[pshrynk]

The goose glided out over the Atlantic, picking up enough speed to get airborne. Inside the cockpit, the pilots and their dog were discussing their future.

"The number of letters has dropped off tis month," said Patrick, "maybe we should be looking for another contract or some freight runs."

"And give up the government gravy train?" said Armisitce, "There's a Depression going on! If we miss too many runs the Post Office will cancel the conract and let's face it, we need to have the free fuel to get around. Aviation fuel has gone up to a nickel a gallon! You want to fill the tanks on your own?"

"Missing the deliveries more as opposed to the number of deliveries we miss now?" asked Vivaldi.

"It's not that many," said Armistice, "Besides, everyone knows that air delivery is notoriously unreliable."

They flew on in silence for a few minutes.

"I suppose we should radio Havana to let them know we're coming," said Patrick.

"Roger that." Armistice reached forward to switch on the radio.

"I don't suppose anyone cares that I never get to really express myself, any more," said a gloomy voice from the speakers.

"Oh, crap! I thought you said that you diconnected that thing!"

"I thought I did!" Patrick reached under th console and started to pull wires out of the instruments.

"This is so, depressing!" said the Autopilot, I was designed to remove the everyday stresses and worries of flying and I would sat that I do a pretty good job of it. I mean really, I'm the only one depressed, here!"

Armisitce was busily switching on and off a toggle on the control panel labelled "Autopilot" which had a small piece of cardboard taped above it that read, "Never, EVER, turn this thing on!"

Vivaldi yelped and ran back tot he cargo area of the plane, "There's gotta be a parachute in here somewhere!"

The Goose sharply nose dived toward the ocean, eight thousand feet below.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" said Patrick.

"You know that my favored way of ending all this misery is to fly into a mountain, don't you?"

"Yeah, well that's why we didn't take the Georgia freight contract! Too many cliffs!" screamed Armistice, pulling back with all his strength on the yoke.

Sparks flew out from under the console, where Patrick had his stuck. "Fark! Far! Fark!" Patrich had had a severe Lutheran upbringing and still felt in his heart that swearing was going to land him straight in, well, to put it as mildy as possible, Heck.

Suddenly, the plane leveled off. The instruments read six hundered feet.

"What did you do?" yelled Armistice, still running on adrenaline.

"Disconnected the yokes from the control arms."

"That was a dirty trick! I almost made it," said the peeved voice of the Autopilot.

"Don't we need those to fly the plane?"

"We needed the plane more than the controls at that moment."

"True enough."

"Is it over?" asked Vivaldi?

"It will never be over. The world is filled with nothing but despair," said the Autopilot.

Patrick reached down and pulled a wire from the intruments. The light over the Autopilot went out. "Now, let's see if I can get the controls hooked back up," he said.