Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway (17 page)

"It’s amazing!" Tom said. "How did you do it?"

"The race of dinosaurs died out, as you know, leaving no direct descendants," Eldreth replied in a cool, lecturing tone. "But the crocodilians evolved from the same stem. I therefore began my experiments with crocodiles taken from these jungle rivers."

"You mean you turned ordinary crocodiles into those monsters out there?’’ Bud put in.

"In a way, yes; although I deplore your terminology. I took crocodile eggs and treated them with X-rays and chemicals to cause mutations, or chromosomal deviations. This produced freak animals—some with atavistic characteristics of earlier reptiles far back on the scale of evolution."

Tom nodded. "Then you bred the atavians."

"Eventually," Professor Eldreth said. "Culling viable mutations capable of reproduction was a breakthrough in itself. But you see, I made a significant discovery, a unique compound in the swamp environment which I was able to isolate and further refine. To simplify a very complex matter, it is a catalyst for precision replication of living cells, inducing growth and development at a phenomenal rate. Generation upon generation, succeeding one another in a matter of months—but
backwards
, if you see. In this way, I was able to telescope the evolutionary process in a
reverse
direction. Finally I produced a creature much like the thecodonts—the ancestor of both crocodiles and dinosaurs." He suddenly bobbed his head, looking at his watch. "But come!"

Eldreth led the boys outside and blew a whistle. Tom and Bud gaped as several creatures scampered in response. They were like large lizards, about the size of police dogs, but running erect on powerfully developed hind legs in the manner of an ostrich.

"Good grief!" Bud gasped. "How’d you like
them
as watchdogs, Tom?"

"No thanks," Tom muttered.

A man, an African, now appeared from another door of Eldreth’s bungalow. Staring at Tom and Bud in questioning surprise, he was carrying some pieces of raw meat, which he threw to the thecodonts. They seized the food with their clawed forelegs and gobbled greedily.

Introductions were made. "This is Gregory Mbonga, my assistant. He was a graduate student of mine in America who believed in me and came with me to Ngombia."

"Are you surprised that a black African played such a role in this research, Mr. Swift?" asked the man. "I was born in this country."

Tom shifted his eyes to Professor Eldreth. "I understood that you came here with
two
assistants."

The man nodded brusquely. "Indeed. But I was speaking of the graduate student
who believed in me
, if you will recall."

Tom did not pursue the matter. "From these thecodonts you developed your dinosaurs?" he asked.

"Yes, yes. I concentrated on developing animals with a bone structure like the saurischians—the reptile-hipped dinosaurs."

"And finally you turned out a Tyrannosaurus Rex," Bud put in.

"There is no harm in calling them that, although, to be precise, it is a matter of rather gross resemblances, not chromosomal exactitude. These are all novel species, in a sense. Yet sufficiently reminiscent of earlier forms to be instructive." Professor Eldreth took a lantern and said, "Come along. I’ll show you."

He led the boys off through the compound, Mbonga following. Presently they came in view of a group of the huge dinosaurs, resting quietly among the trees. The beasts blinked in the light as Professor Eldreth raised the lantern proudly.

"There are the results of my years of work! The basic chromosomal alterations are engineered by bacteria-born retroviruses piercing the cytoplasm barrier, the ‘skin’ of the cell. Then, by injecting the Niobium formula into the egg embryo that results, one of these creatures can be raised to full size in
two months!
"

Tom gasped. The news of Professor Eldreth’s work would hit the scientific world like a bombshell—if he and Bud returned to tell the story. What
was
behind the preceding night’s raid?
I’m sure I’ll learn more if I can gain his confidence,
Tom thought.

As they stood watching, Tom remarked to Eldreth, "The theropod dinosaurs, like the tyrannosaurus, were supposed to be quite fierce. How have you managed to control them?"

"One mustn’t depend on the sensational assumptions of movies and science fiction," Eldreth replied smugly. "Despite their teeth and offputting appearance, they have a streak of docility—and I have been able to breed for that trait. When raised by humans and treated kindly, they are easily managed. In fact, I have bred them to be responsive to an artificial chemical scent. They find it stimulating. Thus I can use it in training, to reward them for desired behaviors."

Suddenly the old man stopped and glared at Tom. "That is another reason why your highway must never be built! What would happen to these dumb, helpless beasts if the jungle is opened to civilization and ignorant fools stream in to make sport of killing them?"

Tom replied earnestly, "A game preserve could be set aside for your animals. No hunters― "

"Do you think I believe that?" Eldreth ranted, suddenly furious. "The Ngombian government has already sent hunters in here to pursue and destroy them! For years I was hounded and ridiculed. Only Mbonga helped me carry on my work. Tom Swift, no one is going to destroy the results of our efforts!"

The old man’s eyes glowed fanatically. Mbonga seemed to realize the professor was becoming irrational. "Welkin, perhaps this is enough talk for now. It isn’t good for― "

Eldreth’s mood abruptly darkened. "Not good for whom, Mbonga? My loyal assistant. But how loyal
are
you after all? These gentlemen speak of an attack by the saurians. I engineered no such thing. But you—
you also know how to direct the herd!
"

"No! That’s― " Mbonga’s words were cut short by a crack of sharp sound. Gunfire!

The bolt struck a tree nearby. As the dinosaurs lifted their heads in vague interest, another shot sent Mbonga spinning to the ground.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows. "There is another who learned your methods, Welkin. Haven’t forgotten me, have you?"

Darcy Creel!

"And so you return, my
unfaithful
assistant!" muttered Eldreth contemptuously. "Returned to me with a gun."

"I was his other grad student, Tom," explained Creel calmly with a half-smile. "There was a little healthy dissension along the way. Y’know, the original purpose was to get a handle on cancer. I wrote it up for a scientific journal, naive idealist that I was back then. But hey, progress happens, huh. The Eldreth method of species creation—well, who needs it? Chromosome manipulation, accelerated breeding. Fatter cattle for the contented-cow consumer, and another step on the road to psycho-surgery and mind control! Is it worth the destruction of the environment, guys? Nature should rule, not Man. Let the Earth herself decide who shall live and who shall die. Humans can stay home and watch TV."

Tom knelt down warily and sought Mbonga’s pulse. "This man is dying, Creel. It’s not Earth who made
that
decision."

"He always hated Gregory," said Eldreth quietly.

"Wouldn’t listen," retorted the journalist. "Now he’ll have a good excuse!"

Tom stood. "You were right, Darcy. There
was
a monster in the woodpile after all."

Creel grinned, gun at ready. "That’s
way
harsh, Tom. I didn’t do so much. Inspired the dinosaurs to attack—but after all, it’s
you
guys who’ve invaded
their
habitat. Don’t blame me for Inbimah and all that. He’s Wanguru, working with some good folks who don’t like the way the Ghiddua run things. It also helps that he knows a few insiders with motives of their own. I believe you’ve met Pieter Zerth? Get this: Afro-Metals isn’t too wild about your skyway bringing business competitors into central Ngombia. They’ve had it cushy for decades. Zerth is paid under the table to keep the old pot boiling and pass government info along to Inbimah from some source they’ve planted in Huttangdala.

"So compared to all that, I’m just a lazy tree-hugger. Ya think?"

"I won’t tell you what I think," Tom grated.

"Ooh, hostility! Whatever. Welkin, sorry to break it to ya, but I’m pulling the grants, locking the doors, and shutting down the operation. Unlike the Ghiddua bully-boys at the Swift camp,
I
know where to aim to bring down a dinosaur—not to mention a few homo sapiens!" Then, catching movement, he shifted the end of the gun barrel toward Tom. "Nuh-
uh
, pal. If that hand comes out of your neat-o leather jacket with a gun in it—
bango-reeno!
"

"Just wanted to slip it off, Creel," responded Tom. "The cooling system has run down."

"Wow, a Tom Swift invention. Toss it here." Creel winked. "Looks like it’ll fit me. No need to ruin the look with a hole or two."

His eye on the gun, the young inventor gently tossed the jacket across the space separating the four from their leering adversary. Darcy Creel reached out for it with his free hand—and the jacket erupted with a blinding flash of light and flame!

Tom and the others fell back as a blast of heat swept over them. They could make out Creel, shrieking and staggering back into the underbrush.

"‘
Heat sink
’—right?" gasped Bud.

"Not any more." Tom turned to Eldreth. "Bud and I will carry Mbonga to our helicopter, Professor. I exaggerated his condition, but he needs to get to a hospital."

"Now’s our chance! Let’s go!" Bud tugged Tom’s arm and ran toward the stockade wall.

"No, Bud! Wait!" Tom called. "We can’t go and leave the poor fellow like this!"

Bud ran back. "You’re right."

The youths hoisted Mbonga as Eldreth stood by dazed and silent. The wounded man gulped air and his eyes opened. He tried to struggle free of their grip. "No, Gregory!" Professor Eldreth said, and told of the rescue. The black man’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

"You—you are our friends. Th-thank you... "

"I too, thank you," Professor Eldreth said in a choked voice. "Gregory has been my faithful helper all along. Without him I’d be lost."

"There’s no need to thank us," Tom said. "But we’ve got to get going. I don’t know what happened to Creel, but he may come back any moment."

"I deduce that the explosion you caused would have injured him—badly burned him, no doubt," declared Eldreth, shaking his head. "Knowing Darcy, he will make his way back to whatever camp he is using as his base, to join whoever else has been collaborating with him. Or he may die in the jungle. Either way, he won’t soon be back. And besides... " He gestured toward the pack of dinosaurs. "With all this, the natives are restless."

Creel did not reappear. As gently as possible, making use of the extender arms, Mbonga was lifted into the cockpit of the Workchopper and flown to a modern emergency facility in Huttangdala. After surgery to remove the bullet, Tom and Bud were told that the man would recover fully.

"Man, Professor Eldreth—and Gertrude!—will be glad to hear that!" chuckled Bud.

Further good news came from the Ministry of Patriotic Progress two days later, as Tom commenced laying the Huttangdala half of the skyway. "One of our patrols captured them at the border," reported Mr. Jombilabu. "Um, um, um, R’na Imbimah himself and some associates, including your American friend Mr. Creel, wrapped in bandages. In turn we were led to the genuine Mr. Kwanu, drugged and held captive for whatever future value he might have."

"What about Pieter Zerth?" Tom inquired.

"He is gone, fled back to Holland, we think. Afro-Metals disavows all knowledge, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve sacked the whole lot."

"There’s one more, though, the person in your office who stole and hid the original Burlow file and has been behind leaking rumors and information," the young inventor pointed out. "If you want my opinion, sir, I think I know who it is."

Jombilabu laughed gleefully. "Ah, so do we, for we have uncovered conclusive evidence at last. Dalo Kiuma! One cannot trust even one’s friends, it seems. He will be in custody within the hour, Tom."

Sundown ended the day’s work in Huttangdala. The onramp and the first mile-long segment were in place.

Work was to resume at dawn, but the sun brought with it a new crisis. "Boss!" Chow exclaimed running up to Tom and Bud, "Sumpin’s goin’ on up there on the skyway! Ted’s tryin’ to handle it, but he’s a blame sight outnumbered!"

"Outnumbered!" Tom repeated blankly. "What do you mean?"

Bud cried out in alarm: "Jetz! Look!"

From their camp at ground level they could see a knot of people—dozens of them—trudging up the long rampway to the completed segment of skyway!

"Some sort of demonstration," Tom murmured. "A protest."

Chow’s eyes were wide. "An’ they look a mite riled!"

Ted Spring had seen the group assembling and had trotted after them up the onramp, hoping to forestall trouble. He caught up to them as they were a good ways onto the floating skyway segment, two hundred feet above the ground.

The throng was chanting loudly, in English, and waving signs. "Hey, stop! What’s going on?" Ted yelled. "You shouldn’t be up here!"

An elderly Ngombian, dressed in a toga, silenced the crowd with a wave of his hand and stepped toward Ted. "No? It is you
Americans
who do not belong here. This is our country! This is our way of life! You offend the spirits-who-watch, invading the jungle, stirring up Ooshu and his son!"

"The Son of the Father of Crocodiles is angry!" shrieked a woman. "They say he has been seen in the great swamp. He will come here to kill us—we Ghiddua will die for what you Ulsusu have done!"

"Me? But I’m not― " Ted’s protest was unheard. The crowd had resumed yelling and chanting.

Then the frenzy increased! Pointing fingers led the young Shoptonian to look over his shoulder. Another angry crowd had mounted the rampway and was approaching behind him.

"Look!" came angry yells. "They come to join him—
Ulsusus
!"

But the second group, apparently Ulsusu workers living in Huttangdala, had already been stirred to a snarling rage by their leaders. "Out of our way, Ghiddua!" they shouted at Ted. "Your people insult us! We have a lesson for them!"