"Even if it takes longer, so be it!" Fatty declared decisively, "We've got to save our skins first and foremost!"
"Flying in the obstacle zone for a few years?" Chekov drooped his eyelids.
"A few years?!" Fatty was startled.
Chekov downed a glass of liquor and said, "What did you think? If it were just a matter of days or weeks, why would I be worried?"
"Damn it." Fatty gulped down his drink, the alcohol burning his throat and turning his face as red as a monkey's butt. He cursed, "By the time we get out of here, the cows would already have come home. Can we communicate with HQ and get them to send a fleet to pick us up?"
"In a star domain like this, there's no space communication relay." Chekov drank like it was water and said while drinking, "Even if there was, we need to maintain communication silence. If we make any interstellar communication, we'll reveal our position. They're still chasing us from behind."
