Tom Swift and His Electronic Retroscope (16 page)

The blazing tropical sun, almost directly overhead, soon dried the accidental swimmer’s clothing. When the five finally returned to the hut in the village, they found that Hutchcraft had "gone for a walk."

"Smart move!" Tom commented with a grim chuckle. "He didn’t like that fighting gleam in your eye, Bud!"

Hu-Quetzal seemed amused. "Now, my friends, you know a bit more of our old Maya customs!"

At that moment Professor Castillez approached. Tom noticed at once that his face was troubled. "Tom, something is wrong," said the academic.

Tom paled. "Wrong? Back at Enterprises?"

"No indeed—
here!"
was the reply. "Someone has ruined my short-wave set! I cannot contact anyone at all!"

"WHAT did they do to it?" Tom asked.

Castillez shrugged. "I have no idea. I am receiving signals without difficulty, but it seems nothing of my transmissions is getting through. I’ve checked the external connections, and tried several times."

Tom proceeded to examine the short-wave set, eventually opening it up and using detector instruments to check the basic circuitry. "Whatever’s wrong is at the level of the micro-components," he pronounced at last. "Maybe someone inserted a dummy part. At any rate, I don’t see any obvious way to fix it."

"Hutch strikes again!" fumed Bud. "Must’ve done it while he was supposedly digging around by the well."

"Hutch—or maybe the skinny prowler," Tom agreed.

"And as a result, you are cut off from contacting your father," Castillez said in sympathy.

But Tom shook his head with a slight smile. "Not at all. The saboteur forgot—or didn’t realize—that the paraplane’s radio is completely adequate. I’ll just use one of the Enterprises videophone satellites to relay the signal."

The young inventor quickly made contact with his father, reporting on their many mysteries and inquiring, "How about our five Mayan friends up there, Dad?"

"Doing fine at last report. They have one floor of a dorm at Grandyke University." Damon Swift chuckled as he described the natives’ reaction to North American civilization. "They’ve gone clothes crazy, especially about sport clothes. One of them goes around in a freshman cap and a bright purple polo shirt!"

Tom laughed. "We’ll have to get Chow to give them a few fashion tips!" Chow Winkler’s taste for gaudy shirts had become a local legend at Enterprises. "But I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves."

After signing off, Tom rounded up Bud and Professor Castillez and headed off to the open area beside the hill. The Professor appeared intrigued. "There may indeed be some sort of ancient structure buried here—perhaps a courtyard or paved plaza. If, as you suspect, it is the end of the overgrown roadway, it must have been quite important to the old Maya people."

"We can survey the area now, and start digging tomorrow," Tom declared. "That is, if you’re ready to authorize us, Professor."

"More than ready. Just remember, you must do your digging with small trowels, and use the wire brushes to clean off the packed dirt. We cannot risk damaging whatever lies buried here." After a moment, he added: "I regret that I cannot provide all the help you need, as I am not an archaeologist. I know you do not trust Mr. Hutchcraft—perhaps Dr. Liu and his wife would be willing to come by to assist you. They seem to possess a good deal of historical and archaeological knowledge."

"That’s a great idea," Tom replied.

"And who knows, maybe we’re standing on top of a Chinese pagoda or something!" Bud speculated with a grin.

That evening, the long hot day behind them, Tom and Bud relaxed in the village as they watched supper being prepared. The adult women of the village had gathered at their outdoor "kitchen" to prepare the traditional meal. They were seated on woven mats, patting the
zacan,
or ground corn, into round flat cakes on tiny three-legged wooden tables.

"Uah,"
one woman said, pointing to the cakes.

Tom responded to her with a smile, which she returned. "Must be the Mayan word for tortilla," he remarked to Bud.

"I’ll make a note of it," quipped the dark-haired flyer.

As they watched Chow stir a pan of dark-brown sauce, bubbling over a woodfire stove, Hu-Quetzal approached the two and said, Castillez assisting, "For our ancestors, the firstfathers,
zacan
was as great an invention as any of yours, Tom-Swift. They say it gave them a new way to live. They no longer wandered, but stayed with their corn-crops. And how long ago that was, who can say?" He came closer and squatted down next to the scientist-inventor, his back ramrod-straight. "I have something to speak to you about, Tom-Swift."

Tom looked up expectantly. "Of course,
ahau."

"Perhaps you have noticed that the
ahmen
of Huratlcuyon, Juxtlanpoc, has not been seen here for some time now. I am certain, now, that he has deserted us completely. He was angry that I permitted you to continue using your camera on the stone fragments. His attitude, his thinking, is—what do you say?—like an old man’s. I do not think this way, Tom-Swift."

Tom nodded in understanding.

"And so I have decided something. I will permit you to use your camera on our sacred objects as you requested—on the stone-of-standing, and on the
ahmen
’s medicine ball, the
sastun.
You have earned our trust."

Tom was thrilled! As he volubly expressed his gratitude, Bud whooped under his breath.

"Ahau,
I will make my first pictures, of the jade ball, after supper, while there is still some light in the sky." Hu-Quetzal gave his consent.

The evening feast done, the chief brought Tom the sacred object and set it carefully upon one of the wooden tables. He then made a short speech in the village dialect to his subjects, explaining his decision, as Tom rolled the retroscope equipment into the open. As the equipment warmed up and the helium was released into the glowing dome, Tom tuned various dials and trained the scanner eyes on the jade ball. Presently a magnified picture of the old Mayan pictographs began to form on the reproducer screen.

Gasps of delight rose from the natives, who crowded closer for a better look. Their awe increased, a moment later, when Tom flicked a lever and pulled a detailed paper print from the machine showing the same design pattern.

The difference between the visible original and the machine’s restoration was astounding! Though the picture was far from clear, Tom was able to make out a set of Mayan numerals, giving the date when the
sastun
was made. He read this off to Quetzal: 9.4.0.0.0 13 A/tan 18 Yax.

"What’s that in our calendar?" Bud asked.

"October 18, A.D. 514," translated Wilson Hutchcraft, who had returned to the village but was keeping a wary distance from Tom and Bud. Turning to Quetzal, he added, "More than three baktuns ago."

The dark eyes of the
ahau
widened. "Truly, my people have lived here a long time!"

"We can’t be sure the
sastun
was carved here in your village," Tom pointed out. "Even your sacred stone may have been brought here by people other than your ancestors. It is something yet to be determined."

Dr. Liu now stepped in and explained to Quetzal that it would be necessary to dig up more local stone carvings to resolve the question. These would then have to be deciphered, time-checked, and compared with the
sastun
and sacred stone for various features.

"Then let us hope that you will uncover what you need next to the hill,
Txulnaptoc,"
commented the chief.

"Now that’s
rather
interesting," muttered Hutchcraft in stretched Bostonian tones. Tom gave him a glance of curiosity, but continued to bring the carved inscriptions into focus. He then scanned the stone-of-standing and confirmed the earlier message.

"As I thought, this one section is in the symbol-language of the space people," Tom declared. "Part of it is the same message as before. Let me see if I can make out the rest of it." He pulled out his pocket notebook and worked away at it for several minutes. Finally he looked up in triumph and said, "The other part reads:
We have lost many. Nothing will protect us from
—I can’t translate the remaining symbols."

"Do you suppose these visitors actually carved this jade ball themselves?" asked Professor Castillez.

"No," was Tom’s reply. "My guess is that this is a copy of a copy of the original inscription, many generations removed."

"Mebbe you’re gonna uncover the first one underneath Max’s hill," Chow speculated. "That’d sure be somethin’, wouldnit, boss!"

"And it may be more likely than any of us have suspected," Hutchcraft said loudly. All eyes turned his way. "The name of that hill,
Txulnaptoc—
I believe it comes from some words in a very ancient dialect of the people who lived in Central America even before the Maya. We call them the Proto-Olmecs, for lack of a better term. Only a few fragments of their spoken language have survived into the present day."

"What was the original meaning, Hutch?" Tom inquired.

"My conjecture? I think it means:
Here, the torch-bearer fell down from the starry sky!"

THERE was a moment of stunned silence as the listeners reacted to Hutchcraft’s conjecture. "Tom," breathed Bud, "a torch from the sky! Couldn’t that mean—?"

"Right, pal—a spacecraft of some kind." In basic terms, Tom described to Hutchcraft, Castillez, Hu-Quetzal and the others how the friendly extraterrestrials who had contacted the Swifts had sent a transport capsule to Earth bearing samples of plantlife from their distant world. "The vehicle was surrounded by a sort of halo of light, and there was something like a searchlight beam extending ahead of it, which we think had something to do with its propulsion system. It moved through the atmosphere at unbelievable speed!"

"And so, as you describe it, it is very plausible to imagine that the ancient people who lived here would call it a ‘falling torch’," commented Professor Castillez in wonder.

"A falling torch
bearer,"
corrected Wilson Hutchcraft. "It could just as easily be a reference to the archaic god of storm and lighting, who in some myths in said to have tumbled from the sky after some idiotic dispute with his relatives."

"Mr. Hutchcraft has an excellent point," agreed Dr. Liu. "In several of the ancient dialects, lightning is called the ‘falling’ or ‘dropped’ torch."

"But still," Hutchcraft said, "the space-visitor notion is worth further investigation. I wouldn’t wish to discourage you fellows."

Bud gave him one of his ironclad smiles. "Oh, you won’t—Hutch!"

"Perhaps tomorrow will tell the tale," pronounced Ahau Quetzal soberly, half in Spanish. "We of Huratlcuyon have always thought of the hill, and the area around it, as a sacred spirit-place. It was taught to us from our fathers, and their fathers, back even to the firstfathers."

"If I may ask you,
ahau,"
inquired Tom respectfully, "are there some spots that are particularly important to the traditions of your people? If would be a big help if we could narrow down the places where we are to dig."

"The Narrow-Mouthed Cave, as we call it—where the Killer of Jaguars lives—is said to be one such place," was Quetzal’s thoughtful reply. "That is one reason that my people here came to fear this man Max before we knew his name. The
ahmen,
the keeper of histories, has deserted us, but some of these stories and sayings have been written down in Spanish from the time of the old friars. I will read some of this tonight, Tom-Swift. I am sure I can show you places to dig!" he promised.

"Fine!" Tom said. "We’re very grateful,
ahau."

After a hurried breakfast next morning, Tom and Quetzal led a caravan through the jungle to the open space next to the hill. The chief had ordered a dozen strong villagers to carry the retroscope and its two connected units through the dense underbrush, with Bud and Dr. and Mrs. Liu trailing behind. Chow brought up the rear, secretly regretting his offer to carry the various digging implements.

As for Wilson Hutchcraft, he elected to sleep late in the cool of the morning, and Professor Castillez planned to spend time preparing a report required by his employers at the University of Mexico.

As they trudged along Hu-Quetzal pointed out several spots in the forest mentioned in village folklore as the sites of buried relics. At each location Tom had the group pause for rest while he made a test probe beneath the surface, using the detector circuits of a portable device he had invented called a penetradar scanner. But the ground-probing instrument disclosed nothing of interest. "You will have better luck beside Txulnaptoc," promised Ahau Quetzal in his halting English. "My bones tell me it is so, Tom-Swift."

Finally reaching the open area, the village men carefully set down the electronic equipment. All the Mayans but the chief then left to return to the village. Tom began to scan the ground in a systematic way. The most promising site proved to be a broad, low mound, overgrown with scrubby jungle vegetation. Here, the penetradar showed underground stone deposits of a size and shape suggesting Mayan ruins.

"This rising-place is named
Two-Hands of the Moon,"
declared Hu-Quetzal. "You have chosen well; the old tales call it a sacred spot."

"What do you think’s under there, genius boy?" asked Bud excitedly. "A buried temple?"

Stephenus Liu responded before Tom could. "A pyramid-temple or tomb of the Maya kind would surely make much more than this little mound. But I am thinking of its name, Two-Hands."

"Does it have a special meaning?" asked Tom.

"Perhaps, perhaps," mused the academic. "There was an expression like that among the Proto-Olmecs by which they referred to a particular variety of ceremonial structure which was sunk into the ground but not actually buried. It was a sort of courtyard divided by crossing walls, like a maze—the ‘fingers’ of the ‘hands’—with a large atrium at the center. The floor of the atrium was dug much lower than that of the surrounding structure. The walls consisted of stone slabs, usually elaborately decorated with carvings."