FONTANA FREEPORT, CALIFORNIA SYSTEM, REPUBLIC OF LIBERTY
As soon as the aging Falcon touched down on the pad and the rhythmic hum of the main engine faded into nothing, Tracey breathed a long sigh and paused for a moment to take stock. Flying did not come to her naturally, and though she was much better than when she first started, every landing after a long trip brought her relief to be on solid ground again.
So, this was Fontana. It didn't look like much from the outside, but Tracey knew such appearances were deceptive. There must have been an entire complex hidden away in this large asteroid. The bluish metal wall panels had the look of sturdy, military construction work, supported by rock and ice underneath. Through the glass, she saw a dozen different ships sitting under bright overhead lamps, some unremarkable like hers, some sporting flashy custom paint jobs. She was in one of the public docking bays, and the place was bustling with people rushing about, carrying cargo and shouting at each other. Of all places she knew, it reminded her of Halifax, but cleaner and not constantly decaying.
Tracey shook her head, took off her helmet and unbuckled herself from the pilot seat. She wasn't here to gawk, but to play music, have some fun and maybe make new friends. She smoothed her hair and clambered out of the cockpit, retrieving her travel bag and instrument case before lowering the Falcon's ramp and making her way down onto the landing pad. The air here was fresher than Tracey was used to, and she took a moment to inspect her ship. While the Falcon was unremarkable, someone spotting the small BMM serial number etched into its side could mean trouble. Or not. One never knew with shady freeports.
It didn't look like anyone had come out to greet her, and her invitation was light on details on where to go, so she wasn't in a hurry. A word with the dockmaster gave her directions to the nearby habitation section where she could secure a place to stay, and chatting with the landlord woman while checking in got her a summary of local venues that might have spots for her to perform. All that was left now was to find a stage, a changing room, and an audience.
She drew some curious looks as she wandered through the halls, her boots plinking softly against the metal floor. The sight of a small woman in a black and grey flight suit carrying a guitar case in one hand and a large bag over her shoulder was just unusual enough to be notable. People parted in front of her, and Tracey smiled and nodded at them gratefully, aware that if anybody on the station was expecting her, they might make themselves known soon. And if not, she'll find her way anyway.
What made her eventual destination stand out was a poster, it was designed to catch the eye and certainly not something prepared as an afterthought. It detailed the exact time of today's concert and most strikingly mentioned Tracey by name, encouraging Xenos to attend.
Through the doors near the walls plastered with posters was a large room, an adjoined bar that served snacks alongside drinks, and an intimidating array of seats and more private lounges on a floor above. There was even a small handful of technicians moving around the room making sure speakers were set up in ideal places, and that any other equipment which might prove vital to the performance was in working condition.
Watching all of this might have proved distracting enough to not hear a set of footsteps approaching her vicinity. "You're here. Guitar and all." Damien spoke while walking past the would-be performer. Appearing to be dressed casually in a near-sleeveless gray and black jumpsuit. It almost looked like a reinterpretation of the off-duty suits used by the Bounty Hunters Guild, which suggested the Alliance had reached a position where it started to somewhat care for the appearances of the people associated with it. The X-shaped belt was certainly a neat touch, and perhaps dangerously close to a brand-image.
"Everything you need is pretty much ready, and I've already invited everyone I know. So no pressure, right?" This sounded like sarcasm, it had to have been. Especially considering the fact that the seats numbered well into the dozens.
She expected a bar with a stage -- that's what she was used to. She didn't expect a concert hall with a bar attached. But that was alright. She could adapt. Taking in the room, Tracey's mind was coolly running through ideas on how to give the best performance possible. She had a few practice sessions beforehand and felt confident, but came to Fontana without a solid plan. There was going to be a lot of improv, but for some reason she was determined to impress everyone here.
Her train of thought was interrupted, startled by Cobra's sudden appearance. Tracey composed herself for a second before looking up at him and breaking into a smile.
"'Course I am, Commander," she said in response to his first words to her. "Wouldn't miss it for anything."
There was a hint of nervousness to her voice, but she quickly got it under control. This guy was in charge, and the reason she was even here. She probably had nothing to fear from him. In fact, it looked like he put some effort into hyping her up to his people. She didn't want to think what would happen if she embarrassed herself on stage -- and him by extension.
"No, no pressure at all. Not after I get spaced for making a fool of myself in front of dangerous people," she joked, perhaps referencing their first meeting or some other incident from her past. Her accent placed her as a New Londoner of working-class origins, unremarkable in Bretonia but uncommon to hear from a space traveller.
One of the technicians offered to take her instrument backstage to get it in place for the concert, and Tracey hesitated before thanking him and handing off the guitar. She was more used to hauling her gear for each gig herself. She instinctively ran her now free hand through her short blonde hair, brushing it to the side before glancing towards the bar. There was still a bit of time before she had to go get ready.
"D'you mind if I go for a drink?" Tracey asked Cobra. She didn't think he would mind -- that's what the bar is for.
The movement of a hand through her hair had to have been a tell of some kind, so he made a mental note of it for no reason other than posterity.
"By all means. Drinks are free for the entertainment." He offered an encouraging smile and gestured her over to the attached bar with a flourish. She would be left with her own thoughts and choice of drink there since at least for now he wasn't sitting down to chat, likely finding something else to manage in the background.
It had been long enough that Damien fully expected everyone else to slowly start trickling in. So he kept a keen eye on the entrance.
She was alone again, and didn't know anyone else here. Someone else might have been daunted by this, but Tracey confidently strolled over to the bar. With the prospect of free drinks, she could sort this issue in no time.
Entering the adjoined room, she walked up to the counter and hopped on one of the free stools, looking curiously around her. The place was well-lit, ceiling lights casting a cool bluish glow over the patrons. Some were wearing outfits like Cobra's, and Tracey didn't look too out of place among them. Others looked like freeport regulars: freelance pilots, smugglers and mercenary outlaws conversing over their tables and in the side booths. No doubt many of them were also affiliated with the Xenos. One of the walls had a large window giving a view of the Sierra Ice Field. A slight scent of Liberty Ale and tobacco lingered in the air.
The bartender turned towards Tracey with a questioning look, catching her by surprise and causing her to say the first thing that came to mind.
Drink in hand, Tracey spent a few minutes surveying the crowd and making small talk with the other guests. This helped her pick up the local vibe and settle on a list of songs she was going to play. The people around her seemed excited to see some live music. She wished her former band was here. They played dozens of gigs together, most of them for a single-digit audience in seedy bars of New London's underbelly. Yet there were at least a hundred seats in this room. This was a larger scene than she was used to, and facing it without her friends' support felt awkward somehow.
Tracey drained her glass and put it down. It was time to get changed and do some last-minute tuning. She withdrew from the crowd that was to become her audience and disappeared into the dressing room to get ready for the show.
The next hour flew by, with more and more guests filtering in. Events like this were common on Fontana, but few of them ever had the personal endorsement of the Alliance Commander. People ordered refreshments at the bar and took their seats, slowly filling the venue to capacity. Many of them moved in groups, using the concert as a reason to hang out with their friends and catch up on the latest happenings.
The air was pierced by a feedback noise from the stage mic as the audio techs wrapped up the setup. Then they, too, disappeared backstage. One of them brought out Tracey's guitar and put it on a stand. It was a worn old thing, the red paint on its body scratched and chipped away in places.
The lights dimmed. For a moment, the room was plunged into darkness, with only starlight creeping in through the side window. The voices of the crowd quelled down to murmurs. Then the stage lights came on slowly, right as Tracey made her entrance. She stood a few inches taller now, elevated by the thick soles of her platform boots. Her stage outfit clung to her shape, a black leather vest adorned with studs and matching pants contrasting against milky skin and the scarlet lipstick accentuating her smile. A similarly studded belt and a pair of leather wristbands around her forearms completed the ensemble.
She waved at the audience as she confidently strode forward. Picking up her guitar, she slung the strap over her shoulder and approached the microphone. All traces of bashfulness apparently evaporated, leaving behind self-assured poise.
"Hello, Fontana!" she exclaimed, looking around. "Thank you all for being here tonight."
She was the centre of everyone's attention now, and everything depended on the next few moments.
Surprisingly enough, the Xenos gathered here seemed like the ideal audience for someone who might want to know their performance was going well. They made sure to vocalize it as loudly as possible, and as often as they could. This was ramped up to as high as it would go with the bar so close by and drinks so readily available. Provided the music was even vaguely decent and capable of pumping up the energy in the room, then the whole lot would be enthusiastically receptive. Some might dance, while others stayed seated but clapped or thumped their hands on the table to the beat.
Damien for his part was just a quiet onlooker, nursing a glass of cold soda but keeping an eye on the room and the general energy.
Food was also being handed out, no doubt a necessity in order to keep people from becoming miserably hung over, and just as a general courtesy if this concert went on for a decent while. But whether or not that was going to be the case was up to Tracey, and her itinerary of songs.
She saw dozens of eyes looking back at her, and the cheering and whooping from the audience washed over her spine like an electric shock. A weight suddenly lifted itself from her shoulders, and Tracey let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She wanted this. And while she worried that she would sound a little plain without the backing of other instruments, all she could do now was play her parts, and she resolved to play them well.
Without further ado, her hands plucked the first chord, and then the next. Amplified notes filled the hall through the speakers. Each chord hung in the air, reverberating in the large room and giving the song a gritty, haunted finish. Falling into rhythm, Tracey nodded along as she worked through her intro. Satisfied, she leaned into the mic and sang.
Come take your blindfold off and look around
Take in the misery we wrought upon ourselves
Light a fire in the dark and make it loud
Let it guide the lost souls out of their cells
The tune shifted, becoming more aggressive. Tracey's singing voice was smooth at first, but took on a gravelly quality as she reached the next part. Fired up, she screamed the words, following each line up with a riff.
I escape your control
The voice in the silence
Confusion reigns
From a throne of deceit
The world looks small
From the shoulders of tyrants
Throw down the chains
And follow me!
Let loose, Tracey swayed back and forth, weaving in little movements to enhance her stage presence. She channelled raw anger into the chorus section, stomping her feet and demanding answers from an uncaring universe.
Can you feel the longing
For the names no one remembers?
Can you hear the calling
To stoke the dying embers?
Can you see us crawling
Through your lens of delusion?
Can you smell the burning?
It's the fuse of our illusions!
A pause, and then she fell back into the established tempo, starting another verse. The Xenos, Cobra, her old problems -- that was all in the background now. She was putting herself into the show, realising that it was as much for her own benefit as anyone else's.
The rot at the core
Is gutting us hollow
The flames will rise
And engulf the tower
For those who came before
And those who will follow
Who see through the lies
Of faceless power!
Can you feel the longing
For the names no one remembers?
Can you hear the calling
To stoke the dying embers?
Can you see us crawling
Through your lens of delusion?
Can you smell the burning?
It's the fuse of our illusions!
Some of the audience was singing along with the chorus now. Tracey took a step back and did a little twirl, carefully avoiding the cable plugged into her guitar. She grinned as she played a fiery solo, exciting the crowd further. The stage lights pulsed and flickered, giving her performance an otherworldly feel. She walked back to the mic as she concluded the guitar solo and took on a more gentle tone as she sang the next four lines, bridging the way towards the final stretch of her song.
Light a fire in the dark
Mend the broken stars
A new day is dawning
Can you feel the longing?
Pleased with the build-up, Tracey brought everything together. Between the mic and the guitar she didn't have much freedom of movement, but she pushed it to the limit, dancing animatedly as she played and shouted the words of the chorus one more time.
Can you feel the longing
For the names no one remembers?
Can you hear the calling
To stoke the dying embers?
Can you see us crawling
Through your lens of delusion?
Can you smell the burning?
It's the fuse of our illusions!
She played the final note, and it was over. Tracey felt a flush creep up on her cheeks. That was the first time this song was played in years. Was it just a brief echo of rebellious youth, or something still capable of stirring emotion? She briefly wondered what the rest of the Dread Eclipse would think of her solo rendition. She would have to compare it to their old recordings later.
Still, she got through her first song, and she probably wasn't going to get lynched. Things could only get better from here. She made the horns at the crowd, took a moment to catch her breath and got ready to play the next one.
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