Chapter 7 - Stardust

Stardust Nightclub

Ironbound District, Novaterra, Union of Federated Systems

Sunday, 16 September 3488

            Two nights at a bar in one weekend, Aves thought. And this one doesn’t reek like a dank hole in the ground. As he leaned against the bar, he took a sip from his drink. It was a fruity Thygerran mead, thick with a wildberry-infused honey twang that was pretty good for a Union mead, reminding him fondly of any number of Talosian spirits. The drink was golden and ran down smoothly, in stark contrast to that horrid Irannoid sludge – the name of which Doc had since tried educating him on to no avail – from the night before. Another dissimilarity to the previous night was that they had no contact to wait for, this task simply one of reconnaissance and information gathering. They had decided to scope the place out, maing inquiries with the patrons to see if anyone knew Euphemia Sethell. Aves had already spoken to several of the patrons around the bar as nonchalantly as possible, none of which were particularly pleasant or willing to speak with him.

            He stared out over the makeshift nightclub, appraising the establishment. The club itself was little more than a large warehouse, one of countless similar buildings which stood at the edge of Novaterra’s sprawling Ironbound District, the remnants of a manufacturing and metalworking history of the planet which was long-since ended. At some point the place had been converted into a club, with the large open factory floor becoming the spacious dance floor, and the recesses and balconies becoming the prime place for private seating. High up in the ceiling were long rails which had once held the factory equipment, since converted to hold the large light lamps. These lights danced across the club, bathing the place in an alternating rainbow of color. The many patrons moved along with the smooth dance beat which played over the club’s oversized speakers, the aging building seeming to shake with every thump, leaving Aves to wonder how the place had yet to come apart at the seams.

            Not even that late into the night and the club was already packed, the large number of patrons dressed in the finery of various Novaterra classes, from the glitz and glamor of the Horizon District right down to the shabbier regalia of the poorer subterranean districts. From the age of the crowd – mostly young – Aves guessed that many of those here were children of politicians and other socialites looking to escape the stresses of their familial lives, gallivanting with the masses in ways which would likely make their rich parents blanche.

            “Well, they didn’t know anything about Euphemia,” Came the ever-unwelcome voice in his ear. Aves scowled as he ran his eyes back across the dance floor, falling upon a long-haired Human woman walking away from the group of young Humans with which she had been sharing a drink and conversation.

            She turned an earnest look back towards one of the men – a somewhat boyish-looking Human with long hair done up in a single Talosian-like knot atop his head. The man’s attention had since been stolen elsewhere, and a sigh came to Aves’ ear. “He was sweet, though. Not like the hundred other piggish schaelwerr running around here.” Disguised not in her usual cherry-haired Human form but instead that of a slightly taller, brown-haired Human, Xanthe made her way across the dance floor. She wore a jade dress, markedly more modest in its cut than most of the other women in the establishment.

            Aves watched what Xanthe’s former companion’s attention had been stolen by: a Drayen female had just entered the club. Tall, pale, dour-looking, and irresistibly gorgeous, she had grabbed the attention of not a few men around the establishment. “It looks like he’s already moved on to bigger and scarier things.” The dreadlock-haired and gangly-limbed being slowly strutted into the club like she owned the place – another hallmark of Drayen attitude – her face a bit more impassive than was common among the perpetually angry-looking species.

            A scoff. “What’s the male obsession with beings whose emotional range stretches from anger to murder?”

            Aves offered a laugh in spite of himself. It was true, that the naturally domineering, angry, and haughty Drayen were infamous for their borderline masochistic tendencies, which extended to romantic relationships. It was also true that many men of any number of species whose sexual expressions were close to Human, Dorylaetian, or Quorthwenne seemed to find it inexplicably alluring. “It’s supposed to be exotic, I think.” He replied. “I knew a couple of fellow cadets back in my Imperial Navy days who dated Drayen. If you heard some of the stories they had about nights they spent…”

            “Dear Lord, I’ve already heard too much.” Xanthe’s sudden terse response cut him off. “Please do not continue.”

            “It’s how beings make love,” Aves countered, privately feeling the argument a weak one. Such entanglements made him about as uncomfortable as Xanthe. “Maybe this isn’t the time for you to get so prudish.”

            Xanthe shorted. “It’s how Drayen make love, maybe. Humans have no business getting involved in that. It’s so…against their nature.”

            Aves considered that. “As it so happens, I don’t disagree.” He admitted.

            “That’s a first,” Xanthe muttered. She then met his gaze, and despite the distance and poor lighting he saw the accusatory look enter her eyes. “What are you even doing over there? Are we here for business, or here to drink?”

            “Both,” Aves countered, taking another sip of the beer. “I spoke to a few patrons over here; they didn’t have any comment. One even told me off in not-very-polite terms.”

Xanthe snickered. “I told you; it would look weird if some random guy went around asking about the whereabouts of a girl. You should have gone with my initial plan.”

            “You mean the plan where we came here as dates?” He found the very thought repulsive. “Please don’t flatter yourself.”

            “And clearly your plan is going so much better,” Xanthe countered. “I’m out here doing all of the work, while you’re over there drinking and painting a target on your back as a pervert.”

            Aves didn’t appreciate that insinuation. “I’m here keeping an eye out for my flaky younger sister, who has bad luck with men and a particular penchant for getting herself into trouble. She also happens to be good friends with certain senator’s children, whom I happen to ask about. That’s my plan, and it’s a lot more plausible than yours.”

            “I do not have a penchant for getting myself into trouble.” Xanthe shot back. “And you know nothing about my luck with men.”

            “Exactly,” Aves replied. “Because you’re too busy judging them to even bother.”

            A grumble. “I’ll never understand why the Captain made us come here together.”

            “Neither will I.” Aves admitted. He made a shooing gesture in Xanthe’s direction. “Now I’d get back to work if I were you. It’s not going to help your luck with men if they see you standing in the middle of the dance floor talking to yourself, sis.” He added that last part with particular relish, getting the expected scowl. He could even make out the slight twinge of pink which seeped into Xanthe’s features as she began to lose her temper. She immediately regained her composure and the hue vanished, huffing dramatically as she turned away from him.

            “Nothing would make me happier than to see one of those guys punch your face in.”

            “That doesn’t sound very Christian-like.”

            “You’re insufferable,” Came the low, venomous response.

            Aves grinned. “Likewise, sis, likewise.” She didn’t bother giving a reply to that. Turning back towards the bar, Aves finished his glass and waving for another. Mere seconds passed before the automated bartending drone hovered over to him, recalling exactly what he had ordered and refilling the glass back to full. That was another thing which put this club far above that Irannoid place.

            All around him, masses of people were filing up to the bar, forcing their way through to order their own drink, before disappearing back onto the dance floor. Looking down the bar to his right, he caught any number of couples and groups of beings, chatting and drinking. He identified one group in particular – four females and three males, evenly distributed between Human, Quorthwenne, and Parfful – as obvious Congress kids, from their clothing and the large amount of alcohol they were imbibing. He wondered if any of them knew Euphemia but thought better of approaching them to ask. Turning his gaze down the opposite end of the bar led him to lock eyes with one of the men who had previously told him off, still gazing at him with an angry scowl. The ghost of a question entered Aves mind, wondering if maybe Xanthe had a point. He quickly chased that thought away, refusing to grant her the concession.

            Used to the constant pushing and shoving of the crowd, it came as no real surprise when one particularly forceful shove hit him in the back, Aves turning to catch sight of the cause. A Human woman appeared at Aves’ left, muscling her way up to the bar. He had turned just in time to catch the voluminous wave of dark hair coming to a rest upon her thin shoulders.

            “Give me one of those,” The woman ordered, grabbing the attention of the bartending drone. She extended long, slender, red-polished fingers at a bottle of dark liquid. “And be generous with the portion.”

Aves took another sip of his mead, grinning. “Tough night?” He said loudly, allowing his voice to carry over the music.

            The woman received her drink and turned to face Aves. She was somewhere around his age and had a forlorn look of weariness etched into her light eyes, though she worked to mask it behind a stern confidence which she exuded. She had a small nose, her thick red lips curved in an amicable-if-interested smirk. From the gold jeweled necklace clasped at her throat and the low-cut, expensive-looking dress which hugged her curvaceous form, Aves knew that she had to come from money, hence a Horizon District citizen. “You could say that” The woman replied in a soft voice. She sigh, taking a large swig of the drink. “The guy I came here with is off with some airheaded floosy who I thought was my best friend.”

            Aves frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

            The woman shrugged. “I guess I should have seen it coming. My mother warned me about him and, well, I suppose she was right.” From the determination in her eyes, it was clear that this woman wasn’t about to shed any tears over her ruined relationship.

            Aves chuckled. “Mothers usually know what they’re talking about. Especially when they work with politicians day-in and day-out.” It had been a Union-directed insinuation at his own mother’s occupation – waiting on the various nobles who flitted in and out of his family’s ancestral home – but he also had some inclination that it applied to this woman just as well.

            She raised a thin eyebrow, a look of curiosity entering her face. “Now how could you possibly know what my mother does for a living?” Her expression turned coy. “Not stalking me, are you?”

            Aves gave the woman his most charming grin. “I think I’d remember your face, if I had seen if before.” He replied, cooly. “You’re one of the better-dressed patrons of this fine establishment, yet you’re not all showy like some of these sheltered senator’s kids. That tells me that you’re more familiar with us ‘normal’ folk. Therefore, if I had to guess, senator’s aide.” One year with the crew, and he finally felt that he was acquiring those observation skills that Captain Rigby always spoke about.

            The woman leaned back, amused. “Not bad, I’m impressed.” She raised one of her long fingers. “Though she’s with the Diplomatic Corps, actually. Both my parents are.”

            Aves shrugged, reassessing his opinion of his observation skills. “I stand corrected, then.”

            “What about you?” The woman fixed him with a hard glance, as if studying him. “I’d say…military?” She squinted, running her eyes up and down his form. “But not Union. Your swagger is a bit too serious for a Union Military type. I’d say someone a bit more disciplined. Talosian, maybe?”

            Aves’ grin widened. He made a note to remind Tobias about the common opinion of Union military discipline. “Good guess,” He replied.

            She held that coy look, again. “I do have to admit though, the kantsukai sword was a bit of a giveaway.”

            Aves chuckled. The blade was such a constant presence on his person that he sometimes forgot how it made him stand out. He forced himself to put Xanthe’s constant ridicule on that point out of his mind. “Who’s to say that I didn’t kill a kantsukai and take his blade?”

            The woman let out a melodious laugh, making Aves wish he wasn’t here on business. “I think I’d know a genuine Talosian owner of a kantsukai blade over someone who stole it. I did spend a large part of my childhood in Imperial space.” She said. “Name’s Andara, by the way.” She pushed back a thick strand of hair, the movement causing a momentary glitter in her eyes. Aves held his own expression but sighed internally. She really was very beautiful, and it took him great pains to say the next part.

            “Taylor,” He nodded. The alias was another of Xanthe’s ideas, and he didn’t particularly care for the name. Every fiber of his being regretted that he had to give a lie to this gorgeous woman, but the job was the job.

            “Pleasure to meet you,” Andara said. She leaned both arms on the bar. “So, what brings you here, Taylor? You’re a long way from Talosian space.”

            Aves chuckled uneasily. “Well, I don’t know how much attention you’ve been paying to the intergalactic news these days, but home’s a bit of a mess. Union space doesn’t have a whole cadre of pretenders vying for the throne. Long live the Emperor.” He added, tipping his hand at which end of those disputes he landed on.

            Andara grimaced. “I lived on Par Ondres for several years, and I still have some friends there. They’ve been keeping me apprised of the whole succession crisis.”

            Aves blinked, stunned to hear the name of a planet which was under his family’s patrimony. What luck. “Par Ondres, huh?” He placed a hand to his breast. “I’m from Par Verita, originally.” Memories of vacations to the grassy savannahs of Par Ondres flashed through his mind.

            Andara looked about as surprised. “Really?”

            Aves nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve been home, but yeah. Where on Ondres did you live?”

            “Southern hemisphere,” Andara replied. “Rock Country.”

            “Ah,” Aves knew Rock Country well. There was a Union diplomatic mission there, not to mention several military bases. “There are a lot of good river canyons down there; we used to practice starfighter dogfights down there.”

            Andara gave a knowing nod. “I’ll never forget the roar of an Athena Thunderbird howling through Muromachi Canyon in the wee hours of the morning.” She then added: “I’d much rather have lived on Par Verita itself, with all of the nobles and palace intrigues, not to mention fairer weather. It sounds much more pleasant.”

            “A lot less hot, you mean. Not necessarily more pleasant.” Aves pointed out, plenty of memories of the stifling etiquettes and disciplines which came with living as the fifth son of Lord Hiro Takayama immediately coming to mind.

            “Fair enough,” Andara finished off her drink and set the glass down. She went to beckon the bartender for another, but Aves gently laid a hand on her arm. Her skin was soft and warm to the touch, and she made no effort to move. Instead, she turned a coquettish look on him.

            “Next round is on me.”

            Andara flashed him a white smile. “So this is the famed Talosian chivalry I’ve missed all these years? Who am I to argue?” She moved her other hand onto his. Aves sat frozen in her gaze, again wishing that he had the freedom to spend more time with this stunning woman. Andara leaned a bit closer, poised to say something, when a shrill voice cut through the spell.

            “Taylor!” It wasn’t in his ear this time, but directly behind them. Aves didn’t bother looking as he slowly retracted his hand from Andara’s arm, facing front and grunting. The shrill voice continued: “It’s about time I found you!”

            Aves rolled his eyes. “You always find a way to show up at the most perfect time, don’t you?” Her finally did force himself to look, as Xanthe stared at him from artificially-colored eyes, arms crossed and a look of palatable – if not feigned – anger on her face.

            “I walk away for ten minutes, and you’re already running off on me?” She demanded.

            Aves grunted. So she was trying to embarrass him with the boyfriend/girlfriend cover that he had expressly vetoed. “I thought we agreed otherwise.” Evidently, Xanthe marched to her own beat as per usual.

            “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She scoffed. “I can’t believe you.”

            Andara, looking a bit more miffed than confused, looked first to Aves then to Xanthe. “Who’s this?” She asked the former.

            “‘Who’s this’?” Xanthe parroted, an offended look crossing her face. “Oh, perfect. You said you were alone, didn’t you?” She sigh, extending a hand that Andara reluctantly took. “I’m May.”

            “I was alone,” Aves said, more as a reminder to Xanthe to drop this stupid act. He looked earnestly at Andara. “She’s my…” at the same time Aves allowed the word “sister” to leave his lips, Xanthe charged forward with “girlfriend”.

            Andara’s face twisted into an uncomfortable look; her stern countenance finally broken. “Sister-girlfriend?” The bartender returned with the drink Aves knew he was on the hook for, and she took a large sip. “Is this some sort of weird religious group, or something? If so, I’m not interested.”

            Aves and Xanthe stared at each other, the clear embarrassment now flooding through her disguise as a deep shade of red. Aves forced as casual a laugh as he could. “It’s not like that.”

Xanthe slapped him across the arm. “We talked about this!” She hissed from behind clenched teeth.

            Aves sigh, reading Andara’s face. “She’s a friend of mine,” He said, throwing off both lies and electing for a third way. “We heard this club was the place to be and came down to scope it out.” His jaw tightened. “We agreed on a code in case either of us got mixed up with the wrong sort, yet apparently got our hyperlanes crossed as to whether we were siblings or dates.” Xanthe winked at him, mouthing “good save” from where Andara couldn’t see. He could only force a tight face of neutrality to mask his deep desire to reprimand at her for causing this mess.

            Andara held her skepticism for a moment or two longer, before it melted away. “Sure, whatever. And here was I thinking that you were listening to my sob story about my date running out on me, all the while you had done the same.” She shrugged, motioning to the club around them. “Not sure who told you this was the ‘place to be’ though. It’s not even one of the busiest.”

            Aves chuckled. “So we’ve noticed.” Then, seeing a golden opening to drop the reason for their visit, he added: “It was actually a mutual friend of ours who mentioned this; a senator’s kid.”

            Andara nodded knowingly. “That explains it, then. Many of them haven’t ever been offworld, let alone to a real party. To them, this is the greatest thing going.” A chuckle. “Some of them would really benefit from heading down to check out the clubs on 912.”

            “Maybe you know her,” Xanthe cut in, eagerly. “Euphemia Sethell.” As Andara’s head traced to look at Xanthe, Aves shook his head. A bit too heavy-handed.

            “You’re friends with Euphemia Sethell?” A disbelieving look from Andara.

            Aves nodded. “Political allies, if you catch our meaning. We were hoping to run into her tonight.”

            Andara shook her head. “Not tonight. As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen Euphemia in at least a week.” A pause, then she added: “You’d know if someone as high-profile as Euphemia was here. Half of this place would be buying her drinks.”

            Xanthe’s face scrunched up into a disgusted expression. “She’s seventeen.”

            Andara offered her a crooked smile. “Clearly you haven’t been around too many of these clubs.”

            Xanthe’s expression suddenly transformed into a dark scowl. She scoffed. “More than you have, and that’s a promise.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Andara stood upright, bringing herself a few centimeters above Xanthe and frowning at the sudden hostility. Xanthe’s nose scrunched like a dog ready to bite.

            Aves went to get in between the two, alarmed at the sudden escalation. Xanthe, at it again. “Ladies, let’s keep it calm, yeah?” He looked at Andara. “Would you happen to know anyone who is more familiar with Euphemia? We wanted to talk to her about something, and we expected her to be here.”

            Andara glowered past Aves for a moment, before answering. “Yeah, you can try my dirtbag ex-boyfriend, Maro. He comes here a lot, and I now suspect he knows all sorts of women whom he spends his time with.”

            “And where can we meet him?”

            The woman seemed reluctant to take her glance off Xanthe, but eventually relented. She stabbed a finger towards the dance floor. “Look for the flamboyant Quorthwar. You won’t be able to miss him, trust me.”

            “Thank you,” Aves looked at Xanthe, who had backed down and began to walk away without another word. “Sorry for this,” He offered to Andara, placing a gathering of credits down on the bar for her drink. He then went to follow his crewmate.

            Aves felt a light grip on his bicep, giving him pause. He looked down to see Andara’s red-painted fingers wrapped around his arm. She leaned in closer to his ear, allowing him to smell her sweet perfume. “I still don’t know if that’s supposed to be your sister or girlfriend or friend or whatever, but if you ever get sick of that shrew, I’ll be at the bar.”

            A rueful grin spread across Aves’ face. “I’ve been sick of her for ages, trust me. Alas, things are a bit more complicated than that.”

            Andara leaned closer, planting a light kiss on his cheek. A wave of desire dashed over him. “A pity.” She turned and left.

            “Damn it, Xanthe,” Aves muttered as he reluctantly went to follow his compatriot. “Screwed me over again.”

            Aves forced himself through the crowds massed on the dance floor, trying to keep the ever-vanishing Xanthe in his sight. He never quite understood what it was about certain people – himself one of the primary offenders – which set Xanthe off like that. As usual, he asked himself the one all-pressing question: what had he done to deserve her constant presence on his life?

            She finally came to a stop, and Aves was able to catch up to her side. “Thanks a lot,” He said. “Why do you insist on flying off the handle every time someone makes a comment you don’t like?”

            Xanthe paid little attention to what he said, her eyes instead fixed elsewhere. Aves followed her gaze and found himself standing at a Quorthwar – a male Quorthwenne – currently gyrating in time with the music, somewhere near the edge of the dance floor. He could also see that Andara’s description had been accurate: this Quorthwenne was very flamboyant. He wore an elaborate headdress atop his head, something Aves knew to be in a clear replica of a style popular in traditional Quorthwenne dress. This headdress was clearly more fashion statement than some sort of cultural pride, however, as fluorescent feathers sprouting from the top of it were timed to the music, dramatically changing their color with the beat. The man also wore a similarly feathered kilt which violently shook with each vibration of the man’s lower half, a crass and crude imitation of what was meant to be dancing. He wore no top save an expensive-looking jeweled collar of silver. Two women – one Human and one Dorylaetian – were in front and behind him, both rubbing very closely against his pink skin.

            Xanthe stabbed a finger in Maro’s direction. “That’s the man your girlfriend said we’re supposed to talk to.”

            “The man who dumped her, you mean?” Aves asked. If he was being honest with himself, he really didn’t see what a woman like Andara had seen in this guy.

            Xanthe shrugged. “Can’t say she’s missing too much.” The woman at Maro’s front pressed impossibly closer. Xanthe let out a scoff. “I don’t understand why anyone would find enjoyment in the public display of what in any other context would be a sexual act.”

            Aves frowned. “Then maybe Andara was right; maybe you haven’t spent enough time around clubs like this.”

            Xanthe rounded a severe look on Aves. “Don’t you start now, I…” She stopped suddenly, shaking her head. “Never mind. Let’s just get this over with.” She began approaching Maro and the woman.

            “Wait!” Aves called after her. “Shouldn’t we come up with a plan, first?” After all, it wouldn’t do to have a repeat of the ‘sister-girlfriend’ episode if they didn’t get their story prepared.

            “Not everything is ‘think, think, think,’” Xanthe called back. “You improvised well back there, just do it again!”

            Aves grunted. “When did it become my responsibility to improvise?” No answer was given, Xanthe was already well ahead of him.

            When Maro – whose eyes were closed as he enjoyed the company of the two women – opened them and caught sight of Xanthe, Aves could tell from the lustful smile which splayed across them man’s face that she had been noticed and singled out. His sharp nose wrinkled dramatically, indicating sniffing.

            Another particularity of the Quorthwenne was their unique olfactory ability, able to pick up on fellow members of their species. It was a quick and useful way for them to identify each other when disguised, and an artificial version of the technique had been employed by every major intelligence agency, to varying success. The Quorthwar said something Aves couldn’t hear, quickly followed by something Aves was able to catch as he closed the distance between them.

            “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from a Quorthwarra, especially one taking on such a…dazzling klarx?” He added that last word – the Quorth word for a disguised form – in order to sound educated, but even Aves knew that his pronunciation was horribly butchered. This man was the children of refugees, no doubt, having spent little to no time in pure Quorthwenne culture.

            “Abel cherr nec abrixi tahn, schaelwerr?” Came a response from Xanthe, a knowing smirk on her face. Aves didn’t know most of what she had just said, but he knew that last word – schaelwerr, roughly translating to something like ‘stuck-up prick’. It was one of the few Quorth words Aves was intimately familiar with because he was constantly on the receiving end of the insult. From the blank expression on Maro’s face, he had no idea what was said. All that she had succeeded in doing was receiving new interest from the man, as he suddenly became disinterested in the two women already dancing with him.

            “A native Quorthwarra, I see. Such rare form these days, even on a planet as varied as Novaterra.” He extended a pink hand towards Xanthe. Both of the women had stopped their dancing and were now sizing Xanthe up suspiciously, likely trying to decide whether or not she would join or attempt to steal Maro for herself. “Care to dance?”

            Xanthe made no effort to phone in the exaggerated Quorthwenne frown which creased her face. “So you can rub your genitals against my behind in this sad excuse for intercourse you call dancing?” She scoffed. “No thank you, I’ll pass.” The Dorylaetian woman at the rear looked offended, the Human woman to the front uncomfortable, and Maro amused. Before he could say anything, however, Aves cut between them. He couldn’t bear listening to this man go on for another moment like this.   

            “You’re Maro, right? We came to ask you a question.” He said, holding the Quorthwar in his gaze. From the low exhale beside him, it seemed as if Xanthe had been holding her breath.

            Maro, who evidently hadn’t even noticed him standing there, eyed Aves suspiciously. “Is this your girl?” He asked, ignoring the question at hand.

            “A friend of mine, yeah,” Aves replied, sternly. “That a problem?”

            Maro seemed to consider that, but grinned widely as he began approaching them. Reaching out both of his hands, he did something thoroughly unexpected – he placed a hand on each of their outer shoulders. “Any friend of…” He paused, looking to Xanthe.” “What did you say your name was again, my friend?”

            “I didn’t,” Xanthe replied. “It’s May.” She pointed to Aves and took his arm suddenly. “And this is my boyfriend, Taylor.” It took every fiber of Aves’ being to keep his face neutral as Xanthe’s fingers dug into his arm rather ungracefully.

            Maro nodded knowingly, as if he had just pulled the name from the recesses of his brain. “Any friend of May’s is a friend of mine!” His hand lingered on their shoulders before he finally removed it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

            Aves looked to Xanthe, whose expression shocked him. In lieu of her usual self-assured attitude, there was a certain anxiety in her eyes which stuck Aves as completely out of character. Immediately Aves knew that he was the one responsible for driving this conversation. “We had a question for you,” He repeated to Maro. “We were looking for a friend of ours who was supposed to be here tonight, but it looks like she’s not here. Word is you know who’s who around here and may be able to help us get a message to her.”

            “Ah!” Maro grinned a ridiculously cheesy grin. “A lady friend, is it?”

            “A friend who happens to be a lady, yes.” Aves replied. “Euphemia Sethell?”

            “Ah!” Maro said again, clapping his hands together. “Euphie!”

            “Sure,” Aves replied. “Daughter of Senator Dimas Sethell.”

            “That’s the one,” Maro agreed. He chuckled, motioning for his two female companions to take a seat at a nearby booth for the duration of this discussion. Both shot angry looks to Xanthe and Aves but complied. When they were out of earshot, Maro added: “What trouble has she gotten herself into this time?”

            Xanthe and Aves exchanged glances. “None that we know of,” She offered, wearily.

            Maro shook his head. “She comes in here a lot, sometimes with her school friends, and sometimes with her political friends. I always tell her to be careful with that latter crowd, but that girl just doesn’t listen.”

            “Uh-huh,” Aves said. He couldn’t imagine this guy being any sort of role model for a teenage girl.

            Maro did a quick once-over of the club. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her around here in a while. Probably off with that new friend I saw her talking to last week.”

            Aves’ heart jumped, feeling their first real lead coming on. “What’s his name?” He asked, perhaps a bit too excitedly, because Maro turned a suspicious look on the pair.

            “What’s this special message you want to give her, anyway? I’ve never seen you around here with Euphie before, and I’m not going to go giving information out like a Proximan whose had one too many.”

            There was a pause, as Aves was suddenly put on the spot to come up with a suitable lie. “May’s aunt,” He chirped suddenly. “She’s really sick and may not make it through the night. Euphemia is a friend of the family and would want to know. We couldn’t reach her, so we figured if we came down here…”

            Xanthe, suddenly thrust into the midst of the lie, did her best wounded expression. “Time is of the essence.” She added.

            Maro turned a tender look on Xanthe, and she held still, allowing him to place a hand on her cheek. Her grip tightened on Aves’ arm for the duration of the gesture. “You poor thing, you have my sincerest condolences.” He said, markedly insincerely. Next, he turned a look on Aves. “You dragged poor May all of the way down here, despite her aunt’s poor health?”

            Aves shrugged. “I never said I made the best decisions.”

            Maro gave him a knowing nod. “Well, I believe I did catch the name of the man. He said it was Lor Nevas, and he was this rather scared little Dorylaetian fellow. Him and Euphie were in here about a week ago, speaking. They must have had some spat, because she ran out of here in a hurry; wouldn’t even say goodbye to me.” The Quorthwar shrugged. “Do you know him?”

            They shook their heads, as possibilities began to come to mind. “Can’t say we do.” Aves said. “Could you describe him?”

            Maro grinned. “I can do you one better, my friend.” Without warning his face began to morph, his features shrinking and stretching. Despite having a Quorthwenne on the crew, Aves still wasn’t accustomed to watching one transform in front of him. One of Xanthe’s many hangups was that she found changing her features in front of others tantamount to changing her clothes in public, thus she only did it behind closed doors or when nobody was looking. Maro on the other hand, seemed to have no such qualms.

            The Quorthwenne angles vanished from Maro’s face, the same time his pink skin took on a Dorylaetian shade of blue. He rounded off the ensemble with short black hair and light stubble. “He looks something like this.”

            Aves didn’t recognize the face. “That’s…helpful, though I can’t say I recognize him. How about you, May?” He asked. There was a long pause, as Xanthe kept her eyes locked on Maro’s new form. Aves nudged her. “May?”

            “I’ve seen him before,” She said, her voice slightly quavering. “Thanks for your help.” With that, she very suddenly turned and headed for an empty booth.

            “Wait!” Aves called after her, but it was no use. She was gone. He privately grimaced.

            Maro, having morphed back to Quorthwenne, turned a sly grin on Aves. “I think your girlfriend may have had a bit of a rendezvous with our Lor Nevas at some point.” As if for effect, he patted Aves’ shoulder. “I’ve seen that look in a lady’s eyes, before. Sorry, mate.”

            Aves only nodded, still watching Xanthe make her hasty way to the nearest open booth. “Sure, pal. Whatever you say.” He went to walk away.

            “Hey!” Maro called after them. “That’s it? Maybe a tip for my help?”

            “Don’t count on it,” Aves offered back. For the second time that night, Aves hurried after Xanthe. That girl was always off with some thought, and he could never keep up.

            By the time he reached the booth she had taken refuge in, he saw that while her face was still outwardly Human, her hair had returned to its natural white. Xanthe sat with her hand supporting her head, her skin practically the same shade of white has her hair. “What’s go you so spooked?” Aves asked, sliding into the booth opposite her. “You recognized that Lor Nevas didn’t you?”

            Without looking at him, Xanthe nodded. She took a deep breath. “I saw him at church this morning, at St. Stephen’s.”

            Aves raised an eyebrow. So their boyfriend was someone who attended the same church as the Senator and his family. “Was he one of the other senator’s kids?”

            Now Xanthe looked at him, the abject horror in her eyes striking him to the core. He steeled himself for a very unwelcome answer to his question. She leaned in closer to him. “Not a parishioner. That man was a deacon.”

            Aves leaned back in his chair, the answer much worse than he had imagined. “My God,” He muttered. “You’re serious?”

            Xanthe winced as she nodded. “I received Communion from him. He was a young transitional deacon, one year from becoming a priest.”

            Aves rubbed his forehead, as the weight of that reality wafted over him. He ran his eyes over the club, imagining a priest-to-be rubbing elbows with this crowd. “If he’s hanging around here, I think Lor Nevas needs a new vocation.”

            “He’s already taken Sacramentum Ordinis,” Xanthe replied, her voice hollow. “He’s committed himself to a life of celibacy and service.” She then continued with an unrelated muttering, the trail of some other thought. “…and Maro said he was here last week, and had a fight with Euphemia, and…” The insinuation was clear.

            “Lor Nevas could be this mystery boyfriend. It would make sense as to why she kept it secret. They wouldn’t want…” Aves suddenly trailed off in his own thought, as something caught his eye. His gaze had fallen on the bar, where he had been standing perhaps fifteen minutes earlier, speaking with Andara. The woman had returned to the bar from wherever she had gone when parting company with him. It wasn’t her that gave Aves pause, however, but her new choice of companion. Andara was speaking with a tall, pale-skinned and serious-looking Drayen female, one which Aves recognized as the same who had entered the club earlier that night. The two didn’t seem on familiar terms, but the Drayen seemed to be asking Andara questions. Andara extended a finger in Maro’s direction, and an uncomfortable feeling began metastasizing in Aves’ stomach.

            The Drayen woman began walking towards where Maro was again dancing with his female companions. The Drayen was followed closely by a burly Human man, whose mean features didn’t say ‘date’, but instead ‘enforcer’. Knowing a dangerous sort when he saw them, his military instincts began to kick in, his hand slowly wrapping around the hilt of his blade.

            “I think we have a problem,” Aves said. He surreptitiously nodded towards the duo. “I don’t think we’re the only ones interested in Euphemia Sethell tonight.”