Page 25 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
Unless it wasn’t routine at all.
The package. I still haven’t seen the actual package I was supposed to deliver.
“Where’s my cargo?” I ask as the guards escort me away from my ship. “The package I was carrying? Henrok promised I could inspect that too.”
The guards exchange a look I can’t interpret, but their silence is telling. Something about that package has them on edge.
“Take me to Diplomatic Liaison Vex’ra,” I say, trying a different approach. “The package was addressed to her, right? I need to confirm delivery.”
More silence, but they change direction, leading me through a different door and into a series of corridors I haven’t seen before. We pass through what appears to be an administrative section of the fortress, with Zaterrans in less militaristic attire moving purposefully between rooms. Finally, we stop before an ornate door etched with symbols I can’t read.
One guard announces our presence via some kind of comm panel. After a moment, the door slides open to reveal a chamber that’s more like a small museum than an office. Display cases line the walls, filled with artifacts from what I assume are various worlds—trophies, maybe, or bribes. The thought makes my stomach turn.
In the center, a large desk of polished obsidian dominates the space, and behind it sits Vex’ra.
She’s different from the other Zaterrans I’ve met—smaller, her crystalline markings more delicate, her movements more fluid. But her eyes are just as sharp, just as evaluating. And right now, they’re fixed on me with the intensity of a predator who’s found something interesting.
“The courier,” she says, her voice surprisingly melodic. “I wondered when you would seek me out.”
The guards take positions by the door as Vex’ra gestures for me to approach her desk. I notice how she doesn’t invite me to sit—a deliberate power play that sets my teeth on edge.
“You were the intended recipient of my package,” I say, getting straight to the point. “I’d like to verify delivery, if you don’t mind. Professional courtesy.”
Her mouth curves in what might be a smile on a human face. On hers, it’s more like a predator baring teeth. “Professional courtesy,” she repeats, as if tasting the words. “How... quaint.” She gestures to a small, ornate box on her desk. “Your package was delivered, though not in the manner expected.”
I eye the box skeptically. It’s beautiful—carved from some iridescent material that shifts colors as the light hits it—but it’s not what was in my cargo hold. My package was a standard OOPS security container: black, nondescript, triple-sealed.
“That’s not my delivery,” I say flatly. “Where’s the real package?”
Vex’ra’s expression doesn’t change, but something in the air does—a subtle shift in tension, like the moment before lightning strikes. The crystalline patterns on her arms pulse faster, and I realize she’s not as calm as she appears.
“The contents were transferred to a more appropriate vessel,” she says smoothly. “The original container was... unsuitable for diplomatic quarters.”
She’s lying. I don’t need Zaterran facial cues to know that. But why lie about a simple package transfer?
Unless there was nothing simple about it.
“I need to see what was inside,” I insist, stepping closer to her desk. “It’s OOPS protocol. I have to verify the contents match the manifest before confirming delivery.”
Now her expression does change—a slight narrowing of those gem-like eyes. “That won’t be necessary. The package has been received. Your duty is complete.”
“Actually, it is necessary,” I counter, leaning forward slightly. “If I don’t verify delivery, I don’t get paid. And I’ve already lost three days of work being stuck here, so I’m not about to lose my commission too.”
It’s a bluff—I have no idea if the contents of that box match whatever was in my original package. But something about this whole situation feels wrong, has felt wrong from the moment I crashed. And I’m tired of being kept in the dark, tired of being handled and maneuvered and lied to.
Vex’ra studies me for a long moment, her crystalline markings pulsing slowly. Finally, she makes a small gesture with one hand.
“Very well. A brief inspection, to satisfy your... professional requirements.”
She pushes the box toward me. It’s lighter than it looks, the material warm to the touch despite its stone-like appearance. The lid opens with a soft click, revealing a nest of shimmering fabric. And nestled within it...
Nothing.
The box is empty.
I look up at Vex’ra, not bothering to hide my confusion. “There’s nothing here.”
“Precisely.” Her voice has lost its melodic quality, turning sharp as a blade. “Because your ‘delivery’ was never about the package, was it? It was about you.”
