By this time the beaters were emerging from the woods. Tom and Bud’s mahout also returned, shamefaced and on foot, leading his elephant. Prince Gopal turned on him, furious.
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The mahout cringed. “Please, Sahib-I could not help it! It was kantedukkar that made the elephant act so! I pulled this from his trunk.” He held out a long, thin quill.
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“What’s kantedukkar?” Bud asked.
“A porcupine,” Prince Jahan translated. “The tiger must have encountered one also.”
“I reckon that would drive an elephant loco,” Chow said. “Their trunks is real tender.”
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“All this does not excuse what happened to the howdahl” Prince Gopal said.
Then he angrily questioned the mahout as Jahan translated. “Why were the girth ropes not tightly secured, you fool?”
The cowering elephant driver wrung his hands. “I do not know, Sahib! They were tight when we left Chullagar. I fastened them myself.”
“Then it is you who shall pay for allowing them to come loose 1” Gopal retorted. “You shall be beaten!”
Tom interceded, asking that the man not be punished and Prince Gopal reluctantly agreed. The mahout knelt gratefully to Tom.
“Shri Swift,” said the Rajah, “you are a brave young man.”
“I was scared out of my wits, your highness,” Tom replied bluntly.
“Yet you stood by your friend and faced a charging tiger. This American mahout Chow also showed great courage in riding to your rescue.”
Chow squirmed at the praise. “Shucks, I was safe on this good ole elephant,”
he mumbled.
Rajah Krishna went on, “In reward for such bravery by both of you, Shri Swift, I have decided that you may proceed with your plan to drain the Lake of Kali.”
Tom’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Thank you, your highness!” he exclaimed, and Jahan
DEADLY QUILLS 115
wrung his hand warmly. Bud clapped him on the back.
While the dead tiger was being loaded onto an elephant, Tom strolled about among the jungle growth. He appeared to be admiring the wild orchids and listening to the chatter of the langur monkeys. But Bud noticed that he seemed silent and absorbed as the shikar headed back to the village.
“A rupee lor your thoughts, pal,” Bud muttered. “You weren’t really looking at the posies, were you?”
Tom shook his head. “No, I was searching for a spot where someone might have been hiding.”
“Hiding?” Bud narrowed his eyes. “How come?”
“Those porcupine quills were stiff and straight,” Tom said. “They could have been fired from a blowgun to make our elephant bolt and enrage the tiger.”
“Wow! You mean someone tried to kill us?”
“It’s possible. And the same person could have loosened the girth ropes on the howdah.”
Bud gave a low whistle. “But who?”
“Good question. If we knew the answer, we might also know who plotted the spy setup.”
That evening a feast was held at the palace to celebrate the shikar and end the festival. Sunday, after good-byes and a promise to return soon, 116 POLAR-RAY DYNASPHERE
Tom’s group and the trainees took off for the United States.
At his homecoming dinner in Shopton that same day, Mr. Swift informed Tom that his rocket retriever craft was ready and had been moved to Fearing Island for its test flight. He added, “The newspaper and TV people are clamoring for a look at it, so we’ve arranged a press showing at the base tomorrow afternoon.”
“Let’s hope no bugs develop!” Tom said, grinning.
Early Monday morning he flew to Fearing with Bud, eager to see his creation.
Viewed from the side, the new spaceship looked like a fat, tilted crescent moon-its horns pointing up and back. The lower horn extended far aft to form the tail of the craft, with a huge crystal sphere mounted at the stern. Atop the upper horn was a bubble observation dome, while the pilot’s window looked out from the forward bulge of the crescent.
“She’s a beauty, Tom!” Bud commented. He pointed to several dish-shaped antennas mounted on the ship’s “spine” along the inner curve of the crescent.
“These are the repelatron catchers?”
“That’s right. And the rocket-or whatever other space object is retrieved-will be held right here, inside the curve of the fuselage, with magnetic grapples to keep it in place.”
“Got a name for her yet?”
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Tom smiled. “Well, as you know, that double-walled crystal sphere at the stern is my electrostatic-field device. I’ve decided to call the gadget a ‘dynasphere’-or ‘polar-ray dynasphere,’ thanks to you, pal. Remember you used the term ‘polar-ray beam’ when I was demonstrating this device?”
The two boys entered the craft’s flight compartment. Tom gave Bud a check-out on the controls, which were like the Challenger’s but simpler. Then they climbed a steel ladder to the observation dome.
“The dynasphere and the repelatron catchers will be operated from this board,” Tom said as he showed Bud an electronic console. “The duplicate panel down in the flight compartment will be for emergencies.”
“Sounds great! Let’s take her up!”
Hurrying below to the main deck, the boys took their places at the controls.
Tom called Base Communications for clearance, then switched on power. Lights flashed on the element-selector panel and a low hum filled the cabin as he tuned the ship’s main-drive repelatrons for ground thrust.
Meanwhile, word had spread like wildfire that the strange new craft was about to be test-flown. Crewmen came swarming out of workshops and hangars to watch the take-off. A chorus of cheers arose as the ship zoomed aloft.
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Soaring above the atmosphere, the two young astronauts circled oceans and continents in a three-hour orbit.
Bud was enthusiastic. “It’s a real dream ship, skipper! … Did you say you’re going to turn it over to the government after you retrieve the Mars rocket?”
“Yes, Bud. It’ll be used for salvaging dead satellites and other space junk.”
“Too bad we can’t keep it,” Bud said regretfully. Then he chuckled. “Say, I have just the name for this crate-Flying Junkwagon!”
Tom was still laughing as they landed. The boys climbed out of the spaceship and were greeted by a crowd of engineers and technicians eager for a report. Among them was Mr. Swift.
“A-OK-all the way!” Tom said.
“That’s great news, son!”
During the afternoon, the young inventor posed for newsreel and television cameras and answered a barrage of questions Irom reporters. On Tom’s orders Prince Jahan and the other Vishnapurian trainees were brought to the island in the Sky Queen and given a look at the Flying Junkwagon. Afterward, Tom and Bud had dinner with the group in the lounge of the Flying Lab.
“Tomorrow Bud and I are going up again to test the dynasphere,” Tom announced. “We’ll try to retrieve a dead American weather satellite-DEADLY QUILLS 119
sort of a dummy run for the Mars rocket job. Would you fellows like to observe?”
Jahan and his countrymen eagerly accepted.
“Then bunk aboard the Queen tonight,” Tom told them. “One request, though-please consider the lab section as off limits. I’ll be working in there. Hank Sterling sent along some blueprints of the dynasphere that I want to check over tonight.”
Later, Tom excused himself and went to the plane’s laboratory. It was nearly midnight when he emerged. His guests had retired, but just to make sure, Tom checked in the bunk room. He left and set out for the rocket-base sleeping quarters which he shared with Bud.
“If one of those Vishnapurians tries anything funny tonight, I’ll use my special gadget to spot him,” the young inventor thought as he slipped under the covers.
CHAPTER XIV
THE KIDNAPPED SATELLITE
THE following morning Tom and Bud returned to the Sky Queen to have breakfast with the trainee group. While they were still at the table, Tom excused himself.
He rejoined them in a little while, bringing a small, dark-glassed bulb with a reflector and electric cord. He plugged it into a socket and then asked Chow to close the window curtains and switch off the lights.
“Are you going to show us an experiment, Tom?” Prince Jahan asked with keen interest.
“Yes-sort of a fortune-telling experiment.”
The young inventor asked everyone to put their hands on the table. Then he flicked on the portable black light. The guests exclaimed in surprise. One pair of hands on the table shone with a greenish glow!
“Whose hands are those?” asked Tundup.
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THE KIDNAPPED SATELLITE 121
“Rakshi’s,” said Gyong. “What does it mean?”
Tom told Chow to turn on the lights again and then replied, “I’m afraid it means Rakshi’s ‘fortune’ doesn’t look bright. You see, he’s a spy and a thief-and probably the person who tried to incriminate Prince Jahan.”
Rakshi sprang to his feet, pale and quivering. “How dare you accuse me of such things?”
“Save your breath,” Tom said coldly. “That luminous dye on your hands came from the blueprints of the dynasphere in the Queen’s lab. The prints are phonies. I just used them as bait.”