“Except,” he hastened to add, “when you have an attractive co-pilot.”
He was talking, she knew, just to quiet her nerves.
“There’s worse to come,” she told herself. And she was not mistaken.
“The fire must be about out by now,” he said a moment later. “There are a lot of sprays shooting carbon-dioxide snow at that engine. It’s under 850 pounds of pressure. Turn off the extinguisher and I’ll work my way back there through the wing.”
She snapped off the extinguisher. “Can you do anything about it?”
“Oh, sure!” There was a forced cheerfulness in his voice. “I can get to that engine. I’ll take tools and a new tube. I’ll fix it. Wait and see!”
“Sparky!” She gripped his arm. “Be careful. I wouldn’t want—well, you know, that desert looks awfully lonesome.”
“I’ll be careful.” Once again he was gone, leaving her to the ship’s controls, the desert, and the spreading dawn. She could see a long way now. There really was an airplane out there on the horizon. But then there were planes everywhere these days.
This plane acted strangely. It seemed at first to be coming straight toward her. Then it took a broad sweep and began to disappear.
“Like some old marauding crow going back to tell his friends,” she thought. “Hope Sparky won’t be long. But then, of course, in that cramped place he can’t work fast. Just have to be patient, that’s all.”