Marian Campbell walked slowly around the plane, checking the control surfaces, the propeller, sweating in her zippered coveralls and waiting for Kinsman to show up. It was a single-engine plane with broad, stubby wings and a high bulbous canopy that made it look like a one-eyed insect. It was painted bright red and yellow except for the engine cowling, where permanent black streaks of oil stains marred the decor.

She saw a tall lithe figure approaching through the shimmering heat haze along the flight line. The sun baked the concrete ramp so that it felt like standing on a griddle. Come on, she groused to herself, before I melt into a puddle. Then 126 she grinned sheepishly. It would be a damned big puddle, she knew.

Kinsman was in civilian clothes, an open-necked short- sleeved shirt and light blue slacks. He looked wary as he came up to the plane.

"No need to salute," Marian called to him. "We're off duty, okay?"

He nodded and put out a hand to touch the plane's wing. The metal must have been scorchingly hot but Kinsman ran his fingers along it lightly and almost smiled.

"Piper Cherokee. She's an old bird, but she still looks good," he said.

"Are you talking about the plane or about me?" Marian asked.

He looked startled more than amused. "The plane, of course. Colonel."

"My name's Marian ... as in Robin Hood. And yes, I know the joke: 'Who's Maid Marian? Everybody!'"

Kinsman still did not smile.

With an inner sigh, Marian asked, "Do I call you Chet, Chester, or what?"

"Chet."

"Okay, Chet. Let's get upstairs where the air is cooler."

She climbed heavily up onto the wing and squeezed through the cabin hatch. Kinsman followed her and sat in the copilot's seat, on the right. He stuck his foot out to keep the hatch open as Marian gunned the engine to life.

He stayed silent, watching, as she taxied to the very end of the two-mile-long runway. It had been built to accommo- date heavy bombers. This puddle-jumper could take off and land along the runway seven times and still have concrete to spare ahead of it.

They got the control tower's clearance. Kinsman dogged the hatch shut, and the little engine buzzed its hardest as they rolled down the runway and lifted into the air.

Marian banked the plane and made a right turn as ordered by the tower controller. They headed away from the Air Force base, across the Texas scrubland.

"Want to see the Alamo?" she asked.

"Sure," said Kinsman.

She asked the controllers for a route to San Antonio.

"Whose plane is this?" Kinsman asked as they climbed to cruising altitude.

"Mine," said Marian.

"Yours? You own it?"

"Sure. You think you jet jocks are the only guys who like to fly? Why do you think I Joined the Air Force in the first place?"

He grinned at her. "You like to fly."