Chapter 16 The Cavalry #3
“That’s what I told the insurance adjusters.”
Something shifts in Mother’s expression. Softens. “You know you can never really leave OOPS, right? We’re family. Family doesn’t get to resign.”
“Is that why you brought some of the courier fleet?”
“I brought them because someone had to save Polly’s ass. The fact that you were here too was just convenient.”
They hug.
It’s quick—fierce—the embrace of sisters who’ve survived too much together. I watch from my spot on the floor, Rynn’s head still in my lap, and feel something crack open in my chest.
“I’ve missed you, you know,” Mother says quietly. “Junction One isn’t the same without someone setting off the fire alarms during experimental engine mods.”
“That was one time.”
“It was seven times, Suki. Seven. I have the incident reports.”
Suki pulls back, laughing, and Mother’s eyes travel to Henrok.
The massive Zaterran straightens under her scrutiny. Even warlords, apparently, feel the weight of Mother’s judgment.
“You must be the husband.” Mother doesn’t look away. “The one who married my courier without inviting me to the wedding.”
“It was...” Henrok pauses. I’ve never seen him choose words so carefully. “Somewhat spontaneous.”
“They always are.”
Silence stretches. The entire generator chamber seems to hold its breath.
“You keeping her safe?”
“With my life.”
“Good.” Mother nods once. “Because if anything happens to Suki Vega, I will find a way to make you regret it. Warlord or not.”
Henrok’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something new in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Recognition of one apex predator by another.
“I would expect nothing less.”
Medical teams swarm the chamber.
I’m prodded and scanned and declared “remarkably intact for someone who apparently fought a small war,” which I choose to take as a compliment. Rynn is loaded onto a hover-stretcher, still semiconscious, still reaching for my hand every time the medics try to pull him away.
“The bond,” one of them explains to Mother, not unkindly. “It’s new. They’ll have trouble separating for the next few days.”
“Of course they will.” Mother pinches the bridge of her nose again. “Add it to the report.”
Rusty reactivates with a whir and a concerning amount of sparks: “RUSTY HAS MISSED SIGNIFICANT EVENTS. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.”
“Is that droid armed?” Mother asks.
Suki shrugs. “Technically? Yes. Legally? Let’s not ask questions.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
One of Mother’s couriers—a tall woman named Reeves who I remember from training—approaches with a series of supply crates. “Medical supplies in crate one. Tactical in crate two. And, uh, Mother? What’s in crate three?”
Mother’s expression doesn’t change. “Emergency supplies.”
I crack open the third crate with my free hand.
Inside: formal wear. Ceremonial items. And what is unmistakably a wedding gift basket, complete with a sparkly bow and a card that reads “Congratulations on your diplomatic acquisition.”
“Mother.” I stare at her. “Did you bring wedding supplies?”
“They’re emergency supplies. For diplomatic situations.”
“There’s a gift basket. With a bow.”
“...Shut up and let me do my job.”
Through the bond, I feel Rynn’s bewildered amusement. He’s conscious enough now to follow the conversation, though his eyes are barely open.
Your boss brought us wedding gifts?
She runs a betting pool on her couriers apparently, I send back.
Should I be concerned or flattered?
Both. Definitely both.
I look at Mother—this impossible woman who complains about romance and paperwork while secretly packing wedding gifts “just in case.” Who flew across three sectors because her people were in trouble. Who built a family out of misfits and couriers and anyone else who needed one.
“You knew,” I say softly. “You knew this would happen.”
Mother finally meets my eyes. And for just a moment, her armor cracks.
“Kid, I’ve been doing this job for twenty-three years. I’ve seen every variation of ‘routine delivery gone sideways’ you can imagine. And somewhere along the way, I learned to read people.” She shrugs. “You and your ‘diplomatic package’ were obvious from the moment I saw the mission parameters.”
“Then why did you let me take the job?”
“Because you’re my best courier. And because sometimes—” She pauses. Takes a breath. “Sometimes people need to fall in love the hard way. Builds character.”
“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it.”
Luzrak returns with an update: the Valorian Fleet has been briefed, the diplomatic situation is “complicated but manageable,” and Rynn’s family is “processing the news of his mating bond with what appears to be significant emotional turbulence.”
“I’ve recommended they send diplomatic personnel,” Luzrak adds. “The military commanders seem... territorial about Lord Valorian’s choices.”
“Aristocrats,” Mother mutters. “They’re all the same.”
I help Rynn sit up as the medical team steps back. He’s still weak—bio-flare drain is apparently no joke—but his eyes are clear now. Alert. Focused entirely on me in a way that makes my heart do stupid things.
“I should contact my family,” he says. “Explain—”
“You should rest.” I push him back down. “Luzrak’s handling the diplomacy. Your family can wait until you don’t look like death warmed over.”
“I never look like death warmed over. I am a Valorian noble.”
“You’re a Valorian noble who just used himself as bait for an entire corporate fleet. You look like something Zip would scrape off the hull.”
“THAT IS HURTFUL BUT ACCURATE,” Zip chimes in through the comm. “LORD VALORIAN, YOUR VITAL SIGNS SUGGEST YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO CAPTAIN CHAOS. SHE HAS EXCELLENT INSTINCTS FOR KEEPING PEOPLE ALIVE.”
Mother snorts. “Your AI has opinions.”
“He has many opinions. Most of them are about me.”
“SOMEONE HAS TO PROVIDE OBJECTIVE COMMENTARY, CAPTAIN. YOU’RE CERTAINLY NOT CAPABLE OF IT.”
I grin. I can’t help it. We’re alive. We’re all alive. And somehow, despite everything, we won.
Not through military might. Not through noble sacrifice.
Through courier skills—speed and creativity and being “extremely annoying and hard to hit.” Through a sarcastic AI who uploaded viruses and terrible music.
Through a found family that crossed three sectors because one of their own was in trouble.
Through us.
Mother squeezes my shoulder—quick, firm, the closest thing to affection she allows in public.
“You scared me, kid.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her voice is gruff. “You did good. Both of you.”
It’s not “I’m proud of you.” Mother doesn’t say things like that. But it’s close enough.
It’s more than enough.
Later—much later—I sit with Rynn in the medical bay.
The fortress is secured. The upload is confirmed received by the Valorian High Council.
Suki and Henrok are handling cleanup with the efficiency of people who’ve run this Fortress for three years.
Mother is coordinating with Luzrak on the “diplomatic clusterfuck” (her words) that our little adventure has created.
And me?
I’m holding my mate’s hand and trying to process the fact that we survived.
“The betting pool,” Rynn murmurs, eyes closed but mouth curved in a smile. “Your Mother had a betting pool on whether we would bond.”
“She has a betting pool on everything.” I trace circles on his palm with my thumb. “Last year, there was apparently a pool on which courier would be the first to accidentally trigger a mating bond with an actual package. She won that one too.”
“She seems... formidable.”
“She’s terrifying. In the best possible way.”
Through the bond, I feel his contentment. His exhaustion. His absolute certainty that everything we went through was worth it.
I would do it again, he sends. *Every choice. Every moment. Everything that led me to you.*
Even the part where you almost died? Multiple times?
Especially that part. It led to you saving me. Which seems to be a pattern.
I lean down and kiss his forehead. His scales are cool now, the bio-flare fully depleted, but he still smells like smoke and ozone and home.
“Get some rest, Lord Chaos. We’ve got a lot of family drama ahead of us.”
“Your family or mine?”
“Both. Definitely both.”
His laugh is weak but real. “I look forward to it.”
Outside the medical bay, I can hear Mother’s voice rising in what sounds like a heated discussion with Valorian Fleet Command.
Something about “chain of custody” and “proper diplomatic channels” and “I don’t care if he’s your precious heir, he’s also my courier’s mate, which makes him OOPS jurisdiction until further notice. ”
I grin.
We’re going to be okay.
More than okay—we’re going to be family. The messy, complicated, found-family kind that shows up with betting pools and wedding gift baskets and lectures about attractive passengers. The kind that crosses three sectors to save you. The kind that’s worth fighting for.
I am absolutely getting reassigned to mail sorting after this.
Worth it.
Worth it, Rynn agrees through the bond. Always worth it.