Tom Swift on the Phantom Satellite (6 page)

In appearance the
Titan
was very different from any spacecraft yet launched. Its rather squat central fuselage was cylindrical and bullet-shaped, with the single thrust exhaust nozzle, extending down beneath it, flaring widely like the horn of a trumpet. This portion of the ship held the tanks, reactor, and engine apparatus. The habitable section of the ship was completely separated from the central cylinder, skirting its lower third like a flat-sided doughnut complete with a hole in the middle. The outside-facing wall of the crew module was a continuous transparent viewpane stretching all the way around, and large storage bins were built into the floor and ceiling of the module. There was no launch tower or gantry: the ship rested on its launch pad atop four stubby landing legs.

Tom added, "If you want more details about the
Titan
, speak to Rafe Franzenberg. He was Dad’s main assistant in the design, which Enterprises did under contract with the government. I was just a kid back then."

"A kid
inventor,
you mean!" Bud proclaimed. "While I was hanging out on the Jungle Gym, you were inventing luminous wallpaper and left-handed coffee mugs!"

Presently Tom received word from the loading foreman that that all equipment and supplies were aboard and safely stowed. It was time for the crew of thirteen to board the spaceship.

"Lead the way, sky boy!" chortled Bud.

The youths approached the silver-gleaming craft, pinned in a webwork of floodlight beams. Stepping onto a small platform, the boys rode several yards up the ship’s side, to one of the
Titan
’s three loading hatches. On the way, Tom pointed out that the entire hull was coated with a transparent layer of Inertite one-thousandth of an inch thick.

"That layer will protect her from the strongest cosmic rays," he told Bud.
"And
it’ll protect the crew from any gamma rays that manage to find their way out of the ionizing chamber."

Reaching the sliding hatch, which could be opened to a width of ten feet, the boys climbed inside the spaceship and passed through one of the larger storage bays, taking a ladder to the main deck above. Though Bud had already been trained in a simulation of the craft’s interior, he couldn’t help a gasp of amazement. "Jetz! What is this—a luxury liner?"

Tom looked around proudly at the crew’s living quarters. "Quite different from our earlier rockets, eh? We’ve really come up in the world."

Comfortable fold-down bunks lined the inner wall. There were private lockers for each man, a well-stocked library, and a small recreation lounge with exercise equipment. Built on a continuous curve, the crew module’s dividing walls were open at the outer periphery, next to the viewpane, providing a hallway that encircled the ship.

Tom went on, "Below deck is the cargo hold, with smaller bins above us for the more compact items. That door over there leads to Chow’s galley."

As they strolled along, soon joined by some of the other crew members, Tom showed Bud a machine shop for emergency repairs. It was equipped with power tools, workbenches, gauges, and racks of technical gadgets.

"Now take a peek at the lab setup," Tom said. Bud’s eyes grew wide as Tom slid back a door and pressed a master light switch. The compartment beyond was divided into cubicles, each one equipped for a different type of scientific research. One area contained retorts, test tubes, and shelves crowded with chemicals. Another housed a maze of gleaming electronic test gear. Still another contained optical devices and lens-grinding equipment.

Finally they arrived at the main flight compartment and control room, which was next to the airlock hatch. Several rows of acceleration seats faced an array of dials, scopes, and control levers.

"Glad to see they’ve got that extra seat bolted down," noted Tom approvingly. "The lucky thirteenth!"

"My hands are itching to take a crack at these gadgets in real-time!" Bud said, grinning. "The reality is never the same as the simulation."

"You’ll catch on to it in no time," Tom assured him.

Midnight was drawing near, and the remaining space travelers were filtering into the cabin, taking seats one by one. The seats were not specifically assigned, excepting only the those at the control panel, which were reserved for Tom and Bud as pilot and copilot.

Jason Graves was the last to enter, big and blustery in his pressure suit. "Say, is this seat the only one left? I’d assumed I’d be sitting with the mission leader up front."

"You were the last to board, Mr. Graves," said Teodor Kutan in the calming voice of a professional diplomat.

"I’m perfectly well aware of that fact, Kutan!" snapped Graves. "I had some important last-minute calls to make. But for the good of the expedition—"

"Please take your seat, sir," Tom directed the executive. "We can discuss the seating arrangements en route."

Eight minutes to go! They talked quietly, each man thinking of the tremendous adventure that lay ahead—some thinking of the dangers that might face them on the strange, small alien world.

Tom glanced at the time and muttered to Bud, "I’m surprised Dad hasn’t come by yet. He was planning to wish us all luck in person."

But just then Mr. Swift strode into the room. Looking up, Tom noticed his father’s grim expression. So did everyone else. The hum of voices ceased.

"What’s wrong, Dad?" Tom anxiously inquired.

Mr. Swift spoke to the whole group. "A report just came in via State Department back-channels," he told them soberly. "The Brungarian government has announced that their expedition has already taken off and is now in earth orbit, preparing to depart on a trajectory to the satellite!"

"That means they’ve won!" Bud cried out in anger and deep disappointment. "They’ll claim Little Luna!"

EVERY FACE in the compartment showed utter dismay. If the Brungarians were about to seize control of the satellite, why should the Swifts bother to blast off in the
Titan?

Tom was first to break the silence. "Any word from Washington about canceling the expedition?" he calmly asked his father.

Mr. Swift shook his head. "Nothing so far. The report has not been verified—as you know, the moonlet seems to have stirred up the earth’s magnetic envelope, and deep-space radar scans have been affected. I’ve been trying to reach Admiral Krevitt. Unless we hear otherwise, I’d say we’re free to use our own judgment."

"Then let’s go ahead!" Tom urged without hesitation. "That announcement may be a hoax!"

The flight deck rocked with cheers, and Mr. Swift approved his son’s proposal with a smile of determination. "I was confident that would be your answer, son. Now, all of you, best of luck—our thoughts and prayers are riding with you."

"I’m jest hopin’ we don’t need ’em," Chow murmured, and the room erupted in nervous laughter as Mr. Swift exited with a wave.

The final minutes of the countdown proceeded on schedule. Yet an air of gloom, dark as the midnight sky, pervaded the rocket base. Word of the Brungarian claim had gotten around, and there was little of the excitement and humor that usually marked the launch of a spacecraft.

"Not even a brass band to see us off!" Bud complained.

When the voyagers were strapped in safely and the hatches sealed, Tom spoke into the mike, calling for a clearance check. Swiveling radar dishes probed the night sky with invisible feelers.

"All clear,
Titan,"
reported the mission ground crew. A loud-speaker thundered,
"All personnel please leave the launching area!"
and mechanics and engineers scurried for cover.

"This is it!" Tom told his team. He punched the final commands into the guidance computer, then buckled his own safety belt.

Inside the flight compartment, the space voyagers listened tensely to the tail end of the countdown. Suddenly a familiar voice interrupted.
"Titan,
this is Mr. Swift. We just got word from Washington about that Brungarian announcement. Their government says the report is false! Repeat,
false!
Their space agency denies all such reports as completely unauthorized!"

Hearty cheers filled the cabin as Chow muttered in disgust, "Them sidewinders is full o’ more tricks than a locoed bronc! Wonder how they keep track o’ their own lies?"

"Let’s hope our luck holds," Tom said quietly. A second later came blast-off. With an earthshaking roar, fortunately muffled inside the cabin, the
Titan
began to rise slowly from its launch pad.

Suddenly a blinding flash of blue-white light flooded the cabin, followed by a dozen more in rapid succession!
"What is it?"
cried Violet Wohl fearfully.

"Ah hah!
Somebody
didn’t read her manual!" chided Rafael Franzenberg. "Just a harmless little lightning discharge from the ionized exhaust gases."

"We ran into worse twenty years ago, in the shuttle," commented Col. Northrup. "Real high-altitude thunderstorms. Shook us up."

The
Titan
now accelerated and headed skyward. The seconds ticked off as the earth fell away below. Then, without warning, another bright flash made the crew flinch in their seats.

"Sorry, folks," called out Gabriel Knorff, holding up his camera with its electronic flash.
"Had
to get a shot of this historic moment."

But there were no more lighthearted comments as the
Titan
thundered its way through the last shreds of the atmosphere and into the abyss of black space. Those who had never traveled into space were silent with awe, but even the others seemed to feel the weight of their mission.

Tom had asked Dr. Wohl to sit next to Henrick Jatczak, to keep an eye on the health of the frail-looking astronomer. "Marvelous!" murmured Dr. Jatczak, gazing through the broad, curving viewpane. "I have only seen our galaxy of stars in little bits at a time, as if through a peephole in a fence. Now this!—such wonder."

"Yes," said Violet Wohl. "How are you dealing with the G-forces, Henrick?"

"Like a fish to water, my dear."

Kent Rockland spoke up. "I was expecting worse, actually. The pressure doesn’t feel like much at all."

"The
Titan
is able to accelerate more moderately than most rockets," Tom responded, keeping his eyes on the instruments. "We hardly need to worry about fuel consumption, and can take our time reaching—"

"Tom!" cried Hank Sterling in sudden alarm. "The module!
It’s shifting out of position!"

Tom gave a glance back and saw where Hank was pointing. The edge of the viewpane seemed to be inching out of line, as if the crew module were pulling away from the central propulsion section!

"It’s one of the positioning brackets," said Bud, eyeing the instruments. "Good night, it must have pulled completely loose from the hull!"

"B-boss, is this thing about to go bronco on us?" gasped Chow as a vibration raced through the compartment.

"Go bronco?
What does he mean?" asked Ron Corey.

"Don’t worry, chief," commented Rafael. "It’s not a joke—you don’t have to get it."

Joke or not, Tom knew the situation was a serious one. If one bracket had failed, the strain on the others might cause further damage, leading to a chain reaction with catastrophe at the end. Thinking quickly, the young astro-captain plucked the hand microphone from its cradle and tuned the frequency.
"Titan
to space outpost!"

"We read you,
Titan,"
came the reply. Tom and Bud recognized the voice of Ken Horton, commander of the outpost crew. "Your trajectory looks mighty fine to us."

"We need to make some quick repairs," Tom explained. He described the problem. "Could you have an extra-vehicular tech team ready for us?"

"Wilco, Tom. See you in a few!"

With a terse explanation to their fellow astronauts and a call back to mission control on Fearing Island, Tom and Bud activated the ship’s maneuvering system—thrust-diverter vanes that could be extended into the main flow to alter the direction of its force.

The trip to Swift Enterprises’ space station went smoothly despite the slight sagging of the crew module. The travelers coasted upward for four hours, and there was no further stress on the brackets. Then, at the proper instant, Tom kicked in the atomic drive to curve the ship into orbital course at 22,300 miles out.

"More shifting," Bud remarked nervously. "I’m chewing my knuckles until we get that bracket fixed, skipper!"

Presently a voice chuckled over the radio,
"Welcome to Sky Haven!"

"Hi, Ken!" Bud exclaimed.

"We’ve arrived!" Tom grinned.

Eager for their first glimpse of the famous outpost in space, the newer members of the crew rushed to the transparent plasti-quartz window. Gasps and murmurs of awe arose. Even though the astronauts had seen pictures of Tom’s space station, the immensity of the spectacle was breathtaking.

"Hold it!" called out Gabe, flashing a shot of the space crew with the outpost shining in the background.

The huge silver wheel, its fourteen thick spokes spreading outward from a central hub, gleamed in the darkness, a stark study in white against black. It slowly rotated, sending dancing sparkles of reflected sunlight up and down its curving surfaces.

One of the spokes bore a latticework telescope. Others bristled with radar scanners, as well as radio and TV antennae. On still another, highly polished mirrors were mounted to focus sunlight upon the solar-battery production lines.

As Tom maneuvered alongside, he described the layout of his space station to his companions. Each of the wheel’s spokes served a different purpose. One was an observatory, one a bunkroom—others were laboratories or factories. The whole setup formed a bustling community in space, constantly replenished by rockets launched from the Swift facility on Loonaui Island in the Pacific.

"A fantastic achievement!" Dr. Jatczak remarked.

Tom guided the
Titan
to the side of the disklike wheel facing them, which was universally called the underside, as it was the side nearest the distant earth. As soon as the ship was moored to the space outpost by magnetic grapples, the grapple arms contracted, drawing the
Titan
up to the nonrotating airlock corridor that protruded from the spherical hub of the station. Tom announced, "Sorry, there won’t be time for any sightseeing. We must move fast if we hope to reach the satellite before the Brungarians do!"