Silent Songs (35 page)

She turned, alarmed.

An Anuran emerged from a dwelling and wandered around.
Who the hell is
that?
she thought, peering through a forest of stalklike legs.
The damn cook?

Lightning stood in front of her, spreading his massive wings in a Grus warning pose. Other cohort members did the same, effectively blocking Tesa from view.

Tesa didn't have time to finish testing the controls. She'd have to turn them on, send them west, and catch up with them later.
Hope they don't run into
anything,
she thought, moving from machine to machine, activating them.

The Anuran wandering around camp
was
the cook, she realized with surprise. He peered into containers, then began assembling meals, while Tesa crept from sled to sled behind Grus wings.

Finally, the human cupped her hands around her mouth, letting out a lung-busting Grus alarm call. "B-B-B-B-R-R-R-R-AA-A-A-AA," she yelled, over and over, and the others joined her.

The Anuran cook jumped in surprise, dropping one of the containers. Food and liquid burst out. The grazers, surrounded by raucously calling Grus, leaped to their feet, nervously searching for the predators they were sure the Grus were warning off. Flies-Too-Fast bounded through the herd, flapping his wings and calling, the other Grus imitating him, warning the herd of imminent danger. The lead male grazer circled, seeing nothing-- but the Grus' calls were too frantic to be ignored. His broad flat muzzle lifted, tasted the air.

Flies-Too-Fast's panicked cries were finally too much for the herd, and they took off running. The Grus chivvied them onto the path they'd selected.

Tesa crossed her fingers, hoping she hadn't adjusted the flyers' speed too high. She sent the sleds into the sky one by one, then watched the Anuran cook react as his sleds flew away of their own volition. His huge eyes widened, and his already brilliant green and gold coloring flared until he was almost luminous. Then he spun to see the herd bearing down on him.

The sleeping Anurans must've felt the drumming hoofbeats through the ground. They came barreling out of their tentlike dwellings just as the fear-crazed grazers pounded through the camp as though it weren't there. While aliens leaped and ran for safety, their supplies and buildings were pounded into the turf.

Tesa called again, leaping onto the last sled. She soared into

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the air, Lightning and her cohort surrounding her, as they chased after the fleeing sleds. Below her, the Anurans stared, pointing. Shaking her lance at them, she whooped triumphantly.
Yeah,
she thought gleefully.
First, we steal
the horses.

"Well, of
course
they're resisting!" Atle told his Third-in- Conquest, Amaset.

"It's a natural part of the process. We must anticipate it, and stamp it out swiftly." He watched the Council members who'd gathered in his home to discuss their concerns. "Our ancestors met with such resistance and
persevered."

"But, Glorious First," the Third protested, "this
one
human destroyed an entire scientific study camp."

The First turned cold eyes on Amaset. "Those biologists should've never been sent out without soldiers."

"It won't happen again," the Third agreed.

"It wouldn't have happened in the first place if
I'd
been in charge," Dacris sang out.

"That's enough," Atle snapped. He turned back to the Third. "Henceforth, all exploratory excursions will be accompanied by a squadron. I very much want this human, and her companion, captured
unharmed"
--he turned flashing eyes on Dacris-- "something I could not expect from you." He faced the nervous Councillors. "Think what a persuader
she
will make! Whoever captures her will have their own territory, regardless of their class or standing. Make sure the soldiers know this." He signaled to the Councillors that the meeting was over. "Dacris. Stay behind."

As the others left, Dacris stood stiffly.

"I know you feel you're being unjustly punished," Atle sang. "While your feelings in this matter don't concern me, your contempt for my orders does.

Still, I have not demoted you. Removing you from command of the space station and not allowing you to take the captured ship Home should have been punishment enough. But you still defy me. This is my last warning. You are now in charge of the hatchery. . . ."

Dacris' color flushed brightly. The assignment would humiliate the Second, which was exactly what Atle wanted.

"You'll no longer be involved in these Council meetings," Atle continued, dulling his own color. "It's been too long since you've given me any practical advice, and your criticisms erode confidence in me. That's something I can't allow." He stared hard at Dacris. "You may throw down a challenge. I'll be happy to wrestle you. You're much younger than I. You might win."

The green and gold Troubadour glared defiantly, but sang, "I 201

decline. I'll serve my First in whatever capacity you desire." "Well sung,"

sang the First. "That will be all." As Dacris left the First's home, Atle sagged.

The humans' resistance he could understand, but Dacris' .. .

Arvis and Lene entered with the Simiu servant. Atle watched the female Chosen with mixed feelings. He was still angry about her using hormones to seduce his son, but her scheming had been successful. Arvis had been granted citizenship. Now gravid with his grandchild, she was beautiful, Atle thought. So did Arvis.

The promise of a grandchild made the stresses of the new colony easier for the First to bear. He anticipated seeing his grandchild hatch, swimming free on their new planet. And Lene, to mollify him, had promised to name the child after his deceased son or daughter. She was clever. It mollified him well.

Suddenly Atle spied Dacris watching Lene and Arvis through an open window. They did not see him, but Atle saw him watching them, saw the naked hatred in his eyes. Then Dacris boldly met the First's gaze. The Troubadour's color gleamed and he blinked his lower lids slowly, contemptuously, finally turning away as if nothing in Atle's home was of any concern to him.

Javier First-Light-of-Day stood hip deep in the river harvesting red, gold, and teal-colored leaves from the swaying reeds. He was methodical, stripping the oldest, driest leaves, collecting them in a fist-sized bunch, then using the longest of them to tie the others into a neat bundle. Then he stacked the bundle end up in the long, colorful basket hanging on his back. The job reminded him of collecting wild rice in Michigan. He only wished he could enjoy this as much. However, a squat, brown alien with a punishing rod stood on a hovering sled not twenty yards from him and the other humans working nearby.

He'd ended up in a work crew with Carlotta Estafan, Chris Bartus, Moshe Rosten, Noriko Imanaka, and, to his great relief, Martin Brockman, who he'd thought had been killed. They'd

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been joined by an elderly Lakota, the Interrelator's grandfather, Old Bear.

The old man was in good shape, straight and strong, but the Chosen kept him heavily drugged. The rest of his companions ranged in their alertness, but none of them were drug- free.

The leaves were for Weaver and the women working with her, for the baskets and mats they produced, using traditional Grus weaving techniques.

Baskets were needed as storage containers and the mats were bedding for humans. These aliens made sure that their captives were self-sufficient.

Javier's long fingers snatched bright red and orange leaves off a vine trailing up one of the reeds. He stripped it so quickly the Anuran guard never noticed. Another swift hand move crushed the leaves and brought them to his nose. He inhaled sharply, lingering a scant second over the scent before gathering more reed leaves. His brow furrowed over his hooded, black eyes as he tried to recognize the compounds that produced that smell.

Many plants, even alien ones, had similar properties that could be identified by aromatic essential oils. Javier needed something irritating enough to make him vomit. The headaches he suffered testified to the drugs in his food.

Whatever they were giving him caused him to hesitate over important decisions. He didn't dare attempt an escape while under its influence.

And Javier had every intention of escaping. He hadn't given up a satisfying career on Earth to be made a slave on what was, no doubt, the most beautiful world he'd ever seen.

Running a hand through his thick black hair, he glanced at the platform where Weaver and her companions worked. The pain of seeing her there was still raw to him.

He'd waited so long to meet the legendary avian, to discuss her artistry.... To find her forced to produce bare essentials so he and his fellow humans could be more conveniently enslaved broke his heart. He could barely believe what was happening to her, to her people. He
had
to do
something.

His basket was full, so he waded to the platform to empty it. It was the only part of his day he enjoyed. While he deposited his leaves, he and Weaver could exchange a few signs. Yesterday he'd told her he could graft feathers onto the stumps of her cut ones. The technique was called "imping," and he'd learned it while working with a Hopi raptor expert years ago.

Rehabilitators did it so that otherwise healthy birds could fly for exercise.

Weaver might not achieve much altitude that way, but

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it could help her to escape. That discussion had cheered her, and her crown had brightened.

But first, they had to get feathers. Javier had talked to as many of the humans as he could, but no one could help. The Grus, for some reason, had never lived on this river, so there were no discarded feathers to be scavenged, not even old, worn ones. Meg, working on the platform with Weaver, let him know that one of the Simiu would send information out that night, and tell the Interrelator of their need. But when, or if, feathers would come, no one knew.

Messages had been going out for days, but so far, nothing had come back in.

Javier put his basket on the platform and greeted Weaver and her human friends politely. Meg sat beside the avian, with Mrs. Lewis on the other side, assisting with the weaving. Dr. Li sat behind Mrs. Lewis, and sorted leaves.

The women's faces were slack, whether from drugs or broken spirits, he didn't know.

Turning his attention to Weaver, he unloaded his bundles.

"The weather is good today, First-Light," she signed. She loved his name because it meant something. She'd told him it made her think of the dawn, that she thought of that whenever she saw him and felt hopeful.

"It's a good day for catching fingerlings," he agreed, as five fat silver-blue fish slid out of his basket. She eyed them speculatively. "It's hard to catch such quick fish without a net or a bill. You wouldn't let my efforts go to waste?"

Her crown flushed from its typical dull plum color, and she downed the fish one after the other as he sorted the bundles from his basket. The women seemed pleased. Weaver was not eating nearly enough to stay in condition and they all worried about it.

"You know, First-Light," Weaver signed while the last fish traveled down her long neck, "it is not seemly for an unmated male to present a mated female like myself with courting gifts. What would my friend Taller think if he knew?"

Javier smiled at her teasing. "It'll be our secret." He hoisted the empty basket and started to wade toward the reeds. Just then a shadow swooped over the water, and he lifted his head. It was an immature Aquila, circling low over the colony. Suddenly another Aquila dropped down from the upper atmosphere and joined the first, then another appeared, and another. Soon there were dozens of the creatures circling.

Everyone in the colony--the Industrious, the humans, the Simiu, even the Chosen--stopped to watch the gathering of beautiful raptors, like so many mystical Thunderbirds.

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But Javier watched Weaver, who only stared calmly at the sky, as
though
her old enemy held no fear for her now that she knew the Chosen.

Something fell from the Aquila-filled sky. Like a bizarre parody of autumn, multicolored leaves drifted to the World from opened nets held in the Aquilas' talons. As the leaves settled on land and water, Javier realized there were
messages
scrawled on them. He collected the nearest ones.

"Don't give up!" one read.

"The CLS knows!" read another.

"Watch the skies!" said yet another.

"Work slower!"

"Watch for Iktomi!"

"Don't let the bastards get you down!"

Javier laughed as the Interrelator
leafleted
the colony.

Everywhere, humans picked up leaves and smiled. He saw a man on the shore explain the messages to Kh'arhh'tk, and the drum dancer stared into the heavens.

Then Javier examined an odd-shaped leaf that said "We can do it!" It was triangularly shaped and a rich golden orange. Impulsively, he crushed it and smelled a familiar, sharp odor. His dark eyes shone. The smell was similar to
Oleum ricini
--the castor oil plant. He tasted the leaf's blood on his palm.

Yes. The juice of these leaves should be a strong emetic. On Earth, castor leaves had once been used for narcotic poisoning. He found others and tossed them into his basket.

The Chosen irritably ordered humans and Industrious alike to gather the leaves, but the humans responded with so much fervor, they quickly decided that wasn't the best tactic.

Suddenly the cloud of raptors parted, and a mass of startlingly white Grus mixed thickly with them. Javier's hearing ear was off, but he could feel the vibrations from their calls travel over his skin. Around him, humans adjusted nullifiers. Then he spotted her.

Tesa' Wakandagi, the Interrelator of Trinity, appeared in the eye of the storm riding one of the Chosen's own sleds, garishly dressed and in full war paint.

Wildly, she brandished... he stared--a Clovis-tipped war lance? Hell, if it wasn't! She called with the Grus as they spiraled lower.