For the next few hours, Tom flew back and forth over a radius of several hundred miles, seeking a break in the overcast through which to come down. But the storm seemed to be blanketing the entire polar area.
Time hung heavy, and the restlessness and impatience of the Sky Queen’s passengers increased hour by hour. The sun moved in the sky, but remained in sight at all times, providing the travelers with a continuous glow of weak, watery light, even though it was now past midnight!
“Blast my infrared cookstove!” grumbled the usually good-natured Chow.
“We coulda come by way o’ Texas an’ stopped off to see the big Panhandle Rodeo in all the time we’re wastin’ hunkerin’ ‘round up here!”
It was shortly after two in the morning when the 142 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ATOMIC BLASTER
radioman notified Tom that he had lost contact with Hanson’s plane.
“How long since you last heard their signal?” inquired the young inventor.
“About fifteen minutes ago. They seemed to conk out all of a sudden.”
“Okay, keep trying and let me know the minute you pick up anything.”
Again Tom began combing the polar sky. This time, he flew a definite search pattern, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hanson’s cargo jet. But there was no sign of the missing plane.
Finally the storm abated, and the overcast showed signs of clearing. Easing off on the jet lifters, Tom maneuvered the ship cautiously downward through the billowing cloud masses. As the rugged snow-scape of the Antarctic continent gradually came into view below them, the great craft slowly settled, until it came to rest on the ice with a gentle bump.