Mal flew the shuttle in silence, obeying Persephone’s sky laws and skirting the residential district by a good ten miles. It doubled the time, but at least he wasn’t challenged. The way he was feeling he’d probably say something he’d regret and be blasted out of the firmament. Once free of the city limits, though, he headed straight for the co-ordinates Badger had given him, flying low and fast, occupying himself with wondering how he could ever have been attracted to Becca.

She was pretty, that was for sure, although the years since he’d last seen her had hardened her somewhat, taken the gild off her shine, tarnished that prettiness. Truth was, though, his Freya just got more beautiful, but he could see time hadn’t left Becca unmarked.

As they approached their landing area, he glanced back into the body of the shuttle. He could see she was dozing, her chin dropped to her chest. She’d always been like that, he remembered. Even back in the disbursement camps, when there was so much noise he thought he’d never sleep again, she’d always been able to get some shuteye. Nothing seemed to phase that woman.

He banked sharply, bringing the small vehicle in to touch down, and allowed a slight smile of satisfaction to lift his lips as he heard a yelp from behind him. Shame, but it appeared the unexpected manoeuvre had apparently deposited Becca onto the floor.

As the shuttle settled and he shut down the engines, she leaned over him, rubbing her rear end.

“Did you have to do that?” she asked peevishly.

“Do what?” He got to his feet and pushed past her, picking up a small back pack on the way.

She scowled at him. “That innocent look didn’t work before, Mal. I can’t say it’s improved, either.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He slid the door open, tasting dust from where the engine had kicked it up.

She slid up behind him and peered out. “So where’s Kendrick’s ship?”

“Half an hour’s walk.”

She glared at him. “What? Why didn’t you land closer?”

He explained patiently.