by Faye, Audrey
He swirled a finger in the air, a silent command for me to spin around.
I did, winking at the other new arrivals as I turned.
Tristan ignored all of us. “I have just the thing for you. I shall return.”
Serena watched him go, eyes fascinated. “Well, that was interesting. He’s usually got slightly better manners than that.” She turned to me, shaking her head. “That was Tristan, our resident grump, but he has exquisite taste so we let him play with us. This is Amber, who makes the best jewelry in the sector, and Macie here has a great eye for pulling everything together.”
The older woman she’d called Macie smiled quietly. “What she isn’t telling you is that I’m an accountant who works at the shop next door one day a week so the numbers don’t kill my soul.”
Amber slung her arm through Macie’s. “We only get one day a week to corrupt you, so we have to make it good.” Her eyes were scanning me, although with a lot more humanity than Tristan’s had done. “You like dangly things or more elegant stuff?”
I smiled—she emitted enough energy to power a fuel-cell reactor. “Depends on my mood. Sometimes I do gypsy, sometimes I do princess.”
She paused, face crinkling. “Usually I like that answer.”
She didn’t like it this time.
She reached for the purple headscarf that was the first thing Serena had pulled out and then studied me again. “Who are you when you’re not playing dress-up?”
“She’s this,” said an imperious voice just re-entering the shop.
I stared at the clothing hanging over his arm. All I could see was purple fabric with orange pinstripes running down it—almost like really skinny lightning. Tristan walked over, no more emotion on his face than I’d seen the first time, and waved me into Serena’s tiny changing room, hanging his single choice for me on a small hook.
It was dark enough in there that clearly all I was supposed to do was change and head back out. I peeled off my favorite sundress and slid into the sinuous purple fabric, perplexed. It didn’t feel like me at all, and yet it did. Snug lines, almost like dance wear. None of the ethereal, gauzy style I generally used to cover my skinny bones. I added the simple purple leggings that matched the tunic.
I stepped out of the changing nook, back to feeling discombobulated.
Amber’s eyebrows nearly flew up into her hair. “Oh, yeah. Tristan, you nailed that.”
“Of course I did.”
Serena just snorted and held up three headscarves, looking at Macie.
The older woman smiled. “The orange one, and those fabulous orange boots Nish has for sale in her front window.”
Amber was already moving. “I’ll get them. And earrings. And a pendant. Don’t move.”
I hadn’t so much as quivered a finger. For once, I was standing perfectly still and letting the mad energy swirl around me without trying to read it or influence it at all.
I did, however, badly want to look in a mirror.
That wasn’t going to happen yet. Macie had her hands in my hair, doing something competent with my curls and the headscarf. Serena watched and made sounds that seemed to communicate to the older woman.
Tristan watched and made no sounds at all.
Amber was back in a flash, carrying a woven basket full of jewelry and orange boots that I knew were going to blow my credit balance as soon as I saw them. I reached for the boots, called by their brushed surface and screaming, bold color. They were skinny and sexy and would hug my legs all the way up to my knees, and the tribal patterns imprinted in the synth-leather would make me look like I was moving even when I was standing still. “I so can’t afford these.”
“Nish says she’ll do you a really good deal on them because nobody’s actually brave enough to buy them.”
My feet have always been the bravest part of me. I balanced on one foot and waved the other one in the air, holding my head still for whatever Serena and Macie were up to.
Amber grinned and slid the boots on for me. “I can’t believe you can balance like that.”
For these boots I could have done pirouettes on the head of a pin in a zero-grav chamber. They fit like a glove and made my feet want to laugh.
Tristan reached into Amber’s woven basket of jewelry treasures. She slapped his hands away. “You already did your genius thing with the suit. This is my part.” She dug around and emerged holding two earrings, one long and dangly and somehow reminiscent of feathers, and the other a round purple jewel in a simple silver setting.
She set the feather back down. “You’re a Dancer, so those would be ticklish.” She pulled out a simple silver chain with a stunning flower worked in the same purple tones as the earrings, and held it up so I could see it more closely. “I blew the glass for these myself.”
Not jewels after all. Gorgeous, deep purple glass petals filled with bubbles and light and miniature surprises. Utterly gorgeous, and not much easier to resist than the orange boots.
Amber grinned at me and slid the chain around my neck. “I’m never wrong on this stuff. I knew this pendant was going to be a galactic traveler as soon as I made her.”
I let my fingers flutter my thanks. I was short on words. This had turned into an entirely different shopping experience than I’d imagined, and it hadn’t hit the climax yet. That was rolling toward me as Serena pushed a mirror in between a couple of racks of clothes.
When she turned it toward me, I could feel everything inside me go utterly still.
The tunic Tristan had chosen was tightly tailored—not skinsuit tight, but something that skimmed my non-existent curves just as closely. It was sleek and bold and spoke of power in every line.
It was something Yesenia would wear.
Well, maybe not with the headscarf, because that was pure gypsy me. And the boots were something that needed to be me because I was never taking them off. I fingered the pendant, understanding the punctuation mark it made with the earrings, making sure nobody would miss my face.
Nobody would miss any part of me dressed like this. This was not the outfit of an often flaky Dancer who liked her creature comforts and sometimes tinkered a bit with galactic threads. It was the outer layer of a unique and fascinating woman who had power and knew it and wanted everyone else to know it too.
Prima donna gear.
I wanted to say that it wasn’t me, that the four faces now watching me with rapt attention had blown it and misread a stranger. But they hadn’t. This was absolutely me—on the deep-down inside. I was power and gypsy and dancer all. But I didn’t want that on my skin where everyone could see it.
Clothes are protection. Shadows, even where none exist. Kish wears skinsuits so she screams Fixer even when she acts like a brat from a digger rock. Tee wears prim and proper in the field and gardener chic at home. Raven wears simple, even though she isn’t.
In this outfit, I would be totally naked. Totally visible.
Wild overkill for a mission where my job was basically to keep my eyes open and take notes.
I tried to keep my body from saying what I was feeling. I would take every stitch I was wearing, because it could never belong to anyone else, and because I couldn’t imagine putting sadness in eyes that had seen me so clearly.
But some part of me that I wasn’t very proud of suspected this outfit was going to end up tucked in the back of my closet, just like Kish’s hot red dress.
6
I walked out of the Thessalonia spaceport and resisted the urge to drop down and kiss the ground—barely. I’d cleared sector customs two shuttles back and this had just been a little hopper flight, full of tourists and people who thought it was fun to be cramped together in a tin can for four hours.
I was entirely done with being cramped, and I needed to find my local contact.
I moved off to the side and flexed some waves of movement up and down my body. My feet wanted more freedom than that, but they’d have to wait until I had a little more space and a lot more privacy.
“You must
be Imogene Glass.” A dapper man in a striped vest and denims held out his hand. “I’m Gerhart. I hope your travel wasn’t too terribly difficult—I imagine dancers like being cooped up less than most.”
He imagined right. “It sounds like you know one or two of us.”
“Both of my nieces, and many of the residents here on Thess, although none with your Talent.” He smiled, motioning me in the direction of a path that wandered through some pretty flowers. A nice touch for a shuttleport, but not unexpected. Wooing the tourists.
I looked around, a little surprised that we seemed to be heading away from the parking zones.
Gerhart reached over and took my bag. “I can hail a b-pod if you like, but it’s a short stroll to the solar walkways into the village, and that’s a much more scenic way to arrive.”
Also one that didn’t require me to sit down. “That would be lovely.” The moving walkways usually had an option for those of us who wanted to add our own steam to the solar-powered motion, and my legs were itching to stretch out.
My contact walked beside me, evidently happy to leave me to gather my first impressions. I appreciated the silence. KarmaCorp worked hard to find locals who understood Fixer quirks decently well, but that wasn’t always possible. Most Dancers needed to move before we talked, and I was no exception.
It only took a few minutes to meander through a cleverly designed and very sculptured forested area and emerge out the other side, a world away from the spaceport where I’d just arrived. The moving sidewalks were cleverly integrated into the landscape and defaulted to a nice, slow glide that let people gawk if they wanted to, or stride easily with some extra solar momentum at their back.
My legs stretched out, enjoying the traveling ground under my feet.
Gerhart smiled and fell in comfortably beside me. “You’ve got long legs.”
I wasn’t very tall, but most of me was limbs and hair. “They’ve been stuck on shuttles for days now. Is walking the primary way you get around here?” I’d somehow managed to overlook that basic fact in my briefing materials.
“The only way, really, except for getting back and forth to the village.” He guided me to the left as we reached a fork in the walkway. “We have a few hover pods for those who require them, and cargo pods for when people need to move anything substantial around, but we try to do that in hours when it doesn’t affect the cadence and rhythm of the village overmuch.”
I tried to imagine Stardust Prime with those kinds of rules and shook my head. It sounded inconvenient as all get-out, but there was no need to say that. And I was interested in the language I’d just heard. “Rhythm and cadence? You sound like a musician.”
“Guilty as charged.” He inclined his head, smiling. “We have a small local orchestra, quite well received by visitors. I play the bassoon.”
I had a vague idea what that was. “Really big cousin to an oboe, right?”
“More or less.” He seemed pleased by my interest. “If you have an appreciation for modern takes on classical music, you might enjoy our work.”
I knew an invitation that shouldn’t be turned down when I heard one. “That sounds like fun.”
He grinned, and his face got a lot more appealing. “There’s usually space to stand at the back if you find that you still don’t want to sit down.”
I laughed, pleased to have found someone this easy to work with. He wasn’t treating me with the careful awe that Fixers sometimes got, although I’d changed into a sundress and sandals before I arrived to try and help tamp that down.
I wondered how Gerhart of the vest and bassoon and easy smile would have reacted to my orange boots and gypsy power suit. Probably not with a stroll through the forest.
He indicated a sloping exit off the walkway. “If you’d like to step off here, my place is just down the way a bit.”
I got vague impressions of a shady path and some cute cottages tucked away in the trees, as my Talent took a first look at the threads of this place. My fingers shimmied in delight at what they read. This place was like me. It loved ease, cherished beauty, thrived on grace.
I might not be here for a vacation, but so far it felt very much like one. My body exhaled, letting go of tension from the Etruscan sector I hadn’t even been aware I was still holding.
Gerhart led me into a small home with cute angles and bright walls in several shades of blue. I spied his bassoon on a beautiful stand over by the wall and smiled. This would be a truly lovely space to play music. Not enough room for a Dancer, but that could be found right out the windows.
“Would you like some refreshments before we get to the greeting committee?”
I blinked. “I thought I was here under the radar.” Not incognito, exactly, but low key. A Dancer come to check out the local cultural attractions. Which was pretty much truth this time—observation-only missions were very passive.
“You’re fresh blood.” He smiled and pointed me to a comfy gel chair. “Nothing formal, but the locals will want to meet you.”
I let that slide for the moment—I was far more interested in the smells coming from the small basket he’d just opened. It was one of the high-tech ones with an inbuilt cooler and warmer, and if my nose was right, it held treasure.
He handed me a steaming mug of tea and set out a plate with some kind of green-wrapped appetizers and a fragrant dipping sauce on the small table between us. “These are dolmades, an old Greek food from Earth. They’re grape leaves stuffed with a mix of vegetables and rice and spices.”
I leaned forward, sniffing appreciatively. Tee had trained my nose well, and I recognized at least two of the ingredients. “Tomatoes and eggplant—you must have an impressive garden here.”
Gerhart looked pleased. “We do. It’s a small one, but we’re quite proud of it. You’d be most welcome to help yourself during your stay here.”
I grinned and picked up one of the appetizers. “Clearly you haven’t seen a Dancer eat.”
He laughed and pushed the dipping sauce my way. “This is a yogurt and cucumber base, and quite tasty. If you do happen to drop by the garden, we’ve got some lemon oregano over in the southwest corner that isn’t very happy. If you wouldn’t mind taking a look, I can promise you that would be seen as ample compensation for anything you might eat during your stay.”
I raised an eyebrow—that was Tee’s territory, or at least that’s what he should be thinking. “Dancers don’t usually work with plants.”
He shrugged, eyes careful now. “I heard some of you have wider skills than most.”
I did, but only if someone cared for the lemon oregano—I worked on plants through their people. I dipped my dolmade in the sauce, mentally treading a little more carefully. People with good information about Fixers tended to take me more seriously than I was comfortable with.
Which was as good a reason as any to shift gears.
I bit into the stuffed grape leaf and leaned back for a moment of pure, unvarnished indulgence. The sweet tang of vine-ripened tomatoes landed first, and then a blend of spices that made me think of warm summer evenings. All wrapped in a chewy leaf that made me work for my pleasure. “I might never leave this chair. Did you make these?”
He shook his head, looking pleased. “No, I’m not much of a cook. There’s an excellent bed and breakfast establishment here, run by a woman named Greta—she’s who you’ll be staying with, and the one who organizes the food garden. She dropped these off so I could welcome you properly.”
I adored her already. “One happy lemon oregano, coming right up.”
He beamed, and the threads around him vibrated happily.
So far, this was a ridiculously pleasant and easy assignment, and that niggled. I decided to do at least a little digging while I ate. “Tell me what you love best about Thess.” I’d overhead the shortened form of the community’s name in the shuttleport, and I liked it.
“We breathe art here.” He set down his mug, smiling. “I could walk down any of the streets in the village with my
bassoon and find someone to play with, no matter the time of day. You’ll see artists wandering around with a paintbrush, or a couple of writers tucked under a tree, or some actors working out their lines in one of the coffee shops.”
It sounded idyllic—and not necessarily all that practical. I was painter enough to know that wandering around with a paintbrush didn’t get a lot accomplished. However, I was also Fixer enough not to judge before I’d finished my welcome snack. Not every dancer came up through the Madame Tsarnova School of Dance, and bloody feet didn’t necessarily make the best art. I licked the tips of my fingers and kept an open mind—the art might be just as magnificent as the food. “Any dancers?” They’d be my fast track to judging the quality of what got made in the pretty air here.
“Yes, and I imagine at least a couple of them will find you at Greta’s by skydusk.”
I’d go find them, but I was getting the picture. “Not a lot of fresh blood lately?”
“None from KarmaCorp.”
He probably had as much curiosity as I did about why I’d been sent here. Sadly, neither of us would likely get answers. StarReader motives could be hazy, and they tended to take the very long view. Maybe an important person would pass through one day and have the trajectory of their life changed by what happened here. Maybe a painting created here would be seen by the right eyes at the right meeting to support peace in the galaxy. Maybe this place held the embryonic seeds of the next Etruscan sector. Maybe none of those. I was simply here to use my specially tuned nose to sniff out any signs that Thessalonia might not be serving its highest good.
Which was pretty hazy too. I took another bite of heaven and circled back to my usual list of exploratory questions. “Anything about Thess that worries you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Other than having a Fixer sent our way?”
I went with the truth that would guide him toward a polite fiction. “I had a hard assignment last time out.”
“Ah.” He seemed soothed by the explanation I hadn’t actually offered. “In that case you’ve come to the right place. The only thing I sometimes struggle with here is the thick of tourist season, but it’s very quiet this time of year. You’ll be able to see Thess the way the locals do.”
