"Shit."

This I mutter under my breath.  I'm feeling more than a little pessimistic as I look at the little golden chip.  It's all cleaned off now, and dry, but still hardly in fair shape.  The scratches and teeth marks are still there.  It looks like someone put it under an army tank and drove back and forth over it a couple of times.  Of all the things my kid had to swallow, he chose this.

Pardon the cloudy disposition.  I've been in a rather poor mood since this morning.  Freddie didn't come in the studio at all today, so it was just us three: Brian, Roger, and myself. 

Since Brian the Bossy Boots (oh, did I say that out loud? I'm terribly sorry) is basically top banana when Freddie is absent, we wound up doing mostly what he wanted to do.  Roger of course sounded his usual protests about the speed of the songs (Brian tends to slow songs down while Roger prefers to speed them up; it is a constant uphill battle between these two, even though they are so obviously thick as thieves), but Brian generally got his way.

We didn't really accomplish much, though.  Brian's very cerebral, thinks things through too much; he's painstakingly thorough with his songs.  So we actually did mostly technical things today, like expanding the stomps we recorded for "We Will Rock You," Brian using some heady physics formula to decide how many times we ought to overlay the man-made thunder and get a convincing arena sound to it. 

Whether we like to admit it or not, there are really two central minds in this band -Freddie and Brian- and several times it's happened that we wind up breaking down into two teams: Brian and Roger vs. Freddie and myself.  And these two minds couldn't be any more different, especially in the way they work.  Freddie's very much a perfectionist in his own right, but he moves quickly so as to not lose interest in the song- which happens very fast. Trust me.

But don't misunderstand.  Roger and I are not yes men.  None of us are.  Typically, meaning about seventy-five percent of the time, all four of our voices ring equally loud, and we all fight tooth and nail when it means something to us as individual people.

I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms out behind me. I've been dwelling on this project of mine all day. I wish Freddie had come in even for just the last hour.  According to Roger, he had some kind of errand to run today.  I don't know what kind of errand takes all day to run.  If you ask me, Freddie hadn't any "errands" to run at all; I think both he and Eve simply took a while getting over last night. 

My mind wanders back to last night's goings-on, from that almost-fistfight at the Heatwave to that tender, unguarded moment between plastered Freddie and his strung-out "stray kitten."  What a funny thing to call someone.  Stray kitten.  But somehow, it does suit her. 

There was something happening.  I had seen the looks in their eyes.  Only a blind fool could have overlooked it.  It seemed real to me, not that I'm any expert.  But there was a feeling, an aura, that vaguely reminded me of the way Freddie used to look at Mary whenever the rest of Queen came over to their old one-room flat, or when she would on occasion drop by the studio to visit us. 

Was that only a couple of years ago?  My God!  So much has changed! 

But Eve is so different from Mary, I realize.  True, they're both sweet, with gentle smiles and soft low voices.  But Eve isn't as calm, nor is she quite as accommodating.  Not that that's a bad thing, necessarily.  I don't suppose that "accommodating" is even really the proper word.  Eve just doesn't take any crap.

Of course.  That's the difference.  Eve bites back.  She calls his bluff.  I don't know the extent of Freddie's and Mary's relationship, all I know is what I happen to see in passing.  But I'm fairly sure Mary put up with some interesting stuff, and likely still does.  Eve isn't the kind to tolerate even a fraction of it.  I wonder if it's this challenge what draws Freddie to Eve, or acts as a buffer between them.

I shrug to myself and rub my eyes.  Veronica walks in and puts her arms around me from behind.  "Why don't you leave this for tonight, you just got home and it's late," she whispers.

"I just have to put this damn thing back together," I tell her.  "I'll see if it works tomorrow morning."

Veronica nods and massages my shoulders.  "How are you going to do that?"

"I don't have the first clue."

"Can I get you anything?"

"The hair of the dog that bit me."

She laughs.  "Beer or gin?"

"Whatever's colder."

"That'll be beer.  Just a moment."  She disappears into the kitchen.

I sigh and look back down at this mess Freddie called the Relic.  Poor Robert.  He didn't know any better.  The little nipper's scarcely two, how could he?

Veronica sets the bottle of beer down on the desk. With a hearty swig, I breathe deeply and begin rebuilding the monster.  I slide the chip into a little slot, fit the big square battery over it.   The screen is still cracked, but there's little I can do about that; I can't exactly go find a replacement.  The case pieces that split right in half I've soldered together, so as I snap things more and more into place, it winds up looking like a miniature Frankenstein's creature complete with stitches. 

Before too long the device is reassembled, and it sits there in front of me.  The cover is over the keypad- it's a sliding thing that pops down if you push a button on the side- a feature which startled me the first time I did it.  The word 'NOKIA' is the only part I find anywhere familiar.  Before now, I was pretty sure it was some kind of phone; the keypad gave that much away.  But it's so small, and there's no cord.  Yet it is Eve's "Passport," Freddie said.  How the hell is this supposed to work?

So many buttons, so little explanation about what they're for.  Just to do it, I press the green button just below the screen.  Nothing happens.  Near the antenna is another little circle- a red one with a line right down its middle.  I press it, and absently hold it down while I look up, finally noticing the heavenly aroma coming from the kitchen.

"What's for dinner, love?" I call.

"It's a surprise," she calls back.  "But here's a hint: it's neither cheese, nor toast."

"Very funny."

I get up from the desk and pick up my beer.  I'm just about to check on Robert when I see the screen has changed.  I peer closer.  Above the repeated word "NOKIA," the black, fuzzy image of a large hand reaching out to a smaller, child's hand, reminiscent of that Sistine Chapel painting by Michelangelo, is now spread across the green background.  I sit back down, heart racing.

"It's on," I say incredulously.  "It's working."

The hands vanish, and a blank screen appears with a bar rising two thirds of the way up on one side.  "No Signal" is the message across the screen top.  It's working.  Really working.  Robert didn't kill it!

"This thing is indestructible!"  I put my hands in the air and cry, "WOO-HOO!"

"What's all the hullabaloo?" Veronica calls.

"It's alive!" I cry, doing a very bad Young Frankenstein impression; I sound much more like Marty Feldman than I do Gene Wilder.  "IT'S ALIIIIIVE!"

Then the screen goes blank again.

"What!  No, come back, come- oh, dear," I say to myself.  I hold it in my hands and push a random button.  The screen graphics return; I suppose the thing was just saving power.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

Veronica walks over.  "I assume it's working?"

I nod enthusiastically.  "It's working, all right.  God knows what it's meant for, but I think it's doing it."

"Daddy!" Robert toddles over, seeing me step away from the desk.  He raises his little arms, and I hoist him up onto my hip and tousle his hair.

"Dinner's just about ready," Veronica says with a smile.

"Hear that?  We're about to eat, let's go help Mum," I tell the little boy in my arms.  He's eyeing the bottle of beer in my other hand.  He reaches out for it.

"No, sweetheart, too young," Veronica tells him. 

"I dunno, Ron, he's getting so big, he'll be driving in about a month." 

Veronica rolls her eyes.  "Not even two and you want to teach him to drink and drive."

"Boy's got to learn some time.  But this stuff may be too much.  Let's make his a light."

"Oh, you," she laughs.

With a contented little squeal Robert reaches over my shoulder.  "What, Robbie?  Now what do you see?"  I say.

"Candy!"  'Candy' is his word for anything he likes and wants to put in his mouth.  I follow his pointing finger.  He's looking down at the desk; he wants the Relic.

I shake my head.  "Oh, no, you don't.  We're not going through all that again!"  I laugh.  This may work out alright after all.  Thank God.

************************************************************************************************

It's about one a.m. in the morning, and everyone is asleep.  But my eyes won't close and stay.  Something is keeping me awake tonight and I can't put my finger on it.

I had tried calling Freddie's apartment to share the good news, but it was Mary who answered.  She was checking on the cats one last time before turning in; I'd just caught her before she walked out the door.

"I'd love to take a message and forward it," she had said, "except I don't know where he's gone."

"Didn't he say?"

"Not really.  Just that he's out of the country."  Mary wouldn't tell me any more, and I didn't push.  But I still wonder where he went.  He clearly took Eve along.  I chuckle to myself.  Maybe they confessed their love to each other this morning, and in a fit of unbridled and incoherent passion ran off and eloped to Vegas.

Ha.  Freddie.  Married.  Not likely.

Suddenly I hear something odd in the study where my desk is. I rise from my wife's side and tug on my dressing gown.

As I leave the bedroom, the sound becomes clear.  It's a tinny, high-pitched whine, little popcorn notes snapping through the air. 

Bip-bip-bip-bip-BEEP-bip-bip-bip-BEEP-bip-BEEP-BEEP...

The synthesizer melody is coming from the Relic.  I walk over, squinting wearily at the thing.  I reach down to pick it up, accidentally squeezing the side button in the process.  The Relic pops open, but the music still plays.  On the screen it tells me, "Incoming Call: T-Rod HQ."

I'm uncertain of what to do.  Really I just want the music to stop, it's that bothersome.  I push the big green button again, and it stops.  I smile, and decide to maybe turn off the device so that we all can get some sleep tonight.

But now there's a crackling, slow voice: "...Hello?  Hello?"

It is some kind of phone!  I lift it to my ear, then, frowning, ready to ask what all this is about.  "Hello?" I begin.

"J!  It's K!" announces the cautious, but still excited voice on the other end.  Behind him some twenty other voices shout in triumph.

Someone else says, a little further out of earshot, "We were starting to lose hope!  How are you holding up over there?"

"What?" I ask. 

"Julia?  Is that you?" the one called K says after a long pause.

Julia?  Who's Julia?  I ask myself.  "May I ask who's just rung me here?"

"...Oh," says the halting, American K.  "You're not Julia."

"No.  My name is John.  John Deacon.  Who are you?"

"John Deacon?"  The second voice gasps.  "The bass player?"

"Uh, yeah- that's me."

The poor K clearly doesn't know how to deal with this.  "My- uh... well, this is unexpected..."

The other voice takes over.  "How did you get a hold of this phone?"

"Wa- was I not supposed to?"

"Where's Julia?" He demands.

"Who's Julia?  This phone belongs to a girl named Eve."

"Eve?" K says.  "What's she look like?"

"I dunno, brown hair, hazel eyes, five-five-"

"Is she kind of quiet?  Shy?"

"No, not really.  What's her full name?"

K began, "Julia Samue-"

"Shut, Steve!" the second voice barks.  "We can't give away everything!"

Samuels?  Immediately I think back a couple of days.  Yes.  There in front of the library.  That's what she had accidentally said her last name was, before correcting herself and  telling me it was Dubroc. 

"I know Miss Samuels!" I declare, before hushing again and whispering, "Now who are you people?"

"None of your business, just te- u- --ere Julia i-!"

"You're cutting out!  Who is she?  What's she here for?"

"W-'ll call tomor-, fi-- Jul-, she ne- t- c- home!"

"What?"

"Fi- -er!"

"I'm not doing anything of the sort till you tell me what all this is about!"

"We-" And the line went dead.

I set down the Relic, but I'm still staring at it, waiting for it to go off again.  They said they'd call tomorrow.  I don't doubt them.  Very slowly, I sit back down behind my desk.  I'm not really sure what's just happened.

Julia Samuels.  So that's her real name.  A pretty name, but that's not important right now.  What does matter is that chorus of voices on the other end.  She needs to come home, I believe they tried to say.  Where was home, Eve- I mean, Julia?  She never would say honestly.  And what was this thing I held, this otherworldly Relic?  This Relic with Michelangelo hands as the first thing you see on screen?  I had laughed when Freddie told me what he thought Eve was.  I had laughed when she said she was psychic.  No, not psychic, but perhaps something else.  Her arrival here was no accident.  I knew that beyond a doubt now.  So what was she here for? 

Miss Julia, I say to myself, it seems you have a little explaining to do.  At this point, I'll believe anything.