Read Online Tom Swift in the Caves of Nuclear Fire by Victor Appleton II - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victor Appleton II
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like decayed spinach with horse-radish sauce," he murmured to Bud.
"How do you like it?" Chow asked, grinning broadly. Then, without waiting for an answer, he added, "Miss Akwa-bobo over there says it’s a big favorite where she comes from—bigger’n pizza with th’ teenagers."
"I provided our chef here with many such recipes," Mandy said proudly.
Tom made no response to this comment, deciding to deal with the threat when the time came!
The party broke up at midnight in order to give the expeditioners some chance at a night’s sleep. But they all were on hand at the Enterprises’ airstrip for the early-morning take-off, along with the families of Tom and Hank Sterling, and Bashalli.
"Please do be careful, Tom," Bashalli begged as the giant Flying Lab rose on its elevator from its underground hangar. Her bravado was gone for the moment.
Tom put his arm around her shoulder. "I’ll be back soon," he assured her. "And not a day older!"
"No, and not glowing in the dark either, I should hope."
Sandy and Bud, meanwhile, exchanged farewells. Tom kissed his mother and Sandy, and gave his father a firm handshake. Then he climbed into the mammoth plane and went to the pilot’s seat. Bud, as copilot, sat next to him, and Craig just behind.
Checkoffs were made with military precision and soon the giant plane was ready to take off. Tom had been pleased that eleventh-hour clearances had made it possible for Doc Simpson to accompany the expedition. Besides acting as ship’s doctor, the youthful physician also wanted to do some research on cures accomplished by African village shamans—"medicine men," as they were sometimes called.
As Tom checked his instruments, his thoughts turned to Hoplin and Cameron. There had been no sign of them since the night of the chase in the woods, and Hal Brenner had found no further trace of them in Shopton. It seemed they had been secretly making use of the vacation cabin without permission from the owner, who lived many miles away in Albany. Where were they now? If they had been somehow responsible for the cable which had failed to keep Tom home, were they preparing a trap in Africa?
Putting these thoughts aside, Tom touched a switch and the smooth, thundering drone of the jet lifters responded. Amid waves of farewell from the members of the expedition and the group on the runway, the giant craft rose straight into the air like a freed carnival balloon, slowly at first, then rapidly picking up speed.
Altitude attained, Tom applied forward thrust and pulled back on the yoke. The Sky Queen shot ahead and zoomed off into the blue.
"This is a remarkable ship!" Craig said, still marveling at the facile operation of Tom’s Flying Lab as Chow brought in breakfast.
Soon the East Coast was left far behind, with the green water changing to blue. The craft hummed along at twelve hundred miles an hour while the boys enjoyed their ham and eggs.
"Tell us something about the language of tropical Africa," Bud asked Mandy. "Is it hard to learn?"
The geographer smiled. "It’s hard to believe but there are thirty-eight basic native languages in this general area," she said. "There are many common words and expressions, but also many distinctive dialects. The principal Maba dialect—there are three, you know—is related to Bantu."
"Say there," asked Chow, "is this one o’ them there languages where you hafta make all those noises, like clicks and whistles and such?"
"Fortunately no," laughed Mandy. "That is further to the south. Basic Maba is not hard to learn, if you have a good ear."
Craig commented, "I picked it up pretty easily. It helped that some of the tribe spoke French, which I also know."
"Me too," said Doc Simpson. "I can get along in any country that speaks third-year French!"
Tom had been listening to the conversation with a smile as he monitored the instruments. Then suddenly he frowned and leapt forward in his seat.
"What’s wrong?" Craig asked.
"We’re losing power on all
"How do you like it?" Chow asked, grinning broadly. Then, without waiting for an answer, he added, "Miss Akwa-bobo over there says it’s a big favorite where she comes from—bigger’n pizza with th’ teenagers."
"I provided our chef here with many such recipes," Mandy said proudly.
Tom made no response to this comment, deciding to deal with the threat when the time came!
The party broke up at midnight in order to give the expeditioners some chance at a night’s sleep. But they all were on hand at the Enterprises’ airstrip for the early-morning take-off, along with the families of Tom and Hank Sterling, and Bashalli.
"Please do be careful, Tom," Bashalli begged as the giant Flying Lab rose on its elevator from its underground hangar. Her bravado was gone for the moment.
Tom put his arm around her shoulder. "I’ll be back soon," he assured her. "And not a day older!"
"No, and not glowing in the dark either, I should hope."
Sandy and Bud, meanwhile, exchanged farewells. Tom kissed his mother and Sandy, and gave his father a firm handshake. Then he climbed into the mammoth plane and went to the pilot’s seat. Bud, as copilot, sat next to him, and Craig just behind.
Checkoffs were made with military precision and soon the giant plane was ready to take off. Tom had been pleased that eleventh-hour clearances had made it possible for Doc Simpson to accompany the expedition. Besides acting as ship’s doctor, the youthful physician also wanted to do some research on cures accomplished by African village shamans—"medicine men," as they were sometimes called.
As Tom checked his instruments, his thoughts turned to Hoplin and Cameron. There had been no sign of them since the night of the chase in the woods, and Hal Brenner had found no further trace of them in Shopton. It seemed they had been secretly making use of the vacation cabin without permission from the owner, who lived many miles away in Albany. Where were they now? If they had been somehow responsible for the cable which had failed to keep Tom home, were they preparing a trap in Africa?
Putting these thoughts aside, Tom touched a switch and the smooth, thundering drone of the jet lifters responded. Amid waves of farewell from the members of the expedition and the group on the runway, the giant craft rose straight into the air like a freed carnival balloon, slowly at first, then rapidly picking up speed.
Altitude attained, Tom applied forward thrust and pulled back on the yoke. The Sky Queen shot ahead and zoomed off into the blue.
"This is a remarkable ship!" Craig said, still marveling at the facile operation of Tom’s Flying Lab as Chow brought in breakfast.
Soon the East Coast was left far behind, with the green water changing to blue. The craft hummed along at twelve hundred miles an hour while the boys enjoyed their ham and eggs.
"Tell us something about the language of tropical Africa," Bud asked Mandy. "Is it hard to learn?"
The geographer smiled. "It’s hard to believe but there are thirty-eight basic native languages in this general area," she said. "There are many common words and expressions, but also many distinctive dialects. The principal Maba dialect—there are three, you know—is related to Bantu."
"Say there," asked Chow, "is this one o’ them there languages where you hafta make all those noises, like clicks and whistles and such?"
"Fortunately no," laughed Mandy. "That is further to the south. Basic Maba is not hard to learn, if you have a good ear."
Craig commented, "I picked it up pretty easily. It helped that some of the tribe spoke French, which I also know."
"Me too," said Doc Simpson. "I can get along in any country that speaks third-year French!"
Tom had been listening to the conversation with a smile as he monitored the instruments. Then suddenly he frowned and leapt forward in his seat.
"What’s wrong?" Craig asked.
"We’re losing power on all
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