“Someday,” Chris said to Thor beside her, “I’m going to have my own little plane.”

“Why not!” Thor said, companionably. “Why not!”

They were up, they were leveling off, Gerda Lindstrom was making her announcement in a losing struggle against the noise of the engines “… welcome you aboard … Miss … Lindstrom … your pilot … Guildenstern … hope you …”

Christine’s heart gave a little lurch. When later, the blue-uniformed figure came through the forward doorway, as always on these trips, he too repeated the formula. “Nice to have you aboard, Mr. Storm. Hi, Miss Storm.” Then he, too, was looking ardently down at her, unaware that he was looking ardent. “Would you like to come up forward and have a look around? In about half an hour we’ll be due over Anaktuvuk, it’s one of the most primitive villages in the region, of course you won’t see much from up here.”

“They don’t build those doorways high enough for me,” Thor said. “I always bump my head. You run along, Christine.”

The co-pilot relinquished his seat to her, she noticed that he was the older, Ross Guildenstern the younger.

“You’re a captain now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I don’t fly the freight crates any more.”

“I should hope not! After all, a man who flew in the war.”

“Oh, that doesn’t pull any weight. There are a lot of us buzzing around in hedgehoppers. Do you enjoy flying?”

She was a little disappointed. Politely she said, “I love it.”

“Are you comfortable now? I think you don’t get the real feel of a plane anywhere but up here.”

“Yes,” she said, demurely.

“Perhaps you’d like to know a little bit about it. I don’t mean I’m going to bore you with a lot of mechanical details. Now this”—his hand indicated the board—“is the instrument panel. In the old days they called it the dashboard, like a car. Of course the big new jobs—I mean, this is a dated job, but I like it.”

“It sounds fascinating.”

“Of course it would be great to fly one of the big Pan Am planes, but I’d never get a captaincy there. You ever been up to Point Barrow?”

“No.”

“You ought to go. It’s rugged, but it’s really Alaska.”

“That’s what Grampa says. We’re planning to go.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Grampa says July is about the best time. Cold, but you can stand it.”

“I get that run occasionally. Oogruk and Barrow. I was born in Oogruk. Look, do you know the date?”

“Grampa does.”

“Because sometimes, up there, if it’s a fair day and nobody’s in a hurry, and if there’s Brass on board, or a VIP like your Grandpa, I ask them if they want to have a look at the Diomedes. You know about the Diomedes?”

“A little bit. They’re two islands off the coast of Siberia, aren’t they? And the Big Diomede is Russia and the Little Diomede is United States. And never the twain shall meet.”