131

If it is going to be the end of the Universe in a Mars weeks time, then I had better put my affairs in order, just in case there is life after oblivion. I am at home. Brian has changed sex. He is now called Bronwen and speaks in a high pitched Welsh accent. I find it extremely grating.

'You know, Sir that I crave a body.' He takes my silence to mean carry on.

'I thought maybe if I became a woman, that seeing as how you are very fond of women, you might let me have a body. You know, like, Shirley Bassey, for instance.'

Now I like Shirley Bassey, but Brian wearing a Shirley Bassey body suit, going around the apartment singing James Bond theme tunes whilst he Dyson's the living room. Forget it.

'No, and get rid of the accent before I dump you on Electronics world to be recycled as a Barbie Doll, and make me a drink.'

A Campari and Soda appears by my elbow.

'Thank you, Brian. I wish to review my affairs, so give me a resume of how I stand financially'

'Do you want it in detail or a ball park figure?'

'Ball Park will do.'

'Think of that ball park with a number one on the pitchers mound and noughts running from it the length of a curve ball being hit out of the park, like a comets tail.'

'Wow that is a lot of noughts.'

'Multiply this number by the number of seats in the stadium, and you are getting close to how many credits you have, just in the bank of Uranus.'

'Zillions,'

'Yes Sir, Zillions'

It sounds a magical figure, a sum that would mean I could do anything, buy anything, be anything, except that in a month's time it will mean Zitch, unless Fats can come up with the goods. I suddenly feel exhausted, and I have a sore throat. I get Brian to call up the Medibot to check me out. It's probably some ancient strain of cold virus that I picked up in Atlantic City. I strap the Medibot to my arm and it sends it's findings to my home computer, Brian.

'What's the diagnosis, Brian?'

'You have a cold, Sir.' The rest of the phrase hangs in the air. 'And?' I ask.

'And a resistant strain of Gonorrhoea.'

'What?' I turn around so violently that I crick my neck.

'Resistant. Resistant to what? Am I going to have a weeping dick for the rest of my life.'

'There is the umbrella treatment.'

'Explain'

'It is where a small closed umbrella is inserted, opened up and pulled out.'

I feel myself going dizzy. Then I twig. Brian is getting his own back for the banning of his Welsh persona.

'Got you there, Sir. The bot recommends honey and lemon, and has given you an anti viral shot of serum. You should be fine in a couple of hours.'

'Nice one, Brian. I won't forget it.'

'Thank you, Sir.'

************

I wake up feeling refreshed and ready for anything. I ask Brian to knock up some breakfast, and lay waste to scrambled eggs and smoked zablefish. It is early evening and time for cocktails. I step into the transopter and dial the co-ordinates for the Mars Bar in downtown Vegas on Pleasure World. The bar is a replica of the Savoy Grill, with additional touches of short skirted humanoids carrying drinks. The disconcerting thing is that they are all out of the same mould. Hair, jet black and cut to geometric prefection, sliced just below the ear, with a fringe, reminiscent of a space cadet's helmet. It's a design fault, the odd blonde or red head would have broken the monotony. I order a Jack D. and take a proper look around. Above the bar I see a sign, that reads, Licensed Owner, The SCR4P M3 Co. Manager Ms. Zeno Jane. I have a girlfriend by that name, and SCR4P M3 is the name of my spaceship scrapping company. Hey! I own the place. On my first glance Zeno is not in evidence, but she has such chameleon tendancies that she could be anyone in here. Tucked away in the corner is a baby grand. You know me and pianos. I only have to see a keyboard and my fingers start twitching and before you can wave a batton I am seated at it and playing an improvised melody. One of the humanoids comes over and stands by me, her perfume is distinctive and reminds me of Mars.

'Hi Joe, what kept you?'

'I suppose saving the Universe is not a good excuse.' Zeno laughs, 'Well we are still here, so it must have worked.'

'What happened to your love afair with scrap metal and that hulk Guy what's his name.?'

'Oh, Guy Buddy, was never going to be the great romance, not while you are on my list.'

'I am?' 'Still?' She hitches her skirt and sits next to me on the stool, places her hand on my thigh next to my Calvins, and gives me a little squeeze.

'I have to get back to work. I'll send one of my copies over to keep you company, see if you can tell the difference.'

Cloning, is and exact science. A clone these days can be made exactly, to the smallest atom, as the original, you see where I'm going with this? How do I know that the Zeno gripping my thigh is the real thing?

**************

HOLD TIGHT

Hold tight hold tight hold tight hold tight

Foo-ra-de-ack-a-sa-ki

Want some seafood Mama

Shrimpers and rice they're very nice

Hold tight hold tight hold tight hold tight

Foo-ra-de-ack-a-sa-ki

Want some seafood Mama

Steamers and sauce and then of course I like oysters lobsters too

And I like my tasty butter fish

When I come home from work at night

I get my favorite dish, FISH!

Hold tight hold tight hold tight hold tight

Foo-ra-de-ack-a-sa-ki

Want some seafood Mama

*****************

Real thing or not Zeno is shoved from my thoughts as Doil walks in with Smith. Smith has changed from his uniform of silver blouson and black slacks, to a invisi cloak and rubber suit. Why? Don't ask me. The invisi cloak is supposed to make you invisible, but it doesn't work on rubber, so he is visible. As I said don't ask me.

'Been swimming?' I ask.

'Yeh' he replies as if that explains it. He removes his jacket and stands there as a disembodied pair of legs. Doil takes me to a quiet corner. His fingers digging into to my elbow. It hurts.

'Look don't spread this around but Smith has lost it. It's a lonely life being an agent. One day he was sane the next as mad as a a dog with his dick cut off smelling heat.'

'As much as I want to save the Universe, Smith's state of mind is not my concern, why drag him around if he has lost it?'

I look over to where Smith was and there is just a pile of rubber. He could be anywhere, and I don't give a shit. But Doil does.

'Watch this space' says Doil.

'Like Fuck', I think.

The Zeno, who might or might not be Zeno, who has watched the whole charade from a distance is now by my side.

'That is plod if ever I saw a size 13 foot. Are you in trouble?' Doil has been in my life for so long now that I forget that none of my close acquaintances know that we are colleagues, and I have no intension of dragging Zeno, real or not, into my brief to save the Universe.

'Never seen him before, I thought he might be one of your conquest, hovering somewhere down the middle of the Johnlist.'

'I wouldn't let a Dick put his dick in me for all the Zoomers in Zoomerville.'

Maybe she is the real thing after all but I don't have time to find out, I need to escape before Doil and the bonkers Smith return.

'Maybe he is a Cop, I don't suppose there is a transopter in the back that I can use.'

'Sure, anything for my number one.'

***************

This may be the future, but it is boring. Everything is so perfect. Engineered to make life as comfortable as possible for human kind. The shield that surrounds the planet is doing it's job silently and unobtrusively. It keeps the cosmic radiation off us otherwise we would all fry into cancerous oblivion. To keep us from dying of enui The Powers have devised occupations for us. There is no need for us to do this work, as machines could do it better and with less hassle. I have avoided being assigned a useless job by being a musician. Some say that being a musician is a useless occupation anyway, it suits me because I am a born entertainer, but it would never have made me rich. Brian did that, with a little help from Zeno.

Zeno is snoring gently next to me. We made love for four hours, aided by a few chemicals. Her head is resting on my chest, rising up and down with my breathing. Brian by now should have interrupted my thoughts several time with innate questions, but he is unnerving quiet.

'Brian?'

'I knew you would break first, Sir.'

'Break?'

'The silence, Sir.' I was having a bet with myself that I could make you contact me first.'

'Well you've won, now fuck off.'

'If I were to take you literally, Sir, I would require a body to do so.'

'Well fuck off anyway, in the non literal sense.'

'Sir...'

'This had better be good Brian.'

'The Agency know you are in Town, I told them yesterday, a little show of initiative, made me contact them, and now they want you to vid them back, they have a gig for you.'

For once I am pleased at one of Brian's unsolicited interferences. 'Get Chico on the Vid, I presume he is still in charge?' Within a nanosec, Chico is hologrammed into the room sitting behind a desk drinking from a long glass. He looks younger than when I last spoke to him, mid thirties, with sleeked back hair and sharp suited. He looks me up and down and with approval at Zeno.

'You heard of Teddy Wilson'

A silly question there isn't a keyman who hasn't. I nod.

'Fancy being him for a few weeks?'

'Any side men?'

'Nope, just Teddy sitting at a Steinway.'

A solo gig as Teddy Wilson, has to be a yes, immaterial of place, century, or money.

***************

Theodore Shaw "Teddy" Wilson (November 24, 1912– July 31, 1986) was an American who almost wholy invented the swing style of piano playing. Teddy Wilson was featured on the records of many of the biggest names in jazz, including Louis Armstrong, Lena Horn, Ella, Benny Goodman. With Goodman, he was one of the first black musicians to appear prominently with white musicians. In addition to his extensive work as a sideman, he led his own groups and made recordings from the 1920's to the 1980's

It has to be a select audience for Teddy Wilson to be the sole performer. And it turns out to be so. The room is small and intimate, I could be anywhere in any century. The piano room is the social club of a musical society formed from piano players, who book prossed up virtuosi each week to study their style, a sort of workshop. This week it is Teddy Wilson, me prossed up as him, with my Teddy Wilson chip in place. The members range from seven year old genius’s to old troopers with arthritic fingers. Around me are mini cameras including some set into the front of the piano just above the keys. As I play every movement of my fingers is displayed on screens around the walls. My arms are attached with sensors that monitor every muscle in my fingers. A signal is sent to receivers that can be attached to the arms of the watchers, so they play invisible keyboards along with me. Spooky but effective. These movements are recorded and used again. So with time each student has muscle memory that allows them to be a Teddy Wilson clone. Not very inventive, in my opinion, but they think it makes them better players. The place is set out like a speakeasy with dim lights a small dance floor and a bar lit by blue lights. Come nightfall the kid's are kicked out and the atmosphere changes. The barmen put away the soda's and start mixing cocktails. I sink a couple of Jack's and up the tempo. A almond eyed honey with cropped hair and red lips, rests her hand on my shoulder and ask's if I can play the backing to some show numbers. Never one to let down a Lady, I agree. She starts with a bit of scat that has the chords of Star Eyes, I take up the tune and lead her in. She has a soft voice with a slight huskiness. I like it, this is going to be fun. Sometimes on these gigs I am asked to play with some fog horn that hasn't an iota of subtlety, but barbecue has it in spades. She finishes with a note that in ordinary circumstances would be a bum one. But it works. I am impressed. We do a few more numbers then she walks of. I can't think of a better time the take a break, and as I step of the stage, I spot Chico at a table by the bar. He pulls out a chair for me and I sit.

'Not a bad set.' He say's.

It's a long time since I sat with Chico and chewed the fat, I am curious as to why he want's to do it here, with me prossed up as Teddy Wilson.

He starts in.

'Do you remember that gig you did on the star ship in Saturn orbit. The one where the grunts rioted and you had to beat it pronto.' Chico leans forward in a conspiratory pose, as if what he is about to say is top secret and not to be overheard.

'I do remember it as you didn't pay me.'

He leans back and stays stum. Now he goes all coy on me.

'Spill it Chico, I say with exasperation.

'Well they are blaming you, and hence the Agency and not only are they refusing to pay up, but they are threatening to blow up the shop.'

'Will they take cash?'

' Don't be a shmuck. It would have to be a container load.'

Shit is that all, I have enough containers full credits to stretch from here to Neptune, will I miss one? I don't think so. I place my hand on Chico's arm.

'I'm loaded, Chico, go back to Mars and I'll tell Brian, to buy them a new ship and Scr4p M3 will take the old one of their hands.'

'You own Scr4p M3? The owners of Mars City Dodgers.' Apparently I do.

'Never mind about Spaceball, lets get hammered.'

**************

I pitch up at the whorehouse. With time travel I can dodge the end of the Universe by several millenniums. 1935 in New York, beats anything Mars can offer, Mars is so safe. Apart from the end of the Universe that is. No Hoods, no speakeasies, no Whores with dodgy habits. No Musicals, yellow cabs, or inky black jazz musicians without a neck chip. And no Big Sal. I can have all the perfect women I want back on Mars, but to snuggle up to Big Sal on a cold night takes some beating. I knock on the door and the spy hole slides back. It's a voice I don't recognise.

'Wadayouwant?'

'It's me, Joe Coolz, I need a bed.'

'Broads we got, beds we don't, 'cept by the hour.'

'Is Big Sal free.'

'She left'

The door slams shut. This is a big disappointment. What now? I feel hot breath in my ear. I am grabbed from behind and squeezed until I feel dizzy.

A voice I recognise say. 'Hi Hon.'

'Sal, he said you left.'

'He's from The Bronx, no fucking sense.' She laughs that big throaty laugh that makes her chest bounce. 'I did leave, but only for a bite in the Diner.' She relaxes her grip and kisses me full and long on the lips. 'I missed you Limey.' She stands back and takes my hand and puts it to her heart.

'Feel that Honey, it's all yours. Well your's and Fats's. The Fat and the Thin'

If only she knew.