Bonded: Book One in the Liminal Space Series

Chapter Six

*Wyl*

Wyl rubbed bleary eyes and tried to focus on the torn panel. Torn panel. Torn. How the hell did you tear an internal metal panel off a fucking wall? Someone had mad skills.

Haha, mad...that was how he was feeling after staring at the Wreck for nearly forty-eight hours without sleep. Caffeine. He needed caffeine, laced with caffeine.

Wyl pushed off his knees, staggered slightly, and bumped his way down the ship's tiny hall to the tinier kitchenette. He rummaged around until he found the instant coffee mix, poured it into a cup and added hot water. He sipped, and grimaced. Foul and weak. Foul he could stand, but weak just wouldn't cut it right now. He upended five more instant coffee packages into the water, stirred it all together and sipped again. Okay, so it had the consistency of mud and tasted like char, but it sure was zingy.

"Wyl." Vic's voice crackled over the comm. "Get your ass up here and strap in. We're getting ready to dock."

Wyl gulped the sludge down in a hurry, repressing his urge to vomit, then moved back up to the front to sit next to Vic, the pilot. Vic didn't even bother to glance his way as Wyl strapped his harness on. "Don't touch anything."

"You don't have to remind me every time I sit down."

"You're tired and punchy, who knows what shit you might try?" Vic grunted. "Man, as soon as we dock, I'm for the bars. Danica ain't payin' me enough to explain this piece of shit to some fuckin' marshal. I'll meet with the buyers, get the stuff unloaded after the thing's been inspected."

Wyl snorted. "No please, don't offer to help. Honestly, I'll be fine."

"You'd better be," Vic replied, watching his controls as he guided the ship into the assigned docking bay. "Otherwise your ass is in a sling."

Wyl ignored Vic and focused on the Alliance station ahead of them. It was big, really big for one so far out. He had come through here six months ago when he was being transferred to Danica. There were over three thousand employees, and enough creature comforts to make the place feel like a real city, like a home. Despite himself, he was excited to be coming back. Vic wasn't going to be around. If he could charm whoever came to meet them, maybe he'd be able to slip away for a while. Not that he had any money to spend, but still...

The Wreck slid into the dock, and the pressure doors slid shut behind them. Gravity reestablished itself, and they slipped out of their harnesses. Vic glanced out the view port and swore. "Posse's here. Got your fast-talk ready?"

"Yes."

Vic eyed him up and down. "You look like shit, kid."

"Great, thanks." Tell me something I don't know.

Vic opened the door and put the ramp down, then stepped out. "I know nothin', talk to the kid," he told the two men outside the Wreck, then immediately headed for the door. Wyl cursed him in his head, then stepped down himself. He looked at the welcoming party.

One of the men was fairly small, thin, and held a clipboard in one hand. The license reviewer, no doubt. The other man was wearing a black uniform that fit him way too well and had a badge on his chest. This would be the marshal, then. Damn...it was hard for Wyl to pull his eyes away. He was uncomfortably aware of his sudden flush and substituted gregariousness to hide it. "Gentlemen," he said with a nod, then held out his hand to the marshal. "Sir."

The marshal hesitated, then took it. His hand was larger than Wyl's, warm and hard. "Marshal Sinclair. And you are?"

"Wyl Leyton. Danica Jessom's mechanic." Wyl reluctantly let go of the sexy marshal's hand.

"Good. Then maybe you can explain why her ship hasn't had its license updated in so long."

"Gosh, so much for foreplay." Did that just come out of his mouth? He hurried on. "I've only worked for Miss Jessom for the past six months, sir. She's been very busy overseeing mining operations on Hazard, and technically it's the station's responsibility to remind us when the license needs to be renewed."

"True," Marshal Sinclair acknowledged. There was a little glimmer in his eyes that Wyl hoped was amusement. "But it's Miss Jessom's responsibility to make sure her ship isn't a death trap before sending it up to the station, and honestly, this ship doesn't look so good."

"The damage is mostly cosmetic," Wyl replied. "The ship was caught in an ice storm during the last landing, and we've been too understaffed to get around to fixing it. The mechanics of the ship are all sound, though." They'd better be―he'd worked his ass off making sure of it.

"I see." Marshal Sinclair looked dubiously at the ship. "This is Inspector Doyle." The little man bobbed his head. "He's going to verify your claims."

"Sure, we can start in the-"

"No, Mr. Leyton." The marshal shook his head. "Protocol forbids you from accompanying him on board. He's very familiar with this model ship, and he can figure things out without your help. I'm sorry, but it could take several hours. Is there any cargo onboard?"

"Yes, in the hold. A shipment of gemstones." And in other places as well. Wyl hoped the inspector wouldn't find any of those. He would have felt better if he could have been there, guiding him away from problem areas...

He suddenly realized the marshal had been speaking. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you mind if I ask you some more questions, Mr. Leyton?"

"Only if you keep calling me Mr. Leyton. Make it Wyl. Please," he added.

Inspector Doyle nodded at the marshal, then walked away up the ramp. Wyl mentally shrugged his shoulders; it was out of his hands now. It was actually kind of relaxing. He felt a grin spread across his face. "Can I call you Sinclair?" Good grief, why was he being so forward? Had there been aphrodisiacs mixed in with that coffee?

The marshal allowed himself a small smile. "No. But you can call me Robbie."

"Great. So, Robbie, what do you want to know? My Earth zodiac sign is Scorpio, my favorite color is blue..." He stopped himself, and blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm tired, it's making me stupid."

"That's all right. Do you want some coffee?"

"That's like asking if I want oxygen."

"We'll get some, then I'll ask my questions."

"Ah." Damn, now he felt strange. "I don't actually have, um, a credit strip with me." Because fucking Danica puts it all towards my fucking bond and won't leave me enough to buy a fucking cup of coffee with the most gorgeous man in light years.

"Hm. That's fine, I'm buying." Was it Wyl's imagination, or was the marshal surreptitiously checking him out? "Are you ready, or do you need to grab anything off the ship?"

"No, I'm wearing all my worldly possessions." God, he was tired. He was slipping up. Danica had told him specifically not to put anything in a negative light. Of course, to put things in a positive light would require that he lie like a rug, and his brain wasn't up for that sort of creativity.

"Let's go, then."