Silent Songs (16 page)

Abruptly he ushered everyone inside his shelter. He turned to Teacher. "Can you contact Good Eyes?"

"I'm afraid to," she signed. "It could alert those aliens to her presence. They could trace the signal."

Taller peered out his doorway as Old Bear signed to him, "If you're thinking of fighting these beings here, I'd advise against it. We don't know anything about them, we can't communicate with them, and they're obviously prepared to use force against us. That gives them a big advantage."

The old avian listened to the alarm calls ringing his territory and made a decision. "The flock will have to leave," he told the youngsters. "Everyone, young and old. We'll find Good Eyes. She'll know what to do."

"Once we find her," Teacher agreed, "we might be able to safely get word to the Cooperative League of Systems."

"Will
they
wage war on these invaders?" Taller asked.

The two humans seemed unsure. "In honesty, Taller," Old Bear signed, "I don't know what they'll do. I can't even tell you how long they'll take to get here."

"Then we can't depend on them to deal with these new beings. We'll have to do it ourselves. We'll take the flock south, gathering our people as we go.

The Travelers will spread word of the trouble that's come to the World." The leader thought of something else. "You and Teacher have only one flying device. Will that be enough?"

"It'll have to be," Teacher signed. "However, our things are all on the bluff.

We have no blankets, no extra clothes."

"You will have all the cloaks you need," Taller assured her. He turned to the yearlings. "Go to every corner of the territory, every nest shelter. Tell the people we're leaving,
now.
Tell them to gather their cloaks, to wrap their eggs and carry them in mesh bags, to do the same with their youngest hatchlings. We're going south."

"But what of older, flightless chicks?" the youngster asked.

The question tore Taller's heart. "Tell their parents to hide with them in the forests. They can travel on foot to Blackfeather's river until their chicks can fly. Hurry. Let me hear your call ringing through the marsh. If all the people lift their voices, that great sound might conquer these beings."

90

Weaver was already gathering up her cloaks as Teacher helped tie them in thick rolls.

"We'll leave from the rear of the nest shelter," Taller told Old Bear, "and fly low until we are far from the marsh. Then we can spiral up for altitude. We can't risk them seeing you."

"Taller," Old Bear signed, "you're taking a terrible risk flying with us. Teacher and I could surrender. .. ."

Taller gave Old Bear "the look." The human returned it unflinchingly. "You are part of our family through the blood of your granddaughter. Are you ready to leave?"

Old Bear smiled. "Yes, old friend. I'm ready."

Weaver carefully removed a tule mat from the back of the nest shelter, opening it, while Taller went outside to retrieve the diamond-shaped flying sled. Flaring his wings, he blocked the device as he clumsily hauled it inside the slitted doorway, using hands that had never been designed for heavy lifting.

"I've got it," Old Bear signed, taking it from him and turning it on. The predominantly white sled had black tips that imitated Grus wingtip markings.

Covered with hatching cloaks, the humans would be hard to spot from the air, once surrounded by the flock. Old Bear led the now-hovering sled over to Teacher, then helped her load the cloaks onto it. Old Bear rolled his buffalo skin, covering it with a cloak. Weaver took two cloaks and helped the humans fasten them on like robes, to help disguise them, as well as keep them warm during the flight. Within minutes, they were ready to step out the new back door.

Taller regarded his nest shelter with one golden eye. It held the best weavings he and Weaver had ever done. If there was to be another egg, he'd hoped Weaver would lay it here. ...

The crystal wind chimes given to them by the people of Earth spun and rang delicately from the breeze gusting in through the new doorway. The old avian felt a fierce resentment at being forced to leave this special home.

Turning, he stepped onto the back of his platform. The humans were already on their sled, sitting tight, back to front. To have to travel so intimately would be a strain on them. More importantly, they'd have trouble reaching altitude that way.

The sky filled with Taller's people as they left their homes in family groups of twos and threes, and the larger vees of young cohorts. The humans touched their ears, wincing from the intense sound, but the wonderful noise filled Taller up, made him younger, stronger. He threw back his head, called to his people, and his mate joined him. They were not leaving forever!

91

The Wind people would defeat these invaders, with their elaborate machines and their ability to live without air. They would defeat them and send them back to their airlessness. All the World's people would rise up until the skies were black with them, and drive these creatures away. Taller made this promise to the Suns, his people, and his World, then launched himself off the platform. Spreading his great wings, he headed south.

First-in-Conquest Atle ran a hand over the rough-hewn wood of the plaque mounted beside the door of the primitive alien shelter. His translator told him the plaque was a memorial. An interesting death ritual, he thought, something the cultural anthropologists would enjoy investigating when there was time.

He watched the mass of huge avians flying south. They had moved too quickly here, but these creatures were a dominant species and not hard to find. The waves of sound they emitted washed over Atle, but he simply lowered his hearing when the volume became uncomfortable.

Entering the alien building, he wandered around, examining the interior. He was pleased that they'd captured so many specimens to study, not only the huge avians, but smaller birds, water- dwellers, and insects. The insects looked promising, considering how many there were.

However, he'd been bitterly disappointed that none of the space-faring humans had been here. According to Dacris, the records said there were five more humans and a Simiu still on the planet's surface. Well, his team would stay here a few days anyway and learn what they could. Maybe they could add to the data the Troubadour was sending them.

Atle examined work areas sectioned off by movable walls and furniture; there was clutter everywhere. It was a strange way to do research. He wondered if the varied arrangements of things was aesthetic. Except for this building, the humans didn't show much artistic ability, seeming to prefer things that were as blandly monochrome as they were.

Drin, the doctor Atle had put in charge of this expedition, stepped out from behind his sterile field. One of the Hooded, Drin was brown like Rand, but also had the searing orange head coloring more typical of his people. The doctor signaled to Atle to don protective garb and join him.

"See this, Glorious First," Drin bade eagerly as Atle adjusted the form-fitting gloves, filmy coverall, and mask. On a portable table lay one of the immense, white avians. It seemed smaller

92

now, with its legs folded and its neck coiled back on itself. The eyes were open, an inner eyelid half covering the golden orb, and they slowly tracked his entrance.

The doctor stretched out one of the huge wings, spreading the flight feathers apart. "These three are fingers, just as the Second said. And their nests are lined with this." He gently returned the wing to its folded position, and turned to another table, taking a heaped mass of whiteness from it. Shaking it out, he revealed a rectangular, feathered cloth. "The Troubadour tells us this is woven, so these creatures are capable of work."

"They're also capable of flight," Atle sang. "Yet, if you damaged their wings, you would also limit their ability to work."

"You can cauterize the feather growth cells," the doctor assured him. "They'll never grow back, and the avian will be flightless forever."

Atle's color brightened. "Could they be trained to do something besides this weaving?"

'They have potential," the doctor assured him. "The question is, can they be conquered? The records say they are primitive hunter-gatherers who fight for territory. The medical logs indicate we might be able to refine a few drugs for them, but their high metabolism could make them hard to maintain as docile workers. It might not be worth the expense."

When our ancestors conquered races,
Atle thought,
they had no
accountants. Now everything must be cost-effective.
But he also knew how difficult hunter-gatherers could be to conquer. "What about protein production?"

"Come see this." The doctor led the First to another table, and handed him a hollow, oblong object.

"Egg-layers?" the First sang, examining the mottled shell.

The doctor waved a hand at a specimen container. In the clear preservative floated a round, rich, yellow yolk and a spidery map of blood vessels.

Floating against the yolk was a small embryo. "I've analyzed the muscle tissue of this embryo and its parent. Perfectly edible. Potentially, we could collect semen from worker males and inseminate worker females while artificially increasing egg production."

Yes,
thought Atle,
that might work.
They already did that with the Industrious, using hormones to force increased egg production from mentally stunted Swimmers, their most prolific egg- layers. Incubating those fertile eggs made embryos rich in protein. "You've done this work quickly. You'll be commended."

"In fairness, Glorious First," the doctor trilled, "my work was 93

greatly assisted by the staff on the space station."

"Yes," Atle agreed. "Second-in-Conquest Dacris may earn a promotion for their work." Atle would like that. It would get Dacris out from under his command.

Drin made no comment, but Atle's keen eyes didn't miss the subtle dimming of his color.

"Of course," the First continued, "the Troubadour's specimens walked right into his arms. We've had to search for ours, and all the humans are gone."

There was no mistaking the dulling of the doctor's skin now, as his eyes fixed on the table.

"Doctor, has the Troubadour damaged his specimens?"

"Oh, no, Glorious First, I was assured during my last communication that both were still strong and alive."

"Yet, there is something you know that you are not telling your First. Are you confused in your loyalties?" Atle flared his poison patches.

"No, no, Glorious First, my loyalties are true!" The doctor shrank, squatting before the First.

"Stand up, Drin," Atle sang. "Don't fear me."

"It isn't you I fear, Glorious First," the doctor sang quaveringly.

Atle was not surprised. Dacris had the professionals cowed, hiding his inability to lead behind harsh, even cruel discipline. "I'll protect you. Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely," sang the physician clearly.

"Then tell me what you know. Is the Troubadour punishing his crew without cause? Working them too hard?"

The doctor's throat fluttered. "No, First. It... it's the specimens ... the humans.

Of course, he's had to force their cooperation, but Dr. Tato says he uses pain too freely. She fears the human doctor may become psychotic. He won't feed her, give her water or clothing, or let her sleep. When she refused to reveal information about these avians, Tato said Dacris gave both humans the rod until the old one fainted. Then the alien doctor
did
reveal the information."

Drin faced Atle squarely. "The humans
are
alive ... but to inflict so much pain as well as withhold
water
and sleep is in violation of all our laws governing the care of the Industrious. The Second says those laws were never intended to protect the Conquered, that our ancestors used these same techniques."

"That's true," Atle sang neutrally.

"Perhaps," the doctor agreed, "but the suggestions of Dr. Tato and Rand have been completely ignored. They fear that the specimens will die, and that they'll be blamed."

94

Atle's patches flared, even though he struggled to appear calm. "I wondered how Dacris had gotten so much information so quickly. Thank you for telling me this, Doctor. I'll go to the station. The medical records will reveal the truth, and you and the others will be safe. I'll bring the subjects planetside and put them under your care. Then we'll go south and establish our colony while waiting for that alien ship to return."

The doctor peered gratefully at the First. "I should have realized you would know what to do."

Atle blinked acknowledgment of the doctor's song and left the sterile area.

There was so much to do, yet now he'd have to leave and tend to this foolishness. Unfortunately, the Troubadour's behavior was all too common among higher officials. It was just another sign of the deterioration of their people.

Leaving the shelter, Atle signaled to a technician to prepare his transport.

Looking up into the sky, he realized that all the avians had left. The silence was eerie.

It didn't matter. They could not, after all, leave the planet. They would still be here when Atle wanted them.

Atle glanced at the time as he entered the small, spare chambers of his personal quarters, and was shocked to see how late it was. It was halfway through this planet's night, a quarter span till dawn. He ached for his pool, but it would be hours before he could join his wife, Dunn, there. This room was designed to give him a place to plan strategy; there were few pleasantries in it--a small table, a water dispenser, some body oil, a computer. Even the colors of the room were muted, as if the designers wanted nothing to distract him from his work.

At least he was back on the
Flood
following a trying time on the space station. He wished for one of Arvis' massages, but his son, along with his wife and daughter, had long since retired.

His door sang a greeting and he invited the caller in automatically. Atle was not surprised to see the doctors, Tato and Drin. Tato squatted before him before he could stop her.