"Appleton, Victor - Tom Swift Jr 12 - In the Race to the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Appleton Victor)

The ship lost air speed, but remained at almost the same altitude. So smooth
was the transition that Bud gave a whistle of amazement.
SPLASH LANDING 5
"Like floating on a cloud!" he exclaimed. "You mean we're hovering here with
nothing but an invisible force ray to hold us up?"
"That's right, pal. The detector circuits in the repelatron are tuned to respond
to the various kinds of soil around here. Want to go higher?"
"Can we?"
For answer, Tom rotated the dial, feeding more power to the repelatron.
Instantly the ship shot upward like a rocket at blast-off.
"Wow!" Bud clutched his stomach. "I'm convinced! How about forward flight?"
"To do that we simply tilt the directional radiator backward slightly to give us
a forward push," Tom explained.
He reached for a second dial, calibrated in degrees, and slowly adjusted it to
read 10 degrees. The plane responded by picking up speed. In a few moments
the buildings of Shopton dwindled behind them as they soared out over the
surrounding fields and farm land.
Bud bubbled with high spirits. "Congratulations, pal!" he cheered. "Looks as if
the boy genius has come up with a new method of flight- the repelaplane!"
"Good name." Tom grinned. "Well, I guess we've proved it works all right.
Let's go back."
He guided the plane around in a sweeping circle of the next county, then
headed for Shopton. Suddenly the sleek two-seater gave a lurch and nosed
downward.
"Hey, what happened?" Bud cried out.
6 THE RACE TO THE MOON
They were plummeting earthward!
One glance at the force dial showed that it had dropped close to zero.
"Something's gone wrong with the repelatron," Tom reported tensely. "I'll switch
over."
With a flick of his fingers, he turned on the ignition and gunned the starter.
Nothing happened! Again he tried, with no result.
"The motor's dead!" Tom exclaimed.
"Good night! You mean we've got no power at all?" Bud's face turned pale.
"The repelatron is getting power. I can tell by the reading on the power
meter," Tom said quickly, putting the craft into a glide. "Must be the repelatron
won't work over this kind of soil."
The young inventor maneuvered the plane's control surfaces frantically.
Bud clutched his chair. "What do we do now- hit the silk?" he gulped, testing
the straps on his parachute.
"Not yet. Let's stick with it a while. We may have enough air speed to glide in.
I'll try to bring her down on Lake Carlopa."
The blue expanse of water which lay before them bordered the north edge of
town. Tom tensely worked the stick and rudder pedals.
"Bud, call the police rescue squad at the head of the lake," he urged. "Maybe
they can send out a crash boat."
A blare of static filled the cabin as Bud twirled the adjusting knobs on the
radio. "Calling police rescue squad!" he cried. "Plane in trouble over
SPLASH LANDING 7
Lake Carlopa! Calling police rescue squad! Can you read me?" He gave the