Sexiest Man In Space

By Teddi Deppner

Pete clung to the crawl handles on the skin of his spaceship and hoped he’d catch a breath before reaching the upper atmosphere. He’d looped his pilot’s harness straps hastily through a handle and clipped them together, taking most of the strain during acceleration, but he was already regretting his recklessness.

What if KT couldn’t get the hatch open before they hit vacuum? As his vision streaked with tears and his lungs burned, one thought looped through his head on repeat. How did this happen?

The day had started just like any other.

“Peter Johnson, sexiest man in space, and he’s going to be stuck planetside for the next six months because he won’t flirt with a love-starved clerk.” The monotone buzz of KT’s vocal processor matched her droll taunt.

Pete scowled at the four-legged bot next to him, thankful the spaceport customs clerk was in another room, out of earshot of her incorrigible commentary. The office was quiet, the barebones spaceport nearly deserted either because it was pre-dawn or because nobody ever visited this god-forsaken colony.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“What? Peter Johnson? It’s your name. And really, the name says it all.” KT shifted her weight to bump Pete’s hip with her main chassis and rolled her head-like sensor housing as if in a knowing nod.

Pushing shaggy black bangs out of his eyes, Pete stepped away from his droid. He needed a haircut. Heck, with the payment he’d been promised for this cargo, he could even afford to have someone other than KT cut it.

“You know what I mean. Don’t call me—”

“Sexy? Just because I have synthetic optics doesn’t mean I’m blind to how women look at you.”

The woman in question appeared at the far end of the corridor behind the customs desk, frowning at a vidpad.

Pete lowered his voice. Appear calm. Respectable. “She’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the five hundred fertilized neoplaquosaurus eggs in our hold.” Live cargo was always a gigaton of paperwork.

KT buzzed, matching his lower volume, “Hell hath no fury like a clerk with an unrequited crush.”

“Why didn’t Alicia design you with a mute button?” he muttered, assessing the approaching clerk’s frown. It wasn’t a mere gigaton-of-paperwork frown.

“Alicia welcomed my advice. Alicia took my—”

“Hush.” Pete pushed KT away from the counter and stepped in front of her, reluctantly flashing a smile at the returning clerk.

The woman’s face lit up at his smile, but the frown returned when she reached the counter and turned the vidpad’s screen to face him. “Is this your ship?”

Of course it was the Astral Rally, bright ribbons of color streaking from its nose to its tail even through the night mists that dimmed the spaceport lighting. It was the only ship on the landing pad. But the Rally’s nose was rising, the ship tilting into a launch attitude.

Without him.

The clerk took one look at his face and tapped her comm headset. “Port police! Wake up, Sheenan! Violation of export approval, pad five. Possible grand theft transport.”

Pete was already out the door. KT ran at his side until he gathered enough wits to set her free. “Execute eleven-thirty-eight-niner. Go!”

KT’s four legs spun into high gear, launching her across the hardpack landing zone. She zipped up the side of the ship and disappeared into the emergency hatch while Pete sprinted hard, every pounding step jarring his bones. A siren’s howl cut the air—the port police belatedly sounding the alarm.

Now Pete’s day might be over before the night fog even cleared. The sun burst over the distant horizon, dazzling Pete even through his eyelids as the Rally flew above the mists at a low angle escape vector. The sparkles in his vision were fading to black around the edges when he felt coarse netting drop over him and yank him toward the hatch. He released the straps securing him to the side of the Rally, and KT pulled him inside.

“’Bout time.” He sucked in deep breaths of familiar ship air, laced with cleaning solvents and fresh paint. Struggling to his feet, blinking, he peeled off the netting and pulled his blaster with numb hands. “What are we dealing with?”

“Single gangster. Plucky bastard. Shot at me when I said hello.”

Pete peered out of the emergency airlock down a clear corridor. “Where?”

“He’s in the cockpit. Be careful, Captain.”

Pete ran through the corridors of the Rally to the bridge, slowing as he neared the hatch, which was open. His heart thundered in his ears. His fingers tingled. He crept to the opening, breathing through his open mouth as quietly as he could. Surprise would be the ticket.

He took a quick peek around the opening, and then ducked back, holding his breath.

And then let it out with an explosive, elongated sigh. “KT, you wretch!”

Holstering his blaster, he stepped into the cockpit shaking his head.

The thief was out cold, wrapped like a bug in a spider’s web with the same cargo netting KT had used to bring him into the ship.

“I thought you would enjoy the spike of adrenaline.”

“I get plenty enough of that without your help!” Glancing at the console, Pete confirmed that the Rally was set on autopilot to break orbit.

“I wanted you to feel useful, Captain. Like you were pulling your weight around here instead of riding on a droid’s apron strings like a lunk.”

“Someday, you’re going to wake up from your maintenance cycle to find I installed a mute button while you were out.”

“Ha! First you’d have to push it. Can’t touch this…”

“Fine. I’ll install a remote.”

Outside the wide window, the curve of the brown planet fell away and the distant sun took its place in the greater starscape.

At least they wouldn’t have to pay any export fees.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Teddi Deppner is an indie author, enthusiastic encourager of other creatives, and 20+ year veteran of the tech and marketing world. She enjoys science fiction and urban fantasy the most, but never lets genre stop her from diving into a good story. An avid toy photographer and casual artist, she shares a variety of projects on her website and social media.

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