Chapter 14 Close Quarters #2
We emerge from the maintenance access into a utility corridor that runs parallel to the docking bays. According to the signage, Bay 17 is just ahead.
“Almost there,” I murmur, relief beginning to build.
That’s when we hear the voices—Human Concord accents, moving in our direction with purpose.
“Bay 17 shows a civilian contractor vessel,” one voice reports. “Avalon Systems registry. Should we flag it for inspection?”
Wi’kar immediately pushes me back against the wall, his body shielding me from view as the footsteps grow closer. In the dim lighting of the utility corridor, pressed against the wall with Wi’kar’s solid warmth protecting me, I’m reminded forcibly of our earlier encounter in the medical bay.
“Check the manifest first,” another voice responds. “If it’s routine maintenance, we move on. We’re looking for a diplomatic courier vessel, not contractors.”
Wi’kar’s hand finds mine, squeezing reassuringly, but I can feel the tension radiating from his frame. His other hand rests against the wall beside my head, caging me protectively.
“The vessel’s documentation appears legitimate,” the first voice continues as the footsteps grow closer. “Standard civilian configuration, filed maintenance contracts, clean operational history.”
“Then we move on,” the leader decides. “Focus on vessels with diplomatic credentials or suspicious modifications.”
The footsteps recede, moving toward other sections of the docking level. Wi’kar waits several long moments before moving, ensuring the guards are well clear of our area.
“Now,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
But before we move, I reach up and cup his face, pulling him down for a quick, desperate kiss. “For luck,” I whisper against his lips.
His response is immediate and electric—a brief but passionate claiming that leaves us both breathing hard.
“That was definitely not for luck,” he observes, his voice rougher than usual.
“No,” I agree, smiling up at him. “That was because you’re incredible, and watching you protect me is incredibly attractive.”
The luminescent patterns at his temples flare brighter, and I catch the pleased satisfaction in his expression before he forces himself back to tactical mode.
“The Protocol Prime,” he reminds me, but his hand finds mine as we move toward Bay 17.
The ship sits exactly where we left it, looking innocuous among the other civilian vessels. We board quickly, Wi’kar immediately moving to the bridge to begin departure procedures.
“AXIS, initiate emergency departure sequence,” he commands. “Authorization pattern Wi’kar-epsilon-nine.”
“Acknowledged,” AXIS responds. “Emergency departure protocols initiated. Warning: departure without standard clearance may attract unwanted attention.”
“Risk acceptable,” Wi’kar decides. “Implement stealth protocols and prepare for emergency jump.”
The ship hums to life around us, systems engaging with familiar efficiency. Through the viewscreen, I watch as other vessels move normally about their business, unaware of the drama playing out in Bay 17.
“Departure clearance requested and... granted,” AXIS announces. “They’re treating us as routine contractor departure. Stealth protocols engaged.”
Wi’kar pilots us away from the station with steady competence, but I can see the tension in his shoulders until we’re well clear of Nexus Station’s immediate vicinity.
“Status?” he asks once we’re safely away.
“No pursuit detected,” AXIS confirms. “Our cover identity appears to have held. They were searching for a diplomatic courier vessel, not civilian contractors.”
I slump in my seat, tension finally beginning to drain away. “That was closer than I’d like.”
“Agreed.” Wi’kar turns to face me, and some of the tactical intensity fades from his expression. “However, we now have sufficient fuel to reach Umbra-7, and your medical supplies are secured.”
“What about Dante? He knows we need fuel—Nexus Station was the logical choice.”
“Which is precisely why we will not return there,” Wi’kar decides. “Prince Dante’s tactical thinking is predictable. He will establish observation posts at obvious refueling points and wait for us to become desperate enough to approach.”
“So we stay one step ahead by being unpredictable?”
“Precisely.” Wi’kar’s hand finds mine, the contact warm and reassuring. “We will continue to Umbra-7 as planned. It is an off-grid outpost with... flexible... approaches to documentation and inquiry.”
I squeeze his hand, marveling at how much has changed between us. Yesterday, his precise planning felt restrictive. Today, after learning exactly how thoroughly he applies that same attention to everything he cares about, it feels like the safest place in the galaxy.
“Together?” I ask, echoing his earlier word.
“Together,” he confirms, lifting our joined hands to press a soft kiss to my knuckles.
The simple gesture, so tender after the tension of our mission, makes warmth bloom in my chest. We’re more than partners now—we’re a team in every sense of the word.
“AXIS,” I call out sweetly, “now that we’re safely away from Dante’s forces, would you mind engaging privacy protocols again?”
“Privacy protocols?” AXIS responds with obvious amusement. “May I ask why?”
“I believe Agent Wi’kar’s stress levels may be elevated after our high-tension mission,” I explain innocently. “He may require some... comprehensive relaxation therapy.”
Wi’kar’s eyes darken at my words, and I catch the way his breathing changes. “Dominique,” he warns, but there’s heat in his voice, not reproach.
“What? I’m simply concerned about optimal crew performance,” I continue, rising from my seat and moving toward him with deliberate intent.
“And after watching you work today, seeing how competent and protective and absolutely devastating you are in crisis mode... well, I think you deserve a proper thank-you.”
“Agent Wi’kar’s biometric readings do suggest elevated stress indicators,” AXIS observes helpfully. “Privacy protocols might indeed be... therapeutically beneficial.”
Wi’kar stands to meet me, his hands immediately finding my waist. “You are going to be the end of my legendary self-control,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Promise?” I breathe back, already working at the fastenings of his contractor disguise.
“Privacy protocols engaged,” AXIS announces with satisfaction. “Initiating jump to hyperspace. Estimated transit time to Umbra-7: 6.2 hours. I suggest you... make good use of the time.”
As we jump to hyperspace, leaving Nexus Station and Dante’s forces far behind, Wi’kar’s mouth finds mine with renewed hunger. This time, there are no interruptions, no mission parameters to distract us.
Just us, safe in our ship, with hours of hyperspace transit ahead of us.
I realize that for the first time since this whole adventure began, I’m not running from something. I’m running toward something. Toward a future I’m choosing, with a partner who sees me as more than a political asset or royal problem.
Whatever comes next, we’ll face it as mates. As equals. As a team.
And that makes all the difference.
“So,” I murmur against Wi’kar’s lips as his hands work at the fastenings of my disguise, “ready for some comprehensive stress relief?”
His answer is wordless but extremely thorough, and as the stars blur past us in hyperspace, I lose myself in the heat and safety of his claiming touch.
Perfect mission parameters, indeed.