“I’ll try sending a message to the outpost,” Tom said.
“Shoot!” Bud urged eagerly.
Tom plugged in a small throat microphone and aimed the unit directly overhead.
“I hope to make this model one hundred per cent portable soon, so we can communicate with the space station at any time,” he explained.
The brief message Tom flashed took only a couple of seconds. There was a few minutes’ wait. Finally, over the receiver, came the response: “Got your message, skipper. Not very clear, but I’d say that maser could really save the day, if necessary. Over.”
“Just testing, this time,” Tom signaled back. “I’ll be in touch with you.”
After he had signed off, Bud, greatly intrigued, 36 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR
said, “Wonder if you could reach any other beings in space?”
“Let’s find out.” Tom beamed a signal, but several attempts brought no response.
Bud grinned. “Maybe if you weren’t such a cheap skate and used real rubies, you’d have better luck!”
“I agree,” said Tom. “If you see any unused ones lying around, pal, let me know.”
That evening, after the others had returned from the cruise, Tom brought them up to date on the day’s events. Then he said, “Dad, I’ve just been reading some reports from the Citadel. I’m pretty sure they’ve given me a new lead on a casing for my midget power plant.” The Citadel was the Swifts’ atomic research plant in New Mexico.
As Mr. Swift listened with interest, Tom explained that he was impressed by the data on a stable isotope of one of the new man-made elements. Its physical and chemical properties sounded as though the isotope might be promising in developing a new covering for his atomic power capsule.