Inhalt

Andromeda Attacks!

Ramsey slowly opened his eyes. The sound of jazz played softly through the stereo. Looking out of the glass shop front, he groggily tried to remember where he was. His long hair was matted to the soft leather couch.

As he sat there recollecting, the scenes of the previous evening came flooding back to him. Then, he remembered: today was the day of the big show! Freshening up in the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. Beneath the rough austere, a light was lit behind his eyes like a candle in the dark.

From his jacket, the phone was ringing. It was his manager. He picked up the phone. The sound of beats came from the background. ‘Bones. It’s Manie. How are you doing? Yeah? Good. Listen, I’m going to get you to come in early because I need to talk to you about something.’

‘Not really.’

‘It’s important.’

Back in the beginning, when the band was no more than a vague premonition in his head, he’d made the decision that in order to succeed in this business, there were times when he was going to have to make the sacrifice in order to get what he wanted. ‘Okay,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘I’ll be there in about half an hour.’

Ramsey picked up his guitar and left the bar. The morning air was bright and hot. The sun was shining. At the pavement, he whistled for a cab. Putting the guitar in the boot, he got in and told the driver to go to the television studio. The cab driver nodded. The car pulled out of the parking space and chirped off the curb as it took off.

Today’s gig was to be broadcast live on a major network. It was a variety show. The song that they were playing was running through his head. It was their best work yet. His band had a unique ability to harness the spirit at the core of rock and roll, and that was how they’d written this song. It came out of a spontaneous jam. Ramsey had been peddling his wares for years, and it had all built up to this.

‘Turn up the radio!’ Ramsey said, and he reached over from the back and cranked up the volume. An up beat pop tune came on.

From his pocket, the phone rang. Checking the receiver, it was Manie again. Ramsey answered. ‘Yeah! I’m on my way,’ he yelled. Manie was trying to say something to him, but Ramsey couldn’t make it out above the music, so he said that he was coming again and hung up.

Opening the window, the fresh air came in. His clenched his biceps in the sun. Suddenly, he vomited out last night’s alcohol poisoning out of the window. Wiping his mouth, he nodded his head to the song and turned up the radio again.

His phone rang. It was Andre. ‘Yo,’ said Bones from the back seat.

‘Good to go?’

‘Locked and loaded,’ he said.

‘Excellent. If today goes well, the network will hook you up to all the labels.’

‘Everything’s groovy, baby,’ said Ramsey.

A swift lane change from the car in front caused the drive to swerve, causing Ramsey to drop the phone. The cab driver honked and yelled to the other driver that they were a dickhead. Ramsey reached down and scrambled for his phone as the driver drove around and went on.

He searched through his contacts and called Jimmy. ‘Ready to rumble?’ he asked.

‘Definately,’ said Jimmy. ‘Hey, I spoke to the sound engineer. She thinks it’d be a good idea to get in their early and do a lines check.’

‘Sounds good. I’m just on my way down there.’

‘Oh, okay. Listen, about the sound engineer, she’s a little bit insecure, or something, I don’t know. But you’ve got to be really subtle when you communicate with her.’

Ramsey laughed. ‘I’ll be as subtle as I can ably be!’ he said.

‘Okay, see you in a bit.’

The driver pulling up to a red light and honked. Ramsey found Dianne’s number and called it. ‘Ready to be famous?’ he asked.

‘You bet!’ she said.

‘Get to the studio early.’

‘Give me a couple of hours.’

‘Okay. Don’t be late.’

The studio where the live broadcast would be telecast was just up ahead. He found Zac’s number and called it. Zac’s phone answered. ‘How’s it going?’ asked Zac.

‘Hey, Zac, we’re getting there early for a line check with the engineer.’

‘Good.’

‘Can you get there now.’

‘Yeah. I should be there soon.’

‘Rocking it,’ said Ramsey.

They made it to the front of the studio. The driver pulled into a parking space and Ramsey got out. Opening the boot, he got his guitar and strutted along the sidewalk to the front door. ‘I’m with the band.’ They told him to go around to the side gate. The guard there recognised him. He was with the band’s security provided by management. He gave Ramsey a pass. Ramsey welcomed him like a bro. Laughing, he entered through the gates and onto the tarmac on which the studion warhouse was located.

Inside the warehouse, light electronic music was playing from the foldback speakers. Technicians were at work, setting up for the broadcast. Walking around until he found the entrance to the set, he came onto the stage where Jimmy’s drums were set up. On one side of the stage was a set of turntables, and a DJ was mixing on them. Ramsey put his guitar down and looked at him. She pretended to ignore him. He walked over and she took off the headphones. ‘You’re Ramsey, right?’

‘Yes. And you are?...’

‘I’m, err...’

Just then, Manie came up from behind him. ‘Ramsey,’ said Manie. ‘This is why I wanted you to get here early. There’s been a change in management in the network. The new producers want you to let the DJ to add her bit to the song.’

‘What?’

‘Just, you know, to add a bit of DJ to your music. Like, a bit of scratching, a few sound effects, that kind of thing.’

Ramsey was horrified. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

‘This will get you in with the producers.’

‘We haven’t even rehearsed together yet!’

‘Let me talk to the managers and I’ll see if we can have a run through of the song before we go to air.’ Manie went off.

Ramsey looked at the DJ suspiciously. ‘Jimmy got me the gig as a soundy,’ she said, putting back on the headphones.

Around the stage were the theater seats, lit by the house lights. About a thousand seats surrounded the stage. Some of the audience were already present, and more began milling their way in. On the set, there was a bee-hive of activity, with technicians, management, and artists preparing the set for the broadcast. A cook with a trolley carrying spring rolls, baclava and soft-sugar buiscuits came around. Ramsey took a buscuit and held it between his teeth as he expertly shredded away at the strings, loosening them up.

Rising imperceptibly from the ground, a slight rumbling in the earth became increasingly discernable.

Every one on the set stopped what they were doing for a few moments before the tremor subsided. A few ooh’s and ahh’s followed by a slightly nervous giggling underwent on set. ‘Feel that?’ said Ramsey, putting the finishing touches on his guitar before plugging it in. ‘That’s what happens when you get the creator angry!’ From the amplifier, an audacious exaltation of metallic venom crashed forth into the eardrums of all present as he let fly with his fingers on the fretboard.

A prolonged duration of feedback proceeded the licks. Everyone stood momentarilly still in stunned silence. A spectrum of subdued chatter followed as they tried to determine the threat of the rumble.

‘Damn it!’ said the DJ, ‘Scratched my record.’

Behind the two main front cameras was a table with monitors on it and lots of wires connecting to machines all over the place. This was were the producers were sitting. They were talking excitedly, not paying attention to what Ramsey was doing. He unplugged the lead from the amplifier and walked over to them to see what was going on.

Following up on the tremor, the producers had sought after news on it. Not finding anything on the major networks, they searched around the perimeters of the web and found what they were looking for.

On the monitors was a computer generated image of the location of the rumbling. It had ocurred right in the center of town. Surprisingly, there didn’t appear to be any damage to the streets or buildings.

‘Hey, guys,’ Ramsey interrupted, ‘What is this? First you try to rain on my parade by enforcing a DJ onto us that we haven’t even worked with, and now you’re looking up shits and giggles instead of paying attention to what I’m doing? Come on, I’ve spent five years building this up: work with me here.’

The producers looked at each other and gave a little nod. One of them grabbed the microphone that jutted out of the desk before them. Their voice came out of the overhead speakers, sounding around the whole set. ‘Okay, calm down, people. That earthquake you felt just a moment ago isn’t anything to worry about. Just keep proceeding, as usual. Oh, and Suzy? Could you bring me my french toast, please? Thank you.’

Normalcy resumed on the set. An engineer came up to Ramsey and gave him a set of headphones to communicate with the front desk while he played his guitar in order to get the sound right. Playing at normal volume, there was a high amount of feedback coming through the speakers. ‘Sorry,’ said the engineer to Ramsey, ‘System’s acting twitchy today.’

Just then, Jimmy came in, looking downtrodden righteous. He walked around for a bit, then he went to an inauspicious location nearby the DJ and talked to him in a familial fashion. Ramsey went over there and yelled at him. ‘Jimmy, stop being a dick! How many times have I told you, we don’t fraternise with the audience!’

Jimmy was furious. He paced back and forth.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ asked Ramsey.

Jimmy stopped pacing and looked at him. ‘I tried to tell them that you would never agree to give control of the sound away. So when Mandy put her foot down, I went besides the scenes and hired Jack who I worked with in another project as a DJ.’ He whispered, ‘And she can handle the mix from her end.’

Ramsey wanted to slap him. He gestured at the turntables. ‘Are you going to compare the DJ’s mixer to the front of house? There isn’t enough power!’

Jimmy shrugged. ‘What does it matter? I got the mix back. Isn’t that a little more important than just a squillienth bit of less juice for the shredder on one of your ear-piercingly loud solos, Ramsey? Why don’t you stop being so selfish and take a look at the bigger picture?’

‘Why don’t you two stop fighting and just shut the fuck up and come here and give me a hug,’ said Dianne, wading in. A hoorah at her arrival broke the tension building between the band. Lucky: Bones was angry and he was pissed. ‘Get me a bottle!’ he demanded. ‘...now.’ He waited until they brought him a champagne. ‘That’s good. And I want this on tap at regular intervals on the way. I haven’t got time for all these half-baked ametuer posers, hanging round--’

Another rumbling in the earth stopped everyone. Several windows smashed nearby, causing alarms around to sound. The rumbling that shook the ground centered and settled beneath them, deep below the earth. The lights in the room flickered, going out momentarilly. There were a few short curciots throughout the room. The speakers went out, and Ramsey’s line to the desk went down.

Ramsey completely ignored it. He went to his guitar case to get his pedal board to add to the guitar chain. He stuck it to the floor and connected the leads. The sound of his guitar when he played it was dense, lush.

The air was rapidly becoming humid. He started to sweat.

He went to the DJ. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to be rude, you know it’s nothing personal, I just didn’t compromise the sound of my music without a fight. You seem like a cool chick, I’m going to give you a chance today. Just do your thing, add the the sides a little bit, fill in the pockets, and after the gig we’ll have a conversation.’ The electricity in the studio came back on. The mixer at the front desk was working again. The whole band came on the stage and they did a sound check. The mixer was working better now and they got the bound sounding grand.

After finishing the sound check, Ramsey put his guitar down lit a cigarette. One of the staff told him to put it out. He and the band left the set. Flirting with the people on set as they went, Ramsey fell behind. When he came outside, they had entered a trailer that had been set up for the band. Ramsey pulled up and lit up a cigarrette.

From the gates, a bunch of fat men wearing suits and carrying briefcases were talking to the guard. The guard, face flushed, opened the gate for them, and they came through. Ramsey watched them as they passed. They looked like narks.

Butting out his cigarette, he followed them in. They went up to the producers desk and have him a set of headphones for him to wear. After putting them in, they started talking to him. The producer, who was in the middle of his breakfast, wasn’t amused. He threw his hands up in the air, exclaiming non responsibility. The narks wouldn’t give in. One of them produced a radio and pointed at it, forcing the producer to take it. The producer gave in, and took the radio. Satisfied, the narks slowly moved away, and inconspicuously disappeared from the set.

Ramsey went up to the producer. ‘What was all that about?’

The producer groaned. ‘Upper management. Want me to take orders from them throughout the show.’ He shook his head and ate another bite. ‘You shouldn’t be angry with me about all the restrictions on your creative control. I’m in the same boat as you.’

Making peace with the producer and heading back outside, he saw that the guard had now been replaced by one of the narks. He sat in the guard’s station with his head drooping and his lower lip protruded. Sleep was overcoming him.

Ramsey walked to the trailer and went in. The bands music was playing through the radio. The DJ was there. He sat next to Jimmy and chilled, explaining apolagetically to Jimmy that he knew the problem with the sound thing wasn’t his fault. Jimmy was appeased. Ramsey laughed, sated. This was what they had been through everything together for. The chance to spread their music to the whole world. They were in a celebratory mood.

The door opened and an overweight man, dressed awkwardly, opened the door and stepped in. ‘Who are you?’ asked Ramsey.

The man produced several sets of headphones from his pockets and handed them to the band, who put them in. ‘I’m from the network,’ said the man, his voice being translated through the headphones. ‘We want to do a little video where the band meets one your underpriveledged fans to run on the program.’ The band nodded. Sounded good. ‘Why do we have to use these headphones to talk to you?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Speech impediment,’ said the manager, who went to the door and nodded. In came a disfigured young man with a grotesque face. The fan’s skin was leathery and deformed. He went and sat next to the band, who smiled awkwardly.

‘Ms. Dianne,’ said the manager, ‘Could you come with me, please?’ He smiled and held out his hand.

‘Oh. Okay, sure,’ said Dianne, who got up and left the trailer with the manager.

A man with a camera, and a female interview, both conspicuously dressed and wearing loads of makeup, were in the trailer with them. The video was taping. ‘Could you tell us about what you love about this band?’ asked the interviewer to the fan.

The voice that came out of the fan’s mouth was drony, and it took the headphones they were wearing to decipher it, rendering it intelligable to them. ‘I remember when I first heard them, looking through my records, and when I came across them, there was something that stood out about them. Since then, I’ve been listening to them all the way in, and now I’m here, it’s so great to meet them.’

The band looked at each other confusedly. ‘What did he say?’ asked Ramsey.

The manager, who was back in the trailer, shook the fans hand and congratulated him, and the video ended and the fan got up and left, along with the camera.

After the door closed, the band were left to look miffed. ‘What was that?’ asked Jimmy.

‘I’m telling you that this place is filling with gnarks.’ said Ramsey concernedly. He butted his cigarrette out pointedly. ‘We’re getting close to the top. Whatever you do, don’t talk to a single other person before we go on stage. And afterwards, don’t sign anything!’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Dianne?’ Then he remembered, she had gone with the network manager, who had reappeared without her. Angry, he got up and told the band to wait there until it was time to go onstage, then he left the trailer, closing the door behind him.

On the street outside the set, the vibe of the activity had changed. A slight twinge of fear hung over the actors and extras, staff and others who worked on the grounds. The presence of awkwardly placed guards stood out upon the scene.

Making a calculated judgement, Ramsey walked up to one of the guards, trying not to be seen. He spoke into the guards ear, saying, ‘Who are you guys?’

The guard motioned for Ramsey to put the headphones in his ears, which he did. ‘What?’ asked the guard.

Ramsey repeated his question.

‘We’re from the network,’ said the guard.

‘Which network?’ asked Ramsey.

The guard pointed to the sky. ‘Akasha,’ he said, then he gestured no further questions.

Ramsey nodded and walked away, trying to come to grips with what was happening here. The network was being taken over right on the verge of them going to air!

He hurried across the street and to the hangar. Going in, he detected a distinct lack of activity coming from the set. When he entered, the usual staff were gone. The producer sat at his desk with three of the new network managers, who were talking to him sternly. Tears were coming from the producers eyes, but he didn’t fight them. Ramsey made eye contact with him, looking understandingly at him.

Not wanting to blow his cover, he swaggered away before the network henchmen noticed him. Taking out his phone, he called Zac. ‘Do you know anything about Akasha Network?’ he asked when Zac answered.

‘Umm...I think they’re in the ether,’ said Zac.

‘What’s the ether.’

‘It’s way, way up there above the radio and tv. It’s, like, in space; outer space. It’s all over the galaxy, maybe even several galaxies.

Ramsey was smiling from ear to ear. ‘You beauty!’ he said.

‘Why?’ asked Zac. ‘What’s going on? Have you been in contact with them?’

‘Just hang tight,’ said Ramsey. ‘I don’t want to talk over the phone. I’m just going to get Dianne, and I’ll be back soon.’ He hung up the phone. Taking a moment to let it sink in, he coagulated, getting his wits about him. In his head, he formulated a plan. He saw what was going on, here. This was a real big chance to really do something serious. Powers were at work, causing a seismic shift in the industry.

He went around to the other side of the hanger where there was the producer’s trailer. Despite the producer being inside, it was occupied. Music and voices could be heard coming from inside. He went a bit closer and listened carefully. He thought he could hear the laughing voice of Dianne.

From behind him, a big, meaty hand placed itself on his shoulder. He turned to face one of the new network managers. Wearing glasses and a hat, he had thick eyebrows, lips and cheeks. He spoke in a monotonous drone, the earphones translated his words to english. ‘Ramsey Bones?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come with me.’ He led Ramsey away. Looking at his feet as they went, Ramsey saw they were concealed by his flared pants. He didn’t appear to be walking normally. There was something strange about his gait.

Ramsey followed behind him to a large car that was parked nearby the trailer. The engine was running. The door was opened and Ramsey was invited in.

He sat down, and the manager sat beside him and closed the door. Two of the new network honchos sat before him. They were large and sluggish. In their clothes, they had done less to try and fit in with the normal attire on the street. Rather than suits, they wore casual threads loosely fitted.

Ramsey crossed him fingers and nodded appreciatively at them. ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ he said. ‘How can I be of assistance?’

‘Ramsey Bones!’ they greeted him rauceously, ‘It is good to meet you!’

‘Who are you guys?’

They’re laughter subsided. ‘We represent the interests of a channel on Akasha, which has just entered into the local frequency range. You might have noticed a few changes around here. Now, just to be sure, you own the band, yes?’

Ramsey nodded. ‘The band is mine. I created it, I formed it, and I breathed it to life.’

‘Good. Well, seeing as though that’s the case, we’re going to level with you. You can tell this to your band if you want, but we think it would be unproductive.’

‘What is it?’ asked Ramsey.

They looked at each other, then turned to face him. ‘We’re taking over the network. There are going to be a few more changes before you go to air. Be ready for anything. This is your big chance. Pull this off, and we’ll sign you onto the network. You’ll be our first signing. How’s that sound.’

Ramsey thought about it. ‘Umm,’ he said. ‘I have to talk to our manager about it.’

The executives were unimpressed. ‘Look,’ they said. ‘If you’re not going to work with us, I’ll pull the band from the show right now!’

After a moment, he blurted. ‘Okay!’

‘You’ll work with the changes?’

‘I suppose!’ he said.

The executives were happy. ‘Now, just so you know, you’re not allowed to leave the studio again until after the show. And that goes for the band as well. Security is being strictly enforced, so don’t even try it. Understood?’

Ramsey held his finger up a moment. ‘Could you just hold on, a sec?’ he said.

Taking out his phone, he called his agent. But her phone was out of range.

The glares of the network executives bore down on him. Putting his phone away, he shrugged, and said, defeated, ‘Sure, I guess.’

The executives looked at each other again, ryely smiling. ‘Trust, me,’ one said, ‘You don’t want to go out there. It’s for your own good. We’ve heard numerous reports of several disaster areas that have occurred since the earthquakes. You’re only safe in here.’ They looked at him seriously.

‘Okay,’ he said.

Appeased, the executives turned to each other, and began talking among themselves. ‘Ah, excuse me,’ said Ramsey, ‘I was looking for Dianne?’

‘She’s just in the trailer over there,’ they said, dismissively.

Ramsey thanked them and opened the door of the vehicle and got out.
Along the ground, Ramsey noticed several slimey trails crisscrossing the concrete. Reaching down to take a sample by running his fingers through it, they came up sticky. It was what he might expect a snail to produce in its trail, only there was more of it. ‘Gross,’ he said, wiping his fingers on his legs.

Making his way across the tarmac, he opened the door to the producer’s trailer and went in. Inside, Dianne, Manager, and a couple of network managers were in an advanced stage of flirtation bearing on foreplay.

Acting cooly, Ramsey smiled, nodding. ‘All right, babay,’ he said. ‘Groovy!’ He laughed sinisterly.

‘Ramsey!’ said Manager, holding out his arm, ‘The man of the hour! Come here, sit down, I want to talk to you for a minute.’

Ramsey sat beside him. Manager put his arm around him. ‘I want to tell you something: your band is going to be the next big thing, you hear? You’re going to be at the head of the network. All the other bands are going to be coming to you, looking for a way in. This is what you’ve worked for all these years.’ He smiled. ‘Aren’t you happy, Ramsey?’

‘Sure I am,’ he said.

‘Good. You should be proud of yourself,’ said Manager.

Ramsey thanked him and shook him off. ‘Excuse me for a second, I just need to talk to Dianne.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Dianne, can you come with me for a minute, please? We have something we need to discuss, in private.’

‘Oh?’ She took his hand. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

He took her out of the trailer and closed the door behind them.

Dianne let go of his hand and turned him around. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

Ramsey looked around suspiciously. ‘Come with me,’ he said, grabbing her hand again and leading her away from the trailer and towards the set.

‘Come on!’ she said, ‘I was having a good time in there. You need to loosen up a little.’

He turned around and kissed her for several seconds. Then he turned back around and kept leading her again, through the hangar door and into the warehouse.

‘How dare you!’ she protested, laughing, shocked. ‘You’re the one who’s always saying we need to keep things professional, not to fraternise with the audience, and--’

‘Listen!’ interrupted Ramsey, whirling on her. ‘You don’t know what we’ve gotten ourselves into, here. Now, I don’t want you getting flustered before the gig, so I want you to just come with me, we’ll go back to the trailer, where there’s no one to disturb us before the gig. Afterwards, we’ll have a talk and I’ll tell you everything that’s going on, okay?’

Dianne frowned.

He took her hand and they walked through the set, where things were getting back to normal. The producer was back in control, and some of the staff had reappeared. The two of them brisquely crossed the set and exited out the opposite door, not talking to anybody on the way through.

As they walked towards the trailer, Ramsey said, ‘The network is being taken over. There’s going to be several changes to things before we go on stage. But I don’t want you to worry about anything. Just do everything as usual, and if anything happens, I’ll tell you what to do, okay?’

Dianne flicked her her off her face. ‘I suppose,’ she said.

Ramsey grunted.

They got to the band’s trailer and went in.

Jimmy, Zac and the DJ were there. From the looks on their faces, he could tell they were aware of what was going on.

‘Have you guys heard?’ asked Dianne. ‘The network is being taken over.’

They looked at her over a laptop that they had set up in front of them and nodded. ‘We’re well aware of the take over by a network from Akasha.’

‘And we’re not the only ones,’ said Zac, pointing to the laptop. ‘Look!’

Ramsey and Dianne came around to face the screen of the laptop. On it, several streams from other channels were displayed. One one of them, there was an emergency broadcast message. We are currently experiencing technical difficulties, it said. Normal broadcast viewing should resume shortly...

‘Which network is that?’asked Ramsey.

‘One of the major ones,’ said Jimmy, perplexed.

One by one, the channels on the screen dropped out, displaying emergency messages that looked different to what the networks usually presented.

‘What about us?’ asked Ramsey, ‘How’s our network going?’

Jimmy brought up the broadcast of the channel they were playing on. It was still up and running. The live broadcast of the variety show that they were playing on was just starting. From the set, they heard the clapping and cheering of the crowd as the show began. The announcer announced the shows featured guests, announcing the band as the musical guest. The crowd cheered.

They looked at each other. Ramsey smiled from ear to ear. ‘Groovy, baby!’ he said.

The door flung open and Manager came in. ‘Looking great, guys! It’s nearly time. I know you’ve heard about the network, but don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve got everything under control. Just go out there and do your thing.’

‘Who are these guys?’ asked Jimmy.

Manager put his finger in front of his lips.

Ramsey went up to him and shook him by the jacket. ‘Come on!’ he said, ‘You’ve got to tell us something!’

‘Okay, okay, okay,’ said Manager. ‘These guys come from a very long, long way away. They do things very different where they’re from. This whole thing is new to them. That’s all I can say for now.’

Looking at Manager’s shoes, Ramsey saw that they were covered with the sticky substance left in the wake of the by the new network executive. He opened the door and looked outside, and saw that trails of the substance crisscrossed the entire set.

He went back to the laptop and looked at the screen, where the live broadcast was playing. Looking closely, he saw that the members of the audience appeared to have been replaced with the fleshy featured faces of people who had come from the network on Akasha.

The dawning realisation that they were being invaded by a people who were not of this earth left him momentarilly ringing in discombobulation. They all realised it at the same time.

On the screen, the host of the show began talking, only now, he wasn’t speaking freely! His mouth seemed dry, and he didn’t look comfortable. The audience wasn’t particualayly reactive, either.

Some of the other networks were coming back on line, now. And when they did, they were broadcasting the live show that they were recording here on set. One by one, every other channel started beaming the live broadcast to their audiences. Pretty soon, every channel on the dial was all broadcasting the show.

‘Look at that,’ said Zac. From what they were seeing, it was evident that this was a hostile takeover. There’s no way the networks would willingly fold like that.

The rest of the band were looking at each other disconcertedly. Jimmy put his hand up. ‘At which point do we put our livelihoods ahead of this one particular perfermance and bail?’

The others were feeling the same thing. Somehow, they weren’t feeling as welcome as what they were when they first arrived.

Ramsey switched off the screen and got their attention. ‘Listen, guys,’ he said, ‘Whatever’s going on here, is meaningless. All that really matters here is our music. Just hold your nerves, and when we get on stage, the music will take over.’

Ramsey’s phone rang. It was Agent. ‘Where have you been?’ asked Agent. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.’

‘On set,’ said Ramsey, cautiously, ‘Where the network’s throwing curve balls at ut. What about you? Where are you at?’

‘I’m in my car,’ said Agent hurriedly, ‘Hiding behing the wheel. Traffic has stopped.’

Ramsey was having trouble hearing him. He put a finger in his other ear. ‘Why are you hiding?’ he asked.

‘The slugs,’ said Agent, his voice breaking up in bad reception, ‘are everywhere. People are disappearing. The streets are thinning out. I think we’re being invaded.’

‘Get down to the studio, pronto!’ said Ramsey. ‘Let me know when you get here, and I’ll make sure they let you in. Agent? Agent!’ But the phone had cut out.

Ramsey was starting to sweat. He had to do something. Talking to the DJ, he pointed to the mixing desk, and said, ‘Can you relay the airwaves on that thing?’

DJ thought about it. ‘As long as the signal’s clean, I should be able to wire it through the laptop into a transmission. Why?’

Ramsey looked at Jimmy, who was the best technical expert among them. ‘Come with me to the set,’ he said. ‘I’ll create a diversion, and I want you to re-route one of the channels on the motherboard to our trailer. Can you do that?’

Zac nodded.

Together they left the trailer and walked brisquely across the tarmac to the hanger. On the set, the host was sitting behind the desk after having finished the monologue. He was speaking to the audience now, and while still ill at ease, he was getting on with it.

With Jimmy waiting behind the scenes, Ramsey rambunctiuosly approached the producer and started ranting and raving at him, attracting the attention of the guards. He picked up the walkie-talkie on the desk, and threw it down upon the ground, wrecking it. The producer looked up at him in petrification, saying that there was nothing that he could do. From their positions, the network guards pounced, coming in to seize him. Managing to put two of them down, the ensuing wrestle caused enough disturbance to halt the show.

Jimmy slipped behind the scenes through to the motherboard unnoticed. From the outputs, the transmissions to all the other channels were being sent. Turning on the wi-fi and finding his laptop, he sent the signal from the channel to it until it connected. Then he hid the wi-fi connection among all the other available networks in the area, concealing the fact that he had re-routed it.

With the job done, he inconspicuously slipped away again, off the set, just as they had Ramsey wrapped up. Putting his hands behind his back and holding them there, they forcefully escorted him off the set and out of the hangar, and the show resumed.

The guards took Ramsey outside. ‘What’s gotten into you?’ they demanded.

‘It’s all these last minute changes you’re pulling on us!’ said Ramsey. ‘It’s very unproffessional, and it’s causing a lot of stress on everybody.’

‘Well, you’re going to to need to calm down. Another outburst like that, and we’ll pull you out of the show.’

‘Okay...Sorry.’

The guards let him go.

Back in the trailer, they had connected the laptop to the subverted signal. Unbeknownst to the new network executives, the band now had control over one of the channels.

‘What do you want to do with this?’ asked Jimmy.

Ramsey bit the bullet. ‘We’ve got to get the truth out there. Even if it means it costs us our place on the network.’ Angling the laptop so the camera was pointing at him, he ran his fingers nervously through his hair a couple of times.

Jimmy hit the switch, and the signal from the motherboard cut off, replacing the image of the show host behind his desk with Ramsey standing awkwardly before the camera. He nodded to Jimmy, who stood off the screen. ‘We rolling?’ Leaning into the camera, he spoke in a hushed, urgent tone. ‘Hello? Hey, er, this is Ramsey Bones, lead guitarist from the Flaming Crotchets, cutting in to this transmission to bring you an urgent message. Is anybody listening?’ He looked back at Jimmy, who gave him the thumbs up. Looking nervously at the door to make sure no one was coming, he continued. ‘We’re at studio sixty-six downtown, right at the center of what looks to be a hostile alien takeover of all of the networks on television. Er, excuse me a second...’

Ramsey disappeared off screen for a second and reappeared holding Dianne on the shoulders. ‘But first, I want you all to feast your eyes on our lead singer. Isn’t she lovely, folks!’

Dianne posed magnaminously.

‘Sing for us a little,’ said Ramsey.

‘Laaaa,’ sang Dianne theatrically.

‘Thanks,’ said Ramsey, tweaking her breasts from behind.

‘Hey!’

He pushed her back off the screen and winked at the camera. ‘Now, before I say anything else...’ He looked at the DJ. ‘Can you play some of our record?’

The DJ was on it in an instant. Smoothly pulling a record from her crate, she put it on and started scratching it up in a hip-hop style. It wasn’t what Ramsey wanted, but he pretended to dig it anyway. ‘In only a few minutes, we’re going to hit the stage, and rock these narks all the way back to wherever it is they came from. He held up both hands, giving the camera the satanic salute. ‘Yeah, baby!’ he said. ‘Come get some! Come get some!’

The door to the trailer swung open and Ramsey quickly pretended to be doing something else, and the transmission from the trailer cut out.

The manager came in. Rubbing his hands together, he said, ‘Okay, guys, it’s magic time!’

Jimmy was looking at Bruiser. ‘What was that?’ he asked. ‘The world is being attacked. Are you telling me we went to all that trouble just then only to broadcast to the nation you molesting Dianne?’

Ramsey chuckled humorously. ‘How do you think I got us here in the first place, Jimmy? Huh?’

Jimmy began to retort, but he wasn’t given a chance, as Ramsey manhandled him. ‘I’ll molest you!’ he said, laughing gregariously as Jimmy pulled away from his grasp.

‘Arsehole,’ said Dianne, her face blushed, as she affixed one of her earrings back on.

Ramsey straightened up. ‘You may call me an arsehole,’ he said, ‘But that’s what it takes to get anywhere in this business. Next time you’re lapping it up in the producer’s trailer, being wined and dined by the network execs, don’t forget that it’s the arsehole in me that got you there, okay?’

‘Guys, guys, guys!’ said the manager. ‘This is not the time for this. You’re on in five minutes. Come on, get ready.’

Ramsey licked his lips, emptying his mind and getting into show mode. Then, from the stage, came a strange sound. It was a dissonant humming; a deep thrumming, as of a harpsichord or bagpipes.

‘What’s that sound?’ asked Jimmy.

‘It doesn’t matter what that sound is,’ said Ramsey. ‘Prepare to rock.’

From the screen came the image of the live broadcast.

On it, an incredibly fat man sat behind a fantastic looking contraption. It looked like an organ of some kind. Flashing lights billowed across it, giving rise to the musical drone they were hearing.

The sound was strange to the ears. Something about it didn’t feel right. The host started to announce the band. The four of them left the trailer and walked across the tarmac to the hangar, and onto the set. As they stood on the sidelines of the stage, waiting to get called on to do the show, the announcer came on stage and interjected with an exclusive announcement.

‘Tonight, folks,’ said the presenter, ‘We will bring you a world first! Behind the scenes at our studios, the best musicians in the world have been working fastidiously on a new system of music that doesn’t fit to the western scale system. From this our engineers developed this unique musical instrument, that contains special powers!’

‘What the fuck is this?’ said Ramsey nonchalantly, scratching his head.

The harpsichord like instrument shimmied in a polytonal splendor, accompanied by the multi-coloured lights that shone forth from the instrument in every note. The revelations of ooh’s and aahh’s from the audience ramped up the pressure on the band.

Ramsey writhed in anger as he twisted and turned on the spot. ‘Rock this joint!’ he resolved, and he marched onto the stage, pulling the band along with him. Interfering with the announcer on his way to the amplifier, they quickly plugged in their lines and counted in.

The announcer began to start to say something before the triumph uproar that headed the song blew forth from the stage, muting him. Out of righteous spite, Ramsey let fly with a spontaneous shredding solo that unleashed the power of his guitar.

The announcer walked up to him, gestering for him to stop playing. But he wouldn’t. Standing before him, he gently shook his head as he rocked him out.

The DJ started to scratch a little bit, gelling in with the band.

Dianna leaned into the microphone, and was just about to fill the rhythm with her angelic voice when the sound to the front desk was cut out. They were no longer connected to the broadcast. There was a change to the levels of the instruments, leaving them uneven. The change in the levels caused foldback to blare from several on-stage speakers.

The sound of the announcer’s voice telling them to stop playing became audible again. ‘Hold up!’ said the announcer, ‘We haven’t finished doing the introductions yet! I was just saying, this instrument takes the theoretical breakthrough our musicians have made, and turns them into a technological breakthrough that changes music forever!

What the heck, said ramsey. But the announcer ignored him

As you can see, said the presenter, this is a compllety new type of sound. The sound bzzd away in the eyes, ears, mouths and noses; brains, hearts, and organs of the listener various kinds. At the core of it, a dual-toned resonance emanated from the instrument. It got into Ramsey’s brain, changing his vision. The air seemed to whirl all around him, making him dizzy.

‘When our engineers implimented the theoretical breakthroughs and we first heard the sound of this instrument, we were blown away. And this is why!’ The announcer looked at the orchestrator sitting before the instrument. ‘Care to show them?’

Spreading their fingers, the orcherstrator let fly with a flurry of tones. Each one of them lit up a light on the instrument. When played, the note flew forth from the instrument and through the air. Each note caused a ball of light to fly through the air, filling the room with their radiant light.

The room was filled with the luminous glow created by the bass notes of the great instrument being weilded by the orchestrator. It was creating sensitivity in the very air. All around them, they were bathed in its light.

‘As a special treat,’ said the announcer, ‘We’re going to give our guest band here today the oppurtunity to go head to head with our orchestrator!’

Ramsey furrowed his brow, looking behind the scenes for Manager, who was standing behind his amplifier, off to the side of the screen. Ramsey went over to him and shrugged his shoulders. ‘What’s he talking about?’

‘Calm down,’ said the Manager, ‘You’ll get paid for this. Plus, if you manage to pull this off right, they’ll make you the house band for the network.’

‘House band? What have you gotten us into!?’

‘Our orchestrator,’ continued the announcer, ‘Is loaded up on musical phrases previously unplayable using the known instruments. Your challenge today is to use your musical skills to collaborate with the orchestrator. You’ll have to harness all your best in order to match it with them. So, are you ready?’

Ramsey looked around at the band unconfidently.

‘Now,’ said the announcer, ‘We know that it’s a little hard for you to have the same impact on your instruments as the orchestrator has on ours. That’s why we’ve custom made these special ones for you!’

From backstage, some people from the network came out carrying instruments for the band. Ramsey was handed a guitar.

From the head of his instrument, at the top of the strings, was a module that converted the notes he played on the guitar into volts of electricity. On sheer instinct, he unleashed a couple of oodles of audacious squealing licks from his guitaxe. The notes were transmuted into crotchets of light that flew through the air.

He could feel the cameras on him. Everyone was looking at him to gauge his reaction. The eyes of the world were looking at him. Seizing the moment, he grinned. Then he fired his guitar like a gun as he played it, with each note shooting out a bullet of his passion.

One of the flaming crotchets that sprang forth from the module on his guitar when he played it flew into the audience, exploding on a metal overhanging the audience.

The previously flustered Ramsay shook his hear in the epitome of self-control. Surely anyone who could respect the power of music to make an apparatus such as this couldn’t be all bad. He decided to give the network invaders a chance.

The drone eminating from the orchestrator’s machine was self-evident. It’s irridescent glow was all subsuming.

From behind him, an unsyncopated pumping brewed forth into audience. Ramsey turned around. Zac’s bass had been hooked up with the alien technology. And from it bumped about a bassline that groovified the bagpipe-like drone that emanated forth from the orchestrator’s instrument.

The audeince swooped back at the sound of it. Somehow, the miraculous brilliance of Zac’s mind had managed to concoct a groove that fit with the alien drone. The lights that came out of the head of the bass were big, bold. Such was their density that they displayed the qualities of gelitasnous, wobbling like water canons through the air.

The orchestrator, swayed by the groove, responded to it make making subtle alterations in the consistency of the drone, tweaking it ever so slightly, so that it spread like wax across bassline. Before the bass notes could make it through the zone between the band and the orchestrator, they were consumed by the sound of the drone coming from the orchestrator. They were melted and set ablaze by it as they travelled through the air, leaving a trail of sludge as it did so. The audience oohed as the fire melted the waxy skin of the bass notes in mid air. -

Ramsey was itching to fire at the network executives standing off to the side of the set. Instead, he pointed the guitar at the orchestrator and oodled off a couple of lacsadaisical lines experimentally.

A slight grin permeated the orchestrators face in the sight of the lines coming. Tweaking a couple of knobs on the switches of the instrument, the orchestrator responded with loosely played augmented chords that flooded the venacity of Ramsey’s tones.

The magical instrument on which the orchestrator played was capable of switching into various kinds of forms. With the change of tone, the spectrum of lights emanating from the instrument changed. Whereas the bass notes were drowned out in a voluminous drone, Ramsey’s guitar lines required a lighter touch. The sound that came from the orcherstrator’s instrument was thinner that it was before, and it wallowed away at the crotchets of light that Ramsey played on the guitar.

Those notes had carried with them the passion Ramsey had put into the playing of them. ‘No!’ he cried. His words were caught on the microphone and relayed to the audience, who laughed and applauded.

Ramsey was on the verge of losing his cool. The ridiculous of this situation, all to satisfy some unheard of niche market. The ludicrousness of everyone’s mundane reaction to the fact that they were being invaded by alien’s, like, the apathy of it, really got Ramsey’s goat. He wanted to kill everyone to put them in their places. Was he the only one who still had figured out what this was really all about? He was probably the wisest man in the world, he thought.

To the side of him, a floodlight cast its shadow across the stage. It was the DJ. Ramsey turned to see her in silhouette, with the turntables flooded in light, The sound she produced was close to matching the orchestrator’s intstruments pitch. Having taken a sample of the drone, she was now playing it back in a way that modified it to fit standard rhythms. And where it lacked, the DJ used skillful elements of style, scratching and cutting on the records, so as to reimburse the drone with a fresh edge that superceded it.

The samples the DJ played flew across the stage in intricate patterns of light whose refractions were tie-died patterns. Firing to counteract them, the orchestrator missed the first few times. The DJ’s sounds made it through, crashing against the orchestrator’s instrument. The blows caused the power on the instrument to shut down momentarilly.

Hastening to adjust, the orchestrator expertly tweaked the knobs on the instrumunet while simultaneously playing with the other hand. But despite several adjustments and different chordal combinations, some portion of the DJ’s samples were still making it through.

From the side of the stage, at the top of the stairs that led to the executive rooms, a couple of fully fledged aliens stepped out into the light. Bearing the resemblance of a snail crossed with a lizard, they stood at around five and a half feet tall. Upon seeing them, the audience reacted with streaks of pandemonium. What had been obvious to some had now become apparent to a few, that aliens were invading the planet. Any chance of an evacuation was curtailed by the presence of guards, who occupied the stairs and exits.

They brandished strange, box-shaped weapons. Weilding them, they pointed them at the DJ’s samples and twisted a winding lever on the back of them vigorously. From the box-shaped heads of the instrument came the sonic equivalent of fly-spray. Whatever musical sounds that got in its way were evaporated.

Some of the audience started booing. They saw that they were under attack. Still others wore looks of confusion. Was this an alien invasion, or all part of the show? The line between reality and entertainment was blurred. No doubt this was all part of the slugs plan.

Turning, Ramsey spat.

From the shaft at the top of the stairs, the aliens began descending, firing their box shaped instruments as they went. They were wiping out all their music, and advancing on them menacingly. Kneeling down between Zac’s bass and the drums, Ramsey chuckled. ‘Guess you never know how it’s going to go down, do you boys?’ he asked rhetorically.

Jimmy began beating his drums in a furore of nervous energy. His beats provided a defence to the iniquitous box shaped weapons. Even their windy instruments that created a vortex of sound that worked to suck up every sound in its way could cover them all. They were forced to halt on their menacing approach on the band.

Using the drum beats as cover, Ramsey sprang into action. In a flash, his burly frame moved across the stage like lightning. Jumping up onto the stairs from the side, he got behind the two slugs and kicked them in the backside, sending them sprawling down the stairs and onto the stage. Their instruments flew out of their hands, crashing into obstacles on the set.

From the producers desk, the MC had regained their composure. They were handed another microphone from the desk. They spoke into it as they came back onto the stage, their voice booming from the speakers.

‘Well, how about that, folks!’ the MC announced.

Just then, a couple of aliens dressed in sports uniforms shuffled onto the stage behind everybody’s back. Scuffling over to Dianne before anybody could get in their way, they took hold of her. Dianne let out a yelp. She feigned attempts to get the MC to give her the microphone, but was powerless to stop her kidnappers from evacuating her from the stage.

‘Hey,’ yelled Ramsey. He chased after her, but his path was blocked by several security guard. They grappled him, trying to stop him. He used his guitar to smash them out of the way.

A furore erupted in the audience. On the screens to the broadcast, an emergency broadcast message replaced the live recording.

Taking the opening to its full advantage, Ramsey pushed past the cameras and out of the set, into the warehouse in which it was in. A trail of sludge demarcated the path on which they had been. He followed it until up ahead there was the sound of a closing door. Ramsey walked right up to it and rammed it open.

Inside there was champagne and a platter with lettuce, lemons and lobster.

‘Well, excuse me, folks!’ came the voice of the MC back over the screens on the broadcast. ‘We’ve just had a change in the transmission. We’ll be back with the musical battle soon! In the meantime, let’s get to some of our guest interviews...’

‘What in the heck is going on, here?’ asked Ramsey. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and drowned it. ‘I represent the band in all its media interests!’ he said. ‘You can’t do this without me!’

The kidnappers yielded with their gestures. Then, they began talking to each other in a language Ramsey didn’t understand. There was a bit of moving around, and then they handed Ramsey a set of earphones. They handed Dianne a set too. Putting the headphones in their ears, they could now understand the language due to an interpreter who spoke in their ears.

‘Greetings to you,’ said the aliens voice, transcribed through the headset. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you. We know all about you. From afar, we have watched you.’

From behind him, the door opened, and in came the rest of the band. Escorted by management and company, a group of them managed to get into the room, before the door was locked and barred.

On the TV screens, the live broadcast continued uninterrupted.

The band were given earphones so they could understand what the alien was saying.

The Andromedans had slipped out of their disguises, revealing their truer forms. There was still a trace of bipedal form, but Andromedans resembled great, big slugs.

‘Who are you?’ asked Ramsey.

They looked around at each other, shrugging their shoulders. Finally, they looked at him. ‘We’re aliens,’ they said, ‘From Andromeda. Frontrunners, on the trailblazing path, as you yourself know. That’s one of the reasons we have in common with you. We feel a connection with you, because we know all life is connected. You are connected to us and we are connected to even older galaxies that came before us, and when you get right down to it, we’re all connected to the very pinaccle of the universe, where all life springs forth.’

‘Get to the point,’ said Ramsey.

The one in charge said, ‘ The Milky Way and Andromedan galaxies are on a collision course. They will collide. Nothing can stop this. Not even God. It’s only a matter of time until the Milky Way civilisations and the Andromedan civiltisations combine and come to one.’ The alien folded its slimy hands in demonstration. ‘Now, the Andromedan galaxy is far bigger than the Milky Way galaxy, and so is its militias.’

‘They’ll wipe you out,’ said one of the other Andromedans, ‘Very, very easily.’

The Andromedans in control turned and yelled angrily, remonstrating with him. ‘The thing is, the Andromedans control history. History is their specialty. And they’re saying that any music produced by lesser instruments than the orchestrator is not worth saving. And all your music will be blotted from the record, never to be heard again!’

An alarmed discourse filled the room. ‘When the Milky Way and Andromedan galaxies collide,’ said Ramsey, playing it down, ‘Then we’ll see about it then. Now, if you don’t mind, this is my set, and my show, so back the fuck down, or your going to get your arses kicked, you hear me?’

‘Excuse me,’ came a voice from the audience. A bald man with a moustache came forward. ‘I represent the interents of the unilateral government of united nations of earth. We have already signed a protest form to the judiciary at the head court of the galaxy with regard to this matter. Your interference with our culture here must proceed no further. It is illegal!’

The Andromedans chuckled and looked around at one another. ‘You’ll have to take it up with them.’

Ramsey pointed his guitar at the slug in charge. The slug put their hands up. Silence engulfed the room. ‘If you don’t do what I say, I’m going to unleash a flaming crotchet on your arse, kapish?’

None of the slugs moved an inch. ‘We have infiltrated your city. Right now, we’re taking it over,’ said the one holding up their hands. ‘There is nothing you can do to prevent this. Your best chance is to work with us.’

From beside him, the Manager blurted out, ‘I think we should go with the aliens.’

Ramsey turned to face them. ‘What are you talking about?’

The Manager looked painstakingly at him. ‘They have control of our history! If we work with them, they’ll cut us into the deal.’ He looked at the slugs, smiling reassuringly.

‘That’s what you’d do!’ yelled Ramsey, pointing his guitar at him. ‘Sell us out! Now, everybody just relax. In a couple of minutes, we’re going to rock this baby out.’

‘There’s no chance of that!’ yelled the Manager. ‘Our only chance is to join them.’

Ramsey let fly with a flaming crotchet which exploded right behind the slug’s head. A backlash of fire caught upon its hood, and had to be put out. The slugs hunched in fear. ‘We don’t want to fight with you. We’re not a violent species. Let’s do it your way.’

Ramsey nodded. ‘Good.’ He looked at one of the people by the door. ‘Go and tell the announcer that the band will be back on stage in just a few moments with their hit song live before the studio audience.’

The runner nodded their head, and was quickly let outside to relay the message before the door was slammed behind her.

‘Now lets everybody just calm down,’ he said.

Outside the gate, there were people of all kinds trying to get it. They were yelling that the slugs were trying to kill them. Ramsey told the security for the band who were from the management company to block the gates, which they did. Selecting only those they deemed kosher for entry, the maintained the intergrity of the fences.

Just then, the runner knocked on the door and was let in. ‘We’re good to go,’ she said.

Ramsey turned and faced the Manager. ‘See?’ he said.

The band huddled together and prepared to exit the room. The door was opened up for them. As soon as they exited the door, they were beset upon by several aliens who were hiding behind the front line of the crowd.

Lacking their security, Ramsey was nevertheless able to shake them off by rampaging flambourantly with his guitar. The slugs around him went down, falling on the floor and taking several others with them. ‘Come on!’ said Ramsey to the band.

On the TV screens, several of the other networks took back their own coverage. Flashing to live news bulletins, announcements were made about the alien invasion. ‘This just in: aliens from Andromeda have invaded the city.’

Halfway to the set, they were attacked again, this time from the sides, by aliens weilding more box shaped weapons, more elaborate then before. When they played them, there came the spectres of the most ghastly sounds, ghosts that boo!ed shockingly. They came upon them in a woosh, their claws held upright.

Ramsey jerked to the left as a ghost whipped past his side, clawing at him as it went. Instinctively, he held up his guitar and released a stream of melodious trifling that took the spectres down.

On the stage, the MC was doing his best to keep the show going. He was waiting for the orchestrator to re-emerge, to put to use the instrument in the playing. But the band’s security had taken the orchestrator hostage. So the MC was left to his own devices to keep the audience entertained, and his bag of tricks was starting to wear thin.

Taking cover with the band behind some equipment, they huddled togehter. They all still had the slugs hardwear hooked up to their instruments, causing them to fire real life notes of various kinds into the air. ‘Follow my lead,’ said Ramsey.

They nodded.

The Manager appeared from behind them, clasping Ramsey on the shoulder. ‘Wait!’ they said. ‘I’ve cut a deal for us to stay together. For defeating the orchestrator in battle, the Andromedans will let you become the house band on the show!’

‘As if!’ said Ramsey.

‘You should be happy, Ramsey,’ said the Manager, ‘Most of the bands won’t get a chance as good as this!’

Ramsey looked at the Manager sternly. ‘You’re fired,’ he said.

‘What! Fired?’

‘Yes,’ said Ramsey. ‘For selling out the band. That’s not what we’re about. Now get out of my sight!’

The Manager slowly backed away.

‘Good.’ He looked around at the band. ‘Ready?’

He sprung into action. ‘Out of my way!’ Ramsey burst forth from the cover, bowling over all the people in front of him, clearing a path to the stage.

The band made it halfway to the stage, only for more aliens to appear and start firing at them with their instruments that shot howling spectres who played horrible notes. Using their instruments, the band returned fire at them, managing to hold their ground.

On stage, the MC was checking in his earpiece with the producer about what was going on.

Behind the set, the bands security guards, having noticed the firing, have left their posts at the gates. They came in and used their muscle to beseige the slugs with the weapons.

Just before one of them was tackled to the ground, they let out a shot that struck Jimmy on the shoulder. He went to ground, dropping his drum sticks. ‘Jimmy!’ cried Ramsey, going to him.

Jimmy grimaced as he turned to face him.

‘Are you okay?

Jimmy clutched his arm and got up. Picking his drum sticks back up, he used them gingerly a few times. ‘I’ll be okay,’ he said.

Looking around, it didn’t seem like there were any more aliens shooting at them around.

One of the aliens had gotten close to him, and now turned Ramsey around by pulling on his forearm. Ramsey turned to see a short, young alien wearing baggy clothing. ‘Mr Bones!’ said the fan, ‘I don’t want you to get us Andromedans wrong. I mean, there’s a lot of us, and we all have different opinions, but we’re the one’s who are on your side. I’m a huge fan of yours! I want you to know that.’

‘Guys! Over here!’ Looking ahead, they saw their security guards, waving them over to the set.

There, at the edge of the set, were a large group of lawyers, security, and spokespeople from other organisations.

Over the voices, he heard Agent, who pushed their way through to get to Ramsey. ‘There you are,’ said Agent. ‘I’m glad I found you. Before you go on stage, I have to fill you in.’

‘Fill me in on what?” asked Ramsey over the rising excitement in the studio as the band appeared on the set. The announcer had just gotten word of what was going on, and began announcing the band’s live performance.

‘Outside...things have gone haywire. A state of emergency is being declared as we speak. This studio is the one place yet to have been impacted.’

On the TV screens, there was an array of different broadcasts coming from the networks. Some of them were playing footage of the alien invasion; others were off line; still others had been taken over by the aliens and were playing infographics about the slugs, and where they were coming from.

‘And now!’ said the MC, ‘I’m pleased to announce, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’

The band came to the stage, where a curtain covered their amplifiers. Off to the side of the stage, the orchestrator’s instrument could be seen, but the orchestrator was absent. Dim lights gimmered softly across the instrument’s face.

As they took their positions, Jimmy said to him, ‘What are we going to do when we come off stage and the Andromedans have us by their clutches.’

‘We’ll think of something,’ vowed Ramsey.

The MC announced their name and the curtain came up to a thunderous applause. The band began to play their song in a more moderate measure than before. Looking around at the audience, Ramsey saw that not every one was willing. Some of the audience were being held captive. With guards standing in the aisles, their was no way for them to get out.

After the intro, Dianne began singing. Her voice took it all before her.

With all eyes on her, Ramsey went over to the DJ. ‘Filter in the drone into the mix,’ he said while playing.

The DJ nodded her head and loaded up the samples of the drone coming from the orchestrator she’d captured earlier.

After the verse, they reached the chorus, and they belted it out together. Then came the second verse. With Dianne singing again, Ramsey pulled the rhythm section together. ‘Get ready for an extended chorus!’ They nodded.

The DJ slowly blended her bit in. From right at the bottom of the mix, the samples of the alien’s drone began coming through the mix.

At the top of the chorus, Dianne’s voice rang at the forefront of the music.

From outside the gates, the crowd was coming through. Without the security guards to prevent them, the throng pushed through the warehouse and onto the set. As the band played, the crowd kept filling up. They started to push past the alien security guards blocking the aisles.

On the TV screens, footage was being played of war like events happening around the town.

On stage, the band was in mid chorus, when they started changing the music. First, Zac changed the bassline ever so subtly to a different kind of rhythm. Jimmy, playing beyond the point of the pain threshold, smoothly followed suit. Dianne started spacing out the lyricks. And the song shifted to an ambiguous groove that went on indefinately.

Using his wah-wah pedal, Ramsey started crimping along on the guitar.

In the audience, the onset of the crowd had completely filled up the seatimg area. There was now standing room only with everyone packed in. In the crowd, many of the people were carrying sticks, pots, and other make shift weapons. With these, they began making a racket, playimg slomg with the groove the band were jamming on percussively. Looking around at the audience, Ramsey saw that it had been swamped by the band’s people, who had been let in first by the security. They held sway over the alien security guards who had previously lined the rows. Their drumming was turning the whole set into one big musical jamborie.

The energy in the room was rising. Some incredible kind of energy was buiding. The music that they had laid over the sample of the drone that had come from the orchestrator’s instrument was moving towards creating a sonic vortex.

‘Look!’ said someone standing next to the stage.

Ramsey looked up. Above them, a big ball of light was coalescing above the stage.

He marched over to Jimmy ‘See that?’ he yelled. Jimmy nodded. Ramsey laughed and marched back over to the other side of the pit, rocking it harder than before.

From backstage, Ramsey heard the sound of loud banging. From behind the set, a door came open, and the orchestrator was hustled in through the crowd.

They exercised control of the instrument as the orchestrator approached, which was behind a locked gate. Firing it up, the lights began to flash effervencently off the face of the instrument.

Just then, the whole studio rumbled, in the midst of a tremulous earthquake. Losing his balance, Ramsay rocked around, barely able to keep control of his guitar. Several members of the audience were thrown from their places in the seating area off and down to the stage. Cameras and lighting rocked around, with several lamps going down.

But amidst the disturbance caused by the shaking, the groove of the music was still maintained. Then the tremors subsided, and the band kept going on.

From the outskirts of the set, a fight was spilling over. Looking closely to see as he played, Ramsey could see the police were forcefully entering the premises. An officer said something through a megaphone, but it wasn’t audible above the band.

The Orchestratpr was just getting settled behind the Andromedan’s musical instrument.

From the force of their music, Ramsey could tell it was possible to break through the slugs domination over the networks. He turned to face the band. ‘Keep on rockin’ it,’ he commanded. The band played as hard as they could

With a flurry, the orchestrator began playing the instrument. The sounds that came out of it were completely at odds with what the band was playing. And they fought for the musical space that was coming through the mix of the broadcast.

In the audience, the police were breaking through, and some of the people who had previously trapped broke through the crowd and escaped from the set.

Fighting to maintain control of the mix, Ramsey swept away the sound coming from the orchestra with one bold flourish of his guitar.

The power in the amplifiers conveying the sound wasn’t strong enough to contain everything that was being input, and they blew out. The sound engineer shrieked and ripped off their headphones.

This enabled the slugs engineers to take hold of the mix entering the broadcast. Making the orchestrator’s instrument more audible, their music was met face on with the orchestrators> Either side filled the room.

Letting go of the guitar to clap his hands, Ramsey motioned to the crowd, to get the jamborie happening again. ‘Everybody make a racket!’

The audience began using their sticks again, though this time more as weapons than as musical instruments.

The band was firing on all cylinders, and the orchestrator was working ridiculously swiftly in order to hold them back. The cacophony oif sound between them began tremuling. 2qqqqqqq

Off to the side of the stage, Manager was arguing furiously with the network executives.

Ramsey turned to the band. ‘Keep pumping it!’

Puashing it to another level, Dianne’s voice began to crescendo, igniting the furore of sound that enveloped all about them. An enormous amount of clarity filled the room.

Looking at the light above them, Ramsey could see all of them there. Their parts, ingrained into the sound, were visible in the light before him.

Harnessing their energy to elevate their sound to a place it had never been to before, Ramsey and the band exulted in the majesty of it. Above them, the fibres of time and space rippled. Ramsey went up to the DJ to see where the seizmic disturbance was coming from. The DJ shrugged. ‘It’s got something to do with the tone of the notes coming from the sample of the drone!’ yelled the DJ. ‘And the way the bassline fits over the top!’

Wiping themself with a sweat band, the orchestrator kept plugging away at it, pushing the instrument to its limits to resist the band’s sound. Ramsey played his guitar, spontaneously roaring to life with sound.

The earth shook with the volume of it. The sounds shook everywhere.

Then, from somewhere up in the air, a beam of light came down from outer space. And with it, an alien drone, similar to the drone the orchestrator made on the instrument, only more all-encompassing. It was a beam of sound, and a beam of light, simultaneously.

Recognising the sound, the orchestrator clicked his fingers, flicked a couple of switches and honed the instrument in. Powering the instrument back up, the sounds they played were too powerful and loud for the bands music.

Light filled the entire studio as the warehouse resonated with the sound. The entire fabric of reality was being twisted around by the beam of light that was coming down from outer space.

‘What is it?’ asked Ramsey.

Behind the cameras, the management were filled with panic. The cameraman was oblivious to everything going on around, solely focused on getting the action. The sound engineers were working in overdrive, fighting for control over the studio mix with interference signals coming from space. ‘It’s coming from Andromeda!’ said an engineer.

The band barely heard. They were somewhere else. Into the void of light that was the sound that they were making, they had morphed. They were in the light. One, in the sound. Ramsey could see their shadows all around him. Like ghosts, they shaded the light that sprang forth from their instruments.

And in that light they were able to find yet another level that matched it with the orchestrator.

Ramsey raised his guitar and like a scythe cut loose with another venomous lick. A volt of thunder crackled through the air, exploding against the instrument.

But with the source of power coming from Andromeda, the orchestrator powered up the instrument again.

Inside the light, beyond the music, their was the spirit. Inexorably, the band moved towards it. An indestructable source at the core of rock and roll that would not die. They approached it, one crotchet at a time.

The vortex, tearing at the fabric of reality, grew in power, wreaking havoc. The music of the band and the sounds of the orchestrator were merging together into type of sound that transcended the laws of timespace.

Everything was on the verge of flying apart. ‘Hold it together!’ commanded Ramsay. , their music was now all that there was holding everything together.

Ramsey was so hot, he was sweating. His muscles clung to his clothes. Hair matted his face. His being was fusing with the spirit at the pinnacle of the music they were making.

From his peripheral vision, he could make out the crowd. Man, they were loving it. Their limbs flayed about in insatiable enjoyment. Despite himself, he started laughing. Truly, laughing. Finally, he was getting what he fucking wanted.

The call of his guitar rang across the choirs of the heavens as he reached the spirit, and consumed it like a sacrament biscuit.

From a moment of darkness, Ramsey came to. He rubbed his head. Then he remembered what had happened.

Gasping, he scrambled for his guitar. But he couldn’t get a hold of himself. His ligaments felt all wrong. Rubbing his eyes, his vision cleared, and he looked down. His body! It was no longer his! The bodies of himself, Dianne, Jimmy, Zac and the DJ had all become melded together onto one ill-proportioned animal-like body with hooves and six legs. The torsos, with room for their instruments, extended forth from the body of legs, muscles and organs. Despite the explosion of space time caused by the overload of sound coming from the set, the band had managed to stay together.

Looking around the stage, Ramsay saw that the explosion of sound had blown out the audience. The crew on set were flattened, and the broadcast had gone off the air.

The TV screens buzzed with static from the back of the set.

Around him, the other members of the band were getting their bearings.

Spotting a bottle off the stage, Ramsey used his might to force the entire body to walk off the stage. Picking up the bottle, he popped the cork and swigged down delicious champagne. He burped. ‘All right,’ he said.

Impressum

Texte: Eugene Samolin
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.06.2023

Widmung:
The Four Living Creatures

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