Thad had managed the hour-and-a-half drive south all right, his Toyota leading the small caravan of mostly expensive foreign cars from the JSC outer parking lot to the Texas coast without losing a single co-op along the way. But once they had all jammed their way onto the single-deck ferry for the short trip to their Galveston Bay isthmus destination—the cars packed so closely together there was barely room for the doors to open the necessary few inches to allow the more adventurous among the group to slither out during the short ride over to the campsite—Thad realized he ought to have chosen more appropriate footwear. EMU space boots with magnetic grips would have fit the bill—although he would have settled for his dusty Timberlands.He stumbled forward as the ferry pitched hard over an errant wave, and barely caught himself before tumbling halfway over the hood of a black BMW sedan. There was maybe a foot and a half between the BMW on his right and a Range Rover to his left, and he was forced to stutter-step as he moved between the cars.
