Tom swift and the Captive Planetoid

THE TOM SWIFT INVENTION ADVENTURES

TOM SWIFT

AND THE CAPTIVE

PLANETOID

BY VICTOR APPLETON II

This unauthorized tribute is based upon the original TOM SWIFT JR. characters.

As of this printing, copyright to The New TOM SWIFT Jr. Adventures is owned by SIMON & SCHUSTER

This edition privately printed by RUNABOUT © 2011
www.tomswiftlives.com

“IT’S BEAUTIFUL,” said Bashalli Prandit. As Tom Swift glanced her way with a chiding look of humorous skepticism, the raven-haired Pakistani added: “No, Thomas, I am giving my sarcasm the day off. Your Little Luna may be a big pile of rocks, but it looks like a
shiny
marble with lovely veins.”

The twin viewports of the Swift Enterprises spaceship
Challenger
were filled side to side with a globe of auburn traced with thready veins of bright blue, shining in the stark light like rivers of glass. But the rivers on Nestria, Earth’s tiny second moon, were not of water but of air. Twin atmosphere-making machines of Tom’s invention, established at the poles of the moonlet, manufactured a breathable oxygen-nitrogen mix. Forced down close to the surface of the wandering asteroid, the manmade air filled the cracks and low valleys between peaks that thrust out into airless space.

Hefty Chow Winkler pulled off his cowpoke hat and scratched his bald dome. “I dunno. I don’t call it
purty
, Basherelli. Kind of a big ole clod of a thing.”

“I think of it as a gem,” Tom’s father Damon Swift put in, “a valuable gem for science to polish. So many secrets lying undiscovered!”

“What secrets, Daddy?” asked Sandra, Tom’s sister, one year younger than her famous brother.

“How it attains the power it uses to maintain its concentrated gravitational field, for example,” was the thoughtful reply. “How it utilizes Lunite metal to undo the forces that bind atoms together. The space beings who moved Nestria into orbit know the answers, but it seems they’re leaving them for us to discover on our own.”

“Don’t fergit that there clay food,” Chow noted. “Better’n Injun charms an’ patent medicine fer what ails you.”

“My opinion is this, my friends,” said a tall, stern-faced man in military uniform. “What science should look into is the ability of this little moon to inspire
love
.”

Bashalli smiled. “That is what moons are
for
, Colonel.”

Tom was wise enough to steer clear of the philosophical exchange. It was enough of a duty to pilot a spaceship to its designated landing site at the international scientific colony established on Nestria, a settlement that had grown enormously since the youth had led the American expedition that had claimed control of the phantom satellite.

The claim had been vigorously contested by a rival expedition led by the man who now stood among the group, Col. Streffan Mirov, wearing with proud dignity his be-medaled Brungarian military uniform. Mirov, upholding his patriotic duty to his native Brungaria, had opposed the American expeditioners with cunning and threats. But when Tom had rescued the man from death at the hands of infiltrators, Mirov had commenced a new relationship that had warmed, slowly and cautiously, into a respectful friendship.

Brungaria itself, newly democratic, was now a friend to the West. But its political establishment had very mixed feelings about the casual dealings of its national hero with the American prodigy who had beaten him to the moonlet. The government had been slow to protect Mirov from recent threats by an antidemocratic faction called the Sentimentalists, and Mirov’s son Dimitri had been compelled to purchase his father’s safety through murder, a plot Tom had defeated during the most recent mission of the
Challenger
. Upon the young American’s return from the mystery comet exploit, he had been placed in contact with Col. Mirov, living in seclusion for his own protection. As a result of their discussions, the Brungarian had decided to resume his position in COSMOSA, the nation’s space agency, and had requested a posting to the Nestria colony.

“Whatever else little Nestria may be,” Mirov continued, “to me it represents safety. To the crass politicians now dominating my country’s government, it means ‘
Thanks to God, we get old Mirov out of the newspapers!
’ If they ask me for campaign contributions, I will throw Lunite rocks at them.”

Bud Barclay, Tom’s copilot and best friend, chortled at the thought. “Be sure to invite me to watch, Colonel!”

“I surely will, young man. Indeed, I will alert the media!”

“Oh, I know taking you up to the colony is important, Colonel,” said Sandy. “But Bashi and I wouldn’t be along if it weren’t for the
main
mission.”

Bud cast a supercilious look. “Millions of people get married every day. Since when is it a
mission
?”

“When it is the very first such ceremony in outer space!” pronounced Bashalli firmly. “We are all to be a part of history.”

“Aw now, I been a whole
lotta
parts o’ history already,” Chow observed. “Good fun, but it sure don’t feed th’ ponies.”

Col. Mirov regarded the hefty cook tolerantly. “An Americanism?”

“A Winklerism!” laughed Bud.

The asteroid swelled before their eyes. “Beacon acquisition from Base Galileo,” Tom announced.

“This is the first time you’ve used the new landing field, isn’t it, son?” asked Mr. Swift.

“That’s right,” Tom replied. “A nice big pad for the
Challenger
.” The original base facility had been destroyed by bad weather of the worst kind—
antimatter
. But the scientific outpost had blossomed anew. Completely rebuilt and furnished with the latest research equipment, the science colony now boasted a population of several hundred—including a few newborn natives.

The rumpled sphere became a rugged round horizon, and in moments the huge ship, propelled through the void by Tom’s force-beam repelatrons, gently settled into place.

The passengers, which included Tom’s mother Anne, crowded close to the big viewpane windows. “Oh my,” said Mrs. Swift, “the sky still looks like midnight.”

“You are
sure
the air hasn’t drifted away, Thomas?” teased Bashalli.

The crewcut young inventor, relaxing after the touchdown, allowed himself a grin,. “Look right down that valley, folks, and you’ll see a little blue sky—even a cloud or two. Remember, the air hugs the ground pretty close.”

“Avoid the penthouse suite,” Bud wisecracked.

The passenger elevator lowered them from the cube-shaped crew module to the ground, where the visitors drew in tentative gulps of earthly air—crisp, thin, and rather dry. As always during daytime, the temperature was desert-hot.

“Welcome, space pilgrims,” called out a blond, husky figure, bounding high in Nestria’s weak gravity as he trotted toward them.

“Hi Kent!” Tom grinned. Turning to the new visitors, he introduced Kent Rockland, mineralogist and metallurgist, head of the United States operation at Base Galileo.

“Good to see you again,” said Col. Mirov as he shook hands. “I’m prepared to promise that I won’t shoot any missiles your way during my stay.”

“I imagine you’re anxious to meet your fellow Brungarians over in the Astra-Volkon complex?” said Rockland.

“
Pfah
! Not overly. I expect to thoroughly introduce myself to these hardy provincials during the ceremony in which I take command.”

“And speaking of ceremonies—” Sandy began.

Rockland chuckled. “At 4 PM! By the way, we use down-home time up here—otherwise we’d have so many hours to a day we’d feel sleepy by mid-morning.”

“I kin unnerstand that,” offered Chow.

“But I’m glad—honored—that you all came to be a part of our little space ceremonial,” continued the young mineralogist earnestly, “even though only a few members of the colony are Swift Enterprises employees.”

“But we consider you our friends,” Mr. Swift replied warmly.

“And some of us—we can set aside Tom and Bud—are hopeless romantics,” added Bashalli.

“ ‘Hopeless’ is the word,” Sandy commented wryly.

Tom nodded toward a figure approaching in the distance. “And here comes the bride.”

Violet Wohl joined the group with handshakes and hugs. “I’m already a little teary-eyed,” she murmured. “Do any of you cry at weddings?”

“Sometimes,” admitted Mrs. Swift in concert with her daughter. The men shrugged politely. Bashalli gave back a cryptic smile.

“That don’t figger t’ me,” Chow gravel-voiced. “Cryin’ at weddings!—brand my hitchin’ post, wait till th’ marriage has been goin’ awhile.”

“A word of prairie wisdom,” chuckled Mirov.

As they strolled toward the little community of huts, Bud pointed off and said, “Uh-oh, bad luck!”

“Oh Bud, it’s only seeing the
bride
before the ceremony that’s bad luck,” reproved Sandy.

Chow snorted. “Right fine!—this here marriage starts off jinxed.”

The man who joined them, small and somewhat crinkled with age, bore a wide smile on his face. “I think you’ve all met Dr. Jatczak before,” Tom declared.

“Nevertheless, memory being what it is in an old man, I had better take care greet each of you,” said the distinguished astronomer, eyes twinkling with obvious delight. After handshakes, he kissed Violet Wohl. “Ah, another in a series for my wife to be!”

“Maybe I’ll start crying early,” murmured Sandy.

Since the first landing on Nestria, Doc Vi, a medical doctor and researcher, had kept close eye on Henrik Jatczak. The frail astronomer had joined the expedition with a heart condition expected to bring his long life to an end in months. Yet the moonlet’s low gravity, and a diet of the strange bio-mineraloid substance mined from a lode in the crust, had restored him to health and obvious vigor. But the ministrations of Violet Wohl had had further stimulative effects for both of them, and friendship and respect had become a promise of marriage.

Kent Rockland gave his guests a tour of the residential community, neat modular bungalows divided by fast-growing vegetable gardens. “Right now our suburb in the sky is made mostly of plastics,” he said, “but we’ve got a stand of young trees growing in the valley. Everything seems to grow fast on Little Luna. Won’t be too many years before we’ll have use for a sawmill and a few carpenters.”

“It’s a wonderful thing to see,” declared Tom. “With all the oxygen-yielding vegetation growing up here, someday you won’t need to manufacture air by machine.”

“How long do you plan to stay on Nestria, Tom?” asked Doc Vi.

“Two nights, at least,” replied the young inventor. “While we’re here, I thought Dad and I would continue our studies of the gravity cube.”

Bashalli frowned. “Not to flaunt my ignorance, but what might a ‘gravity cube’ be? One of those little toys that you twist and turn? It sounds like a game—a puzzle.”

“Ah, my dear, a puzzle is precisely what it is,” chuckled Dr. Jatczak. “The extraterrestrials who provided us our island among the stars, Tom’s Space Friends, speak of it—perhaps I should say, refer to it in logico-mathematical symbols—as an ‘
energizer
’. It appears to be central to generating the gravitational envelope in which we live, a highly localized and intensified field.”

“Of course, I’ve made studies of it before,” noted Tom. “I learned enough about the principle to make my own gravity-concentrator, the gravitex. But the thing’s immoveable and impenetrable, and—”

“Excuse me, which of you young men are we referring to?” asked Bashalli with mischievous innocence.

After some warily amused exchanges of glance between Tom and Bud, Dr. Jatczak turned to Tom. “Your mentioning this scientific mystery, Tom, reminded me that I have one of my own to tell you about—a matter of astronomy.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised. “A space discovery?”

“Indeed so. Several discoveries in one, you see. I suspect your mighty ship will soon be off on another mission into space!”

BUD groaned humorously at Dr. Jatczak’s announcement. “Jetz!
Please
tell me it’s not another comet!”