Over by the disc-shed, men were working—stacking the saucers one upon the other till they formed neat cylinders, each half-a-dozen discs high.
Laughing, bronzed Bukal gestured to them. "You see, Craig? These are our weapons! Why should we kill, when we can hurt the cursed barons worse by sending their serfs through the skies to freedom?"
Craig nodded.
Another man came up. "We're ready, Bukal."
"Good!" The Baemae leader strode to the shed and caught up a disc. "Here, Craig. Lend a hand!"
Following his lead, Craig dragged a single saucer out into the open and spun it till it hovered on the wave-force.
"Now lash it fast atop a unit."
Moving the saucer to the nearest pile, Craig tied it down. A tilt—a shove—and all seven saucers took the air.
A man scrambled aboard each cylinder as it rose.