Tom Swift Jr #35, Chapter 1: The Miracle Plastic

An early morning fog gently drifted over the highway as Tom Swift Sr. guided his silver sports car down a winding country road. The fog reduced effectiveness of his headlights, but he could easily see that the little-used road was completely deserted. Had he been driving at a normal hour he could have enjoyed the beauty that can only be found in the rolling hills of upper New York State. At the moment, however, darkness obscured everything but the road directly in front of him.

Tom Sr. glanced at his watch and saw that it was 5:18 AM. He yawned, and then turned on the radio. It’s much too early for a Swift to be awake, he thought. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.

The middle-aged scientist was on his way to Swift Enterprises, and had decided to take a seldom-traveled backroad instead of the usual highway. In the old days this part of the state was sparsely populated, but Swift Enterprises was rapidly turning the rural community into a modern metropolis. The transformation had started a generation ago when his father, Barton Swift, had fallen in love with inventing. His passionate interest in science had proven so successful that the small business he started eventually grew into a multinational corporation that had become synonymous with state-of-the-art technology. When Tom became an adult his father turned the family business over to him, and he had guided the company through two world wars and pioneered many of its most amazing inventions.

As he made his way through the hills that surrounded Lake Carlopa he let his mind wander to his latest research project. Tom Sr. loved driving along the backroads that surrounded his home in Shopton, New York, as it gave him time to think before he got caught up in the hectic pace of the plant. Although it’s not like anyone’s going to be there this early, he thought wryly. We Swifts are famous for working late into the night, not getting up before the sun sees fit to shine. But I suppose this time it can’t be helped.

It took him about twenty minutes of driving before he could see the bright lights of Swift Enterprises on the horizon. The four-mile-square complex was packed with every kind of scientific laboratory and was home to some of the world’s most pioneering projects. The campus was so successful that its sister firm, the Swift Construction Company, was kept busy mass-producing the many breakthroughs that originated from within the plant.

Tom Sr. pulled his car up to the main gate and rolled down his window. George Manfield, the night-shift guard, looked at him and nodded in recognition. “Good morning, Mr. Swift. You’re hear mighty early today.”

“Much too early, George,” Tom replied, yawning. “I don’t know how you manage to work all night.”

“I’ve been doing it for twenty years, Tom. You get used to it after a while. I hate to bother you, but mind if I see your badge?”

“Sure – no problem,” the inventor said. He patted the front of his shirt absently, and then realized that his security badge was not pinned to his shirt. Tom frowned. “Hold on just a second – I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

The guard nodded patiently. “Whatever you say, Mr. Swift. You’re the boss. My shift doesn’t end for another hour.”

Tom Sr. grabbed the briefcase from the seat beside him, popped it open, and began rifling through it. His heart sank when he saw that its contents were in wild disarray. Papers with important hand-written formulas were strewn about at random, mixed in with mail from his house and memos from other departments. When he saw that he had written a grocery list on the back of a bill of lading he sighed deeply. I’ve got to get more organized, he thought grimly. If I ever give my grocer a request for fissionable materials I’m likely to make the morning paper. Ned would never let me hear the end of it.

After a few minutes of digging Tom at last located his badge, and handed it to the guard.

“I’m glad you found that,” George said, as he flipped the switch to open the gate. “I can’t let you in without that badge. It’s policy, you know. Can’t run things the way we used to, apparently.”

“I know what you mean,” Tom Sr. said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Having to turn around and go back home to get the badge would have been awful.”

“Eh, it wouldn’t have been as bad as that. Your assistant Irene is here, you know.”

Tom looked surprised. “She’s not my – that is – she’s already here? When did she get in?”

The guard shrugged. “Same time as usual. You know Irene! She’s a nice girl, she is. Always one to lend a hand, but a bit feisty. If you ever forgot your badge and she found out you would be in for it, famous scientist or not. Especially after what you put her through last week.”

Tom winced. “That was an accident, George. Zinc dust can be flammable, you know, and I did pay for the damage to her car. But – um, thanks.”

George nodded, and Tom drove through the gate. As he had expected, the company grounds were largely deserted, except for the observatory. The fog that had plagued his drive to the plant was only a minor nuisance on the grounds, and he was able to get to the building that housed his private laboratory without incident.

I have got to find a better way to handle security here at the plant, Tom Sr. thought to himself, as he gathered up the contents of his briefcase and got out of the car. These badges are terrible – they’re easily lost, and easily forged. Maybe my son can think of something. After all, if he can design an atomic power plant then surely he can come up with a thief-proof security fence. How hard could it possibly be?

Tom Swift Sr. had two children, a sixteen-year-old son named Tom Swift Jr. and a fifteen-year-old daughter named Sandra. Tom Swift Jr. had showed a remarkable talent for invention, and his father was certain that he would follow in the Swift family footsteps. Tom Jr. had recently displayed an interest in nuclear energy, and his father was excited to see what his son would do in the field.

After making a mental note to talk to his son about designing an electronic security system Tom walked into the deserted building and used his key to enter his laboratory. When he stepped into his laboratory he heard a cheery voice call out to him. “Good morning, Mr. Swift! Help yourself to some breakfast – I’ve left some food on the table for you. Oh, and there’s some coffee too.”

“Thanks, Irene,” Tom Sr. said gratefully, as he set his briefcase down. Over in one corner of the lab was a small battered table and a set of blackened chairs, where he often ate when he was too busy to make it to the company cafeteria. Sitting on the table was was a plate of freshly-made donuts and a pot of steaming coffee, which was resting on a hot plate. Tom had not taken the time to eat before leaving home, and was glad that Irene had thought to provide breakfast.

Irene Goddard was hard at work in the main part of the laboratory. At the moment the seventeen-year-old girl was bent over a spectrophotometer, carefully reading off numbers and jotting them down on a clipboard. Irene was wearing a clean white laboratory coat, and had piercing green eyes and short red hair that was tied in the back with a black ribbon. At five-foot-two she was shorter than average, but she had a keen intellect and an infectious sense of humor. The teenage girl had already graduated from one of the country’s most prestigious universities with a degree in nuclear physics, and was one of Swift Enterprise’s most promising employees. Tom Sr. had known her since she was a small child, for he was good friends with her grandfather Robert Goddard, the famous rocket scientist. When Robert’s son Michael moved his family to Shopton the Swifts became close friends with them, and their daughter Irene had grown up with Tom Jr..

Tom Sr. poured some coffee into a cup and grabbed a donut. “How did you know I didn’t eat before I got here?” he asked.

Irene looked up from the scientific instrument and laughed. “You and Tom are just alike – you never, ever think about food. I still don’t know why you aren’t suffering from malnutrition or something. Have you ever thought about hiring a cook?”

“We already have one,” Tom Sr. said, as he munched on the donut. “Who do you think runs the cafeteria that feeds the hundreds of people that work here?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t actually bring the food to you. That’s what you two need – some personal attention. Someone to interrupt your solitude and remind you that you, too, require nourishment to survive.”

“These are remarkably good donuts,” Tom said thoughtfully, as he took another one from the plate. “Come to think of it, where did you find donuts this time of morning? I didn’t think the cafeteria opened until seven.”

“It doesn’t,” Irene said, as she placed a material sample into a magnetic resonance machine. “I had my mom make those this morning before I came in.”

Tom’s eyes grew large. “Oh, dear girl, please tell me you didn’t wake up your poor mother at five in the morning to fix breakfast for me.”

Irene’s eyes twinkled. “Ok, I won’t – it was four, actually. But c’mon, she was already up. It wasn’t a big deal or anything. We Goddards are early risers, you know! Runs in the family.”

Tom sighed, and then finished his breakfast. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Irene. But at least this is the last time I’ll have to come in this early for a while. At least, it will be if everything goes well.”

“It will,” Irene said. “I can feel it! Today is going to be the day. You wait and see if it’s not. I have a way of being right about these things.”

Tom smiled. “It’s been ten years, Irene. I’m ready for this project to be over. It will be nice to think of something other than polymerization. So tell me, what have you gotten done this morning?”

Irene grabbed the clipboard, and the two settled down to work. Over the next several hours the two scientists continued to refine several gallons of chemicals, putting them through a battery of tests and removing any lingering impurities. When they were at last satisfied with the consistency of the shimmering blue liquid they poured it into a special container, placed the container into a large industrial-grade oven, and began the curing process.

“There’s got to be an easier way to do this,” Irene remarked, after the oven settings had been double-checked. “Making the liquid acetates is not that hard, and reacting it to make it form plastic isn’t that hard either. But the quality control process is a real killer. That one step has led to so many failures.”

“True, but that’s the way it has to be for now,” Tom Sr. replied. “It only takes a very small impurity to destroy the chains and make the plastic useless. Once we can prove this process works I’m sure we can design a better way to manufacture tomasite. But for now it pays to do it the hard way. As a wise man once said, quality is severe drudgery.”

A voice spoke up from the laboratory door. “So you are going to name the miracle plastic tomasite!” Tom Swift Jr. said excitedly. “I had no idea you decided to take Mom’s advice and name the plastic after its famous inventor. When did this happen?”

Irene turned around and laughed. “So the sleepy inventor has finally made it to work! I was wondering when the skipper would grace us with his presence. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not too long,” Tom Jr. said, smiling. “You two looked busy, so I thought I’d wait until you started the curing process.”

“Thanks,” his dad replied. “It has been a busy morning. But about the name – well, all I can say is that your mother is very persuasive. She has a way with these things, son! I learned a long time ago it’s best to take her advice.”

Tom Jr. nodded. “I’m sure mother will be pleased! It is a great honor. But how long have you two been here? Apparently I’ve missed all the fun.”

Irene glanced at her watch. “We’ve been here about six hours, I guess. Or at least I have. Your dad got here a little later than I did.”

Tom Sr. looked surprised. “You mean it’s almost noon? I’ve completely lost track of time! Ned’s going to be arriving soon for the demonstration and I don’t have anything prepared.” Tom Sr. removed his lab coat, tossed it onto the back of a chair, grabbed his briefcase, and ran out of the room. “I’ll be back,” he called out. “Keep an eye on the tomasite!”

“You got it,” Irene replied.

After his father left the young Tom Swift Jr. grabbed a stool, set it in front of the oven, and stared through the window thoughtfully. Irene shook her head. “You know that tomasite takes a full hour and twenty minutes to cure, Tom,” she said. “Staring at it isn’t going to make it go any faster. Besides, it’s blazing hot that close to the oven. You’re going to get a sunburn or something.”

“Oh, I know,” Tom said absently. “I’m just thinking.”

Irene got another stool and sat down beside him. She was silent for a few minutes, and then spoke up. “You’re worried, aren’t you, skipper?” she asked quietly.

Tom nodded, but said nothing.

“Do you think your dad is going to fail?” she asked.

The young inventor looked at her. “Do you?” he asked.

Irene shook her head. “Your dad never fails, Tom. It might take him a while, but he always finds the solution. Don’t you remember what he told us? ‘Every question has an answer, and it’s our job to find it.’ That’s what your dad does, and he’s better at it than anyone else on the planet.”

“Dad did fail once,” Tom pointed out. “With the diamond makers. His attempts to produce artificial diamonds completely failed. They could do it, and he couldn’t.”

Irene shook her head. “That’s not the same thing. The diamond makers weren’t using technology to produce diamonds. They were using a freak of nature – a special mountain surrounded by a lightning storm. If your dad had a mountain like that he could have done it just as well. Besides, he actually figured out how to do it with technology, remember? The problem was back in the day he couldn’t get enough temperature and pressure to actually form diamonds. With all the advances that have been made in the past thirty years I bet he could do it today.”

“But he hasn’t,” Tom replied.

“Of course not! Your dad’s not insane, you know. It’s not cost-effective. It’s a lot cheaper to mine diamonds out of kimberlite pipes.”

“I guess,” Tom said. He looked back into the oven and nodded toward it. “But what about that, Ace? Is that going to work?”

“Of course,” Irene said fiercely. “Today is the day, skipper. It’s going to work this time. I know it.”

Tom smiled. “So you really believe that it’s possible to produce a plastic that is indestructible, lightweight, and impervious to radiation? Really?”

Irene looked him in the eye. “Yes, Tom. I do. If your dad says it can be done, then it can be done. End of story.”

Tom laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Ace. I happen to agree, by the way – dad will make it work. I just hope today’s demonstration goes well. Do you remember what happened last time?”

Irene blushed. “That building has been mostly rebuilt, I’ll have you know, and there were only minor injuries. Besides, we found out that it only happened because of a slight flaw in the quality control process that caused the molecular monomers to become explosively unstable in the presence of gamma radiation. We’ve spent hours this morning checking the sample, and it will not happen again. This time it is going to work.”

Reassured, Tom Jr. relaxed and began to smile. “I’m sure you’re right. At any rate, we’ll find out in a couple hours. The demonstration is right after lunch. Which reminds me – that tomasite is going to be curing for at least another seventy minutes. How’d you like to play a quick game of chess?” His eyes twinkled. “I should have enough time to beat you before it comes out of the oven.”

Irene smiled. “Hey now – I seem to recall winning the last time we played. But what about the reactor you’ve been designing? I don’t think I’ve seen your latest blueprints. Didn’t you bring them with you?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah, I did, but I’m kind of stuck until Dad gets the tomasite perfected. The whole idea behind the miniaturized reactor is that we can use tomasite for shielding, and without actual tomasite to experiment on I’m left with pages of guesswork. Things would be a lot easier if I had some real numbers to work with.”

“I know,” Irene said sympathetically. “I could tell that the delays have been getting to you. But you’ll get there, Tom. Sometimes it just takes longer than you’d think. Besides – ”

“I’m only sixteen,” Tom finished. “I know. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me. Which is why now is a perfect time to be enjoying the company of a distinguished fellow scientist in a ruthless battle of wits.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be off somewhere splitting atoms?” Irene asked coyly, as she walked across the room to get the chess set.

“Positive,” Tom said. “After all, if you’re right, I’ll have actual tomasite this afternoon and can resume my work then with far greater accuracy. Why spend an hour crunching numbers that I’ll just have to re-crunch?”

Irene grabbed the chess set out of the filing cabinet, walked back across the lab, and set it in front of Tom. She sighed. “You’re not very romantic, Tom. You know that, right? That was your opening to say something warm and friendly. Something other than a deep concern about the accuracy of your arithmetic.” She grinned. “Although I agree that is clearly of the utmost importance.”

Tom laughed. “At least I come by it honestly. But don’t give up on me yet, Ace. With your careful guidance I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it eventually! So do you want to be white or black?”