“In the meantime, I want to get the paraplane ready,” said Tom. He radioed orders to the Sky Queen to bring fuel for it at once. Then he and Bud drove off in the jeep to drain the ship’s tanks
126 ELECTRONIC RETROSCOPE
of the water seepage and supervise the refueling operation.
Within minutes the huge three-decker craft was hovering over the treetops above the paraplane. A hose was payed out and connected to the grounded ship. In a short time a fresh supply of fuel was pumped into the plane’s tanks.
“All set!” Tom signaled after the two boys had disconnected the hose. It was reeled in and the Flying Lab soared off toward its own landing spot. Tired but full of anticipation, Tom and Bud drove back to the village.
“Boy, I can hardly wait to see Sandy!” Bud declared. Reddening slightly, he added, “I mean Phyl too, of course, and your dad.”
Tom grinned. “You and me both, pal!”
The next morning the whole village turned out to greet the visitors from Shopton. Excited native runners had already brought news of their approach. Mr.
Swift was driving a jeep, with the two girls seated beside him in gay summer dresses and large-brimmed straw hats.
“Hi, Dad!” Tom exclaimed as they shook hands. “Glad you found the landing spot okay.”
“No trouble at all,” the elder Swift replied, smiling. “I expected a bit of a drive from your jungle airport, so we brought along another jeep.”
There was a strong resemblance between the famous scientist and his son.
Both had the same
FIGHTING MAD 127
keen, deep-set blue eyes, although Tom was taller and rangier than his father.