One of the first familiar faces Floyd encountered was Nate. He was almost surprised, but perhaps his ploy to play basketball last night—was it only hours ago, not days as it seemed?—had helped. Nate seemed glad to see him, too.
“Ya t’eh, Jaxon! You’re here! What duty did you have? I was assigned to the adjutant in personnel, counting off everyone as they were logged aboard. We have three hundred thirteen. There were a few who didn’t make it. I heard they were supposed to take a suicide pill, anyone left on the ground who didn’t make the ship. Otherwise, they’d be tortured for info by the Fleet people.”
Floyd shuddered, trying not to concentrate on the images Nate’s careless words invoked. “Ya t’eh, yourself. I was stowing gear, everyone’s personal stuff they brought aboard.” He sucked in
