e switch
that pulled up the landing gear and felt the plane spurt ahead as the
drag of wheels and struts was removed.

Lipton's voice came through the phones, relaxed and a little amused. "No
need to treat this bucket of bolts like a baby, Rick. You've got power
to burn. Go, man! Make like a bird!"

Rick had to grin. He was flying automatically, as he flew his own Sky
Wagon. But Lipton was right. This was a jet, not a low-powered sports
plane. Suddenly exuberant he cracked the throttle and stood the jet on
its tail. It climbed vertically, an amazing sensation for Rick. Power to
burn!

The altimeter read ten thousand feet. He asked, "Can I sort of toss it
around a little?"

Lipton chuckled. "You're flying, and I have a strong stomach."

Rick kicked the plane over and let it drop, saw the Nevada mountains
rushing up to meet him. He leveled off and pulled into a tight turn,
much as he might turn the Sky Wagon. G forces slammed him into the
bucket seat and the world went gray as blood drained from his head.

"Let up," Lipton snapped.

Rick corrected groggily. Wow! He had forgotten that power had its
limitations, too. A tight turn meant pulling too many G's--too many
times the force of gravity--for safety. "Sorry," he said huskily.

"It's all right. Feel your way."

Rick did so, for an ecstatic ten minutes, then, realizing that time was
moving and he was burning fuel at a terrific rate, he asked reluctantly,
"What now, sir?"

"Let's go home," Lipton said calmly.

Landing was the tricky part. He hurriedly read through the landing
checkoff list, then started in. Flaps, throttle setting. Then, wheels
down and locked. Air speed correct.

"Better keep flying speed," he thought grimly. "This bucket has the
gliding angle of a brick."

For a moment habit almost fouled him up again, as he waited for the
plane to "sell out," then he remembered that he had to fly it in. With
an anxious eye on his air-speed indicator he gave it a little more
throttle, then felt the struts compress as the wheels hit. He chopped
the throttle and tried out the brakes with tender care. He didn't intend
to flip them over through carelessness now. Gradually he brought the jet
to a halt, reset flaps, and then rolled the plane back to their starting
point. After he had killed the engine he just sat there, too limp to
move. Then, slowly, and with vast relief, he started to get up.

Jerry Lipton, who had climbed out on the wing, reached over and