“Go spell Stan,” said Vivi. “He’ll need a nap before we land. You can fly solo for awhile. It’s simple at this altitude. Nothing in the way.”
Embarrassed and with a throb in my head, I rose to my feet and checked my watch. It had stopped, its gears frozen in place. The sun had moved far around the horizon. Looking out the side window, I saw distant, pinprick peaks of insane height, peeping through the roiling layer of clouds. The Mountains of Madness. Amid them we’d find the Plateau of Leng.
I slid into the cockpit and found Stan Gorski—dead drunk. Lolling back in his seat with an all but empty flask of Argentinean brandy in his hand.
“Esmeralda’s adios,” said Stan, gulping the cloudy dregs of the bottle before I could interfere. “Whooh. Raw stuff. And what an aftertaste.”
adiosWhooh“H
