by Elsa Jade
“I’m getting dressed now,” she announced, so he knew not to look.
He inclined his head but kept his gaze pinned to a numeric pad on a nearby wall.
So gentlemanly. Still, she didn’t linger as she layered on the clothes. The pants fit her snugly but had plenty of give, and the pale gray tank top provided all the support her B-cup breasts required. She shrugged into the long-sleeve jacket—the sleeves more than a little too long—and fumbled a moment with the front closure. Not velcro, not a zipper. But at her touch, the edges sealed together, and the chill that had seeped through her from the metal floor finally faded.
Maybe she looked just the tiniest bit like the gorgeous, mysterious woman at the curio shop? For some reason, she felt like a new woman.
It felt…
Pretty awesome.
She stood and thrust her feet into the boots that had been at the bottom of the pile. They were off by at least a size too big, which seemed appropriate enough. If these clothes had been meant for the tall woman at the shop, there was no way she herself was big enough to fill such shoes.
Amy cleared her throat, and the guy turned around, his jade gaze sweeping her once from boots on up. A quiver of heat went through her, half interest, half embarrassment. He’d been expecting a tall, bold, interstellar explorer, and instead he got a short, scarred, B- student who’d squandered her venerable ancestors’ struggles while hoping for something better. Even if she didn’t know exactly what better might be.
Well, she wasn’t going to find it playing with this purple guy.
She put her right hand on her hip, the sleekness of her own stolen curves under her palm giving her some false confidence. “Okay, where’s the door?”
He blinked at her. “Door?”
She hitched her hand a little higher on her hip, as if that would make her taller. “The door. To leave.”
“Leave the ship?” He squinted. “You want me to space you?”
She sure felt spaced out. “Is that what you call it when someone doesn’t want to be here anymore?”
“Yes.” He drew out the word with reluctance.
She nodded decisively. “Space me.”
***
Luc was fairly certain his unwilling teammate had no idea what she was asking.
“To be clear,” he said slowly, “if I put you out the airlock, you will be ejected into the vacuum of space, where you will suffocate in an uncomfortable amount of time. Unless you can hold your breath more efficiently than seems likely for your physiology, in which case your warm-blooded, carbon-based life will be snuffed out by the unrelenting cold of outer space. And you would choose that over being my teammate in the Great Space Race.”
She eyed him, and though he was not familiar with her species, the consternation in the round, deep darkness of her gaze felt familiar enough. He saw it sometimes in himself when he confirmed in a reflective surface that his appearance was professionally acceptable in his place of employment. It was the look of someone who existed always on the lonely fringes of the galaxy, never at the center, so every whirl felt more precarious.
Her wide, black gaze fixed on the forward screen of the cockpit with its bright starfield before shooting back to him. “Look, I can see that you’re really dedicated to this game or race or whatever it is, but it’s…not my thing. I just…I’m not interested in pretending like this.” She bit her lower lip, her gaze wavering away from him again. “But I think I know what happened. I picked up the black box from the person who was meant to be your partner.”
By the Shining Lady of Perpetual Fire… “You stole it?” He glared at her. “I was promised an explorer, not a thief.” Although he supposed the difference between an explorer and the thief depended on whether one took what one found and whether anyone else objected.
She glared back. “I didn’t steal it,” she protested. “I took it accidentally. I just picked it up… And then I was here. Naked. With you looming. Not exactly something I signed up for.”
Keeping one eye on her, he queried the ship’s data core. “So you are not…” He read from the screen, “From planet Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy?”
She blinked. “Of course I’m from Earth. Everybody is.”
He skimmed through the highlighted warnings. And cursed under his breath. “Your natal spacetime is a closed world,” he said, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t even know about him at all or any other realities that were beyond the grasp of a closed-world dweller.
“This is so larfed,” he muttered. He spun to face her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I told you that.” She waved one hand in a big circle, encompassing the ship, the starfield, her clothes, and him. “Do I look like I belong here?”
Since she asked…
Dressed in ship’s fatigues that were too large for her on most axis, she looked like a youngling playing at adventure. But if he saw past the too-long sleeves, the too-big boots, the too-wide dark eyes, he was suddenly aware of her delicately curvilinear beauty. Her smooth skin was lightly tinted with a dusky hue, like the first rays of rising sun though the blowing golden sands of the drakling homeworld, which only highlighted the hectic flush of outrage on her round cheeks. The silky strands of her black hair fell straight as the shadows between beams of starlight. Although the ships fatigues disguised the shape of her body now, he’d caught a glimpse before she covered up. Knowing he’d never win a drakling female as his brothers had, he’d learned to make do with every flavor and genus of enthusiastically consensual interstellar porn, but he’d never seen such harmonious proportions. They weren’t technically mathematically perfect—his precise mind had run the numbers when he’d forced himself to look away—but somehow the curves and angles and more of that satiny amber skin roused a hunger in him that he thought marked only his more feral brethren.
He cleared his throat. “You may not belong here, but trust me when I tell you that you would fare even more poorly out there in the vastness of space.”
“You can’t me keep here,” she said, a rising shrill in her voice.
“I can’t get rid of you either,” he said with a touch of equal desperation. “The trans-dimensional transference—the black box—won’t work again until it’s time to send us home. If you hadn’t stolen it—”
“Accidentally,” she reminded him pertly.
He lifted one shoulder. “I need…” He swallowed hard, unable to believe what he was about to propose. It broke all galactic codes on closed worlds, not to mention it was wrong, but she wasn’t on a closed world anymore, was she? He had to win this prize. And that wasn’t going to happen if he got kicked out of the race before he even started. Crushing his hesitation with a ruthlessness than he knew would’ve surprised his brothers, he started again. “I need a teammate to stay in the race. If you stay, the black box will take you home at the end. And if we win…”
He let his voice trail off enticingly. He’d never tried to be enticing before.
She gave him a wary look, clearly not impressed by his attempt at enticing.
“If we win,” he continued with dogged determination, the same tone he used to explain intersystem tax codes at continuing education seminars. Except this time he was talking about treasure. Although his reluctant teammate had the same glazed expression his students usually bore. “If we win,” he said one more time, “the prize will be immeasurable riches.”
He hated to say immeasurable since his job was about measuring finances, but for her sake, he couldn’t very well explain the galactic credit system. But if the explorer she’d accidentally replaced was from this same planet of Earth, then there must’ve been some way to convert galactic credits to Earth currency. His gut tightened with hopeless desperation. He’d never intended to attempt this adventure on his own; he was supposed to be teamed with someone who knew how to…adventure. He stood straighter. He would do what he had to. “Riches such as you could never imagine,” he offered in a lower voice, �
��multiplied by a number you’d never dare dream.”
“I’m not interested in dreams.” She nibbled at her lip, which brought a sunset-bright flush to the soft swell. “But…what kind of riches?” She narrowed her eyes, the stubby little spikes of her black eyelashes pointing at him accusingly.
He took a breath. He needed to convince her, but he didn’t want to lie to her. He wasn’t like his brothers with their boasting and bluster. Still, the less he revealed to her, the lighter sentencing would be if he was ever convicted of interfering with off-world development. “The Great Space Race producers have set us three tasks,” he explained. “For each task we successfully complete, we will receive points and prizes. If we complete all three tasks, we win the grand prize. And you’ll be financially set for the rest of your life.” He paused dramatically, then added, “The only catch is, parts of the race will be broadcast for viewing by”—larf it, he’d almost said the galaxy; it was going to be difficult to remember to keep her in the dark—“by fans of the race.”
To his surprise, she nodded slowly. “So it’s a reality television show.”
He blinked as his universal translator took a long moment to translate her words and access the concept. He returned her slow nod, although he wasn’t sure how “reality” translated to “entirely made up” in her Earther language, but he supposed that was exactly what the Great Space Race was. Not that it mattered as long as the fortune and the fame were real enough to blow away his brothers once and for all.
“One other thing,” he said. “You’re going to have to pretend to be the explorer you replaced. Our producer might end our race if he finds out we aren’t a real team.”
She looked down at herself, her hands dropping to her waist beneath the ships fatigues, her odd number of fingers uncountable under the too-long sleeves. Her lips twisted wryly. “You don’t think it’s obvious I’m not her?” She raised her dark gaze to his and scrunched her shoulders together a little. “Not exactly space race teammate material, right? I’m not big enough or cool enough.”
He tilted his head, his universal translator whirling in confusion again. “Your body size and temperature are perfectly acceptable for this task.”
He wasn’t quite sure why his own internal heat ticked upward as her hands moved down over the swell of her hips.
After a long, breathless moment, she rolled her shoulders back and straightened. “You know what? What the hell. I’ll do it.” But even as she agreed, she was nibbling at that lip again. “I mean, Mr. Evens can’t be too mad, considering it was his little black box that got me here, right?”
“I don’t know this Mr. Evens,” Luc said, considering he didn’t know any Earthers except her. “But that would seem unfair to me.”
She flashed him a little smile. “Do I have to wear makeup like yours? I can spend an hour in front of the mirror and still not get my eyeliner straight on both sides.”
That surprised a short laugh out of him. “No…costume like mine.” He gave her a slow once-over, really looking at her for the first time since she’d appeared. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
She lifted her chin, making herself just a little taller. “Don’t. You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass. I know I’m not perfect, wouldn’t even dream of thinking it, but apparently I’m all you got, so there you go.”
He froze. Smoke? Had she somehow guessed what he was? But how could a closed-worlder know about draklings? “I can’t blow smoke up your…anywhere,” he said with a hint of a stammer. “I’m not—”
She waved one hand, her round cheeks darkening again with a flush. “I didn’t mean… Never mind. If you play for the other team, that’s cool with me.”
He frowned. “You are the only one on my team. It’s just you and me. And all the galaxies of viewers.” He grimaced. Larf it. He’d told himself not to make that mistake.
But she didn’t seem suspicious of his slip. “Okay then. We’re a team. Onward to riches.” She held her hand out, her fingers curled into a fist. He eyed the gesture and hesitantly echoed it.
She closed the distance between them with a gentle bump of their hands. “So, what’s next?”
Chapter 3
When the guy just continued to look at their bumped knuckles, Amy let her maimed hand drop self-consciously. She hadn’t meant to imply anything about his dark purple skin color… “I guess we should start with what’s your name?”
“Luc,” he said after a moment. “If you see the footage from the Great Space Race, you may hear me referred to as Luc Amaveo, of the Flamewalker clan.” His gaze shifted shiftily away from her. “It’s just a name.”
She smiled. He definitely reminded her of some of the kids in her old classes: a little hesitant, a little geeky, wishfully hoping to fit in. But…hot. No wonder he’d gotten involved in this cosplay stuff. “Well, my ‘just a name’ is Amy, of the Long clan, I guess.” She shook her head. “I think it’s crazy that you knock people out to bring them here, but…I guess it’s not that much crazier than making them live on a desert island or whatever, naked and afraid.”
“I don’t want you to be afraid.” His voice was low, sincere, but the word he didn’t repeat—naked—hung unsaid in the air between them.
Hidden in her slightly too large costume, her whole body flushed with the memory of crouching in front of him sans clothing. Maybe it wasn’t that big a deal, considering he was apparently gay, but it sure was an awkward way to start their teamwork. Was that part going to be aired in the show footage? Ugh, hopefully not. She was still carrying part of that extra freshman fifteen around her thighs even though she’d dropped out. Seemed like to be fair, she should get to see him naked.
It was kind of embarrassing to realize she’d sell her dignity for riches, but considering her parents had abandoned their home and history just for the hinted promise of more opportunities, maybe it wasn’t that much of a stretch. No point being fussy now.
“Amy,” he said slowly, drawing it out to almost three syllables—aye-em-ee—in a way that sounded more exotic than her birth name had to her early schoolmates. “Would you like to see the footage so far?” He glanced away from her. “It’s just…a game, as you say, but studying it might help you play the part.”
She gulped. Studying… Bleh. “I love to study,” she lied. Studying was all she’d ever done, layers of obligation and hard work as thick as scars.
It was the closest she could get to dreaming.
He set her up at a computer station that didn’t look like any PC or Mac she’d ever used. The controls were all voice activated and touch sensitive. With such cutting-edge technology, no wonder this show could afford riches for the winners. While Luc settled at the other screen, she scrolled through the interactive video offerings, more impressed—and more alarmed—with each clip.
The premise was insane and the production values were out of this world. It was one thing to have a hot tub that fit twenty in the back of a stretch limo; it was something else entirely to have pretend spaceships for every single team. And the costumes and prosthetics were amazing. She was grateful for her own simple leather costume. Some of these contestants must be spending hours in the makeup chair. Although if the prizes were anywhere near what Luc implied, no wonder everyone was willing to play their parts. She frowned to herself as she watched a clip talking about the schematics of the race ships, although they seemed different from this ship, the Blissed. But man, they put a lot of effort into this game. She needed to get an actual dollar figure from Luc.
The video clips had quick, clever biographies of the other teams, and Amy watched a few, intrigued by their “competition”. She fast-forwarded through a few more until her gaze snagged on an image of Luc, shot from a low angle in bright sunlight so his impressive stature and dark skin shone against a hazy skyline. The video cut to an image of giant birds—no, dragons, racing across the same sky.
Dragons! With a little gasp, she used her fingertip to rewind and play at regular speed.
The voiceover explained in juicy tones, “Draklings are known for their prowess in battle…and in bed.” The announcer chortled. “But there will be little time for pleasure, not with the astronomical adversity and trans-dimensional dangers of finding the Firestorm Queen’s Prism.” A melodramatic dum-duh-braaaaaam! sound effect accompanied more footage that showed Luc frowning at something on a screen. “Luc Amaveo of the Flamewalker clan was overheard at an accounting conference on trends in transgalactic investing discussing the hypothetical value of this long-lost treasure. And of course, draklings know their treasure. Who better to find the diadem of a queen?” Another really impressive montage of the crazy-realistic CG dragons floated across the screen.
Amy shook her head. What a wacky race. Well, if nervy, nerdy Luc the accountant wanted to be a dragon, good for him. She was playing a famous interstellar explorer, apparently, so she shouldn’t make fun.
She skimmed through the rest of the videos, but it was mostly fluff and filler. Nothing about her character, which seemed weird, but whatever; by now, she should be used to being forgotten. She replayed the images of Luc and dragons again. Wouldn’t it be cool if there really were dragons? She pushed back from the computer console. Not every geek got to be a role-playing-game hero, just like not every first-generation Asian kid became a doctor or first-chair violinist.
She studied Luc from the corner of her eye. But really, with those wide shoulders, he could be a dragon…
She cleared her throat. “So this diadem thing. What’s it worth?”
“Nothing, since it doesn’t exist. It’s just a metaphor for the game and the prize.”
She wrinkled her nose at his literalness. “Okay then, what’s a metaphor worth in terms of money?”
He swiveled in his seat to face her, squaring his big hands along the armrests. “I just checked the exchange rate. Minus bank fees and transfers, your cut after the first successfully completed stage will be approximately three point seven million, with additional prizes going up algorithmically from there with each successfully completed task—”
