Swift put in, "Goodness, mightn't it get out of control and be
rather overpowering? Suppose it went berserk!"
"Rather an unpleasant possibility," Mr. Swift agreed, smiling wryly.
"But I trust our space friends wouldn't let that happen."
Both he and Tom became thoughtful as they discussed the problem.
"The energy will arrive in two weeks," Mr. Swift added. "Unfortunately
that phone call was a request that I go to Washington on urgent
government business. So you may have to take over and work out a
solution on your own, Tom."
It was a sobering thought to the young inventor. "You were right,
Mother. This is a terrific challenge."
Soon afterward, the little gathering broke up. Bud, who had left his own
convertible at the Swifts' that morning, offered to drop Phyl at her
home.
Tom awoke the next morning, refreshed by a good night's sleep. After a
hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, he drove off to Enterprises in his
low-slung silver sports car.
"Think I'll listen to the news," Tom thought, and switched on his
dashboard radio.
A moment later the announcer's voice came over the loud-speaker.
"Casualties from yesterday's disastrous earthquake now total thirty-one
injured," the announcer reported. "Most of these are employees of the
Faber Electronics plant and four are in critical condition. There is one
note of cheer, however. At last report, Mark Faber, the brilliant
president of the company, is now expected to recover.
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