“Do you know how to do the dance they’re doing?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says as if he’s admitting to a crime.
“Why do you say it like that?” I ask, continuing to clap.
“I was in that club where you worked on Earth. I saw what passes as dancing there. This must be very provincial.”
“You must think I’m very judgmental,” I say. “I actually think that if more people spent their time dancing, we’d all be better off. Any form of dancing, especially if it’s with someone they love.”
He takes off his jacket and takes my wrap from me, tossing them in a pile of castoffs behind us. His large hand swallows mine. He brings me out onto the floor. The music changes to an elegant composition. It sounds postclassical with a haunting pianoforte minimally adorned with electronica beats. With one hand in mine, and the other on my hip, he turns me around the pavilion like we were always made to be here. As I spin with him, I wonder which direction Earth is. Does it matter? What if I allow myself to be lost here in the moment with him?
I let go of everything around me and live on borrowed time. I act as if it’s my last night alive. Who wants to live forever anyway? Laughing, I try to catch my breath while Kyon whirls me in an intricate move.
Fireworks go off, booming and rumbling loudly, the sounds reverberating in my chest. It startles me until the flash and sparkle of colorful light shines on Kyon’s hair, turning it from red, to rose, and then to silver in strobing patterns. Everyone stops dancing to watch the explosions rain down. Watching the fire spread across the sky, I promise myself that I’ll get back the upper hand.
Kyon turns to me with fire in his eyes. Our time is limited. We’ll go our separate ways soon. If all goes well, I’ll never see him again. How was I to guess that that thought would hurt me like it does?
My head begins to ache, like something is hammering on it. I rub my temples to try and ease the pain. All of a sudden, I’m overwhelmingly nauseous. Kyon touches my arm. “Are you ill?” he asks.
“I don’t know . . . I’m—” I drop my hands from my head and notice a blue laser dot on my chest. I look up, following the direction of it. I see Nezra next to an Alameeda soldier in a Striker uniform. His freston is leveled at me. Before I can react, Kyon grasps me and turns me around. He growls when the blue laser flash of ammunition pierces his arm and passes through the meat of it. It doesn’t stop him from pushing me to the ground and drawing his harbinger from his side holster. He turns back around and begins to fire at the Alameeda Strikers who are aligned outside the tent.
Somewhere behind us, Kyon’s security team swarms in, creating a barrier between the Strikers and us. I’m lifted off the ground by Kyon’s arm around my waist. He places me in front of him as he ushers me away from the fighting. I stumble into a crowd of panicking people. I don’t know where to go. Kyon moves me toward a round circle of light. The spotlight slowly shrinks over the ground ahead of us. People are scrambling to get out of its harsh glare.
Looking up, I realize that it’s Kyon’s Hallafast. It lands in front of us and the stairs descend from it like liquid pouring down. I’m urged up the stairway and into the aircraft. Kyon follows me in and closes the door. He pulls me to his chest, kissing me hard. His good hand is on me, running over me as if he’s assessing my state of being. I kiss him back. His kiss becomes gentler when he slowly realizes I’m not hurt. “You’re okay,” he says with relief.
“You’re not. You’ve been shot.” I indicate his arm.
He glances at it and then looks back at me. “It’s not bad,” he says, as if his wound is inconsequential. “You see my knife in my shoulder holster?”
I nod.
“Take it out and cut my hair.”
I do as he says. Grasping the short handle of the knife, I walk around the back of him. Rising up on my tiptoes, I capture his hair at his nape. I don’t have the strength that he has, so I can’t just cut his hair off in one