Suddenly, he felt completely drained. It was just too much effort to get this ship off the ground. And that long flight to Oreladar? Just how much was a guy supposed to do in one day?
He sat supinely for a few minutes, simply staring at a nothingness beneath the surface of the panel. A small noise from the house aroused him, and he jerked up. He'd have to move.
Unwillingly, he pulled at the controls and the flier raised from the paving.
A blast of air hit the side of his face and he turned his head. He'd forgotten to close the door. He snarled at himself in annoyance, then leaned over and jerked at the handle. The ship swayed and dipped toward the lighted streets and he straightened quickly and righted it with a jerk. Then he snapped off the cabin lights and reached down to set up the identification patterns.
A tinny voice snapped at him.
"Rano ninety-one, Riandar control. Seven three seven."
Don looked at the code card before him. Yes, there it was. "Return to station." He glanced at the call sign on the panel before him. He was Onarati three. He nodded. Only an important official would be in this flier. Probably Gorham hadn't been bragging so much.
Another voice had acknowledged the order. Don looked at the speaker grill and shrugged. He set his course southward.
Again and again, the speaker rattled with calls and answers. Riandar control appeared to be busy tonight. Don smiled.
"The busier they are, the better," he told himself. "Then they can't bother me." He coughed.