The sense of up-down disappears. Bits and pieces not secured properly float around and a screwdriver misses Shell’s eye by inches. Alarms now insistent, loud, red alerts on the IFC.

Shell has hold of a grab rail, as have Joké and Larry. Fin is panicked. Shell waits till he rotates then launches and clutches him from behind. “Calm down, Fin. Go limp. Like swimming. Go limp.”

She allows the momentum to take them both to the other side and places his hand on free rails.

Shell accesses the external cameras on her IFC. Maybe a collision of some kind? Meteoroid? But no proximity alert. The feed comes in, and she cannot believe what she sees. The stern node, Node 7, is in the process of detaching from the Ragtime. The planet Bloodroot, instead of being calm in one orientation, rotates around the camera crazily, meaning the ship is in a spin. The last restraint snaps, and the node is free. Which means—

“Brace! Atmospheric leak in—”

The hurricane hits, sucking at them all with gale forces.

Shell yells above the howling depressurisation. “Ragtime, seal Node 6!”

Node 7, along with a pair of solar arrays, tilts, smashes against the stump and spins away off the frame of the camera. No possibility of recapture. Debris, robots and air still discharge from Node 6. And liquid. Fuck.

“Salvo, get in the Equivalence. Larry, the Decisive. I need some thrusts to stop this spin. Joké?”

“Captain?” Calm, this one. Unpanicked.

“Help Mr Fin into an EVA suit, please.”

Ragtime is not answering queries, but Shell still receives telemetry on her IFC. The ship is still depressurising and power has fallen, but that’s understandable in the context of solar panel loss. Joké is now helping Shell into her own suit even though the atmosphere is still breathable. Shell wants no surprises. She and Joké move aft. They could have used the portable breathers, but if parts of the ship are going to start spontaneously snapping off, she wants to be ready.

Pressurised suits make movement slow and cumbersome. There is no space to move side to side, and Shell has Joké to her back – someone she does not know. Larry knows her, is her father, maybe, if she’s not an alien. She’ll be fine. Shell can hear her own breathing: raspy, loud, hint of a wheeze.

A bar swings from the ceiling and smashes her in the centre of her visor. Not a bar. A robot arm. A second arm falls as the first rises. A third prepares to strike.

“Arachnobots,” says Shell into the comm. “Fall back.”