I am so mad at that lousy Book, Bonnie told herself, though she hardly needed to. She already knew.
She was now flying in an arc over the District: over the weirdly glowing, empty lots where laboratories used to be, and where industrious crews of henchmen and Lugs were now rebuilding them; over the still-productive labs that belched an occasional foul-smelling cloud in her direction, which, from their perspective, was 'up'; and over countless blocks of disasters-in-progress, she knew. The rooftops concealed the exact nature of those disasters - well, except for that one over there, anyway - but Bonnie had a good idea how many inadvisable experiments were going on underneath her. Lots.
She turned her attention back to her own problem. Unarmed and undirected, she was flying along a trajectory that had begun to lead her back toward the ground. She could see that she wasn't going to make it out of the District: she was probably going to come to a sudden stop on that... roof... there.
Well, what did she have to work with?
There was a hovercar above the roof, she saw: just one person on it. Bonnie Scarlet was an authority on taking other peoples' vessels, of course; had she chosen an academic career she'd have been a shoe-in for the O'Malley Chair of Unexpected Ship Ownership Through Stealth, if such a thing existed. But in this case she had to figure out how to land on the ship before she could start redistributing its wealth.
It was a difficult problem. Bonnie's course had been set several blocks and several moments behind her, and she herself had no means of propulsion. But that wasn't so different from her experiences in space. It always came down to ballistic
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