Tom Swift in the Caves of Nuclear Fire (10 page)

"The puzzle is, why didn’t we experience the effect earlier, when we first arrived?" wondered Craig Benson. "I mean, the mountain hasn’t moved!"

"Beats me," said Tom. "And look at this!" He and the others were carrying Swift impulse rifles, which could discharge pulses of electricity to stun or disable antagonists. Tom aimed his rifle at a broad leaf and pulled the trigger-button. Normally the invisible discharge would have produced a char-mark on the leaf. But now, a few weak sparks fell from the barrel, and there was no other effect.

"So even your electric rifles are out of whack!" Craig said in discouragement.

"Which leaves us defenseless," Bud added grimly. "We’d better get ready to fight with out hands!"

"I’m hoping we won’t have to fight," said Tom.

Through a gap in the foliage they could now see, far ahead, a few of the outlying buildings of the village. Even as they did so, ominous figures seemed to rise out of the brush and shadows around them.

"Well, genius boy, we’re about to test one of your theories," Bud commented tensely. "These guys look friendly to you?"

On the
Sky Queen
the minutes crept by with agonizing slowness. Arv was worse; he had lapsed into a state of semiconscious delirium, breathing with the help of a pressurized oxygen mask as Doc Simpson mopped his brow.

"Has he stabilized?" asked Hank Sterling, his shoulder swathed in bandages.

"No," Simpson replied in a soft voice. "If we can’t break this thing within the hour, I don’t think he’ll make it."

Sterling looked him in the eye. "Will I be next?"

The doctor shook his head. "The spear-head didn’t penetrate your skin, fortunately. In Arv’s case it went right into muscle, like a hypodermic needle."

The others on board—Chow, Mandelia Akwabo, and Ryerson Cully—periodically looked in, trying not to be a distraction. In the lounge, forward of the infirmary, they sat and talked nervously.

"Great gallopin’ longhorns, I hate feelin’ helpless," muttered Chow. "We got Hanson in there fadin’ away, an’ who know what’s happenin’ to Tom out there!"

"I know what you mean," said Ry. "All my life people have kidded me, and bullied me, because I have a sensitive disposition. It’s not as if I asked to be born with it! One tries to do the best one can."

Chow asked Mandy, "Ma’am, you think that village chief is gonna help us?"

"It’s possible, if Craig convinced him that his people’s earlier hostility was based on a mistake," she responded, standing next to the big curving window. "But it isn’t easy where pride is involved. These people have been effectively at war for a generation, and—" She broke off suddenly. "Someone’s coming out there!"

It was now twilight and difficult to see, but the watchers could make out several shadowy figures approaching the ship.

"Four of ’em," Chow murmured, squinting. He trotted back and informed Hank, who raced to switch on the craft’s exterior lights.

"It’s them—Tom, Bud, and Craig!" Hank cried. "And somebody from the village."

Hank admitted his fellow crew members, who were followed by a villager decked out in a multicolored tunic and a feathered headdress, his cheeks, forehead, and chest bearing ceremonial scars. Tom introduced him as Tbokua, the head medicine man of the Maba settlement.

"Good grief!" exclaimed Hank to Tom as Craig led the visitor up the stairs. "You’re not going to allow that hocus-pocus character to work on Hanson!"

"Now jest a second there," Chow retorted. "I seen plenty o’ these types in my day out west, and I seen ’em fix up more’n one feller when the docs had given up on him!"

"Also, it turns out he has a medical degree," added Tom dryly. "And he’s completely familiar with the drug the Maba use on their spears."

Sterling fell silent and followed the group up to the top deck, where Tbokua was shown to the infirmary.

Doc Simpson stood outside the door, watching. "These native African doctors understand more about jungle illnesses than we appreciate."

"Did they give you any trouble?" Mandy asked Tom in a whisper.

"Not when they recognized us," replied the young inventor. "But they made us wait outside the city limits while they fetched the doctor."

"Ikumu!"
the tall native exclaimed and Craig said this meant "spear." Tbokua walked over to Hanson’s cot. After a brief examination, the medicine man said a few words to Craig, then left the infirmary.

"What happens now?" Tom asked.

"He’ll be back shortly," Craig replied. "He’s going to pick up a certain herb. Doc was right about the poison on the spear."

"Did he explain the nature of the poison?" Doc Simpson questioned.

"No," the flier answered. "The only one I know of is a kind used by the Pygmies. They extract a juice from the white flowers of the Madura plant. Dipping their arrows into this liquid makes them deadly."

The shaman soon returned with a handful of herbs, which he crushed in a wooden mortar. Presently he had a small amount of green liquid. Nervously the explorers stood aside while the native mixed a few drops of it with water and forced it down Hanson’s throat.

"I hope we’re doing the right thing," Tom murmured.

"It’s a chance we’ll have to take," replied Doc Simpson. "Hanson is sinking fast."

The medicine man sat on the edge of the cot, muttering certain phrases over and over, as if they were incantations. In a few minutes Hanson started to writhe on his cot. Unintelligible sounds came from his lips. The medicine man, however, seemed unmoved and merely continued to chant.

Tom and his companions watched fearfully, wondering if this strange combination of magic and medicine would cure—or kill!

THE EVENING had now become night. In the infirmary the medicine man continued his muttering and at intervals gave Hanson more of the potion.

"How is Arv?" Tom asked Doc Simpson at midnight. The doctor reported little change and Tom was heartsick. "If anything happens to Arv I’ll never forgive myself. I feel responsible for his condition. If it hadn’t been for my expedition, he’d be safe in Shopton."

By two in the morning the tension was lifted somewhat when Doc Simpson reported that Hanson was no longer delirious, but was sleeping soundly. "That’s a good sign," he said.

From the Maba village came the steady beat of ceremonial drums accompanied by chanting. Craig explained that the Maba believed Hanson’s illness had been instigated by the ancestral spirits in the mountain who wanted no interference. They were trying to appease them with their prayers.

Tom felt a lump in his throat at this show of camaraderie. No matter what religious beliefs a citified person might have, he could not show more sincerity or faith than these simple tribesmen.

Outside the
Sky Queen
groups of awed Maba villagers stood, waiting patiently for news of Hanson. Finally at six AM Doc Simpson suddenly stood up and leaned over his patient. "I think Arv’s coming out of it!" he whispered hopefully.

Word spread through the ship. Everyone on board rushed to Hanson’s bedside. The stricken man moved, lifting one hand to his face. A moment later he rubbed opened his eyelids part way, then closed them again.

"Arv!" Simpson called softly. "Glad you’re awake."

"Doc? Doc Simpson? Wh-what happened?" Hanson asked, opening his eyes wide.

"You were poisoned by that spear you took, but you’re all right now. How do you feel?"

Hanson managed a wry smile. "Like I just swam the Atlantic Ocean underwater," he said weakly.

"You’ll be as good as new in a few days, thanks to this man here," said the doctor.

For the first time Hanson noticed the native shaman who had risen from the side of the cot and was edging silently toward the door. When Doc Simpson announced that he had saved Arv’s life, Tom wrung the medicine man’s hand fervently and Craig thanked him profusely in the Maba dialect.

"Wait!" Hanson called as the healer started out the door. "I want to thank him myself!"

Mandelia spoke to the visitor, who gave a few words in reply. Then Tbokua moved off without another word, a solemn expression on his face as if he were in a trance. When he reached the ground, he stalked off, his tribesmen following.

"I told him that you were grateful," Mandelia said to Arv.

"And what did he say?"

"That you should pray regularly to the spirit-gods, and take a non-aspirin painkiller as needed."

With the tension gone, everyone relaxed. Chow’s jovial spirits returned. "I’ll rustle up one o’ my specialty breakfasts fer Hanson," he declared.

Bud grinned. "Give the poor guy a chance to recover first. We don’t want him to have a relapse!"

Chow gave Bud a dark look and stamped out of the infirmary so vigorously that the giant plane seemed to rattle. "And how d’you like your caterpillars, buddy boy?" he asked threateningly as he left.

Bud gulped. "Scrambled, please."

But when mealtime arrived, Chow served orange juice, bacon, waffles, and tall glasses of iced cocoa in preparation for Tom’s first journey with Bud and Craig to the mysterious mountain. He also packed a kit of food to last for a couple of days if they should decide to stay away.

"Thanks, Chow," said Tom, and grinned. "In return I’ll bring you back some containers of gas."

"Some of that stuff what blows things up?" the cook gasped. Then, seeing the twinkle in Tom’s eyes, he added, "Brand my rusty spurs, if you ain’t as bad as that Barclay feller!"

Dr. Simpson plopped down at the table, rubbing his eyes wearily. "I’m glad I had a chance to witness that bit of native magic," he said. "But I’m worried as to what we’ll do if the cure isn’t permanent. I wish the equipment failure hadn’t cut us off from the world so totally."

"Haven’t you noticed that the lights are working, and steady?" said Tom happily. It developed that the mysterious electrical problem had completely disappeared hours before, and all equipment was working again.

"Like magic!" Bud muttered.

After hours of much-needed sleep the terrasphere tank section was driven down the ramp from the Flying Lab’s hangar and out into the clearing, leaving the sphere section behind. The boys climbed in and checked the equipment.

"Let’s go!" Tom urged, and a few moments later the great hoop-like treads began to eat their way through the bush. Tom and the rest took turns in the elevated turret-dome driving the tank, while those not driving occupied the larger quonset-hut-shaped compartment further back on the mobile platform.

"There’s a lot of rough terrain between us and the mountain," Craig warned. "This could be quite a long trip."

The vehicle surged ahead. Ravines, rocky surfaces, deep mud, forest, bush failed to halt their advance. By swiveling the ring-tracks parallel to the body of the tank, the entire vehicle was narrow enough to drive between the great tree trunks of the forest—and powerful enough to drive over the smaller brush. After a while the explorers came to a region of denser jungle. Tom shifted to a lower gear. Small trees and thick vines snapped out of their path or fell beneath the treads.

Eventually they came to what appeared to be a difficult upward slope. Its real steepness was obscured by heavy vegetation. Tom brought the tank to a stop.

"I don’t know whether to try that incline or not," he said over the intercom, peering out the dome. "I’m going up it a little ways on foot."

Tom climbed from the vehicle. "Watch out for snakes and wild animals!" Craig warned.

"Okay." Tom’s eyes quickly swept the area in every direction and he kept his right hand on the holster of the small impulse pistol, or i-gun, he carried for protection, which was now operational again.

After forcing his way through the dense brush, he reached the incline. Making a careful survey of it, Tom felt that the tank could negotiate the ascent.

The young scientist turned to rejoin his friends, then froze in his tracks. Two yellow gleaming eyes glared at him from a tree ahead. Crouched on a low limb was a black female leopard! Anger—or hunger—in its eyes, the large cat was ready to spring!

There was no chance for him to escape and Tom’s first impulse was to raise his gun. But instead he remained motionless, thinking,
I hate to shoot that beautiful specimen if I can. avoid it.
Though the weapon had a stun setting, its effect on animals was never entirely certain and might prove injurious..

The leopard was as immobile as an ebony statue, yet poised for the kill. Tom’s position was the same, but his heartbeat was fast. Would he regret having waited to make the first move?

The two continued to glare at each other. Tom almost felt as if he were being hypnotized.
I mustn’t let that happen!
he cautioned himself grimly.

Suddenly he realized that the situation had changed. It seemed that he had hypnotized the leopard! A moment later the big cat turned her back on him, jumped down from the tree, and loped off through the bush!

"Whew!" said Tom, not only relieved but amazed. He hurried back to the tank.

When the young inventor told what had happened, Craig rebuked him. "Man, you took an awful chance!"

"Oh no he didn’t," Bud countered. "Tom is an old hand at hypnotizing the girls—even lady leopards!" Tom picked up an extra radiation helmet and pitched it playfully at his pal.

The explorers resumed their journey. The slope was ascended with remarkable ease and the tank negotiated the downgrade equally well. Tom was pleased with their progress.

Occasionally they caught fleeting glimpses of chattering monkeys and once they stared in wary fascination at a huge python coiled about a low-hanging limb. At one point an elephant came crashing through the jungle, and Tom remembered the tale of how his great-grandfather and namesake had used the original electric rifle to stop an elephant.

Shortly after eleven that morning the brush thinned out, then the vegetation vanished completely. A short distance beyond towered their destination—the mysterious "mountain of the spirit-gods," Goaba. Its snow-capped peak soared up through a ring of cumulus clouds.

"What a sight!" Tom exclaimed.

"Snow above, fire below," said Bud. "By the way, where is the crevice?"