The rope broke. It was a matter of minutes before he was free.
"Try the same thing, Charlie," Flip said at the door. "You wouldn't be much good out there with a busted wrist and I'll be back before long."
"Maybe," said Charlie doubtfully as Flip streaked out into the rain.
The ship loomed before him in the mist and Flip halted, some degree of sanity entering the elation of his escape. He couldn't see through the fogged windows, but there were three skillful guns inside and he was unarmed. They had taken all the guns from the shack when they left. Besides, the ship's door was closed and a strato-plane's hull is solid metal. Though he considered it, he couldn't just go up and knock.
The rise-rockets were idling. A pink glow appeared at each blast but there was only a soft hissing with the mufflers. The power jets hadn't started; they were geared with a synchronized heat progression which ignited them only when the proper temperature was reached.
A veedle scampered across Flip's foot and he jumped. If a veedle crawled into one of those muffler tubes it would explode, he remembered thinking when he first saw the ship. Flip snapped his fingers. If a veedle could cause it, why not he? With mud! He could fill a power jet and when the ignition started, it would burst like a clogged gun barrel. They couldn't leave. Perfect!
Keeping well below the windows, he approached the ship. The power jets, as usual, were outside and forward of the glowing rise-rockets so he could work in safety. That is, unless the jets started while he was near them. But he would never know it if they did.
Flip scooped up a handful of mud, stuffed it into the five-inch opening. It was like pouring water in a veedle hole but he kept at it, and heat from the smaller tubes blistering his hands. He could hear people moving about inside the plane. Finally he packed one more handful to make sure, grinning to himself.
The door in the side of the ship suddenly opened.