Chapter 20

On the night of the winter solstice, Primaera’s main city was awash in lights. The spires of buildings glowed, and ships drifted like snowflakes through the sky. Whether it was because of some local festival or the end of the Great Space Race—Octiron was based in Primaera—Amy didn’t know or care. She could only focus on one thing.

This was the end of the adventure.

To avoid attracting Octiron’s attention—and thus Rickster’s—Luc contacted a private landing port just outside the city. For a small transfer of credits, they were able to secure a slot for the Blissed. When she followed him out of the ship, she stared toward the bright, colorful city and felt distant. Not so much from the city itself—an automated ground transport waited to take them to the gala site—but from everything, as if this had all been a dream.

Luc touched her shoulder, breaking the spell. “Do you have everything you need?”

She’d come through the portal with nothing, not even her clothes. Now she was dressed in her explorer costume and she had a dat-pad on her wrist. She’d borrowed some of the gel-like substance Luc used to fashion the coils in his hair, and she’d teased her own finer strands straight up, so when she nodded, the aggressive spikes sliced through the air. “Ready.”

She was only partly lying.

They zinged along the pathway to the city, in a stream of other vehicles. Most of the other windows were blacked out, but the approaching spires were impressive enough: a reminder that she was far away from anyplace she might’ve ever called home. She startled when Luc laced his fingers through hers.

“Octiron cares only about ratings and profit,” he said. “It means nothing to them that Rickster lied to me and essentially abducted you. They won’t even care about a historical gemstone that matters only to draklings. But if we can appeal to their constant need for new drama—in front of their holo-vids—we’ll have a chance to get the resources we need to get out of here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She looked down at their nine entwined fingers.

He grimaced. “At least as much of a plan as quoting poetry at the universe until it coughed up gemstones.”

At his self-deprecation, she thumped his hand lightly on her thigh in admonishment. “That was a great plan. We have the Firestorm Queen’s Prism.” She sidelonged a glance at him. “Uh, we do have it, don’t we?”

With a snort, he patted the satchel at his side. He was wearing the outfit she’d first seen him in, and the vest showcased his strong arms and shoulders. The rest of his black fatigues and the blaster hanging at his hip were just background for the faint scars from the aquari crystals still glimmering on his dark skin, like mysterious runes written in starshine telling tales of his boldness. He’d looked so big and imposing from the moment she’d found herself dumped on the Blissed’s deck, but did he have new muscles now? Or maybe it was just the way he held himself: a man who’d found his wings.

They’d both been changed, him into a new shape, and she…she was different too. From now on, she was going to reach for what she wanted. And if it blew up in her face again… Well, she’d survived before.

The ground transo beeped softly. “Due to traffic congestion and inclement weather, your programmed destination is unavailable. Would you like to choose another destination?”

Wasn’t that just what she’d been asking herself?

Luc said, “Just drop us off here.”

“Complying. Unused credits have been returned to your account.”

The transo halted at the end of a wide boulevard, and she and Luc disembarked. Ahead of them, a line of ground cars aimed at a towering skyscraper that vaguely reminded her of old Art Deco design with its sleek lines and geometric forms, like something from Hollywood’s Golden Era. Strange ethereal lights zapped around the spires adding a surreal glow to the scene.

Suddenly she wished she had a red carpet gown instead of her tunic and wraps. But she crushed the familiar sick twist in her stomach of knowing she wouldn’t fit in. She as a closed-world Earther—of course she wouldn’t fit in. Probably most of the beings streaming past them toward the gala had never even seen an Earther.

“Quite different from your first time on Primaera.”

She grimaced. “You mean because I’m not screaming?”

“It’s impressive.”

She watched the throng of beings more imaginative than any cosplay. Large holographic images of the teams flashed across the front of the building. Team Starry Night was a tall, handsome male with reddish blonde hair and a decidedly unfriendly look beside a pretty cat-woman with golden-brown eyes and feline grace. Team Corona was a spiky-chestnut-haired guy who looked basically human and a woman with crimson skin like a devil. Team Supernova, Team Galaxy Riders, Team Orion Nebula… She wondered about their adventures. They must have completed their puzzles and missions, facing down the dangers to make it this far… But had the other teams grown as close as she and Luc? Was the greater danger what came next?

“It’s crazy.” But then she glanced up at him and realized his gaze was fixed on her. A flush of heat tightened the skin of her cheeks. She felt more crazy than impressive, but maybe that was okay for an infamous interstellar explorer. “Let’s do this.”

They joined the throng aiming toward the main doors of the skyscraper. Laser lights in all the colors of the prism shined over the entrance. “Congratulations, Great Space Racers,” it read in letters her universal translator supplied in both English and hànzì.

“It should say ‘nice work not dying’,” she muttered.

Luc’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Yeah, this version doesn’t quite capture the nuance, does it?” He gestured at the doors. “Looks like everyone has an ident scan to enter. This could get tricky.”

“Trickier than a collapsing tunnel or space raiders?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as we get in front of the cameras.”

At a strange warbling squeal from ahead of them, the entrance queue paused and then begin to roll backward, the gathered beings murmuring in consternation.

“What is it? Amy rolled to the toes of her boots but wasn’t tall enough to see over the crowd.

Luc took her arm and guided her to one side. “Someone tried to get through without an ident scan and just got hit with a tangler.”

From their new position outside the line, she had a clear view to the orange-suited guards dragging a limp form out of the queue. A small aerial drone circled the fracas, warning the crowd to stay calm. She swallowed hard. “I guess that answers the question about getting through security.”

They ducked toward a side street, little more than an alley, really.

Amy peered around the corner at the glamorous gala. “So close,” she murmured.

So close to really being what she wanted to be.

Luc consulted the dat-pad strapped to his forearm. “Maybe we can make our way to the service entrance—”

“No need.” A burbling voice—as if the speaker was gargling and speaking at the same time—brought them both whipping around. “You can just give me the prism now.”

Amy recoiled. She hadn’t realized from the image on the Blissed’s screen how enormous Rickster was. The sentient starfish was easily ten feet tall with smaller writhing tentacles that topped another foot above that. The thin ooze that coated his pebbly skin glinted in the reflected Octiron lights.

Flanking the assistant producer were two orange-suited guards. Their hunched, long-armed posture and bright pink faces reminded her a little of the macaques in the temple near Ye-ye’s house—which might’ve been cute except she’d had a mooncake stolen from her when she was little and she’d never forgotten. And she thought these monkeys were probably going to take something much more valuable this time.

Luc smiled, although she knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders—shoulders still scarred from the dangers Rickster hadn’t bothered to warn them about. “Shouldn’t we do this in front of recorders? So the whole universe can see.”

From behind the guards, Idrin sauntered forth. “Don’t play dumb,” he advised. His white eyes were covered with goggles. “No one’s going to see this. You destroyed the passage token so we know you know.” He tilted his head. “If you hadn’t, you could’ve gotten into the gala no problem.”

Luc dropped the act. “So you could steal the prism from us there?”

Rickster blew some bubbles from the beaky mouth at the center of his body, though Amy wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or something else. “I had a nice little pretend gala all set up for just the two of you. Sure, there was a knockout drug in the moon-brandy but it was good moon-brandy. Middle shelf! If you’d just played your part.” The tentacles flapped spastically.

“It’s a drakling heirloom,” Amy said. “You can’t take it.”

“You didn’t even believe it was real,” Rickster snapped back. “Just keep believing that.”

Luc took a half step forward, putting himself between her and the others. “The gemstones are rare, but they don’t mean anything to you. And the Flamewalker Clan will pay double the galactic value for the gems in return for the prism’s return.” He raised his chin. “You know I have the finances.”

Amy sidelonged a glance at him. She’d known he was a successful accountant, but apparently he was from a wealthy family too? Apparently money and personal success wasn’t enough to make him feel worthy in front of that family without the spectacle of the Great Space Race to back him up.

But Rickster just waved his tentacles some more. “Ten times the galactic value doesn’t mean anything.” Spatters of froth flicked from the tips of the tentacles. “You touched it, didn’t you? You felt it.”

Wrinkling her nose at the thought of the assistant producer’s slime all over the Firestorm Queen’s glowing jewels, Amy said, “It’s just some sparkly rocks.”

Rickster snorted, blowing bubbles. “Then you aren’t the teammates Idrin said you were.” He rubbed two tentacles tips together, working up a slick. “The prism only sings for true love. And with it, I’m going to produce the greatest show in Octiron history. The only thing viewers want more than thrills and danger…is love.” He flung all his tentacles wide. “I call it…Into the Arms-Arms-Arms of Love!”

When no one responded to his pronouncement, Rickster rippled one tentacle in a shrug and flapped at the guards. “We’ll fix it in rewrites,” he said. “Take the prism. And the Earther too. I’m told she’s famous, so she’ll be a good first contestant.”

The guards lumbered forward, their knuckles brushing the ground.

Luc stepped back, pushing Amy with him. The satchel slid from his shoulder into her grasp, and in the same flowing move he pulled his blaster.

The guards paused to look back at Rickster, who frowned. “Luc baby,” the assistant producer said. “C’mon. You’re an accountant. I know you won’t—”

A pale orange beam sliced across the alley, striking the starfish and sending all the tentacles waving in a spasm.

Amy gasped as Luc pushed her harder. “Run,” he growled, a deep threat from his drakling. “They aren’t getting the prism. Or you.”

Rickster thrashed harder, burbling, until the words came clear. “Get them!”

The monkey-guards loped into pursuit.

One of them sprang off the side of the nearest building, cutting off her escape to the street. She wheeled around to find Luc firing a stronger beam of energy from the blaster. The second monkey-guard squealed as the tangler caught him mid-jump.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Amy cried out a warning to Luc as the first guard stalked toward her, monkey arms reaching out for the satchel. She backpedaled frantically and ran into the wall.

The guard looked up. And up.

Not a wall. The low warning rumble against her spine almost melted her knees. She hazarded a peek up at Luc’s huge triangular head and shining teeth. And the familiar jade eyes touched with gold. When he unfurled his mighty wings, the arched pinions blocking the alley, the gust of wind knocked the guard to his haunches.

Amy scooped up the blaster from between Luc’s claws and flattened the monkey-guard with a stun shot.

As one—the infamous interstellar explorer tucked between the drakling’s legs—they whirled to face Rickster.

Idrin shot the assistant producer with another tangler blast, and the starfish went down in a small fountain of bubbles.

Amy sighted down her blaster at the smuggler, her aim unwavering. “We’re not giving the prism to you either,” she growled, not quite as low as drakling-Luc but still pretty menacing, if she did say so herself.

Slowly holstering his weapon, Idrin lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t ask for it.”

She quick-glanced at Rickster, frothing helplessly. “You stopped the raiders in the Jessup Void. Now this?”

Idrin shrugged. “I might be just an independent, low-overhead, alternative-legalities hauler—”

“A smuggler,” she interrupted.

“A smuggler,” he agreed. “And bounty hunter too. But I always do the job I’m paid for. And Rickster keeps forgetting to pay me. He also kept forgetting our agreement to get me a date with the Malabrankian female from last season’s Great Space Race. Dinner only! I don’t believe in this true love prism larf-spit.” The smuggler shook his head. “What is the universe coming to when an assistant producer of a criminally deadly holo-vid show won’t keep his word?”

Amy pressed a little closer to the curve of Luc’s breastbone where the amethyst-edged scales were almost as big as her spread fingers, and the mighty pounding of his heart strengthened her voice. “Part of the Flamewalker Clan’s riches will be yours if you get us out of here.”

Idrin smiled, his white teeth almost as shiny as a drakling’s. “Now that I believe in.”