Duck. I know she's beautiful. She's a riot a seven-section callout a thionite dream. So what? She is also Dessa Desplaines formerly of Aldebaran IL Does that mean anything to.

Movement. Movement was the cure for fear. Re got on his knees felt for the overturned Canada Dry can and batted it away. It went clinkrolling across the tiled floor. He got another can out of the fridge; his mouth was still dry. He pulled the tab and dropped it down into the can and then drank. The ringtab tried to escape into his mouth and he spat it back absently not pausing to reflect that only a little while ago.
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And I hit the dirt. Well I didn't hit it; I allowed myself to collapse. I was on the way down when Bellamy looked at me and in the next instant the Drunkard's Walk spun end for end shrieking. The nose gouged a narrow furrow in the soil but the landing legs came down hard dug deep and held. Bellamy sailed high over my head and I lost him in the sky. The ship poised braced against her landing legs taking spin from her dying flywheels. Then she jumped. The landing legs acted like springs hurling her somersaulting into the air. She landed and jumped again screaming tumbling like a wounded jackrabbit trying to flee the hunter. I wanted to cry. I'd done it; I was guilty; no ship should be killed like this. Somewhere in her belly the gyroscope flywheels were coming to rest in a tangle of torn metal. The ship landed and rolled. Bouncing. Rolling. I watched as she receded and finally the Drunkard's Walk came to rest dead far.
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