"These batteries," said Georg. "The guards in Venia can't stop us. An aero—even if we had it—I doubt if we could get power for it. They've shut off general power by now, I'm sure."
She nodded. "Yes—no doubt."
As they mounted upward, the city dwindled beneath them—dwindled to an area of red and green and purple lights. It was silent up here in the starlight; a calm, windless night—cloudless, save for a gray bank which obscured the moon.
Ten thousand feet up. Then fifteen. The city was a tiny patch of blended colors. Light rockets occasionally mounted now. But their glare fell short. Georg's mind was busy with his plans. Had the helicopter been seen? It seemed not. No rocket-light had reached it; and there was no sign of pursuit from below.
Maida crouched beside him. He felt her hand timidly upon his arm; felt her shy, sidelong glance upon him. And suddenly he was conscious of her beauty. His heart leaped, and as he turned to her, she smiled—a smile of eager trust which lighted her face like a torch of faith in the spire of a house of worship.
"You are planning?" she said. "You know what it is we must do?"
He said: "I think so. The volan[12] out there is large enough for two. You'll trust yourself to it with me? You're not afraid, are you?"
"Oh, no," she said. "What you say we must do, we will do."
"We must go higher, Maida. Then, you see...."
He told her his plans. And mounting up there into the silent canopy of stars, his fingers wound themselves into the soft strands of her hair which lay upon him; and his heart beat fast with the nearness of her.... Told her his plans, and she acquiesced.