“Is it that bad?”
The pilot grunted. The co-pilot—Talley—spread out his hands.
“It is that bad! Every so often one of them comes down untidily. There’s something the matter with the motors. They’ve got a little too much power, maybe. Sometimes—occasionally—they explode.”
“Jet motors?” asked Joe. “Explode? That’s news!”
“A strictly special feature,” said Talley drily. “Exclusive with pushpots for the Platform. They run ’em and run ’em and run ’em, on test. Nothing happens. But occasionally one blows up in flight. Once it happened warming up. That was a mess! The field’s been losing two pilots a week. Lately more.”
“It doesn’t sound exactly reasonable,” said Joe slowly. He put a last forkful in his mouth.
“It’s also inconvenient,” said Talley, “for the pilots.”
The pilot—Walton—opened his mouth.
“It’d be sabotage,” he said curtly, “if there was any way to do it. Four pilots killed this week.”
He lapsed into silence again.