“So, all this tech…” Cavalon said. “Is the goal to reverse engineer it? So you can make dupes yourself?”
“Crude way of putting it, but yes,” she said. “Also, we glean whatever we can from the engineering. Even after a millennium of access, Viator technology still eludes us, on the whole.”
He smiled. “Crack that whole ‘crossed over from the Divide’ thing yet?”
Mesa narrowed her eyes at him in disgust. “That is a child’s tale, soldier. It is well known Viators did not actually cross over from the Divide. They simply used it just as the Tempus does, to achieve increased relative speed to travel the edge of the universe.”
“Then, sneak attack!” Puck flashed a grin, crimping his hands and pouncing toward her.
Mesa rolled her eyes, though a hint of a smile played at her lips. “I should leave you to your duties.” She inclined her head, then sauntered away, silk folds drifting behind her.
“Bye, Mes!” Puck called after her. He tilted his head as he watched her go, letting out a wistful sigh.
“So…” Cavalon turned to Puck.
With an effort, Puck pulled his gaze from watching Mesa’s withdrawal. “She’s great, huh?” He beamed.
Cavalon laughed. “Yeah, she seems nice.”
“Anyway, I guess we should get you to your first post.” Puck opened his nexus, swiping back and forth a few times before shrugging. “Or not. Nothing’s in the system yet.”
Nothing, huh? Cavalon didn’t know whether to consider that good or bad.
Puck shrugged. “EX determines it, so be nice to her.”
Great. He would probably be mopping floors the rest of his life.
“For now, I’ll have you help out in the mess,” Puck said. “It’ll be a good way for you to meet some of the crew, ingratiate yourself. They won’t bite the hand that feeds, and all that.”
Cavalon sighed. He wanted to believe that.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cavalon followed Puck to the crowded mess hall in Tres Sector, where he received an apron, an unfortunate hairnet, and a comically large serving spoon.
Puck led him to an archaic food-service kiosk along the inside wall of the dining quarters—an open room with expansive ceilings that could easily seat a crew twice the size of the Argus. Two other aproned and hairnetted soldiers stood behind the kiosk, dropping food onto their comrades’ plates as they shuffled through the line.
Cavalon turned to gape at Puck. “I’m sorry, I know you guys have issues with time relativity out here, but we haven’t actually traveled back in time, right?”
Puck laughed. “No.”
“How old’s this dreadnought?” He’d only heard of food service like this at shelters in the slums of Outer Core planets.
“EX had all the fancy, automated food-service stuff removed.” Puck waved a hand dismissively. “I guess this builds character and shit.”
“This really is a prison,” Cavalon grumbled.
Puck gave him a sideways grin and a pat on the shoulder. “That mashed protein is calling your name.”
Cavalon blew out a steadying breath. He could do this. He could serve food to his fellow soldiers. Right?
Puck grabbed a tray and got in line. Cavalon turned the enormous spoon over in his hand, then steeled his resolve and pushed up his sleeves.
“Void…” Someone let out a low whistle. “Look at those tats.”
Cavalon spun to find three soldiers behind him, empty food trays in hand. The light-skinned, brutish man in the front smiled. Cavalon groaned inwardly, sliding his sleeves back down. Rookie mistake.