{Enki}
“Ginger. This is Morning Star. Have you cleared that sector? Over.”
Matt’s lips pulled automatically into a smile at the sound of Lucy’s sweet voice. It evoked images of her dark blue eyes, silky blond hair, and soft pink lips. Memories washed over him of how deeply she often kissed him when they stood in fields of bodies and flames, soaked in the blood of their targets.
Their favorite kiss.
“Ahem.”
Puk’s voice was less welcome.
Humored nonetheless, Matt turned to his Monarch 3 partner, and both looked to the sky where Lucy waited beyond Razor’s old Emporium of Exotic Experiences sign. She, along with a team of Pil engineers and former Gait employees, operated from a shrine stationed outside the unstable orbit of Gait’s remains.
One half of the broken planet flung into the star at the heart of Enki. The other half hurled toward one of many oceans in the Dyson’s Sphere, threatening imminent destruction.
That’s where Matt and Puk spun, clinging to the bisected planet’s rogue half. Dressed in suits designed to the keep their insides contained, the Tritans hired their team to salvage materials from key institutions such as the prison and the Emporium. That was one objective to their mission. For their second objective, they set charges to blow the planet into smaller, less apocalyptic chunks.
Matt was pretty sure Enki stole this idea from a movie. Unfortunately, his familiarity with films ran to the obscure. So he couldn’t recall the name of it. Puk, who loved all things Earth pop culture, wouldn’t tell him which one. Now they made a game of his guessing.
Lucy came over the line again after Matt’s intentional delay. “Ginger. Come in. Over.”
He took every opportunity to soak in her voice before her day-shift ended. “Morning Star. Ginger here. We filled three bins with Emporium material. We need two more. There’s a lot of goods in here. Over.”
Puk chuffed as he pulled an entire control panel from a Divine Booth. “You can fucking say that again.”
If Matt knew he’d have to clean up after the Emporium’s destruction, he might’ve reconsidered the decimation. Then again…
Light from the setting sun broke through shards of whiskey stained-glass windows and filtered the jagged horizon of collapsed space-scrapers and warehouses in a mind-bending serenity.
Matt understood the scenery was breathtaking. He could appreciate sights aesthetically. Smells aromatically. But he couldn’t understand the emotion behind them. The only time he felt something—anything—was when he clutched someone’s skull in his fists or when Lucy looked at him. Breathed near him. Cried out for him—
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Nice work, Ginger. We’ll send another bin. Any requests on today’s transport? Over.”
Her.
Matt almost requested her.
“An ETA on our sanity? Is that something you can give us, Morning Star? This inertia is killing me.” Puk smiled broadly through his needle nose, and the expression glittered in his multi-faceted eyes. “But I’ll settle for some more anti-nausea meds. This planet spins too fast for my nacre to keep up with. Over.”
The Mon3 drone needed an upgrade. Matt would mention that to the group if they ever rendezvoused again. The Shadow was up to some serious shit all over the Vast Collective. Until then, Matt pushed his auburn fringe from his face and grappled with another panel of Divine Booth technology. A white one. Inside, he found a drive.
Rayne’s pain.
Razor charged billions of credits a night for the elite rich to experience their King’s trauma. So much wealth stored in a tiny capsule that Matt easily fit into his suit pocket. The Shadow held stories. Personal and raw. This one deserved some privacy for a while—
“Ginger. Sorry for the delay, but a broadcast interrupted our channel. It’s… I’ll relay it.” Lucy didn’t finish with “over” because she held the mic to another speaker. The voice coming from that speaker turned Matt and Puk to one another.
They both grinned.
{[SS]: Korac’s chuckling and now full on laughing.
I have to know why. “What is it, babe?”
I’m just ruminating that the way Nox reacted to Razor is very similar to how I imagine Rayne would. To treat the Pain Curator like a buzzing insect, too insignificant to pay more attention than it would take to swat him.
[SS]: I smile with him because I’ve thought the same thing about you, Rayne. And it is oddly similar.}
They did it. They fucking did it.
Puk propelled across the space and landed a snappy high five with Matt. The Mon3 drone kept his reactions soundless. Enki surely monitored the comms, and it’d be a shame if the Tritans marked them now.
There was still so much work to do.
“Ginger. Your transport ETA is two hours. I drew the short straw for watch tonight, so I’ll keep you through the dark. If you need me, call. Over and Out.”
Matt always needed Lucy. She was his conscience, a guiding light of sorts, and he loved working with her.
Puk rolled his eyes with a groan. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”
The ginger human went back to his salvage and muttered over his shoulder, “What look?”
“The ‘I love Lucy’ face.” Puk lent some extra muscle to the task.
With a grin, Matt reminded his comrade, “Well, I am her husband.” This was the first mission Matt and Lucy worked as a couple. No, they weren’t married. Yet. But they sold their story as a married pair who worked for Razor. He did security, and she coordinated operations.
Easy.
Puk had worked with Matt as Emporium security, so not that much of a stretch.
Together they infiltrated the Tritan’s emergency effort to save their collective asses. Pun intended. A hundred people scoured the planet for goods and set explosives over the last couple of months. But the deadline was closing.
Enki faced destruction in one week.
The twenty-one-year-old human considered their work. Solid. Xelan orchestrated this efficiently, and Matt hoped they delivered to Wingmaster’s expectations. With Korac’s Verse on the airwaves, it only meant the others were well on their way.
Matt prayed to whoever was listening that the distraction bought Pehton enough time.
“Yo! Was it ‘Deep Impact?’”
“Not even close.”