Free Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway by Victor Appleton II

not?"
    "If I am," replied Ted, "it was generations back. There’s no way to know."
    Kiuma smiled in a patronizing way. "Oh, there are ways, I assure you."
    Tom Swift’s facial expression expressed a great deal—to those who knew how to read it. Pointedly turning away from Mr. Kiuma, he said to Mr. Jombilabu: "Thank you for the assistance, sir. On this trip we’ll be doing our scouting from the air, for the most part. If it looks like we’ll be requiring the services of a translator or safari leader, we’ll certainly get in touch with your office."
    Kiuma started to say something—a protest or warning, Tom thought—but Mr. Jombilabu held up a hand. "As you wish. We have not yet—quite—found the Burlow file. I can at least provide a general map of the route we originally asked them to survey." Tom thanked him.
    The encounter with Mr. Kiuma made the Americans uncomfortable. After leaving the Ministry compound, Tom quietly apologized to Ted for having had to endure the man’s attitude. "Doesn’t matter," Ted replied.
    But to Tom Swift it did matter. He could already see that Darcy Creel was right. The Ngombia project would be far from a stroll in the palm trees!
     
CHAPTER 10
CARVED IVORY
    THE THREE had been assured that the streets of the capital between the Ministry and the airport were well-patrolled and perfectly safe, day or night. Unworried, they strolled along at a relaxed pace, old colonial buildings and sleek new offices rising on every side. The twisting boulevard throbbed with color and excitement beneath the darkening African sky. Men, dark-skinned and stalwart, milled about in flowing, brilliantly patterned togas with one shoulder bare. The women were clad in sarong-like garments of printed calico, their heads swathed in gaudy kerchiefs. Some carried naked infants, slung papoose style, on their backs. Others balanced trays of food or merchandise atop their heads with uncanny ease.
    "I guess those trays must be the Ngombian version of supermarket shopping carts," Bud joked.
    "Guess so," said Tom. "Not much in the way of European-style business dress, except for the tourists."
    "Notice how the women always walk just in front of the men?" Ted pointed out. "I read that it’s an important custom among the Ghidduas."
    Bud snorted. "Yeah— they take the spear for their husbands! Somehow I can’t see Sandy or Bash doing it."
    Some merchants displayed their wares in wooden booths lining the street; others had their goods laid out on the pavement itself on raffia mats or banana leaves. Hunks of raw meat, kola nuts, rice, yams, corn, and a variety of fruits and vegetables were offered for the customers’ inspection. Constant bargaining went on in a bedlam of high-spirited chatter. The approach of the evening meal, by tradition held immediately at sundown, seemed to energize the shoppers and merchants.
    Tom made a remark to Ted. When his friend didn’t respond, the young inventor glanced over to him curiously. Ted’s face bore a fixed, wary look. "Is something wrong, Ted?"
    Ted shrugged. "As we’ve been walking along, all those ‘good Ghidduas’ we’ve passed have been staring—maybe glaring —my way."
    "I hadn’t noticed."
    "I’ve had a lifetime learning to notice, T-man. It’s not because I’m dressed differently. They don’t pay any special attention to you and Bud, not here in the tourist district. It’s me —because they think I look Ulsusu."
    Tom was dismayed. "Ted, I had no idea how this would play out."
    "I know," his friend replied. "No point in my frettin’ over it."
    A squeal nearby drew their attention. An older European woman was chattering in a language that might have been Italian. In the throes of delight, she was pointing into one of the stalls that displayed various knick-knacks and souvenirs.
    As she drifted away, Tom saw what had interested her. It interested him too. "Look at that carving!" he said to his companions.
    "That one? Looks like ivory," Bud muttered.
    "It’s not