As their angular craft raced through empty space, Sirix summoned the Friendly compy to the foredeck.

The craft raced along without that horrible pitching and tossing that had threatened at any moment to capsize it.

When he was sure all of his people were safely inside the bird, he stepped in, and the craft jolted into the air and raced toward the coast.

Then a stark white-colored craft raced past at thirty feet above the tarmac.

The small craft, measuring hardly more than 15 meters in length, was racing vertically up into space, where more than 1,000 ships were waiting for just such an escape attempt.

The craft roared out to sea, rose quickly onto its foils, and raced away.

No one spoke as the craft raced away.

As their shields failed, the imperial craft raced out of the conflict to avoid being totally destroyed by enemy fire.

Mecha and heavy craft raced after, trying desperately to shoot it to bits.

On either side of them several more similar craft raced along, carefully keeping pace with them.