Matthew’s mind was far more often wrapped up in other affairs. The welfare of the ship or the crew, the current job they were on, or how to stay flying when coin ran tight. But the passengers? They were always Matthew’s last resort for finance’s sake. When the time between jobs ran too long for comfort, he’d offer the ship as transport for the galaxy’s many hitchikers — at a price, of course. The recruitment was left to either Arwen or Branson while Matthew went off to put out feelers for jobs in local black markets.
He’d completely that one of their pick-ups was with child. A better man might’ve felt shame, but Matthew just felt frustration. If she were to suffer from any complications, they’d have to veer off course for an emergency med-stop. We need to be at Whitefall by tomorrow morning, he thought in a gloomy fashion, all the while following behind the second in command.
Apart from their impending job upon arrival, Matthew wanted to get to Whitefall for more personal reasons. Branson might have been a stubborn fool or an obnoxious flirt on any given occasion, but he was a damn ace pilot and a loyal man. There was a silent brotherhood of sorts between them, and his absence did not sit well with the captain whatsoever. The sooner they docked at Whitefall, the sooner he could start prying information out of locals to see if anything similar’s been happening in their quadrant lately.
He’d allowed himself to get carried away in thought, only to be jerked back into reality by the tremble in Arwen’s voice. That was always a precursor for doom. The unsettling look on her face provoked a mirror of panic from Matthew.
"Dear God…" The blonde male swallowed hard before walking further into the vast, empty room where a small gathering should’ve been.
The conspiracy theory wheels in his head began turning, as they had many times before. Sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse, Matthew’s inherent disdain for The Alliance and all governmental entities — when combined with his lack of trust in most biological lifeforms — made for a scarily brilliant imagination.
"Abduction." Whipping around, he stared down his right-hand woman with a ferocity in his bright blue eyes. "We’re skimming along the Boarder Planets, this close to Dothraki space. If those goddamn Alliance troops stirred up trouble around here…”
His anger grew with the thought. Sure, the Bygar-Fellow Treaty was forged some months ago at the supposed end of the war. With it, tensions between the Humans and Dothraki had leveled out. But Matthew had been reluctant to believe it was so easy as all that. 'Diplomatic rubbish' he had called it when The Alliance broke the news.
"I swear, if one of my best men is a Dothraki hostage because The Alliance can’t keep it’s greedy claws out of their sky!" The typically composed captain threw a tight fist into the wall, courting an eerie metallic echo to resonate about the room. “There will be blood, Arwen. Mark my words, there will be blood.”
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