Mr. Swift was calling. “Sorry to wake you, son, but you asked me to let you know right away about tonight’s cargo-rocket shot.”
“Yes, Dad.” The young inventor was instantly alert. “How did you make out?
Any luck?”
“None, I’m sorry to say. The rocket was even more heavily insulated than the first,” Mr. Swift said, “but it was burned out just as badly by the time it hit the asteroid. Frankly, I suspect that no amount of antiradiation shielding will solve the problem.”
Tom agreed gloomily. “But let’s keep trying until my magnetic deflector is ready.”
“I agree, son. Good-by now.”
The sky was already light with daybreak and Tom’s mind was seething with too many thoughts for him to go back to sleep. So he dressed, pulled on his loafers, and went into the laboratory.
Shortly after nine o’clock Chow brought in
88 THE ASTEROID PIRATES
breakfast. Tom ate, but hardly paused in his work. At noontime Chow passed the open door of the laboratory again, wheeling a cart with silverware through the outside corridor. He stopped short with a gasp of terror as knives, forks, and spoons suddenly rose from the cart and flew into the laboratory!
“Great balls o’ fire! What’s happenin’?”
A moment later the cook’s eyes grew even wider as the stream of silverware came arcing back through the air and landed neatly in the cart again! Next thing he knew, the flying silverware was shooting back and forth at a dizzying speed, like a shuttling rocket train!
“Brand my comet cookies, I must be goin’ plumb loco!” Chow moaned.
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