There was a bang outside. A loud pop. The truck canted and a squeal arose from beneath them. Everyone except Cinqueda went tumbling. Machinery, tools, power cells, and computers slid from their precarious perches in showers of sparks and splintering crashes. The truck’s red interior lights failed. The front of the truck hit something. The rear slued around, trying to bypass the nose, but it too slammed into something. The engine coughed and died. Save for a chorus of fading malfunction alerts, the truck was silent.