Music from the Stars

by Ari Officer

 

Veta Serrano followed the concierge bot through marble hallways at Rising Stars, the premiere rehab center in Malibu, California. From the skylight above, the sun’s rays toasted her tightly ponytailed hair. The clifftop facility overlooked a secluded beach, a paradise compared to her desk at Fort Meade.

“Please disable your implants,” the robot said. “Otherwise, the signal-canceling field can cause migraines. Our apologies. We protect our clients from the noise of the outside world. It goes without saying that Rising Stars maintains anonymity.”

The rich aroma of butter, thyme, and mushrooms from the on-site restaurant reminded Veta of the Christmas Eve dinner her husband was preparing without her. She pouted. Veta hated the feeling of abandoning their family on the holiday—the anniversary of so much personal anguish—but her boss had given her an ultimatum. Fame’s undeserved influence, she supposed. But why had the long-missing musician demanded a codebreaker’s expertise?

“The client granted you full access to her medical records. She instructed me to inform you that she checked herself in and is not here for detoxification. I can confirm.”

Veta’s stiletto heels ticked like a metronome across the symmetrical floor of book-matched marble tiles. Curious. No addiction…just a charade?

The concierge said, “The staff diagnosed her with psychosis. She suffers from delusions.”

“Delusions?” Another mystery. Why would the National Security Agency accommodate this inquiry?

“She believes extraterrestrials abducted celebrated composers and claims to have lost the ability to perceive music. We conducted a brain scan and should have additional results shortly.”

Veta sighed. “I’m not qualified to assess any illness, mental or otherwise.”

“We are aware of your credentials. You are here because she requested you. The needs and desires of our clients are both of primary concern.”

The biggest rock star in history? Of course, Zo would get whatever she wanted. Why she sought a cryptographer on Christmas Eve was another matter altogether.

The concierge slowed as they passed a painting of melting timepieces along a barren coast. “On behalf of the staff, I hope you lift her spirits before the holiday holotube concert.”

The sooner Veta finished this farce and returned home, the better. She couldn’t abandon her sons. Not now. The very thought brought acid to her throat. Researching Zo had already conjured bittersweet memories of Veta’s mother, who had also been a musician.

“Please.” The robot pointed to a wooden door. “You may enter.”

Veta waved her hand. Registering her wrist ID, the door slid open.

The echo of a piano pierced the hallway’s silence. As Veta stepped inside, she basked in the enveloping resonance. Ostinato triplets, a repeating rhythm of three ascending notes per beat, drove the slow song with a swaying sensation across mournful motifs.

At the end of the room, a glass wall revealed sandstone cliffs descending onto the rock-littered shore. Amidst the rolling triplets, Veta wobbled with the Pacific Ocean’s peaceful waves. The salty, humid air soothed her throat. Her gut absorbed every vibration as her heart slowed to the dominating beat.

In the window’s glare, a silhouette labored at the grand piano. After a second theme, all melody dropped, and the tension escalated through sustained harmonies. The booming bass line transformed the bright day to night. Through the darkness, a melody peeked its head above the other notes, like the moon’s delicate rays through evening fog. The second theme returned, as if the moonlight bounced from the ocean, refracted into a new key.

The emotion, the expression, the power…

As Veta advanced onto the overdyed violet rug, the pianist’s fingers slipped mid-phrase. A dissonant, augmented chord shook Veta from her midnight trance.

The notes dissipated. Daylight reemerged. Her pulse quickened.

“Beethoven? Moonlight Sonata?” Veta asked, half-expecting a pale old man to bow.

“Quasi una Fantasia.” Zo turned from the grand piano and smiled, teeth sparkling against smooth caramel skin. “The original name. Almost a fantasy. How fitting. If only I could hear it.” Her eyes watered as she straddled the bench to face Veta. The airy space between them was sparsely furnished with a cowhide chaise lounge and an indigo Womb Chair with matching ottoman.

“You’ve gone deaf?” That explained why Zo played the piece so loudly.

“Not exactly.” She scratched an ear and pulled at her cloud-like black hair. “And neither did Beethoven. We lost our perception of music, not sound. He adapted the first movement from a distant source. I discovered the original, his inspiration. During an era when composers started sonatas with upbeat melodies, Beethoven began with this slow, free feel: quasi fantasia. He transcribed the uncommissioned masterpiece from memory, the first song he wrote after contact. It’s no accident Beethoven entered his so-called ‘heroic period’ after they nearly decapitated him.”

“Who did?”

“The ones who stole my ears, and with them my true voice.”

“I don’t understand. Why am I here? Do you have a code for me to analyze?”

“Not me.” Zo pointed up. “Them.”

Veta gazed through the skylight at a bluebird sky. “Who?”

Zo raised her eyebrows, nodded, and stood upon her barefoot toes, pressing her hand higher.

“Aliens?” Veta laughed. The robot wasn’t kidding.

“Yes. Aliens, extraterrestrials, little green men…call them what you will. But they are neither little nor green. And when they arrive, you’ll help translate. I mostly understood them, but I’m not sure they ever understood me.”

“And what do your aliens look like?”

“Their stonelike skin is midnight blue.”

“So, big blue men?” Veta rolled her eyes. “Got it.”

“Not people. More like oversized caterpillars with nine legs. And no faces.” Zo’s brown eyes widened. “No mouth, no eyes. No ears, though they can hear. They sense vibration.”

“And these blind stone creatures abducted you?”

“Creatures…that’s unfair. They’re sentient. Yeah, yeah, you can dispense with the incredulity. I know what I saw.”

Zo was certainly creative, Veta admitted. “And what do they call themselves?”

“Their language is rhythmic and percussive, not something I can adapt to English. Their biology and society favor factors of three. Consequently, I think of them as the Ternarians.”

Veta sucked her cheeks into her teeth to mask a smirk.

“You must believe me. Listen to my story before you judge.”

“Believe you? Where’s the proof? I trust data, not words or stories. I’ve never heard of anything like your…Ternarians…not on the holotube, not even in the ‘loids.”

“Beethoven met them.”

Ludwig van Beethoven…tone-deaf from an alien abduction? A secret apparently kept for three centuries. How absurd!

“I need your help,” Zo said, “to decode my experience with the Ternarians. Help me understand what happened—and what’s next.”

“Ms. Zo, my apologies. I’m not qualified for this.” The rock star needed a shrink, not a cryptographer.

“Please. Zo is my stage name.”

“Would you prefer another name?”

“Honestly?” She glanced up. “I don’t know. No one knows my birth name. There’s no record of my parents. You’d think in this interconnected society, someone would know my origin. But nobody does. No clues. Not a trace.”

Veta would have to run her own search across the NSA database. “Well, what should I call you?”

“‘Zo’ is perfect. Just kill the honorific, Agent Serrano.”

“Call me ‘Veta.’ I’m not a field agent. The NSA doesn’t have any. I work in a cubicle. Again, I can’t help.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. Please. Try.”

Although Veta doubted her role, she had already traveled across the country and couldn’t help the compulsion to dismantle Zo’s fantasy. “You say ‘they’ stole your ears, but you still play piano. Not just play. You move.”

“But I can no longer create. Not really. I play the keyboard mechanically. It’s like typing. My muscles remember, for now. I understand music theory, as Beethoven did. But it sounds like gibberish. Even theory grows more distant with each passing day. I wish I were deaf. I’d rather hear nothing than mistake beauty for noise. My pride, my curse…it tortures me.”

“People rarely cooperate with government agencies, let alone request a meeting. Why am I here?”

“Your parents influenced you. Your dissertation came closest to solving my dilemma.”

“My parents have nothing to do with my work. Nor does my thesis. Using cryptography to translate foreign languages was an academic exercise, far from my day job. And how do you know about that obscure paper?”

“Your mother was a musicologist. Music is math: the universal language, the cosmic truth.” Zo swallowed. “Twenty-seven years ago, your parents vanished. You’re obsessed with solving the mystery. Thesis-related or not, that’s why you pursued a career analyzing puzzles.”

“That’s why you requested me? To torment me on the anniversary of their disappearance?” Veta cringed. Like her parents, she’d left her children on Christmas Eve on business. Veta’s parents had prioritized work over family, and Veta still paid the price. She could never forgive them. Yes, her husband was home, but it pained her, nonetheless.

“A coincidence. I was fostered, too. I empathize.”

“No. You don’t. I’m sorry, Zo, but that’s enough.” Veta stomped toward the door. Turning back, she said, “We aren’t the same. Losing my parents with no closure—”

“Please, you must help me play. Time is short!”

“For your little concert?”

“Billions will listen, and I can’t abandon my fans. I never expect help for nothing in return.”

The hubris of it all! “I don’t care.” Veta waved her hand, but the door didn’t respond.

“One more minute, please, and then you can ping the concierge to unlock it.” Zo breathed deeply and exhaled. “I know what happened to your parents.”

“You dare lie about them?” Veta’s temples throbbed as her heart raced.

“No lies.” Zo raised a thick manila envelope. “This is their classified case file.”

“What is this, an old film? We don’t print docs anymore.”

“Someone above your pay grade does. My billion superfans will do anything for me.”

“And one of your fans works for the government, with top security clearance?”

“The highest.”

Veta scoffed, shuffled toward Zo, and motioned for her to hand it over. “If it’s legitimate, I’ll stay.”

“No.”

“No?” Veta snorted. “Aliens, my parents… You aren’t helping your cause.”

“I’ll trade it after you listen. In the meantime, hold this as collateral.”

Veta snatched a page from her and scanned it. A legal release, signed and notarized, it permitted Veta to share information about her time with Zo for monetary compensation.

“Record me if you want. The ‘loids will pay a fortune to prove I’m crazy.”

“I disconnected my implants.”

“Here.” Zo reached into the piano bench and removed a palm-sized gray sphere. “Take this. I once recorded song ideas on it: more tangible, more productive than working in the cloud. It’s no use to me now.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Veta couldn’t exploit a mental patient, even if said lunatic had questionable motives concerning Veta’s family. “I’ll give you some time.”

“Thank you.”

“Except I head home tonight.” Veta needed to spend Christmas with her family. “Agreed?”

“Deal.”

Veta tore the document in half. Zo didn’t have anything on her parents, and Veta had already negotiated for the only concession that mattered. “Why you? Why now?”

Zo smiled. “As to the ‘now,’ the Ternarians live far away; they rarely visit. I’m glad you’re thinking about your family. Best you’re emotionally involved.”

“Why?” Veta sunk into the plush Womb Chair.

“The world is about to end.” Zo bit her lip. “Or I saved it.” She shrugged and pulled the bench closer. “I’m unsure. Together, let’s deconstruct my encounter and determine humanity’s fate.

“I took a sabbatical from my own music,” Zo continued, “to produce albums for underrepresented artists. While walking back to my hotel one night in Budapest, I realized how much I missed performing. Consequently, I played an impromptu set at the Christmas market at St. Stephen’s Basilica. Ah, you remember the news story. See, my tale already checks out.

“After the show, I entered the church. No, not to pray. I wanted to view the city. I snuck up to the observation deck by the bell towers. Yeah, yeah, even Zo can’t assume she’ll get permission.

“The stars were barely visible, but the Buda side of the city across the river formed its own constellations on the hills. Above them, blue sparks caught my eye. Then more blue flashes streaked across the sky.

“I returned to my hotel, exhilarated and exhausted. The elevator passed my floor and continued ascending. My implants failed to connect to the holotube or any other service. I frantically pressed the emergency button. Nothing. I felt heavy as the elevator accelerated.

“After momentary weightlessness, the door opened. Before me extended a hallway with a slanted ceiling, like an A-frame lodge in the mountains. I stepped forward, and the doors slammed shut behind me. After the clank echoed, there was eerie silence.

“The corridor was pitch black. My throat burned and teeth chattered with every brisk breath. Have you ever been dehydrated in the desert as the sun sets and the temperature plummets? No? Well, it felt like that. But oh, the smell…rotten eggs and cat urine.

“I used my wrist implant’s holokeys to light the way. My feet ached. I kicked off my heels. Through an endless maze of triangular hallways, I tiptoed across smooth, ice-cold metal. There were no seams or breaks in the floor or walls. Should I turn back? Stay the course? Nervous, I hummed a catchy melody.

“That’s when I saw my first Ternarian. I didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. He was an awkward looking thing, with nine long limbs distributed in an oval on one side of his caterpillar-like body.

“The alien couldn’t technically face me, for he had no face. He patted himself with a three-fingered hand and repeated the same series of snaps, clicks, claps, and scrapes using four other hands, presumably to express his name. Thanks to two prominent, accented snaps, I nicknamed him Two-Snaps.

“As I gained courage and curiosity, I drew closer and placed my hand on his back—the side without legs. Motionless, he felt like stone. In the dim light of the holokeys, his skin reflected a deep midnight blue. His rapid claps echoed behind me.

“I turned around to face two more aliens. With three legs as a tripod to stand, one Ternarian used its other six to snap, clap, and scrape. The rhythm was mesmerizing. Two-Snaps and their third friend joined in. I’d entered an extraterrestrial drum circle.

“Two-Snaps appeared identical to his friends, both in shape and size. I counted their fingers: all twenty-seven were of equal length. Two-Snaps played with a nuanced style, which helped me identify him.

“The Ternarians guided me to a chamber like a cozy ski lodge. The wood paneling featured crudely painted representations: windows and a fireplace, faded and cracked.

“Two-Snaps raised three of his hands and moved them in the air, commanding an invisible instrument otherwise like our holokeys. He played me my first Ternarian lullaby.

“Triplets across an exotic key led to a droning, entrancing melody. My limbs went numb, and I fell asleep against the faux fireplace.

“When I awoke, my head pounded like I’d summited the Rocky Mountains straight from sea level. I tasted iron and wiped my mouth to discover blood. It dripped from my sore nose. The ship was so dry!

“I was starving. How long had I slept? The Ternarians had furnished the room while I slumbered.

“On an antique-looking wooden table, I found crates of butter and crudely formed noodles. A full wheel block of hard cheese, Grana Padano imported from Italy, occupied a wicker basket next to a ceramic bowl of grated cheese. On a sleek black pedestal stood a warped cast-iron pot, half-filled with water. I tapped the pedestal with curiosity, and the water instantly boiled.

“I cupped cold water from a tank beneath the table as the noodles cooked. While I still felt disoriented, the room stopped spinning.

“Macaroni and cheese never tasted so divine as on that alien starship. As I chewed the al dente noodles, savoring the nutty cream, I noticed a trio of Ternarians watching me. Of course, ‘watching’ assumes they had eyes—which they did not. All three simultaneously snapped, clapped, and scraped away. I recognized one as Two-Snaps.

“Belly full, I miraculously grasped their rhythmic language. Was their language universal, like music? Had life as a musician predisposed me to understand? Perhaps my subconscious had worked overtime during my slumber. I was too overwhelmed to question my newfound comprehension. They argued over when to interrogate me. But they kidnapped me; I had the questions!

“They discovered my eavesdropping, and the snapping stopped. Instead, they drew and tapped on each other’s backs—their version of whispering. I had no clue what any of it meant. Clever aliens.

“I attempted to clap and snap, but I couldn’t produce accurate sounds, substance lost without practiced nuance. Two-Snaps led me to a corner and grabbed my wrists. His rigid fingers guided me across an invisible three-dimensional grid. If visible, it would look like a Rubik’s cube. Thus, I named it the ernophone, after the Hungarian inventor Ernő Rubik.

“Within each sector, I felt a unique electrical sensation. There were three in each direction: twenty-seven total. The tones I played were determined by where I flicked my fingers. And each direction generated a different octave of the same note. Six flicks yielded six octaves: up, down, left, right, forward, and backward. The instrumental music evoked complex meaning. Again, I somehow understood how specific rhythms and tones corresponded to more complicated percussive expressions.

“I struggled, however, to navigate a keyboard I neither saw nor touched. Its orientation spanned three dimensions, unlike Earth instruments. The strings of a cello, the slide of a trombone, and even the keys of a saxophone can all be imagined on a two-dimensional plane.

“Another alien, irked by my experimentation, handed me a three-by-three keypad with blank, smooth buttons. Two-Snaps showed me how pressing each key corresponded to the first nine notes of the ernophone in its most common octave; each pair of keys by row represented the next nine; and each pair by column mapped to the final nine.

“Once I’d practiced enough to manage basic conversation, Two-Snaps brought me to a room with eight other aliens. The nine Ternarians encircled me and began to ‘talk’ all at once. Imagine it: Nine complex rhythms, each played by an alien with nine arms.

“They dictated nine slices of their history simultaneously, but I only followed two or three. Keypad in hand, I explained I could only handle one narration at a time. They continued to snap over each other. Had I misspoken?

“They described themselves as the gatekeepers for a galactic alliance, having vetted Earth in Beethoven’s day and returning now to make a final decision. Earth might join its neighbors and thrive—or perish on its own. The Ternarians had only a single society, one nation, and came from a red dwarf star fifty light-years away. They didn’t even consider the possibility of other races until an alien ambassador from a more ancient civilization invited them into the union.

“Hours later, they concluded and proceeded to ask me questions in series. I did my best to answer them, both in English and using the keypad. I won’t go into detail. Their language doesn’t correspond well with ours, so why reenact the full exchange?

“Whenever I asked a question, they ignored me. Did they understand me at all? They repeated the ominous threat of Earth’s destruction. Would it be their doing? Our own? The Ternarians were unclear.

“They asked how we evaded our own extinction time and again. They seemed most interested in World War II and the hydrogen bombs tested in the twentieth century.

“‘Those wars happened so long ago,’ I said. ‘We’ve solved larger problems, weighing our planet’s sustainability against our own prosperity.’

“Silent, the nine Ternarians convened. I hardly saw them in the flickering candlelight.”

“Candlelight?” Veta scoffed. “Your advanced extraterrestrial race uses candles?” Zo’s tale was ridiculous. In the meantime, time had wasted away. The sun had shifted west toward the ocean’s horizon. The grand piano cast its cool shadow onto Veta’s legs.

“They have no eyes. The Ternarians are blind. That’s why I never saw any views of space. Why would they have windows or visual monitors? They must use sonar, like bats. I suppose they never considered upgrading from Beethoven’s candles. How would they know?”

“The keypad and Rubik’s cube…your experiences on Earth influenced you, inspired your imagination.”

“We don’t have an irregular 27-tone scale. But with what we have, we need my music to bring everyone together. To lessen the pain.”

What pain? Veta glanced at her gold wristwatch: plenty of time before her flight.

“A sundial?” Zo asked sarcastically.

Veta needn’t admit the watch was her father’s, a constant reminder of her parents. “More an artifact than you may think. It’s automatic, self-winding from my own motion. No battery.”

“May I wear it for a bit?”

“If you like.” Veta handed the watch to Zo, trusting she would return it safely.

“Thanks. They don’t share the time much in here. They say it’s an outside influence. More noise! But time is important. Especially now.” Zo rubbed her temples. “I know it sounds crazy. Why would an alien race, capable of traversing the galaxy, abduct me? I’m no political leader. I’m relatively young. I look nothing like Beethoven.”

For intellectual sake, Veta suspended disbelief. “You said they’re blind. They don’t value appearance, only triumph in sound.”

“Precisely.” Zo grinned. “You get it. Well, what do you think so far?”

“That you’re extremely creative.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Your job is to fabricate fantasy.”

Zo frowned. “Want to know the secret to my success? I don’t take writing credits on my songs.”

“Others write your music?”

“No, I compose it all myself. But I never claim ownership. I only benefit financially as a performer.”

“Why do that?”

“Plagiarism laws. I don’t want to get trapped in court like the other pop musicians. Let the trolls battle over my writing. It belongs to everyone, as far as I’m concerned. Music, like any field, grows as we build upon each other’s ideas. We shouldn’t fear such influence—that’s progress. The laws stifle creativity. I reject them. You see, my music builds on our history but mostly reflects my personal experiences.”

An imperfect reflection from a broken mirror, Veta concluded.

Zo said, “The greatest hypnotist in the world works here. I hoped he’d convince me to remember how to hear music. He failed. My final hope is for you to persuade the Ternarians to return my gift when they arrive. I must play.”

“I don’t see how I can help.” Veta stood and approached the exit.

“No. Don’t go. Your children’s lives are at stake.”

Veta fumed. “Don’t you dare touch them.” She felt trapped in the same threats as before, a revolting déjà vu.

“You misunderstand. Not from me. From the Ternarians.”

“Do you care about your music or the fate of the world?”

“Is there a difference?”

Even in her fantasy, to equate her talent with the lives of Veta’s sons? To manipulate Veta’s memories of her parents?

“Why would the Ternarians return you,” Veta said, “only to destroy us soon after? That makes no sense. You don’t need me. I deal with data, not words or stories.”

“Do you?” Zo squinted, lips curling. “Why work at the NSA? Computers are advanced enough to crack codes without you.”

“The quantum algorithms can break codes, but it takes humans to recognize success. My apologies: I don’t see how I can get your music back.”

“Fine. At least establish my success or failure. Will the Ternarians spare us? I pray that no one else must suffer as I have.” Zo swallowed. “I was a prodigy. Foster care took me to many homes with many instruments. Most weren’t instruments at all—just surfaces I used as drums. I found sounds everywhere. Music is important to me because I discovered it. It’s my way of communicating with Mother Earth, far more than with other people. Playing music connected my childhood, all the way through the present. Music is all I had. It’s all I care to have.

“The Ternarians vowed to block my ability to communicate. Frankly, I’d have no issue with that. But instead, they stole my comprehension of music. Understand how important music is to me. Why deprive me?”

“When did they threaten that? What did they say, exactly?”

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Zo stared at Veta’s watch, a corner of her lips curling. “Now, where was I?

“Two-Snaps fired up a motorized tricycle,” Zo recounted. “I expected a hovercraft, but no, the vehicle drove on three rock-hard wheels.

“The trike accommodated three Ternarians, but Two-Snaps drove solo. Each harness consisted of a horizontal ring, chest-level for me, secured by a vertical bar. Two-Snaps packed a lantern, a stash of candles, and a water tank.

“We drove for hours. Eventually, the triangular hallway opened into a massive hangar. Hundreds of small spacecraft surrounded us, if not more. The lantern’s range restricted my view. Completely black, each ship had two wings with a large vertical fin. Behind the wings, three barrels functioned as thrusters. I learned that each attack ship supported only one Ternarian, not three. Vile necessity, indeed, to warrant a large-scale desecration of custom. I felt guilty that Two-Snaps had to desert his friends to cart me around.

“My arms ached from holding onto the ring. The metal reacted with my sweat, leaving black splotches across both palms.

“We arrived at an amphitheater composed of three nine-sided steps of concentric rings surrounding a pit with various Earthly musical instruments, most of which I recognized from my studio in Aspen. Each nonagon accommodated nine Ternarians, with more room on the top step. Above, a mirrored ceiling reflected us: Twenty-seven sapphires surrounded me. How luxurious.

“The Ternarians barraged me with dozens of simultaneous questions. I said I’d field one at a time; I had but two hands. At first, they respected my limitation.

“When I spoke English in frustration, my voice resonated and boomed much louder than anticipated. Unique acoustics, to say the least.

“I struggled to convey our human sense of individuality. They had never encountered a race with such intellectual and cultural diversity across its population.

“Over time, they interrupted more often, asking the same questions I had already addressed in so many ways: How could some destroy our world to help themselves, at the expense of others? Why had we gone to war with ourselves so often?

“How could I explain our society had evolved when they didn’t listen? I pivoted and responded with music. Their music, of course.

“I could play only one note at a time with the keypad, but it was a start. A gifted interrogator fielded one in each hand, playing up to nine notes simultaneously. Dealing with him was cruel. He piled on new questions while I lagged five behind.

“Eventually, I had no choice but to ignore them and pursue my own monologue.

“My arm hair stood up as I paced across the pit. An ernophone! I grappled with the subtle distinctions across its electromagnetic field. Worse, the twenty-seven notes weren’t in consecutive order. The Ternarians mapped them to optimize their practical effectiveness, like a QWERTY keyboard layout for an alien with nine hands.

“I had perfect pitch for Earth musical standards, but a 27-note scale practically made my head explode. To further complicate my intuition, the intervals between the notes were uneven. I had experience with exotic frequency layouts, like pure intonation in India, but nothing like this. I sought harmony, nonetheless.

“My muscle memory activated. The ernophone became second nature, a natural extension of my hands. More confident, I let my fingers fly, weaving an ever more complex tapestry of sound. Through song, I told them about me, about Earth, justifying our existence. As my composition grew in depth and volume, the aliens flailed their limbs to the beat. At the climax, they danced in their three circles around me, like so many of our own ancient rituals.

“I, too, spun to the echo of my song, growing dizzy in my accelerating cadence. They seemed content: The music had energized them while draining me.”

“Excuse me, may I join you?” Before Veta or Zo could respond, the concierge bot burst in, holopad outstretched. “I have the results from your brain scan, as well as detailed analyses from three neuroradiologists. May I paraphrase their findings?”

“Yes, please do,” Zo said.

“The scan revealed two abnormal masses: one in the right auditory cortex and the other in the parietal lobe. The right auditory cortex plays a large role in human perception of pitch, melody, and harmony.”

“See!” Zo grinned widely, her cheeks lifting her eyes.

“And the parietal lobe,” the robot said, “mostly handles experiential perception, processing repetition and rhythm.”

Zo sighed. “One implant to damage my perception of pitch; the other, rhythm?”

“Perception, too,” Veta said. “The tumors might impair your sense of reality.”

“They are not tumors.” The concierge handed Veta the holopad, depicting a black pyramid with equal sides. “They were manufactured.”

“The Ternarians implanted these things to cripple my ability. To ruin me.”

“But why?” Veta asked.

“They said they would.”

“You heard, though. Your perception may be flawed.”

“Each side’s a triangle. It points to a culture obsessed with triplets. The Ternarians.”

“Four triangles meet at four points. Not everything happens in threes. Whoever implanted those tetrahedrons also fed you a crazy story. A rival record company? The copyright trolls? Surely, you’ve made enemies in such a cutthroat business.”

“May I offer any other assistance?” the bot asked.

“That will be all.” Zo sat back onto her piano bench. “Please leave us.”

“It is my pleasure to serve.” The robot glided out, and the door slid closed.

Zo said, “Aliens, I can forgive. But humans crushing my ability? People who should understand its importance… How cruel.”

“Perhaps it’s alien, or maybe manmade.” After all, Zo proved humans’ innate cruelty, threatening Veta’s children and slashing open wounds of Veta’s missing parents. Despite the ill will, Veta was still curious how deep the fantasy stretched. “Can you explain their music in more detail?”

Zo spread her palms wide and shook them in the air. “They prefer dissonance over the natural harmonics of a vibrating string, the basis for much of Earth’s music.”

“And the scale?”

“Their twenty-seven notes aren’t distributed uniformly across frequencies, nor have I found any natural relationship among them. Like pure temperament scales on Earth, none of it transposes. They play in one fixed key.”

Thanks to her mother, Veta understood. In pure temperament intonation, notes arose from whole number ratioed frequencies, like 3-to-2. Western music, on the other hand, used equal intervals between consecutive notes, resulting in irrational ratios of infinite decimals to represent them. That irrationality allowed songs to transpose higher or lower in pitch and still sound similar.

“Do any notes overlap with ours?” Veta asked.

“Root to root, only two others come within a few cents.”

“Only three out of twenty-seven?” With a hundred cents between consecutive Western notes, most people would perceive those three notes as identical.

“Here, I’ll play them.” Zo gently pressed the keyboard. The piano produced a chord like the one she accidentally struck when Veta first disturbed her. “It’s an augmented triad. Rarely used in Western music. The most famous piece in classical music—”

“Let me guess: Beethoven.”

“His ninth and final symphony.”

“Each pair of notes sounds pleasant enough to our ears.” Zo played three pairs and then the full triad. “But all three together—”

“Different. Unexpected.” Perhaps due to human perception, the result of cultural repetition? Veta wondered what in Ternarian culture made their music so different. Why would the Ternarians favor discord to harmony? The augmented triad had given Veta the chills and shaken her abdomen. She still felt the vibration inside. Did they like that? Did they need that?

“Zo,” Veta said, “I have a theory. How did the Ternarians eat food?”

“I never saw them. I’m not sure how it would even work.”

“What if they absorb energy through vibration, like my watch? They’d prefer tumult to harmony. More dissonance means more vibrations. And their fixed scale—”

“Yes!” Zo’s eyes widened, whites glistening in the sunlight. “The scale is sympathetic with their internal natural frequencies. They absorb those vibrations more than others.”

“Sympathetic resonance with their own bodies… You said they all looked the same.”

Zo shrugged.

Veta took a deep breath. “I believe you.”

“Why now? The brain scan?”

“Based on everything you’ve explained, they would abduct you. They think you’re our leader! As they did Beethoven.”

“Why me?”

Veta wouldn’t play to her ego any more than necessary. “You’ve said they interact by sound and by touch. If they not only communicate but survive through vibration, they logically assume a musician to be our top diplomat.” The story was more consistent, Veta admitted, than even Zo herself seemed to realize.

Zo crossed her legs. “Music makes us uniquely human. No other species on Earth understands and creates music as we do. Sure, it sounds like birds and whales sing, but that perception reflects our own creativity.”

“They didn’t dance,” Veta said. “The vibrations literally energized them. Like my automatic watch. Perhaps absorbing music for the Ternarians is like drinking alcohol for humans.

“Your story makes logical sense.” Veta amazed herself at her waning skepticism. “Not all of it: memory is imperfect. But something happened to you, involving these supposed Ternarians. Maybe, just maybe, they exist as you’ve described. But they may have been created on Earth. Given they don’t eat, humans might have manufactured them. Many groups have the resources: governments, corporations, your competitors.

“Again, I believe in data, not words or stories. Let’s say your observations were objective. Regardless of where they came from, whether through evolution or design, it’s clear the Ternarians respond to music far differently. But if you can appreciate their sounds, why can’t they enjoy yours?”

“I’m glad you asked. By the third interrogation,” Zo explained, “the Ternarians emphasized the debate over our existence. They revealed they’d intercepted interstellar probes and feared our efforts to leave the solar system. They also considered removing an ability to communicate, which affected me if not others, too; Ternarian grammar can’t represent individuality. I assumed they intended to impede Earth’s ability to transmit information to the stars, but I learned the truth when my true struggle began. They intended to silence me and destroy Earth.

“I strapped on my 1962 Fender Strat, the guitar faded yellow from decades of use by past owners and thousands of shows by my own hands. Holding a physical instrument felt glorious: a tangible embodiment of music’s power. The guitar’s weight across my back evoked the warmth of a heavy blanket.

“The Ternarians expected me to play. Why else power the amplifier? I connected a microphone to my effects processor; I could loop vocals and my guitar to layer on tracks as a one-woman orchestra.

“The guitar’s nickel-plated strings nearly cut my soft, dry fingertips. Its neck, wooden and embedded with metal frets, embodied perfection: the natural and the manufactured, in harmony.

“The Ternarians feared we couldn’t learn from our galactic neighbors, weren’t suited for the galactic alliance. But Earth had a history of civilizations’ trading and evolving. The Ternarians didn’t understand internal conflict. We humans grow from each other, especially through challenge and controversy.

“A few distorted squeals, and the Ternarians danced. I’d made the right decision! The reverb was glorious, like playing in a lofty chapel. The sound was immersive, more noticeable strumming my own instrument. Was it the reflective ceiling? My voice roared, richer, unexpected harmonic frequencies boosting its sonic dimensions.

“They seemed so interested in our history, conflict especially, so I performed music reflecting the changing times on Earth. Surprisingly, they didn’t respond to my classical adaptations from Beethoven’s era. Perhaps they understood my Strat couldn’t produce the intended timbre. Its tone was not as rich as a violin’s.

“Western music doesn’t fully represent Earth, but it embodies my own experiences. I can’t speak for others. I know myself. America is the land of interwoven cultures. Our music evolved through diverse influences and transcontinental exchange.

“When I kicked my tone into overdrive, the Ternarians tensed and flailed their arms in unison. A blues progression took form. I recalled my childhood and sang about having nothing but music. After improvising, I changed keys and reversed the chord progression to a country tune.

“I layered on multiple vocals for a gospel hymn. Then I brought the chorus down to one voice, singing my heart out in folk as I expressed how even having everything, music was all I valued.

“Beat-boxing percussion, I explored Latin styles. This was their chance to dance! I laid down a groovy bass track and transitioned to soul, picking up the tempo into funk.

“I turned the amp’s drive dials to ‘ten’ and shredded some sick heavy metal jams. If they had faces, I would have melted them. They danced. Oh, did they dance. Was it the distortion? The volume? Perhaps the dissonant chords and supersonic riffs. Regardless, it worked. How could their physical reaction mean nothing?

“My fingers bled, but I continued playing. I stripped away the excess and fell into a punk rock groove.

“I hadn’t eaten in days, but I was no longer hungry. Nor thirsty, for that matter. The adrenaline of performance propelled me forward. The room’s acoustics fed my very soul.

“My throat stung like I’d swallowed knives, but I kept singing. I sampled myself and rapped over the repeated clips. Despite our differences, I found myself welcomed across Earth.

“The Ternarians froze. They questioned me again. I ignored them. I persevered.

“Finally, I put it all together, rejecting any interruption from my captors. I demonstrated how the same core chord progression powered each genre, which had sounded so different to my ears—and likely to the Ternarians, as well. I reprised the same themes again, transposed into a common key with its root tuned to the first note of the Ternarian scale.

“An African spiritual sailed the Atlantic and became a blues riff. The blues riff crossed again and evolved into a rock ballad. The ballad’s bridge was sampled and backed a hip-hop track.

“Normalizing the songs so their similarities were clearer showed how our diverse music could coalesce in harmony. I’m the synthesis of my predecessors. If the Ternarians respected me, they’d spare all of humanity, for my persona reflects all peoples.

“Yes, conflict and disparity drove music. But we resolved our differences. We built a better world.

“The Ternarians stormed out, save for Two-Snaps. What did he think? Had I embarrassed him? Did I doom us all?

“With the room nearly empty, my sound crescendoed, its echo overwhelming. The powerful noise shook my guitar, causing ear-piercing feedback.

“Two-Snaps posed a question: If humans struggle to harmonize with each other, how can they ever cooperate with alien civilizations?

“The world went black.

“I awoke in my Aspen ski lodge, ears still ringing. My instruments were back in my studio. All but my Strat. Why had they kept it?

“I tried my favorite song, Segovia’s adaptation of Leyenda, on a classical guitar. But it seemed off. At first, I assumed my time playing ernophone had unhinged me. The rhythms and mechanics impacted me, but the notes didn’t feel right. I obsessively tuned the guitar, re-fretted it myself. Had the dry ship warped its wood?

“I adjusted the frets on my sitar to simulate the 27-note Ternarian scale, but to no avail. Their music made even less sense.

“As each day passed, I lost a bit more. Tones escaped me. I couldn’t sing. Beats still made sense. I resorted to hip-hop. But even my rhythmic creativity ultimately departed.

“Like Beethoven, I anticipate deafness. Music will become an increasingly academic exercise. Only a miracle can save my ears.

“And that’s my story.”

“How long were you gone?” Veta asked.

“Speaking of time,” as Zo glanced at the watch, “I need to decide whether to perform.”

Why did she punt on the issue of time? Veta decided to focus on one battle at a time. “You made me a promise.”

“And Zo delivers. The details are obscure, but we can fill the blanks ourselves. It has everything to do with my abduction. Your parents investigated a potential threat from space, recorded from an interstellar probe. They traveled to Vienna to meet with an international team. Their pacifist words met deaf ears.”

Veta wrinkled her nose, unconvinced.

“It’s all in the documents.”

“Do the papers mention the Ternarians specifically?”

“No, but it’s implied. Why else involve a musicologist?”

“Well, where are they?”

“Your parents are dead.”

Not knowing what to say, Veta simply stared.

“My condolences. Truly. An alien civilization offered aid. Your parents believed we should listen; others suspected a trap. Your parents threatened to reveal the pivotal decision made by unelected leaders. For that apparent sin, they paid with their lives.”

The truth, if even genuine, changed nothing. Veta’s parents had pursued a more noble cause than she’d assumed, but they had still abandoned her. Despite a weight lifted, she felt robbed.

Veta held onto a breath. Perhaps Earth didn’t deserve to join the galactic alliance. No wonder the Ternarians questioned a world in which a few individuals manipulated the lives of billions.

“Should I be worried?” Zo asked, shaking Veta from her thoughts. “You’ve heard my story, now solve my puzzle. Did I succeed?”

“Succeed?” Veta exhaled to slow her racing heart.

“In preventing Earth’s destruction! Did my recital work?”

“You want to know if heavy metal saved the world.”

“I poured my soul into that performance.” Zo clenched her fists. “Was it enough?”

“What if you lost your music because you did everything you needed? You played until the point of exhaustion. You burned yourself out.”

“What about Beethoven?”

“Perhaps he just went deaf. Health care was all potions and prayers in those days.”

“I refuse to believe that!”

“Suppose they did steal his ability. They let him live, and the Earth survived. Logically, they’re following the same plan again.”

“Not quite.” Zo studied the watch. “When I came to, I understood what I needed to do. I had to play for everyone on the holotube, to soothe their pain if the Ternarians destroyed us. I knew they’d return. Much faster this time. Much—”

The room shook, followed by two subsequent shocks. An earthquake? The triple tremors continued and grew stronger, more rhythmic. Like Moonlight Sonata.

The room darkened. Then light entered again, midnight blue.

Zo stood and hyperventilated, slowing her breath as she leaned onto the piano. “They’re here. It’s show time. Or would be, if I could hear, if I could still create what we need.”

“You can play. You did earlier!”

“It won’t be enough if I can’t experience it myself. We’re all dead, regardless. The world doesn’t need me. Why fall together? I’ll die alone.”

“Did you hear that?” Veta asked. The sounds were foreboding. Dissonant. “The boom of the bass.”

“War.” Despite Zo’s nonchalant words, her anxious eyes reflected Veta’s own growing fear.

Were they truly doomed? Veta realized that Zo was wrong. Veta’s purpose wasn’t to break an alien code. Rather, she needed to break through to Zo. In that moment, only Zo could unite the peoples of Earth and beyond. If Veta wanted to see her children again, she needed to encourage Zo.

“No, they aren’t explosions.” Veta lied. “Don’t worry. Feel the rhythm.” If Zo didn’t play, all hope was lost. And even if Zo performed, the chance was still slim. But what other choice did they have?

Zo shook her head. “I don’t hear it.”

How bad was the damage? Had the Ternarians already attacked Veta’s family on the other side of the country? She wished her implants worked. But connecting to the holonet and experiencing the Earth’s demise would paralyze Zo! She’d undoubtedly learn the Ternarians came to destroy. Thank God for Rising Stars and its silly rules.

Zo wouldn’t trust a fan. She valued Veta as someone objective who understood music. Veta could convince her. Their lives depended on it. Her children depended on it.

“Zo,” Veta said. “I not only believe your story. I believe in you. Relax. You can hear this. You can do this.” Veta’s parents had failed to reverse Earth’s fate twenty-seven years before. As potentially the last line of defense, Veta and Zo couldn’t give up. What had they missed? “Your bloody nose on the ship…that’s when the Ternarians implanted those pyramids in your brain.”

“What’s your point?”

“You understood music then.”

“So, what? Maybe the effect took time.” Zo stumbled as the room trembled. Part of the cliff cracked, shattering upon the twilight beach.

A chaotic string of whooshes led to more bursts. American forces counterattacking?

Veta caught herself on the Womb Chair. “That’s when you understood the Ternarians. The implants didn’t sever your abilities. They enhanced them. That’s how you learned their language. The Ternarians never said they would silence your music. You misinterpreted the ambiguity along with your knowledge of Beethoven, assuming the worst for you.” It had to be true, but was logic enough to convince Zo? “The trauma of making contact, of feeling our fate on your shoulders…you brought the tone-deafness on yourself. That part—and only that part—is psychological.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in stories. Only data.”

“Words have measurable power in their reactions.” The floor rumbled.

Zo held back her tears and smirked. “In your reaction?”

“Yes, you moved me. Not just with your music. Your words, too. Regardless of the truth of your words, Zo, you moved me. You didn’t even have to touch a guitar. You described it. I felt like I was there, in the Ternarians’ echo chamber. Humanity has created so much beauty. We are not done!”

Zo’s gasped. “My God. Yes. I hear it. I hear it!”

“You see? They aren’t explosions.”

“They are. But they are more. I hear the symphony of the destruction. I can die complete. Thank you, Veta.”

“No, not yet. Zo, it’s time.” The room shook again, shifting the piano a foot toward the window. “You must perform and stop the Ternarians.”

“It’s too late. I hoped they’d give me another chance, but they aren’t listening. They never were.”

Veta considered. The Ternarians, being homogeneous, didn’t seem to understand the differences between human cultures. Could they grasp the significance of human diversity?

“You moved me earlier,” Veta said, “even without your discerning ears. Perhaps now—”

“Knowing the song predisposed you. I need to take it further to move the rest of the world, let alone the Ternarians.”

“Zo,” Veta emphasized, “you’re the most celebrated rock star of all time. Everyone notices you. The Ternarians will notice you. So, what if it doesn’t work? You’ve spent your days lamenting your loss. With your skills restored, you must perform your holotube concert. Prove to yourself that you are still you. Where’s the camera?”

“It’s an audio-only feed. My piano is mic’d and wired.”

“Do you know what to play?”

Eyes illuminated, Zo nodded and snapped her fingers. “Hello, friends. I know you’re frightened. Join me. We’re stronger together.”

She closed her eyes, exhaled, and bobbed her head to the beat of the blasts.

Three notes into Moonlight Sonata, Veta cried. Brilliant… It had to work.

Zo built further on the theme, layering on complex counterpoints as the explosions endured in the background.

Veta was more immersed than ever. Not just physically. No. Her life recapped before her, past experiences gripping, and her future possibilities flashed before her eyes.

Zo added well-known lines from pop music history. The complexity grew, overtones lifting those melodies and bringing them back to the fold. Zo coated the song with exotic flourishes, likely inspired from her time with the Ternarians.

Glued to her seat, Veta understood Zo’s strategy on the ship. Why hadn’t it worked then? She was brilliant, the prodigy and virtuoso that the world hailed. Deservedly so.

Zo pulled it all back, stripping the rich tree of orchestration to its bare seed. Three notes. Three notes. Three notes.

Yes! Like Veta, the Ternarians were predisposed. Beethoven adapted their song! Cultures didn’t just trade music across continents. Beethoven had borrowed music from the stars, and Zo intended to trade it back to the Ternarians. She proved humans’ capability to learn from other civilizations.

After another blast, the overhead lights brightened and shattered, plunging the room back into darkness.

The reverberations intensified into a sonic wall. Each tone escalated to a power unto itself, competing with the explosions’ tension. Keeping the tempo constant, the triplets droning, Zo used her other hand to drum rapidly on the piano’s lid, splattering the composition with a primal rhythm. With her elbow, she sketched a slow melody atop it all.

The destructive dissonance paused amidst Zo’s soundscape. Confidently, she replaced the Ternarian percussion with a booming bass accompaniment. After a momentary buildup, she pulled back again, gentler on the ivory keys. The echoes dissipated, of tremors and bass alike. Free of the Ternarian tempo, Zo slowed and painted a progression of beautiful chords.

She ended on an augmented triad, resolving into dissonance. Had Zo’s fingers slipped again? She lifted her hands, trembling, and slowly opened her eyes.

As the notes faded, Veta felt it: The dissonant conclusion was perfect. People wouldn’t always get along, but there was power in discord. That shared urge to resolve drove mutual advancement. Standing together, communicating, was always progress.

Movement formed a pure harmony, a perfect conclusion, a crossover from one culture to another. From human to human, from alien to human, and finally from human to alien.

Nobody could deny the feeling. Universal, it transcended the confines of one’s own experience. Its power resonated. The Ternarians would surely understand.

With Zo frozen over the keyboard, Veta tried reconnecting her implants. Success! The signal-canceling field must have failed with the power surge. As she waited for her children to answer, she already felt their connection, stronger than ever. Their hearts beat as one, to the tempo of Zo’s masterpiece.

“Kiddos?” She choked back tears. “I’m coming home soon. Did you listen to Zo?”

Her sons told her they couldn’t wait to talk to their friends at school about it.

Veta laughed, relieved at their voices. “Did you know the whole planet was watching with you?” Plus others, in orbit and beyond.

In that moment, Veta understood that her parents hadn’t put impersonal business in front of their daughter. They needed to safeguard the world to protect Veta, to sustain their family. Considering their sacrifice, Veta thought to herself: I accept why you left, why you had to take that risk. I forgive you.

Zo turned from the grand piano, biting her lower lip. She stared out at the shore and then squinted at Veta.

“You did it, Zo.” Veta sniffed and wiped away her tears. “You saved us. You succeeded. Almost a fantasy, but it was real. All of it. You were phenomenal.”

Zo covered her mouth, eyes shining. Her shaky panting exploded into uncontrollable laughter. She wrapped her arms around herself and dropped to her knees. Her breath steadied. She grew quiet.

Veta basked in the peaceful silence. The world could rest before its people unraveled what Zo had accomplished.

All would hear how one woman, one song, one story could bridge the galaxy.

 

THE END