““Well … it ain’t a thing of beauty,” he said, “but it oughtta get the job done.” Standing beside him, Dex thought that the rover’s top looked like a Christmas present wrapped by clumsy children. Bedsheets, plastic wrapping, a tarpaulin, even several sets of spare coveralls—sliced apart to cover more area—were spread over the solar panels and taped down heavily. “Do you think they’ll stay put once the wind starts up?” he asked. Craig was silent for a moment, then said, “Oughtta. Wind... must be purty near seventy knots already and they’re not flappin’.” Dex could hear the wind keening outside his helmet, softly but steadily, becoming insistent. He thought he also heard something grating across his suit’s outer skin, like fine grains of sand peppering him. He almost could feel the dust scratching against him. It was fully dark now. Dex felt tired, physically weary, yet his insides were jumpy, jittery.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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