Page 13 of Needed in the Night
My earpiece and one of the screens behind the bar provided a translation since I did not know Tivoran well. From my mate, those words would have sounded lovely to me in any language.
As if she were some kind of celestial being, Isla’s gown shimmered and her nebula-colored hair virtually glowed in soft light while the rest of the stage remained dark.
Nubo had wanted to use a bright spotlight and colorful holo screens as a backdrop like most bars on the boulevard, but Isla had insisted on a simple, muted overhead light and that we dim the lights throughout the bar during her set. The first night she sang onstage for patrons, even Nubo had to admit she had beenentirely right about the staging. She was so elegant, and her voice so velvety, that bright lights would have been a sin.
Before she had signed her contract, she also won disputes over her right to select her attire and hairstyle, all her own songs, and the length of her sets. I had never seen our oafish boss lose so many arguments in a row as those he lost to Isla’s confident and seemingly guileless smile.
Every night, Nubo watched and listened from his office, ensuring I kept my distance from my lovely coworker…a feat that became more difficult by the hour.
When Isla was nearby, it took all my willpower to go through the motions of tending bar when all I wanted with the entirety of my hearts and soul was to go to my knees before her. For now, the best I could do was be her friend and colleague while I secretly let her sweet voice and even sweeter scent soak into my soul as I poured drinks and kept my workspace tidy.
The Tivoran love song led smoothly into a more upbeat tune from Fyloria about the end of winter and arrival of spring, and then Isla bowed and thanked the patrons in Fortusian for their attendance and enthusiasm. Human vocal cords found Fortusian difficult, especially our vowels, but her sincere attempt at speaking the local dialect rather than simply using Alliance Standard added to her charm—and encouraged listeners to show their appreciation in the form of credits and coins into her tip jar. Patrons could also leave gratuities via the screens on their tables, but Nubo, like most business owners, took a cut of those transactions, so the more thoughtful listeners tipped with currency.
Locals and most offworld visitors knew a performer’s primary source of income was tips. Strictly speaking, both Isla and I received little money from Nubo. Our main compensation was our apartments on the fourth level above this one. The arrangement was common in tourist-oriented cities like Onat’ras, where living quarters were in such high demand.
Once her set was underway, drink orders arrived without pause, forcing me to focus on meeting those demands while I listened to her sing. While Isla performed, a significant percentage of customers chose to order their drinks directly from me rather than kiosks. A live singer apparently whetted their appetite for live bar service. I did not mind, as it inevitably led to more tips.
Nubo had briefly suggested hiring another bartender, but I had assured him I did not need one and he had dropped the idea almost immediately. I did not want to split my tips, and he likely did not want to pay for another employee’s living quarters. As long as I could keep customers happy, we were both content to leave things be. Nubo’s profit margin grew and my savings swelled.
Someday, I hoped to use those savings to begin a new life with Isla, if she would accept my love. If we could get away from Nubo and Onat’ras. If whatever had brought Isla and her mysterious shadowbat to Fortusia did not interfere.
If, if,if. A word I had grown to hate.
But even my flash of bitterness faded when Isla’s voice soared in a beautiful soprano aria from a Valodian opera. It was one of the pieces Nubo had tried to tell her not to sing, arguing no one who visited a bar wanted to hear fine opera. Isla had simply smiled and included it in her performance the following night, and Nubo never mentioned it again.
A rough voice cut through my thoughts. “Commandant Mikas Auren. I’ll be damned.”
I glanced up from the cocktail I was mixing and stilled.
Kona Landus—formerly Lieutenant Kona Landus of the Cludian Corps—slid onto a barstool across from me. Despite being designed for species larger and heavier than even Fortusians, the chair creaked.
The very tall and red-skinned Atolani female grinned, displaying sharp teeth. The gold rings on her horns and metalbeads strung through her waist-length black hair glinted. She wore a leather vest and pants that emphasized her muscular build—and revealed a dozen scars, half of which she did not have the last time I had seen her. The one on the side of her neck would have severed her spine or taken off her head if it had gone much deeper.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Her grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and her black eyes with their bright blue pupils narrowed almost into slits. “Commandant.”
A tidal wave of memories tried to surface—all of them bad. I squashed them back and filled a glass with ale. “I am not hiding, and I no longer hold that rank.” I slid the ale across to the customer who had ordered it, dried my hands on a towel, and reached for an empty glass to start a new order. “Bar chairs are for customers.”
She flashed her teeth. One of her long incisors was chipped. “I came in to have a drink.”
I very much did not want to serve Kona anything, but as long as she did not violate any of the house rules, I had no justification for telling her to leave. “What do you want?”
She barely glanced at the drink I was making. “I’ll have one of those.”
I could not claim to be any kind of expert on what beverages Kona preferred, but a honey wine aperitif did not seem likely to please an Atolani’s palate. Then again, the odds she had come into this bar by accident were infinitesimal, and that she simply wanted a drink nonexistent. What the hells could she want with me years after we had parted ways?
I gestured at the payment screen to her right. With another flash of teeth, she scanned her wristcomm to authorize a charge.
Without a word, I finished making both drinks, handed the first to a Biltrobian at the far end of the bar, slid the second across to Kona, and immediately charged her account andclosed the transaction without waiting for her to add a gratuity. I did not want to encourage her to linger.
“So, the mighty commandant.” She rested her fingertips on her cup, clearly disinterested in consuming the drink she had paid for. “Serving drinks and toting barrels of ale.”
My fingers itched to grab her by her collar and drag her outside, where we could settle whatever grudge had brought her here tonight.
“Kona.” I gritted my teeth. “I have nothing to say to you, and I am very busy earning an honest living. You should try it.”
“Oh, so smug.” Slowly, deliberately, she scraped her talons on the glass, leaving scratches down its side. My chest rumbled at her casual disregard for the bar’s property. “You forget I watched you on the battlefield, Commandant,” she added. “On Ryoxv and Ymar III. I know who you are.”
She clearly wanted to needle me, so I chose to ignore her use of my former military rank.
