In the nick of time Tom pressed the repelatron-lifter switch on the dashboard.
The atomicar zoomed up off the road-cleared the embankment with inches to spare-and finally settled down to a pancake landing in the field beyond as Tom cut off all power.
“Oh, my g-g-goodness!” Phyl quavered weakly.
Both girls were white-faced and breathless from the near accident. Tom and his husky, dark-haired pal felt a bit shaken themselves.
“Whew! Have you figured out what happened?” Bud asked when he found his voice.
“Not yet, but I intend to-pronto!”
Tom slid back the canopy, leaped out, and raised the car’s hood. After a brief inspection he located the trouble.
“The master servo-control unit failed,” he muttered grimly. “No wonder she wouldn’t answer the stick!”
AIRPORT ALARM 13
“Couldn’t be sabotage, could it?” Bud asked. Often in the past, unscrupulous rivals and enemies of the Swifts had tried to wreck their new inventions or daring scientific projects.
Tom shook his head. “No sign the unit was tampered with. Even at Cape Canaveral, or our own rocket launchings on Fearing Island, there’s no way to guarantee one hundred per cent reliability.”
Tom took a tool kit and spare parts from the trunk, and quickly replaced the unit. He also installed an extra master control as an emergency stand-by to rule out any danger of a second mishap.
“Sorry about the scare,” Tom told the girls as he and Bud climbed back into the car.
Bud chuckled. “This is what’s known as getting the bugs out of a new hot rod-the hard way!”