Free Tom Swift and His Subocean Geotron by Victor Appleton II

comings and goings."
    "Anyone staying here in these bungalows, or living in the general area, could keep track of you easily, without detection," Tom said. "And I think we’ve already run into the person the watchers are reporting to." Tom described the middle-aged man who had seemed to be following them earlier.
    Ed could only scratch his balding head. "I think I stopped noticing people like that—tourists in funny clothes—years ago."
    It was agreed that Ed, with his portable safe and the artifact, should spend the night protected by the Sky Queen ’s security system and sturdy hull. Chief Jualéngro called for a couple taxis. After a wide-eyed tour of the famous Flying Lab, she left to return to work with a promise to continue the investigation. "Perhaps I can identify this haunting tourist of ours."
    Relaxing in the observation lounge, Ed told the others that he was ready to cut his vacation short. "I guess Mexico’s given me a little too much to ‘contemplate.’ After you’ve fitted the two halves together back at Enterprises and run your tests, Tom, I think I’ll move on. Maybe some boating in the South Atlantic."
    "We won’t need to fly up to the U.S. to fit the artifacts together," Nee spoke up. "My Artifact A is here with us on the plane. And Tom may wish to amplify a bit on just why these matched objects are so important."
    Ed gave his cousin a look of surprise. "You said they’re quite old and made of unusual materials—sounds familiar, doesn’t it?—but is there something more?"
    "A lot more!" declared the young inventor. He now related to Ed the fantastic age indicated by the retroscope, and the involvement of the space friends. As before, he held back, for the moment, the more alarming details—in front of Nee Ruykendahl.
    Ed’s response was to grin broadly. "Creepin’ crabbies, everything turns to sci-fi! So these lovely lumps are broadcast beacons, like the service that radios map directions to you as you drive."
    "Nee here calls them treasure maps," Bud nodded. "But the X-ians haven’t exactly told us what the treasure is —that is, why it’s a treasure . Sounds to me like just an old abandoned filing cabinet."
    "We may know the answer when we link the two pieces together," Tom noted. "Shall we do it?"
    "Without the electric current this time, genius boy," Bud warned humorously. "Switching on the whole thing could set off beepers from here to Albuquerque."
    Tom led them down one deck to the analysis lab cubicle. Cautiously slipping on thick gauntlets of protective material, he removed Artifact A from its locked, shielded container. Taking Ed’s lump in hand, he slowly brought the two segments together as Bud, Nee, and Ed watched in edgy suspense.
    The objects touched.
     
CHAPTER 8
MATA-KI-TE-RANGI
    THE WATCHERS saw a look of frustration cloud Tom Swift’s eager face. With a piece in each hand, Tom moved them, turned them, pressed on them. He abruptly set them down on the countertop.
    "They don’t fit."
    "Jetz!" groaned Bud. "Don’t tell us that !"
    Tom gestured for his pal to give it a try. Bud did, and the others took their turns. But it was obvious that the objects, similar as they appeared to be, didn’t fit together.
    "Too bad," pronounced Ed. "Maybe there are a lot of these beacon-transmitters scattered around on the seafloor, in halves, all a little different."
    "Seeking their soul-mates," was Nee’s comment.
    "It was always a possibility," Tom admitted. "I was hoping it’d turn out differently. If the X-ians can’t squeeze more data out of the transmission from the first piece, it might be impossible to find the memory crypt without a complete beacon."
    "If it still exists," said Ed. "A few million years can be a little hard on computers and filing cabinets, even made by aliens."
    Ruykendahl exclaimed impatiently, "Pfah! This piece of Longstreet’s must be encoded with something ! Activate it as you did with the other, Tom, and let your cosmic friends make of it what they