by Kelly Brewer
Even senators took notice. Dock began discreet talks, planning Kyle’s future run for Public Senator, though the rocker knew nothing about it. The younger man would understand after a few years, when he got bored with music. The lieutenant would be a shoo-in.
With little tweaking, the Mars shot took on a life of its own. The Mechanix were flavor of the week. Again. Kyle and Mark were the number-one and number-two top dark-net searches May 3, 2492. Mercy had shared that titillating tabloid tidbit with Kyle between stolen kisses.
In record time, the new record broke several old records, the new release unseating Sol-Yx-O the Slave for the number-one spot on the pop charts. Soly was a good sport and called Moore to congratulate him.
All that was left to satisfy the public’s taste for celebrity cake was to play the remaining shows and for Kyle and Mercy to consummate their marriage. By rule, that would get them grounded. They would joyfully, triumphantly head back to Earth after the Neptune event to raise a family born of the Deepening.
The Deepening—space colonization—had occurred at a critical time in human history. The Grand Trine Tour was a Centre-sponsored experiment to show the world that even derelicts like rock stars could get properly grounded. Doc Hadjii had grown desperate after a Spike in India took several family members. He’d approached Dock with the outside-the-box idea a year before the Cosmics were chosen. Dock couldn’t say no with the Centres secretly underwriting the whole experiment, taking all the risks while he took all the profits.
If it failed, the Centres could not be seen as at fault. The focal point had to remain the band members. Individuals inspiring individuals. Hadjii insisted on choosing a group that at least had a shot at success. No freaky-deakeys allowed. Someone from the middle of the road. The complexities of the endeavor required the participants to be sound in mind and body.
Mercy’s involvement had not been planned; she and Kyle had met after they’d been chosen. But after much discussion, the wedding was incorporated. A timely marriage would reinforce strength and fidelity as a focal point in future Deepening ads to encourage families, and hopefully help discourage rampant child illegitimacy.
Centre statistics claimed rampant out-of-wedlock births were a leading cause of Earth-bound cruelties like the Spikes.
The increasingly bastardized population would randomly erupt in worldwide outbursts—Spikes—of human rage and confusion that resulted in unspeakable tragedy. The doctor and his peers feared if unabated, a Spike would spark a fire that consumed Mother Earth.
A wily businessman like Dock was ambivalent. He made money in good times or bad.
The wedding ceremony was planned for the day before the Neptune show, still a few weeks out. All but the sleaziest tabloids, and a million young girls hot for Kyle, agreed the youthful Mercy was worth waiting for.
Kyle knew for certain her parents thought so.
So did he.
CHAPTER 26
Rock deep
Dock’s media machine broadcast the story to the millions scattered across the known solar system, embellishing as it went.
“We would have all disappeared in a silent fireball if Kyle had sprung into action even a few seconds later. The decisive young man, with the help of his band and crew, saved more than lives… he saved a way of life. Indeed, one interrupted planetary operation could affect the entire delicate chain of industry flowing across our solar system,” the Mars Station commander stated in an emotional interview the day after the preempted terrorist attack and a few hours before showtime.
Outside the Terror Dome, the hangar began filling early with floating astronaut admirers. The facility ran multiple emergency oxygen feeders to the cosmic campers waiting breathlessly outside.
Those without a ticket were sore about it. This event would be more than a group from home making rock music history. It would be a homecoming for a group of newly minted heroes who had saved their lives and their future.
The Martian concert began the same way as on Moonbase.
It did not end the same.
As the three men rose through the floor, the roar was deafening. The outpouring of the mother’s milk of gratitude and appreciation was sweet to the ears. Kyle was humbled when he addressed the audience after a few songs.
“Warriors!” he yelled into the mic. Thunderous reply.
“We got your back!” The audience went louder and longer.
Kyle hoped the manmade facility could handle the sheer vibratory power he felt surging from the 385,352 Martian Warriors. They were as one tonight, and let any forces rallied against them beware.
“Do you have my back?”
More cheering, longer. They wanted—needed—a release from the tension of a simultaneous near-death experience. Kyle paused to let it completely drain out. It took several tries but finally ebbed as they waited in anticipation of Kyle’s next move.
He was embracing each one in his heart, head down. When he looked back up, he was momentarily blinded by the lights, tears welling up from the love he felt for them. There was great joy in the knowledge he had helped protect this many people.
His fellows felt it too. Deeply moved, they used white towels to wipe “sweat” from their eyes. He wiped his face quickly and finished.
“Then we are family!”
The roar mixed with the opening bars of “Rock Deep.”
Misty miners sang every word.
Rock Deep, into you. I creep, like a man full of danger
Rock Deep, For the jewels, for the diamonds of your love
Shake the Earth below your feet
Move a mountain to the sea forever
Rock Deep
The spirit could last all night. But, alas, the flesh is weak. Moore’s moonwalk took them home and Kyle said goodnight the final time. With bloodshot eyes they nailed their fifth encore, hoarsely thanking everyone and encouraging them to be vigilant and to stay away from the drug circulating among them. Fans flew home, spent and happy.
Several ecstatic partiers were overcome throughout the concert and were quickly whisked away to aid stations by medi.bots. Few noticed the few fallouts in the euphoric pandemonium of an epic rock ’n’ roll show.
Leaving the stage, Kyle glanced at his bandmates. Sweat-soaked hair hid red-eyed, streaky, hot faces. With a glance they all came together in a small circle and embraced weakly, exhausted. The crew formed a protective circle around them, guiding them slowly back to the sanctuary of the gyro, keeping the backstage throng pushed back.
The outer circle braced out around the inner circle bracing in. The crew each kept a hand on his inner man while rebuffing the surrounding horde. Inner men confessed at the altar of brotherhood.
“No matter what ever happens, I will always love you guys. This has been the most amazing moment of my life,” Moore blubbered.
He blew sweaty snot and relief into a towel around his neck. Mac was next to him and could feel him shaking. He hugged him back and forth with his left arm, smiling.
“Gentlemen, it’s been an honor to accompany you this evening,” Mac shouted in his slightly German accent.
Kyle looked at his friends. He had run out of words. His open, tired face said all he needed to say.
Ox just smiled and dripped. He chugged a handful of beers in a single gulp and drove the pile forward through a spray of suds and a crush of fans.
Old and young alike had found someone to love in the explosive combination of these four brave, talented young men.
CHAPTER 27
When in Rome
Chic’s remains retro-flected through the interstellar medium perfectly, arriving at room temperature. Detective Mooney requested the pathology department at Washington DC Centre receive Chic’s remains to perform a postmortem data extract. Doctor Alil Hadjii, PhD, philanthropist, father of thirteen children in his amazing 200-year life, shuttled from his office to the neuro-for
ensic lab. He was anxious to get a handle on yet another threat to his life’s work.
Chica B. Boom, ex-football hero, minus his top knot, was laid on a cold slab in the bowels of the DC Centre.
The doctor hastily assembled all available staff to begin neuro-data extraction. Some of his best were there, and a few trainees. They were prepped and ready when the doctor entered, and he began immediately walking them through the time-sensitive process.
“IVs are already started? Good. First, I need a quick-graft over that open neck wound. Tell me when you have it 100% sealed. Pressure is low, add 100 cc’s of warm saline. Bring temp and blood pressure up slowly.
“Please hurry. Bring a larger patch. No, leave that one, it’s already begun to fuse, drape a larger one over it. Make incisions above clavicles and over trapezoids to give the quick-graft something to grab. Please hurry! You are too slow. Seal it now. Put your hands over it and massage the graft in…
“Slow down temperature increase, please. Bring them up at the same rate. Thank you, that’s better. Get those leads on the spinal cord immediately. Make sure you tap in below all tissue damage. I want a clean connection. Let me see the scan of all neurologic enhancements now.
“Interstellar communicator and penal system trackers are located under opposite arms. I want direct plug-ins at those places.
Yes… hurry, hurry! We only have a few moments left to get this data… yes that’s right, bring electrical activity to normal… someone staunch that aortal bleeding! Bring internal pressure up a little more, thank you.
“Show me call history please, when it comes up. We’ll have to do this all at once, we cannot wait for inexperience.”
He glanced at the bloody intern clumsily handling the repressurized, spouting neck aorta.
“Let’s see all calls starting with most recent. Hmmmm, I see he somehow disconnected his prisoner tracking device. There’s a scar there so it’s been disconnected for some time. Umm-hmmm, it’s been surgically cut out. He could not have removed it himself because of the posterior position. Someone removed it after he escaped. He had outside help.
“His communicator is still in place. Are you recording? Thank you. It will all be there in the soft cell data. The dead will speak if we’ve gotten there in time. Internuncial neuron cross section… and raise voltage ten millivolts… There! Did you hear it? That one, play it back.”
(static, interruptions… this was an interstellar conversation)
“Whe nin ome ..oo ss omans oo.”
“Enhance and repeat that, please,” Hadjii asked Arnoldo the audiologist.
“When in Rome ..oo ass Romans do.”
When in Rome …do as Romans do.
Where had he heard that quotation before?
“Find out please time and source of that call. Analyze and match the voice pattern if possible. We cannot access the communicator itself as it is private property of the company. But we can access the neurons that are attached to it.
“Can you please seal that wound? Try looping the aortas back into themselves. Oh? You’ve never seen that one, dear? Yes, like that. See? Don’t be afraid to make a decision and try different things.”
“Sir, we have the toxicology of the drug sample Kyle sent,” said one of the forensic chemists.
“On-screen please, quickly. Thank you. Hmmm… beautiful. Anyone recognize these molecules? I see PCP and cocaine. These other three are unknown to me. Please cross these molecules with all medicinal data bases. Find the roots.
“Ok, bring the remaining brain matter closer please. Do we have positive DNA ID on the body? Yes? Thank you. Show me the hippocampus. Good. Somewhat intact. Crenshaw, get a probe in there and begin electrical stimulus. Start at twenty-five millivolts and slowly raise it until its memory speaks. There may be a lot of information very quickly so be sure you’re recording before you start.”
“Ayy th rich ss verse ide sss.”
“Please…once more.”
“May e iches of he universe guide uz.”
This one they all knew. May the riches of the universe guide us. That was a chant in the Co-exist mantra. Was Chic an adherent? “Play back the Ro-man’s recording and analyze p300 waves. Find out when this person left for Marsbase and where he came from.”
The body jolted, and the neck wound exploded again on the intern who ran from the room, embarrassed and retching.
“She should request reassignment,” the doctor stated in no uncertain terms.
The extraction process aborted, Hadjii made an aud/vid journal of the playback, reflecting on the killer’s possible motive and the meaning of the calls extracted from the ruined nervous system. Why would Co-exist want to destroy those kids? Was there a grudge against someone in the group? Was it an attempt on Marsbase or the population there? Were they trying to stop colonization? Maybe they had a grudge against Dock. That seemed more likely.
“Ultimately, ignorance would be determined to be the motive,” he muttered.
His team could not determine the source of the encrypted incoming calls. But the real surprise was the composition of the Happy-stil drug. The chemistry was beautiful. Admiring the rotating image’s spatial structure, the doctor gazed at the 3-D image of the molecules on-screen before him.
“No, I have never seen these effects before. An elegant, multi-step repressor and stimulant. Creates a perfect sphere of influence across multiple systems. This is incredible. Only a brilliant mind could have conceived this molecule. I want to meet the person responsible for this masterpiece of death,” the doctor said.
Crenshaw said, “The combination of ingredients seems to have a dual effect on multiple human systems. How does it cause such a death? The victims seem manically ecstatic and depressed, simultaneously, in overdose.”
Lewis, a 125-year-old forensic pathologist added, “Chic had some in his system. According to young Kyle, he seemed focused, dedicated to his cause, not a shred of doubt. Perhaps it affects each person differently.”
“Please contact Moonbase examiners. Access the blood work of one of the lunar victims for dosage and epidemiology. Is it exactly the same mixture as in the headless? Yes? Thank you for that information quickly, Lewis. Dosage?” the doctor asked.
“Much higher dosage in the other victims,” Lewis replied.
The doctor looked at him. “Good work, son. Send the body back to Mars Station. It is crime scene evidence.”
He scrolled the image of the molecule round and round on the screen. The others in the room were also studying it.
“Tell me now, what are these other chemicals here? Anyone?”
Silence.
Hadjii did not know if he had ever heard that sound in that room before. He looked around. No one could identify what made up the Happy-stil molecule.
Medi, a forensic chemist, looking up from his spectroscope, said, “The DNA sample we took when he arrived is slightly different than his file DNA. Adenine are switched every 1000th sequence with guanine. Blood saturation spectrography indicates he ingested before jumping. The indication is that a genomic mistranslation occurs if the person ingested before transference.”
Hadjii looked down, stroking his chin.
“Was it the drug or transference or something else that caused the mistranslation? Even more troublesome. We must find the source of this deadly mixture. I will meet this person or persons… and neutralize them if necessary.”
The air inside was suddenly too thick in his lungs.
“Assemble the field team. We’re going hunting.”
CHAPTER 28
ANGEL
Jupiter Show, T-minus 36 hours
After a good night’s sleep, they watched the replay of the Mars show, minus the shooting, while exercising at the band meeting the next day. Viewing was mandatory to clear and clarify mistakes. It was also mandatory to work out so one could walk when back on Earth.
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br /> The Mactron Flip was replayed from every angle. The German was a madman. A cascade of front flips off trampolines camouflaged in the stage during that mind-bending bass run in “Fine as You” suspended time.
“I’ve got to stick the landing on the eight count,” Mac repeated to himself.
They had heard him say it a thousand times.
Ox stopped pounding during the display and stood to watch the Flying Macman, respectfully pointing a heavy drumstick to turn eyes focused on him towards MacDaddy. The whole audience sucked in a collective gasp, wondering if he would make it around.
He did, landing to a shout of incredulous “ohhhhhs.” The song fired back up and headed home.
Ideas were always coming, and Ox rewound and then stopped playback of the man in midair with one of the remotes each man wielded.
“Wait, how ’bout this! In the last show on Neptune, don’t stick it! Crash and burn is just as entertaining…”
He sat up, clasped his hands slowly behind his head, eyes on the still image, nodding, grinning, imagining the fallout.
After a moment and a glance between the other three, they rasberried, “Naaahh!”
Three objects were hurled at him from three different vantage points. Lightning paws deflected them all.
Tamer said, “This version works perfectly. ‘Fine as You’ will be the bassman’s spaceman theme song from now on. You will all get a tidy royalty check each time he makes the talk show circuit. A ‘flying man’ logo will be drawn up from that highlight reel moment and will sell many records and much merch.”
Camera angles then shifted to the drummer. Ox stopped working out and sat up. This was his favorite part. When he played, he was a haze of hands, sweat, hair, and drumsticks. Playing faster and harder, pseudo-flames licking his sides, the drum kit seemingly began to melt. Tones got deeper, looser, and spacier. After beating the kit into a puddle that dripped off the fifteen-foot drum riser, he stood defiantly and demanded respect. The arena obliged. Great power exuded from this literally larger-than-life man.