#3.Everything's a show

CNSA Conference Centers, Wenchang, Hainan, China 
- August 10, 2049, 9:30 a.m.
   
   "Xu, I thought I knew exactly what to expect from this 
event, but isn't all of this a bit excessive? I've never seen 
so many people in the room during a live recording-and 
I've never seen this many mosquitoes."
   "Wei, relax. There's nothing unusual about it. The 
news is huge; social networks are talking about nothing 
else. There are so many micro-camera drones because 
they want to produce an interactive video for official 
worldwide distribution. More mosquitoes filming means 
more refined editing options."
   "The broadcast will be on a 13.8-second delay, as 
usual."
   "Yes, I understand. But I'll be the one standing out 
there, not you."
   Xu laughed. "You're right. But I'll be right here, facing 
you, and I know you'll do great-as always. I know you."
   
   Lin Wei smiled shyly, brushing a long lock of hair away 
from her forehead.
   "Wei, seriously. You know the saying..."
   'The wise act without acting, and all is accomplished.'
   "Let the moment flow."
   
   Xu quoted it gently, without emphasis. When he spoke, 
he often accompanied his words with slow, measured 
hand movements.
   Wei smiled again but said nothing. Together, they 
turned once more to observe the large conference hall at 
the headquarters of the China National Space 
Administration, alive with preparation.
   
   During her career, Lin Wei had been in that room only 
twice before: the first time for the formal interview after 
her appointment as director, the second for a press 
conference held when the Neptune-Light project was still 
little more than a sketch. On those occasions, aside from 
the participants, there had been only a few technicians 
and four or five observers in suits, wearing conspicuous 
badges around their necks.
   They stood off to the side, shielded from the mosquito-
drones by a green adhesive strip marking the floor.
   
   This time, however, the authorized observers formed a 
small crowd. At least thirty men and women in formal 
attire were packed tightly beyond the green line, 
standing shoulder to shoulder. On the opposite side of 
the room, two large red flags made of remotely controlled 
fabric framed the central screen.
   At that moment, the image on display showed the city 
skyline. Rising at its center was the iconic Tianyùn Ta-
the Tower of Celestial Rhyme-its translucent glass 
sphere glowing like a suspended note.
   
   "Xu, I think we're almost there," Wei said.
   She straightened her posture, tilting her neck slightly 
from side to side. Her long black hair immediately 
rearranged itself into a flawless position. Xu watched her 
for a moment with genuine admiration.
   "As you can see, the journalist is already standing near 
the chairs. We're just waiting for Chairman Chen to make 
his entrance," he told her.
   
   Chen Guangming, the absolute head of China's space 
agency, entered the room at that very moment. With a 
confident stride and a smile that seemed carefully drawn 
onto his face, he moved directly toward the center, 
positioning himself beside the journalist.
   To Wei, the scene felt like déjà vu-she had the 
impression she'd seen it thousands of times before.
   Xu seemed to read her thoughts.
   "Don't worry, Wei. They won't drag it out. It'll be a 
very short introduction. Social platforms are monitored 
in real time. They know perfectly well how people feel 
about long, boring openings. Expectations are too high-
they'll get to the point almost immediately."
   She clenched her fists. Her face recovered a faint 
smile. A sudden shift in lighting altered the atmosphere 
in the room. The screen began alternating city images 
with short video clips of the Lóngxing Tàiyáng's journey, 
captured by orbital telescopes.
   Wei and Xu had seen those images many times 
already, yet they were still struck by them. They were 
razor-sharp, almost excessively vivid, and at the same 
time realistic. The final AI editing was flawless.
   
   As Xu had predicted, the introductions were brief. The 
journalist introduced the director in a calm, professional 
tone, carefully pacing his words for emphasis. Chen 
Guangming turned toward an imagined vast audience 
and spoke only a few short sentences in a deep voice, 
contrasting with the faint smile he maintained.
   "Comrades, citizens, friends, Chinese patriots. Today I 
am truly proud and honored to be here to introduce a 
person to whom, on behalf of the CNSA, the Chinese 
scientific community, and all Chinese people, I wish to 
say simply: thank you."
   He inclined his head slightly, then lifted it again, 
fixing his gaze on the main camera.
   "The success of the Light-Neptune mission," he 
continued, "has been clear and absolute, surpassing even 
our own expectations. The world is watching us. All of 
humanity has seen our probe cross the Solar System at a 
speed that, just five years ago, would have been 
considered impossible. Li Zhiming, believe me, I am 
deeply moved. Would you help me introduce the star of 
the evening?"
   
   The journalist nodded emphatically. Before speaking, 
he turned slightly on himself, opening his arms.
   "Of course, Director Chen. Let us do it together. 
Comrades, friends! Tonight we have the honor of 
welcoming the person who contributed more than anyone 
else to this great event-an event that makes our Great 
China even greater. Please welcome Dr. Lin Wei!"
   Wei moved quickly, as if guided by reflex. On the large 
screen behind the presenters, a half-length photo of her 
appeared. In the image, she was smiling calmly, wearing 
the fitted white-and-blue jacket of the space agency. She 
sensed she could afford only the briefest glance at the 
screen; distraction had to be avoided.
   She made her way toward the center of the room 
without hesitation. Two empty armchairs awaited her, 
along with the journalist standing nearby with a small 
tablet in hand. Dazzled by the lights, the murmur of the 
crowd, and the palpable tension in the air, she realized 
only at the last moment that Director Chen had already 
slipped away with great discretion.
   
   In China, journalist Li Zhiming was an institution. All 
major interviews and official presentations of high-profile 
events were regularly entrusted to him. People had long 
come to expect it. In public opinion, a kind of Pavlovian 
reflex had formed: if an event was not presented by Li 
Zhiming, it simply was not truly important.
   Zhiming was ready. Suddenly, his smile appeared 
more strained, his face faintly stern. He traced an 
imaginary arc with his right arm, indicating the chair. 
Lin Wei inclined her head slightly, instinctively bringing 
her hands together.
   In an instant, Zhiming changed expression again. This 
time, he smiled only with his eyes-he seemed capable of 
transforming himself at will.
   Wei took her seat. Zhiming sat down on the other 
armchair, a little over a meter away. It was the standard 
staging of major interviews in China, a tradition that had 
to be respected.
   The interview began with routine, predictable 
questions, which Wei answered almost effortlessly. All 
she had to do was recall the responses she had 
memorized the night before.
   "What did you feel at that exact moment, when you 
saw near-light speed on the command monitor?"
   "Oh. An indescribable emotion. Simply indescribable."
   Over the next few minutes, Zhiming became more 
insistent, interrupting her several times. She was not 
particularly intimidated; it was a common technique, 
calculated to add realism and rhythm to the broadcast. 
She handled it smoothly, without difficulty or 
embarrassment.
   
   Question-answer-smile.
   Question-answer-thoughtful look.
   Question...
   
   The script flowed predictably, punctuated by 
continuous and precise lighting changes. The presence of 
the mosquito-drones was masked by the combined effect 
of reflections on their tiny shells and the lighting design. 
No one would notice them in the final video-not even if 
it were analyzed by a specialized AI.
   The thousands of camera-drones were practically 
invisible even to those in the room. Still, given their 
sheer number, it was impossible to eliminate their sound 
entirely. A faint, persistent hum remained.
   For a moment, by reflex, Wei thought again of that 
strange whistling sound-a subdued tone that had 
become a constant presence in her hearing. She knew it 
was still there. Were the drones preventing her from 
distinguishing it clearly?
   She pushed the thought aside and focused on the 
interview.
   "What was the most complex problem you had to face 
during this extraordinary mission?"
   "Without a doubt, shield efficiency. At that speed, even 
a single grain of dust can have the power of a nuclear 
weapon."
   "And how did you manage to design such robust 
shields? Special materials?"
   "That too, of course. But above all, by ensuring that 
lasers deflected debris before impact-thousands of 
deviations per second. Fortunately, every one of them 
worked."
   At exactly 9:55, a sharp tone accompanied by a flash of 
stage lighting announced the end of the recording. Wei 
hesitated slightly. The contrast between the initial 
emphasis and the subdued haste of the shutdown 
operations left her unsettled. Suddenly, no one seemed to 
notice her anymore. No one addressed her, or even 
looked at her.
   
   She found herself torn between relief at finally being 
left alone and discomfort at the fragility of the situation. 
Instinctively, she searched the crowd for a familiar face. 
Xu did not disappoint.
   "It went well, my friend. I never doubted it for a 
second."
   "Well how exactly did it go?" she asked, making a 
slight grimace. "I'm not sure it went that well. Around 
the middle of the interview, I think I lost my way a 
little..."
   He reassured her at once, eyes widening in surprise.
   "Wei, you're probably still emotional and can't see it 
yet. That was the interview of the century. Something 
historic. I was checking social feeds on my wristband 
while you were speaking-you can't even imagine. 
Calling it a triumph is an understatement. From today 
on, you're basically a rock star." He laughed openly.
   The tension finally dissolved. Wei managed to relax a 
little, while Xu was already looking outward, searching 
for the corridor that ran parallel to the main one-a 
seldom used passage that still led to the exit. Together, 
they hurried into it. Within seconds, they were enveloped 
in an almost unreal calm. A short distance ahead, a 
woman was waiting for them. Xu greeted her with a quick 
wave.
   "Dr. Lin! Please forgive me-I was behind the scenes 
the whole time, but I couldn't resist. I had to be there. 
Everything was perfect. Truly beautiful. And thank you 
so much for the kind words you said about the team."
   "Dear Zhang Mei," Wei replied, recognizing her 
immediately. "I'm so happy to see you. There's nothing to 
apologize for. On the contrary. None of this would have 
been possible without the team's work-yours included. I 
should be thanking you."
   
   Dr. Zhang looked uncomfortable. She stood with her 
legs in an awkward position, hands twisting nervously as 
she spoke. Wei addressed her sincerely, meeting her 
eyes.
   "Listen, Mei. I couldn't wait to see you either. I need to 
talk to you about many things. I know how good you are 
at real-time data analysis. We both know what we're 
talking about, don't we? I can't wait to work on it 
together. Let's hope all these celebrations end soon."
   Their colleague, who had remained politely in the 
background until then, stepped forward.
   "If it were up to me, I'd go back to the mission room 
right now and work all night," Xu said, flashing one of his 
trademark smiles. "But we all know how things work. 
They won't let us really get back to work until the 
celebrations and official announcements have had the 
desired effect. And there's no fixed timeline for that-it 
all depends on analyzing public mood and social-media 
entities worldwide."
   Both women darkened immediately and nodded. 
   Without another word, guided by the gentle yet 
decisive manner of their colleague-butler, they continued 
down the corridor until the walls turned into translucent 
glass barriers, marking the junction with the main 
passage.
   At the far end of the glass wall, the exit was clearly 
visible. Before leaving the building, they paused briefly in 
the main atrium. It was time to say goodbye and arrange 
to meet again the following day for yet another event 
they would all attend.
   They knew they would not be able to leave together. 
Outside, Lin Wei was expected by a large blue sedan, 
with two bodyguards ready to escort her to her 
apartment.
   As she crossed the large automatic door, out of the 
corner of her eye Wei noticed a familiar face.
   Where have I seen this man before? she wondered, 
raising a hand to her forehead.
   He was a man in his sixties, with Western features, 
thinning gray hair, dressed with careful elegance. As she 
continued walking toward the waiting car, recognition 
struck her: it was Marcus Hale, an Englishman who had 
married her former high-school classmate from a 
prominent Chinese family. She had been invited to their 
wedding long ago; afterward, they had almost completely 
lost touch.
   She wondered what Hale was doing there, in that 
place, at that moment. Then she remembered that 
Marcus worked for the Chinese government as a 
reviewer of machine-translated contracts and a 
commercial mediator for the state sovereign fund. Given 
the global scale of the event, he had probably been 
assigned some role.
   Reassured by the thought, she slipped into the car and 
settled into the back seat. The vehicle pulled away in 
complete silence. As she tried to grant herself a moment 
of quiet, she realized the whistling sound had returned.
   She considered whether she should investigate the 
issue more carefully. The sound was still clear, yet not 
unpleasant. Was it a form of autosuggestion? Or was she 
imagining it? She found no convincing answer.
   She decided not to worry about it, at least for now. Her 
intuition told her it was not dangerous. And certainly not 
pathological: since she had begun to perceive it, she had 
felt better than usual.
   Physically, I have never felt better in my life, she 
thought, immediately followed by another reflection.
   Why do I keep calling it a "whistle"? I should call it 
"my sound" instead. That feels more appropriate.
   
   Moments earlier, when the hum of the mosquito-
drones had faded, hearing it clearly again had given her 
the same sensation she used to feel as a child, curled up 
in her mother's arms.