“You think it’s Griggs’s,” Ryce said, his voice only a whisper above the steady hum of the jet’s machinery.
“Yes,” Tony said. “And those short off-station runs? There’s nothing close enough to be reached in a 24-hour roundabout trip. I think he uses it to monitor the races in planetary orbit.”
There was a short pause as they let the information sink in.
“That is plausible,” Ryce said finally, but without his usual confidence. “I’m sure somebody like that would want to keep a close eye on such a sensitive operation.”
“Not to mention it’d provide one hell of a view,” Matt said. “The high rollers would demand live feed of the entire race, and that way he could have it all recorded from close orbit using drone cameras.”
“Do you think the yacht could also function as a headquarters of sorts?” Ryce mused. “A Javelin is a large spacecraft, as far as yachts go. Having something so readily mobile would be far more convenient than occupying a permanent location under the jurisdiction of a Federal station. If one has the money to afford it, of course. Luxury yachts of that kind aren’t cheap.”
“It would be convenient,” Matt agreed. “A privately owned spacecraft can’t be boarded and searched without a warrant. With the kind of sway Griggs seems to have with the local security, he’d be long gone before that happens, even if the system’s Federal authorities took an interest in his ventures.”
“Do you think he could hold a prisoner aboard?” Tony asked. “It’s way more private than a storage unit. And nobody would come knocking.”
“That’s possible too,” Ryce agreed. “And deep space is a good place to dispose of any bodies.”
Matt winced, wishing Ryce wasn’t so blunt in his assessment. It brought out too many unwanted memories of pirates pushing their unfortunate captives out of the airlock. The thought of Val suffering the same fate was more than he could handle.
“We can’t know for sure, though,” he said. “We can’t even be certain it’s Griggs’s own vessel. And there can’t be any more running blind. The warehouse fiasco was more than enough.”
“I’ll see what else I can find out,” Tony said.
“In any case, that’s a great lead. Good job, Tony,” Matt hurried to say, kicking himself for not praising her right away. It was the first solid clue they had, and it was a good start. “Just be careful.”
“I will. See you guys later.” She disconnected, and Matt shoved the comm back into his pocket.
“Do you think we should check it out ourselves, too?” Ryce asked.
Matt shook his head. Even with the new lead on the private yacht, there was simply no time to spare to do any sleuthing.
“Let’s focus on getting this thing airborne,” he said. “We’ll go investigating later, once you’re back safe and sound.”
Safe and sound, he repeated to himself as Ryce went back to calibrating the sensors. There simply wasn’t any other option.
IT WAS LATE by the time they returned to the ship. Matt was so exhausted he could barely walk straight with the weight of the toolbox slung on his shoulder. Ryce looked marginally better, but there were shadows under his eyes that gave away the sheer amount of stress and fatigue he was hiding underneath a composed exterior.
Tony apparently had given up on waiting for them, because both the galley and the rec room were dark and empty. Ryce halted at the entrance to the cabin corridor, making Matt stop right along with him. His expression was that of uncertainty, or at least that was what it seemed like to Matt in the gloomy lighting.
“Would you like to stay with me for the night?” he asked softly. “What’s left of it, anyway?”
Matt bit his lip. He would have liked nothing better than to hold Ryce in his arms for the short hours until dawn, pretending it was going to be all right at the end.
But it wasn’t going to happen. After this whole thing with the races (please, let there be just one) was over, Ryce was going away to restart his career. A move to regain their intimacy might appear as if Matt would try anything to keep him from leaving, and he didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on Ryce. He had to keep his head—and heart—clear if he wanted a chance to restore his reputation, to rebuild his life with the Fleet, like he’d always wanted. It was Ryce’s call, a logical, smart call, and Matt’s confused feelings were absolutely irrelevant.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’re not gonna have any time in the morning. You have to be at the transport vessel dock bright and early, and you do need at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. So…I’ll just wish you good luck now and let you have your rest.”
This time, Matt knew it wasn’t the dimness playing tricks with his perception—the hurt in Ryce’s eyes was unmistakable. His guts twisted. It wasn’t fair after all the times Ryce had offered the quiet support of his presence when Matt needed someone to soothe him during a particularly bad episode of nightmares. He hated doing this, being so casually cruel to the man he’d do anything to protect. But that was what he was doing, wasn’t it? He was protecting him from heartbreak, making his future choice easier by distancing himself.
The rationalization sounded shaky in his mind as the heavy silence hung between them. Who was it he was really protecting here?
Matt was on the verge of taking his words back, but then Ryce gave him a curt nod and strode off down the corridor. The soft click of the door was louder than a gunshot, and it rang in Matt’s ears as he continued to stand there, clutching the hefty toolkit and wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.
His commlink buzzed, shaking Matt out of his stupor. He took it out, fumbling a bit as his sore fingers refused to cooperate, and stared at the number for a long moment before answering the call.
His sister’s face appeared on screen. Unlike Matt, she looked as fresh and crisp in her uniform as she always did.
“Nora? Do you have any idea what time it is?” he began irritably, but then uneasiness coiled in his stomach. No unexpected midnight call had ever brought good news. “Did something happen?”
“I’m aware of the time,” Nora said, sounding only mildly irritated. “As for something happening, I feel I should be the one asking, seeing as your boyfriend hasn’t returned my calls.”
“He’s been busy,” Matt said curtly.
Ryce hadn’t told him anything about Nora trying to contact him. Granted, they’d had more pressing things to attend to, so this little detail could have just slipped Ryce’s mind.
Except, a man who could perform course trajectory calculations in his head instead of relying on the ship’s computer was unlikely to forget little details, as trivial as they might seem.
“Must I remind you how sensitive this whole project is, Matthew?” Nora fell into her best lecturing tone, reminding Matt too much of their father. Fleet Admiral Cummings had the same particular manner of putting the emphasis on “Matthew” when he wanted to convey his disappointment. “I am the one who recommended Mr. Easom for the job, and my reputation is at stake here. We cannot wait on him forever. I have to know what he intends to do.”
“Look, it’s a tough decision,” Matt said. If Ryce was stalling giving his final answer to Nora for whatever reason, the least he could do was play along. “I’m sure he’ll contact you as soon as he makes up his mind. It was all…kinda sudden, and with his military service ending on such a sour note—”
“I know perfectly well how you feel about the military, Matthew. But this is not about you. For once in your life, quit being so exorbitantly self-absorbed, and stop holding the man back. Because I’ve seen you two together, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s dodging me is you being so solidly against him accepting this job.”
A wave of rage rose in Matt’s chest. This was exactly why he’d spent years avoiding his family—their confidence in their right to tell him what to do and how to live his life; their unwavering belief they always knew better than him. He fought the urge to turn off the commlink, or worse, throw it against th
e wall. But he realized not all of his anger was directed at Nora. She’d touched upon a sore point, but the fact it was such a sore point was hardly her fault.
Matt swallowed his instinctive response. He’d already been on the verge of tears from his conversation with Ryce, the accumulated tiredness and frustration of these last few days only adding to the mix. Once, perhaps, he would not have hesitated to take it all out on Nora, but not anymore. He was a better man than that, or at least he was trying to be.
He tried not to think about what—or who—had caused that change, even if he already knew the answer.
“I’m not holding him back,” he said after taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Our lives here may not seem as important in comparison, but we have been busy.” He took another breath to brace himself against his own words. “I’ll talk to him and make sure he calls you back with the answer you want to hear.”
Nora’s frown told Matt she wasn’t entirely appeased by that, but right now he couldn’t care less.
“Very well,” she said finally. “Just make sure he does. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to retract the offer. There are other experts on Mnirian technology out there who would be thrilled to pounce on such an opportunity.”
“He will,” Matt said dryly. “Good night.”
He disconnected, feeling even more broken than before. If there was ever a time to get drunk off his ass…but not mere hours before the race. He had to stay sharp, even if he wasn’t the one flying. With a sigh, he hauled the blasted toolkit the remaining few feet of hallway to his dark cabin.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’M SURE IT’LL be fine,” Tony said for the tenth time.
They were sitting on the bridge of the Lady Lisa, with Matt occupying the pilot seat and Tony in the navigator chair next to him. The canopy screen was turned on, but so far, it had been displaying nothing but static. After Matt had put his foot down, Tex conceded to letting them watch the encrypted channel that would broadcast live footage of the races for the benefit of those who had placed bets on the competitors. She didn’t specify how or from where the footage was obtained, and Matt didn’t press the matter. For now, it was enough that he could keep an eye on Ryce—even if Matt would be too far away to be of any real use should anything happen to him.
He had only seen Ryce for a few brief moments in the morning, and they’d barely exchanged words before he headed out to the transport that would bring all the tiny aerojets into Elysium-5 orbit, but perhaps it was for the best. This way, it didn’t feel like saying goodbye. This way, Ryce had to come back so they could have a proper talk about things—including Nora’s admonition. The notion of an openhearted chat scared Matt way more than a roomful of armed thugs, but it was infinitely more preferable to the alternative of not being able to do it at all.
Tony fidgeted in her chair.
“Are you sure she gave you the right codes?”
“Yeah,” Matt said, although he wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t like he could do anything if Tex had pulled a fast one on him. He sighed and checked the time at the bottom of the screen. “Two more minutes. Guess they’re just punctual.”
“Great,” Tony said sarcastically. “They might yet kill us all, but at least they’ll be punctual about it.”
“If something happens to Ryce today, I’m the one who’s going to kill them.”
He didn’t care how tough Tex was, or that Eddie Ander was all kinds of homicidal, or that Griggs was too elusive to reach. In this moment, he fully understood what Val must have felt when he’d thrown away his own safety to go after the people who had hurt his wife. Just thinking about the possibility of losing Ryce—not to a chance at a better life, but to death—had him ready to do the same.
Matt could feel Tony looking at him askance, probably surprised at his vehemence, but didn’t turn to meet her eyes.
The screen went pitch black, and then an image of a rocky desert plain came into view. Matt sat up sharply, intent on the picture. It was clearly being shot from somewhere well above the ground, with the live high-resolution camera zooming in on the surface, like a surveillance drone. Perhaps Tony had been right about the purpose of the mysterious private ship which they were yet to investigate. Something like that would be perfect for keeping a close eye on the planetside proceedings.
The camera zoomed in even closer as eleven small ships descended from above and lined up in a neat row at some invisible point, suspended in the air by their swiveling thrusters. Matt counted two pods and nine aerojets of various models. Ryce’s plane didn’t stand out in any way, but Matt’s gaze went straight to it, having become familiarized with its shabby exterior over the course of the last few days.
With only ten other participants, Ryce’s odds were pretty good. His skills and experience as a combat pilot were hard to match among privateers. But of course, there were always contingencies even Ryce couldn’t predict.
As if at a wave of an invisible hand, the jets launched into motion, with the zooming camera following them.
Tony leaned over in her chair and squeezed Matt’s hand briefly. He returned a weak smile, grateful for the support. He was glad she was there with him. It made the gnawing anxiety in his chest a little more bearable when he could share it with a friend.
“Here we go,” he whispered, somewhat unnecessarily.
Elysium-5 was a lush paradise planet, but its equatorial regions were dry, riddled with vast deserts and high mountain ranges. The spot for the race was picked in one such desert, with the route winding its way along a huge canyon. Dubbed by Tex “the Pit,” the canyon spanned over 300 miles, its nearly perfectly vertical walls reaching a height of 10,000 feet.
The air shimmered with the heat and the engines’ exhaust as the jets glided thousands of feet above the barren surface, heading for the canyon. The feed had no sound to accompany it, but Matt could well imagine the deafening roar of so many planes contending for the same space in the otherwise serene environment.
The feed switched to a different camera, and the enormous slit of the canyon came into view, a wide gash across the craggy elevated terrain. This was where the race truly began, an obstacle course that was a challenge to navigate even for experienced pilots with nerves of steel.
The jets dived into the Pit, like ancient gladiators squaring up for a fight in the arena. The drone-mounted camera followed them overhead, the picture so crisp Matt could discern the line of the now-dry riverbed at the bottom, winding its way at a dizzying depth far below. There was no additional starting shot—the planes and the pods just picked up speed, whizzing past each other at varying heights. An abrupt change of altitude mid-flight was bound to slow a jet down, make it lose those few precious seconds, allowing another flier to pass by, but sometimes there was no other way to avoid imminent collision. The Pit was wide, but not wide enough for eleven aircraft vying for dominance without bumping into each other at every turn.
And some racers apparently weren’t above intentionally sending others off-kilter. No rules, Tex had said, except you stayed on course and came in first. Matt figured “staying on course” also included holding true to the confines of the canyon, because even with frequent hopping, no aircraft rose above the rim of the stone walls. Other than that… The three top places got paid, but only the winner collected the big cash prize, and only those who bet on him collected the winnings. All the rest had to cut their losses—the entrance fee along with the cost of damages sustained by their aircraft. Coupled with impunity for playing dirty and with the organizers pushing for a violent spectacle, that was one hell of an incentive to try to eliminate the competition in any way possible.
The two pods soon fell behind the speeding aerojets. Even with the best of upgrades, a pod would be hard-pressed to compete with a jet going 1,500 miles per hour. As the canyon became more serpentine, the remaining aircraft spread out, with the slower and more cautious fliers opening bigger and bigger gaps from the leaders with every protrusion or steep slope they had to skirt. Soon, the came
ras focused only on those that kept to the front, switching feeds at different intervals to keep up with the jets’ progress.
Matt became more agitated as time trickled by. At these velocities, the entire race would only last about twelve minutes, but those minutes were already pushing for the dubious title of being the longest in his life.
Ryce’s tiny Sparrow was currently fifth, but steadily closing in on the jet ahead. Matt thought it was Cobb’s plane, but he couldn’t be sure. He watched in complete silence as Ryce made a wide arc around another turn, almost brushing against the opposite wall but gaining speed and overshooting the fourth pilot as he instinctively slowed down for the difficult maneuver.
“Your boyfriend has balls of steel,” Tony said with something close to awe, her gaze riveted to the screen.
Matt grunted in agreement, too busy trying to keep his heart where it belonged instead of jumping to his throat. But it wasn’t over yet. The canyon narrowed to a slit of only a few miles wide in what Matt presumed to be the most dangerous section of the course.
The two leaders, Finch- and Waxwing-type jets, went in ahead. The Waxwing was dogging the other plane, sitting on its tail like a persistent horn fly. The first pilot veered to the right, trying to shake it off, but then the Waxwing rolled, angling slightly, and went for the jet from behind at full speed, as if intending to ram it. The Finch broke sharply to the left to avoid collision but miscalculated the distance it had left to disengage. It tried to pull up vertically at the last second, but crashed into the right side of the canyon, exploding in a bright fireball.
“My god,” Tony whispered.
Matt couldn’t have said a word even if he wanted to. He recalled Cobb’s warnings regarding the Waxwing’s owner, Stahl, and wished he had taken the man’s tips a little more seriously. He only hoped Ryce had enough sense to stay as far away from the current leader as possible.
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