Chapter 15

The troop ship houses half a million souls. Troops, caterers, scientists, robots. Male female, straight gay, just like a big city. And of course the ubiquitous IGBI.

We are set up in a small night club, not unlike The Village Vangard club on 7^th Ave. in good old NYC. The stage is at the fat end, and we have more room that the punters. But the atmosphere is great. I start the set with “The Uptown”, a great opener. There is a ripple of applause in recognition as Micky Rorker, takes up the brushes. Then Jnr. Comes in with the left hand. Just like I rehearsed at home, but now I have the chip in and I’m him, not a clone but him. The magic of science.  We weave a quiet air over the space. Usually when you play a room there is a buzz of conversation, but we have captured their hearts and the full room waits breathlessly less someone should break the spell. I finish the set with ‘You are too beautiful” As I hit the last note. We sit back, the room is still expectant. Then it comes rapturous applause.

The announcer, calls out our names. The Jnr. Mance Trio. Jnr. Mance on Piano. Ron Carter on Bass, and Micky Roker on Drums.’

We take our bow and head for the back room.

Unlike the real Village Vangard Club, this is a vast suite, with couches and a bar.

Doil is sitting on a bar stool with a silver haired man in a silver all in one. Doil beckons me over, and introduces me as IGBI agent Joe Coolz.

Joe Coolz is the name the “All that Jazz agency”, have for me. Cool what?

The silver surfer is introduced as the head of the IGBI in this sector of the Universe, name of Smith.

Doil orders a round of drinks. Scotch for me a Burbon for him and a glass of Ice Planet water for Smith. The girl behind the bar, a humanoid by her perfection, pours out the drinks with a little curtsey, and walks down the other end to see to my side men.

Smith turns to me and grins with a perfect set of white teeth, except for a little twist on the left inscissor. Is this little imperfection there, to make him seem more human?

‘Joe Coolz’, he lifts an eyebrow. Who thought up that name’.

‘Who thought up Smith’, I think. I keep stum.

He continues. The situation on Earth with Fats, is becoming critical. It’s the butterfly wing syndrome’,

Oh here we go, not the flap of a butterfly’s wing, in the Amazon causes a Super Nova in Galaxy III. I’ve never believed that shit. Ok I do believe that atoms live forever, just change their alliegance. But that butterfly crap. Think of the amount of butterfly’s on earth not to mention all the ones on Butterfly World. There would be Super Novas every fucking nano second. I let him continue.

‘It has to be resolved as a matter of urgency.’

It’s your fucking neck, not mine. No one has given me a good explanation as to why me playing Fats Waller would alter the course of the future. Is there a super villain knocking around whose ancestor on Earth on that particular night has to be bumped off. Why don’t they just get on with it. They have the power. Just zap down there and shoot the fucker.

‘Fats Waller is the catalyst. We don’t know how it happens. Could be just a sequence of notes played at a particular tempo. Fats has it. No one else.

So I’m fucked.

‘Why not the real Fats, why the ersatz version?’

He shrugs. “ We can control you’

I finish my drink and say my goodbye’s. Artie and whoever is playing Rorker are better company. Artie introduces, Cye Bangbang, drummer of many memorable battles. We all have our auras turned down so that Jnr. Ron and Micky don’t interfere with our banter. Cye is all inquisitive about the other two at the bar.

‘Fed and cop, if you ask me.’

I’ve heard of this Cye but never sat buttock to buttock before. He’s been around the block a few times and obviously has a nose for the Feds.

‘That silver surfer, is IGBI,’ he says. ‘Got the Intergalactic Bureau written all over him. What’s he want with you?’

Do I spill the beans and get myself sacked, which I want or will I be bumped off which is not preferable. I shrug.

‘Just complementing us on the set, he liked you especially Cye, said you were in the groove.

‘Well he can get stuck up my groove and give it a big tongue job. I hate the IGBI, all knowing all seeing all fucking interfering. I would like to poke my sticks up his black hole and give it some paradiddle.  He took a long pull on his Illusian Brandy 5 star and beconed over the barmaid. He took her hand in his and kissed it.

‘Do you like drummers?’

‘I like all musicians.’ She was beautiful in a perfect way. Short bobbed hair full red lips perfect figure. Definitely a humanoid. There was probably a few more like her in the cupboard. She knew her job too, she smiled at Cye and filled his glass.

‘On the house sweetheart’

It was time to for the second set. We all turned up our controllers and made sure the chips were clicked in.

As I sat at the piano there was a murmer that rose to a roar. A commotion that rolled forward, punters stood up and craned their necks, then out of the crowd stepped Ella. Miss Fitzgerald herself finally made the stage. She gave me a wink and fanned herself with a small silk purse. I rolled the keys over the intro to “Blue Moon”. From then on it was swing, swing swing all night. Boy that girl can sing. Not just notes the emotion too. The punters were cheering and dancing in the aisles. Chairs were pushed in to a corner to make more room. The room was small intimate sweaty and steaming. We finished with “When they begin the Begine”

Two encores later we were back in the muso’s lounge.  Whacked but happy. Zeno revealed herself as Ella. It was strange to see a big black woman surround the petite Zeno. As I’ve said before the wonder of prosthetic science.

‘Some entrance Zeno, I like a bit of theatre’. She turned Ella down to minimum and revealed a one piece made of tiger shark. It covered all of her including fingers and toes. Looked like it had been sprayed on. Cye was fascinated. I played it cool, talking to Artie about 11ths and 13ths. Zeno got up and went to the bar. Shaking her tush the shark stripes tucking neatly into her crack. Cye’s eyes followed her with hunger. After a slight hesitation he too went to the bar and leant into Zeno. For my part, I wasn’t fussed. I couldn’t get my mind away from Veronica enough to show Zeno she had my heart. Cye can have Zeno, if his bank balance can stand the strain?  I get the feeling that he makes money from something divorced from his drumming. The eyes tell the story.

Artie had a big day tomorrow playing a few sets at a recreated Jazz on a Summers Day, so wanted to get back and down a few pills and relax. I gave him a high five and he de-materialised.

So Veronica where are you? How are you? What are you? No dame has got under my skin like you have. If not for you I wouldn’t be in your club. The IGBI. I could ask Doil, but I don’t trust Smith. He had a sniffy attitude, and Doil is still ensconced with him down the other end. I think better at the piano. There is a baby grand on a dias by the window looking out on to an evening at the Les Arens in Cimiez. Fake of course as I am about thirty fathoms into the bowels of the station. I sit at the keys and adjust the seat, entwine my fingers and crack the air out of the joints. Flex them, and let my senses take over. I go into a sort of trance, anyone can come out, or maybe a mixture of styles. To my surprise I play Listz.  Fucking Franz fucking Lisz. From the prosthetics building elevator. How the fuck did he get on the end of my fingers? I have never played Listz  before. Heard his tracks of course, it is all part of my music training. We did everything from early Organ Music through to Martian cacophony. I am playing the Hungarian Rhapsody No.2. Why? He was considered the greatest piano player of all time. Well how am I doing Franny?  Cye looks over and gives me a look, saying what’s this shit you’re playing.

“Franz Listz”

‘Franz Schtitz’, he says. ‘I’m beaming back with Zeno here, so long man and thanks for the gig.’

They de-materialise, and I am left with an empty room except for Doil and Smith.

I finish and they applaud, with light tapping on the counter. Doil nods me over and I join them on a on a vacant bar stool. I ask about Veronica.

“ Just got word she’s sitting up and taking notice’, say’s Doil.

‘Can I see her? Take her some orchids.’

Smith butts in. ‘I don’t think that will be possible. She is under our care and we can’t be too careful’

‘What you think I wish her dead, or something.’

He gives me a stare. Quite scary. There is something  quite unearthly about him. Alien in human form. Bet he’s one of those psychopaths from Galaxy IX. Brains are all fried in the cosmic dust. Only happy when they are on a rampage.

‘Tell you what’, I say I’ll take a rain check. ’

I press return and for once it works on cue. Nano sec of ecstasy and I’m back in the transport room, with the red head, with the ass. I casually ask when she is free, and she does not give me the brush off. ‘You are the end of my shift. My sister starts the next, so you can take me to The Suroundaround. There is a new version of Hitcock’s “The Birds”, playing. You can be Rod Taylor and I’ll be Tippi Hedren.

‘Better than “Psycho, See you on the walkway when prosthetics have de-merged me.’