From the Street to the Stars (Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star, Book 1)

Chapter 3: From the Street to the Stars

Qualls took me to lunch, upstairs in a fancy restaurant in a part of the spaceport I didn't even know existed. He invited Rain along, too, and the hydra accepted eagerly, although the waiter who greeted us didn't look too happy about the alien's presence. Neither did the half-dozen patrons whose variously horrified or disgusted faces I glimpsed among the ferns and fountains that mostly hid the tables and chairs. But Rain, as far as I could tell (not very far, I admit), was unperturbed. His eyestalks practically tied themselves in knots as he ogled everything, and he chirped musically to himself all the while.

The waiter showed us to a table by a window overlooking the spaceport. Close to the terminal, the bulbous grey shapes of four commercial passenger ships loomed over the scurrying vehicles that serviced them. Off at the edge of the field, large freighters crouched like distant thunderclouds. But my eyes went immediately to a sleek and silvery yacht that gleamed among the others like a silver knife carelessly tossed among old spoons.

"Like it?" Qualls asked.

Instantly on guard, I put on my best bored-stiff face and turned my back on the window. "It's a ship. So what? You own it, meatman?"

His eyes narrowed. "I told you, I'm not a meatman."

"Yeah?" I flicked his card onto the table. "You buy and sell people. What do you call it?"

Rain had two eyes on me and two eyes on Qualls. I wondered if he could feel the tension between us—or understand it. So, Qualls said he would make me a star. Well, I wasn't buying real estate on Earth just yet. I trusted myself—no one else. Especially not someone who would treat streetslime to a meal in a restaurant like this.

If I even got the meal. I had my doubts.

But Qualls surprised me by laughing. "Maybe you have a point, Kit. Enough business for now. Are you hungry?"

He knew I was hungry. But I shrugged. "Not much."

"Well, I insist you try something. This restaurant has surprisingly good food, considering the location." I wondered if he meant the spaceport or the planet. "Waiter!"

He ordered dishes I'd never heard of, and they came in minutes. Qualls only picked at a small plate of purple roots—or were they worms?—but both he and Rain watched as I devoured everything the waiter set in front of me. Pride's all very well, but I'd never seen a meal like that in my life and figured I might never see one again. Calories are calories. I ate.

At last, too full to eat any more—a new sensation I liked very much—I sat back and stared at Qualls. He gazed stolidly back. "Well?" I said.

"Well?"

"Well, what is it you want? And don't feed me more biowaste about making me a star."

"No waste." He pointed to his card. "I am what that says I am—a talent scout for Sensation Singles, Inc."

"He speaks the truth, Kit," said Rain.

"How would you know?" I snapped.

"I spoke to him on the ship coming in."

"He could have been lying to you, too."

Rain goggled at me with all four eyes. "What would he gain by that?"

The thought occurred to me that they had both lied, to set me up, but even I wasn't that paranoid. "Then why me? Why here?"

"Sensation Singles have to come from somewhere," said Qualls. "Very specific somewheres, actually. Each one is carefully chosen from a particular socio-economic and planetary background. Our computer projections indicate it's time for a tough, street-smart male from this part of the galaxy. Fistfight City's streets are the meanest in Confederation. Drug trafficking, prostitution, cyberjacking, bodypart snatching—Fistfight City has it all. That makes it perfect." He shrugged. "The choice of you specifically? Coincidence. I heard you outside my hotel the day I arrived. Musical ability isn't absolutely necessary, but it's nice when we can find it, and I'm sure you can learn the dance steps."