The Cosmotix 2198 Read online

  He raised his hands to hear another frantic scream, but it stopped. Everything, immediately. Instead, there was an eerie quiet as the people stared upward, not moving.

  “Los Angeles Upperrrrrrr!!” Corey yelled, but no response, just the trailing echo of his voice. Silence.

  A rumble, deep and menacing, rained down over the arena, and Corey looked up to see a United Earth warship descending from above, hovering directly overhead, blocking out the stars.

  He pressed his hands against his chest…he felt pressure, pain. Something outsync was happening, this wasn’t right. Another sound…air, like a hiss, no…a siren. A siren, a high-pitched siren filled the arena, filled the entire complex. It grew louder and louder and drilled deep into his ears, and it struck fear, deep fear, like the old alert sirens he’d seen in holos about the Three-Year War. It was loud, a hard, heavy sound. It became a massive, smothering blanket, totally crushing him to the ground, and a menacing thunder shook his very bones. It felt evil.

  Then came the panic. Shouts of excitement which had turned silent now became cries of anguish, and the entire audience scrambled for the exits. As the hovering ship rumbled above, the wailing siren grew more and more intense, thicker, heavier. It was a sound you could feel, a presence. The panic continued to cut through the crowd like a splitter ray, with people trampling over each other as dignity gave way to desperation.

  Corey turned to run, but his knees buckled beneath him. Blood dripped from his nose, and everything around him moved in slow motion, slow, motion, slow...m-o-t-i-o-n.

  He collapsed to the floor under the ongoing crush of sound, struggling to lift his head as the face of his brother flashed in front of him and yelled, “Coreeeey, moooove faaaaast.” He could not.

  Suddenly the siren began changing its tone, its color. It became lighter, it was musical…a choir? Like a choir, and the echo was diminishing, going dry. Dry, no more echo, no more pressure… dry and soft, and it didn’t hurt anymore. It was constant. It was soft and pleasant, and Corey opened his eyes.

  A panel with one red light, blurry. Inside a machine, a large tube, numbers. A deep breath, then another. A deep breath, then another. There were no eighteen thousand people. There was no show. He wasn’t even famous. That was hacking amazing. There was no reality but this twenty-minute waking period. He is Corey Jagger-Seven, and his band and brother are close by. Moons, that trip is exactly what they say...is my body even working?

  Another deep breath.

  A trilite readout directly above his eyes confirmed that they were in time for New Year by four soldays. His heartbeat increased, the pressure on his chest decreased, and the siren, the siren from his dream, which was now only the quiet hum of the deepsleep alarm, terminated. The trip was over.

  “Please begin post-hibernation sequence,” came the automated voice.

  Corey got right to the task. Tired blue hands turned upright and began a process that would require a step-by-step procedure. Each finger seemed to carry the weight of his entire body on its tip, but one by one, starting with the index fingers, he lifted them toward the red-lit ceiling. It was time to remember protocol. He had taken a test on this before the flight.

  Corey fought the fog in his head, the weakness in his muscles, and the hunger in his stomach as he proceeded to move left and right hands simultaneously according to what he had been taught. Start with fingers, bend, extend, bend, extend, tight fist ball then wide-open spread. Repeat.

  He worked his wrists, then his elbows, then shrugged his shoulders ten times as the plex enclosure lifted Corey at the waist and opened with a quiet hum. Blood was accelerating, muscles were aching, and the thick mud in his head was beginning to clear up. He pulled the lifetube from his mouth and spat into the receptacle.

  Corey opened the bottom half of the sleep tank enclosure and began the tedious task of lifting his long spindly legs out of the bed and onto the soft-padded floor. Sitting on the edge of the tank, he went through the lower extremity routine as memories of his dream filled his head, while warm blood rushed to his tingling feet.

  That was not like a dream. That was real. These dreams…

  A smile stretched his lips, bringing attention to the fact that his face had not yet moved. He grabbed it with both hands and started rubbing, up, down, left, right, which he was chanting as he picked himself up.

  Pel Jagger-Seven slipped a glossy shirt over his head and onto his shoulders, still moist from the shower. He turned to the mirror and examined his seven-foot frame, putting a hand through the long curly hair that touched his shoulders with a soft rolling edge. His weight was down and he was ready for breakfast, he thought, examining his paling skin and wondering if he should have opted for half-sleep. Pel lifted his wrist.

  “Telcom, why does my chest hurt so much?”

  “Your intercostal rib muscles need to acclimate to full breathing again. It is normal and will subside quickly.”

  The cubicle surrounding him was his quarters on board the Saturn Empris, the low budget cargo/passenger ship that chartered directly to the ringed planet with several short space station interruptions, which Pel was happy to have missed during sleep. The trip had lasted just over two weeks.

  His thoughts turned to his brother Corey in the next room, and he looked forward to the meal they would soon be sharing. A big meal after a deepsleep upflight was tradition, and this was their first.

  Pel closed his eyes and felt waves with Corey. He checked the mirror and started for the door. The touch of a button, the wave of a hand, the hum of energy and the door dissolved to reveal the outer hallway, as well as the smiling face of Corey.

  “Brother!” A hand slap, painfully hard, and too soon after deepsleep. Nerve endings weren’t ready.

  “Owwwwww!!” they both exclaimed. A crushing hug followed, hard and rough, like brothers.

  “Pel! Was it good for you?”

  “Tude, I’m practically a dead man…I think an asteroid slam-med into my chest.”

  “Hey, I feel it too; just keep breathing deep. We’re gonna have unhappy ribs for a minute. Brother, I had another one, did you catch it?”

  “I heard a siren. Right, a siren?” said Pel.

  “Yeah, that wasn’t the good part. We were playing Marswood and it was hivol! But it got really weird; the people just stopped and-”

  “I saw a warship, too.”

  “Yeah? What else?”

  “Nothing. That was it.”

  “Well, the show was breathkill; we were fullon. Anti-gravs, drones, trilites, I was shredding, you were stank on the bass.”

  “Hopefully we get to taste some of that, tude. You talk to Ari yet?”

  “No, but let’s do this; I’m starving.”

  The two turned in unison and headed for Ari’s room. Aristotle Lopez was their tekker, an energetic bundle of nerd genius who played the keys and ran the controller board for the band. He was from Titan, mainly a mining planet, the first satellite of Saturn in terms of population, industrial output, wealth and status. It was also the center of their current orbit. Ari was coming home.

  Ari was a young veteran of the music industry, far more experienced than the brothers. He had already made a name for himself with Zan Smith, the legend who died two solyears before in a rare skycar collision on Phobos, and Reena Coolie, the much-loved Titanean singer who had her whole career directed by Darl Marswood himself, and who carried seven SRA plates to her credit.

  Why Ari left her group was still a mystery to Corey and his brother, though there were rumors. It just wasn’t something they ever asked him about. All they knew was that he could really play, was a monster on the controller, and could probably help them move up the ladder with his friends in higher places. And he was a great guy and a friend.

  As they arrived at Ari’s room, the brothers exchanged glances and Pel waved his wrist over the buzzer. There was a high-pitched ring and a momentary pause, then the door dissolved and a face appeared...loud, friendly and wide awake.

  “Wamma
jamma, let me guess,” exclaimed Ari with eyes closed, hands groping, pretending he was blind. “It’s the skinny brothers!” He wrapped his arms around Corey in a mock tackle but received a light punch to the chest in return. Hugs went all around.

  “Come in!”

  “Aristotle, we crave nutritional sustenance immediately,” said Pel as he entered.

  “And you need it, man!” said Ari as he was loading his purse. “Hey Pel, what did the bass player get on his IQ test?”

  “What?”

  “Saliva.”

  “You’re a dong.”

  “Brother, Ari’s humor is unfortunately lost in the seventies,” said Corey.

  “Yeah, the nineteen seventies!” Pel laughed.

  “Brothers, Old Earth had everything,” Ari exclaimed. “Your dedication to this current era deprives you of great music, killer slang and real culture. I’ll bet you’ve never even heard of Snoop Dogg.”

  “Airman, we know you put on polyethylene suits and dance to the Bee Gees!” said Corey.

  “And that’s why I love this loser!” Pel shouted out loud, grabbing Ari around the waist.

  “Hey get off me,” Ari yelled, laughing. “And that’s polyester suits, Corey. Hello, history class called, and it seems you are not groovy, man.”

  “I knew that.”

  Ari locked the door, and they made their way down a long corridor.

  “So why’d you guys freeze the whole trip?” asked Ari. “I thought you were getting up for Mars.”

  “I wanted to, but decided to go with the brother’s plan,” said Corey. “We’ll be seeing it up close soon enough.”

  “All those warnings about space madness freak me out,” said Pel. “I don’t think the gigs would go as well if I got the madness and killed you all.”

  “Can you imagine Pel with space madness?” Corey snickered. “Or maybe we wouldn’t even notice a difference.”

  “It might actually make him normal,” Ari said.

  Pel added, “But if we could have rehearsed, I would have shortened my deepsleep.” He covered his ears.

  “LIAR! You shit jockey, you hate practice!” shouted Ari, slapping at Pel’s head. Pel ran ahead to escape, flipping back the finger with both hands.

  “Maybe I just hate practice with you guys,” he yelled down the hallway. “You never let me have a beer.”

  “I saw you flip the finger, brother,” from Corey. “I’m telling mom.”

  “Well, then I’ll have to kill you first. Speaking of beer, don’t forget you can’t drink ‘til ninety-six hours from deepsleep or uranus will croak,” Pel shouted.

  “My anus is just happy to be here alive,” said Corey.

  “Anus a shame if we had to do the gig without our fearless leader?” said Ari.

  “Our fearless leader had one of his famous dreams,” said Pel, just as they arrived at the door to the ship’s intercar that would take them to the dining room. They stepped in and went silent for the brief instant that the door reassembled with a hiss.

  “Dining Room,” Pel said, with the wave of a hand.

  “We were at Marswood,” said Corey.

  “That is a dream,” said Ari.

  “Not for you, kakman,” said Pel.

  “Hey, The Cosmotix are just as good as anyone I’ve worked with at that place,” said Ari.

  “Tude, that brings a tear to my too-big eyeball.” Pel crossed his eyes.

  “The dream turned into a nightmare, but it was a smack gig and we were butt famous,” said Corey.

  “A nightmare? What, Pel was singing lead?” asked Ari as he lowered his shoulder and pushed Pel into the wall.

  “Oh hey, I like what you tried to do there,” said Pel. “Like a joke, but not as funny.” He gave Ari a punch to the chest.

  “Ow! Well, keep dreaming and keep practicing and we’ll get to Marswood.”

  “Hear that, Pel?” said Corey, “keep practicing and we’ll get there.”

  Pel was now going to throw a punch at Corey’s chest, but all motion stopped with the hiss of the dissolving door. A large grinning face was practically pressed up to it on the other side, making Corey jump back.

  It was Jon. No surprise to any of them that he would be the first one there, but he was standing only an inch away from the door, not moving, a blank stare. Was he dead? Was he being… humorous?

  Nobody moved, just to see if Jon flinched. He didn’t.

  Finally, Corey gave in. “Ok Jon, that’s just creepy,” and as the artiman’s man-made jaw tightened with the clench of a perfect smile, the boys detected maybe a glimmer of joy in the eyes of their friend, whose two weeks required no sleep.

  “Well, if it isn’t the skinny brothers,” said Jon, perfectly.

  “Guess we know who you belong to,” Corey shot back.

  “Good man, Jon!” came from Pel, with a smile and a hug, which was awkwardly returned. “My man?”

  “Yes, I feel very croink, Pel, thank you.”

  “Croink?” Pel looked at Ari, “Croink? He said he feels croink, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means hivol amazing, awesome, basto, bitchin, where’ve you been, Pel? But Jon, don’t say very croink, that’s just weird,” said Ari.

  “If you say so.”

  “Croink is the new word, it’s everywhere,” said Corey. He glanced over at Ari, who was looking down and smiling.

  “Well, look at me, out of the loop,” Pel said as he lowered his head. “Hey Ari, croink this.” He grabbed his crotch.

  All three stared at Pel. Corey and Ari gave him the stupid face.

  Corey looked over at his drummer, “Jon, you can’t make the stupid face?”

  “No Corey, because I am not stupid.”

  “Owned!” Pel jeered. “Good one, Jon. I bow to your machineness. So cronk.”

  “That’s croink.”

  “Whatever.”

  They staked out a corner table, close to the Saturn-facing windows. It was a buffet with turkey and moonbatter, potatocorn, peas, Russian gussles and apple pie. They started with four ounces of the sweet drink Apsorb, to help the body digest food after deepsleep.

  Ari raised his glass and was joined by the brothers. Jon raised his spoon. “To The Cosmotix at the Rochaus!” Ari said, and they all clinked and sipped.

  “Cor, did you get the message about the per diem? It’s what we thought,” said Ari.

  “I did. Jondess knows I’m challenging it, but I have to tell you, cheap will be the new normal for a while. I mean, the rest of the contract isn’t exactly first-class either,” said Corey, setting down his drink.

  “That’s odd, it seems cheap was also the old normal,” said Pel.

  “Manager’s name is Jim; did you say Ari?” asked Corey.

  “Yeah you’ll like him, he’s dope. Been there forever.”

  “Well, shut your pieholes, gentlemen,” exclaimed Pel. “We shan’t speak of these trivialities whilst our foodage beckons.” He lifted his fork to the ceiling. “Maker of life, please bless this big-ass tasty bird,” and he stuffed a hunk of breast meat into his mouth.

  “That isn’t just any turkey, that is Earth turkey, raised in Western Canada,” said Jon. “At least, that is what it says in the flight agenda.”

  “You’d do a free gig for turkey, brother,” from Corey.

  “I’d do a free gig for a turkey’s mother,” Pel said.

  “Pel, homeboy, um, that would just be another turkey,” said Ari.

  “Right. Hey Jon, care to sample the birdness?” Pel lifted his fork.

  “Androl is sufficient, thank you,” said Jon with no expression.

  “Funny man, Pel,” said Corey, “give it to me.”

  Pel emptied the fork into his mouth, then loaded it with a pea and shot it right at Corey. It scored him right in the forehead, and Ari almost blew out his gussles.

  “You know, Pel, you will never have a meal that tastes as good to you as this tastes to me.” Jon dipped his spoon in the bowl. “What do you think of that?”
/>
  “I think you’re a beautiful man, and I find myself strangely attracted to you.”

  “Strangely?” whispered Jon with a mocking wink at Pel. He sipped his spoon.

  “You’re a crater rat, Pel,” said Ari.

  “Why, thank you! I prefer the term love sloth.”

  “So Jon, anything happen on the trip?” from Corey.

  “Yes. The trip was fifteen soldays, just as expected. The stops at USR three, seven and eight were routine; sixty-seven people disembarked and we picked up a lot more cargo, including a fleet of Nissan skycars, which are impressive looking.”

  “No, I mean…any news? What’s going on in the solsys?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry…to be honest, I did not monitor events outside the ship. Do you want to hear more?”

  Pel chimed in, “Well, did you monitor any events where we almost peed the deathwagon on the way here?”

  “Pel, we did enter a debris shower for half a solday just past Pier 5. It got a little scary, Ari, you just missed it.”

  “YES!” shouted Pel, “a near-death experience!”

  “You stayed awake til Pier 5, Ari?” asked Corey.

  “Yeah, I wanted to do some writing. Also worked on Jon a little. He can be funnier now. I froze for nine days.”

  “Actually, nine soldays, seven hours and forty-seven minutes, Ari,” said Jon.

  “Oh hey, was that the funnier part?” Pel poked.

  “Thanks, Jon,” said Ari, “that’s very helpful.”

  An image from Corey’s dream triggered in his mind.

  “Jon, I dreamed we were playing LA Marswood, a total sellout. You had an Alpha, we had trilites and Staler anti-gravs. It was complete omno!”

  “You must have been sorry to wake up,” replied Jon. “By the way Ari, don’t forget your friend Duk in Terran Springs. He needs to know today.”

  “Duk? THE Duk? What does he need to know?” asked Corey excitedly. Duk was famous, he was in Reena Coolie’s band.

  “Uh…” Ari hesitated.

  “Ari has a possible surprise for you all.”

  “Great Jon, thanks,” from Ari as he rolled his eyes.

  “I think it’s best to tell everyone, so you can’t nixon out of it. What do you think of that?”