missile and engineered the
space probe for the government.

"Whew!" Bud gave a nervous whistle. "I see what you mean, pal. With all
our eggs in one basket, we sure can't afford to get butter-fingered with
the Jupiter prober."

Admiral Walter, a tall, distinguished man, graying at the temples,
smiled. "It's what we call in warfare a calculated risk, Bud," he said.
"But with Tom in charge, I believe we have nothing to worry about."

Mr. Swift's eyes shone with fatherly pride at the admiral's remark. Tom
Jr.'s pioneering rocket flights and inventions had won the youth a top
rank in American space research.

"Guess you're right, sir," Bud agreed. "I'll back genius boy here any
day!"

Tom winced as Bud whacked him heartily on the shoulder. "Better save
your orchids and keep your fingers crossed, fly boy," the young inventor
advised. "That rocket's not home yet."

Radio telescopes, both on land and aboard the ships of the task force,
were following the missile's progress as it drew closer to earth. All
were feeding a steady stream of information to the ships' computers.

"How soon will you fire the retro-rockets, Tom?" Admiral Walter inquired
presently.

"In about ten seconds, sir," Tom replied, eying the sweep second hand of
the clock.

Moments later, a red light flashed on the master control panel. Tom's
finger stabbed a button. Far out in space, the retarding rockets in the
missile's nose were triggered for a brief burst, slowing its high speed.
Without this, the missile would hurtle to flaming destruction in the
atmosphere.

"We've picked it up!" shouted a radarman.

Bud gave a whoop of excitement and everyone crowded around the
radarscope. Tom's steel-blue eyes checked the blip. Then he threw a
switch which started an automatic plotting machine that had been
prepared with the landing plan, and noted that the missile was slightly
off the correct path. A new flow of information now began pulsing in as
other ships' tracking radars recorded its course. The data was being fed
automatically to the "capture" computer. This would analyze the correct
flight path for the recovery missile, which would magnetically seize the
returning traveler from Jupiter and bring it safely home.

Tom quickly read off the results from the computer's dials, then busied
himself again with the retarding-rocket controls.

"Everything going okay, skipper?" Bud asked.

Tom nodded. "I've readjusted the retarding rockets. They'll fire a