Racing Hearts

Chapter 1

Priya stepped onto the solid metal platform of the dismal spaceport. Musty, reused air flooded her lungs, along with the scent of rust and sweat. Gripping her luggage handle in one fist, she thanked the transport ship’s steward before striding forward in search of her next destination.

As she wound through a crowd of roughnecks, she noticed a pattern of stains on the dark-green bulkhead to her left, probably from a recent brawl. A good one by the looks of it.

The domed ceiling provided a murky view of space. She squinted past the thick film of grime to see another ship pulling in where hers had just departed. A few more ships were lined up behind it, waiting to unload passengers.

A masculine voice sounded from behind. “Do you need a guide, sweetie?”

She rolled her eyes and turned around, keeping her right side angled away from him. Usually, that was the side she wore her pulsar gun, but according to the rules of this particular establishment, she was not allowed to keep a weapon on her immediate person. She could, however, stow it in her bag for easy access.

In place of her security work belt she’d tied a stylish strip of fabric over her brown tunic dress with burgundy stripes that matched her hair.

The man lowered his eyes to her bare legs and black knee-high boots with obvious interest. His features weren’t terrible, but he wouldn’t win any beauty contests. His nose had clearly been broken more than once. His dark hair was a mess. And when he peered back up at her face, he grinned, revealing a full set of crooked teeth.

Schooling her features, she replied, “I’m looking for a ship—”

“I got a ship,” he interrupted with innuendo buried in the layers of his voice.

An entourage of onlookers chortled. With their matching stained uniform and equally unkempt hair, they had the appearance of grunt workers.

“A tiny one, no doubt,” she countered and then smirked when his mouth fell into a petulant frown.

His friends guffawed and one slapped him on the back. These weren’t bad men, just products of a hard life and a serious lack of civilized influence. Not that she was any better. She’d practically been raised in places like this.

“The craft I seek is about to be entered in Phase Nine. I’ve been petitioned to join the crew.”

The laughing cut off and a round of brows shot up. Their surprise was natural, not because she was a woman entering the most dangerous competition in the known universe.

No. Even the most hardened of men would have received incredulous looks. Few who enter Phase Nine would live to see its finish. The race had few rules and spanned vast distances of space. A ship without a good crew wouldn’t be expected to last long at all.

Ah, but she wasn’t joining just any crew. She would be captained by a man who had not only run the race before, but had won it. And she fully intended to be with him when he did it again.

Silently, two of the men pointed toward a corridor while the others continued to gape.

She nodded in thanks and headed toward direction they’d indicated.

After a few steps, the first man called out, “Pray, tell me your name, beautiful lady, so I can cheer for you.”

Not bothering to look back, she replied with a wave of her hand, “You’ll just have to watch the show.” It was the thing people loved most about Phase Nine. Strategically placed cameras throughout the race would provide entertainment to over thirty planets and countless space cities. Every fifty years, it became a universal obsession. People quit jobs just to watch.