“No!” Tony hollered. He was on the floor, knocked off his feet by the sudden acceleration of the car. Was it in free fall? In the low Enceladan gravity, its drop would be gradual. But the cab careened downward in some sort of powered descent. He steadied himself against the wall, finally standing by the keypad. What to do? The elevator was descending at breakneck speed, and he could feel the pressure increasing. He sealed his helmet, activated his suit, and frantically studied the panel. The top readout now had a new display. It read, “Vertical distance to requested destination: 21.8 km.” The ice crust here was just a couple of kilometers thick. That meant the cab was headed toward a 20-kilometer-deep stretch of ocean. The distance was counting down. So many buttons and labels. His eye finally settled on one: ABORT.