Forty-Four
Brice raced to the emergency hatch and threw it open. After the brightness within the Hermes, the Deck was dim and cold.
He climbed out, his eyes scanning the roof of the craft. Panels dipped at the edges, and when Brice stood he kept his knees bent, and his centre of gravity low. Even with Keelin holding the Hermes steady, the metal under his feet vibrated.
She swung the Hermes round, side-on to the tower. The roof was a flat slab, an ideal landing point.
Two meters. It hardly sounded like anything, but there was a chasm between the Hermes and the tower. He peered down, to the moving shadows beneath. A smell wafted up from below—the stink of the shades, with the hint of blood. It sickened him, and he gulped, swallowing vomit. If he didn’t make this jump, he was dead.
So
