Chapter Five

THE LINE THROUGH customs wasn’t long, but the thoroughness of the officials made the hours drag on. Everything had to be scanned and opened, including their suitcases and instrument cases. The entire spaceship had to be searched with equipment that made Cole’s hair stand on end.

Then every single person on the ship, including the pilot and engineering staff and all of the band members, had to be interviewed.

“You’re from Roma? Describe your childhood home. Which ship did you stow away on?” They wanted minute details, as if they wanted Cole to trip up and talk about a flowering tree that couldn’t grow in the galaxies where Roma and Lacustrine were located. He wasn’t about to make that mistake.

Cole assumed his story checked out because he and his belongings were given a literal stamp of approval. The red ink would apparently fade in one week, just as they were preparing to leave the planet.

When they finally were allowed to walk into the spaceport, Misty wrote a note to her supervisor about the difficulties of entering Kamura. Chances were that very few, if any, bands from their label would be stopping by the planet again. Cole was just glad to be done with the pressing questions and invasive searches.

A car was waiting for them in a private area outside the port. They were driven directly to the first venue for setup.

“Start it off with a bang.” Misty reminded them of their set list after the nerve-wracking unloading of the instruments was completed. “‘Willow Tree’ and then the band introduction. Go into ‘Queen Me’ and ‘Steady Hunter’ next. Slow it down, throw in some jokes, Sol, and cut into ‘Love’s Devastation.’”

It was the same exact set list as their previous concert on Gaia, but Cole still made sure to listen closely. He didn’t want to make any mistakes.

Finally, Misty nodded, satisfied that everything was prepared. “Go have lunch,” she said. “Be back in an hour and a half for warm-up and a quick run-through. A local band is opening for us, so we’ll be on in four hours!”

Cole had a light lunch and drank some lemon water to prep his throat for singing later, but otherwise he kept to himself in a corner backstage. Kingsley was swinging his arms happily to loosen up while Sol and Queenie were stretching their fingers. When about fifteen minutes were left of their break, Cole wandered off to a piano to run through some quick scales to prepare his voice. He couldn’t help plucking out a few notes to a song that might have been building in his head, but he quickly returned to his vocal exercises before he could get too distracted.

“Test, test one, mic one,” a voice called from the stage.

“Test, test two, mic two,” a second voice said.

Cole took a deep breath and followed his bandmates out onto the stage for warm-up.

 

THE BAND FINISHED their set to massive applause. They were all exhausted, covered in sweat, and blinking away afterimages of flashing cameras and the laser-light system that accompanied their performance. Cole let go of his microphone stand, outwardly flashing a shy smile at the audience and inwardly hoping that his tired knees would still hold him up without the extra help of the stand.

Cole collapsed in the first chair he saw backstage, still listening to cheering that hadn’t died down. Basic training had nothing on this gig.

“Up you go, Cole,” Kingsley said with an understanding grin. He helped lever Cole back onto his feet. “We have contest winners to entertain in our break room and only five minutes to wash our faces first.” He held on to Cole as they both dragged their tired bodies farther backstage, which Cole was very grateful for.

Misty pressed open bottles of water into both their hands as Kingsley pushed Cole into the closest couch inside their break room. Queenie was sprawled on the floor in the center of the small room, a huge smile on her face. She hummed a few bars of “Queen Me,” her signature song with the longest bass solo, and her grin widened.

Sol tossed a damp cloth at her face from where he was sitting, legs sprawled in front of his long body and his arms splayed out to either side. Cole understood Queenie’s happiness. “Queen Me” had gone perfectly; Queenie stepped up with her guitar poised and then rocked it out so hard that Cole was hard-pressed to keep up with the lyrics. Sol was just jealous, although his solo in “Steady Hunter” caused a female screaming extravaganza that almost deafened Cole.

But, God, had that been fun! Cole didn’t think he would ever get used to the screaming fans or the loud music, but to sing amid such adulation, supported by such wonderful bandmates…well, Cole would never come down from the high.

The only thing that could make any of this better would be if Dayton were here, but Cole adamantly refused to dwell on that thought. He wanted to stay happy and relaxed during the tour in Kamura, not depressed and worried about how Dayton was doing back home. More than anything, Cole wanted to end every concert with Dayton’s smile and hug of congratulations.

So much for not thinking about it, Cole sighed as he slowly sat up. Misty bustled by and replaced Cole’s empty bottle with a full one, then handed him a damp towel to wipe away his layer of sweat.

“I’ve had word from security,” she announced to the exhausted band. “We’ve got six people with backstage passes coming here. Smile, be nice, take pictures, and answer their questions if you can. This is great PR, and we want to work it to its max!”

With that said, Misty hurried to the door and flung it open to welcome the six people waiting just outside. They were all wearing holopatches floating in midair off their shoulders, displaying the band’s symbol, a crown, so security would allow them backstage.

“Welcome!” Misty said, and she wore a wide smile on her face that Cole only ever saw when she was doing PR. She introduced the band and the six visitors who ranged in age from a ten-year-old girl to the girl’s fifty-year-old mother.

The girl immediately made calf eyes at Kingsley, which set off an opposite reaction in her mother. Cole had to hide a smile as he turned to say hello to a teenaged boy who plopped down on the couch next to him.

“So, what’s it like being in a band?” the teen asked without any visible reservation.

“Um,” Cole replied, surprised that he was being addressed. The other five visitors were flocked around Queenie and Kingsley, with Sol happily joining in to chat. Cole didn’t understand why someone would choose to talk to him when his more charismatic and interesting band members were nearby.

The fan mags all gushed over Queenie’s looks and Kingsley’s swagger. They always mentioned Sol’s easygoing and joking attitude. Then the mags wondered about Cole’s shyness and worried over whether his stage presence would equal his voice when he could barely look someone in the eye during an interview. Misty had warned him not to be offended if the fans didn’t flock his way in huge numbers. He was more relieved than offended when this proved true on Gaia, but according to Misty, he was mysterious despite his shyness, so he should expect there to always be some fans in his camp.

“It’s more different than anything I’ve ever experienced before,” Cole finally tried to explain while the teen watched his blush go from pink to burning red. “All the screaming fans and the constantly full schedule,” he added when the boy continued to stare.

“What’s your schedule like on Kamura?” he asked, and Cole felt a twinge of a red flag go up. There was something about that innocent question that didn’t sit right with Cole.

Cole laughed, trying to sound nonchalant. “Busy. They said on the website that we’ll have time to sightsee, but I can’t figure out when. Tomorrow we’re sleeping late, and it won’t be late enough,” he emphasized. His sweat and exhaustion were obvious, and Cole knew that his embarrassment over that fact was clear as well. “Then we’re packing up the stadium.”

Cole paused to visibly take a deep breath and also to figure out what he should and should not say. Most of the information about their schedule was public knowledge, posted on their website and given to Kamura customs officials. He wondered if the teen was testing him to see if what Cole had to say and the formal schedule matched up.

“One more night at the hotel here,” Cole said, deciding to be as detailed as possible while sticking to exactly what was on the band’s website. “But it’s a very early morning flight to the other venue. We’ll spend most of the day in the air,” Cole explained. “Misty—that’s our manager—says it’ll take that long because of the flight regulations we have to go through to jump continents. Then we’ll start unpacking. The next morning we finish setting up and start preparing for the concert that night. Then it’s sleep late and take down the sets. We allegedly have the last day on Kamura to sightsee, but since we’re also leaving that night we can’t really do much.”

“You are busy,” the boy agreed in a voice filled with teenage awe. Cole risked a glance upward and saw what he expected to see: the boy’s eyes were too calculating to match with his words. Then all the deviousness vanished. “Wow!” he said, his voice much lighter and more exuberant. “Can I get your autograph? That was an amazing concert, you know. I wish I could sing like you.”

Cole felt his blush return at the praise. Almost an instinctive response at this point, Cole didn’t try to stop it from giving legitimacy to the interview. He was glad when Misty began shooing the visitors out ten minutes later and was even happier when the band could rush into a waiting car.

The bed in the room he shared with Sol was inviting, too inviting, but Cole knew better than to collapse in it. He rushed to grab his things while Sol was admiring the holotelevision and headed straight to the shower. Once he finished and stepped into the bedroom, Sol dashed by to take his turn. Cole climbed into his bed and curled up around his phone, listening to Dayton’s latest message as he slowly fell asleep.