She drew her shoulders up. “I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Mercer,” she said pristinely, in a spot-on impression of Mesa.
“Actually, it’s Lord Mercer.”
She dropped the accent. “Shut up.”
“Technically, Your Royal Highness, but I won’t make you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
“I feel like that’s a good thing.”
“Helmets on,” Rake announced.
Emery lifted Cavalon’s helmet and dropped it onto his head unceremoniously.
“Thank you, squire.”
She crossed her arms and made a dramatic show of rolling her eyes.
Cavalon locked his helmet to his suit, then took in the onslaught of information shown in the HUD. His vitals sat on the left side, with the already-yellow heart-rate meter slowly picking up speed.
Emery gave him a sidelong glance, then her disgruntled look faded away. Her jaw skimmed back and forth as she rolled her gum around for a few silent seconds. “Bring me back a souvenir?”
“Not sure it’s the type of locale to have a gift shop, but I’ll do my best.”
“Or just don’t die. That’d be fine too.”
Cavalon quirked an eyebrow. Emery cared if he died? Not that he thought she wanted him dead, but the sentiment still surprised him. Though, she’d probably lost people she cared about aboard the Argus. She might not be keen on watching more friends die, even if they were new ones.
“Copy, boss,” he said with his best reassuring smile. “No dying.”
Emery grinned, then turned and disappeared into the cockpit behind Jackin.
Rake’s voice crackled through the comms in his suit. “Everyone ready?”
“Ready,” Griffith said.
Mesa inclined her head. “Yes, Excubitor.”
“Good, sir,” Cavalon said.
“Depressurizing.” Rake tapped the control screen and Cavalon’s eardrums pulsed as the hatch cycled. Yet his feet didn’t lift off the floor, which meant the structure provided some kind of artificial gravity. In his HUD, a green notification read, “Exterior oxygen levels stable.”
Rake opened the hatch and a flimsy ladder unfolded to the ground. Griffith climbed down first, then Mesa shuffled forward and followed, tucking the pyramid under one arm.
Cavalon’s mouth went dry, palms slicking with sweat—either from fear or excitement, or some of both. He took a few long, deliberate breaths to try and stay calm, then looked at Rake.
She tilted her head, sliding her fingers across her suit’s nexus. The comms clicked, and his display indicated she’d switched to a private line.
“You okay?” she asked.
He lowered his voice. “I mean, if Jackin wants to go instead…”
“I need Jackin here figuring out how the hell we’re going to undock,” she said evenly.
Cavalon nodded fervently. “Right. I know.”
“I need you with us.” Her earnest eyes met his. The yellow heart-rate meter in his HUD slowed, then fell to green.
“Yeah. I’m with you.”
She thunked her gloved hand against the side of his helmet. “You wanna go first?”
He nodded, steeled his resolve, then rung by rung, descended the swaying ladder. He hopped off the end, where Griffith stood waiting, arms out as if ready to catch him. A few meters away, Mesa stared down the platform toward the spherical bronze structure at the end of the narrow path.