Page 38 of Star Champion

“Ya should be,” Kes replied sharply.

Klark picked up on Sea Kestrel’s fear with bajha-honed awareness. It coiled around his heart and sat cold in the pit of his stomach. It only stoked his desire to modify the club owner’s behavior. “You’re wrong when you say I don’t know Barésh. I’ve been here before. I’ve been in your arcades, and in your bars.”

“You were? When?” The player’s face was a cavalcade of reactions to the news, not the least of which were disbelief, nosiness, and flat-out surprise. “Why?”

“That,” he said, “is not important now.” The tale of almost-murder and mayhem that led him to Barésh was not one he wished to share with the young and innocent Sea Kestrel, even though the player could very well be an integral part of repairing the damage he had caused his family. “Taking Migel Arran down a few rungs is. You’d be amazed at the power of a few well-placed connections in a colony of this size. I happen to have those connections. They’ll make fine leverage when I convince Mr. Arran of the folly of flaunting his measly power.”

“His power may seem measly to you, but here he’s a powerful man.”

Nico frowned at an angry Kes. “We’ve got a genuineVash Nadahon our side now. What could go wrong?”

They piled out of the hovercar. Miners clustered around the vehicle, a few jerking back curious hands with a yelp after Klark’s bodyguard, Voowen, engaged the security field.

“His office is in the back,” Nico said. He and Klark flanked Sea Kestrel with Voowen bringing up the rear as they pushed through the hard-drinking crowd of miners, many of whom still wore the day’s cave grit on their faces. The thumping music was deafening. Pungent hallucivape smoke hung thickly in the air. He tried to imagine Sea Kestrel walking in here to compete in bajha for the first time.

“Sea Kestrel!” Shouts reverberated above the chaos. Cups of ale were raised. “You on tonight? It ain’t Eighthnight, but I ain’t complaining!”

“Not tonight, fellas,” Kes called back with a friendly wave. It was clear the player was popular in the club.

“In here.” Nico pushed open a door at the rear of the club. A hallway led to an open office door situated near the back. A partially undressed woman teetered on spindly heels as she left the office, adjusting lacy black garters with her thumbs before applying a coat of silver lip color. A few other staff members idled.

“Gentlemen, how can I help you?” A short, round man separated from the group. The plush flesh of his jowls fluttered with each word. There was a hint of a scowl when he recognized Nico, followed by fretful concern upon seeing the man’s wounds. He flashed a brief but nervous smile at Kes. But he brightened seeing Klark, knowing what he was. “Welcome to our fine establishment, good sir.”

“That’s Bounce,” Nico said, poking a thumb at the little man. “He’s the announcer here. Hey, Bounce, is your boss in?”

“Certainly!” The man did seem to bounce along as his little legs carried him on ahead and into the office. “They got to ya, eh?” Klark heard Bounce mumble to Nico under his breath. “Sorry, mate.”

Nico glared back. “It ain’t gonna stop me.”

The owner’s office was a fairly large space but stuffy and cluttered. Bounce waved a number of muscular security guards out of their way. A desk commanded the space below a vid feed of the club. Klark could not see who sat in the chair. His view was blocked by the soles of a pair of men’s boots propped on the desk and the naked woman who sat astride that pair of legs.

Kes swore under his breath and turned his gaze to his boots. Nico touched his brother’s arm as if to apologize. The player had seemed flustered in the locker room earlier, as well, not wanting to undress. Either the youth had been sheltered at home, or he was unusually modest. Whatever the reason, Xirri and Skeet had made it their goal to take care of that innocence pretty quickly. It pricked every protective instinct Klark had to think of Kes being sullied by what the team had planned for him, but boys will be boys. Only the highborn were introduced to sex by experienced pleasure servers, as Klark was.

“Mr. Arran, there is a very important gentleman here to see you,” Bounce called out with cheer.

The female threw an annoyed then suddenly very interested glance over her bare shoulder at Klark. A face peeked sideways around her, male hands landing on her hips—Arran’s hands, Klark presumed. “What the bloody hell—?” Then recognition of his visitor’s status cut off the verbal explosion.

The boots scraped off the desk, spilling the naked female to the floor. She gathered up pieces of clothing, seemingly more out of possession than any interest in modesty. Arran stood, adjusting his trousers, his smile faltering the instant he realized Nico and his bajha champ were part of the group. The collection of color-shifting tattoos on his neck was as ostentatious as his high-collared shirt and hair pomade. All of it was in style, apparently, but Klark did not give a whit about galactic fashion trends. It was the trillidium piercing Arran’s left ear that was unique to Barésh and took the whole look over the top.

Arran came around his desk, a telling glance at Nico’s battered face before offering his hand to Klark. “Migel Arran at your service. To what do I owe this honor, My Lord?”

Klark kept his hands folded neatly at the small of his back.

Arran’s face fell a second before his hand did. Those blasted illuminated tattoos. They made it hard to read everything in his intelligent eyes, but the man did appear to sense something was amiss. “You may address me as Lord Vedla.” Klark gestured to his companions. “I understand you are already acquainted.”

“Yes,” Arran said with another uneasy glance at Nico’s battered face that provided the answer to whether he had ordered the attack. “Good to see you both again. How may I help you, Lord Vedla?”

“I understand Sea Kestrel appears here on Eighthnights. However, I have signed Sea Kestrel to play as a pro for Team Eireya. His new obligations necessitate a permanent schedule change. He will no longer be able to play for your club.”

Migel Arran sat down hard on the edge of his desk. “Team Eireya.” His gaze shifted to Kes. “Well. Isn’t that something? Congratulations are due, Sea Kestrel.” He smiled. “If it doesn’t work out, come home—after all this you’re sure to be in high demand in the colony,” he joked.

Kes’s face remained stony. His eyes were fiery and full of hate, but his voice was steady. “If ya got any problem with this good news, now’s the time for us to talk about it.”

“Problem? Quite the contrary,” Arran said pleasantly. “In this business, champs come and go. I’ll be sorry to lose you, Sea Kestrel. You were one of my best. But, there are enough players and clubs to go around in this colony.”

“Your mouth is telling me one thing, Mr. Arran, but your gangsters and their fists were telling quite another at the docks tonight. Look at my brother’s face. Look.”

People seemed to come out of the ornate woodwork to observe the exchange between the champ and the owner: several sex servers, a bar server, security guards, and Bounce.

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