joined by Hair Windsor and, in a wholly unpredictable move, the teenage children of former members Kerry and Sarah. Several years on, the original bandmembers have now retired to be replaced by the children of the classic I Told You So line-up along with a man they picked up who thinks that he’s the reincarnation of Gary Strange’s talent in a new body.
One of the reasons for such complex character relationships in bands is that, as bands become successful, they invariably become friendly with other musicians and may often find that they have more in common with their competitors than their colleagues. A person who once played on the same bill as you may, ten years later, become the new frontman of your band or simply part of a supergroup formed from all the local talent. Whatever the causes, the insatiable demand for family tree posters, biographies and Preston Biscuit wallpaper shows that the subject remains one of great interest, although, needless to say, nobody has ever attempted a family tree for the Sirian Peanut Troupe.
The bar in the Grand Theatre was, like the rest of the building, a luxuriously furnished and tastefully decorated affair. The three robots sat self-consciously at a table in the centre of the room trying not to look too out of place. Vid surreptitiously ran a screenwipe over his face as they waited for the drinks to arrive.
‘It’s going to take a couple of days to get back into the swing of things,’ said Riff, watching Vid’s ablutions with interest. ‘We’ll need time to break in a new drummer.’
Keys nodded. ‘I wonder if sharing one with another band is really the ideal solution. Nutter had enough difficulty with one set of material.’
‘Depends on the drummer. If we get a good one, then it shouldn’t be a problem.’
Vid finished wiping his face then rolled his digitised eyes around the screen. Satisfied, he placed the screenwipe into the waste disposal portal in the centre of the table. There was a brief flash and a whiff of ozone and the portal closed.
‘It’s a shame we couldn’t get hold of a drummer that we knew,’ he said.
‘Who would you suggest?’ asked Riff. ‘We don’t exactly know many, do we?’
‘I don’t know. Not that one from Gearhead, certainly – he’d be worse than useless.’
‘Although he is available at the moment,’ said Keys.
‘That’s the problem,’ said Riff. ‘All the good drummers will already have gigs. Only the bad ones will be available.’
Vid looked absently across the room. People were sitting around at tables, chatting quietly and drinking. A group in uniform red jackets sitting at a table near the door caught his eye and he prodded Riff.
‘Do you recognise them?’ he asked.
Riff turned to where Vid was pointing. ‘It couldn’t be…’ he began.
Keys turned to see what all the fuss was about. ‘I think it is,’ he said.
The robots rose from their seats and made their way over to the group. As they came closer, one of the men turned to look at them and smiled. It was the face of Benton Cody, trumpeter in the jazz band they’d met on the Kamakiriad.
‘Well, hello,’ Benton greeted them. ‘Would you care to join us?’
Riff and Vid pulled up seats; Keys found a convenient place to float.
‘Where’s your drummer?’ Riff asked the trumpeter.
‘Hal?’ Benton responded. ‘Oh, he’s downstairs on his drums. He doesn’t bother with the drink. I didn’t know you were playing here.’
‘We aren’t yet,’ said Riff. ‘This guy’s signed us up and we’re supposed to start tonight, but we’re down a drummer.’
‘What happened to yours?’
‘I’m afraid he exploded,’ said Vid, the words still uncomfortable to him.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Benton. ‘Have you left Tony, then?’
Riff nodded. ‘Some guy called Emil signed us up.’
‘Emil!’ Benton nodded thoughtfully. ‘Now there’s a coincidence.’
‘You know him?’
‘Know him? He’s only our manager.’
‘When? How?’ Questions fought for the use of Vid’s speaker.
Benton got the point. ‘You know when you left the ship?’ he asked. ‘Well, we were just getting ready to play to the next batch of passengers when Emil came up to us in the bar. He said he’d seen us play and he thought we’d be better off playing in a theatre.’
‘And you agreed?’ A waiter approached with a tray of drinks. Vid took them and placed them on the table.
‘Of course – ship work doesn’t pay that much and besides Hal’s never really got his sea legs. Hal’s really keen – in fact, Emil asked him if he’d mind drumming for another band.’
Vid raised a digitised eyebrow. ‘Another band? When did this come up?’
Benton shrugged. ‘This morning, I think. Why?’
‘I think we’re the other band.’
Benton took a swig of his beer. ‘Sounds like it,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose that he saw us playing with you when he was onboard?’
‘It’s certainly possible,’ said Riff. ‘Actually, that’s good news – we were saying that it would be easier if we could work with someone we knew.’
Ben stood behind the stage at The Inferno, toying with the controls of the new lighting console. It wasn’t an expensive affair, but after the old combination of salvaged lights and slaughtered rat-catchers it was impressive. He was just toying with the faders that moved the main lights up and down when Tony entered the room. The businessman walked with his usual economical stride, rapidly making his way over to where Ben was standing.
‘You like it?’ he asked.
‘It’s great,’ said Ben. ‘I’m not sure I can operate it whilst I’m singing, though.’
‘You don’t have to. I’m employing a lighting engineer to deal with that.’
‘A lighting engineer? The costs seem to be mounting up all the time.’
Tony shrugged. ‘Call it an investment,’ he said. ‘When you draw in the audience we’ll get the money back. And a light show will help.’
Ben nodded – despite the fact that he had somewhat less confidence in his abilities than Tony did, he could see the logic in using the light show to draw the crowds. Without the robots to play their now-familiar songs, he was going to be starting again with an entirely new act and he’d need more than just his face to bring in the numbers whilst the act settled in. This, of course, led him to the most important question of all. He looked at Tony earnestly.
‘Have you found a band?’ he asked.
Tony grinned broadly and put his arm around Ben’s shoulders. ‘Have I got the band for you,’ he said. ‘Versatile, experienced, hard-working. We’ll have you at the top before you know it.’
Ben smiled, feeling optimistic for the first time since the departure of the robots. He imagined a group of well-dressed professional musicians holding the tools of their trade in hard cases. The image seemed to fit disturbingly well with his manager. He shrugged it off. ‘When do they get here?’ he asked.
‘They already have,’ said Tony. He turned to face the doorway. ‘Gentlemen,’ he called, his voice raised, ‘you can come in now.’
Ben looked expectantly towards the door, smiling broadly. His smile faded as four youths with black t-shirts and jeans filed into the room - his replacement musicians were the band formerly known as Gearhead.
43
It was early evening when the robots found Hal happily practicing his shuffles, seated on a raised dais at the back of the Grand Theatre’s stage. As the group approached, Hal greeted them with a quick drum-roll.
‘Ready for a spot of practice?’ he asked.
‘Probably an idea to run through a few numbers,’ Riff told him. ‘Just to make sure we’ve got the thing tight enough.’
Hal nodded. ‘Probably isn’t time for the whole set,’ he agreed. ‘What say we just try a few of the more distinctive ones. I’ll do standard beats for the rest.’
‘Sounds like a good plan,’ said Vid, plugging his bass amp into a floor socket on the sta
ge. He plucked a couple of notes and was disappointed when, after a bar or so, the sound simply faded away. He turned up the amp, but there was no response.
Hal shook his head. ‘The stage electrics are a bit dodgy,’ he said. ‘They’ve been down about a week, but there’s a man coming out to look at them tomorrow.’
‘Hasn’t it affected your gigs?’ asked Vid, absent-mindedly tapping at his strings. He jumped in shock as the power came back on and there was a deafening thump from the amplifier.
‘Doesn’t affect us,’ said Hal. ‘All our instruments are acoustic with the exception of the keyboards and we’ve been using the house piano to make up for those.’
‘It’s not really going to help our act if the electrics die on us tonight, though,’ said Riff. ‘Does Emil know about it?’
Hal nodded. ‘He’s been trying to get the electrician out sooner, but it doesn’t seem to help – they just promise to come out and don’t turn up. Typical electricians really.’
‘I could have a look,’ suggested Vid.
Keys shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ve already lost one musician, we don’t want you to fry yourself.’
‘Well, we can’t play if the electrics aren’t with us,’ Vid objected.
‘Perhaps you could play something different,’ suggested Hal.
Riff mused on this. ‘I suppose Keys could play the house piano,’ he mused. ‘Do you suppose your guys would mind if we borrowed their acoustic bass?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Why, what did you have in mind?’
‘One, two, three – what comes after three?’ Dobbsy, lead-guitarist and intellectual of the