NEW: Another Song in... 1/1 [PG] VOY (K/7, P/T) Title: Another Song in a Different Holodeck Author: Michael Roy Hollihan (hollihan@bellsouth.net) Series: VOY Part: NEW 1/1 Rating: [PG] Codes: K/7, P/T Summary: Seven sings a different song. Archivist: No archiving, please. Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and its characters are the property of Paramount. This story is mine and is not intended for profit. All rights not Paramount's are the author's. No archiving, reposting, publishing, or other distribution without prior consent. ======================== Dear Reader, I'm writing another story that uses a lot of songs (lyrics) in the structure of the piece. One of those songs is "Duel," by German-English band Propaganda. If Seven of Nine sang rock instead of "classics," this is one song I'd love to see her cover. So, I was listening to the song and I suddenly *had* this image of Seven singing it. An image as clear and real as if I was watching it on the TV. I began to think the image through, wondering how it came to be, what was going on, who was there, and before I knew it I was writing this story. As always, comments, criticisms, observations or opinions--positive or negative--are welcomed, public and private. Please let me know what you think. Following the story are several music links. Mike Hollihan (hollihan@bellsouth.net) ======================== Another Song in a Different Holodeck Michael Roy Hollihan (c) 2000 Harry Kim and Tom Paris stood in the corridor, hesitant. "I don't know," Tom said. "I have a bad feeling about this." "The Doctor invited everyone. He was insistent we be here," Harry said. "For a recital?" Tom crossed his arms and shook his head. "I dunno." Harry took his friend's arm and gently dragged him in. They passed through the door into Holodeck Two and went four hundred years--and many cultural changes--back in time, into a mid- 20th century nightclub filled with the haze of holosmoke, the whisper of waiters and clatter of busboys, the burble of voices and the soft tinkle of a piano. The room was rich in an unostentatious way, all crystal chandeliers, dark woods, thick carpet, fine fabrics, and well-heeled men and women. The crew of Voyager stood out in the crowded room though they were only a sprinkling among the period holo-characters. Their 24th century clothing and uniforms were in marked contrast to the fine suits and tuxedos of the men and the billowy, showy satins of the women, like jet-skis in a fleet of fine old sailing ships. On the far side of a busy harbor of tables was a small stage pressed against a wall. Several shadowy musicians were there, including the piano player. Seeing the two enter the nightclub, the Doctor raised his hand briefly in salute. Tom squeezed Harry's arm, nodding his head and pointing with his eyes to a booth against another wall. Joe Carey and Samantha Wildman sat together, next to them were Neelix and Naomi. Naomi saw Harry and waved excitedly, her expression saying "See? I'm with grownups!" He smiled in return. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that Captain Janeway and Chakotay sat at a table next to the stage. Chakotay saw them, gave them his wry, tight-lipped smile and raised his glass. All the same little rituals and recognitions, in another, new environment. The maitre d' appeared. He was a small man with a thin, black, pencil mustache and a precise manner. "Ensign Kim, I presume?" He lifted a finger. "Um, that's me." "Your table is waiting. Please follow me." He smoothly made his way through the sea of tables, trailing a hand like a lantern marking safe passage. They arrived at a table close by the stage, in front of the Doctor's keyboards. The maitre d' plucked a card from the table and disappeared. "I like this," Tom said, craning his head around to take in the room. "Opulent, but not showy. The Doc couldn't have designed it." "There's a place like this in San Francisco. Libby and I went there one night for a cabaret singer. Maybe he pulled it from a database." Tom snapped his fingers, brightening. "Cabaret! That's it. A cabaret for very rich people." Harry surreptitiously observed the people at the table next to them. Several corpulent middle-aged men in very expensive tuxedos sat with women half their age, all of them wearing silk dresses embroidered with all manner of frou-frou, around a table groaning under the weight of full plates and empty wine bottles. One of the women--almost a girl--dropped a knife near their table. She turned and flicked her eyes back and forth from Tom to Harry. "I'm sorry," she said, one hand splayed across the cleavage her emerald sheath barely covered. "Could you?" "Not you, Tom," Harry admonished as Tom opened his mouth. "B'Elanna will be here any minute." He scooped up the knife and chatted with the brunette for a moment. When he turned back around, B'Elanna sat across from him, eyeing him with calculating amusement. Part of him--the part that admired Tom-- readied a quip, but he choked it down, saying only, "B'Elanna." He managed an embarrassed but real smile. "You men," she said dismissively. Before he could respond, she turned to look to the Doctor, half in shadow and half in the dim stage light, playing innocuous lounge music with great flair. He grinned broadly in his unbearably convivial way when he saw her watching him. B'Elanna whipped back around, taking up Tom's hand with both of hers. "Please tell me we don't have to suffer an entire evening of him." Tom opened his mouth to answer just as the house lights went down. Only a single overhead light shone--directly onto the Doctor. "Thank you all for coming out tonight. I assure you, you'll enjoy the evening's entertainment." He was speaking in his lecture voice and already a couple of people--was that Joe Carey?--groaned and heckled. His smile flickered into annoyance. "No, I'm only the accompanist tonight." He swept out his right arm. "Our real star--" All the lights went down, leaving only the wavering beach-fire glow of dozens of table candles. Several soft piano chords, rising then falling in a gentle fanfare, led into a quiet flourish. At the last few notes, two spotlights from opposite corners of the room came up through the haze like twin soft phasers to focus on a single figure standing next to the piano. A moment's quiet seemed to stretch as surprised people absorbed what they were seeing. It was Seven of Nine, undoubtedly, but in a whole new look. She was, in a word, stunning. Harry and Tom traded stares of open-mouthed wonder; Tom broke first as B'Elanna's Klingon death-grip nearly crushed his hand. Harry quickly turned his attention back to Seven. Her hair was loose, in rolling, gentle curves all the way down to her bare shoulders. In fact, her shoulders, arms and a goodly part of her chest were exposed by the strapless, floor-length gown she wore. It was tight enough to highlight her curves but loose enough to sway as she stepped forward to her microphone. The gown, Harry saw as she walked into the spots, was very dark blue--the blue of a clear evening sky after the sun is down below the horizon, but not full dark. Tiny sequin flashes, like the first stars coming out, caught the light and glinted on the dress. Her golden hair radiated a heavenly glow. The single strand of pearls she wore, her only decoration other than her implants, only served to warm that halo of hair. Her face was perfect in the spotlights--strong lines of chin, cheekbones and nose; her daytime-sky blue eyes looking straight across the room; bright red lips pursed somewhere between amusement and determination. Harry saw all that in the single unending moment as the last piano notes faded. A finger-popped bass line bouncing back and forth across octaves kicked in, echoed by icy, almost taunting, synth chords. The drummer snapped a single snare shot, then fell into a steady hissing rhythm behind them. A cool quick-step song. Lights in the nightclub faded up, revealing the guitar-bass-drums trio backing Seven and the Doctor. As he approached the end of the intro, the Doctor looked up from his keyboard to Seven and she began to sing: "Eye to eyes, the winners and losers. Hurt by envy, cut by greed." Her voice was warm and deep, a pleasing alto that rode atop the music comfortably. But the musician in Harry noted how precise, how unshaded, that voice was. She was hitting the notes, perfectly, accurately, but without giving any of herself in the process. Seven's hands, held cupped in front of her at waist level, spread wide with the next lines. "Face to face with bounty's illusion, The stars look forward, romance is tangled sheets." Harry tried not to get stuck in the image of Seven and tangled bed sheets. It was amusing in a bad way, working against the song's clear- eyed sadness. She had no experience of sheets in any sense of the word, sleeping or otherwise. Her stage presence was strong, but stiff. Almost robotic, unfortunately. The next verse came and she threw her arms up into a pugilistic stance that Harry suspected she'd been taught by the Doctor. It was utterly undercut by her placid, focused facial expression. "And when, blow by blow, The passion dies, It's later then just half-realise," A few giggles floated up around the darkened room; Seven must have heard them as she pulled her hands quickly, but smoothly, back to their original cupped posture. Her eyes were sliding around the audience; Harry wondered how much she could see through the spotlights. The music built a bit of tension meant to reinforce the lyrics, with glockenspiel-like tones chiming in accent behind the melody. Harry looked, and the Doctor was completely focused on his playing. Even if he was a hologram, maybe especially so, his playing was warm and fluid. "The memories of gone-by times. But still recall the lines:" With that last word, the drummer rolled and the synths melded into a single plateau of chords, with the rhythm section still working, pulling the song along to the wide-open, cool vista of the chorus: "The first cut won't hurt at all. The second only makes you wonder. The third will have you on your knees. You start leaving, I start screaming." Seven was impressive, powering the melody with her strong, sure voice; but she was still only a figure presenting the song. She was beginning to sway a little, a back and forth movement of her shoulders with the beat of the music. But it wasn't putting over the song, yet. After each line of the chorus, the Doctor's synths--like a brash, woozy horn section skirling away--accented each step and underneath were the steady organ-like foundation chords. Seven held the word "screaming" very well as the band sequed back to the next verse, but to Harry's ear it was still only technically beautiful. "It's too late, the decision is made by fate. Time to prove what forever should last." As she sang the last line, she turned unerringly to Harry, almost making the words a challenge. He was startled, as much by Tom's and B'Elanna's giggling as Seven's unexpected move. Could she possibly be singing directly to him? But as she sang the next line, she moved her head slightly so that she was looking at Voyager's premier couple. "Who's feelings are so true? Asked to stand the test." From Tom's sudden intake of breath, Harry suspected that B'Elanna still held his hand in the Klingon death-grip. Before they could say anything, Seven swung her head, hair sweeping from one shoulder to the other in a golden wave, to the opposite side of the room. She seemed to be connecting the lyrics to her own experiences, Harry thought. She was looking straight at the Captain now, her voice taking on an emotional shading that finally felt genuine. "Who's demands are so strong As to parry all attacks?" Seven released her hands and held them out to the audience this time, looking down into the darkness and not to the back of the room. An almost invisible counterpoint harmony haunted Seven's melody. "And when, blow by blow, The passion dies, It's later then just half-realise, The memories of gone-by times. But still recall the lines:" At last, Harry realised, she was bringing her own self into the words she was singing, not just in front of but moving across the synth chords the Doctor played. Whether she was recalling her childhood, life with the Borg or walking away from it, or her new life on Voyager, Harry couldn't guess. But she was putting something into the lyrics more than just the requirements of presentation. Seven's eyes closed, her arms unconsciously drawing into her chest with closed fists. The word "lines" glided down for a soft landing into the chorus just as the band hit it. Her head tilted upward, highlighting her strong chin like a ship's prow cutting the waves, but her clear, ringing voice was colored by whatever pain she knew like the lyrical one she sang about: "The first cut won't hurt at all. The second only makes you wonder. The third will have you on your knees. You start leaving, I start screaming." The song's bouncy rhythm had Harry tapping his fingers on the tablecloth. It differed from most popular songs, he saw, in that as much attention had been paid to the music as to the lead singer's melody and lyrics. The sound was polished to an electronic sheen, even a bit sterile, but it had a swing that could only come from the humans who had written it. The Doctor was surprising in the looseness of his playing. He was clearly enjoying himself. Harry carefully angled his eyes to spy on Tom and B'Elanna and was pleased to see that they had gotten over their indignation, enjoying the music as much as he. Seven carried "screaming" again over the beat and into the bridge. She opened her eyes and sheepishly--only a little--realised she was being watched by the audience. She retreated from the microphone a step, clearly swept into the music, turning a wide-eyed face to her accompanist. Harry caught a slight smile of satisfaction creeping up on her. He suspected that few noticed it. Now, attention was on the Doctor. The song changed into a fat, round bass tone bouncing up and down the new riff like a hard rubber ball. Synth washes and odd bleating noises like an elephant's cries crashed over the drummer's sizzling high hat. After a couple of measures of this strangeness, the drummer gave a rat- tat-tat that focused the song into a building, ascending, tense, repeated riff played by the bass and wood-block like synth-tones, with a froggy, but melodic, tone hiding in the beats. Several repeated measures ending with crash cymbals and the Doctor ÄD2t over his piano like a deranged professor. Full-hand, thirty-second beat chords, like ragtime gone warp, flew from his pounding fingers. Harry stole a glance at Seven, who was smirking at the Doctor's show. She didn't seem upset, so he assumed it was part of the song. The Doctor was slowly snaking his way up the scale and as he hit the crescendo, he jumped to the synth to blend into a flat chord that plateaued the song once again into the chorus. Seven was at the ready. Her attention went from smiling at the Doctor to smiling shyly at the audience. "The first cut won't hurt at all. The second only makes you wonder. The third will have you on your knees. You start leaving, I start screaming." At last, she was talking to the crowd, both crew and holocharacters, using the lyrics as the vehicle to open up her emotional side. Life drew up, warm and animating, into her expression. She held her hands out again, this time spreading her fingers as though to both give out and receive. The Doctor was there in support. His playing was sure but not flashy now. The accents at the end of each line were now a sympathetic swarm of unruly synthetic strings. Although they were all holocharacters, the band played well, as though the Doctor was bridging their completely electronic selves to Seven's human-machine lead. Harry was getting more and more impressed. Seven's eyes squeezed shut, locking concentration in and forcing all expression out through her assured, and now playful, voice. She began to repeat the chorus, this time chanting the lines to the rhythm, even letting a bit of a growl shade some words. Repeating the chorus one more time, she finally let her arms fall and her voice fill up. She finished her last lines; the band repeated a couple of measures and faded away. The room erupted. The holocharacters were polite, but the crew were ecstatic, one by one coming to their feet, like lighthouses showing Seven where she had now found safe harbor. She was still carried along with the fading chords and it took her a moment to understand what they were doing. At last, she focused anew into the growing half-light of the nightclub. A brief flicker of confusion was followed by an open look that was quickly suffused with a smile, the genuine smile of a little girl who has pleased her whole family, one that lit up her face. She turned to the Doctor, as much to share as for support, and he was applauding as well. He sketched a quick bow and motioned her to imitate it. Instead, she faced full into the lights and executed a perfect, deep curtsy. The applause grew, speckled by whistles and screams. Harry was clapping as hard as anyone else. He looked around the room: humans clapping, Bolians chirping, even Tuvok and Vorik solemnly and politely applauding. Naomi was standing on her booth seat, bouncing up and down, shouting "Yay!" so hard her mother's hands hovered next to her, to protect either Naomi or the table from disaster. Harry's attention returned to Seven. She was standing back in front of the mike, waiting with a calm look, but breathing hard. One hand drifted to the mike stand, as though seeking anchor. After scanning the room, taking a moment to smile in Harry's direction, she turned to the Doctor. He motioned to the still cheering room to quiet down. Slowly, it did. "Thank you, thank you very much. I'd just like to say--" "Doctor," Seven interrupted, "I believe it is the role of the accompanist to silently provide musical support. Please perform your function." A titter skipped and skittered through the room, a friendly sound like a flock of birds taking flight. "Thank you for your demonstration," she said. "This next song comes from the same period." ~ãúÙ Behind her, the trio faded out to be replaced by several thin and dangerous-looking young men, dressed all in ragged black and metal with puffed-out dark, stringy hair, all of them standing behind impressive banks of keyboards. One of the musicians began to test his instruments, emitting a series of groans, bubbling riffs and sharp, piercing arpeggios. "This song is from a band named Skinny Puppy," she continued. "I do not understand why they are named after a malnourished canine, nor why they would wish to be. Still, I found it a stimulating song." "Wuh-oh," Tom muttered. Harry and B'Elanna turned to him in concern. "I think I recognise this style already." "What?" Harry asked. "It's from the same era, but it's a style of music I think was called 'industrial.'" As she spoke into her microphone, Seven's voice mutated from it's pleasing usual into a dark, demonic snarl. The musicians--Doctor included--one-by-one introduced percolating, repetitious musical phrases that together made for a static, but vigorous soundscape. A huge, whomping bass drum and slapped snare began to mark the beat, then stately, massive chords followed in. The song had a dignified dread to it that Harry almost liked. "This song," Seven croaked, "is called 'Assimilate.'" "Uh-oh," Harry said. END === === === === 1. Though it is a 4.3MB download, you can find "Duel" at this site: ftp:24.113.73.244/MP3%20-%20Misc/Propaganda%20-%20Duel.mp3 2. The Propaganda Unofficial Homepage is here: http://home.t-online.de/home/propaganda.de/ 3. You can view a RealAudio clip of "Assimilate" by Skinny Puppy at this site: http://www.synthetic.org/frame_index.htm Click on the "Video" link, then scroll down the page. Note that this version of "Assimilate" is live. cEvin Cey's vocalnt> e mixed too loud and the music is only a skeletal version of the album's original, densely layered mix. But if you're at all curious about industrial music, this will give a fair enough idea of what it's about.