Free Tom Swift and His G-Force Inverter by Victor Appleton II Page A

GDI project aside to stumble around in this rat’s-maze!"
    Bud winced with regret but said, "Guess I agree. Shall we fly back right away? It’s already tomorrow!"
    "One thing to do before we leave," pronounced the crewcut youth. As daybreak became morning, he placed an advertisement in the capital’s newspaper, in English and Spanish, to run for a week.
R.O. SO NICE TO MEET YOU. CONTINUE OUR DISCUSSION BY CALLING ME IN U.S. — ASK TO SPEAK TO DON STURDY. MUST GET YOUR REPLY IMMEDIATELY OR NO DEAL.
    "What’s the phone number you gave?" Bud asked. "That’s not a Shopton area code."
    "It’s Graham Kaye’s number at the Key West station," was the reply. "I’ll alert him to be ready to relay the call to me directly, to my cellphone." He added wryly: "My new cellphone."
    They were back in Shopton that evening, for dinner and a good night’s sleep. In the morning, after reporting to his father and to Ames and Radnor, Tom placed another notice—this time in a box beneath the masthead of ForeSite .
THE OZONE LAYER WAS THICK IN MEXICO CITY. INTERACTION BUT NO SOLUTION. NEWSPAPER REPORTS DAMAGE TO OLD BASILICA FROM OZONE CONTACT. NO FURTHER DATA. BASIC SITUATION UNCHANGED.
    Guess I owe Asa at least that much of a lead , Tom thought. Yet, strangely, he found himself half-hoping that Rampo Ociéda would elude him.
    Walking down the hall to the repaired high-energy lab, a familiar gravel-toned voice hailed Tom. "Hey there, boss! Back from yer spy trip, hunh?"
    "Hi, Chow!" greeted Tom with a broad grin. "I’ll tell you all about it. I’m afraid Bud and I didn’t accomplish our secret mission. But it was the right idea, pardner."
    "All ya kin do is try, son."
    The rotund ex-Texan walked along with his beloved boss to the lab, where Rafael Franzenberg awaited them.
    "One scientific savant, one representative of the masses!" he semi-boomed. "Appropriate for this historic moment."
    "More o’ that there history , hunh?" said Chow doubtfully. "Seems plain t’ me that history mostly means somebody gets in trouble."
    "Don’t be a prairie cynic, friend Winkler. This is fun." Franzenberg held out his two meaty hands, a small metal ball, like a marble, in each one. "Weights. Here, Tom, take this one—keep a good grip on it."
    Tom took the weight and hefted it. "Heavy. Is it lead?"
    "It is."
    "Okay, so what’s th’ other one?" asked Chow suspiciously.
    "Also lead. Here, see for yourself."
    Franzenberg shoved the metal ball into Chow’s waiting hand, not letting loose until the cook’s fingers closed about it.
    Instantly Chow squawked—in Texas-wide-eyed alarm!
     

CHAPTER 10
HEADLINE AMBUSH
    "WHAT is it, Chow?" exclaimed Tom.
    "Th—this thing—it’s wrist-wrasslin ’ with me!" gulped the westerner. "Tryin’ t’ snake its way out o’ my blame fingers!"
    "Don’t be alarmed," soothed Rafe Franzenberg in a smug tone. "It’s only science."
    Calming himself, Chow cautiously held out his hand, palm downward, and opened his fingers. The ball remained suspended beneath his hand, pressing upward against his skin. "Like a balloon," breathed the former chuck-wagon cook. "But brand my helium!—I sure never ran across a balloon so small that pushed up so strong!"
    Tom turned his stare from Chow’s metal weight to Dr. Franzenberg’s smile. "Rafe—is it—it can’t be!"
    "History sneaks in on little cat feet, chief," replied the physicist. "Even I didn’t anticipate a breakthrough at such an early stage."
    "But we assumed—"
    "Indeed we did. Molecule by molecule, mere milligrams per hour. And so it was at first. But when I verifed that the air pressure at the top of the columnar collection tube was beginning to exceed that at the bottom—unprecedented!—I knew my initial rotation of air molecules through the G-dimension had been a complete success. I then proceeded with a rather daring reconfiguration of the field and learned the secret to efficiently rotating appreciable masses. Tiny lead pellets, actually, which I melted