Silent Songs (4 page)

Rewi Parker, the lean, cream-colored Maori from New Zealand, whose love of sailing had earned him the nickname Jib, squatted on a cushion in quarters that were too warm and humid for him. The gravity, set at Simiu norm, made his lithe body feel heavy and old. The lazy ringlets of his shoulder-length black hair were shiny from sweat. As his large, expressive brown eyes saw his partner's small violet ones look away, he wondered how he was ever going to bridge the gap between them--a gap far greater than that separating two species and two cultures.

"A month!" the Simiu signed, snorting derisively.

Her fur was the color of dull flame, marked with a darker

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brindle pattern. K'heera's short mane made her seem oddly feminine, as the shining fur peaked in a crest over her long, sloping forehead. Her long muzzle hid impressive teeth, which, along with powerful, six-fingered hands, made efficient weapons.

Direct eye contact was one way the Simiu hurled honor- challenges; however, sign language required strong eye contact. Jib had reminded K'heera of this many times. Maybe she just couldn't stand having eye contact with him.

"We're going to Trinity to
learn,"
he reminded her, "not to save the World.

Let's study for a while,
then
go to the party."

"That's reasonable," K'heera admitted grudgingly, lapsing into Simiu. "Let's discuss my notes first."

"Certainly," Jib growled back.

"I have studied the recent history of Trinity. But I fail to understand why the Honored Interrelator didn't have her deafness cured, once the conflict there was over."

Jib hesitated. "Tesa, and many other deaf humans, view their deafness as cultural, not physical. But, frankly, as a hearing human, I'm not sure I can explain it very well. . .."

K'heera seemed unconvinced, then glanced at her computer screen.

"Perhaps you can explain this better. When the privateers were attacking the Aquila nest--why did the Honored Interrelator flee? The texts speak of this as though it were an act of great honor, yet to me it seems sheer cowardice."

"Tesa wasn't running away to save her own skin," Jib reminded her. "She had to protect Lightning and Thunder, also. They were all in danger of being killed because they'd witnessed the attack of the privateers, from a spacecraft fully armed ... ."

"With
weapons."
K'heera's lip curled. The use of artificial weapons violated the Simiu's worst taboo.

"That's right," Jib responded unflinchingly.

"And the Honored Interrelator later stole weapons, made her own weapons, and
used
them."

"You cannot judge other cultures by your standards," Jib reminded her patiently, his throat raw with the effort. "Humans have always used weapons, just as Simiu have always fought in the Arena. We must each respect our different values."

"Weapons are forbidden by the CLS," K'heera said, ignoring him, "but the Interrelator
stole
them from the privateers ... ."

"Weapons that had been
purchased
with
Simiu
funds!" Jib interrupted sharply, then instantly regretted his outburst.

K'heera's short crest bristled. Her violet eyes met his squarely. "My family's funds, you mean."

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Jib forced himself to drop his eyes. "Forgive me. I never meant to insult you."

There was an uncomfortable pause and finally K'heera averted her own eyes, her crest drooping. "You spoke the truth, after I goaded you. It was dishonorable of me. The apology is mine."

"Let's forget it," Jib said, good-naturedly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Too much studying makes people cranky. Besides, I'm hungry. Let's go to Captain's Night now and study later. The food will be terrific." He stood up, reaching for his black StarBridge jacket.

"I bow to your greater experience," the Simiu agreed. The young human handed her a halterlike vest. Black like his jacket, it gave K'heera pockets for her computer pens and voders. The StarBridge logo--two colorful planets joined by a rainbow bridge set against a background of stars--was emblazoned across the back.

K'heera donned it, then padded on all fours to her doorway. Her bold, jaunty stride, and the way she held her short, top-knotted tail told Jib she'd forgotten the incident.

At least she'd stopped sulking. Maybe he could accomplish something with her. after all. It was the only reason he'd left StarBridge, the one thing that could make him leave Anzia. Dr. Gable could talk all he wanted about TSS, but Jib didn't believe in that. He had a knack for telepathic reception, that's all. A real talent. A talent he missed exercising. Being dependent on clumsy verbal languages was a strain after the free flow of ideas he'd experienced with Anzi and the Shadgui.

But he hadn't seen Tesa in almost two years. She
had
saved a world--Jib couldn't have her think he didn't have enough ability to improve relations with one irritable Simiu.

K'heera strode along jauntily beside Jib through the ship's corridors, the leathery palms of her hands and feet slap-slapping against the deck quickly, efficiently, the plume of her tail swaying in perfect rhythm with her strong, sleek hips. Her brisk pace belied her inner turmoil as she scolded herself for her poor behavior. Lately, she was always irascible, unreasonable, aching to humiliate these awkward, two-legged beings.

Especially this one. But all he ever did was endure her rudeness.
Anything
to insult me,
she thought bitterly.
Captain's Night! The only reason humans
have these gatherings is to find sexual partners. He'll be hunting for a female
from the moment we get there. It's disgusting.
With an effort, she squelched her anger.
You're being unfair.

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Whatever was happening to her, none of it was Jib's fault. What he had said was true. Simiu money--her own family's-- had purchased
weapons,
weapons that had killed innocent humans and Trinity's own people. It made her sick. How could she face those beautiful avians when her own hands were coated with their blood? How could Ambassador Dhurrrkk' think that this foolish "assignment" could do anything to erase such dishonor?

Her own great-uncle-cousin twice removed, Kkrraahhkk', whom she'd once loved and admired, had masterminded the entire thing. He would spend the rest of his miserable life as a criminal, hiding in Sorrow Sector, with
humans
hunting him.

Because of him, K'heera was forced to be what the humans called a

"sacrificial lamb." No one had cared about the disruption of her own plans and ambitions--in fact, her family had happily shuffled her off Hurrreeah.

She had been too involved, they thought, with the students from the public technical school. Her mating prospects were dismal. She'd been grateful to leave before her first estrus.

"Here we are," Jib announced, ushering her into the lavish salon. Wonderful smells wafted from mounds of artistically arranged food. This ship, the S.V.

Norton,
was a human vessel, but all the tables holding traditional Simiu fare
and
human fruits and vegetable dishes were low enough for the quadrupeds. The courtesy both irritated and flattered her. Meats and the artificial protein concentrate Mizari consumed were on higher tables at the other end of the room.

'This is much more elaborate than I expected," K'heera said, surprised.

She'd never seen such a banquet--but then, Harkk'etts were never invited to such high-ranking functions.

"Many people will be going into hibernation in the morning," Jib explained.

"Captain's Night is their last opportunity for a good meal. Say . . . did you notice that group?"

He nodded toward five mature Simiu males with elaborately styled manes and tails. K'heera certainly
had
noticed them and now could scarcely pull her eyes away. "They're the drum dancers who performed at StarBridge before we left," Jib told her, "the Hurrraahhhkk'aa Troupe. Maybe we'll get to meet them."

K'heera's crest flattened anxiously. "Aren't you going to the protein table?"

she asked when Jib began filling his plate.

"I can eat that fare anytime," he told her. "What I'd really like is for you to tell me about these Simiu dishes."

Now he's patronizing me,
K'heera decided.
With all our
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students on StarBridge, he wants me to believe he's never been exposed to
our cuisine.
She pointed at something colorful. "You might like that," she said casually. "We call it Pp'hhh'tttkkk. It's a delicacy made from a spice bush in our southern hemisphere."
And it has enough acetic acid to burn the
cilia off your simple tongue.
Even as he put some on his plate, she knew he wouldn't touch it. She indicated three other dishes that he could eat, and as she expected, he sampled those first.

"Simiu cuisine is known through the galaxy," a voice hissed in Mizari. A young, serpentlike alien sidled up to them, a halo of tentacles waving around the being's head like a nimbus cloud.

"Unfortunately, my people cannot eat it," the Mizari female continued amiably, "but we enjoy it vicariously by reading their recipes. I am Rassizza.

I saw your StarBridge uniforms and knew you would speak my language."

Jib greeted the tall, limbless alien with the humans' version of the Mizari meeting gesture, tenting his hands over his head, then bowing low from the waist. "Greetings, Rassizza," the human said, smoothly slipping into Mizari.

K'heera used her own people's honor greeting, touching her eyelids, muzzle, and chest, then holding her hand out, her fingers curled inward. The being bowed graciously to them.

"It's too bad you can't enjoy Simiu food," Jib said. "I developed a taste for it at StarBridge, but cafeteria food may be the only cultural constant throughout the Known Worlds. Simiu students would talk wistfully about food from home that wasn't served there. I couldn't wait for this buffet."

Oh, no,
K'heera groaned inwardly.
He really doesn't know those dishes! I
can't let him taste that Pp'hhh'tttkkk!
But how could she stop him without revealing her attempted sabotage? Her eyes widened as Jib's fork hovered over the sinister morsel.

"I must confess," the Mizari said, distracting Jib from his plate, "I had an ulterior motive in speaking to you both. My voder is malfunctioning." The device appeared suddenly from the nest of prehensile tendrils surrounding the Mizari's head. "Without my voder I will be helpless. I thought you"--she nodded at Jib-- "might introduce me to the Captain, and ask if her engineer could look at it."

"Why, certainly," Jib agreed amiably. "I'd be happy to."

"Actually," K'heera interrupted in halting Mizari, "I might be able to fix it."

The serpentlike lidless eyes held no expression, but K'heera imagined that she was shocked. Simiu females were not

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supposed to be mechanically adept; it was beneath them. "I would be honored," the Mizari said graciously.

K'heera put down her plate, picked up the small translator, and for a moment completely forgot about Jib's food or the opinions of others. Opening the device's casing, she peered at the interior. Pulling a few diagnostic tools from her StarBridge halter, she popped a small, high-powered magnifier, resembling a jeweler's loupe, into one eye.

"I'm at a total loss when it comes to electronics and circuitry," Jib admitted casually. "I envy your ability."

"Aren't you afraid of getting shocked?" the Mizari asked.

"This voder's power pack is well protected," K'heera explained, warming to her subject. "And here's your problem--there's a bad cell." She rummaged around in a pocket. "I may have a spare that will fit." Pulling out a packet of random-sized cells, she sorted through them, then installed the new one, finishing the work with a confidence she rarely enjoyed anymore.

"You've got real talent there, K'heera," Jib said quietly. Casually, he picked up his plate and speared the Pp'hhh'tttkkk.

K'heera flushed with confusion as she handed the now- functional voder back to the Mizari. Whether she warned him or let him experience the pain, her dishonor would be the same.

'Tell me I did not see what I just saw!" barked a deep Simiu voice, startling Jib so much he almost dropped the fork.

Can things really get worse?
K'heera wondered. The handsomest male from the dancing troupe swaggered up to her--
her
--his glistening, luxurious mane swinging with the force of his graceful step, the rest of his companions close behind. K'heera glanced around, desperately wanting to slip away.

The male's face held amused shock. "Did I really see this lovely young female
repair
a voder?"

"You most certainly did," hissed the Mizari, admiringly. The dance troupe all wore voder earcuffs just like K'heera's, so they'd understood the serpent being. K'heera lowered her gaze.

"And what if she did?" asked Jib in excellent Simiu.

Yes,
she realized,
things certainly can get worse.

The Simiu's laughing bark felt like teeth fastening around her heart. "Any simpleminded boy can play with voders. A female's work is
world
matters, galactic concerns."

"In a world as wide and diverse as Hurrreeah," Jib said quietly, "there must be room for a female to work mechanically and a male to be a leader--if that's where their talents lie."

The five males laughed uproariously as K'heera cringed.

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"You humans certainly have interesting ideas," the handsome male proclaimed. "But we already know where our females' talents lie." He turned the full force of his charm onto K'heera, moving so she couldn't miss the vivid honor scar that ran from ear to cheek. "We will be going into hibernation in the morning, young beauty, but tonight we're setting up the drums. Come dance with us! We have not had a female dancer since my sister went to the university. But, fortunately, you are no sister of mine!"

The males all laughed riotously at this, while Jib seemed confused. K'heera blushed again. He'd just asked her, none too subtly, that if she was nearing estrus to consider him a potential mate. No doubt they'd been drinking fermented beverages. If he remembered it in the morning, he'd be embarrassed. But dancers were like that.