First Contact: Book One in The Deepening Series (A Space Rock Opera Romance Adventure)

by Kelly Brewer

  Moore forgot his suspicions and resumed, stepping into range. “I know what you do when you’re all alone… with her,” he accused, finger still pointing, smiling sickly at all his new paparazzi friends.

  “Having sex with Mercy… doing drugs,” he taunted, pointing.

  That was his que.

  Kyle calmly grabbed the outstretched, main-guitar-playing finger and snapped it. Moore screamed, taking a knee. His new friends stepped away from him chittering, looking at Kyle, who remained calm. Moore pulled his broken finger out of Kyle’s grip, looking at the strange angle of it. Pack media circled like sharks, snapping away.

  Pain broke Moore’s stupor and he seethed. He stood and lunged at Kyle, murder in his bloodshot eyes. With both hands reaching, one with a finger pointing the wrong way, Kyle saw it then in his eyes. He would never have admitted it until this moment.

  This man hated him.

  Kyle easily deflected his lunge, stepping right, then landed a right cross on the sweet spot on the side of his jaw. Security swooped in, pushing Kyle back and catching a semiconscious Moore.

  A still shot of the scene published later looked like a human/robot ballet, Kyle swinging, bots bobbing, Moore falling, women laughing, cameras rolling. One android caught Mark, pinning one arm. The other bot waited for the other arm to flail, then pinned and carefully applied pressure to shoulder sockets, pushing Moore, grunting, facedown on the floor, blood spilling out of his mouth.

  And Moore was restrained again.

  Smooth drone voices calmed. “We have assumed control. You will not be harmed. Your cooperation is now required. We are here for your safety and protection. Repeat…”

  Lifting him quickly, the robots deported a semiconscious Moore back to Angel’s ship.

  Kyle watched them until they were gone, then turned to look at the people staring at him from outside the fish bowl. Cameras gradually stopped flashing and the questioners fell silent. His expression of regret caused them to stop recording, one by one.

  They quieted and waited.

  He searched but could find no good words.

  Kyle left to go take care of his friend.

  CHAPTER 47

  LET’S GO

  Saturn, T-minus 72 hours

  Angel was prepping sick bay and monitoring comms when Moore was seized. The small med lab was ready with acamprosate for the alcohol and saline intravenous for dehydration. That would help relax and flush Moore’s system so he could make the impending Saturn jump cleaner. Another ketamine hypodermic lay ready to calm the increasingly erratic rocker.

  Ketamine would also help with tinnitus, a ringing in the ears, something many musicians dealt with their whole lives.

  Security bots rounded the corner with Moore in restraints, feet dragging. A gag had been inserted to protect his tongue. The androids stepped him into the lift Angel lowered beneath the gyro. Moore was conscious and saw him waiting with another hypodermic in his hand. Drunk and immobilized again, the guitarist lowered his eyes in shame.

  Mynas videoed it all.

  The gentle-bots slipped smoothly into med bay, uncuffing then recuffing his arms to a gurney railing. Moore groaned and tried to roll over, reaching for his bad finger with his good hand. He gurgled in protest.

  Tamer was washing up and came out of the bathroom when he heard the commotion. Angel and Tamer had both worked triage before. Angel had been a medic in the military. Tamer had been wrestling doped-up rock stars a long time. He was beginning to think too long.

  Shackled, in pain, embarrassed, and drunk, Moore pleaded weakly when Angel removed the gag.

  “Please let me go… please, I’ll behave. You’re hurting my hand, my playing hand! Kyle broke my dang hand. Please, just let me go.”

  Angel sympathized, sort of, “The worst thing we could do is let you go. It seems you can’t manage yourself. You’re sick. You need medical attention, you need rest.”

  Angel was administering ketamine as he spoke, patting him where the needle went in. Tamer prepped an arm for an IV. Their patient protested then quickly went limp. His breathing normalized and the twitching stopped. When the excited delirium symptoms abated, Tamer deftly inserted a saline IV, hitting the vein the first time. Salts, lipids, amino acids, glucose, and vitamins began to flow into the now-

  comatose man. Tamer breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Rest my friend. Rest and travel well,” Angel prayed.

  He was worried. Moore exhibited signs of dark matter sickness. He could suffer brain damage or, at a minimum, memory loss. He hoped the man hadn’t already done anything stupid while under the influence. He also prayed Happy-stil was not part of his diet.

  Gently, the androids removed the cuffs, momentarily hovering with steel spines and spoon-like arms above the man in case he was playing possum. He wasn’t.

  Angel rebroke and set the finger without a word of protest. A rejuvenator was placed around his entire hand and lower forearm. Angel looked at Tamer. “The finger should be functional within twenty-four hours. Good as new in forty-eight. Saturn curtain time is in seventy-two hours. The finger might be ready to go by then, I don’t know about the man.”

  Tamer said, “Understood.”

  Everybody and everything finally secure, he waved then went in search of a stiff drink, his heated robot girlfriend, and a soft bed.

  Kyle boarded and went directly to medi-bay.

  Angel met him and assured him, “Moore is ok. I want to wait before we make the Saturn jump to give him a chance to flush toxins. He will make the jump cleaner. I think he is suffering from dark matter sickness. The jumps really affect people who are unstable in mind and body. Clearly, Moore is both. He needs a good forty-eight hours.”

  “I’m sorry, Angel. We’ve got to go. Inspectors are headed this way and I need a damn minute! They can’t jump again for twenty-four hours. That’s our window. We’re a band on the run! Moore made his bed now he has to sleep in it. We’ll send him back to Earth in a few days if he can’t handle it. He’s thrown this whole operation off-balance. As of right now, he is off the squad anyway. We’ve only been prepping for three years. No, our whole lives, and he’s nearly ruined it in one day! Thank God Dock suggested we have a replacement for that unpredictable fool!”

  Kyle stopped his rant and switched gears. Angel knew the matter was closed. No problem. Moore was a grown man. He knew the risks and had to take the consequences.

  Kyle asked Angel, “Is everyone on board?”

  He confirmed yes and they both said, “Let’s go!”

  Kyle added, “I saw Safety storming the lobby. One of Dock’s droids—the new one climbing all over him all the time— was stalling them pretty well. That bot is special. Looks like Dock has made some major upgrades to his vices.”

  Angel went to the control room and activated autopilot. The gyro lifted off from Jupiter Mega Dome as an army of angry inspectors entered then fled the suddenly heated launch pad silo. After confirming jump ready, target acquired, Angel diddled a dip-switch and where the gyro had glided, a beige, thirty-five-ton Mass Transfer Unit appeared. Where the MTU had been orbiting Saturn, Angel’s ship appeared, all souls intact, a magical conveyance still not completely understood.

  CHAPTER 48

  Looks like War

  Transfer zones were separate from commerce zones. To avoid accidents, jump lanes below Saturn’s rings were for transferring. Once trans-shifted, gyros and other ships moved into commerce lanes above the rings.

  Disasters were great teachers. Unequal masses don’t switch completely. The switch is limited to the volume of the smaller mass. A few years into the Deepening, an unbalanced transfer pancaked a ship instantaneously, leaving crushed bodies and cargo compacted into a contorted ball of blame and finger-pointing. The dead ship’s momentum was still intact, and a twenty-ton ball of death rocketed into a nearby ship, causing greater damage and shame.
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  Lives were lost and the rules were overhauled. Among other requirements, blood work was required daily from all personnel, the only exception being mobile infantry. Abnormalities got you grounded, sent home to level out. It was a time to reassess one’s Deepening commitment to the well-being of others. Zero tolerance helped maintain a higher level of calming trust among those risking everything every day, those brave pilgrims clinging to the fragile thread of distant space colonies.

  Angel ascended to Saturn’s operators’ lane above the rings as Mac, Ox, Peco, and crew gathered wearily in the conference room. He looked around at the disgruntled faces. Except for an exuberant Peco, everyone was irritated and distracted. With Moore settled and secured, Kyle joined them. They all looked at him.

  With inspectors now at least twenty-four hours away, the beleaguered Cosmics had time to think. It was going to be rough from here on out.

  He said, “Mark’s fine… physically.”

  They understood. They had mixed feelings about it.

  Kyle recognized his team needed rest and food. “Ok, tell you what, let’s meet back here in ten hours. We got a day before we’re overrun by the do-gooders. Think of ways we can use them to our advantage. They gotta be here, but we don’t have to suffer for it. Peco did great, but it needs a little more… special sauce! Let’s rehearse him before the Saturn show. We have a couple days to ramp up.”

  Crew nodded to each other. Yesterday, they had already set up the jam room in Angel’s ship for a practice session. Bonbon nodded. “Already taken care of chief.”

  Kyle was increasingly thankful and amazed by his team. “Thanks. Besides nearly overdosing, Moore is also on the injured list. I broke that finger he’s always pointing at people,” Kyle said rubbing his forehead. A tired chuckle went around the room.

  Tamer added, “Last night about sixty people overdosed. You probably didn’t notice because they were high and in the back, right next to a security station. It happened so fast, and robos handled it quickly. It’s weird how it happens in clusters. Security was tight but whatever the hell is causing it seems to slip right by us.”

  The band members were silent, at a loss to understand why their good intentions were not enough to keep evil at bay. Tamer said, “Everyone gets one of these.” He handed each one a ring, already sized. I never thought we’d use ’em until now. Take these locaters. Unless you want a microchip?”

  No one did. They all put on the rings.

  “Keep them on you at all times. We don’t have replacements for any of you, so stay safe and stay close. See you back here in a bit.” Kyle touched each one before they left, trying to calm his team.

  Mac spoke confidently as he left, “We got this bro. Just keep bangin’.”

  A paradigm shift fell then on Kyle like the Holy Spirit. This was starting to look less and less like rock and roll, and more and more like war.

  CHAPTER 49

  The Senator

  During “DockInHaus Presents the Cosmic Mechanix’ Grand Trine Tour” Jupiter edition post-show, Dock and co. mingled

  with fans,

  with spies,

  with sycophants,

  with doppelgangers,

  with public senators,

  with committee delegations,

  with planetary chairmen, and

  with thin, nondescript acquaintances around dark cornerz.

  All were drawn to the spectacle of the Greatest Show from Earth.

  Worker bee Ro-mans and Gina.bot gathered interstellar intel incessantly, wirelessly feeding the King Bee sweet honeysuckle. Information, tingly facts. and figures…

  about Co-exist terrorism…

  about money, in all its forms…

  about murder and murderers…

  about insurance fraud investigations…

  about a new, hidden form of communication…

  about mining rights on “undiscovered” planets…

  about the breakout of a new super drug, killing

  thousands on Earth and in the colonies…

  about rumors of a looming solar-system-wide war.

  Dock’s Ro-mans kept the area around him clear. This was a signal to any big game lurking among partygoers that he was open for business. The Public Senator pierced the Ro-man wall, casually approaching him now one too many times.

  Gotcha.

  (Trumpster.bot, get over here. record this next bit please. i don’t care if it’s illegal.)

  (Trump, rolling bigly.out)

  Dock, conspiratorially, “Who is going to pay for all this impending chaos, Senator?”

  “You’re richer than god, Dock, why don’t you take a swipe at it?

  “Me? Whew! War is your business. Do I look like Jesus, sir?”

  “You look ridiculous, sir, but like our Savior, you see deeply. Eyes everywhere, apparently. What secrets you must keep!”

  “I do have secret eyes everywhere, sir. Ears everywhere else! There are no secrets except mine! Guffaw!”

  “It’s no secret you want the insurance fraud subcommittee voted down and the public iSpy program funded for another cycle. Have you hacked the hackers, sir? Haha.”

  “The iSpy program has provided peace and safety to all outer quadrants. I certainly support it. Trouble can come from anywhere at any time. Someone needs to be getting their hands dirty and be in front out here, be out front so we don’t fall behind, in case… in case anything! Yes, iSpy should be fertilely funded.”

  (Ro-man, mute record.)

  (mute.out)

  (edit that for my next campaign slogan.)

  (iSpy a campaign slogan.got it.out)

  Dock continued his flatteries. “Fertile just like you, Mr. Senator from louisiana.us! Thirteen children, thirty-five grandchildren, eight great-grandchildren, you have fathered half the state, sire! Just like Saturn of old!”

  “Thank you, Dock. Yeah that ancient Greek bastard, right? Um, speaking of Saturn, I’m needing to get to Saturn orbit ASAP. Safety can’t jump until tomorrow and I was going to bump with them. I know we don’t always agree but let me hitch a ride, if you don’t mind? I have that committee vote tomorrow, you know.”

  “I know. Even though you deny me my preference on your vote, I’ll send for my litter.”

  (Gina? come now)

  (Two minutes. Gina out)

  “Two minutes, Senator, sir. Will you be bringing Mrs. Senator?? No? That’s fine.”

  “She’s heading home to be with family. She is the Grand Dame of quite a litter! I think that young Mercy Falls will be like her. She has that regal bearing…

  “Absolutely! See you momentarily.”

  (Gina, hurry. load the red paint)

  Dock rose and resumed flirting with other conspiratorial admirers, killing time.

  (Tell me what Hadjii is doing, please? And I need more light over here by the Banks Clan, the Uranus delegation… hehehe… Trumpster… yeah, fly ’em in)

  Video droids swirled towards him, flashing overhead. The Trump.bot focused on Dock and shined a brilliant spotlight out of his eyes, photogenically illuminating the aged provocateur. Dock paused majestically in front of the Uranus delegation’s chief family and bowed, fluorescent eyes flashing, outrageous, back-mounted metal-feathered plume spreading above his head.

  (The Bank’s oldest daughter, Celeste right?)

  (yes)

  She captivated the ecstasy with him, reflecting his eyes in hers… he noticed… she blushed.

  (come to me my sweet… oh wait, she’s been lumi-tagged!! ohhhh…yuk. Ro-mans, where’s my Gina?)

  (your 8 o’clock sir.out)

  Dock spun to his left, into the arms of heaven. Perfection she was… and that’s not easy! They pulled together very tightly, her perfume enveloping like a gentle vice around his heart. She enlarged her lower jaw slightly, restraining him for a mom
ent with her android strength, then released.

  (the senator is watching baby… do that again… no, yes! right like that… you drive me crazy… i like you… gonna be fun when your sisters get herrrrre…)

  “Senator! Please, haha! I introduce a lovely girl to you. Yes, yes… ahem… the lovely and talented Ms.Gina.Bot, Ms. Gina, the distinguished Public Senator. ”

  Gina.baby smiled a sweet, dark smile. The progenitor of fifty-six people, the Louisiana Saturnalia mon pater, stepped in easy. He picked up the scent.

  “Hello, young lady.bot. Shall we jump?” He offered her his arm. Gina’s eyes opened wider but she did not flinch.

  He said, “…no no. i have a meeting in a few hours.”

  “What y’all gonna be doing there, Mr. Senator?” she demurred, taking his arm for the walk to transport.

  “Oh… uh… well… I’ll catch up with Monsignor Franco from Jupiter delegation to discuss recent terrorist activities. They’ll want to discuss limiting certain jurisdictions to current light-year counties. And a moment on patents. Some such boring bullshit as that. Heh… ummm… oh, did you know the Monsignor’s future son-in-law, Kyle, is, in fact, a personal friend of mine?”

  Gina.baby mimicked a slight southern accent, “Really? Sooo hot! I love Cosmic Mechanix. It’s just the right combination of men and music… and lord have Mercy on that Kyle! hahahahahah!!!”

  They both simulated laughter.

  “Please, how long can he hold out?” Gina asked. “How could he resist her this long? Its sooo interesting.” Gina’s skin continuously excreted pure southern honeysuckle, bioidentical hors d’oeuvres. The old male piriform cortex convinced itself it was real. He leaned in perceptibly and went on.

  Gina/Dock took it all in, digitally.

  The old man droned. “Also, another hearing on insurance fraud. Medical? Property? Life? Military? Centres? Corporations? All of the above.” He glanced at Dock. His back was turned but he heard every word through Gina.bot’s hot ear mics.