Tom Swift and His Outpost in Space (12 page)

As they bounced along, Bud shot a glance at Tom and grumbled, "What was that you said about this being a
modern
country?"

Kipu grinned with many teeth. "We are
very-much-most
modern. This whole place is for tourists to enjoy and spend money—the costumed people come in each morning on the asphalt road on the other side, in buses!"

Tom and his companions wandered from shop to shop, sampling native dishes, such as fish, poi, and yams. They also bought some wood carvings and dyed tapa cloth to take home as souvenirs for Mrs. Swift and the girls, and for Hank’s family.

Bud stopped to play a game of darts with some young sailors from a German ship, Kipu listening to the varied accents with wide ears as he stood watching in rapt fascination. Tom and Hank wandered over to a small, open-sided hut—a snack stand.

"How do you feel about everything, Hank?" asked Tom over an ice-cream cone. "Everything on schedule?"

"I think so, boss," replied the engineer. "Assuming you don’t get sued by anyone! Seriously, all the space station modules—that is, the bottom stages of the rockets—are complete and sitting in the sun back at the Swift Construction Company, and I’m told the hub structures are coming along nicely. I’d say the main issues now all involve that new-fangled launch apparatus of yours!"

"Well—and one more thing," Tom commented. "We still haven’t finished selecting and training our space crew."

"Hey, I passed
my
tests!" laughed Hank. "Have you got an application from that spacehappy wonder-boy, Horton?"

Tom glanced toward Bud, still at his game down the street. "When I last talked to Dad, he mentioned that Major Horton’s application had arrived—by courier!"

After a time, Hank told Tom that he wanted to wander through an exhibit of Loonauian painted masks. Tom clapped him on the back and said, "Guess I’ll join Bud. See you back at Space Central."

Tom had taken only a few steps back down the street when he caught sight of a familiar face in the flickering torchlight—Pali. The tall, sullen-faced native had caused no further trouble since the first evening and Kipu was of the opinion that he could now be trusted. "He has learned," the boy had said. Tom was glad he had given Pali the benefit of the doubt, and a second chance.

Pali nodded at Tom and approached affably. "I wish to tell you, Mr. Swift, that I was concerned this morning about your sacks of building materials becoming mildewed in our damp climate. I stacked them in a different way; now the air should circulate better."

"That’s good work, Pali. Thanks for changing them." The man smiled. Tom was slightly puzzled by the Loonauian’s unusually helpful attitude and initiative. He was also astounded to realize that Pali spoke excellent English!

After a pause Pali leaned close to Tom and said that there was something he would like to talk over with him in private. It was of a rather secret nature, he explained, so the two strolled down an alley between wooden buildings and away from the noisy crowd.

"No doubt you are surprised to learn that I am quite civilized, and not at all a head-hunter," Pali began.

Tom shrugged. "I’ll admit that I didn’t know you spoke English so well."

"The fact is I was not born on Loonaui. I have a good deal of your valuable white blood in me." He paused again and glanced at Tom, then blurted out, "I should like to join your space crew!"

Tom was startled. He pointed out that all crew members would have to pass rigid tests and there was no equipment on the island for giving them.

"Very well, then," Pali persisted. "When you go back to the States, I should like to go along and take those tests. Perhaps I can disprove your doubts that an Islander can compete with an American."

"I never doubted that at all," said Tom somewhat hotly. "But I had no idea that—"

The man faced Tom bitterly. "You think I should be happy here, do you? Would it surprise you to learn that I have attended an American university, that I once planned to be an engineer?"

There was something in Pali’s tone that seemed strange, almost threatening. Tom noticed that they had reached a lonely stretch of beach. Palm trees straggled down to the water’s edge. A long aluminum canoe-like boat, outboard motor at the stern, had been run up on the sand and tied to a post. Though the gentle waves were lapping the shore, the gouge in the sand was still fresh.
That boat hasn’t been there more than a few minutes,
thought Tom for no particular reason.

Pali continued, "Now, Mr. Swift—boss!—perhaps you can understand why I—"

He suddenly broke off with a sneering laugh as two Loonauians sprang on Tom from behind, one clapping a hand over Tom’s mouth. The young inventor twisted and fought but could not shake off his assailants.

"So!—our brilliant, so very young Tom Swift walks into our trap, which was sprung by one word, the word ‘boss’!" Pali chuckled. "They say experience is the only school for fools. But you will not have a chance to profit from this lesson, poor boy."

His captors forced a reeking cloth under Tom’s nose, and despite further struggle, darkness was his only reward.

He awoke in a strange gray twilight to sounds that he could not identify. He seemed to be lying flat, face downward, but could not feel what he was lying on, nor could he move. His breath seemed labored and hissed in his ears. In the background was a deep throaty buzzing that rose and fell.

Tom tried desperately to clear his thoughts.
That sound—I know! Outboard motor, that boat on the sand! What’s wrong with it? Why is it so muffled?
He twisted his head and realized something was covering his face.

There was another sound, too. Sloshing, water slapping against—what? The side of a boat?

And a hissing. Where had he heard that before? And recently?
In the lab! The air tank in the lab!

Then he understood. He understood a great deal in a single rush.

The hissing was air escaping from a breathing hose, a tube connected to a tank—specifically, a scuba tank strapped to his back, separated from his skin by the latex wetsuit that covered him entirely, except for his plastic faceplate. He could not feel what he was lying on, because he was lying on nothing at all—that is, nothing but water.

He was handcuffed to the underside of the boat!

He smashed his wrists against the aluminum hull above him. Metal handcuffs!—maybe real police handcuffs, binding his wrists together in the small of his back, and then attached to something beneath the boat shell that he couldn’t quite touch. The feeling was coming back to his arms and wrists, and that was unfortunate—they burned with pain.

Looking through the faceplate, he could understand more of what he saw: deep water, bits of seaweed, a skinny fish darting by. Was it still night? Day? He decided that it must be dawn. The water had taken on just the slightest hint of a pale, pastel salmon color.

There was no time to wonder why he had been attacked. He could already feel his breaths becoming labored. His air supply was starting to run out!

Flexing his legs, Tom tried rapping on the boat hull with his heels. Any sound he made was drowned-out by the outboard motor.
Not that those guys would pay any attention anyway!
Tom thought in desperation. They obviously intended that he would not survive this trip.

But he soon concluded that there was no one aboard topside. It was too easy to cause the boat to rock when he jerked himself right or left. And that suggested a route of escape. He began to thrash furiously, shifting his weight one way and then the other with as much force as he could muster. At first he had little effect. Then he forced himself to think hard.

Okay!
Tom said to himself.
I have to get into the rhythm of this—I’m spending half my time fighting against the boat when she rolls back the wrong way.

He began to apply force judiciously, amplifying the rocking motion like a child trying to make a swing go higher and higher. Soon the lightweight craft was not only rocking violently but pitching forward and back, causing the outboard motor prop to rise up. The boat swerved through the shallow waves like a seasick eel! Still the young inventor pounded away, writhing with his upper body, slamming the underside with his heels.

Suddenly a watery light showed full in his face, then faded again. It was the surface, tantalizingly near, then rolling away again as the boat rocked back to equilibrium. He strained all the harder, breathing in painful gasps.

At last it happened! The narrow boat tipped up on its side, hesitated maddeningly—and flopped over, trapping enough air to keep it afloat for a time. Tom was out of the water, lying with his back painfully arched on top of the air tank strapped to his back, wrists cuffed beneath him and bearing the weight of the tank and his body, looking up at the pearly sky of a South Pacific daybreak, still only pale with the hidden sun, not yet bright..

The motor sputtered, the screw whirling uselessly in air. In a moment, flooded, it died.

Tom was still in desperate straits. For all he knew, he could be many miles from land, far out in the ocean. He could probably manage to suck in air from around his mouthpiece as the air tank became depleted. But soon the hot sun would be up, blazing down at one tiny figure in a black wetsuit. Tom knew the aluminum underhull would become hot as a griddle. How long could he survive?

BACK ON Loonaui Space Central was in an uproar. At first no one had realized that Tom was missing. Having failed to run across his pal in the village, Bud assumed he had gone back with Hank Sterling, whom Bud had seen talking with other members of the project crew. Sterling returned with these friends, and Bud drove the jeep back to the hotel with Kipu.

Bud was surprised to find that Tom was not in the room they were sharing.
Must be off inventing something in that makeshift workshop of his!
the young pilot said to himself.
Me, I need some shut-eye!

He showered and turned in. But his sleep was restless, and by four AM he was wide awake and concerned about Tom. Pulling on a pair of shorts he quietly explored the hotel. It soon became very apparent that Tom Swift had failed to return to camp!

Bud awakened Hank, who groggily explained that he had last seen Tom walking off toward Bud, and had assumed that Tom would accompany his friend back to the hotel. "I didn’t see any sign of danger, Bud," Sterling declared reassuringly. "You know Tom. I’m sure he’s off somewhere dreaming up equations and new metal alloys under the tropic moon."

"No," Bud frowned. "I
do
know Tom—and I’m sure something has happened. I feel it!"

"All right then. Let’s get in touch with the authorities."

The island police organized a search, Bud and Hank joining in.. Now night had become dusky morning and still Tom had not appeared.

"So far we haven’t a single lead to help us find Tom," Bud announced glumly. "Someone must have knocked him out in that village and dragged him away somewhere."

"But we have searched the village, Mr. Barclay," said the police captain. "There is no trace of such a thing."

Bob Jeffers, a young mechanic from Swift Enterprises who had qualified for the space crew, spoke up. "What about that guy Pali? Didn’t you say he was up to some monkey business awhile back?"

"The police woke him up and questioned him," replied Bud, "but he claims he hasn’t seen Tom since he quit work yesterday."

At that moment Hank pointed out the window. "Here comes Kipu," he exclaimed. "Looks as though something’s up!"

The boy burst into the cottage. "I bring news!" he announced breathlessly. "My mother woke me up and said Blond Boss is missing—a policeman had come to our door."

"Do you know something, Kipu?" Bud asked anxiously.

"About that Pali!"

"He said he hadn’t seen Tom all evening."

"He’s a big-jaw liar! While you were playing the game, I saw them talking—they walked away together between the shops. I didn’t think it needed telling, Tall Bud!" Kipu was near tears. Bud tousled his black hair and brought out a grin.

"Kip, I think you may have just rescued Blond Boss!"

"We will take this man into custody!" declared the police captain angrily.

"Wait," urged Hank. "Let’s be smart and go the sneak route. Remember, priority one is to find Tom."

"Alive," added the captain. Bud gulped, his face white.

Bud and Hank accompanied the police captain and another officer to Pali’s small wooden house, which was not far from the old hotel. They crept up behind the house through the brush and positioned themselves near the doors and windows.

Inside the dwelling, three men were talking—Pali, and the two men who had assisted him in the kidnaping. The three exchanged words in the Loonauian language, and all three burst into satisfied chuckles.

But their mirth was short-lived. They whirled in surprise as Bud and Hank crowded through the doorway with the two island policemen.

"Okay, Pali. You’ve had it!" Bud exulted. "These cops just translated your remarks for us. Only you never will collect that money you were talking about, because Tom Swift is still alive!"

Pali gave a scream of rage. Grabbing a heavy club, he lunged toward Bud, who quickly flattened Pali with a hard right to the jaw while the island policemen covered the other two natives.

"Now then, water rat, you’d better talk and talk fast," Bud said. "I
said
Tom was alive—make a liar out of me, and—I’ll—" Bud sputtered. "Well, I’ll get back to you on what I’ll do! But I swear you won’t like it!"

"You will stand trial for kidnaping, assault, and attempted murder," said the captain. "You are a disgrace to this island! But you can make it better for yourself by telling what you know."

Pali struggled slowly to his feet, all the fight gone out of him. "And what if it is too late?" he asked cynically. "Will you go easy on me then, Captain Yoru?"

"It’s
not
too late!" Bud insisted.

"Such friendship. All right," he mumbled. "I’ll tell you everything."

In fifteen minutes Bud and Hank were soaring over the ocean in an amphibious police helicopter. Suddenly Bud pointed wordlessly, too emotional to speak. A small overturned boat drifted below, a black figure stretched out upon it.