Transient Value .7 Just like Clapton’s balls
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But still, they were human beings, had to be. And being human and having lived here for some time, they might be able to tell him something more about humanity in this future or at least they might have something in common. Maybe they even knew if there was some kind of real human colony somewhere, people who he might have something in common with.

So what did he do? Iain decided to sit down and watch the performance, such as it was and then hope to sneak backstage after the set was over. man, though, they butchered their own work and a few numbers which were some pretty terrible attempts at covers of other bands. There was no encore. In fact, it didn’t seem like the pair cared to even finish their last jam. They finished their last song about halfway through and just left the stage.

Shit, Iain, thought. He got up and tried to get backstage to see if he could speak to them and to make sure they were who he thought they were.

However, he quickly found himself face to face with one of the big bouncers who first whipped out its scanner which flashed him with a green-yellow light and then pulled out a big blaster ray gun with an arm that seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Don’t move Mime, or I will melt the flesh off your bones,” the bouncer warned in a deep guttural croak. “Condition Russet! I repeat condition Russet. “No killing machine is going to endanger the property. Stand down or I will fire.”

That’s a Gronding 437 carbine, Iain’s ‘Zos helpfully identified the weapon for him. It will melt your flesh and muscles and then set your bones on fire!


“I’m not a Mime,” Iain protested. “I’m a base human, just like the Reebles just like the band!”

He backed up, right into another bouncer, carrying another really big gun.

Crikey! That’s a Double Action Knzinger. The two beams hit you and convert your molecules to the most powerful acid known in the galaxy. 

“Look guys, I’m not what you think I am,” Iain said hastily backing away in a third direction. “I’m not any danger, I’m just a fan, okay? I'm a really big fan!"

Two more of the armed bouncers now blocked every direction. Their weapons promised to do horrible things to him as well.

“I think we have enough firepower now to stun it,” the first bouncer said. “I hope.”

“No, you won’t stun me, you’ll murder me!” Iain cried out, panicking. “Honestly, I’m not a  Mime!”

A new voice came up from behind one of the bouncers, smooth of definitely working class and sounding more than a bit tipsy. 

“Mates, I’ve got a small question,” came the slurred voice of someone definitely from some region of midlands UK circa 1981 C.E. “If he’s a  Mime, What’s that awful screeching he’s doing. Do  Mimes beg for their lives like little girls beg the boogieman?”

The bouncers glanced at each other, blinked their big bulbous eyes. Then all four of them pulled out their scanners. And scanned Iain again, in unison lighting him right up.

“False positive,” one said. “Same here,” another stated. “This isn’t a  Mime,” a third agreed.

The four backed away, leaving Iain face to face with leopard tights wearing Rickie Reeble, tall, thin, spiky hair and bleary bloodshot eyes that appeared just this side of baseballs wrapped in lean bacon. 

“You’re a fan, yeah?” the headbanger said. “What’s your favorite song?”

Iain scrambled, trying to remember any song title, then he came up with one, maybe.

“Barbwire Blues?” he guessed.

“Shit me on the ‘ead, I wrote that meself right in the bath you know,” the teetering rocker said squinting at him. “Haven’t played it for a good fifty years now. Not sure how it even goes anymore.”

“Kinda Bluesy?” Ian offered.

“Roight! Bluesy. Just like Clapton’s balls.”

Nickie, beckoned him to come closer. Even five feet away Iain could smell the alcohol on the out of time rocker’s breath.

“You better come with me,” Rickie said grinning. “Robbie’s going to shit himself a morphoid when he finds out one of our fans was in the audience tonight!”