HUNTED
Seldon panted, facing a tree, holding it closely.
He saw the flying object again. It was not a hypership, nor even an ordinary air jet: It was a jet-down. He could see the faint glow of the ion trails coming out at the vertices of a hexagon, neutralizing the gravitational pull and allowing the wings to keep it aloft like a large soaring bird. It was a vehicle that could hoverr and explore a planetary terrain.
The jet-down was closer now, nosing about like a blind beast sniffing out its prey. Would it occur to them to search this group of trees? Would they land and send out an armed soldier or two to beat through the copse?
And if so, what could he do? He was unarmed and all his quick-twist agility would be useless against the agonizing pain of a neuronic whip.
It was not attempting to land. Either they missed the significance of the trees Or-