The pilot smiled through a streak of grease which turned his brown skin black.
“Tighten that one bolt, Cully,” he pointed out the necessary adjustment, “and, she’s ready to lift! Or at least she should be. We’ll try her.”
He boarded the shallow craft and settled himself behind the controls, buckling a safety belt around his hips before he triggered the motor. The sled zoomed straight up with a speed which sent the spectators sprawling and tore an exclamation from the pilot. Then, under Kimber’s expert hand, it leveled off and swung in a wide circle about the star ship. Finishing off the test flight with a figure eight, Kimber brought the sled back to a slow and studied landing on the now dry sand at the foot of the ramp.
“Bravo!”
That encouraging cheer came from the open hatch.
Kordov beamed down at them and with him, one hand on the rail, her head lifted so that the sun made a red-glory of the braids wreathing it, was a woman. Dard stared up at her with no thought of rudeness. This was the Carlee who had taken care of Dessie.
But she was younger than he had expected, younger and somehow fragile. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and when she smiled at them, it was with a patient acceptance, which hurt. Kimber broke the silence as she joined the party below.
“What do you think, Carlee?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if they had parted only the hour before and no tragedy lay between. “Would you trust yourself to this crazy flyer?”
“With the right pilot at the controls, yes.” And then looking at each one she spoke their names slowly as if reassuring herself that they were really there. “Les Rogan, Jorge Cully and"-She reached Dard, hesitated, before her smile brightened-"why, you must be Dessie’s Dard, Dard Nordis! Oh, this is good-so good—” She looked beyond the men at the cliffs, the sea, the blue-green sky arching over them.
“Now- before you start off, explorers,” Kordov announced, “there is food to be eaten.”