Everyone quickly obeyed, diving to their stomachs. All Robert could see was the ice below his face. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Just stay down!" Connelly had an edge to her voice that told Robert there was a damn good reason for her insistence. Still, he had to see for himself. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn't. The Surveyor was crashing down towards them, its bottom covered in giant balloons, its thrusters spewing jets of blue flame towards the ice. Invulnerable space suit or not, they were about to be smeared on the ice.

CHAPTER 33 -- THE RETURN

Connelly looked to the left.

Willard and Choi were there, lying face down on the ice. Choi had one leg extended and bent, while her arms were spread in a sharp "Y". Willard's body was held tightly together, flat as can be, hands over head.

She looked to her right.

Peterson lay next to her, unconscious again, his body limp. Robert was just beyond Peterson, face down, arms clenched beneath his chest.

Connelly cursed herself for being dim witted. Out of the five of them, she was the only one to lay down face up. She had no way of knowing whether death would come in a quick crushing blow or whether it would be a slow drawn out suffocation under the weight of the Surveyor. But she knew one thing—

She'd see it coming.

And what she saw made her cringe. Even her Europhid altered emotional state was no match for the sheer terror of being crushed by a skyscraper sized starship.

As Surveyor closed in, Connelly could see that the thrusters were having an effect. The nose was turning up, but nowhere near fast enough to pull up from the surface and avoid a collision.

A shadow fell over Connelly as the Surveyor blocked out the reflected sunlight. It was almost on top of them. Connelly closed her eyes and waited for death. After five seconds, Connelly realized she was still alive. At the speed Surveyor was traveling and how close it appeared, she should have been crushed to paste by now. Connelly opened her eyes and gasped.

Two inches from her face, a blur of gargantuan balloons raced past. She felt like she was standing at the edge of a hover train track leaning out, tempting death. Only this experience was different in every way. She could see the flash of movement, but there was no physical sensation to accompany the image. No rush of wind. No roar of engines or whine of brakes. The vacuum of space made the ghastly crashing ship appear to be nothing more than an apparition. But Connelly knew better. With every passing second the Surveyor was descending. In moments one of the balloons would snag her helmet and snap her neck or catch her boot and fold her in half.