A short, thin woman walked through the doorway and landed beside him. Cavalon did his best to avoid eye contact until he realized with a start who it was.
Mesa—he hardly recognized her. She’d changed from the embroidered jumpsuit into a regulation uniform. The straight lines appeared even more boxy and utilitarian on her lithe form. Her black hair had been drawn into a single, long plait down her back.
She gave Cavalon a curt nod, then held up a clear plastic water canteen. “After expelling so much bodily fluid,” she said, “it is important to hydrate.”
He frowned. “Heard that, huh?”
“Everyone heard it,” she said decisively.
His cheeks warmed. Great. So now he was also the guy that’d obnoxiously thrown up for an hour straight. He took the water bottle. “Thank you.”
She nodded once.
He gave her uniform a pointed once-over. “So, you’re a combat soldier now, huh?”
“I always have been,” she said simply.
“What? I thought you said Savants didn’t enlist.”
“I did say Savants did not enlist. I did not say I did not enlist.”
“Well, then…” He lifted the new chrome pistol from its holster. “You can help me with this thing then, right?”
She made a small clicking sound with her tongue, then sighed heavily. She took the weapon from him and slid open a compartment on the side, revealing some kind of power cell. She dumped the charge onto her hand and held it out.
“This is a standard IGW cartridge.”
He blinked and flashed a grin. She pursed her lips.
“Ionized gas weapon,” she explained. “In this instance, a standard-issue plasma pistol. It is very simple. Smaller end goes forward.” She held up the narrower end, capped with light silver metal, then dropped it back into the compartment and slid it shut. “Point and shoot. No prime required.” She dropped the pistol back in his holster, then pointed a thin finger to his knife. “That, I am fairly certain, is pointy end forward. To the face.”
Cavalon let out a short laugh. “Face?”
Mesa draped her hands together. “Eyes, specifically.”
He grinned. “Not chest—not heart. Face. Damn.”
She licked her lips, unaffected by his amusement. “As I am sure you realize, the Viator, and thus Drudger, torso is completely covered by the carapace-like plating which comprises their protective exoskeleton. The muscle tissue within is so dense, and the endoskeleton structure so concentrated, and the spacing between plates so narrow that the Viator ventricle unit which sits perfectly centered within the chest cavity…”
Cavalon’s eyebrows raised as Mesa took a deep breath.
“… is incredibly difficult to reach, particularly for those inexperienced with combat.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I will definitely go for the eyeballs first.”
She nodded curtly, seeming pleased he intended to take her advice. “Then, when they are blinded,” she continued, “you can take your time finding the correct attack point to reach their aortic vessel.”
She lifted his arm and drew two fingers along his flank. “The best access point is here, where the fourth and fifth rib meet and wrap around to the spine—though, it is their sixth and seventh rib. The spacing is very, very narrow. Perhaps a millimeter, so it will be very difficult to insert, assuming the individual Drudger’s plating even allows for it. You will have to apply a great deal of thrust.”
Cavalon chuckled, but she didn’t seem to notice.