Its cargo ramp lowers, hissing until it hits the stops, the pale dirt under the ship lighting up in thermal green hues. Voss shoulders his way to the front and gives the signal, then slips into the night, boots whispering as they touch sand. It feels like he’s feather light despite the suit, the heavy armor, battle rattle and ruck, reduced G taking all the work out. He leads with his weapon at shoulder height, and Wyatt’s at his back, signaling orders to the skinnies to take position around the old track wreckage they’d spotted from the air. They’re as quiet as they can be. A few skinnies take a knee and starting scanning the windswept slope, the soft ridges leading to the summit. Bright trails of the Milky Way glint through dust clouds, distant whorls of light. Jupiter is a pale disc above the horizon, with the double star of Earth and Moon flung high above it. The terrain sits frozen, rock and frost, barren ground spread out under the eclipsing orbits of two tiny moons, Phobos and Deimos, the Greek words for panic and terror.
