Unsurprisingly, the old man was nowhere to be found. The only thing left was to check the gallery upstairs, and then turn to plan B - that is, start questioning the people that passed by.
The gallery was under a dome made out of material so clear it was virtually invisible, creating a distinct illusion of being out in open space. It took some getting used to, and not everyone could feel at ease in such a state. Only people who were truly open, unchained by fear and judgment, were able to find peace. There were no crowds on this level. Only true lovers of beauty made it this far.
Marcius sat down in a floating chair, hanging in midair nearby without any support. For a moment, he relaxed. Everything around was white - his favorite color. He enjoyed being here. He even allowed himself to momentarily forget the elusive old man.
More or less all the world were gathered here. The circular perimeter of the pavilion was lined with Tulonian sculptures carved from a natural stone found in their world alone. This stone glowed and emanated water. It was considered sacred on Tulona as well as all the other worlds. Hard sculptures alternated with soft, plastic ones. With a magnetic field, the Tulonians transformed a giant droplet of ferromagnetic liquid into a work of art. It was alive and fluid, every moment morphing into something new.
The Krameans displayed their best crystals. All their artwork was based on their ability to visualize thoughts. You had only to think of a face or an event in your mind and the crystals would reflect them back to you. They were incredibly versatile - receptive not only to the thoughts of Krameans, but also to those of visitors unfamiliar with the art-form. Anyone could become an artist. The clearer the thoughts, the more beautiful the images they produced. Marcius didn't dare approach the crystals. Their beauty was tempting, but the Krameans were his sworn enemies, and any object carrying the energy of their world was off limits for him.
"What if our spy is a lover of fine art?" Karii continued his surveillance, sizing up every person entering the pavilion.
"I wouldn't be surprised," replied Marcius," Anyone with a brain as sophisticated as his requires some sustenance from time to time."
The Tulonians continued to examine the exhibits.
The Murians displayed masterpieces of the living world: flowers, wings, corals. All their art was alive and moving.
The Pacifians displayed their theatre, which being by far the most popular, attracted the most attention. They put on a show with live actors, something no one else dared to do. Their stage hung in the middle of the pavilion - a silver hemisphere rocking gently side to side. It faced the seats and was brightly lit up from within.
Today's show was unusual, captivating at first glance. The set was unlike any other. Marcius was shocked, not sure if the others saw what he saw, or if he was experiencing a sudden onset of his visions.
The world depicted by the Pacifians was remarkably akin to the one he saw in his visions. The coincidence was too unlikely. This could only happen if someone had seen the same visions that he had, or otherwise had actually been in that world.
"Karii," said Marcius, his voice cracking, "Remember how you were saying it's too bad I can't draw you the world of my visions?"
"Yes," his friend replied thoughtfully.
"Well, it looks like someone's already done it for me," he said, pointing to the center of the silver stage.
His friend froze. For several moments, they watched the play in silence, catching every detail. The show was in Pacifian, but few words being said - the main action was based on the visuals. The story was about the space travels of a young man. It was a fantastic tale that drew you in not so much with its storyline as with its dynamic on-stage manifestation. Everything was just as Marcius had seen - the waterfalls, the blue sky, the white clouds, a brilliant star in the sky glowing crimson as it set over the horizon, one single silver satellite, the forests, the bright green foliage so vibrant that not even the fertile Murie could compare in terms of color and size. He distinctly recognized an animal with branching antlers, something he'd only ever seen inside his own head. The holograms kept changing, and people scattered among them, shouting, creating images. But all of Marcius' thoughts in that instant were captured by a single question: where did the Pacifians get these images from?
"We need to look for the old man," whispered Karii, starting to worry that they're losing time.
Marcius didn't hear him. He eagerly awaited the end of the play with the sole purpose of finding out its author.
The show was over. The audience was satisfied. The director came out at last, bowed and said a few words in praise of his emperor. The Pacifians were fanatically loyal to their leader, and everything they did was in his name and for him.
The light inside the stage was shut off and its exterior was covered with a sheet of glass, preparing the set for a different show. The actors descended to the ground and dispersed. The Pacifian introduced as the director came down last. Marcius grabbed this opportunity and ran up to him ahead of anyone else. He was a slender man with classic Pacifian features, a brunet of medium height with slanted eyes. He was quite taken aback by such enthusiasm. Tulonians were never the type to be captivated by theatre, always carrying themselves sternly with an air of arrogance, never displaying any emotions.
"Are you the author?" asked the Tulonian, slightly out of breath.
"Yes, that would be me," the Pacifian replied proudly. "I'm also the director."
"That was the best I've ever seen!" Marcius exclaimed with genuine admiration.
The man straightened out his shoulders, smiled, and continued to look at him in wonder.
"What am I hearing?" he grinned at the unexpected complement.
The director wrung his hands unnaturally, talking in an overplayed voice that concealed his genuine manner. He was in character, that character being himself, and he was openly admiring his own art. He was visibly flattered by the attention, but his restless eyes betrayed that he was in a hurry.
"Can I have a word with you?" asked Marcius.
"I've already said everything I had to say in my composition," he replied, not wanting to waste any more time on discussion.
"I understand, but I won't keep you long," Marcius persisted. "Just one question - what inspired you to create such a world? Why these particular colors and shapes?"
The director rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Imagination, what else?" he replied, slightly hurt, getting ready to leave.
"Hold on a second! Please," Marcius stopped him. "What if I told you that the hologram world you created is real, and not merely imagined?"
"I'm glad that my art has such an effect, but nonetheless you offend me, as if accusing me of stealing it instead of conjuring it up on my own!" he said, pressing a hand to his chest.
"No, no, not at all," said Marcius, bewildered, not sure how to get the author talking. "I only want to know - maybe there was something that pushed you to it?"
The director gave him a stern look and turned away, wanting to leave, but he was held back roughly by Karii.
The director was at a loss. He'd never had to confront two military Tulonians all at once. He lowered his eyes, as if giving up. Then he cautiously looked at Marcius, then at Karii, and then started to talk.
"Well alright, I'll admit there was one thing. For the longest time I was in search of a new art form, something fresh and exotic. I bothered other artists, exhausted my colleagues, but for the longest time no one could satisfy my demand. And then just recently, by accident, we went with our theatre to Sirius. Maybe you've heard of it - it's a station like this one, but in much worse condition."