Page 41 of Carousel

He examines him, like he’s a creature he’s not quite sure about. A creature he might need to pick up to get a better look at, at some point.

Drake pushes his plate away.

“As I can see it’s the majority vote, my thoughts are rather redundant, aren’t they? So, let’s move on.”

After taking us to the lavatories, which are surprisingly clean but primitive, Riss and Cosmer lead us up to Deck 8, where they check cabin numbers against a sheet of paper, eventually finding two cabins close together. Riss tells us all crew must wake at five past the hour, for the working day to begin at six. It seems cruelly early after the day I’ve just had, and there doesn’t seem to be much point in sleeping with so few hours remaining.

Yet inside the tiny windowless room that is my cabin, I collapse into the nearest of the two small metal-framed beds, and don’t even really notice Cosmer coming in behind me and settling into his. I have the vague realisation that I’m still in my old, grubby white button-up dress and fabric sandals, which seems impossible. My old life feels like a lifetime ago.

Old Mother’s ancient hands reach out to me. She’s missing me. She’s scared for me.

Don’t be, I try to say. Drake believes the war will be over soon, now that Rhavna has a powerful weapon. I’ll be with you again.

She slips away before our hands can touch.

Around me, people are in the engineers’ oxygen masks. Someone tries to hand one to me.

Another tries to hand me a gun.

Choose, they say.

Choice is more powerful than intention.

Who said that?

I take the mask. But the ship is falling away. It was only made of Old Mother’s cards, after all.

And it wasn’t a real choice anyway. Because the gun I hadn’t picked is now pointed at me.

And it shoots.

I awake gasping, just as another gunshot comes.

It wasn’t a dream. Someone is shooting.

“Cosmer!” I shriek, into the pitch black.

Bare feet, slapping against the wooden floor. Movement, outside.

“Cosmer—” I try to yell again, but there’s a hand over my mouth.

I try to scream through it – but stop, because I hear Cosmer’s voice in my ear.

“Get down. Under the bed. Now. Don’t leave the cabin.”

It’s an order.

I fumble in the dark. Twist out of the bed, my sheet still wrapped around me, and stumble.

Cosmer, now by the door, flings it open, letting in a pale light.

A woman yells.

“Riss!” he roars.

He flees the room, and I’m alone.

I’m already on the floor. I could go under the bed.