The Cosmotix 2198

by Billy Purnell

  Not now, great Maker, not in the prime of my life. The hum grew louder, and Roy made a move toward the rocks. Quickly, they must be sensing the area. He frantically ran from the sled. Don’t let them find me, Father.

  They were about five kilometers away, Roy calculated. Stay calm. Stay…calm. He went to his wrist again.

  “Mira? Honey?”

  “I see them, Roy, I-”

  “Mira, get downstairs to the hard room. Has Beel left?”

  “He’s on his way to you…Roy, I’m so scared-”

  “Mira, just breathe. Go now, open up for me when I get there. And check the Apple.”

  “There’s no signal anywhere, Roy, just the cells...please, please hide and come back to me.”

  “I’ll be there honey; you’ll see...love you.”

  “Love you, Roy.”

  He stared out from behind the cold gray sculpture of rock, which served as his only defense against the oncoming convoy. Roy thought his suit might insulate him against sensing if only that damned sled weren’t out there. My helmet, where the hell-

  A roaring metallic noise. His head jerked hard to the right. There was Beel at two o’clock, blazing a trail of dust at Mach speed, twenty feet off the ground and twenty times the legal speed limit. The Tranquility desert was an enormous tablecloth and the Beam, Beel’s pride and joy of a skycar, was putting a rip right down the middle of it. Roy Jagger-Seven’s mind was racing, counting the seconds until he made his move.

  The hum of the warships shook the ground. Like giant predatory birds, they stalked the desert floor and were reaching the outer edge of town. They cruised in a V-formation and the middle bird, the monster at the crux, began the assault on the village. Fireballs of hardened light cut into the first few houses on the edge. Home after home was blasted by a ten thousand-degree temperature rise in a single second, followed by a massive implosion.

  Roy jumped into open view as the skycar screamed out the cry of reverse thrusters. It spun completely around and kicked up a massive cloud of dust, one hundred meters in all directions. Blinded by the dirt, Roy jumped for the door before Beel had pulled to a full stop. Flying debris tore into the hard bone of his chest as he pulled himself up into the seat. He grabbed Beel’s right hand and the door handle simultaneously. A clean jerk and he was in, face down and bleeding.

  “I’m in, GO!”

  Instant acceleration. The car lunged forward in one clean motion and reached 500 kph in ten seconds, automatically switching to anti-grav. In five more seconds it made 1200 kph, screaming across the desert moonscape. They were only seconds from the work trailer, but it seemed to both they wouldn’t make it. Half the village was on fire.

  Roy twisted around in his seat, grunting at the pain from his torn flesh, grimacing at the sight of hot red life oozing from it and onto the seat of the open-top car. He stared forward as the Beam began a quick deceleration.

  “Eleven o’clock, there it is,” he mumbled as he pointed to his trailer. The black monsters hovered low as they spewed their electrical death, tons of powerful steel alloy blowing out life like a candle. The rumbling, thunderous noise crushed him into his seat.

  He tried to brace himself as the Beam pulled up to the front of his work home, the shriek of reverse thrusters once again piercing his dulled senses. His fear was fading, and he could feel his skin warming. His will to live was leaving him as the door flung open and he fell into the arms of Beel, “Roy, Roy…on your feet soldier!”

  Roy wanted to move, but he was limp, shut down. Need to sleep. Cannot move…must rest… A crackling noise snapped directly overhead, and Corey shielded Pel’s face from the intense light, the searing heat, the fiery death, the-

  “NO!! NOOO!!” He bolted upright.

  Ceiling. Walls. Confusion, weirdness. The maelstrom of noise now fading, now quiet. A window with a view of the ringed giant Saturn, so beautiful, so majestic, and the low hum of the ship.

  I need to see someone about this. The dreams were becoming unbearable. But a dream where he was not himself? A dream where he was someone else, his father...was this the first time for that?

  Damn.

  “Maker of life, see me in the custody of Good,” came to Corey’s lips. He stood up slowly, took his robe from the hook and walked to the sink. These dreams. It seemed they were getting more frequent and more complicated.

  Corey felt waves from Pel and knew he was asleep. Wonder if he picked up anything from that one? He stuck the plastite toothcleaner into his mouth and felt the tingle, and put a hand through his hair. Corey wondered if perhaps he wasn’t tiring of blue. He hadn’t worn any other color for at least a solyear. It was something to think about.

  6

  WHAT’S HAPPENING?

  The New Denver space station was experiencing a typical day: no major incidents, moderate to heavy traffic flow, people meeting people, hugging, smiling, laughing, crying. Space ships of all sizes and makes made their way in and out of the network of taxi beacons and docking markers in the harbor, while workers in air suits floated busily back and forth outside the shields.

  A security marshal stooped over to pick up a chunk of debris from the deck of section D-9, and after examining its surface, dropped it into an eliminator unit nearby. The rubble was disintegrated instantly, and the officer took his place next to one of the twelve giant pillars supporting the upper level. “This structure made entirely of Titan metals,” said the plaque just above his helmet, “Constructed and completed in 2139 CE.”

  A bevy of second-school girls walked by, giggling at a scene from their favorite gossip holo suspended in front of them as they moved. They were wearing Marspants, a tighter, shortened version of the acrolon pants that were popular on Earth a few years ago.

  A religious group wearing black cottons skimmed by on a shiny white hover, smiling and waving to the many turning heads, one of those being the head of Pel Jagger-Seven.

  “Corey, look!”

  Corey turned and saw the group and recognized their apparel immediately. “Catholics!” he said, but quietly.

  “Wait, please stop!” yelled Pel, waving at the group.

  “Pel, no!” Corey whispered loudly, grabbing Pel’s shoulder. Oh Lord, here he goes. The hover came to a soft halt, and a hand was extended. It belonged to an elderly gentleman of at least one hundred thirty years. Pel spoke first.

  “Pel Jagger-Seven, Father,” shaking his hand.

  “Jagger-Seven? You must be from Tranquility!”

  “Yes Father, Concordia.”

  “Concordia, oh my! Ever stop in Cristi, young man?” he said with a grin.

  “Not really, Father.”

  “Oh, well I’m Father Dunn, this is Father Mark, Father Alice and her wife Bartholomew, Sister Mary and Sister Calmiki...we are of the Mission of All Repentant Souls.”

  “This is my brother Corey,” Pel replied with a motion of his hand.

  “Brother? Blood brother?” asked the priest.

  “Yes!” Corey beamed.

  “God in you, Pel and Corey, and blessed be your family.”

  “Thank you, Father.” They both said it at once.

  “A blessed and useful journey to you, young men...we are at House of His Love in Cristi, do you know of it?”

  “No, Father,” said Corey. Right then he wished he did, as his eyes fell to the floor. “We haven’t really been to church in a while, but we are definitely going to go soon.” He shuffled his feet as he spoke. “It’s just that, well we’ve been busy and sometimes I wonder about-”

  “Corey,” Pel put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “we need to get to our meeting, and I’m sure they have places to go, too.”

  “Well, we are in a bit of a hurry, but we hope to see you there one day. Please spend all your days in the custody of Good.”

  “Yes, Father,” from both, again simultaneously.

  The car sailed away, five centimeters above the hard, polished floor, and memories of childhood raced through their heads. In Cydonia they had s
pent two years attending The Vatican Club on Sundays before it shut down due to bankruptcy. The boys made friends there, and Pel felt like that place kept him from going crazy. He always had a harder time making friends than Corey, but everyone was very accepting at the club, and Pel knew it helped him through an awkward time.

  They watched the hover moving away through the crowd.

  “I thought the sister was gonna hit my hand with a ruler when I didn’t know their church.”

  Pel laughed, “What the hell? I thought you were gonna do confession right there; you ok?”

  “I miss motherrrrrrr,” Corey cried sarcastically, putting his head on Pel’s chest and giving him a hug. For his effort, he received an uppercut to the chest.

  “Owwww…you’re a dead man!” Corey grabbed his chest and glanced at his wrist, “Hour and a half to the shuttle, let’s grab a snack before we meet the agent.”

  The agent was the representative of Outer Rim Promotions. He would be their liaison for all things business. Corey wanted to make an excellent first impression, since ORP was a heavy-hitter when it came to tours and promotions. He requested all members of the band to be there.

  “What about Ari and Jon?” asked Pel.

  “They’re going to meet us at the conference room.”

  “Hivol, let’s go!”

  They strutted down the brightly lit corridor, completely ignoring the ads floating by on both sides. They watched the people pass and started up a game of Find the Celebrity, where you look for people that look like famous people. Luminescent colors of Saturn System fashions flowed by them, worn by busy people looking to get to their next destination.

  “Hey, let’s hit the mindbenders at McAuliffe,” said Pel.

  “You’re a cheekwa, brother, I still haven’t even tried one,” said Corey.

  “I know, that’s because you’re a dorf.”

  “A dorf? What’s a dorf?”

  “A loser, a kakless…Ari told me. Twentieth century.”

  “I think you mean a dork, Mr. Kakless,” Corey laughed, “even I know that one.” He pushed Pel toward the snack machine.

  “Green or blue?”

  “Green.”

  An Ubersnack 3000 fell into the bin, followed by another.

  “Here’s to whatever the hell they put in these,” said Pel, raising his snack into the air. They unwrapped the bright green packages and popped the thick-textured mixture into their mouths in unison. Then they made their way to the conference room.

  Ari and Jon were already there and seated as Corey and Pel entered, and the brothers took their seat at the table. They all agreed Corey would do the talking, but Ari assured him that he would have his back. Ari had met Mark Jon-dess before, so he wasn’t surprised when the agent arrived about ten minutes late, looking disheveled and sweating.

  “So let’s talk about the contract, and let’s start with the Jaggersickle brothers,” said Jondess. “You have requested-”

  “Jagger-Seven, Mr. Jondess,” Corey sputtered. He was holding back a laugh while feeling the rush from his favorite snack.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, Corey. Please, call me Mark. Jagger-Seven, of course. We will be sending both your credits to the bank in Concordia, is that right?” Jondess asked.

  “Yes, that’s right, can I check our account info and the spelling on your swipe please?”

  “Why, do you think I can’t spell?” asked Jondess.

  “No sir, it’s just that-”

  “Actually, with respect to all, we can put all that into our mailswipes,” offered Ari.

  “Yes, of course, that’s true,” said Jondess. He pulled out a handkerchief and blotted his forehead. “Jonny Rhythm, you are artiman, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Jon.

  “Are you registered with the county yet?”

  “Yes, he is,” said Ari. “He’s emo-gated to Earth standard. It should be in your file there, with the confirmation number and all his tags.”

  “Ah, yes, there it is. Wouldn’t want you sticking a drumstick into anybody’s neck now, would we?”

  “That would not be my first choice of action, sir,” Jon said.

  “That’s not what you said last night,” Pel chuckled.

  Ari burst in, “we should probably confirm our accommodations, per diem, food arrangement, and the terms of service. The auto-doc will handle the rest, right?” He had done this before.

  “Sure, Mr…Aristotle Lopez, right? You are with Reena Coolie’s band! I knew you looked familiar. How is she doing? Are you guys doing a new plate soon?”

  “Mr. Jondess- may I call you Mark? I’m not with her band anymore, which is why I’m here. With The Cosmotix.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. Well, I’ve seen a few of your Moon gigs and I do think you boys will have a great time at the Rochaus. They’re going to love you!” Jondess exclaimed. His wrist buzzed.

  “Well, that should decrease the shame, sir,” Ari retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Corey. Jondess was staring at his wrist and clueless to the comment. Ari then gave him the stupid face, which sent Pel into a tizzy of suppressed laughter. Jondess didn’t see it.

  “I’m sorry boys, I have to take this, but we will fill in all the blanks on mailswipe, yes?” asked Jondess. The boys looked at each other for a moment, then reluctantly agreed.

  They lingered for a minute after Jondess left the room.

  “I could have used that time to practice my knitting,” said Corey.

  “Maybe you could knit Jondess a new tie,” said Ari.

  “When it’s time for me to croak, I’m gonna want those minutes back,” Pel said. “Jagger fooking-sickle?”

  Jon added, “Yes, if we hadn’t the need to be here anyway, I would have kicked his abs.”

  “You mean his ass, Jon, check your programming,” said Ari. “And don’t put a stick in his neck.”

  Pel almost fell over from laughter. “Jon, that’s awesome!” Pel couldn’t believe he said that; Jon wouldn’t know the first thing about kicking someone’s ass. Or their abs.

  Ari and Jon had several errands to run, and they had to leave fast. But the brothers were loving the space station and wanted to take their time walking the terminals, so they split up and moved on.

  A news streamer caught Corey’s eye and he started toward the wall, waving his wrist to pull up all the week’s solsys news.

  “Gotta catch up,” Corey said. He hovered the top five stories in front of them as they walked. They had a good laugh about the first one, though it was a guilty pleasure.

  It turned out Martian comedian Persha Channey had begun walking the entire Olympus Mons Highway naked, to protest against the significant increase in military exercises near residential property in the surrounding area. There was a very unflattering picture of the controversial entertainer taking her first steps on the four hundred fifty-mile trek.

  Pel couldn’t help but snicker, “Maybe they should have covered this story without the cameras.”

  It was then Corey realized that all five articles revolved around the same topic. It appeared military exercises were being increased on Earth and Moon as well, and a picture of downtown Concordia forced him to click on that. The headline was bold:

  WHAT’S HAPPENING IN THE SKIES?

  7

  READY FOR THE GIG

  Jon’s activator fired after a one-hour shutdown, and he gulped down a pint of Androl, the staminant made mostly in Hawking, Tranquility. He tucked his scarlet cotton shirt into a neatly pleated pair of British javi-jeans and headed for the Rochaus, sticks in hand, plenty early for rehearsal. It was late afternoon in Zubrin. The air was perfect and the breeze was light. The sky glowed with the brilliance of Saturn’s exotic face, a face that hung almost directly overhead and moved very little. This is because, like Earth’s moon, Titan’s rotation is synchronous in its orbit. One side always faces the planet. It was a spectacular sight when the climate shield was high. Jonny Rhythm was aware of the aesthetic appeal this had to humans, so he gazed upward and
clicked his eyes. Excellent photo. This will be a great gift. He stepped aboard a corner hover and crossed at the signal, carefully looking both ways.

  The Rochaus was a three hundred-seat stage bar that catered to the middle-class clientele of Zubrin, Titan, population forty-eight thousand plus. It sat near the intersection of two major highways, Robert Zubrin Avenue and the Huygens Tunnel Chute. Both were preferred traffic routes for many of the ten thousand mining-affiliated men and women that lived there since they both emptied into the two biggest quarries in the metropolis.

  Jon had just finished crossing Robert Zubrin Avenue and stepping off the hover when a large, rust-colored magnetruck ripped by right behind him, dangerously close to the light rails. It was followed from above by a shiny silver security drone with a collector beam aimed directly at the back of the joyriding vehicle.

  “Justice shall be served,” said the artiman out loud as he set his course for the back entrance of the club. Immediately upon entering, the stale scent of old smoke and beverages filled his nasal sensors, and the darkness forced an immediate adjustment in his eyes. In front of him, a burly man with an impressive mustache was wiping down the bar with his left hand, and sipping liquid from a thin red tumbler with his right.

  “What can I do?” asked the man politely.

  “I’m here to rehearse with the band; I’m a bit early.”

  “You’re artiman, the voice…I can tell.”

  “Very observant of you, my friend.” Jon looked around. “Do you see many of us here?”

  “Actually no, but I’ve been around,” the stranger responded. “Name’s Jim Matthews.” He extended his hand.

  “A pleasure sir, I am Jonny Rhythm,” said Jon, shaking the man’s hand with a perfect grip.