Page 57 of Return to Sender
“And significant combat capabilities,” Wi’kar adds quietly, his hand tightening on mine in support. “She demonstrated exceptional tactical awareness and adaptive problem-solving during our mission complications.”
“Tactical awareness,” Mother repeats with growing amusement. “Is that what we’re calling barroom brawls, bounty hunter encounters, and station security evasion?”
“I kept us alive,” I defend with dignity. “Multiple times. Using improvised weapons, strategic misdirection, and creative application of available resources.”
“Also comprehensive threat assessment and rapid situation adaptation,” Wi’kar continues with the kind of professional support that makes my chest warm with affection. “Her performance under pressure exceeded optimal parameters.”
“True,” Mother concedes, though her expression suggests she’s evaluating my potential with genuine consideration rather than polite dismissal. “OOPS does occasionally require couriers with... specialized backgrounds. Royal connections can be extremely useful for certain high-level diplomatic deliveries.”
“Are you offering me a position?” I ask, barely daring to hope that my chaotic escape from arranged marriage might actually lead to legitimate career opportunities.
“I’m offering you a probationary evaluation period,” Mother corrects with characteristic precision. “Three months as Wi’kar’s provisional partner. If you can handle the operationalrequirements and follow OOPS protocols without creating additional inter-galactic incidents, we’ll make the arrangement permanent.”
The opportunity feels too perfect to be real, like everything I’ve been hoping for without realizing I was hoping for it. “What kind of assignments are we discussing?”
Mother’s smile turns positively predatory in a way that makes me both excited and slightly nervous. “Oh, I have something particularly appropriate in mind for your first official mission. A diplomatic courier run to the Pleasure Gardens of Huxaria Prime. Cultural exchange program, very delicate negotiations, requires a team with... extensive trust and communication capabilities.”
Wi’kar’s hand goes completely still in mine, and I catch the subtle shift in his breathing that suggests surprise. “Huxaria Prime,” he repeats with what might be carefully controlled alarm. “That destination is typically classified as a... recreational facility.”
“Recreational how?” I ask, though something in Mother’s expression and Wi’kar’s sudden tension suggests there’s significantly more to this assignment than simple tourism.
“The Pleasure Gardens specialize in... comprehensive relaxation and wellness services,” Mother explains with obvious amusement at our growing understanding. “The cultural exchange program focuses on inter-species compatibility research and relationship enhancement techniques. Very scientific. Very hands-on. Very... educational.”
Understanding dawns like a sunrise, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks as the implications become clear. “You’re sending us on a honeymoon mission.”
“I am assigning you a legitimate diplomatic courier delivery that happens to take place in a resort system renowned for its romantic accommodations and relationship enrichmentprograms,” Mother corrects with prim professionalism that doesn’t quite hide her satisfaction. “Any personal benefits you derive from the location and activities are entirely coincidental to your professional responsibilities.”
I catch the slight tension in Wi’kar’s frame that suggests he’s having significant difficulty maintaining professional composure while processing the implications of spending two weeks at a luxury resort specifically designed for couples.
“Assignment duration?” he asks with admirable formality despite the way his voice has dropped half an octave.
“Two weeks minimum,” Mother replies with growing amusement. “Possibly three, depending on how thoroughly you need to... research the cultural exchange protocols and compatibility enhancement programs.”
“We accept,” I say immediately, before either of us can overthink the implications of Mother essentially paying us to spend two weeks at what sounds like the galaxy’s most exclusive romantic resort.
“Excellent,” Mother says with deep satisfaction. “Your vessel has been completely restocked and refueled. Assignment briefing materials are already uploaded to AXIS, along with... supplementary educational resources relevant to your destination.”
“Supplementary resources?” I ask with growing curiosity and anticipation.
“Cultural preparation materials,” Mother explains blandly. “Relationship dynamics research. Compatibility optimization techniques. Very thorough documentation.”
“Actually,” I interrupt, remembering something important, “there’s one more thing I need to handle before we depart.”
Mother’s expression sharpens with professional interest. “What kind of requirement?”
“I need to send a message to my father,” I explain, surprised by how calm I feel about the prospect. “He probably believes I’m dead or worse, and while I’m completely finished with royal obligations, I don’t want him worrying unnecessarily about my wellbeing.”
“Thoughtful,” Mother approves with what might be genuine warmth. “OOPS can arrange secure communication through diplomatic channels. What exactly do you want to convey?”
I consider the question seriously, thinking about the man who raised me for duty but never bothered to ask what I actually wanted from my life. How do you explain to someone who sees people as political assets that freedom feels more like home than any palace ever did?
“I want to tell him I’m alive, I’m genuinely happy, and I’m exactly where I belong,” I decide finally. “That I’m sorry for disappointing his expectations, but I’m not sorry for choosing my own path instead of the one he selected for me.”
“And if he requests your return?” Mother presses with the kind of practical concern that suggests she’s already considered multiple scenarios.
“Then I’ll explain that I am home,” I reply, glancing at Wi’kar with absolute certainty. “My home isn’t a location anymore. It’s a person.”
Wi’kar’s hand tightens on mine, and the warmth in his eyes makes my chest flutter with affection and unwavering certainty. This is what love is supposed to feel like—not duty or political convenience or resigned acceptance, but choice and partnership and absolute trust.
