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Banjo stood up as he detected a car coming in the distance. The sun was setting, but Noodles had radioed him to tell them they were not far away so Banjo would not get alarmed at the approaching car. Banjo had maintained the balloon as best as he could. Upon arrival, the bots were immediately busy, preparing for flight. They said good-bye to Don Pablo and he waited for them to leave. The roar of gas burners pierced the quiet evening sky. Luckily there was little wind and the big bag began to lift with the hot air in its belly. The cradle was upright and the bag flopped a little as it struggled to fill out, straining at the moorings.
“Ok, everybody,” said Noodles, “get in the cradle as we are about to blast off.”
They all did so and Noodles turned the burners to full-on. With an another jet-like roar of burning gas, the bag, now tight as a drum, began to lift and after one or two bumps of the cradle on the ground they were free and airborne. Noodles wasted no time in taking her up as quickly as possible, to about two thousand metres, then eased off the power to let her cruise with the breeze.
After all that excitement, the night was uneventful, the bots resting and gazing at the night sky, keeping an alert for shooting stars or bits of space junk that made the journey more interesting. Noodles kept an eye on his GPS and scanned weather forecasts on his mobile lap-top. He was now getting into his stride, sailing his balloon with expertise and great pride. He raised and lowered it, to catch the best breeze heading in the right direction, and noted with satisfaction what a good speed they were making.