uneventful. Arriving at twilight, Tom had a satisfying supper aboard, then contacted Huratlcuyon, transmitting to Professor Castillez’s short-wave radio.
"All is quiet here, Tom," reported Castillez. "I have been half-listening for the buzz of your alarm-monitor, but there is nothing so far."
"Good," commented Tom. "Maybe we’ll all manage a good night’s sleep tonight."
First, however, the young inventor felt moved to work on a technical challenge that had occupied his mind during the long drive from the village. He headed for his electronics work-module, one of the small compartments on deck two. A crewman, Dick Folsom, stopped him on his way for a moment of conversation.
"Cooking up something new in your mini-lab, chief?"
"Not exactly new, but definitely smaller," was the reply. "At present the baseline-detector apparatus sits as a separate unit—another big box to lug around, along with the camera console itself and the other parts. I have a notion I can miniaturize that phase of the process and bolt the equipment right on to the main camera body."
"Boy, you’ve got a job on your hands, skipper." Dick frowned as he examined with a professional eye a sketch Tom had made in his notebook. "Neat concept. But my guess is that redesigning your camera ‘eyes’ will take at least a week’s work back at the plant."
"Can’t wait that long—I need the retroscope now, while we’re here in Yucatan. I’m a pretty impatient guy!" Tom ran his fingers through his ragged blond crewcut. "Maybe I’m taking a long shot, but I’m going to try turning out a new rig right here in the Flying Lab."
"Tall order, Tom!" Dick whistled. "But you can do it if anyone can. I’d better clear out, so you can work undisturbed."
Dick Folsom had hardly walked away when Tom plunged into his problem full-throttle. He whipped out a sophisticated calculator and began applying its results to a circuit diagram taking shape on his design flatscreen.
"One thing’s certain," Tom murmured to himself. "To get fine detail in the picture and still keep the rig down to portable size, I’ll have to miniaturize the whole scanning apparatus. Maybe I can cut a few corners by a parallel-processing gimmick…"
Hours went by. Tom’s desk-workbench became littered with scribbled equations, exclamation-marked notes, and sketches of parts layouts. Finally he broke off long enough to buzz the galley over the intercom and ask for food. Slim Davis responded. "You still hard at it, Tom?" he asked in amused surprise. "I just dropped by for an after-midnight snack."
"After midnight?" Tom laughed out loud at himself. "And I was planning a solid night’s sleep!"
But he was hot on the trail and couldn’t bear to stop. By two o’clock Tom had begun to rig up the new miniaturized detector component for testing, even though he was still not certain he had licked the problems completely. Some time later he glanced at his wristwatch.
"Ten after four!" The young inventor gave a whistle. "What a skullcracker this turned out to be! Dick sure wasn’t kidding when he guessed it would take a week’s work."
Yawning wide and leaning back on his work stool, Tom stretched his cramped limbs. Sure wish Bud and Chow were here, he thought wistfully. Bud’s breezy quips and Chow’s many puzzled questions not only gave Tom a lift, but often played a part in giving him a new insight into whatever problem he was tackling.
Soon he was back at work assembling a spiderweb-like mass of tiny micro-components—transistors, diodes, triodes, anodes, magnetodes, and other solid-state odes to modern genius. But presently Tom’s head slumped toward the workbench and he drowsed off from sheer exhaustion, dreaming of numbers.
Meanwhile, Bud Barclay and Chow were turning and tossing in their hammocks back in the Mayan village. A horde of tiny insects buzzed maddeningly outside their mosquito netting.
Presently Bud whispered, "Hey, Chow! You awake?"
"I sure am," the cook grunted
"All is quiet here, Tom," reported Castillez. "I have been half-listening for the buzz of your alarm-monitor, but there is nothing so far."
"Good," commented Tom. "Maybe we’ll all manage a good night’s sleep tonight."
First, however, the young inventor felt moved to work on a technical challenge that had occupied his mind during the long drive from the village. He headed for his electronics work-module, one of the small compartments on deck two. A crewman, Dick Folsom, stopped him on his way for a moment of conversation.
"Cooking up something new in your mini-lab, chief?"
"Not exactly new, but definitely smaller," was the reply. "At present the baseline-detector apparatus sits as a separate unit—another big box to lug around, along with the camera console itself and the other parts. I have a notion I can miniaturize that phase of the process and bolt the equipment right on to the main camera body."
"Boy, you’ve got a job on your hands, skipper." Dick frowned as he examined with a professional eye a sketch Tom had made in his notebook. "Neat concept. But my guess is that redesigning your camera ‘eyes’ will take at least a week’s work back at the plant."
"Can’t wait that long—I need the retroscope now, while we’re here in Yucatan. I’m a pretty impatient guy!" Tom ran his fingers through his ragged blond crewcut. "Maybe I’m taking a long shot, but I’m going to try turning out a new rig right here in the Flying Lab."
"Tall order, Tom!" Dick whistled. "But you can do it if anyone can. I’d better clear out, so you can work undisturbed."
Dick Folsom had hardly walked away when Tom plunged into his problem full-throttle. He whipped out a sophisticated calculator and began applying its results to a circuit diagram taking shape on his design flatscreen.
"One thing’s certain," Tom murmured to himself. "To get fine detail in the picture and still keep the rig down to portable size, I’ll have to miniaturize the whole scanning apparatus. Maybe I can cut a few corners by a parallel-processing gimmick…"
Hours went by. Tom’s desk-workbench became littered with scribbled equations, exclamation-marked notes, and sketches of parts layouts. Finally he broke off long enough to buzz the galley over the intercom and ask for food. Slim Davis responded. "You still hard at it, Tom?" he asked in amused surprise. "I just dropped by for an after-midnight snack."
"After midnight?" Tom laughed out loud at himself. "And I was planning a solid night’s sleep!"
But he was hot on the trail and couldn’t bear to stop. By two o’clock Tom had begun to rig up the new miniaturized detector component for testing, even though he was still not certain he had licked the problems completely. Some time later he glanced at his wristwatch.
"Ten after four!" The young inventor gave a whistle. "What a skullcracker this turned out to be! Dick sure wasn’t kidding when he guessed it would take a week’s work."
Yawning wide and leaning back on his work stool, Tom stretched his cramped limbs. Sure wish Bud and Chow were here, he thought wistfully. Bud’s breezy quips and Chow’s many puzzled questions not only gave Tom a lift, but often played a part in giving him a new insight into whatever problem he was tackling.
Soon he was back at work assembling a spiderweb-like mass of tiny micro-components—transistors, diodes, triodes, anodes, magnetodes, and other solid-state odes to modern genius. But presently Tom’s head slumped toward the workbench and he drowsed off from sheer exhaustion, dreaming of numbers.
Meanwhile, Bud Barclay and Chow were turning and tossing in their hammocks back in the Mayan village. A horde of tiny insects buzzed maddeningly outside their mosquito netting.
Presently Bud whispered, "Hey, Chow! You awake?"
"I sure am," the cook grunted
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