The optio stepped away as Emery continued to hand supplies to Warner.
“Get what we need?” Jackin asked.
“Plenty.” Cavalon held up the jar.
“Plenty indeed. But how do we get it into the core?”
“Well…” Cavalon heaved a sigh. “It’s pretty complicated.”
“How complicated?” Jackin asked, worry creasing his sweaty brow.
“Well, you’ll want to use the vacuum-pressure glove box.”
Jackin quirked an eyebrow. “Obviously. Then?”
Cavalon grimaced. “You’re going to have to open the fuel port door on the core.”
“And?”
“And then…” Cavalon lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug. “… pour it in.”
Jackin’s eyes shadowed as he leveled a flat look at Cavalon. Cavalon flashed him a grin, but Jackin didn’t seem amused.
Rake glanced between them. “That doesn’t sound hard.”
Jackin didn’t respond, but snatched the jar from Cavalon and headed toward a nearby workbench with a huff.
“Try not to get any on you,” Cavalon called after him. “Burns a little.”
“Ahh.” Rake gave a quick nod. “A joke. Of course.” She gave Cavalon an exasperated frown.
His cheeks instantly warmed, and the smile melted off his face. “Sorry, sir. Couldn’t resist.”
“Why don’t you help Emery and Warner finish packing the supplies?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cavalon gave Jackin a sheepish look as he passed by the workbench on his way toward the ship. He set the helmet aside and pulled off the space suit, then went over to help Emery lift a large aerasteel crate.
“What is this stuff?” he asked, eyeing the label on the crate.
“MREs,” Emery said.
“Uh, yeah. What’s that?”
Emery scoffed. “You really aren’t a soldier, are you?”
“Who said I’m not a soldier?”
Warner peered down from the hatch above them and chuffed. Cavalon scowled, but chose to ignore it. It didn’t matter if they knew he wasn’t a soldier, so long as they didn’t know what he was.
They lifted the crate, and Warner easily plucked it from their wobbling arms.
“Meals, ready to eat,” Emery explained.
“Ahh.”
“Note, that doesn’t mean they’ll stay down. Only that you can, technically, consume them with your mouth.”
“Not the tastiest, then?”
“Understatement of the millennium. They’ve got a shelf life of, like, fifteen years if that tells you anything.”
Warner reappeared in the hatch frame. “What else?”
“Just a bunch of pistol charges,” Emery said. Warner raised an eyebrow. She shrugged, and they shared a wary look, equal parts clueless and nervous.
“Toss ’em up,” Warner said.
Emery dragged over a pallet of narrow metal boxes. Cavalon recognized the worn cases as crates used to store firearm energy cells.
“Uh … why so much ammo?” Cavalon asked. “Where you guys goin’？”
“Shit if I know,” Emery said. “Optio just gave us a list and told us to pack it.”