Page 63 of A Mate For Matrix
Matrix stepped to the console and input his code. “This is The Nebulosity, CPU-07051 class reconnaissance and defense starship. Lieutenant Commander Matrix S. Roma reporting.”
There was a long pause.
“Welcome home, Lieutenant Commander Roma. You are cleared to dock at Orbital Station Theta, Level Five. Prepare for boarding.”
The line went silent.
Matrix stared at the console for a beat before rubbing the back of his neck. That was fast.
He turned on his heel and moved toward the crew quarters. “Time to make a good first impression,” he muttered.
Ten minutes later, he stepped back onto the bridge while fastening the last clasp on his high-collared, midnight-blue officer’s coat. It hugged his shoulders and frame like a second skin. The polished military insignia of Zion gleamed across his chest.
Behind him, Jana let out a low, appreciative whistle.
“Hubba-hubba.”
Matrix turned, one brow raised.
Jana stood just inside the doorway, her eyes scanning him like she was ready to devour him on the spot.
“I mean,” she added, cocking her head and biting her lip, “I thought you looked good without your clothes on… but this? This makes me want to rip them right off.”
Matrix’s cheeks flushed.
K-Nine grumbled from where he sat monitoring the station interface. “That would be a great way to meet your commanding officers. Let’s hope she keeps her hands to herself.”
Jana snickered. “No promises. I know what’s underneath the wrapping.”
Matrix ignored them both and stepped forward, brushing his fingers along her cheek in passing. “You, stay with the kittens. Bridge, galley, or quarters. No wandering.”
Her expression sobered immediately. “I will. I promise.”
He nodded and turned away, his jaw setting into the familiar mask of protocol and authority.
The docking clamps engaged with a heavy metallic thud followed by the hiss of pressure equalization. Matrix stood with K-Nine at his side just outside the airlock. His fingers twitched toward the pistol at his hip, but he let them fall. This wasn’t a battlefield.
The inner door opened with a mechanical sigh.
Boots echoed before the first figure stepped through—tall, broad-shouldered, with short dark hair streaked at the temples.
Grand Admiral Bran Markus.
Behind him came a man whose presence radiated strength, though his posture was deceptively relaxed—Commander Rorrak Jefe. His past had been trickier to research. Rorrak was an enigma, like himself, only without the cyborg enhancements. He was a soldier, spy, and assassin.
Then came Kordon Jefe—equal parts warrior and tactician, his eyes like steel sharpened by fire.
Matrix recognized them from the database.
But the man who followed was of greater interest.
Taller than the others, he had storm-gray skin that shimmered faintly under the overhead lights. His black hair was cropped close to his head. His body—sleek, built like a weapon—moved with calculated precision.
Matrix didn’t need a nameplate.
Section K, he thought. Krac.
The man’s gaze locked with his, hard and unreadable, before shifting to K-Nine. The air prickled faintly. Matrix felt the subtle vibration of K-Nine’s systems hardening defenses through their neural link.
