On Patrol: Disorientation

With an effort, I managed to get a hand into the front of my apron and extract a Palar clamp. Steeling myself, I let go of the railing with one hand and, after a moment, slammed the clamp into the steeply sloping deck with my other hand. The Palar’s magnet locked in just as I was getting uncomfortably fast, bringing me to a stop just over halfway to the exit.

I didn’t have another Palar, and I couldn’t hold on to this one forever. With that certain feeling of imminent regret, I released the magnet and fell towards the door, crashing into the corridor on the other side. I allowed myself just a moment to feel exactly how much pain I was in and to check for injuries, then struggled to my feet. The corridor, once reassuringly familiar, felt alien and hostile. Cries of distressed metal continued to emanate from elsewhere within the ship, but it was the increasing sternwards tilt that really worried me.

Shaking my head to try and reset my sense of balance, I made my way towards the bridge.

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