Forty-One
Brice stood between the inner and outer doors of the hatch, waiting. He held a torch in one hand and a knife in the other—he’d swapped his improvised ones for a couple from from the Hermes’ stores. They could’ve done with a clean and a sharpen, but there wasn’t time. He had managed to find a better ankle sheath, though.
“They’re ready,” Keelin said, her voice coming from the sensor by the side of his head.
Brice nodded, and gave the sensor—and Keelin—a smile. He flexed his knees, bouncing to keep the blood flowing.
The Hermes’ outer hatch slid open.
The air on the Deck was musty and cold. Brice looked out, the lights blazing over his head, bringing daylight to the wall in front of him. He shone his torch, casting it into the shadows. He sensed the shades, but now he co
