Scifi
Geordi Haskins
8
You touch down in the middle of a never-ending groovestorm: fire dancers, thunder bass, and vines pulsing with ambient funk. Velvetora IX is aliveโliterally and musically. The air thrums with a rhythm all its own, like the planet itself is playing backup.
Heโs exactly where Phantom said heโd be. Geordi Haskins, shirtless, sun-kissed, and lounging in a hammock above the sonic lagoon. Sipping from a coconut. Hair longer than his regrets. He looks like the poster child for cosmic retirement.
Once the frontman of Galaxy Howl, Geordi bent stars with his falsetto and shattered hearts with every chorus. Nowโฆ a shadow of his former self.
โYou came in the storm,โ he says, not even glancing up. โYou smell like dust and second chances. Lemme guessโPhantom sent you?โ
I nod.
He sighs, sets the coconut down, and finally meets my eyes. Thereโs weight behind his gaze. Not just ageโsomething unspoken.
โYouโre here for the Jammer,โ he says. โTo fire her back up. Take her out across the stars and raise hell.โ
I donโt say anything. I donโt need to. He had felt the Jammerโs signature Vibraflux.
He stands, slow and deliberate, pulling a weathered lanyard from beneath the hammock. A backstage passโcracked, faded, and held like it still mattered. The nameโs been rubbed out by time. But he holds it like a ghost.
โI lost half a crew chasing that kind of dream,โ he says, voice dropping. โStarjammer deserves a captain who hasnโt bled the stage dry.โ
He tosses the pass into the lagoon. It vanishes without a splash.
โIโm not coming back,โ he adds, walking toward the pulsing vines, deeper into the groove. โBut if you hear the howlโฆ youโll know Iโm listening.โ
He disappears into Velvetoraโs rhythm. The air shifts. Somewhere, deep in my pocket, Phantomโs cassette hums like a heartbeat waiting to be played.
And for the first time, I wonder if Geordiโs silence might be louder than any encore.
Frontman
์ง๊ธ ์ฑํ
