The harsh braying eventually broke through the wall of dreamlessness that cocooned him. What had he been drinking last night? Connors didn’t remember going to the ship’s bar, but the god-awful pain in his head suggested that it must have been a helluva session.
He tried to silence the bastard alarm clock, but nothing was moving properly. Christ, they hadn’t tried rocket fuel cocktails again, had they? He must be face down in his pillow because he was struggling to breathe.
A surge of adrenaline brought him a last, lucid moment. It was the hull breach alarm! An asteroid had --
