"Okay." he murmured, "I'm all right now. Sorry if I scared you, Dad." He started to get up.
"It's a hospital bed for you, skipper. And no arguments!" Doc Simpson said sternly. "What happened here?"
"I believe," Mr. Swift answered, "that our space friends, in finding a way to move the energy back to us, had less close control over it on earth than when they sent it from space."
By midmorning the next day, Tom had awakened refreshed from a good night's sleep and felt normal again. Over Doc Simpson's protests, he insisted upon dressing and hurrying over to his laboratory.
Here he found his father working intently amid a jumble of mechanical parts, tools, and electronic equipment. Nearby stood Exman with a panel open in his upper body, exposing the controls and output equipment.
"Hi, Dad!" Tom exclaimed as he strode into the laboratory. "What's doing with Ole Think Box?"
Mr. Swift looked up with a smile of relief. "'Morning, son! All well again? That's wonderful! I'm just giving Exman an artificial speech mechanism. He's already briefed us via the electronic brain on the situation in Brungaria. But I thought it would be even better if he could tell us in person."
Details on the earthquake plot, Mr. Swift went on, had already been reported to the Defense Department. Tom's raid on Balala Island had effectively blocked further quake attempts.
The Brungarian rebels had become enraged by their failure to extract Exman's secrets, and had decided to disintegrate the robot creature and its brain energy. But the youthful Brungarian loyalist group had kept them so busy with resistance outbreaks that they had delayed too long.
"Lucky thing!" Tom put in with an affectionate grin at Exman. "If they had started to destroy him half an hour sooner, it might have been pretty sad for Ole Think Box!"