Rynason stared at the dead screen for only a moment; he wheeled and ran back to the outer room.
“Let’s get those flyers up! Mara’s found them, but they’ve brought her down.” He was already going out the door as he spoke.
Manning and the others were right behind him as he dashed out onto the field. Rynason headed for the nearest flyer, a small runabout which had been discarded as obsolete on the inner worlds and consigned to use out here on the Edge, where equipment was scarce. He leaped through the port and was shutting the door when Manning caught it.
“Where are they? What’s happened to the woman?”
“They were shooting something!” Rynason snapped. The knife-scar over his right eye stood out sharply in his anger. “She crashed—may be badly hurt. She didn’t have too much altitude, though. The hell with where she is—follow me!”
He slammed the door and squeezed into the flying seat. While he warmed the engines he saw the others scattering across the field to the other flyers. In a moment the hum of the radioset told him that their communications were open. He saw the props of the other flyers starting to turn, and flicked on his mike.
“They’re on the other side of the south range,” he said quickly. “She didn’t give me coördinates, but I should be able to find the spot. When we get there, we land away from the city and go in on foot.”
Manning’s voice came coldly through the radioset: “Are you giving orders now, Lee?”
“Right now I am, yes! If you want to try going in before reconnoitering, that’s your funeral. They have weapons.”
“When we touch ground again I’ll take over,” Manning said. “Now let’s get going—Lee, you’re first.”