Circa Tempore: The Artificial Organic
Copyright© 2026 by E. B. Redfield
Chapter 21
Craig walked into Milton’s, and he immediately felt right at home. It was a dive bar, through and through. There were holographic advertisements of different alcohol and other intoxicant brands on the walls that wouldn’t look out of place in any dirty little bar in his own time. There were a smattering of people milling around a dart board, a few bejinkind bobbed along to a popular, bouncy song that he’d heard a few times this week, and off in one corner was a small stage where a human man was setting up an array of different lights and other equipment.
He sat at the bar and ordered a drink from the surly, tomato faced human bartender. He had arrived early so he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to sing, and to get an idea of what it even was. According to the neural band, Garvook was beijinkind improv night that had caught on with the rest of the galaxy. He glanced back at the stage, the platform looked to be made of glass or plastic, and underneath it was a grid network of thousands of tiny little bulbs. He glanced around the bar, not noticing any songbooks like karaoke in his time usually had, and he supposed like most things it would be something he’d access with the neural band.
The bartender dropped off his drink, and Craig asked, “Hey, so how does this whole ... uh, Garvook thing work?”
The bartender raised an eyebrow, “You never heard of Garvook? You just go up and do your bit. Sing a song, tell a joke, tell a story. Whatever. It ain’t complicated.”
Craig glanced over at the man setting up the stage, running dozens of what looked like fiber optic cables through divots in the floor. Yeah, nothing complicated happening here.
“You here for Garvook?”
He glanced over at the voice. A young woman with flashy immediattire had scooted her stool closer to him. She looked to be around his age, give or take, but he’d learned a long time ago to never ask anyone that. Her jet-black hair was cut in a bob and she was sipping on an electric blue drink that might have been psychohol. Behind her was a small group: a couple other humans, a reedy elm kaiseichan with gold leaves, and two passaro who seemed to be a couple.
“Yeah,” Craig replied, smiling, “Never seen it before, thought I’d check it out.”
“Oooh, first time?” she asked, “My friends and I go to the big show every Sunday back home. Are you waiting on anyone?”
He flinched. He’d messaged Kayla to invite her out, but her only response was a flat, cagey, “No.” He knew she was mad at him over his desire to stay in the future, and being her typical passive aggressive self about it. Would it kill her to at least tell them what the hell she was doing? Glyph had started fretting about her absence. It didn’t even sound like she was going to get back to the ITSTU tonight, not that she’d communicate even that much to them clearly. He’d left the flower by her bed. She wants to be cryptic, that’s on her.
“Nah, it’s just me tonight,” Craig answered.
“Well, you should join us! I’m Paige,” she smiled warmly and held out her hand.
“Craig,” he smiled lightly, taking her hand. She gripped it tightly and he felt himself go warm as she led him confidently over to her group of friends and introduced him.
“So, are you from here?” Paige asked him while they ordered drinks.
“Nah, just visiting,” he replied.
“Yeah, us too,” she replied, “We’re from Vancouver, here on business. We’re heading back tomorrow; heck we’ll probably do this again tomorrow night over there ... so long as we don’t overdo it tonight.”
“So, what even is it?” Craig asked, glancing back to the stage.
“You’ll see,” she replied, “Sometimes it’s a bit corny and the performers are just, um ... not great ... but that’s the beauty of it! You just get up there, give it your best, and don’t worry too much about it.” Craig grinned. If that didn’t describe karaoke, he didn’t know what would.
“Alright everyone!” the DJ called out, voice amplified by the speaker system in the stage, Paige and Craig turned to give him their attention, “Welcome back to another Garvook Saturday here at Milton’s! I see some familiar faces and some new ones, so let’s go over the rules. Rule one! Keep your thoughts clean tonight! No nudity or thoughts of violence, especially nothing xenophobic or prejudicial towards any cultures’ religious beliefs. In short, keep it civil! Second, keep every performance under five minutes! I will end anything that goes over. No exceptions! Finally ... have fun! Don’t think too hard about it ... literally! You don’t want to over-complicate it. Your performance will be best if it just comes from the heart. Now, I’ll open with a song.”
The DJ took a tablet and tapped it a few times. His neural band blipped as the stage flashed a bright white. He then began singing the same popular, peppy song with a bouncy beat; one that Craig had heard on arrival. The song wasn’t nearly as interesting as the stage. Holographic images projected from the floor, generating a music video of sorts. He began dancing awkwardly and was joined by scantily clad backup dancers; all of whom were seemingly confined to the stage platform and matching him in a synchronized, awkward step. Confetti and lasers bounced around in synchronicity with his voice and the music. When the song finished, the DJ was greeted with cheers and applause. Craig joined in, awestruck. It reminded him of a smaller-scale version of what he’d seen at the Neurasseum.
“That was wild!” Craig gaped as the elm kaiseichan from her group took the stage and began synching his neural band to the device, “So all of that was just programmed in there?”