| << Whom The Gods Recall | Index | A Deed Without a Name >> |
| Symphony for Whistlepipes and Drumlyophones |
Symphony For Whistlepipes And Drumlyophones
It is highly unusual for a Zornom to get involved in politics. We are intellectuals, poets,musicians and lovers; but then, I lived in a time of great turmoil, and I've always been fascinated by heroism.
Strictly as an observer, I earned a medal for 'The Destruction of the Death Star", a Symphony that I wrote for several whistlepipes and a hundred drumlyophones. On Kessel, that was really something. The " Kessel Opera Magazine" called my opus ," A definite milestone in musical history." Well, I must say, for weeks everyone talked about the whistlepipe motif representing Luke Skywalker, the young Jedi who fired the shot. Everyone ,that is , who had the necessary audio receptors to hear Kesselian music. Alas, the young hero was a Standard human, and as such he would never be able to enjoy my symphony. Stans' ears are nearly useless;even more so than their noses or eyes.
Forgive me if I am rambling. Where was I? Ah, politics!
The fame of my symphony spreading, I attracted a lot of unwelcome attention from the Imps. The Cultural Advisor- a fine definition for a censor- suggested that my music be silenced; but then, he was a Stan himself, and could never hear it.
The Highly Revered First Whistlepiper- May It's Name Be Twice Honored- the Chief Conductor of the Zornomic Orchestra, managed to convince him not to silence something no Stan could hear anyway. Thankfully, the Imps were racists and never really cared for anything only other species could enjoy.
Still, from then on, I was regarded as a would-be-Rebel. Sooner or later the Imps would have found a way to shut me off somewhere. I was actually better off joining the Alliance.
And thus I ended up working on a Medical Frigate; as a Class "B" General Practictioner. I had experience with early all of the races-Kessel being such a busy port- and the Rebel's valued my expertise. They were not as racist as the Imps; although a Stan had a lot more chance to be promoted than, lets say, a Wookiee, and in the Alliance leadership Stans were the vast majority.
I was treated decently. I ran a small clinic that took care of their usual allergies, motion sickness,Space Syndrome, and the host of rashes and irritations Stans suffered when not on their home planet. Sometimes I was slithering up and down twenty hours a day, seven days a week. Fortunately, we Zornoms can use any of our stalks for ambulation ( except the eyes, of course!), so if I got tired I could always make a quarter turn to use another set, or take a quick refreshing nap on the ceiling.
Anyway, what I really wanted to say was that I met the hero of my Symphony, in person, on that Medical Frigate,under rather extraordinary circumstances.
He had been treated in the surgical section for the loss of his upper right stalk, the kind the Stans call a hand.
Due to their very unfortunate evolutionary development, Stans have only a few highly specialized limbs and the loss of one renders them nearly crippled. I could lose half of my stalks without suffering major damage; besides, they grow back in a year or two. Stans can't even regenerate their one, and only, organ one could almost call a decent stalk- so once a hand is gone, it's gone.
Skywalker needed a biomechanical replacement. That would never end up in my department. Surgical took care of it; but before they could work on him, they wanted him in good health.
A droid brought him down to my clinic for a general checkup, with half a dozen minor symptoms. None serious in itself; but combined they were too much for the young Stan.
He had a mild case of Hexameteritis, commonly known as lakeslime poisoning- very common in the Dagobah system. He had picked up one of the airborne viruses that plague the inhabitants of Tibanna gas mining colonies, a little lung infection associated with the effects of carbonite steam, a quite serious vitamin deficiency originating, probably, from his home planet of Tatooine, and let's not get into what else. It is not healthy for the fragile system of a Stan to change planets too often.
He was, as Stans go, a nice, well-formed specimen. I especially liked his coloring; his eyes were what we Zornom call 'the color of the far horizon', one of the prominent colors of my own family crest. Behind the offensive smell of disinfectant, his own body fragrance was surprisingly pleasant to my olfactory sensors.
I treated him for his various aliments with success, but there was something else he would need help with. He was profoundly disturbed emotionally. Zornoms spot such things instantly, as the 'zogat' of any being is clearly audible to us. What the Humans sometimes sense as a visible aura, the emotional coloring of a soul, we Zornoms can actually hear.
I wrote my Symphony about him without ever actually having seen his zogat, of course; art can affort to be purely imaginative. While he lay on his stomach, naked, under the sun lamp, I listened to his zogat with unbearable excitement. What a symphony that was! How pale and childish my great opus seemed compared to the reality of his tormented passion! The shrill cries of pain and uncertainty. The deep throbbing of his Force senses. The fine, trembling tones of unrequited love The thin wails of loneliness. The clear horns of youth. The sharp, tense tremors of a trained killer-like the sound of a taut bowstring; and, beyond all this, black rhythmical waves of a dark call beating against the rising column of light. There was a symphony for me in this worthy of the Gold Medal of Quintessential Zornomhood! Maybe even a place in the Hall of Zornomical Fame! Oh, what music I would compose! What a Masterpiece!
I'd be forever in his debt for this.
In my excitement, I bounced high on extended stalks and he stared at me, surprised.
"I have never seen your kind before." He said.
" I am a Zornom, the native species of Kessel." I told him. " If I may, I'd like to advise you to seek treatment for your emotional condition. You have sufffered a great shock recently,and I can't see how you can recover on your own."
" What shock are you talking about?" He was instantly defensive.
" Oh, I don't know what has happened. I merely sensed the zogats, your reaction to it. Very negative. You'll need a long, soothing salt water immersion....no, that only works for the Calamari, forgive me." I was embarrassed. " Maybe a year or two in a cocoon...no, that would be the Huttese solution."
" Go on." He said, amused. " I am feeling better already."
" How about going home and spending some time in the family burrow? No? Of course not. Well, you tell me, what is a Stan supposed to do to get rid of an emotional burden?" I rolled close to him, turning him over gently to expose his front to the lamp.
He grinned.
" A couple of drinks?"
He was lying of course, I could smell it. He considered his problems more serious than that. Nevertheless, I went along with it and produced a cup of Kesselian Spice Brandy.
" Ever had any?"
" No." He admitted, taking the cup from my stalks. " Smells nice."
( I like a Stan who notices smells.)
"Careful, it's strong." I told him.
He took a tentative sip and I saw that his taste buds were not developed enough to feel the potency of the Spice.
" Not bad." He nodded and emptied the cup with one long swallow.
Two seconds Later he lay back, oblivious to everything. His zogat changed. The troubled tones were blunted, overlaid by a smooth, pleasant monotone. I heard him sighing, then his eyes closed and every tense muscle relaxed in his body. He slept.
I was sure it would do him good. I turned off the sun lamp and went halfway up the wall to get a better view of him while I started to compose my symphony.
I'd start with this relaxed, soft, mood-the dark tones a mere whisper in the background- then bring in the Whistlepipes. Oh, there won't be a limp stalk in the audience!
Alas, I had to interrupt my work to get back to the patients. I let Skywalker sleep in peace and left instructions about his diet with the droids.
When I went back to the treatment room; he was up and feeding ravenously although the lack of his right hand hampered him.
" This is good." He said, indicating the food. " What am I eating?"
" Simultated gundark meat, in a pre-digested plum sauce. A Kesselian specialty, very nourishing and rich in vitamins."
" Pre-digested?" He paled, dropping his spoon.
" So to speak. Do you have an aversion to it? Hmmm.Deeply ingrained superstition; but it's not real you understand. It came from the synth. On Kessel, you could get the real thing in any tavern."
Placated, Luke picked up his spoon and continued eating.
" I am not what you call a man of the galaxy. I guess I'm pretty provincial." He said.
" Well, I am not. I am a being of experience. Trust me."
He did.
" That Kesselian Brandy." He remarked. "Definitely good."
I decided not to tell him that it was real and pre-digested.
" Coming back to your emotional troubles; I know they are extremely painful. Have you considered suicide lately?"
Skywalker stiffened.
"Still?"
He remained silent
I lay a comforting stalk on his thigh. His skin was dry, and warm.
" I hope you'll recover. But if not, turn to me. We Zornoms have a way to make it painless, and pleasant."
He was both shocked and intrigued.
" How?"
" Being consumed by a Zornom is the ultimate ecstasy. Our digestive fluids are known to cause incomparable euphoria in Humans. I'd start on your farthest extremity, so that your brain cells could register the experience to the last moment." I gently stroked his skin. " The process goes on for days. Nothing in your life can be compared to it. In the golden age of the galaxy, Humans used to come to Kessel and beg for such service. Since the Spice trade started nearly everyone forgot it; and the Republic frowned on the practice anyway."
Luke licked his suddenly dry lips.
" You are not so sure about your death anymore?" I asked. " Your are young, and resilient, ready to die in a fight, in a battle, in a moments anger-but not like this hmmm? Not slowly and peacefully? Death must come in agony, not in pleasure? How very human! Think about it. How much sense does it make?"
He was too confused to answer; like a child feeling trapped, needing time to sort out his wants.
" Alright, don't say anything now. Think. Take your time, but don't forget me."
"I promise." He said.
" But you'd rather stay alive for now? I think so, hmm? Good. Life is long, and full of surprises."
" You're telling me." He sounded bitter, and his zogat deepened with the dark undertones I'd sensed so clearly.
" Lay back. You are due for your last session with the sun lamp. Two shots, and you can have your new hand this afternoon." I pushed him onto his back.
For a moment, I knew he imagined how it would be if he accepted my offer.
" Come on," I said. He looked uneasy. " I wouldn't do it without your consent. Zornoms are civilized. Crime is unknown among us. Well, except for a few irregularities in tax-paying."
He relaxed, closing his eyes.
I wished him well; but at the same time I regretted not being able to consume him.
What an ending THAT would make for my symphony!
| << Whom The Gods Recall | Index | A Deed Without a Name >> |