The mess hall comes alive with shouting as it lurches again, the entire dome tilted 30° and preparing, maybe, to slip some more. My coffee mug tumbles downward across the floor to meet the far wall with a clatter.

Blaring alarms, lounge tables teetering at the balcony edge above, food spilling from countertops. Is the station falling? I don’t think so, but there’s no way to tell…

A string of jogging crewmen bursts through the upper entrance in full gear and begins a cautious hike to the bottom. Without thinking, I follow.

“Two men!” barks the leader. “Granger, Marks! Run a diagnostic on the stabilizers. Find me some answers!”

“Sir!” they take off down a secondary hall. I stick with the larger group.

We’re in a long aerial gangway, our footsteps tense as we shuffle downward. The man in front of me steadies himself against the wall; that’s when I notice the lower lever roof view through the porthole.

“That rotor!” I gasp. “Two blades are missing!”

The leader stops and turns. “And just… who are you?â€?