Tom Swift on the Phantom Satellite (11 page)

Dr. Kutan paled. "Do you think the Brungarians are shooting at us, Tom?"

"I don’t know," Tom replied tersely. "Swivel the video scanner, Colonel." Northrup obligingly rotated the long-range magnifying camera, mounted on the top of the tank, through a complete scan of 360 degrees.

"Can’t see a thing," the young inventor said, "unless someone is strafing us from a spaceship. I’ll crawl out and take a look."

"I thought you said the Brungarians would respond peacefully," said Gabe to Kutan, accusingly. As the older man shrugged, Northrup said, "It’s a wise man who always considers that he might be wrong, Red."

Tom squirmed through the airlock. Moments later, he rapped on the tank’s hull and crawled back inside, holding a small chunk of iron-gray metal about the size of a golf ball.

"A meteorite," he explained. "Still warm, too, from having gouged the hatch."

"There, you see!" Kutan said.

As the trip continued, Tom asked Dr. Kutan what he thought of the Brungarians’ claim to having landed first.

"What do I think? I’ll tell you," the diplomat replied. "I don’t think much of it. I think the original intelligence concerning the Brungarian space launch was accurate. But they did not leave orbit and approach the satellite until we had radioed that we had landed safely. They probably touched down not long before we discovered them. Now their purpose is surely to establish what are called ‘facts on the ground,’ to give them an advantage in future negotiations."

"Are all Brungarians as tricky as these guys?" inquired Gabe.

"Every nation is capable of trickery and deception, young man," Kutan said. "But when the nation is one’s own, it is called ‘clever strategy’."

"You’re very cynical, Dr. Kutan," Tom declared with a frown. Northrup laughed. Tom added heatedly: "I was serious, Colonel."

"I know you were, Tommy," Northrup said. "That’s why I laughed!"

Forty minutes later the tank entered upon the open plain described by the earlier explorers and came in sight of the enemy camp. "Here we are," Gabe announced, eyeing the broad, low dome. "Should we roll right up to their front door?"

"No. Better stop here," Tom decided. "Otherwise, they may think we’re coming to attack."

The four climbed out of the tank and looked over the Brungarian base. The dome, covering more than four acres of ground, appeared to be made of thick plastic. It gave off rainbow glints in the sunlight, especially from its transparent side panels.

Inside the dome they could make out rows of small tents and bulky machines that seemed to be on casters for mobility. About half the area was closed off to view, covered by a black tarpaulin. They could see men and women moving about in silver-white garments: it seemed the Brungarian expedition had many more members than its American counterpart.

Cautiously the four Americans advanced on foot. After circling part way around the dome, they found the airlock. Two armed, stony-faced Brungarians stood guard at the entrance. Clad in spacesuits with transparent helmets, small pistol-like devices protruding from holsters, they watched without flicking a muscle as the Americans approached.

"Friendly-looking, aren’t they?" Gabe muttered. "At least they’re not shooting yet!" He lifted his camera and snapped a series of photos.

Tom had been trying to raise the base on his suit transiphone, just as he had tried over the tank radio since they entered the plain. There had been no response on any channel. But now the suit unit detected a signal, and Tom tuned to it. He could see that one of the guards was speaking.

"Ol n’rya y tul!"

He put his hand to his holster and drew out his weapon!

"HE IS telling us to stay where we are," translated Dr. Kutan. Speaking rapidly in Brungarian, he told why they had come.

It was evident that the guards had been expecting them. Replying only in surly grunts, they gestured the Americans inside with a wave of their weapons.

Passing through the airlock, Tom and his companions were met by a scowling officer in a dark green Brungarian military uniform. The man’s face flushed with anger as a blue-white flash announced that Gabe had photographed the Brungarian flag, flying above the base. He reached out for the camera, demandingly, but Gabe drew back.

"Not on your life, dude!" said the photographer.

"Tell him we’ll be glad to let their commander inspect the camera and our equipment," Tom directed Dr. Kutan.

In response to this message, the officer uttered a few words in a harsh guttural tone.

"He says Mirov, the commander, will deal with us," Dr. Kutan translated. "We are to follow him, and not attempt to leave."

As the callers walked across the base, Tom looked around. Most of the people in view carried weapon holsters. Two technicians were visible tending what Tom assumed was the dome’s air-conditioning machinery and others were busy at the control panel of some shielded equipment. Tom suspected this to be a small atomic turbogenerator, supplying the base with power.

Presently a tall, handsome man in a gold-braided uniform approached. He had brown, wavy hair and brilliant, glowing dark eyes. At sight of the four Americans, he thrust out his hand in greeting and smiled, displaying strong white teeth. He first addressed himself to Teodor Kutan.

"Ah, it iss so nice to see you again, my old friend from days past!" he declared in a thick accent. Turning to the others, he said, "I am Streffan Mirov. Alas, I do not spik the English so goot! Yet I am learning."

Tom introduced himself and the others, then said, "Dr. Kutan will be glad to translate, in case you wish to speak in your own language.

Mirov shook his head. "No, no, I prefer to be courteous. I am already disgraced by that foolish note I sent to you—ah, by missile, how rude of me!" Apologizing profusely, he explained that he had acted in haste on instructions from his government, instructions with which he disagreed and which now had been withdrawn. "I trust that the celebrated Tom Swift will overlook this unfortunate incident," he urged in suave tones.

Mirov went on to praise the scientific genius of Tom and his family. "In my country, we have long admired those many clever inventions. Alas, during the decades of oppression, the books narrating your great-grandfather’s achievements were not sold openly. Yet I read them all—the black market, you know. Tell me, do you still have the electric runabout?"

"It’s on display," Tom replied. He was unsure how best to react to Mirov’s attitude. Why the sudden change, and why all these sugary remarks?

The situation was partly explained when the Brungarian added that he especially admired Tom’s atmosphere-making machine. The young inventor felt a strong urge to ask how Mirov had learned about the atmos-maker. He refrained, however.

Instead, Tom described his machine very simply and told how he hoped to establish an atmosphere for the whole satellite. "Commander Mirov, you and your men will also benefit from such an atmosphere if I am successful. You will no longer need this dome, and will be free to explore the satellite."

Mirov hastily acknowledged this and agreed that the two groups should work in peace. Moreover, he said, the satellite should belong to all nations of the world. After a pause, he continued in Brungarian, asking Kutan to translate—it seemed he wanted his fellow officers to understand his comments.

Kutan said, "He says, ‘Of course, if any mineral wealth were found, it is only natural that the countries which sent expeditions should take control of that resource’—he uses a term which is like ‘the lion’s share’." As Dr. Kutan translated this last part, Mirov winked slyly at Tom.

Ignoring this, Tom replied, "Please ask Commander Mirov if his country has any plans to use this new moon as a military base."

Mirov skillfully dodged this question and others along the same lines. Somewhat irritated, Tom mentioned that he and his crew had scouted the whole satellite before landing. "At that time we saw no sign of your ship," he ended sharply.

"A most natural oversight," Mirov replied smoothly, in English. "The dark colors of our habitat-dome would blend into the landscape. This no doubt camouflaged our ship. And as you know, New Brungaria has a disruptive effect upon radar—a temporary phenomenon, I am told."

"New Brungaria?" repeated Col. Northrup, speaking for the first time.

"Our name. But it is no matter, eh?" It was sad, Mirov went on, that a dispute should have arisen over who had landed first. But he suavely suggested that this matter be taken up before the United Nations. Tom agreed.

Suddenly Mirov frowned and added, "By the way, our ship’s radar picked up some sort of craft as we were approaching the satellite. Strangely enough, it accelerated so fast that our radar lost it in a few seconds."

Tom felt a surge of excitement! The young inventor at once recalled an instantaneous blip on his own screen which he had thought was simply another effect of Little Luna. Now he felt that his conclusion might have been wrong. The unknown ship had perhaps belonged to the Swifts’ space friends!

But Tom made no mention of this possibility, merely remarking casually, "Perhaps you would care to show us around before we leave, Commander Mirov."

The Brungarian’s face stiffened but did not lose its patronizing smile. "Surely; and perhaps when I come for a visit, you will do the same." The tour lasted only a few minutes. After showing them the atomic power plant and air-conditioning equipment, Mirov called a halt without inviting his visitors on board the hidden spaceship.

"Now you will perhaps join me and my senior officers in some refreshment," he said hastily.

Introducing the party to a half-dozen men and women, the gold-braided commander ordered tables and chairs set up, and had a steward serve platefuls of a tasty but highly seasoned reddish concoction.

"This is
moofta,
the Brungarian national dish, in concentrated form," Dr. Jatczak explained.

As Tom lifted a spoonful to his lips, Col. Northrup whispered, "Careful!"

Wow! It’s hotter than Chow’s tamales!
Tom gasped inwardly, gulping down a quick mugful of water and trying to conceal his reaction.

"Told ya!" murmured Northrup.

"And here is our science officer, our expert in rocketry and astrodynamics, Professor Lemura," cried Mirov grandly as a stooped, balding man stepped out from behind the tarp barrier. "Come join us, Mihklo—you must exercise those English skills you boast of!"

Professor Lemura approached warily, shaking hands with the guests as they were introduced one by one. He seemed nervous and evasive, speaking more in grunts than in English. When Gabriel Knorff was introduced, he withdrew his hand and turned away rudely.

"I do not have time for this, Commander. You may handle the publicity. Allow me to return to my work." He stalked off and vanished behind the barrier again.

"Rather temperamental," said Mirov coolly. "But truly a genius, so we put up with him."

"I have read about him," commented Tom. "Involved with the Soviet space program, wasn’t he?"

"Indeed so," confirmed the Commander. "Born in Kazakhistan, actually. We induced him out of retirement to join this effort. How fortunate it was, to have perfected our spacecraft already, just in time to make the voyage to New Br—that is, to this little moon."

After a polite exchange of good-byes, the Americans took their departure. To forestall Mirov’s men picking up any remarks they made over their suit transiphones, none of the three spoke until they were safely embarked in their tank and below the horizon.

"I sure don’t understand that guy!" Gabe remarked in a puzzled voice as they started off. "First he sends us a threat, and now he acts as if we were pals!"

"I would like to trust him," Tom said. "What do you think’s going on, Dr. Kutan?"

"Ah well," was the reply, "The whole setup’s phony. Streffan never could bluff me. They know their claim to the satellite is false, and Mirov knows
we
know it. The message in the missile was to get your attention; now he has been instructed to be friendly. They want the benefit of the atmosphere you will be making, Tom, as it will make their explorations all the easier."

Tom thanked Dr. Kutan and was quiet for a moment. "That’s not the whole deal."

"What do you mean?" Kutan asked.

"You shook hands with that Professor Lemura, just like me," the young astronaut noted. "Notice anything?"

Kutan shook his head, puzzled. But Col. Northrup said, "Sure did."

"What?" asked Gabe. "He ran off before shaking with me."

"His fingers were rough-feeling—but just along the sides," Tom continued. "Nothing like ordinary callouses. Know what? I’d say—"

"I’ll say it for both of us," Northrup broke in. "Lemura has had some kind of unusual plastic surgery on the skin of his fingers—matter of fact, on his fingertips."

Kutan frowned. "They looked real enough to me."

"Sure they’re real. They’re just not
his!"

Tom nodded in sudden understanding. "He’s been given new fingerprints!" he exclaimed. "But why would the Brungarians do that? Are they afraid we’re going to capture his prints somehow and test them?"

"Let’s just say this—there’s more goin’ on at that camp than meets the eye!" the Colonel declared. "If I were you, I wouldn’t trust Mr. Mirov farther’n you can throw him—even in low gravity!"

WHEN TOM and his companions returned to the American base, everyone there rushed out and swarmed around the tank. Tom, Northrup, Kutan, and Gabe were bombarded with questions as they spoke of the parley. Their listeners were amazed that the crisis had ended so quickly. Some were relieved by the news. Others were suspicious.

Hank Sterling asked, "Do you think we can take Mirov at his word?"

Jason Graves answered before Tom could. "You can’t trust those foreign types. I deal with them all the time."

"We’ll be cautious," said Tom. He asked Sterling if there had been any response to his broadcasts to the space friends.

"Something came in," he replied, "but the translating computer didn’t know what to make of it."