Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Ellen Cross
Word Count :19645
Publication Date :2015-03-30
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 978-1-4874-0316-4
One man's trash is another man's destiny.
Aiden is the black sheep of his family. Of course, always being covered in grease hasn’t helped, but put anything mechanically broken into his hands and he can fix it. His cold-hearted parents have lived off his talent for years, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. They sell Aiden to slavers and plan to use the funds to buy themselves a life of high social standing within the city. Dumped on a refuse recycling planet along with other enslaved women and children, Aiden uses his talent to transform an ancient wreck of a cargo transport into their escape plan. His plan would have gone off without a hitch, if he hadn’t been shot in the escape. Bleeding, dying, Aiden locks himself into the cockpit of the ship the second help arrives and aids their landing, knowing that unlike the other slaves who have eager families to return to, he has no one. It’s just better if he fades away from this existence.
Jaylon lost all hope of love years ago, when his intended killed herself on the morning of their wedding, rather than face him over her betrayal. Now, as a medic, he has no time to think of what could have been, until a hunk of metal posing as a ship literally falls from the sky. When Jaylon breaks down the cockpit door to the sight of a pale, skinny, yet breathtaking man, bleeding out on the floor, he has to wonder if fate has sent him a second chance at a future, or if it is just reopening an old wound and pouring salt onto it.
A hard jolt brought Aiden back to the present, as the ship groaned in protest to the added stresses re-entry was placing upon its ancient framework. It wasn’t a pretty ship by any means, but the slavers hadn’t known it was buried under all that refuse. Aiden had salvaged and repaired enough parts to get the lugging beast working. Barely. The only thing that kept the bucket of scrap metal and bolts in the air was Aiden's brilliance in repairing the irreparable, and his talent. Almost as if by instinct, Aiden could source and interact with any mechanical or A.I based computer systems, and interface with it, repairing any damages in the electronics while pinpointing any manual repairs needing to be done at the same time.
Blasting off in the dead of night had been nerve wracking, but he almost had the women and children to safety with no casualties. Well, almost no casualties. All he needed was another few miracles, and by the blessing of the goddess, his duty would be fulfilled.
Flipping open the com unit, Aiden tried to keep calm.
“This is the shuttle Necromicon, hailing Brylon Control. I’m coming in hot and request immediate assistance. On board I have,“ Aiden looked down at the profusely bleeding wound in his stomach and gulped, knowing that this was a one-way ride for him. In his mind though, as long as these little souls made it to safety, he could go into the afterlife and meet his goddess in peace.
“I have thirty-six children and four women on board. We need asylum, and assistance. I have no landing gear and am down to only two thrusters. We are in severe distress. I suggest you evacuate the area immediately and lay down the landing foam. A lot of it!”
A short crackle of static came through the com unit, before a young man answered his distress call.
“Necromicon, this is Brylon Control. I need confirmation on that last communiqué. Please respond, Necromicon.”
An alarm started shrieking loudly in Aiden’s ear, just as he was about to answer, followed by an eerie quiet as the last two thrusters shut down. His ears rang as he took a deep breath, watching the warning lamps on the control panel light up brighter than the main street of his hometown village on Christmas Eve. He didn't know which was worse, the blaring alarm that had deafened him only moments earlier, or the devastating silence that now washed over his senses, heralding the fact that the last thruster engines had seized and failed.
“Oh fuck! Brylon Control, cancel the landing foam. You'd better send a cleanup crew, instead, and a whole mess of body bags. All systems are dead and we're coming in fast and heavy with forty souls. Goddess save us all!” I have failed. Oh, goddess I am sorry!