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In her own quarters for a change, because Josh was conducting a big business meeting with holo presences and she had no desire to be there, next morning Micki reviewed the dance dream she’d had over a cup of coffee from a stash Josh had given her, and decided the choreography included all the necessary elements to be a winning entry. Pulling it off was going to require hard work and quite a bit of luck though.
Micki took in a deep breath and let the air out slowly. Gritting her teeth she pushed the AI interface button. “Maeve?”
“Yes, Dancer Allwell?”
“Have you really been watching the ISD show?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been a fan for years but I think you and Passenger Benfield have brought a much needed new creative energy to the program. I’d vote if AIs were allowed to participate.”
Encouraged, Micki said, “Thank you, I appreciate the feedback. I have two things I need to ask you.” She bit her lip and considered if she was brave enough to make these asks. What if the Ship took offense? How could she continue to live on a ship whose AI was mad at her? But she’d be leaving when Josh left. “You know the final dance will be antigrav, right?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Some of the other celebrities don’t appear to be in shape to handle antigrav but your partner certainly demonstrates a high level of fitness.”
“I want to base my final dance on you, on the ship. Would you mind? I can show you the demo of what I have in mind but?—”
“I’d be honored.” Maeve’s response was immediate and given in a warm tone, as if the AI was flattered. That wasn’t possible, was it?
“I thought Josh’s role would be like Captain Fleming—you know, the man and his ship out in the galaxy but of course it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone but us. I mean, he won’t be wearing a uniform or anything. Do you think Captain Fleming would mind?”
“I can’t speak for him unequivocally but I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem with it, done tastefully.”
“The problem is, since we’re dancing this for ISD, there will be um sensual movements and maybe a hint of romance.” Micki’s cheeks flamed. “I plan to emphasize the adventure and the desire to break boundaries and explore but the audience is probably going to think we’re depicting a love story. But captains love their ships, right? I mean not romantically obviously but?—”
Maeve laughed.
Micki was stunned. The ship’s AI laughed at her.
“You’re discussing an artistic endeavor,” Maeve said. “Conceptual, symbolic yet abstract. How could either the captain or I take offense?”
“Should I ask him?” Micki quaked. As a member of the Comettes, not the crew, she had no reason to interact with Captain Fleming ordinarily and the idea was terrifying.
“I’ll broach the matter,” Maeve said, amusement still in her voice. “If he has concerns, I’ll let you know and then possibly you’d need to meet with him. He has many more important matters on his mind than a two minute performance on a dance program.”
“Of course. I know. I mean, I realize he’s busy. If you could ask him, I’d be grateful.” Now for the even more difficult request. “I want to use a Ryder McRhodes song but I don’t know how to get in touch with him. He is on board, right? He’s our Artist in Residence.”
“He has a professional e mail,” Maeve said. “It must be quite standard to request permission to use a song.”
“I’ve done it before, with other artists,” Micki agreed. “But I need to actually talk to Ryder. For one thing, I can’t afford to pay royalties. His works must go for a huge amount of credits. I thought for a dance honoring this ship, it would be ideal to have his music. His latest works especially capture the emotions I’m striving for, more than his rock and roll backlist.”
There was silence.
“I can send him a request via the e mail of course,” Micki said when the quiet became too much for her. “I was afraid he wouldn’t see it—he must get flooded with fan mail and spam and all kinds of requests. Or he’d ignore it but if I presented my case in person he might agree. I’m sorry if talking to you about it is a breach of some kind?—”
“Mr. McRhodes will see you in his suite on Level C in ten minutes,” Maeve said matter of factly.
Micki blinked and staggered to the nearest chair. “Just like that?”
“He and I have a good relationship.” Maeve sounded coy. “You’d better hurry.”
“Thank you!” As the link clicked, which was Maeve’s signal she’d left the conversation, Micki rushed to change into a demure dress and flats and rushed out the door. The crew gravlift wasn’t crowded at this hour and she went to Level C at a much faster climb rate than was normally encouraged. Once in the corridor, she was able to bypass the ISD complex on Level C for the most part, which was good because she didn’t want any questions about what she was doing.
Ryder and his wife, who was a member of the ship’s engineering crew, occupied a large suite Maeve had constructed especially for them on Level C. The portal was plain and unobtrusive, with no sign as to who or what lay behind it. No wandering passenger would ever guess a galaxy superstar like Ryder McRhodes lived here and the crew knew better than to bother him unless in the line of duty.
Micki hesitated, her finger resting on the portal button used to request entry but then pushed it hard. “Micki Allwell to see Mr. Rhodes.”
The portal light blinked green and the panel slid aside. She stepped across the threshold and stared in astonishment at the luxury. The living room was as well appointed as any suite up on Level A where their richest passengers were lodged and she could see there were more rooms beyond this one. Maeve must like Ryder and his wife a lot.
The superstar himself came out of the kitchenette barefoot, wearing black jeans and a distressed tee shirt, and carrying two drinks. He greeted her with an airy salute, raising one glass high. “This one’s for you. Come sit and tell me what’s going on. Maeve was a little mysterious.”
