Ray Lovelock was at his wits' end. That didn't happen very often; Ray was a generally laid-back kind of cat, as calm and collected as he was tall and intimidating. Whatever the situation, whatever calamity his band careened into - and in its history so far, Fire Bomber had proven remarkably adept at careening into calamity - he was always together and he always figured out a way to pull the situation back from the brink of total disintegration.

This time, though, he had to wonder if matters were beyond his capabilities to fix. The band was supposed to have played two gigs on Cybertron - one at the Neutral Zone bar, one at the Iacon officers' club - and then caught a ride on one of the regular Autobot shuttle runs to the SDF-17, where they had been scheduled to play a series of pub shows around Wedge City before opening for Card No. 1 at the MegaDome. Everyone was excited about the prospect. The Dome had been the jumping-off point for a hundred bands that had made it big over the years, and opening for Card No. 1 - if you impressed them, if they liked your chops - was as good as a ticket to the big dance for any up-and-coming rock-n-roll group.

But then, just as they seemed to be hovering on the very doorstep of success, everything had gone to hell. The whole damn galaxy seemed to have gone insane. There were reports coming in that the SDF-17 had been destroyed, that fleets of GENOM warships and death squads of boomers and mercs were scouring the cosmos hunting down and exterminating the survivors, that no one was doing anything about it - even that the United Galactica Assembly had outlawed the WDF, in effect legalizing GENOM's actions. Autobot Command had been closed to outsiders since the crisis began and the Zentraedi soldiers stationed at the Hydrax Plateau spaceport were both deeply preoccupied and visibly furious.

If even half of it was true, Fire Bomber's big chance was gone, vanished like a mirage - although to Ray that seemed kind of trivial compared to what it would mean to the galaxy at large. A former WDF fighter pilot himself, he knew damn well what a galaxy without the Wedge Defense Force to keep GENOM in check could become. So had Fire Bomber's bassist. When the first reports of the GENOM strike fleets and hit squads arrived, Pedro Mejor had freaked out and caught the first transport off Cybertron, in such a panic that he left all his gear behind, certain that battalions of boomer troops would appear around every corner within minutes to mow down Ray and anyone foolish enough to associate with him. He was lucky he had, in a way, since the first transport out was also the last transport out before the Autobot authorities locked the planet down while they tried to figure out what to do.

So. Fire Bomber was trapped on a planet the band's members knew next to nothing about. They had little money, no great gig, no bass player. Basara was in full-on petulant artist mode, of no use whatsoever. Veffidas was stoical as always, which was reassuring, but not really helpful. As usual, they looked to Ray to get them out of the jam... but it had been almost two weeks now, and he wasn't getting anywhere.

Among the many rumors he'd heard was one that gave him what little hope he had left: that Miss Liberty was somewhere on Cybertron. Some people said she was in Iacon. Others claimed she was with the main Zentraedi garrison in Queltaadu City. Since had hadn't gotten anywhere in any of his attempts to make contact with anybody in the former city, today he was trying the latter. As he walked down one of the Micron-scale corridors of Queltaadu City in the vague hope of either finding Miss Liberty or at least getting someone there to give him the time of day, he wondered how much longer what remained of the band would wait for him to come through with answers.

It was while thinking such dark thoughts that he came around a corner and heard - faintly at first, then growing slowly louder as he walked - the sound of someone playing a bass guitar. The instrument was unaccompanied, the sound uncluttered, with nothing but basic amplification... and the playing, Ray noticed immediately, was superb. Whoever it was, he had great technique, but more than that, he had... he had soul. Ray didn't recognize the piece, which was slow and a little somber without being funereal, but he didn't have to in order to recognize the talent of the person playing it.

Perking up like a hunting dog on a new scent, Ray followed the sound, taking a right at the T-intersection instead of his planned left. He'd gone three doors when he passed the door from which the music was coming, then turned around and stood in front of it, listening. As he did, the unknown bassist changed from the sweet song he didn't know to one he did recognize: the unmistakable adagio first part of Beethoven's "Moonlight" sonata. Ray had seen a bassist do that piece once, playing the strings with both hands like a piano. It was an impressive trick, and one that marked the player as someone who could think outside the normal conventions of the rock bassist's job.

Intrigued, he pressed the doorbell key, immediately regretting it because the hail made the musician on the other side stop playing. For a few seconds, there was silence, and Ray wondered if whoever was back there was ignoring him, hoping he'd go away. He was just about to press it one more time and then leave when the door swished open.

To Ray's surprise, the person on the other side was a teenage girl, small and slender, with long pink hair and wide green eyes. She had the right instrument, though: a red Fender Precision Bass with a tiny practice plug-amp fitted.

She looked vaguely confused, as anyone has a right to look when a total stranger rings the bell. "Uh... hello?" she said, her voice very clear and surprisingly low for such a young, petite girl. "Can I help you?"

Ray blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat. "Uh... well... I just heard you playing and had to find out... " He shook his head. "Let me start again. My name's Ray Lovelock."

"I'm Mylene," the girl replied.

"Okay, this is going to seem kind of sudden, but - have you ever considered playing professionally?"

"Um... " said Mylene. It was, in fact, all she'd really thought of for the last three years, but given the kind of day she was having, she didn't really feel like discussing that with a complete stranger, however friendly he seemed.

"Only... well, look, I'm in a band, and we just lost our bass player," he said. "I, uh... I don't suppose you'd like to come and... I dunno, jam with us?"

Mylene hesitated, on the verge of sending him away. He seemed nice enough, but she was hugely not in the mood for an audition today, even if what he was saying was the real deal. But then she remembered the previous day. Her mother's face, her mother's voice, telling her to nurture her gift and be a light to a galaxy falling into shadow. She stood looking at the stranger on her doorstep - big, muscular, coffee-colored, with a mustache and a sort of hippie headband thing - for a few moments, lost in thought.

Then she said, "Yeah, all right."


They stopped off at one of the neighboring rooms to collect Emilia, which Ray was more than happy to do, since bringing along an armed, tough-looking young woman with a suspicious look in her eyes, while a little awkward, went a long way toward demonstrating that he wasn't some kind of creep with an ulterior motive. The three of them caught a tram out to Hydrax and found Basara and Veffidas just as Ray had left them - Basara sitting on an amp and sulking, Veffidas practicing her fills with a glacial imperturbability.

Seeing Ray return with a couple of girls in tow roused Basara Nekki from his funk just a little - enough that he turned and said, "What the hell's this?"

"Our new bassist, maybe," Ray replied.

Basara scowled. "I never said we needed a replacement for Pedro," he grumped. "We don't need a bass player. The Doors didn't have one."

"The Doors were overrated crap, Basara. They had one good song and they stole it from someone else."

takka-TISCH, agreed Veffidas's snare and hi-hat.

Basara gave Ray a dark look through his little round sunglasses, then sighed heavily. "Fine. Let's hear her."

"Here, use that amp," Ray said, pointing. When Mylene gave him a worried look, he grinned and added, "Don't worry about Basara. He's like an old dog." He winked. "Barks a lot and has no teeth."

Mylene smiled - she'd already taken a liking to this guy - and went over to plug in, then re-tuned her P-bass and played a couple of scales before starting in on a few short pieces to demonstrate her skills. Once she got used to the sound of the amp, she pulled out the stops and even threw down her rendition of "Foggy Mountain Breakdown", a song more customarily performed on a banjo. By the end of that, even Basara was looking a little bit interested.

"Not bad!" Ray said. "By the way - can you sing? Basara's our lead singer, but some of our songs have a female vocal part, and if you're good enough, we might consider expanding the role a bit."

"Sure," Mylene said. "I've been taking voice lessons since I was five."

"Let's hear you, then," Basara put in suddenly. "But none of that fluffy pop-idol crap. We're a serious rock 'n roll band."

Mylene gave him a sharp look. "Just because I have pink hair doesn't mean I'm into bubblegum, pal," she told him.

"Prove it," he challenged. Leaning back on the amp, he folded his arms, smirked at her a little, and said, "Rock me - if you can."

Emilia hid a smile behind her hand, thinking, One toke? You poor fool! Wait'll you see those goddamned bats, man.

"You asked for it!" Mylene shot back. Then she squared herself up, considered her next move for a moment, and started laying down a riff. Emilia stopped even trying to hide her grin as her little sister stepped to the mic, spun it with her toe so that she was facing Basara, and let him have it.

Those crazy nights
I do remember
In my youth
I do recall
Those were the best times
Most of all

Behind the drum kit, silent Veffidas blinked, smiled, and jumped in right on point. Ray was two counts behind, scooping up his gui-board and layering in a rock piano backing line, as Mylene went on, her voice soaring:

In the heat with a blue-jean boy
Burning love comes once in a lifetime
I found him singing by the railroad tracks
Took him home, we danced by the moonlight

Those summer nights are callin'
Stone in love
Can't help myself I'm fallin'
Stone in love

By the time she was halfway through the bridge, Basara had abandoned his skeptical scowl and started to smile a little. When she reached the chorus and gave her voice full rein, he suddenly jumped up, animated by a life that hadn't been in him a few moments before, snatched up his guitar, and leaped in with a fill that turned into a solo and carried her to the next verse.

Old dusty road
Led to the river
Running slow
I pulled him down
And in the clover
We go 'round

In the heat with a blue-jean boy
Burning love comes once in a lifetime
Oh the memories never fade away
Golden boy, I'll keep you forever

And, to even Mylene's surprise, Basara stepped up to the mic and hit the harmony with her as the four of them, now a band, dove into the chorus together.

Those summer nights are callin'
Stone in love
Can't help myself I'm fallin'
Stone in love!

They rocked it down, a little out of sync but getting better with every beat, as Mylene and Veffidas blended into a proper rhythm section and propelled the rest forward. When they were done, the silence was like a door closing. For a second, the four just stood (or, in the drummer's case, sat) blinking at each other.

Then Basara put his guitar back on its stand and slouched back against the drum riser, his energy gone as suddenly as it had come, but there was a little bit of a smile on his face as he said with exaggerated beat-poet nonchalance,

"Eh... you're okay. I guess we could give you a try for a couple of gigs."

"Don't pay any attention to him," Ray said, racking his gui-board. "You're hired. Welcome to Fire Bomber."

"I didn't actually say I wanted to join a band, you know," Mylene pointed out. "I just agreed to come jam with you for a while."

Basara smirked. "Oh, so it's gonna be that way with you, huh? Okay, then," he said. Levering himself away from the drum riser, he snatched up his guitar again and said, "Let's jam!"


"I dunno about this, Mylene," Emilia said as the two rode the tram back to Iacon Core an hour and a half later. "I mean, Ray seems nice enough, but I don't think Mom would like that Basara guy much."

Mylene snorted. "I'm thinking about joining his band, Emi, not marrying the guy."

Emi gave her little sister a speculative look, then grinned and ruffled her slightly-sweat-damp pink hair. In truth, she had no doubt that joining Fire Bomber was the right move for Mylene right now. The girl was shining, in a way that she only did when she'd either just come from a great musical experience or was anticipating the next one - and, based on what little Emi knew of such matters, she thought the others had talent too, enough talent that the four of them, with a little luck and the right backing, could go far. Maybe all the way.

"Well, maybe. But you're gonna need someone to look after you," she said. "Mom would kill us all if we let you just go wandering around the galaxy with two strange guys by yourself."

Mylene folded her arms and scowled. "Don't treat me like a kid," she grumbled.

"I can't help it, baby sister," Emi replied, grinning. "You're the only one who's not older than me."

"When Drums Stop, Bass Solo" - an Exile Mini-Story by Benjamin D. Hutchins
Mylene's practice solo performed by Stuart Hamm on Joe Satriani Live in San Francisco
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