Orlova had one eye on the landscape ahead, and another on the autonav as she homed in on the coordinates of the meeting point. “Where are we going?” Durman asked. “We’ll know when we get there.” “Wonderful,” he replied. “Doesn’t a condemned man get a last request?” She turned to him, sharply, saying, “You aren’t dead yet, Durman, but don’t tempt me.” “It’s just that I’ve never been this far out. Usually we only go for twenty, thirty miles. Just far enough that the tourists can get a chance to see what a real wilderness looks like, then we can head back and get a drink at our so-called bar.” “So?” “So we’ve only got enough juice on board to last us a hundred, hundred and twenty miles.” Throwing the throttle to full with scant regard for fuel consumption, Orlova sent the car lurching around a cluster of rocks, onto a level patch of ground that led into a valley. Durman grew pale, shaking his head. “We don’t want to go down there.”
What do You think about Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor?
