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later, Tom sat in one of his labs talking by satellite relay to Bud, who was now on the return lap of the flight and soaring high above the New Guinea jungle.
    "Just crossed over the crater wall," Bud radioed. "Nothing to see, though—just green, green, green."
    "What do the instruments say?" Tom asked.
    "Oh, no big change, just—wait a sec, Tom." There came a long pause, and Tom could imagine his friend carefully examining the instrument readouts. "Got a spike all of a sudden—holmium! Man, the numbers are going up fast!"
    Bud recited the readings, and Tom whistled in surprise. "That counts as an ore strike already." But he cautioned that false positives could not be ruled out yet. More data would be needed to confirm the find.
    After Bud had transmitted the position of the jet, the voice of Slim Davis came on the speaker. "Boss, this is quite a place! There’s some kind of tropical storm going on, with lightning flashing back and forth. We’re bouncing around like grease on a griddle, and the instruments are wiggling all over the—"
    Bud’s startled voice interrupted Slim’s. "Up! Pull up!"
    There was a long, loud burst of static.
    "Slim! Bud!" Tom called frantically.
    After a moment Bud Barclay’s voice could again be made out through the rush and roar of interference. "…was a close one, Tom. I…"
    "Bud, repeat!"
    The static rose and fell, aping a concealed voice that could not quite penetrate the noise. Then it broke through again, very faintly. "…like volcanoes, two of ’em…" Another break. "…gap in the clouds, so we’re making another pass, way low down…"
    Tom strained to catch the overlapping voice of Slim. "…huts lined up with colored roofs. Bright colors. Looks like the tribesmen are…"
    With a crackle of static, the broadcast cut out completely!
    Concerned and fearful, Tom punched buttons on the communications control panel, changing the signal route. In seconds he had made audio contact with Ted Elheimer, who ran the California link of the videophone system, the Swifts’ private communications network.
    Tom hurriedly explained the situation. "Can you pick up their signal from one of the videophone satellites?"
    "I’ll try, Tom!" After a few moments, Elheimer reported that he had acquired the signal from the jet. "Pretty weak, but I can hear them."
    "Are they all right?"
    "No!" exclaimed Elheimer grimly. "They’ve activated the emergency locator tone!"
    Tom went pale. The automatic distress signal!
    "I’m hearing Bud—I think," Elheimer continued. "Something about…instruments are haywire, and…"
    There was a long, ominous silence over the speaker. "Ted! Do you still have them?" demanded Tom. "Can you hear them?"
    "Sorry, Tom," came the slow reply. "The signal is gone—both the vocal and the distress call. It cut out all at once. I—I’m afraid they’ve crashed!"

CHAPTER 6
RESCUE FLIGHT
    RIPPING OFF his earphones, Tom darted to the main videophone terminal and flipped on the switch. As the screen lit up, Ted Elheimer’s face came into view.
    "What happened to the signal, Ted?" the young inventor cried out. "Any trouble in the relay hookup?"
    Elheimer shook his head gloomily. "No, Tom. The transmission just stopped, that’s all."
    Tom was numb with shock and fear. "Good night, in country like that, they won’t stand a chance!" Struggling with his emotions, Tom clenched his jaw grimly. "The important thing is, Bud and Slim may have parachuted to safety. They’ll be depending on us!"
    Tom hurried back to his office and immediately began organizing a rescue expedition. Issuing orders at high speed, he dictated a number of memos to Trent, then phoned the news to his mother and father at home.
    Mrs. Swift was extremely proud of her husband and son. She found it difficult, however, not to be fearful of the dangers they often encountered while pursuing their scientific work.
    "Oh dear," she murmured. "Please be careful, son. A rescue flight to uncharted jungle country is…" She