He’d always hated escort missions when he played online back at home. The freighters always moved too slow, and the enemy launched too many torpedoes, always to the point he wanted to quit, but there would be no quitting this time. The stakes were higher than his online rankings.
As he stepped into the locker room, he saw the other pilots putting on flight helmets and strapping sidearms into their holsters. Other than the clicking and snapping of equipment, the room was quiet. No one spoke.
Skylar walked up to him, flexing her gloved hands and snapping her helmet into place with the visor still up. The color was drained from her face. Even her lips looked white as ice cubes as she nodded. He had seen her do it before their private training sims; each nod represented a mark on her mental
