it, knowing that Jack had no control, until there was a chance to escape.
If he had betrayed her, and told Malva about the marble, they never would have had this chance. And Tappy had been unable to tell him that. She had had to let him decide himself, and had been afraid he would succumb.
How glad he was that he had not! He had been more of a man than he had taken himself to be.
Something flashed on the panel, attracting his gaze. Two little blips were there, blinking. Oh-oh; he had a notion what they might represent.
He looked around. There, at about seven o'clock on the dial, were two flying craft similar to this one. They were closing fast.
He knew what had happened. The alarm had been given the moment he overrode the program and assumed manual control. Other ships had been sent out to bring him in again.
He leaned toward Tappy. "We're in trouble," he whispered. Then he managed one tiny act of his own volition, with great effort: he kissed her ear. Perhaps it was possible only because he knew she would like it.
Chapter 4
"Two Gaol airplanes coming fast," he told Tappy.
He thought, What do I do now?
The chances were that the planes climbing up below him were faster than his. Even if the speed of his craft matched theirs, he was very handicapped. This was his solo flight, and he had had no training. An aerial dogfight between him and two professionals would last a few seconds. If that.
"Get a grip on yourself," he muttered.
That reminded him that squeezing the wheel caused the craft to accelerate. He clamped down as hard as he could on the inflated rim. But the plane was so high up that he could not tell at once if its velocity was increasing swiftly.
He looked out of the window on his left. The pursuer seemed not to be gaining so swiftly.
However, his hands would get tired soon. Surely, there must be a control on the panel before him that locked in to whatever speed he wanted. It was a dumb idea to regulate the airspeed of this craft by squeezing on the wheel. The engineers who had designed this certainly did not think like their Earth counterparts.
However, this machine surely should have something like the cruise control of a car. When set, it would maintain the desired rate of travel to give the pilot's hands a rest.
The names on the plates below the lights and switches and buttons on the panel were in a totally unfamiliar alphabet. If it was an alphabet. Maybe the letters were ideographic or syllabic, like ancient Aztec or Chinese or whatever.
Another glance through the window showed him that, yes indeed, the chaser was eating up the space between his craft and his quarry's. Perhaps its pilot could squeeze harder, but he did not think so. The adrenaline surging through him should give his hands the strength to crush rocks.
He wished he had a brush big enough to paint the other planes out of the sky. Reality, unfortunately, was not a painting. It was hard objects, some of them moving very fast, objects driven by human beings out to kill him and Tappy.
That thought was conceived out of despair by panic. But it gave birth to relief. A limited relief, true, yet it was tinged with hope.
Whatever they would do, they would not kill Tappy. Though desperate to catch her, they must avoid doing anything that might result in her death.
Therefore, they would not shoot the plane down.
What they would do, probably, would be to try to force their quarry to land. Unless... no use attempting to imagine what was in their bag of tricks. He would find out soon enough.
The planes were slowly but steadily closing the gap between them and Jack's plane. One pigeon. Two falcons.
Below, a forest spread out, dark green like an Earth woods except here and there were irregularly shaped areas of orange-colored trees. The crater was receding fast. Ahead was more forest. In the distance were the peaks of a mountain range. Now and then the sunlight flashed on a river. Or was there more than one? A large
If he had betrayed her, and told Malva about the marble, they never would have had this chance. And Tappy had been unable to tell him that. She had had to let him decide himself, and had been afraid he would succumb.
How glad he was that he had not! He had been more of a man than he had taken himself to be.
Something flashed on the panel, attracting his gaze. Two little blips were there, blinking. Oh-oh; he had a notion what they might represent.
He looked around. There, at about seven o'clock on the dial, were two flying craft similar to this one. They were closing fast.
He knew what had happened. The alarm had been given the moment he overrode the program and assumed manual control. Other ships had been sent out to bring him in again.
He leaned toward Tappy. "We're in trouble," he whispered. Then he managed one tiny act of his own volition, with great effort: he kissed her ear. Perhaps it was possible only because he knew she would like it.
Chapter 4
"Two Gaol airplanes coming fast," he told Tappy.
He thought, What do I do now?
The chances were that the planes climbing up below him were faster than his. Even if the speed of his craft matched theirs, he was very handicapped. This was his solo flight, and he had had no training. An aerial dogfight between him and two professionals would last a few seconds. If that.
"Get a grip on yourself," he muttered.
That reminded him that squeezing the wheel caused the craft to accelerate. He clamped down as hard as he could on the inflated rim. But the plane was so high up that he could not tell at once if its velocity was increasing swiftly.
He looked out of the window on his left. The pursuer seemed not to be gaining so swiftly.
However, his hands would get tired soon. Surely, there must be a control on the panel before him that locked in to whatever speed he wanted. It was a dumb idea to regulate the airspeed of this craft by squeezing on the wheel. The engineers who had designed this certainly did not think like their Earth counterparts.
However, this machine surely should have something like the cruise control of a car. When set, it would maintain the desired rate of travel to give the pilot's hands a rest.
The names on the plates below the lights and switches and buttons on the panel were in a totally unfamiliar alphabet. If it was an alphabet. Maybe the letters were ideographic or syllabic, like ancient Aztec or Chinese or whatever.
Another glance through the window showed him that, yes indeed, the chaser was eating up the space between his craft and his quarry's. Perhaps its pilot could squeeze harder, but he did not think so. The adrenaline surging through him should give his hands the strength to crush rocks.
He wished he had a brush big enough to paint the other planes out of the sky. Reality, unfortunately, was not a painting. It was hard objects, some of them moving very fast, objects driven by human beings out to kill him and Tappy.
That thought was conceived out of despair by panic. But it gave birth to relief. A limited relief, true, yet it was tinged with hope.
Whatever they would do, they would not kill Tappy. Though desperate to catch her, they must avoid doing anything that might result in her death.
Therefore, they would not shoot the plane down.
What they would do, probably, would be to try to force their quarry to land. Unless... no use attempting to imagine what was in their bag of tricks. He would find out soon enough.
The planes were slowly but steadily closing the gap between them and Jack's plane. One pigeon. Two falcons.
Below, a forest spread out, dark green like an Earth woods except here and there were irregularly shaped areas of orange-colored trees. The crater was receding fast. Ahead was more forest. In the distance were the peaks of a mountain range. Now and then the sunlight flashed on a river. Or was there more than one? A large
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