“There’s my little fluff ball!” exclaimed Ravana, scooping the wriggling bundle into her arms. “I hope you haven’t been eating the cutlery again.”
“Fluff ball?” muttered Philyra, rubbing her arms. “Bag of nails, more like.”
“Do you know how long it will be before we arrive at Daode?” asked Miss Clymene. “It would be good if we had time for a rehearsal aboard the ship.”
“We’re still a day away from Daode orbit,” said Ravana.
“A rehearsal?” remarked Bellona, looking around the cramped cabin. “Here?”
“We can use the cargo bay,” Ravana suggested. “There’s a bit more room in there, though there’s no gravity outside the carousel.”
“A free-fall band practice?” mused Endymion. “Cool!”
Fenris’ arrival on the flight deck cut short a somewhat bizarre conversation between Quirinus and Zotz on the best and worst things about zero gravity, a discussion prompted by an innocent question from Zotz about the Platypus’ toilet facility, which he had been dismayed to learn was a basic vacuum unit in a tiny cubicle in the cargo bay. Zotz took Fenris’ arrival as a cue to go and find Ravana, darting with ease around the older man. Fenris clumsily pulled himself into the cabin in the manner of someone who grimly tolerated rather than enjoyed weightlessness. Quirinus got the impression there was not much that Fenris did enjoy and regarded his visitor with suspicion.
“The flight deck is off-limits to passengers,” Quirinus informed him. “Please leave.”
“I need to put in a holovid call to Ayodhya,” Fenris said smoothly.
“That’s out of the question,” Quirinus replied coldly. The ED drive of the Platypus, like that of all such equipped ships, was also able to send and receive packets of compressed data and thus act as an interstellar transceiver array. “I need to keep the channel open to Taotie space traffic control.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
“Insist all you like but it isn’t going to happen,” retorted Quirinus. “Ship! Restrict access to all systems to registered crew only.”
“Security protocol confirmed,” the dispossessed voice replied. “My duty is to serve.”
Quirinus gave the console an odd look. The AI unit had been behaving a little oddly just lately and he had noticed it departing from standard audio scripts on more than one occasion. He suspected this developing eccentricity was linked to the strange tendrils, one of which he could now see poking out of a gap in the console.
Fenris glared at Quirinus. “It would not do for you to make things difficult for me,” he warned him. “I have some very powerful friends in Epsilon Eridani.”
“Is that a threat?” asked Quirinus, smiling sweetly. “Because if it is, you may just find yourself waking up outside the airlock before we even make planet-fall. Remember that.”
Fenris opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and moodily retreated back through the hatch. Quirinus kept an eye on him as he left, somewhat concerned.
The loud bellowing rasp shook the eardrums of everyone present. Endymion sailed backwards across the cargo bay, propelled by the raucous blast of air from his trombone’s bell. A huge smile rose either side of his trombone’s mouthpiece as he ricocheted off the oxygen tanks on the far side.
“Endymion!” scolded Miss Clymene. “Stop that!”
His grin wider than ever, Endymion lowered the instrument from his lips.
“I never knew trombone could be so much fun!” he exclaimed.
“You’re an idiot,” Philyra told him.
Ravana smiled, then returned to the search for her cornet case amongst the piles of luggage strapped down at the end of the cargo bay. Zotz had already untangled what passed for knots sealing his own travelling bag and various items of clothing and strange gadgets drifted around him, including his prized Swiss Army penknife with laser cutter blades. Unable to see what she was looking for, Ravana pulled herself across to the other side of the mound of luggage and uttered a cry of surprise.
“Look at this!” she exclaimed.
Zotz came over and stared at the coffin-sized box half-hidden beneath a sheet. The lid of the black metal container was open and within it lay Surya’s cyberclone, its eyes closed as if asleep. On the side of the casket was a small control panel, upon which a row of green lights flashed slowly in sequence. Ravana followed the power cable that ran from the box and found it had been connected to the ship’s internal power supply.
“The Raja’s clone,” she murmured. “Why is it here?”
Miss Clymene, Endymion, Bellona and Philyra came over and looked at the sleeping cyberclone. The straps to keep it safe within the casket held the clone’s arms crossed upon its chest. It lay perfectly at peace, for the clone had no need to breathe nor no heartbeat to maintain. Its dull artificial skin bore a greyish tint in the dim light of the cargo bay.
“Is it dead?” asked Philyra. “It doesn’t look well.”
“Don’t you mean undead?” Ravana murmured. The scene reminded her of the terrible holovid movies Zotz raved about during his fleeting obsession with vampires.
“A cyberclone is supposed to be an exact copy of its owner,” remarked Endymion. “At least we will recognise the Raja if we see him.”
“An exact copy?” retorted Bellona. “I’d like to see someone try and replicate the wonderful odours that emanate from your body after eating cabbage!”
“I think it’s just recharging itself,” said Zotz. “Shall I wake it?”
“I think not,” Miss Clymene said firmly. “This ship is crowded enough as it is. Back to your places, please. We have a long rehearsal ahead of us!”
Grumbling noisily, Endymion, Bellona and Philyra returned to the bench seat along the wall and entertained themselves for a while trying to work out how to use cargo straps as improvised seatbelts. Ravana finally located her case and went to join her new band mates, cornet in hand. Endymion had earlier unfolded a music stand, then abandoned it after failing to find a suitable anchorage on the floor and the metal stand was now drifting around the bay with the contents of Zotz’s bag. In the end, Bellona had the bright idea of running a couple of pieces of string between straps on opposite walls and clipping the sheets of music to these. Miss Clymene had to make do with floating before them as best as she could, though her expression betrayed a sinking feeling that she would not stay in position for long once she started waving her conductor’s baton about.
Zotz took the seat next to Ravana and fastened a strap across his lap. In his hand was a curious metal box, from which emerged four antennas sticking out at all angles, along with a tangle of cables that led to a small speaker unit wedged under his seat.
“What have you got there?” asked Miss Clymene, giving the box a dubious look.
“A quadraphonic autoharp theremin,” declared Zotz proudly.
“There’s no such thing!” Miss Clymene retorted.
“I invented it!” he replied. “Ravana gave me the list of music we had to learn and I thought Alpha Centauri would sound really good on theremin. Listen!”
He pressed a switch on the side of the box, flexed his hands with a dramatic flourish, then slowly moved his fingers around the protruding antennas. The most incredible sound erupted from the speaker; a plaintive, almost ethereal tone that soared and swooped like the song of angels. Another note joined the first, then a third and fourth, combining together to create a cascade of wailing chords, sweet yet distressing enough to make a grown man cry. When Zotz had finished, he saw that the others were looking at him with expressions both stunned and not a little awestruck.