Music Box Let me hear your voice within the darkness, make this sinking heart fade into nothing On this empty canvas of deception I will paint all of my feelings…again... A never-ending fantasy, I think that it is what I've reached "What could this state of being be?", my body temperature is weak Save me before I can't be saved, laughter is eating me away I am locked in this present day, in my mind, the future is painted in grey. Fantasies that I've longed for from those deserted lies If you wish to continue, then lie some more. Flowing from the depths of my own heart is love that I had etched upon its surface Deep in this illusion, I can hear you but your voice is at its furthest If there is a form so I can touch it, if it breaks apart from all the sorrow Then I do not need to have my eyes here, hold me tight and don't let go. Leia... A never-ending fantasy, I asked as I laughed sadly "What could this state of being be?" echoing, the words that were said are in grey. Eternity cut my breath short, with gentleness, it came Leaving me to fall into my misery and pain. When the ticking hands of time have stopped, then our little world will soon be ending The only hope we have is in our own words, but they really have no meaning Laugh a little more, laugh while you still can, pray a little more, pray while you still can If you cannot hear me after all that, end my life and say goodbye now. Let me hear your voice within the darkness, make this sinking heart fade into nothing Buried with the canvas of deception is us two within the painting If there is no way of making proof that we were once together in this world, then 1
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Transcript
Music Box
Let me hear your voice within the darkness, make this sinking heart fade into nothing
On this empty canvas of deception I will paint all of my feelings…again...
A never-ending fantasy, I think that it is what I've reached
"What could this state of being be?", my body temperature is weak
Save me before I can't be saved, laughter is eating me away
I am locked in this present day, in my mind, the future is painted in grey.
Fantasies that I've longed for from those deserted lies
If you wish to continue, then lie some more.
Flowing from the depths of my own heart is love that I had etched upon its surface
Deep in this illusion, I can hear you but your voice is at its furthest
If there is a form so I can touch it, if it breaks apart from all the sorrow
Then I do not need to have my eyes here, hold me tight and don't let go.
Leia...
A never-ending fantasy, I asked as I laughed sadly
"What could this state of being be?" echoing, the words that were said are in grey.
Eternity cut my breath short, with gentleness, it came
Leaving me to fall into my misery and pain.
When the ticking hands of time have stopped, then our little world will soon be ending
The only hope we have is in our own words, but they really have no meaning
Laugh a little more, laugh while you still can, pray a little more, pray while you still can
If you cannot hear me after all that, end my life and say goodbye now.
Let me hear your voice within the darkness, make this sinking heart fade into nothing
Buried with the canvas of deception is us two within the painting
If there is no way of making proof that we were once together in this world, then
Burn my body up into black ashes, end my life and say goodbye.
Leia...
Leia...
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Music Box
Prologue
“Orwell, Tyrik.”
“Ty? They called you up.”
“Ty?”
“Come on, Ty, you might as well.”
‘I’m not going.”
“But everyone has to t-“
“I’m not going.”
The boy whose name was called is shaking. That’s what I notice first. I don’t recognise the few times in the past where we might have met. I can’t register his basic eye, skin or hair colour enough for that. All that I see is the shaking. The fear.
“Orwell, Tyrik. Would you please walk up to the desk?”
And in that voice calling for him, the shaking is still all I think of. There is no shaking. There isn’t even a slight rise in pitch at the end of the sentence, where there should be whenever a question is asked. Because there is no question. It’s a definite order. Whatever “Ty” wishes for, the outcome is absolute. An order to pass, or an order to fail.
He’s realised that now. His right cheek twitches as if something has broken behind his eyes, and he pushes slowly through the crowd.
The woman doing the calling must be convinced that Tyrik has decided, as she moves onto the next few names.
“They’re still on the “O” surnames,” whispers the boy to my right, tugging at his unkempt black hair. Adair, my best friend. “Rallinshaw. Reten.” He frowns, thinking.
“I’ll go in before you, if that’s what you’re figuring out,” I tell him “And there are loads of thirteen-year-olds in our school. It will be a while, even ignoring the people who waver. The ones like the Tyrik guy, too scared to go and sign whatever form they have.” His expression relaxes from the frown, but remains tense.
“See, Seth?” he mutters “This is what I meant. You can think quickly under pressure.” And I can’t, I finish the sentence in my mind.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll pass,” I assure him without hesitation. Whether or not I believe that, he just said that he couldn’t think well and worry at the same time. Adair snorts and tilts his head towards me, dark blue eyes flashing in the brightness of the hall lights scornfully.
“I couldn’t remember the damn alphabet a couple of seconds ago. There’s no way I’m gonna pass this thing.”
We’re close to the middle of this concrete room, enhancing the feeling of being trapped.
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From what I can see over between people’s necks, there is an organised, large desk at the front. I can’t tell whether the person directly behind the desk is male or female, since the necks keep being replaced by shoulders as others try to see the same things as me. I don’t particularly care whether I’m irritating the curious types standing behind me with the constant craning. There’s no obligation to help anyone else today. It’s completely discouraged in every and any way.
“It’s so harsh, when you really think about it,” shudders Adair.
“Yeah.” Obviously. That’s what everyone has been saying for the entirety of my schooling years.
“No, don’t just think it automatically. Think, you know, as if you weren’t raised to see this as normal. Everyone our age takes this test. If you pass, you’ve got your future. If you fail, you’ve got nothing.”
It’s chilling to hear it phrased like that, but I don’t feel the words as strongly as Adair does. Probably because I’m almost definitely going to get that future. The future that nobody else in my family earned. Right from my earliest memory of slowly reading through a discarded newspaper, I’ve been working for this moment. And in this moment, I work for everything else.
Thirteen years. The plan adopted all across the first world. That’s what they give you. Thirteen years to show all your potential. Then after those years, they give you the test.
If you’re intelligent enough, you’re useful. The score is broken down into several parts, and if you’ve scored highly enough in one, you’ll go to the corresponding school to improve your skills, and eventually into a job that requires them.
If you’re not, nothing happens. It isn’t as soft as it sounds.
No education.
No work.
No money.
No food.
The people in charge are intelligent and rich. They don’t care what happens to the others. Many starve. I heard once that there used to be careers that didn’t require intelligence. Those careers are gone now. Now it’s everything. Now it’s synonymous to life.
So I had to learn. Ina, my sister, passed the test and went into technology, but my brother, Kyal, did not. The wages for one person can hardly support three or four, and is definitely not enough to support five for much longer. I have to pass, so I’m going to pass.
The names keep on going.
“What am I going to do, Seth?” Adair spits “I don’t have the skills to get through this. I don’t have the skills to get through without this, either.”
“Eh? Without it?”
“Other people who have to drop out can live well sometimes,” he explains, twisting his foot anxiously “Like your family, you know? You all managed to get by until Ina was old enough. That’s what they keep saying to me: it’s never over. But your parents very nearly passed. I’ll be nowhere near it. Us
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who aren’t clever enough aren’t clever enough for the streets either. See, you could manage...I bet you could manage.”
That hurts. This pain stinging me feels like guilt. I’ve been fighting for myself and myself only. But that’s all I can do. It isn’t my fault that Adair...well...
It’s true that I could manage. The way my family survived was through stealing, as simple as that. We only took what we needed to.
I could give Adair advice. I’m not supposed to tell him, or anyone, about the stealing, not that it would stop me. No, I can’t tell him because it wouldn’t help. The life of a thief is dangerous and you have to be a certain type of person to gain from it. Adair isn’t that type of person.
“Rallinshaw, Seth.”
My name rings clearly, bounding off the concrete surroundings without being muffled by talking. Everyone is silent.
Adair mouths something to me.
Is it...”good luck”?
No. It’s “goodbye.”
So I walk through the crowd. I don’t protest. I don’t walk slowly to put everything off, or quickly to get it over with. It’s not going to make a difference. I just...walk.
I try not to flinch at the stares of the other boys and girls. I don’t even look at them. I’ve never been that interested in socialising with these people, and it would be stupid to start now. Now, when some of them are soon to be doomed to eternal difficulty.
When I reach it, it turns out that the person behind the desk is a woman.
She draws a tick next to my name on a sheet, and then points with long fingernails, painted a painful shade of red, at various boxes on a form that I need to fill in. It’s all simple information, so I don’t pay attention as she talks.
So instead I think about Adair and what he said. A certain type of person who can survive the tough way. I’ve always thought that I had to pass. But do I?
What we have here is a person who can survive either way, and another who can survive neither.
If only they could switch.
If only they could switch.
“...and then finally sign at the bottom of the form. You have to attach this to your paper for identification. Got it?”
Immediately the woman shoves me a pen and the form, moving on to call the next name.
She’s not going to check?
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I purposefully take my time completing the form on a table between the desk and the door into the testing room, listening to the names progressing through the alphabet.
Reten, I continuously repeat in my head, waiting for the voice on the inside to match one on the outside.
“What are you doing, kid?” a shadow crosses the paper as a low male voice questions me. I don’t look up.
“Uh...nearly done.” The man sighs and moves away.
A few more slowly written words and I’ve completed the form. It’s as correct as I need it to be.
“Reten, Adair.” After the typical sounds of rustling clothing and a blend of footsteps, Adair arrives at the desk, not noticing me at first. He only looks as the woman’s unnecessary speech on the form begins.
I hold my form up from the table. Adair squints and then the shock in his eyes travels in a pulse throughout the room. It’s like it carries a message.
No. You can’t do this. Not for me.
I point at the form he is being handed, and then at myself, before walking through the door.
Often, the one thing you can never get in this society is compromise. But when you do get it, you can never argue with it.
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Three Years Later
Love
One thought: Run.
Neither my mind or my body can possibly stray away from running. Maybe they could, but I’m not going to try it. I just keep leaning forward and letting my legs fall, not preparing to stop.
I don’t feel much when I run. I vaguely remember stings of fright a few years ago, but now I’ve either become so accustomed to them that they don’t register, or they just don’t bother because they’ll only be ignored. The tiredness eventually went the same way.
The way my toes keep hitting the concrete through them tells me that my shoes don’t fit. I thought that I’d be able to save money by getting a pair too large for me, but they’re already wearing out from all this running.
And I don’t even like running. I never had to run properly before I moved out.
I had to move out. There was no way that everyone could survive on the money we had if I stayed. So now it’s back to the same backup plan.
Some of the people on the crowded street I’m sprinting down are glancing at me suspiciously. It doesn’t matter. I’ve learnt that if they’re not losing anything, they won’t stop anyone. It’s a mixture of being both self-centred and generous: although they don’t care what happens to whoever I’ve stolen from, they feel some sympathy for my way of life.
The backs of my legs begin to sting a little.
Only two more streets.
I stumble after hitting a can on the pavement with my foot. It throws me so off-balance for a few seconds afterwards that I almost want to turn back purely to crush it under that same foot. But I’m nearly there.
One turn later, and I can see it. The ridiculously small building at the end of the street, where the beige paint is peeling off and the windows are too dusty to be seen through.
Welcome home.
Not wanting to slow down, I reach my arms out as I run up to the door, bending my elbows as my hands touch it to stop safely. I move back a few paces and examine my palms, flicking away the grit shallowly embedded in them before opening the door.
“It’s been a while.”
I walk in and close the door behind me. Morgana sits in the corner of the first and largest room of two, chin resting on her knees and long, smooth brunette hair tangling around her ankles.
“Yeah, but look at what I got.” I drop the gunny sack clutched in my right hand to the floor. Numerous items of food, from bread to cauliflowers, spill out. Morgana’s eyes widen and she uncrosses her arms from around her legs, walking on her knees over to the pile of food. She picks up various things, rotating them in her long fingers and staring in awe.
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“What did you do, stuff an entire market stall into that bag?” she gasps. I shrug.
“Eh, close enough.”
“And you weren’t afraid of being caught?” she asks incredulously “I couldn’t do that. Not ever. Look at all this...look at it...”
Morgana starts separating the food out into one large pile and one small one. The small one is what we’ll eat tonight, the things that will go rotten easily. She seems to be focusing too much on the food, acting over-excited and drawing attention to it to the point of being suspicious.
“What did you get today?” I ask, trying to sound enthusiastic. Morgana sighs, reaching behind her back and rolling a single apple towards me reluctantly. I look down at it.
“You know I’m not good at this,” she protests “I was there, okay? I found this shop and was going to take out a bunch of fruit, because like I told you: we don’t get enough of it. I thought I could stuff a load of it in my shirt and walk out of there, but after I tried the apple I figured that there was no way it was going to work. So I got out while I could.” Her head bows down and the upper half of her body flops to meet her crossed legs.
I sit down beside her and place an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry that I’m useless,” Morgana mumbles, voice muffled through her worn jeans.
“You shouldn’t be.” Her head jerks up.
“So, what, you’re agreeing that I’m useless?”
“Yeah, but don’t let it get you down.”
“Hnn...”
“Kidding, kidding.” She laughs.
I’ve lived here since I turned fifteen, and Morgana has stayed with me for almost as long as that. It’s been one year since then.
It’s illegal to live without an adult at the age of fifteen. But, being one of the children who “failed” the test, you can be sure that nobody actually cares.
I don’t even know what happened to Adair. He must have moved away for his further education, because I haven’t seen him since testing day. I like to think that he’s managing to scrape through.
Morgana failed the test in the usual way and I consoled her. A lot of things happened in between, and eventually she wanted to stay here with me because there wasn’t anything left for her at home. There wouldn’t be anything left for me without her, but it’s true that she isn’t very helpful. She tries, she slips up, and that’s both good enough and not good enough.
Yes, after that day, it’s Morgana that has been my closest friend, my only friend, and now even more than that. But we know that in our place there’s no use in wasting anything on tacky gifts or expensive ceremonies.
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The sounds of the cold streets seep under the doorway, footsteps, traffic and laughter blended into the rushing air. I flick a glance over to the half-broken, once-white clock, partly propped up against the corner of the room. I forget where I got it from, but in its current state I doubt it will even be remembered back there.
Seven. Twenty-three past seven.
“We should probably start with the food now,” I say after a few minutes, stroking Morgana’s long and silky hair. She wriggles, ending up a little closer than before. She’s warmer than I am. Softer.
“Just a little while,” she murmurs “Just a little while longer.”
A new sound begins behind the ambience, gradually mixing in. It’s sweet. It’s pleasant.
“Music,” whispers Morgana.
Of course. Half-past seven. Music. The struggling cafe across from this pathetic wisp of a building always has it at this time. Delicate, refined music.
Morgana smiles subtly upon hearing the first notes of “her” voice. Kaori.
It’s hard to describe Kaori’s voice. It’s like a normal speaking voice, only controlled, purer and...more melodic, like an instrument.
She’s everywhere, in almost every song. But she doesn’t exist.
I suppose that’s up for debate. Kaori has a voice. Kaori even has a “body”. But she doesn’t have a soul, or a conscience, or whatever it is that other humans and animals have.
Yet at the same time she has more than any living thing could ever have, however many tests they passed. Maybe that’s why she’s so popular. One person can never be Kaori, for however much you wish, you can never be that strangely alluring branch of the concept of a voice. But at the same time, in her place...groups of teenagers dance as her, and their elders are her as they listen to those songs, just the same as they used to be. Nobody is Kaori, but Kaori is all of us.
More than any living thing could ever have, all of us...so as I cling to Morgana, it doesn’t matter that this is all we have left. Each other and music.
“I heard that normal humans used to be able to talk like that,” comments Morgana, eyes flickering from the modern reality. I remember a word from a history book I used to read from.
“Singing.”
“Singing,” she repeats “I like that word. Singing. It sounds sweet and soft. Kind of like light.”
Singing. Sing-ing. People should use the word more, but there’s no need to, although the word “song” is common.
Morgana adores Kaori more than anyone else that I’ve met. She isn’t as outspoken about her admiration as some people are, but Kaori has kept her smiling.
That’s incredible enough for me.
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I hear a different voice nearer to me, carrying the same notes as Kaori’s, but the tune and volume wavers uncomfortably. It has the ability to create a sound similar Kaori, but free of words.
“And that’s humming,” I tell Morgana. She stops humming.
“Humming. I like that word too.”
“Yes, but it’s against the law,” I remind her.
“Oh, come on. That’s stupid.”
“It’s still the law.” Morgana stands up and gathers the small pile of food set aside earlier.
“Look what we’re eating tonight,” she laughs “Don’t think that I care about singing.”
“Humming.”
“You’re just jealous because you can’t hum, sing, whatever.”
“Why would I be? The reason nobody has learnt the ability for the last few hundred years is that it’s not useful. At all. Exactly the opposite.” Morgana starts humming again.
“I don’t get what the big deal is. Singing can’t be dangerous, right? Why has nobody else tried to teach themselves to sing?” she shrugs.
It’s no surprise she failed the test.
“There’s a reason. And you’re not singing, I’ve told you. You’re only humming.”
“At the moment,” Morgana tilts her head towards the door to hear the music more clearly.
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Fear
Voices.
Am I awake?
I’m awake.
My eyelids slide gradually, allowing the morning to seep into my vision before blinking them fully open and sitting up in one blended movement. I look over to the still-sleeping figure a few inches away from me.
She always sleeps curled up with her head underneath the blanket. That’s why the light doesn’t wake her. I can feel the traces of the particularly cold night around the room, so I fold my half of the blanket over her before I walk over to the door.
“Where are you going?” Morgana asks, voice muffled.
“Footsteps wake you up so easily.”
“They don’t. I was already awake. I thought that you were asleep.”
“I was.” She gets up as well, placing one hand on her hip knowingly.
“Alright, don’t try to distract me, or pull any of your little tricks,” her eyes glint with rare confidence “Where are you going? Answer.” I sigh, rolling my head and my shoulders.
“I heard some noises outside,” I mutter quickly.
“What noises?”
“Just noises. General human noises.” She raises her eyebrows expectantly. “Breathing,” I add “Speaking, walking, that kind of thing.”
“Speaking? About what?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you set on getting out of that door?” I let the silence hang to listen again.
“I’m not,” I grunt, leaning back against the wall and sliding down to the floor. Morgana doesn’t appear concerned.
“I don’t understand you, Seth.”
“And that’s my mysterious allure, right?”
She laughs, completely relaxing as she steps closer to me.
“Maybe it is.”
More hugging. More kissing. I don’t even care if this little routine is repetitive. It’s the one constant thing that I can rely on. That we can rely on, I think as Morgana’s hopeful light eyes meet my own dark ones.
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I can rely on these moments, but I can’t rely on her. However that sounds, I don’t mean to insult her. Yet I can’t tell her something like that, and this is what I mean. If intention alone was enough...if only it was, she’d be perfect. She doesn’t seem like it, but she can be amazingly strong willed when she gets serious.
My memories of Morgana before the test are limited, but I remember linking her with a faint image of a lively, admired and bold girl. When I got to know her properly after the test, I decided that was ridiculous. It isn’t obvious now, since she refuses to even interact with anyone except me, but she’s painfully under-confident. It’s the test that did it. Before then, she had everything. But popularity or whatever it was that she had was just a childish measure of achievement. Then, suddenly, she realised she had nothing.
She told me that she didn’t know who she was anymore. She couldn’t be who she was before.
I told her a personality wasn’t two-dimensional. So she took the idea of the different dimensions and created two personalities, nicknaming them “Light Morgana” and “Dark Morgana”. Light Morgana was the embodiment of the gentle aspects of her personality, timid but caring. Dark Morgana was hard-headed, rational, brave, sometimes self-centred. It hardly made a difference, this idea, because I don’t think she’s ever had the strength to be anything but soft, fragile Light Morgana.
Fragile. That’s the problem. Too fragile to steal. Too fragile, too emotional for me to tell her about danger.
That’s what just happened. The people out there heard it. Last night. The humming.
Illegal or not, such a simple thing shouldn’t matter, and all they said was how interesting a sound it was.
I don’t want Morgana to worry. She says that she doesn’t want me to protect her. But I have to protect her, at least for now. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to stop protecting her. And I believe that somewhere engraved into her mind is a strong nature. So I can’t tell her about these things.
Besides, it’s humming. Who knows how many people have kept that secret ability? It’s unusual, but not dangerous.
And then for the first time, there’s a sharp knock.
This house? Why would anybody want to talk to people living in this house?
“What?” Morgan flinches away from me and stares at the door. I see the terror on her face and turn away to open it.
I suppose there are actually several reasons to talk to us. None of them good.
I wrench open the door. A man with unkempt dark hair who looks to be in his early twenties peers at me. From the state of his clothes, borderline tatty, it’s obvious that he didn’t pass the test. However, his expression suggests resourcefulness and determination, so he most likely hasn’t suffered too badly.
“Well, it’s not you,” he says with an air of pride, as if he’s said something particularly witty.
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“It?” I reply, openly resentful. I don’t need or try to be social, and I’m not intimidated by someone with an obvious lack of authority. And possibly respect.
“The pretty voice. I heard it from over here, last evening.”
“So?”
“So it’s what I’m looking for,” the man narrows his eyes. He’s an infuriating height, just a little taller than me. I hear shuffling behind me. Morgana trying to hide away.
Well, I heard it and so did whoever this is.
“Hey! You, girl,” he calls to her. She ambles awkwardly towards the doorway.
“Wait, wait,” I step in front of Morgana just before she reaches him, but not quickly enough for me to place myself a comfortable distance away from the stranger. I’ll go with it, since although it’s probably not an intimidating stance it could display confidence. I attempt to straighten my back. Damn. Still taller. “So she has a hobby. Why should you care? Why should any of your friends care?” He raises his eyebrows.
“I think the more important question is “why should you care?”, actually,” he points at me with one hand and Morgana with the other, reversing the question “Let the girl speak. What’s your name?” She blinks up at him silently, stunned at the idea of speaking to strangers again. Then she looks at me, asking without words whether she should respond. I give in and nod. She mumbles her name.
“Morgan?” the man asks.
“Morgana,” she repeats, softly but more clearly “Morgana Saich.”
“Your age?”
“S-Sixteen.”
“How long have you-“
“Just a moment,” I interrupt “Exactly how many questions are you planning on asking her?” He sighs heavily.
“Get out,” he snaps.
“Get out? Out of my own house?”
“Don’t pretend that you bought it or anything,” he says patronisingly “I’ve got as much right to be here as you. The difference is that you have no clue how important this is. So get out and let me speak to Morgana without your interfering.”
I flinch back automatically, like he’s hit me right in the chest.
“Fine,” I snarl, pushing past him into the street.
I turn the corner, tangled anger twining over my vision, and hit something with layers of softness and hardness. Stepping back, I see two men, leaning against a metal bin. They both appear reasonably young, but their weariness suggests otherwise.
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The one I walked into laughs gruffly and his friend joins him.
“Dez, look at this one.”
Thieves. Not my kind, but the kind too pathetic to take from the big companies. No, the ones who have to go one at a time with their victims.
All I have worth taking are my worn-out shoes and I’d rather not discuss that.
“Personally, I’ve seen enough of your type,” I grin. The man called Dez looks particularly baffled.
“Eh? What do-“
And in that second, I punch him with all my strength in the face, making sure to hit upwards to throw him off balance. He falls to the ground, clutching his nose. The other one covers his face with his arms, preparing to fight me, but I kick him in the shins so he falls as well.
Then, just to ensure safety, I throw the bin on them before running on.
I hope that thing was full.
After a few more turns and many more minutes, amongst my fresh memories of danger it occurs to me that I really shouldn’t have let Morgana stay alone with...whoever that man was. I’m not sure if it’s because of too little strength or too much compassion, but she can’t fight.
I’ve got to turn back.
I take a second to draw out the flipped image of the route I just took in my imagination, wanting to avoid a second meeting with the thieves, and then run home.
Run. Run, run, run, run.
Not paying attention to my surroundings as I devote all I have to the unending motion, I suddenly realise that something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
I stop and I’m standing amongst dusty rubble.
Welcome home.
And I stare. I can only stare.
Waking me from the confused daze, I hear the words I never thought I would need to be told, what I believed was my own instinct, my own choice.
“Seth! Get away, run!” a female voice shrieks. I don’t recognise it immediately since that voice very rarely goes that high-pitched or anywhere near that volume.
Morgana! Where is she? I won’t run anywhere until I know the answer. I hear another voice, quieter, but more panicked within the tone.
“I don’t care!” Morgana shouts again “I’m not leaving him!”
Then, from the opposite direction to the one I ran from, she stumbles out from a narrow turning in a desperate rush, arm out, reaching in my direction.
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“They’re here!” she yells.
They? They must be who destroyed the house. Although that thing was so weak that they could be a mild breeze for all I know.
I sprint to the turning and see the street, shrouded by the shadows of the towering worn buildings.
The man from earlier is a few metres behind Morgana, glancing around fearfully and attempting to call her to move further away from the place where our home once stood.
My instinct is to think that this, whatever it is, is all his fault.
But he isn’t the one that shoots Morgana.
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Anticipation
I’ve never been in a car before. Poor family backgrounds can explain a lot of things. I’ve heard of students being transported around in them, and various big versions of them, for educational trips, but it turns out that’s a pass-exclusive thing. It’s not worth wasting the education budget on until they know for sure you have a use in the world. Unless, of course, your family is rich enough to send you to one of the fancy schools that aren’t funded by the government.
As I mentioned, poor family backgrounds can explain a lot of things.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit back with her?”
“That doesn’t matter. I want to watch you.”
The man, who I’ve learnt carries the one name Ves, or something longer that was created solely to be a nuisance, looks amused as he turns the car around a corner.
“What’s up with you?” Ves asks “The other ones your age can’t be like this, can they?”
“The issue there is that whatever’s “up” with me is the same thing that’s going to keep me alive.”
“You’re wrong,” he replies, and points to Morgana sprawled unconscious across the seats behind us “What’s up with her is going to keep you alive.”
That’s a bit of a twist, because the way things have been going so far, and the way he’s been talking, has insisted upon the opposite.
“Or it might kill you,” Ves adds.
“I still don’t get this, trust you, or know where you’re going,” I list.
“But you’re here hoping that I’m taking you to someone who can fix up your girlfriend, right?”
“Right. And maybe that you can tell me something about what’s going on. Is that too much to hope for?”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“I try. Let’s start off with “who shot Morgana?” I think you owe me that at least for the whole little dragging-me-away-before-I-could-get-a-look-and-maybe-a-punch-at-them scene,” I say bitterly.
“You sure speak snobbishly for a street rat. If we hadn’t had that scene, as you call it, your character would have been written out. So by that piece of your logic, you owe me your life, Mr Obnoxious.”
“You can call me Seth.”
“Nah, I’m fine, thanks. The person who shot Morgana would have been one of the Restriction Officers. Very sneaky. Very prying.”
“Restriction Officers?”
15
Music Box
“The ones who spot problems and try to stop them growing. In other words, if they see, or in this case hear, something they think might mess the law up, they’ll cut it off. Before you blame me for anything, my colleagues and I weren’t the only ones who heard the humming, and these things spread fast.” For the word “cut”, he raises his hand to his neck and makes a swift cutting action in front of it.
“So she hummed. Big deal,” I say, frowning.
“Yes, big deal,” answers Ves patronisingly “Very big deal.” I recognise the feeling of exasperation that’s made me particularly cold towards this man.
“I had a teacher like you once.”
“Oh?”
“Always thought he was right. Total control-freak. Interfered with my education. I didn’t like that, so one day I discretely tripped him down the stairs.”
“You w- I mean, we’ll talk about that kind of thing later. Are you familiar with the Harmony Riots?”
“The ones from 500 years ago?”
“493 years ago, to be exact. After years of media and popular culture, music in particular, becoming more and more rebellious and anarchistic, they say the people finally cracked. I’m sure there was something else in the mixture to cause such devastation, but that’s the official explanation our ancestors gave us and we’ve held onto. Some say the people in charge were just jealous of performers. Nevertheless, hundreds of thousands died all over the world. And when it was finally over, they took all measures to ensure it never happened again. They banned anything they thought couldn’t be controlled. Things like books, television and plays are still with us because they all can be tracked and regulated. But music died. Not all music, just vocal music. They were scared of the lyrics. Singing is a public hobby as well as a business. They couldn’t control it as a business alone...so they killed it completely. Bam, through the heart.”
“Hang on. Last time I checked, lyrical music was alive and kicking the bass line pretty hard.”
“It was dead for a good few years, and it’s still not alive enough for me now. After those years, Kaori was introduced. It was the plan all along for some of them, you know. To only allow one singer with strict controls over them to perform so that everything would have to go through the controllers to get to the public. But that would never have worked. Too much corruption went on with the old “celebrities” and nobody could have been trusted completely. Also, a singer who would age and die, voice decaying, would have only broken people’s hearts. Except for maybe some other jealous vocalists, which would have been a clear problem itself. But then there was Kaori, a virtual singer. With some studies of the human voice, she had enough abilities for vibrato, dynamics and pitch to perfectly convey everything a normal voice could, and more. So, of course, this method of music creation could be controlled easily. There’s a committee that screens all of Kaori’s music, and that’s why she became the sole singer. Some call her the “Savior of Song.””
“Can I interrupt you again?” I request impatiently. Ves glances at me, silently asking why I’m finally bothering to ask his permission. “Yeah, why are you telling me this?”
16
Music Box
“I’ll get to the point eventually,” he says non-commitally “We can skip the next few years where intelligent fans of Kaori design and create a body and mind for her, as flawlessly human yet far superior to any, as her voice.”
I think he’s trying to be sarcastic, but I also think that he doesn’t quite understand the concept of sarcasm.
He’s just like Sir Stairwell.
“Relevance?” I remind him simply.
“I’ve been looking all over for someone who still knows how to sing after all these years. And now, for once, I think I’m close to achieving my goal.”
“Your goal?”
“We’re bringing back vocalists.”
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Vocalists. It seems like a simple and insignificant plan at first, but it’s not. You don’t need to be particularly intelligent to have a good singing voice. This could be a gateway to the change of everything, the collapse of the system.
I’ve been staying at the Singstitute, as some of the workers have nicknamed it, for a week now. It’s a place hidden away, working secretly. They still won’t let me see Morgana.
Being the unofficial boss, Ves has told me that she’s made a near-complete recovery, but the lower a profile I keep, the better. Some of the other people here think me staying in the building is a waste of money and time, but that attitude is on its way out after I brought back a few “market stalls” of food.
He promises that she’ll be moved to share my room here within the next few days, but most of her time awake will be spent trying to build up and perfect her voice for singing.
I’m not going to complain. Morgana is set to be the first of the New Vocalists, set to equal and ideally improve upon Kaori’s success. I’ve never been that obsessed with Kaori, but I know enough about her to realise that she has her own exclusive level of successful.
If Morgana can get anywhere near that level, our lives will be changed and I can stop regretting that decision to throw everything away. I’ll finally get the future I deserve.
Adair...where is he now?
Just in case, I hope we don’t meet again, because if he’s wasted my life, I’m not above throwing a few more bins.
17
Music Box
Strength
“Seth?”
For the first time in the morning, I register being awake. It’s too dark...too dark. I must have imagined the voice.
“Seth, wake up.”
Ves? Go away, Ves.
“But I have internet access in my dreams now,” I mumble along the lines of subconsciously, not understanding myself completely.
“I don’t care if you have a honking great mansion full of supermodels. Get over here.”
“Super...models?”
“I’ll explain about that after we’re done with the singing. Now move it. Morgana can see you now.”
Morgana! The one word that I haven’t needed to learn my reaction to.
I wriggle to stretch my limbs before rolling off the sleeping bag. The arrangement seemed uncomfortable to some of the more sympathetic workers, but they’ve been on warm, soft mattresses for several years at least, while I’ve been on cold, unforgiving concrete.
Morgana has as well, but when I’m led into her room, already more fancy on the outside, it’s clear that the first of the New Vocalists has been given preferential treatment. She stands beside her enviable bed of linen and mahogany in an outfit that almost makes her unrecognisable- red and cropped. Her hair has been changed too, short and lively, and her face is enhanced with colour. Most of the makeup is subtle, bordering on unnoticeable, but her lipstick is a brilliant red.
I think of the few posters I’ve seen of Kaori, and the glimpses of her on television screens in the shops I’ve passed, but never dared to steal from because of the security systems.
Kaori has soft features. Soft colours. Even when she sings darker music, she’s only softly haunting with elegant clothing. Her hair varies performance to performance but is always light and flowing.
This new Morgana looks at me and her eyes brighten.
“Seth!” she exclaims excitedly, running towards me and wrapping her arms over my shoulders.
She smells different too. Not of car fumes and rainwater, but of flowers. Strong, concentrated flowers that force you to know their scent. Even her embrace has changed, again, stronger, more decisive.
When she lets go, I smile, but it feels weak in comparison to her reaction to my presence.
“How have you been doing?” I ask, trying to show my interest.
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Music Box
“Great!” she gushes “My coaches have been teaching me about music. Keys, scales and notes. I never knew it was so complicated, but now I think I know how to keep in tune.”
“And can you sing yet?”
“I’m getting there!” I still can’t take in how energetic Morgana sounds “See, hear this.” She hums and then opens her mouth to hold the sound “ah” for a few seconds at one note.
“Cool, isn’t it?” Ves looks pleased “Once we can extend her range and add in complex sounds, we’ll be almost there. Our next stop is diaphones.”
I nod, dazed. It’s stunning to hear such a thing from someone else. She wavers more than Kaori, but there’s something else to it. Maybe it’s just the effect of the change, or maybe there is something there. More depth? Is there something even programmed vibrato and dynamics can’t replicate?
It’s not a quality that makes Morgana’s voice better than Kaori’s. It just gives it...a different tone.
“Wow,” I say simply. Truthfully, I’m not so sure about this. Kaori is a machine. Machines can be perfect. Humans cannot. Of course, I prefer Morgana over Kaori just as everyone else here does. Kaori is a synthesiser, Morgana is my girlfriend. But I don’t feel certain that the public will, even if we get past the law. Maybe a few people who enjoy originality will feel the same, but no more than that.
“The law,” I suddenly point out aloud “What are we going to do about the law?”
“We’ve got a team working on that,” says Ves “We think we might be able to convince the higher-ups to give us a trial run, just with Morgana. We wanted to keep her as our only vocalist for an extended starting point anyway. Put all our efforts into the defining part, you know? The PR team are doing great with her image, don’t you think? We’re looking for a contrast to gentle, tame and boring Kaori. Look at her!”
I look as he says. I don’t see Morgana’s long flowing hair. I don’t see her worn, familiar clothes. I don’t see the unsure kindness behind her eyes. I don’t see the Morgana I know.
I know what has happened.
Light Morgana has died.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Weeks pass and to Ves’s delight, Morgana appears to be growing stronger and stronger. I become more certain that this is only the illusion created by the fading of Light Morgana.
I’m not going to raise this issue. Firstly, the idea of me having a heart-to-heart conversation with Ves is ridiculous. Secondly, although he likes to think he’s better, he’s like all other businessmen and won’t care. The final reason is the most convincing. The future. It’s a future I can’t let evade me again and that I definitely can’t steer away from Morgana.
Not that I need to or can protect this new Morgana.
And that’s the problem. Sure, I’m glad that she’s strong-willed and self-dependent now, but it doesn’t feel right. She’s completely different. Everything about her is unfamiliar. She keeps telling me to talk to her, but I don’t know what to say.
19
Music Box
I don’t like to talk to strangers.
Not that it matters most of the time. Between coaching of every kind not much of Morgana’s time is mine alone. I guess I’ve had my share. But I still love her. All I’m doing is doubting why it is. Do I love the opportunity, the success that travels alongside her? Or am I supposed to love her for something more than that?
Surely it’s only human nature for it to be the first. So I love her. But the second question makes me think...it makes me think that I loved Light Morgana more.
That could just be because I knew Light Morgana. I’ll try to get to know Dark Morgana and things will be as good as before. Better.
I would try, if they gave me a chance. I haven’t seen Morgana in three days now and even that meeting was too short to count properly.
“She can see you at her request,” Ves had assured me.
Really? Then why hasn’t she requested? In the beginning, I did try to pass messages onto her, trying to organise a meeting, but Ves always returned the same answer to me.
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
All the time? I didn’t believe it, especially since a proper reason was never given. I thought it was Ves and his crew, naturally, never delivering any of my words, scavenging a little extra coaching time. But now, when I see Morgana, it’s clear that she doesn’t...
Love me? Does she not love me anymore? No, I believe she does. But I also believe that love is no longer a priority for her. What she doesn’t have is a need for me. I hate it. My nature isn’t built to be a counterpart to uselessness.
When I was younger I remember a Kaori song. Kaori can’t die, of course, so it was about simply being forgotten, no longer needed, an abandoned, once-useful piece of equipment. That will never happen to Kaori, only confirmed by the relentless and terrified hugging of Kaori-themed plush dolls during the song, courtesy of her fans, which is naturally what the producers intended, a strengthening of the fanbase. But I think it has happened to me.
And who is there left for me without Morgana? That one give-everything connection was all I had. Morgana doesn’t need that connection. She’s being promised everything each day.
I remember another Kaori song. This one was about a persona contemplating suicide, but at the end realising that the following bereavement would make it a selfish act. That realisation wouldn’t help me much. My family would be unlikely to ever hear of it. And Morgana would move on easily, a famous sensation with thousands of male fans waiting to take my place...
That’s it. I’ll be replaced eventually. Just like it intends to do with Kaori, this place will replace me and throw me away.
I feel a strange longing for a Kaori plushie of my own.
I read in an old book once that true love was about putting someone else before yourself. I guess if I have any self-respect left, I’ll let this go.
20
Music Box
“Seth?”
The calling of my name and the creaking of the door sound at the same time.
“What happened to knocking?” I snap. Ves shrugs.
“While you’re in, all I’ll be interrupting is you sitting alone in a room,” he says “Anyway, good news. The trial run has been approved, so once we know exactly what we’re doing, we’re sending Morgana out there.”
“Out where?”
“Relax. It’s a figure of speech. Her voice is already where we want it to be and we’re preparing to release it to the public in a few days. Now, back to sitting alone in a room. Do you want to get out of it and see Morgana or not?” says Ves.
“Now?”
“Now. She wants you to hear her singing voice.”
So she can sing properly now. I’m fascinated. Fascinated. Not happy, although I’m trying to be, trust me. Fascinated.
I trail along behind Ves. The door into Morgana’s room is already open and I’m smothered in that decisive, flowery embrace as soon as I walk in. I don’t like it. It feels too showy, like they’ve taught her how to hug properly as well. I’m sure that they haven’t. But with that manufactured scent and appearance, it feels like it. And then she starts to sing. It’s a powerful ballad, full of plenty of emotion and emphasis. I suppose they’re trying to succeed wherever Kaori doesn’t. Her voice is more mature, full of different tones.I can see the reasons behind all of it, so much that this concept of human idols feels even less real than Kaori.
The song ends and Morgana looks at me expectantly, a creature that thrives off compliments.
“You’re amazing,” I try to smile “That’s all I can think of...absolutely amazing. Unbelievable.”
21
Music Box
Knowledge
Three Months Later
In the infinite night sky we can see
A music box, an eternal melody
Within fading notes a feeling voice dies
“Please let this hope reach the future” it so clearly cries.
Through the unending confusing everything we are running
And the unending confusing prayer won’t ever stop calling
Words spun long ago leaving threads of light.
And though they’re gone, they dreamt that they’d be reborn
That the togetherness of human heartstrings would play on and on
After all these years of searching we have found
A music box, preserving a message for when it is wound.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
Morgana’s recorded voice emanating from the speakers in her room, as well as the Singstitute’s principal meeting place as of recent, carries the lyrics and melody perfectly and uniquely, as it should after all these weeks of training and all those years of listening.
I still don’t like it.
It’s the words in particular. I can just understand the message too well. “Human heartstrings would play on and on.” In truth, somewhere this is either about making things the way they used to be, the way they’re “meant to be”, or worse, about trying to drag Kaori down, a little “music box.” I’ve never loved Kaori that much, but I suppose I’ve grown a little attached over the last few days after realising we’re going to share the same fate.
But regardless, this is the song that has been recorded with the best efforts and equipment the Singstitute could afford. It’s been released to the public now, and a few hundred people are interested already.
That would be great if it hadn’t already been two months. Culminating in a stand-still on sales of the track, performances, promotional goods, and generally anything that suggests possible interest in the campaign for the New Vocalists.
22
Music Box
“I don’t understand,” Ves mutters, pacing Morgana’s room while she, I, and some other crew members I don’t care about watch. Morgana’s face shows a strange mix of health and sickness, all disappointment and weariness she has camouflaged with make-up and lessons in peppiness, or whatever it is they’re trying to brainwash her with. “It’s just as good as the average Kaori song. I don’t understand why there’s not nearly as much interest.” The rest of the crew shake their heads.
How stupid are these people? I could almost explain their failure on their common sense deficiency alone. Then again, I suppose it’s to be expected. They’re only here because they’ve been amongst the intellectually lacking since the age of thirteen when they were sieved out from the rest.
Well, it’s true. I claimed to be intelligent, not kind.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask quietly. Their shaking heads swivel to face me. It’s quite comical. “Kaori.” They wait for more, but I don’t say anything else.
“Is that all you’ve got?” one of the audio technicians snorts “Who are you, anyway?”
“Don’t pretend you care,” I advise him “Yes, that’s all I’ve got to tell you.” Ves’s face creases angrily.
“You don’t think she’s good enough?” he asks accusingly, pointing to the speechless, tired and puppet-like Morgana.
“Of course she’s good enough. Like you said. Just as good as Kaori.”
“Then what’s your point?” Ves snaps, voice cracking under the frustration “What are we doing wrong, Mr Genius?”
I guess I should shut up if I want to keep Morgana and my so-far-temporary Singstitute support. But I remember about putting the ones you love before yourself again, and also about how much Ves’s ignorance irks me, and I dismiss that thought.
“You’re not doing anything wrong. There’s just nothing you can do that will be good enough. Kaori is perfect. The best we’ll ever be able to do in terms of vocal performance is equal her, and you’ve done that, so congrats all around. But that also means we can never beat her in that respect. What we would have to rely on would be the idea of performing humans, a different connection the audience could have to the vocalist. Problem is, as it is, it’s Kaori they have a connection to. Nobody cares if she doesn’t have a true conscience or homunculus or-“
“Homunculus?” one woman in a white coat questions me.
“Big explanation, small relevance. Anyway, nobody cares about that, because we’ve grown to see Kaori as being alive in our hearts, a living part of ourselves.”
“I haven’t,” Ves says bitterly.
“That’s because you don’t have a heart.” The woman in the coat sniggers, to my delight and his annoyance. “Those people out there who love music- they love Kaori just as much. They’re your only real possible target audience, and the majority will see through you and they’re not going to want to replace Kaori anytime soon. Because of that whole alive in their hearts thing, they see themselves as the ones with the responsibility of keeping Kaori in the ultimate status and life. And do you really think that Kaori’s supporters are going to let you go anywhere past this trial run?”
23
Music Box
The room is silent. I know I’ve convinced them. Morgana walks up to me and stares right into my eyes without speaking for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I don’t know what exactly I mean, but it’s in the same tone of voice I remember using several times before. When Morgana and I used to go “shopping” together, and she would start panicking and getting close to crying under the strain. And I would give in and say “let’s go home.”
Let’s go home. Let’s wash your mask off and grow your hair out again. Let’s go back to lying in each others’ arms every night and listening to the cafe music. Listening to Kaori. Classic Kaori.
“No matter what we do...I’ll never manage it?” asks Morgana, shoulders twitching strangely.
“Nobody will,” I say “Nobody will ever even come close to singing fame. Not while Kaori’s around. And she’s going to be around for a long time yet.”
I expect it to happen now. For a tear to fall and for her to hold onto me. For me to tell that it’s okay, that we can go home and forget about everything.
But that isn’t what happens.
“The kid really is a genius!” Ves exclaims joyfully, snapping his fingers “He’s got it!”
I’m stunned. Ves obviously hasn’t “got it” if he’s that happy. Maybe he’s gone completely insane with disappointment, because he called me a genius. Without the cutting sarcasm.
“I have?” I respond stupidly.
“Damn right you have,” he grins “That’s exactly what we’ve got to do!” I’m confused. As far as I know, my only tip for them was to kiss their dreams goodbye.
“Huh?” Morgana blurts.
“We’ve got to get rid of Kaori,” Ves says simply.
What? That’s not what I meant at all!
Hell. It’s even worse than I thought. He’s looking at me.
“Rallinshaw, you’re a master criminal, aren’t you?” he asks smugly.
I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
“I’m hardly a mob boss.” Ves laughs and pats me on the back. If it’s possible to wince with shock, that’s what I’m doing. “Wait. Are you being serious about what you’re implying?”
Morgana has understood as well. She rolls her feet onto the tips of her toes and reaches up to clasp my face in her hands, kissing my lips for several seconds, not caring about the people surrounding us, her hands cutting them off from our own world. She leans her head on my shoulder, tilting it to whisper in my ear.
“Do your best, okay?”
“Morgana? Are you sure?”
24
Music Box
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You love Kaori, don’t you?”
“No, Seth. I love music.”
No, Morgana. You may not give a damn about Kaori, but I don’t believe you care much more about music. You just want the old, reawakened, addictive, corrupting thing they called fame.
25
Music Box
Determination
“Here’s your phone.” I look at the small device, confused. It’s about as large as my thumb, with a screen the size and shape of my thumbnail, but doesn’t seem nearly as necessary.
“What do I do with it?” I ask. The man in charge of technologically preparing me for my “trip” to Kaori’s mansion, Siemon, looks at me pityingly and treats me to a ten-minute lecture on buttons, functions and other things that I’m sure he’s just explaining to show off. The only part I bother remembering is that I need to press the green button on the top right corner whenever something significant happens and connect myself with whichever one of the crew is on rotation. Ves took delight in implying that this is to make sure I don’t do anything stupid, which I’m sure is true. I have a set, impulsive and defiant personality, and if this makes their plan go haywire and gets me caught, I’m not exactly going to take all the blame for them either.
Ves walks into the hallway, ending in the metal doors which are easily the strongest part of the entire tight-budgeted building. He doesn’t go any further towards me than necessary.
“Reflex test,” he says quickly, throwing a black jacket of an unfamiliar, rubbery and tough fabric at me. I catch it by the sleeve and begin to put it on. He nods.
“Rip that and you’re paying for the next hundred articles of clothing we’ve got our eyes on,” warns Ves “It’s waterproof, a decent insulator and even resistant to weak guns. Nothing anybody worth worrying about will use, but it should stop your fellow rats nibbling at you.”
“Like they matter.”
“Right, right, tough guy,” he waves his hand and turns to Siemon “Does he know about the plan?” Siemon’s nose wrinkles.
“I’m the tech support,” he explains as if it is the answer to everything.
“Right, right,” Ves repeats, going back to me “Zip up that shirt fully, it’s cold out. There’s a map in the pocket that you should be able to decipher. It marks out the mansion where Kaori’s current manager lives. He or she and his assistant have sole charge and responsibility over Kaori, so you’ll find her there as well. Make it to the mansion with the map, call us up if you need extra directions, and we’ll take it from there. You’ve also got a little tool in the pocket we call a key pin. It’s made of a new type of thermo-softening metal smart-alloy, so if you warm it up it becomes mouldable. Basically, if you need to open a door, breath on the thing for a few seconds, put it in the keyhole, wait, and turn. I’m only telling you now in case you get trapped, you gotta make sure you call before you pull any stunts like that.”
“Map, Kaori’s mansion, key pin,” I nod “Gotcha.”
“Oh, no,” Ves corrects me “Kaori can’t own a mansion. This is the kind of thing you’ve got to remember on the job. Make sure you understand we’re calling you out to deactivate a machine, not to kill an innocent angel-voiced teenage girl. Whatever happens, whatever she does, remember that it’s just another part of her programming to gather up money for her manager. Also get into your head that it’s not a difficult job. All you’ve got to deal with is an advanced stereo, a rich person and their assistant. Kaori’s managers always seem to be very secretive about their identities- I suppose it’s a security issue- so they only have one assistant to keep in check. That assistant will deal with any necessary public appearances and interactions with other parts of Kaori’s programming, image and
26
Music Box
maintenance crews. I believe the current assistant is a young lady named Corvina Orminstone. Cool, collected, intelligent, but when she cares about something, I’ve heard she can lose it a little sometimes. Watch out for her, tall, elegant, this dark hair with crazy highlights, but she’s only one person. Okay?”
“Okay.” Ves looks like he’s thinking of an appropriate sentence to end with, maybe a good luck wish, or at least a farewell, but he only turns to the door leading back into the main corridor silently.
“Wait!” I stop him “Doesn’t Morgana want to see me?”
“Why?” he asks, still facing the door.
“You know...to say anything?”
“You’ve already been through that part,” Ves says.
“But...” it occurs to me that he may genuinely not understand. The way Morgana and I are. Were. “Never mind. See you.”
“Yeah, you too.” Ves walks out and the door closes him off from us. It’s just me and Siemon.
“Bye, Siemon,” I sigh as he reaches to unlock the metal doors leading to the outside world. He doesn’t respond and only flinches as the cold and sunlight rush in. Way not to be stereotypical.
I step and feel a small rush of air as the doors instantly close behind me. I take this as a cue to take out my map and try to work out my next course of action as soon as possible. I don’t want to get to the point where the Singstitute has to contact me.
Looking at it immediately makes me want to bury my head in it and sleep for several hours. I learnt a little about maps in my short-lived government funded education, and a little more in my motivation-funded education. I understand that they’re like very lazy drawings of places as you would see them from a flying vehicle, but the regurgitation of the concept is easier than the application. All I can recognise upon first glance is a poorly printed tangled mesh of labelled lines and squares. A blue circle has been hand-drawn around a small square in one corner, visible only on close inspection, and a red circle is similarly drawn in the opposite corner, but around a larger square.
The Singstitute and the mansion.
So I’ve got to get from the blue circle to the red circle, one corner to the other, departure to destination. Have they spelled this out any clearer? Yes, now I look at it, some of the lines have been traced along with a yellow highlighting pen, but all it has done has smudged them into a blurry green. The lines all link together and form one continuous line, linking the red circle to the blue one.
That’s the route I’ve got to take.
I look at the row of buildings facing me, none of them significant. I’ve got to know exactly where I am on the map in terms of the direction I’m facing in. I examine the layout and try to tilt it as if I’m seeing it from the air, mentally projecting it in a thin layer above the map and trying to match up the images. I tilt the map to the left, just a little, and the layer clicks into place.
That’s it. The green line.
27
Music Box
I use the same layout-examining technique for two hours before growing too fed up to carry on for a while. I lean against a reasonable smooth wall and sink down. The ground is only a little damp and my jacket remains flawless, whether due to my care or the tough material. Probably the latter, although I think I have protected it well as an extension of myself, especially when two catty girls sweetly decided to pelt some stones at me for fun and I decided just as sweetly to emptily but audibly threaten to put a brick into their skills.
Hey, sometimes you have to put in that little bit of extra effort to get through to these people. The youngest looking one of them, about thirteen, had whimpered into her stupidly straight, bright hair and the slightly older one, her total opposite in appearance and reaction, settled for putting her arm around her friend and glaring at me.
I certainly wasn’t actually going to hurt them, as I know that it had been test week recently and the blonde girl at least had probably been badly affected. But I wasn’t sympathetic enough to consider them for too long since I’m the one tasked with destroying by far the best-loved...whatever I’m meant to consider her...that has ever been.
All in all, it’s been an easy journey. No rats, only a couple of mice.
I focus on the map again and work out where I am, not sure whether or not I should be pleased about having travelled halfway.
For the first time, it occurs to me that it would have been far easier if they’d driven me in that car. I understand that walking looks less suspicious, but they could at least have helped me part of the way. It’s not like they’re that bothered about conserving whatever that car runs on anyway, with Ves driving around everywhere before purely trying to pick up the sound of a human melody.
I suppose they don’t care enough to make things easier for me. I’m not important at all besides bringing in a small supply of stolen goods.
Why am I even bothering to do this for them?
Morgana. I forgot there for a little. Not for them, for Morgana. I’m not going to question my motives any further than that because I don’t have enough faith in them.
“For Morgana,” I mutter “Whoever that is.”
28
Music Box
Defiance
As it turns out, you can prepare Seth Rallinshaw against criminals, stoning, wrong directions and even not being able to hear the wonderful sound of an agitated music crew wherever he goes. However, you apparently cannot prepare him for the sight of a big house.
I’ve reached the mansion- with some struggling, since I’m more used to short distances- and it isn’t what I had expected. I had pictured something a little larger than the Singstitute, which is a suitably large building considering it being the residence for not only Morgana, but her audio, PR, promotion video, management and other teams. Keeping everyone in one place reduces expenses and the risk of plans being leaked. Although only Kaori’s anonymous current manager, his or her assistant Corvette Ermine (something posh like that, anyway), and Kaori herself use this place, I gave some allowance for it being equal to or greater than the Singstitute because of all the money raked into it.
But now I see it, it’s completely overwhelming. Since I’ve always lived in far from idyllic and desirable suburbs, where anyone poor enough to live there has to settle for small homes as well, the only building I’ve ever seen close to this size was my one and only school. I’ve tried to stay away from the place, so I’m not certain of this, but I think that even the size of the place meant for keeping hundreds of children at a time is pathetic by comparison.
And it’s not just that: it’s the quality of the place. The walls are coated completely in pure white, which must be blinding in the day, but because of stealth plans and procrastination, it’s around nine in the evening and the surrounding area is close to darkness, aside from the light seeping in from the distant city I’ve travelled through. Distant, because the gardens are ridiculously extravagant as well. I don’t know the names of most of these flowers, trees, or even the building materials. Do they have a special maintenance crew for the building and land alone? It must take effort to keep the walls perfectly clean and stop the paint from peeling, unless it’s some special type. Where I come from, only the new residents bother to paint anything, because after a year or two, you know that it’s just going to peel off gradually and leave a grimy patchwork effect.
I walk the last few metres and touch the wall on the right wing of the mansion to give myself a sense of achievement. I have to move my hand across it a few times, because I can’t believe how smooth the texture is. Then, I run under a tree that I think is at the corner of the garden, but isn’t even close to the edge of this place. From the distance, I can see the mansion in a full view.
There are a few patches of light, scattered randomly across the array of windows. Most of these lights can’t be necessary in a building for two people and a synthesiser, but this place probably has access to all the energy sources it wants. I never had a proper electricity connection in either of my homes. We only bought batteries if we needed anything like that, which was very rare. There are computer systems in the Singstitute, but I don’t consider that a home. I like the computers, though, because they’re interesting, especially the programs the video and audio teams use. I think I would like to work with computers like that someday, maybe in the Singstitute, helping out with Morgana’s career.
But there are so many things that could go wrong with that plan, even without considering the fact that her career is destined to be short-lived. She’s only the first in the line of New Vocalists. The mistake she’s making has to do with her success being modelled on Kaori’s. Her mistake is believing she can replace Kaori, because she alone can never do that. The line of New Vocalists could quite easily, but she’s not Kaori. However gracefully she ages, her voice and appearance will deteriorate slowly, and nothing will be left.
29
Music Box
It’s one big cycle of replacement, and I’m the one with the duty to start it off.
But it’s the way that life is meant to go, isn’t it? We all have our chance and then have to let someone else have a turn of the circle.
I don’t know why I’m wavering so much. It’s like Ves said: I’m shutting down a machine and helping my girlfriend. She’ll be happy, if only for a while. The fans will get over it, and Kaori has nothing to get over. Adair had a borderline crush on Kaori at one point, along with most other boys- and some other girls- who were dangerously obsessed with her, which I am able to realise was stupid on everyone’s part. That’s why the last remnant of the Harmony Riots (who came up with the name “Harmony Riots” anyway? I suppose they meant for the irony, but it still sounds stupid to me) will be destroyed by me.
And then, with the new possibilities the rekindled flame of entertainment based on human skill will bring, the system that took all opportunity from me will be made redundant.
I suppose it’s time to use that electronic thumb. I press the button Siemon pointed out to me and it gives a silent vibration, so as not to alert anyone. Getting into the gardens, the bad part is that I’ve already had to deal with a few security systems. The good part is that I could climb, or even step, over most of them. I had to get creative with the alarm system, though. Well, some Singstitute electrician had to get creative.
“Hello?” a female voice- soft-spoken, so I press the phone closer to my ear- answers “Mr Rallinshaw?”
“Yes,” I reply, confused because she sounds unsure “Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, but I have to ask in case you lose the phone and someone else tries ringing up,” she says.
“I bet Ves told you that would happen.”
“Well, he didn’t exactly...mm. Anyway, this is Suri here. Can I help?”
“I’m at the mansion and-“ I hear a scrambling of wires.
“Hey, what are you-“ Suri is interrupted by another voice breathing into the phone.
“Where are you?” Ves asks hurriedly, his voice close to a breath.
“Kaori’s mansion, right side.” He doesn’t bother to correct me about who he perceives to be the owner of the building.
“It’s late. What’s the situation with the lights?”
“A few on the other sides, mainly, and I don’t think most, if any, of them are being used for an actual purpose.”
“Then you’ve got to get the door,” Ves orders, a waver in his words showing excitement. I don’t answer for a few seconds. “Yes, there is a door on the right side! Get to the wall and drag your hands across it! Then, take the-“
30
Music Box
Light springs from the wall, stinging my eyes from both sides of my vision. My natural instinct to put my own survival before all else, to trust my own judgment as the one piece of honesty in the world, makes me throw the phone onto the ground and pull myself up the branches of the tree.
I’m used to climbing trees. It seems like a positive thing, but it really isn’t, since it highlights the potential of my childhood activities. Trees were the most thrilling things I could get at.
Clumps of leaves shield me from most of the light and I assume well enough from whoever is behind it, but I can still see what I need to do. Climb a few branches more, get up to the level of the roof, and maybe break a window. I’m not in the mood for sacrificing simplicity for fancy tricks.
I am rewarded for my hopeful waiting as the light flicks off. Now is the time that I can either run or jump.
I can fight off people, but I can never fight perceptions. If I jump, I could be caught. Everyone could be caught. But if I run...no, I can go back to the Singstitute a traitor, but I’ll never return as a coward.
I clamber up a little more, picturing the height of the building and the tree, trying to find a level branch. I hear a click and the scraping of something against the grass.
Someone else has got to the door. I have to jump now. I mostly loosen my grip on the branch I’m perching on, bend my legs and push the tree away with all of the strength I can spare, reaching towards the roof to either swing by the edge or land onto it.
And I do land, but it seems to take too long.
Just after I realise why, the impact runs throughout my body and a dark shimmer engulfs everything.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The instant I remember and force my eyes to open, a voice calls out to me.
“Ah, good! You’ve woken up!” Young. Chipper, but soft. Female.
I immediately think of Morgana, but then realise I’ve been reminded of the wrong one.
The girl is the first thing that appears to be worth reaching through my eyes properly for, so I automatically focus on her, leaning about a metre over me, everything else blurring. Her eyes catch my attention first, quite large, icy blue, framed with exquisitely curved long, black eyelashes, and generally striking. For some reason, what I find the most stunning is that they aren’t at all bloodshot, no trace of veins beneath the pure white. She looks to be around fifteen or sixteen, my age, but everything about her suggests that she’s never had to cry, suffer or go around without being perfectly groomed her entire life, because her skin is unmarred and her dress is too short for any girl I’ve seen to consider wearing in this weather. The dress matches her irises so perfectly it’s disconcerting and her inconveniently long hair, reaching to her hips, is the same glowing grey as the subtle, blending circles around them. Somehow the grey hair still gives an impression of youth. No, it’s not grey. It’s silver. I never even knew people made their hair that colour, not on purpose, anyway.
Who is this girl? And, more importantly, where am I? Someone must have saved me, taken me out of the mansion grounds, because if I’d been left there, it would be an army of officials standing over me, not a delicate-looking young girl. The only people who would consider doing that would be part of the Singstitute, and even that’s pushing it a bit.
31
Music Box
I examine the room now. It’s beautiful, carpeted with red, pasted with floral white. I notice for the first time that I’m lying on a mattress, the same white as the walls, balanced on a wooden frame. It’s so soft that I can hardly feel it.
I look at my feet.
“My shoes,” I blurt out, not sure why I’m choosing to use that as a starting point “Where are my shoes? And why are these socks...clean?” The girl laughs, medium to high-pitched and feminine.
“I asked Mr Sacher to send your shoes to be cleaned,” she says “Then I changed your socks because they were grimy. I thought I should change the rest of your clothes too, but he said that would be too inappropriate to be worth doing.”
Looking again at my surroundings and the innocent girl without a hint of harshness, more than ever, I actually feel like a street rat. One that just woke up in a dollhouse in some children’s book.
I sit up, but don’t move off the mattress, figuring that I won’t get another chance to experience a piece of furniture so comfortable again.
“How long was I out for?” I ask.
“34 hours, 28 minutes,” she answers quickly. I notice my jaw has dropped slightly.
“Exactly?”
“Yes. I’m certain of it.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. Why? Would you find that funny?”
“Not really, but you might.”
“I understand,” the girl nods. My stomach feels, not painfully, but noticeably, empty, which I can normally prevent, or at least cure within a little “shopping trip”. This combined with the level of brightness from the windows convinces me that she is telling the truth.
“That feels about right,” I comment, deciding to try my luck “I’m pretty hungry.” The girl gasps.
“I forgot about that!” she exclaims apologetically “Of course you would be hungry...I’ll go and ask Ms Orminstone to bring you some soup, okay?”
“Okay.” If the soup is the quality of everything else I’ve seen since waking up here, I’ll willingly leave figuring everything out until later. Of course I plan to get back eventually, but let’s weigh it up here. I can either go back to Ves, an entire building of people who will condemn me for discarding the plan that held their only hope of success, and my brainwashed girlfriend, or I can stay here in the best room I have ever been in and ever will be in, being fussed over by, though admittedly also the most sheltered, the most beautiful and kind girl I have ever and, sadly but probably, ever will meet.
Hey. I’m just being honest with myself. That’s all.
The girl walks light-footedly to the door, crafted out of the same type of wood as the frame the mattress rest on, and looks at me one more time in a very controlled way, as if scanning me for faults.
32
Music Box
“I’ll ask Mr Sacher to lend you some clothes, too,” she says, then leaves the door open as she calls “Ms Orminstone!”
I feel like I should be thinking of more than soup and mattresses. I have a bad feeling, a strange tension in my body that has nothing to do with my fall. Something bad is going to happen...or already has happened.
Is it the name? Orminstone...
Corvina Orminstone.
I leap off the mattress, brushing my torn clothes, like I need to get every trace of this room away from me.
I look at the closed window while hearing the footsteps and chatter from the door. I’m trapped.
I knew that there was something strange about that girl. She was too perfect. Unnatural, even.
Kaori.
33
Music Box
Fear
I’ve got to get out of here.
I examine the door and window, my two options, again. My body still aches around my ribs from the previous fall, and that’s probably with Kaori’s team patching me up as well. I can’t risk being knocked unconscious again, or worse.
I’ll have to risk the door. It’s my best chance, even though I’ve lost my key pin. I’ll move away from the voices and try to find some stairs. Then I can attempt at smashing a window in. I know that there’s a large chance of Corvina Orminstone finding me, or whoever Mr Sacher is- her manager? The thought of Kaori finding me again scares me the most, because she’s inhuman, so who knows what she’s capable of?
But she can’t have figured it out yet, even though it should be impossible not to know from where I fell unconscious alone. It should be obvious to anyone that I was trying to break in, maybe not destroy Kaori, but trying to break-
Destroy Kaori! I had my chance right then!
If Ves were here, he’d tell me not to escape, but to get at Kaori now. I don’t particularly care about Ves. But Morgana would say that too.
No. I can’t. Not even for Morgana. Kaori must have known that I had criminal intentions of some sort, maybe not to kill her- after our meeting, thinking of her as anything but human would just confuse me- but more likely she thinks I’m a thief. And she wouldn’t exactly be wrong. So, for whatever reason, Kaori saved me. From what exactly, I don’t know, but she must have saved me from something. Merely being here is enough to show I don’t play nice much more now, but I do play fair.
I experiment with walking quietly with my heels hovering above the ground over to the slightly obscured doorway. Voices, unintelligible, but distinctly audible. I notice that my shifting focus onto them isn’t the only reason for the increasing clarity- they’re moving closer. I manoeuvre myself carefully around the door, barely slipping through the gap. The small steps expand into a light jog, transitioning into a sprint whenever I forget the need for silence.
The corridor is even more spectacular than the spare room. I try not to look at anything for too long, otherwise I might never be able to leave from the elegance of the pictures hung on the walls alone, but I catch glimpses of magnificently carved lamps, intricately designed wallpaper and a canvas painting of Kaori, complete with gold-tinted hair instead of silver.
Stairs!
I run cautiously down them, holding onto the banisters tightly. My hands slip a little too much. Why did they have to get these polished so well? It feels like everything in the building has to be made into a statement of wealth, but no outsiders are allowed to see it. Apart from me, but I doubt this “visit”, or whatever it is, is a regular occurrence.
34
Music Box
I finish half-sprinting, half-sliding down the stairs and immediately see three bemused figures staring at me.
I suppose taking the only set of stairs to try and avoid them was a bad plan.
“I...felt...energetic,” I offer lamely. Thankfully, none of them appear to care about what I have to say. Not so thankfully, they just stare at me with condescension. Well, not Kaori. But the woman on her right and the man on her left do. The man looks to be in his early thirties, the woman in her late twenties. Both are tall, dark-haired and dressed immaculately, particularly the woman, whose hair length almost rivals Kaori’s. I suppose that can be a fashionable sign of comfortable living as well as a trip hazard.
“Kaori,” the man says, tilting his head to the side “Explain this to me.” Kaori looks up at the man innocently.
“I found him lying in the gardens outside,” she replies simply. The man raises his eyebrows, advancing to yet another stage of scepticism. He knows I didn’t just happen to be lying there. And either Kaori’s playing dumb- God knows why- or she really needs an update sometime soon.
The man doesn’t seem to want to pursue the matter.
“Fine, if you want to let him stay here, let him stay all you want,” he tells Kaori, who smiles appreciatively “It would be healthy for you to have some more…varied…company. But this is all your responsibility, alright?”
“Yes, Mr Sacher!”
“I told you, you don’t have to call me that,” he frowns “You can just call me Doyle.” Doyle turns and swiftly exits the room, almost gracefully.
“And you can call me Mrs Sacher,” the woman smiles in a sickly-sweet fashion.
“That’s Ms Orminstone,” Kaori explains quietly. Corvina Orminstone, huh?
“Oh, so they’re not married?”
“No, no,” corrects Kaori “But Ms Orminstone really likes Mr Sacher.”
“And he doesn’t have a clue, does he?” I ask. Kaori laughs.
“You’re funny.”
I was being serious, but I won’t complain. I’m having a conversation with Kaori. That makes the details insignificant on multiple levels.
“I never told you my name, did I?”
“No. Are you going to tell me now?”
“Seth. Seth Rallinshaw.”
“My name is Kaori.”
35
Music Box
“Yeah, I know that.” That seems a little bland. What else should I say? She’s probably used to the whole “I adore your music” speech in a much more animated tone than I could pull off.
Any further comments are cut short by Corvina snapping out of her trance.
“Welcome, Seth,” she says, her…less terrifyingly dedicated…voice womanly and clear-cut, “I realise that we never actually asked you whether you would like to stay or not.”
“Ah, sorry!” Kaori apologises, her hands clasped together.
These people are so…polite. Where I come from, people would just- well, it would be a repeat of the Singstitute. Shove them in the car, wheel them off and brainwash their girlfriend. Maybe the last one isn’t quite so common. But still.
I think of the Singstitute now, a cold place with just as cold people, even the one who used to keep me so warm on our nights alone. Then I look at this place. I look at the welcoming faces of Corvina and Kaori, even the polite acceptance of Doyle.
Kaori. Everything Morgana used to be, yet still all she wants to be. She alone makes me realise that I can’t bear to see this new Morgana. Not right now.
And around me…all this luxury! I’m not normally so tempted by pretty things, but this is too much. I’d be a fool to pass up a stay.
“I’d love to stay,” I reply.
“Then welcome to the family,” Corvina reaches out and suddenly wraps her arms around me. I stand there awkwardly. Again, it’s not something I’m used to from strangers, not even in my real family. We were too focused on the basics.
Kaori embraces me as well, and a warmth runs through me. I only fully realise why when she has let me go. Who she reminds me of, again and again.
A little stay, and then I’ll go back.
It’s not like anyone would miss me.
36
Music Box
What was going to happen from here:
. Corvina takes Kaori to record some songs
. Doyle and Seth talk. It goes well.
. Seth makes a note that Doyle is a much more preferable host than Ves/Sir Stairwell’s Brain Clone.
. Kaori gets back. Seth asks her about her previous managers.
. Kaori says that although Corvina has not always been her assistant, Doyle has always been her manager.
. Seth works out she has been programmed to think thus.
. Seth and Kaori become good friends.
. Kaori reminds Seth too much of Morgana and he falls in love with her while questioning his own sanity.
. She also confessed she is in love with him and they kiss. WTF NO IDEA HOW I WAS GOING TO MAKE THIS NOT WEIRD.
. He realises that this is crazy and runs back to the Singstitute in a panic.
. When he gets back, everyone gets mad at him because he didn’t destroy Kaori.
. Morgana, who has changed even more, decides to take matters into her own hands and get Kaori herself.
. Seth attempts to persuade her not to, but realises that the relationship will be over if he stops Morgana.
. Morgana leaves.
. She does not return.
. Seth goes back to the mansion. Corvina, Doyle and Kaori welcome him back.
. Seth asks to speak to Kaori on her own. She accepts.
. Seth questions Kaori and she breaks down, admitting to retaliating and killing Morgana.
. Seth (openly) realises she is just an emotionless machine and thus designed to eliminate all competition, since he believes Kaori could potentially have let Morgana live. She breaks down even more.
. Seth does not return to the Singstitute and decides to go back to the streets, but in a very abandoned area so he does not have to hear about Kaori again.
37
Music Box
. A year later, he meets Adair again, who is now living comfortably. As repayment for switching papers years ago, Adair allows Seth to stay with him.
. Seth tells Adair what happened, and Adair tells Seth that Kaori no longer exists, and has not for quite some time, although the details of why were not made public.
. Seth goes back to the mansion again, where Doyle says that Kaori shut herself down after Seth had left a year ago. Seth realises then that Kaori really was capable of human emotion.
. With Corvina present, Doyle explains the truth about Kaori. Just before the Harmony Riots, a boy named Veer was friends with a girl also named Kaori. Kaori was a talented composer and had a beautiful singing voice, but also had a disease that would gradually make her body deteriorate, and although medical treatment would do enough just to keep her alive, she was due to lose her voice in a few years. Veer recorded several samples of Kaori’s voice and created a computer system that would allow words to be spoken and sung in her voice with only programming. Kaori did lose her voice later on, but with the system it didn’t matter, and she fulfilled her dream of becoming a singer-songwriter anyway. However, she was not at all well known, overshadowed by singers who could be more active. When the Harmony Riots began, almost all money had to be spent on the police force, so healthcare suffered and Kaori died. Veer mourned her, but swore still to continue her dream, and with the help of an electronics team, and the approval of the government after the supposed link of the riots to songs, recreated Kaori’s body and used the system with her voice to make her the only remaining singer. Kaori’s dream finally came true. He also created Doyle Sacher to be her manager, not trusting anyone else with Kaori due to his dedication to his friend.
. Corvina is hysterical, but describes Doyle being a robot as “an issue in our relationship we will have to overcome.” He finally realises she has feelings for him, and is kind of freaked out.
. Doyle then lets Seth know that the ban on singing has been overturned and things will go back to how they were before the riots, but with stricter broadcasting controls. There will be nothing to stop a project like Kaori appearing again, but he will not be part of it, and has forbidden anyone to recreate Kaori ever again, saying “I’m sorry for how it all ended, and to say “sorry” means you regret something. It means you wouldn’t ever do it again.”
. THE END
38
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