Free smiled as the ‘Great Artist’ continued to work on the starscape of movement. She understood it now. A hand gesture spun little comets spinning into a nebula, his finger flicked to impart a spin upon them so they trailed corkscrews of light as they plummeted inward. His students gasped and a few applauded. “You’re sure?” She sub-vocalised over the shared comms with her tech.
“As sure as you are. About how it works and who is working.” The camera held steady as he filmed her moving in to the performance area. “Sure enough for Her.”
The smile deepened. Even the tech had grown to respect Madam though he had never met her, just based on how those who had, acted. She took slow gliding steps forward, moving quietly through the onlookers. Everyone was there for this dress rehearsal, as she expected.
He frowned a one comet had just a touch of muddiness to it’s halo. The others seemed to only lend contrast, making the muddiness stand out, to his eyes. As he made the next moves the muddiness increased, spread. He stepped out of the piece his expression threatening dire consequences to anyone who might interrupt him. All the onlookers stepped back, except for Free who stood there with a placid expression on her face.
“I understand, now, why you wanted Madam to dance for you, I understand.” She said in a calm voice stepping past him, into the work itself. The other students gasped at her and shrunk back trying to distance themselves from her audacity. “She would make the art without thought, without mud.”
He turned to glare at here and opened his mouth to say something but then stopped, realizing that she was standing still yet the waves of colour washed around her like a veil. “Madam said you were . . . not her best student.”
“True, I came late to the program but I learned much at her hand. In this case it is a matter of intent and purpose. To think, to worry, to hesitate THAT is what brings the discolouration. THAT is why your students cannot replicate the work is because they are thinking, trying to learn. Some dancers think, others just move with and in the moment of the music. We both know Madam is one of those dancers.”
“Are you?” Boro watched the colours still ripple around her though she moved not a muscle.
“I also am one whose training leans towards action being one with thought. There is no room for mistakes which is why I am here, to fix one. One that you have made.” She nodded to the tech who started to circle around as though moving for a better shot which, in a way, he was. “The mistake is one I have Tantas blessing to correct and so . . .” Her body flowed in what might be mistaken for a solo dance if one was not familiar with what a kata was. Her eyes were closed as she moved and the light and dark radiated off of her leaving trails across a galaxy. The room was silent as she moved, silent except for the sound of her sliding steps . . . and the sudden ‘oof’ as a man was kicked, hard, from behind and stumbled towards her. The light stayed clean and pure as she opened her eyes and with an economy of movement snapped his neck as he came into reach. His own aura in the piece was a mass of muddy darkness that swiftly faded as he became very very still. “He was using your tour to deal in slaver drugs, with slavers within the Gallente systems. He was the one who chose the path, he was the one who made the day to day decisions. He will do this no more.”
She stepped out of the piece and looked to Boro. “Best thing to do is contact the authorities of the last planets your tour touched upon. Open his files to them and you will soon have the proof you are going to demand of me.” She looked to the tech and they both quietly moved through the crowd to leave.
“WAIT!” The Artists voice was so commanding that they actually stopped and the crowd parted to allow him to catch up. Once he was even with them he held his hand out to the tech. “The recording, if you please.”
Free nodded and the tech touched a button and a green light blinked. “It is in your archives, now.”
“If you do finish the piece I will want to see it.” Boro smiled. “If.”
The tech smiled back and a distant look came into his eyes but that was masked as Free started again moving to the door. Behind them Boro called. “If you are right, give Madam my thanks.”
“And if we are wrong?”
“Then I assume Madam will handle that in her own way.”
I have been listening to the CSM interviews. Enjoying a lot of them but you can hear the people who are thinking too hard about what they think they are supposed to say as opposed to saying what they think. It muddies their water
I do plan on making more direct commentaries of who I like in the race and who will be getting my votes. I also hope to get another piece written for the Neocom in the near future.
Man I am just full of hope. (I can hear someone saying softly ‘well, he is full of something’)
fly it like you won it