Joyce glanced back at the altimeter for probably the hundredth time. “Are you sure about this? There’s, like, miles of solid ground, but we have to use this… floating… thing?”
“You saw the engraving. It was quite clear on that point.” Nick checked a dial. “Barbican waves are as low as they’re likely to get for the next twelve hours; let’s do this.” He reached for a reddish-orange lever, and the landing booster roared to life.