Page 20 of Shadows of Stardust

Few physical defenses. Short stature and lack of notable musculature. A homeworld driven to near complete environmental ruin before the Seventh Sector Council intervened and assisted the species with resettlement on more than a hundred planets scattered far and wide across the sector.

Not a wholly altruistic venture, it seems. A few of the more scathing reports indicate the Council demanded unfettered access to the dying planet as payment for their assistance, no doubt to strip it for every resource it still contained.

Humans have a small military force run by their near-powerless, cobbled-together governing body—known as the Sol Alliance—though it seems their main purpose is supporting the military ventures of other species in an effort of building intergalactic goodwill and new friends in the sector.

None of the information shows any connection between humanity and Eritin II. No military missions or trade with the planet’s small population. Nothing at all that would explain Roslyn being here for any reason but to compete on Mate Match.

A few brief articles about human biology and social interaction and mating habits provide a bit of distracting fodder during the late afternoon, but by the time the hover carrying Roslyn and Rhevar makes it back to the beach, I’m ready to continue my own investigation.

I’m ready to speak to the little human again.

Last night was just an opening salvo, and butting right up against all her defenses has given me far more questions than answers.

She’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is.

Roslyn and Rhevar return from their date just as the sun is beginning to dip behind the rolling green mountains that frame the Mate Match production area.

She’s pink-cheeked from the sun, her hair wavy and rumpled from the sea breeze.

A mess, I tell myself.

She looks like a mess, disheveled, and there’s no reason at all I should wonder how warm her reddened skin would feel beneath my fingers, or what the salt spray might have done to the texture of her soft brown hair.

The two of them part briefly, off to their respective dwellings, before reappearing for the evening festivities. Like last night, there’s not much order to the proceedings other than drinks and socializing, furtive glances and murmured conversations, the machinations of producers as they move contestants around like pieces on a gameboard.

Including Roslyn and Rhevar.

Sella, the producer who I learned has been assigned to Roslyn, touches her ear for a moment as she receives a message over comms, and then she’s moving. Focused, determined, with a calculating spark in her expression as her eyes find Roslyn,then Rhevar, then catch the gaze of another producer who heads for the Vas-Greshiran.

There’s something mildly fascinating about watching it all happen in real-time. The two producers find their marks, whisper instructions, then fade away into the background as their plan springs into motion.

A wide grin spreads across Rhevar’s face as he finds Roslyn in the crowd, and though she’s wearing what I might consider more of a wince after whatever Sella told her, she recovers quickly. Her lips curve less enthusiastically than his, but she meets him near the edge of the gathering before taking the hand he offers and letting him lead her away into the night, trailed by half a dozen hovercams.

Keeping to the shadows just like last time, aware of my every step and breath, I tail the pair down a narrowing stretch of beach edged by thick jungle. The sugar-soft sand of the main beach transitions into rockier ground, leading to a secluded, scenic point. As the two of them pick their way over the stones, I slow my steps, too.

I’m close enough to hear a few threads of their conversation, mostly inane chatter about the date they went on earlier.

They pause to take in the view of the ocean on a small patch of beach amidst the rocks, and hovercams circle close and low to capture them from every angle.

Roslyn might be made of glass with how stiff and careful she’s holding herself, eyes fixed determinedly on Rhevar like she’s trying very, very hard not to look at the cameras. She nods and smiles and murmurs her replies to whatever banality he’s spewing, though the tightness in her expression is unmistakable.

He hovers close to her, more animated, and with a bright smile on his face that means he’s either an excellent actor or genuinely finds the little human appealing.

I want to convince myself it’s the former, but as I watch Roslyn—with her cheeks still pink from the sun and the wind, her hair falling in wild waves that catch the golden sunset light—I can almost admit…

Almost.

If she weren’t a criminal hiding in plain sight with a stubborn, belligerent attitude and…

No.

It’s just a trick of the light. A flattering angle that brings out copper strands in her hair and makes her eyes shine a brighter shade of emerald.

I give my head a hard shake and make myself tune back into the conversation. Adjusting my earpiece—which I modified earlier today to pick up ambient sound in addition to comms from the rest of the crew—I focus on the task at hand.

“I had a wonderful time today,” Rhevar says, leaning even closer. “I hope you did, too.”

Is that another grimace on Roslyn’s face? I barely catch her expression before she covers it with a bland smile.

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