Freefall_The Great Space Race

by Elsa Jade

  “I’ve heard about moon-brandy,” she said. “I think we deserve a toast.”

  He couldn’t toast any more than he could burn… But he took the second ampule. “Where did you hear about moon-brandy? Your closed world shouldn’t have any.”

  “My boss.” Amy frowned. “He must be an alien too, or at least know about you, since he had the brandy. He was sharing it with the woman who was supposed to be your partner.” She twisted the translucent tube between her fingers before sneaking a glance at him. “Sorry.”

  Probably he should be more angry that she’d interfered with his plans. But since he’d never met the other woman, he’d never know what he was missing. “Seems you’re doing well enough so far.”

  She twisted her lips to one side, her nose wrinkling too. “Except for covering my eyes and screaming?”

  The mix of humor and despair almost made him chuckle. She might not be a famous or infamous interstellar explorer, but something about her intrigued him. Maybe it was precisely that she was not that—and yet here she was anyway. “Look at you now, with moon-brandy and a galactic token.”

  She stared uncertainly at the tube in one hand and the flat disk in the other. “I just wanted plain old Earth coffee,” she murmured. “But I guess it’s happy hour somewhere in the universe, right?”

  When he lifted his ampule, she clinked her drink against his. The gesture startled him—an Earther ritual, apparently—and he was a moment behind her taking a sip. Which let him appreciate her gasp at the cold burn of the moon-brandy.

  “It’s like being spaced but you won’t actually die,” he remarked as she sputtered.

  “Isn’t good brandy supposed to be smooth?”

  “Have you ever seen a moon? They’re usually wrecked by space debris.”

  “Earth’s moon is pretty messed up. Too bad we don’t have time to get wrecked, but…this’ll have to do.” She tilted the ampule straight up over her lips, her throat working.

  Luc traced the graceful lines with his eyes then took a hasty drink of his own brandy to drown the surge of primal temptation.

  It was those larfing mating moons, burning over the wild deserts on a planet far away. His lust had no place on civilized Primaera, with this innocent closed-worlder.

  Larf it. He drank the rest of the brandy and smacked the drained ampule on the table.

  Amy placed hers down more deliberately. “What did Idrin, or whatever his name was, mean about you being unlucky?”

  She’d caught that snide comment. Lip lifting in a soundless snarl, Luc rose from the table. “Nothing that matters.”

  Nothing that mattered anymore, anyway.

  Which of course contradicted his decision to humiliate himself in this ridiculous race…

  Amy hopped up to follow him. “For something that doesn’t matter, it sure seemed to bother you.”

  He didn’t bother shortening his stride for her as he headed for the exit. “You’ve never met a drakling, didn’t even know that aliens existed before, but now you can tell what I’m feeling?”

  “You might be an alien to me, a drakling, but I recognized that look.”

  “Oh really?” He stiff-armed out the door.

  She trotted along beside him. “Yeah, I know all about not living up to expectations.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to live at all,” he snapped. And immediately regretted it when she let out a stifled gasp. He grimaced. “Never mind. This has nothing to do with the race.”

  She was silent long enough that he almost started to relax, thinking she’d let it go. But then she said softly, “Sure. It’s only the reason we’re doing this at all.”

  True enough. Maybe explaining to her would make her understand why he was dragging her along where she wasn’t supposed to be. “I was the thirteenth egg of my clutch, the last left unhatched when my brothers were already flying free.”

  In the Lower Town darkness, she blinked several times. “Thirteenth…egg. Did I hear that right or did the moon-brandy burn a hole in my brain?”

  “Draklings are born from eggs,” he said impatiently. “And large clutches are our way. But thirteen…” His jaw clenched, as if he could bite back the memories. The sting of the drink was like mockery. “So many is considered unlucky, and the last is always a runt.”

  “You? A runt?” She snorted. “Because a dozen boys are so much easier to handle than that extra one.”

  After a moment, his tension eased. “I confess, I stayed as far away from them as I could.”

  Her snort this time was more of a laugh, tinted with the scent of the brandy. “I don’t blame you. I bet twelve older brothers would be too much for anyone, even someone who wanted siblings.” A touch of wistfulness turned her mouth downward.

  Why was he so keyed to the dance of her lips? He focused on the words instead. “You didn’t have siblings?”

  She shook her head. “Only child. My parents would’ve preferred a boy, but…” The shrug of her one shoulder told him more than words would have. “They put all their eggs in one basket: me.”

  He considered. “Having all that attention must’ve been as hard as having none of it.”

  When she glanced up at him sidelong, the garish artificial lights glinted in the black strands of her hair. “Maybe we were fated to be teammates.”

  Fated…mates…

  Larfing mating moons and larfing moon-brandy.

  Reaching the surface levels above Lower Town did nothing to bring back the light since both suns had set while they were below ground. The elegant, exotic elite of Primaera were taking advantage of the evening to stroll about with a casualness entirely at odds with the urgency thrumming in Luc. He tucked the blaster and the token into his satchel, not wanting to attract the wrong sort of attention.

  Amy, however, observed the nightlife with wide, dark eyes. “I should’ve gotten some hair gel from the spa side of the lounge,” she muttered.

  Compared to the cosmically cosmopolitan citizens of the city, even he with his purple scales felt drab, and his little closed-worlder in her oversized ships fatigues was definitely at a disadvantage, impressions-wise. He frowned. Some of the prizes of the race were awarded—unfairly, he’d always thought—based on the entertainment value of the team in question, rewarding their antics rather than their results. Amy was already going to have to work hard to hold her own against the flashier teams, considering she was a backward Earther. The least he could do was try to give her a boost from behind.

  He realized his gaze had settled unconsciously on her backside when she’d walked a few steps ahead, peering into the display of one of the Upper Town shops. Cursing again at those faraway hot homeworld moons, he snapped his eyes back into socially acceptable positions. But larf it, he felt as if he had one of Rickster’s wayward googley eyes—a part of him still locked like a retractor beam on Amy’s curves, wanting to pull her closer…

  “We should get you some better clothes,” he said. “Something that fits.” Maybe covering her curves properly would ease his distraction. Maybe a full custom suit of mechanized combat armor—

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes widening. “I’ve always wanted a gay friend to take me shopping.”

  He frowned as his translator offered its interpretation of her comment. “I’m not—”

  She blushed. “I mean, I know we’re not really friends, just teammates.” She pressed one knuckle over her lower lip. “Or… Oh geez, that was rude of me, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t’ve drunk that brandy on an empty stomach. Just because you’re gay and hot and sexy yourself doesn’t mean you want to mentor a hopeless case like me.”

  “I’m not…hot.” He wasn’t sure how to answer the rest. “You’re not hopeless.”

  She glanced down at herself. “Earlier today—was it just today?—I was wearing an apron and covered in popcorn oil.”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer that either. “Now you’re on another planet wearing another woman’s clothes. Let’s see who you really are.”


  She tilted her head to meet his gaze, nibbling her lip. “What if…I’m not anyone? Or not anyone special?”

  “I’m one of thirteen,” he reminded her. “Not just not special, they would’ve crushed me in the shell but no one bothered with me even that much. And now I’m the most in-demand accountant in my division.” He trailed off. An infamous interstellar explorer probably wasn’t going to be impressed by his credentials…

  She hunched her shoulders around her ears. “I told you I failed advanced math and I was even worse at violin. But I would love to be the cool alien for once, like you.”

  He quirked his lips. “I thought I was hot.” He pitched his voice carefully so she’d know he was just teasing.

  She reached out to take his hand as she had when she’d asked for courage. “I’m not aiming that high. I’ve accepted my limits. Still, not stumbling over my own boots would be a good first step.”

  The wild spirit within him coiled restlessly. It didn’t like the idea of aiming low—real draklings had wings, after all—but he’d accepted his limits a long time ago.

  Amy, though, hadn’t reached hers, not when her small world had held her back. She still had a whole galaxy ahead of her. Suddenly, the idea of the Great Space Race didn’t seem so absurd.

  Everyone was searching for some treasure, somewhere, and the universe was a very large place. Maybe she’d find hers.

  Maybe he would too.

  How the show viewers must be laughing at anyone—even a closed-worlder—thinking he was sexy, but he found his spirits, including the wild one inside him, rising.

  “Let’s get you that gel,” he said. “And anything else you need. Then we’re off to the race.”

  Chapter 5

  Amy clutched the overflowing shopping bags to her chest as she diverged from Luc in the ship’s corridor. He continued toward the cockpit to take them off Primaera while she went to the bedroom—their shared bedroom, still so awkward—to change into her new costume.

  Her new persona.

  She was an explorer in a new galaxy, hunting a priceless treasure. Well, not exactly priceless since she very much hoped to be paid. Her heart pounded almost harder than when she’d found herself naked on what she’d thought was a mere stage set.

  It was real. Everything was real. And she was centerstage.

  The moon-brandy spun slowly in her belly, and her overloaded brain, which seemed to be spinning in opposition, struggled to right itself. Letting out a steadying breath, she tucked some of the bags into the recessed cubbyholes next to the bordello bed. She unpacked the remaining bag as she toed off her too-big boots. The floor started to thrum under her bare soles, and she moved faster, dressing in her new outfit from top to bottom. She didn’t want to miss their exit into space.

  When she joined Luc in the cockpit, he was speaking to someone about their launch window.

  “This is the Blissed,” he was saying. “Repeating my request for a twenty-second launch window.”

  “As you were previously informed, the window is seven seconds,” came the snippy reply. “Primaera is a busy port and we can’t be giving special privileges to every underpowered pleasure cruiser in the galaxy.”

  “Underpowered…” Luc’s jaw clenched. “Council standard for a port of this size is fifteen seconds.” His tone was implacable. “If you need me to bring the council in to remind you of the math—”

  “All right, all right,” the controller complained. “No need to quote the rule book at me. If you can’t get it up in less than ten seconds—”

  Amy sat down hard as the ship leaped into the air. Her squeak of surprise was lost in a louder squawk from the Blissed’s computer and the planetary controller.

  “Unadvised acceleration and excessive launch angle detected,” the computer honked. “If you are experiencing a sky-rage incident, please refer to transgalactic traffic codes—”

  “Veer off,” the controller barked. “You can’t—”

  “Just did,” Luc said pointedly. “Blissed out.”

  Amy nestled back in the copilot seat, captivated by the subtle change of the sky from royal blue to deepest purple to a velvety black speckled with stars. For all the beauty onscreen in front of her, she found her gaze drifting, as if in freefall, to the man beside her. “So much for the rules.” She couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Not road rage, but I guess you’re a sky-rager.”

  Luc’s grip on the controls eased as he slanted a glance at her, his lips curving to reveal a white flash of teeth. “This race is bringing out the worst in me,” he admitted, his tone pitched softly as if it were a confession. “I just wanted an easy launch since I’m still learning the ship.”

  She shrugged. “You did follow their rules,” she pointed out. “Just with your own flare.”

  He snorted. “If by flare you mean an unnecessary expenditure of energy.” He shook his head. “Not by the numbers, not very efficient.”

  “But kind of fun, right?” She peered at him.

  After a second, he nodded. “Yeah, kind of fun.” His gaze sharpened on her. “Kind of like your new clothes.”

  She ran her hands a little self-consciously down the front of the costume. “Oh, this old thing?” She let out a little laugh. He’d pointed out possible clothes in the shop’s virtual display room, but he hadn’t seen her try anything on. Now, under his intense stare, the outfit felt a little more revealing than it had seemed in the shop. The high, asymmetrical collar, fitted bodice, and knee-length split skirt had reminded her a bit of a decorative cheongsam from home. But the sleek textile flexed whichever way she moved, like the highest end athletic gear. The arm- and leg-warmers she’d added looked like fashion accessories, but the shop’s computerized assistant had informed her that the wraps were both weather- and abrasion-resistant, like lightweight armor. She’d chosen a rich, dark red, and for no extra fee, she’d gotten delicate traceries in shining threads of pure black.

  “You chose a dragon motif.” His lashes dropped halfway, hiding the glitter in his jade eyes.

  She bit her lower lip. “Is that…a problem? Since my last name means dragon, I thought…”

  He reached across the small space between their seats and took her hand. “You look like the fiercest, most infamous interstellar explorer ever.” He turned her hand over to expose her inner wrist. “And I see you added a weapon sheath.”

  She flushed. “I know said you wouldn’t give me a blaster because of the rules about closed worlds. But the sheaths were free.” She kicked her leg up to rest her foot on the dashboard in front of them. “See? The leg warmers have them too.”

  He shifted his hand from her wrist to her shin where the fitted wrappings outlined her leg. His touch drifted upward, past her knee, to linger at the edge of the empty sheath. Which just so happened to be right below where the bare skin of her thigh started.

  There was no reason for her pulse to jump the way it did. She knew he wasn’t interested in her that way. He was gay. He was an alien. And she’d made his life much harder by accidentally stealing his real teammate away.

  And still, her nerve endings shimmered like the stars outside their window.

  But wishing on all the stars in this galaxy wouldn’t change what he was, any more than some new clothes could change who she was. With a stifled sigh, she flexed her foot on the dashboard, showing him her boots. “The woman back at the shop had flat soles, but she was much taller than me. So I got a bit of a lift.” She’d take the scant extra inch and be grateful. “Still practical. And at least they fit.”

  After a semi-longish silence, he cleared his throat. “It all fits you…very well. You look the part now.”

  Another flush of heat—pride, this time—burned through her. Had anyone ever said she was living up to their expectations? Even if the words, never mind the whole premise of hunting for an imaginary treasure, was just a made-for-TV lie. She wanted to leap up into his lap and hug him for at least pretending that she really was a valuable teammate.

  But hugging
and squeezing probably wasn’t something an infamous interstellar explorer would do.

  Instead, she put both feet firmly back on the floor and pointed at the map projected on one of the smaller screens. “Is that where we’re going next?”

  Luc reached across the dashboard, his shoulder brushing hers in the tight space. “You watched the pre-race footage already?”

  She nodded. “I heard about our quest, the Firestorm Queen’s Prism.”

  “When the assistant producer from the Octiron Entertainment Company first approached me after I mentioned the hypothetical value of such an artifact, I wasn’t interested in his proposal.” His jade eyes narrowed. “Draklings are often portrayed as wild, unruly beasts, distracted by anything shiny, and I didn’t want to feed into that bias by flying around the Paragon Galaxy hunting for a fictional queen’s imaginary lost crown.”

  “You’re not like that at all,” Amy said. Although maybe if she was shinier, he’d put his hand on her again…

  Not her type, she reminded herself firmly. Teammates only. Right.

  His jaw cranked to one side. “Thank you. Unfortunately, many draklings are like that.”

  “Your brothers,” she guessed.

  He nodded. “I figured they’d finally shut up about me being an accountant and not an interplanetary mercenary or an explosives specialist or a mood-altering-beverage salesman—like them—if I won the Great Space Race. Spectacle and exploits, anything bigger and brighter than life, that’s what impresses them. Doesn’t matter if the diadem isn’t real. To them, it’s the adventure that counts. As if I wasn’t better at counting than all twelve of them put together.” He huffed out an annoyed breath.

  “You shouldn’t listen to them at all,” she said hotly. “Don’t let them judge you.”

  He shot her a glance that she thought might be gratitude. “Unfortunately, I’m returning home for a mating ceremony. In addition to wanton roaring, games of daring, and ritual pyrotechnics, there will be a lot of judging.”