Tom Swift and His Outpost in Space Read Online Free Page B

victims actually live into adulthood?" Sandy inquired.
    "Professor TeVenter thinks no more than five or six adults are alive at any one time, anywhere in the world. He said most of them live in Algeria, Morocco, Spain, or France."
    "Mom, you’re a wonder!" Tom exclaimed, giving his mother a kiss. "Harlan Ames can probably get a list of where the IXOS-ers are living." Ames, a former Secret Service agent, was the head of security for Swift Enterprises.
    There were no more harrowing incidents that night. The next day turned out to be a busy day of meetings for Tom and his father. The meeting with Harlan Ames was followed by a teleconference with several of the world’s chief rocketry engineers, and then, after lunch, an unscheduled meeting with Jeb Soberstein, head of the Consolidated Broadcasting Network.
    The meeting took place in the office shared by Tom and his father. Soberstein, a rather massive man with a thin fog of white hair drifting shapelessly across his head, talked rapidly and gestured forcefully. "Damon, Tom—how are you, by the way?—the media has been full of little squibs about this space station of yours. When’s the grand opening?"
    "Actually, Jeb, it’s all kind of up in the air right now," responded Mr. Swift.
    "Up in the air! Good one. But you must have a schedule, hmm?"
    "It really depends on a lot of things, but the prefabricated modules are near completion already, and I suppose we could start launching the rockets in a matter of weeks," Tom volunteered.
    "I see. Matter of weeks? Got it. Where do you buy those shirts, if I may ask? Never mind." Mr. Soberstein was quiet and contemplative for a few nanoseconds. "Look Tom, Damon, I know you do deals with private industry now and then—Swift Enterprises isn’t a government operation, thank the Lord. You mind if I smoke?"
    "Yes," said Mr. Swift.
    "Yes, I can smoke?"
    "No."
    "No, you don’t mind?"
    "If you smoke, it’ll set off a fire extinguisher in the ceiling right over your head," Tom warned.
    Soberstein glanced upward and put away his cigar. "Fortunately I can think without it. CBN would like to lease some space in your station for our equipment. In a permanent manned facility at that distance our broadcasts could reach almost half the earth. And, by the way, we plan some exciting original programming, including a miniseries on—you know, the guy with the wild hair, the physicist, Adolf something."
    "Albert Einstein?" asked Tom politely with a glance at his father.
    "Something like that. What sort of figures should I carry back to CBN?"
    "Jeb, we’re not—" began Mr. Swift, but the media mogul interrupted.
    "Okay—figures negotiable. Let’s not get hung up on it."
    Tom rubbed his eyes, hiding a smile. "It wouldn’t really be fair to give an advantage to one corporation over all the rest."
    "What ‘rest’? There is no ‘rest’! We’re it! But think it over. Memo to follow. That t-shirt really does look good on you, Tom—horizontal stripes suit you. What do you call the dark color?"
    "Blue."
    "Just ‘blue’? Good thinking. And now, always a pleasure, later, guys." And he was gone.
    Tom and his father burst into laughter.
    "What do you think?" asked Mr. Swift.
    "We should ask Bud or Sandy," Tom replied with a grin. "I don’t watch much TV these days. But as far as working with Mr. Soberstein…"
    "I think we might as well give it a try," said Damon Swift seriously. "Public support for space development has fallen greatly over the last few years. It’s hard to make a case for it, given that most folks aren’t really interested in abstract science. But one thing they do understand is entertainment!"
    Tom rubbed his chin. "I get the idea. By working with CBN, we’re getting the public accustomed to the idea that space has its practical side—even its fun side!"
    "Exactly. But we’ll make sure all our agreements are for the short term only, and that we’ll have space for the other broadcasters to lease in due time."
    "Someday