"Going far, Jac? What a night! They'll be ordering them off if many more go up.... Going north?"
"No," I said shortly.
I was away, rising with my helicopters until the city was a yellow haze beneath me. I was going north—to Dr. Brende's little private island off the coast of Maine. The lower lanes were pretty well crowded. I tried one of the north-bound at 8,000 feet; but the going was awkward. Then I went to 16,000.
But Grille, the attendant back at the bridge, evidently had his finder on me, out of plain curiosity. He called me.
"They'll chase you out of there," came his voice. "Nothing doing up there tonight. That's reserved. Didn't you know it?"
I grinned at him. In the glow of my pitlight I hoped he could see my face and the grin.
"They'll never catch me," I said. "I'm traveling fast tonight."
"Chase you out," he persisted. "The patrol's keeping them low. General Orders, an hour ago. Didn't you know it?"
"No."
"Well, you ought to. You ought to know everything in your business. Besides, the lights are up."