Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  "I know you feel you're being unjustly punished," Atle sang. "While your feelings in this matter don't concern me, your contempt for my orders does.

  Still, I have not demoted you. Removing you from command of the space station and not allowing you to take the captured ship Home should have been punishment enough. But you still defy me. This is my last warning. You are now in charge of the hatchery. . . ."

  Dacris' color flushed brightly. The assignment would humiliate the Second, which was exactly what Atle wanted.

  "You'll no longer be involved in these Council meetings," Atle continued, dulling his own color. "It's been too long since you've given me any practical advice, and your criticisms erode confidence in me. That's something I can't allow." He stared hard at Dacris. "You may throw down a challenge. I'll be happy to wrestle you. You're much younger than I. You might win."

  The green and gold Troubadour glared defiantly, but sang, "I 201

  decline. I'll serve my First in whatever capacity you desire." "Well sung,"

  sang the First. "That will be all." As Dacris left the First's home, Atle sagged.

  The humans' resistance he could understand, but Dacris' .. .

  Arvis and Lene entered with the Simiu servant. Atle watched the female Chosen with mixed feelings. He was still angry about her using hormones to seduce his son, but her scheming had been successful. Arvis had been granted citizenship. Now gravid with his grandchild, she was beautiful, Atle thought. So did Arvis.

  The promise of a grandchild made the stresses of the new colony easier for the First to bear. He anticipated seeing his grandchild hatch, swimming free on their new planet. And Lene, to mollify him, had promised to name the child after his deceased son or daughter. She was clever. It mollified him well.

  Suddenly Atle spied Dacris watching Lene and Arvis through an open window. They did not see him, but Atle saw him watching them, saw the naked hatred in his eyes. Then Dacris boldly met the First's gaze. The Troubadour's color gleamed and he blinked his lower lids slowly, contemptuously, finally turning away as if nothing in Atle's home was of any concern to him.

  CHAPTER 17

  Javier

  Javier First-Light-of-Day stood hip deep in the river harvesting red, gold, and teal-colored leaves from the swaying reeds. He was methodical, stripping the oldest, driest leaves, collecting them in a fist-sized bunch, then using the longest of them to tie the others into a neat bundle. Then he stacked the bundle end up in the long, colorful basket hanging on his back. The job reminded him of collecting wild rice in Michigan. He only wished he could enjoy this as much. However, a squat, brown alien with a punishing rod stood on a hovering sled not twenty yards from him and the other humans working nearby.

  He'd ended up in a work crew with Carlotta Estafan, Chris Bartus, Moshe Rosten, Noriko Imanaka, and, to his great relief, Martin Brockman, who he'd thought had been killed. They'd

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  been joined by an elderly Lakota, the Interrelator's grandfather, Old Bear.

  The old man was in good shape, straight and strong, but the Chosen kept him heavily drugged. The rest of his companions ranged in their alertness, but none of them were drug- free.

  The leaves were for Weaver and the women working with her, for the baskets and mats they produced, using traditional Grus weaving techniques.

  Baskets were needed as storage containers and the mats were bedding for humans. These aliens made sure that their captives were self-sufficient.

  Javier's long fingers snatched bright red and orange leaves off a vine trailing up one of the reeds. He stripped it so quickly the Anuran guard never noticed. Another swift hand move crushed the leaves and brought them to his nose. He inhaled sharply, lingering a scant second over the scent before gathering more reed leaves. His brow furrowed over his hooded, black eyes as he tried to recognize the compounds that produced that smell.

  Many plants, even alien ones, had similar properties that could be identified by aromatic essential oils. Javier needed something irritating enough to make him vomit. The headaches he suffered testified to the drugs in his food.

  Whatever they were giving him caused him to hesitate over important decisions. He didn't dare attempt an escape while under its influence.

  And Javier had every intention of escaping. He hadn't given up a satisfying career on Earth to be made a slave on what was, no doubt, the most beautiful world he'd ever seen.

  Running a hand through his thick black hair, he glanced at the platform where Weaver and her companions worked. The pain of seeing her there was still raw to him.

  He'd waited so long to meet the legendary avian, to discuss her artistry.... To find her forced to produce bare essentials so he and his fellow humans could be more conveniently enslaved broke his heart. He could barely believe what was happening to her, to her people. He had to do something.

  His basket was full, so he waded to the platform to empty it. It was the only part of his day he enjoyed. While he deposited his leaves, he and Weaver could exchange a few signs. Yesterday he'd told her he could graft feathers onto the stumps of her cut ones. The technique was called "imping," and he'd learned it while working with a Hopi raptor expert years ago.

  Rehabilitators did it so that otherwise healthy birds could fly for exercise.

  Weaver might not achieve much altitude that way, but

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  it could help her to escape. That discussion had cheered her, and her crown had brightened.

  But first, they had to get feathers. Javier had talked to as many of the humans as he could, but no one could help. The Grus, for some reason, had never lived on this river, so there were no discarded feathers to be scavenged, not even old, worn ones. Meg, working on the platform with Weaver, let him know that one of the Simiu would send information out that night, and tell the Interrelator of their need. But when, or if, feathers would come, no one knew.

  Messages had been going out for days, but so far, nothing had come back in.

  Javier put his basket on the platform and greeted Weaver and her human friends politely. Meg sat beside the avian, with Mrs. Lewis on the other side, assisting with the weaving. Dr. Li sat behind Mrs. Lewis, and sorted leaves.

  The women's faces were slack, whether from drugs or broken spirits, he didn't know.

  Turning his attention to Weaver, he unloaded his bundles.

  "The weather is good today, First-Light," she signed. She loved his name because it meant something. She'd told him it made her think of the dawn, that she thought of that whenever she saw him and felt hopeful.

  "It's a good day for catching fingerlings," he agreed, as five fat silver-blue fish slid out of his basket. She eyed them speculatively. "It's hard to catch such quick fish without a net or a bill. You wouldn't let my efforts go to waste?"

  Her crown flushed from its typical dull plum color, and she downed the fish one after the other as he sorted the bundles from his basket. The women seemed pleased. Weaver was not eating nearly enough to stay in condition and they all worried about it.

  "You know, First-Light," Weaver signed while the last fish traveled down her long neck, "it is not seemly for an unmated male to present a mated female like myself with courting gifts. What would my friend Taller think if he knew?"

  Javier smiled at her teasing. "It'll be our secret." He hoisted the empty basket and started to wade toward the reeds. Just then a shadow swooped over the water, and he lifted his head. It was an immature Aquila, circling low over the colony. Suddenly another Aquila dropped down from the upper atmosphere and joined the first, then another appeared, and another. Soon there were dozens of the creatures circling.

  Everyone in the colony--the Industrious, the humans, the Simiu, even the Chosen--stopped to watch the gathering of beautiful raptors, like so many mystical Thunderbirds.

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  But Javier watched Weaver, who only stared calmly at the sky, as though her old enemy held no fear for her now that she knew the Chosen.

  Something fell from the Aqui
la-filled sky. Like a bizarre parody of autumn, multicolored leaves drifted to the World from opened nets held in the Aquilas' talons. As the leaves settled on land and water, Javier realized there were messages scrawled on them. He collected the nearest ones.

  "Don't give up!" one read.

  "The CLS knows!" read another.

  "Watch the skies!" said yet another.

  "Work slower!"

  "Watch for Iktomi!"

  "Don't let the bastards get you down!"

  Javier laughed as the Interrelator leafleted the colony.

  Everywhere, humans picked up leaves and smiled. He saw a man on the shore explain the messages to Kh'arhh'tk, and the drum dancer stared into the heavens.

  Then Javier examined an odd-shaped leaf that said "We can do it!" It was triangularly shaped and a rich golden orange. Impulsively, he crushed it and smelled a familiar, sharp odor. His dark eyes shone. The smell was similar to Oleum ricini --the castor oil plant. He tasted the leaf's blood on his palm.

  Yes. The juice of these leaves should be a strong emetic. On Earth, castor leaves had once been used for narcotic poisoning. He found others and tossed them into his basket.

  The Chosen irritably ordered humans and Industrious alike to gather the leaves, but the humans responded with so much fervor, they quickly decided that wasn't the best tactic.

  Suddenly the cloud of raptors parted, and a mass of startlingly white Grus mixed thickly with them. Javier's hearing ear was off, but he could feel the vibrations from their calls travel over his skin. Around him, humans adjusted nullifiers. Then he spotted her.

  Tesa' Wakandagi, the Interrelator of Trinity, appeared in the eye of the storm riding one of the Chosen's own sleds, garishly dressed and in full war paint.

  Wildly, she brandished... he stared--a Clovis-tipped war lance? Hell, if it wasn't! She called with the Grus as they spiraled lower.

  Weaver leaped to her feet, crying out to the skies.

  She must see her mate, Taller, Javier realized.

  Their guard moved toward the female Grus threateningly. Without thinking, Javier darted between them, ready to take the rod

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  for her. Old Bear was right beside him; Martin moved quickly to his other side. Soon Carlotta, Chris, and Noriko joined them. The guard hesitated, glancing at the knot of defiant humans. Impulsively, Javier threw his head back and imitated Weaver. Old Bear followed his lead, as did Martin and the others.

  Humans nearby copied them, and soon every captive in the colony was yelling like a Grus, even the Simiu, who howled to the sky. All of them sent their voices soaring up to a woman who could not hear. The guards appeared confused as they moved among the humans, plainly wanting to discipline them, but not knowing where to start. Finally, they gave up.

  Javier watched Weaver standing tall, head thrown back, crown blazing a fiery red, her clipped wings drooping in the classic pose of her people. The Grus calls ripped through his body and he relished the feeling of their terrible cacophony.

  Just then, a squad of Chosen soldiers flashed through the air, pursuing the Interrelator. Shaking her spear, she took off, her avian escort forming a wall between her and the Chosen soldiers. Javier's heart tightened in fear, even though he was thrilled by her reckless courage. Soon they were gone.

  He glanced at Old Bear.

  "That's my granddaughter!" the old man signed, his eyes shining with fierce pride. "Some woman, huh?"

  Javier smiled and nodded as they moved back to the reeds. No exaggeration there, he thought. Some woman.

  He glanced at his companions, knowing that only Carlotta could understand the old man's signing. He pointed after Tesa and made the universal sign for

  "okay." They all smiled, as Martin gave him a clenched fist, and Chris a thumbs-up.

  Weaver had settled back onto her hocks and resumed her work, but when she caught his eyes, she lifted her head, turning it to flash her bright red crown at him.

  Yes, beautiful one, Javier thought at her, I saw your lover calling to you. I saw him. As he stripped the leaves from the reeds, he noted the bright expressions on Meg's and Mrs. Lewis' faces. They moved deftly, their features animated, their bodies alert. He would've felt hopeful then, but for the doctor. Szu-yi rocked on her knees like a sick child, hugging herself and sobbing. Setting his jaw, Javier planned his next move.

  Damn, these things are slow! Tesa thought, trying to force the alien sled to go faster. The Grus and Aquila blanketed her, but speed was critical as she aimed for a narrow bottleneck where the

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  River curved between two overgrown forested banks. The trees there formed a natural canopy over the water. If she could just get through that narrow junction .. .

  Fetterman's Fight, she thought. It had worked hundreds of years ago for Chief Red Cloud and his war party. It had to work now for her--and for the people of Trinity. She signaled to the avians and they peeled away from her in pairs, diving to hide in the dense forest that surrounded the River.

  The bottleneck was dead ahead.

  Hurry up! she urged the pokey sled, wanting to kick her heels in its sides.

  The squad of aliens gained on her. She shook her lance at them brazenly, whooping, then slid under the canopy, through the narrow pass.

  The aliens followed in a wedge. As soon as they emerged on the other side, the sky above them darkened. Hundreds of waiting Aquila, including the ones who'd leafleted the colony, launched themselves from the trees, taking the soldiers by surprise.

  If the sleds had protective shields on them as human sleds did, none of the soldiers had a chance to engage them--or to use their weapons. The Anurans quickly spun around, trying to retreat, but the Aquila snatched them off their machines, dropping them into the River.

  Tesa knew few of the invaders would survive. She'd worked on the attack for days, negotiating with the Hunters, begging them for the kind of cooperation they'd only given once before. Now, as the Aquila yanked the aliens off their sleds, dropping them to their deaths, she felt sickened.

  Then the Grus surrounded her, calling victoriously. The human remembered the glimpse she'd had of Weaver, and she remembered why she was doing this.

  It was all over in minutes, just as it had been for the arrogant Corporal Fetterman. In 1866, he'd boasted that with eighty trained soldiers he could wipe out the Sioux nation, but that wasn't the way things had turned out.

  Tesa took a deep breath as she wheeled her sled around, assessing the damage.

  Many of the bodies had never made it to the River; a few slammed into the trees, and some on the narrow banks. Most of the sleds had crashed in the River, some had hit the trees, and a few were still circling aimlessly over the scene. As Tesa flew over the carnage, she spotted one corpse with an Aquila still perched on it. The avian mantled the body with her wings, the way her people did to hide food from one another.

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  Tesa waved at her frantically, signing "No! No!" before she remembered that Hunters didn't sign.

  Thunder was suddenly beside her.

  "I warned them not to eat the aliens!" Tesa signed to her friend. "Remind that one."

  The Aquila dropped like a rocket, backwinging to the side of the older avian.

  Tesa braked her sled and leaped off as Thunder settled as close to the mature female as she dared.

  "She's not eating," Thunder signed. "Something's wrong."

  The older female's red eyes were glazed. Tesa could see now that she wasn't mantling the corpse; her wings were drooping because she no longer had the strength to hold them up.

  Thunder said something to the afflicted Aquila. The sickened avian responded weakly--then slowly pitched forward. Tesa ran over and touched her neck, searching for a pulse.

  "Oh, no," she signed, "she's dead! What happened to her?"

  Thunder ruffled her feathers worriedly. "All she said was 'bad fish,' that the monster was 'bad fish.' "

  Cautiously, Tesa examined the dead Hunter. The alien corpse was one of the red
and blue types. One taloned foot had hooked into the alien's spine; the other clutched its shoulder. The Aquila's middle talon had punctured a yellow shoulder patch. The patch oozed fluid, and the avian's scaled foot was slick with it.

  By now, dozens of Hunters crowded around them. Taller and the cohort settled near, brazenly walking among their old enemies, staring at the fallen raptor. The rest of the Grus cautiously kept their distance on the Riverbank.

  "The Hunters are asking what happened to South Wind," Thunder told Tesa.

  "Some of them are her daughters."

  "I'm trying to figure that out. Tell them . . . I'm so terribly sorry. . . ." Jib's warnings came back to her all too vividly.

  "Why are you apologizing?" Thunder asked. "SouthWind fought for the World and her story will be told to every hatchling."

  "She will be remembered by the Wind people as well," Taller signed to Thunder. "Ask her daughters if we may take a feather. We will use it to mourn her for as long as it survives."

  Tesa was startled by Taller's gesture, realizing he was speaking for all the Grus leaders.

  "Our feathers don't decay for many years," Thunder told him. "It's a long time to mourn for someone not of your own."

  "We'll mourn SouthWind even if we must pass her feather on to our children," Tal er assured her.

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  There was a ripple of activity among the Hunters as they conferred together.

  Finally, Thunder signed for them.

  "Her daughters are moved by your offer. They would like you to take her feathers, but not for mourning. I have told them of Weaver's need for strong flying feathers. They want you to take South Wind's primaries, so Weaver can fly to freedom on their mother's wings. That would be a fitting memorial for a Hunter!"

  Tesa's eyes caught Taller's. They'd collected shed feathers from the Grus flock, but many were so frayed and worn they feared they wouldn't be strong enough for Weaver.

  The Grus leader's feathers stood straight out, his crown shrinking with emotion. Finally, he bowed his head in gratitude, then he and every Grus present pointed their bills to the sky and called, lifting the spirit of SouthWind, urging her good speed on her journey to the Suns. Her voice catching, Tesa joined them.