Tom Swift and His Spectromarine Selector (18 page)

The crew stared out at the barren scene, awed by the picture Tom’s words had painted.

"Let’s hope no such disaster ever happens to our civilization," Brian muttered.

"I’m sure it won’t," Tom said firmly. "Dad feels, and so do I, that mankind can build a wonderful future with the discoveries of science."

Miss Gabardine’s eyes took on a glow of admiration. "You’re a most inspiring speaker—Tom."

As the valley widened further into an open plain, the manta roved back and forth, exploring for further signs of human habitation. Tom took navigational fixes at a number of points and sketched out a rough map of the area, matching it with the sonarscope survey.

Presently a curiously pointed peak loomed into view, then another beyond it.

"Here are the pyramids," Tom said. "At least they might be man-made structures beneath all that gunk. Of course they’ve been eroded and broken, and half-buried by the lava flow."

"They’re still awesome enough for my taste!" Brian murmured half-jokingly. "It’s like seeing Egypt under water!"

The huge monuments were grouped in a circle under what once would have been the shadow of a towering mountain. "The legends mention a great mountain dominating the island of Atlantis," said George.

Tom nosed the broad
Deepwing
deftly in among the pyramids. At the center of the formation stood a flat altar, apparently built from slabs of rock.

"Uh-oh!" Bud shuddered. "I wonder if they used that altar for sacrifices to their gods?"

"Very likely," Ham Teller agreed.

"But not necessarily
human
sacrifices, so let’s not get gruesome, pal!" Tom admonished. He added, "Well, let’s set ’er down and get cracking."

The spectrosel was carefully winched down from its topside cradle and stood next to the personnel hatch as its onboard repelatron was activated by remote control. Tom and Bud stepped into the airspace, and the machine rumbled off in the direction of one of the pyramidal forms. Halting, Tom aimed the cannon at the nearby side and actuated the mechanism. Layer after layer of the encrustation of ages fell away, gradually exposing what lay beneath.

"Man, you were right, skipper—this thing is some kind of pyramid!" Bud cried. "Look at that wall—more gold."

Tom checked the readings on the cannon's inbuilt spectroscanner. "No, pal, whatever it looks like, that isn’t gold. The scanner can’t identify it. It must be that metal Centas discovered."

"You mean these Atlantis guys were advanced enough to separate it out and work it back in the age of mastodons and saber-tooths?"

"It seems so!" Tom grinned. "Until the archaeologists determine that it really is the legendary orichalcum, I’m calling it neo-aurium—
new gold!"

Tom now drove the spectromarine selector toward the flat altar at the center of the group of pyramids.

"Looks like there’s a big pit in the middle of it," Bud said. "Maybe it’s one of those sacrificial wells, like we saw in Yucatan."

"Let’s see what the cannon makes of it." The mounds of accumulated debris began to melt away. In moments Tom and Bud were gaping in amazement.

Half-buried in the ocean slime below lay a strange craft. It resembled perfectly the image on the wall of the underground chamber in the city!

"A spaceship!"
Bud gasped.

Had the ship crashed after Aurum City was built? Or could it be that its occupants were the ones who had first founded the city? Tom and Bud bubbled with excited speculations.

"Right now we can’t even guess," said Tom at last. "If it’s like the other vessels the space beings have sent our way, it’s impenetrable. But I certainly intend to find out the truth, pal—after I design the special instruments it will take to discover the answers."

"Maybe the space friends themselves can tell you all about it," Bud suggested. "I’d say another space trip is in the offing!" Could Bud be referring to the challenging project coming up for Tom in the company of
The Cosmic Astronauts?

Their thoughts were interrupted by a sonophone call from Chow aboard the mantacopter. "Don’t take off yet, boys! I got a table all laid out back here. How about a real celebration with all the trimmins in honor o’ Uncle Sam’s city o’ gold an’ Tom Swift’s spectromarine selector?"

As Bud cheered in approval, Tom grinned. "Okay. But don’t weight us down with too much grub, Chow, or we’ll never make it back to the surface!"