Tom Swift and the Visitor From Planet X (20 page)

"Just for now, I hope," commented the space brain. He was slowly learning to modulate his vocal tones, and now he sounded sympathetic.

Exman reveled in experience. He read books, watched television, and saw movies. He sampled Chow Winkler’s cooking, after being cautioned that it was not entirely typical of terrestrial cuisine. He smelled flowers, and silently rolled along the streets of Shopton as the polite citizenry stared at what they assumed was Tom Swift’s latest invention. He explored a zoo and a botanical garden, took in as much of the amusement park at the end of Lake Carlopa as could be managed, and even observed and recorded the intriguing phenomenon of the female of the species.

"You are quite charming, my dear Exman," declared Bashalli Prandit.

Exman replied, "Madame, if I were able, I would kiss your hand. But I must be content to enjoy your scent."

One afternoon Tom received an unexpected telephone call in his office. "Mr. Oldmother! How are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Busy shutting down that fool church of mine. The Board of Directors seem to have overlooked the fact that such terms as ‘Informatics’ and ‘Higher Plane’ are trademarked and copyrighted by yours truly. I have decided to withdraw my permission."

"Wow! What will you be doing, sir?"

"Writing," was the reply.

"Another bible?"

"No, Tom, I’m out of that game. I’m returning to comedy. The book will be a laugh-out-loud satiric novel on the theme of religious cults. In fact, I was wondering if you might put in a good word with that publishing house that handles those juvenile fictionalizations of the exploits of the Swift family, the ones you sell in your gift shop."

Tom winced slightly. "Oh right. Those. Sorry, Mr. Oldmother, but Runabout Publications is owned by Tom Swift Enterprises. Other than scientific papers, it only publishes the series."

"Too bad. On to e-publishing! Oh, one last thing. I came across another one of those irritating messages among my recent doodles. Care to hear it?"

"Sure."

"It’s in the form of a question.
‘Does a Bunsen have a wick?’
That’s all. Don’t ask me what it means. Maybe something will occur to you."

The day before Exman was to depart Earth and carry his stored data back to Planet X, Tom was already hard at work on the future. He interrupted his early planning for the strange scientific exploit that would be fictionalized as
Tom Swift and His Electronic Hydrolung
and stopped by George Dilling’s office. They discussed how the report on the astounding space visit would at last be released to the world. In the course of the meeting George played the video of Exman’s arrival for his young employer.

At one point Tom stopped the player, then viewed a brief segment several times.

"What is it, Tom?" asked Dilling.

"Something caught my eye. There! See it? Just as Exman illuminates the hillside—doesn’t that look like someone standing and watching between those two boulders?"

Dilling examined the screen and tried to enlarge and enhance the image. "I suppose it could be. But frankly it looks more like a combination of light-patches and moving shadows caused by the fireball."

"That’s probably all it is," Tom conceded. "And yet—Oldmother alluded to someone on the hillside. And we never have figured out that supposed ‘outside presence’ responsible for some of his messages to me."

Dilling chuckled. "Always knew you had a guardian angel, boss!"

Does a Bunsen have a wick?

On a late afternoon, Exman’s all-to-brief visit to Planet Earth came to an end. Dozens of Enterprises employees gathered to watch him go.

"Aw, brand my cosmic suitcase, I must be one o’ them sentimentalists m’self," sniffed Chow Winkler to Bud. "I shor hate to tell ole star-head goodbye. Since I’m the who christened him, that makes me his blame godfather!"

Bud smiled. "As for me, cowpoke, I’m just glad he called me his friend."

Tom had directed Ole Think Box about a hundred yards away, out on one of the runways. "I know you can open the shutter yourself," he said in a low, slightly choked voice. "Do you feel like we do, Exman? Sorry to leave us?"

"Sorry," Exman repeated musingly. "I call it a paradox. To be alive at all is such pleasant stimulation that I can not understand how anyone could ever feel sorrow. The world of the living—your world—is an unending source of wonderful things. I shall report this to the Masters. Whether they will understand, I don’t know."

"Oh," Tom said, moments before a bolt of blinding light tore across the Shopton sky, headed for outer space and all its mysteries. "I was thinking—there’s one part of your report that you might want to put carefully. If the X-ians learn how our space friends contacted us, it won’t go well with them."

"Tom, my friend, I am well aware of that. I do have a conscience, you know. I am Exman!"

"But will you be able to prevent downloading your full store of data?" Tom objected.

"There is no doubt of that. You see, even before I learned to have a conscience, I learned something else from your lifeform which will prove very useful. I learned how to lie!"