Life couldn't get much better than this, thought Tara Belken, lead soprano of the Starshine Event Opera Company. Wearing a frilly costume, based on some ancient garment called a "dress," with makeup thick on her face, Tara waited eagerly in the wings for her cue.

Already on stage, flamboyant in sky-blue cloak and white full-sleeved shirt, was—she felt— one of her greatest triumphs. Prince Loren, youngest son of King Mykel, king of the entire Orion Sovereignty. Peering around the curtain at the packed house, Tara was glad now that she had overcome her original scornful reaction, and persuaded the director to accept Prince Loren's hesitant request to join their ranks. There was nothing like having a local celebrity feature in your production. People would come to see the Prince, if for no other reason, and he wasn't a bad singer when it came to that.

The small orchestra was just playing the opening bars signalling her entrance, when to her astonishment, the Prince staggered and fell straight to the floor. What the—? That wasn't part of the plot. What was the idiot doing?

She stared, outraged, at the blue-clad back. It took a split second for her brain to register the patch of red spreading across the material. You could have heard a coin drop as everyone in the entire theatre held their breath. Was this part of the opera?

Then the next second, the place was over-run with hard faced guards, leaping onto the stage—and the shouting and screaming began.

"Stay in your seats!" bellowed a man in Captain's uniform, glaring at the panicky crowd. Members of the audience who ignored the order, found that the doors to the opera theatre were now locked. No-one was leaving until everyone had been searched and questioned.

"What happened? Is the Prince going to be all right?" asked Tara, as two burly guards came up, one on each side of her. Grim faced, neither guard bothered to answer. Instead, they seized her by each arm and hustled her away, still protesting. Unlike the audience who were being questioned in situ, every single member of the opera company, including the orchestra, was rounded up and taken to the police station in sealed hovercars for interrogation.

Later that night, sitting alone in her cell, dazed and confused, Tara thought this had to be the worst moment of her life.

Two days later, she was still there, and that was even worse. Apart from her initial interview, nobody had come to talk to her. Food and drink were dispensed automatically at regular intervals by the catering unit in one wall, and Tara began to wonder rather hysterically whether the guards had forgotten she existed.

Nobody bothered to tell her that the body on the stage hadn't been the real Prince Loren, but a top-of-the-line simulated replica, practically indistinguishable from the real thing. His bodyguard had refused to let the Prince use his own body in public, despite his entreaties. No, the real Prince Loren had been lying on his bed in the palace, attached to various devices so that his brain could direct the replica's performance. Mentally linked to his double at the time of the attack, he would have felt shock, but no actual pain when it was shot in the back by a neuroblaster.

Tara endured another three days of total isolation before a tall black-uniformed guard came to release her. "You're free to go," said the woman. "You've been cleared of all charges."

Hurrying along at her side, Tara wanted to ask "What charges?" but quickly thought better of it. She was being released. Time enough to complain when she was safely outside this soul-destroying building. "My friends?" she asked. "The rest of the opera company?"

"All free to go," announced the guard. "Except one. We have the perpetrator," she added with a grim smile. "It was the orchestra conductor."

~~~

Tara wasn't the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when the Company's spaceship switched into FTL drive, taking them far away from the planet Rigella. Their ship, The Flying Dutchman, was named after an ancient Earth opera, the details of which had long been lost in the mists of time, but the previous owner had assured the Director that it was a lucky omen.

"Let's get off this damn planet, today," said the Director as soon as they were released. He looked around at the rather bedraggled members of his opera company, all gathered together once more. Most still looked bewildered by their recent incarceration but he could hear angry murmurs beginning to rise from some of the chorus at the back.

"I know our next engagement on Mu isn't supposed to be for another fortnight, but I for one have had my fill of Rigella and the Orionists." The Director looked around at the majority of heads gradually nodding their agreement and suppressed a sigh of relief. He didn't want any more trouble. One stint of prison was enough for him.

By the time The Flying Dutchman came out into normal space near the planet of Mu, everyone was feeling much better; even beginning to look forward to their next performance without experiencing nightmarish fears about potential assassinations.