rrent from the wings to the motor. With the pre-flight

checks completed, it only remained to buckle himself into the body

harness, stagger forward taking care to keep the propeller clear of the

ground, and throw himself off the edge of the bluff. Nothing to it.

Steve was conscious that he didn't have a moment to waste but he found

himself in something of a quandary. Up to now, all his flights had

been in broad daylight and although it was late in the year, the

weather had been warm and sunny - just what was needed to charge the

solar ceils that delivered power from the wings to the motor. It had

proved to be a fluctuating supply but it provided a useful backup. And

now here he was, in semi-darkness, surrounded by cold damp air. Even

if he'd been able to salvage a static charge unit, the weight would

have made its installation impractical. But no sun meant no power and

that meant, instead of a motor, he was loading himself down with a

useless heap of junk for maybe four to six hours. More if the weather

was bad. Should he take a chance and go for it with the complete

rig?

Or should he strip the motor off the airframe? He had the tools. It

was half a dozen nuts and bolts and a few leads. It would mean kissing

goodbye to all those hours of painful circuit mending and testing - but

what the heck...

Steve walked round Blue-Bird a couple of times, weighing up the pros

and cons, squared up to it with his hands on his hips, appealed

silently to the sky, and decided to pull the motor. Now that his mind

was made up, he worked quickly disconnecting the power leads before

loosening the retaining bolts. One... two. three...

four. two left to go, one on either side of the motor. It was

ironic.

Dumping the motor had increased the potential payload of the glider.

If he had considered that option before, and if Clearwater had been

willing to leave, he would, with a few last minute adjustments to the

harness, have been able to take her with him.

Steve moved the rear trestle back in to take the weight of the motor

while he pulled the last two bolts. As he reached up to fit the crude

wrench onto one of the remaining nuts, he felt the skin on the back of

his neck go cold. He looked over his shoulder and almost had heart

failure. Motor-Head was standing right behind him, leaning casually on

his quarterstaff.

'Jack me! Wow!" exlaimed Steve. 'You know, for a big guy, you're

awful quiet on your feet."

Motor-Head bared his teeth in a grim smile.

Steve had a feeling he was in trouble. 'Where are Mr Snow and Cadillac

- down in the settlement?"

'No, they're not back yet,' said Motor-Head. 'We came on ahead."

'Oh..." Glancing round, Steve saw two shadowy figures positioned

between Blue-Bird and the bluff. It didn't look good. Play it cool,

Brickman.

Motor-Head looked Blue-Bird over. 'Going somewhere?"

The? Oh, no. I was just. fixing a few things. Couldn't sleep so I,

uh, came up to do some work on the motor."

'In the dark?"

Steve shrugged. 'Just got here. It'll be light soon."

'Yes... Tell me - why the helmet?"

'It's to keep my ears warm,' said Steve.

'Got it..." The big Mute aimed a finger over Steve's shoulder. 'Is

that what you call "the motor"?"

Steve eyed him warily. 'Yeah..."

Motor-Head put an arm through the sling of his quarterstaff, then eased

Steve aside and stood with his legs astride facing the hand-carved

propeller. He placed his fingers on the propeller hub then ran them

out along the blades. 'Why does it have my name?"

What a dummy! thought Steve. Still, better kid him along. 'Ah,

that's because, like you, it is strong and powerful,' he said. 'It

makes the arrowhead fly like an eagle."

Motor-Head nodded thoughtfully. 'Ahhahh... interesting..."

Grasping the tips of the propeller he snapped both blades off at the