I knew that sometimes, as when Pete had been knocked out of the sky, the automatic monoplane had held to the air; but, in spite of its special strengthening, this must have been accident, mostly. I could not expect to stay up, if we smashed. Kinvarra could not expect me to.
Not that I imagined he cared what happened to me. He was making me a part of a missile hurled at the curious airplane. No; he was making me, instead, a dummy machine-gunner. For the gun in front of me suddenly clacked; and the curious airplane, approaching, dove to the right.
For a few seconds, while I pointed at nothing, the machine-gun before me continued to fire. Then Kinvarra turned it off. He turned off, indeed, all control of me; for I had the sensation, as yesterday, of flying helpless and without guidance at all. Kinvarra had let me go, forgotten me while he dived after the other airplane. He shot it down and flattened his own flight. For a few seconds more, while he watched it and I watched him straining in my straps to make him remember me, he let me
