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The weather continued to mount and fall into disorder; two storm systems seemed to be colliding. Roth’s motion, already vigorous, became chaotic. Stephen, now buckled into his cot, was tightening his straps still further when a groan, then a series of creaks, filled his cabin. There was no corresponding call to quarters or rushing of feet, however, nor did the mood lighting around the cabin door illuminate, and he lay in the heaving darkness, pondering.
Perhaps the noise is only in my room, he thought, staring at the vague outline of the outer wall of his cabin. He wondered exactly how much steel, or aluminum, or titanium, or whatever it was lay between him and the void of space. If the wall ruptured, death would be near instantaneous.
He closed his eyes, but his ears fastened on every sound. When a particularly loud groan shook the metal frame of the bunk he unbuckled himself and tumbled from his bed, landing on all fours on the floor. A sudden lurch sent him into something, possibly his chair, but before he could grab hold he was sent into the door. He fumbled for the latch, and crashed through to the wardroom.
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