“Are your arm muscles holding up, son?” Mr. Swift called.
“Feeling a bit stiff and strained, but I can hang on,” Tom replied. “How about you, Dad?”
“Perfectly okay. I suggest we hang on until we’re floating over this ridge we’re coming to, then drop off. It’ll give us less of a jolt.”
Tom gazed at the countryside below as a southeast wind bore them along through the darkness. There were no towns or crossroad villages in sight, and the nearest highway he could make out seemed to lie miles away.
After several minutes they neared the wooded ridge to which Mr. Swift had referred.
“All set, Tom?” the elder scientist called.
“Right, Dad!”
The Durabuoy spheres had been fastened to the igloo wall brackets by wing nuts. Tom un-130 MEGASCOPE SPACE PROBER
screwed his and Mr. Swift did the same-each hanging on by one hand while he did the disconnecting.
“Geronimo!” Tom cried as the sphere separated from the lab wall.
Tom had made the plastic-foam spheres just large enough to provide a little less buoyancy than he and his father needed for staying in the air. Now they began sinking gently toward the hilltop while the igloo floated onward, sustained by the Durabuoy trapped under its dome.
Within moments the fliers were nearing the ground. Mr. Swift landed with a gentle bump. Tom’s sphere caught in a pine tree, but he grabbed a branch, and swung himself downward, suffering only a few scratches.
“Are you all right, Tom?” Mr. Swift asked as he hurried to join the younger inventor.
“Right as rain, Dad. Now the problem is to find our way out of these woods. If we can only reach a house or roadside service station, we can phone the local police to pick up Bruggin and Howard before they run off.”
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