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Tuned to the music, Irene’s focus went to the man at the right of the stage. She was surprised to note such a large fellow, though slighter and shorter than his companions, could appear almost delicately handsome. His features were gentle despite his enthusiastic blowing into an instrument. It was shaped similarly to a bassoon, but the bell was a large, fluted shape. It emitted the growling sounds weaving through the drumming. Irene thought of jungles and forests full of wild animals, though she’d never been to such places. Nor did she think animals could have achieved the nuanced rhythm and range of notes emitting from the instrument. The way the musician played it, she was certain it could have found a home in an orchestra.
She’d delayed considering the man in the middle of the trio for last. After concentrating on his companions, who were undeniably talented, Irene turned her attention reluctantly to the screaming front man to discover why they’d joined someone so beneath their abilities.
He was handsome despite the livid face his violent efforts produced. In the moments his features relaxed between howls, he was quite striking. His eyes were large, prominent in otherwise well-balanced features. A smile broke out every now and then, increasing how attractive he was. His straight hair, cut to shaggily frame his face, hung to his shoulders. He possessed presence, Irene noted, and his intense expressions, exhortations, and gestures to amp up the crowd between shouts worked to great effect. They responded to his every word with agreeing bellows…whatever he was saying in Kalquorian, they liked…and when his fists pumped the air or he clapped, they answered in kind. As far as performance went, he was terrific.
But his voice…
Irene’s life revolved around singing, and she recognized damaged vocal cords when she heard them. The lead vocalist’s had been injured at some point, producing a raspy quality impossible to miss. She winced as he howled foreign words, his voice showing the strain in each off-note. Why hadn’t he had the damage repaired?
As she tuned to his technique, she had to admit for what he was doing, it fit the wild sound of the band. Like the drummer and growly-instrument player, he had skill. He breathed properly and seemed to understand the difference between chest and head singing. He used both and in-between to produce vocalizations appropriate to the song. His vocal-fold technique was solid when he exploited it. He was howling notes, not merely making noise. It became obvious he’d had training. The audience didn’t seem to mind the injury-quality she’d initially cringed to hear. It apparently worked as far as Kalquorian musical sensibilities were concerned.
He wasn’t so bad after all, given what he had to work with. As Irene grew used to his sound and gained acceptance of it, she found herself enjoying the primal harmonies and raw energy. It was the opposite of serene Plasian music, certainly worlds away from opera, but the men were definitely musicians in their own right.
Her interest was diverted when a Kalquorian passed closer to her than any had dared, actually bumping into her and shifting her cloak. His gaze raked her with interest as he passed. Irene was startled to recognize the red-trimmed clanmate of the Kalquorian captain, a member of the trio who’d gone backstage after the opera. For an instant, panic filled her as she wondered if he’d recognized her.
He muttered unintelligibly and moved on, though his eyes swept over her yet again. His clanmates were also present. They followed him to the bar, affording her notice but continuing past.
Calm settled over her. They’d been curious because they thought she was Odeergin. It was possible the species didn’t make it a habit to attend a Kalquorian music shows. If so, she needed to get out before someone, possibly Captain Nil, thought to question her presence.
It was late anyhow. She needed to go to her quarters. Since the Kalquorians had left the opera venue, a member of security might decide to check on her. If Donald or anyone else realized she’d disappeared without anyone noticing, it was a valid concern.
Still, the music was getting to her, and she hated to leave and miss more of the primal sound. As her gaze drifted over the gorgeous men on stage, she hesitated.
No. It wasn’t worth the trouble she’d get into if she were caught. I’ll come back and hope this band performs again, she promised herself.
She’d reach her suite faster if she used the service corridor. Figuring no one who worked in the club would challenge an Odeergin, she headed for the back door. As she did so, her attention lingered on the fascinating trio onstage for as long as they were in sight.
Nobek Rusp pounded the drums in his usual frenzy as his band, Certain Death, neared the end of their show. Hours of dedicated practice covered for his divided attention.
He’d noticed the Odeergin when it entered the club. The species had a tendency to clear an area. His worries that the poisoned-breath alien might cause the evacuation of what had become a very passionate crowd proved unfounded. The lack of an abrupt exodus was probably thanks to the greater number of the customers being Nobeks on leave from a destroyer, which had docked at the station earlier in the afternoon. It would be a point of pride for the warrior breed to remain in the vicinity of actual certain death if the Odeergin were riled. Especially since the venue was crowded, which begged for trouble.
The Odeergin had simply stood still for the most part, slowly advancing a step every few minutes as it watched the lemanthev band perform. Who knew Odeergins had good taste in music? Touring and playing gigs in the wide reaches of the galaxy taught Rusp something new every day.
He’d continued watching the cloaked creature in case someone did offend it and it pulled off the long-snouted mask to enact revenge. In such a situation, he’d grab Sherv and Jemi and rush them from the stage to the back corridor.
That was why he noticed the “Odeergin’s” leg when a Nobek fleet officer brushed against it, shifting the concealing cloak so the limb was briefly exposed. Rusp had been so surprised by the long, smooth,femalecalf emerging from a scuffed brown boot, he’d almost missed a beat…which he’d taken to boasting hadn’t happened in an entire year.
He recovered, well-rehearsed automatic muscle memory saving him, as the figure stared at the officer who’d made glancing contact. After a considering pause, it began to move toward the stage…or rather, to Jemi’s side of the stage, toward the back corridor.
Rusp barely noticed when the song’s ending crescendo boomed over the crowd yelling the approval he usually lived for. He’d seen pictures of Odeergins. They were scaled rather than smooth. Their legs were cylindrical, not curved. The only leg he was aware of that matched the figure slipping past the stage was of the rarest being in the galaxy: a Kalquorian woman.
As the last note died and Sherv bellowed over the applause, “Thank you! We’ll be playing here most nights for the next two weeks, so be sure to come back!” Rusp rushed to Jemi’s side of the stage rather than acknowledge the crowd.
What was a Kalquorian Matara doing in a club on her own? The Beonid station was one of the safer places Certain Death had played, but there were still the sort of ruffians roaming around who’d stoop to holding a member of Kalquor’s greatest treasure hostage.
Rusp’s sole thought was to reach her and find out why she wasn’t among clanmates who should be keeping her safe. Then returning her to them or perhaps to a parent clan before she landed in trouble.
Were there any Kalquorian females young enough to be accompanied by their parents? Certainly not fertile ones, but the majority who were unable to provide children were still precious.
“Rusp! Where are you going?” Sherv shouted hoarsely as the Nobek sprang off the stage and hurried down the employees’ back hallway.
He didn’t answer. The door to the service corridor was closing, a swirl of brown cloak disappearing from sight. He put on a burst of speed and rushed from the club.
The woman disguised as an Odeergin didn’t turn to respond to the hiss of the opening door she’d escaped through, though she was mere steps away. Rusp was on her heels in an instant. “Matara?”
As she began to turn toward him, Sherv and Jemi arrived at his side. Both jerked when they saw the Odeergin breathing mask face them.
“Fuck, Rusp! Get away from it!” Sherv grabbed his shoulder and yanked.
