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John Crichton grabbed the console with both hands.  “Brace for impact!” he yelled.  “Collision in
three microts!”

The forward view portal was filled with the image of a massive asteroid headed straight for Moya’s
nose.  At the last moment, the leviathan dove beneath it.  Every chamber and passageway
reverberated with the sound of the impact, followed by a screeching, deafening cacophony as the
asteroid scraped its way along Moya’s hull from bow to stern.  

“Pilot!” D’Argo bellowed.  “Is there no way to get her to stop that?”

“No,” Pilot replied.  “As I have explained before, Moya says her back itches.”

* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *