Music Man
Rebecca M. Senese
Copyright Information
Music Man
Copyright © (2014) by Rebecca M. Senese
Published by RFAR Publishing
Cover Design copyright © (2014) by
RFAR Publishing
Cover art copyright ©
photo / DepositPhotos.com
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
MUSIC MAN
Tony was seven when he saw the G.L. Miller Big Band Re-Orchestra.
How a little backwater like Gettius Prime, far off the main star routes, warranted a stopover by one of the best revival bands in the galaxy, Tony never knew but couldn’t care less. Standing in the centre of his assigned pod platform, the smell of the crowd pressed in on him, stinking of smoke, sweat and perfumed hair. Fabrics from a dozen robes and shirts scratched his face as he pushed past people, trying to get to the front of the pod. Just ahead, down two stories, was the band, spread out across the floating stage.
Lights blinded Tony as he reached the edge. He clung to the creviced edge as he leaned, straining for a glimpse. Fog and smoke filled the air, reflecting flashing beams of red, blue, green. The crowd roared with the thunder of ten thousand throats. Tony’s ear popped. He shoved his shock of black hair out of his eyes. His grin hurt his cheeks.
The fog parted and he caught of a glimpse of the band. The horn section rose up. Metal-glinted silver and sparkling in the flashing light. Even over the crowd, the first few notes of music wailed forth.
Tony wiggled and danced at the edge for the entire concert. Once his foot slipped, the black sheen of his micro boot sliding along the edge of the pod lip and out several micros past. Then the grav-well snapped up and he felt the heavy push of the field against his chest like warm molasses. Around him, the other listeners grumbled as they too were pushed back. Tony received several glares as they were forced to retreat.
Tony thought the concert would last forever. Then it was over and his pod-mother grabbed his shoulder.
“Home now.” The grip of her hand tightened on his shoulder until he could feel the hard edges of her steel bones under the soft Fleshy-Flesh. No chance to slip away. Some of the other young ones said the pod-mothers couldn’t tell the different between them but Tony knew they could. They always seemed to grab him tighter than the others when there was anything around about the Big Bands. They seemed to know he’d make a run for it if he could.
The pod-mother gave a yank and Tony followed, casting one final glance at the stage as he followed her through the crowd. Already the heavy smoke and fog was dissipating, revealing the bare bones of the stage, empty of musicians. As he watched, the side edges curled. Then they moved faster and faster, rolling into a long tube. Metal clanked and clicked even over the sound of the crowd chattering and walking out of their pods.
Tony watched, even as the pod-mother pulled him forward. He could still hear the last lingering drum beats, the last wail of the saxophones, the proud thunder of the trumpets. The music spread out in his mind like a map, like the most exquisite picture in the world. It was all sound, all taste and smooth silk on his skin.
Then the pod-mother yanked him out of the arena. Her scolding chatter nagging all the way home.
The next day in navigational computations and structural integrities class, Tony kept getting in trouble for messing up equations with soaring melodies and distracting the computers with rhythmic dilemmas. The nav computers were only stupid single thoughts, not able to follow creative, imaginative leaps, even when Tony tried to coax them. He’d managed to fry two before the pod-teachers yanked him out of the simulation and sent him to the principal’s office.
Unlike the rest of the school which was all drab grey walls and plain black and white tiles, the principal’s office sported walls of a pale blue. Framed papers hung on the far side of the office. Tony squinted at them but they weren’t computer code. He didn’t know what it was.
The principal cleared his throat. He stood behind his large, wood desk, long thin fingers folded over his expansive belly. He wore similar black robes as the pod-teachers, but his didn’t fit as well, straining over his belly and bunching at his elbows. His scalp showed shiny pink under the long strands of his black hair. At his temples were the small silver buds that Tony knew let him talk directly to the pod-teachers.
What had his pod-teacher told the principal about Tony? He felt his heart start to hammer. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, anything to slow his heart. Maybe the principal could hear it just like the pod-teachers. Tony had no idea what he could do.
Sweat prickled his skin under his slick grey student tunic.
“You were disrupting navigations and structural integrities,” the principal said. “We cannot have such disruptions in class. This is an official warning to you, AnTonalen. Two more warnings and you will be deemed a liability to this class and will be dismissed. Any questions?”
Tony swallowed. His hands trembled at his sides. He wanted to grab onto the stiff fabric of his pants but didn’t. He couldn’t let the principal see his fear.
“Dismissed.” The principal turned to stare at another framed piece of paper hanging on the wall.
Tony backed away and retreated to class. He spent the rest of the day, plugged in, sticking to the back and sending out all the regular answers.
Still in his mind, the melody soared and wouldn’t let him go.
* * *
By the time he was fifteen, Tony had made it to level one apprentice and almost qualified for his own single hole in the apprentice section of their pod. One of his five podmates had already qualified and moved out. At first Tony thought the remaining four would have more room, but he returned from his apprenticeship to find their room had shrunk by one fifth. The slick beige walls still carried condensation from the strain of shrinkage. The smell of burning plastic lasted for days.
One day he took the older walkthrus home, his micro boots tap-tapping along the cracked grey tile. He was apprenticed to a small shipping company in one of the lower junction ports. Not as prestigious as one of the larger companies, but Tony liked the opportunity to experiment in all aspects of the ships, not just the navigational reformatting. Being in the lower junctions, made it a longer journey home. Normally he took the fast slide and shot across the top of the dome toward his pod section, barely even noticing the other pod lights scattered around the city.
But tonight, he wanted to walk. A straight level riser sat at the other end of the shopping concourse. It was slower but he liked the idea of taking a look around.
A few shoppers wandered about. He spotted the telltale flat dome surfaces of pod-citizens. One pod-mother passed him, her smooth beige face serene, even as she clenched the shoulder of a struggling boy, pulling him along. Except for the blond hair, he reminded Tony of himself. Always being dragged along.
Why had he struggled so much? He couldn’t remember. Why hadn’t he accepted that he had been born and trained to work in navigation and structural systems? What better life was there? He fingered the smooth, purple apprentice tunic. Hadn’t he worked hard to get here? Didn’t he deserve to be the best citizen in his pod? What other way was there but to do what he had been engineered to do?
He nodded as he wandered through the concourse. Around him, the shops rose up, their smooth walls fading and shimmering as different holographic images
swirled and shifted. He passed too close to a perfume shop and found himself enveloped in a cloud of lavender. Coils of scent wrapped around his legs and tried to pull him toward the shop. He had to send a warning to the store computer about excessive customer interference before the coils released him. His hands felt sticky as he rubbed them against his pants as he hurried away. Lingering traces of lavender clung to him, making people glance at him as he walked by.
Retreating from the perfume store made him cross to the other end of the concourse. Normally, he walked along the aisle, well away from store influences but the perfume attack disoriented him. He found himself wandering a little too close to another store.
A rising wail rose up behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck quivered, curling at the back of his scalp. Then the wail flared out into a cornucopia of notes. His breath caught in his throat. His hands clenched his pants, the thick fabric crinkling under his fingers. Those notes, that sound…
That melody!
Music! It sounded like…
The G.L. Miller Big Band Re-Orchestra!
He spun.
The holographs looked faded, colours washed out, parts so thin he could almost see through them, but it was the Big Band! As he watched, the trumpet section rose from their chairs, four figures all moving in unison, and the sound bellowed out. He felt it buffet him, rocking him back on his heels as it seemed to soak into his skin and pass through his body to settle into his soul.
He remembered this now, this feeling, this delight. How could he have ever forgotten? The dance of navigation and computations all seemed bland and ordinary compared to the sparkling dance in front of him. Music flowed through him and he felt his body sway in rhythm. Every punctuation of the trumpets made him stomp faster, harder. Soon he danced across the length of the store. Then in a flourish, the song ended, the horns drawing out the final notes in a blare of sound that echoed in his mind.
When the notes faded, he found himself staring at the front of the shop. A music store.
He went inside and spent all his credits.
After, he rushed home, ignoring the clatter of the restaurant at the corner. He hurried along the grey tiled corridor and swiped his hand at the door. As it slid across, he jumped inside. A quick look showed him it was empty. He only had maybe ten minutes before one of his podmates returned. He hurried to his bunk and faced the wall. Only then did he pull out his wares.
He unfolded the card with the thin wafers stuck to the sides. Two on each sides, each label in order. Start with the bottom left one and work his way around, taking each one once a week. Guaranteed to work, the shop keeper had assured him, no matter what his original configuration had been.
Tony’s fingers trembled as he peeled off the first wafer. Should he really be doing this? It wasn’t strictly forbidden to have a hobby. Jed, one of his podmates, loved to sail the grav tides between the big ships. But that could be construed as useful to his job. Everyone in the pod had to be useful.
What use would there be to him for music?
But what could it hurt?
He pressed the wafer against his left temple. It warmed against his fingers, then he felt it warming up along the side of his face. His skin tingled. Something dripped down his cheek and trickled along his neck. Sticky residue stuck to his finger tips.
The wafer was gone.
He didn’t feel anything for a moment. He was just sitting on his bunk, the same lumpy surface under his rump. The regular beige surface of the wall in front of him, still a little damp from the reshift after the fifth podmate had left. The burnt plastic smell had all but faded, then it started to get stronger, pinching and burning in his nostrils. His head began to ache. His eyes felt dry. His lips swelled. The skin bulged and pursed. He felt the edges start to crack.
Then in his mind he felt the music began. He began to breath in the notes, inhaling deep and then exhaling through his mouth, through his thick, bulging lips.
And in his exhalations, the notes began to play.
He felt the beginning of a trumpet in his mouth. His jaw shifted forward, flattening and pushing out. His lips billowed outward, forming a wide opening. He breathed out and a soft snort of sound started. He took a deep breath and then pushed out stronger.
The music soared out of him.
He played a full five minutes, just letting the notes and music sing out. The sound rose and danced in the air. His lungs strained and ached as he played. Finally he couldn’t hold it anymore. He collapsed against the side of the wall, the soft press of plastic cool against his hot cheek. He stayed facing the wall, listening as the door slid open and one of his podmates came in.
“Hey, AnTonalen, have you eaten? Want to get dinner?”
As his lips and jaws slowly returned to normal, Tony could only shake his head.
For the next week, he had to find small places of privacy to hide. The bathroom off the work floor in the back, playing soft notes to himself as his lips and jaw shifted and changed into trumpet form and back. Once in a while he could commandeer the pod room for himself, bribing his podmates with credits to go away for an hour. Fortunately they were only interested in the extra credits and not in what he did. Then for a full hour he could play music, letting the sounds wash over him and lift him higher than the sun.
It took all his discipline to follow the directions and only apply the new wafers every week. Every day, practice came easier. Every day, his trumpet developed from the fledging horn to a full size, powerful instrument. Soon he only had to think about it and his mouth and jaw shifted into place without effort. The music played in his head all day long, even when he wasn’t physically playing. The notes danced and chased around in his head, crowding out all equations.
He still managed to work hard at his apprenticeship, until one day he didn’t.
One morning, the melody of a particularly complex song raced round his head as he worked on the new navigation system of a small cruiser. He doubled checked his equations, even as the notes played tag in his mind. His foot tapped to the rhythm as he closed the program and signaled the cruiser.
All clear.
All bright.
His shoulders shimmied as he stepped back to watch the clear smooth rise of the cruiser, all sparkling silver and smooth steel. Heavy docking clamps clicked off and fell away. The gravity well caught hold of the sleek bullet-shaped cruiser. The navigation kicked in, steering upward, shifting left.
Tony started to turn away, feet sliding on the deck. His hands pantomimed a drum beat.
A screech of metal echoed through the docking bay.
Tony spun. The music in his head scrambled and shrieked.
The cruiser scraped too close to the gravity well. It careened back. The back end caught and twisted like taffy. Metal groaned. Navigation tried to continue onward. He could feel it straining to continue on course.
Why didn’t the emergency stop kick in?
He’d forgotten to install it!
The ship would keep trying to fly even as it tore itself apart! All cargo, all crew members lost!
His heart pounded. Sweat popped out all over his body. His thoughts fluttered in his head, trying to coalesce into notes but he couldn’t think about music now. He had to reach the navigation system.
Around him, alarms screamed and screeched. He felt the two dock masters come running, boots slapping on tile. He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to settle and reach for the navigation system.
Slow down, steady, return to the bay. System abort.
He felt the minds of his masters join him, both a stronger, surer presence on either side, strengthening his commands. The system had been tuned to him and it would take too many precious nanoseconds for them to override it, better for them to support his efforts.
Finally the ship turned back. He could feel it in his mind, the reluctance of the navigation system to return, but it did obey him. His pounding heart echoed through him. The sickly sour smell of his own sweat clung to his nostrils. When he felt the c
lamps click down, securing the ship, his shoulders sagged.
He opened his eyes.
The large bullet-shaped cruiser lolled against the deck. Huge crevices twisted along the once smooth sides, looking like a monstrous god had slashed it with massive claws.
He felt a hand on each arm, fingers pinching the fabric of his tunic against his skin.
“AnTonalen, you will come with us,” said Master Graimlen.
Tony hung his head.
The masters room reminded him of a long ago principal’s room, although these rooms were a darker shade of grey, not pale blue. No framed papers hung on the wall. Instead, one wall held a collage of floating images of the many ships the masters had worked on. They hovered right against the wall, shifting a little closer to the ceiling as Tony moved into the room.
The two masters, Graimlen and Fradd, entered and closed the door behind them. They stood on either side of the door, two book ends. Both tall, wearing the same dark grey robes with the simple band of Master adorning the front of their robes. Tony couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t show it off bigger. When he became a Master, he’d wear the full head banner for all to see.
If he ever became a Master.
That seemed unlikely now.
Graimlen inclined his head. “How could you forget the emergency stop?”
Tony’s shoulders hunched. “I don’t know, Master.”
“You do know, AnTonalen, you just refuse to share with us.” Fradd stepped forward, spreading his hands in front of him. His thin fingers looked too stunted and crooked to be good at navigation but Tony had seen him manipulate sensors with a smooth, sure movement that reminded Tony of the most delicate melody.
Tony could feel the sweat trickle down his sides. His tunic stuck to his skin. A sour taste filled his mouth.
He hated lying to his masters.
“I was distracted,” he said.
Music Man: A Science Fiction Story Page 1