by Smith, S. E.
Cool relief flooding over her, Tassia sagged a little as she said, “Both.”
The woman made a note on her data pad then handed her a badge. “Here’s your number.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at the door to the audition room, took a deep breath and forced herself to walk in that direction.
There was a crush at the door, and she hung back.
“First timer?” asked a friendly voice.
“Does it show so badly?” she responded, trying to be polite.
The woman who’d spoken to her had riotous green and mauve curls and a friendly demeanor. “Kinda, yeah. You’ll be fine, don’t give in to the nerves. I’ve been to a Comettes audition before, and they’re all business, no funny stuff, high class.”
Tassia pondered what ‘funny stuff’ denoted but was afraid to ask. “Any tips?”
“Smile and make eye contact. The judges like to see a solar size personality come through for the customer while you’re performing.” Extending her hand, the other dancer said, “I’m Micki, by the way.”
Noticing the woman’s amazing manicure, with long nails decorated in intricate patterns, she provided her own name. “Tassia.” Fearing she was out of her depth in this crowd, Tassia hugged her backpack more tightly. Happy to have found a congenial person, she stuck with the other girl as they finally cleared the door and entered the huge open space.
“Come on, we’ll grab a spot by the mirrors. Gotta get warmed up.” Micki towed her off to the side, and they dropped their gear next to piles of bags. Other women stood there fixing their makeup or doing stretches and dance moves to loosen up.
Increasingly dubious she could snag one of the open spots in the troupe against all this competition, most if not all of whom had clearly been dancing professionally; Tassia reminded herself the vision had sent her here. Since Micki was concentrating hard on her preparation, Tassia pulled off her outer clothes, stuffed them in the bag and followed her new friend’s example.
Her green leotard looked ludicrously cheap in the sea of elaborate, colorful dance costumes. I can’t do anything about my clothing. Holding her head high, she stretched and danced a few steps of the folk dance she’d learned most recently. She heard a couple of women nearby snicker and, although she was blushing, she finished the sequence then did more stretching.
Soon enough, the applicants were called to line up by the numbers, and Tassia stood on tiptoe to see the judges.
“Good morning, I’m Riall Cartajj, director and choreographer for the Comettes, and I want to welcome you today.” The no-nonsense woman speaking was dressed in a clearly expensive, flowing skirt with a matching top and coordinating jacket, subtly made-up, not a hair out of place, and consummately professional head to toe. “Let me run through the agenda. First, we’ll do two minutes of free style in groups of ten. Then I’ll announce those who need to remain for the next round, which will be a two minute solo routine of your choice. If any candidates from round two appear to be still in the running, then my assistant Syadana will teach you a portion of a Comettes’ routine, and I’ll decide if you’d fit in with my troupe or not. I need five dancers and possibly an alternate or two, but I won’t hire anyone today if the fit isn’t there. Questions?”
There were no questions. Tassia hung onto her backpack tightly, a bit intimidated at the way the women surrounding her seemed so comfortable with the audition process. One probably didn’t start a career as a professional dancer in the Sectors by auditioning for a premiere troupe. She felt her muscles tightening the more she considered the daunting odds of her making it all the way to selection. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself sternly there were no other options for her so she’d simply have to be good enough to force the Comettes to want her in their ranks.
Tassia wanted to inquire who the other judges were—several women and one man, but she decided it didn’t matter. The director was the one who did the hiring and who had to be impressed.
As the first ten girls lined up on the specified area of the floor, Tassia was suddenly glad her number placed her in the tenth group. She’d have time to see what other people did for their freestyle to attempt to impress Ms. Cartajj. And a solo, if she got that far.
What she realized as she watched the dancers take the floor was people were highlighting what they did best. For some it was leaps or turns. For others apparently it was gymnastic moves, although for many the skill being showcased involved a lot of precise steps accented with shimmying and hip swivels. A number of the women had obviously pre-choreographed sets of steps they repeated as long as the music was on.
By the time her turn came, Tassia decided to do a sequential series of rapid steps, pirouettes and showy poses requiring supremely good balance, which she could fit to the music being provided. It was her observation from watching the judges that dancers who showed technical skills appeared to make more of a favorable impression than the ones who did flashy, sexy moves. She walked confidently to her designated spot on the temporary wooden dance floor, assumed the opening pose and launched into her routine as the first notes sounded. Remembering to smile as if her audience was composed of her best friends, she had no clear memory of the two minutes when she finished with a graceful final pose. As she walked from the space, she believed she’d done well.
“Wow, you’re something else,” Micki grabbed her by the elbow. Micki had been one of the candidates demonstrating spins and beautiful extensions, combined with sexy shimmies. “Where the seven hells did you train?”
“Private tutors when I was a kid,” Tassia said vaguely. “Did I look all right, compared to the others?”
Micki laughed. “Miss High and Mighty Director never took her eyes off you. I’d say you’re clear to the semifinals at least.”
“Who are the other people sitting with her?”
“Her assistant, Syadana, also the Cruise Director for the ship, the dance captains from the two casts, and I heard someone say the cute guy is ship’s security, here to do the paperwork for anyone she hires, so the person can ship out today. The ship leaves orbit tonight.” Micki nudged her in the ribs. “Whoever he is, he was pretty riveted by your performance too.”
Pacing, rising onto her toes to keep her muscles from cooling off too much, Tassia shook her head. “If he’s not a decider, he’s irrelevant.”
Seeming to be at a loss for words, Micki gave her a wide-eyed look. “Well, he’s damn cute anyway. I hope the director lets him vote because I know he paid attention to me.”
* * *
Sure enough, Tassia’s number was posted as part of the callbacks for round two, as was Micki’s.
The remaining applicants were given an hour to change and stretch and prepare. Chatting to each other amiably, the judges left the room by a door on the far side.
“Aren’t you going to change?” Micki asked curiously. She was putting on a pretty spangled costume accenting the color of her hair and eyes.
“Nothing to change into.” Tassia shrugged. She’d decided a long time ago not to be embarrassed about things she couldn’t alter. Leaning her head against the wall, she ran through the steps in her mind of the ritual dance she’d decided to perform as a solo. It was artistic, graceful, and technical. Maybe the wrong choice for this audition, where the job was to be in a popular entertainment ensemble, with an audience of tourists, bored interstellar businessmen, and a sprinkling of rich Socialites, but it was all she had to offer. Her core training was from the temple of her childhood, reinforced by Xandrina as they’d traveled, enriched a bit by other dance styles she’d studied in bits and pieces along the way. But in this environment today, under all the stress, it was best to dance from the heart. A loud noise in the corridor outside startled her, raising her pulse, then one eyelid began to twitch with stress. I’ve got to calm down or I don’t stand a chance. Tassia tried to regulate her breathing and ran through a few simple stretches.
“I could lend you a scarf.” Biting her lip, Micki pulled a large floral print length of ma
terial from her dance bag. “Make it into a sarong skirt maybe?”
Tassia sat on the floor to begin more advanced exercises. Pulling her ham string or suffering any other injury for lack of preparation would be a disaster.
Micki floated the scarf in front of her face. “Honey, take it. You don’t want to come across as too desperate, like you gotta have the job or you won’t eat again. Makes them wonder why you’re so hard up, y’know?”
There was logic in the thought so, with murmured thanks, she accepted the fabric square. As she played with her steps and the gauzy material, she realized it would integrate well into her routine and serve as a nice accent.
All too soon the second phase of the audition began with the thirty women remaining. Again Tassia watched intently to see what the director seemed to like. She found her gaze straying to the lone man, the security officer, and sharply reprimanded herself. He had no reason to doubt her story, her fake papers were impeccable, and—even if he was handsome in a roughhewn way—well there was no time in her life for dalliance. Even if she made it to the ship.
Micki’s solo was full of energy and sexy moves, and the judges reacted very favorably, making notes on their handhelds and smiling. Her infectious grin and all those curls were hard to resist.
Tassia refused to let herself feel nerves. She’d done this dance thousands of times, under Madame Xandrina’s exacting eye. She wouldn’t fail either her late dance mistress or herself.
The music was generic, a piece chosen by each dancer from a standard audition set that worked with the tempo she needed.
Rising onto her toes, arms gracefully arranged to the sides, fingers curved in exact placement as tradition demanded, Tassia heard the first note and stepped into the swirling, complicated routine, meant to praise a goddess and now intended to get her a job and a safe way off the planet before her ruthless pursuers caught up to her. About half way through she integrated the scarf, loosening it from her waist then swirling it through the air to complement her own motions, allowing the fabric to drift gracefully to the ground as she completed the dance in the final position.
There was a moment of silence then the applause was long and hard. Tassia bowed her head, curtsied, grabbed the scarf, and ran from the floor.
Micki caught her in a hug. “Wow, amazing routine. What the seven hells are you doing auditioning for a cruise ship? Even if it is the Comettes. Lady, you should be on an Inner Sectors stage as a soloist.”
“Do you think they liked it?” Tassia played with the scarf, running it through her fingers. She was breathing harder than she should be, even considering the dance she’d just completed, and felt flushed and light headed. Nerves, no doubt.
Nodding enthusiastically, Micki said, “If you don’t get into the finals I’ll be amazed.”
2
The room was much quieter with the candidates gone to wait in the antechamber for the decision on who would be among the finalists. Liam sat relaxed in his chair as the director of the Comettes and the others discussed the list of applicants. He wasn’t really here to be a judge, although he’d offer an opinion. I’m not sitting here all day to keep my mouth shut. He and the others in the Nebula Zephyr’s security office rotated the administrative jobs, and this shift it was his turn to process incoming new employees. So it made sense to have him come to the planet’s surface with Riall and her staff and clear the new dancers for employment on the spot.
He’d gotten a lot of ribbing from the others on his team about what hard work it was going to be to watch gorgeous women dance. The arts weren’t his thing, although he appreciated the athleticism a dancer had to possess. From the first round he’d been drawn to the woman in the patched green leotard. Checking the list of candidates, he refreshed himself on her name. Tassia Megg. There was something different about her, maybe the way she carried herself, with reserve. Not conceited or unpleasant, just apart. She obviously needed the job, but he didn’t think she was a performer by choice.
He realized his companions were now discussing her, in fact.
“I’m not convinced we want her,” Syadana, the associate director was saying, running the miniature trideo of the dance again.
“Exquisite technical skills,” said one dance captain, the blond, leaning over to watch more closely.
“Yes, but obviously accustomed to being a soloist.” The associate director was dismissive. “We’re hiring for the revue, to be one of a line of women dancing the identical routine.”
“No audience interaction,” said the other dance captain, Wylin, the red head with turquoise strands framing her face. “She wasn’t dancing for us. At least in the first round she had a pleasant smile.”
“And absolutely no dance history.” Syadana checked her handheld data pad. “Her resume is blank. Too much risk with this one.”
“Wait a minute.” Liam was incredulous. “Seriously? Even a non-dancer like me can see she’s head and shoulders above all the other applicants. Her solo was the most incredible dance I’ve ever seen. Everyone’s attention was riveted on her, including us.”
“If this hadn’t been an open audition, she wouldn’t have even gotten in the door,” the associate director said. “She’s got no experience dancing in anything according to her application, much less an ensemble.”
“Well, she sure learned to dance somewhere.” As long as the director herself hadn’t weighed in, the girl still had a chance. Liam wasn’t sure why he was arguing so much about an issue that didn’t matter to him at all. Probably because the dancer was obviously so talented and equally desperate for a job. “Look,” he said, “where’s the harm in passing her through to the final? Having her in the line won’t cost us any extra time, and we’ll find out if she can dance in an ensemble or not. That’s the whole point of the finals, at least the way you explained it to me this morning.”
“I agree with Officer Austin,” said the director, instantly silencing the debate. “The girl has outstanding technique and talent.” She made a mark on the final list and handed it to her assistant. “Shall we go have refreshments while the candidates learn the routine?” Rising, she led the small group out of the room through a private door apart from the room the candidates waited in.
The two dance captains stayed behind to teach the eight eight-counts of the Comettes’ dance. Liam promised to bring them each a cup of synthcaff when it was time to judge the final round. As he walked out of the room, he hoped the Lords of Space would carry the desperate girl successfully through the final hurdle. He couldn’t wait to see if she could integrate with the others and be a team member. He’d argue for her to at least get an alternate spot if she did even a halfway decent job. He’d had his own time of desperation and trying to survive, and the military had saved his ass, a recruiting sergeant letting him in even though at the time he lacked a formal education and couldn’t read Basic up to standard. His subsequent career, including the years in the Special Forces, had proven the recruiter made a good bet. Liam tried to pay the debt forward any chance he got.
He didn’t think a person as determined as Tassia Megg appeared to be would fail, once she got onto the ship.
* * *
Tassia didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she heard the dance captain read her name at the very end of the list, almost as an afterthought. Jumping up and down, Micki grabbed her, squealing happily. “We both made it!”
There were fifteen finalists, invited into the larger room as a group and put in three lines of five each. The Nebula Zephyr dancers demonstrated the sequence of steps twice to the accompaniment of lively music. Tassia saw many of the dancers around her mimicking the movements as the Comettes danced, but she preferred to focus on the steps and placement of hands.
After a brief warmup period, the captains actually taught the required eight counts, but rapidly, using a dancer’s verbal shorthand. Some of the terms were new to Tassia, probably because she’d never danced in this style, and she lagged a count or two behind, then had to rush
to catch up. The routine ended, and the candidates were required to link up in their groups and perform a kick line.
“All right,” the extremely blond captain said. “You get half an hour to practice before the director returns to judge. If you have any questions, ask them now. Wylin and I’ll be walking the room to observe.”
Tassia moved to the back of the room and leaned on the wall, watching the others. I can do this, I have to do this. Otherwise I’ll be on the street tonight and the New Regime thugs will find me.
Micki, who’d been assigned to a different line of five, came up to her. “Now’s a bad time for nerves, honey. Come practice with us over here.” Hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, she assessed Tassia. “You’re not tired are you? Stamina’s critical in this job.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” Tassia said with perfect truth, reflecting on her restless night after Xandrina’s death, escaping the hotel, lurking at the spaceport, moving to new areas frequently to avoid arousing suspicion.
“I know, this is a big day for sure.” Micki grabbed Tassia’s hand and pulled her to where a small group ran through the routine. “Now don’t ask me why I’m being so damn helpful here, but a few pointers. It was okay not to engage the audience for your solo because it was a powerful, lyrical dance. But you gotta give ‘em the high wattage smile now. Pretend you got the job already and they’re the paying passengers.”
I’ll ask the goddess to bless her. A little light-headed, Tassia said, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today.”
“Yeah, well, you aren’t the only girl who’s ever been down on her luck in this business.” Self-consciously Micki examined her flamboyant nails as if she’d revealed too much. “But if you get hired and I don’t, I’ll be pissed for days.” Straightening and laughing, she said, “Never mind me, just kidding. The other important thing with the Comettes is heads.”