Machine!
It came forward through the storm of feathers and Vinson leaped back to the bed and tore the mattress from its place. He hurled it on the floor in front of the half-tracks upon which the machine rode. The machine tilted, put out a girder to correct its off-balance position, then came to the floor with a crash as Vinson leaped forward, feet first, to kick the forward corner of the machine around and away from its steadying arm.
He leaped over the fallen machine, avoiding a questing girder-and-clutcher by less than inches. He slammed the door behind him, raced down the corridor towards the pilot's compartment. He paused to smash the glass and take a metal crowbar from the fire-case on the wall; then he hit the door with a crash, went into the pilot's cabin with his bar upraised to bring it down on the pilot's head.
Vinson stopped on his heels. There was no pilot; just an ultra-complex machine that was fastened to the floor before the controls.
Vinson sought controls for the auto-pilot, but found none. Then, with a sour face, he inserted his bar in among the glowing tubes in the auto-pilot and rammed hard. Tubes burst with loud pops and the auto-pilot went inert.
He took over in the empty co-pilot's seat and turned the plane around.
Vinson shook his head, laughed. Instead of humans swearing about a lack of light, making repair necessary, he had energized a rather complex repair machine that came with mechanical disregard for strategy. This automatic plane required no illumination for its mechanical crew; it was fortunate for him that machines do not think.
Now, he exulted, I can go back home and go to work.
From her porthole, Narina Varada saw the rest of the small fleet of thieving ships spread out for safety during the passage across the ocean. Hour after hour they went, and it became dark.