《Galactic Superstar》


 The King

    The Orbital Hotel was abuzz with activity. Creation Week was the largest come-together of the art world in the sector, with artists of all kinds mingling with fans, benefactors and investors. As one of only two luxury hotels on the spaceport, The Orbital was hosting most of the wealthy who came to buy art or meet with their beneficiaries, as well as some of the successful artists. Its conference rooms were also hosting a few of the exhibitions.


    ?My secretary specifically asked for a suite!¡°, a handsome, tall man in a refined and only slightly extravagant suit told the receptionist.


    ?My apologies¡°, the receptionist answered in the professional tone of someone used to dealing with hard to please clients every day, ?I am sure the booking office informed you that all our suites for this week had been booked out months ago. This is the best room that we could offer at such short notice, Mr. King.¡°


    The man sighed. ?Oh well¡°, he said, ?what is one more sacrifice? I¡¯ll accept a bottle of your finest champagne in my room as your apology.¡°


    He picked up his keycard and left, not waiting for a response. The receptionist complied and had a bottle sent up to his room. Of course she would. At the exorbitant room rates, even for standard rooms, that The Orbital charged during Creation Week, a few extras were no question.


    King walked past the lobby towards the conference center, studying the signs advertising this year¡¯s exhibitions with quick sideway glances as he walked past on the thick carpet. The porter would bring his luggage to the room while he was browsing. The amenities of high-class hotels made life easy.


    There were three large conference rooms that had been converted into art galleries. King fit right in with the visitors. Dark brown, almost black, slightly unruly hair and designer stubble over an attractive face. Most of the visitors were either the obviously rich or the really very rich, so much that they could afford to look however they wanted. Last year¡¯s gossip had included the story of Leander Yallop, multi-billionaire owner of several media companies and a space cruise line as a hobby, enjoying one of the exhibitions in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and, as the gossip claims, nothing else.


    Unlike Yallop, King was taking the quick tour, barely looking at most of the paintings, sculptures and holograms. He paused here and there to take in this piece or that, and occasionally he would read one of the texts displayed holographically next to the artwork whenever someone paused in front of it.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.In fact, his eyes were upon the visitors as much as on the exhibition pieces.


    One floor higher, in the hotel¡¯s exclusive restaurant, the rich and the powerful were mingling, chatting, networking. Numerous big names in business and politics among tables of rare dark wood covered by perfect white tablecloth and flawlessly decorated.


    Minoru Ryun was there, chairman and majority owner of SpaceTrans and a dozen other large companies and widely considered to be the richest human in the galaxy.


    There was Kimbo Hearn, president of the United Nations of Earth and Venus, the most populous and powerful political unit of humanity. Even if the name was a bit of an overstatement as there were a number of independent countries on both Earth and Venus. And besides, Venus was still undergoing terraforming, now fifty years over the original projection. But it had been habitable for a century and now had almost a hundred million inhabitants, half of which had been born there.


    There was Amara Vance, speaker of the Junkstorm Federation, one of only four multi-planetary political units, a rare accomplishment even if it was still very young.


    The restaurant itself had been designed by the famous Beaumont Sheare, who before all his scandals had been the most sought-after interior designer in all of human space. It was a perfect mixture of intimate corners and wide open space properly conveying the luxurious environment. Every table was set in a hint of dome, with a glass ceiling right above the table itself. But the dome was only a ceiling feature so that no columns broke up the grand view of the hall. Only at the edges did the walls intrude into the room, creating half-niches for the tables there. And the final touch was the perfect sound design of the room, achieved by a combination of architecture and technical sound absorbers. Conversations around each table did not carry towards the other tables, making them both easier to listen to without distracting background noise and creating a more cozy atmosphere. If one closed the eyes, one would think to be in a private dinner room, not a large restaurant.


    And as a special for Creation Week, the three center tables had been removed to make space for a hologram installation by the Anagrargana Collective, a group of anonymous artists that had been making a name for itself in the past three years with extravagant and unusual pieces. This one was tame by their standards, showing a time-lapse of the local galaxy cluster with galaxies colliding in glowing lights over and over in a seemingly chaotic and yet ordered fashion. The brochure spoke about the constant flux between chaos and emergent order.


    It fit well into the scene, with its slow moving and constantly shifting display of subdued colors. It was stylish, but more of a background than a center piece. It pleased, but didn¡¯t draw the eye. Like all pieces by the AC, it had a number of hidden microphones built-in.

 Perfect Reception

    Later that day, a reception was held on the other side of the space station in a space converted into an art gallery for the week. Nothing betrayed what it had been before, and King had not been there before. A wide open space hosted numerous paintings and sculptures. Several rooms to the side contained video and musical installations. No holographic items were in sight, this gallery was dedicated to old-school creativity.


    The design was Carbon Age. Clear lines, geometric forms, subdued colors. It was sleek and functional and, most importantly, did not draw attention away from the art or the guests.


    Because as all events of this kind, the guests were the main attraction and the exhibited pieces of art more the occasion than the reason for the guests to come together. The room was slowly filling up with the powerful and the wealthy, with the occasional socialite, artist or journalist in between.


    There was, of course, chronos cuv¨¦e being served at the entrance. The bar at the back even had, for those nostalgic of pre-space times, champagne. King had just picked up his champagne flute and paid the exorbitant price from his expenses account. He had switched to an elegant, more classic suit and had paid the barber a quick visit to get freshened up. The freshly trimmed hair and beard complemented the suit and gave him a refined appearance. Good thing the station had robot barber shops, human barbers had become almost as expensive as the champagne.


    Sipping only rarely in order to make the costly liquid last as long as possible, King observed the guests, slowly walking around the room in a seemingly random fashion. His eyes were wandering, and amidst an event that most went to for the usual ?see and be seen¡°, he fit right in.


    After a while, he approached one of the paintings, oil on glass with a backdrop of real moss, all framed by a dark wooden frame that in places twisted as if it wanted to break out of the rectangular shape. A young couple in designer clothes and ostentative jewelry. She in a dark-blue dress, a dark-red ultra sheer inset running down the right side from the hips to the feet. The black mini-skirt and top underneath were visible just enough to identify them. His suit was a shiny black, crisp and unwrinkled, looking as if it had never been worn before.


    Everything about the two shouted nouveau riche. Their taste in art included. The piece in question was the second most expensive in the entire exhibition.


    ?That Havango Astralis¡­ absolutely breathtaking, isn''t it?¡°, King began after slowly walking up to the painting next to the couple. ?The way she captures the sheer energy of the stars, the layers upon layers, all grounded in a grand theme. It''s almost¡­ musical, wouldn''t you say?"


    ?Indeed¡°, the man replied almost instinctively, ?An amazing piece.¡°


    King nodded slowly, contemplating both the couple and the painting. ?And such a rare opportunity to see one in person. Makes it worth the journey almost by itself.¡°Stolen novel; please report.


    The women turned half towards him, a warm smile on her perfect lips: ?You are an art aficionado, I take it?¡°


    King gave her a faint smile of his own in return, careful to not create the impression of having an interest in her. ?Just someone keeping his mind open for other arts as well as my own.¡°


    The man of the couple raised an eyebrow, barely perceptible: ?You are an artist yourself? Sculptor?¡°


    ?No no¡°, King replied quickly, now fully turning towards the couple and making eye contact for the first time, ?I¡¯m a musician. Just relaxing a bit after a long tour of the galaxy core. I share only an interest in the stars and the universe with Havango.¡°


    ?Fascinating¡°, the woman said, ?what kind of music do you play?¡°


    ?Perform, please.¡°, King replied, ?A successful live performance is much more than just playing an instrument. I¡¯m the lead singer and song writer. My band plays a modern mixture of classical music, mostly metal and EBM, and modern aetherial wave. But our signature piece are the songs set to an antique analog instrument, a real violin that was made back in the industrial era on Earth.¡°


    ?That must be worth a fortune.¡°, the man said.


    King laughed. ?You can¡¯t imagine the insurance cost for it.¡°


    ?What¡¯s the name of the band?¡°, the young woman asked.


    ?Voidwave¡°, King said.


    The man suddenly stepped forward and extended a hand: ?How rude of us not to introduce ourselves. I¡¯m Winsjen Dasun, this is my beautiful wife Shaili.¡°


    ?Pleased to meet you, Francis King.¡°, King said while taking the hand and shaking it.


    ?There he is!¡°, someone from nearby said loudly while approaching them with quick steps, ?Francis! Glad you could make it.¡°


    King turned around, smiled broadly and then opened his arms. ?Gavin. Hey. Oh, let me introduce you to the Dasun¡¯s. We were just admiring this wonderful piece. Madam, Sir, my agent mister Gavin Kronfel.¡°


    Gavin had reached them now and shook hands with all three of them. ?I see you¡¯ve already met our resident superstar. I hope he hasn¡¯t yet bored you with tales of travel and solar systems? He always speaks more about that than the actual shows. Well, he has me for that I guess. Sold out every show on the last tour. He is a legend among five different alien races.¡°


    The couple was speechless for a second and there was a pause in the conversation just long enough for discomfort to begin. King broke the spell: ?Gavin exaggerates. You¡¯ve probably never heard of me. My star, if there is one, seems destined to shine more bright outside human space.¡°


    The couple¡¯s faces softened and their eyes opened slightly wider, indicating an increased interest. They exchanged a few glances and nods, and Winsjen turned back to King with a wide smile: ?We would love to hear more, but would not keep you from enjoying the exhibition. How about dinner today or tomorrow? Le Chateau d''Argent?¡°


    King smiled back: ?It would be a pleasure. Today at nine? Gavin already forces me to meet with producers tomorrow evening.¡°, he added with a friendly wink to his agent.


    They exchanged a few more pleasantries and goodbyes and then each continued their walks through the exhibition, soon talking to other guests.

 Network

    The studio was a shared space, rented out by the hour or day to whatever news network needed a space to record or live-stream. In the area behind the cameras, the rates for each were hanging on a wall. The difference between that area and the studio that was visible on camera was glaring. On the one side, a purely practical space with walls covered in sound-dampening foam panels but otherwise bare, industrial light fixtures hanging from the ceiling that was full of support beams, studio lights and cables. On the other side, a cozy stage with couches and a coffee table as well as some decoration and potted plants. Behind the sitting area, wood walls and the carpeted floor of the remaining room, looking out over a valley of lush green, a waterfall in the distance. Granted, the entire backdrop was a holographic video wall, only the sitting area and close-by decorations were real, but it was a perfect illusion.


    The same split was visible in the people. Behind the cameras, a dozen people were busy walking, working, dressed in practical and simple clothes. Camera and boom operators, producers, technicians, make-up artists waiting for breaks in the record so they can jump in for quick touch-ups. On the other side, on the stage, a relaxed interviewer in a more formal dress was sitting opposite King, who was also wearing a suit. Both were in make-up too strong and dark, but which under the bright studio lights made them look natural.


    Elana, the interviewer, was an upcoming host who had just secured her own show, though it did not, yet as she told herself, bore her name. She was eager for stories that the larger names might miss, always hoping for the one that would make her a celebrity.


    ?Ready for take three!¡°, the director bellowed in a low, rumbling voice that despite its moderate volume was clearly audible on the entire set. ?Rolling in 5¡­ 4¡­ 3¡­¡° he announced, holding up his fingers according to the count, then finishing the two and one only by hand signal without saying them out loud.


    As the count completed, Elana turned to King, a friendly smile on her face: ?As we just heard, your last tour was a tremendous success. Can you give us a few numbers?¡°If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ?Of course, Elana.¡°, King answered, his eyes ignoring the cameras just as he had been told to, ?From start to finish, we covered almost seven thousand light years. Twenty shows on sixteen planets belonging to five different alien races.¡°


    ?Impressive!¡°, Elena exclaimed, her surprise and delight as convincingly faked as the previous two takes. Turning to the camera, she announced the clip showing King amongst the posters and tickets from the tour. The room behind him was clearly a backstage dressing room and the clip was too short for casual viewers to notice it had been recreated on a sound stage.


    While the clip was playing, the continued: ?A live tour is already a challenge to every musician. But yours has even more complications. Tell us about them.¡°


    King leaned back in his chair and stared into the empty space of the studio, his eyes unfocused. ?Where to start.¡°, he mumbled, ?There is a lot to consider, Elena.¡°, he began, his voice slightly louder, ?And it depends on the planet you are playing on. Gravity, of course, is an issue. We humans are very adaptable creatures and right in the galactic average in size. But there is a difference between walking and light work and an on-stage performance.¡°


    The lower thirds displayed info text letting the viewers know that most humans can function between 0.3g and 1.5g of gravity.


    ?It¡¯s not just exhaustion in higher gravity, it¡¯s mostly that your routines and moves depend on timing and flow that change with gravity. So on most planets, we actually perform in a local gravity field.¡°


    The interview went on for another five minutes, then a fourth take was made. There, King¡¯s answer was about plasma windows and atmosphere, explaining the challenge of a live concert in front of an audience that breathes entirely different air. Obviously, for a music concert neither breathing masks nor a glass or transparent aluminum wall is an option. So they used a plasma field to contain a human breathable air pocket on stage.


    The editors and cutters would put the final version together from the best parts of every take. He and Gavin had a say at the end as well. It would air the next day.


    ?Great job¡°, Gavin slapped King on the shoulder as they left. ?Convincing, charming, yet humble. Might be your best interview yet.¡°


    King nodded, somewhat mentally exhausted. ?It better be.¡°, he said, ?Looking at the amount of money we hope to raise this time.¡°

 Network (cont.)

    ?Speaking of money,¡°, Gavin began, ?back to the hotel and change into something suave but formal. I have set up a meeting with Princess Hasnuk of Eullant. And their local ambassador Lady Toval as well as their regional grand ambassador Lady Durwert.¡°


    King raised an eyebrow and put on a sly smile. ?Three girls. You want to tempt me?¡°


    Gavin stopped in front of an elevator and pushed the call button before he turned to King: ?Long tradition in the kingdom of Eullant has it that all diplomats are female. Now here¡¯s the important bit: They are eager to invest into something artsy. Their father took over just a year ago after the death of their grandfather and his infamous reign of terror. Since the coronation, they have been busy trying to change their kingdom¡¯s reputation and get out of the diplomatic isolation it got them into. They have been spending lavishly on art and culture of all kinds. It should be an easy sell, and they have deep pockets.¡°


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    The elevator arrived and they got in, joining the couple that was already inside and was in an animated discussion of the exhibition they had just visited.


    ?Remember¡°, Gavin repeated, ?suave, stylish, respectful. This is a business meeting.¡°