“Smashed?”
“No. It is lying crossways to the carrier. It might be got upon the guides—easily. But there is no aeronaut—.”
Graham glanced at the two men and then at Helen. He spoke after a long pause. “We have no aeronauts?”
“None.”
“The aeroplanes are clumsy,” he said thoughtfully, “compared with the aeropiles.”
He turned suddenly to Helen. His decision was made. “I must do it.”
“Do what?”
“Go to this flying stage—to this aeropile.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am an aeronaut. After all—. Those days for which you reproached me were not wasted.”