A Reunion
Jordan and I are seated at the same table in the same diner where he told me he would join my crew. I'm so excited right now. I can't hold back my smile. And Jordan keeps giving me the stink-eye.
"What is with you?" he asks, folding his arms on the table.
"Whatever do you mean?" I tease, still grinning.
"Ry, you're kinda freaking me out. What's the deal?"
I sigh and glance towards the diner entrance. I totally feel a new smile taking control of my face when I see Hunter walking toward the door with another, older man.
"Do you remember one of the things I said I would help you do?" I ask, looking back to Jordan.
"Aside of making my welding legal, or me, as a living being, legal . . ." he trails off, trying to look in the direction I've just turned away from. "Not that I recall."
"Really? You don't remember anything else?"
"Nope, sorry to burst your bubble, sweets."
I smile and look up at Hunter when he reaches our table.
"Well lookie who we have here," he says, motioning to the older man with exquisitely orange hair and unnaturally, piercing blue eyes. "Martin, I am sure you remember my sister, Ryan."
"Of course," Martin replies with a kind smile as he shakes my hand. "It's wonderful to see you again."
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Montgomery," I say, turning my grin back to Jordan.
"You're being so weird, babe," Jordan chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. "Why did you say my last name?"
"I was speaking to Martin Montgomery."
Jordan's eyes grow wide as he takes a better glance at Martin. I stand as he does, motioning for Hunter to follow me. We gotta let them catch up.
***
"That was so perfectly timed," I say while Hunter and I walk around a mini art gallery. "I don't think I could have kept my mouth shut any longer . . . How was Martin? Was he excited?"
"Yeah," Hunter replies as we park ourselves in front of a painting called D'Mandoocry's Awakening. "He was over the moon . . . speaking of which. He was telling me something on our way to the diner. He remembers you as a little girl."
"What, me? For real?"
"Yeah, something about seeing you cry while watching W. N. officials deporting him and his family."
I raise an eyebrow at my brother. Because what he's saying doesn't really make sense. I don't remember ever seeing Martin. Or Jordan for that matter, even though he did seem familiar to me when we first met.
"I know," Hunter goes on as we move to a new painting. "I don't remember either. But if I do, I'll help you out."
I nod and glance at a painting of a woman being fought over by two men. Each man is holding an arm of the woman. Her style of dress is old-fashioned, way beyond my time. Probably even beyond my father's time. Really old fashioned. I squint and lean forward to see the date in the bottom corner.
"1957," I say, straightening my posture again. "Sheesh, that's older than granddad, I think."
"Great-granddad," Hunter says with a chuckle. "But that means someone must have brought this all the way from 1-Q."
Our conversation shifts from one subject to another as we walk through the gallery more than once. Stopping at the paintings we liked best. We then go to what is known as an "airlock chamber". It's a small room to pull on oxygen masks before going out into toxic air.
As we're walking the streets to go back to the airport-slash-airbase, there's a sudden commotion. A family of three, a kid and her parents, are being forced to an armored van.
"We've lived here since the migration!" the father is shouting as he is shoved into the caged back of the van. "We have papers!"
I gasp; I'm having a weird sense of deja vu.
"I gotta get back to the ship," I tell Hunter, and I race to the Montgomery.
***
I'm pacing back and forth in the cabin. I told the entire crew to send Jordan to me the moment he gets back from being with his dad. It feels like an eternity has gone by since I saw him. I have to tell him something. Or rather, confront him about something.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?"
I turn and find Jordan standing in the doorway.
"Yes," I say, letting out a breath of relief. "But not in official capacity. Jordan . . . Why didn't you tell me you were that boy back in the First Quadrant."
"Hmm?" he makes a face, as if not getting my drift. "Repeat that."
"You recognized me from the first day we met," I sigh, walking toward him and gently moving him to his pilot's chair. "I know you did. Why didn't you tell me you were the boy in the family my dad deported?"
Jordan's eyes soften as he gently tugs me down to his lap as he sits down.
"I didn't bring it up because I didn't think it would matter that we knew each other or not."
"It matters to me," I whisper, hugging his neck. "I've spent years thinking back to that day, wishing I'd been able to do something about it."
"You did do something about it."
"Pfft! Right, what did I do?"
"For starters, you trusted me enough to pilot this beautiful ship without having a problem with my legality. You helped me get a welding license and helped me become legal."
"That was for selfish reasons," I cut him off.
"Maybe . . . But the thing I appreciate the most is how you had your brother find my dad. I haven't seen him in years. I honestly thought he died or something."
Jordan brings one of my hands to his lips. He kisses it, closing his eyes with a gentle sigh. So much can be said in such a simple gesture. I kiss Jordan's scruff and lean close to his ears. Whispering the words I didn't have the guts to say when we were fighting about payments.
"I love you."