The slam boss nodded curtly. “You remember that last drop-off? The big man with the goggles? Keep moving. Stay together.” Reaching up, he scratched his nose and lengthened his own stride, inspired — or maybe troubled — by his own words. “Damn supplementation units didn’t provide nearly enough oxygen to complement an atmosphere that was largely nitrogen and argon,” he muttered under his breath. He nudged the guide lever on his own unit to maximum flow.
-The Chronicles of Riddick (page 238)

	The prisoner behind him was nodding vigorously. “Traditional twenty-mile buffer zone. That’s thirty klicks to the hangar. Then you got to find a way in — if you still got water in you.”
	“What is it?” Another man was saying over and over. “What’s he thinking?”
	As he started outside, the first convict was shaking his head: slowly and with conviction. “Thirty klicks. Over that terrain. Even if it was dead flat and covered in grass —“
-The Chronicles of Riddick (page 240)

	She wasn’t sure if the adrenaline flowing through them after their triumph over the guard allowed them to catch up, or if he had subtlety slowed his pace. If the latter, he wouldn’t have admitted to it. Irregardless, the escapees, now five, caught up to him atop an east-facing ridge. Between the ash and the creeping dawn that still thankfully lay behind them, the ambient temperature was well up above a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Everyone was grateful for the fact that the ashfall had nearly ceased.
-The Chronicles of Riddick (page 258)