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Food and drink were brought to him for supper. He ate, then ordered everyone to leave the hangar. The guards stationed themselves outside the building. Hank approached Je
"I wondered when you'd want me to talk," Je
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I don't know what to do, what to say," Je
Hank sipped some of the mixed berry juice and vodka. Who'd believe a scene like this? He, Henry L. Stover, talking, actually talking to a JN-4H, an inanimate flying machine? No, no longer a lifeless object. An artifact that had become sentient and lingual.
How?
"When did you first become aware?" he said. "I mean, when did you first see, hear, and feel things?" He could not ask her how she happened to be born.
"I was in the air," Je
She hesitated, then said, "But I can learn! I can learn!"
"You have no memory of anything before you, ah, came into existence? I mean, before the moment you found yourself in your body?"
"No."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
But she did have a memory. She could speak, which meant that she was drawing on a vocabulary somewhere within her. She had to have had a preexistence even if she did not remember it.
Hank described to her what had happened before the glowing ball had disappeared into her engine. He had to stop now and then to explain various references to her.
"First, I was just a nonliving thing of metal and fabric and wood," Je
"Have you ever heard of... I mean, do you know what Quadling means?" Hank said.
"No. That's a word I don't know."
"Do you know the name of Glinda?"
"I heard it, but I don't know who—she?—is."
"What's my name?"
"Hank. I heard the others call you that. I've learned a lot just by listening."
He told her about the Scarecrow, but she was more confused than enlightened.
"You mean... I'm something like the Scarecrow?"
"Not physically. But you two have something in common. You both have a soul."
"A soul? What's that?"
Hank did his best to explain.
Silence. Did the huge painted blue eyes look puzzled?
"There's one thing we'd better get straightened out now," Hank said. "That is, I'm the pilot, you're the airplane. The pilot runs the airplane. From now on, unless I tell you differently, you don't decide whether you go up or down, bank, dive, climb, take off, or land. I'm the master; I handle the controls, unless I tell you to take over. Is that clear?"
"I think so. Only... I just can't help myself. When you don't do it right or fast enough, I just must do it. It's a matter of... what?"
"Survival. Making sure that you don't die."
"Yes."
"Well, you'll have to use self-control. I don't want you to take over! I don't want you overriding me! Do you understand?"
"Yes. You don't have to shout at me! You don't have to get nasty with me."
Hank threw his hands up in the air. A Je
"You may not remember your former life," he said. "But you came into this world, into being as a machine, anyway, with a half-grown knowledge of speech and a full-grown personality. You're not a newborn infant."
He was convinced that Glinda had caused this transformation or possession. But how could she, hundreds of miles away, have been watching him and so affected the possession? "She's got all the answers," he muttered, "and she sure as hell better come through with some. Soon." Or he'd do what? He could do nothing.
"We'll have some more heart-to-heart talks," he said. "I have to go now. Meanwhile, uh, is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, thank you, Hank."
"Well... listen... there is one thing, though. Can you start your engine? If you can, I won't have to get someone to spin the prop when I want to start... you."
For answer, the propeller spun a few times but the engine died. Hank poured some ether into the carburetor, then told her to try again. This time the propeller spun slowly, the engine whined, then it burst into explosive coughs, the propeller spun swiftly, and the engine roared.
Hank yelled at her to turn off the ignition. She may not have been able to hear him above the noise, but she understood his gestures. The roaring ceased, and the propeller blades were soon visible, then still.
Hank patted her cowling and, feeling disorientated and somewhat ridiculous, walked out of the hangar. He talked to the officer of the guard for a moment, making sure that the hangar doors would be closed and that soldiers would be stationed inside and outside the building. Then he went to the castle.
Late that night, as he and Lamblo sat in the bed and smoked, he said, "I have a new love."
She sat straight up. Hot ashes spilled from her pipe, and she was busy pushing them off before the cover caught fire. She said, "A new love? You... met someone you like better than me?"
"I wouldn't say that," Hank said, gri
"That I don't believe," Lamblo said. "Come on, Hank. Don't tease me."
He told her about Je
Lamblo shivered and moved closer to him.
"It's witch-art. Glinda must have done it."
"I'd like to know how. And why."
"You're better off not knowing. And not asking."
"I have to."
"Don't, please don't, anger Glinda."
"Glinda the Good? If she's so good, she won't hurt me."
"Glinda's good is the good of the people. You're just one person, and an alien at that. She doesn't know, no one knows, what's going to happen because you came here. And she can't be sure that you're not a spy."
Hank was indignant.
"I am Dorothy's son!"
"Yes, but that's not the same as being Dorothy. Besides, if your mother came back now, she'd be suspected. She's an adult, and..."
"Nuts!" Hank shouted. "Pure essence of horse poppy!"
"Now, now, my little giant."
"Don't patronize me," Hank said. "Look. I've been tested... the Black Pearl of Truth, you know. What more does Glinda need?"
"The real test hasn't come up yet. You're going to have to make a choice between us and your country. It's bound to happen. Glinda says..."
"Well, what does Glinda say?"
"I have such a big mouth. I'm sorry. I can't say any more on that subject. Glinda will have to deal with that. Please forgive me."
"For telling the truth? Nothing to forgive." Nevertheless, he was angry with her. How dare anyone doubt his integrity?
Later that night, after much undulation of anxiety, sleepless while Lamblo snored as gently as a cat, he admitted that Glinda was right. She was always right. He hated her for that.
Ot, the hawk, had shown up. But she was no longer Ot.
Hank found that out the next day. He overheard one of his "mechanics" mention her name, and he asked the man to repeat what he'd said.
"Oh, she showed up before you did. I suppose it was instinct that made her come back here or maybe she hadn't, somehow, forgotten everything. The first thing she did after she rested was to kill a chicken and eat it."
The mechanic shuddered. "She was caged, of course. She won't be put on trial, but she can't be let loose either."
"What're you talking about?" Hank said.
The little man looked up puzzledly at Hank.
"She was dispossessed. I thought you knew about it. But then..."
"I'm still an ignoramus in a lot of things. Where is Ot?"
He was taken to the front courtyard of the castle. There was a stand there with a large cage on top. Ot, or what had been Ot, was behind the bars. She glared at Hank with wild fierce beautiful eyes. Hank spoke to her, but she screamed at him, and when he put a finger between the bars, she hurled herself at it. Hank withdrew it just in time to escape its being torn off.