Their shiny surfaces reflected her in blue as they passed.
Other tables filled and emptied around them.
Dayn finally spoke Ruby’s thoughts. “Maybe they’re not willing to see her here.”
Fox grunted. “Of course they aren’t. That’s the game. See who runs out of patience first.”
“They can afford to wait us out,” Dayn whispered.
Fox laughed. “I’m running a spot on the public channels promising Ruby will come to us and sing like the magic between the stars.”
Dayn gave Ruby an assessing look, and Ruby stared back at him. She didn’t understand what Fox had said other than that she would sing, but she could do that. She could sing. Whatever Fox was planning for her, she’d live up to it.
Dayn turned his attention back to Fox. “Sure you haven’t gone too far this time?”
“They’re all so busy fighting no one’s going to know what to do with me. The Fire’s in loose hands right now.” Fox got up and refilled his stim, leaving the conversation unfinished. When he sat back down he held the full cup without drinking from it, as if it gave him an excuse to hold the entire table of people there. Eventually, he leaned down to Ruby and spoke softly. “Ellis is not so strong as he likes to pretend, and he knows it. He’s not well liked. He’s only around because the ship’s current leaders don’t have spine enough to remove him.”
There was a lot to ask Fox about in that sentence, and Ruby liked the taste of knowledge. She repeated the sentence in her head, setting it so that she’d remember it, choosing to wait until she was alone with him. In this brightly lit place with the crowded table, she didn’t feel the same intimate pull that had threatened to overtake her in the corridors, but she was still aware of every move he made, every person he watched, of the cadence of his breath.
They waited a long time.
The door opened. The red woman from the class and two red-uniformed men she’d never seen before came through the door together and headed right for their table. Ellis trailed behind.
Ruby took a breath.
Fox whispered, “Let me talk.”
She bit her lip and nodded, her hands shaking.
Fox smiled at the woman. “Hello, Sylva.”
Sylva didn’t even acknowledge him. Focused on Ruby, she snapped out, “You do not have permission to be here.”
Ruby bit harder on her lip, drowning her need to answer for herself in pain.
Sylva’s jaw was set as tight as the commitment in her eyes, as if sheer determination could make the world obey her.
In contrast, Fox sat relaxed, his voice and body language all implying there was no real problem at all. “I am allowed to bring talent from anywhere in the ship. I’ve chosen Ruby for her voice.”
The taller of the two men blinked. “She has no . . .” he paused. “No training or experience.”
“She has talent.”
Ruby swallowed and kept biting her tongue. People seated at nearby tables watched them curiously. The confrontation touched the attention of everyone in the room except the bots, who ignored it entirely.
Fox addressed Sylva. “You can’t stop me.” He gestured around the table. “There is no rule. We looked. I verified with Ix. I saw you change the Laws of Passage. That governs her ability to ask to come here of her own accord. But no law controls my ability to ask Ruby to come. I have asked, and she has accepted.”
“This is a bad idea,” Ellis scraped out through clenched teeth. He didn’t look as powerful here as he had down on the gray levels, although Ruby couldn’t really put a finger on why. “You know the histories,” Ellis said. “You know what a critical juncture the Fire is at now.”
Dayn stood up and Ellis looked even smaller. “Look,” Dayn said, “you can’t change the rules now, not since she’s here. Not without executive authority, and they’re all worrying about who’s on top when we get home. Are you going to tell them what a threat she is?” He pointed at Ruby. “She’s not very big.” He cocked his head. “Or very old.”
Sylva gave Ruby a hard look, one that suggested she had made an enemy for life simply because she existed. “Why is she in dress blues?”
Fox looked up at Sylva and smiled. “Because she’s working for me.” He paused. “Go ahead and take her back if you want. But she’ll have new things to say to the others down there, and you’ve already got a nest of discontent in your hands. Don’t make her into a legend like Lila the Red.”
Sylva’s cheeks reddened. She stood, stock silent and glaring. Ruby wondered if there was nothing she could say. Sylva’s expression screamed that she wanted to rip Ruby out of her chair, but for some reason she wasn’t doing it.
Fox spoke. “Trust me. I’m helping you out.” He looked at Ellis, his face relaxing, his voice as casual as his slouch in the chair. “This is a better way to make her disappear than the one you were contemplating.”
Ellis pursed his lips.
Sylva narrowed her eyes and spoke to Ruby. “You should not be here. I will see to it that Fox pays for this, and if you misstep at all, you will pay for it, too.” With that, she spun around, and the four of them left.
In Ruby’s old world, if the reds wanted something they would simply take it. She let out a breath and then another, almost panting with relief.
Dayn sat back down.
Ruby was safe for now, and that was all she had ever been. “Thank you,” she said, nodding at the door the foursome had gone back out of. “Tell me about her, and about the reds.”
“Peacers,” Fox said reflexively. A correction. Not an entirely respectful one either. “Sylva thinks it’s her job to find everything hidden and wrong on this ship. She spends all day with her goons watching recordings and looking for mutineers.”
“Mutineers?”
He lowered his voice, added drama bordering on comedy. “They tell us tales of the evil grays and how you tried to take over The Creative Fire the year we lost A-pod. They tell us how you’re dirty and need to be kept segregated and worked hard so you’ll be too busy to pick a fight. Oh, and entertained. That’s been part of my job.” He spread his hands wide, his eyes light with humor and relief. “The ship would fall apart without you, and we would starve or choke on our own poisons, but it will truly be the end of the world if you and I talk.” He grinned at her. “That’s why you scare them so.”
He was making light of the whole thing, even though she was the one who might die for being here. “But why did you come to get me?”
“To prove them wrong.”
And not because he remembered her and liked her and found her brave. Slightly stung, she said, “Surely for more than that.”
“Of course.” He squeezed her hand. “Later.” He looked around the table. “Thank you.”
The entire table full of people, except for Fox and Dayn, got up, swooped up their plates, set them in the sinks with a soft clatter, and left.
Fox held his hand out to Ruby. “May I show you around?”
23: Voices
Ruby stood between Fox and Dayn just inside a door on the narrow end of a long, narrow room. Along one wall, a row of swivel chairs had been fastened to the floor under a shelf. Attached to the wall were various levers and screens and headphones, punctuated here and there with tiny blinking gold or pale white lights that danced to sounds Ruby couldn’t hear.
It looked quite fantastic and entirely new.
Data blinked across the other wall, lists and pictures and numbers making dark, moving columns on the light surface. “My studio,” Fox said.
She didn’t understand. “That’s a workbench?”
“For recording. It’s what I do. I manage the production of songs from here. It is . . . what I have to offer.”
“Like I repair robots? You make sound?”
“Yes.”
“For the whole ship?”
He laughed. “Of course. But I’m not the only one.”
“All this exists just for songs? Just to entertain?”
“Of cou
rse not. This is one of two sound studios where we create and edit lessons, the formal histories of the ship, news, messages from command, and the stories you play for the children in the crèche. But I work with the singers.”
“Heaven Andrews? Do you work with Heaven Andrews?”
Fox looked like he was about to choke on her question. “Heaven Andrews has been dead for two generations.”
Oh. “Do you sing?”
He laughed. “Badly, and not in public. I produce.” He glanced at her, the look heavy with conspiracy she didn’t understand. “I needed a new voice, and I chose you. Our story will remain that simple.”
“So you do think I sing well?”
“I can make you sound perfect.”
Not quite the answer she wanted. She turned to Dayn. “What do you do?”
“Usually?” He grinned at Fox and gave a little bow. “Usually I help organize the output of the great producer here and prepare it for the ears of his waiting fans all over the ship.” He shrugged, an exaggerated gesture. “Today, I am playing bodyguard so he is not caught unawares and does not lose the gray girl he has brought up to our land to sing to us of the travails of her people.”
She savored the humor in his voice and the vague teasing look in his eyes. Both Fox and Dayn were very male, older than Onor or Hugh or her usual friends. Being close to them disturbed her belly and made her feel a tad bit giggly. Her reaction to Fox was the strongest, but her body wanted to speak to both of them or either of them, even tired and confused.
Or maybe she just wanted to be held and reassured. She couldn’t tell, still barely sure this wasn’t a dream.
She stepped out from between them to explore the room, running her hand along the cool surface and trying to puzzle out the meanings of the various controls. Surely this was a machine, and not entirely different from a robot. She could learn to do what Fox did. “Show me. How do you use this to record a voice?”
He came close enough to her to slide his arms around her from behind. She leaned back against him and Dayn cleared his throat.
She straightened, taking a step away from Fox.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice warm against her neck. He brushed her hair back with his fingers and settled a thin wire across the top of her head. Then he cupped her ears with something warm.
She wanted a mirror, but there wasn’t one.
He brought a thin thread down her jaw on both sides. His fingertips brushed her cheeks as he made tiny adjustments in the bend.
When he stepped away, she felt the absence of his warmth at her back.
He stopped a few chairs down from her, settling himself in and staring at the lights and keys above him on the wall. “Will you sing ‘The Owl’s Song’ for me?”
“That’s all I’ve ever sung for you. That and the song I made it from. I know more than that.”
“Later. Sing me that one now.”
She nodded, the wires along her jaw a nuisance. She twisted her face up, trying to loosen them.
“Relax. Be natural.”
She blinked, the audacity of being here washing over her, making her almost swoon. What if she did this badly? What if the wires or the ear cup fell off? What if her voice wouldn’t work in this cold, metal place?
“Breathe,” he said. “Everyone worries. But you don’t need to. Breathe.”
The cups around her ears came alive, startling her, thrumming with the first few notes of “The Owl’s Song,” familiar and yet different, the instruments laying one atop the other, blending, clear and concise and exact.
She almost missed the in beat for her voice.
With the music in her ears, her voice sounded muffled and too soft, so she added to it, pulling strength up through her belly and closing her eyes, pretending she stood in the park.
After she completed the first verse she trembled with effort.
Fox touched the small of her back. “That’s enough. This isn’t a session. I just wanted to show you.”
She reached up to peel the cups from her ears, but he whispered, “Leave them. Sit down. Listen.”
He went back to his seat.
She sat, unsure what he wanted next.
He bent down, his hands moving gracefully over the surface in front of him. Then he nodded at her.
The music started.
She watched him. She took a breath as the in note approached but he put a hand up. She closed her mouth and listened to her own voice pouring through the cups in her ears.
She sounded . . . perfect.
“How did you do that?”
“Practice,” he said. “Here, listen to the recording from when you first sang it.” He made a series of gestures, then nodded, and she heard herself back at Owl Paulie’s actual funeral.
The recording was clearer than she remembered ever hearing it. “That sounds great!”
He looked a bit proud. “I fixed it up a little. I’ve been playing it for them since the day you sang it.”
Goose bumps rose along her arms.
Fox continued. “But that’s not nearly as good as what you just did.”
She blushed and listened.
He was right. The words she had just sung, tired and stripped down and raw, sounded great. He’d pulled her soul out of her voice, and sharpened it as well.
“That’s amazing. Can you teach me how to do that?”
“Then I wouldn’t have a job, would I?”
She frowned, not sure whether to take him seriously.
He came over, took the cups, and clipped them back onto the wall, holding out his hand to her. “Let’s go get you clean, and maybe a rest would be good.”
It would. She felt bone tired and a bit queasy. Her feet seemed heavy as she followed Fox and Dayn followed her, winding in a new direction that led to more crowded halls and rooms full of people working at desks, with interface sets on their hands and eyes. Everything looked and smelled different; she felt dizzy with the newness of it all.
Fox’s hab turned out to be about the size of Kyle’s back home. She had expected it to be bigger, more lavish, but the hab itself looked like it had been cut from the same plans as the ones on the gray levels. The walls were largely bare, the furniture simple. Fox dug out a towel and pointed toward the shower. “Go get cleaned up. There should be shampoo and soap.”
As soon as he said it, she knew how much she wanted to be clean.
The privy room was as spare as the rest of the place, and the shower water turned off after the same amount of time as on gray. But she found a brush and toothbrush. A complete set of new clothes, blue and soft and clean, had been set out for her. She dressed and once again stared at herself in the mirror. The blue went well with her red hair. But no uniform could cover her puffy face and sleepy eyes.
She hesitated before she came out. Now what? Fox was a man and she was an adult woman now. She knew what that meant, but she felt shaky and unready.
She straightened her back and told her blood to cool. She stopped in the doorway to the living room, cocking her head to one side and preparing a smile for Fox.
Dayn sprawled across one side of the couch.
Fox was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did he go?” she blurted, before thinking, angry at how small and thin her voice sounded. “Fox?”
Dayn grinned at her. “He told me to watch you, said I should invite you to get settled. He’s had three days worth of clothes brought in, and set you up with a sound system he downloaded his work into. He thought maybe you should sleep. He’ll be back later.”
Dayn looked like he was having entirely too much fun telling her what Fox had done and why he wasn’t here. She bit her lip to stop herself from telling him what she thought of his tone of voice.
But damn, she wanted Fox.
She kept her voice controlled. “Did he say when he’d be back?”
“I expect he’ll be back before morning.”
She walked into the room and looked around more closely. A couch. A table. An ent
ertainment rig. A rug. “He lives simply, doesn’t he?”
Dayn laughed. “Want to play a game?”
Surely the entertainment rig here was up to it, but she didn’t want to play with Dayn. “I’ll just wait for him.”
“Suit yourself.”
She pursed her lips. “Where do you live?”
“Next door to you. That way I can keep an eye on you.”
“But . . .” She let the word trail off, dripping from her tongue. What had she thought? That Fox had come down to rescue her because she was a little bit in love with him? That he would never leave her side?
Dayn raised an eyebrow. “You’re a pretty bit to babysit, Ruby. Don’t get me wrong, and I don’t really mind the duty. You’re spunky. But don’t take it for granted. You’ll have to earn your place just like the rest of us, and you won’t always be Fox’s new girl on the block.”
Even with no meanness in the tone, his words felt like a slap.
“I think maybe I should sleep.”
“I can show you where the bedroom is.”
She glared at him. “I can find it. Go ahead and guard me, but do it from out here.”
He raised his hands, pretending innocence she didn’t think he felt.
She stalked into the bedroom.
An empty shelf and set of drawers and a big bed, big enough for three people, just like her mom slept on. The room was pale blue, the coverlet pale blue, the sheets brown. A door led to a small, private privy.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been so mad at Dayn. It wasn’t his fault Fox had other things to do. It wasn’t hers either for that matter. Maybe it was just the way the world was here. He must be important.
She lay down on the bed and smelled the sheets, hoping for a stray scent of Fox in the pillows. But it all smelled clean and fresh and of nobody.
The Creative Fire: 1 (Ruby's Song) Page 15
