“…all went bad, but the retinal flare burns came with the landing, Major!”

“I’m not blaming you for our present situation, Tapp. I’m just wishing for another set of – would you put your hands back on the burn pad? I’ll manage!”

“Right, sir! Sorry, sir! It’s only that I want to apprise you of our coordinates, because I think you’ll find us more than slightly off-course…”

Major Arnet shielded her eyes, surveying the terrain. A lot of sand. One bush of dubious value. One unidentifiable dead man (value also questionable). One way out of this mess.

“…and given their severity, and the arid heat we’re experiencing, I can only conclude that we’ve touched down in-”

“A desert.” Even burned and blinded, Tapp read bemusement in her voice as Berne continued, “What do you know about primitive transportation, Allie?”

“Oh, plenty! What are you looking at? A three on the tree? Four on the floor?”

Berne frowned at the thing in front of her. It batted long eyelashes and curled its lip. “I think it’s a manual.”