The Falcon 565 flew in space at great speed. It was pushed by a pair of hydrogen thrusters. Since humanity learned of the destructive power of the Zex particle down in the Purple, no one now dared using the Light Drives but Marilyn. Yet, here she was and warming it. Fuck the rocks.

The rocket was accelerating at exactly one and a half gravity, a thrust well over comfortable limits. In other words, if a person weighed 180 pounds on earth, he or she felt like they weighed 270 pounds. LO and his band of gifted misfits were pushed back deep into large leather couches. Doubtful they would have agreed to the trip had they known the pain linked with days at this speed.

The young misfits made the most of it. The inside of the jet, in many ways, resembled the most luxurious of private earth private planes. In front, the tube was comfortably designed to look like a normal apartment living room for a dozen, but at this speed, the front was unused. In the back, six large beds helped these rich guests enjoy the long days of travel to the red planet.

The finale of the game was now in only ten days.

“Kids?” asked the image of Marilyn on each of the fifteen screens around the ship.

“Yes?”

“Some bad news. I promised you a break in the push right about now. Well, I fear the timing of this Sixth Attraction might be moved ahead. We need you on mars as soon as possible. The little girl, your fan Sophie, is back in a coma. I think LO can, with one or two words wake her up. If you don’t mind, we will keep the acceleration on.”

“Why?” said the drummer.

Marilyn had little to no respect for the musician, it showed in her dismissive response. “You don’t need to know.”

In the background played a television set. The game was about to start on mars. Many had slipped on the screenlenzs. They had heard music, the voice of Frank Sinatra in the fabric of the universe, but no one honestly imagined the sound was real. Then, the girl lost consciousness. As if the Attractor had lost its grasp on reality, the musicians looked around.

The ship was finally rotating where the sun was visible. “Look,” pointed a young girl with deep purple hair out the window to her left. Her face was covered by jewels and tattoos. There was fear in her voice. “The . . . the . . . sun.” In the darkness of space, the yellow orb warming the solar system was different. Where once shone a crisp circle, the edge was now covered by smoke and undefined. A blotch of smoke covered a black and red cinder branch, slowly leaving the star's orbit toward the outer areas of boiling magma. “What is that?”

“The game, the girl. Haven’t you been watching?” LO pointed at the screen. This was Armageddon, death sliding across space to destroy a race, a plane, and the world.

The group was sliding in silence toward mars, and the world was about to end.

“We need to help the girl, that’s our mission in all of this. At least we have a role to play.” LO was the only one still confident.

“That’s stupid,” ventured the drummer. She'd touched a chord. LO did not appreciate the words.

“You did not feel the Communion,” asked Marilyn surprised by the tone.

“The fuck is that? Guys, this is not about the money. This is important to me.”

“The fuck. Important, fuck yeah.” On the screen, it looked like Round 31 was about to begin.

“You think this will hit earth?”

“Looks that way,” replied the computer. She vanished from the screens.

“I'm scared,” added the young lady. “All this is crazy.” She pointed at a large back backpack in the seat. “This, what’s that? A bomb?” It was covered with “DO NOT TOUCH” tape and warnings.

“I don’t know. It’s to be hand-delivered to Sophie herself once we land.”

“It’s a bomb.”

“Who says so?” LO pushed himself up from his seat and walked against the horizontal push of the accelerating ship to the front where the bag hung. He unclipped a carabiner, grabbed the backpack and then let himself return to the seat, package in lap. He quickly unzipped the top of the bag and reached out, jabbing his hand first into the base. It was mostly empty. It took a minute to find the compartment where a small handheld phone was stored.

He pulled out the small flip phone at least fifty years old. It looked functional. He clicked it open and the device powered up.

On the screen, the face of Marilyn appeared. The definition wasn’t perfect. Around her blouse collar was still hanging make-up papers to protect her dress.

“Yes?” she said before LO had a chance to comment on what he saw.

“Marilyn,” he spoke into the phone.

“One Marylin. Yes, who are you?”

“What? You asked us to come to mars.”

“Sir, apologies, but I differ from the merged Electoral collective. I am one of the few remaining original units. It is critical that I speak with the Attractor. I assume the collective wanted you on mars, that is our destination, correct?”

“What? Yes. I am confused. We are going to mars in a rush.”

“What will happen of me?” asked the creature in the phone.

“I must hand you to Sophie.”

“Good. This is rather complex, but can I warn you of a fact.”

“Of course.”

“Keep this phone on you at all times. My digital life is in danger. The larger Marilyn, the one driving this plane and running the Electoral Center, wants and needs me destroyed. I alone can save your world. Please, hand this phone to Sophie herself. Not a copy, not an illusion of her. The fate of the Universe depends on it.”

LO looked up, “Guys, told you, we save the world. This is real shit.” He slapped the phone closed and slipped the device in his pocket.