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“Most have run out. Besides, you know Fausto is nearly untouchable.”
“Meg isn’t, but she was able to get so close. Lucky girl…but unlucky to have Mr. Donald witness it.”
“She did nothing wrong. Fausto will protect her, as he protects all of us.” Although Irene often worried he’d eventually put the whole troupe in danger with his flirtations. Fausto, who despite his rumored illegal sexual affairs, maintained a close relationship to the head bishop in New York. Even so, maybe introducing Meg to the Kalquorians was a step too far.
Earth’s Church-run government despised Kalquor with a vengeance. Fausto had said it was because Kalquor was in danger of going extinct. They’d approached Earth officials to ask for fertile women to test the possibility of crossbreeding and saving their society. The repressive Church had declared the notion an abomination. It had at once broken all diplomatic ties with Kalquor and forbidden its people to have any dealings with the alien race.
“Watch the door for me, Emma?” Irene eased from her clutches.
“A night out? Of course, though I can’t imagine you finding more excitement than being visited by Kalquorians backstage. They are…not handsome, but very, very interesting.” She licked her lips.
“Thanks.” Irene hurried on to the wardrobe racks.
Her disguise was hidden among the costumes too far gone to be salvaged. Stained, ripped, or from recently banned productions, they awaited their fates to be repurposed. Only Emma and Mrs. Hoffman paid any mind to the damaged rack, and they could be trusted.
Irene slid between the damages and the rack of costumes to be cleaned, wrinkling her nose at the sweaty scents from performing under the bright lights. She was probably a bit ripe herself, but it would aid her purposes for the night. She’d shower when she returned to her quarters, as most the cast preferred to do. The water in the theater’s showers often ran cold and had an unpleasant odor.
Irene located the brown cloak she’d found in a rummage shop on Dantovon. She’d discovered it shortly before they’d contracted for a year’s run on the unnamed Beonid station, where they performed five out of the nine nights of the host species’ week. The cloak was lengthy enough to be a tripping hazard. Had she not also found the thick-soled boots known to belong to the Odeerga race, she’d have had to hem it.
She hung her costume robes from the night’s performance on the laundry rack. She swiftly donned her own knee-length dress, the concealing cloak that closed to mid-thigh, and the boots. Fabric had been stuffed in their toes to help them fit Irene. The last item she put on came from a nearby shelf: an Odeergin breathing headpiece, its mirrored visor concealing her brown eyes from view. The mask was a clunky affair, extending from the bridge of her nose in an oblong snout, which sported a grated round end in which its previous owner would have inserted a filter. It hadn’t been made for a human head and was slightly loose on her skull, but the cloak’s hood disguised the ill fit.
Clutching her com in a gloved hand kept hidden in her roomy sleeve, Irene gave herself the once-over in the nearby mirror. She saw no sign of any human attributes, the voluminous cloak hiding her curvaceous figure. She was ready to roam free on the station minus a chaperone, able to visit any of its attractions without fear of reprisals.
She glanced in Emma’s direction. Her friend was still watching whatever lay beyond the door, so Irene guessed the Kalquorians hadn’t left yet. She was curious about them, but she was twice as eager for the sights and sounds beyond Earth’s iron reach. Irene exited through the door at the rear of the dressing room and began her night of blessed liberty.
The dressing room’s door opened to a service corridor, but it was a short walk to one of the station’s major concourses. In less than a minute, she was in the midst of a breathtaking number of the galaxy’s myriad species. Beings seethed in the popular station’s metal-sheened environs. They walked, glided, flew, crawled, and hopped; a mass of impossibly varied life in all its expected and unlikely forms.
They gave Irene a wide berth as she walked among them. She’d adopted the hunch-shouldered, slithering gait of an Odeergin. The examples she’d studied on vids always appeared to be trying to sneak up on someone, but it was their normal way of walking. It was no doubt disconcerting to the majority of species, who were determined to avoid close contact with the typically shunned race.
The headpiece Irene wore, with its filtered breathing apparatus, hadn’t been designed to protect its intended wearer. It was meant to protect others from it. Odeergins exuded poison at each exhale, and they’d been known to use it against those who’d offended them. Everyone was well aware how easily those headpieces could be whipped off by an irate Odeergin.
For an Earther female of tall stature who wanted to avoid close contact and explore unopposed and unrecognized, it was the perfect disguise. Irene had proven it so in the past six months.
She reveled in her liberty as she wandered the long concourse of shops, restaurants, and entertainments. She’d not indulged overmuch in her ability to disappear in plain sight, so she’d only been to a third of the music venues available to explore on the vast station. Hearing the varied expressions of musical arts from the various worlds was her secret pleasure and obsession. Beonid’s station was famed for attracting acts from throughout the galaxy. Irene was determined to sample them all, whether they were performed by acclaimed professionals or barely-rehearsed amateurs.
Though she’d already visited the Plasian club Mellossin, she paused outside its doors as the soaring tones of a uferliss emerged. Goosebumps covered her hidden skin at the sweet trill that wove a hypnotic tune. Irene loved Plasian music, which often employed such gorgeous notes with an electronic edge. Unfortunately, the Church had deemed it too seductive. To be caught listening to it would launch an interrogation. Any Earther who hadn’t hidden in a cave their entire life knewinterrogationwas a euphonism fortorture.
Irene listened until the song ended. She was tempted to go in and spend the precious couple of hours she’d allotted basking in more, but there was so much to explore. Feeling real regret, she moved on.
She’d just reached a stretch of venues she hadn’t visited before when her com went off. Irene immediately veered to an entrance to the service corridor. When the doors shut behind her and she’d verified she had the quiet hall to herself, she shoved the headpiece off her face. Affecting a tired tone, she answered, “Yes?”
Dolores’ voice was slightly slurred. She’d started in on the brandy early, which afforded Irene relief. “Just checking in, Miss Jonson.”
“Thank you. I’ve returned to my quarters and was waiting for your com before showering.” Irene debated and added, “You missed some excitement.”
“Oh?” There was no interest. Irene could practically hear her thinking,say goodnight and let me get back to my bottle.
“The Kalquorians came backstage.”
“What? What happened? Did they harm anyone?”
“No. I believe Fausto had them well in hand when Mrs. Hoffman, Meg, and I rushed out, but we didn’t linger to learn more.”
“Fausto? Where was Mr. Donald?”
“Yelling at them to leave. I can’t tell you anything beyond that since I left so quickly.”
“Thank heavens you did.” She paused, possibly wondering if she should hear the story in greater detail. She must have been well in her cups, because she finally added, “I suppose we’ll hear the details tomorrow.”
