Bukal halted.
Craig flicked the weapon's muzzle to the nearest of the Baemae. "You! Spin me a disc!"
Seconds stretched to eternity. Then the man's eyes fell. Wordless, he shuffled through the echoing silence, tilted up a disc, and whipped it round.
The magnetic currents caught it; held it, hovering.
Craig vaulted aboard it. "Death's waiting for the man that follows...."
He threw his weight to one side, then back again. Rocking, the saucer swirled upward.
Again he tilted; sent it careening around the far end of the line of trees.
Behind him, Bukal shouted an order. There was a rush of feet, a flurry of movement.
Craig leaned far out, so that the disc almost doubled on its course, sliding back on the other side of the masking sefopp trees. Then, dropping it swiftly back to the ground, he leaped off and dragged it into the shadows.
Saucers sped past the end of the grove, riders and discs alike silhouetted dimly against the blue-black sky. Craig crept deeper into the undergrowth, flat on his belly.