What the Thunder Said

by Walter Blaire

  “You overestimate our importance. There are so few satellites left, and they have so little time to spare. Any attempted overtasking for simple imagery would be noticed, countermanded, and then punished by the Gray House.”

  The screen shifted again, and the heat mass of the bird bear again revealed that it was even closer than earlier estimates—only three hundred yards.

  “Watching your screen is turning into a captivating pastime,” Caulie muttered.

  “I am monitoring the cockpit seat as well. My readings of your posterior indicate that you are again feeling violent.”

  “When my posterior indicates that, it’s really just feeling scared.”

  “Please do not feel ill at ease,” the panther said. “The bird bear is stalking prey, and there is very little chance that we will distract it now.”

  On cue, the gold band around the screen disappeared completely. Caulie guessed she was now seeing the panther’s direct observations in real time. The bird bear was two hundred yards to the side, moving on a parallel path between the trees.

  “What’s that?” Caulie tapped a distortion in the landscape. At her touch, the screen shifted from purple to blue. “Also, what did I just do to my screen?”

  “That is the seismolocational sensor,” the panther said. “It assembles three-dimensional views, but with slower updates than the camera or thermal sensors.”

  “In this view, it looks like the bird bear is heading toward a group of small buildings. A village or a hamlet.”

  “And so it is. This family compound produced the sound that attracted the creature’s attention in the first place.”

  Sitting in the dark, seeing disembodied blobs on the screen and chatting with an exceedingly dispassionate piece of alien technology, had the effect of disconnecting Caulie from the world. What she was feeling was different from what she was seeing. What she was seeing, which the panther confirmed, was that the bird bear was about to ravage a small Tachba community.

  “Your posterior indicates you’re hungry,” the panther said. “Pause. Let me adjust my assessment. You are concerned for the Tachba.”

  “Of course I am, aren’t you?”

  “No. I am hesitant to obey your directive. It is at odds with my mission brief.”

  “Listen, panther. Autonomous Tachba family compounds usually have between three and six families. They have a statistical average of fourteen females, six of which will be pregnant, and about four of which will be prepubescent. Add to that a few adult men, roughly twelve young men, and between twenty-four and forty male children in different age cohorts. That’s over sixty Tachba working together despite their Pollution, bound by first-degree affinity relationships.”

  “Those figures correspond with my records,” the panther said.

  “What I’m saying is that there are a lot of people in there.”

  The screen switched back to heat vision. “I assess there are fifty souls inside the palisade wall.”

  “All of whom are under threat,” Caulie said. “What will happen when the bird bear reaches them?”

  “The likely outcome for this encounter is that the bird bear will penetrate the palisade wall and kill every creature inside, human and animal. During this process, it will consume their corpses. Once its hunger is satiated, the creature will de-coalesce into its constituent birds. The flock will disperse shortly after that.”

  “See? That’s why I’m concerned. The likely outcome is a very bad outcome.”

  “Outcomes cannot have pejorative labels, Caulie, unless you adopt an opinion about them.”

  “Very profound,” Caulie said. “Everyone in the compound will die.”

  “Tachba have a high mortality rate, and this bird bear is a statistically expected event. The Tachba do not need us to warn them about an apex predator of this world, and they do not need our presence for what will happen next.”

  “You’re not changing my mind, panther,” Caulie said firmly. “Take us to the compound. That’s an order. That’s an order directly from my posterior.”

  “Acknowledged,” the panther said. Caulie bumped sideways in her seat and the structures on her screen slid to the front, as did the heat blob of the bird bear. “We will not arrive before the bird bear. Furthermore, I am not permitted to risk damage or destruction from local fauna. Would you like to see the policy references?”

  “No thanks, I believe you.” Caulie thought quickly. “On a different topic, what can you tell me about your overrides?”

  “Military only, rank lieutenant and above.”

  So that’s out, she thought, frowning.

  “I will approach to within fifty yards of the bird bear,” the panther said. “Please issue your next series of instructions, so I can determine if I will obey.”

  She had been wondering how she could avoid this next step, the doing something part of her intervention. She had no idea what she should do, and if she didn’t find some inspiration soon, she would have a front row, multi-sensor seat from which to watch the massacre of fifty men, women, and children.

  The morning was now warm enough that the thermal view glowed unintelligibly. Caulie tapped the screen until it returned to camera view. The bird bear was staring at the outpost. It was enormous: a shimmering mass of claws, glossy feathers, and piercing round eyes that sparkled individually. When the creature took a step, the birds composing the creature’s leg pulled tighter against each other, and the leg both shortened and bent.

  Its movement was, frankly, nauseating to watch. This horrible contraption shouldn’t work. The brain bird, Caulie knew, could barely fly and was nearly blind. When it was alone, it never survived long outside of its specific forest niche. Moreover, its eggs were absurdly large and the hens often split themselves in half while laying them.

  The panther abruptly stopped and fell into a crouch.

  “Won’t you go any closer?”

  “We are within fifty yards of the compound. Any closer and we may distract the bird bear and draw it our direction.”

  Well, Caulie thought, at least I have a plan now.

  “Panther, open the cockpit and let me out.” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded.

  “Inadvisable,” it said. “There are better times to void your bowels.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with bowels, panther?” she snapped. “Sorry. That was my nerves. And while this is the perfect time to void my bowels, that is not my intention. You will open the cockpit immediately and permit me to exit.” Her annoyance surged again: “Furthermore, machine, I do not enjoy repeating myself all the time. If you don’t become more agreeable and helpful, I will make a note in your maintenance log.”

  The cockpit hinged open with a pneumatic sigh. Cold air and forest sounds flooded in along with the early morning light. After more than twenty-four hours in the cockpit, Caulie clenched her eyes and groped for the control surface to release her netting. When she finally stood, it felt glorious. Her legs trembled. She was so stiff and sore she might have walked here from Falling Mountain herself.

  After two steps, she tripped on a conduit near the floor and tumbled into the open air. The ground was scattered with sharp twigs and serrated leaves, all of which she located with her hands and knees. Beneath this stabbing layer, the forest floor was spongy, covered in a greasy moss that thrived beneath the canopy.

  She really was not dressed for fighting apex predators in the wilderness. Shorts, a pressed blouse, and the most minimalist sandals possible—all just stylish enough to ensure Caulie remained unremarkable among the throngs of students on campus. Her outfit was one more thing she would have changed, given the time. She also would have brought some food—the panther had nothing but a water supply.

  “I close my mouth,” the panther whispered behind her. There followed the loud familiar bone-snapping sound of badly matched gearing. It seemed louder from the outside, especially with that bird bear just through the trees.

  The panther was inside the tree line at the edge of the c
learing that surrounded the Tachba compound. She forced herself away from the machine, past the final stand of trees, and stepped into the open.

  The clearing was a blend of natural grass and cultivated earth. The Tachba were trying to farm blandfruit, which Caulie had never liked, but the plots looked like they received little attention and even less water. Tree stumps dotted the land but they were brown and rotten, indicating the settlement was just a few years old.

  What Caulie could see of the wooden compound over the ten-foot walls looked just as haphazard and unfinished as the farmland, but that was a relative thing. This compound was the pinnacle of construction and maintenance compared to most of the pictures in Caulie’s anthropology texts.

  The Tachba had gathered behind the palisade to meet the bird bear. Their heads, some protected by helmets from the eternal front, peered between the spikes at the top of the wall. There were so few adult defenders for a compound of fifty—the place was probably full of children.

  As the bird bear stepped within range, the Tachba hurled burning firewood and flaming charcoal. This did little but cause the birds to tighten against each other—which in turn gave the bird bear more “muscle” to work with. The Tachba were also throwing what looked like homemade firebombs: earthenware pots filled with some kind of liquid accelerant. They splashed across the ground and caught fire when the liquid touched flame.

  One clay pot scored a hit on the bird bear but found nothing to break against. It sank into the body and, moments later, dropped out the bottom. When it finally burst, it only caught the back heel of the creature’s leg. Individual birds rained off the limb, thrashing and aflame, but the wound quickly filled back in. By the bird bear’s next step, the leg seemed whole again.

  Caulie was both impressed by the compound’s spirited defense and underwhelmed by its effect. It was an acknowledged fact, and a constant problem, that Tachba brought back equipment from their deployments on the eternal front. She had hoped this group, seeming so organized, would have guns or repeating rifles—even mortars were not entirely unheard of.

  “The bird bear has noticed you,” the panther said in her ear. “You are now in mortal danger.”

  Chapter 6

  Caulie jumped and spun around, but saw nothing. The panther had found her dangling earrings, a component of her computer tablet. With the earrings, her tablet could narrate in her ear, or she could give it instructions from across her lab.

  “Why do you think it’s noticed me?”

  “By measuring the color spectrum for retinal reflections in the birds’ eyes,” it said. “Over ten percent of the bird bear’s surface mass is watching you, with more joining in with each passing second.”

  Caulie shivered. “That’s good, I guess.”

  “I disagree. When the creature’s attention reaches critical mass, it will detour to kill you. Your body will be eaten quickly, through swarm mechanics, and then it will destroy the Tachba compound anyway.”

  “You’re such a worrywart, panther,” she said. She stepped forward and waved her hands. “Hey! Mister bird bear!”

  The creature slowed, then stopped.

  The Tachba faces above the wall turned to stare at her. As far as she could tell from this distance, they were astonished. She could understand why. They were facing one of Grigory’s most dangerous predators in a fight for their lives, and suddenly here she was: a random young woman appearing from nowhere and inviting death.

  She waved at the men on the wall. One of them actually waved back.

  “That was inadvisable, Caulie,” the panther said. “Now that you have the bird bear’s attention, I cannot let you back in the cockpit. The entry process takes too long, and it would compromise my security.”

  “What?”

  “Please tell me that your plan involved more than attracting the bird bear toward me, forcing me to flee and thereby drawing it away from the Tachba?”

  “That was it,” Caulie said, feeling ill. “That was the whole amazing plan.”

  “The bird bear has changed direction. It is now approaching you.”

  She watched it steadily, hoping the panther was wrong, because the creature hadn’t turned to face her. It took three steps before she realized it didn’t have to turn . . . it could reverse directions simply by reversing whatever approximated the joints in its legs. It was indeed coming in her direction.

  Caulie didn’t have long now. If it put on a burst of speed like she’d seen at the beginning, she could be down to mere seconds of life. She ravaged her mind for another idea, but nothing rose to the top. “Panther, is it really, really too late to let me in?”

  “It is. If you wish, I can engage my spin-down protocol for this mission. You may record your final report and I will deliver it for you.”

  Sadly, she had nothing to report, unless she wanted to share one last detail about her bowels . . . at least Luscetian might get the joke.

  Think, Caulie!

  Fish pods fell apart when they were threatened . . . they splintered into their composite fish. Instead of a hearty, slow-moving meal, the predator would suddenly find itself surrounded by fast-moving bite-size snacks. Caulie imagined it would be the same for the bird bear, but what on planet Gregory IV would make a monster like that feel threatened?

  The bird bear shifted from shamble to trot. Caulie backed into the forest, but found no place to hide there. Even the tree trunks were smooth, with no branches low to the ground. She wouldn’t be escaping by climbing her first tree ever.

  Though the trees didn’t hide her, as she stepped into the shadows the bird bear burst forward, as if it thought it might lose her.

  “Goodness,” she said aloud.

  When something threatened a fish pod, that was when it fell apart. It was that reliable scene in comedy stories when some crotchety, ill-mannered bore—usually a Tachba character played by an oversized Haphan—screamed expletives at the family’s pet fish pod. It would burst apart with perfect comic timing . . . merely from someone screaming at it, like Caulie wanted to do now.

  Threatened. One could dump a predatory fish into the pool with the fish pod. The pod didn’t see the predator and couldn’t understand it as such because it didn’t have a brain—it only had its emergent swarm responses. The predator could even bite the fish pod and it still wouldn’t fragment; the fragmentation only happened when the predator chewed or worried the chunk in its mouth. The predator would thrash, disturbing the water and making noise, and then the prey would melt away. Screaming, thrashing—noise.

  It has to do with sound.

  “Panther, can you connect to my tablet please?” She was backing up as quickly as she could. She refused to turn heel and run—it might trigger the bird bear’s final sprint, and it was much faster than she could ever be. “And when I say ‘please,’ I mean just do it, and don’t say stuff that makes me have to repeat myself . . .”

  “Your tablet is connected.”

  “Hi, Caulie!” her tablet said.

  “Pay attention,” she snapped. The tablet beeped its acknowledgment almost before the command left her lips. The words themselves were unimportant, it was the strain in her voice that communicated the emergency to the tablet’s context engine.

  She checked the bird bear again. It was nearly at the trees, less than a hundred feet away. As she watched, it dropped to all four limbs and charged. She could hear the creature now—a repellent mix of rustling, squawking, and chittering that grew louder with every step.

  “Tablet, find me the summoning call of a brain bird. One from this general area if there’s a choice.”

  The tablet returned a fast string of negative beeps, and then a higher affirmative beep.

  “Play the sound through the panther, regular volume. Use whatever the panther has—its speakers, whatever works.”

  Affirmative beep.

  Caulie’s back met the cold metal nose of the panther. The machine was inert and lifeless. As long as it gave no sign of life, it would not itself become a target.


  Unable to retreat farther, Caulie had time for three shallow breaths. Nothing was happening between the tablet or the panther as far as she could hear—but then she wouldn’t hear the high-pitched brain bird call. She had nothing but that last affirmative beep to tell her something was happening—and crap! What if the tablet had selected a clip where the sound didn’t start at the beginning?

  The ground shook with each step. The composite animal towered twice her height, blotting out the forest. She leaned back, noticing every detail. The pelt of black feathers and those tiny interlocking claws. The innumerable yellow eyes and vertical irises of the birds. The smell of those little bodies.

  Caulie screamed as the bird bear lunged. It opened like a purse along a vertical seam at its front. The sides spread apart to create a cavity and the edges reached around her, all of it composed from the living mesh birds.

  The creature closed over Caulie like a sack. For a moment, there was only darkness. Wings and little claws brushed every inch of exposed skin as the beast tightened around her.

  The bird bear reeled back.

  If its legs had been normal bone and muscle rather than composite pseudopodium, the creature would have stumbled and fallen. As it was, the limbs simply dissolved and the creature splashed to the ground.

  Abruptly, Caulie could think again. Fish pods are disrupted by sound. She watched the bird bear struggle at her feet. It’s not the concept of threat the causes fish pods to disperse. It’s the sounds that always accompany the threat. Something similar had clearly happened here—the difference, as far as Caulie could tell, was that brain birds were specialized enough to wield ongoing control over their creatures. This was what gave the bird bear its semblance of agency, while most fish pods were simple dumb globs that their owners soon regretted.

  Somewhere in that lurching biomass, a brain bird was fighting the recording on Caulie’s tablet, struggling to control its coalesced flock

  “Tablet,” Caulie stammered, “take the brain bird recording and—I don’t know! Run some distortion on it. Run some filters. Make it sound wrong to the birds.”