Ryce’s commlink beeped just as Matt was dozing off, disturbing the quiet sounds of their mingled breath. Ryce stirred beside him and leaned over to rummage for the offending gadget in the pile of his dirty clothing, casually strewn across the floor.
“Leave it,” Matt mumbled sleepily.
“I don’t get too many incoming messages these days,” Ryce said. “It might be important.”
Matt sighed and buried his face in the pillow. As far as he was concerned, whoever it was could shove their important business till they were ready to face the world again.
Ryce finally found his comm and sat up on the bed. His stillness made Matt open his eyes, a pang of worry cutting through the lassitude.
“What is it?”
Ryce didn’t answer, and Matt sat up as well, seriously concerned now. “Something happened?”
“I don’t know.” Ryce was still staring at the glowing screen of his comm with a small frown. “I think…I think I just had money transferred into my account.”
“What?” That brought Matt back to full wakefulness. “Somebody gave you money?”
“Yes,” Ryce said. He scrolled down the data feed on the comm, his frown deepening. “And it’s a lot.”
“How much is ‘a lot’?”
“One hundred thousand Federal credits.”
For a split second, Matt forgot how to breathe. He swallowed hard. His imagination refused to come up with a mental picture of so much money falling into Ryce’s account out of nowhere. There must have been some mistake, or worse, some kind of a scam. There was also a chance he was already asleep, and it was all just a dream conjured by his trouble-ridden mind, but the cool air and the heavy sheets felt a little too real against his skin.
“Do you know who made the payment?” he asked.
“No. The transfer was anonymous. But it came from Onor.” Ryce finally turned to him. His expression was baffled, almost apprehensive.
“Onor? But it would mean—”
“I can only think of one person on Onor who might do that,” Ryce said.
“Your birth mother,” Matt said quietly.
“Yes.”
There was a pause. Matt moved closer to Ryce, enough to feel the warmth of his skin but not quite touching.
“Is there a message that came with the transfer?” he asked.
“Yes. It says, “I’m sorry.” Ryce looked at him with a wry smile. “I must say your timing at inquiring after my forebearers was extraordinary.”
Matt flushed. He most definitely didn’t want to tell Ryce the reason behind his earlier questioning. Ryce was right—this seemed like too much of an amazing coincidence.
“Why would she send you money?” he asked in an attempt to divert the conversation.
“I can only assume Professor Brinan told her of our meeting,” Ryce said slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I guess in the end he judged it right to inform her about me, despite his personal aversion. But I never actually expected her to acknowledge my existence. Certainly not by sending a small fortune by way of apology for giving me up.”
“What are you going to do?”
There was another pregnant silence as Ryce seemed to contemplate the question.
“I’m going to accept,” he said at last.
“Really?”
Matt couldn’t hide his surprise. There was no doubt such a sum would set Ryce up very comfortably, whatever he eventually decided to do with it, but for some reason, he was sure Ryce wouldn’t want the implied obligation that went with it—much like Matt didn’t want to be indebted to his own family.
Ryce sighed and his shoulders slumped. He shut down his comm and leaned over to put it on the little all-purpose table.
“I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea. But declining the gift would mean cutting off all possibility of future contact. And I…don’t want to do that. Running into Brinan made me realize I want to have a family. I found a new one here, with you and the others.” Ryce turned to Matt and offered him a small, shy smile. “But I miss my parents so much. I don’t want to lose the chance of getting to know my birth mother because I was too proud to give her a break.”
Matt hugged him before planting a kiss on his temple. “She’d be lucky to know you.”
Ryce leaned into his embrace. “My complicated relations aside, we need that money.”
That “we” sent a warm shiver through Matt. But it still didn’t feel right to him.
“It’s your money,” he insisted. “I can’t possibly take it.”
“If it’s mine, then I can do whatever I please with it,” Ryce countered. “Like buying a new power converter for my ship. If you want, we can call it a loan for upkeep purposes.”
“It would take me forever to pay you back,” Matt said, smiling.
“Then it’s fortunate I’m not going anywhere,” Ryce whispered and drew him into a kiss.
Epilogue
THE FREEPORT 73 IMA branch waiting room hadn’t gotten any more welcoming since the last time Matt was here. It was busy, with a lot of tired and concerned humans and aliens occupying the uncomfortable plastic chairs or pacing nervously. A large screen displayed a muted edition of the news, which was met with general disinterest.
Matt tried to follow the recap of the political situation and the war updates across the galaxy but quickly gave up. Most of it was predictably grim, and he didn’t need any bad news spoiling his mood.
Things were actually looking up for all of them, for a change. Val had already put in an order for a brand new power converter, which was scheduled to arrive tomorrow. With the engine (hopefully) operational again, and their station docking fees paid in full, they could go wherever they pleased, and Matt, for one, couldn’t wait to get out of this miserable system and as far away as he possibly could.
He was still undecided on their new destination. Every sector and star system held its own opportunities and risks. Perhaps, this time, it would be prudent to choose a more central location. Matt usually avoided working in places with massive Federal presence, but he was quite fed up with backwater authorities’ approach to organized crime. Maybe going by the straight and narrow for a change wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Ryce would certainly welcome it, even if it meant being somewhat restricted in their job choices.
He fiddled idly with his commlink. Minutes seemed to crawl by with agonizing slowness. God, he hated waiting. Tony was right; he had all the patience of a toddler.
“How much longer is this going to take?”
“It’s a complicated procedure, you know.” Tony was sitting in the chair next to him, sipping some atrociously healthy beverage she’d concocted using fresh produce. Matt shuddered at the vibrant green color, clearly visible through the transparent plastic.
“They only have to sew his finger back on, not attach a different head,” he muttered.
Tony didn’t deign to respond to that, and Matt went back to his commlink. They could try the Gemel system. It had plenty of inhabited planets and moons, as well as several military outposts and remote environmental research facilities. That, along with a fairly strategic location on the edge of the disputed space between the humans and the Alraki in the Scutum–Centaurus Arm of the galaxy, promised stiffer competition in the runners’ job market. But Matt had no problem with working for less than lucrative fees if it meant staying afloat for a little while longer.
The clinic door opened, and Val finally emerged into the waiting room limbo. Matt and Tony surged to their feet.
“Everything all right, big guy?” Matt asked, eying him critically. Val’s left hand was bandaged in swaths of silicone elastics, and he was pale as a sheet, but otherwise, he appeared to be his usual healthy and reserved self.
“Yep. The surgery went well. The doctor said I should be able to fully use the finger again in a week or so.” He waved his wrapped hand in the air vaguely and winced. “Gave me pain meds and everything.” He sighed. “I really owe Easom for paying for all this.”
/> They all owed Ryce in one way or another, there was no doubt about it; but this time, Matt was surprisingly chill with being indebted to someone. He supposed it all depended on the person in question and their attitude toward helping friends in times of need. Unlike Matt’s family, there were no strings attached to the money.
“Drinks are on me, gents,” Tony offered graciously. Val side-eyed her cup, and she mock-slapped him on the shoulder. “I mean real drinks, in a bar. We need to celebrate you getting out of surgery, among other things.”
Val shrugged. “I’m good with that. Captain?”
“Sure. Let’s just all stay out of trouble this time, okay? I’ll call Ryce and tell him to meet us there.”
A voice-message alert popped up on screen at the exact moment Matt tapped his comm. He frowned at the unfamiliar number, but he couldn’t afford to ignore any calls. The chances of a potential client seeking him out at just the right time were slim, but not nonexistent.
“You go on,” he told Tony and Val. “I’ll see what this is about and catch up with you.”
As they exited the waiting room, Matt hit the message icon.
“Long time no see, Spears,” a deep rough voice said, and Matt had to sit back in his chair for the sudden weakness in his knees. It was a voice he’d hoped never to hear again, a voice out of his nightmares.
But how could this be? Federal prisoners weren’t allowed to make personal calls or send messages, not even high-profile prisoners like Captain Dylan Rodgers, who, as far as Matt knew, was currently detained at a secure correctional facility in some godforsaken hellhole. Wasn’t he?
“Heard you’ve been stirring up some shit again,” Rodgers continued. “Makes you an easy man to find. See you soon.”
The message ended abruptly. There was no other information attached, just a number which led nowhere when Matt tried to search it.
He put the comm back in his pocket and wiped his hands on his pants as if the palms were sweaty or dirty. His mind reeling, it took conscious effort to slow his breathing and calm down as he stared at the plain white wall with unseeing eyes.
Perhaps he could ask Ryce to trace the call—but no. He didn’t want Ryce involved in his feud with Rodgers, whatever other link there might exist between his partner and the notorious pirate. What Ryce didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and that applied to whatever mindfuckery Rodgers was indulging in.
Because that was all it was—Rodgers simply toying with him, trying to scare Matt for putting him behind bars. Matt had no idea how Rodgers had managed to find him and reach out from his prison, but he didn’t care—nor did he want to dig any deeper into it. It didn’t matter anyway. Soon, they’d be far, far away from here, and even if Rodgers had any informants on this station (such as Stahl, most likely), he wouldn’t be able to track them down again so easily.
Matt took one last deep breath and got up. To hell with Rodgers and his threats. He had so many things to be thankful for—he had the man he loved by his side, his friends were safe, his ship was ready to fly again, and they were all happily and gloriously alive. The universe was there at the touch of his fingertips with its infinite possibilities, full of mysteries and untapped opportunities yet to discover—that they all could discover together.
“One day at a time,” Matt whispered, recalling Ryce’s promise, and hurried to join his crew’s celebration.
About the Author
A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @Isabelle_Adler
Website: www.isabelleadler.com
Other books by this author
Adrift (Staying Afloat, Book One)
The Castaway Prince (The Castaway Prince, Book One)
A Touch of Magic (Fae-Touched, Book One)
Frost
Coming Soon from Isabelle Adler
The Exile Prince
The Castaway Prince, Book Two
The warm morning breeze carried the smell of sea salt, exotic spices, and the promise of a distant sand storm.
Stephan breathed deeply, closing his eyes against the gentle currents, and leaned on the windowsill, offering his face up to the sun. It was not yet noon, but the heat was already building up. Soon the busy streets of the port city of Varta would empty, the denizens taking a brief respite during the midday hours to hide in the relative cool of their homes, away from the glare of the ruthless sun. At dusk, all activity would renew with rekindled vigor, the streets around the harbor filling with the cries of peddlers hawking their wares, the music of wandering performers, and the general hubbub of a large city going about its business. But for now, Stephan simply enjoyed the bright sunshine, which had been so rare in his native Seveihar, before he’d be forced to retreat to the shade of his rooms.
No, their rooms. He’d been living with Warren, his former footman and current lover, for the past six months, sharing the two cozy rooms in one of the quieter districts of Varta. The modest appointment of the space was a far cry from the richness of his father’s royal palace in Sever, but luxury was low on Stephan’s priority list. These short months were the happiest he’d been in his entire life. Granted, at twenty years old, he was still at the beginning of his journey, but with his father gone and the rest of the family actively persecuting him, he’d had his fair share of misery.
Stephan sighed and closed the wooden shutters. Even so, the room was still softly illuminated, filled with translucent, soporific light. The hem of his white silk robe trailed after him as he made his way to the large writing desk, cluttered with sheaves of paper and different-colored inkwells. Warren, being the son of a merchant, was the one with the experience and a practical grasp for business, and he had been the one to suggest they invest the money left from selling Stephan’s extensive collection of jewelry in local commerce. For centuries, Varta, the second largest city of Segor, had been a crucial junction for the passage of goods between the deep south and the northern countries and provinces—including Seveihar and rival Esnia. With trade burgeoning in recent years, investing in independent shipping ventures seemed like a sound plan, although they were only now beginning to see any returns. None of it was enough to make a fortune, but for now, at least, they were able to live comfortably.
Stephan settled in a chair and pulled out a stack of letters he wanted to sift through one more time. While Warren was responsible for the finances, Stephan handled the records and the correspondence. As a member of the royal family, he was well-versed in several languages, including Segati—a dialect spoken in Segor and along the long stretch of the southern coast. But reading and writing with a teacher weren’t the same as practicing the language among native speakers, and Stephan wanted to brush up on his communication skills as much as possible to be able to navigate the often-equivocal patterns of business negotiations with Segorian merchants and ship owners.
He was writing down some notes on a piece of paper when the door opened, and Warren stepped in, letting out a long-suffering sigh as he closed the door and took off his sweat-soaked scarf.
Stephan smiled and rose to meet him, throwing his arms around Warren and planting a quick kiss on his lips. Warren’s skin, flushed and hot, still carried traces of salt and fish smell.
“I missed you,” Stephan said playfully.
Warren grinned in response, taking Stephan’s hand and kissing his fingers. “I’ve only been gone a few hours. And I still stink from the docks.”
“I don’t mind.” Stephan nodded at the leather-bound ledger sticking out of Warren’s coat pocket. “Any news?”
“The ship should arrive any day now. With the price of silk going up, we should make a nice profit off this consignment.”
“You migh
t be the one to blame for the increase in prices,” Stephan teased. “You didn’t have to buy me quite so many dresses.”
“Of course I did. They make you happy. And I love seeing you in them.”
Warren let go of Stephan and threw the ledger on the desk. He was still smiling, but Stephan could sense tension in the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his smile quickly turned from genuine to strained.
“What’s wrong?” Stephan asked. “Are you worried about the ship being delayed?”
Warren shook his head and sat on the long bench beside a low dining table. He picked an orange from a fruit bowl and began peeling it.
“I’ve heard some bad news from Seveihar,” he said, avoiding meeting Stephan’s eyes.
Stephan sat back at the desk, tucking his long hair behind his ear in a nervous gesture. He knew he wasn’t going to like it.
“The war has started, hasn’t it?” he asked quietly.
Warren nodded. “Rumors spread fast in this city. It seems the first thing your brother did after ascending to the throne was declare war on Esnia.”
Stephan swore softly. His older brother Robert had been warmongering to garner political support, but until now, Stephan had clung to the naive hope he wouldn’t go as far as actually starting a full-blown territorial war with their neighbor. Or at least that his advisers would stop him from making such a foolish move, if he wasn’t prudent enough to restrain himself. Even after fleeing his homeland and abandoning his title, Stephan couldn’t help but feel somehow responsible for the wellbeing of its people. Waging a war when most of them were already struggling with the increase in waterway taxes his uncle Rowan had decreed last fall would only add insult to injury.
“That wasn’t what got me worried, though. There’s more.” Warren dropped the peelings on the table and frowned at the naked fruit, as if surprised it turned out to be an orange after all. “There’s talk about Seveiharians in Varta. Apparently, an envoy arrived at the Governor’s palace two days ago. They were trying to keep it secret, but again, Varta is anything but surreptitious.”
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