Victor Appleton - Tom Swift and The Visitor from Planet X

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Promising to take a turn on watch if the vigil continued through the
next day, Mr. Swift drove off in his car.

Time dragged by slowly as the three remaining watchers chatted and
looked hopefully at the stars. Eventually Chow propped himself against a
tree and dropped off to sleep to the accompaniment of low-droning
snores. Bud too began to drowse.

It was long past midnight when Tom suddenly caught sight of a moving
light in the sky. He stiffened and held his breath. Another false alarm?

But no! A glowing, faintly bluish mass with a comet tail of luminous
orange red was slowly proceeding through the pattern of stars!

"Hey, fellows! Wake up!" Tom shouted. He sprang to his feet and
unlatched a single point of the star head. Within seconds, Bud and Chow
were both wide awake, as excited as Tom. The blue nebulous mass moved
closer and closer. The three watchers were speechless with awe.

As the ball of energy descended toward them, it lit up the whole scene.
The hillside looked almost as if it were on fire. The earth vibrated,
and the air had the sharp smell of ozone. This was followed by a
frightening clatter and rumble. The force of the energy was sweeping
down rocks, gravel, and shrubbery in a hillside avalanche!

"Look out!" Chow shrieked. "We'll be pulverized in this rock stampede!"
He streaked for cover as a huge boulder came plunging straight toward
him.

"Hold fast, Bud!" Tom cried. "Nothing's headed our way!"

Steeling his nerves, he grabbed the waiting container and held on
grimly. An instant later the glowing mass sharpened and narrowed itself
into a snakelike bolt of fire that arced straight into the head of Tom's
invention.

Tom gave a yell of triumph and clamped the star point shut, then pushed
a button to activate the self-sealing process.

Chow peered out cautiously from behind a clump of rock. The next second,
he let out a Texas whoop, bounded from cover like an over-sized gnome,
and sent his ten-gallon hat sailing high into the air.

"_Yippee!_"

Bud cheered too. "The visitor from Planet X has arrived!"

In their excitement and relief, the three hugged one another and jumped
for joy.

"Should we wake up your dad and tell him the good news--or keep it a
surprise till morning?" Bud asked Tom.

"I guess we'd better--"

Tom broke off in a gasp as the robotlike container suddenly began to
whirl--slowly at first, then faster and faster. Spinning crazily like a
huge runaway top, it darted up, down, and about the hillside.

Tom and his two companions stared in helpless amazement.

"Great horned toads! What's it up to?" Chow exclaimed.

"Seems like the energy's trying to get out!" Bud guessed. "Something
must be bothering it."

Tom shook his head incredulously. "No reason for that. The container was
absolutely empty."

Chow suddenly gave a groan and slapped his forehead in dismay. "Brand my
Big Dipper!" the cook said. "Mebbe Ole Think Box has gone loco! An' it
could be my fault!"

CHAPTER XI

AN ELECTRICAL CHRISTENING

"What are you talking about, Chow?" Tom asked, turning to the old
Westerner in amazement.

Chow related how he had dropped the bubble gum inside the robot's head.
"Did I ruin the critter?" he asked fearfully.

Tom was thoughtful for a moment, frowning as they watched Ole Think Box
continue its gyrations. The figure seemed to be calming down somewhat,
although Tom could not be sure of this.

Suddenly his face brightened. A new thought had just struck the young
inventor! To Chow's amazement, Tom slapped the cook happily on the back.

"I think you've done me a favor, Chow!" he exclaimed.

"I have?" The old Texan stared at his young boss, as if not sure whether
or not to believe him. "How come?"

"You saw how Ole Think Box reacted to the gum," Tom explained. "That
shows the energy really is like a brain! It's responsive and sensitive
to conditions of its environment, especially when coming up against
something new and unexpected."

"You mean they don't have bubble gum on Planet X?" Chow asked with a
grin.

Tom smiled as Bud said, "This means we should be able to communicate
with it."

"And the brain will probably be able to communicate back to us!" Tom
went on excitedly. "We may even be able to learn about Planet X!"

As he spoke, Ole Think Box's whirling became slower and slower. Finally
it came to rest close to the three humans.

"What do you suppose happened to the gum?" Bud asked. "Did he chew it
all up?"

"It's probably unchanged," Tom replied. "Our visitor is used to it now."

Chow was still wide-eyed with awe. He stared at the strange creature as
if expecting it to snap at him in revenge for the gum.

"Don't worry, old-timer. Think Box won't bite," Bud teased. "With that
gum spree, he's just been initiated into our American tribal customs!"
The pilot grinned. "Hey! We haven't given him a proper name."

"You're right." Tom looked at his pal and chuckled. "Got any ideas?"

"Hmm. Let me see." Bud scowled and paced about with his hands clasped
behind his back. "Firetop--John Q. Pyro--"

"But it ain't on fire now," Chow pointed out.

"Maybe not, but he sure blazed a trail getting here," Bud argued.

Tom and Chow countered with several ideas of their own, but nothing
seemed suitable until Bud suddenly stopped short and snapped his
fingers.

"I have it! He's a visitor from Planet X, so let's call him _Exman!_"
Bud spelled it out.

"Perfect!" Tom was delighted and Chow agreed that it seemed "a right
good monicker." The Texan insisted seriously that if the creature were
going to be named, he should also have a proper christening.

"Why not?" Tom agreed, as both boys broke into laughter. Bud also liked
the idea.

Chow had a troublesome afterthought. He shoved back his sombrero,
squinted frowningly at the brain container, and scratched his bald head.
"For boat christenings and statues and what not, you break bottles on
'em or cut ribbons or pull a sheet off 'em," the cook said. "But how in
tarnation do you christen a buckaroo from space?"

"Nothing to it, Chow," Tom assured him. "We'll do the job up nice and
fancy with a display of electricity. But first let's get Exman over to
the lab."

The three loaded the energy container into the pickup truck which had
brought it to the hillside spot. Then Tom drove back to Enterprises and
they took Exman into his private laboratory.

Here Tom attached an electrode to each side of the star head. One
electrode was safely grounded, the other connected to a Tesla coil.
Then, with all lights turned off in the laboratory, Tom threw a switch.

Instantly a dazzling arc of electricity sputtered through the darkness
across the creature's head! The eerie display lit up the room with such
impressive effect that both Bud and Chow felt their spines tingle.

"I christen you Exman!" Tom intoned.

For several moments he allowed the fiery arc to continue playing about
the star head. Then he opened the power switch and turned the room
lights back on.

"Wow! Quite a ceremony!" Bud murmured.

"After a send-off like that, I'll be expectin' the critter to do great
things here on this lil ole planet Earth!" Chow declared fervently.

"You could be right," Tom said.

Worn out by the long wait for their visitor from Planet X and the
excitement following his arrival, Chow finally went off to his own
quarters at Enterprises for a well-earned sleep.

"Guess you and I had better get some shut-eye too, pal," Tom told Bud.
"And I think I won't tell Dad until morning."

[Illustration (Tom, Bud and Chow celebrate building Exman)]

The two boys decided to bunk on cots in the small apartment adjoining
Tom's laboratory. Exman, meanwhile, was left locked in the laboratory
with a tiny "night light" showing on him.

"Just a little ray of energy to keep him company," Tom explained with a
chuckle.

Minutes later, the two boys were sound asleep. For a while, all was
silent. Then the apartment's telephone rang, shattering the stillness.
Tom struggled out of the depths of sleep, got up, and groped his way
over to the wall phone.

"Tom Swift Jr. speaking."

A familiar voice asked, "Did it come?"

"Oh, hi, Dad!" Tom replied, yawning. "Yes, Exman arrived in fine shape.
We've put him to bed. Tell you all about it tomorrow morning."

"Okay, Tom."

As Tom hung up, Bud roused and switched on a lamp. He had awakened in
time to catch only part of Tom's words. "Your father?" he inquired.

Tom nodded sleepily and was about to go back to bed. But Bud, still
fascinated by the space visitor, decided to have a peek at Exman. He got
up and opened the door to the laboratory. A yell from him brought Tom
rushing to his side.

"Hey! It's gone!"

The spot by the night light where they had left Exman was now deserted!
Tom found a wall switch and pressed it. As light from the overhead
fluorescent tubes flooded the room, the boys gave laughing cries of
relief.

Ole Think Box had merely moved himself to another corner of the room!

"Guess he didn't like that little chum we left on for him," Bud said
with a chuckle.

"Let's leave him where he is," Tom agreed.

The two boys went back to the adjoining apartment and were soon asleep
again. Several hours later they were rudely awakened by a loud crash of
glass and a heavy thud.

"Something's happening to Exman!" Tom cried.

With Bud at his heels, the young inventor dashed into the laboratory.

CHAPTER XII

EXMAN TAKES ORDERS

A strange sight greeted Tom's and Bud's eyes. In the first rays of
sunlight, the space robot was moving back and forth about the laboratory
in wild zigzag darts and lunges.

As he rolled toward a bench or other object, the brain energy seemed to
send out invisible waves that knocked things over! Already the floor was
strewn with toppled lab stools, books, and broken test tubes. The heavy
thud had apparently been caused by a falling file cabinet.

"Stop him!" Bud yelped.

Exman was heading straight for a plate-glass window! Reaching from floor
to ceiling, the glass formed one entire wall of the laboratory.

"Oh, no!" Tom tensed, realizing that it was hopeless to try to stop
Exman in time.

But an instant later, the rolling robot stopped of its own accord, as if
registering the fact that its energy waves were now striking a fragile
surface. The thick pane of glass vibrated in its frame.

"Good grief!" Tom wiped his brow. "Let's corral that thing before he
wrecks the whole lab!"

Exman was already rolling off on a new tack. The two boys managed to
grab him before more harm was done. The brain energy in its container
seemed to calm under their touch.

"What in the name of space science triggered it off?" Bud wondered out
loud.

"Time. It must have reacted to the passage of time," Tom conjectured.
"I suppose it just decided to explore this place." He added a bit
nervously, "The sooner we can communicate with this energy, the better!"

"But how?" Bud asked.

Tom's brow furrowed. "Say, I wonder if Exman might understand a direct
order?"

Tom backed a few paces away from the space robot, then said in a loud,
clear voice, "Come here!"

Exman remained fixed to its spot.

"Move right!" No response. "Move left!" Still no response.

"Guess you're not getting through, skipper," Bud commented with a grin.

"No," Tom agreed. "I can't predict what kind of energy this brain will
respond to. Being only energy, it must respond to other energy and sound
is our form of energy. The problem is the same as with radio waves,
which are also energy. We must figure out how we can vary the energy, so
it can transmit information to Exman."

"What _do_ we try?" Bud asked. "Or is it hopeless?"

"I'll try communicating with it via the electronic brain, which I have
adapted to fit this problem."

The boys cleaned up the wreckage caused by Exman in his dawn venturings.
Then Tom went by jeep to the computer laboratory, made connections to
his electronic brain, and wired it for remote control. Then he returned
to the private laboratory. There Bud watched as he hooked up the leads
from the computer to a transmitting-receiving decoder with a short-range
antenna.

"Speak, O Master!" Bud said, imitating a squeaky robot voice. "Sound off
loud and clear!"

Tom grinned and tapped out a command on the keyboard: _Move backward._

Exman rolled backward! Bud gave a whoop of delight.

Tom signaled: _Move forward._ Obediently Exman rolled toward him.

_Stop._ Exman stopped.

"Hey, how about that?" Bud exclaimed happily. "It really savvies those
electronic brain impulses!"

"And minds them--which is equally important," Tom added.

A moment later the brain energy seemed to become impatient. It spurted
off in its wheeled container toward a laboratory workbench.

_Crash!_ A rack of test tubes went sailing to the floor with an
explosion of tinkling glass.

_Stop!_ Tom signaled frantically. Again Exman obeyed the order.

"It's like a mischievous kid," Bud said.

Almost as if in defiance, Exman scooted off in another direction. Then
it stopped abruptly and swiveled around, one of its antenna arms
knocking a Bunsen burner to the floor as it did so.

_Come here!_ Tom signaled. As the culprit approached, he added sternly,
_Stop where you are. And stay there until you receive further orders._

This time Exman stood patiently, awaiting the next signal. Bud got a
brush and dustpan, and the boys cleaned up the broken test tubes and
replaced the burner on its shelf.

Then Tom began feeding more complicated instructions to Exman through
the electronic brain. He guided him through a number of dancelike
movements and other drills, and got him to send out a wave of heat which
the boys could instantly feel. Tom was even able to make the robot aim
its wave energy so as to short-circuit a switch on an electrical control
panel.

Tom was both pleased and excited. "Bud," he exclaimed, "the brain reacts
as quickly as that of a highly intelligent being! Just imagine--without
any sort of decoding equipment, it can pick up and _understand_ the
radio signals I beam out to it!"

"What we need now," Tom went on, "is a simple language to get our ideas
across to Exman without having to use the electronic brain all the time.
That means I must find a way to give Exman senses as we humans
have--smell, touch, sight, hearing, taste. Then it could receive the
same reactions we do and talk directly to us!"

"Sounds like quite an order," Bud said wryly. "Speaking of which, how
about us phoning Chow an order for breakfast?"

He did so, and a short time later Chow wheeled a food cart into the
laboratory. As he dished out man-sized helpings of ham and eggs, the
cook kept a wary eye on Exman. Tom was putting the robot through a few
more lively maneuvers.

"A good meal'd calm down Ole Think Box," Chow observed grumpily. "But
what do you feed that there kind o' contraption?"

"Well, not gum, that's for sure!" Bud teased. After tasting his first
forkful of food, he gasped, "And none of this ham!"

Jumping up from his lab stool, Bud began whirling, dancing around, and
flapping his arms as if he were burning up.

"Help! Help!" he yelled. "Chow's poisoned me--just like he did Exman!"

Chow's leathery old face paled under its desert tan. "Great snakes,
Tom!" the Texan gulped. "Have I really pizened him? Maybe we should call
Doc Simpson!"

Doc was the medic in charge of the Enterprises infirmary.

Tom was unable to keep a straight face. "Better call someone with a
strait jacket--or a butterfly net!" he said, quaking with laughter. "I'm
afraid he's just pulling your leg, Chow!"

Chow's jaw clamped shut like a bear trap and he glared at the
pirouetting young flier. Bud collapsed on his stool, doubled over with
mirth.

"Sorry, old-timer," he gasped. "I just couldn't resist!"

"Okay, Buddy boy," Chow said darkly. "And mebbe I won't be able to
resist gettin' even one o' these days!" The cook stumped out of the
laboratory in his high-heeled cowboy boots, a picture of outraged
dignity.

"Better watch out, pal!" Tom warned with a grin. "Just remember: it's
never smart to bite the hand that feeds you!"

"I guess you're right," Bud agreed, wiping away the tears of laughter.
"I'll remember, just as long as Chow promises not to serve us any more
armadillo soup or rattlesnake salad!"

Chow's fondness for experimenting with weird dishes was a standing joke
around Enterprises.

The boys ate their meal hungrily. As they were finishing, Tom glanced at
the big clock on the wall. It was now well past eight o'clock.

"Wonder why Dad hasn't come to the lab," he remarked. "I'd better call
and find out if he's all right."

Tom picked up the telephone and asked the operator for the direct line
to the Swifts' home. His father answered.

"'Morning, Dad!" Tom greeted him. "I thought after your call last night,
you'd be over bright and early to see our visitor. He's already--"

"What are you talking about, son?" Mr. Swift broke in. "I didn't phone
you last night!"

CHAPTER XIII

DISASTER STRIKES

Tom was thunderstruck. "You didn't phone me? But, Dad, I got the
call--I definitely heard your voice!"

"That's impossible," Mr. Swift insisted. "Believe me, son, I slept
soundly from the time I turned in until a little while ago."

There was a moment of stunned silence as both Swifts realized that the
telephone call had been faked! Then Tom exclaimed:

"Dad, this is serious!"

"Deadly serious, I agree," his father replied. "Are you calling from
your lab?"

"Yes!"

"Stay there. I'll be right over," the elder scientist said.

When Mr. Swift arrived, Tom related his conversation with the mysterious
caller. His father listened with worried eyes and a puzzled frown.

"It's bad enough that an enemy was able to get the information," Mr.
Swift remarked. "But, potentially at least, it's even more dangerous
that he was able to imitate my voice so well. If he could fool you, Tom,
he could fool anyone!"

"Are you thinking the same thing I am, Dad?"

"That it may have been some insider here at Enterprises?" When Tom
nodded, his father gravely agreed. "Yes, son, it does look that way. To
imitate my voice convincingly, it would almost certainly have to be
someone who's had close contact with us--either at the plant or here in
Shopton."

The thought of a traitor at the experimental station was repugnant to
the Swifts and to Bud as well. Not only were all employees carefully
screened, but there was a close, almost family relationship among those
who took part in the exciting scientific ventures at Swift Enterprises.

Tom called Security and asked Harlan Ames to come over to the laboratory
at once. The security chief arrived within moments. Quickly Tom filled
him in on the details of the puzzling telephone call.

"Think back, skipper," Ames urged. "Was there anything at all you can
remember about the voice that might give us a tip-off? I mean, was it
deep, or maybe a bit higher-pitched than you expected? Or anything about
the way the caller pronounced his words?"

Tom shook his head. "Nothing. That's the trouble. He spoke only a couple
of sentences, but so far as I knew, it _was_ my father calling!"

"Hmmm." Ames frowned. "What about background noises?"

Tom thought hard. "None. If I had detected any special sounds during the
call, I'm sure they would have stuck in my mind."

Ames tried another tack. He asked how many people had known about the
expected arrival of the brain energy from space. This was harder to
answer, but as Tom and his father enumerated the persons, it did help to
narrow the circle of suspects.

Besides the Swifts, Chow, Phyl, Ames, and George Dilling, there were
three groups who had had access to the information. One was the radio
operators at the space-communications laboratory. Another consisted of
Arv Hanson and Hank Sterling and the workmen who had taken part in
building the energy container. The last group, which also included Hank
and Arv, were the technicians who had actually gone to the hillside to
await the visitor from Planet X.

Tom scowled. "None of those people would pull such a trick, Harlan--any
more than the ones like you and Arv and Hank who are above suspicion.
Most of them could have easily obtained the news without going through
such a rigmarole."

Mr. Swift nodded. "Tom's right. Unless, of course, they had some urgent
reason for wanting to find out as soon as possible."

"Which makes me think it may have been an outsider after all," Tom
argued. "Remember, the Brungarians may have intercepted the code
messages to or from our space friends." After a moment's silence, he
added gloomily, "Whoever the caller was, he knew the energy was
arriving. And now he knows it's here!"

Bud interjected, "Well, if he was a Brungarian agent and he's hoping to
steal the brain energy, one thing's sure. No earthquake will demolish
this place as long as the energy is here at Enterprises."

"A comforting thought, Bud," Mr. Swift commented with a wry smile.

Again Tom frowned. "At any rate, Harlan, see if you can get a line on
that impostor."

Ames departed to begin a thorough check of all personnel at the plant
who might have been implicated. Bud went on an errand, as Tom began
showing his father the accomplishments of the space robot.

"We've christened him Exman," Tom said.

By means of the electronic brain, he made the visitor do a number of
maneuvers in response to orders.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Swift exclaimed, greatly impressed. "Let's see if he
can use his caterpillar treads as well as he does the wheels."

Tom brought a small flight of portable aluminum stairs which he used for
reaching up on high shelves or tinkering with outsized machines. Tom was
uncertain at first how to code the command, having no symbol for steps
or stairs. Finally he moved Exman to the bottom of the steps and
signaled simply: _Go up!_

Exman paused for a moment, then attempted the ascent. His caterpillar
tracks clawed their way up the first step. Then, gingerly, he essayed
the next. The robot body tilted, but its gyro kept it from toppling
over.

"Bravo!" Mr. Swift applauded encouragingly. But the next instant Exman
gave up! He slid back to the floor again with a heavy bump. Then he
began whirling and darting about madly.

"Good night! Exman's gone berserk!" Tom cried.

Now wafts of smoke could be seen issuing from the robot's wheels. He was
banging wildly about the laboratory, leaving a trail of havoc.

Bud, who had returned, opened the door to come in. Instantly Exman
lunged toward him, antennas sparking fiercely and wheels smoking. Bud
slammed the door hastily.

The Swifts, too, found it wiser to take cover. They crouched behind a
lab workbench until the frenzy was over. Presently Exman subsided and
rolled to a complete standstill.

"Good grief!" Tom stood up cautiously and eyed the creature. It made no
further move. Bud poked his head through the doorway for a wary look,
then re-entered the laboratory.

"What made him blow his top?" Bud asked.

Then Tom heard a quiet chuckle from his father. "Actually, boys," the
elder scientist said, "I think we should be encouraged."

"_Encouraged?_" Tom stared at his father.

[Illustration
(Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. watch as Exman tries to climb stairs)]

Mr. Swift nodded. "Yes, the whole thing was rather a noteworthy
reaction. I believe Exman was displaying a fear complex about navigating
up those stairs."

Tom gasped, then broke out laughing. "Dad, you're right! I'll bet when
its body tilted over, the brain wasn't sure whether the gyro would keep
it from being wrecked. It just shows Ole Think Box is getting more human
all the time!"

Bud ventured to pat Exman on its "back." "Relax, kid," he said with a
chuckle. "You're among friends and we wouldn't dream of letting you get
hurt. You're too valuable!"

Mr. Swift stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "Valuable, yes, if we can only
get it to communicate. Tom, I believe the first project we should work
on is a way to make Exman talk."

After the debris had been cleaned up, the two scientists pulled up
stools to the workbench and began to discuss the problem. Bud, seeing
them absorbed, and realizing the discussion would soon be far beyond his
depth, snapped a grinning salute at Exman and quietly left the
laboratory.

"Dad, the toughest part won't be the speech mechanism itself," Tom
pointed out. "There are several ways we could handle that--by modulating
a column of air, for instance, or by some sort of speaker diaphragm. The
real stumper will be how to teach him our spoken language."

Mr. Swift nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. If the inhabitants of Planet
X communicate telepathically, or by some sort of wave transfer, they may
have long since forgotten any concept of a spoken language."

The Swifts batted several ideas back and forth. Then Tom snapped his
fingers.

"Wait, Dad! We have the answer! The electronic brain!"

Mr. Swift's eyes lighted up. "Of course! The machine already translates
the space code into written English. All we need do is add a device to
convert the machine's impulses into sound!"

In two hours the Swifts had put together a mechanism designed to work
through a tape recorder. This was hooked up to the electronic brain.

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