Tom Swift and His Ultrasonic Cycloplane (7 page)

Hanson frowned. "It’s hard to believe that the cloud bank could remain so stable over a period of days like that."

"It may be due to some landscape feature," Tom noted. Banking sharply, he steered straight for the strange opening in the area of heavy weather. As they plowed into the periphery of the turbulent overcast, two towering volcanic peaks, great evil-looking cones of wizened lava-rock, suddenly loomed up ahead!

Chow, who had come forward to the flight compartment with Hedron and two other members of the rescue party, gulped nervously. "Brand my ripcord, I’ll bet m’ bottom dollar that’s them volcanoes the boys saw!"

"Bud and Slim may have crashed between those peaks or just beyond," Tom replied, half to himself. "I want a closer look."

The opening in the clouds was narrow, and quickly grew narrower as the ship roared forward toward the twin volcanoes. The rescuers felt as though the walls were closing in on them like a funnel. As they plunged deeply into the turbulent storm area, the giant ship began to buck and shudder violently. Tom seemed about to lose control of the
Sky Queen
.

Chow yelled in panic, "We’re goin’ to crash!"

The faces of Tom’s crewmen blanched with alarm. But the young inventor managed to quiet their fears momentarily with his reply: "Relax, Chow! We were in this soup before and pulled out safely. We’re a mighty big bird!"

"That’s j-jest what’s worryin’ me," the cook quavered. "Don’t hardly look like anything bigger’n a hoot owl could fly betwixt those pointy peaks!"

Without warning the storm clouds seemed to slam together, and the plane was now at the very heart of the storm. Rain lashed the cabin windows, and the extinct volcanoes stood out in the leaden darkness like sentinels of doom, gray in the skyship’s forward lights. Tom was forced to jockey the craft like a balky horse to keep it aloft.

Cutting the forward jets, he braked the
Sky Queen
sharply. Then, as the plane lost momentum against the buffeting winds, Tom eased off on the jet lifter throttle. Slowly he began the dangerous descent into the gorge between the peaks, prey to the wild wind that all too easily could spin the big craft against the jagged sides of the shadowed, brooding volcanos.

"Everyone keep a lookout for signs of wreckage!" he instructed his companions. His own eyes darted from side to side—conning the instrument dials, gauging the distance between the threatening mountain walls to port and starboard as the wingless
Queen
sideslipped unpredictably in nerve-wracking sweeps. In the misty, lightning-lit gloom, visibility was almost at zero. The mammoth plane was so completely boxed in by the peaks that again and again it seemed as if the buffeting winds would dash it against the rocks!

Beads of sweat glistened on Arv Hanson’s forehead as he watched Tom’s icy-nerved maneuvers. "Only that boy could do it," he muttered softly in George Hedron’s direction. Hedron nodded appreciatively.

Suddenly there was a screech of tortured metal and the whole ship rocked and vibrated under the impact. "The starboard vane tip is scraping!" yelled Red Jones.

Instantly Tom yanked the throttle and poured power to the jet lifters. Like a rocket, the plane shot up from between the volcanoes with a blast of smoke and flame, roaring through the writhing canopy of thunderheads and finally emerging into bright morning sunshine miles above the earth.

Chow had collapsed into the nearest seat, his rotund bulk quivering with nervous shock. "Brand my sagebrush salad," he moaned, mopping his bald head with a red bandanna, "why don’t we try somethin’ safe fer a change?" He grimaced. "Like hirin’ some head-hunters to give us all a good short haircut?"

"Sorry, Chow—" Tom repressed a worried grin. "—but I’m afraid this jungle rescue business is going to be no picnic any way we tackle it!" Turning serious, he added, "Did any of you spot traces of Bud’s plane?"

The others responded with a gloomy negative.

"Pretty tough to see much, though, with all this overcast," commented Sam Barker, one of the flight crew. "We could have missed them easily."

High above the storm area now, Tom stared at the dark cloud masses billowing under powerful winds. The tops of the two volcanoes were totally hidden.

"Guess we muffed our chance that time," he brooded. "With the giant searchlight, we could have picked out ground details clearly." This famous invention was capable of illuminating large areas with a clear, diamondlike brilliance.

"Jumpin’ horned toads!" gulped Chow, turning pale beneath his desert tan. "You don’t mean you’re aimin’ to try that loco stunt again?"

Tom shook his head. "No. Even our supergyros can’t steady the ship well enough for safe hovering. Anyhow, it’s no use trying to fly any lower in the
Sky Queen
—we’re just too darn big."

"Are you giving up?" George Hedron inquired.

"Not by a long shot!" vowed the young inventor. "Arv, you stand off somewhere on the lifters and I’ll try to get through in the
Kub."

The
Kangaroo Kub,
a midget jet plane with advanced maneuvering capabilities, was carried in the vast hangar-hold of the Flying Lab.

Chow sprang to his feet. "Now wait jest a second there, son! You sure as Cheyenne ain’t headin’ into that mess all alone!"

Tom shook his head impatiently. "I don’t need a copilot. I’ll run the video cameras automatically, on infrared."

"Call me copilot er call me friend," said the cowpoke, "but I’m aimin’ to go along with you."

"But—!" Then Tom relaxed. He realized that Chow was setting aside an enormous burden of fear out of loyalty to Tom. "Okay, pardner. Let’s head for the hangar."

Leaving Hanson at the controls, Tom and Chow scrambled below to the ship’s pressurized hangar space. Slipping into the cockpit of the
Kangaroo Kub,
a flick of a switch caused the entire rear section of the deck to lower on hydraulic arms like an elevator platform, the sides opening out to the sky. Tom locked the canopy and hastily warmed up the engine.

"All set, Arv," he signaled into his mike. "Steady as she goes!" Tom fired a cartridge to release the special launching-rail mechanism, and the tiny jet shot from the hangar into space.

"Wheee-oooh!"
yelped Chow in a cowboy whoop.

Once airborne, the
Kub
was steered back toward the pass. But almost as soon as Tom penetrated the storm area again, he realized that the odds were hopeless. Seized by the violent crosscurrents, the small craft was tossed and buffeted like a feather in a windstorm. Tom felt a wave of panic as the stubby jet failed to respond to its controls.

"I’d better cut back on the throttle!" Tom muttered to Chow.

"R-reckon ya better!" gasped Chow.

As the jet thrust slackened, the plane teetered perilously on the brink of a stall. Tom waited for the split-second bite as its controls took hold, then hauled up its nose and "poured on the coal." The
Kub
zoomed upward like a comet!

"Whew!" Tom felt his heart pounding with relief. "Well, there goes that idea!"

Chow reached over and put a hand on his beloved boss’s shoulder. "Don’t you fret, son. You’ll come up with somethin’ better."

Disappointed but far from defeated, the young inventor streaked back to the hovering
Queen
and set down primly in the hangar at slow-cruising speed, slipping easily into the hold’s arresting mechanism.

"Any luck?" Doc Simpson voiced the question of the whole group as Tom and Chow entered the flight deck cabin.

Tom shook his head glumly. "Not yet. The
Kub
wouldn’t handle in the storm. But that doesn’t mean we’re licked." His mind whirling, Tom sighed. "But for now, let’s go back to that clearing and set down."

Arv turned toward the master controls. But before he could make a move, Sam Barker, the crewman monitoring the communications setup, suddenly waved a cautioning hand.

"What’s up?" Tom asked. But Sam motioned him to silence, straining to hear something from his headset. Finally he looked up at Tom and the others.

"Bud and Slim are alive!—
at least, one of them is!" Sam reported breathlessly as the men clustered around. "I just picked up a faint signal on the ship’s radio!"

"YOU’RE SURE it was Bud or Slim?" Hardly daring to feel hope, Tom grabbed Barker by the shoulders.

"Positive! The signal was pretty feeble, and there was too much static to recognize the voice. But it was one of our boys, all right!"

"What did he say?"

Sam’s face clouded. "At first I couldn’t make anything out, but the last part sounded something like:
‘…rare…like what you…’
That’s all I could understand. Then the signal faded out completely."

"Please try to call them back!" Tom directed eagerly.

The men waited in suspense as Sam made a series of attempts at different frequencies. "No response," he finally reported in discouragement.

"Well, keep trying!" Tom ordered.

As Barker complied, Tom and the others left the control compartment and headed upstairs to the lounge, where the young inventor was pelted with questions about the results of his flight in the
Kub
.

"I doubt if any type of aircraft could make a landing in that storm area," Tom told them. "I’ve never heard of a weather phenomenon like that. And it doesn’t seem to be going away."

"Kinda makes a feller believe in black magic," Chow said in a worried voice. "I
knew
I should’ve brought along my lucky horseshoe!"

Hank Sterling spoke up. "Tom, I know it’s already occurred to you—how about using your new cycloplane? It’s compact enough to maneuver between those peaks, and its lift principle could help you resist the buffeting effect."

Tom nodded slowly. "I’ve been thinking the same thing. The cycloplane’s aerodynamic principle offers our only chance of stable flight in such a turbulent sky as this one."

"But the
SwiftStorm
is back in Shopton," Red pointed out. "And it’s not even ready yet."

"I know." The young inventor brooded silently for a moment.

Doc Simpson spoke up. "Let’s assume an air rescue of Bud and Slim is out. What’re we going to do?"

"Try reaching them overland," Tom decided. "Looks as if it’s our only hope."

George Hedron frowned. "You’re the man in charge, Tom, but do you have any idea how treacherous that dense jungle is?"

"You’re right, George," Tom said, casting a cool look toward the zoologist. "I
am
the man in charge. We set off in two hours."

Unfortunately, the expedition’s gear on board the
Sky Queen
included no complete outfits for a long jungle hike. But Tom refused to be intimidated by this obstacle.
We’ll get through, somehow,
he told himself.
Bud’s depending on me!

After consulting Hedron about possible hazards, he issued a number of orders. Then the young inventor hurried back to the command deck and interrupted Sam long enough to put through a radio call to Shopton.

"Any news, son?" Mr. Swift’s voice came through the unscrambling device.

"Yes, and good news at that, Dad!" Tom quickly told his father about the signal which Sam had picked up. "But there’s some bad news, too," he went on. "We’ve spotted the place where Bud and Slim must have crashed, but there’s no chance of landing—or even trying an air pickup. That means we’ll have to reach them the hard way."

"Through the jungle?" The elder scientist’s voice was tinged with worry.

"Right, Dad. We’ll start out right away."

"But, Tom, you’re not equipped for a land search of that kind."

"I believe we can make out," Tom reassured him. "Anyhow, it’s worth a first try on foot. If we can’t get through, I may have to use the cycloplane."

Mr. Swift conceded the logic of Tom’s plan. "I’ll put an engineering team and a test pilot on the job right away; in fact, I’ll take personal charge myself. With luck, we can have your cycloplane ready for action in a few days."

"Swell, Dad! That’s the main reason I called."

Meanwhile, Chow had been packing a jungle kit for each man, which included water, food rations, and insect repellent. Doc Simpson loaded his own bag with medical instruments and extra first-aid gear in case of emergencies.

At the same time, each man was busy with scissors, needle, and packthread, fashioning himself a makeshift sleeping bag out of waterproof nylon fabric, interwoven with Tomasite fibers. Great rolls of the lightweight material were always carried aboard the
Sky Queen
for camouflage purposes.

Tom himself went to work at top speed in the ship’s electronic laboratory. Assembling parts like a one-man production line, he constructed a small transistor-type walkie-talkie for every man, in case the group should become separated from one another.

Despite their dogged pace and Tom’s announced goal, the tropic sun was high overhead when the lunch-call clanging of Chow’s triangle was heard over the ship’s intercom. Hungrily the crew assembled for a tasty meal of ham sandwiches, salad, and lemonade.

"How soon do we hit the trail, skipper?" Hank Sterling asked as he got up from the table.

"In about an hour," Tom replied. "And
that’s
a concession! We’ll all hit the sack for a short siesta first, so we can start out well rested."

Shortly before two o’clock, Tom roused the men from their naps. Shouldering their jungle kit bags, the rescue party lined up for the rugged overland trek.

Arv Hanson and two flight crewmen had been detailed to stay behind and guard the
Sky Queen,
and to continue trying to contact Bud and Slim. Tom had equipped himself with a fairly strong radio transmitter to keep in constant touch with them.

"Remember, fellows," Tom warned his men, "we’re in for some rough travel and the heat and humidity will be terrific until we reach higher ground. So take it easy until you get used to it."

With shouts of farewell from the three crewmen guarding the
Sky Queen,
the rescue party slogged forward into the jungle.

The undergrowth was so dense that almost at once the going became rugged. Swinging their machetes and hatchets, the men had to hack their way along, foot by foot and yard by yard.