Read Online Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway by Victor Appleton II - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victor Appleton II
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robust growth. Talked about better crop yields, bigger livestock—that sort of thing."
"How about giant humans kicking over skyscrapers?— that sort of thing!"
"I’m afraid the article doesn’t address that particular question," chuckled the youth.
"So where did Ngombia come in?" Hank asked.
"I can only tell you what he claimed, Hank. He said he had found, in plant and animal samples originating in the V’moda swamp, traces of a mildly radioactive compound that included the metallic element Niobium. It’s normally highly toxic—carcinogenic. But the Ngombian specimens showed no ill effects. Eldreth had some notion of using the Niobium compound, conveyed by bacteria, to engineer his growth-inducing viroids. Complicated, isn’t it?"
"Oh, no more so than magneto-hydro-dynamics, Skipper."
"One thing that struck me about all this," continued Tom, "is that we may have already stumbled across something related, here in Africa. Remember that man Mkeesa we dealt with in Borukundi?"
"I sure do—the fellow who was able to slough-off his exposure to radiation in Mount Goaba. Had something to do with herbs in his diet, didn’t it?"
"It appeared so. And here again we have the same factors—radioactivity, toxins, unusual substances in the body... "
"And one thing more. Africa !"
Tom agreed silently, then said: "Something further to think about, too—and this is a weird coincidence, if it is just a coincidence. The journal article was written a few years ago by none other than Darcy Creel, the environmental journalist I told you about!"
"Holy simoleons! Maybe Eldreth is the real reason Creel was trying to wangle a ride with us!"
"I wonder," said Tom.
It was early evening, local time, when the ship settled to the ground in Huttangdala at the edge of Ngombia’s sole large airport.
"We crossed a lot of green," commented one of the crew, Bill Bennings, to Tom in the Flying Lab’s room-sized control compartment. "I suppose some of it was that big swamp."
"Nope," Tom corrected him. "That’s further to the east, cutting this half of the country, West Ngombia, off from East Ngombia. We’ll be seeing it tomorrow morning from way up high."
"What’s next on the itinerary, Skipper?" asked Bud, who had been piloting the Queen . "African voodoo stew Chow Winkler style?" As usual, the colorful chef had been made a part of the expedition.
Tom glanced at his wristwatch. "Maybe for tomorrow’s breakfast. An associate of Dr. Onammi’s, from the Ministry of Patriotic Progress, as they call it, is to meet us in front of the terminal with a car—no doubt one he’s driving himself! His name is Jombilabu." He turned to Ted Spring as he entered the control compartment from the lab section to the rear of it. "Ted, why don’t you join Bud and I? This meeting is mostly a formality. The government offices are just a few blocks away—we can stroll back, and you can get a taste of Ngombia." Ted agreed.
Mr. Jombilabu was an elderly, jovial Ghiddua, bursting with the customary dubious humor of the culture. His driving skills were also questionable. Tom, Bud, and Ted were relieved when the crowded, colorful streets of the Ngombian capital disappeared on the far side of the protective wall enclosing the Ministry Building complex.
A tall, very skinny Ngombian awaited the visitors in Mr. Jombilabu’s well-appointed office. "Gentlemen, this is Dalo Kiuma, my chief of staff, formerly an explorer and professional safari guide. I have assigned him to assist you in your trip to The V’moda. He is a good Ghiddua, but is familiar with Ulsusu customs and language, things you will surely have to deal with."
"I thought the Ulsusu and the Ghiddua spoke the same language," Tom remarked.
"Not the same," stated Kiuma bluntly. "They have their own inflections and idioms, and can be difficult to understand." Suddenly he turned toward Ted Spring, staring at him in a challenging way. "But perhaps your Mr. Spring is himself of Ulsusu descent, is he
"How about giant humans kicking over skyscrapers?— that sort of thing!"
"I’m afraid the article doesn’t address that particular question," chuckled the youth.
"So where did Ngombia come in?" Hank asked.
"I can only tell you what he claimed, Hank. He said he had found, in plant and animal samples originating in the V’moda swamp, traces of a mildly radioactive compound that included the metallic element Niobium. It’s normally highly toxic—carcinogenic. But the Ngombian specimens showed no ill effects. Eldreth had some notion of using the Niobium compound, conveyed by bacteria, to engineer his growth-inducing viroids. Complicated, isn’t it?"
"Oh, no more so than magneto-hydro-dynamics, Skipper."
"One thing that struck me about all this," continued Tom, "is that we may have already stumbled across something related, here in Africa. Remember that man Mkeesa we dealt with in Borukundi?"
"I sure do—the fellow who was able to slough-off his exposure to radiation in Mount Goaba. Had something to do with herbs in his diet, didn’t it?"
"It appeared so. And here again we have the same factors—radioactivity, toxins, unusual substances in the body... "
"And one thing more. Africa !"
Tom agreed silently, then said: "Something further to think about, too—and this is a weird coincidence, if it is just a coincidence. The journal article was written a few years ago by none other than Darcy Creel, the environmental journalist I told you about!"
"Holy simoleons! Maybe Eldreth is the real reason Creel was trying to wangle a ride with us!"
"I wonder," said Tom.
It was early evening, local time, when the ship settled to the ground in Huttangdala at the edge of Ngombia’s sole large airport.
"We crossed a lot of green," commented one of the crew, Bill Bennings, to Tom in the Flying Lab’s room-sized control compartment. "I suppose some of it was that big swamp."
"Nope," Tom corrected him. "That’s further to the east, cutting this half of the country, West Ngombia, off from East Ngombia. We’ll be seeing it tomorrow morning from way up high."
"What’s next on the itinerary, Skipper?" asked Bud, who had been piloting the Queen . "African voodoo stew Chow Winkler style?" As usual, the colorful chef had been made a part of the expedition.
Tom glanced at his wristwatch. "Maybe for tomorrow’s breakfast. An associate of Dr. Onammi’s, from the Ministry of Patriotic Progress, as they call it, is to meet us in front of the terminal with a car—no doubt one he’s driving himself! His name is Jombilabu." He turned to Ted Spring as he entered the control compartment from the lab section to the rear of it. "Ted, why don’t you join Bud and I? This meeting is mostly a formality. The government offices are just a few blocks away—we can stroll back, and you can get a taste of Ngombia." Ted agreed.
Mr. Jombilabu was an elderly, jovial Ghiddua, bursting with the customary dubious humor of the culture. His driving skills were also questionable. Tom, Bud, and Ted were relieved when the crowded, colorful streets of the Ngombian capital disappeared on the far side of the protective wall enclosing the Ministry Building complex.
A tall, very skinny Ngombian awaited the visitors in Mr. Jombilabu’s well-appointed office. "Gentlemen, this is Dalo Kiuma, my chief of staff, formerly an explorer and professional safari guide. I have assigned him to assist you in your trip to The V’moda. He is a good Ghiddua, but is familiar with Ulsusu customs and language, things you will surely have to deal with."
"I thought the Ulsusu and the Ghiddua spoke the same language," Tom remarked.
"Not the same," stated Kiuma bluntly. "They have their own inflections and idioms, and can be difficult to understand." Suddenly he turned toward Ted Spring, staring at him in a challenging way. "But perhaps your Mr. Spring is himself of Ulsusu descent, is he
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