Compete (62 page)

Xel snorts. There is general chuckling.

“So, Xel, where’s your date?” Oalla asks suddenly. “Hope you didn’t frighten her too badly with your delightful charming personality?”

Xel raises one brow, and then takes a step in my direction.

“There she is!” he says with a softening smile.

I turn my head around, and then the rest of me, turning to face them all.

Everyone glances, and in that moment I see Aeson Kassiopei, as his gaze alights upon me. . . .

He is
transformed
.

Aeson sees me, and I swear, he jolts in place slightly. Then he frowns, grows perfectly still, and his lips part.

He stares at me in disbelief, and I look back at him.

A warm flush starts rising from a deep place inside me . . . rising, rising. Good thing I’m wearing so much makeup that my blush is probably invisible. What a wonderful disguise.

“Lark?” Aeson Kassiopei asks.

“Yes?” I say, looking up at him. Even though I feel breathless and I’m blushing like crazy, a tiny little smile of triumph wants to break through and settle on my blood-cherry-red gloss-covered lips.

“I—I didn’t recognize you, sorry,” he says coldly. And he continues staring with great big wide-open eyes.

“Gwen Lark?” Oalla exclaims. “Is that you?
No!
But, you look amazing! I didn’t recognize you either, wow! What a gorgeous dress! And I love your makeup! You could be at the Imperial Court, looking like that!”

“Thank you,” I say softy.

Keruvat nods appreciatively, and they all look at me now, examining me as if I’m an exotic zoo specimen.

“Here you go.” Xelio interrupts the moment by handing me my drink.

“Thanks,” I say, glancing at him with a smile. And then I add, “Hey, do you know what time it is? My vocal performance is at 8:15.”

I momentarily glance back at the others, and my God, they are all still staring at me.

Furthermore,
he
is staring at me—Kassiopei.

He is so still, so perfectly unbelievably
motionless
, that I actually wonder if something is wrong with me.

“Don’t worry,” Xel tells me, checking a small gadget he pulls out of his pocket. “The performances begin at 8:00 PM, which is in ten minutes from now, and looks like you are the second person in the lineup.”

“Great!” I smile brightly, and turn to all of them. “All right, you must hear me sing!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Oalla says, smiling back at me. And then she sees Aeson Kassiopei, still frozen motionless, still
looking at me
, and she nudges him on the arm. “Kass? Hey!”

“Yes?” He blinks as though coming awake and gives his attention to her at last, tearing himself away from me.

“We’re going to stick around long enough to hear Lark perform, all right?”

He nods. “That’s fine.” And now, he is no longer looking at me at all.

They go to get drinks, and then the Command Pilot walks around the perimeter, his arrogant back turned to me, as he checks out the room.

I watch the back of his head, the sleeked-back golden hair, as he moves off into the crowd, retreating from me.

And then I sip my drink through the straw, careful not to damage my perfect lip makeup.

Xelio stands at my side and glances in the direction of the CP. “So, your commanding officer is his usual uptight self tonight, which is to say—” He never quite finishes the sentence, but there’s a wicked smile on his lips.

“Oh, yes,” I reply with a little wicked smile of my own.

Soon, it will be time for my song.

T
here is still time for a couple of dance sets before they have the intermission for the vocal performances.

“
Gravity changing now!”

The moment the beat slows down to the low gravity style of dance, we feel the sensation of falling again.

“Let’s go!” I exclaim to Xelio, and pull him by the arm toward the dance floor. Suddenly I am feeling confident and energetic, and
I want to dance
.

We find the beat and start moving together, and Xelio spins me, while I dip and turn, and my skirt flies like butterfly wings.

Whenever I can manage it during the turns, I glance around quickly to see if Aeson Kassiopei is anywhere nearby.

And eventually, yes, I feel someone’s eyes on me . . . I feel
him
looking.

Sure enough, the Command Pilot stands far off at the edge of the walkway, turned in our direction, as though observing the dancing crowd.

But he is looking directly at
me
.

How do I know this?

I’ve felt the impact of that gaze before. Its weight is familiar. I would never mistake it for anything else. It has the force of a storm and the pressure of a mountain. Even from this distance, I can see his unblinking eyes trained relentlessly upon me,
watching
, piercing me.

Oh yes,
now
he sees me
, I think.
Good, let him look
. . . .
He sees what I can be like, at last.
What did Xelio call me? A goddess—even if only for tonight.

And yet, in that moment, curious, I start to compare certain things. I compare how Xelio looks at me and how Aeson looks at me—and it is
not
the same thing at all.

Tonight, Xelio has shown a kind of
reverence
toward me. I can see the distance of growing worship reflected in his black eyes whenever his gaze makes contact with mine. That’s because Xel is now seeing me as something fragile and unattainable—a goddess, a queen.

But there is
no worship
in the intense gaze of Kassiopei.

The way he looks at me—his strange intimate
knowledge
of me is instead a troubling burden. It’s as if he’s taken me apart a million times and put me back together again. And now he’s
branding
me with his gaze, marking the surreal goddess as an impostor, in order to reveal me once again as an ordinary plain old “Gwen.”

I don’t even know what that means. I have no words for it.

I just know that the way he is looking at me now is making
me
vulnerable and open to him.

There is only one thing to do now, to save myself.

I need to sing my song.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I
t’s close to 8:10 PM, and five minutes before my performance. The dance floor has been reformed into a stage, with most of the center panel tiles hover-raised ten feet to create a wide floating circle, upon which multiple spotlights shine.

The person up first is finishing their song—a soulful classic folk ballad accompanied by acoustic guitars. I think it’s a piece by Peter, Paul, and Mary, called “500 Miles” about being far away from home, and it brings everyone’s mood down significantly.

The singer’s face is projected on the walls of the sphere in a mosaic of giant stadium screens, so that everyone can see her performance up-close. The crowd sways gently, listening to the lovely voice, amplified to stadium-level. The singer, a tall girl with red hair, ends with a deep sorrowful bow. As she straightens back up, and the audience claps loudly, I see her face is glistening with tears.

I stand waiting my turn, just a few feet away at the base of the stage, near the lowest of the ascending panels that form a hovering staircase for the performers.

“By all that’s sacred, I hope your song is more upbeat.” Xelio is standing right next to me and now whispers in my ear, while attaching my touch-microphone button just before I go up. “I’d hate to have it said that the entire ark-ship wept at a Red Dance. What will it do for my Quadrant’s reputation?”

I turn to him with a confident smile. “Don’t worry, Xel.” And as I start to go up the stairs, I smile again—saucy, flirty, powerful. Throwing him a bright parting glance I add, “I promise, you won’t be weeping. Instead, I suggest you hold on to something!”

I step onto the stage, and walk to the middle of the circle, which is about 20 feet in diameter. My heels make clicking noises that echo around the grand acoustics of the spherical chamber.

I stand, and glance around me at the huge crowd of teens, bathed in red glow. All attention is upon me.

Again the fleeting thought comes to me—I should be terrified.

Instead, my gaze searches hungrily for a glimpse of Aeson Kassiopei.

And—there he is. Once again he’s on the walkway perimeter, which is far in the distance from the vantage point of my spot on the stage. I just barely see him, standing casually, arms folded, next to Oalla Keigeri.

Good thing there are stadium screens
, I think,
or he would never see me from where he is.

And now—now everyone is going to see me.

I take a deep breath, smile, and tap my microphone button.

Immediately my face in all its dramatic, fiercely painted glory fills the giant screens along the perimeter. And the first rhythmic power-notes of the
Habanera
fill the chamber.

I begin to sing.

The
Habanera
, or
“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle,”
is an aria from Bizet’s opera
Carmen
, sung by the titular character. It is a song of seduction and freedom, a strange thing of paradox. “Love is a bird in rebellion,” sings the seductress, sultry, powerful, playful, while she’s teasing and provoking a soldier who pretends to ignore her while he secretly desires her.

My rich mezzo soprano voice begins deep and low, rising from the depths of my chest. And then it pours forth like honey. . . .

The song is a duel of power. Love, or the bird, comes and goes however it pleases. You set it free and it may or may not come back. You chase it, and it never does. But the moment you stop going after it, there it is, chasing you.

Wow, not sure how much of a metaphor this is of me and Aeson and our weird relationship, but it feels real and it feels like it applies to us.

And so I sing. . . .

During the first stanza I stand motionless, finding my sound, controlling the perfect output of my voice. And then I loosen up and begin to stalk the stage, allowing my voice to control me.

My voice soars, and the recorded orchestral accompaniment frames its rich timbre, while I turn in all directions and express the passion of Carmen.

No—it is my
own
passion.

I am passion, I am Gwen, and Carmen does not live here anymore.

As I move fiercely about the stage, I glance down into the audience, to see their attentive faces, as teens from Earth and Atlantis watch me in fascination.

And then I see
him
.

Aeson Kassiopei stands directly before me, in the front row. He must have changed his mind and decided to watch me from up-close. As I glance next to him, I see Keruvat and Oalla with Xelio—all the Pilots watching me with rapt attention.

But the only one that matters now is Kassiopei. . . .

My daring gaze flashes in his direction once more, and possibly he catches me looking at him, and he blinks, then his lips part. . . . He is gazing at me in wonder.

I don’t think I’ve
ever
seen him look at me this way. There is innocence . . . raw, vulnerable
need
 . . . a fragile opening up of inner layers. Through his gaze, in all its clear focus, a long-submerged mystery finally comes to light.

I smile and tease and seduce . . . and even when I turn away, I still sing to him.

With every new glance in his direction, I see the progression of changes in him taking shape.

He trembles, his face deepens in color. He is under so much strain that for a moment he appears to be ill. . . . With all his being, he now strives toward me.

And then the music escalates, the music is on fire. . . . I sing fiercely and my voice strikes the air like a whip, then modulates and purrs in the low register, alternating the moments of passion. I glance in his direction again. . . .

He still looks at me, transfixed. And then I see it, the revelation of the next level below, going down deep inside him, soul-deep . . . and bringing it forth at last.

His undisguised dark
desire
.

Furthermore, if I were to look closer, there might even be
something more
.

But for now, it is quite enough.

For the first time, I am perfectly certain of it—merely from the look in his eyes.

Aeson Kassiopei wants me, desperately.

And knowing it, I become invincible.

Suddenly I am strong, fierce, free, in wild rebellion against the former limits of my own self.

The glorious, dark-haired young woman with the cherry-blood-and-crimson mouth blazing on the screens around the room, stretching her arms and throwing her head back while the grand sound pours from her, to fill every crevice of every object and every person in this chamber—she is
myself
.