Flight of the Golden Harpy

by Susan Klaus

  John journeyed east following the highway. In the afternoon dark clouds covered the sky, and he hit light showers of rain. Charlie offered to pilot the craft, giving John a break so he could drive through the coming night storms.

  Kari was in the front passenger seat next to Charlie, and John slept on the cramped backseat. She had hardly spoken to Charlie since her return.

  “You didn’t tell me the whole story when you met Shail a few years ago,” she said.

  “The whole story?” Charlie asked.

  “You spoke to Shail and told him I was in the stars but would return when an adult and free of my father.”

  Charlie cleared his throat. “I did tell him those things. He flew down on the path and pawed the ground with his foot and had the look of asking in his eyes. He obviously sought you. The golden saved your life and deserved to know where you were, but like your father, I hoped you had forgotten him. I have nothing against the harpies, but they live a short, dangerous life. When your mother died, it nearly destroyed your father. I didn’t want the same for you, but now we are racing to Hampton, and I’m worried. If Shail dies, will you, too, be destroyed?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie, but I am like Dad. We have no regrets, bonding with our harpy mates. Like the old saying goes, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

  John had been listening from the backseat. He closed his eyes. She was right, he thought.

  * * *

  Night and the sweeping thunderstorms descended on the continent. Kari lay in the backseat, and the strong winds rocked the hovercraft. Shutting her eyes, she hoped that Shail would come in her dreams, but she considered he might be drugged, preventing dream telepathy, or perhaps he didn’t want her to know the terrible cruelty he faced.

  She pulled up her legs and held them with her arms, lowering her head, and recalled how he had curled his body around hers, nuzzling and faintly kissing the back of her neck before covering them with his wing. God, she missed him. A tear coursed down her cheek.

  John steered the hover through the waves of rain, and Charlie dozed in the passenger seat. In the vast darkness, John spotted an obscure light in the distance. “I’m going to set down ahead,” he said, waking Kari and Charlie. Approaching the light, he saw a small inn with two hovercrafts and numerous terrain vehicles parked out front. “We’ll take a break, and maybe get something to eat here.”

  He landed his hover beyond the other transports. Making a dash through the rain, the three entered the inn lobby. A balding man greeted them from behind a counter.

  “Good evening, folks. You picked a lousy night for travel.”

  John approached the counter. “Is your restaurant open?”

  “Sure is, and packed, but I have one table left. We serve the finest in native cuisine, but unfortunately our rooms are booked; half the folks here are sleeping in their transports.”

  “That’s okay. We’re moving on after dinner.”

  “You’re welcome to stay and use our parking lot for sleep,” said the man, leading them through a wide doorway into a cozy dining room. “The forecast predicts rain all night. You can eat a good breakfast and catch an early start in the morning.” He stopped at an unoccupied table.

  “Thanks; maybe we’ll take some biscuits with us,” John said, taking a seat along with Kari and Charlie.

  Kari glanced around at the thirty or more weary travelers who talked somberly among themselves. The people hadn’t come to the inn for pleasure, but were refugees fleeing the western swarms. Each conversation concerned the hardships ahead.

  “Maybe we should go back to our home,” said a man at the next table to a woman. “The swarm might have missed Terrance.”

  John leaned toward the man’s table. “Don’t go back. We saw the swarm hit Terrance this morning. There’s nothing left.”

  The man, almost in a trance, stood up, and the woman buried her face in her napkin. “This man says he saw a swarm destroy Terrance this morning,” he announced to the people in the dining room. There was a hush, then sighs. Most of the people apparently were residents of the little town.

  An old man feebly walked to John. His eyes were moist. “Are you sure, mister? Are you sure everything is gone?” he asked. His voice trembled.

  “I’m sorry,” John said.

  “I’ve lost everything,” he muttered. “A lifetime of work, my home, my store.” He slowly walked back to his table and embraced his elderly wife, and they sobbed.

  John leaned toward Kari and Charlie. “This is just the beginning,” he said in a low voice. “It’s going to get worse.” They ate their food in silence and ordered food for the trip ahead. They were soon back in the hover and flying toward Hampton.

  Kari gazed out the window at the distant lightning strikes, crackling and briefly revealing green and gray clouds in the evening sky. She listened to their distant rumbling. Normally she’d love the magnificent stormy weather, the kind of weather that made one feel alive, but for her, Dora had lost all its beauty since she lost Shail.

  She thought about the brokenhearted people at the inn. None were malicious harpy hunters. They were simple people who struggled to squeeze out a living in the rough outback. If Shail was alive and freed, if he could save these people from the swarms, if a peace was made between the humans and harpies, if, if, if. Her head spun. Her mate held the keys to everything, but was there time to unlock and open the doors?

  * * *

  A clear, scarlet dawn greeted John as he steered his hover east. It was Thursday, and with any luck, they would descend on Hampton Friday night.

  Charlie woke with the sunlight. “Want me to take over, John?”

  “Maybe in a few hours.” He flipped on the com. A woman appeared on the screen. “Could you connect me to a new hunting range in Hampton?”

  Kari sat up from the backseat. “You’re calling them?”

  John nodded as a big man in a suit came on the com. “Simpson’s hunting range,” the man said.

  “I’ve heard you have a golden harpy at auction next week,” John said. “I’d like some information and the date of the auction.”

  The man gleamed. “I’m Bill Simpson, owner of the range, and you heard right, sir. We do have an exquisite golden male. He’ll be auctioned off next Monday night at seven and the public viewing takes place Saturday and Sunday with a general admission charge of ten credits.”

  “I’m interested in purchasing him. What’s his condition?”

  “He’s in excellent health with the fiery disposition the golden species is known for. His wingspan is just short of seventeen feet, but the feathers are consistent, undamaged, and still the creamy yellow of a younger male. They’ll make a beautiful mount. This little stud is guaranteed to give you a challenging hunt in our three-acre range. Can I take your name and add you to our list of bidders?”

  “John Turner. I’ll be there Saturday morning to register in person.”

  “Very good, Mr. Turner; I promise the animal won’t disappoint you in looks or action. He’s the perfect rare trophy for a serious game hunter.”

  John turned off the com. “It sounds like he’s okay.”

  Kari huffed. “It’s degrading the way that man talked about Shail, like he was merchandise.”

  “To these people he is merchandise, Kari,” John said. “We’ll see him first thing Saturday morning, but you have to hide your aversion as well as your love for Shail. You can’t act like you know him. Too many hunters could guess you’re his harpy mate. If there’s trouble, I could lose my chance to bid on him. God knows what Shail will do when he sees you. He may go nuts. It’s almost better if you didn’t go.”

  “I’ll be calm, Dad, and I’ll tell Shail he must be the same.”

  * * *

  Thursday remained relatively quiet. John slept on the backseat, and Charlie and Kari took turns flying the hover. They noticed more and more vehicles on the highway, traveling toward Hampton. The rain came in the afternoon and continued all nigh
t.

  John flew the evening shift and worriedly watched the solar charge on his hovercraft. The all-night flying and the daytime overcast skies weren’t helping the engines regenerate power, and the little hover wasn’t built for the long, nonstop trip. When morning came, he landed by a small store and told Kari and Charlie that the engine needed recharging in the bright sunlight. They ate and hung around for a few hours before moving on.

  At night John breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the glow of lights filtering up from the horizon. Hampton was within reach, and the trip across the continent was at an end. They flew over the city and landed outside the giant spaceport among numerous hovercrafts and starships. They climbed out, and John and Charlie unloaded their bags. “I’m going to look for Ted,” Kari said, and walked toward a port employee under a small spaceship. “Do you know Ted?” she asked. “He works here.”

  The man pointed. “He should be two lanes over, working on a green freighter.”

  Kari walked through the lanes and spotted the freighter. Ted was on his back, fixing the landing skid. “Hi, Ted,” she said.

  Ted jumped up, hitting his head on a beam.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine,” he stammered. “In fact I’m great, just glad to see you.” They talked briefly about Kari’s journey.

  “Are you going to see your harpy tomorrow?” Ted asked.

  “Yes,” Kari said. John and Charlie joined them and she introduced them. John shook hands with Ted and apologized for his rudeness on their first com communiqué.

  Ted shrugged. “That’s okay, Mr. Turner. I could tell you were under a lot of stress. Would you mind if I took Kari to see her golden harpy?”

  “That’s up to her,” John said.

  “I think I will go with Ted,” Kari said. “If there’s trouble, it’ll appear I’m not with you and Charlie.”

  “Considering Shail might react to you,” John said, “it’d be better if you were seen with a young man.”

  Ted wrote down his com number and handed it to Kari. “I took off work this weekend. Call me, and I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning.”

  Kari, John, and Charlie left the port and took a shuttle to the same hotel where Kari had stayed on her return from Earth. Kari had an adjoining room with her father, and Charlie’s room was across the hall. After cleaning up, they ate in the small dining room off the lobby and then went to their rooms. Tired from the long trip and sleeping in the cramped hover, John and Charlie were eager to stretch out in a real bed, but Kari was excited. Happiness mixed with worry kept her up half the night, for she would finally see Shail.

  16

  Gus called on his communicator. “Where are the goddamn transports, Bill? We’ve been at the port for a half an hour, and I’m ready for a drink.”

  “We’ll be there in five minutes,” said Bill, “and I brought a bottle. Figure you earned it, with the golden. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine. Mollie’s pampered the hell out of him. I can’t get near it without her throwing a fucking fit.”

  “That’s why I hired her. Working with those vets, she learned how to keep a harpy alive, and we’ll need the golden to pay for our investment on this lousy planet. He’s sparking a lot of interest despite the beetle scare. We’re pulling into the port lot now.”

  Gus looked at the spaceport gate and saw the headlights of two large truck transports. He turned to the men relaxing against the cages. “The transports are here. Get your lazy asses up.” The trucks drove onto the dark landing field and stopped at the freighter.

  Gus’s large brother Bill stepped out of the first truck. Pushing back his greasy hair, he twirled his mustache and walked toward Gus. “Where is he?”

  Gus pointed. “By Mollie, she won’t leave his cage.” The two Simpson brothers walked over to the thin handler and the cage.

  Bill looked in the dark cage at the sleeping golden. “Is he all right?”

  “I just gave him a mild sedative and knocked him out,” Mollie said. “He’d be in better shape if you kept your brother away from him. Gus nearly gave him a heart attack, shocking him with his cattle prod. It’s lucky I showed up when I did.”

  Gus frowned. “Look at my face, Bill. That winged bastard kicked the crap out of me when I reached for him. I had to teach him some manners.”

  Bill laughed, looking at Gus’s black eye. “The little harpy did that?”

  “He caught me off guard,” said Gus. “Never had one fight back.”

  “We cannot afford to lose this one, so control your temper,” Bill said, “Let’s get him back to the range. I can’t see him in this light.”

  The animals and Shail were loaded in the transports and taken to the range five miles outside Hampton. Shail was put in a separate room, away from the other wild animals.

  Bill peered down into the harpy cage while Mollie and Gus stood nearby. He scowled and said, “This harpy could be a problem.”

  “What’s wrong?” Gus said. “He’s perfect. I didn’t put a mark on him.”

  Bill reached through the bars, turned the dozing harpy’s face, and lifted his wing, examining the sleek, handsome frame. “He’s perfect, all right,” Bill said, “maybe too damn perfect. Compared to him, men look like onions. He’s going to melt the heart of every woman who walks through our doors. Plus, you said he doesn’t act like a frightened harpy.”

  “Hey, he’s frightened of me and hides when I get near him,” Gus said.

  “He’s afraid of your rod, not you,” Mollie said. “There’s a reason this harpy is different, besides having the characteristics of the combative golden line.” She reached into the cage and lifted his wing. “See that little scar? It’s a laser-blast wound, and someone did surgery on it. New feathers have grown in where the wing was broken by a second blast, and he has old rope scars on his wrists and ankles. The harpy was wounded, captured, and treated. He survived hunters and lost his natural animal fear. That’s why he’s so aggressive.”

  “The men you got him from probably treated him,” Bill said.

  “Not those guys,” Gus said. “The harpy knocked the crap out of them. They were scared to touch him.”

  “If the harpy had recently been caged and treated with drugs and force-feeding, he wouldn’t look like this,” said Mollie. “His skin would be pale, and he’d lack muscle tone. He probably escaped and has been free for some time.”

  Gus poked the harpy. “I could fix his pretty looks and have him shaking like a brown, Bill. Just give him to me for one day.”

  “And how many hunters will pay good money for a banged-up harpy?” Bill grumbled and glanced at Mollie. “How do you feel about killing this harpy?”

  Mollie placed her hand on the golden. “It makes me sick that such a rare and beautiful creature is going to be destroyed.”

  Gus chuckled. “Yeah, Mollie wants a zoo to buy him.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Mollie,” Bill said. “Zoos don’t have that kind of money, but that’s what concerns me. I’ve already advertised that the golden will be on display Saturday and Sunday to the general public. One look at this pretty boy, the women will be outraged, not to mention the goddamn animal rights people. They’ll be protesting we’re killing the last golden. It’ll be bad for business and bad for the bidding hunters. I wish I’d seen the harpy earlier and made the auction invitation-only. Jesus, I even have reporters coming on Friday to write a story and take pictures.”

  “So what are you going to do, Bill?” Gus asked.

  “Hope we get rid of him before the public organizes. Keep him heavily sedated and overfed Wednesday and Thursday. Friday morning we’ll pull the feeding tube and take him off the drugs. He’ll get his balance back and hold his weight till Monday’s auction.”

  The harpy stirred in the cage. “He’s coming out of it,” Mollie said.

  “Good,” Bill said. “I want to see this attitude of his.”

  * * *

  Shail opened his eyes and saw Mollie leaning over his
cage. He then noticed Gus, and another large man. He made a low seething sound.

  “He also has blue eyes instead of green,” the new man grumbled. “Goddamn it, he’s going to melt hearts and have women blubbering.”

  “All goldens have blue eyes,” Mollie said.

  Shail saw the rod in Gus’s hand and became quiet, lowering his head in his wing.

  “He saw Gus’s rod,” Mollie said. “I told you he’s scared of it.”

  “Get rid of the damn cattle prod,” Bill growled at Gus. “I want to see how he’ll act when he’s put on display.”

  To Shail’s surprise Gus was obedient and removed the rod. When Gus returned, Shail lifted his head and gazed at the men.

  Bill twisted his mustache. “Look at his antagonistic stare. He’s not a bit frightened.”

  Shail looked around the small room for an escape, but there was none. Bill put his hand through his cage bars, and Shail hissed, wrinkled his nose, and showed his teeth. Bill poked Shail’s rib, and Shail lunged to bite, but was restrained by chains and unable to sink his teeth into the hand. The man continued to prod him, and each assault built Shail’s rage. He shook his hair, twisted in the shackles, and attempted to strike with his folded wing. His hisses became louder.

  “He’d love to take off my hand,” Bill said. “You keep poking a dog with a stick, he’ll eventually turn into one vengeful animal. The same could be done with the harpy. The hunters would pay a fortune for a vicious harpy, and if he’s crashing into the cage bars to attack, the public won’t think he’s so appealing.”

  “You could break his spirit,” Mollie said, “and then he’d be like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs; not a very pretty sight.”

  “He survived those blast wounds and Gus’s rod,” Bill said. “He won’t break down. Change of plans. We’ll take him off the drugs on Thursday. Gus, you’ll have all day to torment him, but I don’t want him hurt. By Friday he’ll be pissed off and wanting to kill every man he sees.”

  Gus grinned. “I can get him like that.”

  “Don’t do it, Bill,” Mollie said. “No amount of torment is going to make him crash into the bars. I guarantee you’ll destroy him, and he’ll lie in a cage corner suffering from shock. He could die.”