Harmonies of the Mind
“There’s no hurry,” the doctor said again. “Just sometime next week.”
“It’s not really a problem, you know. Putting it down on record makes it bigger than it is. I can manage it.”
“For half a year stuck on this ship?”
“I’ll let you know a time tomorrow, Doctor Pissario.”
“Liz.”
“Liz. I just want to get . . . it’s been a long day.”
The door to Dining Room C opened, revealing Chipman and his officers assembled around an elegantly set table, sparkling with wine glasses, tumblers etched with a facsimile of the Eridanus, and multiple liquor decanters.
All sat there looking stiff in their dress uniforms: the captain; Lt. Commander Benjamin Samuel, Science Officer; Head Engineer, Eric Matulis; Lt. Sheila “Cat” Morrison, Communications Chief; and Lt. Ruthie E. McKaye, Librarian and Head of Language and Linguistics. (The ISS Eridanus was currently operating with an Earth bridge crew.) Lt. McKaye had requested Joanni bring her clesig to the dinner gathering; she was looking forward to meeting Joanni, and was one of the few onboard who had heard of the musician prior to her arrival. All the men rose as Joanni and Dr. Pissario entered. Joanni had indeed found something ‘among her books’ to wear: a green leaf print on white dress, sleeveless and wrapped tightly around the waist with the material gathered up behind her neck and flowing down the back. Her hair was twisted up on top of her head and she wore emerald glass stud earrings. Her sartorial goal was to look alluring and fresh without risking any fashion choice getting in the way of her clesig playing.
“Ah, I see you brought your harp, Ms. Neiswender,” said Lt. Commander Matulis.
“Please, everyone, call me Joanni. Dr. Pissario told me Lt. McKaye requested I bring it.” The Lieutenant nodded her head in acknowledgement. While this was true, it was also true that Joanni was not comfortable leaving the ancient instrument in her quarters. She placed it carefully on the chair next to the sideboard. “But don’t worry, I won’t bore you all, just a quick tune after dessert.” A general laugh went around the table; even the captain smiled.
Everyone was friendly and welcoming. Joanni felt more and more comfortable, especially after her first drink, as they sat down to a dinner of soy in aspic, steak bites, hydroponic salad, some salty starchy thing that was unrecognizable and unpalatable, and lime ice (a nod to the sailors of yore), plus as much booze as one could wish for, of which some indulged in more than others. The captain did not talk much, perhaps because he had already met her, but was not disinterested. A request went round the table for Joanni to tell her story.
"A long time ago—centuries—a spaceship left Oreana with the stolen clesig. It crashed down on Earth, some say in present day Iceland, some say Scotland. At any rate, the clesig survived; not sure if any of the crew survived or someone found the clesig, but it was passed down from generation to generation as an heirloom until it landed with our neighbor, who gave it to my father, who gave it to me. Our neighbor and my father were good friends, and Mr. Harris taught me everything he knew about the clesig; the rest I figured out or made up.”
Here, Matulis interrupted. “Your father was Maurice Neiswender, Commander Nelson’s research partner on the ISS Hyperion?”
“Yes, he was lost on a scout mission almost three years ago. Along with Commander Nelson. We never found out what happened to them.”
“What do you mean, you never found out?” Chipman asked.
“My family got condolences, but no information. What happened? Why did it happen? We tried reaching out to Commander Nelson’s family, but they didn’t seem to want to talk to us. It was almost the death of my mother. We tried to get a copy of my father’s file, but ISEA won’t release it.”
“Because it’s classified,” Chipman suggested.
“Because they can. They do whatever they want because they can,” Joanni countered a little too loudly, the alcohol kicking in. She had automatically assumed he would take her side. “I’m sure there’s any number of stated reasons they can come up with.”
‘Maybe Gillis is right,’ Chipman thought.
‘Well, he is a military man. Is he a company man?’ Joanni wondered to herself. But that was not his reputation, and he wouldn’t have gotten where he was by being one. It would really disturb her if true, but she didn’t believe it. She had an inexplicable but unshakeable faith in him.
“Well, I for one would like to hear this instrument,” Samuel announced as the remains of their dinners were removed from the table.
Joanne smiled at him, thankful for a break to regain her composure, stood up, adjusted her dress, and picked up the clesig. She sat back down on her chair, pulled out a little from the table, and settled herself in a playing position, looking completely at ease now and at one with the instrument, similar to how an accomplished equestrian looks when astride a horse. First, she would play a simple folk song from about two hundred years ago, she told them, then a slightly more complicated one, explaining that additional vibrations could be added once the missing crystal was put back in place by the Oreanians.
With that first song, what had been so internal—the invisibility of which had made her seem small and unnoticeable to some—came to the fore. Both the haunting sense of hiraeth and the thrill of discovery shone through when the music began, came out as a longing for love and for living, all this came out in her songs and touched Tom Chipman, embraced and mesmerized him, as she turned periodically to face him, singing her words directly to him; touched him with the grace and beauty of the music and the musician, like the ship he commanded, similar in elegance of function. He could now see all that was there, drawing him to her with her charms and talents, her bare arms and upswept hair. Truth be told he might have fallen a little in love with her that night, with the interplay of minds where his thoughts were met and matched with hers, as with partners in a dance. But this pull was as wayward and fleeting as the deer in his grandmother’s yard—as strongly as it had gripped him moments ago, it left as quickly, once the music ceased, and he could not summon it back.
After her performance ended and conversation petered out, Captain Chipman stood up and everyone said their goodnights. Lt. McKaye offered to walk Joanni back to her quarters. As she took her leave, the captain resumed what to her now felt like his interrogation.
“Your father served with Nelson on the Seridan Operation?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You said that was roughly three years ago.'‘
“About three.”
“When did the Hyperion return from that mission?”
“I’m not sure of the exact date it went into dock; I just know my father was reported missing on August 4, 2198.” She would give him no more. “Good night, Captain.”
Chipman gave a slight bow of his head and Joanni left with Lt. MyKaye. The Eridanus’ librarian was eager to speculate about the Oreanians on their stroll back to Joanni’s quarters, but Joanni was played out for the day, and they agreed to have lunch tomorrow to pick up the conversation.
She was tired and had a lot to think through after her first day aboard. She had left the dinner with the sensation that the captain of the ship taking her to her “destiny” either did not approve of her or disliked her. Both she and the captain had many thoughts about each other to think through, thoughts which occurred only to them, thoughts which they kept to themselves.
Image: Enchantment of consonance. Source: “The Laws of Harmonious Colouring,” by David Ramsay Hay. London, 1838. In The Public Domain Review. Edited by J. Weigley.