Chapter Three
CARL LINGIARI WISHED for a storm. A super cell or a tornado, like the ones that swept the western New South Wales plains of his boyhood. Storms he’d grown up learning to dodge while crop dusting the family farm. Oh sure, he’d encountered a few. At the last planet but one—he never could remember those strings of Kepler numbers—the place he’d mentally dubbed Arse End of Hell, there’d been a beauty of a buster to dodge. He grinned as he remembered the RA team’s cheer when they made it back to the ship. Though the passenger cabin still smelled faintly of vomit, that had been the kind of ride that made piloting worthwhile.
Not this ferry tripping. He took his feet down from his console and scanned the instrument panel. Descent was going smoothly. All readings were normal. They w
