Silent Songs (2 page)

A variety. . . .
"Speculate on the message."

"It appears to be a greeting."

If he still believed in the ancient water gods he would throw a feast in their honor. "Delightful. We accept their greeting. And their world. How soon before we arrive?"

"Less than one month, Glorious First."

"I'll return to my tank. Adjust the calendars and clocks to the solar time of this new system, so we can adjust to our New Home. And .. . when we enter the system . . . wake me alone. I'll decide when to warm the others.

Understood?"

There was a slight pause as the computer digested this override of normal procedure. But Atle had his reasons.

His Second-in-Conquest was Dacris, a green and yellow Troubadour who'd been picked for this mission against his will. Atle would have to be sure of the situation with this new planet before he spoke to his Second. And he needed some time alone with his wife.

The First climbed into his tank, feeling the warm fluid moisten his gleaming red and blue skin. It was a garden, this new world, a garden that, had things been different, he might have had grandchildren in ... free grandchildren . ..

Chosen grandchildren. Atle mourned silently for those grandchildren that would never be.

As the fluid cooled, the First's hindbrain pulled his limbs into their estivating position. As he drifted into sleep, he wondered again about a race of beings so confident they could place one small, unarmed station over a world and consider it theirs.

The
Flood
knew nothing of its Captain's concerns. It could not understand the desperation of its sleepers, their terrible need for a new Home. It only knew that its job was to find a planet and colonize it. But Atle knew, as did all those who had come on this mission, voluntarily or not.

While he slept, his ship would activate its complex chemical arsenal--toxins, drugs, neurotransmitters, hormones, and other biochemicals, many originally distilled from the One-Touch's own poison. By the time the First awoke, the vessel would be ready to begin colonization--and if that required conquest, the

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Flood
would have new programs in place and be prepared to handle that, too. Soon, the Chosen would own that planet, its station, the beings who built it, and all their children for future generations.

It mattered little to Atle whether the small station had weapons or not. The
Flood
had weapons, and in its belly slept an army to use them.

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CHAPTER 1

The Interrelator

Tesa' Wakandagi sat cross-legged in the Scott Hedford Memorial Shelter waiting impatiently for her call. The tall Native American was the Cooperative League of Systems' Interrelator for the wilderness planet Trinity.

A year and a half ago, Tesa had been sent from the Academy at StarBridge to help establish a First Contact with the planet's avian people, the Grus.

Since then, she had lived with the White Wind people--as the Grus called themselves--as family to their leader, Taller, his mate, Weaver, and their son, Lightning. Tesa-- whose light hazel, almost yellow eyes had earned her the Grus name-sign "Good Eyes"--had established peace between the Grus and their historic enemies, the predatory Hunters.

The young woman rubbed the bridge of her hawklike nose as she stared at the hologram field that read "Please Hold." Fiddling irritably with the gleaming white feathers covering her woven Grus shirt, she wondered if Bruce could tell her what was happening with her call. He'd gone up to Trinity's single space station, the
Singing Crane,
to do some routine maintenance.

Or so he said. While Tesa would've spent every minute of her life outside, Bruce Carpenter--meteorologist and xenoichthyologist by training, and a hardware handyman by hobby--missed the space station's elaborate equipment. Well, in a few months they'd get a whole new crew and then he could have fun training them. But now, the few Terrans were needed planetside.

Tesa fidgeted. Waiting only accented the tiredness that hung on her like a shroud. The last few weeks she'd slept poorly. She didn't want to think about the cause of her fitful nights. .. her nightmares. Tesa respected dreams. Her religion told her they could bring important messages. But lately, her nightly fantasies were formless, leaving her with nothing but a sense of dread.

She'd wake shivering, the images scattering like feather-weed seeds in the wind, until Weaver would surround her with a wing, lulling her back to sleep.

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She should discuss her dreams with Old Bear, her grandfather, but she didn't want to worry him.

Shrugging her troublesome thoughts away, Tesa tapped a code into her small wrist voder and the image of a lanky man with thinning gray hair coalesced on the screen.

"So, where's Rob, Bruce?" she asked, her hands shaping the question in Grus Sign Language.

"Just hold your.. . ." he signed clumsily, then paused.

Tesa smiled, realizing the middle-aged weatherman had just discovered there was no Grus sign for "horses."

"Be patient," he responded instead. "I've refocused one of the receivers. It's coming in now; your channel open?"

She nodded, a lock of her long, wavy, dark hair falling forward. "I've
been
ready!" she complained, her light eyes flashing as the hologram finally coalesced before her.

The tiny image of Bruce waved frantically to call her attention back. "You've got him now, darlin'!"

Nodding, she watched the hologram firm up. It always took her a few moments to get used to the holo's realism.

"Hello, at last, Tesa!" Dr. Robert Gable, the director of StarBridge, signed.

His hand motions were slow, but she always appreciated his effort. The slightly built psychologist's dark hair curled in disarray. "I just saw your two recruits off."

"So they're on their way?" she asked.

Rob nodded, his expression rueful. "I really appreciate your taking this project on.... It won't be any picnic."

Tesa smiled. "Ambassador Dhurrrkk' " talked me into it."

"I'm not surprised. At least you'll enjoy seeing Jib again." Rewi "Jib" Parker, a nineteen-year-old Maori, had been Tesa's roommate and surrogate brother at StarBridge. "But as for the Simiu, K'heera," Rob spelled the name in American Sign Language, "she's only doing this because of honor."

"Is she at least... cooperative?"

"Anything less would be dishonorable. But her heart isn't in it. Her family is making her do this to recoup some of the prestige the Harkk'etts have lost since the
Desiree
incident."

The four-footed, baboonlike aliens the Terrans had dubbed "Simiu" had a culture dominated by a rigid, intricate honor code that had complicated a needless tragedy, marring the early, tenuous relations between the two races. Ten years after that botched First Contact, many Simiu still held the humans responsible, but others placed the blame on the Harkk'ett clan alone. The loss of honor had devastated the prestigious family.

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"Dhurrrkk' assured me," Rob continued, "that the Harkk'ett matriarchs are eager to make whatever amends they can tolerate to regain some of their lost status. They
picked
K'heera--we didn't get to choose her. She might be StarBridge material in a couple of years, but right now?" He shook his head.

"She's not totally xenophobic, I hope?" Tesa asked.

"No, no!" he assured her. "Doctor Blanket feels she has good potential, but it's buried under resentment and family shame."

The young woman peered at Rob wryly. "And Jib? Don't tell me he's StarBridge's answer to this diplomatic crisis?"

"Honestly," Rob signed, smiling, "we didn't just pick him because of your past friendship. I'm sending Jib partly because he's so easygoing--I thought he might be able to soften K'heera's edges--and partly . .. because I wanted him to be forced to use his language skills again."

She detected something in his expression.
"Forced!
Jib? The galaxy's hyper-communicator? What are you talking about?"

"There's a slight problem." Rob was trying to be reassuring, which only had the opposite affect. "Jib's developed TSS."

Telepathic Sensitivity Syndrome,
Tesa thought. A catch-all term for a condition that couldn't be easily diagnosed.

Telepathy was not common among humans, but some descendants of the failed first Martian Colony carried it. Nontelepaths could usually be trained to communicate with telepaths, but for people with TSS, telepathic reception had a different effect--it stimulated their brain's pleasure center. With repeated exposure, TSS victims grew addicted to it.

"How bad is it?" Tesa asked.

"Very minor," Rob insisted. "After you left, his next roommate was telepathic, and they grew close. Then, he was assigned to work with the Shadgui."

The Shadgui were actually two species, symbionts who could not be separated; they were a peaceful, telepathic race.

"The onset was so subtle, I never noticed it, but Doctor Blanket did. Jib's . . .

still in denial. As long as he stayed here with telepaths all around him, there was no chance he'd recover."

Tesa hesitated. "You think he
can
recover?"

Rob shrugged. "Who knows? There haven't been enough cases to define the disease, symptoms, treatments ... if there are any, besides avoiding contact. Even if he can't be cured, it might not hurt his career... if he stays away from telepaths. I decided a trip to Trinity was just what this doctor should order."

"Well, he won't find any telepaths here," Tesa agreed, "unless 12

you're sending some out with the new crew."

"Nope," Rob signed, "not a one."

"Jib doesn't resent coming, does he?"

The psychologist shook his head. "He was pleased to help with this Simiu problem. His only regret is leaving his roommate, Anzia. He thinks he's in love with her. But don't worry about it. Jib couldn't be in a safer environment than Trinity, with you there. Oh, I almost forgot! There's one other thing you should know about K'heera. She's a technotype."

The Indian woman's eyes widened. "Isn't that a little unusual for a Simiu female?"

"Very. You know how rigid they are about sexual role-playing. Females are supposed to lead the world, not putter around with circuits and chips and tools."

Tesa grew thoughtful. "That might be a way to get closer to her... encourage her to follow her own interests.. .."

"I fully expect you to take this information and run with it," Rob admitted.

"Who knows? Maybe she'll end up as Bruce's assistant. .. ." He trailed off at Tesa's skeptical expression.

Bruce still blamed the Harkk'ett clan for the deaths of his friends, Scott Hedford and Peter Woedrango.

"This is shaping up to be one of those dreaded 'learning experiences' you always warned us about," Tesa told him.

Gable grinned and nodded. "Probably. So, how is everyone?"

"Well, Dr. Li Szu-yi went up to the
Crane
with Bruce to restock her medical supplies. Meg's out with Old Bear, Lightning, and our cohort, collecting plants. Grandma Lewis is under the weeping tree with her 'sewing circle.' A dozen of the flock's best weavers are teaching her Grus techniques, in exchange for her demonstrating classic Navaho weaving to them."

The psychologist stared pointedly at her. "And how have you been occupying your long boring days?"

"Me? Bored?" She grinned shamelessly. "Only when I've got to fill things out in triplicate. Don't tell me you haven't been reading all those reports you're always asking for!"

He nodded, amused. "Oh, I read them. They make it sound like you haven't had a minute to be bored ... or lonely."

"Is it time for my psych checkup already?" she quipped.

"That wasn't a frivolous question. You've got an intense job, surrounded only by elderly relatives, an aged biologist, a doctor who will never win any awards for warmth, a cantankerous middle-aged weatherman, and aliens with whom you are not biologically compatible. I'd say you're in a good position for

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feeling pretty isolated, if not downright lonely. And if you don't mind my saying so--you're looking a little tired."

Tesa shrugged, but it bothered her that he could see her fatigue in a hologram transmitted across the galaxy. "Believe me, Rob, I have all the companionship anyone could want."

"Well, I was just wondering how you were getting on ... since Thorn Albaugh left."

She recalled the young wildlife agent and their brief relationship fondly.

"Sure, I miss Thorn. I haven't heard from him .. . have you?" Thorn had left to follow an investigation, warning her that she might not hear from him for years.

"Well," Rob signed cryptically, "he's left Hurrreeah. . . ."

Tesa didn't find the psychologist's words very comforting. "Rob, has Thorn gone undercover into Sorrow Sector?"

The psychologist looked her squarely in the eyes. "I'm afraid so. That isn't what I wanted to talk about.. . I'm sorry."

She held up a hand. "Thorn has to follow his own path, just like I had to follow mine. I'm just lucky that mine led me to the best job on all the Known Worlds. I'm really happy, Rob."

He watched her with an odd expression, as if trying to see what was really going on in her heart. "I want to know if you continue to have trouble sleeping. Will you tell me?"

She hesitated. She'd never been a very good liar. "I will. Honest. Now, what's the latest update on the new crew?"

He smiled, letting her close the subject. "Well, we've got the go-ahead to expand the station, and we've finalized most of the crew selections." He tapped a sequence on his desk, and images of strangers coalesced in the hologram beside him. "Meg will be happy to know we got her that ethnobotanist.. . ."

But later, when the conversation finally ended, Tesa watched Rob dissolve with an odd sensation, as though their talk had introduced something that would have been better left unspoken.

A chil breeze blew multicolored leaves around Tal er's feet as he watched Good Eyes step out of the humans' shelter. She gazed around the high bluff that overlooked his territory as though she couldn't remember what all these various people--human, White Wind, and Hunter--could be doing here. Most of them were simply waiting for her.