With the too pat timing of a badly constructed play Ross’s voice now came over the loud-speaker in the plane’s cabin.

“Your attention please. This is an unusually clear day. No fog in the valley.… This flight can continue directly to Barrow on schedule but we are a little ahead of time … (squawk squawk squawk) … or take a brief side trip to see the Diomedes—the Big Diomede and the Little Diomede … (squawk squawk) … only when we have very important passengers as on this occasion. If you will make your wishes known to your stewardess …”

In the cockpit Chris said, “I hope they will. I’m sure Grampa and Bridie would love it. Do you think the other passengers will say yes?”

“Six of them are Dew Line men. They’ll go anywhere. Then there’re two Eskimos who live in Barrow, they’re crazy about flying, they’d go to the moon. And that vaudeville couple that latched on at the last moment. They’re game.”

“What do you suppose they are? Russian spies or something?”

“No, I think they crave excitement and danger. And now that their act has been cut down they miss the thrills. I’ve seen a lot of people like that bitten by Alaska. So have you. Next thing you know they’ll take claim to a homestead and stay here.”

“Grampa Thor says the people who came to America two or three hundred years ago were like that. Adventurous. He says that’s why this country is so high-keyed and exciting. Grampa says—–”

“Grampa says. You talk like a little girl. I never knew anybody with so many grandfathers.”

“You know perfectly well they’ve been my father and mother and sisters and brothers, too.”

“I know, I know. All your life a bunch of people have been cooing over you—not only your family but everybody in Baranof—saying, poor little Chris, got no papa got no mama. You’re a big girl now.”

“You’re nervous. Am I doing something wrong?” She pretended to scan the instrument panel. “Goodness gracious, Mr. Guildenstern, how do you get this thing down?”

“I don’t get nervous in planes, Miss Storm. Though I’m going to take over in a minute because buzzing the Diomedes is kind of nervous work. I’d hate to see you try to make a landing in that mush below us this minute, so if you’re considering anything we might better crack a nice hard peak and get some drama out of it.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“That’s right. After all, there’s nothing to flying but taking off and landing. Keep the plane up in the air forever and you’ll never get hurt, that’s my motto.”

“You are nervous.”

“Who wouldn’t be? Isn’t it the queen bee—it’s some royal insect, anyway—that coaxes that male drone high up in the air for the courting? And after the act of mating is accomplished she gives the poor lunk the coup de grâce with a stiletto she wears for that purpose, charming girl that she is, and bingo! He’s a dead drone.”