As soon as the conversation was completed, Tom dialed Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company.  Although he was actually not a relative of the Swifts, both Tom and Sandy had from childhood called him “Uncle Ned.”

“What’s up, Tom?” he asked.

Tom told him of the latest request from Washington and asked that another three-shift work schedule be set up to turn out the additional Quakelizors.

“Hank and I will bring the blueprints over right away, if you don’t mind being late to dinner,” Tom said.

Ned Newton agreed willingly, only too happy to help cope with the quake menace.  By eight o’clock that evening, work on the project was proceeding at great speed.  The Swift Construction Company continued humming with activity around the clock.

The week end was almost over by the time Mr. Swift arrived back from the space station.  Tom flew to Fearing Island to meet him.  On the short hop back to Enterprises, they discussed the radio problem.

“I think the solution’s been staring us in the face, Dad, but we’ve been too worried to think of it,” Tom said.  “Remember Li Ching’s jamming-wave generator?”

He was referring to a device used recently by an Oriental foe of Tom and his father.  Mr. Swift’s eyes lighted up with a quick flash of understanding.

“Dad, you wrote a report on the generator for the government with a memo on possible ways to combat it,” Tom went on.  “Maybe the same measures would work in this case.”

The Swifts had discovered that their enemy had been intercepting Tom’s messages, thereby learning the frequency to which the Swifts’ receiver was tuned.  They then radiated a signal at this frequency, modulated at the frequency to which the local oscillator was set.  This had caused a buildup of energy in the I.F. transformers, resulting in their explosion.

Now Mr. Swift said, “You’re right, son.  We’ll insert a blocking filter in the R.F. stage that should do the trick.”

Their minds relieved of this problem, the Swifts were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the brain energy from space the next day.  The scheduled time, if pinpointed at exactly two weeks from the moment when the first message was received, would be half an hour past noon.

The spot, two miles from Enterprises, was on a lonely hillside.  It was shaded by trees, higher up the slope, with bushes and other wild-growing greenery softening its contours.  Over the week end, Tom had had carpenters from Enterprises put up a small cabin at the foot.

As twelve-thirty approached, Tom, Bud, Mr. Swift, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and several other Swift technicians stood by at the scene with the star-headed container.  Chow had also begged to be on hand.

“I jest got to see Ole Think Box come to life!” he said.

Eyes darted back and forth from wrist watches to sky as the zero moment ticked closer.  Bud even began muttering a countdown.