Tom Swift and His G-Force Inverter (16 page)

"And if—er—we see a few eagles on the track up ahead—"

"I can brake ’er with the push of a button. Anyway, don’t worry about birds, pal. Those two little pods you saw on the nose give out focused ultrasonic pulses. Not exactly a cow-catcher, but—"

"You can call it a negative bird caller!"

Taking seats near the middle, seats which could be swiveled to face the windows and could even be slightly elevated, Tom and Bud waited for the station crew to send the Monoswift on its journey. Before Bud could ask why it was taking so long—they were off! The acceleration was absolutely silent, and smooth as a mathematical curve.

"Like flying," Bud breathed.

"We
are
flying," Tom retorted happily. "We’re in the air and not touching a thing. But still, I guess we’re
captive
birds."

Their cruising speed was very moderate, and the sides of the canyon slowly drifted by like clouds. But Tom wanted a fuller test. "Flyboy, I can hear you thinking ‘Let’s open ’er up!’. So—
let’s
!"

Tom manipulated the Spektor controls, overriding the station. Instantly the Monoswift commenced a rapid acceleration that pushed them back in their seats. "Wow!" exclaimed Bud. Then: "Er, Tom—that’s kind of a sharp curve up ahead—"

"Well, it worked fine in the lab. Remember?"

"Yeah, but now I’m part of the experiement!"

The speeding car took the curve like a pro, though the boys’ stomachs didn’t fully share in the triumph. Bud grinningly conceded that the thrilling moment was worth the ride in itself. "And look up ahead—a downward swoop comin’ up. Man, sightseeing by roller-coaster!"

But Tom didn’t respond, frowning at the Spektor readouts. "I signaled the cybertron to maintain speed, but we’re still accelerating." He sent the command several more times. The Monoswift didn’t respond.

He lifted his PER communicator. "Station, there’s some problem with my Spektor override. Take back control and slow us down—quick!"

"We’re trying, Skipper," came back Hank Sterling’s frantic voice. "But we can’t override. The cybertron won’t switch over!"

The Monoswift accelerated sharply—frighteningly! In seconds it rounded the vertical bend, plunging down the slope of the track at a speed that made the boys gasp in fear. Then, sweeping through the bottom curve and coming level again, the forces smashed them into their seats.

Bud didn’t have to urge Tom to work the problem—or to comment at all. As the Monoswift continued its headlong acceleration, the young inventor strove frantically to connect to the cybertron and regain control. No use!

They swerved, dizzyingly, onto another stretch with an upward incline. Reaching the top, the beam-rail curved off to the right—but the Monoswift didn’t. It’s speed overpowering the beam-rail, it lunged straight ahead like a golden javelin, jumping the fieldstat track and hurtling into the empty sky with its two helpless passengers captive aboard!

TOM moaned in frustration as he fought to regain control of the runaway sky train. They were mounting higher under the thrall of their negative weight—and the upfall, like any fall, was accelerating!

"Can’t you—dump some ballast—or something?" gasped Bud.

"The Monoswift isn’t rigged up to do that," Tom gritted. "And we’re not getting any downward pull at all. The gravitexes are malfunctioning."

As if to underline Tom’s words, the Monoswift car began to turn about its long axis like a screwdriver, tumbling the boys against the walls—then the ceiling. "Jetz!—like I’m not banged-up enough already!" choked Bud.

"If—if I—can just reach the access panel—I m-might be able to reset the cybertron manually," Tom sputtered. The rolling cabin made a mountain of the goal.

The boys didn’t need to remind one another of the real danger of their runaway sky-flight. The Monoswift cabin was not sealed and didn’t have its own seperate air supply. As the car shot higher and penetrated the stratosphere, air pressure in the cabin would fall away and they would suffocate!

Bud Barclay was a footballer, but Tom Swift had trained, at home, in gymnastics. He now put his skills to use, monkeying his way forward seat by seat, sometimes swinging along as the seats passed above his head. Reaching the cabin’s forward bulkhead, he spread his legs wide like support struts and braced himself, thumbing open the access panel and grabbing for the auxilliary hand-controls used by maintenance workers.

"
Yes! It’s
—"

The Monoswift abruptly stopping rolling, floor overhead. Then it slowly righted itself. As Bud collapsed gratefully into the nearest seat, he could feel that the car had begun to descend. The gravitexes had reasserted control.

"Tom," he panted, "what was it? What went wrong?"

"Something in the main processor of the cybertron," replied the grimfaced scientist-inventor. "I’m sure we’ll find that something was inserted into the remote-command circuitry, blocking signals from both the terminal and my Spektor but giving access to some external source."

"Sabotage! Another memo from Asa Pike?"

"Maybe."

The Monoswift finally touched down near the small town of Tusayan, where Tom was met by one of Enterprises’ veteran pilots, Slim Davis, in the cycloplane. "We’ll get you back to Camp Mono in about one minute, guys. How’re you feeling?"

Bud asnwered: "Beat!"

The Monoswift car itself was flown back to the camp the same way it had been placed on the beam-rail, by one of Enterprises’ twin-blade Workchoppers. But before it had arrived, Tom received an urgent call on his cellphone.

"Tom, this is Ritt Kincaid—"

"Ritt! What—"

"Listen Tom, please listen—you’ve got to postpone the test run of the Monoswift that you’ve got planned for today!"

"Er—"

"Listen! My father just called me. Martabat told him that our security chief, Turley, was behind Dodie’s kidnapping. He’s been trying to cause ‘incidents’ that would be blamed on father and on Technautics. He planned to blackmail him—shake him down. Martabat found the evidence, and it turned out he was more loyal to Father than to Turley.

"Turley’s in custody, but Martabat thinks he had a bribed confederate on the Construction Company work crew plant something in the train car that would allow him to make it run wild by remote control!
You and Bud could be killed!
"

Tom smiled at the irony. "You don’t think you might be
overreacting
a bit?"

"Please, Tom, you and Bud are like family now! Postpone the test!"

"Okay, Ritt, we’ll keep it off the tracks until tomorrow. Thanks for the warning."

"I’m just thankful I could reach you in time.
Whew
!"

Tom, assisted by Arv and Hank, spent the day and much of the evening checking over the Monoswift. No further problems were uncovered.

Phil Radnor informed Tom that Turley’s agent had confessed. "He had no idea it would endanger your lives," Radnor noted. "Your dad plans to go easy on him. He’s anxious to testify against Turley."

Tom nodded, but his face was cautious and weary. "One down. But I doubt Asa Pike is ready to fade away."

Radnor agreed. "Boss—I have a suggestion."

"What?"

"I know you and Bud plan to make one round of the sky track before your father and the other people give it its public inaugural run. Let Hanson and Sterling do it in your place. They know it as well as you do."

Tom’s forehead creased. "Rad, I invented it. If there’s still some flaw—"

"At this point Pike probably wants to take on you and Bud directly, don’t you think? He’s desperate. You’ll both be safer here, out of the public eye. Even if we weren’t allowed to use the drone-patrol setup, the camp still has a fence around it, and a good trained security force."

With a sigh, Tom finally agreed. He would spend the coming day working on the G-force inverter with Franzenberg, who had disdained the invitation to ride in the Monoswift.

Midday following, Tom was reassured, by PER, that the final test run had concluded without a hitch. But the official debut was delayed for hours, waiting for the guests to arrive. "We have
quite
a crowd on board now," the station operator told him. "Your Dad—and there’s the Governor! The people from Interior... And all these Enterprises workers..."

"Good thing we hooked-on a second car." Each Monoswift car was identical—there was no engine car, no caboose. The cars simply nosed into a recessed space at the back of the one in front of them, magnetically locked in place but able to swivel. Hatch doors were made to connect directly to the car ahead. allowing passengers to roam the length of the train.
Wish I were there,
Tom thought as he set down the PER unit.
I’m missing all the excitement.

Bud concurred with the feeling and had wound up in a sulky mood. He didn’t join with Tom and Franzenberg, staying outside and walking about restlessly as the sun drooped.

Tom had scarcely resumed work when one of the security guards came rushing into the high-ceilinged GDI room. "Tom, something’s happening—a helicopter—"

Tom rushed out into bright day. A very small chopper had set down in an open part of the installation. Its blades were still whirling. As security forces with electric pulse-weapons converged on it the blades quickened and the midget craft leapt into the air.

"
I see you, young feller
," came the voice of Asa Pike through an external loudspeaker. "You’ll want to think through these next minutes very carefully. I just snatched up your friend Bud at gunpoint. Got him shackeled on the floor. Any comment, Tom? Got a good set of ears on this baby."

Tom shouted at the top of his lungs. "Pike, I’ll talk to you about Ociéda! Set Bud down and take me in his place! Bud can’t help you!"

"He’s already helping me," came the reverberating retort from above. "So you’re ready to talk? I don’t care to waste words in haggling, Tom. I don’t have the time. I’m not quite convinced the seriousness of all this has sunk in.

"But all right, young feller, I’ll let your buddy go. But only into
your
hands. No one else comes near—keep ’em all grounded."

Tom was puzzled by the last word, but yelled his agreement and had Radnor order the security forces away. "Please, Rad, let’s just play along with him. He doesn’t need to kill anyone. He just wants that
friggin
’ Picasso!"

As the guards fell back, Pike thundered: "Good. I feel more relaxed now. But I’m not quite so foolish as to land. Tom, here’s what you’re going to do. Strip off that flying work suit from one of those men over there. Put it on. Take to the air, my friend, and follow me."

Tom followed Pike’s orders, trembling with anger and fear for Bud. In minutes his antiballast had lifted him high into the air. Pike waved tauntingly through the dome of the helicopter, then began to move off slowly, staying at a low altitude. Adjusting his mini-repelatrons for an air-push, Tom followed.

It took only a minute for the young inventor to realize where they were heading. "Good gosh," he muttered, "the Canyon! He must be heading for the Monoswift track!"

In another minute Tom could make out the shadowy trace of the beam-rail. The copter drew near it and began to descend as if to land atop it. But then it stopped, hovering. A hatch cracked open and a figure appeared, leaning out, then swinging his legs out and sitting on the edge.

"
Bud
!" Tom cried.

"You know, young feller, I don’t think it’s all that safe, your coming over near these chopper blades to scoop up your friend," came Pike’s mocking voice. "Nope. Well now—here’s an idea to make things easier."

Tom glimpsed a gun behind Bud. To his horror he saw the youth shove himself forward—then slide right out the craft, feet stretching to touch one of the fieldstat vertices. Bud tried to steady himself, but a sudden push thrust him forward. His feet slid, but he managed to twist his body, wrapping his strong arms around the flat panels of periplex.

The chopper abruptly rose several score feet. "There ye go, Tom. Go get ’im!" boomed Pike.

"
Bud, I’m coming!
" Even as he shouted he was calculating weight ratios. Bud’s weight would more than overweigh the liftsuit’s antiballast. They would begin to fall—a nightmarish fall to the distant Canyon floor! Their only hope was that the twin repelatrons might have enough force to slow them like a parachute.

"Oop! Looks like he’s slippin’," taunted Pike. "You know, if things go bad, I could probably scoop him back up. Maybe. So what do y’ think, boy? Shall we have our conversation right now? Where is
Rampo Ociéda?—!
" The last words were a maniacal screech!

Tom was more than ready to answer. But he had no time to form words. Movement in the distance—a gold glint in the setting sun—caught his eye. The Monoswift! Bearing two cars full of guests, it was speeding along on its celebratory debut trip!

The car was already too near for braking to stop it.
In a matter of seconds it would be on top of Bud and zoom right over him!

"Seems I’ll stop at nothin’, eh?" said Pike. "Y’might say."

"BUD! Grab hold!" Tom pleaded, awkwardly darting near his friend, now dangling beneath the monotrack with arms and legs entwined about it. "I’ve got you, flyboy. Turn toward me—grab hold of my harness straps." His face like chalk, Bud twisted his body at Tom’s touch, facing him and letting loose with his legs.

Suddenly Bud’s face contorted. He drew up his legs and rammed his feet against Tom’s chest with catapult force!

The dumbfounded young inventor was thrust yards away and downward below the level of the fieldstat series. And then a shadow fell across them both and Tom understood.
The Monoswift!

Riding its tube of magnetic force, Tom’s invention whooshed over the two of them, drawing with it a tide of displaced air that sent Tom bobbing and spinning helplessly. Sick at heart, he stabilized the liftsuit and turned to face the track.

"Thank God!" Hanging by his arms, Bud had somehow resisted being dragged off by the windy blast and suction effect.