Funk Toast and the Pan-Galactic Prom Show. Craig Nybo
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four armed alien led the group out onto the street. The InterTran travelers, mostly Earthlings, gawked as they took in the expanse of the place, the diversity of alien races, the mixture of sights and sounds, the music, the lights, the draw of shops and amusement hot spots.
They walked to an administration building set up like a four-star hotel. A pair of one-eyed gorilla-sized aliens stood on either side of the voluminous entrance. The goons wore purple uniforms. Twana didn’t know if their job was to act as bellboys or security guards, probably a little of both. She waved sheepishly at one of them. The big alien sneered at her. She lowered her hand and followed the rest of the group into the building.
The four-armed alien led them to an assembly hall where the group split up into alphabetical order to pick up their packets--bright red plastic cases full of samples, gifts, brochures, and schedules.
An announcer’s voice screeched over an unseen PA system, asking them to move into the main assembly hall.
Twana, Bieber, Mindee Lee, and Butch stuck together as they shuffled along with the rest of the wave into an enormous chamber. A series of rails marked aisles and rows where creatures could stand and look up at large screens.
Since leaving the space bus, Twana had noticed several people wearing matching, black tee-shirts that read, I will always have Bieber Fever. A black and white half tone image of Bieber’s face had been screened next to the letters. She noticed more than one Bieber fan looking the clone up and down as he made his way through the crowd. Even with his hat, glasses and scarf, Bieber was a dead ringer for the real thing.
The enormous screens blinked to life. The Collundrome’s logo appeared, an abstracted asteroid, glittering with effects and trails of flash and stars. A sensual voice said, “Welcome, guests, to the most celebrated arena in the galaxy, the Collundrome, where dreams and reality meet at the same party. And now to introduce you to the wonders of our little asteroid city, we present Slink Arrowheart, Pan-Galactic Prom Show concert promoter.”
The video cut to a slurpy creature, more octopus than man. He stood in the center of a lavish office, decorated with artifacts from the furthest reaches of space and technology and art from the bleeding edge of fashion and function. Slink wore a silver, shiny suit and an ascot. He wore a pair of tri-lensed sunglasses.
He smiled with both of his mouths as he raised a quartet of tentacles in a welcoming gesture.
“What is that?” Twana asked.
“He’s a Slorrack,” Butch said. “I’ve heard about him, he’s a slippery one.”
“I personally welcome you to my home, the Collundrome. Here you will find everything you could ever want at your convenience and for a modest price. I am honored to be the promoter of the one-hundred-sixty-third annual Pan-Galactic Prom Show. And I personally guarantee, my friends, that what you will see on that stage will absolutely blow your minds.
“This year, I welcome some very special guests from Earth, the new space rock sensation, Funk Toast.”
A large faction of Bieber fans hissed and booed. Someone threw an empty bottle at one of the screens. It smacked the silver surface and crashed to the floor.
“On behalf of the staff here at the Collundrome, I would like to offer my deepest condolences to the friends, family, and fans of our dearly departed, Bieber. His memory lives on and I am sure he will be with us in spirit.”
Both Mindee Lee and Twana looked up at Bieber.
He smiled at them both in turn.
Slink went on. “You will find all of the information you need in your welcome packets. We are committed to making your stay at the Collundrome pleasant and full of joy. And so to all of you, I say, peace and let the adventures begin.”
Slink crossed two sets of tentacles over his chest and smiled with both of his mouths. The video dissolved to the Collundrome logo. Music faded up, energetic and percussive. The video blinked out and the lights faded up.
“Guests of the Collundrome,” the sensual announcer said over the PA system. “If you would please exit in an orderly manner through the ports to your right or left, we have another group standing by for the welcome presentation. You will find all of the necessary information in your welcome packets. Should you have any questions, please stop at one of our information desks where we have Collundrome representatives standing by to assist you. Enjoy your stay. Peace and let the adventures begin.”
Banks of doors on both sides of the assembly hall flew open. The crowd split in the middle and began to exit.
“We need to see Arrowheart,” Twana said to Butch as they moved toward one of the exits.
“That isn’t going to be easy,” Butch said.
Twana pouted.
As the four of them made their way to the exit, Butch stopped one of the Collundrome ushers, a creature with red skin. “Can you tell me where I can find a clothing store?” Butch asked.
“Head out the front doors of the building, take a right and walk three blocks. You’ll find HeartBeeps, our finest department store,” the creature said.
“What was that all about?” Twana asked as they finally reached the exit and went out into the lobby.
“Just follow me. I have an idea,” Butch said.
They found the front exit of the hotel, moved out onto the sidewalk, and followed the red usher’s directions.
Craig Nybo sings and plays bass guitar in the Funk Toast Band. Read his full biography at the end of this chapter.
Craig Nybo
After years of expensive counseling in an attempt to overcome his phobias, Craig became a human cannonball. “Being a human cannonball is something Craig excels at,” William “Kill” Freeman, one of Craig’s handlers, said. “We’ve learned to ignore all the slobbering, whimpering, and begging to let him go and just load his butt into the cannon.” Craig and his cannon team continue to rise in popularity, breaking open flight records set by competing master blasters. “I hate it,” Craig said. “One day Kill and his two friends showed up on my doorstep, tied me up with duct tape, and dragged me away. Next thing I know, they’re stuffing me into a red, white, and blue barrel and lighting the fuse.” From his maiden flight over Hell Hath No Fury, a terror-instilling bull on the national rodeo circuit, Kill Freeman, trajectory physicist, knew that he had discovered something great in Craig. “His form is perfect, so pretty that the crowd ignores his cries for mommy as he soars by.” With six broken records to his credit--including a reenactment of competing master blaster Chevy “Souring” Stevens’s free flight over a tank of moray eels--Craig’s career shows continuing promise.
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