That was a foolish thought as Mary flies every day and has shoulders and pectoral muscles like Mrs. Hercules. By the time she caught up with me I had cooled off and we flew side by side, still climbing. “Perch?” she called out.
“Perch,” I agreed. Mary has lovely gossip and I could use a breather. We turned toward our usual perch, a ceiling brace for flood lamps — it isn’t supposed to be a perch but the flightmaster hardly ever comes up there.
Mary flew in ahead of me, braked and stalled dead to a perfect landing. I skidded a little but Mary stuck out a wing and steadied me. It isn’t easy to come into a perch, especially when you have to approach level. Two years ago a boy who had just graduated from orange wings tried it . . . knocked off his left alula and primaries on a strut — went fluttering and spinning down two thousand feet and crashed. He could have saved himself — you can come in safely with a badly damaged wing if you spill air with the other and accept the steeper glide, then stall as you land. But this poor kid didn’t know how; he broke his neck, dead as Icarus. I haven’t used that perch since.
We folded our wings and Mary sidled over. “Jeff is looking for you,” she said with a sly grin.
My insides jumped but I answered coolly, “So? I didn’t know he was here.”
“Sure. Down there,” she added, pointing with her left wing. “Spot him?”
Jeff wears striped red and silver, but she was pointing at the tourist guide slope, a mile away. “No.”
“He’s there all right.” She looked at me sidewise. “But I wouldn’t look him up if I were you.”
“Why not? Or for that matter, why should I?” Mary can be exasperating.
“Huh? You always run when he whistles. But he has that Earthside siren in tow again today; you might find it embarrasing?”
“Mary, whatever are you talking about?”
“Huh? Don’t kid me, Holly Jones; you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” I answered with cold dignity.
“Humph! Then you’re the only person in Luna City who doesn’t. Everybody knows you’re crazy about Jeff; everybody knows she’s cut you out. . . and that you are simply simmering with jealousy.”
Mary is my dearest friend but someday I’m going to skin her for a rug. “Mary, that’s preposterously ridiculous! How can you even think such a thing?”
“Look, darling, you don’t have to pretend. I’m for you.” She patted my shoulders with her secondaries.
So I pushed her over backwards. She fell a hundred feet, straightened out, circled and climbed, and came in beside me, still grinning. It gave me time to decide what to say.
“Mary Muhlenburg, in the first place I am not crazy about anyone, least of all Jeff Hardesty. He and I are simply friends. So it’s utterly nonsensical to talk about me being ‘jealous.’ In the second place Miss Brentwood is a lady and doesn’t go around ‘cutting out’ anyone, least of all me. In the third place she is simply a tourist Jeff is guiding — business, nothing more.”
“Sure, sure,” Mary agreed placidly. “I was wrong. Still–” She shrugged her wings and shut up.
“‘Still’ what? Mary, dont be mealy-mouthed.”
“Mmm. . . I was wondering how you knew I was talking about Ariel Brentwood — since there isn’t anything to it.”
“Why, you mentioned her name.”
“I did not.”
I thought frantically. “Uh, maybe not. But it’s perfectly simple. Miss Brentwood is a client I turned over to Jeff myself, so I assumed that she must be the tourist you meant.”
“So? I don’t recall even saying she was a tourist. But since she is just a tourist you two are splitting, why aren’t you doing the inside guiding while Jeff sticks to outside work? I thought you guides had an agreement?”
“Huh? If he has been guiding her inside the city, I’m not aware of it–”
“You’re the only one who isn’t.”
“–and I’m not interested; that’s up to the grievance committee. But Jeff wouldn’t take a fee for inside guiding in any case.”