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There were moments when Irene looked at the clan, and her heart filled to point where she had to blink back tears. Again and again, she thrust aside the urge to throw herself at the men, to kiss any of the three…hell, all three…and tell them she was staying. There were breathless seconds when Jemi’s fingers would brush her arm or Rusp’s dark gaze would linger on her face or Sherv’s expression would soften. Time paused, and she waited for them to wrap her in their arms and kiss her as they hadn’t since the night they’d run from the space station. More than once, it had felt as if it would happen. She was certain she wouldn’t resist.
Then whomever the precarious instant was shared with would swallow, visibly gather his strength, and retreat. Irene blessed and cursed their control, especially on the nights she lay sleepless in the room they’d given her on the spacious transport.
Had she not needed her parents so desperately, Irene would have turned her back on Earth and even opera. In the temporary bubble they’d created on the ship, she was the happiest she’d been since her childhood before her voice had been discovered.
* * * *
“Is that it?” Irene asked, gazing at the vid activated in the transport’s main cabin.
“Rexadux Station,” Jemi announced, waving a grand flourish toward the small outpost near the middle of nowhere. “New home until Earth and Kalquor calm down and Nil give up.”
“Or until we’re chased off. It’s a little lawless.” Rusp grinned, apparently enjoying the idea of trouble. “Great place to get in fights.”
“No destroyers, no Kalquor fleet,” Sherv noted as he studied the readout. “Some Earther shuttles, but not military. Trade vessels or criminals, most likely.”
Their English had improved during the trip. Irene wished her Kalquorian was so good. She’d have liked to read the scrolling stats. “A few clubs, shops, and shady types, huh?”
“Many shady people. We check first if safe for you to be seen.” Sherv sighed. “Wish you still have Odeergin disguise.”
“Me too.” As spacious as the ship was, she was feeling cooped up. She wasn’t alone. The Nobeks had a room designated for fighting to work off the oppressive sense of confinement, and they’d taken advantage of it for the last three days straight. Taru was currently sporting an impressive black eye in addition to the bruises all four of the warrior breed wore.
“Maybe I find you a new disguise.” Jemi looked her over, his gaze speculative. “I keep lookout.”
“Should ask if we can play gigs. Need to make some money. Find what clubs available.” Sherv powered his handheld.
“No Kalquorians to listen to lemanthev. We could break our record on smallest show.” Rusp snickered.
“Maybe try the new stuff. If we find Irene disguise or she don’t need one, she could sing?” Sherv gave her a questioning glance.
“I’m up for it.” The idea of performing their new songs for an audience besides the stage crew excited her. Who cared if a mere handful heard them? It would be fun.
“It won’t hurt our lemanthev following playing different music here,” Rusp decided. He was the band member most concerned about their musical reputation. “We should do it, see what happens.”
* * * *
“One band, two kinds of music,” Sherv told the Alsepuan club owner. He kept his tone matter-of-fact. Too much enthusiasm smacked of novices on the club scene. Bargaining shouted of desperation, which wouldn’t have been out of place on the outer fringe of trade routes. To counter such an impression, he’d intimated they’d had to veer off their usual touring sweep because of minor legal trouble they needed to wait out before resuming their usual venue gigs.
The Alsepuan, a being whose skin made Sherv think of bark on a tree, used a dirty rage to wipe the tables. Sherv made a mental note to avoid eating or drinking anything there. “Lemanthev, I guess. I’ve noticed only one Kalquorian around in past weeks. A few Beonids and Manmars might come to listen. What else do you play?”
“Rimnastin.” They’d had to name the music they’d created with Irene. The uferliss played on half their songs was a signature sound of the Plasian-style allastin. Added was the booming energy of additional instruments, which Jemi had likened to thunder…rimnurgin Kalquorian. They’d combined parts of the words to christen their unique concoction.
“Never heard of it.”
“Really? I would have thought it would have reached here by now. It’s hugely popular on Kalquor, Dantovon, Plasius, Alneusia…picking up steam elsewhere too. Even Earthers are into it.” Sherv wondered when he’d learned to lie so easily and if it should bother him he could. Promoting the band to land gigs sometimes meant stretching the truth until it screamed.
“Three nights, starting tomorrow. Two, you play lemanthev. The third, you play this new music. I’ll pay you for the lemanthev nights.” He named a number so outrageously low, Sherv fought not to wince. But it was Rexadux, which meant playing for next to nothing.
“What about the third night when we play rimnastin?”
“Half rate because I’m taking a chance. Nothing if this music chases my customers off.”
Sherv glanced at the half dozen patrons scattered among the tables and bar. They looked too wasted to summon the energy to drag themselves from the club if a bomb went off in the room.
It was better than nothing. They were stuck on the ass-end of nowhere, anyway. He sighed. “We’ll take it.”
* * * *
Sherv left the club, entering the dingy main concourse of the station. Comparing it to the Beonid station and the other venues they’d advanced enough in popularity to play was depressing. He did his best to ignore the cracked and buckled metal floor tiles, the graffiti on the walls, and the hunch-shouldered (when they had shoulders) aliens skulking past. No one met his gaze. Surely Nil wouldn’t think to look for Irene in such a place.
