by CJ CADE
CHAPTER ONE
Mia Jag growled under her breath as her com unit chimed with an incoming link—for the fifth time in five galactic standard minutes.
It was her mother again.
And Mara Jag would not give up until her daughter answered, so she might as well get it over with. Waiting wasn't going to make this any easier.
Mia accepted the holovid link, and her mother's face appeared before her, a frown on her lovely face. "Mia! Where are you? You're late for the ceremony."
Right. Mia's older brother Tryon was receiving yet another award for heroic service, this time for his entire company, JagNav. He and his Tyger navigators had saved a third—or was it a fourth—LodeStar Corporation luxury space cruise ship from disaster in deep space.
Tygers were renowned throughout the galaxy for their navigation skills. They used their feline instincts to 'feel' the relation of objects in space. No tech yet invented could match a trained Tyger navigator. And Tryon and his team were the best, as well as being ferocious warriors, whether in Tyger-shift or in their more humanoid form.
But Mia had had it up to the top of her ears with everyone simpering, 'Oh, you must be so proud of your brother. Such a hero.'
Yes, she was proud of him, but she was also sick of being treated differently just because she was female. Her family expected her to find a safe, on-planet career, not an exciting one like his.
So she was smaller and less muscular than a male Tyger—okay, a lot smaller and less muscular. That didn't mean she wasn't as smart, or as brave. She'd match her feline cunning against an arrogant male any day.
In fact, she was about to do just that... in the biggest adventure of her life.
And luckily, here at the Lyonsgate City spaceport, a ship had just landed that would take her off-planet to the rendezvous point with the other contestants from this galaxy. Soon it would take off again, with her aboard.
And it would be too late for her parents or her brother to stop her.
She slurped the last of her MoonPenny triple-shot latte, which she had desperately needed, since she hadn't slept a wink last night, and licked her lips to capture the final drops. She was pretty sure there were no MoonPenny coffee bars where she was going.
"Mia?" Her mother's frown deepened as she scanned Mia's face and the soaring shape of a space cruise ship behind her, gleaming silver-white in the bright, Tygean midday sun. "Where are you?"
"Sorry, mum," Mia said. "You'll have to give Tryon my apologies. I won't be able to make the ceremony. I'm... headed off-planet for a few weeks."
Her mother's lovely face was joined by a large, frowning male, with silver threads among the gold on his leonine head. "Mia," her father growled, his brows lowering, golden brown eyes boring into hers. "Explain."
Mia's stomach sank, and she tensed, her jaunty smile slipping away. "Um... I signed up for a contest," she said, then groaned inwardly at the way her voice had curved up at the end, as if in question. She started over, making a definite statement this time. "I signed up for a contest. I'll be off-planet for a few weeks."
Her mother gasped, and Jostyn Jag's head tilted in warning. "Mia. This had better not be what I think it is—that Serpentian desert race you've been watching on the holovids."
"Uh, no." Her stomach tightened around her latte. "It's not that." It was another, much, much more dangerous race.
"Explain." His voice deepened and iced in a way that she'd only heard one time, when as a teen she'd 'borrowed' the family's fast new slider, a mov
e so reckless that he and her mother had feared for her safety. Even now, at the age of twenty-four, shame suffused her cheeks at her father's disapproval.
But she stiffened her shoulders and faced him and her mother, chin high. She was an adult Tyger, and it was time she started behaving like one. That meant doing what she really wanted, instead of continuing to work in the offices of her father's import-export business, and do innocuous activities, that would not worry anyone, in her free time.
"I've entered Octiron Media's Great Space Race," she said. "The race begins in seventy-two galactic hours. My flight off-planet leaves in less than an hour."
"No!" her mother choked, and her husband slid his arm around her, glaring at his daughter
"Where are you?" Jostyn Jag demanded. "I'll have a cruiser there to pick you up as soon as possible. I have heard of this Space Race—it's nothing but a dangerous stunt put on by Octiron Corp. I forbid you to have anything to do with it."
She would not cry. And she would not give in. Mia pursed her trembling lips. "I'm sorry, but I'm an adult, this is what I want to do, and I'm going."
She looked to her mother and tipped her head in apology. "I'm sorry to worry you, mum. But I'll be fine, you'll see. You can check up on me every day—just watch the show. It will be broadcast with only a short delay."
Mara made a low sound of horror, and Mia winced. Perhaps not the best reassurance she could've chosen. Audiences of the race would have a front row seat for all the perils and pitfalls contestants faced in the race.
"You will stay there at the space port," her father thundered. "And wait for our cruiser!"
Meeyowl! She'd never heard that voice from her beloved father. Summoning every bit of her waning resolve, Mia shook her head. "Sorry, papa. I love you both, but... I'm doing this. My flight's here, gotta go. 'Bye."
She broke the link, picked up her duffel, and scurried for the loading dock where a flight attendant stood waiting. And if she had to blink away tears to see the steps onto the hover-lift, that was no one's business but hers.
* * *
D'Arek A'Renoq, Aurelian warrior, son of a general, commander of his own platoon, paced the pavement of the small spaceport of Outpost Fifty-Seven, planet Hamor, Aurelian Territories, Milky Way Galaxy.
Fighters screamed over, headed out for patrol of the airspace around the small, rocky planet.
On the ground hummed the regimented business of an Aurelian defense post. Small hovercraft carried space port workers, cargo and supplies, including weaponry for the big fighters in the underground hangars.
Troops drilled on the courses set up around the spaceport terminal, practicing obstacles from Pangaean jungles to the decaying slums of the older planets like Earth I.
Arek should be out there with his men, and the other platoons. The Gorglons had been getting bolder lately, prodding at the barriers set up to protect Aurelian space from the scourge of the Gorgs and their foul allies. He should be patrolling, making sure this outpost was ready to ward off an attack.
But no, the Aurelian High Command had decided they now needed to practice diplomacy, show how peaceful and pleasure-loving they were. That they had plenty of time to prance around and mingle with beings from other planets. And for some rezzed reason, they saw the latest idiotic, dung-reeking contest dreamed up by the universe' biggest inter-galactic news corporation, Octiron Media, as the perfect opportunity.
And their sacrificial skrog calf? Himself. He was the son of a top general, making a name for himself in battle, yet still young enough to be dispensable, and females found him attractive.
There was also the matter of his family's honorary title. Apparently being able to call oneself a prince, even if there were no lands or subjects to back it up, was highly desirable in the media.
All of which meant he had to dress up and go and play a stupid game in front of the billions of beings in this galaxy and the next. Dash about in a silly little spacecraft with a partner from some sleek, pampered race who knew nothing of surviving on the stark edges of civilized space while fighting to protect oneself, and other outliers, from death—or worse.
Scowling to himself, Arek jerked his chin in irritation at the high neck of the flight suit he'd been fitted into. Poured into, more like. The rid
iculous garment clung to every inch of his tall, lean frame, straining over his broad shoulders and chest. And the color—no self-respecting Aurelian warrior wore black, not during the day.
They wore camouflage woven of gaaulite, a light, stretchy, yet sturdy fabric. Tech in the strands allowed it to change with the light, temperature and terrain, rendering the warrior wearing it nearly invisible to the unwary gaze.
And they sure as seven hells did not wear a suit that had a patch sewn on the right shoulder, like a quarking target bellowing, 'Shoot me here! Vital organs right behind, along with the muscles that support my shooting arm!'
A hovie slowed to a stop beside him, and Arek shot a dark look at the occupants. Two of his fellow officers, T'Van A'Ralle, his hair ginger, and L'Nola A'Sol, blonde and female, both clad in gaaulite leggings and sleeveless tees over sturdy boots, with light helmets pushed back on their heads. Like him, they were lean and tanned. Like him, they both wore their hair short on the sides and back, a little longer on top. Out of the way in battle, easy to care for.
"Aren't you looking fine, Captain A'Renoq," L'Nola said, fluttering her lashes at him. "Ready to conquer the lounges of a cruise ship, are you?"
T'Van snickered. "I see you've already earned your junior soldier-scout patch. What's that one for, protecting the other kiddies at school?"
"No, your sister gave it to me, for making her so happy last night," Arek snarled. "Shouldn't you two be climbing a trap-rope course with your warriors?"
T'Van shook his head. "Already finished for the day. Seriously, though, brother, good luck—we'll see you on the holovids."
L'Nola nodded, still grinning. "Yeah, so don't quark up too badly, right? The glory of our people rests on your shoulders."
"Quark off," Arek told her. "This should've been one of you—you're both prettier than I am."
"Only because we smile occasionally," the ginger told him.
L'Nola elbowed him. "Shut it. Here comes the General."
Both young officers sobered, and touched their foreheads in a salute to the man who strode to stand by Arek. Arek himself managed to salute as well, but he could not bring himself to look his commanding officer in the eye. Eyes that were the same pale gray-green as his own, set in a hard, chiseled face that was the pattern for his own.
"On your way, captains," General D'Aren A'Renoq ordered the two in the hovie.
"Yes sir. Luck, Commander A'Renoq."
They zipped away, leaving Arek standing with his father. The other man let a long, tension-fraught moment pass before he spoke again.
"Arek," he said, his voice cool as always. "I understand your distaste for the mission you've been assigned. Nevertheless, you'll carry it out to the best of your abilities."
Arek cut his gaze to meet the ice green gaze so like his own, fury boiling inside him. "I won't need the best of my abilities, though, will I?" he snapped. "A trained ape could carry out this mission. You could have chosen any of the junior officers, or any of my platoon for that matter."
To his surprise, General A'Renoq showed no anger at this disrespect. He gazed into his son's eyes, as if to convey some meaning that Arek did not comprehend, and wasn't in the mood to try.
"I could have," his father agreed quietly. "But you are the only one I trust to carry it out... correctly."
With this, he held out a small bundle. "Here. Your mother prepared some fruit cava for you."
Taken aback by this familial gesture from the man who treated him every bit as harshly as any other officer, Arek simply stared. But when his father continued to proffer the bundle, he reached to take it.
His father held onto his end of the package. "As soon as you board the ship, you should eat your treat," he said. "Who knows what effect the jump will have on you."
Arek blinked. "Ah... yes, sir." His father was making this much fuss over a package of the homemade fruit chews that Arek always took on mission with him?
Then, as Arek tucked the packet in the breast pocket of his jacket, he felt a small, hard protrusion on the back. His gaze flew to meet his father's. There was something else in the packet.
The general nodded crisply, then stepped back and saluted Arek, who automatically saluted in return.
"Here comes your flight. Travel safely. We'll see you on the holovids."
When Arek glared incredulously, his father's lips twitched, ever so slightly.
Arek huffed an unwilling laugh. "Yes sir. I reckon you will." Hopefully not in too humiliating a light.
He picked up his duffel and strode off toward the ship landing on the pavement.
CHAPTER TWO
Mia was dying.
Her head was spinning in one direction, her guts in quite another. Her body was being ratcheted like a jointed toy in the hands of a willful child throwing the mother of all tantrums. Her brain was full of a thick fog that would not allow her to fight against the forces tearing her apart. A super-nova. No, a black hole—that's what she was caught in.
They'd tricked her. They'd blown her out in deep, cold space where even the stars dared not tread, and they'd murdered her.
Now she'd never get to have her great adventure. Or say goodbye to her parents.
Her mouth gaping in a silent scream, she whirled into nothingness...
She woke slowly, painfully, sucking in an agonizingly slow breath, then another.
She felt as if she'd been dropped from a great height, smashed onto the unforgiving rocks on some strange place, and left to survive, or die.
Was she dead? But surely if she were, she wouldn't hurt all over, as if every bone in her body was on the verge of breaking, rending muscle and sinew along with it. Her head, oh, Great Tygress, she hadn't known a head could hold so much pain without exploding.
At least the rocks she'd landed on were warm. They smelled good, too... mmm-mm, like a virile male in his prime. Clean, but musky, with an edge of wild, as if his maleness would not be tamed by cleansing and clothing.
His heart beat slowly but strongly under her cheek.
Alive.
Gratitude filled her, and despite her pain she would've smiled if she could move her face. She was alive, and so was he. She was so very, very glad he was alive with her. She wanted to stay right where she was, to go on clinging to him like her solid rock, her lodestar.
"The female wakes," grated a high voice over her head. "Observe, I told you she would survive the journey."
"Huh," said another, equally annoying voice. "What about the male? If he is dead, we will have to dispose of his body. Such a chore."
"Use the medtech droid, foolish one," said the first voice. "You must ascertain his state of life—or death—before speaking of disposal."
"Tsk. I have to do everything."
The first voice tittered in sheer amusement. "Yes. Because I am not really there with you. I'm sure he is alive. After all, he is a warrior, very fearsome."
"She is from a fearsome race as well. A Tyger."
"Oooh, claws and fangs." The first voice tittered again. "Well, every race must have their little tools."
Little tools? Mia forced herself to move. No being with a voice like claws grating on cheap metal was going to belittle her racial heritage.
She pried her eyes open, and stared.
She could see brown, gray and black. Oh, wait, the brown was her own hair, falling in her face. She blew a breath out, just enough to disturb the lock of hair before her eyes. Even that small movement sent pain shooting through her body.
The gray was a wall, ugly and spare. Ugh, no Tyger would use that hue in decor. It was the color of space rock.
And the black was the very large, solid shoulder of the male underneath her.
A single eyeball appeared, staring at her. A spy-bot, humming and clacking, its eye contained in a silvery orb. With a supreme effort, Mia lifted her hand, just enough to swat the bot away.
"Now, now," chirped one of the voices. "Be kind to our tech, please."
"Yes," said voice two. "And lie still wh
ile our medtech does... this."
Someone—or something—lifted her hair aside. Something sharp pricked the back of her neck above the collar of her flight suit. Mia let out a yelp at the electric sting, and flapped her hand again.
But then... ahhh. Blessed, soothing warmth flowed outward through her body. Mia purred with relief. A gesic of some kind—oh, thank the Great Tygress. She relaxed into the warm prickling. In a moment, her malaise receded, along with the sense of being battered and beaten. Even the knives in her skull ceased their stabbing.
Cautiously, she planted her hands on the chest of the male underneath her, drew her legs underneath her enough to straddle his lean hips, and rose onto her hands and knees.
Oh, Great Tygress, goddess of all.
For a moment, all she could do was stare. He was... most impressive.
The black she'd seen was his flight suit, the male counterpart to her own fitted black suit with high collar, and the GSR emblem on one shoulder.
Much bigger than she, he was even taller than the Tyger males of her family, with broad shoulders and a lean physique. His skin was tanned, as if he spent most of his time outside, but his hair, which was cut very short, was a shade of reddish-blond that never occurred in her people. Even his brows and his long, thick lashes were auburn, instead of dark.
In repose, his face was lean, with high cheekbones and hard jaw, his brows heavy. Her gaze caught on his wide, firm mouth, and she had to curl her nails into the soft fabric of his flight suit to keep from reaching to touch his face. His lips were soft, plush, slightly chapped as if from the sun and wind.
He was not only big, he was extremely attractive. He was... well, starry—for a non-Tyger, that is.
But if he wasn't Tygean, what race was he? Possibly human, or Serpentian. The only other race she could think of with height, appearance and coloring like his were the Aurelians. But the idea of that humorless, warlike race sending a contestant to a reality show was so ridiculous it was laughable. She smirked to herself.
"Ah, the female finds him pleasing," one of the voices said slyly. "They will do well together."
