Sunday, June 27, 2010

Spaceport: R&R by Lexxie Couper

Spaceport: R&R by Lexxie  Couper

Read an excerpt

Spaceport: R&R

by Lexxie Couper
cover art by ReneƩ George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-455-9
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal, Sci-Fi
Theme(s): Shapeshifters
Series: Spaceport Multi-Author
Length: Novella

Forced to take a leave of absence by her commander, Allied Planet Enforcer Anika Dru high-tails it straight away to Spaceport Adana. What better destination for some unwanted R and R than a veritable cesspit of scum-bucket crooks? Especially for a tech-enhanced super cop who likes nothing more than taking out the bad guys...
Five minutes on 'Port Adana and she's already spotted her first target -- until a gorgeous half naked slave catches her eye. And makes her tech zing. Determined to discover what about the man makes her so... charged... she follows him to an empty sex den, ready to play super cop one-on-one.
But Kaden Irrado isn't a slave, and his meeting with Anika isn't by chance. Kaden is Phase, a multi-dimensional warrior capable of drawing all of his possible selves into the one temporal plane. He has to stop Anika from doing something that will destroy the space-time continuum and he's planning to do it in the most pleasurable way possible. Even if it takes more than one of him.
Rest and relaxation has never been so good. Or exhausting.
Spaceport: R&R
Lexxie Couper
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2010 Lexxie Couper

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I hate R & R. Who needs it? I sure as shit don't. Not just because I've had a tech upgrade, thanks to the Allied Planets' super secret Super-Cop initiative, but because seriously, what does one do on R & R anyway? Rest and relaxation? The most relaxing thing for me to do is bust the asses, noses, clavicles, sternums, necks, spines -- well, you get the idea -- of scum-bucket criminals. And I never rest from relaxing. I don't want R & R. I don't need it. I'm a freaking Super-Cop, for Otyn's sake.
Even before my tech implants I didn't need it. R & R is for the weak, the pathetic. The lazy. But what's a tech-improved AP Enforcer to do when her commander orders her -- orders her -- to take a leave of absence? "You're close to burn out," he says. "You need some down time," he says.
I'll tell you what she does. She heads to Spaceport Adana. 'Cause honestly, you won't find a greater horde of scum-bucket criminals in one place anywhere else in IAC space -- or any other space, for that matter. If it's dodgy, chances are it's at 'Port Adana. What better destination for unwanted R & R than a veritable cesspit of crooks?
A mere two steps into said cesspit and my mouth began to water and my tech began to zing. By Otyn. The place was a smorgasbord.
Striding through the crowded docking level, I catalogued everything I saw. Known slave traders, infamous spice dealers, wanted WMD suppliers, hell, even an IAC-listed terrorist moved freely about their nefarious business, unaware a tech-enhanced AP Enforcer walked amongst them.
My mouth watered some more. I was going to have a blast. Why hadn't I taken R & R be --
I snapped straight, scanning the horde around me.
One of the upgrades the AP white-coats had so thoughtfully installed in me allowed my tech to detect battle class droids and cyborgs of any design, make and model. That upgrade -- millions of microscopic tiox nanobots implanted in my cerebral cortex -- now fired into pulsing life. Somewhere on the thoroughfare was a Q-42 battle droid, a highly efficient, volatile, and superseded war-class android.
I searched the teeming masses again, tuning my tech into the Q-42's energy emission. Q-42s were decommissioned by the IAC for a reason. They were dangerous. If one walked 'Port Adana, it was illegally activated and would need to be shut down.
My right hand automatically reached for my blaster before I remembered the spaceport's strict boarding rules -- no energy weapons in public places. I wriggled my fingers and forced calm into my muscles. No matter. It would be more fun taking out the droid barehanded.
Grinning, I scanned the crowd once again, zeroing my gaze in on a giant of a man dressed in combat fatigues not eight feet away.
The Q-42 shoved his, err, that should be its, way through the packed thoroughfare and I followed. Eagerly.
As if I wouldn't.
Five minutes on 'Port Adana and already I was enjoying my R & R. The Q-42 strode through the docking level, pushing people out of its way, its pace quickening. I narrowed my eyes, my stare locked on its towering frame. It seemed to be trying to elude something.
The thought had merit. Q-42s were still advanced tech. It was entirely possible a Q-42 operating in human stealth mode -- as this one was -- could detect the tiox-emissions of my own tech. Possible and, if the case, kinda fun. It would make bringing the battle droid down more challenging. I lengthened my stride, dodging more than one scum-bucket, never taking my eyes off the droid.
Until the most gorgeous man I've ever seen crossed my line of sight, dressed in nothing but skintight black leather pants and a slave collar, his pitch black hair tumbling around his shoulders in a tousled mess, his bronzed skin gleaming under the thoroughfare's harsh lights, his muscles rippling with latent strength.
Oh, dear gods, he's delicious.

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