Purple lightning rips through the heaving orange clouds of the storm. Tiny arcs of static play along the trundling legs of the crawlers, slowly advancing before the Dakar.
Stig, his visibility at nil, settles into his seat for a well needed nap.
Lucius remains in a trance, analyzing his files.
Curtis gets on the vox, “Are any of these crawlers armed with self defense weaponry?” She asks.
The reply comes through in a hiss of static. “No ma’am. They are designed soley for ore hauling in difficult terrain. Their armor is thick and they are damn near unstoppable though.” Horatio’s voice comes back to her.
Time passes slowly, filled with the ever present howl of the winds, the rumbling drone of the engines, and the metronome like thumps of the crawlers legs.
Curtis guides the Dakar over the toxic dunes and ever onward.
Everyone has settled into quiet contemplation, when the vox crackles and chirps, snapping them out of their introspection.
Horatio’s voice comes from the speaker grill. “We are approaching the Outpost. Another 5 kilometers and it will be in sensor range. We are still 7 kilometers out. I do not believe we will have visual contact until we are at less than 200 meters with this storm. How would you like to proceed?”