[pshrynk]

Howards Hughes was starting to relax a bit. He was finally over the ocean, where, as far as he knew, there were no mountain ranges for the autopilot to fly into. He was originally sure that there wre none in Texas after they got half way through the state, but the M.A.R.V.I.N had nearly introduced him to the Hill Country at very terminal velocity. He was beginning to wonder about this invention and its utility in a commercial application.

"How far are we out of Havana?" he asked.

"How should I know? I'm just a collection of tubes and wires. Don't ask me about distances."

"But you're designed to give those sorts of answers! I developed that part myself!"

"Well, maybe that explains why I'm so depressed all the time."

Hughes sat silently as he watched the endles, and above all flatly boring ocean slide by underneath him. He thought of a variety of different plane designs as he mused. Visions of an emmense wooden float plane flashed before him. One without an autopilot, obviously. And one with twin propellors that woudl fly faster than anything ever built. Fast and far away from his creation that was trying to kill him.

That was paranoid thinking. He knew it. Besides, the plane was merely trying to commit suicide. His death would have been a side effect. He turned on the radio. All he could get was a station that played ska incessantly.

"Any chance I could take a nap without having to wake up dead?"

"Don't talk to me about life..."

"Didn't think so..."

The water went on forever.