Tom Swift in the Caves of Nuclear Fire (15 page)

"But I can’t just sit and wait!" Tom protested.

"No," his father agreed. "Of course not. What is your plan of action?"

"For one thing, I’m going to lift off in the ship and search for miles around with the big searchlight and the motion-analyzing radarscope. If I haven’t found them by dawn, I’ll have to contact the authorities. But I won’t let them drive us away from here, Dad!"

"I can’t… " There was a crackle of static, and Mr. Swift’s voice resumed in midsentence. "… could be affecting your signal. Is it… " Again the voice faded out.

"Dad, it’s the anti-electronic effect I described. It’s that time. I’d better take off and search while the
Queen
is still operational—I don’t want to wait." Tom switched off the transmitter.
I hope Dad got the message,
he thought.

Tom activated the flight controls. The dials were already beginning to waver. "At least I ought to be able to search in the direction away from the mountain," he muttered. He fed power into the jet lifters, and the Flying Lab thundered somewhat woozily into the night sky.

The weary young inventor criss-crossed the local terrain from above for hours, illuminating small sections of it by the Swift Searchlight, as if by clear daylight. Once, near the Onari village, Tom thought he had detected a human movement pattern down in the brush, but closer examination by searchlight revealed only a magnificent lion hunting its prey under cover of darkness. Both the local settlements—of the Maba as well as the Onari—were quiet, with a few patrolling perimeter guards the only sign of life.

Tom also circled twice around Mount Goaba in the
Sky Queen
toward the end of his search, as the anti-electronic effect was beginning to dissipate. Again, there was no sign of life or motion.

His options having run out, Tom headed back toward the base camp clearing. He was relieved to see the terrasphere tank and its descent sphere lying unmolested in the brilliant moonlight.

"I know I should have packed them away," Tom murmured to Ry, "but under the circumstances, I—"

"No one could fault you, Tom," said Professor Cully gently.

Suddenly both passengers jumped as the stratoship’s radio beeped with an incoming message on an unfamiliar frequency.

"This is Tom Swift in the
Sky Queen,"
Tom responded cautiously. "Please identify yourself."

The radio hissed, whined, and buzzed, but finally a quavering message could be faintly discerned.
"We have your people here with us,"
said a voice, heavily accented.

"Who are you?" Tom cried. "I demand to be allowed to speak with the other members of my party."

The reply was lost in the crackle of static.

"Tell me where you are," resumed Tom.

"… village… you flew over… set free if you agree to… "
sputtered the radio speaker.

"This is quite useless!" snipped the Professor.

"Please repeat," Tom said. "I can barely make you out. What is it you want?"

The answer was clear and immediate.
"We say, you must come here, Tom Swift. We will release your people to you personally. They are unharmed, but in our control."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come alone to the Onari village, Hyaddongo. You must walk there from your camp. We do not wish your aircraft to approach. Arrive by noon tomorrow, without weapons. And we insist that you not contact others, or we will not cooperate and it will not go well for your people."

"All right, I’ll do as you have asked," declared Tom. "To whom am I speaking?" But there was no reply to this, or to further questions.

Tom switched off the radio and sat as if dazed, staring off into the distance.

"You intend to comply?" asked Cully.

Tom nodded.

"They will surely make you a prisoner—and that is being optimistic."

"I have no choice, Ry," said Tom. "You’ll remain here with the
Queen;
and if you haven’t heard from me within 48 hours, contact my father."

Dawn was breaking. Unable to snatch even an hour of sleep in his tense state, Tom showered and picked at a small breakfast, then left the skyship, directing Cully to seal the hatch behind him. Bearing a detailed map, he trudged off into the wilderness.

The trek through the jungle took most of the morning, but by ten minutes after eleven, he saw buildings and people ahead, and in a few minutes he stood at the perimeter of the Onari village. The villagers, obviously very poor and deprived, regarded him without emotion as a half-dozen Africans in military fatigues—worn and faded—swarmed over him searching for weapons or communications devices. Finally one soldier, who curtly introduced himself as Sergeant Uthabu, led him through the run-down settlement, stopping before a large wooden building, the only two-story building in Hyaddongo. Tom was ushered inside, into a sparsely furnished room—furnishings consisted of a single wheeled desk chair and a florid ornamental lamp that sat on the floor—where he was commanded to wait.

"Do not sit down!" said the soldier, who turned and left.

Bone-tired and full of fear, Tom waited, hands at his sides.

"Tom!"
came a voice from behind him, and he whirled about.

"Mandy!" Tom cried happily. "And Craig!" They came rushing into the room, none the worse for wear. Another figure, a massive one, followed behind them, pulling the door shut.

"I would say
‘we meet again, Tom Swift,’"
said the man with forced joviality. "But the truth is, we have never met in the first place."

"But I know who you are, General Boondah," said Tom coldly as the man took a seat in the cushioned, rolling desk chair—which lacked only a desk.

"Already you are wrong," said the big man. "I am to be addressed as His Excellency and Supreme Commander, President Osa Kotto Boondah. You see, I am President of this sovereign republic of Borukundi, and you must recognize that, lest you insult my countrymen with your colonialist attitude."

Tom gazed at the grinning man stone-faced, then half-turned and spoke to Craig. "Are you all right?"

"They are all right," said Boondah. "And you will speak to me alone, young Tom."

"What do you want of me?" Tom asked.

Boondah was silent for a moment, staring at the youthful American. Then he gestured at the raft of gleaming medals and colorful ribbons that bedecked his broad chest. "What do you think? A nice display. And they are all quite genuine, my friend. This I know, for I conferred them on myself!" He laughed loudly. "I have decorated myself for many instances of courage, and for humanitarian work, and for making the lions quiver in their dens. No doubt you are impressed. Ah, but this little one here is my favorite. I truly earned this one." He patted the medal proudly with his forefinger. "For tying knots as a Youth Scout."

There was silence, and Tom asked if the other members of his party would be released as promised.

"Of course. Did I not say so?" He thought. "Ah me, perhaps I failed to say so; yet it is in my heart to do it."

"Pardon me, sir," said Tom calmly. "I fail to understand why you have had my expedition taken prisoner, or why I am here."

"Your people were arrested by my Agrarian-Reform Policemen. You are in Borukundi without proper papers. Do you deny it?"

Tom noted that he had secured clearances from the country recognized by the United States as the owners of the region.

"And you see, that is just what I do not like about the United States," said the Supreme Commander in response. "Nor do I care for Mount Rushmore, or fried foods in little paper sacks. Your people will not accord my people respect for their democratic choice to function as an independent state."

"Democratic choice? You took power in a military coup!" grunted Craig Benson.

"No comments from the peanut-gallery, if you please," said Boondah with a mocking smile. "As the saying goes,
if I want your opinion I will beat it out of you."
He laughed heartily. He said to Tom, "You must realize, in Africa democracy is not by votes, but by consensus. The people who live in Borukundi, the Onari, are crazy about me! It would be undemocratic to refuse to lead them."

"Are the Maba crazy about you also?" asked Tom.

"Bah!" cried Boondah with passionate contempt. "I will tell you a fact: they are offspring of a donkey and a snake. It is true. I read it in the biology textbook I wrote. ‘Maba’ means
‘I crawl on my belly and soil the earth.’
That is the definition."

Tom smiled. "You wrote a dictionary too?"

The General laughed again. "I am enjoying my time with you. But manners, manners!—it is time for lunch. Do you care for cucumber sandwiches?"

"I’m not hungry."

"Nor are they big enough to feed a hungry man. But I shall not eat in front of you—it is rude."

"All right, sir," said Tom with an edge to his voice. "Have you had enough entertainment? I would much like to know the purpose to all this."

Gripping the arms of the office chair, the President leaned forward, his bulging eyes suddenly as fierce as a hawk’s. "You have been engaged in mining operations at the mountain erroneously called Goaba by the Maba traitors. Its true name is Yossaffo. I have named it after one of my descendants, who shall be born in about 70 years."

"We have been to the mountain," Tom conceded, "but only for purposes of scientific study, not mining."

"So you say. Your very presence there is illegal, an interference in my agrarian-reform program."

"Do you plan to put farms on the side of the mountain, Mr. President?"

"Surely not. That would be daffy, eh? But there is a principle of respect to be observed. Respect matters.
I respect, you respect, we respect—
that is what our children are taught. What are children taught in America, eh? How to program their VCRs?" The Supreme Commander did not seem to expect an answer.

"Then I take it you are ordering us out of the region."

Boondah waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense! Who said such a thing? I am only reminding you that you are probing the sovereign soil of Borukundi. Whatever you find there belongs to the people, the Onari."

"Not the Maba?"

"They are not ‘people’."

Tom nodded slowly. "All right, sir, you’ve made your point and I understand it. Our expedition will proceed with that in mind. We intend no disrespect."

"Of course not," said Boondah. "If I thought you had intended it, I would have taken a gun and shot you myself." He stood. "And so this diplomacy is ended, and I am off to cucumber-land."

"Then my friends are free to return with me to our camp?" asked Tom eagerly.

"They are awaiting you in front of this very building—all but one." The General emphasized the ominous sound of his last remark with a frown.

Tom paled. "What do you mean?"

"One of your party shall remain here, as our guest. I don’t recall his name—you figure it out. He will be—well, I do hate to use the word ‘hostage.’ But that is what he is, eh? When your big beautiful ship has left this country, we will escort him to the border for you to pick up. It is an incentive, so you will continue to show respect and good behavior." Tom began a bitter protest, but Boondah raised a warning finger. "No no, young Tom.
Everyone loves a winner, but no one likes a whiner.
That is one of our national slogans. I am most glad I wrote it!" He straightened his military-style jacket and swaggered out the door.

Sergeant Uthabu reentered and motioned for Tom, Craig, and Mandy to head outside. There, in the hot sun, stood Bud Barclay, Hank Sterling, Chow Winkler, and Dr. Simpson.

"Great gushin’ Rio Grande!" cheered Chow in hushed tones, with a nervous glance at Uthabu. "Are you ever a welcome sight!"

"How is everyone?" Tom asked.

"They snuck up on us!" hissed Bud. "We were singing after we finished our meal, and suddenly these guys came charging out of the brush slinging gas grenades."

"We all blacked out," continued Hank. "When we came to, we were in some kind of big dug-out in the jungle, camouflaged by branches. It couldn’t have been more than a mile from base camp—we heard the
Queen
take off pretty well, and now and then we saw the searchlight beam between the branches."

"Arv Hanson is missing," put in Doc Simpson. "He wasn’t in the dug-out, and he wasn’t in the building they drove us to earlier today. We don’t know what’s going on."

"Hanson is being held as a hostage until we leave the country," Tom explained grimly.

"Held by who?" Bud asked.

"We have just been in the august presence of the Supreme Commander," said Mandelia with dripping sarcasm. "He is concerned about disrespectful mining operations at Goaba."

Chow shook his head. "What in tarnation does
that
mean?"

"It means there’s something in or around the taboo mountain that General Boondah doesn’t want discovered," said Tom Swift. "That’s my guess."

Hank Sterling approached Tom and said in a low voice, "If it’s the antiproton matter, that’s not good news for the world."

Tom nodded silently.

"Come!" commanded Uthabu. He herded the party to the edge of the village as other armed men looked on, ready for trouble.

Tom had hoped they would be driven back to camp in some manner, but hopes were dashed. Uthabu merely pointed and said, "Now go!"

The group trudged dejectedly through the jungle pathways, discussing their experiences.

"I don’t think it’s the antiproton stuff they’re after," pronounced Craig. "Mandy knows the Onari lingo and listened to our guards talking."

"They mentioned
‘ootna mu’achingi’
," she said, "which means—approximately, as we are in mixed company—little green acorns."

"Don’t sound like that there gas," Chow commented. "But mebbe it’s jewels, or nuggets."

Tom did not respond. He was pondering the situation of Arv’s captivity, and wondering what to do next.

The trek back was much longer than Tom’s morning journey. It was baking hot even in the shade, and everyone had to sip frequently from Tom’s water canteen. But at last, as twilight was falling, they came in sight of the Flying Lab and the terrasphere paraphernalia.