Every so often a feeble knock-knock-knock sounded from beneath the detritus, as if the world's largest earthworm was writhing below a rubbish tip. The fact that it, along with all the scrap metal and shattered rock, was strewn across the ceiling, merely added to the weirdness. Wulf stood - or dangled, depending upon how one looked at it - and stared up. "Hmph," he said, contriving to express with that one syllable all the frustration, exhaustion and irritation bubbling through him. Quite apart from anything else his beard was an unwilling subject of the new gravitational regime and had developed an irritating habit of flopping over into his eyes. Only his feet appeared to be inclined towards adhering to the normal rules, and that was only because of the bulky gravboots enclosing them. He'd gone through hell in the process of getting to where he was, and the rustling whatever-it-was beneath the mangled spacecraft parts was not helping his mood. He was in the pod-park of the Zol. It looked like someone had staged a war there.
