Cosmic Cabaret

by SFR Shooting Stars

  “Apparently.”

  Six

  KEALAN

  A few days later…

  “Wait, she ends up with the Sorcerer of the Sea? I thought they killed the sea witch, and she ended up with the prince?” I ask Nalani a few days later.

  “Oh, so you finally read through the show script?”

  I roll my eyes, handing her a bottle of electro-water. “Yeah, well there isn’t a whole lot else I can do on this ship, I’m kinda blocked from accessing anything fun.”

  “Oh, did I forget to remove the restrictions on your access?” Nalani asks with mock apology, her hand pressed flat against to her chest.

  “Apparently.”

  “Well hand over your wrist, Moon Boy, and ask real nice,” she says in a teasingly playful voice.

  “Miss Kirikiri, I would be extremely grateful if you’d allow me access to a larger amount of this ship.”

  “How grateful?” she asks as she takes my arm, and brings it closer.

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well I—” she stops abruptly when she sees the unmistakable edge of my Fallen Star tattoo.

  “Is this going to be a problem?” I grind out, expecting the usual prejudice.

  “No it’s…it’s fine,” she answers in a strange voice.

  “Because if it is, I can—”

  “There’s no problem,” she says a little too forcefully. She takes a breath and then continues on, her voice still coming out strange. “The cabaret has a strict non-discrimination policy.”

  “Well isn’t that refreshing.”

  “Yeah, it’s one of the reasons I—never mind.” She seems to shake her head clear before releasing her hold on my arm. “To answer your previous question, that’s just in that ancient animated version.”

  My brow furrows in confusion. “Animated version of what?”

  “The Little Mermaid. In the original story, the prince marries someone else, and the mermaid dies,” she answers before taking a sip of her electro-water.

  “Well that’s depressing.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t a fairytale, it was a morality story by Hans Christian Anderson. However, my production is based on the novel To Touch the Stars, which has a better ending, and there’s sex in it.”

  “Because of course it does,” I comment with a wry smile.

  Nalani gives me a look as she gestures to the cabaret. “You do realize where we are right?”

  “Point taken,” I agree as my eyes scan the softly lit tables and plush private booths before returning to her. “But there’s not uh…actual sex in the show is there?”

  Nalani puts a hand on her wide hip, arching an eyebrow at me. “If there was, would that be a problem?”

  I let a slow grin spread across my face. “Nope. In fact, I’d like to volunteer for any audience participation portions. Especially if they’re with Ryder.”

  Nalani’s mouth drops open. “You know you can’t—”

  “Of course I know, that’s why it was a joke.”

  “A joke?” she repeats flatly.

  My lips slide into a crooked grin. “Yep.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “No there’s not actually sex in the show. It’s a dance performance, not a porno.”

  NALANI

  I place my hands on the bar top, hoisting myself easily up onto it. From up here I have a stellar view of the whole space. Of Tarou and our other eleven ensemble dancers running through the counts of the opening dance sequence.

  I recline on the bar counter, sipping my electro-water. We’re a Terra-hour into our on-stage rehearsal in the cabaret, so aside from us, the place is deserted. Even the little army of sanitation bots have finished their work and scuttled back to their cubbies. But even still, there’s a charge to the air like any Terra-sec something magical could happen. It’s my favorite part about theaters, that potential for the extraordinary.

  I shift my eyes from the twelve ensemble dancers to Sasha, one of our five aerial hoop dancers. Unlike the other four, Sasha’s not running through her opening sequence, but instead apparently teaching Mishra about aerial hoop safety. Mishra tugs downward on the hoop, asking her something.

  When he arrived, I thought he’d just do the bare minimum of work to not get jetted, but now he seems genuinely interested in every aspect of what goes into a production like this. Gods, he might even turn into a halfway decent assistant.

  Ryder leans against the bar beside me. He waves before turning his head toward Mishra and Sasha. Ryder diverts his attention back to me, arching a brow. You like him, he signs.

  What’s not to like? He's nice enough and does his job, I sign back before taking a long sip of my electro-water.

  As more than an employee or a friend.

  I nearly choke on the water. You're crazy.

  A small smirk tugs at Ryder’s lips as he signs, If you didn’t, you wouldn’t tease him like you were.

  I narrow my eyes at him. You can’t hear us, so how do you know I’m teasing him?

  Ryder gives me a dubious look. Your body language, Sky Leader.

  I turn away from him, taking big gulps of my water. He only ever uses the nickname when he’s calling me on my malarkey. It started out as a joke when we were kids since Nalani means “heavenly sky chief” in Hawaiian, and VSL doesn’t really have a word for either “chief” or “heavenly.” But now he mainly uses it to remind me that we are ohana—family. I hate when he uses ohana against me.

  Ryder taps me on the shoulder, and I turn back toward him. He likes you too, he signs.

  I frown at him before signing, How can you tell?

  The way he looks at you. I start to protest, but he barrels ahead, his hands moving rapidly. And I was still in the showers after you left that first day. He wanted you desperately.

  He wouldn’t be the first, I sign dismissively. Without meaning to, my eyes drift back to Mishra and Sasha. He’s making a fool of himself trying out the aerial hoop. The shock on his face when he attempts a basic move and the hoop swings forward, is almost comical.

  I catch Ryder’s appraising look. Don’t even start, I said I’m not interested.

  Are you sure it’s, ‘not interested’ and not, ‘afraid’?

  I scowl at him, starting to sign back before I stop myself.

  What? he questions.

  Nothing, I sign back with irritation before taking another large sip of my water. I try to avoid looking toward the stage, but I can’t seem to help myself. Though I immediately regret it.

  Sasha’s flirting with him, her hand gripping Mishra’s right bicep while he sits on the hoop in front of her. She grasps the hoop on either side of his head before using his thighs as a springboard. She rises up into a handstand above him, making it look as easy as breathing. But I know firsthand the incredible body strength a move like that requires. She’s showing off for him, and his slack jaw says he’s more than impressed. Sasha’s probably just his type too. Tall, blond…and human.

  “So help me if he docks up with her,” I mutter under my breath, scowling.

  Ryder taps me on the shoulder again, and I divert my attention back toward him. What’s wrong? he signs more insistently.

  Nothing, I sign back.

  Don’t lie, I can tell when something’s bothering you. And he probably can. Ryder’s been my best friend nearly my whole life, both of us growing up with mothers who performed at Club 2020. And as such, I’ve never kept anything from him. He was the first person I turned to when my mother disappeared.

  Sky Leader— he starts to sign before I hold up a finger, cutting him off before he asks again.

  I launch my IdentiBand, typing the message on my skin before sending it to him.

  He’s a Toresha Astari

  Ryder gives me a questioning look as his IdentiBand buzzes softly against his skin. His eyebrows jumping up as the reads the message.

  Seriously?! he signs, and I nod. When did you uncover this?

  Today during rehea
rsal.

  Ryder analyzes me for a long moment before signing, This is big.

  Tell me about it, I sign with a snort.

  Have you decided what you’re going to do?

  I let out a heavy sigh. No.

  Seven

  NALANI

  Two weeks later…

  “Moon Boy!” Mishra whips his head up at the sound of my voice, and I motion toward him to come join me. He walks toward me quickly, his lapis-blue SylkSteel duster coat trailing slightly behind him.

  Mishra looks at me with mock irritation as he stops a short distance in front of me. “I do have a name you know.”

  I grin at him impishly. “I know, but this one suits you better.”

  He roll his eyes at me, smiling. “What did you need, Kaptaya?”

  I give him a small crooked smile. “I need your body.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Mishra says, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Where would you like it?” he asks suggestively, moving a bit closer.

  I rake my eyes up and down his body. He’s supremely good-looking, his newly purchased Henley Tee hugging his body temptingly. “In the pod.”

  “What?” he chokes out, all playfulness disappearing from his voice.

  “I need you to go sit in that pod. Ollie’s late for rehearsal again, and I need a body in it so we can run through its ascent into the fly galley.”

  Mishra looks up at the tiny spacecraft set piece, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead.

  “What is it with you and spacecraft?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “Who says I have an issue with spacecraft?” he counters defensively.

  “You spent over a halfer at Club 2020 trying to dock up with me, but the minute I said starship you froze up colder than the vac of space.”

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Maybe I decided I wasn’t interested.”

  “Really?” I ask dubiously, folding my arms under my chest. “You do realize there’s no real difference between those moon cities and this ship, right?”

  “Oh there’s a difference—a big one—and it’s the difference between a minor inconvenience, and becoming space trash.” I open my mouth to respond, but he beats me to it. “And who said I was from Awai Sashai?”

  “Just every word that’s come out of your mouth. That heavy of an Oceania accent can only still be found in one place—Sashai Var.”

  “And what are you, an expert on accents?”

  “You are aware we’re currently passengers on an intergalactic luxury starliner, right? Do you know how many countries—let alone planets—we have guests from on here?” Mishra pales at the mention of intergalactic luxury starliner, and realization starts to dawn on me. “Wait, you’re seriously afraid of spacecraft?” He doesn’t answer. “Just what the fekk happened to you?”

  “Look, I realize I’m essentially at your mercy here. But can we please not, ‘kay?” he states as he shoves the tablet at me, and stalks off.

  I look down at it, and then toward his disappearing back. “Where are you going?!”

  “To find Oliver and drag his ass into this rehearsal,” he shouts over his shoulder.

  Tarou comes up beside me as I continue to gape at Mishra. “What was that about?”

  “Ollie’s missed his rehearsal time again.” I turn my attention to hir as Mishra exists the cabaret. “Tarou, what would cause someone to be afraid of spacecraft, but not living under an atmo dome?”

  Ze thinks about it for a moment before answering, “Well other than an extinction level comet nothing hitting the domes would be strong enough to compromise the cities. But starliners, not as much, and small spacecraft a bazillion times less so.”

  I look back toward the doorway of the cabaret, brow furrowing.

  “You said he was Sashaivarian right?”

  I bring my eyes back to hir. “Yeah.”

  “Well, back about eleven Terra-years ago there was that Monotheist attack on Port Chaand.”

  My heart skips a few beats as I remember the devastating attack on Awai Sashai’s second largest starport. Their misguided gambit to have the moon returned to monotheistic human control—as if it had ever really belonged to them. The image of the pale, shaven-headed human male holding up the archaic paper sign with the words: Return to the flames demon spawn! scrawled across its surface in what looked like blood Terra-secs before the bombs went off.

  “I remember,” I reply slowly. Unable to erase the images of all those dead bodies floating in space from my mind.

  Tarou looks off toward the cabaret entrance. “My guess is that Kealan was one of the survivors.”

  KEALAN

  Several Terra-hours later, I finally track Ollie down in one of the atrium lounges.

  “Hey, Oliver Van-whatever! You better have one fekk of a good explanation for missing rehear—” I cut off abruptly as an intoxicated Junonian female stumbles into me.

  “You haf pretty eyes,” she slurs, swaying on her feet. Her red lion-like tail swishing lazily from side to side. “And horns.” She loses her balance, and falls into me.

  “Who’s the girl?” I ask, as she attempts to paw at my horns and misses by a kilometer.

  The cat-like Junonians are the most agile and flexible of all the Galactic Coalition of Planet’s resident humanoid species. They also have the highest alcohol tolerance, so she’d have had to drink a shocking amount of booze to get this blitzed.

  “This is Vaska Melek Suenniva,” Ollie answers as he pulls her gently away from me.

  Suenniva, it’s a family name I recognize. Their shipping empire is famous throughout the GCP, and from the Unibitz those clothes of hers probably cost, my bet is she’s the daughter of someone important.

  Ollie’s eyes volley between Vaska and me as he holds her securely to his side. “She’s my…”

  “We fekk a lot,” she whispers conspiratorially, and by that I mean shouts it loudly. “‘Course Daddy would kill Tristan if he—”

  “Is there a problem here?” a cold female voice asks suddenly from behind me. I turn to find the unpleasant scowl of Ensign Raybuck.

  “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” Ollie answers anxiously, his eyes now volley between her and Vaska.

  Ensign Raybuck eyes me suspiciously before scooping the intoxicated Vaska into her arms as if she weighs nothing. “Let’s get you back to your suite, Miss Suenniva. Your father will be displeased if he finds you have been cavorting with delinquents.”

  “But Ollie promised we could play hide the snake again,” Vaska whines, her red cat-like ears drooping.

  When Ensign Raybuck is a distance away I arch a brow at Ollie. “Hide the snake?”

  His face flushes scarlet. “She’s leaving for Junon tomorrow, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again, and she said she loved me, and one thing just lead to another and—”

  “Ollie, stop. Take a breath. And just answer me one simple yes or no question: do you love her?” Gods help him if he does, because the Junonians aren’t exactly keen on the whole inter-species relationship thing.

  He sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly. “Yes.”

  “Are you under contract to be part of this production?”

  His brow furrows slightly. “No, we’re paid week to week.”

  Yeah, that’s what I thought.

  “Last question: do you love performing in this show more than you love her?” He opens his mouth, and I hold up a hand. “Don’t answer right now. Think it over and whatever you decide, commit to it completely. Because—and trust me on this—living life halfway is a shit way to live your life. It’s all in or nothing.”

  Ollie stares at me for a long moment, his eyes wide. “Wow, that’s…wow. Do you have a degree in philosophy or something?”

  I snort out a laugh. “Far from it.” He looks at me in confusion. “Never mind. Look, take the rest of the day off, and think about what I said.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow I expect you
to either be on time to rehearsal or to be out there living your life with her.”

  Eight

  NALANI

  “So did you ever actually find Ollie, or was that an excuse to play hooky for the rest of rehearsal?” I ask Mishra as I slip down beside him on the fly gallery overlooking the cabaret stage below.

  “Oh I found him,” he answers with a snort.

  “And?”

  Mishra stretches his arms out in front of him, popping his wrists. “I suspect if Vaska gets her way, he’s probably playing hide the snake right about now.”

  “Who is Vaska?” I ask in confusion.

  “Oh a Junonian shipping princess he’s apparently involved with.”

  “Involved?” I ask, arching a brow.

  He gives me an amused smile. “Intimately.”

  As Mishra returns to watching the performers below running through their on-stage rehearsal, I waffle back and forth on why I’m actually here.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I eventually ask.

  “You can ask me anything you want, Tiny Dancer. Whether I’ll answer or not is a whole other story.”

  I bristle. “Tiny?! I’m not tiny.”

  Mishra fails to suppress a laugh. “It’s not an insult, it’s from a song. Well, a few actually.”

  The performers below look up in irritation, and we both flop back onto the fly galley to hide in the darkness behind the lights.

  “You just have to cause trouble don’t you?”

  Mishra grins—clearly unabashed—as he folds his arms under his head looking up at the ceiling. “It’s one of my many talents.”

  I roll my eyes at him, and gaze up into the rafters of the cabaret. He hums a song to himself, seemingly without a care in the galaxy. But I can’t do the same, because Tarou’s words keep replaying in my head.

  “How did it happen?” I ask softly after a long moment.