"Wait a moment," Polphir cut him off, leaning forward and pointing toward their attacker. "It sputtered just then—there. Did you see it?"

"Yes," Draycos said, frowning. The yellow source-glow was indeed flickering; and now so was the violet Death beam itself. Had the near-misses by the Havenseeker's missiles done some damage after all?

And then, with one final flicker, both the yellow and violet lights went out.

"They've shut it off," Draycos breathed, blinking in bewilderment. Was this some kind of cruel trick? One last gasp of false hope for the few survivors here at the Havenseeker's bow before their unknown enemy turned the Death on them again?

But the weapon remained off. Draycos watched, afraid to believe it, as the fighter began to pull up and away. "What are they playing at?" he wondered aloud. "Do they think they got all of us?"

"I would say they're just saving themselves a little trouble," Polphir said grimly. "Take a look. That last maneuver put us into the atmosphere."

Draycos hissed around his tongue. Polphir was right; the thin white condensation trails were smoking off the tips of the antennas rising from the hull.

Commander Chayd seemed to have become aware of their danger at the same time. "Full lateral power," he ordered sharply.

"Not responding," the pilot called back. "Control lines are out."

"Drosh, Mintuk—get to the engine room," Chayd snapped. "You'll need to operate the drive manually."

"Do you want us to go, too?" Polphir called, starting to unstrap.

"No, you two stay there," Chayd said. "Landing sensors are also out. We'll need you to guide us in visually."

Polphir glanced over his shoulder, his eyes briefly meeting Draycos's. Draycos could guess his thought: that such a feat would be nearly impossible to carry out.