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“Melody and Counterpoint” was a short-listed entry in our recently concluded 66th Short Fiction Contest, and is published with the consent of the author.

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Photo by Stockcake

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Melody and Counterpoint

by Joshua Dyer

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…..The jazz rolled off Tucker’s fingertips and engaged his synesthesia programming in aural shades of violet and blue. Extended chords buoyed his melodies across the Steinway’s keys and reverberated off the polished surfaces in the dining deck of the star cruiser, the Royal Nebula. Beyond his reflection in the UV-shielded panes, a gibbous Saturn and her rings glowed. People wandered from the open bar to their tables through the gap in his piano’s propped lid.

…..Time to put these new creativity and emotive software programs to the test. He yearned to feel the soul of Coltrane. Spin his own solos and not have to rely on note-for-note renditions stored in his cortex. His ashen hands floated over the keys. A smooth bossa bass moved in his left hand. His right hand carved out a syncopated melody interspersed over hanging minor flat-ninths and major thirteenths. Do human artists even grasp the raw power they harness?

…..Tucker finished the coda of his tune and let its tones fade into the fine linens and formal-attired patrons. Light applause filled the deck. Tuxedoed servers wove from one table to the next, tapping orders into their tablets and pointing out specials on the menus.

…..As he commenced a sultry blues ballad, a youthful woman sauntered to the side of his bench. Waves of auburn hair fell around her slender neck and white skin. She propped a hand on his piano. Her sparkling gold dress hugged every curve.

…..“Hey there.” She looked him up and down with her brown eyes.

…..Tucker glanced up from his progression. “Good evening.”

…..The microscopic spherical nodes in his mind fired, accessing his new creative pathways. Incredible! He released his right hand to solo over a mixolydian mode.

…..The woman shifted her weight to the other leg. “What’s that you’re playing?”

…..“A grand piano. Steinway.”

…..She giggled and waved a server toting a tray of drinks to her. “I meant the song.”

…..“Just making it up as I go.”

…..“Name’s Melody.” She snagged a tumbler off the tray and took a swig. “Androids can do that?”

…..Tucker studied her. “What? Create?” His visual sensors processed what vital data was permissible via the passenger disclaimers. Her heart rate was in the normal range. Blood alcohol levels were high. Point oh-six. Tipsy. “Not all of us. No.”

…..Melody draped her torso over the side of his piano. “Just you? You’re a special model?”

…..“Something like that.”

…..She ran a finger through her drink and sucked on it. “Any other special upgrades?”

…..Tucker’s sensors spiked. His heart sped up. Breaths came in shallow spurts. “Just music and emotions.”

…..“No kidding.” She bumped Tucker aside with her hip and sat on his bench facing away from him. “What sort of emotions can you feel?”

…..He moved his right hand across the exposed small of her back for a first inversion chord in the high register. “All of them, or so I’m told.” He led a melody closer to middle C. “Not sure, to be honest. It’s new to me.”

…..She shifted her drink to her left hand and traced a line down his back with the nail of her middle finger on the right hand. “Can you feel that?”

…..He moved to the four chord of his twelve-bar blues. “Of course.”

…..“Does it do anything for you?” She ran her finger toward the neckline on his tux.

…..Exhilaration raced throughout his body. Tucker’s skin tingled. He glanced at his hands. Goosebumps. Get a grip. It’s code like any other in your processors. Control it.

…..She swirled her finger through his groomed white hair and tickled the nape of his neck. “Hmm?”

…..“I suppose.” He finished his ballad and waited for the applause to die down.

…..Melody dropped the lid on the Steinway and scooted atop it. Something in her figure and the way she moved stirred sensations beyond his description.

…..She slid back so that her thighs adorned the reflective black wood like holiday garland. “Better?”

…..He rubbed his hands together. “I could write albums of songs dedicated to you. Rhapsodies. Ballads.”

…..She hummed through a grin and leaned back onto her hands. “Why not start now?”

…..“Very well.” Tucker jumped into another smooth number in the key of A.

…..Melody swung one of her feet in time. Her matching gold heel dangled from the tips of her toes. “I can feel it pulsing through my body.”

…..“Jazz masters called it soul.” He moved his hands into lower registers. “Then again, it might be acoustical physics at work.”

…..She lay flat across the strings beneath her. Curls the color of deep fire embers fell over the fall board and drifted across the Steinway logo. “Keep playing. It’s magnificent.” Melody’s voluptuous chest filled and released in a long exhalation. “Can you feel that?”

…..Tucker’s hands bounced between chords. “To a degree, I can pick up on vibration. I can sense colors in the tones. The harmonies make me feel a certain way.”

…..She writhed on the lid. “I wish you could feel this.”

…..“Humans have over seven trillion nerve endings in their bodies.” He improvised a melody. “My builders created me with two billion, four hundred sixty-one million, nine hundred eighty-five thousand, seven hundred forty-six.”

…..Melody laughed and sat up. “I’ll bet you can feel every one of them.” She downed a gulp of her tonic.

…..He hummed an affirmation and turned his tune back around into its main theme. A group of humans and androids strode past the shallow stage. These droids, too, had snowy hair and irises of irregular colors. Pink for the female unit and silver for her male companion.

…..Melody studied them as they strode to their table. “She has such beautiful eyes. It must be nice being free to change your eye color on a whim.” She reclined on the piano again and rolled onto her side.

…..Tucker played through a chromatic descending cluster of harmonies. “It has its advantages, though we have a limited palette to choose from.”

…..She propped her head in a hand and leaned closer to his face. Her breath reeked of booze. She gazed into his eyes, wearing a stern expression. “Yours are gold.” She stretched out a section of her gown. “Almost the same color as this.”

…..Tucker ran a comparison. Two hues off, but barely discernable to the human eye. “Just about.” He locked eyes and continued playing. “What’s your story? You here with someone?”

…..Melody grumbled. “Let’s not get into that and spoil a perfectly good time.”

…..Tucker’s heart raced. Am I treading into forbidden human territory? Realms of feelings and secrets best left alone? New emotions percolated to the surface. Not quite compassion. More than caring. Love?

…..Her hand fell over the edge. “Play me another song.” Her knuckles caressed the accidental keys. “You never told me about yourself, your story.”

…..He pressed a series of buttons on the fall board. “Let’s take it up a notch.”

…..Holograms of an upright bass player and a drummer behind his set materialized in beams of cloudy blue light. Tucker launched off in a slow mambo. The upright bass followed his progression, while the drummer swished out delicate grooves with brushes. Tucker pressed another button on the board. A percussionist materialized and joined in on a set of congas.

…..“Saucy.” Melody sat up and swayed to the tune. “Really. What brings you way out here on this cruiser?”

…..Tucker programmed an eight-bar harmony into his hands and set them on autopilot. “Not much to tell, and I’m no storyteller.”

…..“Indulge me.”

…..He dampened the keys with his pedals through the song’s phrasing. “Suit yourself. Shortly after I was made, my company sent me to work for an automotive factory.”

…..She smirked. “You built cars?”

…..“For a time.” He sensed something off in her demeanor. “Mostly the lower ticket consumer cars. After a while, that company dissolved.”

…..She swallowed the last of her tonic. “What did you do then?”

…..“Got requisitioned to headquarters. Helped build newer models and test upgraded software programs.”

…..“Is that what you do now?”

…..Tucker smiled. “Hardly. Once I proved useful to the company in other capacities, they deployed me to warzones off Beta Centaurus.”

…..Melody held back a burp. “A war hero, eh?”

…..He stopped his harmonizing for a percussion break. “Most of those times remain classified. I survived the Faldaron Wave. My compatriots weren’t so fortunate.”

…..“So, you came home from the war.” She drummed her red nails on the piano lid.

…..Tucker kicked his chord progression in once more. “For a time. The mines on Mars fell behind and all its human workers went on strike. After two months of no production, my company signed a contract with the mining enterprise.”

…..Melody slid off the piano and straightened out the bunches in her dress. “Shipped out again?” She beckoned a server over and replaced her empty tumbler with a flute of champaign.

…..“You bet.” Tucker played a solo. “Spent eleven years under the Martian surface, drilling for ore and preserving artifacts as we uncovered them.”

…..She swirled her new drink and watched its feet creep down the side of her glass. Miniscule spheres ventured through the drink’s translucence to its surface. “How old are you?”

…..Tucker finished the number and moved right into another slow ballad. “In Earth years, one hundred forty-seven.”

…..“Damn.” Her shoe buckled under her, sending Melody staggering. “You’re old.”

…..Another new emotion rose in Tucker. Warmth around his neck and face. He wanted to find a dark corner and hide for the rest of the evening. “After I reached my one hundred years of service, I was released.”

…..“A free man?” She corrected herself. “Or droid?”

…..He nodded. “Rented a flat on the orbital station for a year, but maintenance work wasn’t for me.” Tucker moved the progression into a minor mode. “Saved my credits, sold most of my belongings, and found work on the Royal Nebula.”

…..Melody searched the crowd. Servers, both human and android, carted out trays with soups and salads. Meats for their entrees sizzled beyond the swinging kitchen doors. She set her drink on the lid and fluffed her hair.

…..Tucker played supporting melodies for the upright bass solo. “Looks like your dinner’s getting cold.”

…..She grabbed her drink and frowned. “Guess I should find my table.” Melody turned to depart.

…..“Wait.”

…..She spun around and sauntered closer.

…..Tucker thought his heart would pound out of his chest. His hands trembled over the keys. “Can I get your number? Maybe we can pick this back up after dinner service.”

…..Melody bent in beside his ear. “Sorry, sweetie. I could never see you as human in my eyes, enhancements or not.”

…..Tucker looked her over and chuckled. “I guess that makes two of us.”

…..He played on as she sauntered away and vanished among the patrons. Tucker took a deep breath and finished his current piece. He possessed as much control over his emotions as any person did and Melody had proven it. Tucker gazed over the top of his Steinway at his human counterparts, enjoying their appetizers and aperitifs. A broken heart hurt like hell. He smiled. I’m one step closer to finding out what being human is all about.

…..He scrolled through the tunes he had memorized and stopped on a title, “Is It Better to Have Loved and Lost.” Perfect. He started the classic from centuries past feeling elated. Tucker bundled his pain in its wash of purples and blues and basked in satisfaction.

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Joshua Dyer writes short stories and novels in various genres. Several of his works have earned national and international recognition in competitions. He is a full member of SFWA and RWA.

Click here to visit his website.

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Click here to read “Not From Around Here,” Jeff Dingler’s winning story in the 66th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest

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