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. Xris managed to turn his head, which was plastered against the back of the chair, looked up into the living quarters. Rowan, white to the lips, was staring with wide eyes at the viewscreen, at certain death. Quong, seated beside her, had shut his eyes, his lips moving either in prayer, a mantra, cursing Harry, or maybe all three.
The computer announced imminent collision.
Xris decided that shutting his eyes was a wonderful idea. He heard a crunching sound, wondered vaguely what it was, paid it no attention. He would discover, later, that he had gripped the chair arm so hard, his cybernetic hand had crushed the metal.
Through a dry throat, with a dry tongue, he managed to croak, "Harry, stop---"
Harry had been, in actuality, slowing their rate of descent, a fact that wasn't immediately obvious--they had drawn so close to the platform that the proximity made it appear as if they were going faster. At the instant when it seemed to Xris that he could count the number of rivets in the deck plates, Harry brought the spaceplane out of the dive.
They were flying among the docking arms, weaving in and out, dodging through a forest of girders and cranes and metal scaffolding. The Schiavona flipped and rolled and sailed up and slid down and went around and over and slipped in between such tight cracks that Xris was certain he could have gone back and found that they'd left paint streaks from their hull on the platform's steel beams
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