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Tred swallowed again. It was hard, his mouth and throat both were too dry.
“One minute until launch,” he heard Lt. Commander Caraval say.
“Oh god,” he muttered.
He couldn’t avoid that he was going to be accelerated to an absolutely ludicrous speed. He just wanted it to be over with.
“Thirty seconds.”
Still enough time to worry. He fidgeted in his seat.
“Stay still,” Pirra said, grabbing his hand and pinning it to the arm of the chair.
She seemed annoyed at him, he thought.
But she was right; there was a significantly higher chance of him getting hurt if he was moving. The last thing he wanted was to get some broken fingers; they probably would only patch them up en route and he’d just have to work with his fingers broken. He gripped onto the seat.
“Ten seconds,” Caraval said.
“All packaged and ready to go!” Pirra shouted.
“And ship us off to hell!” the rest of the Response Team shouted back.
They launched, and the force threw him back in his seat. His system informed him that they had reached 6g . . .
It lasted for just a moment. After they left the launch tube, there were a few moments before the burn began. He was thrown back again.
The g-forces inched towards 7 . . . The color had drained from his vision.
“Grayout detected,” his system flashed on the screen.
Everything went black, and he heard the rest of the team whooping.
He did not lose consciousness, but he wished he had.
The burn finally ended, and he gasped. “Ohthankgod!”
Pirra patted his arm. “You all right?” she said. She seemed perfectly normal.
“I’m fine,” he said.
He usually blacked out during these launches. The first time he’d told them, and they’d scanned him and told him that it was nothing to worry about. He was just a passenger until they reached their target.
“I think my suit is defective,” he muttered. “That’s all.”
Pirra’s expression didn’t change, but her crest moved slightly. His system told him that it was showing doubt.
“Run suit diagnostic,” he muttered, trying to keep up with his story.
Pirra looked away. Out of pity or annoyance, he didn’t know.
Or maybe it’s neither, he tried to tell himself. It’s what Dr. Logus had told him. People respected him for the skills he possessed, that’s why they always asked him to go on these missions.
Because it seemed to him they asked a little too often. Sure, he was rated for them – he took every training class he could on emergency situations! But that wasn’t because he wanted to be in them, he just didn’t want to get caught unprepared.
“We’ll be entering the gate in two minutes thirty,” Iago said. “Everyone do a final check that you have everything you’re going to need for the next four days. Once we jump there’s no coming back until mission accomplished.”
The crew went about the task with solemn attitudes. Tred did so as well, checking his suite of sensors, his changes of clothes, and so on. The shuttle was small; barely more than a long box. It had a little space for moving around, and one small head that would have to be shared among them all. It meant only two people could be up and moving at at time, and there was a strict timetable on relieving themselves.
He wished there was a training mission for the awkwardness of it all.
All of his equipment was there, all stowed safely.
He realized he had to pee.
The timer for the gate said less than a minute.
He lurched in his seat, wondering if he had time to go. But no, he probably didn’t – if he could just run there and back, maybe, but he was strapped down.
“Okay, everyone, forty-five seconds. Estimate that we’ll be locked down for about thirty minutes after we enter – gonna be bumpy at least that long.”
Tred groaned. This was going to be a long flight out.
Other Terrestrial 