Compete (44 page)

And wow, he is wearing the white-and-gold dress uniform of the Fleet. He looks commanding, stunning, indescribable, with his long golden hair brushed back neatly, his chiseled profile . . . his almost arrogant posture . . . the piercing glance of his eyes as he turns momentarily in our direction. . . .

Holy lord
. . . . My heart starts pounding suddenly.

“Yeah, I see him,” I say to Gennio, simply because I kind of have to say something.

“Gwen! There you are!”

I turn at the familiar voice and Logan is standing behind me.

Oh, my lord
. . . .

Logan looks amazing. He is wearing the white-and-gold Cadet uniform, and his super-dark-brown hair reflects the faintest hint of red, tinted demonic blue with the room ambience, as it falls beautifully around his forehead in soft waves. His hazel eyes look down at me with a hidden promise, and there’s a faint smile on his perfect lips.

“Wow,” I say, looking up at him. “You look—you’re all dressed up!”

He pulls one brow in a mock frown and shapes his lips in a pout. “And you’re
not
. Darn . . . I was really hoping to see you all amazing and extra-special tonight.”

“Oh! Well,” I say, and my lips part, while I start to blush in embarrassment. “You know me—I’m sorry, I didn’t think—I mean, you’re aware I’m a klutz. I don’t really know how to do the girly stuff—or the dances, or makeup, or dress up or anything—” As I mutter, I’m getting more and more flustered.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” he adds with a soft smile. “It’s okay, really.”

“No it’s not, I’m sorry—”

“Really, it’s
fine
.” He takes me by the arm and leans in closer to my face. “I don’t really care how you look, you are always beautiful—”

“Oh, phooey!” I slap his arm in continued shame. “Thanks for being nice, but I messed up tonight, didn’t I?”

It’s true
, I think.
I didn’t think of how Logan would feel seeing me all dull and boring.
What kind of a rotten girlfriend am I anyway?

“You’re perfect,” he tells me, still near my ear, and then whispers, “I really missed you these past three days. . . .”

I raise my hand to touch his cheek. “The CP kept you busy, I know.” And then I manage a quick glance in the direction of Aeson Kassiopei, who has his back turned as he speaks to someone in the distance.

“You have no idea.” Logan notes the direction of my glance, then shakes his head and looks at me closely. “But in any case, it’s done for now, and tonight we
party
.”

Oh, crap
. . . . Again I get a cold sinking sense of dread. And I get a flashback of high school. “Eeep. Party? Okay, you remember those school dances in the MJHS auditorium?” I mutter. “I went to a few and it was kind of seriously awful. All I know is, I stood near the wall, on the gross sticky floor, in puddles of spilled punch.”

He snorts. “Oh, yeah, I remember those things. They were pretty lousy. You know, my band played quite a few of them. The only decent thing was the smuggled beer.”

Yeah, Logan was in a band, lead guitar, back in high school. Yet another reminder of how much of a loser I am compared to this amazing boy.

“Hey!” Logan recalls suddenly. “Did you get one of those people locator pin pairs?” He is looking at the one that’s presently blinking on my chest next to my token ID.

“Oh, yeah,” I mutter, looking down at my chest. “That’s for locating Gracie. She is out there dancing—”

“Aww,” Logan makes the silly pout face again. “You didn’t save a pair for us—you and me?”

“Oh, crap!” I say, putting my hand up to my mouth. “Okay, can we get another set? I’m such a classic idiot tonight!”

“No, you’re not.” He grins at me, while taking out a pair of blue pins from his own pocket. “Fortunately I have mine right here.” And Logan pins another pin on the other side of my chest so that I have two, and pins his own matching one to his chest.

“Now, let’s go dance, my classic one!”

“Oh, no, Logan, please, no! You know I dance like a hippo! I will step all over your toes and mess up your nice shiny boots—”

But even as I continue to protest, Logan sweeps me into his arms and pulls me with him into the dance crowd.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“G
ravity changing now!”

The seductive voice of the Music Mage speaks at us out of the airy dome—for whatever countless time this evening—as the music track changes to low gravity.

Logan and I sway-float in a slow amazing embrace, with him holding my lower back and waist, and his face nuzzling my ear, while my hands are wound around his neck as we gently come down from the ceiling after a zero gravity dance—possibly my tenth one this night.

Wow, zero gravity dancing.

Since the first time I’ve experienced this amazing sensation, it never ceases to amaze. At first, when the dance floor falls away, and you remain floating in the air, the feeling is a mixture of panic-dream and vertigo. . . .

Your brain cannot
understand
what is happening with the sudden lack of gravity, so it tries to compensate, and as a result it feels like you’re falling, endlessly.

Falling . . . falling . . . falling
. . . .

It’s a little like being on an amusement park roller coaster—that moment when the coaster falls down steeply and you scream because you have to—it’s what your body does in reflex. Now, take that moment of falling, and just extend it, sickeningly.

At first it’s queasy and unpleasant. But then something inside you adapts. And there’s a flood of amazing natural
euphoria
. You are swimming through the air, a strange magic aerial fish, and the sense of freedom lets you feel suddenly invincible, able to do anything,
be
anything.

You look down, and there’s the floor, far below, and it’s
not
rushing toward you sickeningly. Instead, the rules of physics have changed. Suddenly you can fly. You are in control of the universe, existing within the moment—completely
alive
.

You look up toward the ceiling, and you can reach out and touch it, with a single push off. . . . Just let go of someone’s hand and aim high!

It helps the illusion of grandeur that tonight the ceiling is a dome of stars, velvet cosmic darkness sprinkled with light. You can touch them now. Just once, just for tonight. . . . And you
do
.

And oh, the music! The lighting! It all works together, as you begin to turn softly, swept away by the common rhythm. You circle each other, you tumble and spin and move with your partner, and each one of you corrects the motion of the other with the lightest touch. You’re now a part of an endless circle dance, and your hair floats wildly, and your clothing merely kisses your skin, brushing past you in the air. . . .

Even now, everything I describe is insufficient. You
have
to be there—to soar, to breathe it in completely—in order to understand.

Well, it’s now been at least three hours, and I’m in a sweet state of exhaustion and over-stimulated senses. . . .

And I think back on what happened earlier.

After my initial shy protest, Logan dragged me to the dance floor and patiently showed me all kinds of moves, both for the fast dances and the slow intimate ones. Wow, the boy can dance! We were rocking out during the fast bass-rhythm tracks, and the low gravity jumping was pure magic.

“You can dance just fine,” he told me. “You have such an amazing singing voice and that indicates you have an underlying sense of rhythm—all you must do is stop holding yourself back. Just let go, and let it take you. Your body knows how to move—”

At some point after the first hour, it happened. I stopped being particularly awkward and just let myself relax. I think I did step on his toes quite a few times at first, but it got better. He laughed at me, and then picked me up and placed my feet on top of his and just carried me around like a doll, stepping for the both of us. And that wasn’t even during the low or Zero-G, but normal gravity. Did I mention Logan is way strong too?

There were at least two kisses. Once, at the end of a very sexy twisting dance, we ended with our bodies pressed tight together and his lips brushing mine, and then lingering deeply. And the second kiss happened as we were floating way up on the top near the dome ceiling, with no one too close to our location. That’s when Logan put his hand around my throat possessively, in a strange, intense and raw gesture that did not hurt but somehow made me sensually vulnerable, and sent electric tingles coursing throughout me. And he crushed his mouth against mine, so that for an instant I could not breathe.

“Whoa!” I gasped, as we finally came apart.

“Sorry, too much?” he whispered hoarsely.

But I shook my head and smiled at him, and then glanced around in light embarrassment. I thought I saw Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei down on the walkway below, and for some reason I really hoped he did
not
see this.

I recall how Logan saw me glance down in that direction, and I think he figured out who I was looking at, because he frowned momentarily, but said nothing.

That was over the course of the last three hours—throughout which I was blissful and yet inexplicably
restless
at the same time, my senses buzzing, constantly glancing around the room, constantly distracted even though I was with Logan.

What was I doing, and why?

And now, in this transition between dances, my hair still floating around us, I stare dreamily over Logan’s shoulder. . . . And I
think
.

I see Gracie not too far across the dance floor, dancing with Blayne—or to be more accurate, holding hands as they float down from the ceiling as the low gravity takes hold. Gracie skillfully guides Blayne over to his hoverboard that’s levitating upright nearby, and he adjusts his lower body on top of the board, fixing himself in the LM Form. . . . As they turn, I see he is actually smiling widely at her. And oh yeah, there’s a blue pin on his sleeve, and Gracie has a matching one, both glowing steady blue to indicate perfect proximity.

“Thirsty?” Logan disengages from me and I nod. We head over to the nearest drink station and grab two covered glasses with special straws, while we wait out this fast dance, the oldie classic “Bad Romance” by the venerable diva of our grandparents’ generation, Lady Gaga. We stop by Gennio’s gravity sound station and say “hi,” while Gennio is taking a break and another Atlantean is working the gravity device.

The crowd in the great sphere chamber has thinned out somewhat, as some of the people have left for the night. Still two more hours to go until midnight, but at least there’s now more room to move freely, and it’s actually more fun. Those of us who are still here are either on duty, or are consummate dancers. Or, in my case, just fascinated with the whole thing.

I turn and blink and see the rows of seats against the room perimeter where the wallflowers sit. Only a few of them still remain. Most of the chairs are now empty—just a few drink glasses rest on the seats, forgotten. A lonely boy or girl sits here and there, watching the dancing crowd.

I see that Chiyoko Sato has not moved from her spot, not even to get a drink. It’s a weird empty feeling to see her frozen like that, slouching. She is sad and large and kind of beautiful.

“
Gravity changing now!”

The dance tempo slows down again, and gravity slowly starts to fade.

Suddenly I see
him
.

Aeson Kassiopei walks—slow, graceful, confident—past others in the crowd, and stops before the seated girl, Chiyoko Sato. He speaks to her.

Chiyoko looks up at him, startled, in surprise. There’s an almost frightened look on her face, the look of a wild bird.

And then he reaches out to her, offering his hand.

Chiyoko Sato nods slowly, then takes the Command Pilot’s hand, and rises.

He continues to hold her hand, as they move gliding toward the dance floor. There he puts his other hand around her waist, remaining straight backed and perfect in his elegant stance, and guides her into an amazing version of a waltz.

They float upward, rising like clouds, joining the other couples in the gentle dreamy weightlessness and the glorious music of reeds and violins and sounds of heaven. . . .

Aeson’s pale gold hair floats around in a halo, fanning out gently. As he turns via floating motion at one point, I see a soft genuine smile on his face as he looks down at her . . . while Chiyoko’s face is transfixed with surprise and wonder. . . .

I stare, absolutely stunned, frozen motionless, craning my neck up, my lips parted.

“Wow . . .” I whisper. “That is the most amazing, kindest, honorable thing. . . . That poor girl—he just asked her to dance and swept her away—And he
doesn’t
even dance!”

“Gwen. . . .”

I turn around, my eyes wide with emotion, wild electricity buzzing through me.

Logan is looking at me seriously, strangely.