[2.2] The Facts Were These

Fifteen minutes later the plans were set and Mattica pushed away from the commsphere, watching for a moment as the screen fizzled out to a dusty grey. Its internal cooling unit wheezed and sputtered, then gave a loud cough before retiring until the next time the sphere decided to put a cal through.

"G'night," Mattica whispered under her breath. She pushed her hair back out of her face and let out a restless sigh.

She was leaving.

She was returning to the free world.

She needed to steal some crap first.

Granted, the company she had kept during her "captivity" had been detestable, but not everything in the backwards little valley town of Pellel had been as torturous as was probably intended. In fact, if Mattica was feeling, for some reason, particularly optimistic, she could almost look at it as some sort of character training. Only, if she had her way the bounty was going to be as physical as it was mental.

Mattica had been living on a pseudo-government compound under the custody of one Liaz Corvendo, a disgustingly loyal ward of Pellel's very own corrupt town official/land lord/king pin. Matt didn't really care to distinguish which was the most accurate. She suspected he had his hand in any number of felonies, from political intimidation to drug running, but frankly the details aren't particularly important. Eight months earlier, fleeing certain incarceration in countries not know for their feats of human rights, Mattica had flown a battered maintenance ship toward resort country Costa Rhial, only to have a fuel leak ground her in the paradise's less favorable neighbor. Local officials (Corevendo among them) had been sympathetic and downright cordial to their foreign guest at first, giving her access to the town's deteriorating but serviceable airship garage.

Corvendo, enterprising little lackey that he was, thought to do a quick run-up on her, and discovered that she not only had a number of job licenses for mechanics and bounty hunting to her name, but that she was also wanted in a number of neighboring countries for offenses that were likely to be interpreted as felonies. Never mind that half of them were obviously trumped-up charges designed to ensnare traveling Alliance nationals. Corvendo saw what he had and made a grab for it. He sabotaged her ship, separated her from her belongings, and with his patron's blessing served her up an ultimatum at gunpoint: enter into contract with the town as a  mechanic for Honorable Markel Valleis (the aforementioned corrupt official) or be detained and extradited to whatever country he deemed the least hospitable.

Without weapons, a ship, or any chance of evading Pellel's numerous degenerates all the way to the next town thirty miles away, Mattica had shrugged and submitted to the contract, which stipulated that she see at least fifty projects through to completion (which amounted to about three-five years, depending on th vessels in question).

Mattica had intended to escape at some point. It would have been loud and flashy and worthy of its own story, only that resources were scarce and time passed quickly. Besides, with the exception, again, of the company she kept, conditions were tolerable. She was fed, housed, and provided a small allowance (even though there was little in Pellel worth purchasing). Even the strictest of restrictions Corvendo placed on her were easy to cheat, and Matt suspected he was new to the hostage-taking business. While her curfew was enforced by armed guards stationed around the compound's perimeter, she had hacked the antiquated commsphere network the first week of her capture, and she made herself a private (and invisible  account for sending and receiving calls. Unfortunately, with the contact binding, having access to a phone did little to help and legal attempts at a getaway. All it was good for was keeping in touch withe Camilla, and other friends with any particular interest in her continued well-being.

Like Conlan, infuriatingly leading the rescue charge she had spent countless hours trying to stop. Not that Conlan ever got enthusiastic about it or anything. Just, "Let me come and get you already," or "So what if there's a scandal. Can't fault a guy for shooting a couple of kidnappers, can you?" And she would bristle at the idea that she had been "kidnapped" like some damned damsel in distress. If anything she was a political prisoner! But, anyway. Conlan just didn't know how to take care of himself - he just had to meddle with other people's problems . . . which just ended with her trying to fix things for him.

That's what it felt like, anyway. Or what it used to feel like. It had been a long time since she'd been back.

But there was no use thinking like that now. He was coming to get her legitimately, and she could rest easy about it. He would be there in two days at the most.

"Start packing," he had said. Well, she definitely planned to.