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Combeferre stared out the window of the spaceship at the stars. He supposed he should have been practicing the space cello but in truth he was already the best musician on the ship. The rest of the band consisted of Courfeyrac, who played the space saxophone, or spax, Bahorel, who played the space kazoo, or spazoo, and Joly, who played the space bongo drums, or spongo drums. They were all fine musicians, but for them it was just an excuse to travel the galaxy. They had had no luck finding a space lead singer, or splead singer, since Marius had left the band to marry Terran Cosette. He had not been the greatest splead singer, but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in passionate nostrils.
Marius had first met Cosette during a brief stopover on the planet Plumet, and immediately fallen in a love as passionate as his nostrils at a single glimpse of her. He had then wandered back into their quarters in a lovestruck daze.
“Marius, what’s wrong today? You look as if you’ve seen a space ghost,” Combeferre said.
“Or spghost,” Joly said.
“A spghost you say? A spghost maybe! She was just like a spghost to me! One click there and she was gone!”
Marius redirected from that point all the passion of his nostrils from the band towards this mysterious spghost girl he had met. Combeferre had had a bad feeling about what this might mean for the Groovy Space Cats, but had held his tongue, and for a while it appeared his fears were in vain.
Things changed abruptly one night at a gig. As Combeferre entered the bar, he heard the ominous sound of space finger clicks, or spfinger clicks. He knew that sound. Knew it all too well.
They weren’t rivals per se. Still, there was a certain antagonism between Marius and the Groovy Space Cats and Montparnasse and the Kiloclicks. It was simply because the Kiloclicks were dicks, and not even space dicks. Just regular dicks. Today, this was complicated by the fact that this was the night that they were going to be introduced to Terran Cosette, who was by now Marius’ space girlfriend, or spgirlfriend. She also bought her father, Fauchelevent, who was confusingly not Terran Fauchelevent, but Combeferre didn’t ask too many questions.
The Kiloclicks were on first, opening with their signature space finger clicking. It set the space fillings in Combeferre’s teeth on edge, although he had to admit they were talented spmuscians. They were midway through their annoyingly smooth cover of the old Terran standard, I Put a Spell on You, of course appropriately altered to be I Put a Spspell on You, when in burst the very handsome and very cyborg cop, Broad Shoulders Javert, with his one robot hand. Peering through the curtain, Combeferre heard someone cry, “It’s the space cops, disappear, run for it, it’s Broad Shoulders Javert!” The Kiloclicks disappeared into the shadows, clicking their fingers rhythmically as they went. In the chaos, half the bar emptied, and Combeferre did not immediately notice that Terran Cosette’s space father, Fauchelevent, was among them.
Marius did realise that his spgirlfriend and her father had left, however, and to Combeferre’s dismay, without a word or a quiver of his passionate nostrils, Marius left too. That left the Groovy Space Cats, sans Marius, to perform an awkward instrumental set to the half empty bar. Combeferre had not realised how many of the denizens of Plumet were obviously criminals.
Evidently, Fauchelevent was among, because they never saw him, or Terran Cosette, or indeed their eponymous singer ever again. They received a space telegram, or spelegram, from Marius some weeks later, informing them that he was getting married – on Terran! He would not be coming back to the Groovy Space Cats.
Combeferre had tried to feel happy for his former bandmate, but he couldn’t help the resentment that boiled within him like space lava, or splava.
Combeferre decided to go to the satellite’s bar rather than back to his rooms to face his bandmates. Not even the traditional and familiar cantina music could pull him out of misery. Nor could the delicious glass of spin and sponic, or Spee Squared as it was called, that he ordered from the purple-skinned bartender. He sat morosely at the bar, and stared at the glowing liquid.
He was shocked out of his glum reverie when someone even glummer took the seat beside him. Combeferre glanced up to see a charming young man sitting down at the stool next to him. The man ordered a glass of space yak milk, or spakilk, and declined when the bartender offered to throw in a shot of space vodka to make it a Green Russian.
He stared at the gently bubbling green liquid in silence beside Combeferre. Combeferre had only talked to his bandmates for the last several macroclicks as they travelled from Plumet to the Satellite Musain and he was keen to for some human interaction. At least, he thought the glum stranger was human. It wasn’t polite to assume.
“A spakilk connoisseur, I see,” Combeferre said on a whim.
“Thanks for the interest,” the charming young man said, “but I’m a space asexual.”
“Oh,” Combeferre said, pleasantly surprised. “I haven’t met another space ace in several kiloclicks. I’m Combeferre.”
That got the other man to look up. “I’m Enjolras. Neither have I,” said the blond man. “Not since I left my home planet.” A shadow passed over his face. Combeferre could tell that he had a secret.
“Where are you from?”
“Terran,” said the sad, milk-drinking blond.
“Ah, Terran Enjolras then,” Combeferre said.
“No,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Just Enjolras now.”
Many people had fled Terran after the failed coup of 3832. Louis MCCCLX still ruled the ancestral home of humankind with his merciless diamond-encrusted cyborg fist. Combeferre nodded in respectful understanding. “Can I buy you another spakilk, comrade?” he said, hoping his respect for the Terran rebel movement would be clear.
Enjolras accepted, and Combeferre raised his glass in a toast. “To a Terran republic,” he said in a hushed voice, making sure the bartender’s back was turned.
“To a Terran republic,” Enjolras echoed in a low voice. “I was lucky to happen to meet you, my comrade. Why do you look so glum? Have you left Terran recently yourself?”
“I was born off planet. My parents were Terran though,” Combeferre said. “My troubles are small compared to yours, my friend. I make my living playing the space cello these days, and the lead singer of my band has just fled back to Terran to marry.”
“It’s a dangerous time to be back on Terran,” said Enjolras.
“Marius was never wise,” said Combeferre. “He did his thinking with his… passionate nostrils.”
“I see,” said Enjolras, understanding perfectly. “What did Marius play in your band? Wait – not Marius of Marius and the Groovy Space Cats?”
“The very same,” Combeferre said, blushing a delicate space pink.
“Your music was all that got me through some of the hard days when I was floating in an escape pod after leaving Terran,” Enjolras said. “It’s my turn to buy you a drink, my spmusician friend.”
Combeferre accepted and they toasted again to the power of a good spello solo.
“I don’t know what the future holds for the Groovy Space Cats,” Combeferre admitted. “Without a singer, we can’t hope to compete with bands such as the Kiloclicks.”
Enjolras hesitated. “I wouldn’t presume to be on the level of the Space Cats, but I’ve done some singing in my time,” he admitted.
“Oh really?” Combeferre said, his interested definitely piqued.
“Yes,” Enjolras continued. “I trained at the SPAPS academy back on Terran before… before it all happened.”
“SPAPS?!” Combeferre exclaimed. “You must be selling yourself short. Everyone knows only the most talented musicians are accepted into SPAPS.” Enjolras didn’t deny it. Combeferre knew he was being hasty, but something about this milk-drinking stranger felt like fate. “Would you like to join the Groovy Space Cats?”
The shadow returned to Enjolras’ face. “I have a responsibility to my people,” he said. “Perhaps in another life time it could have been.”
Combeferre said, searching his face. “Who were you back on Terran, Enjolras?”
Enjolras hesitated. “This may be rash, but something about this meeting feels preordained.”
“I feel it too,” Combeferre replied.
“Well then,” Enjolras said. “I will trust you. It was I who led the led the coup against Louis. My codename was Glorieux.”
Combeferre was speechless for a click. He had seen that Enjolras was charming, but he now knew he was capable of being terrible also. The effect was not lessened by the green mustache left by the spakilk. “I could buy you rounds of spakilk until the end of time, and it would not be enough to demonstrate my esteem for you, my friend.” Comberre had left his old life behind him but his skills with a laser gun had not diminished, and in this click he saw a way out for both of them. “I will trust you in return. Once upon a time I was the Mothman, and my laser gun is at your service.”
Enjolras gasped. Everyone in the galaxy had heard of the Mothman, the most notorious hitman between here and Betelgeuse, famously picky in the jobs that he selected. He had never failed once he had committed to a hit though. No man had ever seen his face.
By the end of the night they were surrounded by empty spakilk and Spee Squared glasses as they laid out the details of their plan. Combeferre left word with the other members of the Groovy Space Cats that he would only be gone for a few days, hoping it was true, and promised he would return with a new singer. Then he and Enjolras left for Terran.
-
Combeferre felt a surge of emotion as the ship touched down on the native soil that he had never yet beheld. As the doors opened, he felt the wind on his face and as he stumbled out of the craft, he couldn’t resist pressing his hand to the ground. It was only tarmac, but it was where his parents had fled from many years ago.
They had chosen the day of Louis MCCCLX’s Golden Jubilee to make their move. It would be a rare opportunity to see the king in a public place, and well suited to sending a message to the masses of Terrans that Glorieux was not dead.
The place that Enjolras had chosen for the Combeferre to make the hit was an abandoned church tower overlooking the city square. It would be a difficult shot, but any closer would be too risky, and anyway, the Mothman never missed. Enjolras led him through the tunnels under Paris, of which no one had such a labyrinthine understanding, and up through the old church to the bell tower. “I’ll be back in only a few clicks with the car,” Enjolras said. “Good luck, my dear comrade. I’ll see you on the other side.” He clasped Combeferre’s hand for a long moment, and they held each other’s gaze. Without another word, Enjolras disappeared back towards the tunnels, and Combeferre set up the long range laser with practised smooth movements.
He heard the sounds of trumpets blowing, signalling the approach of the king. The splendour of the pageant disgusted Combeferre, but he did not allow it to distract him. Then he saw the king himself. He was impossible to miss, encrusted in diamonds from head to toe, gleaming in the sunlight. Combeferre would have to hit his one human eye in order to injure him at all. For any skilled marksman, it would be an impossible shot. But Combeferre was not any skilled marksman. He was the Mothman.
He knelt by the scope of the laser, took a deep breath, and lined up the monarch’s face within his crosshairs. He would only have one shot – as soon as the blast was heard, the king would be surrounded by robot cops, and the chance would be lost. Louis’ back was to him as he waved to the crowd of Terrans. For a tense moment, Combeferre thought he would pass out of range without turning towards the tower, but then someone in the crowd screamed out, “Glorieux lives!” and the king turned in obvious fury. Robot cops descended on the rebel, but Combeferre could not spare a glance to see if they escape. Without hesitation, he took the chance, and fired the laser into the face of Louis MCCCLX.
The king collapsed and within clicks he was obscured by the crush of the crowd, eager to get their hands on the thousands of tiny diamonds that the king had paid for in their blood.
With perfect timing, Enjolras’ flying car descended to the tower window. “That’s as close as I can bring her!” Enjolras screamed over the noise of both car and bloodthirsty mob. “You’ll have to jump!”
Combeferre left the laser gun behind and leapt from the open window directly into the car. The car rocked with his impact, and Enjolras grabbed him around the waist to steady him. Their getaway had been noticed, and fleets of robot cops were taking flight in pursuit. Enjolras made to drive away, but Combeferre seized his hand and pulled him to his feet in the car. “Glorieux lives!” he shouted above the din of the crowd. Following suit, Enjolras shouted, “Vive la republique!” Somehow, the crowd heard them and their screams of retribution turned to screams of joy.
Then they turned the car directly upward and sped off, the robot cops in hot pursuit. The jetpacks of the robot cops were no match for the high-powered car and they made good time. Combeferre let out a premature whoop of joy, looking behind them, but it turned to a cry of terror as he turned back to the front to see Broad Shoulders Javert abruptly pulling in front of them. He clamped his strong robot claw onto the hood of the car. Combeferre heard the metal crunch. He thought with horror of his laser gun on the floor of the belltower. Was it all over?
But then, out of nowhere, a saviour came in the unlikely form of a Spoyota Sporolla. Out of place on Terran, it skidded through the air and did not break as it hit Broad Shoulders Javert. Combeferre saw with open mouth that the driver was none other than Terran Cosette, with Marius riding shotgun. “Oh gosh, sorry, mister!” he said to Broad Shoulders Javert, who was enmeshed with the front of Spoyota Sporolla. “We just didn’t see you there!”
It bought Combeferre and Enjolras the precious clicks they needed to make their escape. Enjolras once again turned the car skyward, and they were free.
-
Combeferre glowed with space joy, or spoy, after the success of the first show of Enjolras and the Groovy Space Cats. His space cello went perfectly with Enjolras’ truly groovy voice. The Kiloclicks could only snap their fingers in bitter annoyance and retreat out the stage door into the night. The crowd was screaming for an encore, which the Groovy Space Cats were only too happy to provide. Enjolras and Combeferre had something special planned for this last one, and exchanged a tender, joyful look before Enjolras stepped up the microphone once more.
“This one goes out to the new Terran Republic,” he said, and the crowd went wild. Enjolras and the Groovy Space Cats began to play.