He entered another cramped, steel gray box. A simple narrow table and two straight-backed metal chairs sat in the center of the room. Clean, white light poured through one of the slatted aerasteel walls—an illusion meant to simulate the light of a nearby star. But there were no stars this far out, no celestial bodies of any kind this close to the edge of the universe. No planets or moons, no asteroids or comets or black holes or intergalactic dust. Not even space junk. Just nothing, just black. Just like the nursery rhyme. Cavalon would more than likely never see the light of a real star again.
He licked his lips as he walked to the table and pulled a chair out.
“No,” Bray chided.
Cavalon stopped mid-sit and pushed the chair back, standing awkwardly at the edge of the table. He rubbed his new Imprints, pain still sparking along the nerves in his left arm, then drummed his fingers across the cold metal table. After a minute of silence, he turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at Bray.
The door across the room slid open. Bray snapped to attention—shoulders drawn back, fist to chest. A woman stepped in, back straight but head hung low, her olive skin taking on a cool tinge in the fake sunlight. She wore what looked like the undershirt of a flight suit—navy-blue tank top over a short-sleeved gray shirt, with a set of dog tags tucked between the layers. The glittering orange and yellow badges of her rank, meant to be displayed proudly across her shoulders, were obscured among the folds of the navy-blue jacket tied around her waist. She looked for all the universe like a ship mechanic, mid-repair.
She strode up to the table across from Cavalon, nodding at Bray. “At ease.”
Bray turned on his heel and marched to stand beside the doorway she’d come through.
“Rake.” She reached her hand across the table. Cavalon shook it, surprised at the firmness of her grip.
“Mercer.” Cavalon responded on instinct, but immediately wished he could suck the surname back in. “Er—Cavalon. Cav’s fine.” He let out a heavy sigh. Like she didn’t already know exactly who he was.
Rake sat as Bray stepped forward to lay a tablet down in front of her.
Cavalon eyed his chair, then gave Bray a sidelong look. The guard maintained his composure, but rolled his eyes, which Cavalon took as permission. He pulled the chair out and sat.
Rake stared at the tablet, scanning through pages of text. Her long, brown hair had been pulled up haphazardly, and she pushed some loose pieces out of her tired eyes, revealing a smudge of black grease across her cheekbone.
Cavalon raised an eyebrow. This was the “boss,” huh?
“You got a little…” He flicked his fingers in front of his own cheek.
She sighed and wiped it with the back of her hand. Though it smeared into a soft gray, the smudge remained.
The corner of his mouth tugged up. “You got it.”
Her expression remained impassive as she appraised him, then she lowered her gaze to the tablet again.
“You high brass?” He craned his neck to get a better look at the set of badges on the jacket around her waist. “Gramps made sure I got the special treatment, didn’t he?”
“I don’t think so,” she mumbled as her fingers slid along the tablet’s surface. “Your titles have been stripped. From the look of it, you’re lucky he let you keep your given name.”
Cavalon leaned forward and smirked. “What’s it say? I’m intensely curious.”
“I’m sure you are.”
He shifted in his seat as she continued to sift through his file. He couldn’t tolerate the silence for long. “So, you really take the time to tête-à-tête with every new soldier that comes aboard?”
Rake lifted her eyes from the tablet and stared at him. “I like to know who someone is before I ask them to risk their life under my command.”