Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway by Victor Appleton II Page A

intercomming Bud to inch along at minimum speed on the jet lifters, he began to scan the terrain below with a variety of special instruments. His penetradar probed the ground to a depth of twenty feet, while a more advanced device, called the LRGM, used gravitational variations to create a profile of the underlying rock strata. He also made use of a telespectrometer and a radiation sensor, the Damonscope. Television cameras craned their extensible necks from the underhull, creating a digital record of the visible lay of the land.
    "Coming up on the swamp, Skipper," Bud commed presently. Tom brought the video image up on a monitor screen and studied it intently. The great V’moda swamp looked like an oil-soaked rag of greenish-brown, dappled with deep shadows and criss-crossed by veins of water that flickered with sun-diamonds as the skyship passed over them. Crossing the center—the low point of the rift valley—Tom made out segments of a sluggish river gleaming here and there between the trees. "Good grief," he muttered to himself, "no wonder Burlow’s men were discouraged. And this is what they thought would be the easiest route!"
    The moving shadow of the Sky Queen sent flocks of colorful birds up into view. The young inventor made out what appeared to be crocodiles. Once he saw a hippo crash through the shallow water and into the underbrush. And once—
    No , he thought. Just eyestrain.
    There was no trace of man.
    Hours later, after several back-and-forth traverses, Tom came up to the command compartment. "We’re done, flyboy," he told Bud. "Take her on over the mountains to Imbolu." The only real city in eastern Ngombia, Imbolu was the regional capital. The central government had arranged a place for the Queen to set down.
    The city was very small and very old, lying at the end of a long pass through the mountains that gave The V’moda a tentative fingerhold in the eastern province.
    They set down in a bare, rocky field that drifted down to the edge of a jungle river where there was a long, dilapidated pier with many small boats of shallow draft.
    As the crew climbed down from the belly hatch, a police officer in a white uniform dashed across to greet Tom and his companions. Another man, a white man with thinning reddish hair wearing neatly-pressed trek linens, trotted along beside him. After saluting smartly, the officer offered his hand. "Welcome to East Ngombia, Tom Swift!" The uniformed man shook hands with the young inventor in African fashion, slapping palms together lightly. "I trust none of your men were kidnapped during your flight from Huttangdala?" he added with a chuckle.
    Tom flushed. "No indeed, sir. I, er, guess you’ve been briefed on what happened to Mr. Kwanu in my country."
    He nodded. "I meant no offense. We are humorous speakers, you know, we Ghiddua. I am Chief-Lieutenant Ata Fokguomo, of the—well, it is called the Imbolu Peace and Loyalty Corps."
    "City police force," said the other man. "Keep the Ulsusu away from bad influences, if you see, hmm?" He stuck out a hand. "Pieter Zerth, Mr. Swift. My friend Ata thought you might like to make the acquaintance of a fellow huanye here in town."
    "That word refers to European-Americans," explained Fokguomo.
    " Whites , in other words," added Zerth blandly. "I’m Dutch, myself. Not so much accent left, eh? The east province is where I do my business."
    Tom ventured a guess. "Afro-Metals, Ltd.?"
    Zerth laughed heartily. "Aha, reputation is everything! Yes indeed, we do much work for the new Ngombia, in these mountains and on the other side, in the jungle."
    After introducing his companions and chatting aimlessly a bit, Tom asked Fokguomo and Zerth if they would care to join them for supper aboard the Sky Queen . "Our chef here had mentioned that his recipe made too much for just our small crew."
    "Right," Chow confirmed. "Don’t like leftovers. It ain’t per-fessional."
    At dinner, the Dutchman proved himself a persistent raconteur, a