Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  "The River's too noisy," Lightning explained.

  "Too noisy for what?" She didn't feel alert enough to be sensitive to the difficult nuances of being hearing.

  "For anything," Flies-Too-Fast explained crankily. "The Spirit Singers keep swimming through the River, telling each other about the alien who hears their song. They sang the night away, and most of the day. No wonder you had nightmares." He fluffed up his feathers disgustedly. "They're scaring the fish."

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  Reminded of the strange creatures they'd discovered only yesterday morning, Tesa opened her mind. She could still hear them in the back of her mind. Squinting, she saw Jib on a sled hovering over the sandbar, communing with the curious herd. She gnawed her lower lip. She wanted to remove him from the area, get him out of here. But when would that be? She checked her chrono. Fourteen twenty-five--noon on Trinity. Noon. And still no word from Meg and Szuyi.

  She took a deep breath, aware that her two avian friends could read her every emotion. Near the parked Demoiselle, Bruce and K'heera fiddled with the alien satellite, still in its safety container. She rose and left the lean-to, the Grus close behind.

  Bruce was using the container's internal systems to give the satellite a rudimentary cleaning. K'heera sat nearby, watching, appearing

  disinterested. She could see Bruce signing to the young Simiu, trying to include her, but she remained aloof. Tesa was surprised how much of the surface Bruce had revealed. Odd-shaped hieroglyphics and impressed designs made artistic, marbled patterns in the metal. It was beautiful, she thought, but that didn't assuage the vague sense of dread she felt whenever she looked at it. You sure picked the right part of Trinity to splash down in, she thought at the alien sphere.

  The weatherman acknowledged her presence, but there was no welcoming smile on his face.

  "Have you called the Crane lately?" she asked, trying to make her signs casual.

  He nodded.

  K'heera watched their exchange. Tesa realized everyone was now watching them--the scattered cohort; Thunder, who was in a nearby tree; and even Jib, though he couldn't follow their signs at that distance. He adjusted the sled and flew in and joined them. Using the flyer as a convenient chair, he dangled his legs over the side to watch their conversation.

  "Same message?" Tesa asked.

  Bruce nodded again.

  Her throat tightened. "Did you send a message?"

  He faced her. "No. I told you I wouldn't, and I didn't."

  Tesa eyed him anxiously. "What's wrong? Why are you . .. ?"

  "I called your grandparents, thinking they might know what was going on at the station. I got the same message."

  There shouldn't be any message from the camp's computer, Tesa knew.

  Those computers were always open to relay communications, especially when anyone was away from camp--that was

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  SOP. The "do not disturb" was as wrong as cheese-scented plastic on a rodent trap. "Did . . . did you leave a message there?"

  "No, ma'am." Bruce's eyes grew soft.

  She wanted to say something but found she couldn't.

  "Now, there could be a perfectly logical reason for these wonky messages,"

  he suggested.

  "Two identical messages?"

  "The failed satellite," he said, "like all the others, is linked directly into the AI.

  Like I told you months ago, we're way behind on our maintenance program.

  If the robot brain started deteriorating, it could've infected the AI, spreading it like a cancer. When Meg and Szu-yi went up there they might've found major problems waiting for them. We've got the diagnostics and the equipment to solve it, but it takes time, and in the meantime they'd be out of touch. Neither Meg nor Szu-yi are that adept at working with the AI. They could be stuck up there for a week without help. Your grandparents might've been trying to reach us for the last forty-two hours."

  If you believe that, Tesa wondered, why are you so edgy?

  "Let me send a message," Bruce insisted gently. "Forcing the computers to accept information might help the AI reprogram itself, at least enough to handle a simple communication."

  "If that's the problem," Tesa replied, shaking her head. "If Meg found that much trouble on the Crane, don't you think she'd just come down here to get you?"

  "You're talkin' about Meg," he reminded her wryly. "She'd have to be really stumped to come after me first. She'd keep insisting they could fix everything in 'just another hour.'"

  Yes, Tesa had to admit, that's what Meg would do.

  "If we send a repetitive signal," Jib interjected, "the computer would receive it. Meg might be able to respond."

  K'heera remained silent. Tesa resented the Simiu's lack of participation, but she couldn't force her to give an opinion.

  "That kind of interaction," Tesa signed to Jib, "could pinpoint our location. ..."

  "Why worry about that?" Jib asked.

  Tesa stood, hands poised hesitantly.

  "Are you worried that someone from Sorrow Sector, someone involved with the privateers, has come back to Trinity?" Bruce asked. "How could they?

  We eliminated or captured the human crew. Any collaborators left in Sorrow are busy staying one step- ahead of the investigators.. .." Bruce suddenly caught sight of K'heera's change of expression and frowned self-consciously.

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  "Besides, this is a mighty long way to come for revenge."

  Tesa started to say something, then paused as Jib signaled for her to look at K'heera.

  The Simiu's mouth moved in the unique way that indicated she was speaking her own language. It was impossible to lip-read with its guttural throat sounds, which K'heera had to know. She was deliberately forcing Tesa to communicate through her voder, or use Jib as a translator. It was a subtle way of making the Indian feel less than capable when she already felt helpless. The Sioux woman controlled her temper with an effort.

  "Repeat that in sign," Tesa demanded in the short, choppy motions Grus parents used with misbehaving children.

  K'heera did not miss the significance of the reprimand, and her eyes widened. She barked a response.

  "I said in sign," Tesa repeated. "And look at me when you're signing!"

  There was an uncomfortable pause, then finally K'heera signed reluctantly,

  "Are you insinuating that my family is somehow responsible for the problems we are experiencing here?"

  "Not at all," Tesa insisted. "You're being oversensitive."

  "Then what are you implying?" K'heera demanded.

  "No one meant to insult you or your family," Bruce assured her. "We were talking about the past. It wasn't personal."

  The young female wasn't mollified. "You hide your true feelings by saying Trinity is too far to go for revenge. But honor knows no limits. And Simiu honor is always personal!"

  "Which is why you're here today," he reminded her irritably, "supposedly learning how to counterbalance that overblown honor code so you can learn to cooperate with other beings!"

  "And this is something I'm supposed to learn from humans!" she demanded furiously. "A people who nearly wiped out their own kind because of their insane love for weapons!"

  "A people," Bruce fired back, "who've learned to control their baser natures.

  A people who've made one successful First Contact, and now possibly a second. Your beloved honor code prevented your people from doing that Sixteen years ago, and will hold you back until you learn to compromise."

  "I've heard enough, human!" K'heera's mane bristled.

  "Stop!" Tesa moved between them, hands up, forcing them to pause. She couldn't believe how quickly things had deteriorated between them, and worse, she felt responsible. "We're all overreacting! We're just.. . tense ...

  because we don't know what's going on. Let's calm down."

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  K'heera's crest flattened slightly as she turned to Tesa. "You accuse me of being oversensitive--a common racial slur made by humans against my people-
-but you never answered my question. Do you think my family is involved in our problems?"

  "Now, K'heera," Bruce signed slowly, his jaw clenched, "it never occurred to anyone here to think your family could have anything to do with our current situation. ..."

  "Do not patronize me, human!" she signed angrily. "I am not a child for you to guide. Examine your prejudices and say there is no truth in what I've said.

  Tell me, Honored Interrelator, that you do not fear an attack from the renegade Harkk'ett clan."

  Tesa lifted her hands to try to explain her concerns, but K'heera had already risen off her haunches and trotted away without a backward glance. Jib started to stand.

  "Let her go, son," Bruce signed. "She won't listen, not while she's angry. I guess some of the things we said, the way we said them ... it would have to look that way to her."

  Even Bruce thinks that's what I meant, Tesa realized. Or was the sin in what she couldn't say? And why wouldn't she say it? Because she'd allowed K'heera's attitudes about honor and decorum to infect her own feelings about her instincts. She didn't want to appear foolish in front of the Simiu--of losing honor in her eyes. But, she'd done that anyway. As if a heyoka could've done anything else!

  Old Bear's dream warning, the mental intrusions of the Spirit Singers, and the sudden appearance of the alien probe had her instincts thrumming like a plucked string. She'd felt the same way last year when she'd taken young Thunder and Lightning and fled to an ancient caldera. That was what she wanted to do now. Take her friends, her children. Run. Hide.

  "You're probably right," Jib signed to Bruce. "I've never seen her this pissed off. I'll talk to her after she walks off her mad. Still, there's our main problem. ... If we're not going to try to break through the programming, what else can we do?"

  The two men gazed at Tesa.

  "We can wait," she signed, taking a deep breath and rubbing her forehead.

  "If this is a computer glitch, as you suspect, waiting will do no harm. If the problem's more serious . . ."

  "Such as?" Jib asked pointedly. Tesa could tell he was tired of her evasions.

  She stared him in the eye. "Such as ... Columbus. Such as Captain James Cook." Tesa pointed toward the alien probe sitting benignly captive in its container. "You're assuming that thing was

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  sent from its builders' homeworld. It could've been sent from an exploratory ship just as easily."

  "Possible," Bruce admitted, "but a long shot."

  "You're being too complacent," Tesa insisted. "Up till now, the CLS has been in the enviable position of discovering new species under peaceful conditions. Because the Mizari are such an old race, they've been able to refine First Contacts into a science. But Trinity's off the beaten path, in a part of the Orion Arm the Mizari know little about. As you yourself once said, Bruce, this place is a colonist's dream."

  She turned to Jib. "Our people were nearly destroyed by invaders who changed our worlds forever. Can't you even imagine that the beings who launched that probe might be a threat? Or has StarBridge made you think that every First Contact is automatically a peaceful dialog between equals?"

  Having verbalized her worst fears, Tesa felt oddly relieved.

  Jib glanced at Bruce as the older man signed, "You've got to admit, the specter of alien invaders is pretty unlikely.. .."

  "Because it's never happened before?" Tesa asked.

  "Considering all the years the Mizari have been in space, that's not a bad reason," Jib agreed.

  Tesa clenched her jaw. "Okay, fine. It's unlikely. So where are Meg and Szuyi? Where are my grandparents?"

  "I might be able to find that out," Bruce insisted, annoyed, "if you'd let me send--"

  "No!" Tesa signed. "No messages. No invitations to orbiting aliens, come and get us, here we are! What's more, we're shutting down our equipment."

  She indicated the ship, the sleds, the stove. "Everything off. No a-gravs. And no fires."

  "Oh, come on, Tesa," Jib complained.

  "If we don't keep trying to reach someone," Bruce insisted, "we'll never make contact."

  "Meg and Szu-yi can contact us when they land here. When they give us a nice, logical explanation for those computer messages, then I'll admit I was acting foolish and you can all enjoy a good laugh at my expense. But ... if Meg and Szu-yi aren't here in two days, we're moving camp. Jib, when you talk to K'heera, make sure she knows. Tell her, no arguments. Besides ...

  we've got other ways to send a message."

  She turned to Flies-Too-Fast, who was standing beside her. "I want you to fly home. Speak to any Wind people you meet on the way, or any Travelers.

  Ask them if they've seen or heard of anything unusual, anything un-Worldly.

  Halfway home, you'll

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  start seeing Blue Cloud people. If anyone knows anything, they will. Ask the Travelers and the Wind people to bring the news to Lightning, so we can learn it."

  "I understand," Flies-Too-Fast agreed. "Alone, I can fly home in as little as four days."

  "It'll be a week before we learn anything!" Bruce protested.

  She ignored him, focusing on Flies-Too-Fast. "Time to live up to your name, friend. If we're not here when you return, find the branch of this River that we followed down from the north. We'll be near the shore. And remember, whatever happens, be careful. I'm depending on you to learn what we need to know."

  "I'll find you, Good Eyes," the youngster assured her. "Be careful yourself."

  The huge avian ran, opened mammoth wings, and, pumping hard, lifted into the sky.

  K'heera watched the misty spouts of spray marking the passage of the Spirit Singers. Whatever the humans had discussed after she'd left them angered the Terrans. The tension among them was palpable, and K'heera basked in secret delight over it--a most dishonorable emotion.

  Jib had returned to the River, standing in chest-high water, communing with his Singers while Bruce fiddled desultorily with the Demoiselle. The Interrelator had gone back to her shelter, studiously preening one of the cloaks she slept on, while her cohort stood grouped about her, engaged in the same activity. All except for Flies-Too-Fast, who had left hours ago.

  K'heera didn't know why, nor did she care.

  Her people were oversensitive, but humans were worthy of a Simiu's friendship? This must be another incomprehensible human joke. Bruce's acting the uncle to her had been mere patronizing. Jib had made a polite attempt to engage her in conversation after her argument with the Interrelator, but he had no real interest in her. A telepathic animal held more fascination for him.

  K'heera wondered how it was possible to be on such an open world and yet feel so claustrophobic.

  All this agonizing only compounded her isolation. It was dishonorable to wallow in self-pity, or delight in others' disagreements. She had to find something to distract her.

  On a clump of coarse, bright red grass rested the container holding the alien probe. It still sat near the Demoiselle, but Bruce was so engrossed in the internal workings of the ship, he wouldn't notice her. Besides, she'd watched him clean the

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  device and was familiar with most of the simple functions the container could perform. Patting the pockets of her tool-laden vest, K'heera approached it.

  She examined the hieroglyphics closely and asked the container's computer if they appeared to form the kind of pattern that would indicate a map.

  Frankly, K'heera thought maps were unlikely. Of all the Known Worlds, humans had been the only beings so naive as to put clear directions to their homeworld on satellites destined to rove aimlessly through space.

  The computer couldn't find a map, but it did identify a raised design that might indicate a panel. What she really wanted to know was whether there was an inner power source. She thought they might be able to tap into it to help solve their communications problem. Bruce had even agreed with her about that. .. but first she needed more information about the exterior. Power cells could be dangerous.


  Impulsively, she asked it to identify the alloys making up the probe's shell, as she'd seen Bruce do earlier. The scanner hadn't been able to identify the casing, but K'heera thought she could boost it by adding a different power cell. Once they knew more about the shell, they could learn more about any possible control panels, or even think about removing the casing. She'd suggested upgrading the computer, but Bruce pointed out that Meg was due imminently, and the Crane had much better equipment. How many hours ago was that?

  Opening the tiny computer, she sorted through her extra cells, finding the one she wanted. Clipping it into an empty slot, K'heera closed the computer and asked it to scan again. New information scrolled across the screen. She drew closer.

  Then, without warning, the small probe sprang to life. Bright rays flashed out of nearly invisible seams, stretching impossibly far, brilliant even in the strong daylight. One of them hit Thunder, sleepily perched in a nearby tree, and she squawked and leaped into the air. Terrified, K'heera scrambled away while the alien machine continued its bizarre light show.

  Bruce darted around the ship and stared at the probe. He lunged for the container, slapping the controls, shutting the computer off. Instantly, the rays disappeared, and the probe resumed its harmless appearance.

  K'heera's heart slammed, her face burning. Jib ran up from the beach, dripping water. At the same time, the Interrelator, who had bolted out of her shelter, skidded to a stop. All around them, airborne Grus landed with a flurry of nervous calling. Sand blew

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  everywhere. Overhead, Thunder wheeled, still shrieking. K'heera

  approached the container cautiously.

  "What happened?" Bruce demanded. All eyes were on her.

  "I... I don't really know . . ." she answered.