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at all, really, and still this morning I very nearly find a frozen corpse in the room instead of a viable Translator.’
    â€˜That’s not my fault. You can hardly blame me for hypothermia.’
    Kirra wanted to open her eyes and see them, but when she did she was blinded by a bright light hanging directly above the bed she seemed to be lying upon. She shut them quickly. The men kept talking.
    â€˜I told you to check the room to ensure it was safe and escape was impossible —’
    â€˜I did! I just … I just didn’t think about temperature.’
    â€˜You don’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. She must not be allowed to die. Her safety is everything . You must be prepared for everything . Do you understand?’
    â€˜Yeah, of course.’
    â€˜This is about to become an ongoing responsibility for you. The most vital responsibility imaginable.’
    â€˜I know. I know how important she is.’
    â€˜Good. Ensure you are more cautious from now on.’
    â€˜I will be.’
    â€˜Now go, before she wakes up and sees you.’
    What they were talking about interested her, but not enough to open her eyes properly or attempt actual movement. She didn’t know where she was or what was going on. Her body felt frozen stiff and her lungs were like iceblocks in her chest. Eventually she drifted back to sleep.
    Kirra awoke the next time because she felt a mattress creak beneath her. Two things were very clear right away: she was trapped beneath a weighty pile of blankets, almost to the point of being smothered, and she was far from recovery. Her chest throbbed, her muscles felt likeflimsy plywood and her limbs no longer seemed to be part of her body, as if they were weird foreign attachments her nerves couldn’t recognise. Kirra didn’t know much about hypothermia, but she did know she was lucky to be alive.
    She jumped when something touched her hand. Looking up, she was met by a concerned face with huge dark eyes and recognised the woman she had spotted on her arrival at the hangar.
    The woman sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed in her red jacket, her long dark hair over one shoulder. She said something in a language Kirra didn’t understand and gave a tiny, timid smile. She was pale, and her hands were dry and chafed, her neck splotchy and rough with what looked like wind rash.
    She seemed to realise Kirra was incapable of movement and propped her up into a half-sitting position with an extra pillow. She picked up a stained ceramic mug, raised it to Kirra’s lips and murmured another foreign word.
    Kirra inspected the woman closely. She didn’t seem threatening. Not at all. She was young and sweet and seemed hell-bent on helping Kirra drink. And really, what did Kirra have to lose? Parting her parched lips, she took a shallow sip. The tea scorched as it swept down her throat, but the woman seemed so delighted that Kirra was drinking, she didn’t have the heart to complain.
    The woman then draped another blanket over the bed and tucked Kirra in so that she was only visible from the chin up. Voices could be heard occasionally beyond the door. With each murmur, the woman glanced up, her hair floating around her worried face. It was plain thatshe was there in secret, and the sooner Kirra drank the tea, the sooner the woman could go.
    Kirra obliged, and couldn’t help but feel a tiny bond with the woman. Perhaps she was a prisoner too. After the last sip the woman set the mug down, removed the extra pillow and straightened the blankets. She took Kirra’s hand between her own for a moment, then got up and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Kirra wanted to shout after her, wanted to ask her to stay. She wanted to know what was going on and what was going to happen to her, but stopped herself just in time. She didn’t want to get the woman in trouble, especially as she seemed just as afraid as Kirra was.
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    Kirra was