The Orbital Hotel was abuzz with activity. Creation Week was the largest come-together of the art world in the sector, with artists of all kinds mingling with fans, benefactors and investors. As one of only two luxury hotels on the spaceport, The Orbital was hosting most of the wealthy who came to buy art or meet with their beneficiaries, as well as some of the successful artists. Its conference rooms were also hosting a few of the exhibitions.

  ?My secretary specifically asked for a suite!“, a handsome, tall man in a refined and only slightly extravagant suit told the receptionist.

  ?My apologies“, the receptionist answered in the professional tone of someone used to dealing with hard to please clients every day, ?I am sure the booking office informed you that all our suites for this week had been booked out months ago. This is the best room that we could offer at such short notice, Mr. King.“

  The man sighed. ?Oh well“, he said, ?what is one more sacrifice? I’ll accept a bottle of your finest champagne in my room as your apology.“

  He picked up his keycard and left, not waiting for a response. The receptionist complied and had a bottle sent up to his room. Of course she would. At the exorbitant room rates, even for standard rooms, that The Orbital charged during Creation Week, a few extras were no question.

  King walked past the lobby towards the conference center, studying the signs advertising this year’s exhibitions with quick sideway glances as he walked past on the thick carpet. The porter would bring his luggage to the room while he was browsing. The amenities of high-class hotels made life easy.

  There were three large conference rooms that had been converted into art galleries. King fit right in with the visitors. Dark brown, almost black, slightly unruly hair and designer stubble over an attractive face. Most of the visitors were either the obviously rich or the really very rich, so much that they could afford to look however they wanted. Last year’s gossip had included the story of Leander Yallop, multi-billionaire owner of several media companies and a space cruise line as a hobby, enjoying one of the exhibitions in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and, as the gossip claims, nothing else.

  Unlike Yallop, King was taking the quick tour, barely looking at most of the paintings, sculptures and holograms. He paused here and there to take in this piece or that, and occasionally he would read one of the texts displayed holographically next to the artwork whenever someone paused in front of it.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  In fact, his eyes were upon the visitors as much as on the exhibition pieces.

  One floor higher, in the hotel’s exclusive restaurant, the rich and the powerful were mingling, chatting, networking. Numerous big names in business and politics among tables of rare dark wood covered by perfect white tablecloth and flawlessly decorated.

  Minoru Ryun was there, chairman and majority owner of SpaceTrans and a dozen other large companies and widely considered to be the richest human in the galaxy.

  There was Kimbo Hearn, president of the United Nations of Earth and Venus, the most populous and powerful political unit of humanity. Even if the name was a bit of an overstatement as there were a number of independent countries on both Earth and Venus. And besides, Venus was still undergoing terraforming, now fifty years over the original projection. But it had been habitable for a century and now had almost a hundred million inhabitants, half of which had been born there.

  There was Amara Vance, speaker of the Junkstorm Federation, one of only four multi-planetary political units, a rare accomplishment even if it was still very young.

  The restaurant itself had been designed by the famous Beaumont Sheare, who before all his scandals had been the most sought-after interior designer in all of human space. It was a perfect mixture of intimate corners and wide open space properly conveying the luxurious environment. Every table was set in a hint of dome, with a glass ceiling right above the table itself. But the dome was only a ceiling feature so that no columns broke up the grand view of the hall. Only at the edges did the walls intrude into the room, creating half-niches for the tables there. And the final touch was the perfect sound design of the room, achieved by a combination of architecture and technical sound absorbers. Conversations around each table did not carry towards the other tables, making them both easier to listen to without distracting background noise and creating a more cozy atmosphere. If one closed the eyes, one would think to be in a private dinner room, not a large restaurant.

  And as a special for Creation Week, the three center tables had been removed to make space for a hologram installation by the Anagrargana Collective, a group of anonymous artists that had been making a name for itself in the past three years with extravagant and unusual pieces. This one was tame by their standards, showing a time-lapse of the local galaxy cluster with galaxies colliding in glowing lights over and over in a seemingly chaotic and yet ordered fashion. The brochure spoke about the constant flux between chaos and emergent order.

  It fit well into the scene, with its slow moving and constantly shifting display of subdued colors. It was stylish, but more of a background than a center piece. It pleased, but didn’t draw the eye. Like all pieces by the AC, it had a number of hidden microphones built-in.

  Intergalactic, I am well capable of finishing a book. :-)