Down the stairs we went, hugging the wall as if gravity might lurch leftward for fun. The crypts at the bottom were our only hope. Gutted cryo-shells our only refuge from the return of their weapons. Shielded in ways we no longer knew how to accomplish. And I knew that even if we all made it to the bottom before they entered orbit and developed a firing solution, there might not be enough empty caskets for all of us. Some of us might wrench open a wondrous sarcophagus only to find it full of stubborn, weighty, dead flesh. No way to know until we got there. If we did.