Hundreds of reporters and their camera-crew are all jostling for position around the edge of the red carpeted walkway outside the Professor Passion Conference Centre, all of them trying to get that one shot, that one brief interview which will either give their career the boost which it so obviously deserves or keep them at the top of the ratings. For hours now minor celebrities have been arriving at the Centre, all of them keen to get their moment in front of the camera and none of them really worth the air-time. Operatives who’ve managed to pull of a couple of high visibility BPNs, corporate execs who are famous for the size of their credit rating, socialites who are always looking for the latest party. All of them come to these sort of function just to be seen but these aren’t the ones that the voracious viewers are waiting for. These people are just the appetizers for the main course.
Melinda Chavez had forced her way to the front of the press crowd with the help of her cameraman, assistant and current lover Pete Whitmoor. She held her position close to the back of the pack knowing that she was enough of a celebrity in her own right to be walking into the building rather than standing outside and that when the time came she would be the one who got the all important interviews. She would be the one who was seen on the vid asking the questions that the public wanted the answers to. And she would be the one taking home the big pay cheque.
“Mel?” came the voice in her ear from the control room. “We’ve got a sighting of Cawdor approaching your position. He should be getting out of the limo in about 30 seconds. Make sure you’re ready for him.”
Melinda bit back the caustic response that was on the tip of her tongue. Of course she was ready for this, when had she ever been not ready? And Cawdor was the main name that she’d been waiting for, the prize that made the hours of standing in the cold worth-while. Well, it would be worth while as long as she managed to get a minute or two of his time and she had no doubts about her ability to do that.
“Show time,” she smiled to Pete as she took off her top coat and smoothed down the red silk dress she wore beneath. Without even having to look she knew that everything was in place, that every detail was correct. Her looks would catch Cawdor’s attention for long enough for him to realise who she was and then he would be hooked. Even a few seconds would be long enough for this but she was hoping for much more.
The gathered press started to surge forward and Melinda rode the wave to the very front of the P.P.C.C.. Armoured Shivers were on duty to keep the peace, to make sure that neither press nor celebrity got too out of hand but Melinda had greased enough palms earlier in the evening to know that a gap would miraculously appear just when she wanted it to. This is what she did and she was very, very good at it.
“Cawdor‘s walking towards you now,” control whispered through the earpiece. “He seems to be in good form, smiling, nodding at a few people and he’s on his own. We have confirmation that he has not brought a date to the event.”
Notching the smile up another level and stepping forward between the wall of green armour, Melinda stood at the side of the carpet at just the perfect time to hold out a microphone to Cawdor. She knew that her cameraman would be close enough behind to catch everything that was going on and she had completely dismissed Pete from her mind. This is what it was all about, this is the thrill that she loved so much. This was her time to shine.
“Cawdor,” she called out, “how good to see you again. Can I steal just a moment of your time to give to your loyal fans?”
The man who was walking down the carpet towards the large open doors of the centre paused for a moment and then when he realised who he was looking at, he broke into what seemed to be an honest smile.
“Melinda Chavez, as I live and breath. Always a pleasure to talk to the press and even more of a pleasure to talk to you. Please don’t tell me you’ve been waiting here all this time just to get a few words with little old me?”
Cawdor stood close to seven feet tall and his long blonde hair and model looks seem to contracts strongly with the network of scar tissue that covered the right side of his face and spread down to his neck. He was wearing what was obviously a very expensive tuxedo and seemed to be perfectly at home in this binding outfit despite the fact that he was most easily recognised when he was wearing armour and swinging a sword.
“You’re not wearing your clan colours,” smiled Melinda. “I almost didn’t recognise you there.”
She knew she was taking a risk by getting into a conversation like this. If it worked then she would have the prefect interview, but if Cawdor was rushed or simply didn’t feel like talking then she would be made to look like a fool and who knew how well her career would stand up to something like that.
“Don’t tell anyone,” laughed the Frother in a stage whisper, “but I’m in disguise. Don’t think it’s working too well though.”
He stepped away from the centre of the carpet and moved closer to Melinda, making no attempt to hide the admiring way he was looking her over.
“Cawdor,” the reporter continued. “There’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.”
“You can ask me anything you want,” interrupted the blonde operative with a wide wink. “But don’t you think this could be a bit too public for that sort of thing?”
Laughing on the outside while gloating on the inside Melinda knew she’d made the right choice. Cawdor was high enough to want to flirt and be funny and yet straight enough to be able to talk sensibly. Luck was definitely on her side this evening.
“Everyone knows who Cawdor is,” she said. “Or at least everyone knows who Cawdor appears to be. One of the most renowned of the Frother Operatives who make their name by dispatching the enemies of SLA Industries in as colourful a way as possible. Barely a week goes by without you being shown in a fight to the death and with every swing of your sword you win more fans. What I want to know is why you do it? You’ve made enough credit to live comfortably for a dozen life-times, you could easily move away from the live fights and work on displays, or go on tours off-planet, bringing a bit of the reality of Mort to the outer zones. And yet you don’t do this. You continue to thrill us, to scare us, to make us weep and cheer with you. Why do you do this, Cawdor, why do you keep working?”
Melinda couldn’t help from biting her lip as she waited to see how the volatile Frother would respond. She knew from the sudden drop in conversation all around her that her peers in the press were waiting for exactly the same thing. She’d taken a huge risk, possibly a suicidal risk, by asking something like this. But she was sure that she’d judged Cawdor’s mood correctly. He would answer. He would open up. And this interview would go down in history.
Cawdor stared at the reporter and the pause went on for just long enough to make people uncomfortable. The operative’s green eyes that had been so friendly now looked much more threatening. And then the mood was broken as he laughed and reached out a hand to pull Melinda onto the carpet with him.
“You want to know why I do it?” he asked with a smile. “Look around your, pretty lady. Look and see everyone out there staring at you, watching you, just waiting to see what you’re going to do next.”
He easily pulled Melinda towards him and then spun her around in a smooth dance move, her skirts whirling around her.
“This is why most of us do what we do,” he said. “We do it so that we know we’re alive. We do it so that we mean something. We do it because if we stop doing it then people will stop watching us and how will we know that we’re still here. But that’s not why I do it!”
Cawdor picked the reporter up, hands around her slim waist, and held her above his head for a few moments before slowly lowering her to the ground. Her heart was pounding with both excitement and fear but she was more than aware enough of what was going on to realise that Cawdor has more to say.
“Every time that I put my life on the line for SLA Industries and for you,” he said, speaking more to the entire crown now than the breathless reporter in front of him. “Every time I do it it’s because I have no choice in it, none at all. I live for the dance, I live for the thrill, I live for the rush. When the music in my head starts to play then I’ve got to go along with the rhythm, I’ve no choice. Can you hear it? Can you hear the drum beat in your veins, can you hear the pounding in your ears? I can, I hear it every moment of every day and there are times when it gets so loud that I can’t hear anything else.”
Cawdor’s head had started to bob slightly as he was speaking and he took on a faintly vague expression as he waved from side to side.
“I can hear it now, but it’s slow and steady and calm,” he continued. “The music is lifting me up and pushing me forward, supporting me, helping me. But soon it’ll grow louder and it’ll grow stronger and it’ll grow faster. I’m in control of the beat right now, but tomorrow, or the day after, or maybe even ten minutes from now, who knows. When the beat grows strong you have to dance to the rhythm.
“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Sounds like the ravings of a drugged up madman? But it’s not.”
“Listen!” he shouted out at the watching crowd. “Be silent and listen, just for a second. Just listen!”
And for a moment he had the press in the palm of his hand. They all went silent, they all tried to hear what it was the Frother could hear. And for some of them, this was a moment of revelation.
“You heard it, didn’t you?” Cawdor asked Melinda and then carried on without waiting for an answer. He was breathless with his own enthusiasm, caught up in his own words. “Some of you out there heard it, some of watching this at home hear it. You can hear it now, can’t you? You can hear the beat calling out to you, it makes you want to stand up, makes you want to dance, makes you want to live! But too much of the world tries to drown out that noise, too much of life tries to dampen the sound.”
Cawdor raised his head and laughed with pure joy.
“Ahh, Melinda,” he smiled. “You still want to know why I do what I do? How could I possibly do anything else? But now, I think that it’s time for me to go inside. I don’t want to hog too much of your valuable time.”
The burly Frother took the reporter’s delicate hand and raised it to his mouth, pressing his lips gently against the back of her knuckles.
“Always a pleasure,” he whispered, just loud enough for the microphone to pick up his words.
Melinda was left to stare as Cawdor span away and hurried up the red carpet into the Centre.
“Melinda,” screamed control into her ear. “Melinda, we need closure. Dammit Melinda, say something!”
Turning back to the camera, Melinda put on her most professional smile and spoke directly to the watching audience.
“You’ve just heard Cawdor speak of what drives him forward, of what makes him the man he is. I’m sure that we have all learned a lot this evening. My name is Melinda Chavez and you’re watching Station 515.”
She pulled the ear-piece loose from under her hair and handed it over to her cameraman.
“That’s it,” she said to him. “I’m done for the evening. Lets go home and listen for what the music has to tell us.”
