Explode: Team Supernova (The Great Space Race)

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Zel wasn’t ready to be left on her own, might not be for a long time. She hadn’t known Erin was dead and learning that was one trauma too many.

  Which left Sarr’ma and Tripp with a problem, even if they hadn’t had time, in the flurry of the past few days, to discuss it. She didn’t want to stay in this cesspit of a galaxy. If travel expanded one’s perspective, traveling here had given her perspective on her home planet. There was a lot to be said for a place where conglomerates and mega-corporations had little sway because mass-produced goods and media were considered boring compared to creations of passion. Even more to be said for a place where someone who even attempted to do what Eno Kallrydis had done would disappear and no one would bother looking for the body.

  Tripp couldn’t leave his sister—Sarr’ma would love him less if he’d even consider it. But how could she ask Zel to move to a different galaxy, to a planet with customs she’d find strange, even unsettling? Her life had already been torn apart.

  Harrington began making notes. “So…one long distance transport to Mrrwr and two to…where would you and your sister like to go, Mr. Gallifer?”

  “Mrrwr.” He took Sarr’ma’s hand. “If that’s all right? Zel doesn’t feel safe anywhere near Meridian space—and I don’t like the idea of being somewhere you aren’t.”

  She started to bounce in her chair. She’d been hoping for this, but so much had depended on Zel.…

  Then she took a good look at Harrington. He seemed far too pleased about the prospect of three intergalactic transports. If they were all transporting at once, it would be way too easy to “lose” them.

  They’d pulled a fast one on Meridian, but also on Octiron. Tripp, Sarr’ma, and Zissel—who was safely on route to her home planet, where she’d been offered a job with a news program known for intellectual rigor and serious investigations—were the only people who knew how close the saboteur had come to killing at least one race team and damaging the company’s reputation.

  And Harrington had probably suspected that neither Sarr’ma nor Tripp would hide that not all the race contestants were there of their own free will once they were no longer under contract to Octiron. (Zissel had promised to cover it on her new program but, as a junior reporter, it might be a while before she could choose her own stories.) Viewers and sponsors might not care about legal loopholes that made those contracts-under-duress legal in this system.

  The more she thought about it, the more she’d rather jump into a black hole than trust Octiron to transport them across the street, let alone outside Paragon Galaxy. “I have a better idea. You offered us a chance to finish the race. If we finished, which you know we would, we’d get to keep the Supernova, which I understand is capable of intergalactic travel. So give her to us and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Even with the hyperdrive in a T-47, it would take more than a year for you to get home. Let us take care of it and you could be there tomorrow. Wouldn’t that be the best thing for your poor sister, Mr. Gallifer?” Mr. Harrington leaned forward, clasped his hands together, and stared at them.

  She thought he was trying for sincere and concerned, but Sarr’ma knew the expression of a predator about to pounce and take a big bite out of its prey. It wasn’t a good look on a human face.

  Apparently Tripp had been around her long enough to recognize it too. “The doctors say even short ship-to-surface transports are a physical strain for her right now. She needs rest and quiet, with a few people she’s comfortable with. A long flight with only Sarr’ma and me would be perfect. Much better than plunking her down on a strange planet after a traumatic transport.”

  Sarr’ma forced the cute smile people had come to expect from her. “It’ll be a really strange planet for someone who grew up on Nieves. People who hug complete strangers, steal their wallets, and then buy them a drink with their own credit chit—and everyone involved thinks it’s great. Stores and museums where you can borrow things as long as you bring them back the same day. A diet that’s mostly fresh meat and ice cream instead of a few vegetables from a backyard garden and a hundred forms of soy crumble. The first visit to Mrrwr is always a shock for off-worlders, and she’d been traumatized enough lately. If she’s had time to hear stories and see holos about my world, it’ll be easier.”

  “Are you sure…?” Harrington was reaching for a button on his desk that Sarr’ma guessed would summon security.

  What would Rahal do? That was an easy one.

  She started flexing her claws in and out. “Yes. We’re sure.”

  “The Supernova will suit us fine.” Tripp didn’t have claws, but his big hands clenched into impressive fists that Harrington had seen in action on Octiron Investigates.

  The two of them could inflict serious, possibly lethal, bodily harm before security could get there.

  One of Harrington’s elegant silver eyebrows twitched as if he’d developed a tic. “Of course. I’ll order it refueled, have the AI reset, and get you the codes for the restricted areas.”

  Sarr’ma dropped her voice to a pitch that even particularly self-centered humans would recognize as a growl. “Don’t mess with Spartacus.” When Harrington didn’t respond immediately, she swiped at his desk, leaving five gouges in the cerametal surface.

  “Right. Of course. We can simply cut the links to Octiron’s systems.” He looked at the gouges on the desk, swallowed hard, and muttered, “If that’s acceptable.”

  “I’ll be glad to cut all links with Octiron. But full access to the mechanical systems would be very much appreciated.” Then she turned to Tripp. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a ship.”

  “And you’ve got yourself a mate without a tail, and a slightly broken sister-in-law.”

  “Have our ship ready in three hours.” She stood and tugged Tripp to his feet. “Come on, lover. We have a hotel room to wreck.”

  She’d have to remind him that one of Rahal’s mates was human. As for the slightly broken sister-in-law? Rahal’s other mate, who’d been a kidnapping victim, a slave, and an assassin before she even hit puberty, might just be exactly the friend Zel needed as she adjusted to life in a new galaxy. And Rahal’s new home, the freighter Malcolm, could use someone with medical training on board.

  But first, she and Tripp had a mission. The hotel bed was already wobbly after last night and this morning. They had two and a half hours to destroy it.

  Easy-peasy bloxfruit squeezy.

  Epilogue

  TRIPP STUCK HIS head into the engine/transporter room. “How’s my favorite astrophysical engineer doing?”

  “I still don’t have a clue how the matter transporter works. The magnets do something, but they’re not the main power source. I’m about ready to give up. I’ll turn it over to my university advisor and she can contact the main university on Garthak Nineteen. They have the best theoretical physicists in the galaxy, even if they are a bunch of plants.”

  “Nonsense. You will not give up, Sarr’ma Settazz.” The disembodied voice of Spartacus echoed in the enclosed space. “You have months to work it out, and then you and your professor can present the findings to your floral colleagues, who can help you modify it to work properly in your galaxy.”

  Tripp smiled and took Sarr’ma’s slightly greasy hand. “They’re broadcasting The Great Space Race awards ceremony. Didn’t think you’d want to miss it.”

  “I don’t,” Spartacus interjected. “I can’t say I care about the race, but it’ll be a pleasure knowing I can see it because I wasn’t erased.”

  She wiped her hands on Tripp’s huge Octiron-logo jumpsuit, which she’d adopted as a coverall. Then she unzipped, dropped it to the floor, and stepped out in the clingshirt and wrap pants she’d been wearing underneath. “Let’s go. Is Zel joining us?”

  Tripp shook his head. “She’s shut in her room with a book and bunch of meditation holos. Says she’d rather not think about the race, because it makes her think about…him.” They’d agreed not to mention the name Kallrydis even when Zel was out of
earshot.

  They curled up on the couch together. Spartacus’s silver holo form hung out on one of the scoop-chairs. He—the AI decided he identified as male—said it was easier to feel like part of the group when he had a physical presence, even though he could communicate just fine without one. And since he was part of the group, that was good.

  They’d missed the introductions of most of the crews who’d finished. Team names and rankings scrolled across the screen, but Sarr’ma couldn’t match most of them to the contestants she’d met.

  Then an announcer whose fake enthusiasm wasn’t nearly as convincing as Zissel’s exclaimed, “We’re about to announce our top three teams, including the grand prize winners, but first I’d like to acknowledge a few people who made this year’s race memorable, though for various reasons they were unable to complete the course.” He mentioned a few names Sarr’ma recognized. It seemed like quite a few of the more interesting people she’d met at those crazy galas hadn’t finished the race either. “And Octiron would like to thank the people who uncovered Meridian Corporation’s efforts to undermine the race: Team Supernova—Tripp Gallifer and Sarr’ma Settazz, whose name I’m sure I’m still mispronouncing” (he was) “—and my former colleague Zissel. Suede Harrington would like to say a few words in their honor. Mr. Harrington?”

  Buoyed by cheers and flanked by impossibly good-looking blond assistants, Harrington took the podium. “My dear friends, we owe you more than we can ever repay—more than you, in your humility and your wisdom, allowed us to repay. I wish Zissel all the best in her new career and Tripp and Sarr’ma all happiness in their lives together in the Milky Way Galaxy. But I’m issuing a friendly warning: if any of you wonderful people choose to visit Primaera again, we’re not letting you leave us again.”

  Applause and laughter spilled from the beautifully dressed audience.

  “Am I paranoid or was that a threat?” Tripp asked Sarr’ma, who sprawled across his lap.

  “More like a promise. We’re safe enough. It’s hard to track someone in hyperspace and when we come out, we’ll be in another galaxy, where no one cares about Octiron’s shenanigans. I hope Zissel’s being careful, though. She has more on Octiron than we do—and she’s not that far away.”

  “I was going to ask if you were sorry we weren’t there, waiting to be called to the podium. But after Harrington’s little performance…”

  “I was glad we weren’t there long before he started yapping. See ‘likelihood of being erased’.” Spartacus had become quite snarky now that he didn’t need to follow Octiron protocols. Sarr’ma loved it, even if, like now, she had to say, “Stop interrupting, Sparky.”

  And even if it made it harder to pretend that they didn’t occasionally forget and make out in front of a person.

  Luckily, the AI found sexuality incomprehensible except on a theoretical level (and hilarious to boot) and Sarr’ma was a bit of an exhibitionist anyway.

  Sarr’ma sat up, then straddled Tripp. “I’m only sorry I’m missing those wiggly desserts. There are other races to win. Honest races where no one’s trying to murder anyone. I have the technology I wanted—most of it, anyway, and with help, I can figure out the rest. More importantly, I won the best prize of all: you.”

  She leaned in and kissed Tripp.

  “This,” she heard the AI say with great dignity, “looks like a great time for me to run a systems check on myself. I’ll be offline for an hour or so.”

  By the time the grand prize winners were about to be announced, she and Tripp were naked and were pondering a few activities that Sarr’ma was sure were illegal on some uptight planets. But they turned their attention back to the holo when the cheering began. After all they’d been through, they couldn’t resist hearing who’d won.

  Sarr’ma looked at the tall white-skinned not-quite-human and his round companion with the blue-black skin and amazing hair. “I remember them from the first gala. Armond and Vin, right? Good for them! I liked her. And he was one of the people who’d been pulled into the race because someone thought it would be entertaining, so he deserves to win.”

  “Take it from someone who was forced into the race: the grand prize wouldn’t even start to make up for it.” Tripp’s anger could resurface even when he was naked and erect, if something reminded him of what he and, more importantly, Zel had been through.

  Luckily Sarr’ma knew how to distract him. He had every right to his anger and she’d encourage him to vent later, but this was a time for celebration.

  She flicked her tail in some strategic areas until he made noises that, while incomprehensible as words, were definitely not angry anymore.

  “That prize,” Sarr’ma whispered into his ear—after nipping it, “isn’t what I’m talking about. Watch them, star-bright. Really watch them.” She squirmed to the side to give him a better view.

  Then she divided her attention between watching the people on the screen and watching Tripp observe them.

  Armond was as slim and dignified as she remembered (and wearing an elegant all-black suit, which suited him much better than the awful striped ensemble), and Vin was as curvy and even more exuberant and happy-looking. He still spoke softly and formally and she still projected and used a lot of slang. But instead of him looking daggers at her outgoing persona and her acting more and more outrageous to tease him, they were holding hands. Giving each other looks both tender and lustful, though his were subtle while hers screamed “I love and want this man” so clearly a kitten could figure it out. Talking, as they accepted their prizes, of a future that would obviously be shared.

  “I think,” Tripp said suddenly, “that they won the same prize we did. Only we already collected ours.”

  “So let’s enjoy it.”

  In the background, the closing celebration of The Great Space Race continued, with winners toasted and sponsors thanked.

  But on a T-47 racing yacht many light-years away, the first winners of this year’s edition of The Great Space Race were too busy enjoying their prize to pay attention.

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  This one, as always, is for Jeff. Thanks for making sure I eat during those tight deadlines—and for making me explode, in the good sense, on a regular basis.

  My wonderful editor/formatter Dayle Dermatis (who also happens to be my coauthor when we’re being Sophie Mouette) squeezed me into her schedule despite my own disorganization and helped make a hot mess into a pretty-pretty book. Candice Gilmer of Flirtation Designs created the fabulous cover.

  And of course, thanks again to my wonderful fellow writers in The Great Space Race series.

  About the Author

  Teresa Noelle Roberts started writing stories in kindergarten and she hasn’t stopped yet. A prolific author of short erotica, she’s also a published poet and fantasy writer—but BDSM-spiced contemporaries, hot paranormals, and sexy science fiction romances have become her favorites.

  Teresa enjoys belly dance, yoga, cooking, hiking, playing in the ocean, and growing more vegetables than she and her husband can possibly eat. She’d enjoy sleeping too. She thinks. But it takes so much time!

  She shares her home in southern Massachusetts with her husband, a Leo in law enforcement, and three cats. She and her husband often plan vacations around food, history, and/or proximity to water.

  Subscribe to Teresa’s newsletter at http://www.teresanoelleroberts.com/?page_id=1485. Amd learn more about Teresa at http://www.teresanoelleroberts.com . If you’d rather be conversational, follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/TeresNoeRoberts or become a Facebook fan at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorTeresaNoelleRoberts.

  Chronicles of the Malcolm:

  Sexy, Adventurous Science Fiction Romance

  Intrigued by the hints about Sarr’ma’s brother and his mates? Read the Chronicles of the Malcolm series for their story and more!

  Thrill-Kinky (Chronicles of the Malcolm 1)

  When spacer Rita stumbles upon a injured, naked, and absolutely gorgeous wi
nged man during a routine cargo pick-up, things get dangerous—and steamy—fast. Sexy alien Drax Jalricki is a covert operative whose cover has been blown, but he still needs to finish a mission that will protect three planets. Hiding in plain sight in the middle of a local fertility festival, Drax and Rita discover they have a lot in common, including a shared kink for risky, exhibitionist sex.

  Could be a stars-made match, except for the people trying to kill Drax.

  Unable to use his wings and suspecting someone in his own government betrayed him, Drax needs help with a crucial step in his mission. Swapping a real artwork for a reproduction loaded with a tracking device so enemy operatives can steal the fake should be nothing Rita’s friends on the space freighter Malcolm, with their diverse and slightly shady skills, can’t manage.

  But an infamous assassin is on Drax’s trail, a highly placed traitor is paying the assassin, and Rita’s cat-girl best friend has just revealed her own lethal secrets. Rita and Drax’s feelings for each other may not matter if they don’t live through the night.

  More information here.

  WHAT A DELIGHTFUL way to spend a holiday on the exotic planet of San’bal Prime—collecting garbage. Rita Anteres couldn’t imagine anything more thrilling. All right, she could imagine a number of more thrilling things, including recharging the fuel cells of the Malcolm, the small independent freighter whose mechanic, backup pilot and general space-grunt she was. At least there would be natives of San’bal to meet at the recharge center, maybe some local snack food she could try. And failing that, at least she could read a book while she was waiting.

  The “collecting garbage” wasn’t as bad as it sounded in her grumpy mental soundtrack. The Malcolm had gotten a lucrative contract hauling industrial slag from San’bal Prime to Blemond. Rita wasn’t clear on the actual process, but San’bal’s waste product was a key component in a new kind of neurorelay they were developing on Blemond.