I moved carefully, keeping my good hand against the wall as I stepped out into the corridor that would lead me back to the central air well. Every instinct I had told me to get out, to find an escape pod and abandon the wrecked ship. Whoever had done this to us might return to finish what they’d started. The fusion plant might be compromised. I had a thousand reasons to cut and run, and yet I felt guilty about leaving Adam, the same way I’d have felt guilty about leaving a pet. He was young, he’d never been in combat, never had to deal with physical trauma. I imagined him lying crumpled against a wall, his legs crushed by falling furniture. I pictured him comatose and haemorrhaging in the shower, having smacked his beautiful head against the tiled wall. It never occurred to me that he might already be dead. All I knew in that moment was that I felt a duty to get back to my room and check on him.

I emerged onto the edge of the central shaft and looked upwards, through fifty metres of air. Trees hung askew. Dark smoke streamed from several of the balconies. Birds flapped around in agitation. Half a dozen bodies lay dead on the shaft’s grassy floor, having been thrown from the higher decks by the force of the impact. Looking at them, I found myself trying to guess how far each had fallen.

Predictably, the travel tubes weren’t working. If I wanted to climb up the six levels to my cabin the stairs were my only option, but the door to the stairwell was warped and jammed. By the time I succeeded in forcing a gap wide enough to climb through, my knuckles were raw and bleeding.