Sweet Starfire

escort dealt with the grisly man before her.
    “Don’t touch her, you renegade idiot. Are you so drunk that you can’t tell she’s from Clementia? What’s more, she’s a patron. My patron.”
    The glassy-eyed man blinked, frantically trying to focus his eyes. “I’m sorry, lady—I mean, Otanna. Didn’t mean nothin’, uh, rude. Had no idea what I was doing. No offense intended, I swear to Saints.”
    Cidra hurried to respond to the man’s apology. She realized that he was under a misapprehension, thanks to her escort’s comments. “Do not concern yourself. All is serene. And you have inflicted no real pain. I am—” But again she was not allowed to finish her sentence. With a dazed sense of surprise she realized that the hulk with the grappling-hook hands wasn’t listening to her at all. He had turned to Teague Severance and was apologizing to him.
    “Sorry about that, Severance. Never meant to interfere between you and a patron. Just a little misunderstanding. Better get her outa here, though. She’ll probably go crazy any second.”
    “I’m working the problem. Unfortunately she’s not exactly cooperating.”
    Cidra felt a rush of emotion that was decidedly akin to annoyance. She responded to the accusation in a tone of voice that was neither properly modulated nor serene. “I am trying to cooperate, Otan Severance. But circumstances are making it difficult.”
    “Just close your eyes and stop digging in your heels every time one of these Wolves gets in your way.” And with that, the man called Severance once again hauled Cidra toward the tavern’s back door.
    Once inside the relative safety of the small kitchen, which was protected by a makeshift barricade of hastily arranged food heaters and ale dispensers, Cidra and her escort found the tavern’s owner and his employees sitting around a table, playing a game of Free Market. The stacks of gleaming sardite chips in the center of the table indicated the seriousness of the stakes involved. Several bottles of ale resided at the players’ elbows. The balding proprietor glanced up with a frown as Cidra and her companion burst into the room.
    “Now, look here, kitchen’s off-limits. You know that,” the owner growled.
    “We’re not participating,” Severance assured him, not bothering to slow down as he headed toward the rear door. “Just looking for a way out.”
    But by now the owner had noticed Cidra’s appearance. Everything from the expensive comb of fire beryl in her carefully braided hair to the slippers embroidered with genuine emerald floss spoke of Harmonic wealth and refinement. “What do you think you’re doing bringing her here? She looks like she’s from Clementia.”
    “She is.”
    “Sweet Harmony, get her outa here.”
    “I’m trying,” Severance said, his hand on the door latch. “Saints know I’m trying.”
    “There seems to be some misunderstanding,” Cidra began hurriedly as she glanced back at the scowling tavern proprietor. “I’m from Clementia, but I’m not a… a Harmonic.”
    “Forget it. We’ll straighten everything out later.” Severance had her outside on the gently glowing fluoroquartz pavement. Maintaining his grip on her arm, he broke into an easy, loping stride and forced Cidra to match his pace.
    In the distance the arrogant shriek of a safeguard runner sliced through the balmy night air. Cidra was suddenly very grateful that she wouldn’t have to endure the indignity of being questioned. Kyrene, her mentor, would have been shocked, to say nothing of her parents’ reaction.
    The glowing bands of fluoroquartz supplied all the light they needed to follow the path easily in the warm darkness. The pavement was still wet from a recent rain, and drops of w water, illuminated by the natural light of the fluoroquartz, glittered like jewels. Cidra wanted to stop and examine the prismatic effect. Such naturally occurring phenomena, so close to artifice in their beauty, were meant to be appreciated. But her escort clearly had no intention of slowing down, and Cidra felt it was an inauspicious moment to debate the issue.
    But as she raced along beside Teague Severance, she found herself instead savoring the rich assortment, of fragrances that floated on the damp, balmy breeze, Clementia was a subtly perfumed delight, it’s odors carefully generated by exotic, hybrid flowers to complement the delicate noses of its inhabitants. But here in Port Valentine, Cidra’s olfactory senses were