Page 5 of Star Champion

“A contest of champions, indeed. I like the way you think, Mr. Aves.” Again, the bar owner dipped his hand into the cash box. Between his fingers he held up four more credits, pointing them at Jemm. “Sea Kestrel, these will be yours for the rematch next week, regardless of the outcome. That’s simply for showing up to play. You and Black Hole will go at it again. If you win a second time, let’s just say there’s more where these came from. Money won’t be a problem for you any longer. I pay my club’s players very handsomely.”

“Under contract?” Nico asked, eyes narrowing.

“If young Sea Kestrel here defeats Black Hole again, many opportunities will arise.” Arran stacked the four silvers in a neat pile, leaving them front and center on his desk as a reminder of his offer—their take if they returned. “I look forward to doing business with you both next week. I don’t like no-shows.” His gaze found Nico’s. “Do we have an understanding, Mr. Aves?”

“Aye, we’ll be here.” Nico accepted Arran’s forearm-gripping shake in the way that the colony elites liked to do, as if one’s word alone was not enough. Nico’s dingy glove with its cut-off fingers rested for a few seconds in stark contrast to the sleeve of Arran’s clean and costly suit.

“Excellent.” Arran pivoted to Jemm and reached for her gloved hand. As she extended her arm, the glass juice bottle clinked against one of the rubber seams in her pocket. The owner’s gaze followed the sound, but he said nothing.

Shame prickled inside at the condescendingly charitable way he turned a blind eye to the deed. It was not like her to pilfer the bottle in plain sight like one of the furtive little cave-scampers that snatched fallen crumbs from miners’ food sacks—only to end up crushed under a boot. She was willing to disguise herself for the chance to help her family, but she was not a common thief. But, if she returned the bottle now, it would put Nico in the awkward position of having to follow her lead—or not. She let it be. After years of looking out for him, she was used to giving him a break.

Jemm was taller than many men on Barésh. When she straightened to grasp Arran’s offered arm, she had at least an inch on him. She took hold of his forearm confidently, like she was grabbing for the wheel of her tug. But he did not release her like he had Nico. The urge to yank her arm away flitted through her. “Son, we need to talk about your ring name. Sea Kestrel? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a type of bird from a far-off world,” Nico explained. “It hunts at sea.”

Arran waved away the explanation with a flick of his hand. “Come up with a ring name that better represents your abilities. Something more robust, with more…panache and something to which the citizens of this rock can relate. There are neither flying birds nor any seas on Barésh.”

“Or black holes,” Jemm rasped, annoyance making it easy to deepen her tone.

Arran chuckled. “This entire colony is a black hole.”

Something heavy slammed against the outside of one of the office walls, maybe the thud of a body and then the sharper rap of a baton. The bank of screens above the desk displayed brawls throughout the club. “Great Mother,” Arran growled, stalking over to the screens, hands on his lean hips. “Is security from the other clubs on the way?”

A burly guard with a comm in his hand answered, “They’ve just arrived, sir.”

“Good. I want this club under control. Bounce—show our guests safely out.”

“Take the stairs to roof level, lads,” Bounce instructed. “Cross over to the warehouse next door. The bridge will take ya to where you won’t get hurt.”

They clambered up metal stairs and burst outside, a heavy, rusted door slamming behind them with a resounding boom. In the shadow of a hulking storage barrel, Nico grabbed her, giving her shoulders a shake. “A whole silver!” They hugged like children, giddy and breathless. “Four more waiting for us, Jemm!”

He whooped, and Jemm laughed, covering his mouth. “Shush.”

“Why? I want to shout it out to this entire slag heap.”

“And bring on a gang of alley pirates to steal our silver away?” She stripped off her bajha suit to reveal her street clothes underneath. Hopping on one foot, she tugged off the flexible rubber boots, then her cap. Her long braid whipped free, her scalp cooling in the night air. “We have to keep this to ourselves. Not even Ma can know. Especially Ma. Nico! Are you listening?”

“Aye, I won’t say anything. How about we go out and celebrate?”

Exhaustion seemed to be caving in on her. She had worked all day and tomorrow would be a repeat. “I’ve got to get up before dome-rise, Nic. Long day ahead.”

“I’ll have you back home in no time flat.”

“I’llalwayshave work in the morning,” she reminded him. “How’s that gonna fit with your plan of me playing bajha at night? I need to sleep at some point.” Or risk an accident that would injure her or others she worked with.

“We’ll figure it out, Jemm. We will.”

“Another thing, inside ya were talking about playing under contract. Is that a good idea, to commit ourselves like that?”

“We don’t have to commit to Arran.”

“I mean Arran oranyone. Once, when I was small, I heard Da and Ma arguing. Something about his contract with a club or a bar, and about there being players who ended up indentured to club owners.” The memory darted away before she could grasp it. “Ma was upset.”

“Of course she was. She hates bajha.”

“Aye, but why? Did ya ever wonder? She forbade me to play, you know.”

Nico waved away her question. “You can be an independent contractor. How’s that? I’ll book your gigs. I’ll manage all the details.” His voice gained excitement as he went on. “With me as your manager you wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. Are ya in, Jemm?” His bruised lips curved into a grin as his eyes pleaded with her, his face so alive.

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