69 Short Stories

Part 30: The Sky is Caped in Black (1086 words)

The Sky is Caped in Black

(- 5th line of the Sonnet accompanying The Four Seasons – Spring (Allegro) by Vivaldi)

Anne looked at Jaxton for a cue. When he gave a gentle nod, her shoulder muscles tensed, and her neck stiffened. She then silently let out a deep breath and raised her bow, so it levitated above the strings, ready to strike.

1, 2, 3 -

*

Last spring, Anne sat in a corner of the E-library with her Dash levitating in front of her. The mid-air, translucent document displaying technology adopted by all school systems was only two years old.

She stretched and heard the nitrogen bubbles pop. Market Advertising has been hard, the supercomputers and robots couldn't do it for a reason. The only reason she stayed is because the other worthwhile fields, IT and Economics, were even less interesting. Much like the old Engineering, Medicine and Law, Anne recalled from a modern history documentary.

"Having a hard time?" The librarian, a friendly old lady, greeted. Friendly people are rare, it's funny how robots try to be more human-like and humans more robot-like.

"Hey Aria," Anne replied, exchanging smiles. "I'm working on an advertisement, on how deforestation in the temporal region would benefit our economy by finally meeting the demand for lumber."

"But you haven't seen trees yourself, have you?" The old lady's response was intercepted by a blasting EDM radio in a passing vehicle. She hesitated, as if her offer presented a risk, before whispering. "I can show you what wood sounds like, what real music is like."

*

"Welcome to music heaven," Aria flickered on the lights with her unstable fingers. "My haven."

Aria blinked as she adjusted to the light and hungrily absorbed everything she saw. There was a gigantic black machine in the centre of the room, the legs had wheels and its lifted roof revealed the millions of strings within. Behind it were two shelves of real books, she picked one out and the receptors on her skin were foreign to such texture – smooth, but grained – rough, but worn - fragile, but has a surprisingly sharp edge. There were five straight lines across the page supporting, but not restraining, the seemingly random but pattern-forming symbols resting on them.

Later that night, Aria smiled as Anne's winced as her bow-hand stiffened and ached. The balls of her fingers shredded from the intense string-pressing. "The scales are only the boring part, but you had fun, right?"

"Yes!" Anne raised her eyebrows and then recoiled at the spiky soreness of her tired eyelids.

"Well, you can always come for more," Aria laughed. She gently locked the violin case and fluidly selected a folder of scores as she turned. "Here, this is for you."

Anne's swallowed. She'd never seen an instrument before that evening, let alone have one – wood is so tightly safeguarded by the environmentalists any unnecessary use is a financial blackhole. Aria read her concern. "Wood was cheaper in my days, every second person at my school played an instrument."

"This was..."

"The 2030s, or as I like to call it, before Climate Crisis II." Aria replied, lowering her eyes. Through Anne's battling eyelids she thought she saw a teardrop roll down Aria's wrinkled face, reflecting the dim mellow light. She yawned as if to cover it up. "Alright, get going."

Anne exited with the weight of the violin on her shoulders. Little did she know, she was also carrying Aria's hopes and dreams, the aspiration of many musicians and most heavily, the fruit of centuries of human civilisation.

*

"Can I help you?" An overly toned voice intruded from behind the Browsing Dash as. It was a waist-high robot, prototype of fast food chain robots. Despite knowing her question will most likely not have a satisfying answer, she asked anyway.

"Do you know where the librarian is?"

"I am the librarian as of 6th of September."

"The librarian before you, an old lady?"

"My predecessor is at a government aged care facility."

"Why? She's perfectly healthy!"

"Sorry, I do not understand, please define variable 'She'."

Automatic response. Anne felt a sudden tickle on her neck and an emptiness down her back. This feeling she had never had since they administered oxytocin pills for nightmares – fear.

For what?

Images of Aria streamed into her mind. Memories of the violin's wood in her palms, her fingers becoming one with the strings as she pressed down and the notes vibrating in the warm air. That encounter with the robot 'librarian' was cold and unamiable in comparison.

Her neck jerked in realisation.

Fear that Aria would be gone.

Fear that the joy of music would never be heard again.

Fear that robots will replace more people – replace her.

*

Later that day, a voice intercepted as Aria struggled to unlock her door with her shaking key. It fell to the ground as she turned to the visitor. He closed in. Aria tightened her fist.

Is this what happened to Aria last night?

He seized her left wrist. Aria felt her muscles freeze and her neurons failing to react. Seeing her panic, he lessened the grip as he unlocked her Dash and swiftly navigated the settings.

Security – Off.

"They use this to track us, watch us. This is how they got Aria last night." He released her hand, his deep voice relieved and comforting. Anne felt a tug on her heart. "Hi, I'm Jaxton, Aria's student."

He leaned in and whispered. "You have the violin, right?"

She nodded.

"It's the key to our revolution." Jaxton grinned as he examined the instrument like a trophy. "There's a frequency amplifier in here. It can speed up the movement of air particles – stimulate carbon dioxide intake – help plants grow."

"The trees in the tropical region," Jaxton smiled knowingly. "They trap cool air, and we'll grow them."

Anne lowered her eyes. The university lecturer told her otherwise, but after all this, can he really be trusted?

Jaxton held the violin out to her. "Join us."

Anne felt her fingers tremble from tightness as she gripped the neck of the violin.

*

"Vivaldi, The Four Seasons," Jaxton announced and positioned his violin on his shoulder, the violist and cellist followed. Anne inhaled a lung-full of stale forest air and did the same. She looked out at the budding trees they've planted and the dark sky beyond them.

Closing her eyes, she imagined the trees tall, the sky blue and the air fresh. She exhaled.

1, 2, 3, 4.