Kessler also explained that Klaus Sturko had joined the gang after escaping from prison. They had tried to kidnap Sturko from the hospital, fearing that Tom might identify him and become suspicious about the sign.

  "Now let's get to the interesting part," Tom prodded. "Does Group Q have some special interest in the real Green Orb?"

  The prisoner stared at Tom as if a ghost had risen through the floor. "I don't know how you guessed that, but I'm glad you did. It may help you believe what I'm going to tell you."

  "You tell us!" Ames snapped. "We'll decide •whether to believe you or not!"

  "Some form of life exists on the Green Orb," Kessler informed his questioners. "After studying its radio output, Group Q became convinced the Orb was trying to communicate with earth. But they couldn't decipher its messages. Then Flamm met a fellow in Shopton who claimed he was picking up space signals in his head."

  "Was the man Joe Mulver?" Tom asked.

  Again Kessler stared. "That's right. Mulver seemed like an oddball, but Flamm decided to test him. Turned out Mulver was on the level. He was able to reel off information a faker couldn't ever have guessed."

  "How did he do it?" Tom asked.

  "As near as the Group Q experts can figure out, by some form of radio telepathy. The process involves artificially induced brain waves, but the details are a mystery. Apparently Orb life is far advanced over ours, at least in its ability to communicate over long distances."

  "What about your impersonating Dr. Grimsey?" Wes Norris inquired.

  "I'm coming to that," Kessler explained. "The Green Orb life is very much afraid of the television probe that Tom Swift is planning."

  Tom gasped. "How did they know of the probe?"

  "They know plenty," Kessler replied grimly. "Whatever's up there on the Green Orb seems able to tune in on every form of earth communication. You'd be surprised how much they were able to tell us about Enterprises. The Group Q researchers have a hunch the Orb life can even monitor human brain waves directly."

  Ames and N orris exchanged startled glances.

  Bud put in, "Are you saying that the Green Orb life was helping Group Q by supplying them with information?"

  "That's right - with Mulver acting as a human radio receiver. Once the Orb life sensed that they were getting through to us, they began sending Group Q a regular stream of messages."

  "Wait - let's get one thing clear," Tom said. "Why is the Orb so afraid of my TV probe?"

  Kessler shrugged. "That's another mystery. Even Group Q's top brains can't figure it out. They think the Orb had Swift Enterprises marked out for some reason all along."

  "So this unknown form of life enlisted Group Q in a plot to sabotage the probe - is that it?"

  "Exactly," said Kessler. "They offered a plan to get us into Enterprises to steal yours and your father's scientific secrets by substituting me for Dr. Grimsey. In return we were to wreck your TV project."

  "Which you hoped to accomplish," Ames said, "by wiping out everyone involved in the project - Tom, Dr. Grimsey, Felix Wong, and Hanson."

  Kessler went on, "They even transmitted a chemical formula to cause an unknown disease."

  The Swift house, Kessler added, turned out to be too well protected to risk entry. But Flamm had shadowed Tom's three co-workers and had had no difficulty breaking into their homes and injecting them with the chemical.

  Grimsey had been picked as the easiest one to impersonate because of his bushy hair, beard, and spectacles. Group Q would have used plastic surgery to achieve a double for him. But Kessler's height and features seemed similar enough to carry off the masquerade with a wig and false beard, especially since Grimsey would emerge from the hospital changed slightly in appearance and voice by illness.

  The elderly scientist had been given a light dose of the chemical so he would recover quickly. On the evening he was released from the hospital, Kessler related, Dr. Grimsey had been kidnapped. The gang then injected him with truth serum to elicit all the information his impostor would need to carry out the deception.

  "And the next day," Kessler ended, "I took his place at Enterprises."

  "Where is Dr. Grimsey now?" Tom asked.

  "He's being held as a hostage at Group Q's secret laboratory and headquarters."

  "Where's that?" Ames demanded.

  Kessler asked for a map and pinpointed a spot many miles from Shopton. "The gang is based in an abandoned sanatorium high in the mountains," he explained. "It's miles from any village and surrounded by pine forest. The only approach is by a dirt road leading up the mountainside."

  The sanatorium, Kessler said, had been cleverly rebuilt with a sliding roof which opened at night to expose an elaborate antenna system. The Group Q scientists had also perfected an artificial cloud and mist spreader to use whenever it was desirable to mask their operations.

  "Hauling in this outfit could be quite a job," Norris remarked with a thoughtful frown.

  "Don't think you'll take them by surprise," Kessler warned. "There's a radar-alarm system for aircraft and the dirt road is monitored by television. . . . You have another problem, too."

  "Meaning what?" Tom asked.

  "The Orb life. As I've told you, it seems able to monitor human communications. They may transmit a warning to Group Q."

  "I doubt if the Orb life is that all-knowing," Tom said, "but we'll take no chances." He swung to Ames and Norris. "We'll need state troopers or federal agents to make the arrests. Harlan, will you drive to the State Police post and get all the men Captain Rock can spare? Wes, please get hold of any other FBI agents. And I think I can round up enough volunteers at Enterprises for the foot-slogging work. Now, here's my plan."

  A short time later a dozen atomicars loaded with men began jetting off from Enterprises. They landed on the highway some distance from the dirt road which wound upward to the sanatorium. The men piled out and began fanning up the mountain on foot through the pine woods.

  Two hours went by. Tom and Bud sat tensely at the controls of the Sky Queen on the Enterprises airfield. Presently a beep sounded over the radio. Later came another, then another.

  At the twelfth beep Bud turned to Tom. • "They're all in position, skipper!"

  Tom flicked on a red signal light to alert the troopers and FBI men waiting aft in the plane's lounge. "Here goes, pal!"

  The huge craft zoomed aloft and streaked toward its target at supersonic speed. Tom slowed sharply as they approached the gang's mountain aerie, then sent the Queen swooping down like a giant bird of prey.

  A whitish mist was billowing up over the area. Then, suddenly, a ring of fiery flares encircled the walled grounds of the sanatorium. Tom switched on the giant searchlight his father had invented. Its ultrapowerful rays stabbed through the foggy vapor as the Flying Lab hovered down on its jet lifters.

  "Let's hope our flame throwers don't start a forest fire!" Bud muttered.

  "They're aiming inward over the cleared grounds," Tom replied. "Besides, the Forest Service told me the woods are moist just now."

  Wraithlike figures could be seen pouring out of the sanatorium building in a frantic effort to escape. But state troopers and FBI men landed from the low-hovering plane and began rounding them up. Some suspects tried to get away over the wall but were seized by the men waiting outside.

  In the eerie brilliance of the giant searchlight, the prisoners were herded back into the building. One, under prodding from Wes Norris, switched, off the mist-spreading device.

  A few minutes later Hank Sterling boarded the Queen. "A-OK, skipper! The mopping up is all over!"

  Tom and Bud climbed out of the plane and hurried toward the building. Inside they found Dr. Grimsey safe and beaming with gratitude for his rescue. Then Tom received a report from Harlan Ames. The security chief gestured toward the sullen-faced prisoners.

  "From what these men say and the secret records we've turned up, there were thirty-seven members of Group Q here. We have thirty-six. The one man who escaped was the gang's leader."

  "Did you get his description?" Tom asked.

  Ames nodded grimly and held out something in his hand. "We found this in his office."

  Tom's face blanched as he saw what Ames was holding - a small crystal cube containing a carved black cobra - the symbol of a powerful enemy they had thought dead!

  CHAPTER XVIII

  SKY-O-RAMA

  AT sight of the crystal cube, Bud gave a gasp. "The emblem of the Black Cobral. . . But the man's dead, Tom!"

  "We thought so. Maybe we were mistaken."

  Months earlier, while battling the asteroid pirates, Tom and Bud had faced death at the hands of a treacherous master criminal known as the Black Cobra. He had been reported killed when his spaceship disintegrated in an antimatter explosion above the phantom satellite.

  "What about the description of Group Q's leader, Harlan?" Tom asked. "Does it fit?"

  "I'm afraid so, skipper," Ames replied. "They say he's a tall, powerfully built Eurasian."

  Tom digested the dismaying news in silence. With Group Q rounded up, he had hoped to proceed with his Orb probe unhampered by enemies. Instead, a dangerous foe was at large - and now with double grounds for vengeance against Tom Swift!

  "Wes, can you have the FBI and the State Police put out an immediate dragnet?" Tom said.

  "I've already phoned an alarm," Norris replied.

  "Captain Rock has promised to block all roads leading out of these mountains."

  "And I'll tell our men to start beating the woods right now," Bud put in. "They can keep in touch over their walkie-talkies."

  Tom approved Bud's move, but said that he doubted they could flush their quarry before dusk closed in over the pine forest.

  "Which one of this gang is Flamm?" Tom asked Ames.

  Ames beckoned curtly. A balding, dark-mustached man stepped out from among the prisoners.

  "What about that disease chemical you injected into Wong and Hanson?" Tom asked.

  "I don't know what you mean," Flamm mumbled.

  "Don't give me that!" Tom's eyes blazed. "Your stooge, Kessler, has spilled the whole story and you'll stand trial for murder if Wong and Hanson die. Is there an antidote?"

  Flamm quailed under the young inventor's tone. "No - none that I know of," he stammered.

  "Write the formula you injected," Tom ordered.

  Flamm obeyed with trembling fingers. While he was doing so, Tom's eyes raked the other prisoners. Among them he recognized a gaunt, big-nosed man with a bewildered, woebegone look.

  "Mulver! Was he listed in the gang, Harlan?"

  Ames nodded, then asked, "Do you think medical men can work out an antidote to that formula?"

  "I sure hope so - and you'd better hope so, too, mister!" Tom told Flamm. "We'll get the best medical specialists to work on it."

  At nine o'clock that night an urgent meeting was called in the Swifts' office at Enterprises. Around the conference table sat Tom, his father, Dr. Grimsey, Hank Sterling, and Bud Barclay.

  "For some unknown reason," Tom began, "the form of life that exists on the Green Orb seems to be hostile to us. We now know they can monitor our communications and anticipate our moves. Worse yet, the Black Cobra's at large to help them. I don't know what new devilry they're plotting, but we'd better get our probe launched fast before they strike again! Our only chance of saving Felix and Arv may hinge on what we can learn about the Orb - maybe even our national safety!"

  The young inventor explained that by Monday night he hoped to have all gear and equipment readied for the probe shot, so that the launch could take place Tuesday morning at eight o'clock.

  "Three days! That's a tough schedule to meet, son," Mr. Swift put in. "And what about this TV demonstration you've promised?"

  "I sure won't let it interfere with work on the probe, Dad."

  "Very well. Suppose you lay out our jobs."

  Tom turned to Bud. "I want you to act as coordinator between Fearing and Enterprises on the launch details. We'll use the Sampson Mark III cargo rocket. Tomorrow I'll give you a rundown on all gear to go aboard. I want the rocket on its pad, fueled, and checked out for an eight a. M. Blast-off on Tuesday."

  Bud's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Roger!"

  "Hank, I have a pilot model ready of the TV camera gear which is to go inside the robots," Tom went on. "Make me four production copies - and also three duplicates of the regular portable model."

  Hank Sterling promised to put a full night shift to work on the job at once.

  "What about the robots themselves, Tom?" Dr. Grimsey inquired. He was shocked when Tom told him how the fire had destroyed the unfinished models.

  "But the cybernetic units were still on the production line," Tom added, "so they're intact. I think you and Dad and I working together can make four new robots pretty fast."

  Swift Enterprises hummed with activity as the weekend began. On Saturday afternoon Bud, looking glum, dropped into Tom's laboratory.

  "Trouble?" The young inventor asked.

  "Yeah, date trouble," Bud said, flopping onto a lab stool. "I was hoping to find time to take Sandy dancing tonight."

  "But she begged off?"

  "You know she did," Bud retorted. "When I phoned, she told me you were sending her and Phyl out of town on business. What gives, pal?"

  Tom's eyes twinkled. "She's carrying out a special assignment for me, fly-boy. I'm afraid that's all I care to tell you right now."

  Work proceeded on schedule and by two o'clock Monday afternoon Tom, Mr. Swift, and Dr. Grimsey were engaged in the final assembly of the four probe robots. Bud and Chow watched with big eyes and broad grins as the TV camera gear was installed in the robots' heads, which were then assembled to the bodies after an inner ganglia of wires and cables had been connected.

  "Brand my gingerbread!" Chow exclaimed. "Them critters look like reg'lar lil Martians!"

  The robots, built of gleaming magnesium alloy, were four feet tall. Television and radio antennas sprouted from their round bug-like heads. Their arms and legs - curved metal tubes - were attached to cylindrical bodies.

  "How'll they get around?" Bud queried.

  "They'll be radio-controlled from earth," Tom explained, "and ion-driven. You see, each one is really a tiny spaceship. They'll take off from the mother rocket after it goes into orbit.

  "The ion drive," Tom went on, "jets from their arms and legs, so by moving the limbs, the controller can maneuver the robots in any direction. They'll approach the Orb under their own power for close reconnaissance."

  "Won't these lil hombres land?" Chow asked.

  "Sure, if it looks safe to do so," Tom said. "They're gyro-balanced so they can walk around."

  Bud chuckled, peering into one robot's face. "And their 'eyes' are your TV cameras, eh?"

  "Right - twin inputs for a wider arc of vision." Tom also explained that the robots' mouths would be gas-sample intakes for checking the Orb's thick, fog-like outer atmosphere.

  Chow clumped all around the metal men, scrutinizing them from every angle. "What're you goin' to call the critters, Tom?" He inquired.

  "Hadn't thought about it. Any suggestions?"

  "How about the Grinning Gremlins?" Bud joked.

  "Come, come." Dr. Grimsey smiled. "Surely they merit a higher rank than gremlins. These will be our daring advance scouts, striking deep into the unknown like the Vikings of old!"

  "How about naming them Video Vikings?" Said Tom Sr.

  His suggestion was greeted with loud applause.

  "Great name, Dad!" Tom agreed. "That's it."

  After testing the robots' camera gear and walking stability in the lab, Tom flew to Fearing with Bud and Chow. Here they took off on a quick space flight in the Challenger so the Video Vikings could try out their "space legs." The robots checked out perfectly.

  Next morning, the newscasts and headlines blared a sensational announcement by Tom Swift. Everyone living in a wide Eastern area was invited to step outdoors and watch the sky at nine o'clock that night. They were also advised to have portable radios, tuned to a certain frequency.

  "The famous young inventor has given no clue to what's in store," a newscaster reported. "One inside rumor claims that he's planning to touch off a nuclear explosion on the Green Orb. According to another tip, he's preparing a spectacular display of electronic fireworks. Whatever Tom Swift Jr. 'S up to, it's a safe bet that viewers will see some amazing feat of science!"

  Tom had spent the night on Fearing Island. At 8:13 a. M., After frenzied preparations through the predawn hours by the launch crew, the Sampson Mark III lifted off its pad with a gush of flame and streaked skyward toward the Green Orb. Mr. Swift, Tom, Dr. Grimsey, and Bud observed the blast-off from a concrete bunker.

  "Good old Rad Sampson!" Murmured Mr. Swift as the probe missile disappeared into the blue. "He never dreamed his name would be attached to a mission like this one, son!"

  Mr. Swift was referring to a Negro employee named Eradicate Sampson. Although he had passed away when Tom was a small boy, the young inventor remembered him with great affection.

  "I'm glad we named our newest rockets after him, Dad," Tom replied.

  Bud had gone without sleep in the bustle of preparations for the probe launch. He remained on Fearing to nap in the crew's dormitory, then flew back to Enterprises after lunch.

  From the airfield, Bud jeeped to Tom's lab, but the young inventor was not there. So Bud called the Swifts' office in the main building. "I'm sorry," Miss Trent said. "Tom has asked not to be disturbed except for an emergency."

  "Well, this isn't one, so don't bother him," Bud said. "What's the mad genius up to now?"

  "He said he had some scriptwriting to do."

  Scriptwriting? Bud hung up, greatly intrigued. Later in the afternoon he noticed several TV camera crews shooting scenes around the plant.

  "Wow!" Murmured Bud as a sudden hunch hit him. "If I'm right, that doubting advertising exec in New York is in for a show that'll change his mind!"

  Long before the appointed time that evening, spectators began thronging outdoors from town homes, farmhouses, and other buildings. Some carried table radios, some clutched transistor sets with earplugs. Buses, trains, telephone exchanges, and other public facilities noticed a sharp dropoff in patronage. All eyes were glued to the heavens.

 

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