[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER FOUR

Abe saw the other motorcycles approaching down across the plains from behind them, and immediately whipped his head back around to the trail ahead. “Increase speed! We’re being followed!”

Oner immediately gunned his engine and roared his bike forward on the back wheel, but Cloud and Crak both glanced briefly behind them before pressing forward on the speed bars. Abe pushed the bars as far as they would go, and had to struggle to keep his skinny arms on the handlebars as his bike bounced and thudded across the rough wasteland.

He spared another look behind him. Whoever it was, they had quicker bikes; they had already gained a lot of ground on the party of Keuja-stoppers. Abe frowned and kicked at his bike, wishing he could urge more speed out of it.

“C’mon, stinkin’ bike,” he growled. “Faster.”

“Abe, we’re pushing all we can out of them!” Oner replied, as if sensing his thoughts. “We’ll have to bring it to a battle!”

“Not if we can help it!” Abe shook his head. “We’re not built for fighting on bikes!”

Something loud burst behind him, and suddenly the ground ahead was being pockmarked with bullets. Apparently their pursuers had machine guns built into their motorcycles, a very useful feature when chasing after slower bikes.

“Dodge an’ weave, fellas!” Oner shouted. Abe was pleased to note that Oner had actually removed the iPodd from his helmet.

He immediately jerked sideways on his handlebars, steering his bike into a steep skidding turn to the right. Sand and rock sprayed out from under his wheels as he corrected his slide; ahead, Oner was weaving back and forth as if he had been born on a motorcycle. SKRUT were, if nothing else, trained well to do their special operations.

Abe hoped Cloud and Crak could handle themselves well on a bike, because at 55 mph across the open wasteland, it would be a very bad thing to do to crash one’s bike, particularly when being chased by enemies with machine guns on their bikes.

Abe turned his bike back to the left, hearing the bullets whizzing through the air all around him. Some of the bullets struck the hard metal of his tires, and bounded off again. Several of them struck in sequence, and suddenly Abe was sliding across the sand in a harsh diagonal line, leaning quickly toward the ground.

“Wha—!” There was no time to gasp or even to curse. His head was only inches from the ground, and he tried to pull himself back up into the seat, with little avail. His bike spun and skidded, throwing gravel widespread.

Bullets sprayed the ground inches from his leaning face. He yanked on his handlebars in the opposite direction from his fall, and nearly overcorrected and threw his bike over the other way, managing to regain his position in his seat as he did.

"I hate this job," he growled, and threw the speed bar all the way.

Then one of the enemy motorcycles showed itself, as it pulled up alongside him. The bike was painted matte black, with an extended front area and short tail, a machine gun mounted on the hood. Sitting in the seat was –

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