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“When do I find out who I’ve been assigned to partner?”
“There are formalities first, signing the contract and Non-Disclosure Agreement, paperwork, nothing to worry about. Then we’d like you to join a dance rehearsal with our talent this morning, so we can see how you fit in. If you’ve seen the show, you know occasionally we have the pros dance a routine or two together.”
“Of course, no problem.” Micki had the feeling he wasn’t telling her everything but she didn’t care at this point, with the job almost in her grasp. Unless the contract had over the top and obnoxious clauses in it, she’d sign. “I’ll need to warm up first. I did bring a set of dance clothes as requested.”
“Good, good.” Now he did rise from his chair and escorted her to the door, where an assistant was waiting right outside to whisk her away to another, much less well-appointed office, to do the paperwork and sign pages of small print.
Micki tried to read it all but her eyes glazed over and the words swam. There were so many sentences of pure legalese which meant nothing to her. Finally she said, “To hell with it,” and signed. She’d probably regret it at some point in the coming weeks but what did she have to lose? “What next?” she asked the assistant.
Checking the documents to be sure Micki had signed or initialed in all the required spots, the girl gave her a distracted nod. Putting the contract and NDA aside, she pulled out a binder. “Here are the rules and the details about the contest and your duties, what we’ll expect from you and what we’ll do for you and your partner. As discussed in the contract, we pay you the guild scale for rehearsal and performance hours. We provide the costumes, the makeup, the hair, the music and the sets.”
“Didn’t I see the right to pick my own music in the contract?”
“From a subset of songs our staff has selected as appropriate for the theme of the evening or the type of dance. You want anything else, you have to clear it with the creative director in advance and she’s tough.” The young woman gave Micki a perfunctory smile. “Ready to meet the other dancers now? The session is about to begin.”
Butterflies in her gut, Micki nodded. She’d joined troupes before, been the odd woman out more than once, even on the Comettes and it was never pleasant. But dance was a universal language and she knew she was damn good. She raised her chin pugnaciously as she followed the assistant through a maze of corridors, dodging racks of glitzy costumes and piles of high-tech equipment on the way. “Busy day today,” she said after a near collision with a trio of workers moving pieces of a set.
“We’re getting ready to move to your ship,” her guide said. “Makes the production more complicated than our normal seasons. Your cargo master is a bear to deal with.”
Micki blinked because even though Owen Embersson had a reputation for being no nonsense he wasn’t known on the Nebula Zephyr for being difficult unnecessarily. The show must have made onerous demands on him and his crew along the way. Entertainment industry folks did tend to feel entitled. Not her problem thankfully. “I need to pick up my bag at reception.”
They made a detour to accomplish the task and Micki was relieved to have her things in her hand once more.
The woman escorting her set a faster pace now, saying over her shoulder, “There’s a communal dressing room attached to the studio.” The assistant pushed through a door at the end of the hall, leading Micki into a room lined with mirrors and filled with the pro dancers of the ISD. “This is Micki Allwell, the Comette from the ship. Micki, meet the cast. I’ll leave you to it.” She hurried out again.
Micki’s first impression was how many dancers were in the room, more than would usually be chosen for any one season, especially a short one like the upcoming run. “Hi, happy to be joining you. Where can I change?”
A tall blond hooked her finger at a door on the other side of the room. “We’re warming up so better be quick.”
Okay, not so friendly. Undaunted, thankful she had her day job on the Nebula Zephyr, Micki walked through the room, smiling and nodding as a few people said hello. Once in the dressing room she picked an empty space and hastily got into her dance leotard and leg warmers, buckled on her plain black dance shoes, fluffed her curls and headed out into the rehearsal room.
As soon as she stepped into the space, one of the male dancers moved to intercept her, holding his hand out to shake hers in greeting. “I’m Tyron North, the dance captain. We’re happy to have you joining us this season.”
As she shook hands and murmured polite answers, Micki thought cynically the dancers probably weren’t all glad to see her. She’d obviously displaced one of the female professionals who would have otherwise been selected to partner with a celebrity. She knew who Tyron was of course—notoriously difficult on his assigned celebrities but he’d won any number of times. He was famous for his romances with the stars, usually timed to maximize the interstellar social media coverage for himself and then on to someone else the next season. Currently he was married to another ISD dancer. Micki had zero interest in him, except as a dancer. Tyron went around the room introducing all the others, most of whom she recognized from her binge watching the past seasons. There was a lot of soap opera among the cast, with people getting into and out of relationships, as well as professional rivalries over winning the prize and getting a chance to stand out. Micki was happy she was only there for this one set of seven episodes and vowed to steer clear of any and all personal entanglements. She was going to be all business.
Tyron directed her to a spot at the barre in between two other women roughly her height and the warmup session began. Micki relaxed into the familiarity of the exercises and the language of dance, which was her happy place, no matter what else was going on in her life.
Josh Benfield checked his chrono, the most expensive model, only five in existence in the entire Sectors and tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk. “I don’t have all day for this,” he said to Eddie Bevnar, the ISD showrunner, via the special comlink his people had set up.
“Our tech team is sending the broadcast now,” the man assured him, although seeming nervous.
Most people were when they had to deal with a generational billionaire scion like Josh, who had credits and power enough to destroy or elevate anyone he chose at any time. Getting him to agree to be a celebrity on the special season of ISD was a huge coup for Bevnar’s company and they didn’t seem to care what his motives might be. Any more than they cared why Andrus Kumisarc, Josh’s biggest rival in the business world, had signed on. The odd move had concerned the Benfield Group and Josh was the designated brother delegated to take time away from the business to find out what Kumisarc was up to.
Josh settled back in his chair as the holo depicted a large group of dancers in a rehearsal room, warming up and going through exercises. “Do they know we’re watching?”
“No. The contracts specify rehearsals may be filmed at any time but the trideo cameras are behind the mirrors. You said you didn’t want the dancers to know they were being evaluated.”
He didn’t care much about the legalities. He wanted to pick the best dancer for his stint on this show and he’d paid Eddie a substantial bonus to allow him to select his own partner. “How long does this warmup nonsense go on? I have a meeting in half an hour.” He didn’t but putting pressure on whoever he was dealing with usually worked to save him time and time was credits in the interstellar business world.
“Maybe another minute or two. Then Tyron has been instructed to have them each show what they can do on an individual basis followed by a partnering demo.”
Gritting his teeth at the loss of precious time, Josh sat and watched closely as the rehearsal finally got underway. No matter what was happening, his attention kept centering on one particular woman who seemed genuinely happy to be there, was highly skilled and graceful in the pair exercises the group practiced. Consulting the list and head shots he’d been given, he said, “I want the Comette.”
Eddie seemed startled. “Are you sure? My staff decided Elsara Muir was the ideal partner for you. She’s won the trophy three times with her celebrity partners. One of our best.”
Josh took a minute to watch Elsara, who was a cool statuesque blonde with precise movements and shook his head. “No. The dancer off the ship—Micki—is the one I’ll dance with. Send over her file. Let my assistant know when we can meet.” He signed off the com without any parting comment, as was his style and immediately pivoted to the next item of actual business on his daily agenda. The family might have stuck him with this strange assignment but he wasn’t going to give the task one extra second of his time or attention.
His assistant came into the room. “ISD sent us a personnel file.”
