Swipe Right
Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Chapter 38: Look Before You Leap
Brandon shouldn’t have been FaceTiming Shamara at all.
Not because he didn’t want to—because he did, more than he let himself admit—but because every time her face filled the screen, he felt the weight of everything he still hadn’t said.
One: he didn’t want to be “just friends” anymore. Two: his life wasn’t in Fort Wayne anymore.
Not really.
He was sitting in a clean, quiet room on the Moon, under a sky that didn’t have clouds, pretending it was normal to miss a girl who thought he still lived two rivers and a high school hallway away.
Shamara was on her bed, hair pulled up sloppy, wearing the kind of oversized sweatshirt that made Brandon’s brain short-circuit.
“You’re quiet,” she said, smiling like she could see through him.
“I’m thinking,” Brandon lied.
“About what?”
About you. About how to say it. About how my life is bigger now and I didn’t choose it and I hate that you’re still on Earth and I don’t know how to bridge that without breaking something.
Instead he said, “Nothing.”
Shamara laughed. “Boy, you always thinkin’ about something.”
He smiled—then it died halfway.
Because something moved behind her.
A faint buzz, barely audible through her phone speaker. The reflection in her window shifted. Brandon leaned forward instinctively, eyes narrowing.
A drone hovered outside her window.
Not one of the small hobby drones kids flew over parks. Not loud, not erratic. This one held position with unnatural stillness, like it had been told to watch and had all night to do it.
Brandon’s stomach went cold.
“Mara,” he said, voice changing without permission.
“What?” She tilted the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“Please trust me,” Brandon said. “Share your location with me right now.”
Shamara blinked, then laughed softly. “Brandon—you know I’m home. You know where I live. I’m in Three Rivers Towers.”
“I know,” he said. “Please. Do it anyway.”
Her smile faded. Something in his tone finally reached her.
“Okay ... okay.” She tapped her screen, still half confused. “There. Happy?”
Brandon’s device pinged: LOCATION CONFIRMED.
He didn’t even have time to exhale.
Forgettable-looking men in dark suits entered her room from the doorway behind her—two of them, then a third. No masks. No guns raised. Just the calm, practiced movement of people who expected compliance.
Shamara turned her head. “Wait—who are you—”
The connection cut.
No warning.
No glitch.
Just gone.
Brandon stared at the black screen for one stunned second, thumb hovering over “call back,” waiting for the image to return like it was a bad signal and not the end of innocence.
It didn’t come back.
That was when he moved.
The hangar recognized him.
Lights rose softly as he sprinted down the corridor, breath sharp, heart punching at his ribs. The shuttle sat where it always did—sleek, compact, designed for transport and discretion. Not a fighter. Not a toy.
A responsibility.
He climbed into the pilot seat, hands moving on instinct more than permission.
The shuttle AI activated.
Unauthorized departure detected.
“I know,” Brandon said.
Clarify intent.
“Someone I care about is in danger.”
Silence, then— Command authority not present.
“Then record it,” Brandon snapped. “Record everything. But don’t stop me.”
A pause. Not mechanical.
Judgment.
Intent registered. Conditional assistance granted. Risk margin: unacceptable.
“Yeah,” Brandon muttered. “I’m aware.”
The shuttle lifted from lunar ground.
The surface fell away beneath him—gray, silent, ancient.
The stars didn’t blink.
Within seconds, the shuttle slid into transit.
And the Moon noticed.
In the command center, the alert hit like a slap.
Aisha’s head snapped up.
Maya’s hands stopped mid-entry.
The Royal AI’s tone cut through the room with sterile calm: Security Advisory: Shuttle A-7 has departed unauthorized. Destination: Terra. Pilot: Brandon Matthews.
Darius was on his feet before the words finished.
Amina moved with him—no panic, just speed. Renee stood too, one hand on the console edge like she needed something solid.
“Track him,” Darius said.
Aisha’s fingers flew.
“I’ve got his trajectory,” she said. Her voice was controlled, but her eyes were sharp. “He’s headed for Fort Wayne.”
Darius’s jaw tightened.
Amina’s face went pale in a way she tried not to let anyone see.
Renee swallowed. “Why would he—”
The Royal AI answered without being asked: Incoming probability thread: Civilian leverage event. Target: Shamara Wells and Ann Wells. Location: Allen County Courthouse holding.
Darius’s head turned slowly. “Courthouse?”
Aisha nodded once. “They moved them the moment he launched. They’re anticipating him.”
Darius inhaled—deep, steady.
He could stop Brandon.
He could order the shuttle shut down.
He didn’t.
Not yet.
“Don’t clamp him,” Darius said quietly, eyes hard. “Guide him. Quietly.”
Aisha hesitated. “Sir—”
“I said guide him,” Darius repeated. “If we lock him out, he’s still going to try. And he’ll do it with nothing.”
Amina’s hand found Darius’s wrist. Not stopping him.
Anchoring him.
“Bring everyone,” Amina said softly. “But keep it silent.”
Darius nodded.
The chessboard had shifted.
And Brandon didn’t even know it.
By the time Brandon hit Earth’s atmosphere, the adrenaline had burned through the first layer of fear and left something colder behind: focus.
He came in fast, masked his descent in normal air traffic noise and weather clutter, then cut low over Fort Wayne, keeping the shuttle where buildings and reflections would fracture any clean line-of-sight.
He dropped it into a narrow service alley near the courthouse, landing harder than he wanted.
The ramp hissed.
Wind smelled like wet concrete and city summer.
He ran.
The courthouse didn’t feel like a place where rescues happened.
That was the problem.
Quiet halls. Clean floors. Fluorescent hum. Two guards at the entrance—standard metal detector, standard boredom.
One leaned against the counter scrolling on his phone. Another stared into the middle distance like he’d already decided nothing interesting would happen tonight.
Brandon walked in like he belonged.
He didn’t run. Running made you visible.
He nodded once.
“Evenin’,” he said.
The detector chirped lazily as he passed through.
The guard glanced up.
“You good,” he muttered, already looking back down.
Brandon didn’t look back.
He followed the signs—HOLDING / COURT SERVICES—down a corridor that smelled like disinfectant and old paper.
He found the holding area fast.
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