by S. E. Smith
“I’m no bodyguard.”
Unsmiling, Jake raised his eyebrows. “Hey, we were all trained to do personal protection, once upon a time in the Special Forces. Besides the lady has her own bodyguards, although where the seven hells they were yesterday in the mob scene at the Observatory I don’t know. You just need to watch out for her in connection to the Zephyr, keep things smooth. And safe. No more unauthorized setups like her manager pulled yesterday.”
Red, the second in command in Security, punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Most guys would give their right arm to spend a week with Karissa. As a married man, I exclude myself but you’re a bachelor, enjoy the opportunity.”
Grant felt as if the bulkheads were closing in on him. “I’m not most guys. She was very pleasant but I don’t want to be that visible.”
“The lady asked for you, end of story,” Jake said. “Suck it up for a week and then you can go back to general shipboard patrol duties. The CLC Line has a lot riding on this rock-and-roll tour going well. We all have to do our part. Report to the theater after this meeting—she’ll be rehearsing most of the day as I understand the schedule.”
So Grant slipped into the closed theater complex on Level B and stopped for a moment to watch the band currently on stage, lesser lights who’d had a hit or two a long time ago. Even he vaguely remembered the song the musicians were running through now. It had been big when he went into the service. Shaking his head at the way a single event like a fluke hit song could shape a person’s entire life, he asked a stagehand where Karissa was and headed backstage.
Maeve could transform parts of certain decks into different configurations and for this tour she’d added capacity to the already large theater and expanded the dressing room areas. He heard raised voices, even over the music from the stage out front, as he went in the direction of the headliners’ area.
“I’m not going to insert your latest protégée into the ‘Inner Sector Girls’ routine, much less have her sing my lyrics,” Karissa said. “It’s not my job to help you launch another singer or get into her pants.”
“Darling, you wound me. Where would you be if I hadn’t pushed your career in the early days?” The manager gestured dramatically. “Why won’t you do me this tiny favor, costing you nothing?”
“My fans paid to see me, not some wannabe. My integrity’s at stake.” Karissa wasn’t giving an inch. “You’ve pulled this too often, Ted.”
Grant cleared his throat and the pair turned to him, both scowling, although Karissa broke into a pleased smile a moment later. He nodded at the people surrounding her and her obstreperous manager. “May I suggest taking this discussion somewhere more private?”
She glanced at the crowd of dancers, stage techs and others, who were trying to avoid catching her eye. “They’ve heard it all before, trust me. But the discussion, as you called it, is over.” She walked away from her manager, presumably heading for her dressing room. “We should probably talk about my schedule today, right, Officer Barton?”
Taking her cue, he followed, brushing past the obviously disgruntled manager.
Karissa barely waited for the portal to her private room to open before flinging herself inside and going to the feelgood dispenser. “Lords of Space, he makes me so angry. I can’t wait for this tour to be over.”
Grant shut the door and lingered there, at a loss for what to say.
She turned to him with two bottles of a high end juice mix. “Want one? Or something stronger?”
“It’s kind of early, isn’t it? And I’m on duty.”
“Oh, right.” She set one down and opened the other, taking a long drink. “You’ll find we rock stars don’t care what time of day it is. Our inner chronos are all messed up. For your information, Mr. Judgmental, I’ve been to rehab twice, so I completely avoid the hard stuff myself. Just trying to be polite, in case you wanted a feelgood.” She sauntered to the couch and flopped down, legs akimbo.
“I was in rehab once myself,” he said, stung by her assessment of his character. “I don’t judge.”
She paused in the act of raising the bottle to her lips and stared at him, eyes narrowed. “You?”
“Pain meds. I have a lingering injury that conventional treatments can’t resolve. So the docs dosed me up with the best stuff. Thought they were doing me a favor.” He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering that grim time on the hospital ship. “I was out of my head, either high or craving the next fix. The only thing that helped pull me out of the hell was my link with Valkyr. He and I fought the addiction together because that was no way to live and if I died he’d be alone. I don’t touch anything now, not even headclear. I prefer the pain.”
“One day at a time,” she said with a nod.
“Exactly.”
“Does Valkyr have another flying session today?”
He shook his head in answer to her question, glad they’d left the topic of addiction. “It’s a big deal for the captain to have the hangar deck cleared so we only do it once a week. That’s why yesterday’s time was so important not to miss. So what’s on the schedule for today?”
“You’re all business, all the time, aren’t you?” She surveyed him for a moment. “Actually, I like that about you. It’s refreshing. Sit down, why don’t you?”
He took a chair and dragged it closer to the couch. “Schedule?”
She sighed. “Rehearsal and sound check this morning. Meet and greet this afternoon. Concert tonight. After party with cruise high rollers and then I’m free.”
“Where can I find the head of your private security detail? I should co-ordinate with him or her.”
She pointed a finger at him. “You’re it, end of story.”
“Miss Dawnstar, I’m assigned to co-ordinate with the ship for you, not be your personal bodyguard.”
“Ted fired them all before the cruise started. Said they were doing a lousy job and he’d hire new guys when we reached Calillia Three. I guess he figured I’d be safe enough on the ship.” She gestured at the bulkheads around them. “Stalkers can’t get me here, right?”
He was appalled. “Do you have stalkers?”
“Maybe. I get some creepy fan mail but I never see it—it all goes through a service. Anything too whack in tone gets reported to the authorities. There’ve been a few incidents over the years, but that’s part of the job.” She shrugged. “You want your fans to relate to your music, sometimes they get a little confused and think you’re relating to them personally, you know?”
She was so nonchalant he was almost fooled but he detected an air of stress below the casual words. This woman was worried about something but refusing to admit it. “And you agreed to travel without protection?”
“My contract states Ted’s in charge of all security.” She rose and threw the bottle into the recycler, picking up the spare she’d gotten for him. “The fucking contract I can’t wait to end. Ten years he’s had me wrapped up in fine print and unfavorable clauses. Well not any more and he knows it. Calillia is the end of the line. I’m not re-signing, not with him anyway. I’m not a green kid to be taken advantage of anymore.”
Feeling he’d stepped into a whirlwind, he had more questions but there was a ping from the door com. “You’re needed on stage, Miss Dawnstar.”
Setting the half-finished juice down, she straightened her shoulders and flashed a brilliant, totally phony smile. “Show time. Excuse me while I do the magic.”
He opened the portal for her and she swept past him, plunging into the crowd waiting in the hall. Multiple voices called for her to render decisions on costumes, makeup, revisions to dance steps and more as she made her way to the stage. Everyone wanted a piece of her time. He shook his head, amazed at the babble. Who knew there was so much involved in simply singing for people?
As she conferred with her band and dancers on stage, he prowled the backstage and then the audience area, taking note of possible problems. He’d never been in this part of the ship before. He and Maeve conferred ov
er what surveillance she conducted in this area, which was less than he expected and he asked her to extend a few more ganglions into the hull. He’d just completed that discussion when a blast of music from the stage drew his attention and he allowed himself a few moments to watch Karissa in action.
Even though he could tell she wasn’t putting much energy into the rehearsal, her voice was amazing in its range and purity. She only sang snippets, stopping frequently while sound levels were adjusted or the dancers tried different steps. It was nearly impossible to watch anything else when she was in the spotlight and he took himself severely to task. He had to ignore her and focus on potential dangers. That was his job here. He made a mental note to ask Jake to assign extra officers to any public events, now he knew she had no private security at all. ‘One is none’ was an axiom in the Special Forces Teams and he knew he required backup for bigger events than this rehearsal.
Eventually the session ended and he escorted Karissa to her suite, where she ate a light lunch. He was invited to help himself to the ample buffet Chef Stephanie had sent up, and made a sandwich, which he ate in a corner of the main room while Karissa nibbled at her own food and dealt with an endless series of people wanting her time. Ted was there, with a young woman Grant assumed was the new protégée in question, but he left the singer alone and concentrated on a messy public display of affection with his companion.
Eventually Karissa retired to her private rooms with her dresser, and hair and makeup artists, returning an hour later in full regalia, hair piled on her head, turquoise and lavender today, her short skirt a kaleidoscope of colors, and her top bespangled. She wore fanciful tights and a pair of ruby red shoes with heels so high he wondered how she walked. But rather than exhibiting any unsteadiness, Karissa prowled through the room, secure in her public persona. Her face was beautiful, seeming bare of makeup, which Grant suspected was the height of artifice and cosmetic skills. She pointed at him and he noticed her nails were elaborately painted, with gilded tips. He had to tear his gaze away from her enhanced eyelashes, coated with glitter and feathery extensions reminding him of Valkyr’s crest.
“Ready to go, Officer Barton? Time for me to meet my public, who paid your employer for the privilege. I hope I won’t disappoint.”
She swept out of the room into the corridor, surrounded by her people, and guided by the Zephyr’s cruise director. Grant stayed close. “Is the room ready? We’re on our way,” he told his boss over the security link.
“All clear. I’ve posted extra crowd control, as you requested. Must be several hundred.”
Jake’s comment was an understatement, he saw as they approached. The line to get into the session was long and the cheers and outcry as Karissa approached was loud and enthusiastic. She was animated, waving and thanking people for coming to see her. He scanned the crowd as he walked by on the way into the venue, but didn’t see anyone whose demeanor set off alarm bells. There were two monks from an order based on Calillia, which surprised him. But they stood silently in the queue, serene in their subdued red and black robes.
I guess even monks can have their favorites. Maybe the pair were just traveling back to their home world and curious about the fuss. Calillia was known as the self-designated Musical Center of the Galaxy after all and the monks were in charge of several of the thousand year songs.
The room was set up much more efficiently than the makeshift tables in the Observatory had been, and he was pleased to see two of his fellow officers ready to assist in moving people safely in and out after their moment with Karissa was over, as well as a number of the cruise director’s staff. Trideos of Karissa’s top hits played to help keep the waiting crowd occupied.
Things went smoothly. Grant took his position behind the singer, scanning the room and the people in line but detecting no threats. Karissa was a natural at working the crowd, sweet with the many young girls, gently teasing with the adults, commenting to each person on something. He was amazed as the afternoon wore on. How could she sound so fresh and genuinely pleased as basically the same remarks were made to her over and over? She posed for personal trideos and signed all manner of items.
The monks arrived at the table in due time and were deferential, praising her legendary vocal range. “We’re happy you’re coming to our planet,” one said as the other nodded. “We’d love to show you our temple. I have an invitation for you from our high priest as there’s a special section of the ‘Thousand Year Song to the Heavens’ coming up during your stay. A rare opportunity.” He reached inside his robes and Grant tensed, but the man brought out a rolled parchment, tied with a golden thread, which he held out to Karissa.
“I’ll have to see how my schedule goes but the offer’s very kind.” She took the scroll but was already shifting her attention to the next person, having signed the monks’ Nebula Zephyr commemorative program with a flourish.
The duo lingered. “There are ancient artifacts we’re sure you’d find of interest. We have instruments going back hundreds of years. We’d be happy to allow you to play any of them. Your gift is unprecedented.”
“She already said she’d see what she can do to carve out time,” Grant said. “Miss Dawnstar has many commitments already.”
The monk glared at him, which surprised Grant. Weren’t monks supposed to be serene and accepting of fate? Maybe not on Calillia.
“As she is from our world originally, we’re sure she’ll want to pay proper tribute to the influences of her childhood.”
He sensed Karissa’s stress in the rigid set of her shoulders and the way she was remaining silent. “The scroll was a nice touch but why don’t you send a proposal in care of the ship?” he said. “We need to keep the line moving here.”
“Yes, please do send me the invitation,” Karissa chimed in.
One of Jake’s men came up in response to Grant’s subvocal request, interposing himself between the monks and the next person in line. “Sorry, gentlemen, each passenger only gets two minutes with Karissa. There’s still quite a crowd.” Efficiently the other officer encouraged them to step away from the table and toward the exit. Few people had the resolve to stand up to an ex-Special Forces operator encouraging them to move along in no uncertain terms.
Karissa reached for her water and he noticed her hand shaking. He leaned over her shoulder, creating a moment of semi privacy for her. “Do you want to take a break?”
Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I want to get out of this room and off this ship and fly far far away.”
The bitterness of her tone surprised him. Before he could reply, she popped her eyelids open dramatically and gave him the big phony smile as if practicing the crowd pleasing artifice. “But I can’t disappoint my fans.” She turned to the next person in line, a small child and held out her hand. “You waited a long time to see me, didn’t you? That was so nice of you! What’s your favorite song?”
As the overawed child stammered and the excited parent rushed to fill the conversational gap in great detail, Grant moved back, feeling a wave of pity for her. But this success was what she’d worked so hard to attain, right? So she had to take the good with the bad, but it all seemed like harder work than he’d realized.
A man ten feet away in the queue caught his attention. He was sweating despite Maeve’s careful control of the room temperature for maximum comfort, and he clutched a bouquet of flowers as if his life depended on it. “Possible trouble,” he said under his breath on the security comlink. He had his hand on his stunner as the man reached the table.
Handing Karissa the somewhat crumpled flowers, the fan grabbed her hand and dropped to his knees, pulling her off balance over the table. “Marry me,” he said, planting a slobbery kiss on her cheek. He was aiming for her lips but Karissa averted her face with a gasp. “We’re fated to be together. You know it and I know it. I’ve heard you singing your love to me—”
Grant broke the man’s grip on her hand and pulled her away from the table, shielding her with his body as the security tea
m closed in to take the stalker out with minimum fuss. Only the guy didn’t want to go, fighting the guards, yelling obscenities at them and appealing to Karissa to rescue him. It was over in the space of a few moments, the cruise director moving in to reassure those still in line.
Karissa seemed reluctant to leave his embrace and Grant found he was equally unwilling to let her go. He settled for drawing her aside, toward the rear of the room and making himself a barrier for the curious glances. “We’ll shut this down now,” he said as he forced himself to release her, his senses beguiled by her perfume. “You’ve had enough today.”
“No, I have to finish the signing,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you for getting him off me.”
“Of course.” Grant took one of her scarves from her belt and wiped her face carefully where the man’s lips had rested. “He won’t be allowed anywhere near you the rest of the cruise, I promise. The captain’ll confine him to his cabin and Maeve will monitor.”
Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Do I look all right?”
“Perfect,” he said.
She squared her shoulders. “Then we’d better get on with it. I imagine some of the kids in line were scared. Well, seven hells, I was scared too.”
He was dubious about the wisdom of her continuing to interact with her public today but Karissa was already walking to the table, so he shoved the scarf into his pocket and followed. She made cheerful conversation with the next few fans, giving them extra time and glossing over any remarks about the disturbing moments with the obsessed fan.
As the afternoon wore on with no further incidents, Grant checked his chrono. Leaning over, he said in her ear, “We’re already an hour past the posted ending time.”
“How many more?”
“I’ve had the guys cut off the line outside the room, no more people adding themselves. About ten. You’ve done enough—you still have to perform tonight.”
She sighed. “Ten I can do.”
He could tell she was forcing herself to be ‘on’, her smile more brilliant than ever and her voice extra cheery. It grated on his ears and he was ruthless about sweeping her from her chair and escorting her from the room as the last fan walked away dazed from a brush with the celebrity. Making an executive decision, he took her as far as he could in the relative peace and quiet of the crew-only passages.
