‘Everyone here is alive because of them.’

Kayla shook her head, disgusted that anyone could have a bad word to say about the sky men. It was the end of the conversation. I knew it was going to be.

Inwardly I sighed, outwardly I held my expression blank.

Here we floated, several thousand of us, on a platform high above the seething cauldron that used to be Earth.

There they floated, five of them, about ten metres above our heads, tending to what I could only imagine was some sort of forcefield. Whatever it was seemed to keep them busy, and keep us with a breathable atmosphere. Which, after the last 24 hours, was admittedly more than most could ask for.

Kayla was right, everyone on this bastard space flotsam was alive because of them. So why the dread? Why could I not shake the feeling that these altruistic angels weren’t all they were cracked up to be?

The sky men had appeared mere moments before the Earth erupted into a molten mass of flaming hellscape. They had ‘saved’ us chosen few, sure. Everyone here was alive because of them.

But what about everyone else? What if everyone down there was dead because of them?

Then there was one final question, the one that really got my stomach churning, and the one everyone else seemed too busy being grateful to think about.

Why had they kept us alive?