He greedily gulped down air, his lungs burning. The washcloth in his hands was now bone dry, as was most of the rest of him. His skin felt singed and sensitive to the touch as he pulled his hood down. He waited, not feeling the ship shake again. Whatever was attacking them must have backed off when it became obvious the ship was descending. The pressure release switched off the cold water flow and expelled the steam out of various ports at the back of the ship. It’d look like the ship was extruding a cloud as it fell, the mental image reminding Handy of another thing he had to take care of.