He spies the ship veering away and detaches the umbilical to avoid being dragged out into the Brink. Shit. The venting loses steam and Aaron climbs into the belly of the Ragtime.

Everything looked so splendid just a few minutes before. He had planned to buy drinks for everyone at his local on Lagos.

There is a saying about counting chickens.

Aaron has always hated it.

The Ragtime is silly with alarms and leaking fluid and… are those plants? It looks like explorer ruins on those educational slides from Earth. Overgrown, decrepit. Where’s the crew? He pushes fast, dodges a steel block on its way out.

“Clandestine!”

Nothing. He leaves comms on an open channel.

The Rowdy is attached. Probably. In here, there’s still enough atmosphere to transmit sounds, and nothing he hears is reassuring. He needs to make his way to the torus – assuming Rowdy attached to the agreed one.

The flashing lights make it hard to see, and he can’t turn on night vision for the same reason. He reads the signs. There’s a turn into a spoke, but he needs the more fore spoke. Or was it aft? He turns to check… right into the muzzle of a gun.

A woman has her gun right at his head. She’s in a tight compression suit, and when he has the presence of mind to look beyond the gun he sees that she is smiling.

“Bang,” she says into the open channel.

“You’re not here to shoot me,” Aaron says, with relief.

“Umm, no, I’m not.”

“What do you—”

“I just wanted you to know that I could. I know how this, uh, how this ends. I’m not the one who kills you.” She seems to sense something. “You’ve never been touched by Lambers.”

What crazy person is this? Oh, wait.

“You’re Joké. You’re the Governor’s—”

“You’re too late. Hurry now. Time’s running out,” says the woman. She drops the arm holding the gun to her side.

“Where’s Governor Biz? We need him. What about the rest of the crew? Are you in danger? There’s atmosphere on the Rowdy.”

She smiles even wider. “We’re going to meet again one day, you know.”

She turns and barrels off in the opposite direction. The Ragtime seems to be going into strange rotations, and Aaron hurries away into the nearest torus because what the fuck. Signs of destruction all through. Sacks of garbage; items stored against the walls float free and stream outside. Unrecognisable bits of technology mix with the carcasses of fatally wounded small animals. Why are there animals on board? Aaron imagines the temperature has dropped considerably.

“Rowdy, Rowdy, come in, come in,” says Aaron.

“Rowdy One. What is your callsign?”

“Clandestine One, over.”

“The hell are you, man?” Gruff, no-nonsense, daredevil type.

“I won, motherfucker. Count out my money. Anyway, I’m inside the target. Are you attached?”