Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [47]
When it arrived, as she had instructed, the spotlight picked out the captain center stage, dressed in a simple white dancer’s leotard (no headwear or tutu), frozen and silent in her pose until the familiar strains of Tchaikovsky’s theme began. Tom held his breath as the captain began to move, then slowly released it and allowed himself to inhale again as she made her way first around the stage, the spotlight her only companion. She made, he decided, a lovely Princess Odette, and though the movements were simple-little more than the dance movements taught to a child-so too were they unhurried and graceful.
As the captain’s performance continued, Tom felt relaxed enough that he could study the audience’s reaction and was relieved to see that they seemed as pleased and receptive as he had been. He found his gaze lingering on Chakotay, who, seated in the center of the first row, seemed entranced by the sight of his commanding officer. With every one of Captain Janeway’s gestures and footfalls, Tom imagined he saw another line of care erased from Chakotay’s face to be replaced by wonder and an unfamiliar sadness. Then, out of respect or courtesy or some emotion he could not accurately name, he looked away.
It took B’Elanna a moment to get over the surprise of seeing the captain onstage, but she managed to keep the dancer in the spotlight throughout most of her act. When the captain finished and skipped offstage (to more than polite applause, B’Elanna thought), she powered down the spot and began to bring up the house lights working on the assumption that no one would want to follow the commanding officer’s act. She was wrong.
Before any of the spectators could rise, Tom was standing on the lip of the stage with his arms extended, asking everyone to remain seated. “Hold on, folks,” he said in the near dark. “Can I get a spot, please?” Against her better judgment, B’Elanna obliged. “Thanks for coming everyone,” Tom continued. “Thanks for being so gracious. I just wanted to extend my gratitude to the cast and crew, but mostly to make sure everyone knew who really pulled the show together. Neelix, come on up here.” The grinning Talaxian joined Tom on stage a moment later, where he thanked everyone, bowed to the applause, grinned some more, bowed some more, then backed out of the spot, indicating that Tom should receive praise, too.
B’Elanna expected Tom to milk the moment, but instead he again indicated everyone should settle down and such was the power of a spotlight that everyone complied. “If you don’t mind, I have one more act I’d like to bring up here. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to do this, so we didn’t have her on the official slate, but I don’t think I want to give her a choice.” Indicating a form near the back of the stage, Tom called out, “Lauren? Come on up here. I told you I was probably going to do this, so don’t act surprised. Harry-don’t let her get out the door.”
There was a shuffling commotion near the holodeck exit, but a moment later Lauren climbed the steps to the stage carrying an eccentrically shaped case. She was wearing a skirt, B’Elanna saw, some kind of sash that at a distance appeared to be a mottled green, but when the spotlight hit her resolved into a complex plaid.
“Lauren’s family,” Tom explained while Lauren opened her case, “comes from the Scottish highlands. When we first announced this show, she came to me and explained that they have a tradition of playing and singing. When she came aboard, like a lot of us, we didn’t expect to be gone for so long (a little wry laughter here), so she didn’t have her instrument with her. But, with a little ingenuity, over the past couple weeks, we’ve been working on that.” Lauren stood then and lifted out of her case what to B’Elanna looked like an octopus crossed with a modest-sized