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trans_92011-07-29 01:59 am
zouichi.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-07-29 01:59 am
Entry tags:
Back in black
The young woman who had looked after Zouichi and his siblings had taken it upon herself to instruct them in quite a few areas that were not strictly part of their curriculum -- areas regarded by many of the personnel at Toha Heavy Industries as impractical, even pointless.
Better that they should be taught one more way to kill an opponent without a sound, or log additional hours in test simulations.
But because it would have been disruptive and costly to switch instructors halfway, and because she was the daughter of a scientist of some importance to the project, she was allowed to continue with her eccentricities.
Some of the most peculiar of the lessons she insisted upon centered around an old Earth instrument, one that by the 31st century had become more of an amusing anachronism than anything else. Something you saw in old movies or read about in books, not something you kept in your house or paid to go listen to. It wasn't something he had time to practice, once he was released, but there seemed to be nothing but time here.
So Zouichi had found himself visiting the Sensoriums more often, not to destroy imaginary enemies in ever more creative ways, but to play -- mostly when he could reasonably be sure everyone else would be asleep, and therefore unlikely to come look for him. Today, however, he wasn't in the mood to bother waiting for people to turn in. There was one other oddity -- a bandage wrapped neatly about his forehead, half-covered by his bangs.
He shed his customary gloves, placing them on the surface of the polished black wood. Then he closed his eyes, placed his hands over the cool ivory keys, and began to play. Satie's Gymnopédie No. 1, a slow-paced, melancholy piece. He didn't know why, but playing it always made him remember the ocean. Or at least the simulated version of it; he'd never seen the real thing. The quiet ebb and flow of the tide, the breaking of each wave into sea foam upon the shore. The sea at early evening, perhaps, when all its visitors had gone home and the sun cast everything in long shadow.
Then, on a whim, he focused on summoning up an orchestral accompaniment: a crowd of black-clad musicians in which he might more easily blend in. Or maybe hide, if such a thing were possible on an open stage with a stern-faced conductor watching over all of them. For a moment, the musicians were still. Then, together, they began the first movement of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 In C Minor, Op. 18. It was easy, once they began playing, to simply lose himself in the swells of sound. The dreamlike ebb and flow of the violins, the rich, deep murmur of the cellos, the brassy reports of the trumpets, the clear, concise flurry of the flutes. Fascinating, the way the sounds of so many different individuals could come together to create a coherent narrative.
It was too bad he'd never get a chance to play with the real thing.
Better that they should be taught one more way to kill an opponent without a sound, or log additional hours in test simulations.
But because it would have been disruptive and costly to switch instructors halfway, and because she was the daughter of a scientist of some importance to the project, she was allowed to continue with her eccentricities.
Some of the most peculiar of the lessons she insisted upon centered around an old Earth instrument, one that by the 31st century had become more of an amusing anachronism than anything else. Something you saw in old movies or read about in books, not something you kept in your house or paid to go listen to. It wasn't something he had time to practice, once he was released, but there seemed to be nothing but time here.
So Zouichi had found himself visiting the Sensoriums more often, not to destroy imaginary enemies in ever more creative ways, but to play -- mostly when he could reasonably be sure everyone else would be asleep, and therefore unlikely to come look for him. Today, however, he wasn't in the mood to bother waiting for people to turn in. There was one other oddity -- a bandage wrapped neatly about his forehead, half-covered by his bangs.
He shed his customary gloves, placing them on the surface of the polished black wood. Then he closed his eyes, placed his hands over the cool ivory keys, and began to play. Satie's Gymnopédie No. 1, a slow-paced, melancholy piece. He didn't know why, but playing it always made him remember the ocean. Or at least the simulated version of it; he'd never seen the real thing. The quiet ebb and flow of the tide, the breaking of each wave into sea foam upon the shore. The sea at early evening, perhaps, when all its visitors had gone home and the sun cast everything in long shadow.
Then, on a whim, he focused on summoning up an orchestral accompaniment: a crowd of black-clad musicians in which he might more easily blend in. Or maybe hide, if such a thing were possible on an open stage with a stern-faced conductor watching over all of them. For a moment, the musicians were still. Then, together, they began the first movement of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 In C Minor, Op. 18. It was easy, once they began playing, to simply lose himself in the swells of sound. The dreamlike ebb and flow of the violins, the rich, deep murmur of the cellos, the brassy reports of the trumpets, the clear, concise flurry of the flutes. Fascinating, the way the sounds of so many different individuals could come together to create a coherent narrative.
It was too bad he'd never get a chance to play with the real thing.
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"Aren't we fighting countless numbers of a race so advanced than ending the existence of planets is practically trivial to them? I wouldn't think just punching them would be effective." Morgan knew the general mission from reading the information on the omnicomm network, but had skipped a bit when it came to mission histories, it seems.
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Zouichi frowned. "Guess it depends on how good you are at punching." He was great at it! "They are supposed to be vast in number, but I don't think we'll be trying to take on all of them at once. And they can certainly be killed."
"How strong are you? Baseline human?"
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Another chi user. It was a little strange, finding out that several of the crew made use of a phenomenon that was mostly regarded as old-age mysticism on his world. "There are also quite a few human pilots in Starfighter Command. I believe most of the X-Wing and Gundam pilots lack any special powers."
He wasn't quite sure if Allenby would fit in that category or not.
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Not that he didn't have his own personal armory, really, but all those weapons took a distant backseat to the sword he wore over his back.
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"In any case, I'm sure they'll be glad to have you. They seem like a pretty nice group to me. Generally speaking."
"So with you around, will we be seeing more of Stephen?"
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He snickered. "I HOPE so, but I can't promise anything. Stephen's masterful at being antisocial."
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"Well, if you have any ideas that require an accomplice, let me know. I'm sure he'd be a little happier if he came out more often."
Uh. Just a little.
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He made a mental note of the two names, absurd as at least one of them was -- though who was he to judge anyway? "And I'd be more than happy to spar with you. I'm trying to consolidate the martial artists on this ship anyway... I've heard enough stories of people being separated from their trainers and not having anyone else to turn to that I'd like to see that stop."
One was enough!
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Zouichi thought for a moment. "Well, there do seem to be quite a few of us. But I believe at least two members of the crew run regular training sessions. Though I admit I've never attended one myself."
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"Did you? I try to keep track of them when I can, but if it happened while I was on-planet, I would have missed it entirely due to the comm blackout."
Zouichi frowned a little. "And there is the fact that some of them come from worlds in which electronics don't exist..."
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"I have to admit I'm surprised at how many people on this ship understand electronics. In a nexus like this my experience was always that a lot of people didn't at all."
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"Perhaps it's out of necessity that they learn to use technology as quickly as they do? So much on this ship revolves around its use." He shrugged. "Though I'm from the 31st century on my Earth, and even I don't understand how some of this stuff works."
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He waved a hand around at the sensorium. "But if you want to know more about something like this, you COULD ask Stephen. He actually created something a lot like this. The Holotheater, we called it."
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"Did he? I guess it worked using holograms, though, and not directly manipulating your thoughts..."
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He chuckled. "Though I actually ended up living in it for a while."
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Clearly he'd survived it, right?
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/wrap this up pretty soon?