Part 12 (1/2)
”An inside job!” Tom was shocked. Then he remembered again the eavesdropper who had knocked over the chemical equipment in his office, and also the suspected sabotage of the printing plates. Perhaps the same person was responsible for all three incidents. ”Any clues, Harlan?”
”Not so far. But we learned that Miss Warner left the papers on her desk while she went out to lunch. In fact she didn't take the papers to the printer until late afternoon. That would have given the culprit plenty of opportunity to write in the formula.”
”But why? What's the angle?” Tom puzzled.
”Only one reason that I can figure out,” Ames replied. ”Remember, that formula was long and complicated, with a bunch of mathematical signs and Greek letters in it.”
”So?”
”So it was probably too tough to memorize,” Ames went on. ”And it was too risky to carry it out of the plant written down on paper, since every employee is checked at the gate. But this 116 .
way he could get the formula outside Enterprises without any danger of being caught.”
”Hmm, that could be the answer,” Tom mused.
The young inventor was deeply disturbed. He knew that the Journal had been mailed to a large group of scientists. Undoubtedly one of them was a subversive, with an accomplice in Swift Enterprises.
”Keep working on it, Harlan,” Tom said, ”and make sure none of the rest of the formula for the solartron leaks out. In the meantime, do you think we should tell mother and Mrs. Spring about Dad and Ted's disappearance?”
Ames mulled over the problem. ”Still no leads?” he asked.
Tom reported the unsigned radio message, but added that he was not sure it had come from the s.p.a.ce people.
”In that case, skipper,” said Ames, ”I think we should tell your mother and Sandy. Suppose we let your mother decide whether or not to inform Mrs. Spring and Ray?”
Tom agreed to this plan, and Ames promised to break the news as gently as possible the following morning. ”It's late here. I'm sure she's in bed now.”
Before starting back for the outpost, Tom ordered the power gatherers deflated, folded, and put back into the s.h.i.+p for future use. Then, while most of the men slept, he set the Challenger's course.
When the great s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p reached the outpost, THE SECRET FORMULA 117.
Ken Horton greeted Tom with a look of excitement as he entered through the station air lock.
”We've just picked up a faint SOS, skipper,” Ken reported. ”It came from s.p.a.ce.”
Tom's pulse raced with sudden hope. ”You think it was from Dad and Ted?”
he asked tensely.
”I don't know. The radioman said the message trailed off before he could catch all of it. But it sounded like just one man, because the wording was 'I am stranded in orbit-' not 'we are stranded.' ”
”How about his position? Did you get a fix?”
”Approximately,” Ken replied. ”He was about 12,000 miles above the Pacific, somewhere around 20 degrees north lat.i.tude and 130 degrees west longitude.
Orbiting on a northeasterly track.”
After inquiring the time of the call, Tom gave orders to his crew to re-embark immediately aboard the Challenger for a rescue operation. All data on the stranded s.p.a.ceman was fed into a computer which supplied the proper course and speed to the s.h.i.+p's navigating instruments. In a few moments the great silver s.p.a.ce craft was spearing downward to intercept the derelict.
”Got it, skipper!” the radarman called over the intercom. ”Twelve degrees starboard, elevation minus five!”
”There he is!” Bud cried a moment later, pointing through his copilot's window.
A small rocket s.h.i.+p was drifting in the inky void with its final stage still clinging, half-locked, to the nose section.
118 .
Tom flicked on the radio and spoke into his microphone. ”Swift s.h.i.+p Challenger calling stranded rocket! Can you read me?”
”Rocket to Challenger,” came the reply. ”I can read you and see you. My third stage is jammed and I'm marooned in orbit. Can you take me aboard?”
”Roger. Who are you?”
”My name is Selwyn Joss,” the s.p.a.ce voyager replied. ”I blasted off this morning from one of the Marshall Islands. Destination moon-but this is as far as I got.”
”You took off by yourself?” Tom asked unbelievingly.
”Sure. Why not? It's a one-man s.h.i.+p.”
Tom and Bud exchanged startled glances. Bud pointed one finger to his head and twirled the finger as if to say, ”The guy must be crazy!”
Tom grinned and spoke into his mike again. ”Okay, Joss. Stand by for rescue. We'll come into orbit just ahead of you and take your s.h.i.+p in tow.”
Switching to manual control, Tom guided the Challenger skillfully into position ahead of the s.p.a.ce derelict. A few moments later the Challenger's air lock opened. Tom, Bud, and a pair of crewmen emerged, bearing coils of light, tough nylon cable.
”Secure one end of each cable to our repelatron rails,” Tom ordered over his suit radio. ”Hook on the other end any place you can find a pro- THE SECRET FORMULA 119.
jection on the rocket. We may have to run the lines all the way aft to his motor compartment.”
As the crewmen performed their task, another s.p.a.ce-suited figure appeared.
It was Joss, the rocket pilot, crawling out of his tiny flight compartment.
”Can I give you any help?” he radioed. ”I- I've never been out in the void before. . . . Whew!”
Tom looked up sharply and saw the s.p.a.ceman waver crazily, then clutch at the s.h.i.+p's air lock.
”Help him, Bud!” Tom cried. ”He's s.p.a.ce-happy!”
Bud darted to the pilot's aid. Evidently Joss had succ.u.mbed to the awful giddiness of s.p.a.ce and its bleak sense of emptiness. Bud helped him find a handhold on one of the cables, then guided him gently toward the hatch of the Challenger.
In a few minutes Tom and his crewmen finished connecting the towline and returned to their own s.h.i.+p.
”How is he?” asked Tom, re-entering the flight compartment.
”I'm okay now,” Joss spoke up with a wan smile. Bud and Chow had helped him out of his s.p.a.ce suit. ”Had a slight touch of s.p.a.ce sickness, I guess. This is my first trip out.”