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It looks like a multicolored jewel, growing lumpier and gaudier with every moment. Fascinated by the sight, you forget to buckle yourself into your seat, and you're thrown against the wall as the ship plummets into the atmosphere.

Samantha screams like an air-raid siren as your ship rips through branches and creepers and a nest of large and extremely startled birds. The ship's nose dips sharply into a long gorge and you're sent speeding through a dried-up riverbed until at last the wild ride comes to an end and the only sound is the wheezing and popping of your ship cooling down.

Even Samantha is silent, presumably because she's fainted—from fear, concussion, or simple lack of oxygen after sustaining a scream for fifteen minutes without pause. What a gal.

Jim pokes his grizzled head through the door. "You all right, Captain?" he says, and hurries into the cockpit without waiting for a response. He busies himself restoring the console so the lights flash once more, using the third arm sticking out of his stomach with consummate skill. The console lights are more reassuring than any words. Especially if those words are from Jim. His skin has already switched to the ominous greeny-gray that signals a monologue is looming.