Page 87 of The Last Hunt
“It’s Bell Sylar!” CAL says, his voice stern from the tab.
Maeve’s stomach jolts. She grabs Aethon’s arm and pulls him over to a shady spot underneath a tree at the edge of the beach.
“I know you said we should contact her,” Maeve says. “But did you do that already?”
Aethon shakes his head, droplets of water falling off the ends of his hair. “No. Coincidental timing I guess.” He shoves his wet hair back over his head. Maeve doesn’t bother. He nods to her and clicks on the call, reinitializing the audio and video.
“Well, aren’t you two a vision,” Sylar says. She’s sitting in the same chair as the last time they spoke, with the same nondescript wall behind her. Her curls are shorter, cropped close to her head, and her glasses are hooked in the collar of her sky blue sweater.
“Hello, Sylar,” Aethon says. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”
She nods. “And I’m surprised you two are still alive. I heard about the incident at Scimitar Starbase. I’m truly sorry about the bounty.” Her tone is sincere, and Maeve presses her lips together.
“Yeah,” Aethon says with a shrug. “You win some, you lose some. But we both survived.”
Maeve squeezes his waist out of view of the camera.
Sylar nods. “Indeed. How lucky.” She squints at them. “Well, you both look hale and hearty. And rather sunkissed. Where are you?”
“A planet on the edge of colonized space,” Maeve interjects.
Sylar chuckles. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But I have my suspicions. Regardless, I’m looking to hire a few people for a job.” She narrows her gaze. “A job that needs to be kept quiet.”
“And you thought of us?” Aethon asks, raising a brow.
Sylar shrugs. “You were both very helpful before. And I heard you might be in need of some credits.”
“What’s the job?” Maeve asks.
Sylar nods and raises a hand to point at Maeve. “See? That’s why I like you, Bladesbearer. You get right to the point.” She clasps her hands in her lap and her face falls into serious lines. “Things on Tellamar are getting worse.”
Dread grips Maeve’s gut. “What’s happening on Tellamar now?” she asks.
Sylar shakes her head. “More and more people are being coerced into working for the mining corps. More and more people want to escape. I’m hearing rumblings from the Tellamari underground. Some people think civil war is imminent.”
Maeve looks at Aethon, her eyes wide. “Civil war?” he asks.
Sylar nods. “And they need help. They need weapons. Resources. Evacuation of children and those unable to fight.” She sighs. “They need a lot. But I thought we could start with a few more evacuations. And perhaps a weapons drop to one of my contacts on Tellamar.”
Maeve’s mind is racing. This is what she’s been waiting for. She wants to help the Tellamari people. But is she ready to leave Freehail? This planet has become a home for her. A refuge. But as she meets Aethon’s gaze, Maeve knows down to her bones that this is what she wants to do. This is what she needs to do. As long as Aethon is by her side, she can do anything.
“So this isn’t one job,” Aethon says. “It’s a whole host of them.”
Sylar shrugs. “We could work on a job by job basis. You could do what you can and decline if something is too much.” She shakes her head. “Tellamar needs help. And frankly, I don’t know many people who are all that familiar with the planet or who care about what happens there.”
Maeve squeezes Aethon’s hip again and he nods at her, his eyes full of emotion.
“We'll discuss it and get back to you,” Aethon says. “Send us a number we can call you at.”
Maeve slides her hand up Aethon’s back as he finishes up with Sylar and ends the call.
“What was that all about?” Nikair asks from where he sits next to his wife under the umbrella.
“A job opportunity,” Aethon replies.
“I want to do it,” Maeve says. She turns towards him, running her hands up his arms. “If you don’t want -”
“I want to do it too,” Aethon interrupts. He cups Maeve’s cheeks, his eyes meeting hers. His lips spread wide in a grin. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, Maeve.”