It was the ork on his turbine-driven Aurora. With the Harley hogs revving their engines, I could never have heard his approach, which, of course, was exactly what the ork had counted on. He was grinning nastily, one hand on his bike's throttle, the other cocked back as though ready to throw a baseball. But that wasn't a baseball in his hand. It was a ball of twisting, glowing energy, some kind of spell, and he was all ready to hurl it at us. I spun as fast as I could, bringing my big Man-hunter around to bear. My time sense was still in turbo mode, so I had plenty of time to see the ork's filthy grin get even wider. We both knew I wasn't going to make it. His muscles tensed as he prepared to throw the spell.