Page 55 of Return to Sender
“However,” she continues, and I sense Dante’s impending doom in her tone, “there remains the matter of Prince Dante’s violations of diplomatic protocol. You have three options: face formal charges before an STI tribunal, accept a formal censure and diplomatic probation, or agree to voluntary exile from inter-species diplomatic activities.”
Dante’s face cycles through rage, disbelief, and finally, calculating assessment of his limited options. The silence stretches as he weighs his choices and finds them all unpalatable. His grotesque features make his internal struggle visible in ways that are deeply unpleasant to observe.
“Exile,” he says finally, the word forced through gritted teeth. “Voluntary exile from inter-species activities.”
“Excellent choice,” Toner replies with obvious amusement. “You have twenty-four hours to remove yourself and your fleet from Umbra-7 and surrounding space. Any further contact with Princess Dominique or Agent Wi’kar will be considered harassment under STI protection protocols.”
The communication link to Dante’s ship cuts off abruptly, removing his hideous visage from our screen and leaving only Toner’s composed image and blessed silence where his threats had been.
“Well,” she says with obvious amusement, “that was considerably more entertaining than most diplomatic mediations. Princess Dominique, you and Agent Wi’kar are free to pursue whatever future you choose. Your royal status remains intact, but you are no longer bound by House Malren’s political arrangements.”
“Thank you,” Dominique says sincerely, her relief evident in her voice and posture. “I know this couldn’t have been easy to arrange.”
“Actually,” Toner admits with a slight smile that transforms her entire expression, “it was remarkably straightforward once Mother Morrison provided the evidence of Prince Dante’s... extracurricular activities. Illegal salvage operations, unauthorized bounty postings, abuse of diplomatic immunity... quite the impressive collection of violations.”
“Mother arranged all of this?” I ask, though I am beginning to understand the full scope of her operational planning and finding it both impressive and slightly terrifying.
“Mother Morrison is a remarkable woman,” Toner confirms with genuine admiration. “She contacted me weeks ago with concerns about Prince Dante’s behavior and evidence of his violations. This mediation was planned from the moment you left Klethian Station.”
The implications of Mother’s long-term strategy are staggering. She orchestrated our entire escape route, arranged for diplomatic resolution, and ensured our freedom while gathering evidence against Dante. Her operational planning exceeds even OOPS standard protocols.
“What happens now?” Dominique asks, her hand still intertwined with mine.
“Now you decide your future,” Toner replies with warmth that suggests genuine pleasure in the outcome. “You’re free citizens of the galaxy, bound only by the choices you make together.”
As the communication ends, Dominique turns to face me fully. The relief in her expression is matched by something deeper—hope, determination, and a fierce joy that makes my patterns pulse with responding warmth.
“Free,” she says softly, as if testing the word. “Actually, truly free.”
“Together,” I confirm, pulling her into my arms with possessive certainty. “Free and together.”
The station’s alarms fade as Dante’s fleet begins its departure, but I barely notice the external activity. My attention is focused entirely on my mate, my partner, my chosen future. We have faced the worst of political manipulation and diplomatic threats, and emerged stronger for the experience.
The thought of never having to see Dante’s grotesque face again fills me with profound satisfaction.
“So,” Dominique says, rising up on her toes to brush her lips against mine with teasing intent, “what does a free OOPS courier and his liberated princess do next?”
“We await new assignment parameters,” I reply seriously, though my hands have settled on her waist with distinctly non-professional intent.
“Assignment parameters,” she repeats with growing amusement. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“OOPS requires all personnel to maintain operational readiness,” I explain, even as I back her toward our temporary quarters’ bed with predatory intent.
“Then I suppose we should... maintain readiness,” she agrees, her fingers already working at my uniform fastenings with practiced efficiency.
As our mouths meet with renewed hunger and purpose, I reflect that Mother’s operational planning has indeed achieved optimal outcomes. We are free, bonded, and fully prepared for whatever assignments the galaxy might provide.
Starting with comprehensive readiness maintenance protocols.
17
Return to Sender
Dominique
Iwaketothesoft chime of an incoming communication and the delicious realization that Wi’kar’s arms are still wrapped around me in the narrow bunk of our Umbra-7 quarters. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in the steady rhythm of deep sleep, and I take a moment to appreciate the silver patterns across his skin pulsing gently in response to my presence even while he’s unconscious.
Free. The word still feels foreign, like a language I’m learning to speak after a lifetime of enforced silence. Yesterday we were fugitives hunted across half the galaxy by a grotesque prince with delusions of ownership. Today we’re simply... us. Wi’kar and Dominique, partners by choice rather than circumstance, legally recognized mates rather than accidental diplomatic complications.
