"Wonder where those patrol ships are. They should be in plain sight by this time, diving down the eastern slope." He narrowed his eyes, searching the empty western sky. * * * * * Pete looked around the courtyard. Broken tiles littered the ground. Here and there, lay bricks and bits of mortar. Some freak of backblast had torn a shutter off the house and it lay brokenly a few feet from him. He looked back toward the house. One corner of the roof had been shattered and he could see broken roof beams. A cornice from the wall had crashed into the house front and bits of it lay strewn through a gaping hole in the living room wall. Stucco littered the narrow border of shrubbery around the house, whitening the green of the leaves. And a twisted bit of metal caught his attention. Obviously, it was part of a flier. He shook his head and looked at the sky over the western mountains. "Quite a blast," he said. "Look, Don, are you sure anything's coming to back us up? A couple more of these and we'll be standing in an open field." Michaels reached up to stroke his face. "Right now, I'm not too sure about anything," he admitted. "Except that next time they try to comb us over, they'll take a few less chances." He frowned. "Mr. Masterson was pretty certain about things, but----" He spun around and walked toward the flier port. "You know, I think we'd better play it safe," he went on. "Right now, we've got clear air. That explosion put everything around here on the ground, but hard. But that won't last. Stern's people will be flocking around here in a few minutes to see what went on. We better not be around when they arrive. Go get your father." He pulled the flier door open. "I'll have this thing warmed and ready to flit by the time you get back up here. Make it fast, will you?" Pete had already dived down an escape slot. As Don started through his pre-flight routine, he reappeared. Jasu Waern followed him. "What happened?" The older man looked around the littered courtyard, then at the flier which Don had pushed out of its cover. His eyes widened. "But I thought they would use an inductor." "They tried," Don told him. "Come on. Get in." He looked anxiously at his instrument panel. "Little risky," he muttered, "taking off so fast. Synchs and generators haven't had time to stabilize. But it beats letting them get in range for some more target practice." He eased a lever toward him and watched the pointers on a dial as the flier lifted. The red needle started to oscillate and he reached quickly to adjust a knob. The oscillation stopped. He looked overside. "Hm-m-m," he said, "so far, so good. Well, let's have at it." He reached out and pulled a handle toward him, watching the needles. They remained steady and he nodded and pulled another control toward him, then gripped the control wheel. The flier leaped into the air and surged toward the mountains.