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He met his team in the hangar, along with one of the gunner’s mates checking over their small arms. In the background, their shuttlecraft pilot wiped down all of the control surfaces as he worked his way through his pre-launch checklist. “Doctor, how do you do?”
“Very well, sir, and you,” said Doctor Russ, transferring his bag to his left hand so he could salute with his right. This revealed one of the Roth’s pistols in a holster on his right hip, Jack noted as he returned the salute, handle foremost.
Pulling his attention from this unexpected detail, Jack surveyed the rest of the group. Three men (one a woman, actually) wore the heavy gloves and helmets of a forced-entry team. The road box at their feet do doubt held their equipment. Two marines under Sergeant Strasser held their rifles in a stiff, at-ease posture, their bayonets sheathed in thigh holsters. Five other men held their weapons uncertainly - though basic training included small arms training, the knowledge had clearly not stuck; Jack made a mental note to begin training when the storm settled down.
“All right,” said Jack, and the away team fell turned their attention to him. “We have an unknown vessel, seemingly adrift. She don’t respond to hails, shows nothing on the IFF, so she could be derelict and therefore fair prize, or she could be a trap, so don’t lose your heads,” he added; at the mention of prize money, an almost unheard of thing for a transport’s crew, his team had broken into an excited babble.
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