"I'm afraid not," said Sanchez.
"Too bad. There's nothing we can do, then. The nearest settlement west of here is more than a thousand kilometers away, and I happen to know they have no planes, either. Just copters. So that's no help."
"Wait," said Sanchez, lifting the scalpel and tilting his head. "I believe there is something, though we cannot use it. This was once an American naval base, and the people here were civilian employes who refused to move north with it. There was a flying machine they used for short-range work, and one was left behind—probably with a little help from the people of the settlement. But...."
"What kind of machine? Copter or plane?"
"They call it a flying platform. It carries two men, I believe. But, señor...."
"I know them. I've operated them, before I left Earth. Man, you don't expect me to try to fly one of those little things in this wind? They're tricky as they can be, and the passengers are absolutely unprotected!"
"Señor, I have asked you to do nothing."
"No, you haven't," muttered Jan. "But you know I'll do it."
Sanchez looked into his face, smiling faintly and a little sadly.
"I was sure you would be willing," he said. He turned and spoke in Spanish to Mrs. Murillo.