by S. E. Smith
“Trust me to order for you?” Karissa’s eyes were gleaming as she issued the playful challenge.
“Sure.” He folded the menu and set it aside, but his attention was caught by people staring at them from the open restaurant door. Gut tightening, he wasn’t at all surprised when the receptionist retraced her path to their table, trailed by an older couple and a child.
“I recognize you!” the woman said with excitement. “I just saw you on the entertainment news this morning!”
With shock he realized she was talking to him.
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible,” he said. “I’m no one famous.”
“Yes, yes, see, they say you’re the blessed singer Karissa’s new boyfriend.” The girl pulled an AI from her pocket and retrieved the particular trideo broadcast, playing it for him on the tablecloth.
The entertainment reporter had caught him putting the robe over Karissa’s shoulders at the trideo shoot on the ship’s beach yesterday. She was gazing up at him with an unmistakably fond smile and he hardly recognized the expression of tenderness on his.
“Seven hells.” He jumped up from his chair hard enough to knock it over, sending Valkyr into startled flight that made the restaurant staff shriek and cower.
Karissa stood up. “Calm down, everyone.” She pointed at Valkyr. “You too. Land it now, mister.”
Shockingly to Grant, the bird obeyed her admonition, resuming his perch on the back of a sturdy chair.
The locals apparently hadn’t realized who she was until just now. Eyes wide, the group stared at her. “Karissa! Here, in our little restaurant?”
“Yes, I wanted to show my friend the true joys of Calillia food, not the stuff they serve tourists at the spaceport,” she said, addressing the oldest woman, who had the unmistakable air of being in charge. “Your food smelled so wonderful, it drew me in. I’d like to buy out the entire restaurant for two hours, so we can eat in privacy, how much?”
The old woman named a price and Karissa doubled it.
“Done. And after we’re done eating, I’ll sign autographs for you—all of you.” Karissa raised her voice and pointed to the crowd of cooks and servers jammed into the doorway. “You can all have pictures with me,” she said. “But you have to keep my secret until he and I, and the bird, have left. Can you do that?”
“Of course. It’s an honor to cook for you,” said the proprietress.
And no hardship to accept a payment probably equal to an entire week’s worth of dinners. Angry thoughts in his head, Grant was still reeling from seeing himself on the Sectors news feed.
“We wanted to do some exploring in town later,” Karissa added, “So if you can keep my secret until I’ve gone back to my ship tonight, I’ll send tickets to my concert, enough for all of you and your family members to be my special guests. I just wanted to be reacquainted with my home in peace today, you know? Before the hoopla?”
The old woman straightened and glared at her employees and family. “We will keep the lady’s secret until tonight, understand?”
Her staff and family members nodded with impressive solemnity. Obviously her word was law to them.
“Well, what are you hanging around her for? You, go put up the closed sign, draw the curtains and lock the doors. The rest of you, back to the kitchen. The food won’t cook itself.”
“May we have a pitcher of spiced virtunna juice over ice? I haven’t tasted any in years—it’s my favorite,” Karissa said.
Bowing and retreating, the staff left the garden. The elderly woman lingered. “I’m sorry my granddaughter upset your friend.”
“Actually she did us a favor, letting us know the news was out there. We had no idea. Please don’t worry about it. The juice?”
“Coming at once.”
As the lady left the garden in dignified manner, Karissa laughed a little. “That’s never happened to me before, having my companion recognized first. I think my disguise was fooling them, just as we’d hoped.”
He paced to the fountain and stood watching the fish dart here and there, without really seeing them.
She followed, resting her hand on his arm. “Hey. I’m sorry. I should have thought about the fact the entertainment reporter might still be lingering on the set yesterday. I’m so used to the constant media coverage.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I guess I should have been more discreet too. The Zephyr seems like such a closed world, but of course it isn’t. I can’t believe I let my situational awareness slip so badly.” He smiled at her. “You have a terrible effect on my control, lady.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She studied him, head tilted. “There’s more to it though, isn’t there?”
“In the Special Forces we don’t allow anyone to take facial shots that could be used to identify us. I’m not happy about this, even though the media apparently don’t have my name. Just some snide remarks about the ‘security guard’ with a crush on you.” He tried to keep his tone light.
“Which you and I both know is not the truth. Besides, you’re out of the service now.” She put her hands on her hips. “I can’t deny the fact—the glare of publicity is part and parcel of being with me. No matter how careful we are, privacy is next to impossible. I regard myself as lucky to have had so much of a day to myself, thanks to you. Would you rather forget this” —she waved her hand at the garden—“And just go back to the ship?”
He knew he was behaving like an asshole over something that couldn’t be fixed now. His face and his name no doubt, were out there in the Sectors media. He might as well suck it up, rather than ruin the special day he was trying to give her.
His special day with a girl he was drawn to like a moth to a flame. Liked too much.
You wish her to lay your eggs.
Valkyr’s comment made him laugh. Not exactly, pal.
“Why are you laughing?”
Feeling the heat in his cheeks, he chuckled self-consciously. No way was he explaining the bird’s comment. Lucky she couldn’t speak to the eagle. “Valkyr made a remark.”
Karissa shot the bird a suspicious glance. “Which I’m guessing wasn’t too flattering?”
Grant caught her in his arms. “Oh no, it was very flattering but expressed in avian terms. Some things don’t translate well.” He gave her a kiss. “Let’s forget this and have the amazing lunch you promised me.”
Just then the owner and her waiters brought out the first of a seemingly never ending series of dishes, beginning with mildly spiced and ending with selections so hot Grant’s mouth was on fire.
Then the servers brought the traditional dessert, a creamy confection with cake that melted on his tongue and made the entire menu he’d been served come together perfectly. He leaned back in his chair. “I’m too stuffed to move.”
“Maybe we should just nap in the sun like Valkyr for the rest of the day,” Karissa said with a laugh.
“No, I promised you a tour of the marketplace before we went back, so we’d better not linger here.” He glanced at his chrono. “We have plenty of time before the captain’s shuttle has to return to the Zephyr.”
He sat and watched while Karissa paid the bill, posed for numerous photos with everyone and reconfirmed tickets would be sent for the concert if no word leaked out until midnight about her having been at the restaurant.
“I’ll tell people my ovens were broken and so we had to close,” the owner said. She had one of her daughters escort them through a private alleyway into the edge of the bustling market square.
“I need to walk off that fantastic meal,” Grant said as they meandered arm in arm down the sidewalk. “I’m not going to eat any dinner, for sure.”
“It was perfect, just what I’ve been craving for years. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Grant heard music and paused to listen. “Is that a thousand year song? Where’s it coming from?”
Shading her eyes with her hand, she surveyed the buildings, finally pointing at one with an elaborate façade of gi
lded carvings. “Probably that temple. We can go listen if you like.”
“What’s the deal with these songs? Do generations of people really sing the same tune night and day for a thousand years?”
She nodded. “Sometimes it’s the same song but more often there will be new verses being written daily or weekly, and given to the choirs and soloists. The musical variety depends on the funding and the purpose for the song. But the music never stops, not for anything. There’s a story once of a huge fire and the choir moved outside and continued singing while the building fell. Anyone can commission a thousand year song although as you can imagine it takes massive resources, so typically only the most elite families or temples will do so. I have heard of villages putting all their resources into it, but the village was long gone and forgotten by the time the song concluded.”
“A thousand years? People actually sign up to sing the same song for their entire lives, and never hear the final notes?” He scratched his head, pondering the mystery. “Their children won’t even hear the final notes. Why do it?”
“Why do human beings do anything? Why did the people from Terra venture out in their generation ships before the hyperspeed drives were invented? The songs are a part of the Calillia religion. Legend says the music brings the blessings of the gods upon the planet and the people. In fact, it was gods who started the first songs, millennia ago. If you believe in myths.” She gave him a shrewd glance. “Nowadays much of the planet’s economy is based on the songs and supporting the needs of the singers so the tourists come.”
Pulling him with her, Karissa ducked into the back of a large song temple, where the choir he’d heard was faithfully singing the chorus and refrain of their life’s work.
“See this?” Karissa pointed at an elaborate, slow moving device beside the door. “This was the style of chronograph when the song started. It’s measuring how long the chorus has been singing, and how much time is left.”
“How long?”
She eyed the device. “Eight hundred years, give or take a decade or two.”
“Two hundred years to go.” He surveyed the choir, some fifty strong, standing on tiered steps at the front of the large, airy open space, putting a great deal of energy into the harmony. Shaking his head, he towed her outside again. “And you would have been in one of those choirs all this time?”
“Most likely.”
“I can’t imagine you doing that—you’d go crazy.”
She laughed. “Probably. Or start singing my own lyrics and be punished. Ted, for all his faults and our legal problems now, did me a huge favor when he plucked me from the orphanage.”
“Do the songs ever end in actual fact?”
“Oh yes, two ended during my life here and there was a huge celebration each time. Usually a special set of verses is written for the last year of the performance and the director might even add extra singers. The honor of singing the final notes is given to the best singer in the chorus and he or she then retires to a life of luxury and ease, because they were so honored. None are scheduled to end this year though, sorry.”
“Life must feel flat, being in a chorus after finishing the song, with nothing to do. Anticlimactic.”
“Oh the singers get hired into other choirs fairly quickly. The singing goes on night and day.” She quickened her pace. “I want to get some souvenirs for Desdusan, maybe something nice for Dr. Shane for lending me her clothes—you’ll have to advise me.”
Laughing, he caught up to her at a stall featuring scarves painted with musical motifs. “I know less than nothing about Dr. Shane’s preferences and her husband—my boss incidentally—wouldn’t like it if I did.”
She made her selections and paid with credits in hand, before they wandered further, examining knickknacks, laughing and teasing and having the fun day he’d hoped for when he issued the invitation. He kept his peripheral awareness high, in case anyone else recognized him from the damn trideo, but the market was busy and they were just another tourist couple window shopping.
He realized she’d stopped walking and had his arm in an iron grip. “Oh no,” she said.
On high alert, ready for any challenge, he scanned the environment for a threat and perceived none.
“That’s too cruel.” Karissa left his side and darted across the street to a booth he realized was lined with cages, huge enclosures housing dozens of birds. She started throwing open the doors to the cages and encouraging the birds to take wing, in some cases scooping up the brightly colored creatures and throwing them into the air. Yelling curses, the merchant came out of the office to the rear of the stall. Grant drew him aside and assured him they’d pay double for the merchandise he was losing.
Karissa acted like a woman obsessed, going from cage to cage on her mission.
Her actions attracted a crowd as the flocks of gorgeous birds took wing, singing and warbling their joy.
Grant joined her at the last cage, in the back of the stall. Valkyr, who’d been an impassive observer of the frenzy, for which Grant was grateful, sat straighter and flexed his wings. “We owe this guy a huge stock of credits now.”
“I don’t care, it was worth it.” Grant realized she was crying. “Caged songbirds, they were caged songbirds. Condemned to a life no one should live.”
He gathered her close, wondering how much of her own situation and return to Calillia today had influenced her overwhelming reaction to the plight of the birds.
“There’s one left in there, at the back,” she said. “I think she’s hurt but I can’t get her to come out.”
Valkyr launched off his shoulder with a sharp whistle and forced his way into the cage in question, which fortunately had a wide oblong door.
What the seven hells are you doing? Grant couldn‘t imagine the eagle was trying to attack one lone songbird after ignoring entire flocks of them, but Valkyr’s odd behavior was alarming.
Mine.
The eagle was in a mantling position, shoulders arched, wings spread protectively over the last bird. Grant caught a glimpse of white feathers and a gleaming green eye at Valkyr’s feet, and heard cooing.
All right, let me look. Examining the simple wire cage, Grant found a way to lift off the entire top, which he did, and then reached in to take the bird Valkyr was so jealously protecting, his eagle moving aside an inch at a time. Valkyr hopped out of the cage and flapped the short distance to Grant’s shoulder, craning his head to stare at the rescued bird, lying in the human’s hands.
Her heart was beating so fast, Grant was afraid she’d die. One wing was bent at an awkward angle, painfully broken.
“Poor thing,” said Karissa, drawing a fingertip along the bird’s head. “Such beautiful white feathers.”
Mine, mine, mine. Mine to protect. Make her well.
“Easy, boy, we’ll do what we can,” he said out loud. Over his shoulder he told Karissa, “Valkyr seems to have fallen into love at first sight here.”
“How sweet.” She turned from the credit transaction she was concluding with the now smiling vendor. Grant guessed he’d probably realized he was dealing with the famous Karissa and therefore he had a critically short window of opportunity to get her out of the marketplace before a mob scene occurred that would make the crush at the Observatory Deck a few days ago minor by comparison. “But he—but they—can’t mate, can they?” she asked in confusion.
“Take her for a moment.” Grant poured the bird into Karissa’s hand, moved Valkyr to a temporary perch, stripped off his shirt and then his undershirt, wrapping the bird carefully, not to disturb the broken wing. He shrugged back into his overshirt with the reinforced pad for Valkyr and grabbed Karissa by the elbow. “We have to run, before this guy tells all his friends who you are.”
They sprinted for the car. He heard shouts behind him and redoubled his pace. Valkyr launched from his shoulder and flew a few threatening swoops above the heads of the first wave of people coming to see Karissa as the couple reached the groundcar and threw themselves insid
e. Revving the motor to the red line, Grant hit the street, going toward the spaceport at a high rate of speed.
“What about Valkyr?” Karissa glanced back anxiously.
“He knows our destination. He’ll catch up. Are you okay?”
“Fine. Never a dull moment.”
“Not with you.” He grinned. “How’s our new lady friend?”
“Calmer since you wrapped her up. Valkyr does realize he can’t actually be her mate, doesn’t he? She’s a Calillia songbird, not a Qaazamir eagle.”
“He won’t hurt her. The female Qaazamir eagles had beautiful white plumage so I think her feathers attracted him to some extent but who can say ultimately? Two beings come together and their souls…connect.”
“Coming from you, Officer Barton, that’s almost poetic.” She gave him a teasing smile. “Can we take her to Dr. Shane?”
“We could, although Emily does veterinary work grudgingly. Only because she wasn’t trained on it,” he hastened to add as Karissa frowned. “But I have someone else in mind to ask for help. I’ve sent the shuttle pilot a message to be ready to leave as soon as we arrive and Valkyr joins us. You got the bird’s papers from the merchant, right?”
“Yes, although the certificates are probably forged. I’m sorry about this.”
“About what?” Perplexed, he gave her a quick sidewise glance.
“Ruining our afternoon. I know you wanted to have dinner on Calillia later and watch the moons rise. I just—I couldn’t stand seeing all those beautiful rare birds crammed into the cages, destined for a life as pets. Most of them would have died soon from crowding and improper care.”
He reached over to squeeze her hand. “I get it. No problem. I think we were running out of time on our anonymity anyway. I saw more than a few second and third glances from people, even before the bird incident.”
He signed the CLC Line car in and waited for Valkyr to arrive, which he did fairly soon. Grant led the way to the Zephyr’s shuttle, but he didn’t breathe freely until the pilot lifted off and he was sure there’d be no repeat of the crowd scene. Valkyr sat on the seat opposite Karissa, staring fixedly at the wounded bird, crooning and occasionally ducking his head to rub his huge beak along the other bird’s head. She welcomed the avian caress, arching into him and cooing her own small noises.