18
“Can you pass the salt?”
“Huh?” Hunter looked up from his plate of…whatever it was…and scanned the table. All he saw were empty dishes, lumps of strand, bits of food splattered from errant flinging, and Fesso’s Children yelling, shoving, and stuffing their faces. “Where is it?”
Telian rolled her eyes. “In that synth, there.”
Hunter grabbed the lump of strand, and it identified itself to his implant: Basic Sodium-Chloride-Ion-Fluid Synthesis Functional, version 2.3. He shrugged, passed it on, then returned his gaze to his dish.
He didn’t like sitting and waiting, but there was nothing else to do while the others were awake. He had already tried to sneak out the previous night. When his implant told him dawn was two hours away, he had slipped quietly from his room. He found the halls
