First Contact: Book One in The Deepening Series (A Space Rock Opera Romance Adventure)

by Kelly Brewer

  Mercy craved Kyle’s attention and did everything she knew to be pleasing in his sight. He adored her, she knew, but with the shooting, the drug deaths, the looming threat of terrorism, Moore’s irresponsibility, Dock’s bullshit, not to mention the remaining shows, their moments together would be fleeting all the more. They moved their hands over each other hungrily.

  “Baby, we are in no rush, this is gonna be so good and sweet.” Deep exhale, kiss again. “You are deepening your destiny. Your behavior will influence that whole generation of girls.” He dove into her neck, she relinquished it. “And the daughters we will have.” He flirted with her abstinence.

  LuLu interrupted over squawky talkies, “All right boys, final countdown. Make your way to dressing rooms, please.”

  The band and their retinue moved towards the shuttle air locks. Mercy and Kyle’s separations were jolting. They just wanted to hold each other forever.

  CHAPTER 39

  Time crunch

  “Three hours before Jupiter showtime and, by Jove, Moore’s still nowhere to be found!” Tamer complained to the crew who continued to search frantically, distracted from their normal duties.

  No one had seen him. The brothels wouldn’t admit it if they had. More and more unpredictable, the guitarist had become increasingly erratic with each planetary jump. Tamer feared the fool might be dead from an overdose, lying frozen in a tramp ship somewhere, emptied and forgotten. There were tens of thousands of ships circling the planet right now, most in town for the big show.

  At T-minus two hours, Tamer notified Dock, as required by the band’s contract. “Ok, here it is. If a critical member is compromised in any way, you are to be notified. Thank God we have a contingency.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dock replied dryly.

  CHAPTER 40

  Moore-ON

  Moore awoke lying in dried puke and blood, and puked again. The sheet was stuck to his face and partially wrapped around his head. The fresh vomit returned on him as he rolled off the bed, slinging pungent bits deeper into the room. A discarded rope tangled his feet.

  Even as he fought the vomit sheet monster for precious oxygen, the pulsing white neon pain in his head screamed: betrayal. Those damn girls left him a mess.

  He tried not to smell, breathing through his mouth. The left eye was sealed completely shut. Finding the sink, he splashed warm water on the crusty linen stuck to his swollen face.

  “Soften the crust before attempting to remove it.” He had learned from experience. “It has happened before,” he assured his red-eyed self in the mirror, patting and gently pulling at the sheet.

  What time was it? What time had he left the ship?

  He must have been too eager, too hungry. The drugs and the girls caused a slippery mind to slide. Distorted, distended flashes were all he would ever remember of his encounter. The giddy power of stardom, or… something… left him now feeling sickly, silly.

  Hot, running water slowly coaxed the sheet monster into releasing his face. Both eyes were bloodshot according to the mirror. A full lungful of air cleared his head somewhat.

  “Damn, son, you look like hammered shit!” He scowled at his reflection. “What time is all this happening? Ummm… was the show at 2100 hours?… umm no.” He looked at the crumpled itinerary Tamer had forced him to take. No, curtain is at… it was at…1900 hours! Oh, shit!!”

  He had less than an hour to get back and get ready! He dressed hurriedly. He would just make it in time.

  CHAPTER 41

  Peco

  What should have been the greatest triumph of their lives had the potential to be their biggest disaster! One hour to showtime and no Moore. No call. Kyle was furious.

  “Mark, buddy, too far this time.”

  He cursed!

  It was on him, again…!

  Kyle to Tamer, “Double his detail, if he returns. In fact, each member should have a security detail until this insanity is over.”

  Peco had dressed and was lining up guitars, tuning and polishing them, taking meticulous care of both men’s gear, plugging in everything for a test and retest. “All wireless double-checked!” he shouted at Kyle over the growing din of an expectant audience.

  No one would put up with a single signal drop, to be left hanging out amidst song or solo. Glitches would cost Peco his job. Desperately hoping Mark Moore would not show last minute, the roadie burned for the chance to shine tonight! The shivers would not stop, drunk on dopamine, the natural high.

  Peco now had a chance to perpetrate his sick, mad skills upon whole worlds. He would weave his web upon the stars themselves.

  Loved devotedly, adored galactically!

  And the women!

  At T-minus forty-five minutes, Kyle walked up behind him and picked up a 500th anniversary flame top PRS, strapped it on, rolled volume knob to seven, and lit off a few tasty licks. Peco’s heart pounded in his chest. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving him breathless. The signature lick of “She Had a Way,” he recognized. Sitting on a drum stool holding Moore’s silverburst, he whirled around to meet Kyle’s gaze.

  Without looking at the guitar, Peco added the supplemental harmony lick. Kyle continued to play and half-sing the song to the end. Peco sang the vocal harmonies right on.

  Kyle looked at him seriously. “You ready, son!?”

  Peco feared to move.

  “Get ready.”

  Peco bounced to his feet, “Yes! Ohhh, yeeeeezzzzzz!”

  T-minus 15 minutes

  Once moved to the backstage area, the huddle began. Together, the four pumped each other up, stoking the flame that would soon engulf them all, tuning into wavelength. Kyle turned to Peco, who walked differently into the circle this time, dressed in a Moore ensemble, swinging his axe, about to piss Moore’s pants. They all bumped fists to bring his vibe into the mix.

  “You’re gonna be fine, my man. Just breathe, relax, face forward, pour energy forward and out, but eyes on 360 degrees. Watch for cues. We got you if you’ll let us. Stay calm but intense. You’ve seen it a thousand times. Now you got to live it. Breathe, breathe, breathe.”

  And suddenly, Moore was there, pupils dilated, countenance and hair shattered. Flustered wardrobe and crew members surrounded him, helping him struggle into one of his outfits. Bonbon held him steady as he tried to pull up his tightest pair of pants.

  Easing towards the huddle, one hand reached for the guitar slung around a disappointed Peco’s neck. Moore glared back at all of them. Wtf? Peco began to reluctantly relinquish the power, but Ox stopped him.

  He turned to Moore. “Too late, asshole. You look like shit! You ain’t takin’ the stage with me tonight, not tonight… druggie. You’re getting sent home. You’re grounded!” Ox pushed him with one finger and Moore fell on his ass.

  “Hey! To hell with you, you freaking ape! I’m here and I’m going on!” Moore scrambled back up, fancy pants half down.

  Tamer roared into the staging area, relieved the idiot wasn’t dead. “Where the hell have you been? You crazy bastard!”

  “If he goes on, I ain’t.” Ox looked at Kyle.

  “You about a dumbass!” Kyle angrily accused Moore.

  “Don’t matter. I’m here now,” Moore assured, finally getting his pants up with assistance.

  Ox smiled slyly. “I say we put it to a vote. And I vote your ass sits the bench this time. My man Peco got it covered and probably show you a thing or two.” He winked reassuringly at the conflicted roadie.

  T-minus ten minutes.

  The audience was warming up. There was no opening act.

  “You got to be kidding me. You’re kidding…” He looked at Mac for support.

  Mactron was conflicted. “You ain’t ready. I work my ass off so you can show up half-assed and live off my sweat? But I’ve seen you play better stoned, amazing as it sounds. I can’t believe I’m saying it,
but let him play. This is all too big to fail.”

  Moore grinned and began buttoning his mohair jacket. Dock walked up alone, listening intently, casual. Tamer blasted the SOB, finally flinging off the flack he had been feeling for the last four years. “This entire crew has not stopped looking for you, freaking goofball! I don’t know if you’re dead or alive out there! You can’t make a phone call and save us a major hassle?” He paused for air. “I say give Peco a shot! He’s earned it!”

  Peco clamped his knees together. Moore stopped. He turned to Kyle, mouth agape. Kyle loved Moore. He was his best friend. He owed him.

  “All right, get your gear and let’s go.”

  Moore laughed a fool’s laugh and reached again for the guitar around Peco’s neck.

  “But I’m not the deciding vote,” Kyle added stoically.

  Kyle glanced at Dock’s blank face. “Our contract gives Dock a say-so at this point. He’s been notified. He gets to be the tiebreaker.”

  Dock became very serious, inwardly gleeful! Searching his heart, pausing, thinking, dramatic bottom lip, the seconds ticked down.

  T-minus two minutes.

  The crowd was bursting. He looked down, then up, stroking his thin mustache. Thoughtfully, he pronounced, “If there was time to pass a drug test I would say business as usual, Moore plays.” Another pregnant pause, a fugitive look, then, “But time is up. I vote Peco plays tonight.”

  Moore freaked.

  Tamer tackled.

  Kyle walked.

  Ox laughed.

  Mactron shrugged.

  Dock recorded.

  Peco peed.

  CHAPTER 42

  Click

  Peco serenaded the elements themselves. The crowd never noticed or cared it wasn’t Mark playing.

  But Peco jammed differently than Mark Moore. Moore heard it and it sent him deeper into red rage. The wild man fought with all crew members just offstage. They managed to subdue him by the second song. Between the third and fourth song, Peco leapt to Moore’s side of the stage, where he lay buried under sweaty bodies. Lulu handed Peco Moore’s favorite guitar, the silverburst Les Paul, and unfettered rage nearly bought the maniac’s freedom. Mark surged out of his shirt and the binding hands, reaching ferociously for his replacement. Angel arrived and managed to leap over the pile to drive a ketamine hypodermic into his leg.

  “Gimme six steps and you die!” Moore screamed. He went down in two, just inside the side curtain. Quickly, hands drug him back, securing flagging limbs and no small relief.

  Angel just knew.

  The boys powered through like champs, though every song felt different. The immense vibe wobbled at the beginning, midway it steadied, towards the end it finally clicked. They torqued it after that.

  They finished hot and tight, gleaming with sweat and confidence.

  Before the tour was over, benching Mark would be gruesomely justified.

  CHAPTER 43

  Gina ❤ Dock

  Gina.bot, the humanoid algorithm, “waited” for Dock “expectantly” in the exquisite VIP Suite with Mr. Senator, a few clients, their dates, and his popular celebrity doppelgangers. Mrs. Senator had left early. Given a choice between a loud, juvenile rock concert and her grandkids, Granny went home! Mrs. S. held the position of eldest matriarch to a very large, influential family, whom she loved more than anything. She and Mercy made plans to spend some time together after the nuptials.

  When Dock entered the suite, he smiled at Gina.baby with a Moanin’ Lisa smile and whispered, “Shadow me discreetly. Record all the tall tales, urban legends, and spacial subplots.”

  After a few drinks, Gina.bot.baby.lov detected his deep pleasure in tonight’s proceedings. Her algorithm released bioidentical hormones and she sensually caressed him between conversations, pleasantly and lightly distracting him… and the other’s watching. She was trying, and succeeding, to soothe the rager, yet provoke the freak. She continued throughout the concert to impress him. He was never handled so perfectly. She responded rightly to his minimal commands and requests.

  He had total power… and could completely access her powers! The Skin-gineers understood him at last! Compulsion next got the better of him.

  (hey.get me an estimate for seven new units like you, with this algorithmic upgrade! get me an estimate now!) he hissed into her delicious artificial auriculla atria to eavesdropping Ro-mans orbiting a few ships back.

  (yes sir.out) Gina whispered sweetly as she watched Peco playing hard and fast. “This new kid’s good. And he’s pulling off being a Moore double fantastically.”

  Dock was thinking the exact thing. Word for word. He swept his eyes towards her. Had she just hacked his neural implant? Impossible! Eyes rolled back, scanning systems. Brain scan confirmed he had the latest firewall for everything.

  Coincidence.

  What a pretty voice! Perfect intonations. And perfect skin. (I want seven Gina.Baby.Bot sisters here ASAP! How much??)

  (yes sir. quote coming in now…ddddddddd…1 billion per unit.out)

  (the hell? The hell! You tell those hermaphroditic zwitterions to pull their wallet out of my shaven ass!… huff huff… Tell that dog-eating fascist to eat crapola! )

  Screaming into the ear of a robot drew the attention of the room. Even over the volume of the band, everyone heard him clearly.

  “Pardon my French, Mr. Senator…” Dock half-apologized.

  Gina, “We’re sorry! Someone is trying to steal from us.”

  Mr. Senator totally understood.

  (huff… huff… huff…)

  (Ok. tell them 750 million each and I will pay them 100% right now, Gina.baby stroke me like…here.)

  (roger… dddddddddddtt… offer received. waiting.yes seven units. ok thank you. sir, offer accepted, if they can also get ten tickets to the Neptune show and access to wedding party.out)

  (Fukushima! ok, done… deal, deal. make all seven different nationalities, different hair color, accents, and everything.yummy!)

  (Bid accepted. Thank you. Order confirmed. First delivery in 72 hours.out)

  “Gina.baby I do love you, you intrigue me,” he told himself as much as he told her.

  He sat back and watched “Kyle and them” play their hearts out with a jubilant Peco. His BLP lay spot-on at this crucial stage. All the pawns were unsuspecting of any plot.

  Kyle’s body language did not emit any fear of Dock at all. Tamer was buried in bureaucratic details. His nose was down, not up. He’d caught no scent of trouble. Ox didn’t trust him, probably never would. He was only concerned about his career, which, unfortunately—or fortunately, for the time being—was in Dock’s hands. He would remain compliant. Mac was cordial but distant, lost in his art.

  Only one suspected him.

  Mercy avoided him. She had that crazy, wily, female instinct, that sixth sense God gave women that allowed them to live past themselves. Baby girl felt his aura, his presence, in the tone of his voice, in the subtlest body language. Dock already had subtly tested her in his conversations with others when she was around. Dock knew that Mercy knew he was a dangerous individual who went out of his way to get his way.

  Dock read her misgivings. She was the only one who might hold more sway over Kyle than he did. She and the senator were a threat.

  CHAPTER 44

  Betty, IF YOU WANT TO SEE MINE…

  Still rocking, the band plundered through “Betty” and 99% of Jovian fanship didn’t notice or care that it looked and felt different. The other 1% were divided.

  0.6% were confused and glanced around to see if anyone else noticed, or if just they were crazy.

  0.3% died from a Happy-stil drug overdose.

  The other 0.1% recorded some bootleg video to be analyzed later, spotting an opportunity to cash in on Moore-on. Again.

  Bini and Barely Bodi showed “Moore” bare bosoms from
the bottom row when “Betty” banged off with that hot, guitar licking intro.

  “Front and center baby, all night baby… Show me your love… I’ll show you mine… here’s your all-girl band buddy!” They giggled at each other, jiggling jovially.

  They sang along every word with Kyle, but kept their eyes on the blond guitar player. They danced and bounced in the breeze, screaming,

  “Betty gonna take you by the hand,

  She’s gonna rock you like an all-girl band…!

  Betty been in love before,

  Betty been in love and she really gonna rock you tonight!”

  Right in front of him they bobbled, twenty feet away. “Moore” saw them, but didn’t recognize them, and they knew the Bodi twins were unforgettable. They posed from every angle to get him to remember and respond. Peco never recognized them. Suddenly, the girls knew. Sister Twins looked into each other’s widening, disbelieving eyes.

  “That’s not Moore-on!”

  “Did we kill him?”

  “Betty” ripped to a close, 99 proof rock ’n’ roll.

  The band knew. They paused, glancing at each other, humbled by the rendition’s imperfection. She denied them perfection because of tragic human weakness.

  Kyle encouraged Peco, shouting in his ear, “Great job!! You’re a beast!!”

  Peco smiled. That steeled his resolve. Yet the true beast was just beyond the foot of the stage, waves of humanity seeking a deep unity of experience. “Do not disappoint, son,” he swore, “make this musical connection now or you won’t be back.”

  Kyle paused, taking a breather. Sometimes it takes a few songs for things to click. He told a story.