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Before daylight, Tom was back at his workbench ready to begin assembling the units of his new sonar gear. Later he phoned Chow but scarcely paused to eat when the cook arrived with his order. "Brand my solar stovepipe!" Chow scolded. "Take time to eat your vittles properly, boss!" "Hmm?... Oh, sure." Tom looked up and grinned. The stout old Texan stomped out, shaking his head.
It was amazingly sensitive to any form of radioactivity and the missile, of course, would be "hot" from exposure to cosmic rays. Meanwhile, Tom had ordered his new hydrolung suit, with its four-plunger control unit and porpoise sonar, to be flown back to Enterprises. Arv Hanson had promised to make up several duplicates with a team of technicians working on all-night shifts.
MARQUESA. En efecto, y me irá muy bien como tengo bastante color ... y luego como tú ... en tus circunstancias, no puedes soñar en comprarlo.... VECINA. ¡Oh! es caro bocado para un estudiante. MARQUESA. No te debe importar el que yo lo tome ... y que al fin lo tomaré ... ¿qué he de hacer? son tentaciones que....
"I could also use that same sound output as the search pulse for my quality analyzer sonar!" In this way, Tom explained, he could eliminate part of his bulky equipment and do an even better job of making the diver "invisible." Bubbling with enthusiasm, Tom decided to buy a live porpoise at once and make an exact recording of its sounds.
"The job will boil down to blotting out sonar waves and piercing the enemy's own 'wave-trap defense," the young scientist concluded. As Tom struggled with the problem, he lost all track of time. A door swung open and high-heeled boots clumped on the floor tiles. Tom looked up and saw the portly, aproned figure of Chow Winkler entering. "Hi, boss! Can I borrow a radio?" Chow asked.
Chow walked out with the portable, crooning contentedly to the music. Tom frowned, trying to get his train of thought to focus once more on the submarine problem. But for some reason the business with the microphone and the speaker in the next room kept lingering in his mind. Suddenly Tom exclaimed aloud, "Say! I wonder if that's how the enemy sub blinds our sonar?"
He didn't know the answer to that. "Anyway, since it's underwater, if it sends out anything it must be sound impulses. Otherwise we wouldn't hear it wail. And what good is sound if not for signals?" added Rick. "Sonar," Scotty reminded. The boys were familiar with sonar because of the Spindrift work on the Submobile.
"Well, I'm curious about the chicken. I think we hit it when we decided they wanted to scare us out of the octopus-cave area, but it would be nice to know for sure. And why did they take the sonar equipment to the eastern reef during the storm?" "Probably to make a recording as a routine check. They couldn't assume all sub activity was taking place to the west." "But how can we be sure?"
The idea certainly seemed feasible. Suppose the submarine used a great many "microphones" or receiving transducers to pick up the sonar pulses beamed out by another craft trying to detect it? These impulses could then be passed on and sent out by speakers on the opposite side of the sub, and relayed along on their underwater path of travel.
The next morning he eagerly tackled the job of adding sonar protection and sonar detection features to his electronic hydrolung. What an amazing fish man the wearer would be, Tom thought, if his project succeeded!
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