Page 86 of Star Champion

He and Jemm accepted an invitation to hold a news conference. They wore their Team Eireya bajha gear, and sat on chairs Nico had arranged in the ring at Ore’s Head. All around them stood a motley group of bajha trainees, including the teenage girl, Farra, who had sought out Jemm on Klark’s first night back on Barésh. The group also included an upper-class woman who hailed from the compound and was descended from Barésh mining royalty. The only prerequisite to learning bajha was hard work, good instincts, and the heartfelt desire to play. Klark shared this view with what was estimated to be an audience of billions watching the feed at various times and locales on the many worlds across the Trade Federation.

“Yes,” Jemm said answering a question in her best Basic, harkening back to the lessons Klark had given her on Chéyasenn. “I’m aware that the fans are upset with the ruling. They have every right to be. Banning players willy-nilly on some teams and not others is akin to having the matches fixed. We don’t even do that here on Barésh in street bajha. No one here would stand for it. What’s next? Prohibiting an athlete because of the color of their eyes? Or because of where they were born? There is no rule in existence or any reason I can’t be permitted to finish out the season. I hope the Galactic League reconsiders their decision, as well as the threat to expel my teammates, including everyone’s favorite, Yonson Skeet.”

Klark tried not to smile. It would be unsportsmanlike. But he had not expected Jemm to mention the threat the league assumed would be kept private between him, his clan, and them. But just as Jemm was known for her dazzling, unexpected moves in the ring, she played one now that could very well end up defeating her much larger challenger.

“Do not forget that Miss Aves has brought in a whole new audience,” Klark said. “Hundreds of millions of women are watching bajha now who didn’t before, a number that’s expected to skyrocket once more females enter the league. As we have seen here on Barésh, the wider audience will generate unprecedented profit. And is not profit one of the founding principles of our Trade Federation? The future is bright for the sport that we love…unless the Galactic League flatly refuses to listen to the fans and athletes without whom our professional teams cannot exist.” Klark paused, changing the tone of his voice to a more serious one. “We owe the survival of our civilization to the Eight Great Warriors. However, the mother of one of those warriors, the original matriarch of my clan, Queen Keera, was a warrior, too. It is written in the Treatise of Trade.” He paused again to allow that shocking statement to sink in. “But, sadly, this has been overlooked. The legend of our warrior-queen has been tamped down. Boxed up. Put away. We as a civilization recognize that society is stronger when both genders are strong, and that men and women each have their roles to play. But, by the Great Mother, if a female is able to compete and win in bajha, then she should be allowed to do so. What do you think?” He posed the question to both the audience with them in the bar, and to those listening on myriad worlds.

A chant turned into a roar. He could only hope the thunderous voices filling the club in which he sat with Jemm found an echo across the stars. “Bring back Kes! Bring back Kes!”

Klark turned his gaze to meet the glowing eyes of his dive-bar sword swinger, his star player, the love of his life, and smiled. They reached for each other and stood, raising their clasped hands in a show of strength as the chanting continued all around them.

Exactly two hours later, while they were all still at the club, tucked away in Nico’s office, Jemm saw Klark jerk and reach into his pocket. He pulled out a vibrating comm. “It’s Uncle Yul,” he told her.

She held her breath, seeing Klark’s face turn somber. Each time he nodded and said, “Yes, sir,” she died a little bit inside. Then his eyes lifted to hers, and the most astonishing smile lit up his face. “Thank you, Uncle Yul. Yes, she’s here with me. Yes, I will.”

He closed the call and held the comm unit between two hands.

“Well?” she almost squealed. “Are ya gonna keep secrets now?”

“We did it.” He threw back his head and laughed. “We crattin’ did it!” He jumped to his feet and grabbed her, spinning her around. “It’s a mixed victory. The league refused to budge on allowing females in the league—yet. But, we were able to negotiate an exception for you. Your ban was rescinded. You’re going to be allowed to finish the season!”

She whooped, pumping her fist, then kissed him until he practically begged for mercy. “What happened?”

“The news conference did it, Uncle Yul said. It was the final blow. The league knew what they were up against. Half the teams were ready to refuse to play. There was even talk of a new, fan-based league forming.”

“We have to get back to Chéyasenn.”

“Yes. Tomorrow, I think. There’s no time to waste.”

Klark’s comm vibrated again. He glanced at the identifier. “Ah. It’s the league commissioner.” His mouth tilted into a sly, lopsided grin. “I can’t wait to hear him grovel.”

The artificial sun was on its end run to the horizon by the time they made it back to the apartment. It had been a long, exhausting, and very successful day. Klark had even fielded a call from his sire, King Rorrik, to congratulate him on a job well executed. “Son, I might not be fully used to idea of females playing bajha, but I’m anxious for our Kes to pick back up where he—she—left off.” The king went on to say that both he and his mother were proud of him. The entire clan was proud, in fact. Klark was glad to know it, but, whereas he used to be starved for even a single kind word in passing from his father, he now had other sources from which he could expect regard, love, and support: Uncle Yul, Jemm, and even his sister. Climbing out from the lowest point in his life, he had assembled a team for life.

Nico said they needed to go out and celebrate. “I found a new restaurant. You’ll love it.”

While the thought of eating unregulated Baréshti street food was somewhat troubling, Klark estimated he had been here enough days for his digestive tract to build a suitable defense.

“I don’t think Ma will want to go out to eat,” Jemm warned. “She probably cooked something.”

Klark’s stomach clenched with hunger at the mere suggestion. “I could eat Ma’s cooking day and night,” he admitted. “Despite the fact it doesn’t include seafood.” Fish was available on Barésh at the market located behind the walls of the compound, but at a steep price. Jemm no more wanted to give her business to “upper-class robber cog” compound merchants than she wanted to overpay. They decided that Ma would enjoy her first taste of seafood once they took her off-world, and could obtain it fresh.

Nico laughed. “Wedoeat Ma’s cooking day and night. But we had a major victory today, you’re gonna go off-world again, and all that needs celebrating.” He was in high spirits. Yet, it was clear the prospect of a night within the apartment’s close walls troubled him. He probably saw Kish in every chair, every spoon, and that was why he spent so little time there.

They carried their high spirits and laughter into the cramped space. Ma rushed at them, her hands wringing a dishtowel. She tried to peek around their much larger frames. “Is Button out there?”

“No.” Jemm scanned the apartment. “Button!” No answer. “She wasn’t with you, Ma?”

“She was…” Panic flared in Ma’s eyes, and Jemm felt the echo of that dread course through her body. “She was coloring her Earth pictures.” She pointed a trembling finger at the scattered color sticks on the floor. “I went to fold laundry on my bed. I came back at the sound of ya at the door, and she wasn’t here.”

“Button, this ain’t funny,” Jemm called out. “If you’re hiding, come out now. You’re scaring your gramma.”

Klark stalked around the tiny apartment, lifting blankets, peeking in baskets.

“Button!” Nico yelled, louder.

“She ain’t here.” Ma pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. “What if someone took her?”

“Not from under your very nose, Ma,” Jemm assured her. Then she remembered her periodic unease of the past few days. “I thought I saw Red Beard the other day,” she said, low, to the men. “Arran’s gangster. The one who went after me and Nico.”

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