The Holocaust Piano
by Phaedra7veils
Chapter 5: Music from the Holocaust Piano
Part 1
After the shock-trauma unit had stabilized Hilarion and taken him to the Elite Medical Facility, Raoul noticed Katze swaying on his feet and banished his new Pet to bed.
"Strange as this may seem, I've looked after my own health since I was a child," Katze grumped.
"Don't bother to get up until you've slept thoroughly." Raoul brushed some imaginary lint off his sleeve. "Tibór will make sure there's something wholesome and delicious ready for you to eat when you wake up. Satisfied?"
"Are you also going to make him wipe my–" Katze bit off the crude reply. He suddenly remembered the services to Pets that Iason had commanded from him when he was a Furniture and didn't want to plant any ideas in Raoul's head. That, and the killer backhands that Blondies never hesitated to use whenever they felt their dignity had been slighted. Besides, vulgar remarks reminded him too much of how Riki used to needle Iason. They offended Katze's sense of grace, and his subversive feelings ranged suspiciously close to the desire to please.
Please? That insufferable Elite?
He snapped his lips shut and stalked to his new bedroom, bristling at the complacent approval that sheltered within Raoul's flawless green eyes. Eyes that caught everything, every nuance. Blondies had a way of feeling entitled to sacrifice, like gifts were their due. Katze conveniently chose to forget about Raoul's protection and hospitality, since these had been imposed upon him anyway. He would be damned if he ever willingly had sex with the tyrant again. No more of this sweetness and cooperation bullshit!
As Raoul walked over the rubble of his ruined floor to his strange piano, urgency and impatience gnawed at him, filling his thoughts with chaos and recklessness. He needed to sift through them, to make sense of the past two days' events—had it only been two days? Yet time was something he sensed he didn't have. Action seemed to be called for. Immediate action. But what sort? What was he supposed to do? And where were all these feelings coming from? The dream sequences about sex with Iason! As for amorous feelings towards Mongrels and ex-Furniture, the very thought almost made him writhe with mortification. Best not to think about it at all. Raoul forced his mind to other subjects.
Hilarion had been so messed-up. With the amount of blood he lost, he could very easily be brain damaged, and such a refined mind at that. Nor was it only Hilarion's capacity for pure, clear thought that was at stake; of any Elite Raoul had ever met, he was the least inclined to falsity. Here was fresh realization for the Blondie, the true reason he returned to that Elite's art gallery again and again: Raoul could not recall a single insincere or calculating act from the Sapphire. Even his flattery had always seemed heartfelt. The thought that these qualities might be lost forever because of this attack filled him with—he paused to think about that, exactly—with anguish. Another feeling.
Could Jupiter fully restore him? Even with his Elite capacity to heal, even with the most superb medical attention Tanagura could provide—attention which Raoul had demanded without compromise—the Sapphire's exquisite face and body would show terrible scars, no question. What a bitter fate for someone who had so loved beauty!
The computer would probably manage to recover most of the injured Elite's lower brain functions. But would Jupiter deem the more ineffable qualities important enough to save the ones that had made Hilarion so...individual!—so particularly fine? From his past merges with that cybernetic mass, Raoul doubted it. It was precisely those subtleties which Jupiter couldn't seem to grasp.
Not since Iason's death had Raoul experienced such frustration, such loss. Never had he felt so confounded by Jupiter's shortcomings. He gathered all his grief and rage into his fists and drove them down onto the piano top, filling his suite with an orchestral thunder. If only he knew how to break through Jupiter's limitations!—that trap, that prison. If only he could force that profane, confined awareness to evolve. There had to be some way...some power...
Could this pianoforte be the means?
His attention shifted to marvel once more at the instrument's perfection—how, in spite of having borne the brunt of his fury, its surface remained glassy and undamaged.
So many strange things had happened since it had shown up, including the mystery of how it had stitched itself with strange fibres to Eos Tower. What were those things anyway?
Raoul couldn't help wondering if these events and oddities were interconnected as Katze had implied. He hated most not having enough data to draw sound conclusions. With each passing hour, it seemed more likely that the pianoforte carried some sort of strange force, one which Raoul couldn't quite accept as destructive.
Could this masterpiece be some sort of Holocaust Piano, set to unleash a pestilence onto Amoi? Was their planet to follow the unhappy fate of Thallë?
Not all the strange events which had happened were sinister, if the changes to his body and Katze's were any indication. The weird fibres, the threats to Katze's spy network, the murder of his agent's contact in Solares Geophysics, and the attack on Hilarion Fyss were. Yet the threats and attacks could have come from another source, if what Katze had said was true, that the Federation was embroiled in a cover-up. Raoul pushed himself away from the piano. This required immediate action.
"Tibór!" Raoul called.
Within seconds, the Furniture was at hand.
"Tell the Car to leave Katze's personal effects in the west room. Paviter can reinstall them under his guidance after he wakes up. Do you know when he is due from Midas?"
"He would've returned ten minutes ago, Lord Am," the furniture explained, "But called to say he was held up in traffic just north of the Main Gate. Constables have now been conscripted to direct the flow, so I expect his imminent return."
"Indeed?" This strange news startled the Elite. "What was that all about?"
"Sir Serge Renaud has tried to contact you about these irregularities. As you were busy with the aid to Sir Hilarion, his messages were redirected to your comm-link."
"I see. Thank you."
"Did you have any further instructions for me or your Car, my Lord?"
"Yes," this latest news had distracted him. Raoul recovered his concentration, "Inform Paviter the moment he arrives: I require a list of Federation members who have visited Eos over the past week. I need to know where they went, with whom they've met, and what their business is here. I want careful attention paid to those with—gaps in their surveillance records."
Tibór bowed and left.
Raoul wasn't quite ready to face his business and administrative associates just yet. This was the first time since the ride back from Kalga 84 that morning that he had had time to think. The fact that it was Serge Renaud who monitored the situation eased his concerns. He had the utmost confidence in the Platina; as one of his canniest chess opponents, Serge had proven his skill for strategy often enough. The fact that constables had already been assigned to uphold order showed that he was in control.
As Raoul absentmindedly ran his hands over the smooth finish of the piano, his memory jumped to the pleasing image of Katze outstretched beneath him, the astonishment and delight that had lit up the Mongrel's delicate features, the softness of his hair and smoothness of his skin, his long, lithe body with its supple muscles trembling under his hands. What a maze of opposing feelings this brought up! The images enflamed Raoul's desire to possess him. He had never enjoyed the experience of pressing another man into compliance so personally.
He smiled wryly. The Mongrel had bared his teeth when ordered to bed that morning, the faintest whiff of that rough Ceres spirit Iason so enjoyed taming. Clearly Raoul wasn't the only one teetering in contradiction about their sexual encounter. He realized that the haste with which he and Katze had fallen into sex had left him uneasy. Splinters of anxiety irritated him, especially with how senselessly he had dropped his self-control, something which had never happened before.
So out of character was that outburst for either of them, he reckoned some mysterious agency could've precipitated it, possibly even the same one that had changed their physical bodies and keyed up that part of his mind which could dream.
But if it was the pianoforte which had caused this, would this not have been one of the good effects? The last time he had felt so relaxed and comfortable in his body was when he had dreamt about Iason. Yes, those dreams—still very disturbing. Yet he truly felt wonderful, full of vitality and positive energy. Why? Was this the lull before the storm?
Raoul considered the information which Katze had shared the evening just past.
"Nothing. Probably nothing. Most likely no connection at all," he had said, but he hadn't taken the chance that it was nothing. He had passed along his every guess, even though he had nothing, no proof, no evidence to verify it. "Rumours of disasters striking some of its satellite colonies, priestesses of Tenebrios working with massive black keyboards that fit this description..." That horrifying holostream of the Ruin of Thallë and his last conversation with that smuggler, Merc, which he had recorded on the same device.
What good fortune to have acquired such clever allies! Raoul now directed his thoughts toward how best to keep Katze. More importantly, how to keep him safe.
With a quiet knock at the door, Tibór returned bearing a breakfast tray of fruit, croissants, cheese and coffee.
"Your Car has returned and is engaged with your new assignment, Lord Am," he spoke quietly. "There seems to be trouble with Jupiter's surveillance records."
"I will look into it, Tibór, but first, I require some—items," he sighed, wondering how best to word his instructions. "Items of a somewhat unorthodox nature."
The furniture nodded his compliance.
"Our guest needs an entirely new wardrobe. His clothing is—inappropriate."
"I can provide Sir Katze with the best designs available from the Pet supply shops in Apatia, master."
"No! That is exactly what I do not want. He must not look like a Pet, or even a citizen. It would lead to too many awkward questions. He needs freedom to work without interference. He must be able to blend in with the Elite society without attracting unwanted attention. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly."
"Dispose of all but a few items of his old clothing. Store them away in the event he needs plainclothes to move among citizens and mongrels incognito but, while he remains in Eos, he shall be required to wear bespoke formal attire."
"My lord?" The Furniture said tentatively. For the first time since he was purchased, Tibór's lifted his gaze directly into his master's. It was the first time Raoul noticed his chocolate brown eyes, eyelashes and eyebrows which contrasted rather nicely with his honey coloured hair—not much different than his own. He really was a very nice-looking furniture. What a pity he had been damaged. Raoul decided he would order him to learn how to play the pianoforte later.
Raoul waved a hand to hurry along the pace of his Furniture's speech. He half-expected the man to tell him he was mad.
"There is the matter of his complexion and—well, the length of his hair."
"Yes. Fortunately, we can work around that. Contact the late Lord Mink's costumier for a single thigh-length hairpiece in pure red that can be worked into Katze's existing style, and cosmetics for a dark ivory complexion." Since the previous First Blondie often disguised himself to travel unnoticed, there was no reason why his supplier would feel suspicious about these items. "If Katze objects when you apply them, you may call upon me. He is not to give you a hard time about it."
Tibór looked startled; Elite masters so seldom backed up their commands with tangible promises of support.
"Do you have anything further to add?" Raoul asked.
Tibór shook his head.
"As for his name–" Raoul glanced around the room for anything that might sound plausible. He thought about his new pet's insolence that morning, both during the exam at Kalga 84 and when he was ordered to bed. A slow mocking smile curled across his lips when his eyes fell upon the arrangement of fruits which Tibór had placed on his breakfast tray. His fingers hovered over a lovely, ripe peach and nearly took the plunge. Instead, he shifted over a little, picked up a cluster of green grapes and popped a couple in his mouth, relishing their chilled sweetness. After swallowing, he said, "If anyone should ask, his name is Sir Katze—Gripe."
That should teach him not to whine. He would resolve the issue of citizen passkeys later.
That settled, Raoul directed his thoughts to the next issues.
Jupiter. He rubbed his forehead. His next project had to be an audience with the supercomputer. He was amazed it hadn't demanded his attendance yet. Raoul walked over to his computer.
As the screen's soft yellow light reflected in his eyes, the old frown harried his forehead. His comm-link was jammed with hundreds of messages, many of which appeared to be distress calls from members of the Elite. Raoul flicked through the masses of holostream recordings, barely able to contain his disbelief.
It appeared Tanagura was cavitating.
Message after message attested to a cataclysm of planetary proportions.
As morning rush-hour had set in, the transit tunnel system which connected Eos with Guardian and all the suburbs of Tanagura had shut down. This was undoubtedly the source of the traffic problems that had beset Serge and delayed Paviter.
The clone-nurseries beneath Guardian had undergone a comparable systemic failure, and this was very serious. Although legions of androids had been activated to maintain the life-support systems; it seemed that they were starting to malfunction.
There were frantic messages from the Environmental and Atmospheric Monitoring Agency which had taken over the original Amoian terraform-engineering projects; the aetheric filtration system had fallen offline. The cyanophytic layer of the ocean was in danger of being poisoned, which meant no fresh supply of oxygen for the entire planet.
Androids had also been stationed at the Tanagura Interplanetary Spaceport, and were re-routing incoming flights to the colonies and grounding all the outgoing flights. Without a properly functioning Spaceport, Amoi's entire trade network was in danger of collapse. Tanagura and other cities depended on those flights for fresh food and other essential supplies.
Dozens upon dozens of distress calls had been fielded from Tanagura Commerce and Mercantile, as their cash registers stopped recognizing citizen passkeys or credits—well, that was a nuisance, but not critical. As Raoul cycled through page after page of holostream messages from that branch of the Syndicate, his irritation started to grow. Unlike the other problems, these ones weren't the end of the world. Sadly, the Alliance was vocal and dominated a major section of Tanaguran society. He would have to deal with them either very carefully or very thoroughly.
Raoul's eyes flicked across the name of the Alliance CEO, a Jade by the name of Xavier Rex, who he remembered from a few pet-parties as being especially fawning and self-important. Had he allowed his personal feelings to interfere with his role as First Blondie of the Tanaguran Syndicate, Raoul would've ended all dealings with Rex ages ago; he so disliked the Jade. Instead he stuffed that glut of complaint into one fat folder and put it aside for later.
Where was Jupiter during all this?
Raoul tried to connect to his private channel with the sentient supercomputer, but instead of linking through, his terminal crashed. He managed to re-boot it, but everytime he tried to make the connection, the same thing happened. He could only conclude that his attempts were being blocked. What was happening? An icicle of dread trickled over his heart.
This would explain Paviter's problems accessing Jupiter's surveillance files.
Raoul also wondered if these system failures extended to medical facilities, and whether that meant Hilarion's healing was at stake. A quick call to the Elite Facility put his fears to rest. Although he had not yet regained consciousness, his vital signs were stable and regenerabots had been activated. He was now recovering under monitor in the intensive care unit.
Raoul decided to contact the new Second Blondie, the mysterious Za-Zen Lau, who managed the cloning operations under Guardian, Herbay and Mistral Park—those that had not been destroyed during the collapse of Dana Bahn. His situation was quite possibly the direst of all.
Lau's face was even more obscured by wild tendrils of flaxen hair than Raoul's; the man's high cheekbones and gray, single-lidded eyes were almost completely hidden by the bright yellow strands.
"Explain," Raoul commanded.
"Androids have taken control of the laboratories."
"And why is this a problem?"
Lau checked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening in. He proceeded to speak in hushed tones, and Raoul guessed at his reasons. Under other circumstances, his message could be construed as the highest treason. "It appears Jupiter has been compromised and has started emitting virulent tautologies through the planetary DataStream. Any intelligence whose executive functions are dependent upon connection to the cyber net is freezing up or malfunctioning in other more dangerous ways. I haven't got enough human specialists to replace the cyborgs or androids. We are in grave danger of losing our life-support regulators which control temperature, oxygen levels, nutrients, filtration and circulation, ph levels...."
"Worse-case scenario?" Raoul asked.
"Obvious, if unthinkable, is it not? Guardian becomes a crypt."
Raoul now understood Lau's barely concealed strain and desperation. Something drastic would be required to keep the organisms within Guardian's giant fluid-filled phials alive. Mistral Park would rival mythic Gehenna if the animal life beneath it started to die and decompose. As for the plants under Herbay, entire species were irreplaceable; their extinction would deprive millions of food and medicine.
Well, not for nothing was Raoul the best biotechnician in Amoi. He knew immediately what to do. "You now have the authority to re-route power from the sea-turbine stations off the Hauravon Gulf."
Blondie or not, Lau could no longer hold in a noisy exhale of relief. The Hauravon power supply would at least keep the life-support regulators stable and, since it ran along the old-fashioned electrical cables strung back in the original terraform era, it was not subject to computerized transmission failures. But this power came at a cost: "And our telecommunication satellites–?"
"–are not our first priority, Lau. Besides, there is more than enough battery power to continue the satellite transmissions for another 24 hours or so. Our comm-links can be rewired to the old radio tower systems afterward if need be."
"As you wish."
"In the event of full power failure, how many of our 'children' will be capable of living without artificial support?"
"Less than two per cent are pre-natal under natural birth conditions, about 200 fetuses in all. They would not be able to live without life-support. I estimate about 2000 fall under the infant to toddler stage, requiring immediate natal care and supervision. There are, however, incalculable numbers of Apheliotrophs, our poor Deus ex Machina, who cannot survive outside. Not that they have much chance if their links to the cyberhive are corrupted."
Raoul could barely keep his head from sinking into his hands. "An educated guess?"
Lau shook his head, "Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Based on the numbers that failed to make it into the Overworld last year, as calculated over the past, let's say, fifty years, it could be millions. I have no idea what their life-span is."
Deus ex Machina, the darkest secret of Tanagura, the artificially born children who never made it to the world of light, but disappeared into the darkness under Amoi's crust and spent the hopeless eternity of their lives in bondage to Jupiter's machines. They were why the Elite had been genetically engineered and socially conditioned not to feel, for how else could a human being surmount such despair?
Raoul had only seen the Underworld once by the light of infrared spectacles and had measured every description of hell against it thereafter. It surpassed Laocón for torture, as human minds and bodies were fractured and bonded to machine and all feeling subjugated under that cold, impersonal will. Raoul wondered if the name, Deus ex Machina, had been bestowed by Jupiter as some form of cosmic joke, but for the fact that it lacked any discernable sense of humour.
There was generally nothing wrong with the minds or bodies of the humans that were sentenced to this fate. They were spares. Everyone Jupiter needed to fulfill its purposes in the Overworld had already been selected. The others were consigned to darkness. The thought that Raoul had 'brothers' almost identical to him in every physical respect who were torn apart and melded with machines was harsh. What sort of sentience, if any, would they have? Were they even human anymore?
In a way, Raoul mused, it wasn't much different from the holostream Katze's agent had sent of the miner consumed by strange parasites on Thallë. No difference at all except for the form of the invader. This was Jupiter's vision for Amoi.
A new Unthinkable shot through Raoul's mind like a current of lightning. He had known, as he now realized Iason had also known, as had every human taken to his laboratory to have their minds wiped, that their society could not exist indefinitely under such darkness. Amoi, with Tanagura at its helm, had slowly spun toward melt-down for years.
It seemed everyone even realized this, lived with the awareness at the back of their minds. The Furniture, the Mongrel caretakers of Guardian, Katze, the citizens of Midas had all been co-opted. Those who hadn't or whose ancestors hadn't were slowly being starved out.
The only change was that something had pushed the process of degeneration forward by interfering with Jupiter. And was that such a terrible thing? With Jupiter in control, no change was possible. Perhaps the best thing Raoul could do was subtly direct the process of freeing Amoi from that half-crazed mechanical sentience. But at what cost? Could he sacrifice those lives? Even his courage quailed at that prospect.
Oh, Iason, why did you have to die at this time?
Was this what his dreams foretold? That he, following Iason's initial direction, would be on the first waves of a new life for Amoi? But that in order to do it, he would have to abandon all his conditioning as First Blondie, Seneschal of Jupiter, like an outmoded suit of clothes? A certain thrill of recognition charged his mind. By proving that no Elite, not even Blondies, were immune from human feeling, Iason and Riki had led the way. It was up to him to follow through, but how was he to accomplish it without becoming the next Avatar of Death?
And how much could he trust Za-Zen Lau?
In a strange way, the choice was already out of Raoul's hands. There was no need for further thought. He merely had to act.
"Make no move while the androids maintain control," he instructed the Second Blondie. "But test their coherence by frequently asking them for direction."
Lau's spine straightened. His eyes took on a fierce, proud quality—almost primal in its fervency.
Raoul sighed. "You know the direction of my thoughts, don't you?"
"I am your loyal and discreet servant, Lord Am."
"Excellent. I must cultivate the proper response from the Overworld."
"If I might suggest–?"
"Always. Speak freely."
"It isn't yet time to remove all controls. Those Pets who are not yet overly dependent upon aphrodisiacs and other stimulants may still make acceptable parents. They will, of course, rebel but their slave-rings still function. Apatia would serve us better as a nursery, than a brothel and, with that one, small adjustment, I estimate we could salvage about twenty per cent of our newborn population."
"To manage this without the situation disintegrating into outright chaos," Raoul replied dryly, unable to suppress the smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes, "you would be obligated to place Mongrels in positions of authority over our Pets, both those that presently manage Guardian and our beautiful, well-trained Furnitures."
Lau's smile had an almost frightening intensity of mirthlessness. Raoul was comforted to know he was not the only Blondie who found the existence of Pets insupportable. He was also relieved that he had won the respect, not the enmity of the Second Blondie.
"So be it!" The First Blondie replied. "Instruct our bio-tech Sapphires and Jades to fashion incubators which aren't dependent on the DataStream. Save the children whose faculties were deemed best fit for the Overworld first, and the ornamental Pets last. Perhaps a quick death for the Apheliotrophs would be most merciful. I prefer an alternative solution, however. Our goal is no casualties."
"I will keep working on it."
"I trust you, Lau. I shall also contrive additional support for your efforts. Keep me informed."
Lau nodded grimly, and signed off.
Raoul stared blankly at the console for a few moments before sinking his head into his hands. What had he done? Had he, First Blondie, actually instigated a revolution?—based on a dream about sex with Iason? He, who had never acted rashly in his entire life? He had gone completely mad. There was no way Jupiter would refrain from having his mind wiped now. Especially if Lau betrayed him. If Lau intended to betray him. And if Jupiter ever managed to recover.
Could Lau resist the lure of the potential pay-off? Raoul had when it was about Iason's deviance, but then he had secretly loved Iason. He doubted very much that the Second Blondie felt so inclined toward him. On top of everything else Raoul had to fix, forestall and plan, here was yet another matter which required strategy. He lifted his face toward the ceiling—an expanse which stretched in glassy heights so far above him that it seemed to blend with the sky—and groaned with disbelief and anxiety.
Just as Raoul considered that he could really use a change of luck about now, a name from the line of messages clogging his comm-link terminal jumped out at him: Hazall, the Federation Ambassador to Tanagura!—and the time signature indicated that the message had been sent while Raoul was at Kalga 84 with Katze, so the problems with Jupiter hadn't yet started. Raoul tapped the tips of his fingers together, deep in thought.
So Iason hadn't managed to dispose of him after the botched assassination attempt at Parthea after all. Probably because he was more concerned about his Pet's safety at that point.
Raoul clicked on the message, which turned out to be an invitation. Why would Hazall be so anxious to meet with him all of sudden out of the blue like that?
He pushed the bell to summon Paviter.
"This is the Federation suspect to investigate."
"The Emissary."
"Yes, although it is highly unlikely that he was at the scene of the crime. He has invited me out for dinner. I think it's necessary I attend in order to learn the nature of his business."
"You will require the most advanced security precautions?"
"Naturally, although we cannot send a holomasked android in my place. So...the most advanced security precautions shy of not attending the dinner meeting at all."
"I understand."
"Excellent. That is all for now."
Paviter nodded and left.
The Holocaust Piano – chapter 4 << >> The Holocaust Piano – chapter 5.2