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“Stay behind me,” he said.
“See? There.” I reached for my bag. “That one I understand.”
I followed him out.
The landing bay was smaller than I expected, big enough for the transport, a second empty berth, and several storage lockers built directly into the walls. The ceiling sat lower than the mountain outside had prepared me for, all dark composite panels and recessed lighting. The light was pale enough to make the stone around the bay look almost blue-black.
There were no insignia. No colony markings. Nothing identifying who owned any of it.
The floor was cleaner than Bren had been, but not polished. Fine gray dust had collected where the wall met the ground, as though the mountain kept trying to remind whoever built the place that it was still there.
Veyr moved through the space methodically, pressing his hand against one panel, pausing to listen, then moving to another. He drew a weapon before opening the interior door.
Not dramatically.
Like it was the same as reaching for a light switch.
I noticed that too.
The door slid open onto a narrow corridor lit by recessed strips along the floor. Veyr entered first, and I followed.
The temperature dropped another few degrees.
The place was quiet enough that my footsteps sounded too loud, each one coming back to me faintly from the walls. Somewhere deeper inside, machinery hummed at a frequency low enough to feel more than hear.
Three rooms branched off the corridor.
The first contained four bunks.
All made.
None looked used.
The bedding was dark and tightly fitted, without wrinkles or personal blankets. The room smelled faintly of stored fabric and whatever cleaning agent had been used the last time someone bothered.
No abandoned shirt. No cup. No dent in a pillow.
Nothing that said a specific person had ever slept there.
The second room held equipment.
Weapons. Medical supplies. Sealed food packets.
More weapons.
The temperature was cooler inside, probably for storage, and the air carried the sharp antiseptic smell of medical supplies mixed with machine oil.
I stopped in the doorway. “Do you expect a war?”
“No.”
“That answer is somehow worse.”
He ignored me, opened a cabinet, counted something, then closed it again.
The third room was larger.
A table. Two chairs. A wall terminal. Food storage. Water dispenser.
