Chapter Six
Elsewhere, on Balga. A blinking cursor sat in front of a struggling writer. He had a final submission to make before the magazine was published, and his mind was a total blank. Finding it impossible to focus on a blank screen, he got up and wandered down a hallway.
A wave and a quick hello to the girl three cubicles down and then on to the water dispenser. Even the familiar gurgling of the water through the pipes failed to provide any comfort. The last submission had barely been up to the standards of his editor, and that was after a dozen re-writes. Now, he had even less.
What he needed was inspiration. A germ of an idea. Something to start on and for his mind to be able to chew on. He was sure that once he got started, he’d be able to get the creative juices flowing again. What he needed was an idea.
A small sound bite on the radio caught his attention. A moment, and then it was gone. The fools on the radio were appealing to the lowest common denominator, by slagging off popular people and making silly noises with their studio equipment. Back in his college days he could have started with a single word and stretched it out to cover fifty pages. Now, fifty years and a hundred lifetimes later, he was starting to run out of steam.
Steam? What an odd phrase to use.
Far below the struggling writer, two figures moved amongst the machinery.
“Boy or a girl?” asked Corbyn.
“She had a boy,” replied Toku. “Pretty ugly, in that newborn baby way. Maybe in another month it’ll be pretty, but when I saw it – eww.”
“Bit harsh. Don’t you want a baby of your own?”
“No. Well … no.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I want one? They make a mess, their ungrateful, they demand everything and before you know it, they run off and leave you on your own.”
“Ha, ha, you sound like my step-sister.”
“Is she smart?”
“She has four kids!”
“Hey!” Toku threw a wrench at Corbyn, but without really trying. It sailed over his head and clattered on the walkway.
“That’s not nice, that nearly hit me!”
“It wasn’t anywhere near you!”
“It grazed my hair. I could feel the wind as it rushed past me,” said Corbyn as he picked up the wrench.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. If I’d been really aiming at you, it would have smacked you right on your big nose.”
“My nose isn’t big!” said Corbyn, rubbing his nose self-consciously. His nose wasn’t any larger than anyone else’s; Toku’s delicate feminine features would make anyone’s nose look large by comparison. And Corbyn was rather sensitive about his looks.
“Aw, you know I’m just teasing,” said Toku. “You need a good woman to settle you down and make you feel sure of yourself.”
“How do you know I don’t have a woman?”
“I said a good woman, not just any woman. And besides, if you did, you wouldn’t be down here with me crawling through the ducts and checking fluid pressures.”
“Now it’s my turn to say yeah, yeah. Anyway, were are we up to?”
“Junction 34PGH-I. It’s just ahead.”
Carefully stepping over snaking cabling, the two made their way to a large box set into the wall. On a station such as Balga, everything had to be regulated. Air, water, sewage, oil, oxygen – everything. Toku and Corbyn had the fun job of manually verifying the results that the computers reported. It was an essential job, especially when sensors failed but for the most part it was plain boring.
“Oh yay,” said Corbyn. “We got another tri-blade box.”
“Want to replace the bolts or just re-use them?”
“May as well replace them. It’ll help justify our pay.”
The two set to work removing bolts. On a totally artificial environment like Balga, it was critical that absolutely everything was done as it was supposed to be done, when it was supposed to be done. But human nature being what it was, there were always shortcuts, jury-rigs, temporary patches that were never replaced and so on. After five hundred years of constant love and abuse, there was very little that was actually still within original specs. For the most part it worked, but there was still the occasional mishap.
“Okay, that’s all of them.”
“On two. One, two!” They lifted the cover off and put it down on one side so that they could get access to the working components inside.
“Okay, what do we have today?”
“You say that every time. You seriously need to get some new lines.”
“It’s this stimulating environment that I work in. There’s so much constant change that I can’t keep up. In order to compensate, I use the same lines over and over in order to achieve stability in my life.”
“And again – yeah, yeah.”
Quickly and efficiently, they checked and crosschecked the flows and levels, pressures and gauges. With everything in order, they lifted the cover back into place and fitted the replacement bolts.
“You ever wanted a better job?” asked Toku.
“Sure, haven’t you?”
“Sorry, wrong question. If you could have any job, what would it be?”
“Hmm, any job?” mulled Corbyn. “Something important. Where my decisions actually made a difference. You know, be important.”
“So … what if you decide to add a high pressure air line to one of the black water lines? That decision would affect a few people!”
“Yeah, but I don’t want people covered in crap chasing me!” laughed Corbyn.
“I know what you want.”
“What?”
“You want to be a big military leader, ordering your men in to attack the enemy positions.”
“Nah, too boring. Besides, most wars are fought with robots nowadays. I was thinking more along the line of starship captain.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’d fly around the different stars, visit as many places as I could, different gal in every port – the whole deal.”
Toku stifled a giggle. “You don’t really think that that’s what captains do, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, of all the captains that I’ve known, every single one grumbles about having to spend all their time aboard the ship. They have to sail by the shortest route possible and once they get somewhere, it’s all busy, busy, busy as they unload and then load and leave in the shortest amount possible. They never get to look around the places they visit.”
“Man, that sounds like it would suck. Why do they do that?”
“No choice. Like all things, it’s a job. The company that owns the ship will tell them where to go and when to get there. And if the ship is docked at a station or floating in orbit, then it’s not making money. So if the captain gets delayed getting the cargo on or off, then they get fined or something.”
“What about the independents?”
“There’s a couple around, but not as many as you’d think. And they’re under even more pressure to not stop, especially if they haven’t paid their ship off. If they’re lucky, then they own the ship outright, but they still have to pay for all the consumables like oxygen, fuel and food. They have to pay landing fees at stations and pay import taxes for what they’re bringing in and export taxes for what they’re taking away. Plus the crew has to be paid and so on and so forth. It gets real expensive, real quick.”
“Way to make me depressed, Toku.”
“Sorry Corby baby. But that’s life. Everyone always looks at everyone else and thinks ‘they must have such a good life’ but that’s because you only see a part of what they do. You know about every single thing that’s bad about your job. But you don’t see the bad parts about theirs.”
Yeah, that’s true. I had someone tell me that they wished that they had my job. I thought they were nuts.”
“Oh yeah? What did they do?”
“Cleaned the inside of the sewage tanks.”
They both burst out laughing.
Three hours till show time. The promised punch up between Rabid and Renegade hadn’t come to be, much to Ricky’s disappointment. He had a great life; he wouldn’t want to trade with anyone else for all the silicon in the galaxy. But every now and then he would get bored. No, not bored, more like running out of steam. He’d heard that expression somewhere. It had something to do with making beverages and not being able to foam them up or something. But the idea seemed to fit. Like a robot that had run out of power, or an animated painting that had run out of colours.
He liked the guys, but this was his twenty third tour. He’d spent more time traveling in the companies little spaceship than any of their top executives. Only the promoters traveled more, since they had to leapfrog the performers, laying groundwork and getting the masses hyped up for the incoming juggernaut.
Chronologically, he was about twenty-eight. It had been fifty six years since he’d been born and he’d been traveling the galaxy for a hundred and forty two, or a hundred and fifty one depending on which calendar one used. And the fact of the matter was that he was tired. Different shows, different songs, different tours on different planets with different cities - but it was all the same.
The same empty people, waiting for him to perform. The same empty girls, wanting to idolize him or love him or hate him or use him. The same songs sung in different ways. He’d seen so many great and wonderful and bizarre and sensual things that he was desensitized to it all. Done all the girls. Done all the drugs. Seen all the aliens. Seen all the stars.
Maybe after this tour was over he’d retire. It’d been a long time coming. Briefly he toyed with the idea of quitting in the middle of the set and walking off the stage and not coming back. If he’d been on a planet, he probably would have, but this was a small station in a nowhere system. This was the far leg of the tour, with the outlying systems that had been the longest without a major tour coming through and therefore the most willing to pay.
Sullenly he sat, on a soft sofa thinking silly thoughts.
“Where’s Ricky?” asked a voice down the corridor.
“He’s busy. What’s up?” That was the voice of Ordovus, keeping the talent shielded from disturbances.
“There’s a journo here from one of the local rags wanting to hook up an interview.”
“Sorry. Like I said, he’s busy right now, maybe after the show. Anything else?
Good on you, Ordovus thought Ricky. Journalists were great for the business and always needed for the publicity they generated, good and bad. But not right before a show. Especially if they were the kind to ask annoying questions over and over again in slightly different ways.
“Got a couple of girls wanting to hook up with their idol.”
“Sorry, busy. But tell them to hang around, they might be needed after the show to help the guys unwind.”
Yep, good call thought Ricky. He’d been with more than his share of girls but they’d have to be something pretty damned special to make him want to give up his valuable relaxation time these days. They’d been rehearsing pretty hard for several hours and now they all needed to recharge before the show. He’d been hoping to get in a nap, but it wasn’t happening. And he hated having to use pills to sleep. They always made him feel like he’d just had a really long blink without getting any rest at all.
“And we got a guy wants an autograph or something. Says he’s crew on a ship that flies out before the concert starts so he’s not gonna get to see the show. Tell him to buzz off?”
“Yeah,” said Ordovus. “If Rick’s too busy for the girls, he’s not gonna have time for some shipper deadbeat.”
“Send him in,” called Ricky. He didn’t know why he did it. It was a whim. Maybe the guy would be so boring he’d be able to get some sleep. Or maybe he’d be some psycho who’d attack him and make him cancel the rest of the tour. Even if the guy just jumped on him and punched him a little, at least he’d feel something.
“Oh,” said Ordovus, startled. He hadn’t known that Ricky was awake or that he’d been able to hear them from the next room. After all the concerts, he’d figured that Ricky would be deaf, or close enough to it that it didn’t matter. “You heard the man, bring our friend in.”
Ricky rested his head back and closed his eyes. A moment later he heard several people enter the room. He heard the measured, easy steps that were reliably solid. That would be Ordovus. He heard the stiff, proper walk of the guy that came in earlier. He was some assistant or other who showed up every third stop. He was part of the liaison team that set things up with the hotels or something. Ricky couldn’t remember the poor guy’s name. It was probably a bad thing about Ricky, but the staff stretched into the hundreds, some of whom he only met once every few stops so he could never remember everyone.
The third steps where interesting. For some reason, as far back as he remembered, Ricky had been listening to the way people walked. The way they walked said a lot about them, especially about what they thought about themselves and the mood they were in. These steps sounded familiar, in a vague kind of way. It wasn’t like he could tell an individual from their footsteps, but it was the way this person walked that was familiar.
The tread was measured, the balance carefully weighed, rolling on the heel and softly lowering the toes to the ground. It was the step of someone accustomed to having to be careful of their momentum. Now he knew why the steps sounded familiar. It was the way that someone who spends a lot of time in low gravity walks. It sounded familiar because the ship’s crew always walked that way when they first set foot in a proper gravity well again.
Ricky opened his eyes. As expected, there was Ordovus and whatsisname. The third fellow looked interesting. He was about average build and height, wearing a ship’s one-piece suit. He had light stubble on his chin and a mange of shaggy hair. He looked relatively young, but the eyes were old; like someone who’s seen too much but still wants to see more.
“Good day Ricky,” said whatsisname. “This is Johnny Huser, from the Celiker.”
“Who’s the dork?” asked Renegade as Ryder walked in.
“Oh, that’s some guy that managed to get himself invited,” replied Ordovus. “Ricky’s been talking to him for about an hour now.”
“Great. So who is he?” asked Ryder, one of two percussionists in the band.
“From what I’ve heard so far, they were born on the same planet or something, so that makes them mystical blood brothers or something. He’s a pretty good screamer player; they were having a jam earlier on. At first I was a little worried about him but he seems genuine and he came out clear on Jocilyn’s background check.”
“Well, tell him to ride off. Ricky needs to rest and the show starts in two hours.”
“Leave him alone,” said Ordovus as Renegade started walking towards the other room where Ricky and Johnny were talking. “Ricky seems relaxed and happy and that’s good enough for me. That guy managed to snap him out of his melancholy and I’m mighty happy about that.”
Grumbling, Renegade wandered off to raid the fridge. Other members of the band had been drifting in over the last few minutes. In another half hour or so, Ordovus would have to break up the party and start moving everyone down to the auditorium. Reports from his staff said that the audience was already starting to file in, people hoping to get good spots. For some, that would be up in the seats with the good views. For others, it would be down in the pit where they could get up close and personal with each other while the band played. So long as not too much blood was spilt, the bouncers would let them throw themselves at each other all night long.
A few minutes later, Ricky and Johnny walked into the room.
“Wow, it’s been so great to meet you,” said Johnny enthusiastically.
“I’m just blown away by how well you play,” replied Ricky with equal enthusiasm. “You totally nailed that riff in ‘Blood Smack Cannon’ and most people can’t do it.”
“Not a lot to do on a ship between stops except practice,” said Johnny. “And speaking of which, I’ve really got to get going or I’m going to miss my boat. Have a great gig tonight!”
“Look after yourself, man.”
After a hearty handshake, Johnny walked out of the suite.
“How you feeling?” asked Ordovus.
“Pretty good. Looking forward to the show. How much longer till we go on?”
“About two hours. We’ll start making our way down to the auditorium soon. The first pre-show band will be going on around now.”
“Sweet. I’m going to have a quick lie down. Send someone in to wake me up if I fall asleep.”
Ordovus was very relaxed now. It had been a while since Ricky had been looking forward to a show. He might even let him sleep in a little. If the show started a few minutes late, then that would just make the fans want them more.
Rabid was the last of the band members to show up.
“Who’s the rabbit I just saw walking out?” he asked.
Ordovus gave him basically the same speech he’d given Renegade. Like Renegade, Rabid sauntered off to where the fridge and the drinks where. As soon as he’d walked out of the room, Ordovus realized his mistake. Rabid and Renegade had been on each other’s back for the last few days. He jumped up and sprinted for the door, but even as he was moving he could hear the two start shouting at each other. Just as he entered the room, there was a loud slam followed by a hollow scream.v
“What the hell happened?” demanded Ordovus. Rabid was on the floor clutching his right hand and Renegade was standing over him.
“It was an accident!” cried Renegade. “I went to shut the fridge but he was reaching inside for something. The door slammed right on his hand.”
“Raggin fraggin little smuck! You did that on purpose!” wailed Rabid.
“I’m sorry!” said Renegade.
“Call a medic” called Ordovus into the other room. He could hear the panicked scuffles of the others suddenly realizing that something was wrong. Ryder came in.
“What happened?”
“Renegade smashed my hand!” wailed Rabid.
“I’m sorry!”
Ordovus looked at Rabids hand and tried to guess the damage. There wasn’t any bleeding, so the skin wasn’t broken. Already he could see some swelling starting to occur. Hopefully it was just the impact and the shock causing the pain.
“Give me a hand,” said Ordovus. Renegade, Ryder and Ricky helped Rabid up and gently lowered him onto a seat. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah, a shot would be great.”
Having settled him down, Rabid calmed down, but still gave the occasional whimper. A few minutes later, two medics showed up. One of them slapped a general pain suppressor on Rabid’s neck while the other examined his hand.
“Looks like there’s a couple of bones broken,” he said.
“Can you fix it in time?” asked Ordovus.
“What, for the show? When does it start?”
“In just over an hour.”
“No way. There are at least two, possibly three broken bones in there. It’ll take at least four hours before he’s back to normal. Three if we get lucky.”
Cursing, Ordovus glared at Renegade who managed to look sheepish. Not an easy feat for a man that was almost seven feet tall, covered in tattoos and piercings and topped with wild black hair. Canceling the show was an option, but not one to be taken lightly. He wondered if postponing the show for a few hours was feasible. Would the fans, which were already packing into the auditorium, go more feral with having to stand around for a few hours or with having the show cancelled altogether?
“What are we going to do, boss?” asked Ryder.
“Weighing the options, I think we might need to cancel the show tonight. We’re scheduled to have you guys and all your gear aboard our transport pretty quick after the show and if we leave late, we’ll miss our window on our jump to the next gig.”
“We can do the show without him,” said Renegade. “No offense Rabid.”
“Not really,” replied Ordovus. “We need the sync of the three screamers together. Just two sounds pretty flat and awkward, especially with your type of music.”
“Get Johnny,” said Ricky.
“Who?”
“Johnny. The guy that was here earlier.”
“Hasn’t he left already?”
“Not yet. If you’re quick, you might be able to pull him off his ship. And we can pay him a whole lot more than what his regular shift would pay him.”
“Is he any good?” asked Ryder.
“Yeah, he was pretty good. Knows most of our songs as well.”
Looking around, Ordovus weighed up his options. The medics were already starting to work on Rabid. He’d be fine almost before the show was over, but not before it started. He might even be able to play in the last part. This Johnny fellow was an unknown quantity. Would he be good, or would he freeze on the stage? Full refunds were an option, but the bosses would be screaming murder for about a year. It might just be a band, but it was still a business.
“I’ll go get him. Everyone else get down to the green room and start getting ready. Rabid, you stay here and get fixed up. Get down to the backstage as soon as you can, but not before the medics give you the all clear, got it?”
“Yeah,” sighed Rabid through a haze of pain suppressors. “I got it.”v
“I mean it. Not one second before.”
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