Thinking about it logically, Falcon was glad they’d decided to stop. His first encounter with one of the huge multi-trailer "road trains" had fragging near scared the wits out of him. He'd been blasting along at the Callaway’s comfortable cruising speed of about two hundred klicks per hour, the road ahead looking totally empty. Of course, that had been judging by the lack of headlights from oncoming vehicles. (At two hundred klicks per hour, he was overdriving the car’s own headlights; if there’d been anything on the road that didn’t have its own lights, he’d probably have hit it before his brain even registered seeing it.) For an instant, Falcon thought he’d seen a constellation of tiny lights up ahead, but dismissed it as no more than a mild hallucination. Then a great, roaring mass of metal loomed up in the oncoming lane. It blasted by before he could even react, leaving the Callaway bucking wildly in the thing’s slipstream. With a chuckle he remembered how that had awakened Sly from her slumber mighty pronto. (The thing was gone, just a couple of small red lights in the rearview mirror before she’d even finished her first yell.)