Rift in the Sky

Or peace. Between their shouted voices and the heavy thumping—with occasional shrieks of song—that made shouts necessary, Aryl could barely hear her own thoughts. “Do Humans enjoy this noise?”

She decided the dip of head dome to either shoulder was the Carasian version of a shrug. “They don’t have a choice,” it rumbled. “When the musicians tried to keep their tips, Louli had a ’bot band installed. A used one. Only plays like that. Smokeheads tell me it’s beautiful music, but they chew the ends of their fingers to pulp, so I don’t trust their taste. The smart ones wear plugs in their ears. It’s better when the show’s on.”

Probably no quieter, Aryl thought resignedly. Are you sure you don’t need me there, Enris?

I’m sure. He sounded distracted but hopeful. Enjoy yourself and don’t attract attention.

Aryl buried her reaction to that highly unnecessary bit of advice behind shields. I’ll blend in, she promised.

She took his tinge of disbelief as a dare.

“When’s the show?” Aryl asked Gurdo. Whatever it was.

“Now!” the Carasian bellowed unnecessarily.

White smoke billowed out from the stage edges and spilled overtop. It gave the illusion that the figures who suddenly appeared on the stage—to raucous shouts Aryl presumed indicated cheerful anticipation and not the blood lust of the pox pit, though the sound and facial expressions were quite similar—that those figures had ’ported there.

Except the swirling smoke around their feet made it obvious they’d come up on lifts.

The “music” changed at the same time, to something as loud, but more complex, almost pleasant.

A clawtip pointed to the curved counter. She understood. It had to get to work. There were stools there. An easy step from any of those, a leap, and she’d be at the door to Gurdo’s room and the stairs to Enris. Satisfied, Aryl nodded and followed the Carasian as it lumbered its way through the milling crowd.

Not that there was a free stool until Gurdo snapped a claw and two scrawny Humans jumped off theirs and disappeared into the shadow and smoke. Aryl didn’t bother trying to shout her thanks. Instead, she rapped her knuckles on the nearest part of the huge being, then took her seat.

About to turn to watch the stage, Aryl realized one of the many-armed servers behind the counter was asking her a question. “Yes?” she shouted.

The server’s mouth moved again. Aryl cupped her hand behind one ear and shrugged helplessly. Obviously used to coping with the din, three hands appeared with empty containers of different shapes.

It meant a drink, but what? Aryl looked at her neighbors. The most popular beverage had an alarming plume of dirty yellow smoke; those drinking it used a long spoon to approach from the side.

“Let me,” said a friendly male voice in her ear. “Two Pink Riders, Yirs.”

“Coming up, KaeCee.”

This KaeCee was tall for a Human. Aryl studied him warily as he took the stool beside hers. He smiled and seemed harmless. Seemed. “Thank you,” she said politely, when the drinks arrived and he passed one to her. It didn’t look daunting. A layer of pink froth over a green liquid. Fruit had been impaled on the stick rising from it, fruit cut in the shape of an implausibly endowed male. She glanced at her new companion to see where to start.

He pulled the stick and fruit from his drink and tossed it on the counter, then leaned closer. “Louli tells them to reuse the garnish.”

Whatever that meant. Aryl dutifully tossed hers aside with some regret. Enris wasn’t the only one to feel hungry. She sipped the froth, then gave KaeCee an appreciative smile. The pleasant taste included an interesting warmth down her throat. “This is good.”

“Better than the floor show, that’s for sure.”

The figures on the stage? Aryl watched for a moment, non plussed when all they did was sway in time to the music and shed their clothes. The fruit on a stick had been not only implausible in size, she noted, but the wrong shape. “Much better,” she agreed, and turned away again.

“Personally, I’m more interested in beautiful strangers than dancing boys.” He edged closer on his stool. “I’m KaeCee. Tell me all about yourself.”

Aryl, busy taking another sip, glanced up in surprise. “No.”

“Beautiful and mysterious.” The Human licked pink froth from the hairs above his narrow mouth. All of his features were narrow, as was he. The hair on his head, an improbable blue, curled to his shoulders. When he ran one hand through it, Aryl noticed his fingernails were the same color. “Play nice,” he urged. “You know my name. What’s yours?”

Aryl put down the drink and frowned. “Go away.”

Perhaps he couldn’t hear her over the music, for he didn’t move. Instead, his eyes traveled over her. “You have the most remarkable hair. And that net you wear. Old. A family heirloom? I’ve never seen work like that. Where did you get it?”