by Michael Kingswood
Published by SSN Storytelling at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 by Michael Kingswood (http://michaelkingswood.com/)
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Wind rushed past, ruffling his hair and roaring in his ears, as Piter banked right. The instruments on the control console showed what he already knew: altitude was decreasing rapidly, and there were no landing strip beacons within reception range. Not that he expected there to be any. As far as he knew, this particular world had never been colonized. He, and the huddled passengers behind him in the cargo compartment, was damned lucky the place even had a breathable atmosphere, so he wasn't about to complain. Except about the fact that the cussed cloud cover refused to break. Two thousand meters to the ground, and still there was nothing to see but pea soup in front of him, or to either side.