Sounded out her parts

She sounded out her parts to maestros past and future. Her present cadenza had no conductor nor audience. Each crack in her dresser drawer, each homeless utterance - each moment unsung in his direction seemed a small squandered melody. Then the aliens landed.
She gathered matches - traditional Martians, thwarted by fire (or was it the flu?). She summoned her league of right fielders and henchmen, madams, pimps, and minstrels. They in turn assembled house sitters and vagrants, junkies, jugglers, asthmatics and undead sled dogs. From old waning reels which they baked for one last spin they gleaned the instructions. Distorted directions, confused by crackling playback but clear enough for the first three steps.
The fourth step however was paramount. Consensus was on the side of division. She insisted instead the proper quarter step was unity. He appeared presently, always presently, as if in agreement. They throttled the invaders as one, proving their tactical assessment. It was all in the wrist, in the swivel of the hips. But no happy ending; funny how visionary strategy could be so shortsighted. The last fourth of action indeed called for unity: with the strange visitors. They came in peace.