Hangman shoved the repellers to full power, and our aircar shot straight up. The red coupes rose after us, engines roaring. I counted seven of them. Their windows were screened, but somehow I knew they had dogs at their controls.
“Ground level,” I told Hangman. “Get between buildings. We can lose them there.”
Grunting, he accelerated, sliding us down toward the street. But fast as my aircar was, the coupes were faster still; they pulled alongside. When I craned my neck to see, I found another coming down on top of us. Radar warnings began to flash on the control panel, and the computer began automatic crash precautions. When it tried to take over steering, Hangman shut it down.
“Lower!” I cried.
“That’s what they want,” Hangman said.
The coupe to our left slid closer, so close I could
