Читать книгу Funk Toast and the Pan-Galactic Prom Show - Craig Nybo - Страница 19

Chapter 8

Meanwhile, in the VIP Hangar, Somewhere in the Collundrome Asteroid City...

The members of the Funk Toast Band knew that playing the Pan-Galactic Prom Show could be unpredictable and dangerous. But they had grown tired of repeatedly playing places like Durk’s Freaky Lounge back in White Lake City, with its postage stamp sized stage. So when Slink Arrowheart, the Prom Show’s producer, had offered the band enough credits to fund their next record and all travel expenses for the Betelgeuse leg of their tour just for playing a warm-up show for the boy pop idol, Bieber, they decided to take the risk and play the gig.

Funk Toast flew into the star-port of the Collundrome--an asteroid venue that circled Knolon IV--in plenty of time to prep for the show. “Science Fiction” Larry had recently finished research and development of the latest in his line of technologically-infused neckties, the Galaxamatixa, sleek and silver colored and outfitted with porta-atmospheric envelopes and outer space propulsion rockets. Traveling surfer-style on Galaxamaticas took a fraction of the time of travel via space bus or even cocoon conveyors.

As seven members 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.