Page 30 of Star Champion

“Scheduling conflict, apparently,” a skeptical Sir Klark said dryly.

A younger man about Nico’s age approached. “Lord Vedla, Mr. Skeet and Mr. Xirri have inquired about the evening meal. Shall I prepare the dining hall?”

“Yes, please. We will dine after practice.”

Jemm’s first thought was that there would be a good meal in her near future. Her second was that the starship was large enough to contain a dining hall and an arena.

Sir Klark seemed to take pleasure in her marveling gaze. “Chéya’s Resoluteis used frequently for team travel. There are twenty separate bedroom quarters, a generous galley, dining room, gym, pool and, yes, a bajha arena. Regulation size, but with limited seating. Come, I will show you.”

He strode away. This time she knew she had to hurry to keep up. The ship buzzed with a palpable humming energy, not the manic desperation that was all she had ever known. There were more people around than she had expected, all of them going somewhere with purpose. Sir Klark, or His Hoity-toity Lordship, whatever he was, probably did not tolerate any lollygaggers.

Her guess was that he was not much older than she was, a few years at most. Yet, he was so comfortable being in command, and in this life of being waited on hand and foot, having won the hereditary jackpot of being wealthy beyond imagination. In spite of all that good fortune, he seemed to bear the burden of what he was on his shoulders, constantly reeling himself back from smiles, laughter, or teasing, as if there was only a limited amount of time in life to be spent on lightheartedness, and he was required to budget those moments. Whatever his responsibilities were—and they must extend beyond his bajha team—she sensed they weighed him down like a ballast.

Her life could not be more different. As a working class lass and her family’s sole income earner, her biggest worry was survival. Making sure there was enough money for food, being able to afford running water to the apartment, or where the family would turn if she got injured or sick like Da had. His death forced her to enter the workforce at thirteen after they had exhausted the last of his bajha earnings. Those were the stark responsibilities she knew too well and learned to bear far too young. Sir Klark might as well be another species with the kinds of concerns he bore daily, compared to her. Yet, he had crossed the great divide between them to offer her this incredible opportunity.

A man hurried by with an armful of towels. Another carried a tray of bottled drinks, frost still sheeting off the glass. By the dome, Vedla had brought a club’s worth of server staff with him.

“Hydrate,” he said and snatched two bottles from the server’s tray, handing her one. She drank in the sight of the cold bottle with her eyes, remembering when she and Nico pilfered the ones Migel Arran had offered only a few short weeks ago. She would not dare repeat that gaffe.

Clutching the drink, Jemm followed him deeper into the ship. The air was as fresh and clean as out in the tubes, but it held the scents of many more things: cooked food, leather furniture, a tart and fruity cleaning solution, a faint acrid odor generated by the ship’s equipment…

And theVash. His scent wafted behind him: a masculine mix of clean clothing, aristo soap, and the heady scent of his exertion. She liked his smell.

No, Jemm…

Focus.

“Skeet and Xirri are in the ring, drilling,” Sir Klark explained as he walked a few strides ahead of her in the narrow corridor. “They’ve been participating in our yearly goodwill tour these last few weeks. Team Eireya brings bajha to the fans as way to thank them. I borrowed the players, if you will, to assist me in your tryout, but they’ll return to the tour late tomorrow to act as public relations superstars.” He slowed a bit, allowing her to walk at his side. “There’s a lot more to being a pro than you might realize. But you’re not in this alone. If I sign you, I’ll be around to help bring you up to speed. Most new players need some assistance learning to deal with the public. They become instant galactic celebrities, after all, and are exposed to all the temptations that come with it.”

Fooling Sir Klark was one thing, but if she were lucky enough to become a pro, she would have to dupe the entire Trade Federation while touring countless worlds and meeting untold number of people. Dome help her.

“If I wasn’t confident in you, you would not be here,” he continued. “My team is only as strong as its players. I’ve set my sights on Team Eireya winning the Galactic Cup, and I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

She snapped her focus away from the many shipboard marvels around her to consider theVashonce more. His declaration reflected the same, all-consuming hunger for a dream that she recognized in herself. Their dreams intersected. It made them allies. If she succeeded, he did, too.

“Here we are,” he said and brushed his fingers over a lighted square, causing a glass door as thick as her arm to swoosh silently out of their way. “The arena.”

Almost three-hundred-sixty degrees of glass surrounded the large space. One half was dedicated to an outside view. The other half looked over a pristine arena with white walls and floor.

“Kes!”

“Sea Kestrel.”

The cheerful voices of Skeet and Xirri yanked her focus to the ring. They were both suited up, their expressions friendly as they welcomed her.

“You’re in the ring first, Raff.” TheVashturned to her next. “Ready your sens-sword.”

She was still marveling at the regulation-quality arena when his order woke her up to what she had come here to do. The white-walled, featureless chamber was silent. Only a few scuff marks on the ring’s white padded surface hinted that it was used for anything other than display. Three rows of spectator seats rose up from the floor, situated outside a transparent wall encasing the ring.

Sir Klark rapped his knuckles against it. “Nanocrylic. This is what differentiates the arenas used in regulation play. “It is a material infused with nanobots, microscopic robots, that give it the ability to display what’s inside—in the ring—to the audience sitting on the outside, even in the complete absence of light. Because, also unlike the bajha you’re used to, we play in the complete absence of light. Headgear, but no blindfolds. No eye covering whatsoever. The nanocrylic also shields the players from outside sounds. Yes, you’ll play in total silence. All this leaves the players to rely on their remaining senses. Intuition, instinct, are what elevates one player over another. Intuition can be sharpened, but if it’s not there, if it’s not born in a person, it cannot be developed.”

“Regulation play is much more difficult than what you’re used to,” Xirri remarked to her as he buffed his already flawless sens-sword with a cloth. “Hearing your opponent stomping around on wood floors, peeking through blindfolds, you’re used to taking advantage of all the inputs while you play. Here, we have none of that.”

Jemm glared at him. “There’s no peeking allowed.” Did he think that was how she won the matches? “Sounds, aye. But seeing thorough the blindfolds is cheating. Cheating will get ya expelled from the match—and from bajha for good. One offense and you’re gone. The refs check our blindfolds after our managers do.”

Skeet bent over to fasten the tops of his boots. “All Raff means is that your learning curve may be pretty steep.”

“So, don’t feel bad when I whoop you,” Xirri added in her ear with a daring grin as he sauntered past, his lean, athletic body filled with confidence and covered with an immaculate and expensive bajha suit.

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