"I thought they had you, sure," Glynnis said quietly. "I got the two of them. Don't ask me how I did it, but I got them."
He sat up, feeling dizzy from having hit the ground with such force. "I don't guess I was much help," he said weakly. "You sure did a fine job." His head ached, but the remembered the fight and being thrown by the impact of the blast. And something else—something distant and alien, like a dream, from the deepest part of his mind. It pestered him a moment, just out of reach of his consciousness, then he shrugged it off as unimportant. He looked around and saw the charred bodies of the patrolmen. "You did a fine job," he told Glynnis, meaning it.
"Can you fly a patrol ship?"
"Huh?"
"We've got one now," Glynnis said. "I shot the guard they left with it, too. Had to."
"I see," he said, marveling at the girl. "I can fly one. I haven't since I was in the commune, though. As long as it's in good condition."
"I guess it is. I didn't hit it with any shots."
"We can go anywhere in the world with that ship," he said getting to his feet. "It doesn't need fuel; it can fly forever. You know what that means Glynnis? We can raise an army, if we want to."
"And we can get into the mausoleums and wake everybody up?"
"Yes. Come on," he said and started toward the flier. But Glynnis grabbed his arm and stopped him. "What is it?" he asked.