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Luckily, Stag didn’t have to limp too far to get to the command center, because he refused a trip to the medbay. A medic instead followed him on his heels, clicking her tongue as she assessed his damaged body. His hand on the small of Tez’s back was comforting, but not that relaxing as they entered the circular chamber at the bow of the ship to a manic roar.
Stag accepted her help as he limped to the commander’s seat in the middle of the room. Questioning eyes fell on her, but she wasn’t the star of this show. He gripped her hand, and she held firm to provide balance as he lowered himself into the large black carbon chair. Tez marveled at the connection point in the armrest, where a sampler would be extended to draw blood and ensure that only a genetic match was able to manage the ship’s functions. She didn’t have time to study it for too long though, for a moment later the hand enveloping her own pulled her down into his lap, then curled snugly around her waist.
“Stag…” she protested, pushing herself up so as not to exacerbate the pain he was already in. But he held her firmly in place against him, letting her wither a little under the eyes of the other… what did they want to be called? Stationers?Colonists? A rogue band of pirates?
“This is Tessa Preston.” Stag’s voice carried over the command center. The hushed muttering all around them abated. “She’s our new pilot. And she saved my life.”
He waited for the second round of cheers and murmurs to die down, taking that time to twine his fingers through hers and bring her hand to his lips.
When silence resumed, Stag guided their interlinked hands to hover a few inches above the sampler. A small needle emerged from the jack in the armrest, pointed up at the ceiling as it hovered with a faint tremble. Tez stared, willing her hand not to shake as Stag lowered his arm together with her own. The needle extended with a thin transparent tube and slid smoothly into a vein in the back of his hand. Seconds later, a line of blood began to tick its way down into the sampler. When it reached the base of the unit at the arm, the circular walls of the room flickered, flashing on with projected screens lining the surface.
A smooth, androgynous voice chimed all around them. “Manual management resumed. Commander on deck.”
“Alright.” Stag shot her a sharp grin, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go find our New Earth.”
EPILOGUE
TEZ
It was twenty-three-hundred Old Earth time and Tez was exhausted, sitting in her office with her fingers in the corners of her eyes and her elbows propped on her table.
It was days like these that made her wish she were out there, piloting a Raptor on patrol.
Sometimes she did, but those days were few and far between now, with operations ramping up.
The colony had officially switched to Old Earth time six months ago. Three months before that, it had become apparent that the population ofOlympushad grown varied enough to warrant formal legislation on these things. Too much confusion reigned, with families from Pleo arranging to meet someone “tomorrow morning” only to realize that “tomorrow morning” to the other party from Lappan is actually fifty Pleoean hours from the point of arrangement.
The original inhabitants ofOlympus, those who found its dead husk floating through space, wanted to keep using the time counts of the waypoint station they lived on previously. They petitioned to make Station Teka 3 time units the primary measure on the ship. It made logical sense at first; they were the ones who discovered it after all. Except as the origins of colony residents grew more varied, those original occupants had developed a sense of superiority, and Stag had decided rightly that such complexes should be discouraged.
Disputes were had. But now it was officially twenty-three-hundred hours OE, which to Tez just meant very, very late.
Stag made many of these calls and had gotten used to doing so, even though it took a while for people to learn not to grumble about it. These folks weren’t that great with authority. On more traditional colony ships, everyone knew you either listen to the commander or you die, because without the commander’s very specific genes the ship was good as gone—completely uncontrollable. With companies like Hydra, the control wasn’t quite as hard-coded, but everyone knew if you misbehaved you would lose your benefits and maybe die starving on some random barely habitable rock.
But these people fended for themselves their whole lives. They weren’t used to conforming. It was every man for himself out there until now. It took Tez some time to get accustomed to that kind of attitude, which permeated so many things—including punctuality when it came to meetings. Sometimes Tez wished she had someone from her old life there to commiserate with, like Reana. But Reana no doubt hated her for what she’d done.
Tez’s meetings had run long, and they weren’t done yet. She had a few minutes before the final meeting of the night: a catchup with their lead mechanic, Abel Minnow, to go through their craft repair inventory.
Technically, Tez was just head of defense ops, but she’d also taken on the work of putting her idea down on Arvex into action: finding and arranging contact with interested planets and stations who might have resources to contribute toOlympus’sfirst expedition into deep space in exchange for integration.
Rumors of a colony ship being discovered had long since spread among the companies and colonies. Just the fact that Hydra Company already knew ofOlympus’spresence spoke to that. Luckily, the other colonies kept their distance, especially once it became clear that they had an actual descendant commander on board. The ship was rightfully under Stag’s control, and no one could take that away.
But that didn’t mean anyone wanted them to make it out here, especially not after finding out they were picking up strays from all over the known universe. Other colonies seemed to want nothing more than to maintain the image of exclusivity while the rest of the world starved.
The office door hissed open and Tez bristled, not bothering to look up. “You’re early. Give me a few minutes.”
“Do I have to?”
Tez was smiling before she even saw Stag leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. And darn it, he somehow always looked gorgeous, even after a twenty-hour day. She didn’t need to work anywhere close to that many hours to look like an exhausted mess. Her hand went instinctively to smooth her hair, and she shifted in her seat.
He was disheveled enough, sandy hair tousled from a helmet and a shadow of unshaved stubble peppering his jaw. His synthlinen shirt was crumpled and untucked from his flight suit trousers. He’d been out to examine some external damage at the stern earlier that day, something his advisors constantly pleaded with him not to do. They did not want to almost lose their commanderagain. Yet even in his mussed, tired state, the sight of him still made her stomach swoop in that annoying way.
He had this way of making her forget the stress and frustration of the work just by making an appearance. The glint in his eye was one of knowing, and she knew he saw it in her too. Whenever it got hard, all they had to do was look at each other and remember their conversations on Arvex. Tez could already see their little tree hut on New Earth. Sometimes she thought she could even smell the forest, though it was ridiculous because she’d never smelled a forest before. But Tez suspected it would be wonderful, and that both she and Stag would spend their mornings lying there in the tree, smelling as they watched and listened to the wind rustle leaves overhead.
Sometimes a child was part of that vision, but Tez didn’t let herself fantasize too much about that. Few people could conceive, even though the pressure was even greater for Stag to produce an heir who could take over the ship for him eventually. But it wasn’t like they hadn’t beentrying. They’d done plenty of trying, in fact. Tez’s lips quirked into a momentary smile.
The door hissed shut behind him—they’d finally gotten the electrical entrance control system working reliably in the last month—and he approached, rounding the desk to stand between her legs as she pushed her seat back from the table. His waist at eye level, Tez rested her palm on his thigh, stroking the texture of the fabric stretched across hard muscle.
“How was the damage?” she asked.
