But of course, now running third, Ryce wasn’t one to be content with his placing. His goal was to win, after all; anything short of complete victory spelled defeat. Whatever happened, he’d try to push for that coveted first place.
And it was exactly what he was doing. With no hopes of bypassing the second jet in the narrow chasm, Ryce dived right below it, skimming closely to the uneven ground where the ancient river used to flow. This was putting a strain on an engine that hadn’t been in top condition to begin with; these jets were not meant to go so low. Matt held his breath as the Sparrow soared again, despite his concerns, even though he could almost physically feel the forces that were threatening to tear its battered hull apart.
The maneuver put Ryce solidly in the runner-up position. The jet now in third place still hung close to his six, but Ryce was intent on closing the distance between himself and the leader. Matt could only imagine the tensions running among the gamblers at the emergence of a completely unexpected new favorite.
The Waxwing took the sharp turns with the ease of fearless familiarity. By now he probably knew some upstart was challenging his position in the race, and Matt had a feeling he was not going to take it well.
He dug his fingers into the armrests as Ryce attempted the dive yet again. The Sparrow plunged to the ground, striving to undercut the Waxwing as it had done with Cobb’s jet. But this time, it seemed Ryce had met his match, at least where nerve was concerned. The Waxwing dropped down as well, right in front of the Sparrow’s nose cone, flying at just about the same altitude. With the other jet so dangerously close, Ryce could neither bypass it for risk of hitting the wall, nor pull up, effectively stuck in his position at the whim of the other racer.
Matt tasted a tang of copper on his tongue and released the lip he was biting. With all of Ryce’s incredible piloting skills, it was only a matter of time until the aerojet’s thrusters lost the battle against the gravitational pull, or until it crashed against a rocky protrusion of the uneven ground.
But even with a better engine, the Waxwing couldn’t keep it up much longer, since he ran the same risk of crashing as Ryce did.
The canyon widened abruptly, its walls opening up to more than twice the breadth they were before. The Waxwing, who by all accounts was pretty familiar with the route, took the opportunity to pull sharply up and away into the open space.
Fortunately, Ryce’s instincts were quick enough to follow suit immediately. The Sparrow visibly struggled to haul itself up, losing those invaluable seconds while the Waxwing took the lead, widening the gap between them. But once Ryce was in the clear, he picked up speed, as unrelenting in this dash to the finish as he’d been fighting hostile aliens in space battles. This was the last stretch of the course, with only a few dozen miles left to go till the finish line.
Ryce’s Sparrow rolled and dropped into a turn, taking advantage of the wider expanse, in what Matt recognized to be a sort of a low Yo-Yo maneuver which allowed it to cut the Waxwing’s trajectory from a lower angle and overshoot it. That brought Ryce directly in front of the Waxwing’s nose, which was a bad position to be in if they’d been locked in battle where laser guns were involved.
As it turned out, it wasn’t a great move in the current situation either. It might have worked against a more skittish opponent, but whoever this Stahl was, he was no less determined than Ryce, and he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. The Waxwing swerved in a wide arc and accelerated, doing the same kind of maneuver it had done before, in which it went on a collision course with the other jet. Matt wasn’t sure if the sharp intake of breath was his or Tony’s; both of them only had eyes for the drama that was unfolding on screen.
Ryce was usually not the type to fall for those kinds of tricks. In fact, he was far more likely to employ them himself. But this time, either he judged his competitor to be too obsessively tenacious to ignore, or his nerves were much more frayed than he let on, because he rolled and veered away, just as the ground began to slope upward and the walls fell back, growing gradually lower and less steep.
Without faltering, the Waxwing turned and sped upward and forward to the invisible finish line, climbing out from the canyon. Ryce’s jet followed closely, but his evasion tactic had cost him the advantage and, eventually, the race, as he crossed the finish second.
The last camera lingered on the spot, waiting for the other racers to come in. Their order didn’t matter at this point, after a clear winner had emerged, but the information still had to be transmitted for the sake of future bookings. When the last pod reached the sandy elevation of the desert, the feed turned off without a warning, the screen going black again.
The momentary silence was so complete Matt was sure Tony could hear the sound of his frantic heartbeat. The quiet was heavy and oppressive, even though there’d been no audio to the live feed before.
Finally, Tony stirred and turned to him, her face a mask of shock and concern, and Matt just couldn’t take it anymore. He jumped from his seat and ran into the corridor, a wave of bile rising to his throat.
He stopped only in front of the hidden liquor compartment in the rec room. His hands shook as he poured himself a glass of scotch, and he couldn’t tell if it was with relief or panic. Either way, he needed to calm the fuck down.
Matt swallowed the scotch, wincing at the taste, like acid scorching his throat, despite it being the last of his top-quality stock. He poured himself another shot but lingered, staring at the paneled wall with unseeing eyes.
It’s okay. Ryce is alive; he’s coming back. Get a grip on yourself.
But will Ryce be as lucky next time? There was that treacherous little voice whispering in his head. Because there would be a next time. Matt had been too slow and too incompetent to get shit done on the first try, despite all the help he’d had from Ryce and Tony. Val was still being held hostage somewhere, and Ryce was forced to risk his life again and again, and they were nowhere near a solution— It was all his fault.
Matt’s fingers tightened on the glass, and for a second, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to drink it or smash it against the wall. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he made himself push it away. Now was not a good time to wallow in self-pity. There were people who depended on him—his people—and he had to do whatever it took to make things right for them.
First things first. Ryce had come out of the race alive and whole, even managing not to mangle the jet too badly, but he did only come in second. Griggs and his lot were bound to be displeased by that. Even if Ryce competed again and won the next race, the stakes he’d command after today’s performance would be much lower, since more people would bet on him winning. It meant that even if he succeeded, Griggs’s winnings would be substantially less than they could have been had Ryce won as a “dark horse” on the first try.
The thought nearly caused another bout of panic, but this time, Matt managed to stomp it down. Griggs still needed Ryce, even after today’s faux pas, so it was unlikely he’d do anything to actually harm him.
In any case, there was nothing Matt could do but wait for Ryce’s return. He left the glass on the table, untouched, and headed back to his own cabin.
Chapter Fourteen
MATT LOITERED IN the corridor leading up to the main hatch, like a dog waiting for his master to come home. At least, that was what he thought dogs did, because he’d never actually owned one, either real or biomechanical. He was pretty sure even a loyal pet would at some point become sorely disappointed with his caring skills.
He was debating whether calling Ryce was a good idea when the entrance panel finally lit up and the hatch slid open, admitting a very tired and—Matt could see it clearly from the tightness around his eyes and mouth—very irate Ryce.
“You’re back,” he blurted, leaning his hand against the wall, his knees weak with giddy relief.
Ryce cocked his head to the side, as if judging his response. His flight suit was rumpled and smelled faintly of sweat and jet fuel.
“Of c
ourse I’m back,” he said with just a hint of annoyance.
Matt peeled himself off the wall and crossed his arms on his chest, trying to appear more nonchalant. He wanted to pounce on Ryce, hold him close, whisper even sillier things in his ear, but it seemed none of it would be welcome right now.
“Did they give you a hard time?”
“No,” Ryce said. “No one approached me at the station docks, and I stayed as far away as I could from anyone else on the transport on the way back. Seemed like a wise thing to do.”
“I guess that means they’ll contact us with further instructions, then,” Matt said. A part of him was glad Griggs’s people had left Ryce alone instead of harping on his failure, or worse, retaliating, but another part wondered at this unexpected benevolence; it was nothing if not suspicious.
Ryce just nodded. He looked weary—not even tired, really, but sort of jaded. Coming down from an intense adrenaline rush must have been rough, but Matt knew it was more than that. Ryce was used to being the best at everything, both when it came easy and when it required hard work. Suffering defeat at something he considered his forte, his calling even, was not something he was used to dealing with, especially when there had been so much riding on his potential win.
Matt let his hands fall to his sides and took a step forward. They were now standing only a few inches apart, but the invisible wall he’d gone out of his way to erect between them was still there, a barrier not to be crossed.
He hated seeing Ryce so despondent. Maybe he couldn’t touch him, but he could at least talk.
“Hey. Don’t let it get to you, all right? It was the first time you’ve flown the route. That other guy in the Waxwing knew what he was doing. You’ll get the hang of it next time. You know you’re better than all those pilots; it’s just a matter of getting your toes wet.”
Ryce gazed at him, his expression intense and unreadable. For a moment, Matt was afraid Ryce was going to snap at him—not that he didn’t have a right to. But he just sighed and ran his hand over his hair, which had grown out of its previous severe buzz cut into soft blond waves.
“I should have done better. The oldest trick in the book, and I fell for it. Lost my nerve at the last moment. It’s never happened to me before. Not like this.”
“You didn’t know what that rabid bastard would do,” Matt said, trying to think of a cogent argument which would convince Ryce to go easy on himself and not take the loss to heart. “I saw the whole thing, and I was sure he was gonna slam right into you if you didn’t move out of his way.”
Matt’s heart sped up again at the memory, for a brief second reliving the terror at watching that unlucky Finch jet explode, and he swallowed hard to make it stop.
“You’re damn lucky to have come out of it alive,” he said, his voice a bit hoarser than he intended.
Ryce didn’t answer. If anything, he looked even more miserable.
Fuck it, Matt thought with sudden clarity. Even if it’s all to be over between us, he’s still my friend, first and foremost, and he needs me.
Matt closed the distance between them and hugged Ryce, as tightly as he could. He was ready to let go if Ryce pulled away, but he didn’t. Ryce’s heartbeats mixed with his own, and he was overcome by an incredible sense of belonging. Ryce was now a part of his soul—as trite as it sounded—and even having to give him up couldn’t change that.
Matt loved him.
A small amount of tension left Ryce’s body as they stood there in the middle of the corridor, locked in the impromptu embrace. He sighed again and leaned into Matt infinitesimally.
The entrance alert buzzed, and Matt bit down a curse. Why couldn’t they have even a brief moment to themselves? He seriously considered letting whoever it was at the door cool their heels a bit, but Ryce already stepped back, breaking the contact and leaving Matt feeling strangely bereft. His gray eyes were dark with emotion, but a second later, he schooled his features into his usual mask of cool indifference.
Matt punched the entrance panel to see who was interrupting them so rudely, itching to give them a piece of his mind, but the external camera feed showed no one outside the main hatch. Instead, there was a small cooler crate, about fifteen by ten inches, sitting at the top of the ramp.
“What the hell,” Matt muttered.
He opened the hatch and peered cautiously to the sides before stepping outside. As far as he could see, nobody was lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump him. He bent down and picked the cooler. It was heavy for its size, but that was probably the added weight of the temperature-controlling electronics rather than actual contents. The crate’s screen was devoid of any information—nothing to either indicate the sender or give any clue as to what might be inside.
Matt was sorely tempted to leave the thing outside unclaimed or call Station Security to investigate it, which would be the sensible thing to do. But in his position, he couldn’t afford to be sensible. He either played the game or forfeited, and that was not an option he was prepared to consider—since he wouldn’t be the one paying the steep price of losing.
Ryce closed the hatch as soon as Matt stepped back inside.
“What is it?”
“I have no idea. Let’s check it out in the galley.”
They met Tony coming their way as they hurried up the corridor.
“Oh, you’re finally back!” She began with a smile as she spotted Ryce, but then her eyes fell on the cooler in Matt’s hands. She frowned. “Where did that thing come from?”
“Someone left it on the doorstep,” Matt said and hauled the crate onto the kitchen table. They all huddled around it.
“Are you sure you want to open it?” Tony asked. Ryce didn’t say anything but looked at Matt questioningly. In the end, Matt was the captain, and the final decision fell on him.
No, he wanted to say. He had a very, very bad feeling about whatever was inside, but it was too late to back down now. Instead, he swiped the touch pad on the crate. The lid popped open with a soft hiss, and the galley filled with the coolant vapors.
“Holy fuck,” Tony said into the ensuing silence.
Lying on a bedding of artificial ice packs was a finger. It was a human index finger, cleanly cut at the base with presumably a laser knife, the wound partially cauterized. The old faded burn marks at the tip made it only too easy to guess whom it belonged to. Tony had spent way too much time fixing the results of Val’s tampering with faulty wiring.
Matt recoiled and fought hard not to gag at the sight. He’d seen the mangled bodies of soldiers and civilians left after Alraki attacks, so he was hardly a stranger to gore and violence. Yet somehow, this single thing, so incongruous in an otherwise perfectly normal setting, had so much more impact.
He glanced around at his companions. Tony stared at the detached body part, her hand hovering over her mouth in horror. Ryce was white as a sheet.
“Excuse me,” he said in a hollow voice and ran out of the galley without waiting for their response.
“I might be sick too,” Tony said faintly.
“I don’t think he’s sick,” Matt said. He suspected that unlike him, Ryce didn’t get queasy at the sight of blood. “He believes he’s responsible.”
He pushed the lid shut again, unable to stand looking at Val’s finger any longer. Now, as the initial shock subsided, anger bubbled to the surface. This had to be Ander’s doing. Oh, Griggs might have ordered it, and Tex might have thought it necessary, but Matt didn’t have a doubt in his mind Ander had been the one carrying out the directive, and enjoying every last bit of it.
I hope you die, motherfucker. Next time somebody tries to beat you into a bloody pulp, I’m gonna help them.
“Can we find out who delivered it?” Tony asked, her voice still a bit shaky. “Maybe request pulling recordings from the dock surveillance cameras? Station Security would have to investigate something like that.”
Matt shook his head. “What’s the point? We know damn well who delivered it, and why.”
&nbs
p; Silence hung heavily around the table as they stared at the crate, its control panel lights glowing serenely.
“I’ll hold on to it,” Tony said finally, grabbing the cooler. “Keep it in the infirmary till Val gets back.”
“You do that,” Matt said. He didn’t know whether it’d do any good, but it was the best they could do for the time being. “I’m gonna have a quick chat with Ryce.”
“You do that,” Tony echoed as he headed toward the cabins.
MATT HALTED IN front of Ryce’s closed door and took a deep breath. It wasn’t that he was afraid to talk to him, precisely, but he was worried about making things worse. He had never been that compassionate person to offer sage advice; if anything, he was the one who was notoriously bad at keeping his shit together during emotionally rough patches. But he couldn’t leave Ryce alone right now, either. He knew what it was like to blame himself for the harm that befell his crewmates, whether the culpability was real or not.
He knocked on the door. A full minute passed before it opened.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked, stepping inside.
Ryce nodded, but the truth was he looked anything but okay. He was still wearing the smelly flight suit, and the bed he’d apparently been sitting on was rumpled. For Ryce, who was usually neatness personified, it was a sure sign of distress.
“This is not your fault,” Matt said fiercely. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, it is,” Ryce said in a lackluster voice. “I faltered, and now Val is the one paying for it.”
“Like hell. You didn’t do this to Val. They are the ones responsible.”
“You know that’s not how it works.”
Matt bit back his response. He knew too well words only went so far in mitigating that awful feeling which came with carrying someone else’s suffering as your burden. Ryce had said almost the same to him when he’d confided in him about abandoning his former crew-fellows when pirates captured the ship he’d been navigating. While he’d appreciated the sentiment, he could never bring himself to agree he wasn’t to blame for their deaths.
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