library?” I took in the large area filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves with glowing data slates neatly arranged on them. “Impressive.”
“Is it?” Wyck cast a glance around the room as if seeing it for the first time or from a new perspective.
I walked over to the closest shelf unit by the door and slid my finger along the red-glowing spines.
“The captain did all of this? On his own?” It must have been a long tedious task.
“Yes.” Wyck cleared his throat, standing close behind me. “The red ones have sex videos, not much music there, other than in the background in some.”
“Oh.” I jerked my hand away. “How about the rest of the colors?”
The collection was clearly color-coded. From what Wyck had brought to me earlier, I assumed the gray-marked slates contained data on the Dark Anomaly itself. The yellow ones must have something to do with history or studies of various alien ethnicities, and the green ones were on agriculture. There were more colors here, though.
“I’m not sure,” Wyck confessed.
He’d sounded rather confident about the red section earlier.
“So, you’re only familiar with that part of the library?” I waved back at the shelves glowing red.
“I’d watched most of those by the time I was fifteen years old.” He didn’t appear embarrassed or uncomfortable admitting that. “Crux brought me here.”
“Crux is one of those who raised you?” I skimmed over the titles of the slates in the blue section then moved on to the pink one.
“Was. Crux was the man who raised me after my father’s death.”
“Has he passed away, too?”
“Yes.” His features shifted into a stern expression.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Why am I sorry?” I blinked, staring at him for a moment. How easily did people say these words when a tragedy happened? What exactly did they mean when they said they were sorry? “Because I believe you’re hurting, Wyck. The loss of a loved one is always painful, no matter how long ago it happened. If you loved the person, it hurts when they’re gone.”
“Avenging their death is supposed to ease the pain,” he said grimly, not meeting my eyes.
“Was Crux murdered?”
He nodded.
“And you believe that killing his murderer would make you feel better?”
“Vengeance is an honorable thing,” he replied mechanically, as if reciting something he’d learned by heart.
“Vengeance doesn’t always give you closure. Justice does. Have those who killed him been brought to justice? Was their punishment equal to their crime?”
His brow furrowed, he appeared to be deep in thought, then his expression turned troubled, confused. Something bothered him, deeply. Without knowing his entire situation, I couldn’t tell what exactly it was.
“What do you know about vengeance and justice?” he asked.
“Personally, not much,” I admitted. “But I do know loss. My parents died when I was a teenager.”
My dad passed away from a heart condition when I was sixteen. Mom died from cancer two years later. Both were in their eighties when it happened.
They’d spent most of their lives building their careers. I was conceived from a frozen egg when they were in their late sixties. By then, they’d decided their lives were comfortable enough to start a family. They knew they might not live long enough to see me graduate college or even high school and had made sure I had the means to complete my education when they were gone. Financially, I had been okay without them. Emotionally, however...
“I miss them every day.” Our happy family time had been cut short by my parents’ weakened health in their later years and then by their deaths, yet I’d always treasure every minute spent with them.
It was comforting to know that they had accomplished a lot and had done everything they ever wanted to do. They’d shared a long, happy life together. I just wished I’d been there for a much bigger part of it.
That was the main reason why I’d decided to start my own family early. I wanted to spend as much of my life as possible with my child. With my parents taken from me so early, I couldn’t wait to start my own family. The fact that I hadn’t found a man I’d consider a suitable life partner wouldn’t stop me.
I’d had a sperm donor selected and a clinic appointment booked for the scheduled end of the mission. The financial reward promised to me upon the completion of this mission was supposed to supplement the money left to me by my parents. It would ensure a more than