Funk Toast and the Pan-Galactic Prom Show - Craig Nybo The Pan-Galactic Prom Show

Скачать книгу

of the eight-piece band touched down on the titanium pad just inside the atmospheric chamber--Craig, the band’s singer and bass player--absent due to being too terrified to surf the distance on a necktie--Slink Arrowheart himself met them, a Rusty Cooke cigar jutting from one of his grinning, lippy mouths.

      “Hello, gentlemen,” Slink said, offering one of his tentacles.

      Oz, the band’s spokesperson and trombone player, eyed the slobbering tentacle and looked questioningly into Slink’s vacuous triplet of eyes.

      “What is it?” Slink said, his twin smiles not waning a millimeter. “You some kind of racist or something?”

      “Pardon our hesitation,” Oz said, “but you have a reputation.”

      Slink broadened his smiles and slapped Oz on the back with one of his meandering members. “You can leave your worries here in the star-port, my friends. Although I have sometimes had to take the dodgy path to keep the Collundrome alive and healthy, I have yet to welch on any of my entertainers. Funk Toast is up and coming and I don’t intend to start our relationship by skimming off the top. Aside from all that, I come to you with brilliant news; I am prepared to offer you the headline show.”

      Oz eyed Slink, not quite accepting at face value what the tentacled Slorrack had to say.

      “Why the sour puss?” Slink asked. “Headlining at the Pan-Galactic Prom Show will be the biggest boon heretofore in your careers.”

      “What happened to Bieber?” Oz asked.

      Slink waved one of his tentacles in a dismissing gesture. “It happened while you were playing the last leg of your tour on the other end of the galaxy; I’m afraid the kid met with an unfortunate accident, something about a bomb, a limousine, and an ex member of his boy-band, The Five Feelers or something or other, I believe they called themselves.”

      “Bieber’s been assassinated?” Rob said, angling an oblong glance at Slink.

      “F’raid so. But the boy pop star’s misfortune becomes your good fortune.” Slink looked up at an imaginary marquee and traced an invisible title up in lights with one of his tentacles. “Tonight only, the Pan-Galactic Prom Show presents as its headlining act, the great and mighty Funk Toast Band.”

      The seven members of the band all fixed Slink with expressions that ranged from suspicion to accusation.

      “Oh, crap, let me prove myself to you,” Slink said. “Come to my office and you can watch the credits flow right into your account from my personal treasury.”

      “That I’d like to see,” Oz said.

      Slink slushed over the titanium floor toward an airlock with the icon C-7 stenciled above its sliding doors.

      I have a bad feeling about this, Rick’s hair said, a twiney hanging bush of brown and gray that reasoned and spoke on its own without any coaxing from Rick. I can’t see him, I haven’t the benefit of eyes, but I detect a hint of deception in his voice.

      “He’s a Slorrack, what do you expect,” Rick said to his hair.

      No sense in getting huffy about it, Rick’s hair said. I’m merely pointing out an observation. And, might I remind you, I am rarely wrong.

      “Let’s just get inside,” Keith Moon, the drummer, said, balling and unballing his fists repeatedly, a nervous habit he had picked up over the last leg of the tour. It seemed everyone was out to screw them. No reason this Slorrack would be any different. “You go to his office, watch him transfer the credits,” Keith said to Oz, “then we’ll do the show. It’s as easy as that.”

      With no other choice but to pick up a string of smaller shows for piss and nails, all seven Funk Toast members followed Slink along the gangway and entered C-7. Risk or no risk, they were going to play the Pan-Galactic Prom Show.

      Chapter 9

      Meanwhile, Somewhere in the Collundrome Asteroid City...

      HeartBeeps stood nestled in a block of well-lit shops. A large display windows fronted the building. Animated mannequins featured outlandish outfits, fashioned with glaring fabrics, plastics, and metal. Holographic displays behind the glass flashed up a parade of clothing for seemingly every alien body type, one after the other, like a carnival of gaudy vanity.

      Butch led the others into the department store. Creatures from across the universe perused the stock. HeartBeeps carried something tragically shishi for all shapes and walks of creatures. There was a section for Slorracks, for Knacks from the planet Punge, for the glowing creatures of the Xthlth system. They carried elongated clothing with more than two sleeves. They carried squat robes, multicolored with two neck openings. They carried kinetic clothing with undulating appendages and electronic buzzers.

      After a bit of browsing, Twana spotted a sign that read, Welcome Earthlings, to the Collundrome. She led the others through racks and racks of clothing to the human apparel department. “I don’t know what we’re doing here,” she said to Butch as he began to browse the stock. “We need to get Bieber in front of Arrowheart.”

      “Arrowheart won’t pay us any attention unless we look the part.”

      “We don’t have money, DePechio cut us off.”

      “I have money,” Mindee Lee said, taking a credit chip out of her little purse. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

      The four of them shopped for the better part of an hour. The girls tried on outfit after outfit, but Butch insisted on final say in what would and wouldn’t be right for the situation. In the end, they walked out with an entire wardrobe of clothing, all flashy and glitzy, gold and red with plastic and metal accessories.

      Butch used a map in his welcome packet to find their rooms. They made their way through the streets, lugging their bags and boxes along. Once they reached the hotel, a brightly lit beacon of a building, its inner sanctum loud and flashy with casinos and street level shopping, they found their rooms and laid out their new outfits across their beds.

      “We’re going to look like a circus,” Twana said.

      “Or pop stars, or actors, or talent managers,” Butch said. “Trust me, we need to look the part or we don’t have a chance.”

      Butch went through the girls’ and Bieber’s outfits and picked out the best of them. The four of them changed.

      As they exited the hotel, Twana didn’t realize how badly they hadn’t fit in before souping up their wardrobes. It seemed everyone dressed in splashy color, all kitschied up like peacocks.

      Of the four of them, Bieber looked the most conservative. Butch had selected something from the business department, posh enough that he would fit in, but subdued enough not to be Bieber. He wore a new pair of sunglasses and a stylish hat. But there was no hiding his good looks from occasional human teenage girls, wearing their, I’ll always have Bieber fever, tee shirts. The clone still drew glances.

      “Butchie, you’re a genius. There’s no way Arrowheart won’t listen to us now,” Twana said.

      “He’s a high roller, sis. It’s not going to be that simple. But there is one thing for sure. I don’t want to try this on an empty stomach. Lets find something to eat, then we’ll go see Arrowheart.”

      Chapter 10

      Butch, the girls, and Bieber fought their way through the crowded streets to a bistro, decorated with sidewalk banners and an awning to shade diners from the light generated by an artificial sun high above. The girls ordered hamburgers; the clone ordered a fish sandwich.

      Butch opened his welcome packet and fumbled through the materials, mostly brochures outlining the adventures and diversions available at the Collundrome, information about where to go to find the pulse of the asteroid city’s night life. He laid a map out on the table. He looked up and read the sign above the bistro: Space Rockets.

      “We’re

Скачать книгу