Page 4 of Star Champion

“Our family depends on that ‘crap job’,” she snapped, feeling a hot rush of anger.

Nico’s hands came up. His gaze held such shame it was hard to stay irritated with him.

“You ready to go in?” Bounce was waiting for them by the doorway to what Jemm guessed was the office. He waved a hand at them and pointed inside.

Nico held up a finger. “As soon as I’m done conferring with my player.”

Jemm dragged the back of her glove over her eyes to wipe away the stinging perspiration. Her hair was soaked under the knit cap she did not dare remove. The exertion of the match raised her core body temperature, which was still rising like a runaway chemical reaction.

“Let me handle things in there,” said Nico. “It’s not that you can’t, but I know what to say. If you do talk, talk like a fella.”

“I’ll try not to talk at all.” She rechecked the safety setting on her sens-sword and followed her brother down the hall.

Bounce ushered them into a dim and smoky back office. It smelled like someone somewhere had smoked hallucivapes, cigarettes stuffed with a potent, concentrated form of swank. Foul stuff that. It dizzied her.

A member of Rumble’s security team lowered a heavy bar over the office door, further isolating them from the brawl outside. Other hefty guards milled around, eyeing them.

“Great Mother…” Bounce sagged against the nearest wall and mopped his shiny forehead with a square of fabric pulled from his suit pocket. “What a night!”

Nico’s eyes went wide at the plush surroundings in the office, and then he quickly blinked the awe away. “No time to be lollygaggin’ around, Bounce. It’s time to pay up.”

“You’ll be fairly compensated, I assure you,” someone said from the other side of the room. A man dressed in some of the finest clothing Jemm had ever seen lounged behind a desk. The wall at his back had an array of screens with varying views of the bajha ring and Rumble’s ever-busy bar. On the desk was a fancy bottle of liquor, a personal communicator, and his spit-shined black boots crossed one over the other. “I’d just about lost hope that some amateur would topple that blowhard Black Hole. Then you show up, a skinny kid in a shabby suit. Will wonders never cease?”

Lazily, the man slid his feet off the desk and sauntered over to Jemm. Judging by his ordinary eye color—more brown than golden—and commonplace dark blond hair, he was not noble-born. Yet, he carried himself with the arrogant swagger of the aristos who lived within walled compounds. The colony elites seldom passed through Jemm’s life. When they did, it was in tantalizing glimpses as they whooshed past in flycars, or went about their privileged lives mostly insulated from the fumes and filth and unceasing pandemonium of Barésh. Now here was a man who had modeled himself after them in almost every detail. Expensive nano-light tattoos decorated his throat and cast enough of a glow to make rainbow patterns on his high, starched, pristine white collar. Something iridescent coated his hair, an oil or wax, and his eyebrows, too. Was that pure trillidium threaded through micro-holes ringing his left ear from top to the lobe? It was the stuff that starships were made of, and must have cost him dearly.

The owner’s chin lowered, his expression amused, probably at the way Jemm and Nico gaped at him in wonder. “Migel Arran,” he said. “Welcome to my club, and congratulations on your win, son.” If someone was smoking hallucivapes it was not him. His eyes were too clear for that vice, too shrewd. He shifted that appraising gaze to Nico. “I assume you’re the manager?”

“Aye. Manager, trainer, promoter.” Nico’s voice sang with pride. “Nico Aves is the name.”

“Well, Mr. Aves, manager-trainer-promoter, your player handled himself admirably in the ring tonight. It’s been a long time since we saw this much talent in an amateur.”

Bounce’s jowls flapped as he nodded in agreement. “A very long time.”

Nico gestured at Jemm. “Talent like that doesn’t come for free, ya know. About that compensation you mentioned—we’re here to collect our winnings. A mighty big share, too.”

Jemm winced as Arran’s eyes flashed with something at odds with his pleasant expression. Her brother deserved a pat on the back for the tough-guy act he was putting on, but she hoped he didn’t push it too far. Arran could very well toss them out in the street withno money, and there would not be a thing they could do about it. But Jemm doubted Arran would do that. If he was smart enough to become this rich and powerful, it meant he knew enough to want to woo talented newcomers, not chase them away. In the next instant the owner proved her right by snapping his fingers to summon one of the staff. “Bring something cold for our VIP guests.” Then to Bounce, he said, “Get something for the manager’s split lip.”

Bounce brought Nico a wet towel wrapped around ice, which Nico gladly applied to the bruises on his face.

“Sit down, please,” Arran said, motioning to two chairs arranged in front of his desk. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

It’s easier to negotiate when the other party has their guard down, Jemm thought, hoping her brother realized that, too. If Arran tagged her as a trill-rat bumpkin won over by a few kind deeds, he was mistaken.

“We’re fine as we are,” Nico said, tossing aside the wet rag, in no mood to delay getting paid.

“The cash box, as well,” Arran told Bounce in a more private tone.

“Your refreshments.” A staff member handed them each a bottle made from real glass. Vapor from the deep orange liquid wafted toward Jemm. She cradled the bottle between her gloved hands, sniffing at the contents. The fruity, floral scent made her mouth water.

Arran smiled. “Pure, unadulterated, genuine Siennan citrus juice.”

Jemm’s attempt to sip the beverage extra slowly to make it last failed with the first taste. The juice was so heavenly good and her dehydration so raw that she drained the inverted bottle within seconds, stifling a small burp with the back of her glove. Nico slipped the empty bottle into his pocket to bring home, and Jemm followed his lead. Glass was dear in their neighborhood. Ma could use the bottles for many things.

It took two guards with two separate key devices to unlock the cash box, while Bounce hovered nearby. The lid whirred open to reveal a compartment filled with more money than she had ever seen in one place: credits in the full range of denominations from pale blue to gold to black. Her stomach did a cartwheel as Arran removed a silver card. Oh, the worries that single silver would ease: the broken window, her mother’s medicine, a new pair of shoes and better food for Button…

Arran pointed the credit at Jemm. Swiftly, she extinguished the yearning in her face and in her eyes for the money before he could glimpse it. “Your winner’s share,” he said and offered them the money.

Jemm thought she saw her brother’s hand tremble as he pocketed the silver. “Now I know ya gonna want to hold a rematch, Mr. Arran. A contest of champions, if ya will. How about a little more incentive for my player here to make that happen?”

---