Oliver, you must remove yourself from bed. Priscilla is missing."
I opened one eye, groaned, and rolled over. My pounding head felt as if it was caught in a press. My lips felt burned and cracked. I'm still drunk. Christ, how did I even get home?
The floating, humming form of Roger moved closer to my head. "Oliver, are you still inebriated? You must get up. Priscilla is missing."
"Who the hell is Priscilla?"
Zap.
"Ow, fuck!" I cried, sitting up in bed, rubbing my arm.
Zap.
"Roger, stop. Jesus."
Roger's correction stinger crackled with electricity. It retracted back into the robot's abdomen with a metallic shing.
"Rule number four," the floating robot said. "No swearing."
"I know the rule, Roger. Why are you in my room? Even if I was still going to school, it's Saturday." I blinked a few times, still disoriented, trying to remember what Roger had said. I had dirt and grass on my arms. I pulled the blanket back to reveal sheets covered with mud, like I'd been dragged home and then unceremoniously dumped into bed. "It is Saturday, right?"
"It is Saturday indeed, Oliver. To answer your improperly formatted query, Priscilla is one of the honeybee scouts. She must be retrieved. That is why I am here. No other honeybee assets are available to do the job, as all are engaged in the harvest or undergoing scheduled maintenance. This means you must do the retrieval. I will accompany you."
One of the honeybee drones? My arm throbbed, and my mind still swirled with fog. It'd been a while since Roger had corrected me. I'd forgotten how much it hurt.
"I can't believe you stung me."
"I was under the impression you didn't swear anymore, Oliver."
"I don't when you're around. I was half asleep. I'm still half asleep." And half drunk.
I yawned, and I regretted it. It felt as if something fluffy had curled up and died in my mouth. I desperately tried to remember what had happened the night before. The party. Rosita's ranch. Rosita and I had gotten into a fight. It was over something stupid. She'd said it was over. The whole village was there. A wave of vodka-flavored nausea swept over me. Everything hurt. I was going to puke.
"Which one is Priscilla?"
"Priscilla is unit number 418. Long-range scout number three. We will proceed to her last location on the map and attempt to recover her."
I pulled myself up, smearing more dirt across the sheets. A small plastic Tyrannosaurus rex toy fell off my headboard. I spent a moment putting the Earth artifact back into its rightful place with the other figures. I took a moment to blow dust off the line of colorful dinosaurs. I then spent a good ten seconds looking for my boots before realizing they were still firmly attached to my feet. They were caked in mud.
My brain was finally starting to catch up. "Wait . . . 'Priscilla'? Are you dating her or something? Since when do the scouts have names?"
"They have always had names, Oliver. Your grandfather had names for all of us, but he turned off the designations when we were repurposed for agriculture. Your sister reactivated the labels yesterday during her lesson at the control center. Are you not going to change your clothes? Rule number nine. Always maintain good hygiene. It appears your clothing is quite dirty."
"We need to go back to the numbers. It's going to be too difficult to remember four hundred thirty different names."
"Lulu made the change in the control center. If you wish to change it back, you will have to implement the change there. I must warn you, your sister was quite taken with the idea of having individual human names for each of the honeybees. She inquired about painting the names on each unit. You have clean clothes in your closet."
"If we're going out there, I'm just going to get dirty again. I'll change and shower after we get back. Speaking of my sister, where is she? Rule number eight. Isn't this her job?"
"That is correct, but Lulu did not come home last evening. It appears she is located seven point one two kilometers northeast of here. When she awakens, as she is undoubtedly in a similar state as yourself, she is scheduled to travel to Burnt Ends for her Saturday supply run. She will not be back until it is dark."
"Wait, really? She's still at Rosita's ranch? How did I get home last night?"
What was the last thing I remembered? Sam and the twins had run back to the Serrano ranch for more booze. My sister and Ariceli had been out in Rosita's greenhouse along with several others blasting music. I'd been with Rosita in the main house, and I'd complained that everyone wouldn't stop talking about Earth politics. She'd snapped at me, and, and . . .
"Melissa and Trixie 2 brought you home," Roger said. "You were retrieved at Lulu's request. You were unconscious."
"Wait, who brought me home? Were they drones?"
"Melissa and Trixie 2 are scouts. This is why you were dragged and not carried."
"Trixie 2," I muttered. I rolled my shoulders. They had dragged me home? Christ, how drunk had I been? My arms were a little sore, weren't they? The thought of being strung between two of the wobbly dog-sized robots was terrifying. They weren't meant to carry something as heavy as me, especially not the smaller-sized scout robots. They wouldn't have been able to fly, not with my weight. I was lucky I hadn't been brained against a rock. "How far out is the unit? What's her name again? Melissa?"
"Melissa is recharging in the barn. Priscilla is the missing one."
I sighed. This naming thing was never going to work. I reached for my com bracelet to send a text message to Lulu, and I grabbed my bare wrist. My bracelet wasn't there. I started to curse out loud, but I caught myself.
"Okay. Where's the unit? And where's my bracelet?"
"Priscilla lost contact with the control center two hours and ten minutes ago. She is seven kilometers southwest of here. Your bracelet is being repaired. You vomited directly on it last evening, which is a direct violation of-"
"Yes, I know. Rule number two. Always keep your bracelet in good working order. Southwest. So, she's in the hills?"
"That is correct." Roger rotated in midair to reveal the small, dingy screen on the bottom of his abdomen. The cracked display barely worked, and I had to squint to see what he was showing me. It was a relief map of the low, hilly swamps with a blinking dot.
I groaned. This was going to take hours. "If it's in the hills, I won't be able to bring the quad."
"That is also correct. The quad is with your sister anyway. I have already packed your repair kit. If you aren't going to change your clothes, I will wait for you to vomit, and then we will leave."
"Let's go now," I said, pulling myself to my feet. The world wobbled, and my stomach lurched. What was it Rosita had said last night? You're a worthless, shiftless dirt jockey who will die alone? "I'll vomit on the way."
The Rhythm Mafia Tapes. Scene one.
Description prepared by Lana Lipovsky for the Joint Republic Hearing Committee on the New Sonora Incident.
This is a written description of the scenes as shown via multiple streams during the final night of the Operation Bounce House disaster. The recordings are part of an unfinished documentary broadcast by one Rosita Zapatero, twenty-six, a colonist farmer on the planet New Sonora. Records indicate Zapatero is a descendant of colonists from Hibisco and Forlorn, two of the fifteen generation ships that originally settled New Sonora. Most of the colonists in the subsequent videos are descendants of one of those two ships, unless otherwise noted. (See exhibit 5 at the end of the full report titled "The 15 Colony Ships.") The documentary video itself is available as exhibit 13 under the header "Night Five of Five."
We are in a barn. A thin, dark-haired man is playing an upright bass. Behind the man are several instruments, including a drum set, a few amplifiers, and a PA system. A banner on the wall behind the drum set reads, The Rhythm Mafia.
There is no date on this particular clip, but evidence suggests this was filmed approximately six months before the incident.
The man is Sam Amboya, twenty-five, a colonist farmer. He shakes his head to the rhythm while he plays the large instrument, which is unfinished and appears to be made of plywood. Watching from a chair with her arms crossed is a red-haired woman. She is Harriet Riggs, a twenty-four-year-old colonist. Records indicate her as a direct descendant of the ship Quinceañera.
Rosita (off camera): Okay. Introduce yourselves.
Sam: My name is Sam, and this is my soon-to-be-wife, Harriet. I slipped one past the goalie, if you know what I'm saying.
Harriet: Sam. Don't say it like that.
Sam: How else would I say it?
Harriet: I don't know. We're going to have a baby. They're going to see this one day. They don't need to hear their father say he "slipped one past the goalie." I took a pill to dissolve the pregnancy blocker. There is no goalie.
Sam leans his bass up against the wall. He moves his face to the camera and grins.
Sam: Hey, kid. If you're seeing this, I want you to know something. I banged your mom.
Harriet shouts as she jumps up from her chair, picks up a drumstick, and hurls it at a laughing Sam. The camera cuts before the drumstick makes contact.
(A time cut.)
Sam is sitting on the ground with a small mark on his forehead. Harriet sits next to him with her head on his shoulder.
Sam: What're we supposed to be talking about again?
A new voice speaks off-screen, and the camera swivels, revealing a wide shot of the barn. The barn is filled with multiple charging pods for the honeybee drone robots, which at this point are still outfitted strictly for agriculture. (See exhibit 2 entitled "The Honeybee Drones.") This is a tall, twenty-five-year-old male colonist with dark hair. He is Oliver Lewis. (See exhibit .) He has a large wrench in his hand, and it appears he is in the engine compartment of a combine harvester.
Oliver: You're supposed to be talking about our band.
Rosita: Ollie, don't talk! The camera will track you.
Oliver grins and holds up his hands, which are black with oil.
Oliver: It's not my fault if the camera loves me.
Sam: I gotta ask. How many dirty movies have you two made with this camera anyway? And can Harriet and I borrow it?
Rosita (to Oliver, laughing): Just let us do this, okay? You said we could use your barn. This lighting is only going to last a little longer.
Oliver: I gotta go check on my sister in the north fields anyway. I'll see you tonight, beautiful.
Rosita: See you tonight.
Oliver, still grinning, drops the wrench, which clatters loudly; then he rubs his hands on his pants and goes outside.
Harriet (to Sam as the camera swings back to the couple): Why don't you ever call me "beautiful"?
Sam: Because you already know how I feel about you, babe.
He puts his arm over Harriet's shoulder. She makes a derisive snort, but she nuzzles closer to him.
Rosita (sighs): Tell us more about the band.
Sam visibly brightens.
Sam: We're called the Rhythm Mafia. It's Ollie on drums, our friends Tito and Axel on guitars, and me on bass. I'm basically the singer now after Ollie's sister, Lulu, quit, but I'm not very good. We're looking for a new one. We practice once a week if we can. But during harvest, it can get hard to find time to get together. And sometimes we get together and we don't actually practice. We just talk and drink.
Harriet: Sometimes?
Rosita: Why do you still do it? I asked Oliver, and he says he likes band practice. Axel says it's Tito's favorite thing in the world. I get that they like it, but none of them can explain why. What about you? You say you're not very good. You've never played a show. There're not too many people to play for even if you did set up a concert. You put that one song online, but I saw it has less than a hundred downloads.
Sam reaches over and kisses Harriet on the top of the head. She snuggles even closer to him. He leans into the camera.
Sam: Don't get me wrong. I love Harriet, and I love that I'm having a kid with her. We're doing what we're supposed to be doing, and I won't ever regret that. Our great-great-grandparents all died on a spaceship so we could have a place of our own. But is that it? If that's all we're doing, how does that separate us from all the other animals out there? Have you seen how sad the old people around here are? Have you ever looked into the eyes of Mrs. Xalos? Or Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales? I love them, but what do they have? Do you see how empty they are? It's like they're zombies.
The camera starts to zoom in tight on Sam's face.
Sam: No, we're not good. We're never going to be famous musicians. But it doesn't matter. When I'm with my best friends playing our stupid little hearts out, I'm not thinking about the farm or that biological imperative to have kids or anything other than the music. Yeah, I do want to play a show one day. I want to play a concert, even if it's just for Mr. Yanez's magic chickens. That's all we really have here. But at least it's something that separates us from the animals. It's joy, it's happiness, it's life beyond just procreation. And if we don't have something like that, then what's the point?
Copyright © 2026 by Matt Dinniman. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
