by Kelly Brewer
Barely paused, looking at the fallen star. She rolled him onto his side, putting a pillow against his back so he wouldn’t suffocate if he vomited again, in his sleep. It was the least she could do for all his adoring fans.
Before opening the door, they inspected each other, made final adjustments, admired with a kiss, and walked out easy, arm in arm, singing a child’s song.
This weren’t their first rodeo.
Prize bull semen went for a fair price in the weakening genetic pool of space.
CHAPTER 37
The Grand Trine
Kyle finally laid his body down, and his guard with it.
Ahhhhhh…
He was exhausted. A weary mind becomes a shift-shaper and he was surely seeing things. Across a staticy mind-scape, ghosts of maniacal schemes seemed a’flame in an opaque cosmic plot around him. Why now? What had changed? This adventure was supposed to have been a piece of cake!
Relaxing the muscles in his closed eyes, he let flutter the scenes, the past four and a half years of his hectic life. Thumbed through blurry pages, three novels worth of lifetimes fast lived. Been a blast… up until now.
They knew when they’d clinched the tour three years ago that they were gods. The odds of the young Cosmic Mechanix being hot when the Trine opportunity arrived was incalculable! Having the total package ready, the right product, willing in body, able in spirit, just when the biggest promotor needed a solid contender for a historic flight to effin infinity was incredible! He smiled to himself.
Many of the other candidates could’ve been here besides them. Moore, that dude was messed up, but he was a genius too.
“I think we’re all idiot savants,” ssshhheeeewww… relax….
They owed Dock a solid.
Even though the man would make billions off royalties and ticket sales, so would the Mechanix… eventually. It was fortunate too, that their particular style had won out. Dock figured it right down the middle. Rock with the funky blues.
“Thet’s warrr the goooold lie, shonny.” His ancient voice had caricatured Kyle’s drawl when it came time to sign the big contract.
The apparent success of the first two Trine shows bolstered Kyle’s faith. So did not being dead right now. He sat up with the realization, yawned, and scratched his head, “Oh, man!”
Checking the time, he began light vocal warm-ups, humming low, then checked the ship’s log to see who had returned to “la casa chimichanga.”
Eight hours to Mega Dome.
Mac was back, of course. He would warm up for hours, almost in a trance by zero hour. Ox and Moore still no-shows. Crew never left. Those goons were a tight-knit pack. Always together, always spot-on, no detail too small for that crack-ass crew!
Kyle ate a small snack. No big meal before showtime. Butterflies and groceries tickle sick tricks later. He wasn’t hungry except for answers. A swig of warm water and he lay back down, picking up the threads.
The interstellar medium was a rolling green pasture as far as the dark airwaves could reach, which was presumably infinity, which presumably existed.
Kyle drifted…
Depth and higher awareness enveloped him and he submerged into quietness… subconsciously connecting to wet-net… recording dreams.
The Deep beckons the Holy Diver.
Deep Divers grow tired of the shallows… only being wet on one side… a mind must submerge into a deeper point of view. Sometimes, a few would brave the deepest dives… take the plunge, submit to blood-soaked truth.
Now was one of those times.
Kyle slept. The Deepening held up a mirror and asked those called out, Who are you? What do you want?
The Cosmics offer a clear answer. Kyle wrote a song in his dream.
We are human.
Hear the roar?
We have it all,
And we want more!
From this universe,
You want yours?
We’re here to take you
To the Doors.
But the Great Wheel inexorably grinds.
The formerly cleansed forget hard-earned redemption. Old gods and old weaknesses can take a bullet, they won’t die easy. Conquered ideologies are reborn into supplanting children who weary themselves with the resurrection of endless death. Muddle and Mire, are lauded anew as “new truth.”
Kyle cycled deep in REM. Black Ying churns about White Yang… round and round the times, spinning black and white heat into a hot, gray, sentimental slurry. Through the crush of time it is so.
Waking slowly, the man checked himself. He believed in his message of self-determinism. Yet the Deepening facilitated cooperation and encouraged behavioral norms that engendered a delicate trust humbly shared by the Deep populace.
He hadn’t been sure, until now, the mind-depth of space people.
We need each other. We want to trust one another. Tens of thousands agreed with him, or he with them. Whatever! It was a rush.
He knew then the band would finish strong! They would not flame out!
We have purpose. We all are the seed bearers of the human race into far-flung space. Confident salesmen to any alien race that may eventually be encountered or faced.
“The universe seems to be a place that welcomes the true believers. Mass transference has somehow seen to that, weeding out the unsure.” He recorded all his thoughts to his cloud.
He was armed with the right message, at the right time, in the right place, for the right reasons, to the right people. Gods and Energies just thunk him aloud for this moment! The planetary alignment, the Grand Trine, provided the perfect backdrop for his masterpiece.
Fully awake, he realized it was nearly flawless.
CHAPTER 38
Dock Pre-PartIEs
The Jupiter show, dubbed Jupiter King Jam 1, was less than six hours away and Moore was MIA. Tamer frantically hailed leisure vessels and smoke-filled ginmills searching for him. Ox returned and tweaked drum sounds with Bonbon the drum roadie. Mac was stretching and pouncing on his practice trampolines. Kyle had no choice. Peco got the nod to suit up.
The guitar roadie was ecstatic!
An hour later, pre-party was in full swing. Each band member posed for pictures, then signed autographs on T-shirts and albums. Ox did the heavy lifting, signing several bare breasts along the rope line. Moore’s all-access meet-and-greet duties were being handled by the lovely and gracious Mercy. Moore would never hear the end of it if he showed up alive.
“What a jerk,” Mercy said to Kyle, rolling her eyes. “Just when I though there was hope for him!”
The girl was fast becoming a celebrity in her own right. Her strength and poise under pressure were becoming legendary. Entertaining and photogenic, she posed with an eager group of impressionable female teenagers chaperoned by one’s parents, who had paid the steep private meet-and-greet price as a birthday present.
“We love you, Ms. Mercy! Thank you for taking a stand!”
The respect the teens held for her bolstered her paradigm of virtue. Kyle stopped by to check on her and the kids loved it.
Lulu showed at the designated time to relieve them and escort the happy fans to their seats. Kyle and Mercy almost waited for the door to close behind them before banging together like two opposing magnetic forces. Kyle embraced her with all his might and she thought she might die a sweet death if he never let her go. After a long, deep kiss, when he came up for air, she buried her face in his hard chest, taking oxygen only grudgingly.
Embracing tightly, they strolled to the magnificent mall that lie adjacent to the stadium. That’s where the cheap seats paid to gawk at “the Gawds of Rawk and Rowl.”
Mercy’s parents were there, too, greeting guests. After pressing the flesh, the four fell into a discussion of all matters, dark and light.
Dock arrived (clothed) at the opposite end of the mall.
He stormed into the Jupiter Optic Maximus Hall in a flourish of flashing video drones, celebrity look-alike Ro-mans, and pixel drones, standing framed in the huge arches of the main entrance.
Kyle saw and said, “That’s more like it.”
Pixel drones were disguised medi-droids that fanned out into the spacious annex. Utilizing facial recognition, they displayed greetings prerecorded by his look-alike clone to each lucky participant down the receiving line.
“Hello, Senator, and… Missus Senator! Well, well, so pleasant to be with you. Enjoy the show. Buh-bye,” the droid greeted and then examined the next in line.
Each person was secretly medically scanned during the canned greetings. Physical contact with anyone not scanned or who raised red flags would be avoided. Without touching them or breathing their air, Dock categorized every guest in the room while he remained poised and aloof, attended by a star-studded Ro-man entourage under the sublime arcs of Optic Maximus’s elegant entranceway.
Ro-man medical reported to him over dark communication channels.
(medical.out.)
(go medical)
(greetings delivered and scans completed. Six bogies lumi-tagged. switch your contacts to infra-blue.out)
(thank you people, I see them)
The androids liked to be called people, and Dock could see their “proud” reaction.
The celebrity.bots plotted a circuit around anyone marked with the tiny, glowing dot of blue paint that only tuned contacts could see.
(Ro-mans, end our parade where Kyle and Mercy are standing with her parents. hmmm, they seem deep in heated conversation. are they arguing? trouble in paradise already?)
(course plotted sir. out)
Flashing photo.bots gave Dock’s procession through the stunning promenade a surreal quality. An arrhythmic strobe effect was hypnotizing. Dock’s eye contacts reflected white light in different hues. Depending on where you stood, his probing eyes were iridescent caramel, turquoise, or pink. At certain angles, the pupils were vertical slits. The metallic low-profile back piece rose gracefully around his shoulders and head. A shimmering tux with bell-bottoms sparkled onlookers’ eyes.
Circumspect Ro-mans kept him in the center of their loose, mingling circle. Three of the statuesque Ro-mans—a Marylin, an Elvis, and a Trump—were beautiful caricatures of famous people in time. They, too, strobed bogies and intervened, discreetly maintaining a safe zone around him. They posed and positioned people for photos with the Drama King.
The uninoculated and the unaccustomed were drawn like moths to a flame. To be in his circle meant you were someone.
Or about to be.
He was the sun and lesser bodies orbited him. “Marylin” handed him a drinky-poo, flirting obscenely with him. He took a sip then handed the glass back to her.
Kyle ignored him as they slowly approached from his four o’clock. Dock’s procession gradually looped around to where it was headed. Ox, Mac, and the girlfriends were nearby, eating and drinking with the beautiful people, and closed in somewhat as Dock approached. The tycoon was a sly predator, and the boys were keen to protect their group. And listen to the famous pre-party banter for the first time!
Kyle was aware of him the whole time. When Dock was a few paces away, Kyle made the first move and turned, extended his hand, and waited. He knew the drill. The medi-drone swept up quickly and performed a quick scan.
Clear.
Dock waited petulantly. When it moved to Mercy, Kyle batted it away, looking steadily at Dock. Dock tsked, gestured slightly, and sent all floaters and look-alikes scurrying away. He stepped forward to shake Kyle’s hand and kiss Ms. Mercy’s.
“Such violence in you, my friend!” His artificial eyes telescoped crazily. “It’s a good thing you had it with you there on Marsbase! An explosion would have been disastrous.” He hiccupped. “Those Co-exist fanatics sure don’t seem to want to!”
“That’s exactly what I thought!” laughed Kyle, relaxing everyone. “I wasn’t sure how people would react to the shooting. Everyone but Bistros the safety inspector seems to think it was the right thing to do. I was just protecting what was mine.”
He pulled Mercy in. They were in love. Sylvia closely watched the couple together.
Kyle noticed something. Had Dock glitched slightly at the mention of the squirrelly public servant? The tiny twitch was pregnant with possibilities.
“I’m damn proud of you, son. Ain’t nobody gonna stop us without a fight,” Ox proudly interrupted, munching fried watermelon. His eyes never left Dock’s.
Dock twittered, glancing at each one, resting on Mercy. “No, it would seem the stars remain aligned on this once-in-a-millennia rockin’ and robbin’ show.”
Gesturing lazily with an all-encompassing half-wave of a limp hand, he said, “I’m so glad you’re all safe and…” A look of astonishment crossed his face.
Reaching into a pocket of his glittering jacket, he pulled out an oversized, plastic, silver-colored key. It was a prop.
“I almost forgot! My brand-new gyro is ready for the bride and groom! My newest personal craft will get you two to the altar without fail. She’s parked out on the curb if you wanna take her for a pre-honeymoon test drive to Uranus or something!! Aahhh?”
He pronounced UrAnus the old way.
Kyle objected politely, glancing at Franco. “Thank you. You have been most accommodating. Except for the gold-plated bidet, your hospitality has been impeccable.” Mercy tweaked his ribs. “But I think we’re gonna ride the Angel-mobile out of here.”
Dock motioned to Elvis, who took the oversized plastic key from him. Angel nodded knowingly from behind the hors d’oeuvres, smiling, eyes closed, listening between the lines.
Dock spoke with mock suspicion, “We’ll talk more after the show, honey. You have to at least come aboard and see, right? Don’t make me beg you to enjoy the sleekest, most expensive star cruiser ever built!”
The girlfriends had been inching closer, behind Mercy, fascinated by Dock’s appearance.
He turned to her quickly. “Please say you’ll at least come see all the pretty things I’ve brought for the wedding, for you… and for the girlfriends!” He squealed, reaching for Mercy’s friends, but not touching them.
Girls love that, so they reached and squealed back. One of them had a blue dot on her forehead.
Ms. Mercy tried to remain unimpressed, but Kyle could tell she wanted to check it out. She was not happy with the smell of refried beans in her hair every morning, but she did not commit to a visit, wanting to discuss it with Kyle first.
“I understand we’ve all been invited to dinner with Franco and Sylvia afterwards?” Dock queried, strategically changing the subject.
Turning to him for the first time, Mrs. Sylvia nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, we so look forward to it. Dinner will be served two hours after curtain. Humans only, please.”
She looked critically at his ridiculous entourage. The Elvis.bot never stopped gyrating and sneering at her.
He bent and kissed Sylvia’s hand, then offered a limp fish to Franco.
“See you there, sweeties. Break a leg you lovely Cosmic Mechanix!”
He tried to tweak Ox’s fat cheek and about drew back a nub. The circus swarmed after him back to his newest ship.
They were all glad they would be watching from separate suites tonight.
And now comes the Public Senator from the Bayou State. Bayou, as in “buy you one” that is.
Mr. Senator had already been introduced and sidled up to his new friend Kyle to ask him quietly about the shooting, if it was something he could talk about. Kyle said he’d rather not. The senator understood and then asked Kyle if he had any political aspirations.
Kyle gushed, a little exasperated, “Sir, let me free my foot from this mud hole before I a’go stepping into that one!”
They laughed the laugh
ter of wartime and leaned in for final photos. Bonbon arrived and apologetically indicated time.
The senator took him aside as his entourage was trailing out and confided, “You seem like a brave young man. You’re a hero to all Deep colonists and miners. You may have saved the progress of the Deepening for years to come. We need you out here. Can I give you a word of advice?”
He huddled up conspiratorially. “Sorry, I have to say this first. ‘Recording this conversation is illegal under Amendment 31.’ Ok that bit out of the way, listen, so, you watch that son of a bitch, Dock. He’s a brilliant man but he’s very dangerous. He will make moves that are not always in your best interest. When he moves on you, you remember I did you this favor.” He looked at Kyle seriously through bushy gray eyebrows.
Kyle kept his game face on throughout the conversation. He smiled back, “Yes, sir. I know. Thank you.”
They shook hands again and the old man left. He was wrinkled and gray but his posture was proud. You didn’t see gray on people anymore. Folks died at 250, looking 20 years old. The senator didn’t believe in it. His famous saying was, “If it ain’t natural, it’s unnatural!”
He claimed he would die at the normal age of 80-ish, along with his poor constituents who couldn’t afford plasticity. “I’m a six-term senator from Louisiana.us and I already got plenty of livin’ done. Let me go to my Lord already,” he’d courageously opined at a key First Martian Baptist Church rally years ago.
So now this! Kyle watched him leave with mixed feelings. He’d known Dock was shady but this warning put a fine point on it.
What had they gotten themselves into?
Mercy pulled Kyle into a little adjacent cupola before he could get away. Her childhood begged to be left behind after her mom and dad had reluctantly released her to her future husband’s care. Tamer had been made to swear grave promises to Sylvia before she’d agreed to the arrangement.