Read Online Tom Swift and His Dyna-4 Capsule by Victor Appleton II - Free Book Online
Authors: Victor Appleton II
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don’t know how I even got here—I don’t know what happened to my car—"
"You have an accident?"
"I—not exactly. I’ve been all over, up and down the street—the shops are wide open, but there aren’t any people, Chief. Nobody driving, no one on the sidewalk—"
Jesperson chuckled pleasantly. "Yeah, Friendly Village is a mighty sleepy little place."
So Timeless Town had a name.
Bud rushed on. "And—the barber shop—the hair on the floor—it’s, like, plastic or something—"
"Listen, Bud," interrupted Jesperson. "If this is a prank, tell me now. I’m here by myself right now. You’re tying up the line. That’s a crime. It’ll go hard on you, kid."
Kid , Bud thought. Here I thought my voice was all grown up . "I’m not kidding, Chief. I need—" He paused, thinking strategically. "Yeah, I was in an accident. I’m okay, but—I need to come to the Station. Okay?"
"Yep, I think you do." Now Jesperson sounded warm and concerned. "All right. Stay where you are. Sit down or something. Got it? Kintley’s out on duty. I’ll send Kintley around in the car. Stay put, all right?"
"Sure," Bud said gratefully. "Er—about how long before he gets here, sir? A half hour, maybe?"
The Chief laughed. "Son, you can get to anyplace in town in five minutes, even if you walk! Nelson will be there in three."
"Thanks. Er—didn’t you say his name was—"
A tiny hesitation. "The officer’s name is Nelson Kintley. Wait for him. Right there." The line clicked.
Bud hung up the phone. He suddenly realized, with a silent laugh at himself, that he probably could have used the phone in any of the stores. Who’s to stop me? "Oh well, guess it was worth a nickel."
He folded open the door. As he stepped forward, his head suddenly fuzzed out. He quickly sank down on the floor of the booth, propping the door open, legs outstretched onto the walk. It’s what they injected me with, he thought. Still haven’t thrown it off. Not completely.
He leaned against the side of the door.
And suddenly he was waking up from sleep. "Jetz!" he mumbled. "Where’d that come from? The cop car’ll be here any sec."
But even before he pulled his eyes open, he knew that more than a few minutes had past. It was night. The street was still deserted. But the ornate streetlamps were on, not bright but still friendly in a yellow way. As in Friendly Village.
Bud looked up. The moon was quartered and crisp. Stars glittered everywhere. It wasn’t cold, wasn’t warm. It was just all right. Perfectly all right.
He looked down the street. Lights were on in several shops, and especially in a number of second-story windows, probably apartments. He thought he could hear a TV somewhere—laughter at a comedy—probably an ancient comedy.
Signs of living, but no signs of life.
"Gosh, did ol’ Nelse overlook me?" Bud speculated. "I mean, the Chief said to sit down—" Anywhere in five minutes...
Hadn’t it been morning? Had he really slept through the entire day and on into the night? He glanced at his watch display.
H 02 M 35 S 14.6 PM
In two and one-half hours, a beautiful bright day had become a beautiful dark night. "The times they are a-changin’," Bud said. But the gibe didn’t lift his spirits. Night had fallen like a curtain, like the end of a play. Time in Friendly Village made no sense.
Or—
Had he just arrived?
Was his awakening, this awakening, actually his first awakening? Had he only dreamed everything else? Comic books, hair, the policeman...
Except it was he who had set his watch to function as a timer. Right?
Suddenly he emptied out his pocket into his hand. When he had left the motel, he had counted change into it. And now—
Now he was exactly one nickel short.
CHAPTER 8
WHICH WAY TO REAL?
THE SHOPS on the street—apparently all of them—were still unlocked and still deserted. He discovered, to great satisfaction, that the plumbing in Friendly Village was not merely a prop.
Bud was hungry, thirsty. He was
"You have an accident?"
"I—not exactly. I’ve been all over, up and down the street—the shops are wide open, but there aren’t any people, Chief. Nobody driving, no one on the sidewalk—"
Jesperson chuckled pleasantly. "Yeah, Friendly Village is a mighty sleepy little place."
So Timeless Town had a name.
Bud rushed on. "And—the barber shop—the hair on the floor—it’s, like, plastic or something—"
"Listen, Bud," interrupted Jesperson. "If this is a prank, tell me now. I’m here by myself right now. You’re tying up the line. That’s a crime. It’ll go hard on you, kid."
Kid , Bud thought. Here I thought my voice was all grown up . "I’m not kidding, Chief. I need—" He paused, thinking strategically. "Yeah, I was in an accident. I’m okay, but—I need to come to the Station. Okay?"
"Yep, I think you do." Now Jesperson sounded warm and concerned. "All right. Stay where you are. Sit down or something. Got it? Kintley’s out on duty. I’ll send Kintley around in the car. Stay put, all right?"
"Sure," Bud said gratefully. "Er—about how long before he gets here, sir? A half hour, maybe?"
The Chief laughed. "Son, you can get to anyplace in town in five minutes, even if you walk! Nelson will be there in three."
"Thanks. Er—didn’t you say his name was—"
A tiny hesitation. "The officer’s name is Nelson Kintley. Wait for him. Right there." The line clicked.
Bud hung up the phone. He suddenly realized, with a silent laugh at himself, that he probably could have used the phone in any of the stores. Who’s to stop me? "Oh well, guess it was worth a nickel."
He folded open the door. As he stepped forward, his head suddenly fuzzed out. He quickly sank down on the floor of the booth, propping the door open, legs outstretched onto the walk. It’s what they injected me with, he thought. Still haven’t thrown it off. Not completely.
He leaned against the side of the door.
And suddenly he was waking up from sleep. "Jetz!" he mumbled. "Where’d that come from? The cop car’ll be here any sec."
But even before he pulled his eyes open, he knew that more than a few minutes had past. It was night. The street was still deserted. But the ornate streetlamps were on, not bright but still friendly in a yellow way. As in Friendly Village.
Bud looked up. The moon was quartered and crisp. Stars glittered everywhere. It wasn’t cold, wasn’t warm. It was just all right. Perfectly all right.
He looked down the street. Lights were on in several shops, and especially in a number of second-story windows, probably apartments. He thought he could hear a TV somewhere—laughter at a comedy—probably an ancient comedy.
Signs of living, but no signs of life.
"Gosh, did ol’ Nelse overlook me?" Bud speculated. "I mean, the Chief said to sit down—" Anywhere in five minutes...
Hadn’t it been morning? Had he really slept through the entire day and on into the night? He glanced at his watch display.
H 02 M 35 S 14.6 PM
In two and one-half hours, a beautiful bright day had become a beautiful dark night. "The times they are a-changin’," Bud said. But the gibe didn’t lift his spirits. Night had fallen like a curtain, like the end of a play. Time in Friendly Village made no sense.
Or—
Had he just arrived?
Was his awakening, this awakening, actually his first awakening? Had he only dreamed everything else? Comic books, hair, the policeman...
Except it was he who had set his watch to function as a timer. Right?
Suddenly he emptied out his pocket into his hand. When he had left the motel, he had counted change into it. And now—
Now he was exactly one nickel short.
CHAPTER 8
WHICH WAY TO REAL?
THE SHOPS on the street—apparently all of them—were still unlocked and still deserted. He discovered, to great satisfaction, that the plumbing in Friendly Village was not merely a prop.
Bud was hungry, thirsty. He was
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