They flew on for a quarter of an hour, then suddenly Roberta had a sharp pain between her eyes and she blinked in bewilderment, but it went away again quickly so she decided that it wasn’t anything to worry about. However, she increased her speed, for if she was going to be sick, she wanted to get on the ground as quickly as possible. But now there was no sign of the sun, all of its brilliant colors had faded to dull grey, which was rapidly growing darker, and although the girl searched the heavens, she did not see a single star blinking back at her. Far in the distance she caught the faint flicker of a light which she was sure was the landing field she sought and a glance at the chart verified her calculation. Setting her course, she headed Nike in as straight a line as possible and decreased the speed, banked in preparation for the glide when she was near enough. Then again came that stabbing pain, but this time it was in her head.
Brushing her hand over her forehead and opening the strap of her helmet she felt better again and she hoped hard that her companion would not notice that anything was wrong. Mrs. Pollzoff might go into a panic if she discovered her pilot was ill and perhaps do something in her excitement which would bring them all down in a smash. On they flew, the lights getting nearer and nearer; and bigger and bigger, then, suddenly, they began to dance into a long line which Roberta knew was an optical illusion. Glancing forward she decided that she could begin the descent, but when she reached toward the control-board, it seemed to get further and further away from her. Finally she managed to close the switch and forcing herself with every ounce of strength and courage she possessed, she struggled to make the field without a smash-up.
But, to the girl’s amazement, she felt rather than saw, that Nike instead of starting toward the earth, began to climb steadily, moving in a wide circle; she could tell that by the wind in her face, then the plane rose more swiftly, thundering upward at top speed. Frantically the pilot endeavored to find the proper switches, but it was so dark that even in the lighted cock-pit she could not see the board nor its indicators, except in a blurred sort of way.
“Are you all right, Miss Langwell?” It was Mrs. Pollzoff’s voice speaking through the tube.
“I am trying to go down, to make a landing—I’m—”
“You are trying to, but you are climbing and you are going to keep on climbing—”
“W-what—what do you m-mean—” Roberta tried desperately to gather her wandering faculties.
“Simply that you are obeying orders!”
“We can’t f-fly at night,” Roberta protested, then a feeling of horror swept over her, for suddenly she understood. Something she had eaten was paralyzing her faculties, making her helpless there in Nike, flying swiftly a mile above the ground and far from the landing field where she knew she had friends.
“Whether we can or not, we are going to.” The woman forced her back in her seat and took over the management of the controls. “You will learn before you are much older not to have your aviator friends watching us when we take-off—”