amusement was gone now. Wilson clenched his teeth. Why in hell didn't the pilots see!
Now the man, no longer interested in the propeller, was settling himself across the engine cowling like a man astride a bucking horse. Wilson stared at him. Abruptly a shudder plaited down his back. The little man was picking at the plates that sheathed the engine, trying to get his nails beneath them.
Impulsively, Wilson reached up and pushed the button for the stewardess. In the rear of the cabin, he heard her coming and, for a second, thought he'd fooled the man, who seemed absorbed with his efforts. At the last moment, however, just before the stewardess arrived, the man glanced over at Wilson. Then, like a marionette jerked upward from its stage by wires, he was flying up into the air.
"Yes?" She looked at him apprehensively.
"Will you-sit down, please?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Well, I-"
"Please."
She sat down gingerly on the seat beside his.
"What is it, Mr. Wilson?" she asked.
He braced himself.
"That man is still outside," he said.
The stewardess stared at him.
"The reason I'm telling you this," Wilson hurried on, "is that he's starting to tamper with one of the engines."
She turned her eyes instinctively toward the window.
"No, no, don't look," he told her. "He isn't there now." He cleared his throat viscidly. "He-jumps away whenever you come here."
A sudden nausea gripped him as he realized what she must be thinking. As he realized what he, himself, would think if someone told him such a story, a wave of dizziness seemed to pass across him and he thought-I am going mad!
"The point is this," he said, fighting off the thought. "If I'm not imagining this thing, the ship is in danger."
"Yes," she said.
"I know," he said. "You think I've lost my mind."
"Of course not," she said.
"All I ask is this," he said, struggling against the rise of anger. "Tell the pilots what I've said. Ask them to keep an eye on the wings. If they see nothing-all right. But if they do-"
The stewardess sat there quietly, looking at him. Wilson's hands curled into fists that trembled in his lap.
"Well?" he asked.
She pushed to her feet. "I'll tell them," she said.
Turning away, she moved along the aisle with a movement that was, to Wilson, poorly contrived-too fast to be normal yet, clearly, held back as if to reassure him that she wasn't fleeing. He felt his stomach churning as he looked out at the wing again.
Abruptly, the man appeared again, landing on the wing like some grotesque ballet dancer. Wilson watched him as he set to work again, straddling the engine casing with his thick, bare legs and picking at the plates.
Well, what was he so concerned about? thought Wilson. That miserable creature couldn't pry up rivets with his fingernails. Actually, it didn't matter if the pilots saw him or not-at least as far as the safety of the plane was concerned. As for his own personal reasons-
It was at that moment that the man pried up one edge of a plate.
Wilson gasped. "Here, quickly!" he shouted, noticing, up ahead, the stewardess and the pilot coming through the cockpit doorway.
The pilot's eyes jerked up to look at Wilson, then abruptly, he was pushing past the stewardess and lurching up the aisle.
"Hurry!" Wilson cried. He glanced out the window in time to see the man go leaping upward. That didn't matter now. There would be evidence.
"What's going on?" the pilot asked, stopping breathlessly beside his seat.
"He's torn up one of the engine plates!" said Wilson in a shaking voice.
"He's what?"
"The man outside!" said Wilson. "I tell you he's-!"
"Mister Wilson, keep your voice down!" ordered the pilot. Wilson's jaw went slack.
"I don't know what's going on here," said the pilot, "but-"
"Will you look?!" shouted Wilson.
"Mister Wilson, I'm warning you."
"For God's sake!" Wilson swallowed quickly, trying to repress the blinding rage he felt. Abruptly, he pushed back against his seat and pointed at the window with a palsied
Now the man, no longer interested in the propeller, was settling himself across the engine cowling like a man astride a bucking horse. Wilson stared at him. Abruptly a shudder plaited down his back. The little man was picking at the plates that sheathed the engine, trying to get his nails beneath them.
Impulsively, Wilson reached up and pushed the button for the stewardess. In the rear of the cabin, he heard her coming and, for a second, thought he'd fooled the man, who seemed absorbed with his efforts. At the last moment, however, just before the stewardess arrived, the man glanced over at Wilson. Then, like a marionette jerked upward from its stage by wires, he was flying up into the air.
"Yes?" She looked at him apprehensively.
"Will you-sit down, please?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Well, I-"
"Please."
She sat down gingerly on the seat beside his.
"What is it, Mr. Wilson?" she asked.
He braced himself.
"That man is still outside," he said.
The stewardess stared at him.
"The reason I'm telling you this," Wilson hurried on, "is that he's starting to tamper with one of the engines."
She turned her eyes instinctively toward the window.
"No, no, don't look," he told her. "He isn't there now." He cleared his throat viscidly. "He-jumps away whenever you come here."
A sudden nausea gripped him as he realized what she must be thinking. As he realized what he, himself, would think if someone told him such a story, a wave of dizziness seemed to pass across him and he thought-I am going mad!
"The point is this," he said, fighting off the thought. "If I'm not imagining this thing, the ship is in danger."
"Yes," she said.
"I know," he said. "You think I've lost my mind."
"Of course not," she said.
"All I ask is this," he said, struggling against the rise of anger. "Tell the pilots what I've said. Ask them to keep an eye on the wings. If they see nothing-all right. But if they do-"
The stewardess sat there quietly, looking at him. Wilson's hands curled into fists that trembled in his lap.
"Well?" he asked.
She pushed to her feet. "I'll tell them," she said.
Turning away, she moved along the aisle with a movement that was, to Wilson, poorly contrived-too fast to be normal yet, clearly, held back as if to reassure him that she wasn't fleeing. He felt his stomach churning as he looked out at the wing again.
Abruptly, the man appeared again, landing on the wing like some grotesque ballet dancer. Wilson watched him as he set to work again, straddling the engine casing with his thick, bare legs and picking at the plates.
Well, what was he so concerned about? thought Wilson. That miserable creature couldn't pry up rivets with his fingernails. Actually, it didn't matter if the pilots saw him or not-at least as far as the safety of the plane was concerned. As for his own personal reasons-
It was at that moment that the man pried up one edge of a plate.
Wilson gasped. "Here, quickly!" he shouted, noticing, up ahead, the stewardess and the pilot coming through the cockpit doorway.
The pilot's eyes jerked up to look at Wilson, then abruptly, he was pushing past the stewardess and lurching up the aisle.
"Hurry!" Wilson cried. He glanced out the window in time to see the man go leaping upward. That didn't matter now. There would be evidence.
"What's going on?" the pilot asked, stopping breathlessly beside his seat.
"He's torn up one of the engine plates!" said Wilson in a shaking voice.
"He's what?"
"The man outside!" said Wilson. "I tell you he's-!"
"Mister Wilson, keep your voice down!" ordered the pilot. Wilson's jaw went slack.
"I don't know what's going on here," said the pilot, "but-"
"Will you look?!" shouted Wilson.
"Mister Wilson, I'm warning you."
"For God's sake!" Wilson swallowed quickly, trying to repress the blinding rage he felt. Abruptly, he pushed back against his seat and pointed at the window with a palsied
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