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“No doubt. Well, I’m off to shower if that’s all?”
“I suppose. What did they look like? Did they really have horns?”
Irene bit her lips together to keep from braying laughter. When she had control over the burst of humor, she said, “I didn’t notice horns, but I felt it best to get out quickly, so I can’t say they weren’t there. All I saw were huge men with brown skin and long black hair.”
And muscles for days. Irene had appreciated those muscles, but she wasn’t about to share such information with Dolores.
“Huge? They sound terrifying. Very well…I trust we won’t make a big deal of me leaving early? You were with Mrs. Hoffman and came to no harm…”
Irene smirked at the sudden nervous turn. “Oh, I believe I was perfectly safe. If no one else volunteers information, I certainly won’t.”
Especially when it came to the inappropriate notice Fausto had drawn toward Meg, who’d pay a higher price than he would if the Church decided to correct them. Irene’s humor was doused in icy concern. She hoped the fact the Kalquorians had gained access to backstage on Donald’s watch would keep everyone quiet where Meg was concerned, chaperones and security most especially.
Fausto had confided to Irene he had a head full of secrets on each member of the company’s entourage, specifically for the purpose of keeping them from reporting to Earth authorities any ill-advised “mistakes” committed by the cast and crew. He was adamant he’d protect those he’d handpicked to leave Earth in his company.
Her stomach began to unknot as Dolores returned to her usual cold tone. “If it’s kept quiet, we can forget the entire matter. Goodnight, Miss Jonson.”
“Goodnight.”
Check-in done, Irene dropped her com in the cloak’s pocket. She drew a breath, reminded herself Fausto was damned near untouchable, and pulled the headgear in place. She returned to the concourse and its swirl of late-night denizens.
She wandered. Her attention sharpened as she approached each club offering musical acts. Beonid, Alneusian, Adraf, Joshadan, Salenxa, Tratsod, Bi’isil, Kitleg; melodious, cacophonic, soft. Single instruments, a cappella singers, ensembles the size of symphonies…each society proved music was the great link of civilizations, no matter how disparate they might be.
She’d heard much of what swirled to the concourse before, and she entered those venues featuring songs appealing to her, enjoyed a few minutes, and moved on. It was a soundscape of beauty and wonder. Even the discordant noises claiming to be music were granted a fair hearing if the performers appeared to be in earnest. Irene envisioned taking the best of what she heard and somehow combining it in a harmonious whole. She knew a single piece of music pleasing everyone was an impossibility and she welcomed the individuality of expression, but it was still fun to wonder what the perfect species-spanning tune might sound like.
It was closing in on time for her to retreat to her quarters when she spotted a knot of big, black-uniformed Kalquorians congregating in front of a club. Dressed as the captain and his clan, they were no doubt part of the ship’s crew. For a moment, Irene considered heading to her temporary home and avoiding them altogether. Curiosity about what appealed to the species that had earned Earth’s wrath called insistently, however. She detected a bass-heavy throb coming from the club, and inquisitiveness won out.
Like most, Kalquorians made room for her approach. They noted her without disgust or disdain, merely wariness. For her part, Irene did her best to saunter casually for an Odeergin. She pretended not to notice the men who really did resemble humans, impressive size and muscles notwithstanding.
She drifted beyond the massive men, entered the club, and was instantly walloped.
Chapter Two
The thunder of sound was almost a physical blow, and Irene stood frozen a few steps beyond the entrance in shock. Her senses reeled.
The bass thud had become blistering thunder inside the sound-canceling barrier, which had kept the club from breaking the station’s noise-level regulations. Irene was grateful her headgear and the hood tugged over it offered some buffering, but her ears would probably be ringing when she left.
When she’d recovered from her surprise, she stepped further in the room, taking in her surroundings.
A long bar spanned most of one wall of the club, and the clientele standing at it were predominantly Kalquorians. At least half wore those black uniforms trimmed in blue, red, or green. The reds predominated, and Irene noted those men had the fiercest expressions, though they appeared relaxed and content for the most part. Even the pair slamming fists into each other’s chests in turn looked absurdly happy. They laughed and growled at what was apparently a contest of strength or perseverance. Irene wondered if they’d end up caving in their sternums.
Others, again predominantly Kalquorians, crowded the floor, milling around and shouting in companions’ ears. At around the halfway mark to the other end of the club, more stood grouped tightly, congregating at the stage’s edge. Thick arms swollen with muscles and tendons pumped the air in time with the driving beat. It filled Irene’s body; a brutal pulse her heart tried to keep up with.
Her attention zeroed in on the stage as animals’ howls and growls filled the air and the audience cheered. Three men stood up there, Kalquorians.
She stared. Again, she was astonished into stillness, but not because of the sound, which for once in her life took second place to sight.
The men were shirtless. Gleaming, muscular chests shone with perspiration, accentuating their brawn. The man beating a line of drums of various sizes and tones, which were set up on the left of the stage, barely wore anything at all. His shorts weren’t skintight, unlike the pants worn by the man screaming at the crowd, but they left little to the imagination. Irene gaped at the obvious bulges of the trio’s crotches.
Warmth that had nothing to do with the body heat of so many gathered people filled her. Her lower guts trembled.
She’d had crushes and fantasies, of course. The curious feelings which she knew were taboo on her home planet had driven her to touch herself in her narrow bed in New York and learn of carnal pleasure. She was naïve about much when it came to sexuality, but she wasn’t entirely clueless.
However, the blatant vision of such naked masculinity was a revelation. She was seeing men,reallyseeing men, for the first time in her shielded life.
They were beautiful, living works of art. Even the drumbeater, his long, shaggy hair and beard dripping sweat, was brutally gorgeous. His feet pounded the gray-floored stage in time with his drumming, which he alternated between fists, open palms, and thin polished sticks.
The music began to creep into Irene’s consciousness when she recognized the sheer technique of his work, the perfect timing he managed despite snarling at the crowd and snapping his head from side to side or back and forth. As untamed as his drumming had initially sounded, Irene easily determined the rhythm and how he varied the tone by softening or intensifying his approach. His fills appeared at the perfect moments, never stepping on the work of his companions.
