Word came again from Zitra that the Tamarizian delegation had gone north.
"Let them go," Croft cried to Robur. "Ere long shall Jason follow."
"Aye, by Zitu," the Aphurian replied, casting his eyes toward the glistening gas-bags, beneath which the swarming workmen toiled.
Came a day when the last rivet was driven home, the last nut screwed into place, when Croft distributed largess to the workmen and a vast roar of human voices filled all the places where his latest creation had been given birth. Croft stood with Robur and viewed them—the mighty engines for the deliverance of his hostages to fate. His heart leaped.
"With the sun," he said, turning to his companion, "let Himyra see them. We make a test."
"I and thou," Robur returned, flashing his even teeth. "Dost remember the dawn you mounted the skies in the first airplane, Jason—and, returning, found Naia waiting to dare the venture with you? Now, by Zitu, Robur goes to try these blimps himself."
Croft nodded. His hand crept out and closed on the other man's. Well he remembered the day his words recalled. His return from the trial flight in the plane to find Naia waiting beside the hangar in her russet leather dress, and how as they rose between the Sirian sun and Himyra, she had lifted her voice and sung in a pure abandonment of emotion. Deep in his heart he vowed that these monsters of his construction should bring her back to Himyra—give her the opportunity to sing again.
Yet, all he said to Robur was, "Aye, Rob, if you wish."
Robur's muscles gripped down upon his fingers. "And not only to the testing, friend of Aphur, but even to Berla itself."