Mione stood in the wings of the stage; the crowd was restless and talking among themselves, discussing the last competitor. Hopeful, Mione worked to calm her nerves. This was her first time singing in front of a crowd, and it was on the biggest stage available on the moon. The entire lunar population would be watching.
Ever since this moon had been colonized, over two hundred years ago, entertainment had been essential to keeping the populous happy. This outpost, perhaps the last example left of humanity, was isolated, self-sufficient and always in a delicate state of political balance. Recreation was taken very seriously. Everything was on this harsh, unforgiving moon..
Contest was the foundation of their entire lifestyle. As Earth died Contests in every field were held globally. The absolute best humanity had to offer, regardless of status, wealth or family were chosen for an attempt to carry on the species in the far reaches of space. Individual Contest was still the only way to achieve anything.
So it was that Mione stood waiting her turn in her first attempt- most never made a second- to escape a life of unending labour and gain lunar fame. Music came naturally to Mione, so the singing itself wasn't the part that made her nervous; it was appealing to the judges. Without their approval she would be sent back to her station, humiliated, forced to face the people she had tried to leave behind.
A voice called her name and Mione walked out into the bright lights and saw thousands of people in the massive auditorium. Blinded by the lights and deafened by the introduction music, she fought her fear and advanced to the giant X in the middle of the stage. Restlessly her eyes scanned the three judges, the ones she was really there to perform for, not the thousands in the room or the millions watching on their personal communication devices. They came next.
Zimon, the newest judge was dark skinned, dressed chic-casual, and looking confidently at her as she walked. Clearly assessing her physical being, he seemed more interested in her looks than her talent. Zimon had been added to the panel this season. He had made his name producing pornography, and his inclusion in the Contest had been extremely controversial.
The beautiful, former-winner Delia sat in the middle as usual, her perfect face, hair and outfit making Mione's plain weekend-best clothes and simple hairstyle look frumpy. Delia had been one of the most popular singers in generations, and after ten years of massive success she had returned to become a very popular judge three seasons ago.
That left Marster, the mean judge. Marster had worked in the entertainment business, primarily in music, for four decades, judging this lunar-wide program for thirty years. He was cynical, jaded, harsh and people loved it when he was rude and demeaning. The more tears he evoked from the Contestants the better.
As Marster watched Mione approach he assessed her much the way Zimon had, his face unreadable, a practiced mask. "I wish I knew we had the censors in our pockets. If we are really going to pull off the plan we need them. But that face, that body... we could easily sell the shit out of this one."
Delia thought "Poor thing, she doesn't look tough enough for this career. So meek. These guys would chew her up and spit her out."
Zimon thought, 'If that guy Chilton was serious and he can get me past the censors I could make this girl a star, she is sexy... innocent and vulnerable looking. People will love seeing her..."
Mione reached the microphone center stage at last, the long intimidating walk to the giant X leeching her confidence with ever step.
"Hello sweetie." Delia said, her gorgeous voice kind as it echoed through the hall.
"Hello" Mione said back, her voice amplified through the huge space, making her flinch.
"What's your name?" Zimon asked, his black eyes glittering as he ogled her petite frame, mugging for the viewers.
"I'm Mione Vitrue." Mione's voice was lower and huskier than people generally expected from one so sleight.
"What are you going to do for us today, Mione?" Marster inquired, his stern visage flat and inscrutable as usual. Mione felt stripped bare before these three. Each of the judges took in every detail, her flowing, unbound black hair, her pale skin, wide green eyes and simple clothing.
"I'm going to sing."
A murmur ran through the audience. People had been guessing what her talent would be. Marster rolled his eyes, already bored, Delia sat forward, in her element, and Zimon simply undressed her with his eyes.
"Go ahead dear." Delia encouraged and Mione's music began to play.
A few dozen people in the giant space recognized the melody immediately, then as she began to sing others recalled as well. Mione had chosen an old ballad of hope, first penned over two hundred years ago on the Arc that had brought the original colonists here to this moon.
As humanity had fled a dying planet, they sent as many refugees as possible on an dozen Arcs flung into the deep reaches of space. Hope had almost been snuffed out during the long centuries of interstellar travel. Teresa Yakimoda had written a song for her children, as legend had it, but a parent raising their own child seemed odd to the people on the moon now.
The song spoke of their old home, Earth, and had inspired hope that their new home would be as lovely. The ancient melody might have seemed quaint or even silly sung by another person, but Mione was good. Her technical skill was obvious immediately, but more, her husky voice held a palpable need for the words of hope to be true.
Weaving the notes together with a yearning, aching urgency not normally associated with this song, Mione impelled the listener to hear the lyrics with new ears. Long forgotten emotions swelled in many breasts, tears streamed from unaware eyes as her voice rose with a power and confidence her stance belied.
Delia thought, "With some professional coaching this girl could be a great singer."
Zimon thought, "She is so cute, I can make everyone want to bed her."
Marster thought, "This is it. She might be able to save this stinking pile of rock from civil war."
Mione simply thought about her life as she sang. As the notes lifted and wove a complex melody, Mione imagined a life where she wasn't strapped into a machine that she had to power with her muscles, where her every calorie wasn't utilized to power the biosphere they lived in. She dreamed of a world like Earth of old, where humans were free to come and go as they pleased, and able to pursue their dreams independently of the government.
When the song finished the crowd was silent just long enough for Mione to doubt they had enjoyed it. Then they erupted in tremendous applause, uplifted by her performance, transported to another time and loving it. When the clamor died down Mione looked hopefully to the judges, her face an open book of desperate appeal.
Zimon started. "Girl, that was fine! That was some great singing." The crowd applauded. "But I gotta say, you are way too cute to be going for that old Settler shit. You got a power body under those rags. I don't wanna think about 'hope' when I look at you, I think about the bedroom!" The crowd erupted, some howling lust at her, some howling outrage at Zimon.
Since humanity had landed on this moon, the first habitable location they had found in centuries of looking, they had established a rigid morality in order to maintain order. As industrialisation had advanced, and now at long last as the species achieved a level of success almost unhoped for in centuries past, the need for this tight morality was unravelling.
Zimon was living proof of that. His unsavory pornographic vids had made him undeniably rich, indicating that there were an awful lot of people who wanted a new way of living. Some wanted more salacious entertainments.
Simply looking at the man as he suggested sex made Mione blush. At eighteen she was a virgin, sheltered and innocent. The idea of behaving provocatively made her nervous, but it was a small price to pay to get out of the Kinetic Engines.
Delia went next. "You have a solid voice. With work you could have an amazing one. But as much as it pains me to agree with Zimon..." Delia and Simon shared a smile, their divergent opinions helping boost the rating this season. "... I too think you need more pizazz. Sure maudlin songs about some dreamed-of utopia can inspire for a moment, but people need more. Life is hard, we need distraction not messages."
Mione felt her heart sink. Was this rejection? All eyes turned to Marster, sitting quietly, staring intently at Mione. Marster had shown himself to be cruel, insensitive and a perfect showman. Often unpredictable, Marster was the wild card in the bunch, savvy and cutthroat, he knew the business of entertainment better than anyone.
There was a quality about Mione that Marster was having a difficult time identifying. As she had been singing he had assessed her in all the usual ways; how was her pitch? Very good. How was her timing? Also very good. Did she have a unique sound, a natural voice? Yes, Mione wasn't trying to sound like anyone else.
Last year, and so far this year as well, most of the female Contestants were a parade of sound-alike and look-alikes trying to recapture past winner's glory. Yet Mione wasn't trying at all. She was utterly herself, all awkward innocence and ripe desirability. And yet... there was another undefinable quality that drew him.
"Mione, I liked your voice..." Marster began and Mione felt a tingle of hope. ""and you are pretty, in a conventional girl-in-the-pod-next-door kind of way... but I have to say... I don't know if you will sell? Will the lunar populous spend hard earned credits- earned through toil and labour- will they spend those credits on you? That is the big question of this Contest." Shouts, jeers and cheers from the audience agreed or disagreed with Marster's observations.
Standing there, her dreams hanging by a thread, Mione had no idea what, if anything was expected of her at this moment. Blood pounded in her ears, her head swimming as she saw her chances slipping away. If Mione was rejected she was going to have to go back to the machine, years of physical strain, as she and most everyone else powered the biosphere that kept them alive on this harsh world.
"I want them to. I mean I want to make them happy." Mione offered hesitantly. "I've always dreamed of making a difference, of bringing some joy into people's lives. Singing is how I've always done that."
"This Contest isn't just about who can sing the best, dance the best or make us laugh the most..." Marster's went on. "This institution is charged with the entertainment of the masses. Entertainment. That means being willing to do what it takes to please. You must charm us, thrill us, satisfy us, gratify us... You understand?"
"Girl! You already got me interested... what are you gonna do to satisfy me?" Zimon added, getting a salacious cheer from much of the crowd.
Mione blushed, looked down and as she did so, and Marster saw what he was looking for, he flashed to woman he had been with in the past and recognized the undefined quality that piqued his interest in Mione. But he had to be sure...
"You tell me, Mione." He inquired, lowering his voice, the audience hushing at his change of tone. "What are you willing to do to please your fans?"
