A phantasmagoria of uprushing crags. Black and gray. Spires tinged with Earth-light.
"Gregg, dear one—good-by."
Her gentle arms around me. The end of everything for us. I recall murmuring, "Not falling free, Anita. Some hull-plates are set."
My dials showed another plate shifting, checking us a little further. Good old Snap.
I calculated the next best plate to shift. I tried it. Slid it over. Good old Snap....
Then everything faded but the feeling of Anita's arms around me.
"Gregg, dear one—"
The end of everything for us....
There was an up-rush of gray-black rock.
An impact....