A Concert for One

[Vakhtang_Dalsazashvili 0]

Meritorious Achievement Award

 

Vakhtang didn't know what it was, but there was something about the music of Franz Liszt which seemed to set him free, whether it be listening to it or playing it. Being of Russian and Georgian descent, one would have expected him to idolize the likes of Rachmaninoff or Tchaikovsky. And while he respected those composers greatly, neither of them came close to inspiring the same feelings of the legendary Hungarian composer. Lisztomania, they called it, centuries ago. It was a near euphoric feeling that attendees of Liszt's concerts exuded, causing even those of with the foremost sense of decorum to slip into a state of frenzy. Vakhtang believe that if he had been alive during that time period, he would have fell victim to that sensation as well.

 

Vakhtang was playing to no audience today. The Academy music center was empty. He had programmed the holo that way. As fulfilling as it was to play for a crowd, sometimes it was just as fulfilling to play for yourself. It was him, a few lights, and a grand piano, much like it was many a night at the Academy back on Earth.

 

Today, he was playing Liszt's Three Concert Etudes. As beautiful as they sounded, they were excellent in terms of developing, mastering, and maintaining technical skill. In fact, that was the expressed intent of an etude. The word itself was French, which literally translated into study. Most etudes were not meant as performance pieces. However, virtuosos such as Liszt and Frederic Chopin, and Claude Debussy, had developed some for that purpose. Nonetheless, the works were a study in proper piano technique.

 

The Manticore itself was a study in engineering. It was indeed not your ordinary Nebula-class vessel. With so many modifications and add-ons and such, there was much to learn, and master, here. Having been aboard for only a few days, Vakhtang was only beginning to grasp the nature of true nature of the Manticore's mission. All the official files listed it as a space-tug/troubleshooter. It was an assignment that Tang had found some excitement in. Consistently working with damaged and disabled vessels, working to determine the cause of various engineering problems, it sounded like an engineer's paradise.

 

However, he knew once he arrived at Maturin Station that something was indeed slightly amiss with his original idea. Having heard whispers of the fabled station's existence while he was working as an investigative intern at the JAGs office, he wondered why a space tug would be moored at Starfleet's purported wandering Black Ops capital. Now he knew, or at least was beginning to figure out, why. With that being said, there was definitely a level of technical prowess required to really grasp everything on board this ship, one which Vakhtang hoped that he had.

 

Tang, took a deep breath, sitting down on the bench. It felt so familiar, as if he had sat on this bench a thousand times. His fingers began to dance across the ivory keys, filling the empty hall with sound. Il lamento, it was called. . .The Lament. The first of the etudes in this set. It had a melancholy, almost depressing tone to it, much like its title would suggest. Every classical piece of music gave Tang a mental image, one to which he would base the demeanor and affections he gave off during a performance. This particular work reminded him of a woman. A beautiful woman, dressed in black, at her lover's funeral. Only their love was forbidden, a fierce passion that together they kept in the shadows for none to see. Now, upon his death, hers is a sorrow to be kept in those same shadows, only this time, the sorrow was hers alone to keep, for the rest of eternity. And all she can do is just stand there, alone, silently lamenting inside, unable to reveal her sadness to the world.

 

Next came La Leggierezza, or Lightness. It was a much more up tempo and seemingly erratic work than its predecessor. Whenever Tang played it, it reminded him of the café near the waterfront back home at Batumi. As he would walk past on his way from school to his father's shop, he would see the same group of spinsters chatting away about the latest town gossip. Everyday, whether it was secretive whispers about this person's affairs, or loud cackles over another persons flaws, Tang had walked by that café everyday for a decade, and it seemed that everyday, those women would have something new to talk about. This etude fit them perfectly. So much so, that Tang had played it for them one afternoon in the café lounge, much to their delight.

 

As that etude came to a close, Tang took a moment to stand and stretch his back, hands, and fingers. As he did, he glanced out over the empty concert hall and suddenly felt a wash of sadness come over him. With it came the realization that this holodeck was to be his only venue for playing piano for a while. A twinge of regret crept through his body, as he, only for a moment, began to question his decision to join Starfleet as opposed to the Conservatory. The moment passed, as it had a thousand times before during his Academy tenure. He had made his decision, and there was no turning back now.

 

Tang took a deep breath as he sat down prior to starting the third and final etude, titled Un sospiro. . .A sigh. To Tang, it reminded him of a newborn, swaddled in his mother arms. Each chord being the mother's caress, each arpeggio the baby's breath, his laugh, his soft cries. It was a musical adaptation of the sacred bond between mother and child, Con amore. . . When Tang first played this piece in concert, it was with a photo sitting atop the piano. It was of his mother, holding him in her arms, just mere moments after he was born, their eyes locked onto each other, solidifying the purist and most natural love the universe could ever know. It was a moment now immortalized in a photo, one that Vakhtang kept near his bed.

 

The last chords hung in the air of the empty hall, and Tang closed his eyes, savoring the final notes of his "performance". He let out a deep breath as he opened his eyes, a sigh, un sospiro, if you will. He stood up and stared out at the empty seats one last time.

 

"Computer" he said. "End program."

 

The Academy Concert Hall, a grand building worthy of the finest performers from any and all generations, disappeared, unceremoniously fading into the dull, sterile gray of an empty holodeck. Tang left the deck, seemingly as unceremonious, given his surroundings.

 

There were 7 hours between him and his next duty shift, it was time for some sleep.