The Opera's the Thing/Chapter 1

“Places, everyone!” came the sharp order of the director. It sounded like a bark, and with good reason: Bjorn Can’dur is a Bothan, which looks like an oversized lap dog to me. Enter, stage right. As I took up my position in the line of Sith soldiers, I caught the eye of a shapely female human standing in the center of the stage. I gave her a sarcastic wink, and she rolled her eyes. ''Good thing I’m not playing the male lead. I couldn’t work with that stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking-'', but my thought was cut off by another bark from the director. “Action!”

As our little detail marched out, the female began dancing and singing, while a few poorly-dressed actors and actresses playing the roles of peasants and gypsies sang gently in the background. The song had what’s called a dotting rhythm, and I can see why; the up and down tones make me go dotty every time I listen to it! Trying my best to block it, out, I acted disinterested. All of us did, save one. Kando Larisin was the guy’s name, and he was playing Gzhorgse, the male lead. The only good part of it is being able to ogle Escarlata, the stuck-up female. She was played by Dimi Loyanko. Being from the planet Ireland, she had to work hard to overcome the weird dialect. Doing so made her queen of the galaxy, apparently, and the rest of us got treated like dirt. The director’s doting didn’t help her disposition any.

“Cut! How many times must I tell you? Follow Dimi, don’t make Dimi follow you! She has enough trouble with these difficult words without the rest of you lousing up the rhythm! Go WITH her. FEEL the music flowing through you, the way a Jedi feels the Force flowing through him.” ''Oh, brother. Why on earth did HE have to be the one to direct this production?'' Bjorn Candur is one of the most notorious directors in the business. Having been an actor for over twenty years himself, he was very demanding. I wouldn’t have signed up for this, except I needed the university credit if I was ever going to get a degree in performing arts.

“And one more thing! You, there”, said Bjorn, pointing vaguely at the line of us troops. “No, not you. You! Yes, you!”

''Oh, brother. What did I do wrong this time?''

“Yes, director?” I asked, pouring as much spite as I could into the last word.

“Two things. One, make sure you’re walking in step with everyone else. Don’t make them follow you, you follow them! And two, watch your mouth or I’ll have you removed from this production!”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” he asked. Curse those super-sensitive ears.

“I said I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen!”

“See to it that it doesn’t. And now, everyone, let’s take it from the top. Places!”

We returned to our starting positions. A big bruiser named Korlit Nepath, as the character Tormendor, was to lead out line of troops. He held up a hand and counted down from three. When he got to zero, we began marching in concert.

“Action!”

We marched out again, while Dimi began whirling around. The musical quality of her voice, her grace as she danced, and all that curly brown hair made her almost attractive. Almost. The way she had her nose stuck up, it looked like it was growing out of her forehead. If it ever rains, she'll drown.

“HEADS UP DOWN THERE!” came a voice from above.

Bjorn looked sharply up and opened his mouth. Probably to reprimand whoever’s up there for not sticking to the script. But his look was one of horror, not of correction, so I looked up just in time to see a large stagelight falling from the rigging. The dancers dove out of the way just before it impacted.

“What in chaos happened?” asked one of the other troops.

“Is everybody well?” asked Bjorn. In his panic, he had fallen over the back of his chair and upturned a stack of script. The pages forgotten, he had rushed onto the stage and was helping Dimi to her feet.

“Are you hurt, my dear? Is anything broken?” he asked tenderly. Looking up, he shouted, “You should be more careful up there! You almost killed her!”

Not to mention the other few dozen people up here, but what does it matter so long as Her Majesty is safe?

“Sorry about that! One of the ropes frayed!” A Chadra-Fan technician was skittering down another rope. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t, or I’ll have my litigator bring charges up against you and anyone up there with you!”

“Yes, sir”, the Chadra-Fan said jauntily, but there was a worried look in his eyes.

“Get a cleaning crew to clean this up. We’ll practice in the auxiliary auditorium. Come, my creative little poppets. There is much to be done if we are to be ready for opening night in four weeks!”

“‘Poppets’? Did he just call us ‘poppets’?” I whispered to the guy next to me. He chuckled.

“I think so. But ‘puppets’ would be a better term.”

“You got that right. Have you ever seen a worse control freak? I thought he was going to reprimand that techy for not following the script at first!” That evoked a chuckle from him again. I glanced over and saw the technician beginning to clean up the broken glass.

“Hey”, I said. His head instantly snapped up, and he looked like a nerf caught in headlights. “Don’t worry about Bjorn. He’s a bag of wind.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… Listen, I can’t talk now. I have to get this glass cleaned up”, he replied.

“Sure thing.”

“Boy, he looked scared out of his skin. You think Bjorn got to him?” asked the other guy, who I later found out was named Gando Lahirsa.

“Maybe”, I said. “I think he was probably just shaken about the light. I don’t know.”

“You don’t think he dropped it on purpose, did you?” Gando’s eyes were slightly bugged out.

Always the questions with this guy. “No, I don’t. He probably couldn’t reach it.”

Gando nodded solemnly. “You’re probably right. He was just shaken.” I could see it in his eyes that he himself didn’t believe that for five klicks, and I found myself doubting as well.

“Well, let’s go before Bjorn blows a gasket.”