The transport bay smelled like stale coffee and gun oil. Caleb sat on the bench across from Hiro, the bypass module on his wrist showing yellow at ninety-nine point one, and watched Hassek's two flank-support men adjust their plates without acknowledging anyone in the squad.
The man with the burn scar checked his magazine with the slow rhythm of someone who had nothing to be nervous about.
Hiro leaned his rifle against his knee. "You're tighter than usual."
"Bad sleep," Caleb said.
Iharu snorted from the seat next to Hiro. "Bad sleep for him is the first time he's slept all week."
Hassek stood at the front of the bay, helmet under his arm, one boot propped on the ammunition crate. His glance at Caleb lasted half a second. He went back to checking his comms unit. The bandage on his neck had been changed again.
