Don't know why… can't explain why… was BORED at work and my place of work generally tends to lead to thoughts of We Will Rock You… can't bloody think why. No thought has gone into it! Not going to last long! Just needed some shippiness.
Times had changed.
The world had changed.
The Bohemians were above ground; living their lives for their music, just as they had always longed to do. The Seven Seas of Rye were no longer the final resting place of tortured artists and lost souls – in the months that had passed since the Wembley Concert they had become a thriving hive of musical activity. What had once been a single bar secreted at the place where the rivers merged into one enormous lake had grown into a host of pubs, clubs and performance spaces. Bands were forming in the streets, jamming in garages and telling their tales through their music.
The age of Bohemia had dawned.
It wasn't all anarchy though – far from it. Though the Bohemians and the new generation of Boho kids (formerly Gaga) shunned technology and pledged their souls to free living and musical instruments, there was still the issue of power. Not political power – electricity.
Their instruments, carefully crafted in the form of their ancient counterparts as recorded in the secret histories, still needed power to perform to their full potential. For power, they needed electricity. For electricity, they needed Globalsoft. For Globalsoft, they needed the Killer Queen.
Globalsoft HQ had been unnaturally quiet since the Concert. No one was sure if the Chief Executive Officer was even still alive. A strictly business email had been sent to everybody in the world as a response to the hubbub that had arisen when every Gaga kid on the planet had swapped neon for denim;
Dear everybody in the world, it has come to the attention of Globalsoft that certain factions of the rebel stronghold known as the 'Heartbreak Hotel' have declared independence from the virtual world.
The Bohemians had expected a reaction of some kind, but the remainder of the email defied all reason;
Globalsoft accepts this independence and advises these rebels that they operate at their own risk. Globalsoft aims to unite the virtual and physical world. As it stands, the following selection of services are currently supplied by Globalsoft; electric lighting, heating, air purification, water purification, communications, news feeds, transport links, networking sites, nuclear waste disposal and polar icecap stabilisation. These services will continue to be supplied, provided the 'Heartbreak Hotel' agrees to Globalsoft terms and conditions.
The Heartbreak Hotel. Once the name of the disused ruin of Tottenham Court Road Underground Station, was now the term given to the band of Bohemians who associated directly with the one known as the 'Dreamer.' They had been at the Seven Seas of Rhye since the Wembley Concert, rebuilding their community and embracing their new found freedom. Workshops had been set up to manufacture the new instruments, but most of their time had been spent pondering the meaning of the Globalsoft email. On a warm late summer evening, four members of the Heartbreak Hotel drank whisky in the dusty courtyard of their original bar discussing just that.
"I mean, it's not like these terms and conditions are the small print at the bottom of the screen," the young rebel chick named Scaramouche grumbled, draining the last drops of her drink, "it's been two months Gazza, and I for one am sick of you waking up in the middle of the night screamin about that bloody email."
Gazza – rather, Galileo Figaro, AKA the 'Dreamer' – chose not to respond. It was partly due to alcohol, and partly due to the fact that he hadn't slept a night through for two months. Instead, a tall man, in the tattered remains of a grey suit that had been attacked by several pairs of scissors, spoke.
"Although I can't relate to Scaramouche's night time trauma, she isn't the only one who has noticed. Perhaps it's time to do something about it."
"Khashoggi's right," the other girl said. She spoke with confidence, but the spirit that was once there had flown and it hadn't made it back as wholly as the others. Her words sounded strained, perhaps because while she worked very hard to accept the newest member of their clan, she couldn't shake the fact that the man before her had been almost directly responsible for the death of her lover. "Maybe it's time to go to Globalsoft."
"You mean to Killer Queen?" Galileo asked, frowning.
"No, that's not what I meant," Khashoggi interrupted, but his words fell on deaf ears.
"We don't even know if she's still there," Meatloaf reasoned, "No one's seen her for two months. We need to find out what's going on! Otherwise we're just living in fear like we used to!"
"Well what are we gonna do? Just march in there and get ourselves arrested?" Scaramouche argued. She liked to argue. Generally, even if she had started the conversation she would find something to pick at.
"Well, what about you Khashoggi?" Galileo said to the former policeman, "Can't you get your hands on these terms and conditions the same way you got the pictures from the Globalsoft archives?"
Khashoggi laced his fingers thoughtfully, "Ah, it isn't simply a matter of accessing files. These are new. I could access the archives because I had the codes. It isn't the same as finding pictures of guitars, Galileo; whatever Globalsoft are planning the terms of which are out of our grasp," he was quiet for a moment. "My guess is that it is their intention to flush us out."
"Flush us out to where though?" Scaramouche interrupted again, "The whole planet is full of Bohemians. We emailed the power of rock to every Gaga kid in the world. You know Aerosmith – the bloke that's been making the base drums for the kids – he used to be a member of the Globalsoft board of directors. He said more than three quarters of the board walked out. It's just A.I.'s and machines left, everyone else broke free."
"I wonder why it didn't affect the Killer Queen though," Meat thought aloud. Khashoggi let out a short burst of bitter laughter, and Galileo had to smile also at the thought of Globalsoft's Chief Exec 'rocking out' with the rest of the world.
"Khashoggi, you know more about Globalsoft than anyone else on the planet. Everyone's saying they've been beaten, that Killer Queen's given up. What do you think?" Galileo asked him. The girls had been sceptical about welcoming Killer Queen's number one confident into their stronghold, but Galileo had accepted him on the advice of Pop, the old librarian, who had proven to be somewhat of a father figure – if a little eccentric.
"I think…" Khashoggi began slowly, "I think that Globalsoft are planning something. But I also think that perhaps I am not the person to comment. I make no bones about the fact that I can't predict her actions. Not any more, anyway."
There was a few moments silence as the group considered his words. They had had countless conversations like this. They 'umm-ed and ah-ed' about every eventuality, but never really reached a conclusion. Around about this point – when the conversation turned to his former employer – Khashoggi made his excuses and left. Today was no different.
"Well," he said, getting to his feet, "time for me to make a move."
The girls grumbled as they usually did, but didn't protest. Galileo scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not sure what to say. There had been something bugging him recently but he didn't want to mention it around the other man. He settled for a very rock n roll handshake and left it at that. As soon as Khashoggi had left, Scaramouche sat bolt upright, startling Meat from her seat.
"Right, now, correct me if I'm wrong but is there or is there not something that he's not telling us?" she raised an eyebrow at the other two. Meat said nothing, but Galileo looked relieved that Scaramouche had spoken before he had.
"You're right Scaramouche,"
"Ooh, that makes a change," she interjected.
Galileo continued. "He knows something, but he's not letting on."
"Hmm, well maybe it's got something to do with the old saying; 'once a pig, always a pig,'" Scaramouche muttered,
"I don't think so," Galileo mused, "I mean, he got us the plans for the instruments. He found the power outlet for the Heartbreak Hotel. He disabled the security cameras here at the Seven Seas. He's done so much to help us, he's definitely not still working with them,"
At this point, Meat poured herself another generous glass of whiskey and laughed out loud at both of them. Knowing the unpredictable nature of his girlfriend, Galileo laid a warning hand on Scaramouche's arm to stop her reacting badly, as he knew she would. Instead, he made sure to ask politely what their friend was laughing at.
"Isn't it obvious?" Meat asked, "Honestly, you two. You awakened the world to rock. You made everyone in the world – including Khashoggi – do what we do, for the reasons that we do it."
"Yeah…" Scaramouche rolled her eyes,
"Alright, let me ask you this. Why do we do the things we do?"
"What?" Galileo asked, a spark of memory flickering in his mind,
"Who do we do it for?" Meat prompted, smiling bitterly into her whiskey. Suddenly, Galileo's memory clicked, and he looked Scaramouche straight in the eyes as he spoke.
"Well… we do it for our babies," he relented. Scaramouche smiled at him, and would have been embarrassed if she wasn't so used to his open displays of affection.
"Exactly," Meat mumbled. Suddenly, Scaramouche's eyes shot wide open and she stared at the other woman in horror.
"Ugh! You're not seriously implying that the Killer Queen is Khashoggi's… I can't even bring myself to say it."
"Well think about it," Meat protested, "before he came here, she was the only woman in his life. He's told me so himself, after a lot of alcohol. I'm not saying that they were ever like the two of you, or like me and Brit," she swallowed bravely and continued, letting the mention of Brit pass them by. "But maybe, just maybe, she was the closest thing he had. Now that he lives for rock, like we do, he's… well…"
"Missing her?" Galileo sniggered, though he tried his best to hide it.
"That has to be the most disturbing mental image I've ever had," Scaramouche said, fighting the urge to retch, "Khashoggi and Killer Queen, goin at it on the Globalsoft boardroom table."
Meat sighed, standing up, "Laugh if you want to, but I'm taking this seriously. We're stuck without any way of moving forward. We can't fight Globalsoft because they've not technically done anything wrong lately. We can't survive without the things they're providing."
"We are taking this seriously. So what do you suggest? That Khashoggi charms Killer Queen into submission? Somehow I think the chances of that are pretty slim."
Meat shrugged. "Maybe we don't do anything. Maybe we just sit back and live in limbo for another two months, wondering what's gonna happen next. I'm going too. It's getting late."
"Aw Meatloaf! C'mon, don't be like that,"
"Let her go Gaz," Scaramouche said quietly, "She's had too much of that whiskey to stay out here much longer. She'll be blubbering about Britney Spears if she has any more."
Galileo nodded, taking his girlfriend's hand and turning away from Meat's fast retreating figure.
"Do you think she's got a point though?" he asked, having learned the hard way that trusting Scaramouche's judgement was usually the way to go.
"I hope not," she said, looking disgusted again, "But even if she's right and there was something between them… well, she blew his mind and chucked him out of Globalsoft didn't she? Whatever existed can't be there anymore."
"I don't know, we all do stupid things when we're mad," Galileo pointed out,
"Well, you do," she agreed.
"Hey!" he protested,
Scaramouche grinned wildly, pushing all disturbing thoughts of Khashoggi and his former boss to the back of her mind. She nudged Galileo in the chest with her finger,
"What yer gonna do about it, Gazza?" she teased, scrabbling to her feet but not before he had wrapped his arms around her waist and pinned her arms down.
"Let me get you home, and I'll show you what I'm gonna do," he whispered seductively in her ear. Scaramouche shrieked with laughter and ducked out of his grasp, letting him chase her all the way back to their little flat by the lake. All thoughts of Globalsoft were replaced by thoughts of each other.
Meanwhile, in the central mainframe of Globalsoft HQ, the Chief Executive Officer was pacing. She did a lot of pacing these days; and was getting quite good at it. A terrified drone looked on,
"Erm," it began again, in it's tinny little voice, "The Globalsoft board have been wondering, Madame, how long it will be before we seize the rebels-"
"Seize the rebels?" Killer Queen repeated, a dangerously cold smile on her face. "Every living breathing person on the whole damn planet is a rebel now, if you didn't know! The Globalsoft board can make better use of their time finding ways to exploit this new culture to our advantage,"
"With all due respect Madame-"
"With all due respect, you pathetic excuse for a creature, what exactly have the board been discussing? I'm afraid I can't listen in, seeing as you all communicate in zeros and ones," The drone was silent, and her anger raged on. "The Bohemian Rhapsody will be used for the benefit of Globalsoft or not at all!" she was fuming now, and finally lost control, flinging a mobile communications device at the drone's head, sending it fleeing from the room. With a last burst of energy she yelled after it, "And if you call me Madame one more time I'm going to rip your little head off and rewire a remote control with your insides!"
The door slid firmly closed, leaving her alone in the echoing chasm of a hall that used to be filled with Executives on a day to day basis. She didn't generally mind – she was used to being alone. However, since the apparent downfall of the virtual world and the Bohemian uprising, she had been finding it more and more difficult to stand on her own two feet with no one else to rely on but a couple of flaky drones and the few remaining real life board members who had escaped the Rhapsody.
Though she had taken it for granted for so many years, the Killer Queen found herself longing for the hand to hold onto, the person to share evil schemes. In a moment of unprecedented weakness, she relaxed her posture and slumped into a boardroom chair with her head in her perfectly manicured hands. A drone can shape and colour every finger nail, can tame every cuticle, and polish every jewel encrusted ring on slender fingers, but at the end of the day that drone will always be a machine, and no machine is ever going to lace it's fingers with yours and stand by your side as you face a world that fears and loathes you every day.