Meanwhile, Cole's behatted head has just hit the window, clunk, metal on glass. "Ouch." It didn't really hurt, but that's what you say. He palms the glass belatedly, stays leaned where he is until the ride jostles him elsewhere. If only he knew about seatbelts.

Death across the dunes, and they're racing with a fleet of fanatics, a swarm of bandits like bees defending their queen. They come loud and fast—fast enough to forget the pain when he swallows. Red desert all around. The sky so big and so blue. Dust and smoke and snarling laughter, voices raised above the noise, the sun blazing on silver teeth...

"So shiny— aah—" A sudden bump in the terrain bounces him airborne—only a little, only momentarily—and when he lands it's with a startled sound that trembles into his voice, hinting at laughter. "Oh no... do that again!"