Don looked down at the panel, then shook his head in annoyance. He'd neglected one switch. He reached out and snapped it on. Then he pushed the mike button again.
"So now you happy?" he demanded. "So why ain't ya telling me something, instead of coming around with all them blinking lights?"
The other flier sheered away, its blinker off.
"Your pardon," said the speaker. "We were not sure."
Don sighed in relief. That had been too close for comfort. He glanced down, then blinked and looked again.
"Oh, no!" he growled incredulously. "I left my clothes by the pool."
Kent Michaels opened his eyes. In front of him was a shattered windshield. The light support struts were bent back. The heavy plastic had crackled and powdered. He stared at it. It must have been quite an impact. All he could remember was confused motion, then blackness.
He shook his head to clear his vision, then started to unfasten his seat belt.
And his whole left side exploded as each individual muscle and nerve set up a separate protest. He gritted his teeth against the sharp, red knives of agony.