Lakesh and Domi came to see them off. The albino girl’s lower lip protruded sullenly, and the up-from-under stare she gave Grant was reproachful. Brigid and Kane wondered if she had tried to persuade him to take her along on the mission. If so, Grant must have adamantly refused. Still healing from the gunshot wound and reconstructive surgery and bound in the body brace, Domi’s presence on any op more complicated than drinking a cup of coffee would be a definite liability.
Grant did not make eye contact with her, instead putting into words what his teammates were thinking. “These rigs are hotter than hell, Lakesh. I’m sweating like a pig.”
Lakesh smiled patronizingly. “You could stand to lose a few pounds of water weight.”
“Maybe it’s best we all sweat out a couple of gallons,” Kane muttered, “since according to the autopsy, the trolls can go for days without having to pee. There’s probably no toilets where we’re going.”
Brigid started to laugh but stifled it when Lakesh rapped sharply on the table for their attention. Expression grave, he said, “Listen up for a moment. Don’t default yourselves into thinking your suits are armor. They’re tough, resistant to penetration, but they can be breached by something strong or sharp enough. Be careful.
“Secondarily, since the unit to which you’re transporting is not part of the Cerberus network, it may not be equipped with an LD setting.”
Kane crooked a quizzical eyebrow. The Last Destination program was a fallback device offering jumpers a way to quickly return to their departure point without entering the exact coordinate codes, providing they activated it within a half hour of materialization.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he challenged. “Even if the unit on the station isn’t official, it was still manufactured according to the standard specs, right?”
“More than likely, yes,” agreed Lakesh. “But inasmuch as we’re dealing with modified humans, we may be dealing with modified tech, too.”
Brigid touched her arm. “What about our transponders?”
Lakesh shook his head. “The telemetry won’t be able to reach us because it’ll be blocked by the Moon, unable to bounce off the Comsat. We won’t be able to monitor your vital signs. Therefore, if you find yourselves in difficulty, we won’t be able to send a rescue party.”
Grant snorted, picking up his helmet. “That’ll be the day. Since when have you ever sent out the cavalry?”
Lakesh didn’t reply.
Brigid, Kane and Grant slipped on their helmets, helping each other zip the collar attachments securely. Oxygen hissed into the headpieces, and it required a few moments to regulate the flow and adjust their respiration patterns. They heard not only their own, but each other’s breathing over the UTEL comms built into the helmets.
Lakesh performed a final check on all the seals, then gave them a thumbs-up sign. Impishly Domi leaned up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Grant’s faceplate, leaving an impression of her mouth in the aquamarine shade of lipstick she favored.
“Goddammit,” he growled, but she couldn’t hear him through the helmet. Kane wryly noted that he didn’t wipe away the smudge. He would wait to do that when he was out of her range of vision.
They trooped to the jump chamber, all of them a little annoyed by the constant sound of respiration echoing within their helmets.
The translucent armaglass walls of the Cerberus gateway bore a rich brown tint. Right above the keypad encoding panel hung an imprinted notice, dating back to predark days. In faded maroon lettering, it read Entry Absolutely Forbidden To All But B12 Cleared Personnel. Mat-Trans.
Kane used to wonder why Lakesh hadn’t removed the sign, but the old man probably applied the same reasons to keeping the illustration of the three-headed hound intact. Nostalgia could take very curious forms.
The destination-lock coordinates had already been entered into the interphase computer program, so simply by closing the chamber door automatic jump-initiator circuits would be engaged.
They took their places, and Kane pulled the door closed. He noted that breathing rates increased, including his own. Traveling the quantum stream always induced apprehension, if not fear.
Kane glanced over toward Grant. “Aren’t you going to say it?”