The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chatter of recruits discussing training exercises, mission assignments, and the endless speculation about when they'd face real combat again. Team Seven had claimed a corner table, their trays filled with the standard-issue protein rations that somehow managed to taste like everything and nothing simultaneously.
"I still can't believe those gravitational field generators," Kelvin was saying between bites, his enthusiasm undimmed by the morning's physical demands. "The precision required to maintain stable micro-wells across that much space without creating destructive interference patterns—it's like watching applied physics poetry."
Diana picked at her food with characteristic dullness. "Poetry doesn't keep you alive when something's trying to kill you in vacuum."
