laughed and pulled out a cigar—which he set down unlit. "Swift, my company is fighting a war against air shipping, and the weapon of choice is trip time. ‘How fast can you get it there?’ they ask. Imagine underwater travel between the continents—no chance of crashing—at supersonic speeds! And with the bad guys buying missiles nowadays, sub travel will be all that much more desirable."

"The bad guys are starting to buy torpedoes," Tom said pointedly, wondering how Dansitt would react.

"That so? Well, for now at least it’s the image of air travel that’s suffering. Travel by surface ship as well." He leaned forward, shifting his gaze back and forth. "So? Interested? Do I go elsewhere?"

Mr. Swift was slow to answer. On the one hand the challenge, audacious as it was, intrigued him. Accomplishing the seemingly impossible was what Swift Enterprises was all about. Yet he had never cared for men like George Dansitt, crassly commercial and aggressive in manner.

"Give us a few days, Dansitt," he said at last. "There are many things to consider, and it’s not our way to make promises we can’t keep."

Dansitt nodded, understanding. Yet his face bore a frown. "I don’t know that I can give you a few days."

"When were you hoping for a demonstration of the submersible?" Tom asked.

Dansitt studied the end of his cigar, still unlit.

"In two weeks," he said.

Damon Swift stared at Dansitt unbelievingly. "Two
weeks?
How can you possibly—"

"Listen, Swift," the man interrupted. "I’m dealing with a problem. McIntosh and Dansitt isn’t doing so well. In fact, it’s doing lousy. It’s been failing for years, and these ocean incidents broke the camel’s back. The Board of Directors—which is mostly McIntosh and not much Dansitt—meets in sixteen days. If I don’t go in there with a long pass, I’m history. So it’s personal, and I’ve got a deadline. It’s well known that you’ve developed a new high-speed sub. Probably why you’re in Jamaica, am I right?"

He leaned in conspiratorially. "I’m saying pull the sub’s engine, put in the new prototype, the atom-whatever. I’ve already rounded up some potential investors on the strength of the Swift name. I’ll divide them in half. The first group will see you off from somewhere on the east coast; the second group will see you pull into port a few hours later somewhere in continental Europe. A supersonic underwater crossing! Get the idea? My lawyers will be in touch. Here."

George Dansitt reached across the table and handed Tom and his father pens marked with the logo
McIntosh and Dansitt Shipping Company.
Then he rose from his chair. "Say yes, and I’ll send you the t-shirts!"

Tossing down a business card on which he had written his local telephone number, Dansitt walked rapidly from the lounge.

"Dad," said Tom after a long pause, "I think it’s possible."

Mr. Swift smiled ruefully and twirled the business card between his fingers. "Possible or not, it looks like we’re going to try!"

The father and son team worked late into the night.

The next day, after a refreshing morning swim with Bud and Sandy, Tom took up a shaded position beneath a palm and watched his sister play some two-person volleyball with Bud on the lawn of their hotel. That at least was Tom’s intention; but within minutes he had pulled out a notebook and pencil and was hard at work on various aspects of the new project. He looked up at the sound of a voice.

"You know," said Bashalli Prandit, "you ought not just
assume
that we women could not understand your science projects, Tom. Or that we would have no interest."

"I’m sorry," said Tom. "I just—I guess—"

Bashalli plopped down next to him. "You are forgiven. But now tell me how you plan to make a submarine go so fast!"

"Well," he replied thoughtfully, "are you very conversant in theoretical physics?"

"Are you joking?" responded Bashalli, her dark eyes twinkling. "I think of little else!"

"Then of course you know about atoms and molecules."

"Molecules are atoms joined together. Atoms by themselves are tiny things, and atoms of the same kind make up the elements, like iron and gold. Marry different kinds of atoms together as one and they are called compounds."

"That’s right," said Tom. "For example, water is a compound, and every water molecule is made up of hydrogen and oxygen atoms—basic elements. Now tell me this. Mix hydrogen and oxygen together, and toss in a lighted match; you get a big explosion. They’re highly combustible."

"I know," Bashalli said. "As in that big blimp, the
Hindenburg
."

"So tell me," Tom continued, "if hydrogen and oxygen are so combustible and burn like crazy, and water is made of hydrogen and oxygen, why does water put out fires instead of cause them?"

Bashalli drew the back of her hand across her brow, as if trying to remain serene. "Because of the way the atoms fit together."

Tom nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. "That’s exactly right. Now a few years back, a French scientist published a paper that suggested a possible
fifth state
of material substance—that is, in addition to solid, liquid, gas, and thermonuclear plasma. He called it the atomolecular-disjunct-phase state, or ADP. It extends basic quantum theory to the—" Here Tom interrupted himself. "But maybe I’ve gone a little too far, huh?"

"No, Tom," Bashalli replied. "So far you are very far from having gone too far. Please go on."

"All right. Well, Swift Enterprises developed a prototype of a radically new type of underwater propulsion engine based on the theory of Dr. Gervaise. We shoot a thin stream of water—just a molecular film, really—across a disk of dense metal rotating at unprecedented speeds. The rim of the disk is moving at about one-third the speed of light! At that speed, forces that are normally confined within the atom start to ‘leak.’ When the water molecules pass through those forces, they enter the ADP state for a very
very
tiny fraction of a second. Do you follow me?"

"I do, Tom. And so I suppose the oxygen and hydrogen are no longer hooked together, like husband and wife; and so you can set them on fire."

Tom chuckled in polite disbelief. "That’s great! They ignite
explosively
—and then an instant later they get back together and return to being water again. But the water retains the huge amount of energy acquired from the explosion. And so the water zooms out the back of the jetmarine, and drives the sub forward."

"Ah," said Bash. "Now tell me this. Heat is just molecules in motion, is it not?"

"Well, yes."

"Then when you put energy in water and make it move, you are heating it. So I should say that what you have invented, Tom Swift, is the tea kettle!"

The young inventor laughed at this. "There’s a sort of technical sense in which you’re right, Bash. But this kind of ‘tea kettle’ can’t make water boil. In fact, during the nanoseconds after the water atoms have re-coupled, it has a ‘virtual’ temperature well below freezing! But that phase is transitory. The water coming out the jets will be about 30 degrees warmer than the water entering through the intake ports."

During the conversation Bud and Sandy had come over and sat down next to Tom and Bashalli. Now Bud spoke up. "Okay, skipper, so you have a super-powered version of the hydraulic jet you have now. But what about friction?"

"And what about underwater sonic booms?" asked Sandy. "I’ve heard loud noises hurt the whales."

"We’ve been working on all those problems since Dr. Gervaise asked us to develop the prototype," Tom replied. "We have some interesting solutions that I’m anxious to try out in the field."

"A very
damp
field," commented Bashalli. "Let us hope the fishes welcome you."

By the early afternoon, after conferring with a number of Enterprises employees and departments, Mr. Swift contacted George Dansitt with his formal acceptance of Dansitt’s proposal. Then he yielded to the urgings of Mrs. Swift and the girls and joined them for a shopping and sightseeing expedition in Kingston.

"But if I have to make the sacrifice, I want you two with me," he demanded of Tom and Bud. Chow Winkler, ever in search of new eye-blasting finery, also joined them, but soon headed off on his own.

After an hour of wandering up the crowded Boulevard Atlantique, Tom and Bud were excused from perusing the Façon de la Sol clothing emporium, and they willingly relaxed on a bench overlooking the bay. It was a day of sparkling sun and crystal skies, and the two could see Wreck Point on the horizon, slightly to their right.

Bud stretched in the sun, the sea breeze licking his dark forelocks. "This is what it’s all about, Tom," he said. "Dozing in the warm sun."

"What about giving the slip to a squid?" asked Tom playfully.

"That
too
is what it’s all about," his pal conceded. "Among many other things." Bud lazily cast his gaze past Tom toward the crowds and shops. Suddenly he stiffened. "Tom!" he hissed.
"Sidney Dansitt!"

Tom was careful to respond with casual movements. "Don’t look at him—look out toward the bay," he said softly. "Where is he?"

"Leaning against the far end pillar of that restaurant patio," responded the young pilot. "He’s mostly behind the pillar, but his face was sticking out. He’s watching us, obviously. But I don’t think his eyes were on me when I reacted."

"Let’s see if he’s still there." Tom casually brought up his hand to the temple of his sunglasses. With a touch, a transparent secondary image was visible to Tom, superimposed on top of the normal view. This nonelectronic image was shunted, periscope-fashion, from tiny "light ducts" set into both sides of the sunglasses frame. Tom made some unnoticed motions which adjusted the image, bringing the right-rear quadrant into focus. "Still there," confirmed the young inventor, "but on the move. Looks like he wants to position himself behind us."

"Good old Sidney," said Bud. "Tom, do you prefer the right drumstick or the left?"

"Mmm, the left."

"Ready on three?"

"Start the countdown, flyboy!"

The two now crouched forward, as if looking at something on the ground. His hand blocked from Dansitt’s view, Bud silently held up one finger, then a second. And then—

Tom leapt to his feet and whirled round the left side of the bench, straight toward Sidney Dansitt, now mere yards away. Bud was even more direct, using the seat and back of the bench like stairsteps and flinging himself through the air in Dansitt’s direction.

Dansitt blanched. He was hemmed in left and right—but there was a door behind him, into the restaurant. He whipped himself backwards through the door, Tom and Bud on his heels.

The chase that followed was half-thriller, half-slapstick. The door led into the kitchen of the restaurant, and Dansitt’s trajectory led him into a cook bearing a platter of uncooked potato slices. The cook and the slices went tumbling, and Tom and Bud found themselves sliding and scrambling helplessly. Other kitchen personnel and slippery edibles, including fish and an ice sculpture, were drawn into the chase—to their detriment, and the boys’.

They struggled their way through the dining room and the front entrance, and out into the street, ignoring the angry voices behind them.

"There he goes!" cried Tom, pointing. Dansitt was half a block ahead, sprinting away among the boutiques of Shopkeepers’ Row. Both Tom and Bud were excellent runners and closed the distance in moments, skillfully dodging the well-dressed tourists packing the street.

"Give it up, Dansitt!" yelled Bud, only ten feet behind his quarry. But Dansitt was not persuaded. Passing a bicycle shop, a row of fine English bicycles neatly arrayed in front, he managed to pivot on one foot, barely breaking rhythm. As he swung around he hooked a bike by the handlebars and, continuing the circle, flung it straight at Bud!