Page 2 of Shadows of Stardust

Still, even if the concept is easy enough to grasp, it doesn’t make me feel a whole hell of a lot better about being here. It’s been months since my application to join the cast was accepted, and even though this is exactly the outcome I wanted, it does next to nothing to ease my nerves.

In theory, everything is great. Perfect, even. Gone off completely without a hitch.

In reality, my heart’s in my throat, my stomach is roiling, and the meager breakfast I choked down this morning is in danger of ending up all over my boots.

“Anyone get a look at the goods?” a contestant asks from half-way up the ship.

She gestures out the window at the twin cruiser coming in beside us.

The cruiser we’re in is mostly filled with female contestants, and the other male, though there are also plenty of contestants who don’t fit that binary and chose which ship to hitch a ride on. We haven’t gotten to meet the contestants on the sister ship, and from this distance, it’s too far to get a good look.

And there’s no more opportunity to try as the ship shudders and a murmur of surprise works its way through the contestants.

The window is engulfed in a white-orange blaze as we breach the top layers of the atmosphere, and I blink spots out of my vision from the sudden flare of light.

As the passenger hold comes back into focus, I drag myself back into the present, into the cruiser carrying us toward those sapphire shores and the surprising comfort of realizing more than a few of my voyages over the years took place in ships just like this one.

I never flew an XC8 myself, but all these Jurvian models have the same look to them. Stalwart, reliable, a good ship.

This one has been modified to ferry civilians from Mate Match headquarters to the planet where the show is filmed, butnot enough to make it unrecognizable. I certainly saw enough of the insides of these ships during my days with the Sol Alliance military for the tells to jump out immediately.

If I squint my eyes a little, it’s not hard to see this old bird as she would have been outfitted for troop transport. Stacked to the gills with supplies and munitions, huddled soldiers making space for themselves on any bit of spare floor they could find. Off-color jokes and nervous laughter, cards to play and liquor purloined from the last port, anything to cut through the drudgery of long treks through deep space.

I can almost see myself, too, amongst all those soldiers. Younger. More afraid. No idea where my next assignment was going to—

“You’re human, right?”

A sharp voice demands my attention, and my heart leaps into my throat when I find myself the focus of two sets of keen, curious eyes. Two contestants sitting on the opposite side of the cruiser wait expectantly for my answer.

The one who spoke is a Nexxan female. Tall, beautiful, with topaz skin and shining gray eyes, she tilts her head to one side as she studies me. The contestant beside her is Vas-Greshiran, I think, with deep brown skin and silver tattoos that almost seem to glow in the cruiser’s low light. She’s got silver eyes, too, every bit as focused on me as the Nexxan’s.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Hmm,” the Nexxan hums. “So that would make you the first of your species to compete on Mate Match?”

I shrug. “I guess so.”

There’s no guesswork needed, not when I’m painfully aware of my novelty here. But I’m also more than aware when someone’s got a mind to get under a fellow soldier’s skin. A fellowcontestant’sskin, I suppose it is now, but the principle of the thing seems to be the same as she narrows her eyes.

“Nervous? I would be, given the proportions of some of the males they’ve probably cast. I wonder how that would work, considering how small humans are. Would you even be able to—”

“What’s your name again?” I ask.

I’m not entertaining that thought. Not for a single damn second. Who on the other cruiser I may or may not be able to take to bed is entirely irrelevant.

She bristles. “Ansalla.”

We all made introductions at the start of the flight, but I wasn’t trying to be rude. With my head full to the brim with nerves and plans and mental maps, I really did forget.

“Roslyn,” I say, and that’s all she’s getting.

No use being cute or trying to play nice. Not when this soldier—contestant—has obviously singled out the weak member of the herd and is ready to press her advantage.

Ansalla opens her mouth, but she doesn’t get any words out before the contestant sitting beside me pipes up.

“And I’m Juni!”

We both look, and I choke back a surprised laugh when Juni winks at me.

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