The legs compiled quickly, the complicated feet took a little longer. When 
it was finished, Hackworth released the vacuum and opened the door. "Fold," 
he said. The chevaline's legs buckled, and it lay down on the floor of the M.C. 
Its space frame contracted as much as it could, and its neck shortened. 
Hackworth bent down, laced his fingers through the space frame, and lifted the 
chevaline with one hand. He carried it through the lobby of the post office, 
past bemused customers, and out the door onto the street.