Tom Swift and His Electronic Retroscope (10 page)

"Look out!" Tom cried. He made a wild grab for the heavy jug but missed. It struck Hutchcraft squarely in the forehead!

With a groan, Hutchcraft reeled under the impact, then slumped to the ground, unconscious!

THE MUSIC came to an abrupt stop and the crowd gasped as they stared at Hutchcraft’s motionless form.

Chow wrung his hands. "Brand my stupid old hide, this is terrible!"

"Wasn’t your fault—just a freakish accident," Tom tried to calm him. "I’m sure that Hutch isn’t seriously hurt." As the Mayas clustered around to lend sympathy, he added in Spanish, "Give him air, please!"

Doc Simpson was already examining the unconscious man. In a moment he looked up and gave the OK sign as Hutchcraft’s eyelids fluttered open and closed.

With Bud’s help, Tom lifted the victim to a more comfortable spot. Chow bustled off to bring some cloths soaked in cool water, which had just been brought from the village well.

An ugly bruise and swelling were appearing on Hutchcraft’s temple. After several applications of cold compresses, however, the Bostonian revived. He sat up with a groan, then scowled as he caught sight of Chow.

"You satisfied now, Winkler?" Hutchcraft exclaimed. "Of all the dirty tricks!"

"D-Dirty tricks!" The softhearted Westerner was horrified. "You ain’t thinkin’ I beaned you with that jug on purpose, are you?"

"Don’t pretend to be innocent," Hutchcraft retorted. "If you don’t like me, say so! But you don’t have to try fracturing my skull!"

"Maybe it could still be arranged," Bud muttered, bristling with anger. Both he and Tom were indignant at Hutchcraft’s attitude toward their friend.

"You’ll get through this, Mr. Hutchcraft," said Doc coolly. "No bleeding or concussion, just a bit of a bump."

The archaeologist harrumphed skeptically. Tom nudged Bud for silence before the copilot’s quick temper made matters worse. "You can see from Chow’s face how bad he feels about the accident," Tom told Hutchcraft evenly. "We’re all sorry it happened, and there’s no reason to make unfair accusations."

Meanwhile, the
ahmen,
the village’s medicine man, was doing his bit for the injured man. Having seen Hutchcraft lying unconscious, he had hurried to don his parrot-feather headdress and other regalia. Now he glided back and forth with slow, dancing steps, all the while waving a small greenish stone ball over the archaeologist’s head. This was accompanied by a singsong chant.

Hutchcraft glared up at him in annoyance. "Confounded native mumbo-jumbo!" he fumed. "Go on—
clear out!
Leave me alone!" Waving his arms threateningly, he drove the shaman away.

A shocked murmur arose from the villagers. The Americans, embarrassed by Hutchcraft’s show of bad temper, coldly walked away from him.

Tom was too interested in the
ahmen
’s medicine ball to waste further words on Hutchcraft. The curious-looking green stone had caught the young scientist-inventor’s eye. Asking Castillez to accompany him, he hurried after the shaman and asked if he might see it, the Professor translating his request.

The tribesman hesitated and spoke gravely in answer. "It is a
sastun,
used for making strong magic," Castillez explained. But finally he allowed Tom to examine the ball. It was a perfect sphere, about two inches in diameter, made of polished jade. "What beautiful workmanship!" Tom exclaimed admiringly. The surface of the ball was inscribed with delicate carvings.

Tom took out his pocket magnifying glass and tried to make out some of the pictographs. But they were too worn and faint from being bandied.

Must be centuries old!
Tom thought excitedly. Through Professor Castillez he asked the medicine man if he might test the jade ball to determine its age.

"Even I cannot tell you when it was made," the village elder replied in translation. "This
sastun
has been passed down by my father’s father and by many generations before him. Who can know its age? Only its spirit-dweller."

"The special machine I brought here may help us find out how old it is," Tom replied. He pointed to the camera equipment. "Would you let me try?"

Impressed by Tom’s respectful, reassuring demeanor, the medicine man agreed. But suddenly he held up his hand. "Wait!" After sniffing the air, he announced, "I smell rain. A bad storm is coming. I must warn the villagers!"

The medicine man’s forecast seemed unbelievable. The stars were out and the sky almost cloudless. But maybe the man had a sixth sense, Tom thought. Rather than take a chance exposing the retroscope to bad weather and a leaky roof, Tom asked for help in transferring his equipment to the new hut.

The heavy gear had hardly been moved into the visitor’s hut when thunder echoed and rain came down in lashing torrents!

"It seems the old gods are looking after us!" marveled Dr. Liu, his arm about his wife.

"Yes," agreed Professor Castillez, "and at the last possible moment. How glad I am, to have moved indoors from my little tent."

Hutchcraft, nursing his wounds and resentments, kept to himself in one dark corner of the large dwelling. Tom and the others talked for a while, then climbed into their hammocks, glad of their snug quarters. The rain, beating on the hut’s thatched roof, soon lulled them to sleep.

The next morning after breakfast Tom set to work checking and repairing his retroscope. To his delight, he found that neither the electronic brain nor the reproducing unit had suffered from his tinkering.

"Now to test it out on that magic medicine ball!" Tom told Bud excitedly.

But new complexities presented themselves. When he went to speak to the shaman, whose name was Juxtlanpoc, the medicine man was nowhere to be found! Tom next spoke to Chief Quetzal, but received only curt, uninforming answers to his queries.

"What’s going on, Professor?" he asked Castillez. "Have I broken a village rule?"

"Let me speak to Hu-Quetzal," advised the ethnologist. He went off and returned to Tom minutes later. "Our
ahau
said the shaman is in the jungle performing an important ceremony at Quetzal’s request. But you see, Tom, one must read between the lines. It develops that Mr. Hutchcraft sought out Juxtlanpoc early this morning and rather poisoned the well for you."

"How did he do that?" Tom demanded. "What did he say?"

"I gather he convinced the shaman that your scanning process could damage the
sastun,
despite what you said last evening."

"What!
But that’s—"

"Yes, absurd. But Hu-Quetzal is a canny leader and wished to placate Juxtlanpoc in a manner that would not obviously violate the rules of hospitality," the professor explained.

Fuming, Tom immediately stalked-out Hutchcraft and demanded an explanation. The archaeologist returned a bland smile. "I
suppose
you’ll hold this against me—hardly a surprise! The truth is, I
merely
spoke to the man this morning in an effort to apologize for my rudeness last night.
Perhaps
he read too much into my remarks concerning proper treatment of his people’s valuable artifacts. But that’s hardly my fault."

Tom did not bother discussing the matter further with the man. He sought out Bud and blew off steam.

For once it was Bud who had a calming effect. "Look, skipper, we both know Hutchcraft is a pompous jerk—and probably working with that skinny phantom, too. But this won’t set back your project. All you have to do is demonstrate your camera a few times in front of that witch doctor fellow—right?"

Tom sighed and managed a rueful smile. "Right, flyboy. Matter of fact, it’ll show everyone Hutchcraft is not to be trusted."

"There’s the ol’ Swift spirit!" Bud cheered. "And you know, Tom, those old Mayan spirits must be favoring our expedition here."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, look at it this way. We’ve been here for days, and nobody’s been kidnapped, nothing’s blown up—we haven’t even been knocked out! Am I right?"

The young inventor had to laugh, his spirit restored. "You’re right! What’s a little diamond-tipped arrow or two among friends?"

Stymied in pursuing his retroscope investigations, Tom and Bud spent the next few hours testing out the newly-repaired parachute plane. At last it worked like a dream. The boys were able to mischievously buzz the
Sky Queen,
dipping their wings as they flew off again. "About time you got that gas buggy working, Tom!" radioed Slim Davis. He promised to inform Tom’s father in Shopton.

Before leaving Tom had spent some time widening a small clear space at the edge of Huratlcuyon. He intended to land the paraplane there, where it could be easily watched.

Cutting the jets and reinflating the liftbag, Tom and Bud finally reached the Mayan village, drifting along gently and silently and finally touching down exactly as planned. News of their approach had spread, and Ahau Quetzal and his whole tribe had assembled to stare in renewed awe as the sky travelers climbed out of their shining silver cloud.

"You see into the past-times with the eyes of Tulchaxcul the goddess of the hunt, and now once again you drop from the sky without a sound in your strange airship," Hu-Quetzal told Tom. "I know of modern things. Still I say: you are indeed possessed of great magic, Tom-Swift!"

Tom smiled and shook his head. "Not magic,
ahau
. Like your great Mayan ancestors who ruled here in Yucatan, I study science—meaning the laws of nature. My father taught me that those laws must be used only for the good of mankind."

"Then he too must be a wise man," said Quetzal, nodding approvingly.

Presently Tom noticed that Juxtlanpoc the shaman had returned and was watching Tom cautiously from the shadows of his hut. Instead of confronting him, the youth decided to follow Bud’s advice and demonstrate his electronic retroscope. He and Bud set up the camera in the bright sunlight as a growing crowd watched.

Switching on the power, Tom nodded at the chief. "I have improved my device. I’d like to try it once again on that carved stone we found, with your permission."

The
ahau
nodded. Using a small wheel mounted on the side of the chassis, Tom made a series of very minute aiming adjustments until the scanner-detectors were pointed precisely at the middle of the rock surface. He glanced into the luminous dome-chamber that monitored the helium flow, and slowly closed off the valve on the segmented feed tube from the compressor setup.

"Here goes
somethin’!"
he muttered nervously to Chow, who stood nearby like the world’s most massive mother hen. The Texan gulped hard.

Tom gently nudged the control dials, noting aloud that the age register showed precisely what it had indicated on the previous attempt. He then turned to the small video screen that showed the front of the stone as it looked to the naked eye. The weathered carvings, if carvings they were, still appeared as only the faintest of suggestions.

Finally Tom activated the reproducer unit. As many eyes looked over Tom’s shoulder, an image began to form on the tiny glowing screen!

"I see it!" breathed Dr. Liu, and a soft gasp rose from his wife.

A pattern of carved symbols could be clearly seen, superimposed upon the image of the stone’s ancient surface!

"I never doubted the Swift genius," murmured Professor Castillez; "yet I must say, it seems like something from a dream!"

Tom modestly acknowledged the rush of congratulations and a low cheer from Bud. Then he proceeded to bring the picture into sharper focus.

"These are not your space symbols, Tom," noted Castillez.

"Pre-classic Mayan pictographs," declared Wilson Hutchcraft. "Not a difficult translation.
‘Here upon this stone the firstborn of the great chief Xchi-Botiakulnun was presented to His Godship Puratkl-Mochtyoc’.
The poor boy was probably sacrificed." He half-turned to Stephenus Liu. "Do you agree with my interpretation, Liu?"

The man hesitated. "I have no objection."

Chow removed his sombrero and scratched his head. "Them old Maya names sure were a mouthful!"

"To some, ‘Chow Winkler’ would twist the tongue," noted Hu-Quetzal with raised eyebrows.

"True enough, chief."

Tom performed further experiments on the old stone, noticing with a hidden smile that the medicine man had drawn close, inconspicuously. Bud caught Tom’s eye and gave him a sly wink. The plan was working!

Meanwhile Hutchcraft had wandered away. Now he came walking up again holding a rather muddy rock, which he held out to Tom. "Looks as if this has some markings on it," the Bostonian said. "See what your time machine can make out."

Tom was doubtful that the rock had ever borne any carvings. But rather than offend the prickly Hutchcraft, he placed it in front of the camera and switched on the power again. He carefully focused the beam-emitters.

But this time no picture formed on the screen. Instead, the rock suddenly exploded, showering the onlookers with shrapnel-like pieces of debris!

CRIES and groans went up from the natives. Many had been hit by flying bits of rock. Bud was bleeding from cut on the cheek, and Doc Simpson had been grazed on the forehead. Professor Castillez was feeling about in the tall grass—his glasses had been blown right off his nose!

"Brand my flyin’ flapjacks, what was in that stone?" Chow gasped in bewilderment. "A charge o’ blastin’ powder?"

"I sure wouldn’t be surprised!" Bud snapped, dabbing his cheek with a handkerchief. "Maybe our helpful friend here can tell us!" He clenched his fists angrily and started toward Hutchcraft.

"Take it easy, pal!" Tom said, stopping him. "We have enough trouble already."

"Thanks to Hutchcraft!" Bud stormed. "If you ask me, he knew this would happen!"

The Bostonian looked pale and somewhat frightened by the havoc he had caused. But before he could answer Bud’s charges, Tom intervened.

"We’ll talk about that later," the young scientist-inventor said quietly. He turned to Hu-Quetzal. "Have any of your people been hurt,
ahau?"

The chief shook his head. "No. They were not as close. Perhaps a few are cut. No more."