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Hannah sat against the bulkhead, quietly weeping. The morose sound she made was not unlike the pensive wail of her oboe. Cherise had always teased her that it sounded like a dying goose. Cherise had been a bit of a jerk, but she had been Hannah’s best friend for several years before her mom had taken her off-planet. They had spent most days together at school and after school. That may have been part of the problem, Hannah now reflected. Her mother had worried about her squandered potential. She wished Hannah would practice more. She had this crazy idea of Hannah becoming the best oboist on earth and working with all the most famous orchestras. It was not entirely far-fetched though; Hannah was very good. She had taken to the instrument like a duck to water. Her mastery of the subtleties of this ancient instrument was unparalleled in generations. Her early recordings had sparked an internationally revived interest in early baroque works which took advantage of several techniques not possible in later versions of the oboe. The addition of keys, while adding range and ease of playability, removed the player from the bare wood; removed the possibilities of the half-holing and cross- fingering styles that were so uniquely and hauntingly beautiful. Hannah had been very good. Her career was on track for great fame and fortune. But still, her mom had pushed too hard. That was no surprise though. She pushed everything too hard.
Hannah’s mother, Maison Bhutros was the Executive Director On-Board of the merchant ship Ventas-341. Along with the planetary Executive Directors, her job was to plan and negotiate contracts for the Ventas-341, as well as providing input into corporate strategy for the Ventas-Calir Corporation.
Her position allowed her many luxuries. As ranking officer on the ship, she outranked even the captain. It had not been difficult in principle for her to negotiate the sound proof cabin for Hannah and herself, so that Hannah could practice and record her music. The actual building of the cabin had proven to be a rather more difficult task. But it was nothing that a lot of cash couldn’t take care of. Although she had had to get the engineers to tear it out and restart from scratch three times before it ultimately met her exacting specifications. Herself and Hannah had finally moved on-ship for good four years ago. Although the ship was considered a “short haul” vessel, trips could last anywhere from a month to a year, one-way. And downtime between runs was financially disastrous, so most crew stayed on board indefinitely.
Hannah had resented her mother for forcing her to move onto the ship. Before that, they had maintained a flat in New London, and though she would miss her mother when she was off on voyages, she had enjoyed her life, her school, and her few friends. Gradually though, she had come to view living here with her mom as a good thing. Her mother loved her, in her own way. It was why she pushed so hard. Hannah did appreciate all the trouble Mom had gone through to create a silent space for her. She had even brought aboard an acoustic engineer to tailor the reverb for Hannah until it was just right, installing a series of acoustic baffles and tempered glass surfaces within the space itself. Hannah still remembered the look on her mom’s face the day Hannah play tested the installation. Maison Bhutros conceded to no one. She never showed weakness. She was an iron facade. But on that day, as she waited for Hannah’s approval, there had been a glimmer of something unfamiliar on her face. She had listened to her sweet, haunting melody, and then, as she watched Hannah put down her oboe, the tiniest hint of a slightly nervous expression crept into her face. Maison had actually needed something. She needed to know she had done right by her daughter. She needed Hannah’s approval. Hannah desperately wished that she had noticed at the time. That she had done something about it. It was only later that night, as she slept, as her subconscious mind had time to catch up with the day’s events, that she had truly realized what had happened. She regretted then her casual, almost flippant answer. She had accepted the quality of the design and implementation of the acoustic controls, but she had failed to acknowledge and accept the love of her mother. This had been the beginning of a realization that now tormented her more than anything. She had begun to see the truth even then, even when there had been possibilities of connection. Hannah had squandered them. She had let them stifle and fall like her mother’s withered houseplants. Stupidly, she had said nothing. She told herself the moment had passed, but there would be another. She did appreciate what her mother had done though. How much it must have cost. And she resolved to make her mother proud, and to show her appreciation for the studio in a tangible way by spending nearly every waking hour at work, honing her skills, and producing new music.
She had grown to love her oboe more than ever during those last four years, spending countless hours playing, composing and recording. Her recordings had come out well despite the hassle of working long-distance with her audio engineers and producers. They had met with critical acclaim and modest commercial success. For a while, she enjoyed the limelight of interviews and rave reviews. She had felt like everything was going her way.
Now all of that was gone.
Her mother was dead, along with the rest of the crew. She would probably never see another living human. The ship was drifting along without a captain and would most likely float off into the eternal void of space. Her quarters, along with her studio and her beloved instrument, was sealed off behind a bullet proof, flame-proof, tamper-proof security bulkhead. As was the rest of the ship. She was imprisoned alone and helpless, in a small part of the ship which had formerly been the mess hall. At least there was that small hope. She would not starve to death, not for a long time anyway. There were ample provisions in the mess hall and adjacent storage areas, and the auto dispensers were one piece of ship functionality that seemed to work properly. She could order up basic meals at will. She would probably get sick of macaroni and cheese someday, but that day had not yet come.