Taking a deep breath, Tom grinned. “Okay, people. I think we’ll know how well that went over by this time tomorrow. So, I do want to go pull in an old GPS satellite in geosynchronous orbit over the mid-Atlantic before we head home.”
He gave Bud the position and asked that gravity be slowly returned. A minute later they were shooting to the east.
The satellite was one of the last of the original NAVSTAR system and had been decommissioned back in 1995 and moved from its original 20,000 mile orbital altitude up to the current 22,308 mile position keeping from being any bother to any other object in space.
The issue was its position was soon to become an issue for a new series of single-position satellites being launched by England, and so they had asked that—when practical to keep costs to a minimum—the Swifts either retrieve it or at least knock it far into space where it might be captured by the Sun’s gravity.
“Coming up on target,” Zimby called out. “I’m getting the Attractatron ready to pull in up to the porch.”
Twelve minutes later it was done. Two of the crew had donned their suits and were outside strapping the rather badly damaged solar panels to the side of the main box and then everything to the deck of the ship.
As soon as they came inside, the ship dropped from orbit and headed back to Fearing Island.
* * * * *
Tom walked into the office first thing the next morning to find his father reading a letter and laughing out loud. He looked up to see Tom looking quizzically at him.
“Just a note from out United Nations friends. You are welcome to read it.” He handed the single sheet over.
Tom skipped the heading and got right to the first paragraph.
We were distressed to watch the video you managed to send down during what seems to have been an emergency situation. I say distressed but we were also grateful. We are all honored that you were willing to take valuable time to address our concerns. To that, we hope the situation that was developing was handled easily and that all is well with you and your crew.
The information you were able to impart is sufficient for us to better understand the difference between what is actually occurring up there versus what a few individuals given into easy panic have attempted to put forth.
Please accept out thanks for this “above and beyond” response. I believe that all our curiosities have been more than satisfied. Many thanks.
He looked at his father. “Well, I think that took care of any interference or nosiness for now.”
“I think it was possibly one of the very best things you might have done. Now, at least one group should understand that we are working for everyone’s good and not for selfish reasons.” He sighed. “Of course, we’ll see how this shakes out with time. Different subject, I hear the DC and NASA folks may not wish to take delivery of that old satellite. Something in there that used to be of interest—”
“Meaning highly classified?”
Damon nodded. “Something is no longer of any interest to them whatsoever and we will be receiving permission to destroy it all. Certainly we can detoxify the monopropellant tank and get rid of the atomic battery, but it might be an interesting addition to hang up somewhere.”
“Where?” Tom asked, startled at the suggestion.
“How about overhead in the civilian terminal? Would make an impressive piece of art.”
That terminal, located toward the southeast of the main building cluster, was used to host any incoming aircraft that was not directly associated with Enterprises or any other Swift company. Government visitors as well as international visitors and even some press visitors were asked to park their aircraft out there and use the comfortable terminal for many of the meetings that took place.
The entry to the building was sixty feet wide with a ceiling sitting some thirty-nine feet above.
“I can see it hanging up there now,” Tom stated. “So, with your permission I’ll have the Fearing folks get it ready for display, including a lot of golden mylar to make it all shiny, and then ship it over here.”
His father smiled. “Are you going to have a plaque made telling folks what it is?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe just let them be awed by it.”
“Odd what?” came a question from just inside the office door.
“Hey, Bud. Awed as in surprised and not odd as in you. Dad was just saying we ought to fix up that old GPS NAVSTAR satellite and hang it in the civilian terminal.
“Neat! It gets my vote. But, I hope you can get a lot of that shiny gold mylar stuff they wrap these things in. It’d make it really stand out!”
Damon, stifling a grin, responded, “Why, Bud, that is a wonderful and original idea. I think it is exactly what we need to do.”
The flyer looked from Damon to Tom before his shoulders slumped. “You both already thought of that, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps a little, but it is nice to have your vote on it. Actually, if you had said that sounded a bit over the top we might have just put the thing up there without it. So, it’s unanimous. I’ll have a bolt of it pulled from stores and shipped to Fearing.”
The talk turned back to the elephant in the room, Mars and Phobos.
“I have the team working on the final design for what amounts to a giant space tug. Except that it will be more a tug-and-shove.”
Tom described how the new ship, if ever built, would be able to be run autonomously or with a small crew of three, would maneuver to a point behind and slightly under Phobos and attach to the moon with the largest and most powerful Attractatron to be constructed. Then using special maneuvering jets, everything would be spun to the best orientation so the giant repelatron underneath could be used to shove down against the planet.
It was his attempt to not gut Goliath for the job.
“It’ll look something like an old fashioned hour glass with the top and bottom cut off. Two cupped antenna almost connected at their bottoms. Around them will be a trio of our giant power pods—the same ones we had mounted on Goliath when we were running the anti-matter ring on her cargo deck—and the command pod. The rest will be superstructure holding everything tightly together.”
“Do your computations show that it will do the trick?” Damon asked.
He notice that his son, usually so sure of himself and his inventions, was looking decidedly uneasy about answering that question. Finally, Tom spoke.
“The absolute truth is I wish it were easy to say yes or even no, but it is not. The Attractatron is going to be really large so I can spread the forces out over a wide area and not run the risk of ripping a chunk off the moon. Then, once it is attached and we have stability in the target area the repelatron at the other end will have enough power to shove Phobos up into its rightful position, but things get blurry at that point. Will it stay out there? Do we need to park the ship next to it and let it run on auto for… ever? I just don’t know, and that is certainly the product on not understanding what actually caused the thing to move in the first place!”
Tom sagged in his seat. He was frustrated by the fact he was so unsure of things, and it almost hurt.
CHAPTER 10 /
THE GREATER GOOD… OR NOT
“ISN’T ABOUT TIME you or I got conked on the head, kidnapped or otherwise inconvenienced?” Bud quipped as he entered Tom’s underground office across from the floor where the Sky Queen was hangared.
Tom looked up from the notes he’d been making for more than the past hour. “Sorry?”
The dark haired flyer walked over and sat down on the sofa across from Tom’s desk.
“I was simply stating that about at this point or even earlier in whatever project you seem to get into, one or both of us runs afoul of someone, or in the more painful cases, someones, who have ill intentions toward us. This time… nada. Nothing. I’m not complaining, mind you,” he said earnestly, “it is just that I worry that Doc Simpson will forget all about us if he goes six months without stitching or bandaging or at least straightening some of our parts.”
“Agreed! Change of subject,” Bud announced. “I’ve arranged for our favorite western chef to bring us some lunch down here. It is, after all, about two in the afternoon, he is back at work full time or longer from his heart operation, and neither of us bothered to eat anything at the appropriate hour. I’m not sure what he’s bringing but—”
He was interrupted by the DING! sound of the elevator announcing it had just arrived at the lower floor. The door soon opened to expose Chow’s lunch cart—the one with the slightly wobbly wheel that had been “fixed” at least twice only to set back to wobbling a day or so later—followed by the sight of Chow.
And, what a sight. Ever since his weight loss of about a hundred pounds and his renewed energy from that and being married to Wanda, he had returned to his love of wild and outlandish shirts.
This one was definitely not one of his typical western motif shirts. This almost defied description. It was cut in the tails-out style of what are generally known as Hawaiian shirts but didn’t have anything like hula girls, palm trees or fish.
This shirt had three surfboards racing along tall waves with… well, non-typical riders. On each board stood cows. Most assuredly girl cows and not steers. One was on all fours and the other two stood up on their hind legs. Each one wore a swimming cap on her head and four smaller ones on their other “coverable” parts.
Across the top of the pocket was the motto, “Aloha Moo!”
Bud burst out laughing while Tom tried to see if there was any sensitivity in the face of his oldtimer friend. There was only a smile and twinkling eyes so he joined in the laughter.
“Like it?” the chef’s baritone voice boomed. “Found a little shop in a place called Makawao on the island o’ Maui that’ll weave just about anything but ‘specially if’n it has anything ta do with Hawaii. I couldn't think o’ anything myself so I asked ‘em if they had anythin’ yooo-nique and anywheres western and they got back ta me with this design. They weren’t certain it’d go over out on their islands so I said I’d buy a couple shirts from it. They charged me fer two and sent three. It made Wanda fall on the floor she laughed so hard.”
He turned around slowly so they could see that the back had four such surfers, only the extra one was a very startled-looking human.
“Do you have some time to visit, Chow?” Tom asked.
“While ya eat? Sure. Whatcha got on yer mind?” He began uncovering their plates laden with a mound of mashed red potatoes with gravy, succulent meatloaf and buttered corn.
After a few bites the inventor turned to the subject. “So, first tell us how you’re feeling? And, I want the truth, Chow. I intend to get you back on anything I can like space flights and undersea adventures and even roping zebras in Africa, but I need to know how you really feel.”
Chow had already removed his ten-gallon hat and left it on the cart. He seemed to be thinking the matter over before speaking.
“Ya want the truth, so I’ll give it to ya’. Now’as the blood is flowin’ nice and smooth all over my chest, I feel better than I had in maybe five years. But, I’m still slightly sore around the ribs and Doc plus the Cardiologist lady tell me I got ta stay out o’ high-acceleration situations fer another couple weeks, then Doc wants me ta retake the astronaut tests. After that you’ll be hard pressed ta keep me from attachin’ myself to yer hip when ya go back ta Mars or wherever!”
Tom’s huge smile told the older man everything he needed to know. He was still considered to be a valuable member of whatever adventure team the inventor put together.
“Glad to hear it,” Tom told him. “So, we are going to be heading back out there in exactly three weeks. You do what Doc tells you and then pass those tests and we’ll be seeing you right up in the control room of the Challenger when we go!”
The chef left a minute later whistling and clicking his boot heels almost as if he were dancing across the floor.
“There goes one happy cowpoke,” Bud said around a bite of the cherry pie Chow had uncovered before he took his cart away.
“That he is,” his friend replied. “He most definitely is. And, the added bonus is everyone is happier when he comes along as our cook. That, plus…” and there was a slight catch in Tom’s voice, “I really like Chow. The day he decides to hang up his pots and pans here at Enterprises is going to be one of the saddest days I can think of outside of losing someone to death.”
Bud, similarly feeling a little emotional, nodded his agreement. He quickly changed the subject.
“I want to take Sandy out to a really nice dinner as a reward for her hard work down in Mexico. When I suggested it she insisted we ask you and Bash along. Up for it tonight?”
“Well, sure but I…”
“Do not need to ask your lovely wife as my lovely wife has already cleared it with her. We are all just waiting for you to realize it is going to happen and that your attendance is mandatory.” He smiled sweetly at his friend.
“If that’s the case, I graciously accept and will even slip home a few minutes early to get cleaned and dressed for the occasion. Uhhh, where are we going?”
“Sandy wants to go to the Yacht Club because it is surf-n-turf night and she is really in the mood for the surf part.”
Tom snorted. “She ought to see Chow’s latest shirt! Both parts on a couple yards of fabric.” They laughed at that thought.
Dinner was a warm and wonderful evening for the two couples.
As they ate Tom picked up his glass of wine and raised it to eye level.
“I want to propose a toast to my sister and her rather selfless trip down to help the people of Mexico recently. She did something some people talk about but few follow through on.” He turned to Sandy. “You make me incredibly proud to be your brother. Cheers to you, Sis!”
They all raised their glasses, clinked them together and sipped.
“To my wife and the greater good she has begun to embrace!” Bud said. Sandy, a small tear forming in her left eye, wiped it away by giving a small cough and bringing her napkin up. It fooled none of the other three but they didn’t give her a bad time about the show of emotions.
“Thank you, Tom, and also you two other incredible people in my life. I just want you all to know that I came to a decision a year ago that I had to finally grow up. It has taken some time, and thank you all for staying with me, but I really feel I’ve jumped a hurdle. I’m kind of embarrassed by how I was before and hope you help keep me in line.” She looked at them all.
“Okay,” Bud said leaning over and giving her a kiss on her cheek, “but don’t go all super adult on us. We still want the fun and young Sandy.”
“Deal!” she exclaimed with a big smile. “What’s for dessert?”
They decided to share a Baked Alaska and waited until it was constructed and brought to the table to be covered with warm brandy and lit afire. They and many of the couples around them gave appreciative “ooohs” and ”ahhhs” as the lights overhead were dimmed and the flames licked upward blue and orange.
Their waiter served them equal portions on icy cold plates to keep the ice cream from melting.
Sandy took the first bite and nodded a few times as she chewed and swallowed before Bashalli tried hers. Tom and Bud followed suit and soon their plates were mostly empty.
“Well,” Sandy said as she dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Not exactly as great as I imagined it. Not even as spectacular once you see it is just sweet meringue over vanilla ice cream. Hmmm? I can easily see that being my once and only time ordering that.”
She was not really disapp
ointed but more underwhelmed and did not let that little setback spoil the rest of the evening where the four of them spent over an hour on the dance floor.
When the combo took a break at about ten, the two couples decided to call it a night.
“We have to rescue Bash’s mom from babysitting duty and I know that Bud has a seven a.m. test flight so let’s head on out,” Tom suggested.
Warm hugs and kisses were shared before they parted ways in the parking lot.
When they walked into the Swift house, Mrs. Prandit looked up from the book she was reading and smiled. Then, as she stood, she tutted and came over to Tom taking a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping gently at the smear of her daughter’s lipstick that had been administered on the dance floor and never wiped away.
“If your father saw that he would have a fit my daughter,” she said to Bashalli with a sly smile. Tom blushed and Bashalli smiled knowing she easily could have wiped it away but preferred to mark her man once she spotted a younger woman eyeing him at the club.
“And a pleasant good night to you mother. And, thank you for watching Bart and Mary. We appreciate it.” She went to her mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
After she left, Tom and Bashalli tiptoed upstairs to check on the children. Both were sound asleep in their bed (Bart) and cradle (Mary).
As Bashi closed the door to the nursery she leaned into Tom’s chest. “We’re going to need to buy her a real bed very soon,” she stated as she took his hand and led him to their bedroom. Once inside she turned to face him and asked, “When do you need to go back to Mars?”
He could see she was tentatively biting her lower lip, a sign she really didn’t want him to go.
“Not in the next couple of days, but we have to go give that little moon another push to keep ahead of any problems. I’m hoping to find a more permanent solution.” He paused, then added, “Want to come?”
She smiled at her husband and nodded. “I do, but I think I need to stay home with Bart and Mary. He’s about to have his birthday and I don’t want us both away for that.” Then, seeing him flinch at the thought he’d be missing that special day in his son’s life, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Tom. He is so advanced in his maturity that he actually understands daddy has to be away sometimes. Even on special days. He’ll forgive you if you tell him the good reason.”
Tom Swift and the Martian Moon Re-Placement (The TOM SWIFT Invention Series Book 23) Page 11