Page 57 of The Last Hunt
“I need to keep track of Captain Trell’s vital signs,” CAL says. “It’s part of my programming. I don’t understand what the problem is with this particular act. TAI and I monitor all of your strange functions as organics, including waste elimination. Why is intercourse such a private one?”
“Well first of all,” Maeve snaps. “I’d rather my waste elimination time be private too.” Aethon chuckles, but bites his lip when she scowls at him.
“Oh Maevey, don’t be mad,” TAI croons. “We only want to be sure our captains are doing well. And by your readings, I could tell that you both reached completion, which I know is often considered one of the goals of intercourse outside of reproduction.”
“Completion?” CAL asks. “Was that the burst of oxytocin and dopamine?”
“Yes -” TAI starts, but Aethon interrupts as he watches Maeve clench her teeth together.
“Alright, alright,” he says. “That’s enough, you two. Go absorb some human anatomy and sexuality scientific articles or something.”
He turns back to Maeve who is taking intentionally deep breaths. “I have a search going now for Bell Sylar’s information,” he tells her, hoping the subject change will calm her. “Why don’t we check Daik’s location while that’s going.”
Maeve nods and throws her tracking map up on the viewscreen.
Aethon examines the map. Daik is definitely moving toward the Tri-Centauri system. He’s even closer than the last time they checked - only about five jump points away now. Maeve and Aethon are still seven jump points away - a distance that at best speed, they could cover in a little over a week.
Aethon looks back at Maeve who’s examining the map and nodding to herself.
“Guess we were right,” she says. “He’s heading for Tri-Centauri. And likely - Dreadnought.”
“We’d better get a move on,” Aethon says. “We need to catch him before he holes up on some heavily protected Dreadnought-run world.”
A beep sounds from the dash and Aethon turns to find the system has located Bell Sylar. He pulls the data up and throws it on the viewscreen for Maeve to see.
The system on the Archer had combined Bell Sylar’s information into a list - including her picture, subspace contact number, and her last known work and personal addresses.
Sylar is an older woman with white blonde hair tidied into short curls, pale skin, and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that show she smiles often. In her photo she’s wearing a pink sweater and has gold-rimmed glasses sitting on top of her head.
Maeve stares at the photo and leans forward on to her knees. “This is the woman who has sway with people at the mining corps?”
Aethon nods and adjusts the bandage on his neck. “Yep.”
Maeve narrows her eyes and points at the picture. “This old lady right here who looks like she’d have hard candies in her bag and offer to make me soup in the winter?”
“Don’t underestimate Bell Sylar,” Aethon replies. “She’s a badass. She works for CHASA but she’s a powerful figure in the underground - if you have the right connections. She helped my parents out a lot on Freehail with their fight against Brimstone - but always from the shadows. Her family is so wealthy they own a planet on the edge of colonized space, so she’s not too worried about retaliation.”
“Her family owns a planet?” Maeve says, leaning back.
“Yep,” he replies. “The Sylar’s have old Earth money.”
“Well shit,” Maeve mutters.
“I’ll send her an encoded message,” Aethon says, his fingers flying over the keyboard on the dash. “I’ll ask her to contact us when she’s able to use a secure channel.”
Aethon doesn’t want to put too much information in his message to Sylar, so he uses a few of the code phrases he remembers his parents using and leaves the rest vague. Sylar should at least recognize the codes and reach out, even if she doesn’t remember him specifically. He throws the completed message on the viewscreen for Maeve to read and points out the code phrases to her. She scans it quickly and nods in approval.
“Send it,” she says, hopping down from her chair.
Aethon sends the message to Sylar’s subspace contact number and leans back with a sigh. He senses Maeve behind him, and then her hands slide onto his shoulders. She starts to massage him gently, careful of his still healing neck. He stifles a groan at how good it feels.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Her voice is so soft that he turns in his chair to face her. Maeve releases him and puts her hands in her pockets. Her lips are pulled into a thin line and she watches him carefully - almost warily.
“You’re welcome,” Aethon replies. He stands and tugs on the end of Maeve’s braid. “You ok?”
She gives him a small smile and shrugs. “Yeah, it’s just - weird.”