Baby, it's Cold in Space: Eight Science Fiction Romances

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Yes?” I ask, feeling embarrassed. It’s silly, really, wondering if my AI system had monitored our copulation. But the feeling is there. Almost an invasion of privacy.

  “Estimated time of arrival to Spaceport Bravo XXI-G is T-minus five minutes. It is recommended that you head to the cockpit to prepare for arrival.”

  “I will be there,” I tell her. Even though the only thing I want to do is stay in my bunk with Houston and explore more of how this “love making” works, as he called it at one point.

  He gives me a smile. “I guess I’ll go with you.”

  “Please.”

  “Hey, Kear’yl?” he asks as he puts on his pants. “What does Sli’vier Biel mean in your language? Sometimes you translate things into English and sometimes you leave it in Vzekian. I always wanted to know.”

  I shrug. “That’s because there’s not a direct translation.”

  “Oh.” He sounds disappointed.

  I want to appease him, this human that has made me feel things, so I wrack my brain for the closest translation. Finally, I say, “It means The Solar Express. Because Mother created it to run on the solar energy of planets.”

  “The Solar Express?” he asks. A huge grin comes across his face. “I like it.”

  Chapter Nine

  SPACEPORT BRAVO XXI-G IS AN ABSOLUTE DUMP. Just being here is a reminder of why I avoid these kinds of places like the Ullyerian plague; I stand out here as a solider of the Space Corps. Houston, with his roguishness and his swagger easily fits in with the vagrants better than I ever could. Except I can tell that he’s fascinated by all the different species walking around. He keeps watching them, mouth open.

  “This place must be the size of Miami,” he says in wonder. “It just stretches as far as I can see.”

  It’s cute, even though I want him to stop. He’s drawing attention to us, attention that we don’t need in a place like this.

  “Stop it,” I whisper to him. “You look like you’ve never been off-world before.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” he hisses back. “This is all too much.”

  I try to envision the scene through his eyes, all the strange and new things he must be seeing. I grew up among a species that traveled the universe, so seeing varieties in the number and kinds of limbs, heads, skin tones, skin types and more, comes naturally to me. It must be fascinating, and I wish I still had that wonder for the world.

  Then again, Houston has shown me new and exciting things himself. I squeeze his hand at the thought.

  We’re waiting in the lobby of the Spaceport’s repair shop. Houston wanted to help the mechanics repair the Sli’vier Biel, but I refused, knowing that he has exerted himself too much in the past few days. “Besides, it’s Charis-must,” I told him when he got angry at me.

  He hasn’t been angry since, just marveling at the space port around us.

  Thankfully, Spaceport Bravo XXI-G had a spare hyperdrive that fit my ship and they’re repairing all the holes and outdated parts that have kept her together over the years. One of the mechanics asked me how I could fly her up to this point, even if the solar flare and the asteroid field hadn’t hit us.

  It’s because I love the ship almost as much as I love Houston.

  A Vostaq sticks his head into the waiting room and clicks a question in his language towards me. The language translation chip embedded in my brain has just enough time to process what he said before Houston asks his own question.

  “What did he say?”

  I lick my lips in worry. “They have an incoming call,” I say. “It’s from my father.”

  I’m not sure I’m ready to face him.

  ***

  “Soldier Kear’yl, you are three days late!”

  My father has called me by my formal title, which makes me stand at attention with my hands clasped behind my back. As I have a viewscreen in front of me, I’m able to have a visual to show that he’s pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

  Just like I would. If I was irritated, that is.

  I’m not though, because Houston is at my side as I face my imposing father. And if I hadn’t been late, he and I would have never discovered each other. I’ll never regret that.

  “Sorry, Commander,” I say, although my heart isn’t in it. “We had some difficulties while in transit.”

  My father opens his mouth to speak, but Jessica bounces into the frame, filling the entire viewscreen like she’d be able to see us better if she were closer to the camera. I’m quite glad for that, as she’s wearing a very revealing human swimsuit top that leaves little to my imagination. I notice that she’s still wearing her “jorts” and her skin is bright red from the effects of the Fl’steri sun. The planet is a summer paradise for all species, but she seems right at home there.

  “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?” she demands. I’ve never seen her like this before, like a bundle of electricity and worry. “It’ December 24th and Christmas is just around the corner and I was debating on sending out the Space Corps to help you or—”

  “Hello, Ma,” Houston says warmly, breaking into her tirade. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, impressed that he can stop her so easily. He’s stifling his own smile—I can see his emotions on him clearly now.

  She leans even closer into the camera and a big grin comes on her face, before she slams down a huge scowl.

  “And let me guess, you were a pain in Kear’yl’s rear this entire time,” she accuses.

  “He hasn’t been a pain,” I say. “Well, initially he was—”

  Jessica snorts angrily and shakes a finger in Houston’s direction. “How could you? After all, your stepsister flew halfway across the universe to pick you up so we could have our good old-fashioned—”

  “Ma, there’s nothing old-fashioned about our Christmas. Or,” he glances at me smugly, “us, for that matter.”

  His hand sneaks its way over towards mine and gives it a squeeze. I bite my lip at the gesture, wondering if she’ll see it.

  So what? She’ll have to find out eventually.

  I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

  A large gasp escapes Jessica, confirming that she had seen it. She blinks a couple times, her eyes magnified and distorted by her camera lens. Behind her, I hear my father asking, “What? What happened, Jessica?”

  My father is clueless. Just like I used to be. I still am, but I have a good teacher.

  Finally, Jessica laughs and crosses her arms, stepping back. “Well, I’ll be,” she says impressed.

  “I guess our family has a thing for tentacles?” Houston asks weakly. His cheeks are red now, and it’s not from the Fl’steri sun. He’s embarrassed. Behind my back, he plays with one of my headtentacles, and I find it so hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand, with Houston so close and doing that to me.

  He knows the effect he has on me well.

  “I suppose we do,” Jessica says.

  “What happened?” my father asks.

  My zn’Eppa looks at him and chuckles lightly. She twirls one of my father’s headtentacles as well, and while it is still a very intimate gesture for me to watch, it no longer repulses me like it did. Houston smirks, now knowing what it’s doing to my father.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she soothes.

  My father is as stubborn as ever. “What’s happening, Jessica?”

  “Our children are growing up, that’s all.” How could I ever not like her when she’s immediately all right with our relationship? She glances back at us. “We’ll have to talk about this when you two arrive. What’s your ETA again?”

  I clear my throat. “The morning of the 25th local time. Charis-must,” I answer, quoting the mechanics. I hope it’s correct. I’m looking forward to this whole Charis-must holiday now. After everything that happened to us on the Sli’vier Biel, something has changed inside me. Something that makes me more human, that delights in the universe around me.

  It’s like a narcotic that I can’t get enoug
h of. No wonder my father married a human.

  “Perfect,” Jessica says. “We’ll stuff some stockings for you two. Be safe and be careful. There are any number of things that can happen out there in space, but I think with you two working together, you’ll be just fine.” She winks.

  Meanwhile, my father looks as confused as ever.

  “Permission to end transmission?” I ask him.

  He glances at Jessica, who is beaming, and then back at us, looking anything but the stern Chief Commander that he is. “G—granted,” he says, still obviously perplexed.

  The viewscreen goes dark.

  “I’m almost sad to be around other people,” Houston says, wrapping me up in his arms to give me a kiss.

  “It’s just one day,” I tell him. “Right?”

  He nods. “Although I used to have two Christmases, because I had to spend some time with my Pa.”

  Humans. But I can’t stop smiling. “Can you tell me one thing though, Houston?”

  “Anything, Medusa Head.” I give him a sarcastic look at the pet name—because I learned that sarcasm isn’t just through words—and he laughs. “Lighten up,” he says. He gives my bunch of headtentacles a tug and I nearly moan in pleasure. “These are one of my favorite attributes of yours. What’s your question?”

  “What’s a stocking and why would they stuff it?”

  ***

  “This is the traditional food of humans on Charis-must?” I ask. “A ham?” I look at my plate dubiously, holding my eating utensils with my big hands. I recognize the term “ham”, but I’m not sure where it’s from.

  “Yeah, like in the ham and cheese omelet that I made on the ship,” Houston says, leaning into my ear to answer. Now I recognize the term. “Although this is the real thing,” he adds.

  “Only the best for our Christmas dinner,” Jessica says, holding a glass of wine.

  We’re sitting around the dinner table at our rental condo on Fl’steri, about to dine on the feast before us. Houston and I arrived at 0930 hours local time, meaning that we’ve had the entire day to celebrate. We opened gifts wrapped up in paper, sang songs, and lounged on the orange-sand beach as the tranquil, teal-blue water lapped at the shore.

  Truly, if this is what Charis-must is like, I wish it could be every day.

  Now we partake in what is apparently a big part of human culture—eating. And I want him to have as good a time as possible.

  My father watches us keenly. He doesn’t know what’s happening between us, but he suspects something. Jessica told us in private that she’ll talk to him later about it.

  I poke at the thin, round piece of meat on my plate. My father clears his throat.

  “As I understand it,” he says, “you are supposed to say something called a ‘grace’ before you eat your Christmas dinner.”

  Jessica and Houston exchange glances with each other and they shrug.

  “You don’t have to, dear,” Jessica says. “Only if you want to.”

  “What is a ‘grace’?” I ask.

  Houston shrugs. “It’s something that some people do. You give thanks for the food that is on your plate, hope for the best for the next year, say who you love, whatever. It’s what you make of it.”

  “I want to do it,” I say. After all, I’m trying to embrace this whole human culture now, right?

  Jessica nods. “Okay. Sure.” She clasps her hands in front of her, bows her head, and closes her eyes. “You put your hands and your head like this, and then you speak by yourself,” she instructs.

  Houston follows suit, as does my father. I’m the last to do so, and I’m whirling through all of what I need to say.

  Thanks for the food, hope, who you love.

  “I am thankful for this ham on my plate,” I say, my voice wavering with uncertainty. That is not how a Vzekian soldier speaks, so I sit up straighter. “I hope that my family will get together more often. I hope that Houston and I will make a great team on the Sli’vier Biel, now that she’s completely repaired, and I hope that she will stay repaired.” I run through more things. “I am thankful that I have been given such a wonderful ship. And…” I gulp nervously. “I love my father, Jessica, and…Houston.”

  My eyes are closed, so I only hear the bewildered intake of breath from my father. It’s strange for a Vzekian to show affection, and it’s even stranger for one to say their whole family like that. Not, to mention that I said Houston’s name reverently.

  Because I do love him.

  I feel his hand squeeze my thighs, sending a tingling sensation through me. His own way of showing that he cares too.

  This is my family. All of us.

  The grace feels incomplete, so I hastily add the only other thing that comes to mind. “Merry fucking Charis-must.”

  I open my eyes at the sound of laughter around the table. Jessica is giggling like a Vzekian child, while Houston is nearly choking. My father has a horrified look on his face.

  “What?” I ask confused. “Sh’vieth, it’s because I keep mispronouncing it, isn’t it?”

  Glossary:

  Vzeik – Kear’yl’s home planet.

  Op’pa – Father

  Ep’pa – Mother

  zn’Eppa – Stepmother

  zn’Ethri – Stepbrother

  Azerith – A race of beings with seven legs

  Oth’ra – Sister

  Sh’vieth – curse word

  Fl’steri – Vacation planet where Kear’yl’s human stepmother wants to spend Christmas

  About the Author

  Sci-fi junkie, video game nerd, and wannabe manga artist Erin Hayes writes a lot of things. Sometimes she writes books.

  She works as an advertising copywriter by day, and she's a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author by night. She has lived in New Zealand, Hawaii, Texas, Alabama, and now San Francisco with her husband, cat, and a growing collection of geek paraphernalia.

  You can reach her at erinhayesbooks@gmail.com and she’ll be happy to chat. Especially if you want to debate Star Wars.

  Follow her on:

  www.erinhayesbooks.com

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  Join her street team at: http://www.facebook.com/groups/erinsnerdcrew/

  Also by Erin Hayes

  The Cotton Candy Quintet

  How to be a Mermaid

  I’d Rather be a Witch

  I Do Believe in Faeries

  I’m Not Afraid of Wolves

  How to Talk to Ghosts (Coming Fall 2016)

  The Harker Trilogy

  Damned if I Do

  Damned if I Don’t

  Damned Either Way (Coming Fall 2016)

  Death is but a Dream

  Life is but a Nightmare (Coming 2017)

  I Found My Rhino (Coming Fall 2016)

  Fractured

  Jacob Smith is Incredibly Average

  Open Hearts

  Head Case: A Weird Science Romance

  Leg Work: A Weird Science Romance

  Light Up the Dark: A StarDaemon Novella

  Selene Grace Silver

  NADIAH BREATHED DEEPLY, tamping down the growing excitement that she’d done it. She’d escaped on her secret mission, undetected. As her ship-to-surface stinger neared Jagron, she could see on the scanners the famed dense jungles below, obscuring even the tallest buildings. Only the sky-high landing ports were visible above the trees, flat structures poking up through the foliage like platinum pinheads on stick pins stuck in a quilted patchwork of evergreens, turquoises, and jades. If she painted the verdant scene, she’d need to mix blue and green into a million variations to capture all the hues and tones.

  She checked the stinger’s landing coordinates to ensure she was approaching the correct port for her arrival—a different port than her parents’ scheduled flight plan. She didn’t want them to discover she’d taken a solo jaunt dirtside without their permission until after she returned to the ship. Especially with her father, it was much easier to seek forgiveness than obtain permi
ssion, a philosophy she and her siblings had learned from their earthborn mother.

  This personal journey was long overdue, though. She was 20, old enough to make her own decisions and act independently of her parents, especially her father. Plus, she’d decided that it was the only way she was ever going to have sex. Her native urge to mate had roused itself into a subtle sense of constant agitation. But every guy she’d met recently treated her like she was still a child or had some kind of vile skin disease, thanks to her father’s interfering telepathic powers. The fact that no guy was ever going to meet Galen of the KhaRya’s standards was further complicated by the way he blithely read and controlled even the most determined prospective mates’ minds.

  Checking the controls once more, which were efficiently managed by the stinger’s AI, she clamped a dream sleeping mask over her eyes and ears and reclined the seat just as the stinger was entering the planet’s atmosphere. Like her human mother, she tended to get motion sickness on these zoom landings so, to avoid developing nausea, she left the stinger to guide itself into port safely, while she distracted herself with the music and beautiful images supplied by the mask. The AI was a better pilot than she anyway, and had completed such landings successfully a thousand times. She let her mind drift to a fantasy about what it would be like to take a lover for the first time.

  ***

  Clank. Bang. What the heck? The stinger jerked sideways just as warning lights flashed and alarms blared. Nadiah ripped her face mask off and leapt out of her seat. But it was too late. The cabin filled with the telltale orange gas she recognized as the knockout drug used by slave traders across the Alliance.

  ***