31 Think Opera Notes at the Staccato Pace of Rap #2
Spie clicked on the link. It took her to an article published two days before.
According to the site’s page, the article had been viewed nearly two billion times.
That wasn’t a huge number, considering the scale of the empire, but neither was it insignificant.
Something with that much traffic would’ve been flagged.
If it was still widely available, then her mother—or, rather, the people under her mother—had deemed it to be unproblematic.
Which was more than odd. Anything that referenced anti-humanist thought was always deemed problematic. Spie wrinkled her brow and read the article. In total, it comprised only three paragraphs.
Artemis Ialan of the X System’s central planet, X72, has taken the empire by storm.
Shocking viewers everywhere, the imperial prince chose her as his first solo date on Love Galaxy .
Since, she has become a controversial figure in the LG fandom.
She didn’t come on the show to “make friends” despite the show’s central tenet of forging diplomatic bonds.
She regularly insults Cailin Frederik in confessionals and seems to not care enough about group dates to even try to make a good impression.
By and large, Artemis has shown herself to be thoughtless, crass, and wholly unintelligent, embodying none of Expan’s ideals of loyalty, progression, and communal sacrifice.
So, who is Artemis Ialan, really? Is she a nobody trash collector plucked from the gutters of society who simply doesn’t know how to comport herself on a show of this magnitude, or someone far more sinister?
Her own ex-boyfriend, the recipient of one of the most prestigious engineering scholarships in the empire and widely respected engineering student, called her “a delinquent.” Rumors regarding her having a juvenile record for major robbery have been substantiated.
It’s clear to everyone watching that someone like her shouldn’t be placed in a position as delicate and important as diplomatic ambassador. Let alone imperial consort.
But what if Artemis Ialan is playing a part?
In her date with Prince Nix, she became almost an entirely different person when building her miniature RC hover.
For that ten-minute segment, she appeared confident, self-assured, knowledgeable.
She shocked us all by creating a device that carried her egg further than our very own prince’s.
What if, in reality, she’s a cunningly intelligent master of manipulation?
What if she came on Love Galaxy as part of a bigger sect of anti-humanist activity?
The type of activity that appears in greater numbers from fringe planets like X72?
What if she isn’t on Love Galaxy for the right reasons?
What if she’s duping our sweet prince and has come to manipulate her way into the heart of our great empire?
—Author anonymous
Spie closed her eyes, disconnecting the neural link.
The article was absurd. Artemis an anti-humanist sympathizer?
It was the politically correct way of saying anti-imperialist .
Anti-empire is anti-humanity . It was a slogan that originated with one of the early emperors (Spie couldn’t remember who).
But Artemis wasn’t some anti-humanist spy.
She hadn’t even wanted to be on the show until Spie dangled two million credits in front of her face.
Spie had been to her home, had met her family.
Had seen the pitiful pile of eviction flimsies tacked to her front door.
Who had taken it upon themselves to generate such an ugly rumor?
Anti-humanist activity was punishable by death.
Anti-humanist speech could put someone in prison for life.
How enforced that policy was depended on where one lived and how deeply controlled their territory was.
But that was beside the point, which was, primarily, that Gracelin Expani, or one of her underlings, had approved this article to circulate widely.
Which begged the question: why? Was it merely a tactic to increase drama?
Keep viewers thinking about the show instead of the actual, looming threat breaching their borders?
Or was Spie missing something else entirely?
Her CB vibrated. A message populated in the air above her wrist.
Trash Girl: What the fuck is operatic rap? Why does it sound awful? And why am I already obsessed with it?
Spie stifled a laugh. She forced the article from her mind, told herself she’d bring it up with her mother or Nicky during their next debriefing. Because Artemis, with her blue hair and lack of filter, might not love the empire, but she was further than Spie herself from planning to tear it down.
Spie: Think opera notes at the staccato pace of rap.
Trash Girl: Fuck. I need that in my life right now.
Spie: I can send you a few videos of the band we saw today. Top Prop. Not my preferred genre, but certainly an auditory experience.
Trash Girl: Please do. Except you’ll recall I don’t have internet access.
I spent the morning in the library with your brother trying to hack my CB and link it, but there’s a firewall in the internal system that’s set to go off if tampered with.
Impressive technology, honestly. I might be able to construct a second, external antenna and build a separate network connection to circumvent the firewall.
But Nicky refuses to enable my illicit behavior by providing me with the necessary materials—your brother is such a rule follower.
Spie couldn’t explain why, but hearing Trash Girl talk all scientific was a bit of a turn-on. She couldn’t stop picturing the woman with her hair pulled back, a few wispy curls loose, black grease on her cheeks, coveralls tied at the waist.
Nebula curse me, Spie thought.
Spie: Yeah, Nicky’s always been a stickler for rules. But also, you lost me at firewall.
Trash Girl: Eh, it’s probably moot. Unless you have some spare copper laying around, along with a motherboard and CPU. Or better yet, an old CB you no longer use.
Spie resisted the very strong urge to ask Artemis what she was wearing. A few more acronyms and she might need a cold shower. Hopping off her bed, she moved to slide her balcony door open a few inches, let in a touch of the cold, sea-kissed breeze. She really needed to get a handle on her hormones.
Trash Girl: Sorry, I’m probably boring you. Did your date get any better? Or did you end up vomiting dramatically?
Trash Girl: You said operatic rap isn’t your preferred music genre. What is?
Trash Girl: Sorry, that was too many questions.
Spie ignored the first question in lieu of the second. She dictated while diving back onto her bed belly-first.
Spie: Orchestral. There’s something transporting about listening to the haunting interplay of a hundred musicians, all masters of their chosen instrument.
She hesitated and then added:
Spie: I play a little violin myself.
That was both an understatement and something few people knew.
She’d taken private lessons from the time she was four but had never participated in a public performance.
Playing violin was something she did only for herself.
A way to express the deep well of emotions trapped inside.
The ones she was skilled at compartmentalizing.
She’d originally learned the instrument to connect with the father she never knew, who’d left his violin behind when he died.
Besides her childhood violin teachers, and Nicky, of course, she’d never played for anyone else. Not even Arbora.
Trash Girl: Violin? I don’t know that word.
Spie: It’s an Old Terran string instrument. Creates a piercing tone, like the sound a heart might make when it breaks, or the shriek of a haunted soul. It can be deep or high-pitched, full, or floaty, but in every case, transformative.
Maybe that got a bit too poetic. Nerves fluttered suddenly in her chest.
A pause. And then—
Trash Girl: You keep surprising me, Spie Expani.
Trash Girl: I’d love to see you play.
As Spie read the messages, her throat grew tight.
She cast her gaze to her bedroom closet.
Her violin rested proudly on the top shelf, encased perfectly in Old Terran mahogany.
She hadn’t taken it out since arriving at the manor, didn’t really know why she’d brought it, except that its presence comforted her.
Standing up, she crossed to her closet and carefully lifted the instrument from its shelf.
She carried it back to her bed and unlatched the case.
The violin was slender with precise curves, an androgynous creation of expensive maple. Spie ran her fingers along the body. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than for Artemis Ialan to hear her play.
Spie: So come listen.