Tomorrow- Love and Troubles

by G M Steenrod

  As soon as the trouble started, he should have bumped his rate higher. After all, he was charging Kumar for basic work. But, he liked the idea of Kumar owing him a favor. Fillmore had made sure Kumar knew that a favor was being rendered, more than once.

  Fillmore stretched back into the chair and pushed his heels through the sand. Some of it caught between his foot and the sandal.

  The wristband flashed yellow. Leera was at the venue. Kumar had made his decision about a first performance. Cuba was an ideal selection. The island was an easy and common blimp ride from the Americas. The island economy was based in tourism, so the workers were skilled in service. The venue was also cheap. Leera would be performing at a large hall that had been built in the time of Troubles. It was a glass and steel monstrosity of the early 21st century futurism movement in architecture, cast with the practicality of extreme hurricane resistance. No matter the weather, the show would go on.

  Fillmore pointed his band at an unoccupied transport cart. The cart, a white, plastic-like crate with rounded corners, hurried across the sand toward him. It had broad wheels for traction in the sand, and the grains flung up into the air as it went. The carts were large enough for an average person to sit in if they chose. Fillmore's frame would dwarf it. Instead, he chose to stand in it and hold onto the courtesy handle that rose from the side casing. The handle was branded with the word, “Castro”-an homage to one of the islands historical figures.

  With a finger gesture, he slid the address from his wrist band to the cart. The cart beeped and was headed off. It tuned its speed to match how well Fillmore kept his balance. He was doing well. The cart moved him along at 25 kph. It weaved among other carts, and pedestrians. He grinned at the others. Maybe it was the mojitos, but he felt at home here.

  To bystanders, he looked like a large genie from an old cartoon, passing through the Cuban streets on his magic carpet. To tourists, he seemed to epitomize Cuba.

  Leera was waiting outside the venue with her 4 band mates. Their gear had arrived early and was waiting for them inside. The 5 of them together were a ripple of sinew in sparse, skintight one pieces.

  “Hi, hi, hi,” greeted Leera as Fillmore arrived. Sweat was running down her face.

  “Hi, hi, hi, Leera. Are you liking the heat?” jibed Fillmore.

  “It's awful! Awful! It's all flame.” Leera squeegeed the sweat from her head using the edge of her hand. She shook it to the stone cobbles beneath her feet.

  “It certainly is!” he responded. Fillmore noticed that the band's outfits were getting uncomfortable looks from the passersby. Cuba was not a conservative place, but the band did stand out.

  “I like your outfits. They're real Mars, but have you tried to go a little more Earth? It won't be a problem here, but in some regions, it's still like the Trouble times.”

  “We did try. We just couldn't stomach them.” Leera's band mates grunted in agreement. The discomfort of the heat made them unwilling to engage in even the minor movement needed for conversation.

  “Look at them,” Leera continued, gesturing at the crowd. “They are so loose, you can barely move around in them. Imagine how hot that must be.”

  “True, true,” replied Fillmore. He pointed down at his pants. They were a pair of vintage blue jeans he had purchased from a collector. He looked poured into them. He also wore a classic, tight, black, v-neck t-shirt that his large torso strained against.

  “That'd be tight on screen, sure, sure,” Leera said. Leera's business was to look and sound good on screen. She knew the need of having everything right. Fillmore's image was normally clumsy, but it was a lesson here. She needed to try harder. Everything about Earth was an irritation, and an excitement. She liked Fillmore, though he was oafish. If he could fit in, she was simply not making the correct decisions.

  Fillmore, from on top of his Castro, pointed at the door. The entry code transmitted; the door slid silently open. He stepped from the cart and gave it a little kick with his sandal, the signal to return to its station. It scurried off.

  The group of them quickly entered the building, and were met by climate controlled atmosphere. They shuddered in collective relief from the heat. The air was reminiscent of the domes of Mars. Leera found herself briefly tearing up with homesickness. It was a good sign. She had the best shows when her emotions were running high.

  In the last few weeks, Fillmore had been across many cities on the Earth. Some major, some minor. He had been even in some almost uninhabited regions, drawn there like a hunter looking for the big-game of an active night spot. Traffic patterns, and animal-like human instinct determined such things, rather than simple population concentrations.

  Cuba had something that many places on Earth didn't yet—a surplus of power. The waves that had inundated many Caribbean islands provided a source of reliable tidal and wave power to the country. The generators ringed the islands, just offshore from the dikes. The ratio of power generation to power use, because of the small size of Cuba, was overwhelmingly in favor of storage. The surplus was stored in a network of flywheels that had been carved into Cuba's mountains. Large ships, most of them converted oil tankers, would make port and “spin up” their own cargo flywheels using a “spinner.” The spinner was essentially a cable suspended in a magnetic field, inside of a tubular cable. It spun with very little friction, and could directly move kinetic energy from the Cuban network to the ship. The process would then be reversed when the ship reached its port of destination.

  “Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Cha'd said, commenting on the climate control. He did a little spin. Cha'd played the Crank. Basically it was a large crank, mounted into a Synth box by a joint that let the Crank be moved through half a sphere of possible motion, while being turned. It was the most physical of the instruments. Cha'd's body showed it. He was not as large as Fillmore, but he was heavily muscled and lankier. The Crank epitomized the Mars' colonists drive to keep the body fit with extreme exercise.

  “How are all of you doing with the gravity?” asked Fillmore. A show was demanding in the much weaker gravity of Mars. Fillmore was being polite, but he was also looking after Kumar's interests. The band need to be able to make it physically through a 2 hour long performance in the burdensome gravity of Earth.

  Leera intercepted the question. “Fine, fine. We've done 3 full ones so far.”

  Cha'd piped in, “First one was flame. Did the last couple easy, but thought my heart might explode.” The other band mates, cooler now, laughed appreciatively. The group was taking in the hall. It would hold about 300 people. That was about three times the size of an average venue on Mars. The stage was in the center of a bowl shaped depression and was completely ringed by banked floors. The walls were fully screened. They would transmit to and from screens from around the world. For this performance, the seats had been removed. They were impressed. Making it on Earth was about being highly accepted by a small percentage of the people. The size of the venue was visual proof that a small percentage of people on Earth was much greater than a large percentage on Mars. It was just another of the contrasts between the two planets.

  On Mars, Kumar was in his office confirming the details of the screen broadcast of the event. Fillmore had been lucky in finding the Cuban venue. It was exactly the type of place that Kumar had wanted. It was an up and coming place that was just starting to get traffic. It was also a place to be seen at on the screens. Much as with his daily commodities trading, he thought he saw the beginning of a trend for this venue. A trend, played well, would mean credits for everyone.

  The in person tickets sold out within 20 minutes of the offer. Leera and her band's non stop promotional work on the screens had built much of the excitement around her performance. It was not the first time Earthers had seen Mars music performed. The screen performances were readily available. It wasn't even the first time that a band from Mars had played Earth.

  Leera was special. She had the look of a young superstar to her. Earth loved superstars.

  S
creen ticket sales were moving steadily. They were offered at a base plus a bid. It was technologically possible to sell a ticket for a broadcast to every living person on Earth, but the tickets that were desirable were limited.

  Screen shows weren't just broadcasts: they were two way. Every screen ticket holder had their full image transmitted to the venue. That image could be viewed by both the in person attendees and the other screen ticket holders. The screen software enlarged the image of those near a venue member, and shrank them as the distance got farther away. Cheap tickets meant you bid very early or you bid for a seat farther out virtually. The software had evolved to the point where if the venue had large enough numbers to satisfy the other senses like smell and touch, it could easily feel like thousands were present at the venue.

  A good, private screening room provided an experience close to being at the venue. With some contraband supps, the screen-only experience was indistinguishable from the live venue.

  Kumar pushed credits into the distribution of his ads with a gesture of his hand. Through the Ether, the countdown for the event and the rising bid price screamed out to music-lovers on the two planets.

  Back in Cuba, Leera devoured a large pork shoulder. Her band mates ate through other assorted delicacies of meats from the craft table in their dressing room. She grinned at everyone, pork juices rolling down her chin.

  “Good!” she said, slurring through a mouthful of meat. Fillmore, chewing, bobbed a stripped-bare pork bone at her in agreement.

  Meat existed on Mars, but it was for only special occasions. It had to be purchased with a ration ticket. Many people, weened off the taste of meat by decades of deprivation, sold their rations to others. It was a legal commodity, and the rations were traded on the market.

  The domes of Mars had become about 80% self sustaining. The first colonists had the dream of 100% self-sustaining, but it didn't materialize. Everything in a domed city was carefully tracked, including the ratio of gasses. After the first ten years of struggling to get the percents up, a picture emerged from the sensors that made it clear that there would need to be constant new inflows of water into the system. The complex biological pathways for keeping an environment healthy and functioning full circle, simple didn't exist yet.

  Fortunately Mars had lots of water. If ever there was a job to be performed by robots, it was mining. They kept the flow of water into the cities' distillation units constant.

  Meat, unfortunately, was not an efficient use of resources, and threatened to imbalance the ecosystem if it was allowed to be more than a luxury. Today's gorging was typical for the band. Fillmore tracked his weight gain carefully, the return trip and the Mars diet would strip off excess weight, but his job could be very physical. As for the band, the need to look good was impressed upon them at every moment.

  The band members stripped and wiped down with large, towel sized wet wipes, as they finished feasting. Leera put on a jump suit. As she moved, it would enhance her natural muscularity by creating deeper shadows and brighter highlights—it was a necessary enhancement for stage and the unaided eyes looking up at her.

  Her hair was red and cropped close. The tips were a glowing silver. The hue on the silver was a responsive coating that would alter tone according to her mood. The enhancement was popular among performers. Some chose to have the hue alter according to a program, but Leera wanted it to key to her. She believed that genuine links between her artistic world, her inner world, and the audience was the key to the power of her music. Her band mates, all male and chosen by her, were in similar one pieces. Together, they radiated a strong, sexual confidence.

  Fillmore smiled at them, his large teeth giving them all a lift in mood. They were a handsome bunch. He nodded admiringly and left to inspect security before the performance. Physical security was a necessity on Earth. Leera had been dubious about having it near her, but after her first week on planet, she welcomed it when it was present.

  People were filtering into the venue from doors that ringed the stage at the top of the incline. There was a crackle of excitement that passed among them. It already had the feel of a great show.

  Fillmore nodded at the arrivals. With his size and frame, there was no way that he was going to conceal himself. He was dressed in a very Earth fashion, so other than the oddity at his size, he did not seem to be of note. He made his way to the wall at the slope top to watch the crowd.

  Tickets were keyed to the wristbands that audience members wore, so there was no risk of counterfeits. Sensors in the venue identified and tracked each person that came in.

  The stage was ringed with a fine mesh curtain that polarized to mask the stage from view. Leera and the band came onto stage through lifts mounted in the stage floor, and started their final performance prep. They would do small tweaks to the synths, and make sure they knew their marks.

  The crowd surged as the main bulk of audience members arrived.

  From his office on Mars, Kumar activated the screens. Audience members from Earth and Mars gradually dissolved onto the screens. The theater seemed to grow in size to that of a major concert hall. The show was close to being sold out of the desired seats.

  Kumar watched the bid numbers jump for tickets. The sold out floor was getting crowded. The screens were filling fast. He pushed more credits into the promotional campaign, and let the live image of the filling venue do its work.

  The cost of the last bit of promotion would exceed the profit of the last few tickets he sold. A sold out venue, however, would make it much easier for him to sell tickets faster and at a greater premium at the next event.

  A countdown started. Kumar's eyes narrowed slightly. He watched the concession numbers climb as waiting audience members went to the concession booths in the hallway surrounding the performance area. Rum was not as good as supps, but it helped to lubricate the experience.

  A warning flashed across the screens in the building. The countdown timer started on each audience members wrist band. Crowd noise, piped in from the thousands of screens, climbed to a din.

  The house lights went dark. The stage curtain dropped.

  Cha'd was lit with a subtle increase of light on his groin. The other band members were in the dark and visible only as shadows. He took the arm-sized handle of the crank and spun it, shifting the angle slightly up as he did so. A rumble flowed along the floor, reaching out to the audience. As the rumble touched a person, they experienced a slight tension—bordering on fear.

  Leera's voice, an eerie high pitched wail, floated over the top of bass rumble. The stage lights came up on the shock of her red hair. The silver tips burned with a yellow hue. Light spread across Leera and her body rippled under her perfectly controlled breath. The rest of band, shadowed, were lit at the moment they exploded into a fire of motion and harmony.

  Fillmore, perched against the wall, hooted with joy.

  “Show them some Mars!” he shouted. He chuckled to himself at being caught up in the vibe pulsing through the crowd. Composing himself, he checked the security team positioned around the stage with his wristband. They wore small black headphones, and goggles to modulate the volume and keep the light levels even for them in the venue. They were unmoved, and professional, on the watch for audience members rushing the stage or violence in the crowd.

  In his office, Kumar watched the last screen ticket get bid and sold, 10% above the margin he anticipated. A smile, radiant and broad, rose upon his face. It was always a rush to get a deal right. One more venue like this, and the band would have enough credits to safely return home. The venue after that would return the money laid out by himself and from the band's savings. By the third venue, all of them would be in solid profit. Of course, he wasn't counting merchandise, and paid downloads. Those weren't known numbers. The behavior of Earthers always differed from those on Mars. Kumar couldn't accurately extrapolate from the numbers based on a sample from Mars. That's part of why he had wanted to return the music management—the thrill of the unknown.

&nb
sp; Kumar's part was done. He had seen Leera and band perform many times. It was time to relax into the nightlife of Mars, after a quick change at his residence. He signaled the screens off, and left.

  The concert unfurled as a perfectly executed, deeply emotional, and intensely sexual experience. The muscular motion of the Mars physique bonded with the synth tones of the music to evoke something deeply primal and erotic without being at all overt.

  Fillmore could smell the sweat of sexual arousal hanging like a dense cloud in the packed hall. It was an intoxicant. He could feel it flow down his nostrils with each breath. Casual touching in the crowd was growing. Public sexual acts in the venue or outside was strictly prohibited. It was a line, if crossed, that would also make it difficult to get any other mainstream venue on Earth.

  He kept himself focused, eyes scanning the crowd. His robust sexual urge strained against his self-control. He sweat under the rigor of it.

  “Damn,” he muttered to himself.