Silent Songs (15 page)

He seemed crushed, and Tesa was surprised at how little he could hide it.

After mulling things for a few moments, he signed, "Right, then, I'll oblige you, mate ... on one condition."

She peered at him warily, agreeing to nothing.

"Ask Rob to send Anzia to 'talk' to the Singers. She's got a natural rapport with nonverbal beings, she's a
real
telepath, and she loves the water! If she were here, at least I'd get to
see
and talk to her through hologram .. . and I could work with the Singers through her. I could stay on the
Crane
and handle documentation, stuff like that. At least I wouldn't be out of the loop.

Then, if I could get someone to clear me of this bogus health problem, I could go right back to work. If
you
ask for it, Tesa, they'll give it to you. Come on!"

She thought of herself being pulled away from Taller, Weaver, and Lightning, thought of never flying with the cohort again. She nodded. "Okay, Jib. It's a fair trade. I'll push for it.
If
you'll fulfill your obligations with K'heera."

He nodded agreeably this time. "I promise. Still, it's hard for me to believe any effort of mine will change her much."

"Keep that attitude, and you're bound to fail," Tesa admonished him.

Jib turned his head abruptly, and stood, pointing. Tesa noticed the avians all respond to his alertness as, in the midst of the herd of beings, the
Demoiselle
slowly broke the surface.

K'heera piloted it to the beach, setting it on the sand. In front of the small ship, grapplers held something in a safety container, but the transparent receptacle was full of lemon-yellow seaweed and water, making it impossible to see the prize.

Bruce was the first to open his door. He nearly leaped from the small ship, shouting and signing, "Wait'll you see it!"

"What happened?" Tesa asked. "What did you find?"

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Bruce pointed at K'heera. "She saw it before I did. Tell 'em, l'il darlin'."

K'heera's vivid purple eyes glanced at Bruce quizzically when he mouthed that strange endearment. "Well. .." she signed hesitantly, "it
was
quite a surprise. You see, it's not a meteor at all... it's an alien probe."

The words struck Tesa like a blow. Like an ominous flashback, Old Bear's face floated before her, his hands saying, "There was blood in the water, and something un-Worldly. . . ." Was that from one of her vague, formless dreams?

"Whose probe?" she finally asked. The cohort slowly gathered around her.

She felt the distinctive texture of the Aquila's feathers brush her thigh, even as Lightning's neck rested against her shoulder. They'd read her body language; they knew something was wrong.

"That's just it!" Bruce signed delightedly. "We don't know! Some unknown race sent an exploratory probe out like we used to in the twentieth century.

Once we get this baby to the
Singing Crane,
we can figure out how old it is, maybe trace its origin."

"Its shape and style is similar to some of the early probes my people sent out," K'heera signed. "If there are other similarities, then the satellite may have its own power source, its own internal computer and library."

Even Jib grew interested. "D'you think we might figure out what sector it's from? Could it... lead us to
another
Contact?"

"Now, that's getting ahead of ourselves," Bruce told him. "But many of Earth's old probes actually had solar system maps on them in case intelligent people found them. There could be something similar on this, or maybe in its programming. It'll sure keep us busy for a while. It's some discovery."

Tesa should've felt as excited as Jib, Bruce, and K'heera, but she didn't.

Instead, she was overwhelmed with dread. With all the celestial orbs in this solar system, why had that thing come to Trinity? Something about the probe and her ugly, formless dreams made her shiver with a dark premonition.

"Let's look at the container's diagnostics," Bruce signed. He and K'heera removed the bulky container from the ship's grapples and hoisted it to a flat spot. Bruce touched the control panel on the front of the clear container and watched its scrolling information. "Well, it's not emitting radiation," he read,

"so we can drain the seawater."

He tapped a sequence on the panel, and the sandy water leached away onto the beach. Bright orange algae and yel ow seaweed

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slowly sank to the bottom of the container, except for one long strand that draped itself decorously around the probe.

"The two months it's been underwater have given it a beard," Bruce signed as the multicolored organisms on the surface of the object began to sag without their watery support. "There are still clean places, though. See those hieroglyphics?"

Tesa saw some unusual writing embossed on the artificial surface. The probe itself was not much bigger than a soccer ball, and most of it was smooth. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, she glanced away, only to realize that she was surrounded by avians, who were peering at the thing uneasily. She knew she should reassure them . . . but couldn't find the signs.

"I can't wait to get inside it," Bruce added. "Haven't you heard from Meg yet, Tesa?" The weatherman's question pulled the young woman away from her thoughts.

Typical,
Tesa thought. He hadn't noticed the biologist's absence before, but
now
it was an emergency. "She didn't think she could get here before fourteen hundred, and it's only two hours past that. You know she always underestimates how long a task takes. Manufacturing new parts takes time, and who knows what the story is on that silent satellite?"

Bruce waved an impatient hand. "We've got a real find here, and we're stuck staring at it. She can forget the parts if they're not ready, and just pick us up!"

Lifting his voder, he tapped in a sequence. "Oh, for cryin' . . . Look at this!"

Tesa glanced at her own device.

"The personnel you have called are not available at this time," the
Crane's
computer reported. "Please leave a message."

"They must be asleep!" Bruce signed irritably. "It'd be just like Meg to work all night, then spend the day in the sack."

"So, just override the 'don't disturb' and have the computer wake them," Jib suggested. Tesa smiled. It was everyone's favorite trick on StarBridge.

Bruce nodded, tapping in a sequence. Then he tapped in another. And another.

The original computer message was still on screen. Tesa stared at the small voder, feeling oddly lightheaded.

"Meg's gotten too damned good with the
Crane
computer," Bruce decided.

"But I'll be leaving one
cranky
message!"

"No!" Tesa signed impulsively, before the weatherman could log it in. "Don't, Bruce. Just end transmission."

He regarded her oddly, as did Jib and K'heera. "Why not?"

Yeah,
she asked herself,
why not.

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Suddenly Lightning interrupted. "Don't send the message, Fisher, please.

Good Eyes has a good reason for asking, even if
she
doesn't know what it is."

Flies-Too-Fast ceremoniously lowered his head in agreement, and the rest of the cohort followed. Tesa faced them gratefully. They were Trinity's own people; their request couldn't be easily ignored.

"Sure thing," the weatherman agreed amiably, but his eyes held disappointment. "But Meg and Szu-yi better get here soon!"

Tesa touched Lightning and Thunder absently as Bruce and K'heera stared at the alien probe and Jib turned his own gaze toward the sprays of the splashing, playful Singers. Unable to understand her own seemingly irrational fears, she focused instead on Meg's and Szu-yi's imminent arrival.

When they took the strange probe off Trinity, maybe her concerns would go with it. That was something to look forward to.

The Suns' light dimmed as it slanted through the tule mat walls of Taller's A-framed shelter. The avian leader ran his feathered fingers over an ancient, preserved buffalo skin as Old Bear sat beside him, interpreting its faded pictographs. At the same time, Weaver's calendar cloak was spread across Teacher's lap while she translated the symbols she'd made in its weave.

Teacher held an "ultraviolet lamp" over the picture that signified the Year the Humans Came, recording the revealed image on her small wrist voder. The four elders often shared cultural exchanges in the late afternoon and Taller always looked forward to that.

But finally, Teacher stood, stretching and rubbing her back. "Forgive me, my friends, I've got to move around a little."

"Then, let's step outside and enjoy the passing of the Suns," Weaver suggested.

Old Bear smiled, then nodded politely to Teacher, holding the entrance open for her. She accepted his assistance graciously, without ever meeting his eyes. Of all the humans Taller had met

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he found the genteel formality of these two the most charming. They were always unfailingly polite with one another, calling each other by their most honorific, formal names--"Mister Bigbee" and "Missus Lewis." It had something to do with cultural taboos and relationships, since Old Bear was Good Eyes' paternal grandfather, and Teacher her maternal grandmother.

The foursome stepped onto the nest shelter's platform to watch Father and Mother Sun drop toward the horizon. The Child Sun appeared at night now, enjoying its independence from its parents, just like Good Eyes and Lightning.

Taller realized that the humans' eyes were glistening as they gazed at the sunset. Old Bear had once said he'd thought the past could never be recovered, but that being on the World made him question that. Taller was proud the humans loved his World.

As the Suns slipped below the horizon, Teacher glanced at her voder. "I'm surprised we haven't heard anything from Meg and Szu-yi. They were supposed to call when they left the space station for Florida."

Old Bear agreed. "It's close to twenty hundred--almost twenty- four hours since they left here. Call them."

Teacher tapped her device and waited.

Just then, a distant alarm call split the still air, making the two avians lift their heads. Fall brought predators, and this call came from the edge of the marsh, near the base of the bluff. Another group picked up the cry, passing it on.

A young cohort burst from the reeds and circled in the air, calling loudly, nearly panicked. Taller's feathers lifted, his crown expanding. The alarm spread, coming now from a thickly occupied area just beyond the bluff. A mass of Blue Cloud people rose into the sky, turning, somersaulting, circling.

Short vees of waterfowl joined them, squawking rudely.

Old Bear touched Taller; when the avian turned he saw the human holding

"binoculars." The human male pointed at the bluff that held the humans'

shelter. Taller followed his gaze.

Something was walking along the bluff, something on two legs--but not human. This creature's skin and clothing was brightly colored in blue and red, and its head was oddly shaped. Taller bristled, his feathers standing out. No one had asked him to permit visitors. From what strange world had these emerged? "Who are those beings?" he demanded.

"I don't know, my friend," Old Bear answered simply, holding Taller's gaze.

"They're not members of the CLS.. .."

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Taller's crown flared even more. "I thought everyone who traveled among the stars belonged to that flock."

"So far, all the star-traveling beings that have been discovered
do
belong.

These must come from a place the CLS has never been." Old Bear stared at the bluff, troubled.

"This is still the World of the White Wind people," Taller signed. "I'll greet these visitors, and ask their business."

Suddenly Teacher barred Taller's way. "Wait! I'm getting an odd message when I call the space station. If those beings were there last night, when Meg and Szu-yi arrived . . ."

It had never occurred to Taller that his friends could be in danger in their sky shelter. "Are these creatures predators?"

"I don't know," signed Teacher, "but... I can't reach Meg or Szu-yi. If these beings wanted peaceful relations, they'd have contacted us from their ship.

To just
land
here is aggressive. This must have something to do with Meg and Szu-yi's silence."

"I agree," Old Bear signed, looking through his binoculars. "They look like they're searching for something."

Taller gazed again at the strange beings converging on the far bluff, just as three yearlings parachuted to a landing right on his platform. Their rude arrival was so shocking, he stretched his neck to attack.

"Forgive us, Taller," the oldest signed, as they all lowered their heads appeasingly, "but something terrible is happening!"

"Tell me," the avian leader ordered, relaxing his posture.

"Strangers are in the marsh! The Blue Cloud people warned us as they crept up on the bluff. When they found the humans' shelter empty, they invaded our marsh."

The youngster's feathers fluffed out, even as his two companions stood nervously staring at the bluff. "We spoke to them, but they tried to capture us with weapons. We got away, sounding the alarm. Then they continued through the marsh until they came to Snowberry's parents' shelter."

"They have an egg ready to hatch!" Weaver signed.

"Not anymore," the youngster signed. "Snowberry's father, Cloud, stood his ground, calling a challenge. We all thought his great voice would make them collapse but nothing happened. They pointed their weapons. He fell, and they took his body away."

"They killed him?" Taller asked.

"His eyes were open, but he was limp and helpless. They took Smal Shel , Cloud's mate, as she sat on the nest, then gathered up their egg. At the next shelter, the pair fought while their flightless

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chick ran, but they captured all of them anyway. They're also taking Blue Cloud people, and other marsh-dwellers. What can we do, Taller?"

The leader observed the small figures on the bluff. What did they want with his people, the marsh animals, and the humans?