Page 123 of Carousel

“Last night,” I start. “When you left the morale booster⁠—”

“I shouldn’t have gone down there. I haven’t taken it in six months. Not since I became an officer, and properly met Riss. She helped me. Got me off it.” He pauses. “So, I couldn’t have come home. I couldn’t possibly face my mother – face you – as a half-dead huffer.” His eyes plead with mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Do you think less of me?”

I put my hand on his leg.

“I think, you did what you needed to do. To survive.”

I rest my head on his shoulder.

“And,” I continue, “I’m just happy that now, we can survive together.”

Static crackles from Cosmer’s radio. Dezeeves’ calm voice feeds through – and makes me nauseous.

“Cosmer. What is your exact location? We have a report that your ship was seen leaving The Emperor?”

Cosmer lifts the radio to his mouth. “Yes. We’re coming back now.”

“Good. Because I will remind you Ara’s corrective instruction begins in twenty minutes.”

“I know. I mean, confirmed.”

Ahead, beyond the clouds, the hanging carousel looms into view. It’s no longer beautiful to me.

It’s a manmade blight on the planet.

An assault.

It’s the ugliest sight I’ve ever seen.

On the way up to The Bridge, we stop at Deck 8, which Cosmer says is the Gundeck and Armoury. He tells me to stay close to him and keep my head down.

And I see why. The soldiers on this deck seem the fiercest of the bunch. Older men and women, many missing teeth, eyes, limbs. They’re assembled around the perimeter of the room, all seated by their own porthole. Under each porthole is a control table of sorts, with a bronze and rounded mechanism underneath it, that goes out through the wall. I realise that those are the breeches of cannons, and each control table must operate one.

And these soldiers are bored. Their eyes are on us from the moment we walk in. I get the feeling this must be the place where older, experienced soldiers are sent if they are no longer able to do the more rigorous activities required of soldiers and pilots – but they’re still itching to do something.

Cosmer nods at them politely. Chats to one or two he knows briefly. Then leads us further down the room, to an armoured hatch protected by a caged window of reinforced glass just off it.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you today,” the woman behind it says, hardly looking at him. Her voice is unusual. High-pitched and wheezy, like the main part of it is missing.

“I’m on a special mission for Dezeeves, Kira,” Cosmer says. “I’m a keeper.” He waves his arms, presenting me.

The woman peers up. “Pretty,” she declares blandly, before going back to her work. “I hope you’re not sleeping with her.”

“Kira!” he shouts. “She’s joking,” he mutters to me. Firmer, he says, “And it’s an inappropriate joke⁠—”

“A keeper,” she echoes. “Dezeeves does like to give you a challenge, doesn’t he? Never thought it was fair of him withholding your promotion for so long like that.”

Cosmer’s shoulders shoot up. “He sees potential in me. He knows I can meet those challenges.”

“Sees something in you. I don’t think potential is it, though.”

“Are you going to give me a gun?” he snaps. “Or do I need to write you up for an OTI – and maybe for Disrespect, too?”

Reluctantly, the woman picks up a pen, dabs it into her ink pot, and scrawls something onto a piece of paper before she disappears for a moment. She returns with a revolver.

With one hand, she rotates a kind of dial within the caged hatch, which brings the weapon around to our side of it.

Now I can see her better, I realise she’s quite frightening. Wild hair. Bloodshot eyes. Skeleton-thin and veiny. She’s swaying slightly on the spot.