With the classic synchronous jump the two singers brought the screaming crescendo to a merciful, ecstatic close. Instantly plummeting the Grand Galactica ballroom stage into darkness. Applause erupted.
A few seconds later a shaft of light split the darkness and there stood Zana in its searing glow, casually bringing her guitar back in tune.
"Thank you!" She paused for breath. From somewhere in her layered costume she brought out a capo. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, aliens and combos, gamblers and gobblers, we come to the part of the show where we play you a brand new song."
Some of the crowd, the overly merry ones, found this absolutely brilliant.
A second spotlight beamed down on Rivqua. "That is, should we be fortunate enough to have one."
"Tonight, as it happens, we are." Zana struggled a bit to clamp the capo onto the guitar neck, gave up and held it up for a second. "Incidentally, I'm using this little device only because my guitar's robot capo stopped working some gigs back. Here, look."
She pressed a button on the body of her sparkling six-string, a small mechanism whirred and a narrow rod folded across the neck over the nut, and started moving up the fretboard.
Rivqua displayed a winning smile, her hands toward the spectacle, like a magician's assistant. The small rod stopped before it even reached the first bar. Zana looked hopelessly out over the audience. "See that? That's what serious thrashing will do."
"Gotta up your gear, Zana!" someone in the crowd hollered. People laughed.
"That's what we keep telling our manager!" she replied and got more laughs.
"Any managers in here?" Rivqua asked the audience.
"I'm up for the job!" someone shouted.
"See us after the show!" she replied. "A word of warning - the pay sucks!"
They enjoyed that one. From somewhere in the wings a phone rang. Zana shouted over her shoulder, "If that's for me, tell them I'm otherwise engaged!"
It was a good night in the Galactica ballroom.
Rivqua shook out her hair. "Right. Where were we?"
"New song," said Zana. She got the trusty old capo good and clamped on the neck.
"Yes! Folks, this is hot off the hit foundry. Only about six hours old."
Appreciative voices hollered.
She went on, "It's kind of a tribute, I guess you'd call it. An affectionate summary of our experiences thus far in this extraordinary, magnificent, incomparable desert city of yours!"
The room cheered. From out of the dark behind them a figure approached with quick, self-conscious steps, crossing the stage and up to the girls. The Bandroids looked at him. It was the stage hand, Mister Wizzbipp, holding a phone, shielding his eyes from the sudden glare of the spotlight.
"Don't tell me it's my mother," said Zana.
Seeing his serious, almost shocked face, the girls turned to him, covering their mikes.
Mister Wizzbipp swallowed and whispered, "It's Fadda Bing! He's back from the dead!"
The girls stared at him like he'd taken leave of his senses. He went on, chin quivering, "It's really him! And he demands to see you immediately after the show!"
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