Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  Finally, the Interrelator turned back to her avian translator. "Thunder, I've got to know what killed SouthWind. These yellow patches ... SouthWind's talon pierced it. .. ."

  Thunder blinked at Tesa. "K'heera was taken by aliens who were this color.

  She touched one of them before collapsing."

  Tesa dug her Swiss Army knife out of her pocket, and snapped open its small cell analyzer. Whatever she could learn here could only help them in future conflicts.

  Jib parked his alien sled in a hidden place and approached the bank of the River. He tried not to imagine what would happen if Tesa were killed or captured in her planned raid on the Anuran village. He had every reason to be afraid for her, but even so, he'd be able to control his anxiety better if he'd been getting any decent sleep lately. But that'd been impossible.

  He'd been shut off from the mournful music of the Singers right after he and Tesa had left Bruce. One moment a sad but pleasurable background song had hummed in his mind, and then the next it had stopped completely.

  Taniwha must've been maintaining that tenuous contact, and when the herd realized it, they'd cut him off cold. For Jib, it'd been like losing his sense of balance ... or even his sense of self. His resulting depression made dealing with Tesa even more difficult, and made their recent disagreements all the more painful.

  Then, a few days after that, the new music started. It kept him awake, drifting through his mind just as he skirted sleep, yanking him awake to the unnatural silence of sound nullifiers.

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  Old lullabies his mom had sung to him, popular tunes he'd been fond of, rhythmic Maori chants he'd thought he'd forgotten. Every morning he'd wake up groggy, with old, persistent tunes running maddeningly through his head.

  In the last few days, the music had deteriorated into vague instrumental fragments, then chaotic sounds he couldn't recognize. He feared the telepathy withdrawal was making him lose his mind.

  Unless ... it was Taniwha trying to contact him. Jib didn't discuss it with Tesa; she would insist it was just wishful thinking-- and he was terrified she'd be right. But, maybe the Singer calf had been touching the memories of music in his mind, growing more and more familiar with that part of his brain until he could once again insinuate his own music without startling the human.

  But why? Could he be trying to communicate with Jib without his people knowing? That made some kind of sense.

  So now he stood on the Riverbank, searching with his mind. But no matter what his mind craved, he could not initiate contact.

  While Tesa had planned her raid on the Anuran colony, Jib had resolved to search the western end of the River until he found the Singers. He'd taken one of the stolen Anuran sleds and followed the waterway until he'd found a patch of the Singers' favorite water plant. Now he left the bank to stand in the water; trying to relax, he opened his mind. It was the only thing he could do.

  That... and sing. He sang of the Land of the Long White Cloud, and the changing sea around her, of the Lovers Papatuanuku and Ranginui--Mother Earth and Father Sun. He sang of the Waikato River, the longest river in New Zealand, whose full Maori name was Waikato-taniwha-rau, "the flowing water of a hundred water monsters." For generations that river had ruled Maori lives, just as this River ruled the lives of the Singers. He sang from his heart, his fingers keeping time on his brown thigh.

  Jib grew homesick for his beautiful country, his family and loved ones. That was a feeling he never thought he'd have, but singing of his people and their land made him feel more alone than he ever had in his life. Tesa and he were constantly at odds with each other these days. K'heera and everyone he'd come to care about on Trinity had been enslaved, maybe even killed.

  There was little the young man could do to make any difference in the terrible situation they were now in. He felt helpless. Hopeless. As desperate as Taniwha had been the night he'd been stranded on the sandbar. Jib clutched his greenstone tiki as his voice rang out in sorrow.

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  Closing his eyes, he felt despondency washing over him like a tide. He remembered the night Tesa had heard music, the night they'd worked together to free the calf and send him back to his parents. A night before the World had changed forever.

  Still, the silence in his mind was absolute.

  Give it up, mate, he thought bleakly. The Singers will never trust you again.

  They'll die, and there's not a bloody thing you can do to help them.

  Swallowing a lump in his throat, Jib turned to leave the River. As he placed one foot onto the shore, something massive jostled him, knocking him into the water. His arms flailed as the tepid water covered his head. He inhaled some, just as a powerful body shoved him back up into the air. Sputtering and thrashing, the Maori scrambled. His fingers felt familiar, slick skin, a round back, a wide body.

  And then it happened, the jolt of mental contact directly into his brain. He shuddered, opening his mind, his heart pounding frantically.

  Taniwha pulled him through the water like a ski board out of control as Jib clung to the powerful flippers, grinning wildly.

  Atle's colors flared with outrage. "Twenty-five dead? That was the entire complement! Against a lone human and a group of primitive hunter-gatherers! It's not possible!"

  "The Third, Amaset, was found dead with his company. . .." the Fourth-in-Conquest, Leuth, sang.

  Atle sank down on his haunches. Another defeat like this and he'd be forced to give up command, to hand power over... to Dacris. Could the Second be right about these beings? Would he be forced to meet their ruthlessness with senseless bloodletting?

  The First blinked slowly, collecting his thoughts. Perhaps the years without conquests had dulled his people. The ease of using their own stunted children might have atrophied the skills they needed to conquer these new people. He had to do something-- something to convince himself they were still the conquerors of old. Something decisive. Something clever.

  "Bring me the original crew stationed on this planet, and the elders who are related to the Interrelator," Atle ordered.

  "I never believed Thunder was actually there until now," K'heera told Bruce, trying to stop from trembling as she added more new chips into the filtration system's computer. "I just signed to the trees."

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  "She's there," Bruce assured her.

  As K'heera installed chips, he rerouted the alarm system into them, adding new commands and instructions. The hard part was doing it so that it appeared to their "overseers," as Bruce sneeringly called the trainers, to be routine maintenance. This was the last thing they'd be able to tamper with.

  Most of the water filters were seriously infected with the water mold. The Simiu estimated that in two days the entire system would break down.

  "Without you, K'heera, Tesa would've never been able to plan that little surprise this morning. You can't see Thunder, but she can see you in your lighted room. You just keep feeding the information to her like I've told you, but don't get caught."

  Don't get caught, K'heera thought. She'd developed a sudden need to use the bathroom at night, and had clumsily fallen into Arvis' and Lene's pool twice as she walked around the room in darkness. After that, they'd moved her in with Arvis' sister, who slept with a night-light. Once the Industrious female was asleep, nothing woke her, and K'heera could sign silently for hours. It was dangerous, she knew, but honorable. She only wished she could shake the notion that she was betraying Arvis.

  "Did you get any more of those nuggets?" Bruce asked.

  "Yes," K'heera answered, glancing around. She dug into the pockets of her vest, pulling out the hard, round, colorful balls so Bruce could hide them in his "bank" under the console. The nuggets were pure protein and their smell alone was enough to gag the Simiu.

  But the overseers used them as a reward, so Bruce had pretended to like them to get some. He'd urged K'heera to do the same at Arvis' home, and she had, though eating them to prove her interest had made her sick.

  Bruce used them t
o ingratiate himself with their Industrious coworkers, sneaking them nuggets and murmuring softly, even though they couldn't understand him. She didn't believe there was any point to it, but lately, she'd seen the workers stare longingly at Bruce when they weren't being watched.

  The Simiu couldn't imagine how that would possibly ever help them, but decided it couldn't hurt to go along with it. She didn't realize it consciously, but little by little, she'd come to regard Bruce as a true uncle, accepting his guidance, trusting his mature judgment. Even when it endangered her. Even when she was afraid. Because she knew what they were doing was right.

  And honorable.

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  "Tonight, tell Thunder Tesa's raid was a big success," Bruce signed. "Tell her it really cheered us up. Be sure and tell her about the hatchery, that in two days it'll fail. She might want to plan something important for the same time. . . ."

  Suddenly he touched her lightly the way he did when they were being watched. Soldiers had entered the building and were marching straight toward them. K'heera's heart thudded. They knew. They knew she'd betrayed them. They were coming to take her, torture her again. She began shaking from head to foot.

  "Easy," Bruce signed. "Take it easy, K'heera. Just don't say anything. It'll be okay."

  One of the Anurans gestured at Bruce, and K'heera realized he was speaking to the human through a voder. Bruce replied, then the soldiers took him by the arms roughly and led him out of the building, leaving K'heera standing foolishly alone, ashamed of the rank fear she'd felt only for herself.

  Bruce glanced back at her, nodding quickly toward the filter system. Now she'd have to take care of it alone. In two days it would fail, and if Bruce had not returned only she would be responsible. Blinking her vivid purple eyes, K'heera stopped shaking. It would fail. She would see to that.

  As she forced her attention back to the machine, she noticed every Industrious in the building watching her. She thought she could see worry in their eyes, and realized they were worried for Bruce, that as his friend, they were transferring their concern for him to her. So when the trainers finally turned away, she handed out protein nuggets, murmured soft sounds, and patted the moist alien skin as comfortingly as she could.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tesa's Raid

  The elevated walkway that led from the hatchery to the home of the First seemed to Bruce like the last mile. He was familiar with the route from watching K'heera taking it, but why he was being taken there, he couldn't imagine. He didn't want to, either.

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  Out of long habit he searched the cloud formations, felt the direction of the air. It would rain tonight. Yeah, a real gully- washer. He hoped he'd be alive to see it.

  Finally, the Anurans ushered him through the building's front portal into a large open room. To his surprise Meg, Szu-yi, Nadine Lewis, and Old Bear stood nervously around it.

  Put all the bad eggs in one basket, he thought.

  They'd been responsible for the clandestine communications among the humans. And they'd been responsible for keeping morale up, by telling tales of Trinity as it had been before.

  Szu-yi stood in the shelter of Nadine's strong arms, trembling as if with fever.

  This did not bode well for her. He couldn't bear to think he'd have to watch her be punished again because of what Tesa had done earlier. He moved to the doctor's side.

  "Shhh," he soothed her, "it's going to be okay, honey."

  She stared at him, eyes wide, disbelieving. "I sent messages to K'heera...

  about them .. . and they've found out.. . ."

  Bruce glanced at Nadine's worried face. "Don't say that, darlin'," he begged the Asian woman. "Let us do the talkin'."

  Szu-yi nodded rapidly, eagerly, brushing tears from her eyes. Nadine hugged her tight.

  Just then, all the guards turned toward the front entrance as the First entered, his large eyes scanning the ragged group. The guards squatted, pulling the humans down with them.

  The First sang something, and then the mechanical voice of his voder chimed in. "Am I correct that you are the senior member of this group?" He was talking to Meg.

  She stepped forward. "Yes. That's correct." One of the guards nudged her hard, reminding her of something. Her jaw clenched as she amended,

  "That's correct, Glorious First."

  "We know you all have a personal relationship with the Interrelator ... the person who attacked our colony today."

  Here it comes, Bruce thought. The bad news. Had they captured Tesa? Had they killed her?

  "We understand this Interrelator is charged with the welfare of the avians you call Grus and Aquila, avians you believe to be intelligent." The First walked around, and when he came to Szu-yi, patted her arm consolingly. The doctor turned her face away.

  Meg said nothing, waiting.

  "Her ability to obtain the cooperation of these avians has impressed us enough that we are reconsidering our historical prerogative. Our people understand only conquest and cultural

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  assimilation. Your people have found another way. Perhaps it is time for us to examine your philosophy."

  The humans glanced at one another warily.

  "We differ in many ways," the First sang. "The way we wage war, for example. You destroy your enemy, and if you suffer fewer deaths than you commit, you say you have 'won.' We, however, would say that you had lost.

  Every individual death leaves you one less who could serve your state."

  The First waited until they absorbed this. "When the Chosen fight, few die.

  Each death, to us, is wasteful, a loss. A First that loses too many soldiers does not remain a First for long. And I've lost many today." He paused. "I will lose no more. I am ready to negotiate with your Interrelator, to meet, as both our peoples do, at a table, and discuss mutually agreeable terms. And to learn how we may become as you are, people of peace . .. perhaps even members of your Cooperative League of Systems."

  He wanted to negotiate with Tesa? Bruce blinked. It was too easy.

  "If what you say is true," Meg said suddenly, her voice surprisingly strong,

  "then release everyone you've captured. Then we'll talk about negotiations."

  "If I did release everyone, what protection would my people have?" the First asked reasonably. "You humans have been known to enact terrible vengeance. Your Interrelator might destroy us for revenge, hesitating only because you all are here."

  "Our records have shown you that the CLS forbids us to have weapons on this planet," Meg insisted.

  "If you had secreted weapons here for your protection, that is not information you would have left in your records. All nations keep defense secrets."

  He waited until Meg grudgingly agreed, then went on. "Besides, some of your people have been given important jobs. You can't be replaced overnight. While negotiations go on, we can retrain others to take your place, ease you out of our system. And finally, your presence in our colony protects us against punitive measures from your CLS, until our negotiations with the Interrelator are concluded."

  Meg nodded curtly. "How are we supposed to tell the Interrelator of your interest in negotiations?"

  "I'll release you"--he nodded at Meg--"and you." He pointed to Old Bear.

  "We'll give you a flyer. Your Interrelator is everywhere-- she will find you. Tell her I will meet her wherever she pleases, with trained negotiators."

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  "You must think we're as dumb as a mud fence," Bruce blurted. "You just want them to lead you to her!"

  The First turned, his yellow arm patches brightening. "You assume that we do not know where she is. She is northwest of here on a grassy plain, surrounded by thousands of Grus, with more converging every day. We could capture her today if we chose to use your methods. But that is not our way."

  The weatherman's blood chilled at the First's announcement.

  "Still, Bruce has a point," Meg said, regaining the Anuran's attention. "Even if you don't follow us to capture her, wh
en Tesa shows up to negotiate, you can pounce on her then."

  The First considered her words. "Point taken. To ensure the Interrelator's safety, we will negotiate with her emissary. We sincerely wish to end these hostilities."

  Bruce felt uneasy. Szu-yi shook her head slightly.

  "But... to ensure the safety of our negotiators," the First said, "we will keep you three"--he indicated Bruce, Szu-yi, and Nadine--"in a separate facility.

  Then we can negotiate in good faith, and trust the Interrelator to end her bloodthirsty attacks against us." He glanced out the back wall at the waning light. "It's time for you two to go and find your Interrelator."

  Guards led Meg and Old Bear out of the First's home. The weatherman watched their apprehensive expressions, while Nadine muffled Szu-yi's quiet sobs against her chest.

  Tesa had mixed feelings about the rain, as she stood in a thicket of reeds on the marsh surrounding the River. It was nearly midnight, and the sky was black and featureless as the torrential downpour blanketed the Anurans'

  colony. She wore nothing but the remains of her old, black StarBridge jumpsuit, cut down to a camisole. Her hair was tied back severely, and her skin was streaked with a black paint that wouldn't easily wash off. She wore no white tonight. The heavy downpour would hide her, covering her sounds as she moved about the River. But it would hamper her own vision, and could completely ruin her only weapon.

  Her old sinew-backed bow and a quiver of arrows were wrapped tightly in waterproofed leather, and strapped securely to her back. But the wood, the sinew backing, and the gut she'd used for the bowstring all responded badly to humidity. It wouldn't be the strong, reliable weapon she was used to. If the sinew backing got wet enough, the bow might even crack if drawn too hard.

  She wondered if she'd even be able to hit anything with it. At

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  least she'd dipped her arrow points in that dead alien's yellow poison patch, so accuracy might not be that critical. She tied the leather package high in the reeds.