Tom Swift and His Outpost in Space (16 page)

The start of the expedition was set for the following morning. Amid great fanfare, part of the hub section of the giant space wheel was blasted aloft from the undersea launch site in an unmanned cargo rocket. The rest of the great central hub was to be sent up shortly after lunch.

"From liquid space to outer space!" joked Hank Sterling. "Tom, you get the prize for the
confoundin’est
launch system in the history of astronautics!"

"But she works like a real demon, Tom," said Ken Horton with a back-clap. "That’s what counts."

"Who’s gonna ride herd on them space-freighters?" puzzled Chow, as the second automated rocket burst through the waves and streaked upward.

"No one," explained Tom. "Once they reach the orbit, they’ll just float around up there till the space crews arrive to unload them."

Chow scratched his chin and shook his head uneasily. "I still don’t see what’s gonna keep things in place up there. But I reckon there ain’t much you could use fer a hitchin’ post at that!"

Before supper, Tom made the announcement for which everyone was waiting. "Launching of the manned rockets begins tonight, eleven fifteen PM. Number One will blast off at eight o’clock, with Bud Barclay in charge. The other rockets will follow at six-hour intervals. Here’s the list of ship assignments."

"Tom, I don’t see your name on the list," Bud commented, brow furrowed. "Or Ken’s."

"Ken and I will be going up last, in the
Star Spear,"
explained the teen space explorer. "I want to have one fully-maneuverable spacecraft near the outpost at all times, not just the return capsules."

"Okay, but why—" Then Bud interrupted himself. "Okay, Tom. You’re the boss."

News of the coming take-offs electrified the camp. The crewmen were keyed to a high pitch of anticipation. Bud and his crew would be in a rocket carrying transmitter equipment. Its empty tank hull would be converted to one of the broadcasting "spokes."

As eleven o’clock approached, Tom and his father entered the pilot’s cabin with the crew. They shook hands all around, Mr. Swift saying, "This is a big moment for all of us. You’re leaving on one of the greatest voyages in human history. Good luck and godspeed to you!"

Tom hugged Bud and murmured, "We’ll join you soon, flyboy!"

Tom’s dark-haired pal nodded and turned away, hiding his emotions.

Blast-off proceeded smoothly. Tom stayed with the radar-tracking crew, exchanging signals with the rocket until it reached its far orbit safely about five hours later, rendezvousing with the pilotless freight rockets that had preceded it. An hour later Rocket Two took off, with Hank Sterling in charge. It contained the makings of the crew’s bunkroom section.

By the end of the day, two more rockets had been launched on the same time schedule. The first was to become the mess hall and recreation spoke of the space wheel; the other, the observatory in which the telescope would be mounted.

Finally the momentous week came to an end. All the basic elements of Swift Enterprises’ outpost in space—the central sphere and the fourteen spoke-modules—had been flung into orbit in record time!

"I see you have us posted, Tom, to leave tonight on your
Star Spear,"
Ken Horton remarked, as the smoke-trail of the last sea launch dissipated into the blue Pacific sky. "I’m itching to get on with it, boss. But I kind of regret not have a chance to try that underwater scheme of yours."

Tom nodded and grinned. "You’ll have plenty of time to get bored with
that
routine. We’ll be sending ships back and forth almost daily once the outpost is up and running."

Tom’s
Star Spear
rocket ship, a seasoned veteran of orbital flight, had been freighted by sea from Fearing Island to Loonaui, and now stood fueled and ready on its support vanes on the surface launchpad that had been constructed for it on tiny Bolutanbu.

Tom and Ken were ferried out to the islet by helicopter. In the pilot’s cabin Tom set the automatic control instruments into operation, including his navigational computer-sensor device, nicknamed the Spacelane Brain. Time clocks began ticking in the blockhouse. The two strapped themselves to their acceleration couches and waited tensely. Soon enough the islet shook with a blast of thunder! A billowing cloud of smoke and flame burst over the area as the
Star Spear
rose from its launching pad. Slowly at first, then with ever-increasing speed, the rocket shot upward into the blue.

When the punishing G-forces of acceleration eased off, Ken cast a look Tom’s way and said, "Man, that was—
brisk!
I feel like I left about half of myself somewhere in the stratosphere."

The single-stage projectile continued its long arduous climb into space. Finally the red light and buzzer signaled cutoff of the main thrusters.

"This is it!" murmured Tom. "We’re in orbit!"

They were now a thousand miles above the Pacific and climbing eastward at the terrifying speed of more than 21,000 miles per hour! From here on, the rocket would coast along on the elongated orbital path that would carry it to the space outpost construction site.

Now that the ship was no longer accelerating and the G-pressure had melted away, Ken swung his couch into sitting position and released his safety belt.

"Boy, do I feel—!" Ken broke off with a gasp as he found himself floating to the cabin roof. With one hand he pushed himself down again. "Good thing I had some lessons in your zero-G chamber, Tom." Weightless, Ken cavorted around the cabin like a swimmer in space, then settled down to stare out the porthole. "Look at that view!" he exclaimed.

The earth was now a slowly deflating globe far below, with the islands and continents clearly defined amidst a brilliant blue.

"May as well relax a bit. It’ll be more than four hours before we use the motors again," Tom remarked. "I’m going to switch on the video-oscillograph and see if our space friends have any messages for us." With his father’s permission, Tom had briefed Ken on the astounding secret of Swift Enterprises’ contact with alien intelligences, swearing him to secrecy.

Tom activated the oscilloscope receiver. Instantly mathematical symbols began to form on the screen.

"Ken!" Tom exclaimed. "They’re warning us of danger, as they did once before!"

"What kind of danger? Can you tell?"

"I don’t know. The computerized translator hasn’t recorded these symbols—there’s that strange one they transmitted last month." Tom pressed a button and the metal shield covering his own pilot’s viewport drew back. Outside, the weird, harsh blackness of space shone with myriads of stars. Tom gasped involuntarily, seized by a passing moment of panic. But the two astronauts could see no cause for alarm. No echoes marred the radar screen.

Tom was puzzled. "Sure wish I knew what they were talking about! But
‘we never explain’
seems to be their middle name."

"Maybe some enemy’s chasing us," Horton suggested.

"You mean Blatka—the Mosquito? Could be. Or maybe even something from another planet!" Tom gulped—then chuckled nervously. "Listen to me!—I’m starting to sound like my sister Sandy."

As the hours crept by, the warning message continued, then abruptly ceased for no reason. But the two were unable to locate any threat.

Eventually the Spacelane Brain showed that the
Star Spear
was more than 21,700 above the earth’s surface, in a world where
above
meant almost nothing. The ship was almost over Ecuador, only a few score miles from the space station assembly point.

"Stand by for the adaptation maneuver!" Tom announced. "We’ve almost reached our orbit!"

Moments later, the steering motors on the vanes fired to tilt the ship into proper orbital aim. Then the main rocket motors roared once again to life.

The next second, a blip appeared in the center of the radar screen. At the same moment, Ken yelled, "There’s the danger!"

In the black void of space a gleaming teardrop of light was arcing across the sky! Tom gasped in astonishment.

"What is it, boss?" Ken puzzled. "Can’t be a shooting star—not up here! Shooting stars are just meteors that burn up in the earth’s atmosphere." He rubbed his eyes and looked again. "So what in the name of astronautics is it?"

Tom tried to control his excitement. "Ken,
it may be a spaceship!"

Suddenly the speeding light veered sharply. It headed straight for the
Star Spear!

Tom was in a quandary. Could this be his space friends trying to make contact? Or was it a dangerous attacker from outer space?

CLOSER AND CLOSER came the strange object. Tom gunned the steering jets to maneuver the
Star Spear
out of the way. But the object altered its path instantly, obviously intending to approach the spacecraft.

"Cosmos!" exclaimed Ken Horton. "That looks like your space-wheel design!"

Despite this slight resemblance, Tom had never seen anything like the eerie phantom now pacing the
Star Spear
from distance of less than a mile. Like the outpost it was circular, a thick disk with a rounded, bulging center. But there all similarities ended. The object seemed to be made
entirely of light—
gleaming, swirling, flickering light, marked with shifting multicolored bands like the Aurora Borealis. Unlike a conventional craft, it did not gradually accelerate or decelerate, but assumed a speed and direction immediately, with no transition. Sometimes it was absolutely still, keeping even with the rocket; other times it seemed almost to dance from place to place like a spark from a campfire.

"It isn’t solid," marveled Horton. "You can see stars right through it."

"I’ll bet our space friends are on board!" Tom breathed. "Let’s see if we can’t contact them."

Activating the transmitter, he began beaming out modulated signals representing the space symbols. But no reply appeared on the oscilloscope screen.

Tom switched on the space radio-communicator. "This is Tom Swift aboard the
Star Spear
. Do you understand these signals?"

Suddenly Ken gave a cry of disbelief and pointed.
"Hey, what’s happening to it?"

The weird vehicle—if vehicle it was!—seemed to be changing shape, unfolding and opening up like a flower. A single point of diamond-hard blue-white light, blindingly intense, was revealed at the center. Then without warning the whole mass of light seemed to blur, melt away
—and it was gone!

With a start, Tom realized their full peril. What they had taken to be a friendly spacecraft might be some kind of explosive weapon! But the young inventor began to breathe easier as the minutes passed without any follow-up encounter.

"Any theories, Tom?" asked Ken.

"Not a one," responded Tom. "But the ship’s automatic cameras will have recorded the object. Maybe we’ll learn something by studying the images."

Tom accessed the digital record, only to be confronted with a further mystery. The cameras showed nothing but empty space!

"And not only that, but look at this feed from the Spacelane Brain." Tom looked up at Ken, bewildered. "The
Star Spear
should have traveled many miles during that minute, right? But it doesn’t show up in the record.
It’s as if that whole encounter took no time at all—zero!"

Said Ken Horton slowly, "As if it never happened. But we both
know
it did—
don’t we?"

Tom shrugged. There was nothing else to say.

The remainder of the trip went smoothly. When they arrived at the rendezvous, 22,300 miles above Ecuador, the travelers stared out through the transparent viewports with wide eyes. Even the television images transmitted from the other ships had not prepared them for what lay before them.

"Oh man!" gasped Ken, lapsing into a drawl. "I
sure
never seen nothin’ like this back in Texas, amigo!"

An awesome sight met their eyes. In the starry blackness of outer space floated a great silver-white wheel hub, with huge holes all around the middle where the fourteen spoke-modules would be connected. Ranged around it at some distance were the streamlined return capsules from the fourteen delivery rockets. Swarming all about were tiny figures in segmented red spacesuits, the brilliant sun glinting from their transparent bubble-helmets, minute lights flickering from the tiny exhaust-nozzles of the micro-thrusters built into their suits, which allowed them to maneuver in gravityless space. Working with cables and winches, the men and women of the construction team were trying to guide the rocket tank-stages, which had been separated from their engines as well as from the crew-capsules, into their hub sockets.

Tom tuned the ship radio for local communication. "Calling all crew captains. Can you hear me?" One by one, they reported in with welcoming hails. "I’m glad to see the wheel hub’s all erected," Tom said. "Congratulations!"

"Yes, but these blasted space spokes are giving us plenty of headaches," radioed Hank Sterling.

"We’ve been working on them in shifts for the past twelve hours," came the voice of Arvid Hanson, who was one of the captains, "and we don’t have even one connected."

"Guess there’s kind of a trick to it. Want us to pile out and help?" Tom asked.

"Won’t turn you down, skipper," Hanson replied. "Go on, pull up and stretch your space legs!"

"Brand my solar salad!"
came a familiar foghorn bellow. "This is worse’n trying to corral a herd o’ plumb-loco steers!"

Tom grinned and whispered to Ken, "Did he always say
‘brand-my’
?"

"Naw," Horton responded. "It’s a substitute for some salty expressions he used to use. My pa had to cover my ears!"

"I heard that, Kenny Horton!"
crackled Chow indignantly.

"Bud, you out there?" radioed Tom. There was no answer. "Maybe it’s his sleep shift," he said to Ken. "I’m glad we planned for them to be able to use the modules even before connecting them to the hub."

Stabilizing the
Star Spear,
Ken led the way out the side hatch, soaring gracefully into the emptiness. But as Tom stood up in the hatchway, he found his heart pounding and his stomach-muscles clenching up. His acquired phobia was still dogging him! Trembling inside his suit, he forced himself to jump free.