“They wouldn’t have given me a defunct plane if they want me to win,” Ryce reasoned. “It doesn’t matter how battered it is. We just have to make sure the critical systems are in working order.”
“It’s one hell of a time to be missing our engineer, that’s for sure,” Matt grumbled. “Of course, our missing engineer is the reason we’re here in the first place.”
He glanced around at the other machines huddled in the belly of the spacious hauler. He guessed a lot of them were intended for the races, as they were aerial craft that would need transporting from the station to the planet and released in the atmosphere. There were about ten other planes of various makes and models, ranging from simple aerojets to strike fighters. All appeared to be in much better condition than the one they were assigned.
“Tex said they’ll pay for the repairs, but we’ll have to do them ourselves,” Ryce said. “That leaves us no time for…other things.”
By “other things,” he meant, of course, their rescue operation, which, in his mind, Matt had dubbed “Crime and Punishment” in honor of Val’s literary tastes. They still hadn’t the vaguest idea of where to start searching or even carefully inquiring about him, and on a station this big, three days were simply not enough to set things in motion.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Matt said. They were currently alone inside the holding chamber, but the maintenance crew came in and out as they pleased, and discussing such sensitive issues out in the open was a bad idea anyway (even if the term “open” was being used loosely). “Let’s just see what we’re up against first.”
He fished an electric screwdriver out of his pocket. Ryce climbed into the cockpit, and Matt paused to admire the way the coarse fabric of the fatigues tightened over his long, lightly muscled limbs. He shouldn’t be ogling, but he couldn’t help himself. The fact that he’d been lucky enough to actually hold this man in his arms almost every night for the past few weeks still mystified him, and sadness lanced through his chest at the thought of losing him again.
Shaking his head, he opened the lower back panel. The plane trembled slightly as Ryce activated his adapters and switched on the computer.
“The specs don’t look too bad,” Ryce said after a few minutes. “Nothing major needs to be replaced. Just some fine-tuning and switching out a few parts. The sensor array needs a bit of work, though.”
“We’ll make sure to focus on that.” Matt peered inside the jet’s belly. The sensors were super important in rough terrain conditions, but he was more worried about the integrity of the fuselage and the condition of the engine. With only one of those on board, there was no room for error. Whatever the plane’s computer indicated, they’d have to pick the engine apart to ensure everything was working like it was supposed to. Ryce’s safety was paramount.
“Nice tin can,” a slightly mocking voice said from behind.
Matt pulled his head out of the jet’s innards and straightened, turning around in annoyance. A tall man stood a few feet away, roughly in his fifties, wearing a bomber jacket and a crooked grin. The adapters on his temples marked him a pilot, but as far as Matt could tell, they were far from the latest model.
“You’re the owner?” the guy asked, nodding at the open jet.
“I am,” Ryce said, climbing down from the cockpit. He jumped nimbly onto the metal floor and dusted his hands on his fatigues. “And who are you?”
“Sandy Cobb. Seems like we be flying in the same event.”
“Perhaps,” Ryce said.
“My advice is, go easy at first, son. There’s always some new guy thinks he’s a hotshot and misses a sharp curve ’cause he ain’t paying attention.” Cobb shook his head ruefully.
Ryce drew himself up with that air of superior haughtiness he had mastered to perfection. But his age and striking good looks made it difficult for strangers to take him seriously. Matt had made the exact same mistake when he first met him and had been quickly set straight. So, it was understandable Cobb might think nothing of the new upstart competitor—an assumption he’d be very likely to regret once the engines started roaring.
Provided, of course, the damn engine actually worked. After Lady Lisa’s untimely malfunction, Matt wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
“You seem like someone who’s been around in this sort of thing,” Matt said, reining in his annoyance at the unsolicited intrusion and making a pacifying gesture at Ryce. Cobb was the chatty type, and any tidbit of information that wasn’t passed down from Tex and her buddies was welcome. “And like you said, we’re new. Any more tips you could give us?”
Cobb shifted his attention to Matt. “You his navigator? Most of us fly solo.”
“His mechanic,” Matt said.
The man eyed his pilot adapters but just shrugged. Pilot or not, these days, with the war hitting hard on a lot of colonies, lots of people of various professions and skill levels found themselves unemployed and scraping for the odd job to make ends meet. A mechanic was as good a position as any other.
“You both seem like fine lads,” Cobb decided. “If you’re in to make some cash on the side, no harm in that. It’s only the top three places that’ll get you paid, mind you, so don’t get any ideas. Slow and steady wins the race, as they say. Take your time to learn the ropes first, before you go charging ahead.”
“I know how to deal with an obstacle course,” Ryce said coolly, still unable to hide his affront at his experience being doubted.
“I bet you do,” Cobb said in the soothing tone of somebody trying to appease a cranky toddler. “But it ain’t just the obstacles. Some folks will do anything to win, and things can get pretty ugly out there. And I mean, vicious. Makes for a better show, too.”
“Is there someone in particular we should be watching out for?” Matt asked.
“Pretty much everybody, if you’re smart. But there’s one pilot, Stahl… He’s a mean son of a bitch and no mistake. Kept the lead for two races now with his Waxwing jet, so I reckon he won’t give up his place too easily, if he does the next one as well.”
“So he’s dangerous?”
The dark brown skin around Cobb’s eyes creased as he grinned at them.
“Hey, the rules are there ain’t no rules. He can do whatever the hell he pleases. I’d keep my distance till I knew what’s what. Maybe sit the next one out entirely if he shows. There’ll still be plenty opportunities to fly.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. “That’s mighty helpful of you.”
“Just a bit of a friendly warning,” Cobb shrugged. “You lads take care.”
He waved goodbye and walked toward the back exit, whistling softly.
“Old busybody,” Ryce said under his breath.
“He sure took pains to warn us off,” Matt said. “Psychological warfare to shake the competition? But he was right in one thing—we should remember it’s a dirty race. The terrain is not the only thing you’ll need to be watching out for.”
Ryce lifted his chin. “I’ve chased Alraki fighters in a Falcon under laser cannon cross fire. I think I can handle this Stahl person being belligerent.”
Matt sighed. There was no getting through to Ryce when he was caught up in his cocky attitude. He’d have to have the safety talk with him later, when his feathers wouldn’t be as ruffled.
“Fine, ace. Let’s just forget all the well-wishers and see what we can do about those sensors.”
IT WAS WELL past midnight when they finished working on the jet. In fact, they weren’t as much finished as Matt simply called for a break. The engine shaped up to be in pretty good condition, but some parts of the cooling system needed to be replaced, and with Ryce still tinkering with the sensor array and Val absent entirely, it was taking Matt twice the time to get anything done.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Ryce informed him once they stepped inside the Lady Lisa. They were both sweaty and covered in dust and grease.
“You go ahead,” Matt said. “I’m gonna grab a quick bite first.”
He
hadn’t had anything to eat since their somber breakfast that morning—which consisted of nothing but coffee. As if to emphasize his words, his stomach rumbled loudly.
A brief smile touched Ryce’s lips but was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Merely days ago, they would have laughed and joked about it, but now, even such harmless, good-natured ribbing seemed out of place. The inevitability of Ryce’s departure hung over them like a heavy cloud, poisoning the brief time they had left together with a miasma of bitterness.
Matt swung by the galley for his dinner. Unfortunately, the contents of their cupboards were in a particularly sorry state. The notion of having to choose between food and other current necessities had proved only too true.
After a short search, he fished out a can of corned beef hash. The artificially flavored ration was the least popular one with the crew, and right now, he was so hungry he didn’t care what it tasted like.
The light in the galley was too glaring for his tired eyes, so Matt opted to take his meager meal in the rec room. He was surprised to find Tony there, curled up on the sofa in front of the screen with a blanket thrown over her legs, watching a movie on mute.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said when she spotted him in the doorway.
The room was blissfully dark, the only light coming from the flickering images on the screen. Matt sat heavily in the armchair and dug into the can with a disposable spoon, forgoing the extra effort of heating it first.
“You sure you don’t want to fix yourself something nicer?” Tony asked, watching him gulp down the cold, sticky food.
“Nah. I’m good.” He wiped his mouth and looked at her. “Did you hear anything from the IMA regarding the contract?”
Tony sighed. “Not yet. God, I hope they don’t hear about the mess we’re in.”
“Yeah,” Matt frowned. If either the IMA or the Onoreans caught wind of their involvement with the station’s black market and illegal gambling, their only chance of getting a decent job would disappear faster than a ship falling through a jumpgate.
“I’m gonna need your help tomorrow if we want to get the repairs done on time,” Matt said, changing the subject. He suspected that the less than perfect condition of the jet was at least partly intentional—to keep them busy tinkering with it instead of focusing on rescuing Val. So far, it was working. “I have a list of parts we have to procure ASAP. Don’t haggle too much; Griggs will be the one footing the bill. Just stress we want them right away, if not sooner.”
“Sure thing.” Tony was looking at him with that expression Matt didn’t like. The one which meant she was gearing up for a serious talk. Even with the heavy food currently lining his stomach, he just couldn’t do any more serious talks.
“Is everything okay between you and Ryce?” Tony asked, confirming his suspicions.
He’d snap at any other person for sticking their nose where it didn’t belong, but Tony was different. She was like a caring, slightly meddlesome sister. Perhaps even more than a sister, since Matt and Nora had never been close enough to be asking such personal things of each other.
“Why?” Matt edged away from a direct response. Tony knew nothing about Nora and Colonel Mensah’s offer to Ryce, and he was obligated to maintain the secrecy.
“I don’t know, you guys seem distant all of a sudden,” Tony said carefully. “I know it’s not my business or anything, just… I can feel there’s something going on under the surface with you two. I thought you were doing fine.”
“Me too,” Matt muttered. He didn’t want to talk about it, not right now. He’d need her support later, when he’d have to somehow collect the pieces and move on with his life after the inevitable breakup. “It’s…complicated.”
“Is it?”
No. No, it wasn’t. It was all pretty simple, really. Matt cared for Ryce more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. But like most people in his life he’d cared about, Ryce wasn’t going to stick around, because Matt had nothing to offer that was worth staying for.
“It’s late and I’m tired,” he said, getting up and picking up his trash. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“Okay,” Tony said slowly, but Matt was already escaping to the corridor, making for the welcome solitude of his empty cabin.
Chapter Twelve
MATT SHUT THE little panel on the jet’s side with far more force than was necessary and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was probably smearing grease on it instead, but cleanliness was a lost battle at this point. His fatigues were already stained with all the inner fluids of a half-disassembled aircraft.
“I fixed the leak,” he called. “The coolant levels should hold steady now.”
“Running diagnostics,” Ryce answered from the cockpit, and after a few moments, “All seems to be in order.”
“Finally,” Matt muttered. The engine cooling unit had been giving them hell for the past few hours. Thankfully, the arrival of new carbon-steel pipe fittings helped fix the problem, but with everything still needing to be done, including sensor calibrations, they were going to pull an all-nighter.
Matt didn’t mind the hard work. Hell, if it meant boosting Ryce’s chances of emerging on the other side of the racecourse unscathed, he would have happily worked nonstop for a week. But every minute they spent in the giant cargo hold fixing the jet was a minute they didn’t spend searching for Val. Time was slipping through their fingers, and there was nothing Matt could do to mend this particular leak. Even Tony was too busy running around the station making sure they had all they needed, and despite her promise to poke into Griggs’s holdings while at it, Matt didn’t count on her making much progress.
Ryce climbed down from the cockpit to stand next to him.
“You should go rest,” he told Matt. “I can run the calibrations myself.”
“If anybody needs his rest, it’s you,” Matt said, offended at the proposal. He knew Ryce was looking after him, but there was no way he was going to get his beauty sleep before they were done. “The fucking race is tomorrow. You should be on top of your game, not working till the last minute.”
“There’s no need to get upset,” Ryce said levelly. “I’ll be fine. It’s only minor adjustments now. This thing is as ready to fly as it’ll ever be.”
“It might be ready, but we sure as hell aren’t. We still don’t even know where to start searching for Val, much less how to do something about it even if we did. Unless you’ve figured out a way for us to canvass all the private quarters of the outer ring in the next six hours.”
“No.” For a moment, Ryce looked as weary as Matt felt, his sharp gray eyes going dim, his mouth turning into a hard line.
Matt felt a stab of guilt. It wasn’t fair of him to demand answers of Ryce. For all his intelligence, he wasn’t omnipotent, and he was no less worried about Val than Matt or Tony were.
“I don’t see what else we can do tonight, not with the time we have. As much as I hate to say it, we will have to gather information after I get back and wait till the next…event for the extraction,” Ryce said.
For a brief second, Matt thought he’d misheard or failed to understand through the fog of his fatigue.
“You’re not actually thinking about doing it twice?”
“If I have to.”
“Absolutely not!” Matt sputtered. “Once is bad enough. Who knows what could happen? This is way too risky.”
“We might not have a choice,” Ryce said. “We’re no closer to having a solid plan of action than we were two days ago. We need more time.”
“Then we just tell Tex we’re not ready. Tell her the damn jet is still malfunctioning. Can’t race without an aircraft, can you? Then we’ll have all the time we need without you endangering yourself.”
“And what if she takes it for what it is—some sort of a stalling tactic? Do you really want to take that chance?”
Matt deflated. He knew he was grasping at straws. It killed him that he had to choose between Ryce and Val’s safety—and ultimate
ly, it wasn’t even his choice to make. It still didn’t make any of this less his responsibility. Or his fault, if anything bad happened.
The defeat must have shown on his face, because Ryce stepped up and grabbed his hand, squeezing it in reassurance. Matt squeezed back, yearning for more of this warm, anchoring touch. Their eyes locked, the irresistible and familiar connection pulling them together like a magnet as the moment stretched into infinity. Ryce’s lips parted, as if he was about to say something, and Matt’s heart sped up in anticipation. He made an involuntary step forward.
His comm buzzed, and the spell shattered. Ryce’s expression faltered and closed off. Matt broke contact reluctantly to answer the call, clamping down on his disappointment.
“Hey, Captain,” Tony said. She looked tired too, as far as Matt could make out on the little screen. The stress was certainly weighing heavily on all of them. “I think I might have found something.”
The tone of her voice indicated she wasn’t talking about spare parts. Matt motioned for Ryce to get closer, and they huddled over the commlink, keeping close to the side of the jet.
“What is it?”
“When I was ordering a fuel refill for you, I chatted up the supplier’s technician,” Tony said. “And apparently, they’ve been supplying fuel for a Javelin-type yacht named Medusa right here at Dock B11. It’s been going out nearly every week, sometimes even more frequently, for the past few months, and it’s always back after less than a day.”
“Okay,” Matt said. “I gather there’s more to it than posh joyriding?”
Tony nodded. “The yacht is registered to a private company. But after some prodding, the technician implied its owner is a big shot in the station private commerce sector. And by that, he meant the underground market.”
Ashore Page 10
