Page 9 of Irene

“Lucky ladies,” she muttered. “If the guys know what they’re doing.”

As if Irene had a clue when it came to intimate activities. She snickered at herself and sipped her water, bathing her throat in its warmth. She moved on to lemanthev music.

It was like any genre. There were excellent performers and those who were obviously in it just for fun. Irene listened to the five top bands as acknowledged by fans. Again, she was struck by lemanthev’s exciting raw energy. It was worlds away from opera or symphonic music, but she enjoyed it. She believed her new Kalquorian friends stacked up reasonably well to the recognized performers, though their sound had some noticeable differences to the typical lemanthev characteristics. It wasn’t just the rasp of Sherv’s voice as the band’seloti, which translated to “howler,” an apt description. His band’s sound had underlying nuances, a tendency to weave melodic airs in what was mostly a powerful, driving rhythm.

Lemanthev groups were always trios. Along with theelotiwere thespenruk, the drummer, and thetrasbuplayer. As far as Irene could figure out,trasbuwas a slang term for growler. Jemi’s bassoon-shaped instrument had certainly snarled such sounds.

She was tempted to look into more of the intricacies of the music. She was also tempted to see if she could gather additional information on Clan Sherv itself. A check of the time warned her she had no business going down rabbit holes of trivia. She was due to rehearse early the next afternoon, and she needed sleep.

It was better not to get fascinated by either Kalquorian music or Kalquorians themselves. Even off Earth, life could be dangerous for women who failed to adhere to its laws. Regretful, Irene finished her water and dumped her research in the erasing program Fausto had given her, which would destroy any evidence of her illicit interests should Donald or Dolores perform a surprise inspection on the device’s search history.

Fifteen minutes later, her humidifier filling the room with voice-saving moisture, Irene was asleep in the massive Kalquorian-sized bed. Fittingly enough, she dreamed of sharing it with three handsome alien men.

* * * *

Irene winced as Valentina shouted at Fausto. “I am not off-pitch! My singing isperfecta! It is your hearing which is offkey!”

They’d been fighting all afternoon during rehearsals, which spelled trouble for the night’s performance if Valentina didn’t find her equilibrium.

“Nothing is wrong with my hearing, except what it’s being forced to listen to. Maestro, play the piece again so she can hear the notes she’s forgotten.”

“I forget nothing, slave driver! You do well to remember this!”

Irene stood at the opposite end of the stage where they battled, doing her best to ignore them by quietly practicing lip trills. She’d done little singing herself, since Fausto seemed intent on driving Valentina crazy. Other members of the chorus also trilled, softly sang scales, or practiced Act Two’s ballet in the background.

All had been fine during the rehearsal, until Valentina had ended a note on a slight warble. Fausto had nearly fallen over himself to point out the error. From there, practice had gone downhill as a rattled Valentina committed more errors and Fausto grew more impatient.

He of all people knew how carefully Valentina had to be handled. It was as if he were determined to screw up that night’s performance.

All I can be responsible for is my own singing.Irene forced herself to relax and continued her trills.

“Now sing it!” Fausto demanded, his tenor ringing in the air.

Her face inches from his, Valentina’s soprano rang just as loud as she sang-shouted in furious hostility, “Let mighty Xerxes spare my people/Kill not those of the golden temple!”

It had the wrong tone, but she was definitely in the proper key.

Heavy claps, too few to be accurately called applause, startled the actors on the stage. The Kalquorian captain Nil and his clan were walking along the aisle between the theater’s seats. They beamed at Valentina, who gaped at them.

“Marvelous, Matara Valentina. Such a voice to be so powerful and yet sing such delicate notes at once.” Captain Nil stood at the foot of the stage in no time. He and his clan ignored Donald and his dozen security officers, who rushed in their direction calling, “This is a closed rehearsal!”

Irene noted Dolores and her fellow chaperones slowly standing from the seats they occupied in the auditorium. The Kalquorians were between them and the stage where many of their charges were gaping in identical stunned surprise. No one moved. Even Donald and those charged with the company’s safety had frozen a handful of yards from the unexpected visitors.

Valentina recovered first. Shockingly, she smiled and dipped a curtsey to her bowing admirers after shooting a smug glare in Fausto’s direction.

“Thank you, kind gentlemen. My art is my life, but it is always a joy to meet those who find a reason to appreciate it. Perhaps it wasn’t my best effort—”

“If it wasn’t, I can’t imagine how much more glorious it might have been,” the man in the green-trimmed uniform gushed. From his mild demeanor, Irene guessed him to be the Imdiko of the clan. Certainly the man with red on his outfit was handsome, but he had a greater feral quality than the rest. He’d be the protective Nobek, like Rusp.

Irene remembered it had been he who’d brushed against her in the Kalquorian club. Maybe as the born warrior type, he’d felt it his duty to warn the “Odeergin” to keep its distance from his clan. Or maybe it had merely been the urge to challenge a known threat.

There was threat in the theater at the moment, though not that of poison-breathing aliens. Valentina was preening as she chatted up the clan, and scandalized expressions focused on her.

The most outraged face was Fausto’s.

“Signora!Begging shameless flattery to recover from your wounds isn’t wise conduct. Control yourself.”

“Signora?” Valentina sneered at him, then gave the amused-looking Kalquorians a sly smile. “I am not so old, as Fausto suggests, to be addressed assignora.”

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