what I'll tell Flight Dispatch. I guess they'll have someone waiting for her at Rome; we can't do anything about that, even if we wanted to. But if the old girl's made it this far, and since we're not turning back, why make her next eight hours miserable? So leave her alone. Maybe, just before we get to Rome, we'll let her know she's been found out; then it won't be a whole big shock. But for the time being, let her enjoy her flight. Give Grandma some dinner, and she can watch the movie in peace."
"You know," Gwen said; she was watching him thoughtfully. "There are times when I quite like you."
As Gwen left the flight deck, Demerest---still chuckling---changed radio channels and reported back himself to the Cleveland dispatcher.
Anson Harris, who had his pipe alight, looked up from adjusting the auto-pilot and said drily, "I didn't think you were much of a one for the old ladies." He emphasized the "old."
Demerest grinned, "I prefer younger ones."
"So I'd heard."
The stowaway report, and his reply, had put Demerest in a thoroughly good humor. More relaxed than earlier, he added, "Opportunities change. Pretty soon you and I will have to settle for the not-so-young ones."
"I already have." Harris puffed at his pipe. "For quite some time."
Both pilots had one earpiece of their radio headsets pushed upward. They could converse normally, yet hear radio calls if any came in. The noise level of the flight deck---persistent but not overwhelming---was sufficient to give the two of them privacy.
"You've always played it straight down the line, haven't you?" Demerest said. "With your wife, I mean. No mucking around; on layovers I've seen you reading books."
This time Harris grinned. "Sometimes I go to a movie."
"Any special reason?"
"My wife was a stewardess---on DC-4s; that was how we met. She knew what went on: the sleeping around, pregnancies, abortions, all that stuff. Later, she got to be a supervisor and had to deal with a lot of it in her job. Anyway, when we were married I made her a promise---the obvious one. I've always kept it."
"I guess all those kids you had helped."
"Maybe."
Harris made another minute adjustment to the autopilot. As they talked, the eyes of both pilots, out of training and habit, swept the illuminated banks of instruments in front of them, as well as those to each side and above. An incorrect instrument reading would show at once if anything in the aircraft was malfunctioning. Nothing was.
Demerest said, "How many children is it? Six?"
"Seven." Harris smiled. "Four we planned, three we didn't. But it all worked out."
"The ones you didn't plan---did you ever consider doing anything about them? Before they were born."
Harris glanced sharply sideways. "Abortion?"
Vernon Demerest had asked the question on impulse. Now he wondered why. Obviously, his two conversations earlier with Gwen had begun the train of thought about children generally. But it was uncharacteristic of him to be doing so much thinking about something---like an abortion for Gwen---which was essentially simple and straightforward. Just the same, he was curious about Harris's reaction.
"Yes," Demerest said. "That's what I meant."
Anson Harris said curtly, "The answer's no." Less sharply, he added, "It happens to be something I have strong views about."
"Because of religion?"
Harris shook his head negatively. "I'm an agnostic."
"What kind of views, then?"
"You sure you want to hear?"
"It's a long night," Demerest said. "Why not?"
On radio they listened to an exchange between air route control and a TWA flight, Paris-bound, which had taken off shortly after Trans America Flight Two. The TWA jet was ten miles behind, and several thousand feet lower. As Flight two continued to climb, so would TWA.
Most alert pilots, as a result of listening to other aircraft transmissions, maintained a partial picture of nearby tralfic in their minds. Demerest and Harris both added this latest item to others already noted. When the ground-to-air exchange ended, Demerest urged Anson Harris, "Go ahead."
Harris checked their course and altitude, then began refilling his pipe.
"I've studied a lot of history. I got interested in college and followed through after. Maybe you've done the same."
"No," Demerest said. "Never more than I had to."
"Well, if you go through it all---history, that is--one thing stands out. Every bit of human progress has happened for a single, simple reason: the elevation of the status of the individual. Each time civilization has stumbled into another age that's a little better, a bit more enlightened, than the one before it, it's because people cared more about other people and respected