Rebirth (Cross Book 1)

by Hildred Billings

  If Devon still had pizza in his throat, he would have surely choked on it. It was not that he had anything against women playing instruments, but the last thing he ever expected was to have a woman audition for his band, let alone as a drummer..

  “Who are you?” he asked her. “Do you even go here?”

  The woman cocked one of her eyebrows at Devon’s barrage of impolite questions. Before she could open her own mouth, however, Serge answered on her behalf. “This is May. I know her from work. I was the one that suggested she audition, since she’s got mad skills.”

  “Thanks,” she finally said, her voice almost as quiet as the rest of her demeanor.

  “Well, we really do need a drummer,” Devon said.

  “Oh, yeah, there’s that…”

  Devon sent a stink eye in Serge’s direction. “That?”

  “I don’t play drums,” May said.

  Disappointment amassed in Devon’s body. “What do you play.”

  “Keyboard.”

  “What.” Devon sent a vapid look to both his friends. “We don’t have a keyboardist.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “No, what I mean is, we don’t have keyboard parts in our songs.”

  “Not yet, anyway,” Serge reminded him.

  “Y’all crazy? Look, I mean absolutely no offense to you… what was it…”

  “May.”

  “We’re not a keyboard-band.”

  “Who decided that?” Clyde stared down Devon from where he stood next to him. “Come on, man, just listen to her play. You might be surprised at how good some of our songs sound with a little synth.”

  A new headache barged into Devon’s temples. “Fine. I’ll listen. No guarantees, okay?”

  Everyone dispersed, Clyde and Serge escorting May to the back of the stage while Andy attempted to find them a session drummer among the other band goons loitering in the auditorium. She used her willful personality to charm another band’s drummer to sit in for ten minutes, and by the time he walked over to the stage, the rest of Devon’s band was set up. He decided to take the neutral position in the audience.

  The keyboard was twice the size of May as she struggled to reach the back keys. Compared to Serge and Clyde, she looked like somebody’s kid-hippie-sister who was fooling around with equipment she should have never been around in the first place.

  “Okay, guys,” Serge said, after plugging in his guitar, “let’s play what we were messing with before Clyde went out to get pizza.”

  “Not my fault we needed pizza.”

  “Anyway, we’re going to play ‘Around Again,’ but this time instead of second guitar,” he meant Devon’s role, “we’re going to bring in May on the keyboard. That cool, bro?”

  Devon really had no other choice. ‘Around Again’ was the song he and Serge were currently writing together. Devon was usually happy with the bare rock sound of two guitars, a bass, and drums, but Serge had lately been moaning about things “not being full enough.” Devon prepared to call sabotage at any moment.

  “Yeah, it’s cool.”

  He had no idea how this would go, but allowed his band-mates the benefit of a doubt with their new addition to the band. Serge counted off before launching into the intro, conveniently a solo for his guitar. Devon leaned back and closed his eyes to better focus on the music.

  At first, the only odd thing was the lack of second guitar. The interim drummer did a good enough job improvising his way through the beats, and Clyde was spot on as always with his bass. The only thing Devon didn’t hear was the keyboard.

  He raised one eyelid to check on May, who continued to stand behind the massive electronic keyboard without raising one arm over the chords and beats of the music. Devon wanted to go home if this was the dog-and-pony show.

  One second later, he almost fell out of his chair.

  May launched herself onto the keyboard like a lion pouncing onto a gazelle, her fingers flashing across knobs and keys alike as a transient ambience erupted into life beneath the throes of strings and percussion. She was careful to not overplay Serge’s guitar or drown out Clyde’s bass. The electric wave that fused into the sound on the stage came across as already mixed and leveled without a producer intervening. Devon slipped into a musically induced coma.

  The four players ended at the same time, although the keyboard’s fade-out continued after the drummer put his sticks away. Serge tried in vain to recruit him, but the drummer only smiled and went back to his buddies.

  “Well?” The neck of Serge’s guitar was still clutched in his hand. “Killer or what?”

  Devon nodded as he tried to think up the right words. “It was good.” He did not want to seem too excited.

  “Good? Are you deaf?” Clyde slammed his bass case shut.

  “No, I’m not deaf.” Devon leaned forward. “Can I talk to you two in private?”

  They pulled Devon to the far side of the stage. May kept to herself behind her keyboard. “For the love of God,” Serge began, “don’t tell me you’re going to get all diva on us now.”

  “No,” Devon found himself saying again. “It has nothing to do with her being a girl, although… is she even legal?”

  Serge rolled his eyes. “I know she’s tiny, but she’s our age, dude. I think she’s twenty-three…”

  “Oh, great, same age as my ex.”

  “But she works part time at the record store, and that’s where I met her. I’ve seen her play at open mics in the area and she’s damn good. We would be fucking stupid to not pick her up before some other band does.”

  “You know I respect your tastes, but there’s one key thing you are leaving out here.”

  “What’s that?”

  Devon pointed at his friend’s chest. “We can’t afford five members.”

  “What?”

  Somehow, it had to come to this – Devon was the band’s treasurer, and they were barely making any money that could still pay off rehearsal venues and supplies. “We can support a four-member band without going into the red, Serge. We can’t afford five right now.”

  “Shit,” Serge spat.

  “I don’t want money,” May said, coming up behind them. “Well, not if you can’t afford to pay me right now. I just want to play in a band with people who know what they’re doing.”

  “Uh…” Devon was not used to gregarious keyboardists.

  “And it’s not like you guys are really noticed yet, so it’s understandable that you can’t afford a fifth member, and of course a drummer is more important than a keyboardist. But don’t you think that this is a good time to finalize and make your sound distinct? Besides, I don’t want to join a little going-nowhere band, even if it does mean money.”

  Devon sighed. “That’s really generous of you, but how are we to know you wouldn’t just bail on us after we’ve become somewhat dependent on your offerings? I’m not about to let the band rewrite everything just to have to start over again.”

  “Come on,” Clyde pleaded, the headache passing to him as he watched his friend continue to be an ass. “We gonna let her in or not?”

  “Okay, look, you can jam with us for a while, and we’ll see how it plays out.”

  “Whatever you say.” May turned around.

  “Of course, we still have to find us a drummer,” Devon reminded everyone else. “It’s all well and good if we get an awesome new keyboardist, but if we don’t get us a drummer, we’ve got a shit band.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Get a drummer. We’ll put Serge on it.” Clyde slapped his band-mate on the shoulder, much to his surprise.

  “Me? Why me?”

  “‘Cause I have a thesis, and Devon can barely stand up after work. Ain’t that right?”

  “Cry more.” Serge grabbed his water bottle. “I’ve been working full-time longer than you. You’ll hit your groove soon.”

  Devon furrowed his brows. “What do you do all day, again?”

  “Uh… sell records. Give guitar advice. Hang out with my girlfriend in th
e afternoons.”

  Devon needed to go home before he snapped.

  By the time he arrived home, he felt like he was about to pass out.

  He blamed his fatigue on seeing a shadow cross in the corner of his eye. When he turned to look closer, he thought he saw a homeless person stumbling past the dumpsters. However, he was sure that he saw a butterfly perch on the overhang, and for a cold November evening, that was odder than having a keyboardist in his band.

  ***

  A dilapidated apartment building stood on the other side of Devon’s neighborhood. Its gutters were full, its windows moldy, and its walls so thin that the constant wail of police sirens persistently permeated bedrooms to bathrooms. Not the kind of place anyone dreamed of living in. Except for, perhaps, a relocated alien on the prowl.

  Since proclaiming to a legion of hooded men and women that she would go to Earth and extract revenge for her fallen idol Nerilis Dunsman, Kalera had procured the funds and took “a few classes” in Earth history and culture before packing a few belongings and embarking on her trans-galactic voyage to the distant planet. It was her first time living alone, for her father was a human ambassador of her planet and allowed her to live in the family home for most of her life. But Kalera was also the top of her Academy class, and figured it meant she was more than capable of launching an operation on another planet.

  She stood atop the couch and surveyed her tiny apartment as if it were her proper domain. The blinds were hackneyed across the window, and the TV was shoved into the corner of the kitchen. Toothbrushes were arranged in a lovely bouquet in a flower pot on top of the coffee table, and a cell phone she bought because she saw other Earthlings carrying them took prime space in the kitchen cupboard. Absolutely nothing, aside from the refrigerator that came with the apartment, was plugged into an outlet. Those were clearly insect traps.

  “That should do it,” Kalera announced from atop the kitchen counter – next to the toothbrushes – arms akimbo and a smirk besmirching her face. The fuddie-duddies at the Academy would have to give her credit for making it this far on her own. The pampered only child of a political ambassador and a noble julah woman never had to deal with such inferior technology that came from earth. Whatever Kalera’s mother couldn’t snap her fingers – sometimes literally – and procure or her father couldn’t buy was considered mashma, or unnecessary. Coffee makers and microwaves took on such different forms throughout the Federation that Kalera could stare at the buttons for hours and never learn their true meanings.

  She hopped down from the counter and marched to the hallway. Her movement was abruptly cutoff when another figure held up a hand to her much lower forehead. Kalera’s shriek was silenced in the depths of her throat. Vocal chords? No longer hers to control or command. This was how so many people meeting an assassin for the first time soon met tiresome ends.

  Her assailant revealed himself from the shadows of her hallway.

  Somewhere, the old Masters of the Academy laughed at Kalera. When she forewent her final year of instruction to join the ranks of the Legion, they had warned her that the very things she ran away from would soon catch up to her, regardless of where she fled. Fled! she often lamented with nothing but aggression charging her senses. As if! Kalera Farren did not flee. She chased.

  And, sometimes, she was the one chased.

  “Y…you…” The considerable effort it took to get that much out of her mouth proved how much disdain she harbored in her heart. While the threat of assassination subsided, no woman was pleased to see old flames suddenly appear in their new abode. On another planet. In another galaxy. Outside of the Federation.

  “Yes, long time, no communication,” said the soldier. “At least, I don’t think we’ve talked much except for at that rally you so gracefully commanded.”

  Kalera’s lips curled. “Release me!”

  “Fine.” He dropped his hand. Kalera bowled over, her hand shooting out to catch the rest of her body against the wall. “Sorry, but I had to immobilize you so you wouldn’t attack…”

  Kalera launched herself at him, growling like a bear and scratching like a mountain lion. But no matter how much physical strength she hurled at him, the small and petite julah woman was no match for her male peer, who towered over two feet above her. Perhaps there were strategies to engage to make her come out on top, but her anger was too intense, too blinding to let her see any way out.

  “Get the fuck out of here!” She pounded futilely against his sides.

  “You speak with such grace. As if you were the Head Priestess herself descending upon this hostile wasteland.”

  “Blasphemy!” These Academy dropouts were all the same. No proper respect for the Void or the beings who upheld it. Absolute miracle this man had the wherewithal to join the League of Spiritual Awareness. “What do you want, Vikkel?” She spat his name.

  “Helping you.”

  “Helping me what?”

  Vikkel dropped his arm. “You saw me at the rally. I know what you’re here to do.” He did not bother to intercept her when she decided to thump her head against the wall. “You really think you can do it yourself?”

  “Who else would stand with me?” Kalera leaned against the wall with a huff. “Well, besides you, apparently. Although I’m baffled why you’re here – you left the League years ago.”

  “You’ve intrigued me.”

  “How did you get a leave from the military?”

  “I may or may not be AWOL at the moment.”

  “Vikkel!” Ah, there was the disbelief she so readily heaved upon him. Not the first time, nor the last Kalera would betray how easily this man from her past still got under her skin. “First you ‘betray’ the Council by joining the League, then you leave the League to become a soldier, and now you’ve defected to help the League? Are you just bored, or what?”

  “Possibly.” Vikkel could not say nothing else without incriminating himself in front of her – she was correct on every count, after all.

  In his youth, Vikkel Amaryn was a promising julah-human hybrid who raised to the top of his Academy class. The boy had been offered a highly coveted spot reserved for half-julah at the Temple of the Void, where he would be ordained as a Priest before being sent to the far corners of human-infested galaxies to offer comfort and wisdom to those who sought julah teachings.

  Too bad for those still searching. The man, like so many of his fascinated peers, had joined the League of Spiritual Awareness. After his falling out with Kalera, he defected from the League and sought repentance with his people by joining the Armed Defense Forces of Yahzen. Some had tentatively welcomed him back. Others, such as the Amaryn clan, continued to cut off contact. Becoming a soldier was something usually reserved for the most diluted of julah descendants. The demotion from Temple of the Void to Two Moon Barracks had been enough to outcast him for life. The stain of the League would haunt him into his people’s history books.

  “What are you going to do?” Kalera wrinkled her nose. “Get dishonorably discharged, imprisoned, and then rejoin the League? That’ll be the only julah affiliation to accept you after all the group hopping you’ve done. I bet your mother still cries herself to sleep at the thought of her promising baby boy volunteering to plummet from Temple Acolyte to military grunt.”

  Vikkel shrugged. “Maybe I won’t go back to Yahzen. Maybe I’ll join the Federation.”

  “Only if your affiliation with the League isn’t made public.”

  “Why do you care? You hate me.”

  “I hate you because you’re here! Get out!”

  Vikkel stepped into the kitchen, much to Kalera’s infinite chagrin. “Do you even know what you’re doing here? It looks like a five-year-old human lives here.”

  “I took classes.”

  “Did you pass?”

  “None of your business.”

  “No, eh?” Vikkel sighed loud enough for Kalera to be even further annoyed by him. “Guess I’ll have to fix this.”

  She gaped at him with
renewed disdain. “You are not staying here!”

  “Where else am I supposed to stay?”

  “I don’t know! Get your own damn place. I’ve only got one bedroom.”

  “Sorry, my daddy isn’t loaded like yours. Guess I’ll have to stay here, then.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  “Saying what?”

  “Guess! Every time you say that, you assume you’re staying here, when you’re not.”

  Vikkel softened his visage before he really raised her ire. “Kalera… you need me. Bitch all you want about me being here, but you won’t last on this planet two more days without me. For the Void’s sake, I know for a fact you don’t have any food.”

  “I do too! I bought some earlier.”

  “What did you buy?”

  Kalera counted a few things on her fingers, her pride determined to show-up Vikkel if it was the last thing it did that day. “Salt. And bread. I’ve lived off less before.”

  Laughter that could no longer contain itself burst from Vikkel’s chest. “You mean Yahzen salt and bread, right? That stuff is fortified to give you everything you need. Earth salt and bread will make you starve!”

  “That would explain why it’s so cheap here.”

  “How much did you buy?”

  “A…a lot. Why do you know so much about this stuff, anyway? They teach you how to be an Earthling when you were an acolyte, or during your basic training?”

  Vikkel bounded over the couch and finagled with the cords coming out of the wall. “I thought most of this was common sense, even for delicate daughters such as yourself, but if you must know, I learned all the details while being a soldier, yes. We’re taught how to survive on any of the major planets in the galaxy. You’d be surprised how popular Earth is in our lessons.”

  But Kalera was no longer listening. “What are you doing? Leave that alone! Fish come out of there!”

  “What? No. This is cable television. It goes into the TV that you have over in the kitchen for some asinine reason.”

  “Yeah, the digital aquarium!”