Page 40 of Adrift!
The crowd swiveled to face her, and the collective movement of bodies within fabric, the little shifting breaths, combined into a single soft sibilance, almost a hiss.
She smiled, but her gaze was already rising past them.
Behind his bar like always was Ikaryo.
He was polishing a glass that already gleamed, his augmented fingers moving in slow, precise circles that made her twitch. When their gazes clashed, he went very still. Then he set down the glass and the cloth—the purple bar rag—his empty hands settling on the bar top.
Waiting. Not approaching. Respecting the boundary of old fears she’d thrown up between them.
His return smile was small and sweet and not even an expression on his lost homeworld—she’d looked it up—and all for her.
At that glance and smile—the wordless belief that she could do this and he’d be right there—her throat tightened, her diaphragm fluttered, and her mascaraed eyes welled up with tears.
Which really was a terrible way to start a recital.
“Remy!” Mariah bustled over. “This is so exciting. You’llneverbelieve this, but…I’m a big fan! I was telling the others”—she hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the wide-eyed group behind her—“I have all three of your albums. I just didn’t recognize you with your new look and the different name.” Reaching out to give Remy’s hand an excited little jostle, she laughed. “Quantum entanglement strikes again!”
“That’s amazing,” Remy said, jostling back. And she meant it.
Mariah scowled, the expression ill-fitting on her merry face. “After the last album—which I loved the most—I found out the label owned your name along with the songs. I hoped you’d moved on, but I never would’ve guessed just how far. And now I get to see you all the way out here!”
“Those were hard times, but they’re over,” Remy said. “I’m really happy to play tonight.”
And with luck, none of these people would ever discover how close they were to much harder times.
Walking away from her contract back then had seemed like the end. Joke was on her.
Felicity hustled up beside them, her button shining that determined gold. “I got your specs. Chief and Griiek did the best they could with the main fabricator, but…” She guided Remy through the crowd toward the small stage where an instrument waited on a stand.
It waslikea guitar. Remy had sent suggestions from the ship’s existing library, but since they were lost in the Zarnax Zone and facing imminent demise, there wasn’t time for cross-referencing and refinement.
The shape was faithful: curved body, slightly tapering neck, six strings stretched over frets, and a sound hole she guessed was exactly round.
But it was all wrong.
The wood had no grain. The strings gleamed like they’d never been touched, the frets too pristine. When she lifted it, it flew up; too light, the substance of it off by just enough. But when she settled the Big Sky-branded strap over her shoulder, the instrument sat against her chest like a deadweight.
“Okay?” Felicity whispered.
“Great.” Remy clinched the strings to stop them from vibrating with the lie.
What else could she say? Her fingers ached for her old guitar, the one she’d left behind on Earth with the delicate crackle in the veneer that flashed under the stage lights, half held together by the stickers plastered across the back from every venue she’d ever played and the musicians she’d opened for—a talisman of her dreams.
That too was the past.
Felicity squeezed her elbow, then went to stand behind Nehivar, who’d claimed a chair slightly apart, as if ready to leap into action if needed.
Because this wasn’t just a sleepaway camp talent show, as Mariah had called it. This was a deadly serious mission.
Remy stood alone in the makeshift spotlight, intensely aware of the captain’s guarded gold gaze and every other eye on her. As hard as it was, she let the silence breathe a moment.
Despite the intervening lightyears, she’d been here before. Just her and an instrument and an audience waiting to be moved.
She watched her fingertips find the first chord, a part of her distantly surprised at the unerring aim. But the alloy strings were sharp; as long as it’d taken to build her calluses, she’d lost them so fast.
The intro tumbled out, in tune but somehow hollow. She angled her grip, repeating the intro with a rougher riff to feign emotion. Still…somehow dull. Like the notes had to force themselves through subspace and bulkheads to reach her.
It was a song she’d written years ago, back when she’d still believed in the words. Alone in the dying garden, she’d tried to remember all the lyrics, heartfelt rhyming couplets about stars and searching and not being alone in the night.
