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Sazahk’s disappointed pink faded as Bar’in’s point mollified him and Patrick glanced at Fal’ran again. His silence killed him. Fal’ran gazed out the window at the transports descending on the Base, and Patrick resisted the urge to put a hand on his knee. They really needed to talk. While Patrick thought he understood the younger man’s subdued demeanor, he had to make sure they didn’t lose him to it.
A few seconds later, the porthole darkened, and the ship jolted as the docking chute sucked it in. They bumped around and jittered in their sling seats before the ship landed with a loud clang and its engines powered down.
The low drone of conversation and the scuffing of boots filled the silence left by the engines as every squad rose to their feet. The excitement of the new recruits, even Squad M’s, was palatable. Base Givast was no dusty jungle. They were in the real Klah’Eel army now.
The more experienced soldiers barked at their newer comrades to keep moving as they left the ship, each recruit hesitating on the gangway to gape at the massive hangar. Training Camp Pel’on’s entire sky port could fit into the hangar with room to spare. And unlike the tarmac they’d left, with every ship and dusty and rusty from the strain of planet life, every ship here gleamed. Transports, gunships, missile ships, stealth ships, science ships, every vehicle that an entire moving military base might need filled the hangar.
“We’ll come back, Sazahk.” Fal’ran’s voice thrummed with amusement as he pulled Sazahk along by his upper arm. The wide-eyed qesh stared longingly at a scientific vessel tucked into a far corner.
“I want that one when we go down to the surface.” Sazahk craned his neck around to keep his eyes on the vessel as Patrick led them in the opposite direction.
“I don’t think we get much say on our ship when we’re deployed.” Fal’ran chuckled, and he released Sazahk once the qesh stopped falling over his own feet. Patrick’s chest eased at the sound of Fal’ran’s life returning to him.
“They might give it to us anyway, though.” Patrick split them from the main bulk of soldiers and toward a side door. “It’s outfitted with flex metal for a Qeshian implant. Not as sophisticated as Emissary Serihk’s, but still useful.”
Sazahk made a sound in the back of his throat. A bar of black oozed up his throat, and he stopped gazing at the ship.
“Where are we going?” Bar’in asked when Patrick opened a door off the side of the hangar.
“Our base quarters.”
“And where are they going?” Bar’in jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at all the other soldiers heading out the main exit.
“Their quarters.” Patrick closed the door and sagged in relief when the metal sealed them away from the overwhelming aura of disdain. “I’ve spent a lot of time on Givast. I know my way around. This is a shortcut.”
Fal’ran nearly caught his eye as Patrick passed him, and Patrick stepped faster. He winced as his cheeks heated, hyperaware of Fal’ran’s boots behind him. Later. He’d engage with Fal’ran later when they had a little time and a little privacy. When he had some idea of what he would say, and when he was confident he wouldn’t stare at Fal’ran’s lips the whole time.
A siren whirred as they hurried through the hallways and the whole squad jumped. A robotic voice spoke, “High speed travel in thirty station minutes.”
“Let’s pick up the pace.” Patrick broke into a jog. Getting to the Qeshian system was urgent, but damn, most of these recruits didn’t know how to put in a high-speed injection. Half the soldiers would splatter on the walls if they pushed this too fast.
They trotted to the barrack across a busy thoroughfare wide as a street, dodging the station transports that whizzed officers and crewmen back and forth. They passed a mess hall and a rec room and arrived in a hall lined with doors.
“Here we are.” Patrick stopped in front of the door labeled M and hit the button to slide it open.
“Feels like home.” Bar’in threw his bag on one of the four beds. Patrick thought he was being sarcastic until he noticed the relaxed set of Tar's and Fal’ran’s shoulders.
“Does it really?” Patrick motioned them out of the room’s center and typed into the wall-mounted keypad beside the door.
“It doesn’t have a sun.” Fal’ran dropped onto the bed, tilted his head back, and inhaled deeply. “And you can actually breathe the air.”
Patrick focused on the commands he typed instead of the exposed column of Fal’ran’s throat. Later. But still sniffed toward him as he hit the last key. He turned around and clapped his hands, hoping the sharp sound—and the floor sliding open between them—would distract his nosy teammate.
Four large chairs with six straps each rose from the gap in the floor. “Everyone sit,” Patrick ordered when the seats stopped moving.
Sazahk sat first. For a moment, Patrick worried the klah’eel-sized chair wouldn’t secure his slight qeshian body, but he tightened the straps snugly, so Patrick turned his attention to the others.
Unsurprisingly, they all looked unsure as they strapped themselves in. Base Ship Givast would travel at high speed to the Qeshian system. Extremely high speed. The sort of speed most people were never exposed to, especially people that had never left Klah’s moon until a month ago.
“That’s right. Just like that,” Patrick murmured as he helped them navigate the complex web of buckles that would keep them held in place for the journey. “Tighter than that. No, not that tight.”
“Is that what you were saying to Fal’ran last night?” Bar’in shot him a grin as Patrick finished with the hard to reach buckle behind his neck and Patrick reared back.
“I don’t—what?” Patrick clenched his hands to keep from shaking and glared at Bar’in, every inch of his body on fire. Both Tar and Sazahk snorted from behind him, and he hunched his shoulders up.
“You think I didn’t notice?” Bar’in snickered as he tightened his lap strap. “Especially when he came back last night, smelling like—”
“Shut up, Bar’in.”
