The bridge of the Iron Hammer was simple yet grand, a unique beauty filling every part of the room. There was nothing inside that could be called decoration, yet every detail revealed that its designer had pursued both beauty and practicality, and possessed considerable talent in that regard.
"It was my design."
As if he had foreseen the question, Honsou nodded to Saul Tarvitz. "I study such things in my spare time. Don't laugh at me, Captain."
"No."
Saul Tarvitz sat down solemnly, then replied, "There is nothing laughable about it. These things are proof that we are human, Captain Honsou. You should cherish your talent. At the very least, if the war truly ends one day, you would make an excellent architect."
The Warsmith's lips curved faintly. He nodded to him with a hint of a smile, accepting the praise, then spoke again.
"Thirty-nine hours."
Facing the other four, Honsou repeated the time.
"We still need thirty-nine hours to reach our destination, but repairing the hull will take another four hours. Fortunately, we had your help, Librarian Mephisto."
He offered the thanks with genuine sincerity.
Mephisto did not offer any polite refusals. He could accept that gratitude—in fact, if he had not protected the Iron Hammer when the Geller Field had been shattered by that pack of Void Wolves, the Demons would probably already be holding a feast aboard this ship by now.
Driving back a band of traitors who could not even afford to repair their Power Armor and driving back a horde of Demons were two matters whose difficulty lay worlds apart. Demons were Demons. Even the weakest among them could make a person suffer unbearably.
They were the material incarnation of the galaxy's cruel malice toward mankind.
"However, I'm afraid things will not be so simple."