Tom Swift and the Electronic Hydrolung | Page 8

"Just wanted to keep you
posted, Tom. Our task force reports no success on their part in finding
the buried missile. No sign of the enemy, either."
"They'd probably hesitate to attack any official U.S. Navy units," Tom
said. "Or it might mean they've already found the missile themselves."
"That's what I fear," Admiral Walter confessed gloomily. "However,
we'll continue searching."
Tom promised to fly down to the site at the first opportunity, saying he
was developing a new device that might assist in the search. After
snatching a hasty lunch, Tom returned to work.
Arv Hanson machined several parts and molded the plastic face mask
to Tom's specifications. By evening the new device was completed.
"Now for a test," the young inventor said to himself.
Sandy Swift and Phyl Newton were eager to watch the test, so the next
morning they drove to the plant in Phyl's white convertible. Tom, clad
in swim trunks, was waiting for them with Chow near the edge of a
mammoth concrete tank. Set in bedrock, at one end of the Enterprises
grounds, the tank was used for submarine testing.
When Sandy saw the power unit strapped to Tom's weight belt, she
exclaimed, "That little gadget will supply all the air you need? Why, it's

no bigger than a pocket transistor radio!"
Tom grinned. "I hope it will. That's what I intend to find out."
"How does it work?" Phyl asked, fascinated.
Tom explained, "Actually its function is to replace the carbon dioxide
that I exhale with fresh oxygen drawn from the water. Otherwise,
although the carbon dioxide I'd breathe out would be a very small
amount at a time, it soon would make the air unfit. The nitrogen, which
makes up much of the air we breathe, is chemically inert and can be
used again and again."
He pointed to a round screen on one side of the unit. "This is the water
intake," Tom went on, "and this other screen is where the water comes
out after we've removed its oxygen."
Near the forward end of the unit, a semirigid plastic tube was connected,
leading up to the face mask. At the rear was a power port for inserting a
small solar battery.
"What about this little tuning knob?" Sandy asked.
"That's the rate control for adjusting the output frequency to the
wearer's breathing rate." Tom added, "I've decided to call the whole
apparatus an 'electronic hydrolung.'"
Chow pushed back his ten-gallon hat and scratched his head dubiously.
"Wal, I'm keepin' a net handy to drag you out, boss, just in case."
Tom chuckled and fitted the mask over his face, then made a clean dive
into the tank. For the next ten minutes the girls and Chow watched
wide-eyed as he swam, walked around, and went through vigorous
exercises at the bottom of the tank without once coming up for air.
"Whee!" Sandy exclaimed when Tom finally climbed out. "Make me
one, so I can take up skin diving!"
"It's wonderful!" Phyl added admiringly.

Tom took off his mask. "I'm pretty pleased with it myself," he admitted,
grinning.
The girls stayed at Enterprises for lunch. Then the group, accompanied
by Doc Simpson, flew to Fearing Island so Tom could test his
invention in deep water. Boarding a small motor launch, with Doc at
the helm, they cruised out to a suitable depth and dropped anchor.
"Don't become too confident, Tom," Doc warned. "I'll drop a signal
line over the side in case of emergency."
Tom buckled on his equipment belt and adjusted the face mask. Then
he held up crossed fingers and back-flipped over the gunwale into the
water. Chow, Doc, and the girls watched his plummeting figure fade
from view.
Tom, an expert skin diver, had never before felt such a sense of ease
and freedom under water. He was moving, light and self-contained, in a
green, magical world. With no air tanks chafing his back, he felt akin to
the fishes themselves.
"Wish I'd brought a hook and line along." He chuckled, as a school of
mackerel darted past.
Now came the real test. Deeper and deeper, Tom cleaved his way
downward. Reaching bottom, he prowled about the ocean bed for a
while, then started up again. Suddenly a stab of pain shot through his
chest--a warning of nitrogen bubbles forming in his blood!
Tom swam toward the signal cord, dangling dimly in the distance. By
the time he reached it, his muscles were knotting with cramps.
"It's the bends again, all right!" Tom realized. Gritting his teeth, he
yanked hard on the line, then summoned his strength to hang on.
Doc and Chow hauled up frantically. Tom's face was contorted with
pain when they finally got him aboard and stripped off his mask.

"Oh! How awful!" Phyl gasped.
Sandy cradled Tom's