The Interplanar University, # 7— "Music and Ego"

[Short stories. Images generated by hotpot.ai]

Hermione met Cork in a course called Music’s Planar Influence, along with Briggs, a psyker with numerous psionic abilities, but no talent in any of them. The course was administered by Venerable Jayce, a Disciple of Havenforth, which was the Academy purportedly accessible to the entire Cosmos via an intricate system of pocket dimensions. Venerable Jayce was finishing his lecture:

“...the degradation of music on Terra is well-documented, and its pervasive influence is ascertained to have insensibly corrupted both other planes and other worlds. Its influence most commonly affects worlds under the governance of Manifest Tech, or the Creational Auspice of Technology. The main thrust of the nature of its corruption is a combined triad of attributes, chiefly being plagiarism, worship of genre, and synthetic preservation of trivial compositions.”

Cork laughed in a derogatory manner, perhaps understanding what the Disciple had said, but only subliminally, and not the way he should. A short time later it would be revealed that Cork would exploit the smallest weakness, being that Jayce’s monologue (a term that was used as an insult) sounded pompous.

Hermione had gazed in her mind at an entire new world concerning the influence of Music. The single facet of this subject, ‘the synthetic preservation of trivial compositions,’ made her realize that despite listening to scores of muggle classics, the tendency of people to rely on a circuit of existing songs suffocated what music was all about. When did you hear someone singing sweetly for the sake of mood? It generally didn’t happen, even among those who sang.

Along with Hermione, Briggs, and Cork, a woman from Manifest Tech named Kismyl joined them for lunch at the commons. It was stir-fry day, which Briggs adored, while the others were amenable to the selection.

At Havenforth, the Interplanar University, everyone’s needs were met quite easily, but as the Disciples related, its purpose was to settle all the clashing ideologies of the Cosmos, or leave them behind forever.

“Ah,” said Briggs, “I can’t control how much I love a really good spicy stir fry.” Cork made an obnoxious, “teh heh,” while Hermione said, “No one’s guilty of loving stir fry. Dig right in.” After a generous mouthful, Briggs said, “I don’t like to say it, but it’s the best part of my life.”

Cork made a hidden smile of smugness, perceivably thinking Hermione disdained the untalented muggle.

“Oh, Briggs,” said Hermione with pity. “Love of food is well within healthy boundaries of human behavior,” said Kismyl. “Yeah,” said Cork, as though Briggs’s anxiety were a signal of a feeble mind. Then Cork said, “So let me get this straight. Mister Jayce says to turn every radio off ever made.”

He seemed to expect everyone to find this preposterous.

“Well, honestly,” said Hermione, “Are we going to be listening to ‘Old Time Rock and Roll’ for centuries to follow?” Kismyl said, “In my homeworld, we have an AI that recycles old songs and makes them more palatable.” “But the point is,” said Hermione, “What about groups of people singing for fun?” “You can do that if you want to,” said Kismyl. “But the whole point was, the synthesizing of music means no one thinks it’s their place to sing, except for god-like musicians. And the musical instincts of the populace eroded, believing real music comes from a radio.”

Briggs and Cork said nothing.

“Then let’s hear you sing,” said Kismyl. “But the point is, I was raised thinking I wasn’t good enough to try in the first place. What about you two?” she said, referring to the males. “When you’re good at something, never do it for free,” said Cork. Briggs gathered himself, “I used to go to church on Sundays. I know a few hymns.”

The women invited him to sing. After cajoling him a bit, he offered a segment, in a deep voice that sounded like a mighty viking warrior in a cavern.

“Angels we have heard on high, Sweetly singing o’er the plains And the mountains in reply, Echoing their joyous strains. Gloria~ In Exelcis Deo~”

“You’re certainly brave,” said Hermione. “Yeah,” said Cork, in a knowing way.

Briggs looked devastated, perspiring visibly.

“No, I meant it was good, but, singing in public is brave.” “Well, you never know if you’ll be any good unless you try,” said Briggs.

Hermione tried to change the subject.

“Have you made any progress as a psyker, Briggs?” “I have to learn one thing at a time. But I have all this trauma. My wife; she never believed I had an ability, and none of my friends or relatives believed either. But I thought my wife would. My children believed me, but that drove her crazy. Whenever I brought it up, she threatened divorce.” “Hoo boy,” said Cork, as if Briggs was already talking too long. “Why don’t you rest your ego, Cork?” said Hermione. Kismyl added, “It proves nothing to pick on a poor lamb.”

Briggs, who was older than them, was at a loss for words.

Cork had a famous poker face, and he had some kind of well-honed ability to hide what he was thinking. Occlumency, perhaps. Nevertheless, Briggs, a psyker, could sense his rage.

“I’m sorry I don’t have the same life as you,” said Briggs, “I had to begin again after I got here. Start over. Marriage ruined my life, and I haven’t found my kids here, either.” “Were they good children?” asked Kismyl. Her curiosity was real, but Briggs perspired all the more. “Well—” said Briggs, “I loved them with all my heart. But their mother, well…” “It’s fine, Briggs— what was your last name?” said Hermione. “My last name is Briggs. First name, Anthony.”

Cork began singing just barely without derailing the conversation.

“My wife, my house, My kids, and my car, My feet on the table, And a Cuban cigar~”

His voice was beautiful, but that’s all he sang.

Briggs said, “I need to use the restroom,” and after he left, he never came back.

Kismyl and Hermione made eyes at each other. They knew both wanted Cork to stay away, but telling him as much would provoke a highly aggressive enemy.

Cork was a talented wizard and was very cunning, and he wanted to be associated with Harry. Being slighted by Harry or any of his friends would start a melodrama that they simply didn’t need with all the other planar conflicts taking place. The University, Havenforth, was a place where every ideology collided, either to be preserved or to be banished forever.

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