“I don’t know which story I’m more curious about,” he admitted. He had a feeling Sarr’ma could keep him entertained with tales of her life for a long time to come.
“Short version: they’re both related to my brother meeting his mates,” she whispered. “I told you mating can make you do odd things.” Then, out loud and addressing the camera, “Are you over the transport wooziness, Tripp? Because if you are, I’m ready to party!” She pulled away from him, grabbed his hand, and tugged him forward. “Come on! Expensive booze and pretty-pretty people are waiting for us.”
He’d finally gotten the hang of this game, not that he’d have to worry about it after tonight. “All right. Let’s go, but remember I still work for Meridian. Don’t borrow anyone’s flyer or seduce anyone’s perma-partner.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. He had to look away because the sight of it, pink and soft and tempting, was going to distract him. He had to keep reminding himself that while the camera was on them or anyone was looking, he wasn’t Sarr’ma’s mate, just her race partner and occasional play partner, out of his depth and trying to keep up without making an ass of himself. Just a little while longer, to keep people guessing long enough for them to find Eno Kallrydis.
Keeping that in mind, he heaved an exaggerated sigh and let Sarr’ma pull him to the highly polished slidewalk.
*
A stern but not unattractive middle-aged human man with warm copper-brown skin and gray streaks in his dark hair, wearing an old-time butler’s uniform that only half-concealed a blaster, stood by the door, clutching a com-pad that presumably showed the guest list. He looked at Sarr’ma in her slinky dress, checked the com-pad, then did a double-take and went from stern to beaming. “Stars, you’re that cat-girl from The Great Space Race!” He turned to Tripp. “Which makes you the local talent. I didn’t recognize you all dressed up.”
Time to pull out the lilting voice with a bit of a purr. “That’s right, mister! We were in the neighborhood, kind of, and heard our buddy Zissel was going to be here. We’re so far ahead of schedule we needed to waste some time—would you believe we can lose points for being too fast?—so we figured we’d drop in and say hi.”
“Of course! Zissel’s all set up inside. Getting coverage from both Scintillating Society and The Great Space Race at once is a thrill. I’ll have to scan you for weapons since you weren’t on the original guest list—not that you could possibly hide anything in that delightful dress.” He looked at Sarr’ma’s hands as he said that, and his eyes twinkled. As a fan of the show he’d know she was always armed. “But everyone will be glad you’re here. We’re all rooting for you two.” He lowered his voice. “At least the staff is. If a miner can get out of the system and maybe wind up rich and famous, it gives the waiters and cooks hope.”
Even with the promise of a weapons scan, Tripp smiled at that, one of his rare full smiles. Sure, the story presented on The Great Space Race wasn’t real—but he must like knowing he was making people’s lives a bit brighter in this shiny shithole.
*
As soon as they made it into the opulent house—all multicolor marble and gold-leaf trim and projections on the high, deep blue ceiling of a night sky that people could step outside and see for themselves—Sarr’ma spotted Zissel. She was interviewing an expensively dressed, pale-complexioned human man who at first appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but on second glance looked like an old man who’d gone through several rounds of vanity regen; his face appeared young and his body fit, but his pale eyes were those of someone who had seen and done it all and didn’t enjoy most of it. He seemed both flattered and uncomfortable. Zissel looked as if she was having the best marling day of her life, so Sarr’ma had a feeling she was asking more probing questions than her target expected from a society gossip show.
Sarr’ma had checked out Zissel’s announcement that she’d be covering the event and she looked liked she’d been having so much fun it was illegal in some systems. It was awful that the usual Meridian Sector reporter for Scintillating Society had gotten sick enough he couldn’t travel! (Sarr’ma didn’t know if it was “sick” as in enjoying a short vacation on Zissel’s credit chit or “sick” as in Zissel having skills worthy of Sarr’ma’s sister-in-law, the ex-assassin. She was torn between wanting to know and figuring she shouldn’t for the sake of plausible deniability in case of legal issues.) Luckily Zissel’s Great Space Race charges were in a long, dull flight, not even due at a checkpoint for at least a week, so she could be spared for a quick hyperspace hop to Arias. Wasn’t that exciting!
The way that woman enthused and chirped while creating mayhem, she could be an honorary felinoid.
Sarr’ma jumped up and down and waved at the reporter, doing the cute, ridiculous thing until Zissel looked up and did a perfect staged double-take. She waved back and returned to her interview.
Sarr’ma snagged a much-needed glass of pale gold bubbly from a passing waiter and, from another one, a couple of deep-fried squid that turned to be stuffed with a delicately spiced ground bird meat of some kind. Tripp, she noticed, was sticking to mineral water despite several members of the waitstaff attempting to press bubbly, small purple pills, or glowing blue cocktails with tiny red fish swimming in them as they moved through the well-dressed crowd. (Sarr’ma was tempted by the fish cocktails, but decided drinking something she couldn’t identify was a poor choice under the circumstances.) He seemed be almost alone in this choice, based on what Sarr’ma was seeing around her, but very few of the other guests looked relaxed. Tipsy, yes. Relaxed or enjoying themselves, not really. The older females seemed especially miserable, maybe because their partners were flocking to the bevies of attractive, scantily dressed girls and boys who seemed to be working as much as the waitstaff was.
Sarr’ma decided to randomly bounce at a couple of particularly unhappy-looking ladies, introduce herself, hug them, and squeal over their outfits whether she liked them or not. They might be here on a serious mission, but she might as well spread some good cheer in the process. Tripp, taking her lead, was kissing the older women’s hands when he was introduced and generally behaving like a charming gentleman in an old romance holo. Otherwise, he kept his arm around her and glowered at anyone who approached like they thought she was one of the professional bevy.
*
Zissel had finally freed herself from a series of interviews and was working her way toward them, stopping now and then to chat with someone in what even Tripp could tell was a great outfit.
Thank the stars. Soon he could stop pretending to be social, pretending he wasn’t disgusted with this party, with this flagrant display of wealth when hardworking people were hungry on neighboring planets, the way these people had everything at their fingertips and still seemed miserable and grasped at drugs, sex, and brushes with even their minor celebrity to feel alive. He took one more look around the glittering room, at the wealth and unhappiness. We are all star-stuff, he reminded himself.
Sarr’ma knew that instinctively. Why did so many other people not know it or worse, not care?
The familiar words echoing in his head and Sarr’ma on his arm centered him, so when Zissel descended upon them, he could manage an approximation of a smile for the camera-drones that accompanied her.
“Surprise!” Sarr’ma squealed.
As she did, Tripp glanced across the room.
Her curly brown hair was longer than he’d seen it in years, she was wearing a black synthleather microdress and thigh-high openwork boots with ridiculous heels instead of the loose jumpsuits she preferred when she wasn’t in her clinic scrubs, and she was even thinner than she’d been in their last com, but that was definitely Zel.
It was hard to tell across the room, but a lot of her bare skin looked bruised. Blood dripped from one corner of her mouth.
No one else seemed to notice. No, not quite true. A couple approached her as Tripp stared frozen in horror and rage. The man reached out, licked the blood away and then grabbed her upper arm, g
ripping a section that already looked bruised. The other woman, who hadn’t been walking too steadily, giggled. Zel seemed to be holding herself in place by sheer will. Her eyes were too wide, as if she was in shock.
Every muscle in his body wanted to run to her, scoop her up, call to Sparky for transport. Forget the marling plan. Eno Kallrydis should rot in the bottom of a deep pit, but Tripp didn’t want to take the time to put him there.
No, the timing was good. Just a minute or two more, while Zissel did her thing.
Sarr’ma squeezed his hand. Stars bless her quickness, she’d figured out what he’d seen. Either that or she’d seen it herself, and without knowing who the bleeding woman was, planned to intervene in what looked like an ugly scene. “Zissel,” she said in that disarmingly chipper voice, “announce us. And then get ready for things to get interesting and possibly violent.”
The look in Zissel’s three gold eyes was positively gleeful. “My pleasure,” she whispered. The s in pleasure was hissed. For a second, the felinoid and the reptilian looked as if they were sharing a thought that didn’t bode well for Eno, the creepy couple, and possibly everyone else in the room.
She flipped a switch on her microphone and when she spoke, she was addressing the room in her usual voice without a hint of hiss. “Gentlebeings, I have an exciting announcement. Two of my favorite contestants on The Great Space Race—two of everyone’s favorite contestants—have dropped in for a visit on the way to their most dangerous challenge yet! Octiron Media is proud to introduce intergalactic agent of mischief Sarr’ma Settazz and your home-system favorite Tripp Gallifer. Let’s give them a big round of applause!”
As applause erupted, so did the room.
Zel tried to break away from the couple, but each one grabbed a wrist. Tripp pushed his way forward, Zissel on his heels, but agile Sarr’ma was there first.
She laid one hand, claws extended, on the man’s chest. “Hi, mister,” she said, and that sweet, menacing voice filled the room. Bless the stars, she’d managed to hide a mike in that plunging neckline. “Did you see our Altaria episode? You know, the one that ended with me drenched in blood and grinning?” Both the man and the woman nodded slowly.
“Good. Then you’ll listen when I tell you to let go of the lady, back away three steps, and then stand very still.” They obeyed.
People who had to be armed security were converging, but Sarr’ma didn’t seem to care. She turned toward Zel. “Miss—Zel Gallifer, right? Sorry if I interrupted consensual kink, but I know kinky and I know being too tired to fight anymore. You look like someone who went six rounds with my brother.”
Zel burst into tears just as Tripp reached them. She cried out his name and Tripp circled both her and Sarr’ma in his arms.
Zissel could do her reporter magic after they were gone. “Spartacus,” he started, about to give the signal for transport.
Something poked into his back.
It had to be a blaster.
“Tripp Gallifer. Fancy meeting you here. Now move. The host won’t like it if I kill you in front of…”
“In front of a dozen camera-drones live-broadcasting to most of two galaxies?” Zissel and her cameras had arrived. “Even an heir to Meridian Corporation might have trouble getting away with that.”
Eno sputtered out something very rude, but he pulled the blaster back and Sarr’ma threatening with her claws, managed to snatch it out of his hand. “Scintillating Society doesn’t broadcast live and mostly The Great Space Race doesn’t either. Everyone knows that.”
“Oh, but Octiron Investigates does.” Stars, Zissel had managed to play this story to get a slot on one of the galaxy’s top news shows. Hopefully they’d all survive long enough to enjoy her triumph. “You’d paid an Octiron employee to interfere with the race and I found him, so I’m working for a different division of Octiron now. The public wants to know why you were manipulating the race in ways that might have been fatal to Team Supernova.” She sounded genuinely angry.
“She’s a larf-licking slut of a reality show host, not a reporter. She’s lying! Shoot them!” Eno yelled to the security team that had surrounded them. “And you!” He slapped Zel hard enough she staggered. “I own you, bitch!” Eno shouted. “I own both of you. I own Meridian, so I own your sorry asses. And that means I can lend you to my friends or kill you or whatever I…”
Someone from the security team coughed and pointed to the gigantic holo setup on the other side of the room—which was broadcasting the sordid action for anyone who couldn’t see it from where they were. Live from Arias: Meridian Corporation Involved in Scandal? scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
The whole room went silent. Maybe the whole galaxy went silent.
Then the silence broke as many things started happening at once.
Eno grabbed for the blaster. Sarr’ma slashed at his arm, which he drew back dripping blood as she tossed the blaster to Tripp. “You’re a better shot,” she said with a toothy grin, “and I believe this woman who needs medical attention is your sister. I want to shoot the guy on general principle, but either the person who’s been kidnapped and abused or her next of kin should do the honors.”
Zel nodded, but she was crying too hard and her hands were shaking too badly to shoot.
Guess it was up to him.
Blasters weren’t that large, but this one weighed down his hand. Weight of the world. Weight of the galaxy. Weight of a man’s life. We are all star-stuff. Regardless of species, regardless of wealth, regardless of being good or evil, we are all star-stuff.
All equal because all equally insignificant.
It wasn’t his job to send this man’s atoms back to the stars.
On the other hand, he could make sure a few billion of those atoms hurt.
He used the blaster like cerametal knuckles as he punched Eno in the face. As Eno staggered, blood spurting from his nose to go along with the flood from his ruined arm, Zel kneed him in the groin, then caught him in the chin when he doubled over. “That’s not a tenth of what I owe you.”
Eno fell onto the blood-smeared marble floor.
Sarr’ma, a sweet smile on her face and blood on her claws, applauded. A surprising number of party-guests and almost all the professionals of negotiable affection joined her. Then she straddled the fallen human and pressed her claws against his throat. “Zissel has a few questions to ask you. I suggest you answer honestly, because Tripp and I know the truth.”
Stars, she was hot when she was murderous.
The man Zissel had been interviewing earlier pushed his way through the gathered crowd around the fight and drones. “And so do I, unfortunately.”
Shit. He had to be Mr. Kallrydis Senior, though thanks to the magic of top-of-the-line regen treatments, he looked more like Eno’s older brother than his father. “Everything is under control,” the older man announced. “Security can stand down. My idiot son is proving again that I should have pulled out on the night he was conceived. At least that kind of fuck-stain washes out.” He turned and glared at Zissel with eyes like blue ice. “The stand-down includes you. You don’t need to move, though, Ms. Settazz. Maybe he’ll finally listen with something sharp against his jugular.”
He didn’t bother, though, to check that all the camera-drones were off before he crouched next to Eno and roared in his face, “I’ve told you before. You can pretend to kidnap and rape girls all day long if they like that game or you pay them well enough they’ll put up with your disgusting fetish. But you can’t do it for real. Especially not if they’re Meridian employees. Miners are tough; you’re lucky she didn’t kill you in your sleep. You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill you in your sleep if you don’t get it through your thick skull you don’t own the company yet. And the next time you decide to sabotage a major conglomerate, hire professionals, not a disgruntled employee!”
Someone laughed. Mr. Kallrydis looked up and realized he was ranting at his son live to the galaxy.
Zissel shoved a microphone in his face and s
tarted asking questions.
It was time to go, before someone decided that, Octiron Investigates on the scene or not, shooting the intruders would be a good idea. “Spartacus,” Tripp said into his com, “three ready for transport.” He hated to leave Zissel behind in an edgy situation, but he suspected she’d rather risk death than stop the broadcast.
“Prepare for transport in three.” A brief pause. “I am Spartacus!”
And they were hurtling through time and space back to the Supernova.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“THANK YOU, MR. Harrington, but Tripp and I don’t care about finishing the race.” Sarr’ma smiled at Tripp and squeezed his hand. Stars no. She’d done the great deed she’d come for—just a different one than she’d expected. The transporter technology still baffled her, but saving Zel felt sweeter—and would make more of an impression on Rahal to boot. His beloved Xia had been a slave herself.
Suede Harrington, who looked far too much like every over-regenned, under-moraled guest at that party on Arias for Sarr’ma’s comfort, leaned back in his chair. “Then perhaps you’d like us to arrange transportation back home for you. Of course this applies to you as well, Mr. Gallifer.”
“And my sister. She’ll be going with me. I think Octiron owes me that much.” He didn’t say, “Considering how close you came to killing me because no one noticed a saboteur on the staff,” but Sarr’ma was pretty sure that was why Harrington was meeting with them personally instead of leaving it to a flunky.
Explode: Team Supernova (The Great Space Race) Page 18