t of a doze. I wished I could sleep.

He hesitated. Then, "West. Far west."

"West." I thought that over. "How much out of your way would it be to
fly over Detroit?"

"You couldn't see much."

I knew that. "How much out of your way?"

Not too much. He nodded to Stein, who got up and went forward. After
he came back and sat down the plane slipped on one wing and
straightened on its new course. No one said anything more after that.

We hit Detroit about five thousand feet, the sun just coming up from
Lake Ste. Clair. Smith was right. Although I craned my neck I couldn't
see much. I picked up Gratiot, using the Penobscot Tower for a
landmark, and followed it to Mack, and out Mack. I could just pick
out the dogleg at Connors, and imagined I could see the traffic light
at Chalmers. I had to imagine hard. The way we were flying, the body
and the wing hid where I'd lived, where--the cigarette I had in my
fist tasted dry, and so did my mouth, so I threw it down and closed my
eyes and tried to sleep. Somewhere around Nebraska we landed for fuel.

* * * * *

Maybe it was Kansas. It was flat, and hot, and dry. The Old Man and
Stein and I got out to stretch. There was no shade, no trees, no green
oasis for the traveler. The olive drab tanker that pulled up to pump
gas into our wing tanks was plastered with "No Smoking" tabs, and we
walked away before the hose was fully unreeled. Off to our right was
the only shade, back of the landing strip, a great gray hangar glutted
with shiny-nosed, finny monsters. Out of the acrid half-pleasant reek
of high-octane, we stood smoking idly, watching the denimed air-crews
clamber flylike over the jutting wings. From the post buildings off to
the right jounced a dusty motorcycle. We watched it twist to a jerking
stop at our refueling ship, and the soldier that dismounted bobbed in
salute to the two pilots watching the gassing operation. Two motions
only they used; one to return the salute and another to point us out
in the shadow of the hangar. The soldier shaded his eyes from the sun
to peer in our direction, calculated the distance with his eye, and
then roared his motorcycle almost to our feet.

"Post Commander's compliments," he barked. "And will the gentlemen
please report at once to the Colonel's office?"

The Old Man eyed the motorcycle and the empty sidecar. He looked at
Stein.

"Better stay here," he said thoughtfully. "If I need you, I'll come