Herculanium Read Online Free
Author: Alex G. Paman
green room. “Ready?”
Preston glared at him, then quickly turned away. Max slowly opened the door and escorted a cameraman inside. He motioned for the security guards to make sure the entrance was still secured.
“Mr. Jones, my name is Barclay. We’re just going to be shooting a few seconds of real-time video of you watching the press conference. You have thousands of fans in this building right now just waiting to catch a glimpse of their favorite player. Just be yourself, and please feel free to say anything to your fans watching around the world.”
The cameraman kneeled beside Preston’s couch and held his right hand up, propping his camera on his left shoulder. “We’re on in three…two…one…” He quickly pointed to Preston. A distinct red light glared from the camera’s top.
“We are live in Preston Jones’ private suite inside Trench Arena,” spoke a voice by remote through the camera’s microphone/speaker.
“Like hundreds of other candidates around the world, he too is waiting for the official announcement. A special press conference will be held in just a few minutes, announcing to the world of who will officially inaugurate the first commercial space station in orbit. Preston, can you hear me?”
The remote voice quickly changed tones, switching from robotic to colorful sportscaster. Preston looked at the camera lens and gave a hesitant wave. From the corner of his eye, he glared at Max. He wanted to spend this downtime alone, or at least with family.
“It’s Jimmy Sals from Sports Media International. The press conference is just a few minutes away. What are your thoughts about being nominated by fans? What do you feel are your chances for being selected to be the spokesperson for the Olympus Space Station?”
“How you doin’, Jimmy? Umm, I really don’t know what to expect. I’m just here waiting, just like everybody else. To be honest, I’m not putting too much expectations on myself. There are a lot of people who deserve to win this, and if I do, then I would feel very blessed.”
“Preston, there’s been a lot of controversy about nominating athletes to represent a space station, something traditionally left for scientists. Do you have a response to this criticism?”
“I haven’t won yet, so I really can’t say. I personally don’t see anything wrong with it, but people have a right to feel the way they feel. Like I said, I’m just waiting like everyone else.”
“Pres, if you win this, how do you think it will change your life?”
Preston smiled at the camera and gave an exaggerated wave. He motioned for Max to come over, then gently palmed the camera lens to swing around and catch a view of his agent and his bodyguards.
“Preston? Are you still there? Did we lose him?” Jimmy Sals tried to hide his agitation.
Max’s face quickly came into the camera’s view. “We’re sorry, but this it’s almost time. Thank you for coming and doing this interview.”
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” continued Jimmy Sals. But this time, his voice didn’t come from the camera, but from blaring speakers inside Trench Arena, where 20,000 fans were listening with bated breath. “Basketball player Preston Jones in the wait of his life. In a few minutes, we will soon know if he gets to be the man who will launch humanity into a new era of human history. Our thoughts and prayers go with you, Mr. Jones. Good luck!”
Trench Arena broke into a raucous, cheering circus, getting louder as pictures of Preston Jones appeared repeatedly on the arena’s giant overhead monitors. Images of him in high school, college, and in the pros flashed across the screens at machinegun speed, resembling a music video set to a thunderous rock/rap music remix. The only thing missing was the man himself who, although was hidden in a room inside the same building, was soulfully miles away. Across the world, on the television, on the radio, even on the newsstands, Preston was
Preston glared at him, then quickly turned away. Max slowly opened the door and escorted a cameraman inside. He motioned for the security guards to make sure the entrance was still secured.
“Mr. Jones, my name is Barclay. We’re just going to be shooting a few seconds of real-time video of you watching the press conference. You have thousands of fans in this building right now just waiting to catch a glimpse of their favorite player. Just be yourself, and please feel free to say anything to your fans watching around the world.”
The cameraman kneeled beside Preston’s couch and held his right hand up, propping his camera on his left shoulder. “We’re on in three…two…one…” He quickly pointed to Preston. A distinct red light glared from the camera’s top.
“We are live in Preston Jones’ private suite inside Trench Arena,” spoke a voice by remote through the camera’s microphone/speaker.
“Like hundreds of other candidates around the world, he too is waiting for the official announcement. A special press conference will be held in just a few minutes, announcing to the world of who will officially inaugurate the first commercial space station in orbit. Preston, can you hear me?”
The remote voice quickly changed tones, switching from robotic to colorful sportscaster. Preston looked at the camera lens and gave a hesitant wave. From the corner of his eye, he glared at Max. He wanted to spend this downtime alone, or at least with family.
“It’s Jimmy Sals from Sports Media International. The press conference is just a few minutes away. What are your thoughts about being nominated by fans? What do you feel are your chances for being selected to be the spokesperson for the Olympus Space Station?”
“How you doin’, Jimmy? Umm, I really don’t know what to expect. I’m just here waiting, just like everybody else. To be honest, I’m not putting too much expectations on myself. There are a lot of people who deserve to win this, and if I do, then I would feel very blessed.”
“Preston, there’s been a lot of controversy about nominating athletes to represent a space station, something traditionally left for scientists. Do you have a response to this criticism?”
“I haven’t won yet, so I really can’t say. I personally don’t see anything wrong with it, but people have a right to feel the way they feel. Like I said, I’m just waiting like everyone else.”
“Pres, if you win this, how do you think it will change your life?”
Preston smiled at the camera and gave an exaggerated wave. He motioned for Max to come over, then gently palmed the camera lens to swing around and catch a view of his agent and his bodyguards.
“Preston? Are you still there? Did we lose him?” Jimmy Sals tried to hide his agitation.
Max’s face quickly came into the camera’s view. “We’re sorry, but this it’s almost time. Thank you for coming and doing this interview.”
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” continued Jimmy Sals. But this time, his voice didn’t come from the camera, but from blaring speakers inside Trench Arena, where 20,000 fans were listening with bated breath. “Basketball player Preston Jones in the wait of his life. In a few minutes, we will soon know if he gets to be the man who will launch humanity into a new era of human history. Our thoughts and prayers go with you, Mr. Jones. Good luck!”
Trench Arena broke into a raucous, cheering circus, getting louder as pictures of Preston Jones appeared repeatedly on the arena’s giant overhead monitors. Images of him in high school, college, and in the pros flashed across the screens at machinegun speed, resembling a music video set to a thunderous rock/rap music remix. The only thing missing was the man himself who, although was hidden in a room inside the same building, was soulfully miles away. Across the world, on the television, on the radio, even on the newsstands, Preston was
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