Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  "That's true," Atle sang neutrally.

  "Perhaps," the doctor agreed, "but the suggestions of Dr. Tato and Rand have been completely ignored. They fear that the specimens will die, and that they'll be blamed."

  94

  Atle's patches flared, even though he struggled to appear calm. "I wondered how Dacris had gotten so much information so quickly. Thank you for telling me this, Doctor. I'll go to the station. The medical records will reveal the truth, and you and the others will be safe. I'll bring the subjects planetside and put them under your care. Then we'll go south and establish our colony while waiting for that alien ship to return."

  The doctor peered gratefully at the First. "I should have realized you would know what to do."

  Atle blinked acknowledgment of the doctor's song and left the sterile area.

  There was so much to do, yet now he'd have to leave and tend to this foolishness. Unfortunately, the Troubadour's behavior was all too common among higher officials. It was just another sign of the deterioration of their people.

  Leaving the shelter, Atle signaled to a technician to prepare his transport.

  Looking up into the sky, he realized that all the avians had left. The silence was eerie.

  It didn't matter. They could not, after all, leave the planet. They would still be here when Atle wanted them.

  Atle glanced at the time as he entered the small, spare chambers of his personal quarters, and was shocked to see how late it was. It was halfway through this planet's night, a quarter span till dawn. He ached for his pool, but it would be hours before he could join his wife, Dunn, there. This room was designed to give him a place to plan strategy; there were few pleasantries in it--a small table, a water dispenser, some body oil, a computer. Even the colors of the room were muted, as if the designers wanted nothing to distract him from his work.

  At least he was back on the Flood following a trying time on the space station. He wished for one of Arvis' massages, but his son, along with his wife and daughter, had long since retired.

  His door sang a greeting and he invited the caller in automatically. Atle was not surprised to see the doctors, Tato and Drin. Tato squatted before him before he could stop her.

  "Glorious First," Tato sang, "I, and my entire staff, wish to thank you. Your fairness will never be forgotten."

  "Stand," he told her. "Will the two humans recover?"

  "Oh, yes," she reassured him. "They're sleeping now, and Drin and I have ordered fluids for them and extra protein."

  "Good. I'll want to talk to them later. They'll be invaluable in helping us understand more about their people, and the politics behind their Cooperative League." Without that knowledge, and

  95

  the secret of their stardrive, Atle could not hope to advance beyond capturing this lone planet.

  When the First had seen the condition of the humans, he'd furiously reprimanded the Troubadour. The Second had openly defied him, singing of the old Conquerors' rights as though they had thousands of humans to squander. It irritated the leader to even recall it. The First had left Dacris with enough soldiers to capture the alien ship when it returned, then removed the professionals. He looked forward to having Dacris capture the alien ship.

  He'd dispatch him back Home with his prize and be rid of him.

  Atle wondered whether the two human females knew when the ship would return. Dacris had not learned that.

  "Be sure you document the humans' care," he told Tato. "And let me know when I may speak to them."

  The two doctors agreed, thanked him again, and left. As they exited, Jebe, one of his One-Touch aides, entered.

  "Glorious First," the youth reported, "we've heard from the new colony at. .."

  he blinked slowly, as though thinking, "a third of a quarter . . . that is ... a few moments ago. . . . They want to know when you'll be arriving."

  "Yes, Jebe, thank you. The days are much longer here than home, aren't they?"

  "Yes, First. And with the reverse rotation . . . keeping track of the time is hard!"

  "I imagine we'll have to develop a new system. Perhaps we'll adopt the humans' clock. They seem to have made the switch easily enough. Do you know if any of the other humans have tried to communicate with either their camp or the space station?"

  "There was one attempt to call the space station as we were refining our programs, so the call could not be traced. Then another call came to the station .. . from the marsh. It, too, was very brief, and we weren't able to verify its exact location."

  Atle thought about that. "If humans were with the avians in the marsh, they could've seen us and fled with the flock."

  The aide went to Atle's computer and called up a screen. "That might explain these readings," the aide sang.

  Atle turned his attention to the shifting tank. They'd started tracking the huge flock as soon as it had left. His computer showed the avians had settled for the night at a staging ground south of the humans' camp. Their numbers had grown even in the short time that they'd traveled. This could be a natural migratory cycle. . . but Atle doubted that. The humans insisted the great 96

  avians were intelligent--even their equals. What kind of a people gave away their superiority so easily?

  "Here, First, see this," Jebe sang.

  Atle scanned the computer's information. At the center of the flock was an anti-gravity device. He picked it out easily, then watched its signal blink off as it was shut down for the night. Well, that accounted for at least one more alien.

  "Interesting, Jebe. Keep a close eye on this. We don't know where they're going... or why. If we wait, they might lead us to the rest of the humans."

  Jebe changed the tank's image, calling up a representation of the area Atle called New Home. It was warm and humid year round, the perfect climate for raising One-Touch children.

  "Beside that reading," Jebe sang, "we've also found this." He showed Atle a tiny spot of extreme heat close to a wide, southern river, near where it fed into the sea, very close to where the probe had landed. "It appears to be intermittent combustion, maybe a small localized fire. It comes and goes."

  Atle focused on the data. Their colony was located on that same river, only much farther west. Already, several transports of his people had landed, and were setting up self-contained buildings. Their first city would be there.

  "More humans?" the First wondered aloud. Could they need fire for warmth in such a warm place?

  If humans were there, the Chosen colony was far enough away that it was unlikely they would stumble across the new city. He thought of the four-legged alien the humans called "Simiu." That was the one he really wanted.

  According to the records, the strength of that one being matched several of the humans. What kind of work could you get from such a creature?

  "Keep track of that fire," he told Jebe. "And scan for electronics, a-gravs, radios, anything. That'll be all, Jebe."

  "Yes, Glorious First," the aide sang, and left the quarters.

  Atle's door had barely closed before it sang another greeting. Trying to remember who else he had to see, the First admitted his caller.

  "Glorious First," sang a matronly female, entering hurriedly and squatting on the floor, "forgive our untimely intrusion."

  "The First always has time for his own," Atle sang wearily. He sighed, making no attempt to disguise his irritation, hoping it would hurry the female along.

  As he eyed the biochemist, he realized that was unlikely. A One-Touch, Anchie was married to a male beneath her station, a

  97

  lowly geologist with little interest in achieving rank. It was not the first time she'd visited him with some desperate suggestion she hoped would get her husband a promotion. Usually, all she accomplished was a jump in rank herself.

  "Stand up, Anchie, and tell your First how he can help you."

  "Not me, Glorious First," she sang, rising to her feet. "I would never bother you just for myself."

  Of course not, Atle though
t, increasingly irritated.

  "It's for my daughter, Lene, that I come," she sang, and, lifting a hand, signaled to someone outside the doorway.

  Anchie's daughter stepped into the room, boldly staring the First in the eye.

  The youngster was the most beautiful female Atle could ever remember seeing. Could a dolt such as Anchie's mate, Valli, really produce such magnificent offspring?

  "I can see by your color that you find my daughter pleasant to look upon,"

  Anchie sang in the humblest of tones.

  "Any male would," responded the First in a voice that was clearly not his best. Pulling his gaze from Lene, the leader collected himself, then trained his coolest stare on the mother.

  Suddenly she motioned to her daughter, who turned her back to the First, then removed her pattern-matching garment.

  Atle's colors flared. "Put that garment back on! Anchie, you go too far!" Both females squatted subserviently, but neither made any attempt to drape Lene's elegant, slim back.

  What if Atle's wife should enter? What would she think? "Anchie, you know what my marriage vows mean to me! How dare you try to ... to sell me the rights to mate with your daughter for rank advancement? I won't tolerate ..."

  "Forgive the poor impression a desperate mother has made on her First,"

  sang Anchie coolly. Atle's shoulder patches sweated. "The First has misinterpreted my intention. The fault is mine."

  Atle wanted to throttle her. She knew that exposing her daughter in this compromising way could force him to bestow a special favor. Had anyone seen them enter his room? "Speak your piece," he growled, "but only after you cover that child."

  Anchie did as she was told while Lene remained respectfully motionless. "I never intended that the First think I showed him my daughter's beauty for his interest."

  Atle was tired of the semantic game. "What other reason could you have had?"

  "My daughter's father is low-ranked, as you know. I worry about her future.

  Parents once arranged marriages for their children to improve their rank.

  Now, for the first time in centuries

  98

  we have a people to conquer. Many of the old ways could be renewed." Her song was wel practiced, Atle realized. This was something she'd been planning for a long time. "Here on this new world you are the law, Glorious First. The old traditions are yours to claim, if you choose."

  "If I choose," he agreed. "Go on."

  "I've come to arrange a marriage, Glorious First. My daughter respectfully requests to marry your son."

  Atle felt weary to his bones. Anchie must be rubbing on too much euphoria drug these days. "In the first place, my son was married, and in the second, he is dead."

  "Not that son," Anchie sang in a near whisper. "Lene wishes to marry ...

  your. . . other son."

  Atle blinked at the female stupidly. His other son? Slowly, her meaning grew clear. His other son. His Industrious son. "Do you know what you are saying?"

  "Yes, Glorious First. . ." Anchie began.

  "Shut up!" he ordered, and she dropped to the floor. "Lene, look at me." The young female obliged, turning the power of her blue and red marbled eyes on him. "Whose idea is this?"

  "Mine, Glorious First," she insisted. "Because of Father's lack of ambition, I will suffer a poor marriage. My children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will spend their lives struggling out of that low rank.

  Meanwhile, my First has only two Industrious children to comfort him on this new world, a world where he is the law. Your only grandchildren are back Home, on a planet you may never see again. I can give you grandchildren here, on this world, my First. Grandchildren who will never be Industrious. All the grandchildren I can bear!"

  Oh, she is her mother's daughter, thought Atle. "Lene, my son is Industrious, he is older than you, and has never mated."

  "The doctors have hormones . . ."

  "Yes, they can bring him into breeding condition ... but he's a child, he'd have no idea what was happening to him. Also, he's strong, he could hurt you in his clumsy ignorance. . . ."

  "I'm not afraid," she sang haughtily.

  Atle sighed. Her eagerness made his flesh crawl. "And what kind of a father could he be, what kind of a husband?"

  "A faithful one," she answered. "No matter how scarred or broad my back becomes, it'll mean nothing to him. Who could want more than a high-ranking mate who's both faithful and kind? Everyone knows how gentle he is, how affectionate. He will be a companion to his children, never tiring of their games."

  99

  "They would outgrow him!"

  "But they will never outgrow the rank his birthright will give them. They will respect him, be sure of that!"

  They were mad with ambition, these two--true One-Touch.

  "Glorious First," the daughter sang, "don't you think I could make your son happy?"

  Atle turned the full force of his imperious stare on her. "Frankly, no. I think you would use him--and abuse him--as a menial servant when he's not needed as a sperm bank. I believe the first time he surrounded you with his clumsy grip, and you were trapped in his uncontrollable, hormone-induced amplexus, you might well learn to hate him. It's what any young female would feel. Even the Industrious egg-layers are mated with experienced Chosen males so they won't be frightened."

  Lene returned the First's stare. "Please! The state uses Chosen males to save the money it would cost in the lost labor of Industrious males. And the Chosen pay to be hormonally treated so they can fertilize the Industrious egg-layers. It gives them the pleasure of a breeding that doesn't include their wives."

  Anchie hissed at Lene. This time she had gone too far.

  But Atle wouldn't punish her for honesty. "Lene, I will give you a chance to convince me. If you can convince my son."

  The young female watched him warily.

  "Befriend him. Spend time with him. Learn who he is. Seduce him. Make him love you as he loves his mother and sister. If I see that he is happy with you, that he wants you, I will consider it. But if I agree to this. .. marriage, you must live with my family. My wife will attend your breedings, not your mother. You will live under Dunn's watchful eye." Atle's gaze held hers. "And if my son ever seems unhappy ... if he suffers one moment of cruelty at your hands ...

  you will spend the rest of your breedings in the grip of an Armored. Is that understood?"

  Anchie sprang to her feet. "No, Glorious First, not that!" That hybrid breeding would destroy Lene's already low rank.

  "It's all right, Mother," Lene replied calmly, never taking her eyes off the First.

  "I agree. Glorious First, I look forward to the day when I hand you your sixth Chosen grandchild."

  100

  CHAPTER 9

  The Land of Confusion

  Old Bear wiggled the sound nullifiers sitting uncomfortably in his ears. He yearned to take them out, even for a moment, and hear something, anything, but that wasn't possible. The huge flock of Grus surrounding him on this wide coastal swamp was never silent, with their ear-shattering guard calls, alarm calls, and the sporadic location calls of parents or mates who'd lost sight of each other. Nearly three hundred avians were busy feeding in the brackish water, tidal pools, and on the burnished gold seed heads of the waist-high grass as Father Sun brought in the dawn. When they left, the place would be stripped.

  Yesterday, they'd flown until nearly midnight, then settled for the night.

  Already, new flocks were joining Taller, swelling his flock's numbers, building an air force of winged people.

  In a short while, they'd be airborne again, and not land until nightfall. It would take longer for a big flock to reach the southern peninsula, Old Bear knew, especially when that flock had to hide its slowest, most vulnerable members in the midst of the long, trailing vees that darkened the sky.

  His fears for Meg and Szu-yi never left his mind, but he had more immediate concerns now. He glanced at Mrs. Lewis. She'd been a schoolteacher, preserving
and passing on her people's culture to modern children. She hadn't spent much time actually living off the land, as he'd done. The hours in the air, the nights spent on cold, damp ground, were slowly crippling her, even though she tried not to show it. Loves-the-Wind, the healer from Taller's flock, had given the old woman some special seeds to eat and an aromatic ointment that had helped for a while. Old Bear shrugged his own stiff shoulder. It might not be so "bad if they could only make a fire.

  "Why would the Grus need fire, Mr. Bigbee?" Mrs. Lewis had warned, and she'd been right. They couldn't endanger the very people who were trying to safeguard them.

  101

  Old Bear had a sudden strong memory of his last dream and shuddered. He should've told Tesa, shared it with her before she left. He could've examined it closer, taken a sweat bath, prayed more.... He should've done the exact opposite of what he had. ... He stopped his mind from running in circles.

  The most important thing was to get a message to the CLS, and warn the Brolga away, but he didn't know if that was possible without help from the space station. The Brolga would be here in three weeks. Old Bear shook his head. His dreams had shown him blood dripping from the Moons, covering Trinity, but now he feared that that blood might engulf all the Known Worlds.

  He turned as a shadow crossed him.

  "Tired, friend?" Taller asked kindly.

  "You know," the human signed, "I thought when I came to the World I would end my days in peace and contentment."

  Taller's crown stretched. "And is that what you wanted?"

  Old Bear smiled. "I thought so at the time."

  Taller watched the hordes of his people foraging for breakfast. "I thought the same when your granddaughter came to the World. Perhaps we will get what we want, sooner or later."

  Old Bear nodded, thinking, later, I'm afraid. Much later.

  "You didn't sleep well last night," Lightning signed, his small, dull crown speaking eloquently of his concern. When Tesa didn't answer, he

  commented, "You were having bad dreams. I tried to ease you out of it like Weaver does, but I couldn't."

  She wanted to reassure him, tell him that he'd helped, but she couldn't lie to him. She'd dreamed about her grandparents, about a river running red with blood, and awakened nervous and irritable, thinking about Old Bear, as if he'd sent her the dream. That's why she was here in her lean-to now, in the middle of the day, trying to catch a nap, but that eluded her, too. Only Lightning and Flies-Too-Fast were with her; the rest of the cohort milled restlessly around the beach. She couldn't see Thunder. She changed the subject. "Why don't you fish?"