Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway by Victor Appleton II Page A
Authors: Victor Appleton II
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Construction Company on the other side of Shopton. After supper Tom and the two older men gathered in the den to discuss the possible Ngombia project.
"Well, Damon, from what you’ve told me, I’d say the project is worth looking into," said Mr. Aturian. "We’d be helping a new democratic country in Africa, and a successful job over there would he a credit to America—if you two Swift thinkers can lick the engineering problems."
Mr. Swift’s eyes lighted with enthusiasm. Trim and youthful looking with keen blue eyes and hair barely touched by gray, he closely resembled his taller, lankier son. "I agree, Jake. However, I’ll be tied up on our aerospace research project, the grant from NASA—which means that Tom here will have to take charge once again."
Jake Aturian raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes one’s offspring can be pretty convenient to have around. After you’ve brought ’em up, of course." Tom laughed.
"So how about it, son?" asked Damon Swift.
"I’d sure like to try. With the team backing me up on the engineering end, and Uncle Jake on costs, I think I’ll be able to handle it."
"It’s bound to be easier to deal with than other big operations you’ve wrangled, Tom," Uncle Jake noted reassuringly. "You did a fine job with the earth blaster operation in Antarctica, and the Little Luna expedition."
"Thanks. But if I get knocked down, it’ll be the tech problems that do it—the invention side of things," said Tom.
His father then asked if he had any ideas beyond the repelaspan system to knit together the divided nation.
"Not exactly, not yet. It seems the Ngombians have some kind of superhighway in mind. I’m not sure we ought to limit our thinking, though. An atomicar transport system might be one solution," Tom mused. His listeners knew that this flying vehicle Tom had designed had been intended for mass production. "Since the flying cars can operate over any terrain, no regular highway would be needed. That way, we― "
Tom’s words were cut short by a spurt of the alarm system, a sudden whine of warning! The startling alert was followed by a strange sharp sound, like something tough being ripped violently in two. An object, long and skinny, streaked across the line of vision of the three.
With a twang the bizarre missile buried its nose in the wall of the den!
"A spear!" Tom cried in disbelief.
Leaping from his chair, he dashed over to examine the still-quivering weapon. The two others, slower to put aside their surprise, took a moment to join him.
The spear was imposingly large. Attached to the back end of the shaft, fluttering limply, was a small strip of light-colored material bearing a crudely printed message in blood-red ink:
TOM SWIFT — YOU AND YOUR KIND HAVE NO BUSINESS IN AFRICA. STAY OUT OF NGOMBIA OR YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL SUFFER !
CHAPTER 8
A JUNGLE MYSTERY
THE EXCITED shouts of the men had sent Sandy and her slender, pretty mother hurrying into the den. As Tom read the message aloud, not realizing they were standing in the doorway listening, their hands flew to their faces in alarm and dread.
"Oh!" Mrs. Swift gasped anxiously.
"Why didn’t the warning buzzer keep ringing?" Sandy asked, bewildered, as she put a reassuring hand on her mother’s arm. The Swift home was surrounded by an electromagnetic motion-sensor field that gave warning of any intruder.
"It was the spear that touched off the alarm," Tom guessed. Crinkling some sheets of blank paper around his hands so as not to disturb any fingerprints, he yanked the fearsome object from the wall with a grunt of effort and held it upright next to him. "Whoever threw it must have stayed outside the range of the alarm."
His sister couldn’t believe what Tom was saying! "But Tomonomo, look at that thing—it’s taller than you are! Are you saying somebody threw it—all the way from the road?"
"And even if were thrown, how did it manage to break through the window glass?" demanded Mrs. Swift. "Damon, I thought the
"Well, Damon, from what you’ve told me, I’d say the project is worth looking into," said Mr. Aturian. "We’d be helping a new democratic country in Africa, and a successful job over there would he a credit to America—if you two Swift thinkers can lick the engineering problems."
Mr. Swift’s eyes lighted with enthusiasm. Trim and youthful looking with keen blue eyes and hair barely touched by gray, he closely resembled his taller, lankier son. "I agree, Jake. However, I’ll be tied up on our aerospace research project, the grant from NASA—which means that Tom here will have to take charge once again."
Jake Aturian raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes one’s offspring can be pretty convenient to have around. After you’ve brought ’em up, of course." Tom laughed.
"So how about it, son?" asked Damon Swift.
"I’d sure like to try. With the team backing me up on the engineering end, and Uncle Jake on costs, I think I’ll be able to handle it."
"It’s bound to be easier to deal with than other big operations you’ve wrangled, Tom," Uncle Jake noted reassuringly. "You did a fine job with the earth blaster operation in Antarctica, and the Little Luna expedition."
"Thanks. But if I get knocked down, it’ll be the tech problems that do it—the invention side of things," said Tom.
His father then asked if he had any ideas beyond the repelaspan system to knit together the divided nation.
"Not exactly, not yet. It seems the Ngombians have some kind of superhighway in mind. I’m not sure we ought to limit our thinking, though. An atomicar transport system might be one solution," Tom mused. His listeners knew that this flying vehicle Tom had designed had been intended for mass production. "Since the flying cars can operate over any terrain, no regular highway would be needed. That way, we― "
Tom’s words were cut short by a spurt of the alarm system, a sudden whine of warning! The startling alert was followed by a strange sharp sound, like something tough being ripped violently in two. An object, long and skinny, streaked across the line of vision of the three.
With a twang the bizarre missile buried its nose in the wall of the den!
"A spear!" Tom cried in disbelief.
Leaping from his chair, he dashed over to examine the still-quivering weapon. The two others, slower to put aside their surprise, took a moment to join him.
The spear was imposingly large. Attached to the back end of the shaft, fluttering limply, was a small strip of light-colored material bearing a crudely printed message in blood-red ink:
TOM SWIFT — YOU AND YOUR KIND HAVE NO BUSINESS IN AFRICA. STAY OUT OF NGOMBIA OR YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL SUFFER !
CHAPTER 8
A JUNGLE MYSTERY
THE EXCITED shouts of the men had sent Sandy and her slender, pretty mother hurrying into the den. As Tom read the message aloud, not realizing they were standing in the doorway listening, their hands flew to their faces in alarm and dread.
"Oh!" Mrs. Swift gasped anxiously.
"Why didn’t the warning buzzer keep ringing?" Sandy asked, bewildered, as she put a reassuring hand on her mother’s arm. The Swift home was surrounded by an electromagnetic motion-sensor field that gave warning of any intruder.
"It was the spear that touched off the alarm," Tom guessed. Crinkling some sheets of blank paper around his hands so as not to disturb any fingerprints, he yanked the fearsome object from the wall with a grunt of effort and held it upright next to him. "Whoever threw it must have stayed outside the range of the alarm."
His sister couldn’t believe what Tom was saying! "But Tomonomo, look at that thing—it’s taller than you are! Are you saying somebody threw it—all the way from the road?"
"And even if were thrown, how did it manage to break through the window glass?" demanded Mrs. Swift. "Damon, I thought the
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