Now on Sale - First Mataras: Irene - Read Chapter Two Now

 

Here I am, doing what I love most…teasing and tempting! If you haven’t grabbed up the sci-fi rock and roll fantasy that is First Mataras: Irene, you’re missing out. You can read Chapter One on yesterday’s post…and here’s Chapter Two.

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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, including shoes. His shorts weren’t skintight, unlike the pants the man screaming at the crowd wore, 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, really seeing men, for the first time in her shielded life.

They were beautiful. 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 back 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 work 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.

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 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 enough despite the livid face his violent efforts produced. In fact, 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, however, 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 technique. 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 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, also 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.

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.

 

Nobek Rusp pounded his drums in his usual frenzy as his band, Certain Death, neared the end of their show, hours of dedicated practice covering for his divided attention.

He’d initially noticed the Odeergin when it entered the club. The species had a tendency to clear an area. His worry the poisoned-breath alien might cause the evacuation of what had become a very passionate crowd proved unfounded. Probably since the greater number of the customers were 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 certain death if the Odeergin was 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 Rusp’s lemanthev band, Certain Death, 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 exposed. Rusp had been so surprised by the long, smooth, female calf 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, automatic muscle memory saving him, as the figure stared at the officer who’d made glancing contact. Then it began to move toward the stage…or rather, to Jemi’s side of the stage, toward the back corridor.

Rusp barely noticed as the 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’d 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 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 still females young enough to be accompanied by their parents? 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 Odeergan didn’t turn to respond to the hiss of the door she’d escaped through opening, 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.

Instead, the Nobek snagged the skirt of the cloak where its closures ended and swept it wide. He was treated to the sight of a pair of undeniably Kalquorian knees and shins. Definitely a woman’s legs.

Except there was something wrong. The skin color was too fair. He realized it an instant before her gloved hand slapped him hard.

He blinked at the sting and ache of his jaw…she had impressive strength…but his brain was busy noting Odeergins didn’t have five-fingered hands like Kalquorians. Nevertheless, his heart nearly stopped when she clutched the respirator snout of her headgear and shoved it upward. Jemi screamed, and Sherv yelled in anticipatory horror an instant before her furious features were exposed.

Rusp gaped at the brown eyes and their odd round pupils. She wasn’t a Kalquorian Matara after all. She was an Earther.

 

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She searched for freedom and found a Kalquorian clan.

Irene Jonson is a rising star in opera, thanks to Earth forcing her to leave her parents as a teen to join a prestigious opera company. Years later, she loves music, but she wants the freedom to forge her own path as a performer and be reunited with her family.

Sherv, Rusp, and Jemi are a clan and band playing hard, driving music. Success means more than fame and fortune; it would show their disapproving families they’ve chosen the lives they were meant to live. Encountering Irene, creating a new and exciting sound, gives them that opportunity…and a chance at love.

Two worlds on the brink of war threaten everything Irene and Clan Sherv have built and everything they dream of. Two worlds are bent on snatching Irene from the men and music she loves. What chance do four misfit musicians possibly have against Earth and the Kalquorian Empire?