Compared to the slow, plodding Iron Mule freighter, the military transport ship was like a rocket on stimulants. The speed was undeniable—the trip from Europa to the training base near Jupiter's orbit took less than a third of the previous time. But comfort? That was a whole different story.
Icy metal benches, devoid of any ergonomics, were hard enough to crack your tailbone. No windows, only the harsh white glow of overhead lights and the pervasive smell of metal and ozone. Every minor course correction or engine burn transmitted vibrations directly through the unyielding seat into David's spine. "Feels like my spine’s gonna shake loose," a pale Latino kid next to him muttered. David could only offer a sympathetic grimace.
When the hatch finally cycled open, the sight that greeted them
