Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  The airlock opened as invitingly as a giant's mouth, swallowing the shuttle.

  The lock closed behind them, then cycled the air back in. "It'll take us three hours to produce those parts and ready a new satellite," Meg said. "What do you think?"

  "I think the Grus named you well, Speedy. Make it five. We'd be wiser to sleep, then do our work in the morning. Bruce and Tesa aren't expecting us before noon." Leaving the ship, they walked through the large bay to the airlock. When the door lifted with a sigh, Szu-yi sniffed. "Something must be wrong with the ventilation. What is that smell?"

  "Smells like a swamp," Meg said. "Let's check hydroponics."

  As the two women stepped into the hallway, Szu-yi turned to Meg, but the words she was forming never had a chance to emerge. Instead, she saw her friend enveloped by unrecognizable forms, even as she felt herself seized.

  The swampy odor grew overpowering, choking her. The hallway

  disappeared in a

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  crush of bodies. Meg shouted, cursing luridly in Russian. Szuyi struggled blindly, instinctively, futilely. Within moments, both women were buried beneath a wild melange of brilliantly colored clothes and helmets.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Anurans

  We're being mugged, Szu-yi thought crazily as she was half dragged, half carried through the halls.

  She choked and the gloved hand wrapped around her throat eased its grip.

  The beings--whoever or whatever they were-- wore sophisticated, tight-fitting garments with small, clear helmets like contamination gear.

  Their gloves were translucent, and tightly fitting. The skin she could see was smooth, completely hairless, and moist. Wiry strong arms held her torso, supporting her weight.

  They varied in height, from slightly more than a meter to nearly two, bipedal, with two arms. Their extreme differences in heights and body types--some long and slender, others short and round-- made her wonder if they might be different species.

  Their wide, expressionless faces had large round eyes sitting atop a broad head, with flat, round tympanic membranes serving for ears. Szu-yi couldn't see any teeth, just wide mouths and rigid lips spread across their faces. The lips led directly to a soft, billowing throat, covered by translucent skin. There was no chin, no forehead, just a bony ridge. Two tiny nares pressed flat against the skin between the huge eyes and wide mouth, with no nose to shape the face.

  Anurans? Szu-yi wondered. If they were, theirs would be the first known planet where amphibians were the dominant life-form. But this was hardly the way a First Contact was supposed to go.

  Szu-yi couldn't see Meg, but she could tell by the woman's broken, gasping voice that she was struggling wildly. "Sukinsin!" Meg yelled in Russian.

  "Don't fight!" Szu-yi called out. "Save your strength."

  The strange thrumming noise she'd been hearing had to be their

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  speech, a bizarre but lovely cacophony of tones made deep in their throats, which never emerged from their mouths at all. There must be some way to speak to them, to make a peaceful contact. But beings interested in peaceful contact didn't sneak aboard your space station and pounce on you like street thugs.

  They wrestled Szu-yi around a corner and forced her onto one of her own surgical tables. Quickly and efficiently, they disrobed her, examining each item of clothing with clinical interest, totally apathetic to her humiliation. As warm, moist air hit her unprotected skin, she became absurdly grateful that these aliens needed more warmth and humidity than humans.

  Once she was nude, the aliens stretched her limbs onto the table's extensions, her arms out at right angles from her torso, her legs spread shoulder width. Using surgical restraints, they strapped her arms, legs, abdomen, and forehead down tight.

  Her calm demeanor began dissolving into terror.

  Suddenly a piercing alien scream cut through the air. A loud scuffle ensued and everyone surrounding Szu-yi disappeared. Straining to turn her head, she watched a tall, brown alien double over, shrieking. Its helmet had been torn off, and it was clutching one eye. The entire complement of beings converged on Meg's table. Through the frantic melee she caught a glimpse of weathered, tanned skin as the older woman fought, pulling at containment suits, punching flexible helmets.

  "Oh, Meg, don't!" Szu-yi yelled as the biologist fought like a panther. The fear of witnessing Meg's death and then being left totally alone in this nightmare completely panicked her. "MEG!" she screamed.

  Finally, everything stilled. When the beings drifted away, Szuyi could see that Meg had been restrained. She seemed pale, but her thin chest lifted regularly, and her blue eyes glowered.

  "Are you al right?" Szu-yi cal ed, broken-voiced. "Meg?"

  "I'm fine," the biologist answered weakly. "Just tired."

  Szu-yi wanted to weep in relief but controlled herself. If she slipped, she'd slide into hysteria. She distracted herself by looking around her once-familiar workplace.

  Everything was up and running, every screen filled with information. So many of their instruments had been brought here, the infirmary looked like an insane computer fun house.

  Then she spotted the missing satellite, perched in a sink, its compartments violated, its boards removed. She tried not to view it as a grisly prediction of her own fate.

  Around her, the aliens calmly went about their business. Some--

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  technicians?--acted disturbingly familiar with the station's equipment. Szu-yi tried not to think of the wealth of data here-- information on the Known Worlds, the Cooperative League of Systems ... the history and location of Earth.. ..

  The alien Meg had struck was being tended while others hovered nearby with equipment. One held a Terran scanner, and seemed to be

  synchronizing it with the alien equipment. Finally, they all conversed excitedly, even the one who'd been struck. His eye was closed, but only by a lower lid since they had no upper one. He gestured, pointing to their scanners.

  The brown alien with the injured eye spoke to a tall green and gold standing in the background. That one sang back in a rich bass voice, its clear notes ringing through the room, claiming everyone's attention. The leader? Szu-yi wondered.

  All the aliens removed their contamination suits, excitedly chattering among themselves, revealing startling colors and close- fitting clothing that matched their myriad patterns.

  Wonderful, Szu-yi thought gloomily. We're no danger to them. No doubt they had already tested the Crane's, air and water, and perhaps even the blood and tissue samples kept on board. But they must've still had doubts. Meg's lucky punch had forced them to confront the issue.

  Szu-yi glanced at the assorted beings as they returned to their duties. Males and females, she decided, recognizing what had to be secondary sexual characteristics.

  Another tech guided an a-grav cabinet between Meg and Szuyi's couches.

  On it lay Terran medical equipment, and a variety of the drugs and chemicals Szu-yi frequently used. She recognized the distinctively packaged psychotherapeutics. Beside them sat alien vials, with their own designs and inscriptions. Szuyi moistened her dry mouth.

  Suddenly the green and gold leader loomed over her, blocking her view, pulling her attention to his face. His? thought Szuyi, but instinctively knew she was correct.

  He leaned closer, and Szu-yi pressed against the table, wanting to sink into it, away from those terrible, marbled eyes. Clenching her teeth, she stifled a moan. His shape had nothing to do with her feelings. It was the way she was forced to view him--as a frightened lab animal must have faced human scientists hundreds of years ago. Of all the myriad beings she'd ever encountered, this was the only true alien she'd ever met.

  He held up a cobbled-together computer device and touched a small membrane on it. It emitted sound, and Szu-yi recognized

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  the recording that the Crane broadcast out into space, giving its greeting first in Mizari, then Simiu, on and on through the languages of all the Kno
wn Worlds, then finally in English. The leader touched Szu-yi's arm and pointed to his device.

  She flinched from the clammy touch, then realized he was trying to communicate with her. He heard me speaking English, she thought. Does he want me to acknowledge I can speak that language? Her mouth was so dry, she had to lick her lips to speak. "Yes, that's English. I speak English."

  The alien moved over to Meg. The feisty biologist kept a wary eye on him, but remained silent. When he pointed to the device and tapped her, she spat back a torrent of angry Russian.

  He returned to Szu-yi. Touching another pad, he sang. The machine bleated in stiff and halting English, "I am Second-in- Conquest Dacris, Commander of this station. Tell us your name."

  Szu-yi's eyes widened. That was a functioning translator!

  "Don't tell them anything!" Meg shouted defiantly.

  "Who are you?" Szu-yi asked. "Why are you treating us like this? We are intelligent, peaceful beings, emissaries of our people. Free us, so we may talk like equal beings."

  Everyone in the room was paying rapt attention, waiting for the machine to sing its equally halting song. A soft trilling circled the room, going from creature to creature.

  The leader replied as the machine translated his words. "We are the Chosen and we have no interest in war. We want you to speak for your people. But we are not equals. We are the Chosen. You are not. We will learn about you.

  You will help."

  "Only if you release us," Szu-yi answered.

  Suddenly one of the alien technicians sang out. Dacris snapped off the translator and went over to that one's console, but Szuyi couldn't see past them. The two conferred, then moved away from the computer. On the screen was her own face and data. Beside it a translator was turning the information into music. Her curriculum vitae was oddly melodious in their language.

  "You are a physician?" the leader asked.

  She hesitated, finally answering, "Yes."

  He barked short flat notes and technicians quickly removed Szu-yi's restraints. With a gesture that was almost gallant, one of the techs extended his hand to help her off the table. She took it gingerly, easing herself onto her feet.

  "Thank you," she responded automatically, and rubbed her wrists, her skin lifting into goose bumps. Slowly she moved over to Meg's couch and touched the older woman's forehead. "It's going to be okay," she murmured as her fingers traveled to

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  Meg's throat. The strong pulse and steady respiration reassured her that Meg was physically fine, and the anger flaring in her eyes spoke well of her mental state.

  "Sure it is," Meg grumbled.

  They must have some kind of bizarre professional classism, Szu-yi decided.

  Maybe that's what they mean by the "chosen." Standing on her own two feet, she felt her confidence return. "My friend is an important biologist, a doctor in that science. Release her, give us our clothing, then we'll talk, as equals."

  Another ripple of sound spread among the aliens.

  "We have biologists," Dacris replied. "That one has another purpose. Even as you do. I repeat, you're not the Chosen."

  "I'll do nothing as long as we are held against our will," Szuyi said stiffly.

  "This violates the most basic rights of any intelligent creature.. . ."

  The strange sound rounded the room again as all the beings made it. With a sickening feeling, Szu-yi finally realized it had to be their laughter. Dacris did not laugh; however, his color grew more brilliant.

  "You are a physician," he sang. He gestured at the green and brown alien that was stiff tending the one Meg had struck. "This is Tato, our physician."

  He indicated the alien with the swollen eye. "And this is Rand, our chief pharmacist. Together, you will discover how many of our drugs can be safely adapted to your physiology. We will use this one"--he indicated Meg--"to test these drugs. That is your purpose here. Understand?"

  Szu-yi felt the shreds of her confidence dribble away. "That's. .. immoral.. .

  illegal.... I won't help you!"

  "You will," the leader sang succinctly. "Tato, begin the study. We have wasted too much time already."

  "You don't need to use her," Szu-yi explained urgently. "We have computer models, tissue samples, even nonsentient genetic reconstructions. They're safer, more reliable.. .."

  "We wil use the prime subject," Dacris insisted.

  "She's an old woman!" Szu-yi blurted. "She can't take it! Use me instead, I'm much younger, I could tolerate . . ."

  "We are aware of this one's age," the leader sang. "We are also aware that by your own standards she is in excellent health. We will take precautions, but she is the subject. We will use you after the pilot studies are completed."

  "I won't help you!" Szu-yi screamed in frustration. Suddenly the leader stared past her and Szu-yi collapsed, struck down by an enormous blow. She writhed as pain engulfed her.

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  As the sensation gradually dimmed, Dacris' song picked up in intensity and even the translation conveyed his heightened emotion. "Understand this.

  Centuries before we learned to refine drugs to ensure obedience, we knew the mind's tolerances and the body's limitations. This was the first information we took from your medical library. Drugs are more efficient, but we have other, older methods. Touch her again."

  Pain seared through her, and Szu-yi arched in agony. She tried to crawl away, even as she heard him sing the tone she quickly learned meant

  "Again. Again. Again . . ." over and over.

  The next time it stopped, she curled into a fetal position and wept unashamed. A moist hand tangled in her hair and jerked her head up. Dacris was inches from her face, pulling her hair with his own hand. "We are the Chosen. You are the Conquered. You belong to us, now, and for the rest of your life. You will work, live, and procreate for our benefit alone. Your aged and your young will die to feed us. Accept it and survive."

  Szu-yi's eyes roved the room, silently pleading for help, but no one moved.

  "Explain this to your people as we collect them," Dacris sang. "Only your eloquence can spare them this lesson. Learn it for them. Persuade them."

  He released her hair and her head thudded against the deck plates.

  With a sickening terror, she realized it was about to start again and tried to scrabble out of reach. It hit her harder this time and she slammed against the floor as her limbs gave out. Finally, the only thing in her universe was an all-encompassing agony and the futility of her echoing screams.

  Eventually, it stopped. There was blood in her mouth, and her tongue was swollen and sore. She focused on a small technician with shockingly bright red legs and a green torso who crouched behind her, holding an innocent-looking rod about two decimeters long. Had that small thing . . . ?

  The technician watched Tato and Dacris argue. Dimly, Szuyi understood that the physician had ended the punishment against Dacris' wishes. The sadistic bastard was enjoying himself so much he might've killed her.

  When the argument ended, Dacris approached her, his colors burning her eyes. She flung herself away from him, but was grabbed by technicians.

  Someone collected the tears falling down her face as another tech reached into her mouth, sampling the blood and saliva welling there. Dacris loomed closer, and Szuyi recoiled into the techs' embrace.

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  "We are the Chosen," he sang. "You are not. Do you understand?"

  Her mouth opened but only a breathless gasp emerged.

  "REPEAT IT!" he boomed in her face, the tinny sound of the translator making a mockery of his powerful voice.

  "You . .. you are the Chosen .. ." she whispered. "I am not. .. ."

  "Good," he purred, his colors dimming. "We understand each other. Begin the study." He turned to the physician. "You worry needlessly, Tato. She's fine, but keep the rod near. The lesson is new. She may forget."

  Dacris stood where he could view Meg's table, yet not interfere with the work. The technicians eased away from Szu-yi slowl
y, as though they feared she would fall without support.

  The alien doctor approached. "Are you well?"

  Szu-yi searched the strange eyes. Amazingly, she began to feel better, and understood that whatever the rod had done had affected her mind alone. As the pain receded, she knew she had no bruises, no broken limbs. Just the memory, and fear, of pain.

  "Yes," she said simply, "I'm all right."

  "We'll use minimal doses," the doctor sang. "We wish to cause no lasting harm. The subject has too much value to waste."

  Szu-yi realized the doctor was trying to console her.

  Meg stared at her worriedly. "Are you okay?"

  Szu-yi nodded.

  "Well, I will be, too, golubchik," she reassured her.

  The Asian woman's eyes welled up, and tears fell down her face, splashing onto her thin breasts. As quickly as they fell, they were collected by dispassionate hands. The alien doctor pressed a diagnostic scanner into Szu-yi's hand and signaled to her technician. An alien hypo hissed against Meg's flank. Szuyi blinked and forced herself to stare at the scanner.

  Jib awoke, sweating, gasping like a fish out of water. Throwing back the thin thermal sheet, he peered around the tent, blinking slowly in the darkness.

  According to the chrono it was oh five hundred, not even dawn. Bruce was across from him, huddled on his floating pad, sleeping soundly.

  The young Maori had had a terrible dream, a real horror show, filled with gray, faceless monsters with giant maws and thousands of teeth. He shivered. Tesa had been swallowed ... no ... not her ... the grandfather? The memories skittered away. Never mind. It was only a dream.

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  He rubbed his face and rolled over, sticking to the sheet, his body slick with sweat. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, making himself relax. He'd think about Anzi, that'd help him have better dreams. He hadn't written about the accident--no need to worry her about it after the fact--but he also hadn't included any footage of the fish in his last letter. Truth was, he didn't want to look at them again, at those moving colors. He swallowed, wishing she were with him.