ing us, and sort of pushed the
panic button."

The Texan blushed as Tom explained what had happened. Realizing Chow's
embarrassment, Tom tried to make his mistake sound understandable.

Apparently the power line to the ion-drive control board had somehow
picked up the boys' scrambled conversation underwater. The signal had
been transferred by inductance in the wall wiring and amplified over the
public-address system.

"Our wall mike was on," Tom added, "and it probably picked up some of
the sound waves from the tank. Anyhow," he concluded, slapping the cook
affectionately on the back, "I'm sure glad we have a wide-awake hombre
like Chow in the outfit. It wouldn't be the first time he's saved our
necks!"

Chow perked up, and the employees, reassured, returned to their jobs.

"I have some news of my own," Mr. Swift announced with a smile as the
room cleared. "But I'm afraid it'll sound pretty tame compared to a
space attack."

"Let's hear it, Dad," Tom said eagerly.

"I've been conducting some experiments with those space plants," the
elder scientist said. "It looks as though they may prove to be a
valuable nutritional source."

The plants, Mr. Swift went on, showed promise of producing enormous
amounts of protein quickly and cheaply--enough to increase the world's
food supply by a sizable margin. Moreover, he had isolated a vitamin in
this protein not found in any of man's present foods.

"Doc Simpson has been working with me," Mr. Swift concluded. "He has
been doing some experiments of his own with a vitamin extract from the
space plants. He thinks it may prove highly beneficial to human beings."

Tom was thrilled, and even Bud realized that Mr. Swift's cautious report
could well turn out to be of history-making importance.

"I'd say your news makes a phony space attack look pretty tame, Dad,"
Tom said, his eyes flashing enthusiastically. "With the earth's
population increasing, this could be the answer to the food problem."

"Don't tell Chow," Bud added, "or we may find spaceburgers on the next
menu!"

The Swifts chuckled. Chow's hobby of concocting weird dishes was a
standing joke at Enterprises, and already had led to such dubious
triumphs as armadillo stew and rattlesnake soup.

Monday morning Tom buckled down seriously to the job of designing an
undetectable sub. His drawing board was littered with sketches and
diagrams when the phone rang, breaking in on his thoughts. Tom answered
it with a scowl