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“Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect,” sang Zen’s mainscreen, which we’d recently learned could display any form of vid, if it was either in the database or projected from Orac.
Cally watched in rapt attention, totally absorbed by the ghost story, while Vila pouted and pretended not to watch. Jenna, having no interest in music, had retired to her cabin, and our illustrious leader was nowhere to be found. I merely sat back, enjoying the perfect rhythm of a very rare musical masterpiece. Music is the single meeting between logic and emotion, the one way in which the two can coexist.
Blake appeared behind the sofa just then, startling Vila, who’d been paying more attention to the screen than he’d let on.
“Is this what I think it is?” Blake asked softly.
“If you mean The Phantom of the Opera, then for once, yes,” I replied.
All Alphas had a musical education, which naturally entailed at least one viewing of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous production. It was generally considered one of the more artistic pieces from the genre, and I tended to agree with that assessment.
“Cally wanted to know about musicals, and I was going to put on Hamilton, but Avon wouldn’t let me,” Vila said, no doubt trying for Blake’s sympathy.
“Cally would not understand the historical context, and I don’t believe I was mistaken in assuming she would much rather see an elegant production, not an ear-bleeding one,” I snapped.
Cally didn’t comment, her attention devoted entirely to the musical, and now to Christine seeing an mysterious face in the mirror.
Blake flinched when it came into focus—a dark-haired man with a mask covering half of his face, a trailing black cape clinging to his shoulders, and a wide-brim hat perched on his head—very much a parody of what Space Commander Travis had looked like on Freedom City. Just the reaction I was hoping for.
He returned my dazzling grin with a dark glare, the silent exchange going unnoticed by Cally or Vila.
“Why don’t you join us, Blake?” I offered, sliding closer to Cally to give him a seat between Vila and I.
“Yeah, then you can make Avon let me watch Hamilton when he’s finished with his so-called art!” Vila said.
“I don’t know…” Blake took a step towards the door.
“Please join us, Blake. It will be good for you to relax.” Cally tore her gaze from the screen for a split second to look at our reluctant leader.
There was no graceful way out of the situation, so Blake resignedly sat down, jabbing my arm hard with his elbow as he did so.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Avon. Not much room, is there?” He shot at me.
There was plenty of room, but I ignored the discomfort of his far-too-close proximity, knowing that it was his pathetic idea of a comeback. I could have inched closer to Cally if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t want to give Blake the satisfaction.
We all turned our attentions back to the vid. Vila was trying—and failing—to keep a wide grin off his face as the cast paced the rafters of the soundstage and sang the main theme. Cally’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head if she opened them any wider, and Blake just stared, a mask of bored disinterest fixed on his face.
“Have you seen this before, Vila?” Blake asked much later, in the midst of ‘Masquerade’.
That earned him a sharp look from Cally, but Vila responded, “Oh yes, my mum loved ‘em. Musicals, that is. She had all sorts of ‘em on vidtape, most of them stolen. By me, of course. She was never a thief.”
“Which ones?”
I knew Blake was only trying to be distracted when the Phantom’s grand appearance took place in a moment, but I didn’t bother to direct his attention back to the screen. Cally, however, did not appreciate the chatter.
“Vila, can you reminisce sometime else, please?” She said, not without an edge to her voice.
Vila wisely shut up, and Blake turned uncomfortably back to the screen. As hard as he tried not to, I felt him cringe ever so slightly. It was not lost on me that later on, in the ‘Point of No Return’ scene, that the hooded cape the Phantom wore looked similar to Travis’ on the ice planet where we had found Avalon.
Jenna emerged for the reprise of ‘All I Ask of You’, casting disgusted looks at the screen and all of us lined up on the sofa. “You call this entertainment?”
“Refined people do, yes,” I replied.
“I wanted to watch Hamilton,” Vila mumbled.
“I’m only here because they insisted,” Blake said.
“Shh, all of you!” Cally hissed.
Jenna smirked and we all stopped talking. By the time the credits were rolling, Cally looked like she was about to cry.
“That was beautiful,” she murmured. “Thank you for suggesting it, Avon.”
“It was alright,” Vila admitted, though I suspect he was merely downplaying his opinion out of spite.
“Speak for yourselves,” Blake said gravely.
“You didn’t enjoy it?” Cally asked, surprised.
I grinned. “Let’s just say our leader found an uncanny resemblance between the Phantom and a certain space commander.”
Years later, I slumped in one of the grey chairs on the Scorpio, alone. Everyone else was in their rooms, asleep, but I’d snuck into the hanger with Orac to take up a rare moment of melancholy reminiscing. I’ll never admit it, but I do occasionally indulge sentiment, in the privacy of late nights and empty flight decks.
Tonight, I was having Orac play The Phantom of the Opera on the small display, minuscule compared to the Liberator’s. Despite my insistence all those years ago that I’d simply thought Cally would enjoy it more than Hamilton, I did genuinely enjoy The Phantom of the Opera. I had since I’d first seen it in school, immediately identifying with the Phantom, who had to hide behind a mask so he wouldn’t be hurt.
I hadn’t seen it again since that day with Blake, and now, as I watched the Phantom appear in Christine’s mirror, I found myself wishing I hadn’t been so cruel. I wished I’d let Vila watch his favorite musical. I wish I’d sat closer to Cally. I wished a lot of things, but nothing more than to have that moment back again, to have them back again. Because now, I’d lost them all. Yes, even Vila, because I’d shattered our friendship—and his trust—irrevocably. Why did I regret that?
“Orac, turn it off.”
“If you were going to make me turn it off after so short a period of time, why did you—“
“Just do it!” I shouted.
I shouted a lot more these days. Why not? It wasn’t as if anyone listened anymore. Why should they? I’d lost them, and they’d probably thought they lost me. I knew at that moment that I was no longer the same man that had sat on the sofa of the Liberator all those years ago, watching musicals with his friends. And I found that I almost wished I’d died in Blake’s place that day on Star One, that I’d died the same man I was back then. Almost.