The reporters clustered behind the barricades at Mérida Airport shifted from one foot to the other, cups of burnt coffee in hand, jackets already coming off as the morning heat climbed.
They were an odd collection.
Wire-service correspondents stood beside politics-desk veterans, music writers, entertainment reporters, and glossy-magazine people who normally had very little reason to share a press pen.
“Strangest press list I’ve seen in years,” Harold Benton of the Globe & Mirror said, squinting into the sun. “Half the people here usually chase divorces and pop stars, not immigration corridors.”
Marisol Vega from Variety tugged at her lanyard.
“You didn’t cover the wrestling meet-and-greet in Columbia, did you? Same thing. Political stagecraft wrapped in fan service. He had T’mari in the front row shaking hands like it was Comic-Con, and it worked. Clips of her handing out merchandise are still trending.”
Lucía Herrera of Telemundo laughed.
“That wasn’t politics. That was puro espectáculo. He knows how to feed a crowd.”
Kenji Watanabe from Reuters took another drink of his coffee and grimaced.
“I’m here for numbers, not costumes. If this is another stunt, I would rather be asleep.”
“Oh, shut up. Eat your churro and drink the chocolate.”
Lucía bumped his shoulder with hers.
“I am sure we will all get back to bed by this afternoon.”
She had crawled out of his bed that morning and would not mind getting back into it later. Kenji might not be particularly loquacious, but he had other talents.
Chad Morrison from Billboard looked toward the parked V’ren yacht.
“Call it what you want. The wrestling thing turned into music edits overnight. If they hauled entertainment press out here this early, somebody expects a show.”
Sandra Liu from People laughed.
“Half my readers couldn’t explain what a Freehold is if I paid them, but they know T’mari as waifu. If she sings, politics is over. It’ll be playlists and fanfiction by lunch.”
Driss Mbaye of The Africa Report nodded thoughtfully.
“It is calculated. Each of us will file a different story. Political legitimacy, cultural cachet, celebrity, aid, trade. One appearance, half a dozen narratives.”
Mei Tan of the South China Morning Post shook her head.
“That still does not explain the hour. We are standing here like schoolchildren waiting for a parade.”
Rafael Ortega from Rolling Stone was already typing.
“Maybe that is the point. Anticipation is half the act. He keeps turning airports into amphitheaters.”
A warning light flashed above the rear cargo hatch of the yacht.
Conversation died almost instantly.
The hatch separated with a soft hiss as pressure equalized.
Matt stood just inside the cargo compartment.
Someone in the press pen laughed.
His shirt was completely unbuttoned.
The much-discussed abs were plainly visible, as was absolutely no sign of whatever microphone system was carrying his voice perfectly across the tarmac.
“Good morning.”
He looked out over the barricades.
“I hope you are enjoying breakfast. It is already hot and it is only going to get worse, so we will not keep you long.”
He stretched, which did absolutely nothing to improve the concentration of several entertainment reporters.
“T’mari.”
She stepped into view beside him, barefoot, wearing loose trousers and a light blouse suited to the Yucatán heat.
Matt moved aside and gave her the floor.
“First,” T’mari said, “we wanted to thank the people of Mexico for making us feel welcome.”
Her translator system carried the Spanish cleanly across the airport.
“We have been working for the last several hours. During the night, more than half of the promised emergency medical shipment reached the larger villages and distribution points. From there it is moving outward by helicopter, truck, donkey, and in some places on foot.”
The Reuters contingent became considerably more attentive.
“Another medicine has been identified as effective in treating people already infected with the resistant malaria strain. Delivery of that medicine has begun as well.”
T’mari paused.
“Secondly, the first two hundred fifty thousand translator units sold out in ninety-two seconds.”
A stir went through the press pen.
“I am told that is a record in four hundred forty years of Amazon doing business.”
She glanced sideways at Matt.
“As the original creator of the unit, I was scheduled to receive one hundred twenty-five Fiat Dollars for each unit sold.”
Several reporters began calculating.
T’mari did not wait for them.
“I will use those funds to establish a global nonprofit organization dedicated to paying for the last-mile delivery of medical and relief aid by local people.”
Her expression became more serious.
“Aircraft cannot reach every house. Trucks cannot reach every village. Sometimes the person who finishes the delivery is someone carrying a box for the last five kilometers.”
She looked directly toward the cameras.
“That work matters. All work should be honored, especially that sort of work.”
Matt stepped back beside her.
He looked at T’mari for a moment before looking toward the press.
“I am proud to be married to this woman.”
T’mari glanced at him.
“We are leaving Mexico today. I do not know when she and I will return.”
He paused.
“But we’ll be back.”
Several people groaned immediately at the movie impression.
Matt smiled.
“Yeah. I know.”
He looked at T’mari again.
“She conducted herself very well in interviews this week.”
T’mari’s suspicion arrived too late.
“But she knew those interviews were happening.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Matthew.”
“So I thought we should find out how well she does with something she was not warned about.”
Someone behind him handed Matt a violently green Flying V guitar.
The entertainment reporters erupted.
“Told you,” Marisol said.
Matt slipped the strap over his shoulder.
T’mari stared at him.
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
“You promised no more surprises.”
“I promised to consider fewer surprises.”
“That is not what you said.”
Matt struck a chord.
The sound rolled cleanly across the airport.
“Close enough.”
He adjusted the guitar, listened to the return for a few seconds, then looked toward the cockpit.
The yacht’s antigravity system began to come alive beneath their feet.
The craft rose several centimeters.
Matt looked at T’mari.
“You know this one.”
She folded her arms.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The opening riff answered for her.
T’mari shook her head, found the beat, and stepped toward the microphone pickup.
Matt started singing.
I like to dream, yes, yes
Right between the sound machine
On a cloud of sound I drift in the night
Any place it goes is right
Goes far, flies near
To the stars away from here
Well, you don’t know what we can find
Why don’t you come with me, little girl
On a magic carpet ride
Well, you don’t know what we can see
Why don’t you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free
Close your eyes, girl
Look inside, girl
Let the sound take you away
(T’mari solo after finding her groove)
Last night I hold Aladdin’s lamp
And so I wished that I could stay
Before the thing could answer me
Well, someone came and took the lamp away
I looked around, a lousy candle’s all I found
(Matt rolled his eyes as the shuttle began to float higher)
Well, you don’t know what we can find
Why don’t you come with me, little girl
On a magic carpet ride
(Matt played on while T’mari waved to the crowd. The crowd got the first real show of what a counter-gravity shuttle could do as their bare feet remained on the deck even as the shuttle performed a barrel roll leaving them upside down for the rest of the song which they sung together)
Well, you don’t know what we can see
Why don’t you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free
(Complicated set of manuevers stood the shuttle on its tail with Matt and T’mari looking straight down at the ground and assembled even as they faced forward feet on the deck. They sang on.
Close your eyes, girl
Look inside, girl
Let the sound take you away
You don’t know what we can find
Why don’t you come with me, little girl
On a magic carpet ride
Well, you don’t know what we can see
Why don’t you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free
(As the last chord was played Matt held up his pick to T’mari’s lips for a kiss and tossed it through the invisible barrier that had been keeping them in 1/8 gravity and watch the pick fall to the waiting hands. He wondered if earth was capable of understanding what it was to hold the high ground, when the high ground was seven orbiting ships)
