Her face is dark for a moment, then outlined in stark white light. We’ve hit a passage between the hangars, and the windows fill with tunnel-black. Halide lamps skip past us, drawing her features silver, then burying them back in shadow again. She watches me, her eyes bright in the glow, beads of light in the sudden gloom.

“The Juno’s broken loose.”

WHERE HANGAR C was a valley, D is a ravine.

D’s walls are half a K away, but you can’t see much past the huge single-berth blocks that close in around us, skyscrapers flipped through ninety degrees and anchored to the hull on either side. Self-contained hangars, with their own crews and life support, munitions stores and fire suppression.

Each one is made to hold a single shell: the machines we’ve been brought here to fly.

I’ve seen others like them before, but never so many. There must be two hundred blocks in here, probably more. Heavy hatches mark the sides, airlocks nearly thirty metres tall, with loading pads on every doorstep like floating balconies.

There’ll be locks on the hulls as well; they can expose each block to the vacuum outside, or seal it off again on demand. Launching shells is dangerous business and catching them is even worse, so the ship seals every unit off from the others. If things go wrong, Horizon’s crew can isolate a block and void all the air until the fires go out. The jockey just better be holding breath.

“Here is fine,” says Hail, to the voice in her head again.

I look up in time to watch her stand, bracing herself as the train tests it brakes.

“Fine for what?” I ask.

“Shortcut,” says Hail. She’s already up on the seats, one boot on either side of the aisle. She rams a fist into the ceiling and something pops; the panel breaks loose on the second hit, shedding paint-chips and dust. She coils, then pounces, pulls herself out by fingertips.

I find my feet as fast as I can and scramble up behind her. I don’t have the muscle to jump as high as her, but I kick out and hunt for grip. It’s slippery, but I’ve got enough to support my weight.

Hail looks down at me, coat billowing. “Stay here!” she yells, just audible over the rush. “Get off at the next platform! Someone will pick you up!”

“Like hell!” I yell, and keep pulling until I’ve got my chin level with the roof.

I’m burning up, feeling half like death and the rest like falling. But for the first time in what feels like forever, I’ve got some control over where I’m going.

Hail frowns at me for a moment, and I match the look with a glare. She shakes her head but offers me a hand anyway and hauls me up without a sound.