A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  “Heather, tell me a little more about yourself. You already said you were a senior in high school and were on your way to Boston to interview at a music school. Which one, why there, and do you play instruments, sing, or what?”

  “I was going for an interview and audition at the New England Conservatory of Music. It’s not the most prestigious music school but is one of the better ones and has a relatively high acceptance rate. I had applied to other places where the chances of getting in were not good, so I sent applications to several schools . . . hedging my bets. The New England Conservatory also has a good reputation for mentoring its students into jobs once they graduate.

  “As for instruments, I mainly played piano because it’s so important not just for performances but also composing. I took violin lessons for a couple of years, and I can work out something of a tune, but I had to give it up. There’s only so many instruments you can learn to play well.”

  “How about guitar?” asked Mark. “You were playing some local string instrument in Iskadon.”

  “They call that a foralong. Something like a four-string guitar or mandolin. When I was made a slave in Sulako, and when my owner decided he could make money off my singing, I taught myself to play the foralong, both to help pass the time and to increase my value as a performer.”

  “She’s a pretty good singer,” said Mark. “That’s where I first saw her—singing and playing the . . . what did you call it? The foralong. The audience was more than appreciative of the novelty of new songs and Heather’s voice.”

  “Where did you see music taking you, Heather? General performer, teacher, singer, orchestras?” asked Yozef.

  “One of those. Music is not a career with all that many job opportunities, at least the kind you might want. Competition is pretty fierce at the highest levels, even for people who get into the best music schools. Very few of them end up doing what they dreamed of. I have an aunt who dreamed of being a concert pianist. She told me she spent most of her teenage years into her early twenties practicing. She was almost thirty before she accepted that she was never going to be that good. She ended up teaching music in a high school and giving piano lessons part time. She is also active in local music groups and does gigs occasionally.

  “When I asked her if she regretted all those years of practice and eventual disappointment, she said no. Despite it all, she still loved music and wouldn’t change anything. So, I think I was going into it with my eyes open. I love music so much I figured I’d take it as far as I could.”

  Heather stopped and briefly toyed with strands of hair, her eyes darting between Yozef and Mark. She smiled sadly. “I guess I’ll confess my real fantasy was not performing but composing and conducting. Maybe one of those, maybe both. I didn’t even tell that to my parents or my aunt. I guess I was afraid everyone would discourage me. You don’t see that many women conductors and none my size who are Chinese. As for composing, I had even less confidence in that direction.”

  “How about at the Song of Irlan?” asked Mark. “Besides music you knew and some Sulakoan tunes, did you write any new ones?”

  “It’s one of the things that kept me from falling too deep into depression. I had lots of time alone, and once I learned to play the foralong I spent hours trying to compose songs and instrumental pieces. That’s about the only thing I regret about leaving Iskadon. I had hundreds of pages of music in my quarters at Halari’s compound.”

  Mark noticed Yozef’s quizzical expression. “Halari was Heather’s owner, and the Song of Irlan was the performance hall, super tavern, or whatever, where he had Heather perform.”

  Heather’s expression darkened at the mention of her slave owner. Yozef rushed to divert her back to music. “I can understand what a shame that was, but maybe you can recreate much of it here on Caedellium.”

  She looked at him with disgust. “That was a couple years’ work!”

  “But you’re free and safe now. You’ll find a place here in Caedelli society. I’ll predict you won’t have a problem earning a living.” Yozef smiled. “If nothing else, the Paramount Hetman of Caedellium will support you. Mark said your music was well received in Sulako, so I’m sure you’ll find a place here. Don’t be surprised if you hear some familiar tunes, although the Earth repertoire here is currently limited to songs in taverns and a few classical pieces when I could remember the melodies.

  “You might even spark a revolution. I don’t know much about music, but here on Caedellium they don’t seem to have as much of a formalized notation system as we had. From the little I’ve seen, it looks like they just use indications of the general melody, and the performer adlibs. I don’t know about anyplace else on Anyar.”

  “I only had occasional chances to speak with Sulakoan musicians when a performance required more than just me and my foralong,” said Heather. “They used six ledger lines with a complex set of accidentals and octave symbols.”

  Neither Mark nor Yozef responded.

  “You know. The lines that music notes are written over and the symbols like sharps and flats? You’re probably more familiar with two sets of ledger lines individually separated by a space.”

  She was rewarded by two nods.

  “Anyway . . . the Sulakoan system is probably something used in Western Europe in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Of course, it depends on which country and whether we’re talking about liturgical music or not. How about here on Caedellium, Yozef? Have you seen how they do it?”

  “Just what I already said. I haven’t actually paid much attention. Oh, they’re musical enough. It’s not uncommon to hear people singing and whistling to themselves or in small groups when you walk around the city. I guess most of my experience is either in taverns or the cathedrals in clan capitals.

  “It’s been a couple of years now, but when I was first adjusting to life here, I introduced a few songs while sharing beers in taverns. Haven’t had much opportunity for that recently. Also, in that first year or so, there was a man in Abersford, the town where I lived. Named Pernel. I suppose you’d say he was something of the local version of a music director. He was involved in the musical sections of services at the local cathedral, in addition to his regular work. One day he heard me whistling a theme from a Beethoven symphony, the Ninth. He bugged me about it and several more tunes I whistled. He wanted to adapt them for a special cathedral service. I saw him write down a series of symbols. I didn’t know what they meant, but later he showed me lyrics with symbols above and below the words.”

  “That’s it?” asked Heather. “No ledger lines with notes—anything like that?”

  Yozef shook his head.

  “Christ! Sounds like the Seikilos epitaph. Doesn’t this island have contact with the outside world? I was surprised in Sulako that they didn’t have something more complex— at least similar to ekphonetic or Kondakarian notation.”

  Yozef looked at Mark. “You have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Sorry, guys. I was a music geek. I was just thinking about how musical notation evolved historically on Earth. The people back in Sulako seem to do well with reproducing music, even with limited notation. Of course, I guess part of it was I only heard music that everyone knew how it was supposed to go. I just don’t see how they do it here in Caedellium. If they don’t have exact notation, how could they stay consistent? There’d be a tendency for each singer, player, or whatever to do a slightly different version.”

  “You know,” said Yozef, “that may explain why songs I’ve heard in different taverns around the island often sound either a little or a lot different from place to place, even though the words are the same.”

  Heather grinned. “There you go.”

  “Well, Heather, I’m pretty sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities for you and your music here in Caedellium. But tell me something more about yourself. Did you have hobbies?”

  Although Yozef wanted to eventually learn everything there was to know about H
eather Chen, for the moment he was mainly interested in what knowledge or skills from Earth she might bring to Anyar. He liked music and looked forward to her introducing more Earth music to the island, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of how the arrivals could help with the future of Caedellium.

  She shrugged. “Besides school, I didn’t do a lot of extracurricular activities. Music took up most of my free time. I was on the girls’ tennis team at school, but I wasn’t all that good. It was mainly a social thing.”

  Well, Yozef thought, if I ever manage to challenge the Narthani to a tennis tournament, maybe she’ll be of use.

  “How about you, Mark? You said you worked for General Dynamics. All I remember about them is they’re a big defense contractor.”

  “I was pretty much a salesman, although my title was Vice President for Land Systems. I spent most of my time traveling and talking to officials and the military of countries around the world, trying to convince them our products were just exactly what they needed.”

  “Okay, land systems? What does that mean?”

  “All the basic armored vehicles. You know . . . the Abrams main battle tank, Stryker armored vehicle, and several models of lighter armored vehicles.”

  Yozef’s eyes widened, and his pulse rate increased, but it was a momentary effect. Even in that short time, visions of tanks rolling over the Narthani positions flashed through his mind. Then reality wiped away the visions. Under the best of circumstances and the fastest he could push Anyarian technology, it might be a century or more before the technology and their industry could produce something like a tank. Hopefully, there would be more peaceful advances than that.

  “So, you were an executive salesman. How did you get the position?”

  Yozef imagined Mark working his way up through the sales division of General Dynamics or other companies.

  “It was pretty much a straight shot. After I graduated from the Naval Academy, I only served the minimum years required. By then, I’d confirmed I didn’t care much for sea duty. I might’ve stayed in and gone through shore-based positions, but I gave in to my wife wanting a different lifestyle than the navy would provide.”

  Yozef had stiffened in his chair after the words Naval Academy. He licked his lips and spoke before Mark continued. “What was your field of study at the academy?”

  “Mechanical engineering with an emphasis on naval applications. After my first four years, the navy let me spend a year and a half getting a master’s degree in material science. That was enough time away from the navy to make me realize I wasn’t going to make it a career. However, their letting me get the master’s degree was accompanied by the obligation that I go at least eight years total. After that, General Dynamics snatched me up pretty quick. They had a job waiting from the minute I left the navy. Spent the next eighteen years there before taking a flight from San Francisco to Chicago. Obviously, like you and Heather, I didn’t make it.”

  Mark stopped talking, waiting for a response from Yozef—a word, an expression, or a gesture. Instead, he got nothing. Yozef sat as if frozen, while his mind churned over what he had just heard. In his early years on Anyar, he had fantasized innumerable times about meeting another survivor from United 4382. Often, he simply wished to talk with someone about his previous life. But occasionally he longed for someone with skills or knowledge to supplement his own. Someone to relieve him of part of his self-induced pressure to introduce as many innovations as he could for as long as he lived.

  Never, in his wildest wishful thinking, had he imagined a person or persons with a military background and a deep understanding of military history and tactics. At times, depending on the frustrations of the moment, he had also wished for technical help, such as with the telegraph, steam engines, and steel processing. Maybe a mechanical engineer to help with innovations. Maybe a civil engineer to take over construction projects. Maybe a doctor to advance Anyar medicine.

  His flights of fantasy were too often accompanied by imagining the other survivor offering nothing useful. An undertaker. A U.S. senator. An Albanian businessman who didn’t speak English. A housewife who, no matter how fine a person and wonderful a mother, would provide no help for his goals.

  When news came that he might be meeting another man who had survived the airline collision and then when he learned there were two survivors, he had tried to tell himself he would be satisfied if they provided any help. The one scenario he hadn’t considered was an ex-naval officer who was also a mechanical engineer. Jackpot!

  Yozef became aware the other two persons were staring at him, wondering what was happening. He faked clearing his throat and coughing into a fist.

  “Sorry. Throat got a little dry. A mechanical engineer and a navy officer. I think there may be ways you can fit into my plans for Caedellium.” Yozef fought the urge to let loose with what he feared would sound like a hysterical laugh. “We’ll talk in more detail later. How about the rest of your background, and what have you been doing since being dumped here like the rest of us?”

  “I was raised in rural Colorado. My family had a ranch, but most years we had more income from farming. Depending on the markets and early spring weather, we grew wheat, sugar beets, and potatoes. I already mentioned graduating from the Naval Academy and working for General Dynamics. Once I got here, I learned to speak Frangelese and got what I thought was a fundamental understanding of the culture. So, I set about trying to introduce innovations. It went okay at first but then went to hell. I stopped with innovations and drifted for a while, doing odd jobs and ranch work, picking up a family on the way until things went south with the Narthani, and we had to go on the run. Took us a year to get here.”

  “Maghen told me what they went through,” said Heather. “If we were back on Earth, Mark should be writing a book. Hell . . . I suspect you’d be writing one, too, Yozef. I’m afraid my saga wouldn’t rate me more than a short story.”

  Yozef again noticed that Heather’s mood darkened when she referred to her time on Anyar. He moved again to divert her reflections.

  “I imagine all three of us would have stories to tell, even if from different perspectives and personal trauma. I now have to wonder how many more stories there are about people from Earth cast away on Anyar.”

  “More than just the three of us?” asked Heather. “I suppose you’re right. Mark just stumbled on me. Megan told me about how he learned about me. If just a few steps had been different, I would still be in Iskadon. I’d have spent the rest of my life as Halari’s slave or whoever owned me after he died.”

  Well, shit, thought Yozef. That didn’t work. So much for my distracting her.

  “I’ve wondered how many of us are on this planet ever since I heard about a man named Yozef Kolsko on an island named Caedellium,” said Mark. “We had plenty of time on the voyage from Buldor. No matter what happened to each of us, we all three survived. The fact that we got together at all, as unlikely as it was, has to mean there are more of us. Maybe quite a few. I can imagine twenty or thirty of us being on Anyar.”

  “Why not everyone on the plane?” blurted Heather. “The alien, artificial intelligence, computer, or whatever it was that talked to us said they ‘repaired’ our injuries. At least, that’s what they told me and Mark. Why couldn’t they have saved everyone? There could be a couple hundred of us on this planet.”

  Yozef’s expression took on a distant look. “I doubt it could be that many. I don’t know how many passengers and crewmembers there were, but let’s say it was two hundred. I can imagine out of that many, a few might have deliberately or accidentally revealed that they were from another planet. Yes, most of these survivors would not be believed, but I think stories would eventually circulate.”

  “I agree,” said Mark. “The number is likely fairly small, though almost certainly more than just the three of us. It would be too much of a coincidence if only us three had been saved and yet somehow we got together. How many more?” He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I would say fewer than te
n to fifteen.”

  Heather shook her head, black hair brushing her shoulders. “But if the three of us got together, no matter how unlikely it would seem, surely there are others on this planet. Maybe not hundreds, but why not dozens? Isn’t there some way we can try and find them?”

  “How?” asked Yozef. “We can’t just send out notices, ‘Anyone from Earth, contact Yozef Kolsko, Mark Caldwell, or Heather Chen on the island of Caedellium.’”

  “Well,” said Mark, “we already know one way that works. Music. Even if by the most unlikely of happenstances, Heather and I connected because of her music. If there was a way to spread Earth music throughout Anyar, we might eventually reach most, if not all, of the other survivors.”

  Yozef tugged on his beard. “The music would have to somehow be tied to Caedellium. Otherwise, people would know there’re others here but not where they are. That could either make things worse for them, if they couldn’t get here, or better because at least they would know there were others from Earth. And remember, no matter what happened, the three of us did survive. Who knows what circumstances others may have found themselves in? Could’ve been far worse than anything we experienced. And let’s face it. The three of us had to have a level of toughness and the mental flexibility to accept what happened and try to make the best of it. I imagine there might be far too many people who didn’t have that to draw on.”

  “All that may be true,” said Heather, “but that doesn’t really address the issue. I still think we should try.”

  “I’m not saying we shouldn’t,” said Yozef, “but there’s the danger of announcing that Caedellium is where the Amerikans can be found. What will the Narthani response be if they find out Mark and I are now both on the island? So . . . we have to give it some thought about what’s practical and safe. Anyway, that can wait for another day. You’ve just arrived.”