"No problem, Cutter," says Myitt, smiling. "Good luck." She watches him leave and then seals the hatch again, the black living metal of the hull melting closed against the bitter cold.
"Everyone buckled in? Yeah? Good, because we're getting off this rock," Myitt says, piloting the ship up off the roof. There's a faint whir as the leglike landing gears retract into the bottom of the ship, and then the main engines glow red.
Myitt hails the Vagabond. "Gaz, we're leaving, but if you need to contact any of us you have my secure link signal," she says. "Maybe our paths will cross again, huh? If nowhere else, there's always that blasted bar." She giggles to herself and maneuvers the ship higher through the atmosphere, leaving North America far behind.