“All right, son. But whatever happens, act with extreme caution. Remember, we’re up against a deadly enemy with great scientific resources. I don’t need to tell you that we can’t afford an international incident, either.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be plenty careful.”
After a hasty breakfast the Swifts flew back to Enterprises with Bud. Here, Tom briefed his father on the details of the magnetic deflector, and Mr. Swift promised to undertake the building of a full-scale model at once.
An hour later the huge Flying Lab was zooming aloft from its special runway.
Aboard with Tom and Bud were a three-man crew, consisting of Hank Sterling, Chow Winkler, and Arvid Hanson. Arv, one of the Swifts’ most trusted employees, was a burly six-footer. But his touch was as expert at the wheel of a plane as it was in gauging a delicate machined part with a micrometer caliper.
At blinding speed the mighty atomic-powered Sky Queen streaked southward. Below the billow-THE BLACK SPACESHIP 109
ing cloud banks, its occupants glimpsed blue water, endless stretches of green rain forest, and awesome mountain ranges. Tom and Bud slept soundly for part of the trip while Hank and Arv took over as pilot and copilot.
When they reached Patagonia, the southern part of the continent, the Flying Lab descended over the slopes of the Andes, traveling eastward into vast treeless plains.
“Lake Argentine,” Bud remarked, glancing at a map as they flew over.
Tom nodded. “And that river of ice dipping into it must be the Moreno Glacier.” The young inventor slowed speed to reconnoiter the mountains to the south. “This is just about the spot,” he announced after a while.