"Well," Maxim muttered, checking his magazine. "This isn't Siberia."
He rolled onto his back and looked up. The sky wasn't blue; it was a bruised gold, torn by three moons. Above him, a creature that looked like a cross between a pterodactyl and a stained-glass window soared toward a distant, floating citadel. oleg bubela skachat v fb2
"Status report," he wheezed, habit overriding shock. But there was no radio chatter, only the rhythmic beating of heavy wings above. "Well," Maxim muttered, checking his magazine