Chapter Twelve
“Approaching destination,” the car said.
“Windows,” Avara said, and portions of the blank grey walls suddenly turned transparent. Looking out, Art saw they were racing toward a gate in a tall wire-mesh fence surrounding the spaceport. It swung aside at the last possible instant. Low, windowless buildings bristling with antennae swept by, giving way to the vast landing field. The car decelerated sharply and stopped beside a sleek, black delta-winged ship, minuscule compared to the one that had brought him to Peregrine. The air around it trembled to a low rumble. “Wow,” Lorn said, staring out at it. “We’re going on that?”
“We are,” Avara said. “Unless someone has figured out what I’m up to and puts a stop to it.”
Art didn’t like the sound of that.
The car doors slid open.
