Page 138 of Sky Song
She scooped up more fruit and ate it, staring out of the window at the wall. Rosamma said he stayed at Atticus with Ren. It hurt. He hadn’t said a word to her, explained nothing. He simply faded out.
It especially hurt because she knew he would sometimes come in, late at night after she turned in,knowingshe’d turned in. But her sleep remained elusive, and she would hear the sound of the opening door and his low voice with its pebble-smooth rounded vowels speaking quietly to Rosamma. He never stayed long, and Cricket never confronted Rosamma about it. She wasn’t sure why.
Interrupting Cricket’s thought stream, Hipper trotted in in a mincing gait that was as hilarious as it was pathetic. In the week that he’d resided with Rosamma, he became her shadow. Rosamma presided over cheese in this house, and he was a known cheese enthusiast. If he missed his previous owner, Cricket couldn’t see a sign of it.
“Here, here.” Cricket gave him a few crumbs from her plate.
Rosamma smiled at the critter indulgently. “I wish I could take him with us.”
Cricked wasn’t sure. “Let’s do some research if he can handle it. Maybe talk to Ren or Lyle about him.”
Rosamma’s face fell. “I know what Ren will say. We already have too many people to fly out. We don’t need complications.”
And it was as good of an excuse as any. “I will go to Atticus and talk to Lyle then.”
Immediately, Rosamma grew upset. “Oh, no, you shouldn’t! They’re still looking for you and even offered a reward for any information. Please, Cricket, don’t risk it. People can be so greedy.”
A reward on her head? The news floored her. How was she supposed to get her life back if things kept going from bad to worse? She’d never see mama, and mama would die alone in that godawful City on Earth, never having lived a better life.
Cricket took two, three measured breaths. Falling apart would accomplish nothing, and panic never helped anyone. More breaths, in and out. That’s right. She’d find a way. Lyle had a point, Meeus had become hostile territory and she had to leave, start over.
Rosamma coughed, and Cricket looked over. She used to be puny like Rosamma, but no longer, and it wasn’t important how she got her health back. She had gotten it back, that’s all that mattered. She was strong. She would overcome everything.
At the same time, a smaller part of her wished she could pinch herself and wake up, and everything would revert to her boring existence where she’d go to the lab and listen to Kim rant and Terrance argue with Salty, and make faces at Hipper with Paloma, and where Dr. Ragberg was a shining star of the medical profession, her savior.
Yeah, a savior.
“The club closes early today,” she pointed out to Rosamma. “I will go after dark. I need to speak with Lyle anyway.”
Rosamma’s pale arches of eyebrows formed a painful frown. “Lyle… he isn’t well,” she said carefully, making all kinds of alarm bells go off in Cricket’s head.
“That’s why I want to check on him. Myself,” she added.
Rosamma looked like she was going to say something else, but in the end decided not to, picking up Hipper and disappearing into her earthy, plant-filled room with its comfy chair and plush throw.
Cricket creeped to Atticus when darkness fell. It had seemed easy-peasy in theory, but the reality was a bit more three-dimensional. There were people on the well-lit street around the apartment complex. That was unexpected. Rather, she hadn’t assigned too much significance to random strangers, but when she bumped into one on a narrow sidewalk, her heart nearly leapt out of her throat. He had looked at her! Had he recognized her from the news? How much was that reward for information, again?
After she cleared the apartment complex, the area got dark, and behind every shadowy bush Cricket saw phantom peacekeepers ready to pounce and drag her away. She was seriously perspiring by the time she reached Atticus’ side door.
Thankfully, the club was closed as expected, and, straightening her shoulders, she pressed the buzzer.
The door opened, and she stared into the bouncer Mark’s unpleasant face.
“What are you doing here?” He looked her up and down in the most demeaning way. “We’re closed.”
She couldn’t ask for Lyle, could she? “I need to speak with Ren.”
“Today is his day off.” He made an attempt to close the door in her face.
“Get me Ren or I’ll get to him myself. And tell him how you turn off prospective customers.” Mark liked to receive pushback? She’d give him pushback.
Mark sneered, a frightening sight. “You don’t look like a customer. And Ren ain’t no one important around here.” Regardless, he let her in without giving her any more trouble.
She walked into the large dining area with the tables neatly arranged. The stage was shrouded in shadows, and the lights above the bar turned off. Not a soul was around, compounding Cricket’s unease. Mark, bless his heart, hadn’t thought to direct her to where Ren might be. She meandered around the first floor like a lost soul before finally taking the stairs to the lower level.
There, a group of people congregated around a table near the stage. A detailed projection of a spaceship cockpit hovered over the stage, and Paloma’s voice enumerated the sequence of passenger safety procedures, reading from a manual in broken-up Universal.
Cricket stopped and took the scene in. Zaron and Ren were seated on both sides of Paloma, with other people standing or seated around them, fifteen or so in total. Because all were intently focused on the screen, no one noticed her. Except for Lyle.
