Tom Swift and His Spectromarine Selector by Victor Appleton II Page A

with your funding agreement."
    Tom found himself reddening as he tried to hold his temper in check. "Julienne, I—I have to say—"
    Miss Gabardine leaned forward abruptly—and rested her hand on his! "Please, Tom. I know how difficult this is. Imagine what it is like for me, to feel your eyes on me, to sense the feelings that I have come to… to share. Oh… how often do I have to suffer through this?"
    Tom forced shut his dropped jaw. "This—it—it’s happened before?" He couldn’t do anything with his bulging blue eyes!
    "Please don’t feel any distress over that," she urged gently. "It just happens. Repeatedly. Every time, in fact. Something about me, my strength, my integrity—what can I do? But Tom… the difference in our ages…"
    "Y-yes, that occurred to me as well."
    "Of course, that may not really matter, if the chemistry between two people is right."
    "Um, yes, but, you know, the risk to your career, your reputation!" Tom warned in great haste.
    She sighed a long and miserable sigh. "You’re right, Tom. Of course you’re right. It couldn’t work. Let’s try to maintain the pathetic fiction of a purely professional relationship. Miss Gabardine. Mr. Swift." She sniffled, then dramatically ripped a couple sheets from her notebook and tore them to pieces, tossing them into the air like confetti. "There. All gone, all forgotten. Nothing I’ve seen yet requires the termination of your project. It means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?"
    The young scientist-inventor kept his voice level. "It’s my consolation—Miss Gabardine."
    "I sympathize—Mr. Swift." She turned and rushed from the cabin. Tom sat in his chair stunned for about two minutes, fighting down laughter and a certain amount of dizziness. Finally he scooped up the scraps of paper from the floor and glanced at them curiously.
    They were blank.
    "Good way to make a point, though," he murmured in disbelief.
    Tom finally made his way over to the control deck. Looking out the viewport he was pleased to see that Hank Sterling had rolled the spectrosel up close to the mantacopter for Tom to work on.
    Just then the aqua-rad buzzed—once, twice, three times. "Emergency alert!" Tom gulped. He checked the frequency readout. "The Sceptre!" Billy and Red had said their goodbyes to Tom after he had finished breakfast, and he had watched the jetmarine rise to the overhanging ceiling of the canyon and enter the channel above.
    "This is Tom, Sceptre."
    "This is Red Jones, Tom. We’re about twenty-two-hundred miles due east of Bermuda, over the Atlantic Ridge. We’re under attack!"
    "What!" Tom shouted.
    "Billy’s at the controls trying to get us away. Several explosions to the rear—torpedos, looks like! No damage so far, but—"
    "Understood! Have you contacted Fearing?"
    "Sure, but what can they do? Even jet fighters wouldn’t—"
    Suddenly, in mid-sentence, the aqua-rad transmission broke off!

CHAPTER 13
MICRO-FOES
    "RED! Red! C’mon, Sceptre— answer me!" Tom cried.
    But there were some long and fearful moments before an answer came. "Jetmarine Sceptre to Aurum City. This is Yablonskovic."
    "What happened, Billy?"
    "A big blast—Red bounced off the bulkhead, but he’ll be all right, looks like."
    Tom asked if there were any damage to the Sceptre. "None to speak of," Billy replied. "Whatever sub was attacking us broke and ran on an eastward heading. She went mighty fast—off the scope now. None of the torpedos actually connected, Tom—maybe they just wanted to send a message."
    "I’d prefer a telegram!" Tom snorted, relieved but furious. "Glad you’re all right, though. Please give Rad a full report when you dock."
    "Wilco, boss. Sceptre out."
    Later in the day, having confirmed the safe arrival of the Sceptre on Fearing Island, Tom himself discussed the matter with Phil Radnor, then Harlan Ames in Shopton. "Tom, you’re somewhat familiar with Centas’s vessel. Could it maneuver in the way Billy described?"
    Tom set aside the aqua-rad