Corey had both hands on the stinger as he walked to the front of the stage. A high-pitched hum sizzled from the hovering drone speakers, while Pel’s deep, punchy bass rumbled underneath. Ari went to the board, filling the room with an angelic array of imitation human voices. The trilites blazed a stream of colors, as Corey began to sing…
Welcome to the show...grab ya head and hold ya mouth, we never ever goin’ slow...it’s a partay, a partay…
A song by Rinny Jackson-Five; it was a great song to open with. It was popular in the twenty-one-eighties, and people still loved it.
Corey stared out into the faces. Heads were turning his way, and he sensed this crowd was going to be easy to work. New Year’s Eve. The people were ready for a good time.
Connection is so important; we’ve got this…
He grabbed the stationary mic off the stand and kept singing…
Welcome to the show...whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do…
The anti-grav floor filled immediately, with bodies tumbling lazily about. A woman wearing very little was bouncing in and out of her clothing as she flipped over and over, making an obvious suggestion to her partner. Ari got an eyeful of that, and the horn patch never did come in at the chorus. A hairless couple wearing matching silk jumpers entered the bar on the opposite side; she was a good two feet taller than him and they made a charming couple, Corey thought.
Ari began the solo to take them into Red Alert, one of his favorites. He worked through alternating hard-edged guitar and brassy trumpet sounds, building up the tension. The drums kicked in and then it happened, Corey’s moment. He stepped on the sensor plate and twirled...twist, slap, grunt, 1-2-3-4… Corey spun ten feet into the air as he raised the mic to his lips, plummeting down to a perfect landing on the stage.
“Let’s see it again, Elvis!!” yelled Ari. He was blown away that Corey could make that move with so little time to practice.
Red Alert…defend her or surrender but prepare for boarding.
And when you go down, there will be celebration tonight…
A song by AttaRappa, a popular Earth band. The dance floor was jamming, and The Cosmotix were on fire. Pel was pounding the bass strings, bending over his instrument and shaking his mane like a lion. Jon was grinning ear to ear and slamming the drums with perfect timing. Ari was rocking back and forth as he hammered the keys with all twelve fingers, firing like splitter rays. The crowd was screaming.
The night played on, and The Cosmotix owned it. The Roc-haus had not seen entertainment like this in solyears, and no one knew that more than Jim Matthews and his crew at the bar, who were scanning tokens and swiping wrists faster than he could remember. He was looking forward to congratulating this Corey guy, who seemed a little preoccupied when they met, but he sure could sing, and he sure could play the stinger.
“One more bangbang for The Cosmotix!” came the voice.
“They will return for more, but now, we direct your attention to the hard floor, and please welcome two of Titan’s most amazing Military Gamers, here to battle it out for you tonight. From Oahu Facula and the Cassini Technical College, please give a bang for Jessie Gomez!”
A red beam illuminated her, seated at the console that had just been placed on one end of the dance floor. There was scattered applause but sincere, and it was obvious Ms. Gomez had a small fan club there.
“Ms. Gomez will be operating the Galactic Special Ops War Team, now entering the arena! Now, please welcome her opponent, from right here in Zubrin, representing the Shiwanni BioComputer Group, Mr. Anvil Alton!”
A blue beam shone on him and his console at the opposite end, and a much larger applause went down for the hometown favorite.
“Mr. Alton will be operating the Blue Python Unit, and you’ll be viewing all the action on our newly reworked four-dimensional senscape!”
The house went dark. The crowd went silent.
The air began to glow with a warm, misty, red smoky tint, and words fell from the ceiling, a brilliant white. They read “Four Dee Presents,” followed by “Holo Be Thy Name Productions,” and they twirled and spun over the dance floor before flying upward.
The red mist faded out, and an orange-yellow light rose up from the floor, revealing a beautiful desert scene. The crowd could see the cracked, baked earth beneath them, and wispy orange clouds floated above as the sun rose in the east. They broke into applause at the sight, taking in the scent of sage and the sound and feel of the wind. They couldn’t see the stage area and they couldn’t see the walls or ceiling or floor. They could barely even see each other; the room had become the desert.
From out of one direction, a black USR Destroyer scout ship came swooping in. Heads ducked down and a massive whoaaa came from the audience. The ship was followed by sixteen gunships flying in a V formation that kept a straight heading and a steady pace, and a rumble filled the entire facility as they circled the room. People were streaming in from other areas of the club to catch the action, some fairly tipsy, some holding their ears. Drinks were flowing and faces were beaming.
A convoy of land cruisers came rolling across the dusty desert floor, kicking up dirt and shining trilites in a routine search pattern, but the flying V formation swooped in immediately. Splitter rays sliced into the trucks, sending flames and smoke everywhere. Hundreds of tiny men and women dressed in bright green and white uniforms jumped out of the vehicles, running for the rocks and hills nearby, and disappeared under the people and tables at the edge of the floor. The chant “Python! Python! Python!” filled the room until ground troops fired off a series of rockets that dropped seven gunships to the ground.
Corey and Pel stood together watching the action and checking out the people, at least the ones they could see.
“This is killer kak, much better than the ones at school,” Pel yelled over the noise.
“The girl’s gonna take it, ya?” yelled Corey.
Pel covered his ears at a nearby explosion, “Maybe we shouldn’t be in here!” he yelled. “We actually need our ears!”
Just then an intoxicated patron came running out on to the scene. He stumbled and stomped, laughing hysterically as the unaffected battle continued to play out around him, under him and through him. A tri-spot quickly found him, and a dull moan was heard from the crowd, followed by loud booing. Two stocky bouncers stormed the floor and grabbed him by the arms. Jessie Gomez hit a button that ignited a nuclear bomb right under the man’s crotch, and the booing quickly turned into cheers and laughter as he was escorted out.
It looked like the battle might come to a draw, until Jessie saw on her weapons panel that she had earned enough kills to give her a plasmo-nuke. She launched it immediately, taking out one entire corner of the Python’s staging area and again sending people running from their tables. It was loud and intense and right in their faces, and it was pretty much the end of Anvil Alton’s army. Triumphant, military-style music began playing throughout the club as the Python team retreated.
For a proper finale, the Starship Enterprise came swooping in and buzzed every corner of the floor, making people duck and firing phasers that turned to words in the air, saying Your Champion, Jessie Gomez. She got a very lively applause, despite the fact that she had beaten the hometown favorite.
“Is this a partaaaaaaaayyyyyyy?” came the voice. “Ok Zubrinators, once again give a warm welcome to…The Cosmotix!!”
Lights, siren, holo confetti, applause...BOOM, BAP, BOOM, BAP, BOOMBOOM BAP, BOOM, BAP…
Trilites flooded the room and the dance floors were full in seconds. Corey walked onto the stage with his stinger screaming out a three-octave riff. Pel had the bass strings pulsing in A minor and Ari touched a pad that flooded the room with feelsound. It vibrated everyone’s skin as Corey began to sing…
I’m...comin’ out, so you better get this party started...
It was an old Earth song from Pink, around the year 2000, enjoying new popularity the last couple solyears. The band was playing it like it was their number one h
it.
Corey did a standing backflip at the front of the stage, landing feet first and stretching his fingers to catch the flying mic. He sang out the chorus again, at the top of his lungs. People rushed the stage to try and touch him. He thrust his fist in the air, and the entire band stopped, lights out. The audience went crazy, and Corey stood tall and yelled into the microphone, “Titaaaaan!” They screamed even louder, bringing a smile to his face. THIS is why we do this. Corey then said nothing, letting the noise continue to a simmer. He turned to Jon and nodded for the next song. A low rumble buzzed through the room as the sweet shimmer of the stinger whistled a haunting intro, and couples got close together. It was a reversal of emotion, from dancing feet to beating hearts. Corey let his voice fall to a whisper.
Telephone Tel, tell me where she is...try the local places and her businesses...and leave a word to call, if she’s not there.
He always thought of his romance with Brilla when he heard this song. It reminded him of that incredible winter doing alt school at Tycho Crater Pre-university. It was the night of the Winter Formal, his first dance ever, and he sang into her ear as he awkwardly tried to match his feet with hers. She had been a friend for years, but that night Corey’s heart melted and Brilla became his first true love. If it weren’t for her family moving to Earth, he was sure he would have married her.
Telephone Tel, tell me what she’s done...sample every number, til you find the one...that rings beside her head, where she is sleeping…
The band drew it to a quiet close and Ari turned two dials, touched three panels, and began slowly swiping the gain direction port on the anti-grav. Corey lifted into the bright yellow air that swirled around the stage. Ari produced the sound of a celestial choir as Corey twirled high above the platform, working the stinger. The crowd applauded.
A drop of sweat trickled from Corey’s forehead, and as he began to wipe it dry, something caught his eye. It was someone, and it tugged at his adrenalin and gave a rush to his stomach. It was…it looked like…is it her? Or just someone that looks like her? He stared.
It was Reena Coolie. Reena Coolie was in the house. He looked over at Pel, who had already noticed her.
Corey moved slowly out of the anti-grav lock and touched down feet first on the stage. He held a chord and looked over at Ari to see if he had noticed her. Ari was diligently holding keys and swiping patches; he wasn’t looking. Was it her? Corey shot a glance at Jon for a clue, but the drummer’s eyes were closed for effect.
Maybe it just looked like her. But that face, who could mistake it? People were approaching her, and heads were turning. Maybe a holocostume? No, the movement was consistent, no distortion. She had a presence, and she was omni, and Corey made love to the stinger when his solo came up. Superstardom was in the house.
Perfect timing. If that was Reena Coolie, Corey thought, she walked in on the most romantic part of the set. But the party wasn’t over. Corey stood tall as Ari launched the mic with the anti-grav, and it flew around the stage and into Corey’s hand. He started the next song a cappella:
Get me a skycar, skycar, skycar limousine…
He screamed the words out and stared the mystery woman right in the eye. Was that a smile? Boom, bap... boombap, boom, bap... boombap… Jon was thudding the kick and pounding the snare. Pel came in on a growling bass, bumbumbumbumbumbumbumbum...
Corey attempted the sexiest response possible, but his face suddenly felt like it was caked with mud and his knees were turning to jelly. She was even more beautiful in the flesh, that golden hair, Maker Me. Corey leaped directly in front of Ari to get his attention.
“Reena Coolie?”
“Yeah, ultra-huh?” Ari shouted back, a little less than enthusiastic. Hands were clapping, and Jon and Pel were pumping out the rhythm.
“Smack kak, Ari!” Corey yelled as he spun away in a roundhouse kick with no anti-grav, twirling the mic stand like Ari had never seen in all the time they had worked together.
“Corey’s got a jones the size of Kentucky!” Pel yelled into his mic. Corey blushed, Ari rolled his eyes, and the roc went on. Jon performed a breathtaking ending that pulled them into their first original song of the night… “Tranquility.” Again, perfect timing with Reena Coolie here, Corey thought.
He let out a deep breath as the second and final set came to a close. Corey felt the pride of having done his best. The floors had been packed all night, and there wasn’t a lull in the action at all. There could be no better way to start a tour. They did a one-song encore, which was a formality.
As Corey was putting the stinger on its stand, he caught her walking toward the stage, accompanied by two men in black suits. She was wearing a red slimdress, the new retro look from twenty years ago, and the train flowed behind her as she walked. A long slit up the right leg teased Corey with visions that he would be grappling with later. He lifted his eyes to officially notice her presence, and Ari pulled up beside him.
“Aristotle,” she smiled and extended her right hand.
“Reena,” he applied his lips and then reached out for an embrace. “So good to see you!” He looked hesitant, but happy that she was there.
“Reena, this is Corey, Pel, and Jon. Gentlemen, this is Reena Coolie.”
“Like we don’t know that!” exclaimed Pel, and they all had a laugh. Reena gave a shy smile and looked down.
“Indeed, it is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Coolie,” Jon said with a bow. “Corey, I will check in with Mr. Jondess and allow you all to get acquainted.”
“Thank you, Jon,” said Corey, “please tell him to call if he needs me tonight.”
They started walking toward the green room, with the boys shaking hands and taking selfers with new fans, answering the same questions over and over again. That was show biz. Reena was a little more protected with her bodyguards, but happy to meet the people.
“Look at you, Ari, new look, new band…labels will be talking about you guys!” Reena said.
“Yeah, we’re gonna go somewhere.”
Corey turned and yelled, “Jonny, let me know if you can’t find him.”
“Jondess is your agent?” asked Reena, with a look that suggested a problem.
Corey answered, “Yes he’s here, but I haven’t seen him.”
“You may never,” Reena said with an attitude, “he’s usually a bit…distilled.”
“You mean, as in blended? Fubar?” Corey asked.
“There you go, Mister Stinger,” Reena smiled.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good!” Mr. Stinger… “Yeah, he seemed a little out of his time zone at our meeting, now that you mention it.”
“Maybe that’s why his name is jaundice,” Pel joked.
“Let’s just say his bottle isn’t half-empty or half-full,” said Reena. There was an awkward pause.
“Cuz it’s fully empty!” she giggled. That managed only a polite laugh from everyone. Pel glanced over at Corey with the stupid face, unseen by Reena. Corey’s face replied with a scold that said nothing this woman ever says will deserve the stupid face.
“Hey guys, these are my escorts, Pol and Jol, please forgive me.” A nod from everyone.
“So you’re saying he’s a bit of a drinker?”
“Not only that, he’s a slacker…I had him for a couple Martian tours and we ended up dumping everything on the owners and promoters ourselves. Lucky you have Jim at the bar, he’ll take care of whatever you need from this place.”
That was a major disappointment for Corey, but he didn’t let it show. They arrived at the door that had a hand-written plaque saying “The Cosmotix” on it, attached by paper tape. Don’t we look elegant. Corey swiped his wrist and the door slid open. The lights turned on as everyone entered, and as the door closed, the new silence was like a sound all its own. Saturated ears appreciated the quiet.
Reena took in the room; it brought back memories. Shelfbeds lining the walls, outdated Apple, standard acro-fab chairs, which Corey and Pel were pushing around politely to arrange som
e comfortable seating. Pel touched the PBC switch and winked at his older brother. Some classy Lunajazz played at a discreet volume, unoffensive to tired ears with just a hint of romance.
“Ari, this band is diamond!” Reena said, and she looked at each of them as she took a seat. “You really are good, you guys. Corey, I’m monkey for your voice. Kinda reminds me of Brando Perlman but with your own kind of kak.”
“Oh, well thank you,” said Corey with a nod. He wishes.
“Corey and Brando have a lot in common,” said Pel. “Like, both have two eyes and a nose and stuff.”
Reena was silent as she tried to process Pel’s comment.
“Please forgive my brother, Reena,” Corey said. “He has space madness.” Reena laughed a little too loudly.
Corey noticed Ari wasn’t fully at ease, and he wondered why. He thought about what the relationship must have been like between Ari and the Reena Coolie band, how they got along. He was thinking about the touring, the crowds, the everyday adoration, the energy, and he wondered if Ari really-
“So what do you think of the Rochaus, Corey?” asked Reena.
“Oh,” Corey hesitated, “well if tonight is any indication, we’re gonna love this place. It’s pretty much what we pictured; the people are smack. A lot like home. Like an old sweet song,” he sang, an attempt to imitate the legendary Ray Charles. There was dead silence except for Pel snickering.
Corey recovered, “But yeah, tonight was hivol. Couldn’t have asked for better.” He was trying his best to relax. “Are you here on vacation, Reena?”
“Vacation, business...I plate one song at Berlin Marswood with Rex Three on the twelfth and thirteenth, but til then I’m home. I live here in Zubrin, you know. You guys should come see me sometime!” She said that to everyone but looked right at Corey. Pel was nodding in agreement as Corey’s face flushed and his stomach dropped.
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