Студопедия — The name of the country goes back to the twelfth century. 7 страница
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The name of the country goes back to the twelfth century. 7 страница






“We’ll have to take a chance,” said Treleaven. “Tell them to change frequency.”

“Flight 714,” called the operator. “This is Vancouver. This is Vancouver. Change your frequency to 128.3 Do you hear that? Frequency 128.3.”

Treleaven turned to the controller. “Better ask the Air Force for another radar check,” he suggested. “They should be on our own scope soon.”

“714. Change to frequency 128.3 and come in,” the operator was repeating.

Burdick plumped back on to a corner of the center table. His hand left a moist mark on the woodwork. “This can’t happen — it can’t,” he protested in a gravel voice to the whole room, staring at the radio panel. “If we’ve lost them now, they’ll fry — every last manjack of them.”


NINE

0435—0505

LIKE A MAN in a nightmare, possessed with the fury of desperation, his teeth clenched and face streaked with sweat, Spencer fought to regain control of the aircraft, one hand on the throttle lever and the other gripped tightly on the wheel. Within him, oddly at variance with the strong sense of unreality, he felt scorching anger and self-disgust. Somewhere along the line, and quickly, he had not only lost altitude but practically all his air speed too. His brain refused to go back over the events of the last two minutes. Something had happened to distract him, that was all he could remember. Or was that an excuse too? He couldn’t have lost so much height in just a few seconds; they must have been steadily descending before that. Yet it was surely not long since he had checked the dimb-and-descent indicator — or wasn’t that its function? Could it be the gas—?

He felt a violent, almost uncontrollable desire to scream. Scream like a child. To scramble out and away from the controls, the ironically flickering needles and the mocking battery of gauges, and abandon everything. Run back into the warm, friendly-lit body of the aircraft crying out, I couldn’t do it. I told you I couldn’t do it and you wouldn’t listen to me. No man should be asked to do it

“We’re gaining height,” came Janet’s voice, incredibly level now it seemed. He remembered her with a shock and in that moment the screaming in his mind became the screams of a woman in the passenger compartment behind him — wild, maniacal screams.

He heard a man shouting, “He’s not the pilot, I tell you! They’re stretched out there, both of them. We’re done for!”

“Shut up and sit down!” rasped Baird clearly.

“You can’t order me about—”

“I said get back! Sit down!”

“All right, Doctor,” came the adenoidal tones of ’Otpot, the man from Lancashire, “just leave him to me. Now, you—”

Spencer shut his eyes for an instant in an effort to clear the dancing of the illuminated dials. He was, he realized bitterly, hopelessly out of condition. A man could spend his life rushing from this place to that, forever on the go and telling himself he could never keep it up if he wasn’t absolutely fit. Yet the first time a real crisis came along, the first time that real demands were made of his body, he fell flat on his face. That was the most savage thing of all: to know that your body could go no further, like an old car about to run backwards down a hill.

“I’m sorry,” said Janet.

Still maintaining his pressure on the column, he shot a glance of complete surprise at her.

“What?” he said stupidly.

The girl half twisted in her seat towards him. In the greenish light from the instrument panel, her pale face looked almost translucent.

“I’m sorry for giving way like that,” she said simply. “It’s bad enough for you. I — I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told her roughly. He didn’t know what to say. He could hear the woman passenger, sobbing loudly now. He felt very ashamed.

“Trying to get the bus up as fast as I can,” he said. “Daren’t do more than a gentle climb or we’ll lose way again.”

Baird’s voice called from the doorway, above the rising thunder of the engines, “What is going on, anyway, in there? Are you all right?”

Spencer answered, “Sorry, Doc. I just couldn’t hold her. I think it’s okay now.”

“Try to keep level, at least,” Baird complained. “There are people very, very ill back here.”

“It was my fault,” said Janet. She saw Baird sway with exhaustion and hold on to the door jamb to steady himself.

“No, no,” protested Spencer. “If it hadn’t been for her we’d have crashed. I just can’t handle this thing — that’s all there is to it.”

“Rubbish,” said Baird curtly. They heard a man shout, “Get on the radio!” and the doctor’s voice raised loudly to address the passengers, “Now listen to me, all of you. Panic is the most infectious disease of the lot, and the most lethal too.” Then the door slammed shut, cutting him off.

“That’s a good idea,” said Janet calmly. “I ought to be reporting to Captain Treleaven.”

“Yes,” agreed Spencer. “Tell him what’s happened and that I’m regaining height.”

Janet pressed her microphone button to transmit and called Vancouver. For the first time there was no immediate acknowledgment in reply. She called again. There was nothing.

Spencer felt the familiar stab of fear. He forced himself to control it. “What’s wrong?” he asked her. “Are you sure you’re on the air?”

“Yes — I think so.”

“Blow into your mike. If it’s alive you’ll hear yourself.”

She did so. “Yes, I heard all right. Hullo, Vancouver. Hullo, Vancouver. This is 714. Can you hear me? Over.”

Silence.

“Hullo, Vancouver. This is 714. Please answer. Over.”

Still silence.

“Let me,” said Spencer. He took his right hand from the throttle and depressed his microphone button. “Hullo, Vancouver. Hullo, Vancouver. This is Spencer, 714. Emergency, emergency. Come in, please.”

The silence seemed as solid and as tangible as a wall. It was as if they were the only people in the world.

“I’m getting a reading on the transmitting dial,” said Spencer. “I’m sure we’re sending okay.” He tried again, with no result. “Calling all stations. Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Flight 714, in serious trouble. Come in anybody. Over.” The ether seemed completely dead. “That settles it. We must be off frequency.”

“How could that have happened?”

“Don’t ask me. Anything can happen, the way we were just now. You’ll have to go round the dial, Janet.”

“Isn’t that risky — to change our frequency?”

“It’s my guess it’s already changed. All I know is that without the radio I might as well put her nose down right now and get it over. I don’t know where we are, and even if I did I certainly couldn’t land in one piece.”

Janet slid out of her seat, trailing the cord from her headset behind her, and reached up to the radio panel. She clicked the channel selector round slowly. There was a succession of crackles and splutters.

“I’ve been right the way round,” she said.

“Keep at it,” Spencer told her. “You’ve got to get something. If we have to, we’ll call on each channel in turn.” There was a sudden, faraway voice. “Wait, what’s that!” Janet clicked back hurriedly. “Give it more volume!”

“…to 128.3,” said the voice with startling nearness. “Vancouver Control to Flight 714. Change to frequency 128.3. Reply please. Over.”

“Keep it there,” said Spencer to the girl. “Is that the setting? Thank our lucky stars for that. Better acknowledge it, quick.”

Janet climbed back into her seat and called rapidly, “Hullo, Vancouver, 714 answering. Receiving you loud and clear. Over.”

With no perceptible pause Vancouver came back, the voice of the dispatcher charged with eagerness and relief.

“714. This is Vancouver. We lost you. What happened? Over.”

“Vancouver, are we glad to hear you!” said Janet, holding her forehead. “We had some trouble. The airplane stalled and the radio went off. But it’s all right now — except for the passengers, they’re not taking it any too well. We’re climbing again. Over.”

This time it was Treleaven speaking again, in the same confident and measured manner as before but clearly with immense thankfulness. “Hullo, Janet. I’m glad you had the good sense to realize you were off frequency. George, I warned you about the danger of a stall. You must watch your air speed all the time. There’s one thing: if you’ve stalled and recovered, you obviously haven’t lost your touch as a pilot.”

“Did you get that?” Spencer asked Janet unbelievingly. They exchanged nervously strained smiles.

Treleaven was continuing: “You’ve probably had a bit of a scare, so we’ll take it easy for a minute or two. While you’re getting some height under you I want you to give me some readings from the instrument panel. We’ll start with the fuel-tank gauges…”

While the captain recited the information he wanted, the door to the passenger deck opened and Baird looked in again, about to call to the two figures forward. He took in their concentration on the instrument panel and checked himself. Then he entered, closing the door behind him, and dropped on one knee beside the forms of the pilot and first officer, using his ophthalmoscope as a flashlight to examine their faces. Dun had rolled partly out of his blankets and was lying with his knees drawn up, moaning softly. Pete appeared to be unconscious.

The doctor readjusted the covers, wrapping them in tightly. He mopped the men’s faces with a damp hand towel stuffed in his pocket and remained crouched in thought for a few seconds. Then he rose, bracing himself against the tilt of the deck Janet was relaying figures into her microphone. Without a word the doctor let himself out, carefully sliding the door closed.

The scene outside resembled a vast casualty ambulance rather than the passenger deck of an airliner. At intervals along the crowded cabin, their reclining seats fully extended, sick passengers lay swaddled in rugs. One or two were quite motionless, scarcely breathing. Others were twisting in pain while friends or relatives watched them fearfully or replaced damp cloths on their foreheads.

Bending forward, the more effectively to render his homily to the man he had recently thrust back into his seat, ’Otpot was saying, “I don’t blame you, see. ’Appen it’s better sometimes to let off steam. But it don’t do to start shouting in front of the others who’re poorly, especially the ladies. Old Doc here is real champion and so are the two up front flying. Any road, we’ve got to trust them, see, if we want to get down at all.”

Temporarily subdued, the passenger, who was twice the size of ’Otpot, stared stonily at his own reflection in the cabin window by his seat. The perky little Englishman came along to the doctor, who patted his arm in thanks.

“You’re quite a wizard, aren’t you?” said Baird.

“I’m more scared than he is,” ’Otpot assured him fervently, “and that’s a fact. Heck, if you hadn’t been with us, Doctor…” He shrugged expressively. “What d’you make of things now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Baird replied. His face was gaunt. “They had a little trouble up front. It’s hardly surprising. I think Spencer is under a terrible strain. He’s carrying more responsibility than any of us.”

“How much longer is there to go?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve lost all sense of time. But if we’re on course it can’t be long now. Feels like days to me.”

’Otpot put to him as quietly as he could, “What d’you really think, Doc? ’Ave we got a chance?”

Baird shook the question off in tired irritation. “Why ask me? There’s always a chance, I suppose. But keeping an airplane in the air and getting it down without smashing it to a million pieces, with all the factors that involves, are two mighty different propositions. I guess that much is obvious even to me. Either way, it isn’t going to make much odds to some of the folk here before long.”

He squatted down to look at Mrs. Childer, feeling inside her blanket for her wrist and noting her pinched, immobile face, dry skin, and quick, shallow breathing. Her husband demanded hoarsely, “Doctor, is there nothing we can do for her?”

Baird looked at the closed, sunken eyes of the woman. He said slowly, “Mr. Childer, you’ve a right to know the truth. You’re a sensible man — I’ll give it to you straight. We’re making all the speed we possibly can, but at best it will be touch and go for your wife.” Childer’s mouth moved wordlessly. “You’d better understand this,” Baird went on deliberately. “I’ve done what I could for her, and I’ll continue to do it, but it’s pathetically little. Earlier on, using morphia, I might have been able to ease the pain for your wife. Now, if it’s any consolation to you, nature has taken care of it for us.”

Childer found his voice. “I won’t have you say that,” he protested. “Whatever happens, I’m grateful to you, Doctor.”

“Of course he is,” interposed ’Otpot heartily. “We all are. No one could’ve done more than you, Doc. An absolute marvel, that’s what.”

Baird smiled faintly, his hand on the woman’s forehead. “Kind words don’t alter the case,” he said harshly. “You’re a man of courage, Mr. Childer, and you have my respect. But don’t delude yourself.” The moment of truth, he thought bitterly; so this is it. I’d known it was coming tonight, and I knew too, deep down, what the answer would be. This is the salty taste of the real truth. No romantic heroics now. No colored-up and chlorophylled projection of what you think you are, or what you like others to think you are. This is the truth. Inside another hour we shall all very probably be dead. At least I shall go exposed for what I am. A rotten, stinking failure. When the time came, he was unequal. The perfect obituary.

“I’m telling you,” Childer was saying with emotion, “if we get out of this, I’ll have everyone know what we owe to you.”

Baird collected his thoughts. “What’s that?” he grunted. “I’d give plenty to have two or three saline drips aboard.” He rose. “Carry on as before, Mr. Childer. Make sure she’s really warm. Keep her lips moistened. If you can get her to take a little water now and then, so much the better. Remember she’s lost a very critical amount of body fluids.”

At that moment, in the control room at Vancouver, Harry Burdick was in the process of replacing some of his own body fluid with another carton of coffee. In addition to the microphone held in his hand, Treleaven now had on a headset and into the latter he was asking, “Radar. Are you getting anything at all?”

From another part of the building the chief radar operator, seated with an assistant before a long-range azimuth scanner, answered in a calmly conversational tone, “Not a thing yet.”

“I can’t understand it,” Treleaven said to the controller. “They ought to be in range by now.”

Burdick volunteered, “Don’t forget he lost speed in that last practice.”

“Yes, that’s so,” Treleaven agreed. Into his headset he said, “Radar, let me know the instant you get something.” To the controller, “I daren’t bring him down through cloud without knowing where he is. Ask the Air Force for another check, will you, Mr. Grimsell?” He nodded to the radio operator. “Put me on the air. Hullo, 714. Now, listen carefully, George. We are going through that drill again but before we start I want to explain a few things you may have forgotten or that only apply to big airplanes. Are you with me? Over.”

Janet replied, “Go ahead, Vancouver. We are listening carefully. Over.”

“Right, 714. Now before you can land certain checks and adjustments must be carried out. They are in addition to the landing drill you’ve just practiced. I’ll tell you when and how to do them later. Now I just want to run over them to prepare you. First, the hydraulic booster pump must be switched on. Then the brake pressure must be showing about 900 to 1,000 pounds a square inch. You’ll maybe remember something along these lines from your fighter planes, but a refresher course won’t hurt. Next, after the wheels are down you’ll turn on the fuel booster pumps and check that the gas feed is sufficient. Lastly, the mixture has to be made good and rich and the propellers set. Got all that? We’ll take it step by step as you come in so that Janet can set the switches. Now I’m going to tell you where each of them are. Here we go….”

Janet and Spencer identified each control as they were directed.

“Tell him we have them pinpointed, Janet.”

“Hullo, Vancouver. We’re okay on that.”

“Right, 714. You’re in no doubt about the position of each of those controls, Janet? You’re quite sure? Over.”

“Yes, Vancouver. I’ve got them. Over.”

“714. Check again that you are in level flight. Over.”

“Hullo, Vancouver. Yes, flying level now and above cloud.”

“Right, 714. Now, George. Let’s have 15 degrees of flap again, speed 140, and we’ll go through the wheel-lowering routine. Watch that air speed like a hawk this time. If you’re ready, let’s go….”

Grimly Spencer began the procedure, following each instruction with complete concentration while Janet anxiously counted off the air speed and operated the flap and undercarriage levers. Once again they felt the sharp jolt as their speed was arrested. The first tentative streaks of dawn were glimmering to eastward.

In the control room, Treleaven took the opportunity to gulp some cold coffee. He accepted a cigarette from Burdick and exhaled the smoke noisily. He looked haggard, with a blue stubble around his chin.

“How do you read the situation now?” queried the airline manager.

“It’s as well as can be expected,” said the captain, “but time’s running dangerously short. He should have at least a dozen runs through this flap and wheels drill alone. With luck we’ll get about three in before he’s overhead — that is, if he’s on course.”

“You’re going to give him practice approaches?” put in the controller.

“I must. Without at least two or three I wouldn’t give a red cent for his chances, not with the experience he’s got. I’ll see how he shapes up. Otherwise….” Treleaven hesitated.

Burdick dropped his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it. “Otherwise what?” he prompted.

Treleaven rounded on them. “Well, we’d better face facts,” he said. “That man up there is frightened out of his wits, and with good reason. If his nerve doesn’t hold, they may stand more chance by ditching offshore in the ocean.”

“But — the impact!” Burdick exclaimed. “And the sick people — and the aircraft. It’d be a total loss.”

“It would be a calculated risk,” said Treleaven icily, looking the rotund manager straight in the eyes. “If our friend looks like piling up all over the field, your airplane will be a write-off anyway.”

“Harry didn’t mean it like that,” broke in the controller hurriedly.

“Hell, no, I guess not,” said Burdick uncomfortably.

“With the added danger,” continued Treleaven, “that if he crashes here, fire is almost certain and we’ll be lucky to save anyone. He may even take some ground installation with him. Whereas if he puts down on the ocean he’ll break up the airplane, sure, but we stand a chance of saving some of the passengers if not the very sick ones. With this light mist and practically no wind the water will be pretty calm, reducing the impact. We’d belly-land him by radar as near as we could to rescue craft.”

“Get the Navy,” the controller ordered his assistant. “Air Force too. Air-sea rescue are already standing by. Have them put out offshore and await radio instructions.”

“I don’t want to do it,” said Treleaven, turning back to the wall map. “It would amount to abandoning the sick passengers. We’d be lucky to get them out before the plane went under. But it may be necessary.” He spoke into his headset. “Radar, are you getting anything?”

“Still nothing,” Came the even, impersonal reply. “Hold it, though. Wait a minute. This may be something coming up…. Yes, Captain. I have him now. He’s ten miles south of track. Have him turn right on to a heading of 265.”

“Nice work,” said Treleaven. He nodded to be put on the air as the switchboard operator called across, “Air Force report visual contact, sir. ETA 38 minutes.”

“Right.” He raised the microphone in front of him. “Hullo, 714. Have you carried out the reverse procedure for flaps and undercart? Over.”

“Yes, Vancouver. Over,” came the girl’s voice.

“Any trouble this time? Flying straight and level?”

“Everything all right, Vancouver. The pilot says — so far.” They heard her give a nervous little laugh.

“That’s fine, 714. We have you on radar now. You’re off course ten miles to the south. I want you to bank carefully to the right, using your throttles to maintain your present speed, and place the aircraft on a heading of 265. I’ll repeat that. 265. Is that clear? Over.”

“Understood, Vancouver.”

Treleaven glanced out of the window. The darkness outside had lightened very slightly. “At least they’ll be able to see a little,” he said, “though not until the last minutes.”

“I’ll put everything on stand-by,” said the controller. He called to his assistant, “Warn the tower, Stan. Tell them to alert the fire people.” Then, to the switchboard operator, “Give me the city police.”

“And then put me on to Howard in the press room,” added Burdick. He said to Treleaven, “We’d better explain to those guys about the possibility of ditching before they start jumping to their own conclusions. No, wait!” He suddenly remembered, staring intently at the captain. “We can’t admit that would mean writing off the sick passengers. I’d be cutting my throat!”

Treleaven was not listening. He had slumped into a chair, his head bowed with a hand over his eyes, not hearing the confused murmur of voices about him. But at the first splutter as the amplifier came alive he was on his feet, reaching for the microphone.

“Hullo, Vancouver,” called Janet. “We are now on a heading of 265 as instructed. Over.”

“714. That’s fine,” said Treleaven with an assumed cheerfulness. “You’re doing splendidly. Let’s have it all again, shall we? This will be the last time before you reach the airport, George, so make it good.”

The controller was speaking with quiet urgency into his telephone. “Yes, they’ll be with us in about a half hour. Let’s get the show on the road.”


TEN

0505—0525

SPENCER TRIED to ease his aching legs. His whole body felt pummeled and bruised. In his anxiety and the effort of concentration he had expended almost unnecessary energy, leaving him, the moment he relaxed, utterly drained of strength. He was conscious of his hands trembling and made no attempt to check them. As he watched the unceasing movement of the instruments, a fleck of light rose constantly in front of his eyes, slowly falling again like a twist of cotton. All the time that interior voice, now every bit as real to him and as independent as the one in his earphones, kept up its insistent monologue, telling him: Whatever you do, don’t let go. If you let go, you’re finished. Remember, it was like this many a time in the war. You thought you’d reached the end then — completely bushed, with not another ounce left in you. But every time there was something left in the bag — one last reserve you never knew you had.

He looked across to Janet, willing himself to speak. “How did we make out that time?” he asked her. He knew he was very near to collapse.

She seemed to sense the purpose of his question. “We did pretty well,” she said brightly. “Anyway, I thought Captain Treleaven sounded pleased, didn’t you?”

“Hardly heard him,” he said, turning his head from side to side to relieve the muscles in his neck. “I just hope that’s the lot. How many times have we done the flap and wheel routine now — is it three? If he asks us to do it once more, I’ll…” Steady on, he admonished himself. Don’t let her see what a state you’re in. She had leaned over to him and wiped his face and forehead with a handkerchief. Come on now, get a grip. This is only nervous reaction — blue funk, if you like. Think of Treleaven: what a spot he’s in. He’s safe on the ground, sure enough, but suppose he forgot something

“Have you noticed, the sun’s coming up,” said Janet.

“Why sure,” he lied, lifting his eyes. Even ahead to the west the carpet of cloud was tinged with pink and gold, and there too the vast canopy of sky had perceptibly lightened. To the south, on the port beam, he could see two mountain tops, isolated like islands in a tumbling ocean of cotton wool. “We won’t be long now.” He paused.

“Janet.”

“Yes?”

“Before we go down, have a last — I mean, another look at the pilots. We’ll probably bump a bit — you know — and we don’t want them thrown about.”

Janet flashed a grateful smile at him.

“Can you hold on there for a moment?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll yell quick enough.”

She slipped off her headset and rose from her seat. As she turned to get out, the door to the passenger deck opened and Baird looked in.

“Oh — you’re off the radio,” he observed.

“I was just going to have a look at the captain and copilot, to make sure they’re secure.”

“No need to,” he told her. “I did it a few minutes ago, when you were busy.”

“Doctor,” called Spencer, “how are things with you back there?”

“That’s why I looked in,” said Baird tersely. “We’re running out of time — but fast.”

“Is there any kind of help that we can get you on the radio?”

“I’d liked to have had a diagnostic check with a doctor down there, but I guess it’s more important to hold the air open for flying the machine. How long is it likely to be now?”

“Well under the half hour, I’d say. How does that sound?”

“I don’t know,” Baird said doubtfully. He held on to the back of Spencer’s seat, weariness apparent in every inch of his posture. He was in shirt sleeves, his tie discarded. “There are two patients in a state of complete prostration,” he went on. “How much longer they can last without treatment, I can’t say. But not long, that’s for sure. And there are several others who’ll soon be just as bad, unless I’m very wrong.”

Spencer grimaced. “Is anyone giving you a hand?”

“You bet — couldn’t possibly manage, otherwise. One feller in particular — that English character — he’s really turned out a—”

The earphones came to life. “Hullo, 714. This is Vancouver. Over.”

Spencer waved Janet back into her seat and she hurriedly donned her headset. “Well, I’ll get back,” said Baird. “Good luck, anyway.”

“Wait a minute,” said Spencer, nodding to the girl.

“714 here,” Janet acknowledged into her microphone. “We’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Doctor,” said Spencer, speaking quickly, “I don’t have to fool you. This may be rough. Just about anything in the book is liable to happen.” The doctor said nothing. “You know what I mean. They may get a bit jumpy back there. See that they’re kept in their seats, huh?”

Baird seemed to be turning words over in his mind. Then he replied in a gruff tone, “Do the best you can and leave me to take care of the rest.” He thumped the young man lightly on the shoulder and made his way aft.

“Okay,” said Spencer to the girl.

“Go ahead, Vancouver,” she called.

“Hullo, 714,” responded the clear, confident voice of Treleaven. “Now that you’ve had a breather since that last run-through, George, we’d better press on again. You should be receiving me well now. Will you check, please? Over.”

“Tell him I’ve been having a few minutes with my feet up,” said Spencer. “And tell him he’s coming in about strength niner.” Strength niner, he thought You really dug that one up.

“… a short rest,” Janet was saying, “and we hear you strength niner.”

“That’s the way, George. Our flying practice has slowed you down a bit, though that’s all to the good as it will be getting light when you come in. You are now in the holding position and ready to start losing height. First I want to speak to Janet. Are you listening, Janet?”

“Hullo, Vancouver. Yes, I hear you.”

“Janet, when we make this landing we want you to follow the emergency crash procedures for protection of passengers. Do you understand? Over.”

“I understand, Captain. Over.”

“One more thing, Janet. Just before the landing we will ask the pilot to sound the emergency bell. And, George — the switch for that bell is right over the copilot’s seat and it’s painted red.”

“Can you see it?” asked Spencer without looking up.

“Yes,” said Janet, “it’s here.”

“All right. Remember it.”

“Janet,” continued Treleaven, “that will be your warning for final precautions, because I want you to be back then with the passengers.”

“Tell him no,” Spencer cut in. “I must have you up front.”

“Hullo, Vancouver,” said Janet. “I understand your instructions, but the pilot needs me to help him. Over.”

There was a long pause. Then, “All right, 714,” Treleaven answered. “I appreciate the position. But it is your duty, Janet, to see that all emergency crash precautions are taken before we can think about landing. Is there anyone you can explain and delegate this to?”







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