Tarrano the Conqueror | Page 4

was there, staring at me as I dashed up in such haste. He
handed me my key from the rack.
"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."
They were indeed; I could see them in all the towers underneath me. I

was flying north-east; and at the moment, with a following wind, I was
doing something over three-fifty.
"But they'll shut off your power," Grille warned. "You'll come down
soon enough then."
Which was also true enough. The evening local-express for Boston and
beyond was overhauling me. And when the green beam of a traffic
tower came up and picked me out, I decided I had better obey.
Dutifully I descended until the beam, satisfied, swung away from me.
At 8,000 feet, I went on. There was too much traffic for decent speed
and the directors in every pilot bag and tower I passed seemed
watching me closely. At the latitude of Boston, I swung out to sea, off
the main arteries of travel. The early night mail for Eurasia,[4] with
Great London its first stop, went by me far overhead. I could make out
its green and purple lights, and the spreading silver beam that preceded
it.
[Footnote 4: Now Europe and Asia.]
Alone in my pit, with the dull whir of my propellers alone breaking the
silence of the night, I pondered the startling events of the past few
hours. Above me the stars and planets gleamed in the deep purple of an
almost cloudless sky. Venus had long since dropped below the horizon.
But Mars was up there--approaching the zenith. I wondered what the
Martian helio might be saying. I could have asked Greys back at the
office. But Greys, I knew, would be too busy to bother with me.
What could Dr. Brende want of me? I was glad he had sent for
me--there was nowhere I would rather have gone this particular
evening. And it would give me a chance to see Elza again.
I could tell by the light-numerals below, that I was now over Maine. I
did not need to consult my charts; I had been up this way many times,
for, the Brendes--the doctor, his daughter Elza, and her twin brother
Georg--I counted my best friends.

I was over the sea, with the coast of Maine to my left. The traffic, since
I left the line of Boston, had been far less. The patrols flashed by me at
intervals, but they did not molest me.
I descended presently, and located the small two-mile island which Dr.
Brende owned and upon which he lived.
It was 10:20 when I came down to find them waiting for me on the
runway.
The doctor held out both his hands. "Good enough, Jac. I got your
code--we've been waiting for you."
"It's crowded," I said. "Heavy up to Boston. And they wouldn't let me
go high."
He nodded. And then Elza put her cool little hand in mine.
"We're glad to see you, Jac. Very glad."
They took me to the house. Dr. Brende was a small, dark man of
sixty-odd, smooth-shaven, a thin face, with a mop of iron-grey hair
above it, and keen dark eyes beneath bushy white brows. He was
usually kindly and gentle of manner--at times a little abstracted; at
other times he could be more forceful and direct than anyone with
whom I had ever had contact.
At the house we were joined by the doctor's son, Georg. My best friend,
I should say; certainly, for my part, I treasured his friendship very
highly. He and Elza were twins--twenty-three years old at this time. I
am two years older; and I had been a room-mate with Georg at the
Common University of the Potomac.