Shadowrun fiction by Judd Baker and Patric Rogers of
Morpheus
Unbound.
Reader Praise for Subway Sonata!
[Author's Background: The year is 2056. The United States has fragmented into several smaller governments. Disease has ravaged the world. And those that survive have been "Awakened." Magic is real. Elves, Dwarves, Trolls, Orks, Dragons, and other creatures of myth and legend have revealed their true forms. Technology too still lives, and it has evolved beyond previous conceptions. For many, human augmentation through technology is a way of life. Those who augment themselves are often called "chromers" or "chromed," a reference to the replacement of flesh with metal and plastic. This is the Sixth World.]
Raymond Curtiss took a quick glance at the subject headings in his electronic mailbox, the third time today. Another ten messages from various orchestras and symphonies, offering him enviable positions in their ensembles. He sighed slightly, and deleted them all, not even bothering to look at them. He'd probably had over a hundred such offers since he announced his retirement from the Seattle Orchestra three weeks ago, but he hadn't read one of them. He didn't care what mail he got, if it was an offer arrived from the Littleville Boy's Violin Club or the conductor of the New York Philharmonic - he'd had too much. Forty years in the business was enough to make even a violinist of Raymond's calibre jaded to the process. The political in-fighting, the in-out humdrum of balls and galas, the concerts that billed the same music year after year. Hooded, grey eyes drifted over towards the newsfax heading to his left: "Violin Virtuoso Quits Seattle Orchestra," and his thin lips formed a small scowl. Pushing his terminal keyboard aside, he rose restlessly from his chair, bumping into the table and nearly knocking the small terminal off to the floor. A small curse escaped his breath, and he knew he needed to get out - he'd been cooped up in his apartment since he announced his retirement. Grabbing a flimsy tan coat, Raymond stopped briefly before a mirror before heading for the door. His greying hair was unkempt, the bald spot on the top of his head showing. Circles were prominent under his eyes, and a noticeable shadow of facial hair covered his narrow chin. Brushing a hand over his head, he ignored his state of ill-repair, and left his apartment. Maybe he'd visit an old-style "ice-cream" parlor, or walk in the green area of the city, what little was left of it. Maybe he'd just hop on the subway train and ride it to its last stop.
Fourteen subway stops later, he found himself at the end of the Grey Line, Everett Metroplex. One of the cleaner stations in the Seattle area, it was also one of the busiest. It served all classes of people, from the higher-class uppers like Raymond to the low-lives and street scum, and trafficked nearly 10,000 people a day. Raymond sniffed the stale terminal air after he stepped from the train, and felt the gentle whoosh of wind as the doors closed behind him and the car sped off. Myriads of people bustled about him, to businesses and homes, to malls or friends, and the middle-aged man tried to immerse himself in it, let the busy terminal and the low rumble of the people's voices surround him, to lose himself in the sounds and sensations. He tried to forget his stress and problems, and just become one of the hundred people wandering about. He couldn't. Couldn't appreciate the smells of the McHugh's wrappers that lined the causeway. Couldn't empathize with the young couple that was quarreling next to the station manager's office. Couldn't bring himself to wonder where that gaudily dressed dwarf was going. His shoulders slumped slightly - he used to love to come down to the subway terminals when he was younger. Enjoyed watching the people, the franticness and the busyness. It used to help him get away from his own problems. Now. . . Well, now it seemed as if he was dead even to this. He turned back toward the trains, knowing this was a waste of his time, and felt both frustrated and disappointed because of it.
However, just as he turned, he thought he heard something piercing through the background sounds of the station. Not piercing exactly, but floating above it, or past it. It was a flute, he was certain, and it sounded beautiful. He thought he may have imagined it, the noisy din of the terminal swallowed the sound almost as soon as he heard it, but he was intrigued. It had sounded mystical, almost, rising above the clamor of the station, and the note had been as precise a pitch as he had heard in a long time. He turned around, trying to find out where it had come from, and then heard it again. The player was a master, that was for certain. He moved closer to where he thought the tune was coming from, and as he walked, the flute grew steadily louder. Eventually, he was able to recognize the piece as an old violin concerto by Mozart, but the flute played it so well and perfectly that it almost sounded to be written for the instrument. Finally, as he rounded a corner, he saw a small gathering over toward one wall. There, standing next to the wall and at the center of the crowd, was a young woman. And she was playing the flute that led him there.
It was interesting to watch her bow and weave slightly as she played - her silver flute catching the ceiling lights of the terminal and seeming to sparkle. The girl appeared to be in her early 20's and had stringy red hair that hung freely about her thin, pale face, and a slim frame that mirrored the flute she played. Her fingers danced as lightly on the keys as the notes she played danced in the air. She conveyed few emotions with her body language, instead revealing everything through her music. Raymond was, to his surprise, impressed by her performance. He had seen principal flutists of nationally renowned orchestras that played with less skill and passion. To be honest, he had seen few that played any better. The middle-aged violinist moved closer, to the outskirts of the group, and watched and listened raptly as the flutist continued to play.
Her eyes were open behind a dark pair of simple round glasses, but she didn't appear to be looking at anything, just staring straight ahead as she played. An old green smock was draped over her slight shoulders, and it billowed when she moved about. A faded black skirt and shoes with holes in them completed her outfit. As Raymond looked at her shoes, he noticed that the subway performer had garnered no money from the spectators. Don't these people recognize the talent that is playing here, he thought? He began fishing in his pockets, hoping to lay down an example, when a ruddy, excessively chromed elf dressed in black leather standing next to him nudged his elbow.
"She doesn't accept creds," he whispered, nodding towards the flutist. "Walks off without them. That's why no one's given any." He nodded to the bare floor.
Raymond looked stunned. "What do you mean...?" He whispered back.
"Just what I said. She accepts no money. Just plays fer the sake of playin'. She wouldn't be here otherwise."
The elf inclined his eyebrow at the man, obviously in the know. Raymond responded by pausing, looking back at the flutist for a moment. He obviously was having a hard time believing the elf's story.
"Hey," the tall man continued, whispering, "If she didn't do it for the music, why else you think she'd be out here?" He gestured with one long arm, indicating the subway tunnels.
Raymond narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe she likes the attention." When he first began to play, Raymond used to enjoy the smiles of his audiences, the twinkles in their eyes and the looks of awe and admiration. Next to his passion for music, it was thing that he had loved most about playing.
"It's hard to catch a smile when you're blind." The elf's voice sounded slightly deeper, but was also strangely neutral. Raymond took another look at the still-playing musician, focusing again on her eyes. Open, looking straight forward, yet oddly unfocused. As if she was looking past the audience, or through them. Or didn't see them at all.
She finished the piece she was playing and began another almost immediately, this one a proper flute solo by the modern composer Tugrer. Raymond recognized it immediately - it was his favorite piece from the modern era, and he liked it more than most of the "classics." His attention drifted away from the elf next to him, and he fell silent until the piece was over, enraptured by the music and the dulcet tones that came from the masterfully played flute. Whoever the flutist was, she brought life to each piece she played.
"Great stuff, hm? Not like your regular street performer, is she?" The elf's question roused Raymond from his near trance like state.
"No... Indeed not..." He paused, still amazed at the young woman's proficiency and her soulful rendering of the music. Turning back to take another look at her, he found that she had already left.
Raymond had gone home with a slightly lifted attitude, and slept better that night then he had all month. The next day he rose early, and returned to the Everett Metroplex the same time that he had the previous day. He made sure to comb his hair and shave before he left - he wasn't quite sure why, but had done it nonetheless. Yet when he arrived at the station, he could find no sign of the young girl who had played the flute the day before. He wandered the station, passing by the spot where he had seen her at least fifteen times before he decided to give up entirely. Defeated, he shuffled back towards the subway trains, his shoulders stooped.
"Hey, suit." A slightly familiar voice called to him from his left, and he turned to find it was the elf who spoke to him yesterday. "What you lookin' for?" The elf's voice seemed cold, but the question was genuine. Raymond paused before answering, not sure if he would sound foolish.
"The flutist who played yesterday... is she here today?" His voice sounded more desperate than he wanted it to.
The elf shook his head, his curly hair flopping from side to side. "Nah, she only plays on Wednesdays. You can set your chrono by her though. Two to four, every week." He stopped, his eyebrows creasing. "Why? Liked the show?" Raymond nodded absently, and the elf continued. "She'll be here, flute in hand." The elf paused, and Raymond looked around at the passing travelers. "Don't worry about finding a place in the crowd either - you can count on your pal Tommy to save you a spot." With that, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and he added, "I know you're a musician like me, and can really appreciate the tunes."
Raymond creased his brow slightly. "You play?"
"Me? Ah, no. But I've listened here and there. Know what's good and what's not. What to listen for. Got an ear my boss used to say." Tommy's smile faded, and he nodded to Raymond. "I can tell you need the music, too"
"What?" Raymond stuttered, slightly startled by the elf's words. Raymond hadn't thought about it before; the reason he had come back was that he did need the music. It touched a part of his soul he had almost forgotten existed.
"You need her music," the elf stated flatly. "It shows in your eyes. The corps have drained your life, too, and her music is like a healing salve."
"You were in a corp?" Raymond asked as his head cleared.
"Urban Brawl. Ares Northeast. Used to love the sport, until the politics started killing me from the inside." The elf's lips turned downward, as he reflected inwardly.
Raymond nodded again, slowly, and distractedly turned his head to watch another train pull up. "Wednesday at 2 you said?" The elf nodded, and Raymond thanked him hastily and caught the train before it left the station. The violinist wasn't quite sure who the elf - Tommy - was, or what he was up to, but there was something strange about him. His apparent lack of emotion unnerved him, or perhaps it was just the excessive amount of cybernetic augmentation he was fitted with. Raymond had never associated much with those who chromed themselves, and wasn't quite sure how much humanity remained in them. In his own way, Tommy reminded Raymond of the type of individual who had helped drive him from his profession - except that he lacked the greasy smiles and friendly facade. Still, he realized that both he and the elf lacked genuine passion. Both of us have grown cold in our souls, he reflected. A small sigh escaped his thin lips as his features hardened almost imperceptibly, a mental note to return on Wednesday filed away in the back of his mind. He then crossed his arms across his chest and watched the walls of the subway tunnel race past the dusty window as he silently rode the rest of the way home.
Not quite a week later, Raymond found himself back at the Everett station, at 2 o'clock as Tommy had informed him. He was pleased to find the young woman arriving shortly after he had, walking close to the wall of the station to avoid the crowds of people she couldn't see. She held a short cane in front of her, and carried a simple brown satchel to her side. Within moments, she arrived at the place she had played the week before, leaned her cane against the wall and set the satchel gently down on the ground. She then withdrew her silver flute, brought it up to her lips, and without any further preparations, began to play. Raymond hung back, leaning against a vid terminal towards the rear of the small gathering that was forming, and closed his eyes as the music began.
The violinist was again amazed at the clarity and pure splendor of the music, but this time he refrained from analyzing it, or comparing it to that of other musicians. Today, he just leaned back and let the music wash over him. A small hint of a smile crept into the corners of his mouth, his shoulders began to unwind from their seemingly eternal tenseness, and for the first time in a long time, Raymond actually began to relax. The frustration and anger he felt, the sense of defeat and suppressed rage that had been building up for years - they all began to melt away just a little bit as the music continued to play. Raymond wasn't necessarily as conscious of the effects as he was unconscious of them - when the girl finished playing, he remained against the terminal for a moment before he left himself, but the rest of his day and the rest of the week continued on in the same drudgery as they had been, only slightly mollified by the fact that he didn't need to worry about his job, only his lack of one. The music may have temporarily lifted his spirits, but when it was over, he had no other means of escapism - and he had still lacked the ability to escape through playing music himself. That was one of the things he was the most bitter about - that his own passion for music had been lost, drained from him by the businesses and corporations, even the other players in his orchestra. He had never forgiven the industry for taking that from him, and he still hadn't forgiven himself.
He continued going to the subway each week, however, forgetting about his problems for at least those two hours, if not for any longer. He found himself soon looking forward to the 'concerts,' and even found his existence between them more bearable than the typical ordeal it took him to find a reason to get up in the morning.
On the morning of the sixth week, Raymond surprised himself when he went to his closet and pulled out his violin case. He hadn't touched it in the two months since he retired, and now, he was tuning it up, getting ready to perform. He shook his head slightly as he tightened another string slightly, plucking it to test the pitch. Perform? Well, isn't that why you've got me out again?, he imagined the instrument asking him. "Yes, old friend," he spoke aloud, "I believe it is time to play again." A small smile crept into the corners of his mouth as he finished tuning up and began to play an old concerto by Mozart, consciously wondering why he chose to play that particular one and unconsciously knowing that he couldn't have chosen anything else.
That afternoon, he went to the subway as he always did, but took his violin with him. He had arrived early, so that he may have his instrument ready to play when the girl arrived, and was just leaning up against the wall when she arrived. He waited until she had raised the flute to her lips and was ready to play before he made his own move, gently dragging his bow across the strings of the violin. A perfect, tender note floated from the vibrating string, and the flutist stopped in mid breath. Raymond continued to play, aware of her reaction. He did not want to offend her, and so had chosen this piece very carefully. It was a classic violin/flute duet, one in which both instruments traded a central theme and made subsequent variations upon it. He only hoped that the girl would recognize it, and realize he meant her to play the second part. Raymond came to the part where she was to join in, and his part faded slowly in to silence. Here, she was to take up the theme, and play the same solo that he had.
Instead of playing however, she continued to stand there, her flute still raised to her lips, a look of both confusion and something akin to shame on her face. There was no doubt what must have been running through her mind, that this flawless violin player surely meant to mock her, a poor subway performer with no training or talent. Her features hardened, and it looked as if she was going to withdraw her flute - in defiance or defeat, it was hard to say. Yet Raymond played the last phrase of his solo once more, this time slower, more leading. A desperate invitation to play by her side, not an insult. A request to join instead of a ridicule. The flutist relaxed slightly, and drew in a breath, expelling it into her flute to complete the solo's transition. She played her part as well as Raymond had his, and together they continued the duet, musically dancing about one another's instruments, her music alive while his was merely flawless. It was a sense of joy for both of them - Raymond, because he was finally beginning to feel the passion for music again; the flutist because she had never been able to perform with someone else before, and the sensation was exhilarating. Her unseeing eyes smiled as they played. They finished the piece and began another, with the flutist choosing the music by playing the first solo. They played another two pieces before they finished that afternoon, but never spoke to one another, not even when they were done. Raymond was reluctant because he had already intruded on the girl's domain, and felt lucky enough that he was even able to play with her. He did not want to press that luck. He assumed that either the girl was hesitant to admit him any further within her circle than she already had, or she was merely afraid of seeming 'inferior' to his own professional expertise. In reality, the cause was neither. Since he had not made any move to introduce himself, she believed that he (or she) did not wish introductions to be made. Which was fine with her. In her life of darkness, there were few enjoyable mysteries - the person behind the violin was one of them.
Two months later, Raymond's own music was showing life again. Not merely the flawless playing of a 40-year veteran, his music again lived with the vibrant subtleties which he had longed to find again. One day, the master musicians were playing, and Raymond noticed a group of dirty gang members watching them closely. These gang members began harassing subway commuters, although not really doing anything illegal. The group consisted of an ork, a troll and a human. The human and troll bandied back and forth, and decided to wander over to watch the musicians. The ork followed slowly, and seemed to be trying to talk his friends out of it.
"Why Grinder," the human said mockingly to the ork, "are you afraid of Moo-sick-ians?" This brought a rough, harsh laugh from the troll.
"You know I ain't afraid of nothin'" snorted the ork defensively. "I just don't think it would be fun hassling street performers. I think 'squeeky clean' corpers would be more fun."
"Na, I wanna list'n to the Moo-sick-ians," laughed the troll.
Perspiration formed on Raymond's brow as the trio approached. They stood only meters away. The troll and human began throwing insults and driving other listeners away. The ork looked nervous. Raymond's tension began to reveal itself in his music, but he realized that his partner had not wavered, nor did she appear nervous.
"Nah, don't stop. I wanna hear your moo-sick. Please keep playing your cello" taunted the troll.
"It's small, you drekhead! That means it's a viola!" snapped the human with a laugh as he smacked the troll. Raymond's stomach began to turn, and he stopped his music, deciding that perhaps he should just go home. His partner, hearing him stop, changed her melody to a quick, spritely one. She was teasing him for being intimidated, but her eyes no longer smiled. Didn't she realize what was going on??
Raymond blinked nervously, and realized suddenly that Tommy was standing nearby. Tommy's gaze registered pure hate, as he stared down the three gangers. "Hello, Grinder, I haven't met your friends," Tommy said levelly. His voice sounded mechanical and dead. The flutists tune changed again to a somber fugue.
"We wuz just leavin', Tommy, honest" Grinder said. Shaking, he grabbed his two buddies and tried to drag them in the opposite direction.
"No we wasn't," snorted the troll as he shoved the ork to the ground.
"Yeah, what's with you Grinder? First you afraid of moo-sick-ians, now you afraid of a daisy- eater," said the human derisively.
"Oh, drek. Tommy, he didn't mean it..." pleaded the ork. Without warning, the human collapsed to the ground, his left knee obviously broken. As the human howled in pain, Raymond blinked again to clear his eyes. He had seen the motion correctly; Tommy now stood on the edge of the platform, both hands wrapped around the troll's neck, dangling the troll at arm's length above the electrified tracks.
"You are disturbing my enjoyment of the music," Tommy explained to the troll through clenched teeth. The troll clawed at Tommy's arms. "You should have taken Grinder's advice." With inhuman speed, Tommy spun sideways, slamming the troll face-first into a pillar behind him. As the troll slid slowly down the pillar, Tommy grabbed one of the troll's massive arms and dislocated it at the shoulder. The troll whimpered through broken teeth. "Grinder, git yer trash outta here."
Raymond blinked again, and Tommy was gone. Grinder, the ork, moved quickly to drag his wounded companions away. The human resisted, and with a few angry blows Grinder beat him unconscious. Cursing at his companions, Grinder dragged the unconscious human and the cursing troll away. As Raymond watched them retreat, he understood a few things a little better.
Without passion the flutist resumed the piece they had been playing before they were disturbed.
As the next year passed, the duo continued to play together each week, alternately taking the initiative in what pieces they would play. Since both of the performers knew libraries of music, it was seldom that one would begin a piece that the other could not join in on. The meager gathering of street bums and homeless that used to attend the performances grew steadily each week - commuters began to give themselves extra time before or after work so that they could listen longer, workers from nearby kiosks found themselves drawn into the music, and station attendants began to rearrange their shifts so they would be free on Wednesday afternoon. And as the two musicians challenged themselves with more difficult and complex pieces, they also began to try their hand at improvising their own music. Raymond would play a short tune, and the flutist would respond with the same tune, but vary it slightly. Or one would play a phrase and the other would add their own harmony to it. At first the improvised music was only about fifteen minutes of the two hour block in which they played, but gradually it became longer and longer, until it was all they did. The music that they were experimenting with grew more and more unified, the melodies more coherent and the solos more complex. The themes that they liked and felt good about began to resurface, others were heard once and never again. They began to trade off phrases, testing the sounds and rhythms, repeating runs of notes until the other player was able to grasp the direction or meaning intended. Over the course of the next year, they played with and off of each other, composing a duet of unparalleled complexity and beauty. And throughout the course of the music's development, they still had never spoken a word.
It was coming upon the time when the completed piece would be performed. The previous week, both Raymond and the flutist knew that they had completed the piece - now, it was only a matter of playing it from start to finish. Most of the crowd knew that today was going to be the day upon which it was done as well - the crowd was even larger than it had grown to in the past month, clogging traffic in that area of the station. Some ambitious soul had even managed to get vid coverage of the event on one of the local stations, and there were some cameras and microphones being set up by the performance area. The flutist had arrived at her usual time, and if she was nervous about the event, she didn't show it. She waited calmly by the wall, holding her flute across the front of her thighs. The violin began the piece, and she would have adequate time to get ready once the violin started.
However, Raymond had not arrived yet, and people were unsure whether he was going to or not. It was already five after two, and the middle-aged man was usually there before the hour. Most of the observers seemed content to wait and hope he would arrive, but one elf made his way out of the crowd and headed for the station-master's office. It was Tommy, the chromed elf that Raymond had met on his first trip to the station, and the tall elf had watched every one of their performances since that day a year ago. Now, he was concerned about the lack of Raymond's appearance. His large hand shot out as he approached the station-master's office and threw open the door.
"Hey JB," he called out, "You know that violinist that plays with the flutist? You seen him around? He's late for the show." Tommy's voice was as neutral as always, but a trained ear might be able to hear the slightest tone of concern.
The overweight station attendant turned away from his trid set, looking up at the elf. "Nah, Tommy. Haven't seen him. You say he hasn't shown up yet? That's too bad - I kinda like listening to that stuff." He paused, "Hey Tommy, did you notice the KPLR trid crew here?"
"Yeah, that's Scott. An old chummer of mine." The elf almost smiled. "I asked him to come by and enjoy the performance. Won't happen if our violin doesn't show." The elf frowned.
Frowning, JB asked "What does the violinist look like again?"
Tommy considered walking out of the office, as the manager was obviously going to be of little help, but the trid set behind the large man caught his attention. On the trid was the Seattle Symphonic Orchestra, and there was something about a farewell concert. "Hey JB, turn that up." He pointed to the trid.
"Sure." JB reached out and jabbed at the volume, and soon both of the men could hear what was being said.
"...and so, though we are saddened that you will be leaving us, we are happy that you have come out of your retirement, and are honored to give you this farewell concert." A short man was speaking, the director of the orchestra no doubt, but what drew Tommy's attention was the man who he was speaking to. The violinist. A scrolling text at the bottom of the image read: "KPLR Live From Rapier Hall: Raymond Curtiss Farewell Concert."
"JB, can you pipe this through the station?"
"Uh, yeah?"
Tommy nodded. "Do it. Trust me..." He then slipped back out of the office, leaving the chubby JB to scratch his head and fiddle with some more buttons.
As Tommy emerged from the office, tridsets were popping up with the image of the Seattle Orchestra, and there were occasional shouts of "Look - there he is" or "Hey, it's the violinist!" The flutist looked around anxiously, wondering from where he was coming, and when he would begin the music. Tommy drifted over to her and whispered, "Your partner, the violin, he's on the trid." The girl nodded slowly, and seemed to move closer to him. Her attention was then drawn away as Raymond's voice came across the speakers.
"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Donalds, nor the rest of the Orchestra. It is indeed an honor to be the focus of this ceremony and concert. I want to thank the London Symphony for inviting me, and the good graces of Seattle for performing this farewell concert. Thank you." He paused, looking out towards the camera, and then ran his hand over his face.
"However, before giving my last performance in Seattle, I have a sort of confession to make. After forty years of music, I had thought I had heard it all - I was frustrated by the grind of the industry, I was bored by the repetition, and furious at the politics. I'd lost my passion for music. That is, until a little more than a year ago, when I," He paused again, smiling slightly. "met a young woman in the subway.
"And I don't mean that kind of' 'met.'" he resumed, plaintively. "This young woman stood in the subway and played the most wonderful Mozart I'd ever heard. She could easily be one of the world's finest flutists, and yet..." He shrugged. "She plays in the subway. She doesn't accept money if people throw it at her feet, she never stops for applause, or cares how many people may be listening or not. She plays for the joy of playing. It doesn't matter if there's one listener or fifty, it doesn't matter that every seventeen minutes a subway train roars past. Mozart, Tugrer, Thempkins, Copeland - she plays them all." He drifted off for a second, and then, looking back at the camera, cleared his throat. In the subway, the reported was whispering frantically into a portable phone, although no one could here him.
"Well, she allowed me to play by her side - just my violin and I. I wasn't a world recognized maestro, and she wasn't a street performer. We were both equal musicians. And we never spoke a word to each other except through our music." He took a deep breath, now reliving the past year rather than retelling it. "We met once a week, and in the two hours that we were together, we worked on a duet, just a little each week. We only communicated with our instruments, only passed ideas with the sounds of our music. There in the subway, we composed - equally, and as equals. Last week, we finished the sonata. Tonight was to be our grand performance." He gazed down and smiled, somewhat sadly, somewhat peacefully. His emotions were trying to get the better of him, but they hadn't yet. "And, I never even learned her name."
"Andrea," the girl whispered in response to the trid image. "My name is Andrea." In the subway, the audience had been taking the information with mixed reactions, and quickly passed her name along. Most of them knew the history of the sonata - they had seen it develop - but few knew the history of Raymond, or his own feelings on the music. Andrea herself was listening raptly, knowing that this man's voice sounded right for him, knowing that the breadth of emotion she heard in it was matched by her own. The music they had communicated with had been beyond special, and she was relieved that he felt it too. She only wished that they would be able to perform their piece, but she knew that it was a foolish hope.
"To honor my young friend," Raymond's image continued to speak, "To honor my young friend who has helped me to regain my love of music, who has rekindled that passion inside my soul, I would like to play my role of our sonata." On the screen, one of the trid engineers scrambled behind the set, and the imaged fuzzed momentarily. Raymond's voice continued unharmed. "It is the tale of two lovers, calling to each other, enduring separation and hardships to be together, and ultimately being given only one last opportunity to be together before they must forever be apart." He bowed his head an inch, appreciating some inner irony. "I must ask for your patience and your indulgence, for obviously my young friend cannot provide her flute, except in my heart. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is our Subway Sonata."
He picked up his violin, and gingerly began to play the introduction. The soft strain of music floated across the subway terminal, and the murmurs that had been coursing through the gathering vanished. It was a plea, an invitation, a desperate call for a response. The violin was calling to the flute, and even those who hadn't heard the work in progress could feel the summoning. The tune was hauntingly incomplete. It sought fulfillment.
Tears began to well in the corners of Andrea's eyes, as she realized that the violin would never find that fulfillment - that the melody would remain incomplete. Tommy leaned over to her, offering her a handkerchief and, catching the attention of the reporter, whispered gently in her ear. "The violin calls for you, Andrea. Won't you answer the call? Won't you play for us your Subway Sonata?"
She smiled softly, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief, and reached out with one hand to find Tommy's face. Her fingers brushed gently across his cheek, and she kissed him lightly there, bowing her head delicately before raising the flute up to her lips to play. Her head began to nod slowly, moving back and forth in time with the music, and those assembled around her watched her as her entrance became imminent. When the violin completed its call for succor, she took in a breath and played the flute, responding to the call with a tender yet fervent tone. The sound flowed about the subway like it always had, the acoustics providing their own flavor to the music. But the flute also came over the trid speakers, and was amplified across the station on the same level as the violin. Andrea's eyes smiled as she continued to play. A subway train approached.
On the trid, Raymond's head jerked up in confusion, his own tear-streaked face looking about in both anger and shock. A man wearing a headset ducked on screen and whispered something to the violinist, and coupled with the filtered whooshing of a passing subway train, he seemed to relax somewhat, new tears of joy replacing his old ones. Through his violin, he called out again to the flute, and able to hear its response, the two began to weave their tale of separated lovers, of romantic pleas and bitter denial. The music spiraled higher as the two instruments became as one, were finally united in the same theme and melody, becoming two halves of a beautiful and glorious whole. For forty minutes, the duo sustained the powerful call, and for a few moments, they drew their listeners into a magical world, were dreams and hope were tangible things. But all too soon, they separated again, each drifting off into their own painful aloneness. Andrea left her flute raised to her lips after her last breath faded from the instrument, her cheeks stained with tears. No one in the subway moved, save Tommy, who gently put his arm around Andrea, drawing her close to him as she continued to weep.
Raymond slowly lowered his violin, his face equally wet with tears, and bowed his head, letting the silence and emotion wash over him and the crowd before he spoke. When he did, his voice was hoarse, and his tone heavy. He stepped up to the podium and said simply, "Thank you KPLR and especially, thank you... Andrea." It was the first time either of the two had spoken to one another with clumsy words, and he also knew it would, ironically, be the last.
The Characters:
Many of the characters have long write-ups. These write-ups include some history and personality information about each character, but also include information specific to the Shadowrun 2d. ed. role-playing game. Therefore, we have chosen to take advantage of the unique medium of the World Wide Web (our publishing medium) and have provided links to the full-character write-ups.
Age 30, cybernetic purple eyes, curly blond hair. 6'5", 220 lbs. Dark complexion.
Very little is known about Tommy. He was born in the UCAS, probably along the Eastern seaboard. He grew up in an Ares corporate environment, joined Ares security, and became a professional Urban Brawler for Ares Northeast. After playing for several years, he got burned out. He faked his death and moved to Seattle. In Seattle, he runs the shadows. He does mostly "muscle- work", but also has done some espionage work. He doesn't take wetwork, and avoids using killing force if possible.
Andrea's music is one of the few pleasures in his life. He has a crush on her, and until the end of the Sonata, he had been too shy to even talk to her. When Raymond Curtiss first approached Andrea, Tommy was in the background, watching him. Tommy respects Curtiss, and if the violinist were ever in trouble, Tommy would probably work to bail him out. If Andrea is ever gets into any trouble, you can bet that Tommy won't be far behind (and woe to those who cause her harm).
The Subway Sonata
Only KPLR in Seattle is known to possess a copy of the completed Sonata. Raymond Curtiss, in a deft bit of legalese, managed to copyright the piece before KPLR could do anything about distribution. Curtiss has created a non-profit foundation to hold and maintain this copyright. The sole purpose of this foundation is to protect this copyright forever. Curtiss has threatened to bury KPLR in legal paperwork if a copy of the Sonata appears anywhere, and the foundation - endowed by Curtiss and his many powerful and wealthy contacts - can enforce that threat.
Shortly after, the Foundation received a typed letter, hand delivered by a chromed elf. The letter, on Silver Flute Software letterhead, read simply "Thanks," and was type-signed, "Andrea."
This is a work of fiction, all persons and organizations are ficticious. Any resemblance to persons or organizations, living, dead, or otherwise is purely coincidental and probably your fault anyway.