Tom watched admiringly as his father reconstructed the radio, coating the entire thing with a Swiftonium compound.  He at once placed the set in a small oven which he raised to 50 degrees centigrade.

“When this cools, the set will be stable,” Mr. Swift said.  “But if you should move any part of it after it cools, all of the organic parts, like the circuit boards, the insulation, the carbon resistors, etc., will oxidize and disappear as gas.  You will not even be able to tamper with a single unit.”

“Wonderful, Dad,” Tom murmured when the device was finished.  “I wish I had your know-how in microchemistry.”

“And I wish I had yours in electronics!” the elder scientist declared with a chuckle.

After Mr. Swift had installed the device in Exman’s star head, Tom used the electronic brain to inform the robot about the whole scheme.

Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were delighted when Exman showed real enthusiasm.  It replied via the printed tape on the decoder: 

    DO NOT WORRY, MY FRIENDS.  I WILL NOT RESPOND TO ANY ATTEMPTS BY
    BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME.  MY PLANET IS WELL
    AWARE OF THEIR DANGEROUS AIMS. HAVING CONQUERED YOUR WORLD, THEY
    WOULD NEXT INVADE SPACE.

“Looks as though Exman’s got their number, all right!” Tom said with satisfaction.

Early the next morning Mr. Swift drove Tom to the Enterprises airfield to meet his friends.  Hank Sterling, Bud, and Chow were already on hand, and Arv Hanson arrived a few moments later.  Tom and Bud left the others to bring Exman in a small panel truck.

Soon the space robot was safely loaded aboard a transport helicopter.  The others took their places inside the cabin.

“Good luck, son!” Mr. Swift forced a smile as he gave Tom a parting handshake.

“Don’t worry, Dad.  I’ll be back soon!” Tom assured him.  The nature of the trip had been described only vaguely to Mrs. Swift and Sandy in order to keep them from worrying.

The short hop overwater to Fearing Island was soon completed.  Lying just off the Atlantic coast, Fearing had once been a barren, thumb-shaped expanse of scrubgrass and sand dunes.  Now it was the Swifts’ top-secret rocket base, tightly guarded by drone planes and radar.

As the helicopter approached its destination, Tom radioed for clearance, then whirred down toward the landing field.  The barracks, workshops, and launching area of the base lay spread out in full view.  Cargo rockets bristled on their launching pads, along with Tom’s spaceships, including the mighty Titan, and the oddly shaped Challenger and Cosmic Sailer.

North and south, the island was fringed with docks.  Here the recovery tugs and fuel tankers were moored, as well as the Swifts’ fleet of undersea craft.

Tom had chosen a cargo-hauling jetmarine, named the Swiftsure.  It was a larger version of his original two-man jet sub, the Ocean Dart.  He had given orders the night before to have it ready for sea by morning.