There followed two more straining days wherein Croft gave it out that only four blimps would be taken, and those manned by the crews that showed the greatest aptitude in their work. Four, he had decided, would be enough for the venture, and at dawn on the morning of the fourth day they rose like monstrous glistening bubbles above Himyra's walls, and pointed their blunt noses north. Three days to Niera, to reach which the swiftest galley took five. So he had planned it. And at Niera he would descend. Long before he had taken the necessary steps for that--sending what apparatus he would require to the capital of Mazhur--that it might be ready for any need. The night before had seen the airplanes depart for Scira on the first leg of their flight. From there they would go to Niera, and there the entire expedition would once more meet. Three days, he thought, as he watched Himyra drop away beneath him with the gaping, cheering crowds that had gathered to see the blimps depart. Three days and four were seven. A day at Niera, to overhaul any weakness that might have developed in the flight across the Central Sea, a half day to the northern borders of Mazhur, the last jump, before the final hop off for the planes. And from there to Berla--four hundred miles or a trifle over. He allowed eight hours for that. Higher and higher soared the blimps. A strong wind raged about them, bucking the roaring kick of the propellers. Higher yet, he gave command. Higher and still higher, seeking a favorable current, higher and higher, until it was found--then north--north--where once more as always the lodestone of Naia of Aphur's being drew him--north and north. He was going north at last! The thought fired him. There was no sense of motion. Even as in the astral body, it was as though he himself stood silent and all beneath him moved. Overhead the monster gas-bag glinted like a thing of silver under the Sirian ray. Below him lay the no longer yellow ribbon of the Na, framed in the green band of the irrigated lands. To the north the Central Sea showed sparkling in the morning sunshine. And beyond the Central Sea was Mazhur--and beyond Mazhur--Naia--Naia and Jason, Son of Jason--captive in a hostile land. And Naia's hair was golden--as golden as the sunshine that glinted now on his flashing armor--and her eyes were as blue as the blue stones upon his breast, marking out in flawless outline the Cross of Life Eternal--the Cross Ansata--and Azil's wide-stretched wings. A wonderful, a mighty, a vast exaltation of the spirit seized him. He was going to her, borne swiftly out across the Central Sea on a favoring wind, as though Zitu himself had filled the lungs of his Omnipotent purpose, and were wafting him on his mission of salvation with a strong, beneficent blast.