“HANG on! Tighten your seat and shoulder belts. This storm is intensifying,” the human transplant guard piloting the prowler vehicle exclaimed to his partner in the passenger seat.
A storm had suddenly developed from a blue sky with no clouds, which was unusual for on Zarklin. Most of the time, storms developed slowly and were very severe after slow development.
“You, human, better hold on. It’s going to be rough going to get to the cliff. Lucky for us, it is near a cave, where we can seek refuge until this storm blows over,” the human transplant guard piloting the vehicle said to me in a loud, hoarse voice. Looking at his partner, he smirked.
“Please, we need to get to that cave in a hurry. Bobby is dying! I don’t want him to die in this damn vehicle, in this storm,” I pleaded with the
