The bitch might be listening in now via the radio.
He leaned over and whispered to Tappy.
"You didn't point out the radio switches. We have to find them and turn them off."
Malva's voice had come from a grille inset above his head. But there were no buttons or switches near it.
First, he eliminated the controls and indicators the function of which he knew. That left about twenty-five unknowns. What if resetting one caused a serious change in the performance of the craft? Like shutting off the power to the engine?
He had to do something very soon. The three pursuers were steadily growing larger.
At that moment, Malva's voice rang in the cabin.
"You will obey the orders transmitted to you by your escort! One aircraft will guide you! Follow it! Stay at the same level as it! Descend when it descends!"
"Ah!" Jack said.
When the voice had come on, a green panel inset in the center of the steering wheel started to glow.
"Repeat!" Malva said. "You will..."
Jack had cut her off by pressing the green panel with his fingertip. The panel ceased to glow.
"Gotcha!"
He pressed the panel again.
"...follow the plane in front of you and..."
"Sure, we'll just do that, you bitch!" Jack shouted. And he turned the radio off.
All that time, the radio had been on, and he had not noticed the glowing panel. But then he had been busy. Moreover, he was not a trained pilot.
He laughed as he wheeled the craft around and headed for their destination. Some of his dread and uncertainty was gone.
That Malva's commands were being ignored must be whirling her around as if she were glued onto a jet engine vane. She would be horrified, burning with panic. Her masters would not be tolerant about her failure.
He did not feel the least bit sorry for Malva.
Now the air had suddenly become much rougher. The plane fell and rose as if it were diving into and out of express elevators. This was the forerunner of the storm. What would it be like when they were inside its troubled heart?
If it were not for those aircraft catching up with him so swiftly, he would have tried to climb over the storm. But the chasers would overtake him sooner if he lost speed by ascending. They might do so, anyway. The only way to escape was straight ahead. The electrical disturbances there might affect whatever detectors the pursuers had. If this happened, they would lose him and Tappy.
Might... if...
It did no good to wonder about might-have-beens. But that was an integral part of the human mind. Animals never worried about these. Humans found it necessary. They had to fantasize. So, maybe, it was good for them.
No time for that.
He squeezed the inflatable rim again. "Go ahead, Tappy. Try to cancel the spell, whatever it is, the control she has over me."
Tappy seemed to be thinking hard. Then she smiled. After tearing off the sheet she had written on, she drew a single character. She held it in front of him.
"You know I can't read it."
She half turned and gestured behind her. Then she passed her hands over her face and twisted her features. She was trying to look like somebody. But she was blind.
"You mean," he said slowly, "you're giving me the impression of a face from the voice of that person?"
She nodded, and she pointed behind her again.
Her expression was haughty and arrogant.
"Oh! You mean Malva?"
She nodded and smiled happily.
"But knowing that, how's that going to help me?"
She opened her mouth wide, stuck the sheet of paper close to it, and moved her mouth and jaw as if she were chewing. Then she pointed at him.
He started to ask her what she meant when she reached over, felt along his face until she found his mouth, and jammed the piece of paper between his lips.
Before he could protest, he found the paper stuffed into his mouth. She was still making the chewing motions.
"Grrbgrrbgrrbgrrb!"
Which meant, "You want me to chew this and swallow it?"
Evidently, she did. So he did.
Tappy threw up her hands to indicate that all was well.
He was not so sure. Only one way to find out.
He activated the radio again and said, "Malva, you slimy evil slut! What do you think about your control of me now?"
He winced at the hatred and viciousness of her invective, not all of which was in English.
Then Malva, after her hard breathing had ceased, shouted, "You will obey me! You will obey me! Come back as commanded! Come back as commanded!"
Jack did not have the slightest urge to turn the wheel. He pressed the green-glowing panel again and grinned at Tappy.
"Now we can get back to business."
But the roughness of the air had become a savagery. He and Tappy had been bouncing up and down and swaying hard from side to side. Now they might soon be lifted from their seats.
He said, "Tappy! We need belts to hold us down!"
Tappy frowned again. Her mouth drew up at one corner. Then she smiled. Her fingers brushed along the center area of the panel and stopped over a button. The plaque above it bore a character different from any other on the panel. Below it was a flashing orange light.
She pressed her back against the back of the seat. She gestured that he should do the same. As soon as he had obeyed, she pushed the button. Immediately after, she sat upright against the seat back. He heard a click. From the panels behind the seats slid two long bands. These began curving, went over his and Tappy's chest, and stopped after they entered two extensions which had risen from beside the seats.
Safety belts.
Then he felt something curving around his waist. Another metal band was enclosing him. Both belts seemed to move, settling in, feeling the shape of his body, fitting themselves with maximum efficiency.
That was not so surprising. But he was amazed when the metal of the belts suddenly became much softer. In fact, they felt like stiff cloths.
The orange light went out. The recessed bulb beside it was now glowing a steady green.
Jack said, "You just remembered where the belt button was?"
She nodded.
Again, he wondered who or what had inhibited her against speaking English. Whatever it was, it had not kept her from talking to that honker. If only he had time to learn from her how to communicate in honkerese, he could bypass that inhibition. There he went again... if... if, painting pictures in his mind.
Suddenly, the savage bumps and drops and rises of the plane increased in frequency and intensity. If it had not been for the belts, he and Tappy would be ricocheting around in the narrow cockpit. Or should it be called a cabin? What was the difference? Being bruised and having bones broken did not depend upon word definitions.
Then the light dimmed, and the lights inside the plane came on. Automatically. Tappy had pushed no buttons.
Straight ahead and very near was the evil-looking black roil of the storm edge. He gripped the wheel so hard that the plane surged ahead. Though he had thought that he had been squeezing with all his strength, he had fooled himself. Just before the plane plunged into the clouds, he remembered reading something long ago: that entering a violent storm in an aircraft was like slamming it into a concrete wall.
That had certainly been exaggerated— somewhat— since the impact did not flatten the plane out. It kept going, though it had shuddered and the altitude indicator showed an alarming loss of height. Rain and darkness enclosed the craft. But, almost immediately, the rain on the windshield evaporated. Yet, the downpour was still almost solid a few inches from the shield. This machine had no visible windshield wipers. Something was keeping the rain from hitting the windshield.
The headlights of the craft were on, but he could not see more than a few feet beyond its nose.
He was still squeezing hard on the wheel and had it pulled far back. Though he was not losing any more altitude, he had not regained that lost when entering the storm.