Luckily, it was difficult for the other man to aim. The aircars were flying at close to three hundred miles an hour.
He snapped off the switch of the autopilot and sent the little aircar into a high, screaming climb. Another beam flashed by.
Kendall spun the ship into a back loop and barrel-rolled, bringing him in on the tail of the other aircar. But the other driver was cagey; he went into a hard right turn and tried to come up under Stone's vehicle.
Stone could see that the other aircraft definitely was not a police craft. An official car would have externally-mounted, automatically-controlled guns that would have shot Stone out of the skies with the first blast. No; this was a highly unofficial, extra-legal affair.
Another beam sizzled by so close that it gouged a spot out of the side of the ship. Stone reached down, groping for the gun he'd taken from Miller. It had been lying on the seat beside him, but it was gone now. Stone cursed. It must have slid to the floor when he spun the ship around.
"Never mind, Stone," Miller said coldly. "I got the gun now."
Kendall said nothing. He didn't even have time to curse. He was too busy trying to avoid the white-hot blasts from the other aircar. He sent the ship into a power dive and shoved in on the throttle. He didn't know if the little car would take what he was going to give it, but it was his only chance. If he survived—well, that was fine. If he didn't, the last hope of the little colony was dead.