Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  This race consisted mostly of bio-scientists. There was grumbling, but finally the big green and brown pharmacist stood.

  "We disagree," Rand grunted. "We're simply not ready." The pharmacist's wide mouth opened spasmodically, as though he were tasting something.

  "We need biological representatives. If we had even a few of the aliens, we could refine the drugs needed to control them. Then, there would be no risk of needless bloodshed and waste."

  Papu of the Chorus stood. She was a powerful political figure as the senior member of a group that contained mostly accountants, bureaucrats, and political scientists. The Chorus always agreed among themselves, making them a formidable force. She was small and dull green, so she always had to stretch to be sure she could be seen. "The pharmacists are right. We must know more about beings who make 'routine stopovers' between the stars before we act. If their stardrive is more powerful than ours, then their weapons must be also."

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  Dacris swelled impatiently. "I respectfully remind Papu that your people were conquered centuries ago by just such an attitude. You feared the expense of war, but not of committees. You'd be in meetings still if we had not overpowered you."

  "It's true, Dacris," she responded acidly, "we were conquered centuries ago.

  But we have been Chosen for over two hundred years. And it was because of our committees that the Chosen were finally able to conquer the last ethnic holdouts, the Cliff-Dwellers and the Armored, and bring peace to our Home. A peace we have enjoyed for one hundred years. I submit, Glorious First, that people who have not conquered a nation in one hundred years need to practice a little caution."

  Dacris turned to his First. "If these aliens are warlike conquerors, then where are the cities they could surely build, where are their armies? Why isn't the space around this world filled with stations, crowded with ships going back and forth reaping resources? Where are the armies to protect this planet?"

  "Those are good questions," Atle agreed, "and the answers are near, in that space station, just waiting for us to translate them. We've already translated the station's original message; we can use that to unlock their secrets--and make them ours."

  Atle saw Dacris unsuccessfully mask his resentment. "Second, do you disagree with this decision?"

  The Troubadour hesitated. One by one, the other staff members squatted down, leaving only the Troubadour and the First standing. The Second's skin blushed vividly.

  Atle's own colors flared in response to the challenge. His poison patches flared yellow, then began to sweat.

  The sight of the weeping poison brought fear to the table as the others stared straight ahead, motionless, dulling their color. But Dacris' look was one of stark terror--a look Atle had seen before. He's wrestled a One-Touch, he realized. It was hard to win a match when you could only concentrate on warding off the arms of your opponent. With immediate treatment a victim could survive, but recovery involved weeks of pain and paralysis.

  "I follow your command, Glorious First," the Troubadour sang softly as he squatted on his heels.

  "Then ready a transport and a crew of technicians," Atle ordered Dacris.

  "You will board the station--but prevent it from sending an alarm. Staff it around the clock. Papu, assemble translators, historians, . and technicians for Dacris. Rand, you and your best pharmacists and biochemists will go also. We must understand these beings' biology if we hope to

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  control them. The three of you will be personally responsible for that."

  Rand and Papu blinked acknowledgment. Dacris sat immobile.

  "Sooner or later," Atle sang, "the ship that left will return. And you, Dacris, will be waiting. You must be prepared to take it, and everyone aboard. Then you, your staff, and a skeleton crew of the aliens will take the ship Home.

  When that alien ship comes back, Dacris, will you be ready?"

  The Troubadour faced his First, his color brightening. "Yes, First. Thank you, First." It was an important task. But was it enough to assuage the Second's boundless ambition?

  "I'll need a crew myself," Atle continued. He turned to the far end of the table where the lower-classed Armored and Cliff- Dwellers sat. "Tipes, Bufo, I want soldiers and strongarms, your best, fully equipped. Rand, I'll want a small medical crew. And a zoologist. Dacris, I'll need a ground surveillance specialist. We'll surprise the station's ground camp and take them."

  He paced around the table to face the Red-Legs, who were mostly

  technicians. "You, Ensa, will organize our first settlement, somewhere near where the probe landed. Once we capture the beings at the camp, we'll join you at the settlement and conduct research there. Your people should continue to awaken the staff and families, Chosen and Industrious, and send them planetside until we are at full capacity. Third-in-Conquest Amaset will be running the ship, and will coordinate transports."

  Atle would be more comfortable once their resources were land-bound. It was a big planet; there they could spread out. Here they were one large, easy target.

  He turned to face the table. "We don't know how long it will take us to learn how to control these beings. We will have only a finite number of them to work on, and a finite amount of time before the spaceship returns. But we have never been a people to abide waste or squander resources. To lose the potential of any of these intelligent beings would be terrible indeed. Go slowly. Go carefully. And remember." He paused for effect. "I will not hesitate to punish the careless--or to reward the careful."

  Atle finally squatted down at the head of the table and took the vessel of water left there for him. These meetings always left him dry. Patting the fluid over his skin, he touched a pad on the console embedded at the head of the table. Despite his song, he didn't believe any of them could appreciate how much work they had to do. They weren't One-Touch, they didn't have the need for conquest written in their genes--a need that had been

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  unfulfilled for over one hundred years. He needed to inspire them to embrace their huge task.

  Touching the console, he called up the alien recording just recently translated. "Before you begin your work there is something I want you to hear. It is a message from the people we are about to meet." The hushed room filled with the strange sounds of the recording, followed by the translation.

  "Welcome," the aliens sang in a flat monotone, "to the World known as Trinity. This World is the home of intelligent beings like yourself. Please respect their sovereign dominion. Do not land without authorization. The Cooperative League of Systems of the Fifteen Known Worlds greets you and invites you to communicate with us. Welcome."

  The Cooperative League of Systems of the Fifteen Known Worlds, Atle thought. Fifteen Known Worlds. Facing the Council, the First slowly blinked his enormous eyes, watching as his subordinates heard the incredible words of the alien message. One by one the Council 'reacted, their throats quivering with musical laughter, until the ridiculous message was drowned out. As his staff roared with mirth at a people who so foolishly invited their own enslavement, he thought again, Fifteen Known Worlds.

  Yes, there was much work to do.

  CHAPTER 4

  Florida

  Tesa stood motionless in the crystalline waters of the River of Fear, her leister poised as a large, sleek fish approached, his scales undulating pink, blue, silver. Feathers dangling from her shirt waved enticingly in the waist-deep water. Tesa's dark knuckles paled and the long muscles in her arms tensed as she gripped the three-pronged spear that once had been used by Northwest Coast Indians. The fish swam nearer, curiosity pushing him closer. Tesa swallowed, already tasting him stuffed with wild grain and a local peppery herb.

  The back of her neck prickled, but she ignored it. Since they'd landed at the river early this morning she'd been hyper-alert.

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  She'd had a terrible dream last night about a ravenous water spirit but couldn't talk about it. She was worried that if she did, the cohort might start molting from the jit
ters, Thunder would get more foolhardy, she'd get another lecture from Bruce about primal belief systems while Jib wore his don't-tell-me-yoM're-going-native look--and K'heera would lose what little trust she might still have in Tesa's judgment.

  And they'd only been in the Land of Confusion for forty-two Terran hours--a day and a half, Trinity time.

  The cohort watched her nervously from the shore, crowded together for comfort, their heads swiveling in every direction. Since they'd entered this territory, the World felt strange, as if everything were canted off-center.

  No animals or birds lived near the river, and the unnatural silence rattled the young Grus. Since silence didn't affect Tesa, they turned to her for security.

  Her willingness to enter the dreaded river both impressed and frightened them.

  If she couldn't get them past their fears they'd never get enough to eat, and with their high metabolism, they'd soon be unable to fend for themselves.

  It had taken a week to arrive at this short, broad southern peninsula Bruce insisted on calling "Florida." His meteor had splashed into the nearby sea, close to the mouth of this wide river. As Taller had predicted, they were far enough from any Gray Wind people that nullifiers could be left handily slung around necks, rather than worn. The immature calls of the cohort, according to Bruce, were irritating, but not dangerous. He was enjoying the novelty of being able to hear on Trinity.

  Once they'd set up camp, Jib and Bruce had taken the Demoiselle, their small multi-use vehicle, and gone underwater exploring. Following the deep channels and crevasses the river's odd tides had carved would eventually lead them to the sea. She expected them back around dusk and by then they'd be starving.

  A flash of goose bumps ran up Tesa's spine, but she repressed the urge to check behind her. The edgy cohort wasn't her only problem. From the shore, a pair of shocking purple eyes bore into her. K'heera had developed a "look"

  of her own.

  Suddenly there was a flash of silver as the fish darted forward, grabbing a feather. Tesa drove the leister down, but her preoccupation made her strike late and the shiny tail sailed through the prongs. She thrust the weapon again, but the fish was gone, swimming away, trophy feather dangling from his mouth.

  A shadow of massive wings passed by as Thunder swooped

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  low over the turquoise water. Her spread feet slapped the surface, snatching the escaping piscine. Huge wings struggled for lift as the heavy, thrashing burden twisted in her deadly talons.

  Tesa splashed her way onto the beach, the cohort jogging behind, just as Thunder circled the camp and released her prey. He landed flopping on the bright white sand, and Tesa dispatched him promptly with her stone knife, as she offered a prayer of gratitude to his people for his sacrifice. The cohort, as if one organism, lowered their heads to examine the dying fish.

  "There's plenty to eat in the water," Tesa reassured them. "The fingerlings nearly plucked my shirt bare, and there are big, fat river worms on the bottom. I saw a soft-shelled side-walker that was three times the size of the ones back home!" That made every crown in the crowd blush and spread.

  When Thunder landed and folded her wings, the others stared admiringly at her. "I flew the whole width of that river," she signed haughtily, "and all I saw was/oorf!"

  The Grus glanced at one another, but finally Lightning raised his head. "I'm hungry!" he announced, appearing as unconcerned as Thunder. Regally, he entered the water until it was up to his thighs. Within seconds, his head dived under the waves and he came up with a fish so large he could barely swallow it. FliesTooFast was soon beside him, with the others close behind.

  Tesa smiled and went back to cleaning the fish. Thunder leaned over the corpse, peering at the creature hungrily. "You caught him," Tesa signed. "Do you want him?"

  "We both caught him," Thunder retorted. "Your attack slowed him down. I would like the head, please . . . and ... the liver?"

  "Fine," Tesa assured her, removing the head deftly and eviscerating the fish.

  "If you don't want these entrails .. ."

  "Oh, I'll eat those," Thunder assured her, "and the fins!"

  Methodically, Tesa scaled the body. As she carried it back to the surf to wash it, she finally spotted K'heera in a tall patch of dune grass. The Simiu's violet eyes were politely cast aside, yet Tesa knew she'd been glaring in stern disapproval. That's the way it had been ever since their first meal together.

  "Animal protein?" K'heera had signed, shocked when the cohort had offered bivalves to the humans. "It is fine for the White Wind people to eat their traditional foods," she'd lectured the humans, "but you are only visitors here.

  You have written, Honored Interrelator, that many of Trinity's beings communicate. How can you know which animals have a burgeoning

  intelligence, and which do not? How can you risk it?"

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  The Grus had been totally nonplussed by her reaction, while Thunder felt this was the first truly humorous thing an alien had ever said. But Tesa couldn't shrug K'heera's concerns off so easily. As Interrelator, she wasn't here just to speak for the Grus and safeguard their culture, but as a voice for all the intelligent beings on Trinity. But while CLS rules regarding her role might seem clear to a Planetary Council light-years away, on the World things were not always so easy to define.

  She'd already reduced her own reliance on Trinity's animal food drastically, and at her urging, the other scientists had done the same. Bruce had assured Tesa that most of the fish on Trinity had only rudimentary brains, and bivalves had no brains at all. Even so, whenever Tesa added animal protein to their diet, K'heera would be nearby, silently protesting the murder of Trinity's creatures. It was getting to Tesa.

  Only because you're afraid she's right! she told herself, washing the fish, then wrapping it in long, bright red leaves.

  She stared across the river at Lightning and Flies-Too-Fast. They'd grown bold and had flown to the shallow sandbar in the middle of the river's wide expanse. Comfortable now that they'd eaten, they stopped to bathe and preen. The rest of the cohort had spread apart, some still eating, others just loafing.

  She wished that she were here alone with them; nothing would feel like work the way this did now. But then, everything would be easier if Jib and K'heera enjoyed camping at all. K'heera and he shared that in common, at least.

  Shelter construction and food foraging were nothing but drudgery to the two students. Jib only wanted to talk about Anzia and record letters for her, while K'heera couldn't find enough time to groom, as though one had to look perfect in the middle of nowhere. The grooming, Tesa knew, was partly for reassurance. The Simiu had to be sorely missing her own people.

  She watched K'heera gather reeds for her bed. Like Jib, the flame-furred being had been outfitted with modern camping equipment, including a-grav sleep pads. But after Tesa had constructed her own shelter from natural materials, the Simiu had eschewed such modern trappings. It would have been dishonorable for K'heera to be more comfortable than a human.

  Life's too short, Tesa thought, for all this Sturm und Drang. She wished that her grandfather were here. He'd been a sacred clown for so long, he'd make this somber creature laugh--and laughter was the most powerful medicine.

  Well, if he were here,

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  he'd only be disappointed that I haven't heard any sea spirits. She smiled.

  Wouldn't her cohort love that!

  She tucked the leaf-wrapped fish into a mesh bag and walked over to K'heera, now carefully keeping her eyes downcast.

  "Would you like to go foraging?" she asked. It made her uncomfortable signing to someone who wouldn't look at her. She never knew if K'heera was paying attention or not. "The cohort's finished eating. We could all go."

  Tesa didn't like to admit it, but she felt more secure when the group stayed together.

  The Simiu moved a hand noncommittally. "I can go when you're serving supper." Tesa would prefer that K'heera gather her food early so they could all
eat together, but whenever she suggested that, K'heera demurred.

  "Jib and Bruce might not be back till after dark," Tesa signed. "I wouldn't be comfortable with you foraging after sunset." With a Simiu, things had to be worded so carefully. If she flatly refused to let K'heera go, she would dishonor her.

  "Lightning has shown me a patch of bitterberries nearby. He and I can gather them and still be within the camp light."

  But far enough away not to share our conversation, Tesa thought. Of course, Simiu did not use meals to socialize.

  "Can I help you with those reeds?" Tesa asked.

  "Thank you, Honored Interrelator, they're no trouble."

  I'll bet, the woman thought, and returned to where Thunder was finishing the last of her fish.

  "You always wear that same expression whenever you talk to Sunrise,"

  Thunder signed, then wiped her bloodied beak on a driftwood log. "Why is that, Good Eyes?"

  "I'm just disappointed," the human explained. "I want her to like us, but I'm not making much progress."

  Thunder seemed unconcerned. 'That one is as solitary as a Hunter, even though she eats no animals. It's her nature."

  "That's not true," Tesa signed. "Her people live more communally than the White Winds. For her to remain so far from others must be a painful, lonely thing."

  "You must be wrong about that, Good Eyes," the raptor signed.

  "Can you believe these coral reefs?" Jib couldn't hide his awe as Bruce piloted them through the calm ocean waters.

  The older man whistled through his teeth as he stared through the wide portals. "And those colors! The primary hues are electric, and the pastels more subtle than any I've ever seen. Like

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  nothing on Earth, that's for sure. Of course, I never got to New Zealand.. .."

  Jib shook his head, smiling. "Not even there, mate."

  Growing up in the Land of the Long White Cloud meant never being too far from water, and Jib had mastered the waves in every vessel he could. His great-grandmother, Nui Tapuna, the family's lone traditionalist, said that he'd always be waimarie, lucky, with water, that his good fortune was kept inside an ancient greenstone tiki she'd given him at birth.