Page 55 of Star Mates

Emmarie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Could what I say sway your decision?”

“No. If the man were to live, he’d continue to hunt you. And I want you and your babe to be safe.”

Her hand went protectively to her belly. “I have no qualm with your plan.”

“Good. The second thing I’m searching for is Captain Raiden. It’s been twenty days since he left to blow the hub. I’m searching for him alive or dead. Hopefully, it will be the former.”

With effort she pulled back her emotions. The General would not appreciate having her cry all over dinner. Instead, she nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned back to his plate of food, effectively cutting off any other conversation. For a long moment she watched him, very glad to have found such a loyal friend.

****

Putting together a benefit show took more effort than she had thought. She’d had visions of what it had been like singing at Leona’s saloon, but the Durian contributors had other ideas. They wanted it telecast, with a stage and complex lighting, costumes and back-up dancers. They may not know her vocal ability, but they did know some Durian singers and once it had been known about the benefit, artists came out of the woodwork. By then, Emmarie was only too happy to let them handle the details while she practiced.

It had been the next day, after her talk with the General, that Emmarie finally made it to the refugee housing complex where she should have gone. She was slightly conscious of her fine clothing as she walked through the halls, seeing who had been rescued, who had been found and who had been saved from the Merloni medical ships.

She cried with joy when she found Harpo and hugged him tightly. Immediately she invited him to accompany her on piano as she began to prepare the piece she was going to sing. He agreed but sadly had to tell her that Bishop had been captured and Pansy had died in the fire that had consumed Leona’s Saloon. Grief filled her heart and she silently prayed that one day, they would bring Bishop home.

Every day she waited for news from Pell. She dreamed of him striding in and scooping her up in his arms to carry her off so they could have a very private reunion.

The concert benefit had turned into an entity all on its own. Suddenly people wanted to interview her, wanted her at social functions and at official ceremonies. Emmarie may not have cared much for becoming the face of the revolution, but it was a position she could hardly say no to. She granted interviews, attended social functions, and she sat next to the General at the official ceremonies.

Two weeks after she had arrived on Dura, the concert was held. The proceeds went to rebuilding Sparta as well as raising awareness of the savagery that the Unarians had inflicted that day. Lives lost, people separated from loved ones, and the feeling of safety shattered. The whole event reminded her of the telethons that would run on television trying to raise money for research for certain diseases or feeding the poor and hungry of the world. She watched from backstage hoping that this would be enough because she planned on leaving for Sparta the next day. She would have her baby in a human world, and he would be born free.

Her dress was made of spun silver, a silken cloud wrapped around her body that whispered as she walked. The front plunged almost to her navel. Her breasts were prominently on display, and it made her feel uncomfortable. She’d never worn anything so revealing. But General Nairan had insisted it showed off the ugly twist of the burn tattoo in the best possible light…her beauty and its ugliness. It was still red, still inflamed and healing. She hated it every time she looked at it but did agree that it made a very effective tool. Even the people in the refugee had looked at her with dawning horror. Many of them carried a mark just like hers, of course, those that had been rescued or escaped a first time but to see a fresh wound opened up their eyes that the horror was still happening.

After the Durian celebrities and dignitaries participated on the broadcast, Emmarie was to be the last singer. She had prepared a special song to sing, one she had written herself. Though the melody was simple, the important message came from the words. She sang of being strong, of being resilient in the face of pain, that no matter what fires may burn her or what chains held her, she would always be rise up, higher than the petty injustice placed upon her.

Mentally she sang it for Pell, and she wondered if he was watching somewhere. Was he imprisoned? Hurt? Trapped? She refused to think that he could be dead. She’d feel it in her heart if he was truly lost to her.

It must have been the right song because when it was done, when Harpo hit the last chord, a thunderous applause greeted her. She bowed, waved and hurried off stage. Her singing career was officially over. The next time she walked on a stage it would be to the patrons of newly refurbished Leona’s Saloon.

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