"When can we veto for a better mission controller?" Seroth quipped, sidling past Darron, dodging the canny swat aimed for the back of his impudent skull.
Together, striding in two rows of rustling shoulder-pads, they absconded from the domed briefing chamber and out of the almost ominous holo-glow of Antar. From orbital distance, caught gently in the gas giants' swollen gravity well, the boy swore there was an ever subtle 'tug' in his stride. Objects cast to the floor were belayed, swept to the side by just a few centimeters. Local pressure would possibly be chaotic across the lunar surfaces, the hyper-pull of Antar's primary planet perhaps effecting water flows to sweep in tidal waves... or just simply tug the rock and mantle up under foot. Regardless, whatever 'piracy' was being conducted across the moons needed intervention. ...Abrupt intervention.
They paced briskly along a corridor running adjacent to the outer hulling, navigating several switchback security checkpoints before finding themselves amidst spacious fitting chambers. Nestled centrally were iris-porticullis airlocks, titanium-white doors standing by on lockdown until cycled for vacuum entry. Seroth held no love for the void. In order to experience its weightless wonders and grand infinity, a physical shell required layers of insulated, protective gear. Even then, on a space-walk, there was only the sound of your own breathing, heartbeat, and the subtle blood-rush swirling inside your ears. Lining the walling were stainless lockers, digi-pads cycling through blinking patterns, demanding input. Seroth strolled off to his right, settled before a locker, then rapidly tapped in his clearance code with his calloused thumb-pad. The digi-pad strobed green and sounded with a droning pop. ...And again sat a size too large void-suit.
@[member="Ben Watts"] @[member="Jaxton Ravos"] @[member="Darron Wraith"] @[member="Rosa Mazhar"]