By Evan Dicken
Heavy green clouds clutched at the skip-lander as it tore through the atmosphere of Pashtun. Lina Prasad clung to her crash harness, teeth bared, wincing at each jolt and shudder.
“Have a care. Your lack of faith may offend our pilot.” Captain Tuvad ran a tentacle through Lina’s hair to mark the statement as humor. She shot him a warning glare, and the arm retreated into the mass of waving cilia that covered the Captain’s body.