Tyches grace, p.9
Tyche's Grace,
p.9
Coffee. A few pastries. Fruit.
“Nervous?” said Grace.
“A little,” said Nate, still flushed from the shower, or workout, or both. “I mean, lots of things could go wrong.”
“I’ll be there,” said Grace.
“Yeah, but so will Kohl,” said Nate. “That there is a crisis waiting to happen.”
She laughed, helping herself to more coffee. “We could just nuke ‘em.”
“Nah,” said Nate. “That would be a bigger crisis.”
“They’re terrorists, Nate,” Grace said. “They’ve pretty much asked for it.”
“What we’ve asked for and what we deserve are two separate things,” he said. “And anyway. It’s good to have friends.”
“Terrorist anarchists for friends?” Grace strode to the viewing window of their cabin. Small ships flew in formation around the Mercenary, the mighty Empire carrier locked and loaded for almost any situation. “Seems a stretch.”
“Depends why they’re terrorists and anarchists,” said Nate. “And that’s why we’re here.”
“They’ll try to kill you,” said Grace, not turning to face him. She felt the fear in her gut, a tight ball, heavier by far than what she’d eaten for breakfast.
“I hope so,” said Nate. “This wouldn’t be worthwhile otherwise.”
Grace shook her head. His sense of doing the right thing was another reason she loved him, but she wanted to shake him, to shout at him. Tell him dying isn’t the way. But she’d tried that, and he’d shrugged, and like the mule he was, came out here anyway.
Only thing for it was to be at his side. Together. Forever.
• • •
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Richard Parry, Tyche's Grace
