The spectacle that was the Terran-Vulcan Symphony Orchestra rather defied description. They sat arranged in a semi-circle on the stage of the circular amphitheater, which was perhaps an unusual sort of venue for the performers, but one that barely phased them as professionals. The conductor stood on a podium wedged into the empty fraction of the pie, positioned to be easily visible to all the players and vice versa. She conducted with energy and her musicians responded in kind, despite their complete lack of an audience.
In fact, out of the vast multitude of empty seats, only three of them were occupied in the fifth and sixth to last rows, spectators who had chanced to observe the orchestra’s rehearsal as they tested the space for their upcoming Friday concert. Having known that the orchestra would be practicing in the space just after their own chamber ensemble would, the pianist and cellist had stayed late for a peek. Sitting with latter was his friend and roommate, who’d been curious about seeing the orchestra, but wouldn’t be able to attend the concert, thus Bozai had suggested the rehearsal as an alternative.
So the three sat respectfully in the rear of the auditorium, watching and listening as the orchestra would start and stop and repeat to perfect this or that passage of music. Though they were the only pure spectators, a number of other personnel filtered through the audience rows periodically, to check lighting and sound equipment and instrument balance as necessary. No one paid the three interlopers any mind.
“Look at that violinist!” Bozai’s friend remarked, keeping his volume low, so as not to disturb the rehearsal. Katriel thought his name might have been Elliot, most likely? “Does Commander Caspius look like that when he plays?”
Katriel focused her attention on the first violin, whose playing had taken on a distinctly aggressive mien. The music called for it, she supposed reluctantly, but it was a bit unnerving to see the musician’s nearly manic facial expression in addition.
Bozai beat Katriel to a response. “That’ll be the day I just escort myself to the airlock,” he snickered into his folded arms, which he’d rested against the back of the seat in front of him. “As if Caspius isn’t already plenty intimidating, without also looking like he wants to kill you.”
Crewman Bozai did seem to be Caspius’s preferred target these days, Katriel mused to herself internally.
“Why does he want to kill you?” Elliot asked, curiously.
“Because I’m definitely not good enough at the cello for his tastes,” Bozai’s expression was half rueful grimace and half self-deprecating grin.
“But you’re in the ensemble?” Elliot sounded quizzical. “You must have been pretty good to pass the audition to get in!”
“I think the Commander’s hand might have been forced by the lack of other options. And I get the funny feeling that that man would replace me in a heartbeat if someone else showed up.” Bozai laughed quietly to himself. “It’s too bad. I think if I hadn’t joined Starfleet, I wouldn’t have minded trying my hand at being a pro.” He extended one arm out to gesture at the orchestra in expressive appreciation.
“Oh yeah?” Elliot smirked at the confession. “You wanted to be a musician when you were growing up?”
“It was on my list of possibilities,” Bozai admitted. “Not very high, cause I wasn’t all that good even back then, but if I had known I’d be blistering my fingers from filling out requisition forms every day, maybe I’d have preferred to stick with the cello calluses!”
Elliot cackled. “I wanted to go into science,” he confessed. Katriel eyed the man’s back and his gold-colored uniform stripe. “Biology, I mean. Some days I still do.”
Bozai raised his eyebrows at him. “Why didn’t you?”
Elliot shrugged simply. “On the last week of my bio 101 class, I screwed up and managed to contaminate my entire class’s culture samples that we’d been working on growing for the entire two months. Everyone’s data was ruined and I was completely traumatized.” His grin was rueful. “Now I can’t so much as look at a petri dish or I get all dizzy and lightheaded.”
Katriel sat in silence, her attention half on the orchestra and half on the conversation. Matt had wanted to be a scientist once, too, she recalled with idle chagrin. If only he had. Then maybe he would have been safe and sound on some remote desert – well, okay, not desert – planet in the middle of nowhere, digging up fossils or other sedimentary prizes instead of serving as a combat-oriented tactician based around Deep Space 9 when it was attacked and heavily decimated by an unrelenting Tzenkethi fleet.
Katriel sank deeper into her seat. And maybe, just maybe… if she hadn’t become a counselor, then maybe she wouldn’t feel like such a colossally hypocritical fool for holding onto this secret suffering from not knowing his fate. She hadn’t heard anything from him or seen any news since the attack and it was getting increasingly difficult to roll out of bed each morning with that cloud of uncertainty hanging over her days like a fog. The chain around her neck, hidden under two layers of uniform jacket and sweater, weighed heavy on her heart.
“Counselor?” Bozai’s voice broke into her thoughts and her gaze focused on the two individuals sitting there, blinking rapidly.
“Sorry?” Katriel worked to keep her tone level and devoid of the turmoil she felt inside. “I missed the question.”
The two stared back at her with bewilderment and concern. “Umm, we were just wondering if you had any thoughts of other careers before settling on counseling.”
“Oh, ah… I … don’t know. I tried a lot of things. Astrophysics, genetics, writing. Journalism.”
Elliot perked up. “Journalism sounds fun.”
“Wouldn’t’ve pictured you in it, though,” Bozai’s head tilted in an unasked inquiry.
“Journalists are… they’re sort of advocates of the truth,” Katriel responded carefully, as she turned her attention back to the stage. “That was important to me, then.”
The other two slowly nodded their understanding before resuming their carefree conversation. Katriel exhaled a silent sigh of relief and regret.
