Chapter One
12.29.43B: T-plus 4 months since Mt. Aguya’s eruption on Otho
T-minus 13 hours to the start of the Inaugural Crionian Race Royale

Sylvia

There was no question that Sylvia loved her royalers, but that didn’t mean there weren’t times when she wanted to strangle them. She stepped onto the lunar hopper’s boarding ramp and took a deep breath of the frigid air, letting the stress seep out of her. Hulking mountains of ivory and glacial blue towered around the airstrip in Crion’s singular city of Lumik. Above their peaks, a translucent emerald sheen danced across the twilight sky, a continuous aurora courtesy of the terraforming efforts that had finally warmed the atmosphere enough for continuous habitation.

Breathtaking.

On the ground, however, Lumik was somewhat less impressive. A cluster of steep-roofed buildings huddled together between an ice-covered river and the base of the mountain range. Peeking through the drifts of snow hugging their sides, bright holopros of green and red flashed across their smooth facades. The largest one edged the airstrip, its bright decor depicting a variety of pine garlands, wreaths, and boughs in the style of ancient Earthen winter traditions.

Sylvia smoothed the ruffles of her teal-and-purple dress as somewhere behind her, the Amaral siblings squabbled over their strategy for Crion’s debut race royale—an argument that had lasted the entirety of the three-day trip. Though the Amarals were currently her fastest rookie royalers, they were also, without a doubt, the loudest. A trait she wished she’d accounted for when deciding which four royalers to bring. With a sigh, Sylvia directed the two hover-dollies carrying their luggage off to their assigned room. Singular.

Suns, she wasn’t going to survive.

Bex strode past Sylvia in the direction of the host venue, her Belethean formal wear obscured beneath an ankle-length winter coat. “If you think I’m rooming with an Amaral, much less two, you’re out of your mind.”

“I do feel out of my mind right now, thanks for asking.” Sylvia pulled up her schedule, the events flashing out of her goggs in a neat line through the air. She tried to ignore the triple digit number glowing red in the corner—an unwelcome reminder of the unread messages she still needed to address today. “We only have twenty minutes until the opening remarks, so we need to get moving.”

They were cutting it close, but the punctuality had been by design. After the Belethea royalers’ dramatic success in exposing the events on Otho and saving the system’s first complex lifeform, their popularity—already peaking after Sterling/Hart’s BRR win last year—had exploded. But even though the Casolla International Federation had initiated a syndicate crackdown to root out the illegal trade of the luxies, the threat of syndicate retaliation loomed large.

As a silver lining, the Belethean royalers no longer needed to fill their schedules with endless promotion opportunities to boost their VSoc cred. Which was good, since it was much safer to spend as little time in the public eye as possible. And while Sylvia abhorred even the possibility of being late, nothing was more important than the safety of her royalers.

Which was why she was resolved not to murder them herself—no matter how irritating they were.

Speaking of the irritants themselves, she turned to find the towering Amarals walking down the boarding plank.

Kit gestured violently with her hands an inch from her older brother’s face, her thick lavender braid flying. “Dean, I swear to Casolla, there are going to be land-sea vehicles.”

“No way.” Dean held up his palm as if to block Kit’s face from sight, his lavender mohawk swaying in the gentle breeze. “They’re going to be all sea vehicles and make us run up the mountain. Which is why I’m the better choice for the—”

“And that’s enough of that.” Sylvia stabbed two fingers in their direction. “While you were the second highest double ranked going into this race, don’t think I won’t take a different team next time if you continue to drive the rest of us chaffing insane.”

Dean turned his wide lavender eyes on her. “But c’mon, Coach, you have to agree I’m the better sea wheels.”

“But he’s the worst at adapting to new terrain.” Only two inches shy of her brother’s 6ʹ 3ʺ, Kit shouldered in front of Dean. “Tell him if we’re going over ground he has to swap the wheel.”

Sylvia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to remind herself they were lucky to have such top talent on the Belethean team. Two years ago, recruiting the Amaral siblings would’ve been unthinkable—even if they were a complete pain in her ass. “Look, you two have raced together since you could walk, and I have complete faith in your ability to make the best decisions for you as a double.” They opened their mouths again, and Sylvia cut the air with a hand, her tone dipping into scary-sweet. “But right now, the only thing I’m worried about is getting to the opening remarks, so remember to smile and try not to kill each other on the way.”

Unfazed by Sylvia’s dangerous proximity to aggravated combustion, the Amarals continued to argue as they followed Bex toward the luminescent gold doors of their venue. Simon stepped beside Sylvia, the small pink ship-cat, Turnip, tucked in his jacket, and a hovercam circling him as he grinned. “I told you to take Chen/Soto.”

“You know they’re not as fast.” Sylvia reached out and scratched Turnip behind the ears, her six tails poking out of Simon’s quilted teal jacket. She hadn’t fully forgiven the cat for spilling her tea six different times on the flight—a skill Turnip had honed after the last few months with an almost sadistic accuracy—but she was still cute.

“It really is a wonder the Amarals manage to cross the finish line together when they can barely coexist on a day-to-day basis.”

“It’s their competitiveness that makes them push each other past their limits. They’d both rather sacrifice a lung than lose, and in the race, that’s all the common ground they need.”

Simon inclined his chin, his dark curls swept back from his forehead. “And the VSoc crowd loves to soak in the drama.”

“Well it doesn’t hurt that Kit’s boyfriend is a crackshot holologger who knows how to spin it.” Though he and Micah hadn’t managed to completely neutralize the Royaler Review’s constant spew of garbage, Jabari at least had leveled the playing field. And for that, he had Sylvia’s eternal love. If he and Kit ever broke up, she’d probably be crying along with the entirety of the Amaral fanbase. Sylvia raised an eyebrow at Turnip, who looked about ready to fall asleep in the heated lining of Simon’s coat. “Speaking of VSoc, are you using my cat for cute points?”

“Of course, Turnip’s the only VSoc star on the team bigger than me.” Simon tucked her closer under his chin like some ridiculous pink scarf as he continued down the boarding ramp.

“Make sure she stays warm!” Sylvia shouted after him, pushing her curls behind her shoulders.

Simon waved her off as he walked toward the gold doors. “I got it!”

Sylvia shook her head, her lips twitching with affection. What a crew to start the new year with. That just left…

Two strong arms circled her waist, warm lips on the side of her neck. “Think they’ll notice if we miss opening remarks?”

Grinning, Sylvia placed her hands on Shiro’s, keeping an eye on the time ticking away in her goggs. “You are such a bad influence.”

“You mean we’re not here for a romantic getaway?” Shiro moved to her side, one hand curling around her shoulders as he took in the mountains cutting into the aurora-painted sky. “It certainly looks the part.”

Together they strode down onto the airstrip, the boarding plank closing behind them as the lunar hopper automatically taxied to its hangar. “If we’re going on a romantic getaway, I want it to be somewhere warm.” Sylvia leaned in closer to him to shield herself from what, in comparison to Belethea’s gale, was a tame breeze. And yet somehow, it still managed to cut straight through her heated jacket.

Shiro’s jaw dropped, feigning shock. “Are you saying we can finally go on a vacation?”

Sylvia wrinkled her nose, a cram-packed calendar lurking a blink away in her goggs. “Maybe in the offseason.” Which at a hundred and twenty-five days away, somehow felt too soon and so far at the same time.

Shiro groaned, only half-serious as he whined, “But Ezren and Foster got to skip this one.”

“That’s because they’re not racing, and it was important for them to spend New Year with their families. Especially after everything that happened on Otho.”

“You know, I was also on Otho.” Shiro smirked with a cheeky smugness only he could achieve. “And it’s important for me to ring in the New Year with my girlfriend. Do you think you can arrange that?”

“Oh stop.” She bumped him with her hip, her eyes tracking a few other well-dressed spacers walking into the glowing doors ahead of them. “You’re already on my calendar.”

“I made the calendar?” Eyes wide, Shiro straightened his shoulders, exaggerating his swagger. “You must really love me.”

Sylvia smothered a smile as they paused at the tall doors adorned with a holopro of carved wood and golden etching. “Just don’t forget you have a job to do first. This is the first royale on Crion ever, so there will be people here from all over the system. I don’t think anyone would target us without Ezren and Foster here, but I…” Words failed her as she thought of the dark threats that had trickled into the team’s inbox in the past week.

“It’s okay.” Shiro pulled her aside by the door. “I’ve got that part. You just do your boss-babe-coach thing, and we’ll celebrate after your royalers take gold and silver. But first…” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, brief and hard and hot. For a moment, Sylvia was lost in him, then he pulled back just as abruptly. “Okay, now you’re ready.” His eyes danced as he proffered his arm. “Can I escort the Coach Sylvia Long inside?”

Sylvia rolled her eyes playfully, her stomach still flipping. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because I love you madly with every inch of my soul,” he replied, the words almost teasing.

Sylvia barely had time to swat him before they went through the door. Inside, they found a giant lobby with high ceilings and rows upon rows of chairs arranged before a stage. There had to be over two hundred people already seated—spacers in their flashy jumpsuits, Obronians in more tropical attire, and Dreitians in their long robes. The Crionians, she noted, seemed to be making their own statement in thick, knee-length coats with the shifting colors of the aurora patterned into each one. They were certainly trying to carve out a unique name for themselves already.

Shiro slipped her heated coat from her shoulders and tossed it along with his own to the concierge bot. Underneath he wore a three-piece suit with an array of silver chains across the front that perfectly fit his lean body, his gun holstered beneath his jacket. Sylvia couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate his chiseled cheekbones and the unruly black hair she managed to tame on the ship. It wasn’t exactly his style, but suns if he didn’t wear it well.

She, on the other hand was completely at home in her thigh-high boots and low-cut corset, and she certainly didn’t miss the flash of heat in his eyes as he drank in her attire. He offered her his elbow again, but no sooner had they entered the aisle than three holologgers accosted her with a barrage of questions.

“Sylvia, coach of the Belethea royalers, where’s Sterling/Hart?”

“Is it true they’re racing tomorrow?”

“What can you tell us about the changes they have planned as the two newest members of the BRR council?”

Drawing herself up to her full height, which was generously aided by her three-inch heels, Sylvia gave them a bright smile.

“As we’ve already stated, Ezren and Foster had prior commitments and will not be joining us here on Crion.” She raised her voice over a renewed bombardment of chatter. “However, they did prepare a holopro to congratulate Crion on their terraforming achievements and new planetary status. While Ezren and Foster have officially stepped away from royale racing, as is customary for BRR champions, I’m sure they’ll share any BRR council announcements through the appropriate channels.”

With that, Sylvia swept across the floor, eyeing the small clock in the corner of her goggs that told her she had only three minutes to get to her appointed spot. Shiro followed close beside her with a giant grin on his face. “I don’t know how you do that, but I love it.”

“It’s all about practice.” She shot him a triumphant glance before quickly noting that Bex, Simon, Kit, and Dean were sitting in their assigned row. Excellent, everything was… her smile faded as she spotted her holo-labeled seat right next to Ambassador Villegas. She stifled a groan. “Two minutes to start. You’ll check the room?”

“Of course.” Now it was Shiro’s turn to squeeze her arm. “I’m never far.” With that, he turned and strode off through the crowd.

Taking a fortifying breath, Sylvia moved to her seat next to Belethea’s black-clad ambassador and bowed. “Ambassador Villegas, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”

“Well, when I heard that Sterling/Hart wasn’t going to be here, I wanted to be sure Belethea had strong representation.” She sniffed, a schedule flicking out from her gold goggs. “Imagine my surprise when I saw them on the agenda.”

Sylvia quickly scanned the holopro and internally fumed. Someone had purposely misled the attendees into believing Sterling/Hart would be here in person. “It’s only a recorded holo,” Sylvia said, already thinking out an angry message in her goggs. “I clearly communicated that to the organizers, but it appears they’ve chosen their own interpretation. Most likely to stimulate increased interest.”

“Indeed.” Ambassador Villegas opened her mouth to say more when Crion’s Ambassador, Earnest Purcell, took the stage.

“Welcome, everyone, to Crion’s first race royale as an official settlement of Casolla…” The ambassador ran a hand through his bushy red beard while he spoke of the importance of the tradition of the race royale, of the recent terraforming technology and funding, and how they hoped, in time, to open the entire planet for colonization. Even Ambassador Villegas got a moment to shine as she rose to give her own congratulatory remarks much to the same effect, the hovercams humming around her.

Purcell turned back to the crowd. “On that note, we invited race royale champion and the new face of terraforming, Ezren Hart, to celebrate this occasion with us. Although she wasn’t able to attend in person…” An audible groan rippled through the crowd, and Sylvia’s expression tightened. That’s what happens when you mislead people. “Team Sterling/Hart has sent along this message.”

Sylvia finally began to relax as Ezren and Foster’s carefully practiced, and perfectly executed, speech played for the crowd. She forced herself not to mouth the words as they spoke of one system united, the pursuit of ethical terraforming, and working together to keep order in the system. Hopefully they were having a relaxing New Year with their families. After all the work they’d been doing lately, they deserved it, and she made a note in her goggs that she needed to check in on them before the day was over.

Technically, Shiro, as the CIF agent responsible for their safety, should’ve been with them, but he’d rattled off some colorful excuses about risk calculations, and she couldn’t be sad that he’d come to Crion instead. With the murderous Ambassador York and his syndicate allies still at large, leaving Belethea always made her nervous. Her gaze flicked to Shiro where he leaned subtly against the wall, his stare calmly roving the crowd. It only took a second for his eyes to meet hers, and he gave her a wink before continuing his scan.

Sylvia’s expression smoothed into a smile. It would be fine—if she’d learned anything in the last four months, it was that Shiro was good at his job, and she could trust that her team would be safe with him watching. The clench of her shoulder blades eased, and she used the remainder of the remarks to let herself drift through her overflowing inbox.

She returned to the moment when Ambassador Purcell kicked off the pre-race banquet in the adjacent ballroom. The ambassador knocked his fists together three times with a call of, “Into the churn,” and the audience dutifully echoed the words as they rose from their seats, dismissed.

Shiro started toward her, and Sylvia was about to make her excuses to Villegas, when the ambassador nodded toward where the Beletheans were laughing with Greta Sterling’s Naris team. Though Greta wasn’t there in person, her assistant coach had brought a strong team of four as well.

“I must say I’m impressed with the talent you’ve been able to recruit this year.” The wrinkles around Villegas’s hard eyes twitched in what almost looked like approval. “You’ve done us a surprisingly good turn as the stand-in coach.” Sylvia glowed with the unexpected compliment, but before she could reply, Villegas continued, “That said, have you made any headway on recruiting your replacement to cement Belethea as a new force in the race royale sphere? I’m sure your rookies must expect a coach with greater experience than you can deliver, and you’ll find no better time to transition than this crest after last year’s championship.”

Sylvia’s mouth flopped open, her cheeks burning now with indignation. “I haven’t received any complaints yet, considering my coaching record.”

“Yes,” Villegas continued, her thin lips pursing in thought, “but haven’t your royalers said that Foster Sterling has a heavy hand in the coaching? Your personal royale performance indicates it would be difficult for you to carry his torch once his contract is up at the end of the year. Not to mention, I know you’ve also taken over team stewardship in the wake of Calderon’s step back. That’s a lot for any one person to handle.”

Sylvia’s throat tightened. They were facts, and ones she didn’t have planned responses to. With ten new recruits, she was drowning in her triple duty as VSoc manager, coach, and team steward, and she hadn’t thought ahead yet to when Foster was no longer in residence at Carmella. She swallowed, her gaze flicking to where Shiro now watched the conversation from only a few paces away. “I…” She paused, trying to shove aside her embarrassment. “Those are some valid points, Ambassador, and I’ll be sure to explore the options and get back to you on a path forward.”

Villegas’s weathered countenance softened. “To be clear, Coach Long, I’m not saying you’re bad at your job, I’m merely saying if you expect your athletes to grow effectively, you need to have a good team under you—and I mean a management staff, not just your royalers.” Villegas held her gaze for a moment, and then nodded, her resting steely expression slotting firmly into place. “But you haven’t let us down yet, so I’ll be eager to see you rise to the challenge.”

Sylvia and Shiro both bobbed their heads as Villegas strode off in the direction of the ballroom. Sylvia could only watch her go as she strove to get a handle on her emotions. How had the ambassador’s words felt like a compliment and a rebuke at the same time? Over the past year, she’d devoted nearly every ounce of her time and energy into her team. What more did she have to give?

Shiro took a step closer, his voice soft in her ear. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

Sylvia’s glare snapped to him, the confused hurt too fresh. “I don’t get where this is coming from. Our royalers are ranked top five in the system, and I’ve been juggling everything just fine.” Okay, with massive amounts of anxiety, and a dropped ball here and there—but she’d been making it work all the same.

“I know you have.” Shiro reached out and tugged on one of the curls tickling her shoulder. “VSoc extraordinaire, team steward raking in sponsors and balancing finances, coach guiding workouts and strategy and academics.” He smiled, but it held a bittersweet edge. “I’ve been watching you do it all for months now. Working sixteen-hour days, one-hundred-hour weeks.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking just under her lashes—the sleepless shadows that no holopro or makeup would be able to cover completely. “But at what cost?”

“I…” Sylvia pressed her lips together—each word vibrating in her bones. It was another question she wasn’t prepared for. Two in one day? She really was off her game. Could she keep up the pace for the rest of her life? Chaff, did she even want to? She’d taken on the VSoc manager job as a stopgap while she figured out what she wanted to do after her royale career. But that had been six years ago now. Six years. Where had the time gone?

“I don’t know,” she finally managed. The team was her whole world—draining as it was… what would fill her life if not for them? “I just, I’ll figure it out. I always—”

Raised voices cut her off, drawing her attention to her knot of royalers. The Amarals were arguing again, and—

Her eyes widened, taking in the girl in the bulky coat rushing toward them with something in her hands. She flashed back to the explosion at the exhibition four months ago, and her blood ran cold. “Shiro!”

But he was already running.