Eternity or Bust: Mission 16 (Black Ocean)
Page 16
Every reflective surface he passed told Cedric he looked foolish.
Of course, so long as he didn’t look like Cedric The Brown, he could live with the rest. A reputation for dressing foolishly was the least of his troubles. The reputation he’d earned under his own name was far worse.
The customs inspector at Mobile Excavating Station YF-77 took Cedric’s thumbprint. He held his breath, carefully avoiding the least bit of magic use that might foul the handheld device.
The scanner bleeped, and Cedric let out a silent sigh.
“So, Mr. Black,” the inspector said without looking up from his scanner. “What brings you to this station?”
“Personal business,” Cedric said. At that, the inspector did look up, not because the answer was unusual but more likely because it’d been spoken in crisp, perfect English. Cedric had never learned acting. Perhaps that ought to be something to practice. Hiding his Oxford education beneath poor diction and gutter slang only occurred to him at that precise moment. Until that point, he’d been more worried about being mistaken for the person he was pretending to be.
Calvin Black hadn’t grown up on Earth, let alone attended university there. He was from a poverty-stricken colony and had only miraculously avoided a criminal record. That was the identity Yomin had cooked up for him. It would stand scrutiny out here on the periphery of ARGO space—so long as he avoided using words like “periphery” aloud.
“There a problem, bud?” Cedric asked, parroting a young scamp he’d heard on the bargain-bin transport trip here.
The inspector double-checked Cedric’s ID on the scanner. “No. You’re clean. Enjoy your stay.”
Cedric grunted a thanks but had no intention of enjoying this trip. Part of penance was righting the wrongs one had created. The magical disaster that had nearly crashed this space station months earlier had been entirely his fault.
What one wizard might do to fix a derelict space station that had problems long before magic compounded them, he had no idea.
But Cedric intended to find out.
# # #
Carl plucked the strings of his Les Paul one by one and adjusted the tuning by ear. Or at least he made it look that way. In fact, he had a frequency analyzer palmed in his fretting hand, ready to be slipped into his pocket before the show started. Even though it was only a sound check, there were people in the lounge watching the band.
Squadron 33 1/3 wasn’t in great demand. They played little venues like this 120-seat nightclub located on a lunar colony in the Braaph system. They made back their fuel money to get there plus enough to keep everyone fed.
“Everyone got tonight’s set list?” Yomin asked as she took the stage in a tie-dyed shirt and ripped jeans, with earrings that dangled to her shoulders. The rest of the band dressed like scrubs, but she was the centerpiece, a cultural throwback to the era of music they represented—give or take an anachronism or two.
“Thought we were playing last night’s,” Roddy replied as he ran through chords on both necks of his twelve-string. “When did that change?”
“Last night,” Niang answered. His electronic drum kit needed no tuning. It was part of the band’s sound system to begin with. Jean Niang was many things, but a competent drummer wasn’t one of them. He practiced on off nights, but when it was show time, he manned the machine beat and adjusted it on the fly. “I think it was somewhere between beers eight and eleven.”
Roddy bristled. “Since when did I—?”
“Overruled,” Carl said. “The rest of us got it. You know the songs. Deal with it.”
The evening crowd settled in, and they started to play. Nothing was original. That wasn’t even part of the show’s billing. This was straight up cultural heritage, brought to life for the twenty-sixth century with electric guitars and a slightly modern vocalist.
Crowds ate it up.
Even though it was a club that served hard liquor, there were exceptions to the drinking age for the kids of the band members. Out in the sea of tables, Carl caught sight of Enzio and Amy. They were watching little Eric and Jessie, plus Toket, Fashti, and Gallep—Roddy and Shoni’s brood. It made for a packed house back on the Mobius, but the kids all got along like siblings and shared the large stateroom that had once belonged first to Kubu then Rai Kub. The kids were nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean they weren’t underfoot, under tables, or in trouble somewhere.
The kids always turned up at the end of a show. Without fail.
Yomin’s revised set list was just a different mix of the same. She’d run data analytics based on the clubs ticket pre-purchases, cross-referencing omni histories and buying habits. She concocted a custom brew to win over casual customers—hopefully as fans that would follow them on tour.
But for tonight, for Carl, it was just a bunch of songs to play.
They started with AC/DC and moved into a medley including Jefferson Airplane and The Who, some Steve Miller Band, and Stephen Stills. There was an interlude of some of Yomin’s picks including Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin. Then, when the rock crowd started getting a little antsy, they switched into back-to-back Led Zeppelin, finishing off with The Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”
By the end of the night, Carl was sweating under the stage lights. He’d grown out his hair and kept a short beard, and both contributed to the heat of performing.
“Thank you all for coming out!” Yomin said, waving to the crowd amid scattered applause as they exited backstage.
Carl slung off his guitar and set it down in a portable stand. Roddy beered him instantly, having the timing down pat. As they cooled down on the nightclub’s tab, Amy and Enzio arrived backstage. Jessie was holding Amy’s hand and toddling along with her. Eric rode atop Enzio’s shoulders.
“Y’see,” Enzio explained to the boy. “The song is about Viking immigrants to the North American continent, bringing their culture and adapting to a new land.”
“Great set,” Amy said.
Jessie disengaged from her mother’s hand, and Carl scooped her into a hug. “What’d you think?” he asked the girl. “You want to grow up to play music like me?”
Jessie shook her head. “I wanna be a pilot like mommy.”
Behind his beard, Carl smirked. He kissed his daughter on the head and handed her back to Amy. She’d grown up in a world where her father was a journeyman musician and her mother was the only pilot in the family. Eric talked about being a wizard when he grew up.
There was a tug on Carl’s shirt. At first he was ready to blame one of the kids; he already had a scold on his lips when he realized that all his were accounted for and Roddy’s couldn’t reach the hem of his shirt.
“Can I have a word with you?” Roddy asked.
Carl excused himself, and the two of them adjourned to a nearby dressing room.
“I know. I know,” Carl said. “Sloppy chord work on “Won’t Be Fooled Again.” I’ll work on it before tomorrow night’s show.”
Roddy waved the notion away. “Not that. Although, yeah. Practice that shit. But no. I want to talk to you about Enzio.”
Carl took a sip of his beer to hide any potential change in his expression. “Oh?”
“I’m getting the weirdest vibe from him lately,” Roddy continued. He chugged from his own beer and paced the cramped space. “I’ve been watching him, looking for signs. And I think I’m ready to go out on a limb here and say it.”
“Say what?” Carl asked cautiously.
“Enzio is Mort,” Roddy said with a dramatic pause for Carl to look aghast or shocked. Instead, Carl covered his lips with a beer can. “No, really. The timing works out. Esper was going to snuff Mort out of existence, but here’s this new guy Enzio. Nobody gives a shit about Enzio except maybe Niang, considering he saved the guy’s life.”
“What a weird theory,” Carl replied.
Roddy’s eyes narrowed. “Wait… you knew. You fucking knew, didn’t you?”“Me? Keep a secret like that?” Carl asked. He met the laaku�
�s eye, letting him know that under no circumstances was the information to leave this room. “No. Mort’s dead. Enzio is Enzio and always has been. Would I lie to you?”
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Books by J.S. Morin
Black Ocean
Black Ocean is a fast-paced fantasy space opera series about the small crew of the Mobius trying to squeeze out a living. If you love fantasy and sci-fi, and still lament over the cancellation of Firefly, Black Ocean is the series for you!
Read about the Black Ocean series and discover where to buy at: blackoceanmissions.com
Twinborn Chronicles: Awakening
Experience the journey of mundane scribe Kyrus Hinterdale who discovers what it means to be Twinborn—and the dangers of getting caught using magic in a world that thinks it exists only in children’s stories.
Twinborn Chronicles: War of 3 Worlds
Then continue on into the world of Korr, where the Mad Tinker and his daughter try to save the humans from the oppressive race of Kuduks. When their war spills over into both Tellurak and Veydrus, what alliances will they need to forge to make sure the right side wins?
Read about the Mad Tinker Chronicles and discover where to buy at: twinbornchronicles.com
Robot Geneticists
Robot Geneticists brings genetic engineering into a post-apocalytic Earth, 1000 years aliens obliterated all life.
These days, even the humans are built by robots.
Charlie7 is the oldest robot alive. He’s seen everything from the fall of mankind at the hands of alien invaders to the rebuilding of a living world from the algae up. But what he hasn’t seen in over a thousand years is a healthy, intelligent human. When Eve stumbles into his life, the old robot finally has something worth coming out of retirement for: someone to protect.
Read about all of the Robot Geneticists books and discover where to buy at: robotgeneticists.com
Sins of Angels
Co-written with author Matt Larkin, Sins of Angels is an epic space opera series set 3000 years after the fall of Earth. With the scope of Dune and the adventurous spirit of Indiana Jones, it delivers a conflict that spans galaxies and rests on the spirit of brave researcher Professor Rachel Jordan. Follow the complete saga, and watch as the fate of our species hangs in the balance.
Read about Sins of Angels and discover where to buy at: sinsofangelsbooks.com
Shadowblood Heir
Shadowblood Heir explores what would happen if the writer of your favorite epic fantasy TV show died before the show ended—and the show was responsible. If you wonder what it would be like if an epic fantasy world invaded our world, this urban fantasy story might give you that glimpse.
Read about Shadowblood Heir and discover where to buy at: shadowbloodheir.com
About the Author
I am a creator of worlds and a destroyer of words. As a fantasy writer, my works range from traditional epics to futuristic fantasy with starships. I have worked as an unpaid Little League pitcher, a cashier, a student library aide, a factory grunt, a cubicle drone, and an engineer—there is some overlap in the last two.
Through it all, though, I was always a storyteller. Eventually I started writing books based on the stray stories in my head, and people kept telling me to write more of them. Now, that’s all I do for a living.
I enjoy strategy, worldbuilding, and the fantasy author’s privilege to make up words. I am a gamer, a joker, and a thinker of sideways thoughts. But I don’t dance, can’t sing, and my best artistic efforts fall short of your average notebook doodle. When you read my books, you are seeing me at my best.
My ultimate goal is to be both clever and right at the same time. I have it on good authority that I have yet to achieve it.
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