Page 1 of Shadows of Stardust

1

Roslyn

A ship always has a story to tell.

Outfitted with the latest in blaster tech or fortified with meter-thick alloy. Superbly furnished for pleasure cruising or left to its bare-bones to make use of each centimeter of cargo space. Buffed to a pristine shine or stained with plasma burns from one too many atmospheric entries.

There are stories, if you know where to look for them, and I’ve spent a lot of time looking.

I’ve spent the better part of my last decade in cruisers bound for remote corners of the universe. In hulking freighters sent to resupply outposts, and sleek transports filled with troops headed to support some galactic war or another. In peaceful star systems where I could breathe easy on a landing approach, and in the midst of enemy fire.

I might just be one human in a universe bigger and more humbling than I’ve ever been able to fully grasp, but I’ve seen more of it than most. I know how to keep my head on straight in a crisis and my lunch down in the lurch of hyperspace travel.

But despite all those years and all that experience, I’ve never felt so ill-equipped to be aboard a ship. Hurtling through hyperspace just outside the Seventh Sector’s 139th jumpgate,she glides frictionless through the void. It’s a smooth ride, no hint of trouble, but I’ll be damned if I can make my body believe that. Muscles tense, throat tight, I try to remind myself I’m safe and not about to be blasted into oblivion, with absolutely no success.

Maybe it’s because I’m not piloting, but stuck back in the passenger bay.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never been this alone on a mission.

Maybe it’s because, looking around at my fellow passengers, it’s never been more evident that I may be in way, way over my head.

But there’s nothing I can do about it now, so I turn my attention to the planet we’re approaching and focus on my breath.

In. I need to remember why I’m here.

Out. Panic won’t do anything but make this more difficult.

In. I’m ready. I’ve made plans and backup plans, researched and studied for months.

Out. I’m not going to fail. It’s just not an option.

My eyes adjust from the low lights of the passenger bay to the sprawl of space outside. The lush surface of Eritin II looms large out the cruiser’s window, brilliant and beautiful from way up here.

We’re on a slow approach for landing, a leisurely descent to the tropical planet’s shores as we near the upper levels of its atmosphere.

The world below is almost entirely covered in painfully blue ocean, scattered with landmasses of white sand beaches and emerald jungles melting into sloping mountainsides. Smaller islands dot the sea beyond the beach where we’re headed, little jewels shining in all of that turquoise.

My eyes trace familiar topography as I orient myself in a world I’ve only seen through maps and holos. I searchdesperately for a foothold, a stable perch that might ease the vise-grip panic has on my lungs, the restless, shaking energy coursing through each tense muscle.

But it’s no use. Looking only makes my mind race faster. It jerks me out of the soft padded seat in the passenger bay to the uncertainty waiting for me on the ground. The uncertainty I won’t be able to do a damn thing about until my boots hit sand.

I turn my attention back inside the cruiser.

Up and down the passenger bay, I’m surrounded by a kaleidoscope of alien beauty. I surreptitiously scan each unfamiliar face, trying not to notice the other twenty-four passengers doing the same. All of us sizing each other up, and all of us here for the same reason.

To compete on Mate Match, the Seventh Sector’s most popular reality dating vidcomm show.

Not so different, actually, from the shows that used to air back on Earth in its heyday, in its last gasp of entertainment and frivolity before the Collapse started.

But unlike those shows back on Earth—which I’ve only seen through maddeningly hard to find archived content in Sol Alliance databases—Mate Match is truly in another stratosphere.

Beamed to planets across the Sector, its viewers number in the billions, and its contestants come from far-flung galaxies and a myriad of different species.

The premise is simple enough. Fifty hot, single beings with basic physiological and sexual compatibility, dumped into paradise and let loose to find their ‘perfect mate.’

Truthfully, it’s much more of a trainwreck than that, with all the heartbreak and love triangles and betrayal played up for entertainment value.

Apparently sex and drama sell a show no matter what galaxy you’re in.

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