How Cosmic Jazz Got Its Name

One Night In A Galactic Diner Just Off The Milky Highway…

“You know, it’d be really great if you could stop complaining,” I said through gritted teeth. “It’s not like I asked you to come.”

“You said you were getting a beer,” James protested. “How was that not an invitation?”

“You don’t drink alone?”

“Well, of course I do, but not all the time.”

“Just…most of the time?”

“Only when you guys aren’t around.”

“Did you not think it was odd,” I said, holding my ice cold bottle of Budvar to my left temple and staring out of the spacedust-proof windows that afforded us an incredible view of Uranus, “that I chose this bar of all places? Do you not think if I’d wanted to hang out I would’ve picked a bar in Gothenburg and not three billion kilometers away from Earth?”

“Hey.” James grinned goofily, ignoring my exasperation.

“What? What is it?” I was annoyed.

“Today’s July 17th, 2024.” He checked his watch (an Arcanaut, obviously). “It’s 18:00.”

“So?”

“Currently Earth is three billion, eight point six three million kilometres away. And the newsletter just went out. I thought you maybe wanted to celebrate and just felt bad about asking in case I was busy.”

“I’m an extremely direct person.” I said, grinding my teeth so hard I was momentarily concerned I might’ve fused my molars. “And I don’t care about your feelings.”

“Oh yeah,” James grinned and signaled to the four-armed barmaid that he’d like another Saturn Sling. “I keep forgetting that.”

“I don’t exactly hide it,” I grumbled, turning my attention back to Uranus.

We sat in silence for 37 glorious seconds…

“Why do you come here anyway?" It’s a long way for a beer.”

“Beer’s really cold in Space,” I said, emotionlessly as usual. “And besides, the portal gun makes it easy. It was the best thing we ever built, apart from the watches, of course.”

“Have you picked up the lingo yet?”

“Me? Well enough. I’ve spent a lot of time studying Uranus. I know it intimately. Anyway, I don’t come here to talk. I come here to listen.”

“To old four arms over there? She’s quite a looker, eh?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the barmaid and gave a weak, apologetic smile and inclined my head slightly to the right. The corners of her bright green lips curled. She knew what I was trying to say.

“You mean Janet? Yeah, she’s nice. Best bartender this side of Neptune. Great at multi-tasking.”

“I’ll bet. But hey, I’m still married in Space.”

I shot him a withering look.

“You sure about that, Cowboy? I wouldn’t be on that contract holding up out here.”

I was being mean. Truth be told, I was glad of his company. I was just playing my part as the resident arsehole. I was even gladder that he was about to experience the reason I spend so much of my downtime, floating around in an old Orbital Diner, forty clicks off the Milky Highway, with nothing but Uranus (and Janet) to stare at — Cosmic Jazz.

“What’s happening now?” he asked, as the band began to assemble on stage.

I call it a stage out of my fondness for the establishment. Truth be told, it was a mismatched selection of old shipping pallets that weren’t even the same height. The drum kit was on the piss, and the saxophonist (who’s name was One-Tooth Terry) was nowhere near steady enough on his feet to guarantee he’d make it to the end of the set standing.

“Magic,” I smiled, taking a swig of my beer. “This is the best Jazz our Solar System has ever heard. Order another one of those cocktails, close your eyes, and feel the music. And then tell me what you see in your mind’s eye.”

The music began. James, with his eyes closed and posture relaxed, started to quiver ever so slightly. As the last notes tumbled past our ears in a chaotic stagger that would have resulted in a calamtous crash had it not been so flawlessly choreographed, his eyes fluttered open.

“I’ve seen that before,” he said, almost in a trance.

I grinned.

“I know you have.” I nodded at his wrist. “It’s a hard one to forget.”