Chapter 1

“Is everyone ready to rock?” Zora shouted into the microphone. The audience in the Denver club, numbering in the hundreds, shouted out their approval. A good percentage of the patrons on hand had no idea what it really meant to rock – this was, after all, the year 2208, when actual rocking was something from the distant past – but the audience was so fond of this musical act, Zora’s Aurora, that they shouted out their approval in deafening unison. Whatever this strange music from yesteryear was, they didn’t care. They loved it.

“That’s what we like to hear!” Zora exclaimed, still clutching the microphone. The microphone itself was merely an artifact, serving no purpose other than to add to the late twentieth century ambience. Since the invention of ambient sound amplification, microphones had faded into obsolescence.

Zora herself was a tall, well-built woman of twenty-eight. Her defining physical feature was her hair – long, full, and a brilliant, blazing blue. The blue color was not the result of a futuristic dye job, either – it was one hundred percent natural, due to a genetic mutation that had never been fully explained. The theory had been put forth that Zora’s father – a chemist who often worked with dangerous substances – may have developed some kind of chromosome abnormality. Zora, however, gave nary a single thought to changing her hair color to something more mainstream. She was an individual, through and through, and the blue hair would forever brand her as an individual. That suited her just fine.

Zora Zephyr had been born and raised in the nearby city of Aurora; the band’s name was a shout-out to her hometown. Her parents were divorced, and sadly, the divorce had fragmented her family. Zora was close to her mother but was estranged from her father and younger sister.

As the crowd finally began to settle down, Zora gave the customary signal that the band was ready to begin playing. She walked over to the lead guitarist for Zora’s Aurora, Sophie Klimova, and exchanged a gesture that was common in the late twentieth century, but unknown in 2208 – the high-five. As much as possible, they strove for historical authenticity in their shows. It was part of their appeal.

Sophie was not a native of Colorado. In fact, she was not even a native of the planet Earth. She had been born in the nation of Venera, which consisted of a multitude of orbiting cities and smaller communities around the planet Venus. Following a horrific attack by a rogue artificial intelligence entity which had eliminated much of its population, the entire nation of Russia – its government and most of its surviving citizens – had relocated itself to Venera over a twenty-year period. Essentially, the nation of Venera was the successor to the nation of Russia.

When Sophie was seventeen, she lost both of her parents in a space accident. Soon afterward, she elected to attend college in Colorado and made the move to Earth. She earned a degree in criminal justice. Around that time, she met Zora, who had just finished up a degree in history, and a close friendship developed rapidly between them. Among the many things they bonded over was their mutual love of rock and pop music from the late twentieth century.

It was Zora – always the visionary between them – who first brought up the idea of forming a band which specialized in the music they loved. Sophie, the grounded one, initially had reservations.

“Where will we find the instruments?” she wondered doubtfully. “Borrow them from a museum? Guitars haven’t been manufactured for more than a hundred years.”

“We’ll just have to spend the units to have them made for us,” declared Zora. “Shouldn’t be that difficult. I’d want them to be authentic though. Not cheap knock-offs. Guitars are the main problem. We know that keyboards still exist, although the current technology wasn’t available two hundred years ago. We should go for time period authenticity there also. As for twentieth century drums, they shouldn’t be too hard to reproduce.”

“And we’ll need to teach ourselves to play the things,” pointed out the still-skeptical Sophie.

“Both of us have a great ear for the music. We can pull it off. I have confidence in us.”

“Maybe. But then, we’ll need to find three or four other people who either know how to play the instruments or are willing to learn.”

“Hmm,” uttered Zora, initially flummoxed. It turned out, however, that this problem – like Sophie’s other concerns – would be easily solved.

This initial conversation was on Zora’s mind as she once again stepped up to the faux microphone. We’ve come a long way, she thought with satisfaction. She gave a hand signal to the other band members, and they started right up with their opening number, a composition of their own titled Back In The Day. As the title implies, the lyrics were historical in nature, hearkening back to a time when the music they were performing was all the rage. It was a hard driving tune, with Zora belting out the lyrics while playing rhythm guitar.

Zora’s voice was a natural gift – she had been singing since she was a little girl, and she had been blessed with incredible range, which allowed her to sing almost anything well. She strutted about the stage, that magnificent blue hair bouncing around as she sang with fire and passion. She was wearing tight blue pants which matched her hair, made from a material which somewhat resembled leather but was far superior when it came to durability and comfort. A multitude of bracelets adorned her lower arms, and she had a blue choker on her neck. Bright blue lipstick further enhanced the color theme.

Most of Zora’s attire changed with each show, but there was always one constant: a white tight-fitting long-sleeve shirt, revealing a substantial amount of midriff, with “ZORA” emblazoned on the front, along with a depiction of the aurora borealis. She had had several of these shirts made to order, each of them similar but with minor variations, rotating through them with every gig.

At the end of the second chorus, Sophie came in with a scorching guitar solo. She had taken to the guitar like neither of them had envisioned in their wildest dreams; she just seemed to have a natural knack for it. Once she had gotten her hands on an actual guitar, she had practiced diligently, in a manner that bordered on obsession. She had gone through old video recordings of the guitar greats from the late twentieth century, countless times – from Hendrix to Clapton to Page to Vaughn – and had tried to emulate each of their styles. Now, to be sure, it would be quite a stretch to say that she came anywhere close to reaching the level of proficiency of those legends. But the truth was, she didn’t have to. The bar to be cleared here was actually set very low. It would not be a stretch to say that in the year 2208, Sophie Klimova was the most skilled guitarist in the solar system, given the scarcity of guitarists in general.

Now, here she was, demonstrating her chops to a very appreciative, screaming audience. Sophie’s hair – every bit as spectacular as Zora’s, but a rich honey-blonde – flew in all directions as she played. She was wearing blue pants, matching Zora’s, but the color of her choker was gold. Her own white, midriff-revealing top prominently displayed the letters SK – her initials – interlocked in an ornate font.

Finally, Sophie wound down her guitar solo, and it was time for another band member to shine. Brian Montero, keyboardist extraordinaire, showed off his stuff. He was few years older than Zora and Sophie. Nonetheless, they both considered Brian a very dear friend. Brian was a widower who was raising two children on his own. Unlike his bandmates, his experience with his instrument of choice dated back to his youth. He was a wizard on the complex twenty-third century version of the keyboard, and when a twenty-first century version was placed in front of him, he mastered it in no time. It was mere child’s play. Brian was also more than adequate as a vocalist, and he served as a second lead vocalist behind Zora.

The other two band members were young men: Brax Birchwood, the bassist, and Finn Mahoney, the drummer. They were a few years younger, both in their mid-twenties. They were good friends with each other but tended not to associate too much with the other three outside of their shows. In fact, both Brax and Finn tended to come off as mercenaries, doing what they needed to do and not one bit more, just looking to earn a few extra units.