Miss Shala, the Stardancer

[A/N: Eventually, this will be a scene in a far larger story. Originally, I was going to make Jarem a performer, too, asking his girlfriend to go away with him. But, instead, I got this. And I'm pretty proud of it.]

Jarem was enraged. Of course, he was hardly ever in a good mood, but this took the cake. The nineteen-year-old paced his room, madly running his hands through his auburn hair. Finally, he sat down hard on his bed and picked up the letter.

It was crumpled, and the ink was slightly smeared from accidentally landing in a mug of coffee. Jarem smoothed it out in his leg and read it’s contents once more.

I am sorry. I wil not be joyning yoo. I wil stay heer. Lov, Shala.

Her English is horrible, Jarem noted with a sneer and crumpled the letter up once more. I came here for you, and this is what you give me?

Four months ago, Jarem had left earth to find her and bring her home. Four months ago, Jarem deserted his family because his estranged brother had wanted to see his wife one last time.

It had been easy enough to find Kara- she had made a huge name for herself as the Shala, Star Dancer of Renard and Son’s Cavalcade of Wonders. It had also been easy enough to secure a temporary job with the circus as well, and so had been getting to know “Miss Shala”—Kara was never one to turn away her adoring fans.

But now Jarem found himself racing to the dressing rooms with the crumpled letter clutched in his hand.

“Kara!” he shouted. A woman’s head popped up from the troupe of performers. They stood and sat by a curtained door that led to the stadium floor. The woman had been tying the laces of her canvas shoes while a second woman secured the ribbons on her costume. “Kara,” Jarem said once more.

“Shala,” the woman corrected him with a smile. She stood up and whispered something to the second woman who immediately walked away. Shala resumed getting ready; she picked up several bobby pins and put all but on in between her teeth. One by one, she slipped them in her ebony hair, which had been pulled back into a glitter-covered twist.

“Kara,” Jarem ignored her correction. “You have to go home.”

“I don’t belong there,” she answered in the universal tongue. Her voice was strange.

“Willem needs you.”

“He didn’t need me when he left me, pregnant, poor, and in a backward slum with overdue rent so he could join the rebels.” As she said this, Shala ran a gloved hand over the faint scar on her stomach. She called the woman who had been helping her earlier. “Garet mar tinon sa.” The woman nodded and took a jar of makeup from the dressing table. She quickly covered the scar in powder.

“You know that’s not true.”

“We all have our own truths. Go home Jarem, your family misses you.”

“And don’t you think they miss you?” Shala laughed.

“I was always that stupid, poor prostitute to them. They pitied me.”

“And so you’ve gone one step up, now you’re a stupid, rich prostitute,” Jarem spoke harshly. Shala looked puzzled for a minute before realizing he had switched the English.

“You will not say that about Miss Shala!” the woman tending to Shala stood up to her full height. She was a large woman, an alien Jarem realized.

Suddenly he felt quite small.

The look of confusion returned to Shala’s face. The alien woman translated, and a wry smile appeared.

“Go home, Jarem,” she said once more. She leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead. The alien woman stepped to the curtain and pulled it aside, holding a black cloak to Shala.

Shala pulled the cloak over her head and ran in the center ring. A soft spotlight centered on the black figure and slowly grew brighter. Jarem sighed from behind the curtain.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the wonder of our galaxy: Miss Shala, the Star Dancer!” the Ringleader shouted from his podium. Shala flung the cloak to the ground and the audience fell into a roar of applause. She waited for the clapping to die down before she took a graceful bow and produced from behind her back three glowing balls, each no bigger than a marble.

Music began to play in the stadium, and Shala threw one of the balls into he air. It grew bigger, becoming a flat disk, which she caught easily in her free hand. She winked in Jarem’s direction and held the disk in front of her body.

“Tonight, we have a special treat for you, ladies and gents. Miss Shala will not be performing her amazing feats from the ground,” a hushed whispered fell across the audience, “but from 50 feet above it!”

Shala stepped lightly onto the disk, her canvas clad foot hitting a small button on the side. Immediately, she began to rise. The audience gasped and Shala absorbed every smile from their faces.

She performed, as she did every night, for her vast audience, working majestic feats and complicated dances with the aid of the three lit marbles. Jarem closed the curtain the stumbled to the stool in front of Shala’s dressing table. He covered his face with his hands and took in a deep breath. The smell of animal waste filled his mouth, and he coughed.

“Why?” Jarem looked up. The alien woman stood before him; her gray skin appeared almost translucent in the dim lights.

“Why what?” he answered.

“Why must Miss Shala return home?”

“It’s her duty to her family.”

“But does she not have a duty to her family here?” There was a soft smile on the woman’s lips. “I could have been a great linguist—but I stay here because it is my duty. I am a translator between the performers and their fans, and I help them get ready to go out. I am Miss Shala’s sister.”

“That is a fairy tale argument. Kara has a four-year-old daughter on Earth whose father is in prison for desertion. Her unborn son lies in an unmarked grave. It is her duty to claim those children.”

“I wonder, Mr. Jarem, if it is not so much her duty as one you have taken upon your self.”

“What do you mean?” Jarem’s eyes narrowed.

“Stories of your brother are told even here. He is a hero. But does anyone hear of his wife and child? No. They are not a part of those stories, for heroes cannot leave anyone behind. Miss Shala is happy here, and if you came here to do any good, you will leave her to her truth.”

“Her truth is a falsehood! Kara has a duty to her children and her husband.”

“Mr. Jarem, please, go home. The next Earth-bound flight leaves in an hour.” The alien woman turned around and began tidying up the makeshift dressing room. The other performers, who had been watching the entire scene, returned to their preparations.

“I can’t go home without Kara,” Jarem said softly.

“Then I suggest you reclaim your job here, Mr. Jarem. Miss Kara died three years ago.”

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