"Rock 'n roll, dude! How's it doing?"
     "Fair. Need something, Farley?"
     "Came by to see if you got my box working. Jam tonight. Gonna blow it out into orbit."
     "I'm sure the neighbors will be pleased."
     "They've been warned. Off on vacation. Man, I can feel the hot licks coming."
     "I've got about another hour of work left to do. Try me about four."
     "No problem, man."
     Bomber left the shop, and Margarette came in the door from the back room. "I thought that you had finished his amp."
     "I'm going to add the modification."
     "Free of charge, no doubt."
     "Yeah, a free ride. Don't worry. If it works, I'll charge for all the business that it brings me. And I'll charge like the tax man."

     At the jam session that evening, things were slow to start. Everyone was sitting, and jawing, and laughing, being lazy, and catching up on their further misadventures. Murray was going on and on about the traffic cop that had stopped him earlier in the day. It had already happened in three different ways, and no one noticed to point that out to him. He was about to begin a fourth, when Bomber came in with his ax across his shoulder and his head box in the other hand.
     "Waxer, go get my cabinets."
     Bomber started unpacking cords and tuner and extra strings as he always did. Waxer got the speakers set up for him. He placed the amp atop them and made the standard connections of the six toe boxes. He inspected the newly repaired amp before he opened his guitar- case. He pulled out his bright red Star Pulse and slipped in the cord to the tuner. He placed his strings to exact tune and plugged in.
     "You guys ready?"
     Bomber hit the strings running, pumping energy into the room with an insistent beat. His fingers took off on some deadly riffs, and the volume levitated the others off the couches and to their instruments. They automatically joined in behind him, and they really started cooking. They played the hottest music of their life, hitting licks they didn't know existed. There was silence when the song ended.
     "Wow, like, we never played like that before. What happened?"
     "I don't know."
     "Bomber?"
     "Don't look at me like that. I don't know nothing."
     "You get a new foot box?"
     "Naw. I got my amp fixed, but there's nothing new."
     Waxer got up from the drums, set behind the amps, and asked, "What's this?" He pointed to the back of Bomber's amp. That drew a crowd.
     "Give me some room!" growled Bomber, and he made shoulder room. He looked back into the amp, and there was a bright red box he'd never seen before. "Beat's me. Something Lectric Lewey put in there, I guess."
     Bomber hit a chord, and the same clarity of mind returned.
     He laughed. "I don't know what the foreign it is, but I like it."
     He launched into another blazing song. The sensation deepened and throbbed through their minds, and they knew to the exact micro second when to hit what, like a well oiled machine. None of the musicians were known for their intelligence, but they could have fooled anyone at this point. Their minds were wide open, and things began to change. The walls vanished, and they floated among clouds, the music streaking them in and out of the foggy billows. The music soared, and they traveled with it, out past the atmosphere to distant stars.

     "Man, what did you do to my amp? Wild!"
     "You like it?"
     "Like gunsights. Blew me away, like totally out the exhaust."
     "That's nice."
     "You got more of those?"
     "For sale. I gave you one to see how they'd do."
     "Like lightning bolts, man. What does it do?"
     "It's a stimulator. Works on your brain with waves that stimulate a specific section of your brain. Makes the section work at full capacity."
     "Man, like we went to the stars."
     "Yes, and you returned at the end of the song. There's a tendency for people to get lost in music, to become separated in the experience. I just boost the ability to get really lost. You just take off. All works in the same part of the mind."
     "How much are you charging?"
     "Ninety five bucks, plus installation. Run a hundred and sixty, total."
     "Steep."
     "A bargain. Think of the price of an airplane ticket, and this is unlimited travel."
     "Still steep."
     "Want me to pull yours out? Easy to do."
     "No, man. I want to keep that. You put it in there, and I paid for it. No, you don't."
     "Still think it's steep?"
     "Well, maybe not."
     "I thought you'd change your tune. And the box was a gift, not something you bought from me."
     "Well, hey, I'll tell people."
     "Thanks."
     Bomber left the store. Margarette emerged again after his departure. "You made an advertiser out of him. What are we going to do being rich?"
     "You're missing the whole point. We're finally getting the chance to explore the stars."
     "Still, it won't hurt."
     "You better start looking for people to work. Call up the want ads."
     "Think you'll become famous?"
     "I hope not. I hope that people will be too busy out among the stars to be thinking about me. Once people start projecting, people will start looking for the things that exist off Earth. What fame we get off of this will be fleeting. What is important is that the searching takes us to new worlds that may someday be colonized. Left to just Earth, we will die out. And maybe someday someone will come along behind us and discover how to take your body along with your mind to these far off places. Then we will see survival of mankind assured."
     "Compared to that, I guess fame and fortune mean little."
     "Not that little."
     An hour later, the first paying customer arrived.