rst presented it to him. It was unthinkable, he said.
Sheer suicide. But in the end I persuaded him.

"I will need," I said, "Blash, who is thoroughly familiar with the Han
library system; Bert Gaunt, who for years has specialized on their
military offices; Bill Barker, the ray specialist, and the best swooper
pilot we have." _Swoopers_ are one-man and two-man ships, developed by
the Americans, with skeleton backbones of inertron (during the war
painted green for invisibility against the green forests below) and
"bellies" of clear ultron.

"That will be Mort Gibbons," said Hart. "We've only got three swoopers
left, Tony, but I'll risk one of them if you and the others will
voluntarily risk your existences. But mind, I won't urge or order one of
you to go. I'll spread the word to every Plant Boss at once to give you
anything and everything you need in the way of equipment."

When I told Wilma of the plan, I expected her to raise violent and
tearful objections, but she didn't. She was made of far sterner stuff
than the women of the 20th Century. Not that she couldn't weep as
copiously or be just as whimsical on occasion; but she wouldn't weep for
the same reasons.

She just gave me an unfathomable look, in which there seemed to be a bit
of pride, and asked eagerly for the details. I confess I was somewhat
disappointed that she could so courageously risk my loss, even though I
was amazed at her fortitude. But later I was to learn how little I knew
her then.

We were ready to slide off at dawn the next morning. I had kissed Wilma
good-bye at our camp, and after a final conference over our plans, we
boarded our craft and gently glided away over the tree tops on a course,
which, after crossing three routes of the Han ships, would take us out
over the Atlantic, off the Jersey coast, whence we would come up on
Nu-yok from the ocean.

Twice we had to nose down and lie motionless on the ground near a route
while Han ships passed. Those were tense moments. Had the green back of
our ship been observed, we would have been disintegrated in a second.
But it wasn't.

Once over the water, however, we climbed in a great spiral, ten miles in
diameter, until our altimeter registered ten miles. Here Gibbons shut
off his rocket motor, and we floated, far above the level of the
Atlantic liners, whose course was well to the north of us anyhow, and
waited for nightfall.

Then Gibbons turned from his control long enough to grin at me.