Cosmic Cabaret

by SFR Shooting Stars

  Flung to the far reaches of the galaxy, her people left with nothing but a few credits and baubles, many now served in indentured positions of every possible kind—due to the cost of transport off-world so high. Some had it much worse than others.

  The music shifted to a deeper beat, and she massaged her forehead.

  She longed for the roll of water across the soft beach and the thin tweaks and bleats of the multitude of Napis that strafed the coast for bites of food.

  All she had left of her favorite place in the Universe was a vial of sand and her memories. Holographic recreations weren’t the same and never would be. Her home was gone forever.

  “Stella!” Jhodalann, the bar’s owner hollered over the music. “Stop daydreaming and get that drink ready.”

  She didn’t dare look his way, sure his sour expression would push her to tears. Some days, being strong took more effort than others. She’d gotten through worse, and she’d get through this. “Sorry. Right away.” She wiped the outside of the bottle to make sure no dust would get inside when she opened it.

  Pouring whiskey without disturbing the sparkles that ringed the rim of the glass was difficult enough, but making sure she didn’t waste a drop of the expensive alcohol was even more of a challenge. She’d had nightmares about breaking a top-shelf bottle. If she were lucky, the money would come out of her wages and not her flesh.

  Being careful meant survival.

  She snuck a glance toward the end of the bar where Jhodalann sat, his thick fingers wrapped around the neck of a tall bottle of Argean ale. Even sitting down, his large frame took over the space he occupied—dominated it.

  She swallowed the surge of fear that raced through her. Those same fingers had been around her neck too many times, and she hadn’t forgotten the pain from the constellation of bruises that had bloomed on her neck when she’d tried to fight back.

  A lesson she’d learned early: Don’t resist.

  She shook off his negative energy and turned to the bottle of Wharton’s. Pressing the tip of her finger against the tiny electro-tab on the lid, she waited for the biometric lock to release the seal. Very few employees had access to the top-shelf vices. With a homing device built in, the alcohol was tracked from distillery to end user. It would be impossible to steal a drink as the bottles kept up with every drop that was poured.

  Or spilled. The trackers uploaded new data to the backup inventory servers nightly and would send an alarm to Jhodalann in microseconds.

  “Am I going to get my drink today?” The passenger drew out his words, raising his voice enough that anyone near would hear his frustration.

  Stella met his stare, her jaw clenching. “Sorry, sir, top-shelf security measures take a bit of time. But the Wharton’s is worth it, I promise. Welcome to the Antimatter bar.”

  LS Quantum was one of the largest cruisers in The Blue Star line. A traveling city, the ship had enough bars and lounges to accommodate every passenger, yet somehow, this man’s type often ended up at the Antimatter, all the way to the aft section of the Nova deck. Her odds.

  He scowled.

  When he’d entered, the man had headed straight for the luxe barstools that cost credits just to sit on and ordered one of the most expensive drinks. He made sure everyone else in the bar knew he was spending credits like water rushing down the recycler. Stella knew his type well.

  A Jackass.

  Still, a customer was a customer, and one that liked to show off how much they spent meant a chance for a bigger tip. Stella gave him a smile and an almost wink, ignoring the curdling in her stomach. The day she could leave the job would be one she’d relish.

  His scowl turned to a faint smile, the leer evident in his gaze as he checked her out.

  It was no secret where a portion of her talent lay. Seduction came easily, and though she hated using it to manipulate the men and women who came into the Antimatter bar, sometimes it was necessary. She’d never save enough money to get out of her indenture and leave the ship if she didn’t make good tips.

  He took a deep breath. “If I didn’t know Wharton’s, I wouldn’t have ordered it.” He smacked his hand on the bar top, his lusty gaze burning into her flesh. “I’m sure there are other bars on this hunk of metal that can serve my drink in a timely manner.”

  Jhodalann grumbled under his breath. With the bar music drowning sound, not many would have heard him, but Stella did.

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded at him and leaned against the bar, her hip shoved to one side in an exaggerated sway. His eyes followed her curves.

  The biometric lock on the bottle beeped faintly, and she slid the metallic cap off. A pungent odor wafted from the opening—not a bad smell, but one that reminded her of dark nights and lonely dreams. She’d never been to Earth, but one of the bartenders had told her that the smell came from the wooden barrels the whiskey aged in, stowed deep in mountainous caves away from sunlight and thieves.

  Was Earth where she belonged? Everything she’d heard about it sounded magical. The alcohol’s mystical scent curled around her consciousness like an elusive thought.

  No wonder the whiskey was so popular for those that could afford it. It held power.

  She steadied her hand and poured into the center of the glass, careful not to disturb the sparkling sweetness around the rim. Most patrons drank over ice or straight up, but some went for the whiskey’s deep flavor combined with the sweetener, saying the concoction evaporated on the tongue like iced sugar, warmed as it glided down the throat, and had an aftertaste like candied kisses.

  The amber liquid streamed into the glass like molten metal. Thick and luminescent. Heady.

  Without looking up, she felt his gaze drift from her hips to the pull of the alcohol. Like an evocative dance, it filled the glass with an intoxicating allure.

  One bottle of the whiskey would fetch enough money on the black market to almost buy her freedom from Jhodalann. Yet it was wasted on assholes like the guy at the bar. She set the bottle down and slipped the lid on, waiting for the beep that signaled the seal was complete.

  She set the whiskey into its place and grabbed an Origami cloth bar napkin and the crystalline glass and set them in front of the patron.

  “Here you go, sir. A Wharton’s Diamond Jubilee. Welcome to LS Quantum and the Antimatter Bar.” She took a step back. “I’m here to serve.”

  The man pulled the glass closer. “What time’s the entertainment?”

  “One more cycle.” She checked the multi-function band on her wrist that served as timepiece and tether. She’d opted to go with the external band rather than an implant as a reminder that she’d not be on LS Quantum forever. “The Trixie Triplets are up first. They’re worth the wait.”

  “Got to be better than this.” The man motioned around the bar then scanned the room. “My conference starts bright and early tomorrow, and tonight’s the welcome event. Hope this bar lives up to its reputation.”

  “Thanks for choosing us.” She smiled her biggest smile. Until performances started, the bar was no different than a dozen others on the ship. If he’d wait, he’d be pleased, she was sure of it. There were plenty of great cabarets and theaters on the ship, but the Antimatter was well known for its exoticism. “I promise, the Antimatter will excite and thrill you.”

  Jhodalann stood and clambered over to Stella. “My girl giving you any problems, sir? I can bring someone else in to take care of you. Whatever you need.” He spoke directly to the man at the bar, giving Stella a stealthy elbow to the side as he pushed closer.

  Stella took another step back, wishing she could disappear into the wall. Every molecule of her being thrummed with the need to shift, and if she wasn’t afraid of the consequences, she’d slide on out through the wall of the bar and never look back. Jhodalann would hunt her down and kill her.

  In her eyes, slavery had merely been replaced by a less barbaric-appearing arrangement.

  Buying her freedom was the only way out.

  “No, she’ll do.” The man sip
ped his drink. “My colleagues will appreciate the view, too. Not that often a bunch of nerdy scientists get the chance to study things other than their own…work.” He looked at his crotch.

  The men laughed at the innuendo, Jhodalann’s deep rumble nearly setting the racked glasses to rattling. Stella’s face burned. She’d never have indentured herself if she’d had other options. But for someone with her background, there weren’t options. Her race had dwindled to near extinction, and those who had survived were scattered to the edges of distant worlds, many indentured to their “saviors”, others no more than lab rats. Literally.

  She wasn’t sure which was a worse fate. If only they’d had the means to resist, but they had been a peaceable race, and in the end, it had cost them everything.

  The music thumped, changing the aural tone in the air. She glowered at the men then grabbed a box of wipes and pasted on a smile before they noticed.

  One day, she would be free.

  She grabbed a sani-wipe and ran it over the top of the bar where she’d prepped the drink, capturing a few sweetener crystals.

  Jhodalann’s attention was on the man seated near him, and Stella took a good look at a creature able to afford the luxury of ordering a Wharton’s Diamond Jubilee. Human, likely, though sometimes it was difficult to tell. Humanoid, for sure, like she was, but possibly from somewhere other than Earth. Someone used to being in charge and control.

  Like Jhodalann.

  She finished straightening the drink implements. No other customers had summoned her and she fought a yawn.

  Getting back to her small quarters and maybe sculpting after dinner was exactly what she needed. Thank goodness it was her night off.

  Served the guy right for his lecherous attitude. Plenty of other performers he could gawk over, and many of them would gladly sleep with him for a few credits.

  She turned to wipe the back counter and took a quick peek in the mirror to see how many patrons had come in. The bar had been booked for a private event, not many passengers had come in for a drink.

  Another conference full of people pretending to be what they weren’t, fake-talking about stuff they didn’t care about, and reveling in the erotic pleasures the Antimatter Bar offered.

  All phony.

  She shook her head and wiped the touchscreen that maintained tabs for the patrons. Integrated into the back counter and run on the ship’s financial servers, few customers got away without paying, as the tab went on their cabin bills. They couldn’t disembark until they paid, and every piece of glassware automatically registered who drank from it, what they drank, and how much. If someone bought for someone else, the tab would offer a pop-up so the bartender could put the cost on the correct room.

  Her own planet hadn’t had much technology. Her people shared, and the economy was driven by needs, not wants. Everything else was a bonus and a blessing.

  “Stella?” Jhodalann’s voice carried, its rumble settling in her belly like a heavy meal. Uncomfortable.

  “Yes, sir?” She turned.

  He motioned her over. “Come here. Eric wants to talk to you.”

  She sat the cleaning wipe down and yanked her short skirt straight. She’d gotten out of sleeping with the patrons so far, and she didn’t plan to start screwing them now. Telling Jhodalann that sex would tire her out and she’d be unable to do her tricks at the next performance had worked so far, but he was growing tired of not getting absolutely everything from her.

  She approached the man. He leaned on the bar, his face flushed from the whiskey and the mild psychedelics in the sweetener. He might think she was his long-lost girlfriend, or an Anx, or even a mystical Earthen mermaid. The sweetener, though mild, seemed to affect humans more than other races.

  Weak.

  She set her mouth in a rigid line.

  “I’m Eric.” He held out his hand. “We got off to a bad start. Let’s try again.”

  Such an odd gesture, the clasping of hands together and moving them up and down. It felt too personal to Stella, sending waves of unease up her spine every time. Jhodalann insisted she greet each patron as their culture dictated, and the human one was not the worst, by far. The Monassians liked to stick their tongues up their new friend’s nostrils, which was not enjoyable at all.

  After a pause, Stella shook Eric’s hand. “Stella.”

  “So he tells me.” Eric’s voice took on a timbre lower than it had a moment ago, and even the tips of his ears flushed bright red. He squeezed her hand and pulled her toward him. “He also told me you dance and that I shouldn’t miss it.”

  “I dance. Not tonight. But I’m here tomorrow.” She tugged her hand free.

  Jhodalann cleared his throat.

  “Sir?” The sinking feeling in her stomach grew. She knew what was coming. “Tonight’s my night off.”

  “Eric booked the entire bar for his convention colleagues. I thought I’d told you. I’m sure I told you.” Jhodalann clenched his fists. “We need our best performers here. You, Effie, the triplets. All of you.”

  He damn well had not told her. The dumbass probably had forgotten about it. Of course, he’d blame anyone but himself for the oversight.

  Eric twirled his empty glass in his fingers. “I want you, Stella. Show me what you can do.”

  His voice wound through her consciousness, and she pushed it away. She didn’t like Eric, no matter that he was trying to be nice. Her gut told her he was the worst kind of human. She looked at Jhodalann. No sign he’d give in. “The Trixie Triplets are wonderful.”

  “We’ll enjoy them, too. But I want my colleagues to be wowed by the best on the ship. And I hear that’s you. At least, that’s what Jhodalann says.” He scooted out the bar chair and stood. “I want to see what you’ve got. Make it good, and I’ll make it worth your while.” He winked.

  Hot tears threatened to fall, but Stella held back. Working meant tips, and tips meant money to get the hell off LS Quantum. So what if she missed her evening off? She’d given up her dignity plenty of times working at the Antimatter. She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  “Great!” He pushed the chair in. “Put that whiskey on my account. See you tonight.” He looked down at his pants. “Back soon. I need to change clothes.”

  Stella watched Eric retreat, sure that he was as much of an asshole whether drunk or sober.

  “What kind of convention is Eric leading?”

  “Some kind of science or astro thing.” Jhodalann leaned against the counter. “As long as they pay, I don’t care what they’re here for. They’ll be on LS Quantum for a week, so let’s make sure they spend their free time here or engaged in activities we provide. I smell money. Pull out your best assets tonight.”

  She ignored the innuendo. Her dreams of big tips evaporated. Science nerds at a conference were not the kind of bipeds to tip more than a fraction of their bill. And they’d get the math right.

  It was going to be a long night, but it wasn’t her first and wouldn’t be her last.

  She’d perform like they’d never seen, and they’d be so wowed they wouldn’t think twice about tipping her well.

  Maybe she’d earn enough to buy her way off LS Quantum.

  Two

  Dr. Andrew McMann stepped into the colorful electro-lift and waited for it to whisk him upward to his deck. He grasped the handle of his levitating suitcase and waited. The colored lights flashed and streaked across the clear plastic of the enclosure, forming an ad for some tooth-care product, complete with audio.

  Though he loved physics, sometimes its more practical applications freaked him out. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and his hair out of his face. LS Quantum was going to be quite an experience. Not sure if that’s good or bad.

  Whoosh!

  The clear lift cylinder zoomed up, leaving Andrew’s stomach—and almost his lunch—on the main deck. Lights shone and metal sparkled from every direction. The glitz of the ship was already stressing him out. He was used to the dark of space, not the shine and flash of man-mad
e expense.

  A week away from his university office on Earth was going to be bad enough, but this place looked like it’d been decorated for a party, not the Gathering of Quadrant One Astronomers. Many more people were aboard LS Quantum than his colleagues, and the thought gave him hives. His group was a mere speck of the total amount of humans and aliens aboard. The vast ship operated like a city in space, and he wouldn’t have set foot on it except that it was going to take him closer to a red giant.

  That, and he needed to present his paper for publication.

  Dr. Allen expected an engaging and rousing session from Andrew, and if he didn’t deliver, he might find himself studying stars out in a cornfield back on Earth with no job at the university. He had to play the role expected of him, and that included attending the conference. He sighed and gripped the handle of his suitcase. The lift beeped as it slowed, and lights flashed when he reached his deck.

  Not his favorite form of travel.

  He stepped out onto the concourse, his legs weak from the motion of the lift. Maybe he wouldn’t see him till the next day. Now, that would be a vacation. Academia wasn’t as fun as it used to be when he was a student, and anyone who thought there wasn’t a rat race or political machinations in the pure sciences was in for a shock. Academics could be more hard-ass than anyone at a tech job or working out in “the real world.”

  All he wanted to do was research. Let everyone else play the game.

  He followed the long corridor and passed door after door in a maze of recursive hallways that wound upon themselves in some order that was mathematically efficient but confusing without guidance. He glanced at the wristband he’d been issued when he boarded. Room 716, V Deck. A small map on the band showed him he was close.

  The flashing monitors along the hallway seemed to beckon him toward his room like a lighted maze, and within a couple of minutes, he’d found his cabin. He held his wrist to the lock, waiting for the beep to signal entry. The stream of notes played and the door slid open. The lights came up to the appropriate brightness as he entered.

  He had to admit, the tech on LS Quantum was impressive, and the wristband could handle about anything he needed while onboard. Like any other guest, he could’ve opted for a temporary chip inserted between his thumb and forefinger, but he hadn’t wanted to go through the insertion and removal.