Silent Songs (11 page)

"Thank you," she responded automatically, and rubbed her wrists, her skin lifting into goose bumps. Slowly she moved over to Meg's couch and touched the older woman's forehead. "It's going to be okay," she murmured as her fingers traveled to

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Meg's throat. The strong pulse and steady respiration reassured her that Meg was physically fine, and the anger flaring in her eyes spoke well of her mental state.

"Sure it is," Meg grumbled.

They must have some kind of bizarre professional classism,
Szu-yi decided.

Maybe that's what they mean by the "chosen."
Standing on her own two feet, she felt her confidence return. "My friend is an important biologist, a
doctor
in that science. Release her, give us our clothing, then we'll talk, as equals."

Another ripple of sound spread among the aliens.

"We
have
biologists," Dacris replied. "That one has another purpose. Even as you do. I repeat, you're not the Chosen."

"I'll do nothing as long as we are held against our will," Szuyi said stiffly.

"This violates the most basic rights of any intelligent creature.. . ."

The strange sound rounded the room again as all the beings made it. With a sickening feeling, Szu-yi finally realized it had to be their laughter. Dacris did not laugh; however, his color grew more brilliant.

"You are a physician," he sang. He gestured at the green and brown alien that was stiff tending the one Meg had struck. "This is Tato,
our
physician."

He indicated the alien with the swollen eye. "And this is Rand, our chief pharmacist. Together, you will discover how many of our drugs can be safely adapted to your physiology. We will use this one"--he indicated Meg--"to test these drugs. That is your purpose here. Understand?"

Szu-yi felt the shreds of her confidence dribble away. "That's. .. immoral.. .

illegal.... I
won't
help you!"

"You will," the leader sang succinctly. "Tato, begin the study. We have wasted too much time already."

"You don't need to use her," Szu-yi explained urgently. "We have computer models, tissue samples, even nonsentient genetic reconstructions. They're safer, more reliable.. .."

"We wil use the prime subject," Dacris insisted.

"She's an old woman!" Szu-yi blurted. "She can't take it! Use me instead, I'm much younger, I could tolerate . . ."

"We are aware of this one's age," the leader sang. "We are also aware that by your own standards she is in excellent health. We will take precautions, but she is the subject. We will use
you
after the pilot studies are completed."

"I won't help you!" Szu-yi screamed in frustration. Suddenly the leader stared past her and Szu-yi collapsed, struck down by an enormous blow. She writhed as pain engulfed her.

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As the sensation gradually dimmed, Dacris' song picked up in intensity and even the translation conveyed his heightened emotion. "Understand this.

Centuries before we learned to refine drugs to ensure obedience, we knew the mind's tolerances and the body's limitations. This was the first information we took from your medical library. Drugs are more efficient, but we have other, older methods. Touch her again."

Pain seared through her, and Szu-yi arched in agony. She tried to crawl away, even as she heard him sing the tone she quickly learned meant

"Again. Again. Again . . ." over and over.

The next time it stopped, she curled into a fetal position and wept unashamed. A moist hand tangled in her hair and jerked her head up. Dacris was inches from her face, pulling her hair with his own hand. "We are the Chosen. You are the Conquered. You
belong
to us, now, and for the rest of your life. You will work, live, and procreate for our benefit alone. Your aged and your young will die to feed us. Accept it and survive."

Szu-yi's eyes roved the room, silently pleading for help, but no one moved.

"Explain this to your people as we collect them," Dacris sang. "Only your eloquence can spare them this lesson. Learn it for them. Persuade them."

He released her hair and her head thudded against the deck plates.

With a sickening terror, she realized it was about to start again and tried to scrabble out of reach. It hit her harder this time and she slammed against the floor as her limbs gave out. Finally, the only thing in her universe was an all-encompassing agony and the futility of her echoing screams.

Eventually, it stopped. There was blood in her mouth, and her tongue was swollen and sore. She focused on a small technician with shockingly bright red legs and a green torso who crouched behind her, holding an innocent-looking rod about two decimeters long. Had that small thing . . . ?

The technician watched Tato and Dacris argue. Dimly, Szuyi understood that the physician had ended the punishment against Dacris' wishes. The sadistic bastard was enjoying himself so much he might've killed her.

When the argument ended, Dacris approached her, his colors burning her eyes. She flung herself away from him, but was grabbed by technicians.

Someone collected the tears falling down her face as another tech reached into her mouth, sampling the blood and saliva welling there. Dacris loomed closer, and Szuyi recoiled into the techs' embrace.

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"We are the Chosen," he sang. "You are not. Do you understand?"

Her mouth opened but only a breathless gasp emerged.

"REPEAT IT!" he boomed in her face, the tinny sound of the translator making a mockery of his powerful voice.

"You . .. you are the Chosen .. ." she whispered. "I am not. .. ."

"Good," he purred, his colors dimming. "We understand each other. Begin the study." He turned to the physician. "You worry needlessly, Tato. She's fine, but keep the rod near. The lesson is new. She may forget."

Dacris stood where he could view Meg's table, yet not interfere with the work. The technicians eased away from Szu-yi slowly, as though they feared she would fall without support.

The alien doctor approached.
"Are
you well?"

Szu-yi searched the strange eyes. Amazingly, she began to feel better, and understood that whatever the rod had done had affected her mind alone. As the pain receded, she knew she had no bruises, no broken limbs. Just the memory, and fear, of pain.

"Yes," she said simply, "I'm all right."

"We'll use minimal doses," the doctor sang. "We wish to cause no lasting harm. The subject has too much value to waste."

Szu-yi realized the doctor was trying to console her.

Meg stared at her worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Szu-yi nodded.

"Well, I will be, too,
golubchik,"
she reassured her.

The Asian woman's eyes welled up, and tears fell down her face, splashing onto her thin breasts. As quickly as they fell, they were collected by dispassionate hands. The alien doctor pressed a diagnostic scanner into Szu-yi's hand and signaled to her technician. An alien hypo hissed against Meg's flank. Szuyi blinked and forced herself to stare at the scanner.

Jib awoke, sweating, gasping like a fish out of water. Throwing back the thin thermal sheet, he peered around the tent, blinking slowly in the darkness.

According to the chrono it was oh five hundred, not even dawn. Bruce was across from him, huddled on his floating pad, sleeping soundly.

The young Maori had had a terrible dream, a real horror show, filled with gray, faceless monsters with giant maws and thousands of teeth. He shivered. Tesa had been swallowed ... no ... not her ... the grandfather? The memories skittered away. Never mind. It was only a dream.

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He rubbed his face and rolled over, sticking to the sheet, his body slick with sweat. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, making himself relax. He'd think about Anzi, that'd help him have better dreams. He hadn't written about the accident--no need to worry her about it after the fact--but he also hadn't included any footage of the fish in his last letter. Truth was, he didn't want to look at them again, at those moving colors. He swallowed, wishing she were with him.

If Anzi were here, she could change these bad dreams with a thought, put herself in them, and make them funny. He pictured her so clearly, her round, pleasant face so different from his, her red-gold hair. . . .

Then Jib heard it, a soft, high-pitched melodious sound, like a sorrowful keening. He sat up, blinking.
That
was what had roused him, that moaning, pitiful sound. He glanced at Bruce-- still sleeping. Leaving the mat, he slid on his cutoffs. The song pulled him out of the tent, toward the beach.

Barefoot, he left the shelter, staring out at the night. There were insects everywhere, clouds of them, from beautiful, giant moth-type things as big as a flying fox, to annoying specks like sand flies that whined by your ears. The lush growth of the nearby forest and its arching fern trees stood like black giants swaying gently in the evening's breeze.

Three Moons hung over the inky water--the fat, full Father Moon, the Mother Moon at three-quarters, and the tiny Child Moon that was only the slimmest crescent. The celestial family hovered over the gently lapping river, casting bright, fragmented reflections along its broken width. The Moons provided a surprising amount of light--so much that Jib could see his shadow on the bright sand.

He searched the river--the river that had almost killed him, and now sang to him as though to apologize. The tide had been higher earlier but, even now, the water covered the sandbars. He shivered in the warmth, rubbing his arms.

The music lingered, tantalizing him with its symphony of sorrow, but it was so faint, he could barely make it out. He felt a sudden chill and looked around dazedly.

He was
in
the river. The water lapped lazily against his thighs. He felt disoriented, and couldn't remember leaving the tent. He turned, but couldn't see the camp. He'd come down the shoreline, his footprints were outlined darkly in the moonlight. He was standing .. . right where the
Demie . . .

Someone touched his right shoulder and he jumped. It was Bruce.

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"Didn't you hear me?" the older man asked worriedly. "I've been calling you.

Were you sleepwalking?"

Jib had heard nothing but the song. He searched for the notes, found them, and felt oddly reassured. "Can you hear it?"

"I heard something, like music," Bruce agreed. "Woke me up." He glanced back up the beach and Jib followed his eyes. K'heera was on the shoreline, closer to their camp. She peered about as if confused. "Funny," Bruce said,

"you'd've thought with her hearing, she'd have been the first one out here."

Then Bruce turned and his eyes widened, as he turned toward the mouth of the river. Jib followed his gaze.

The whole cohort was out on the sandbar, dancing, he thought. He squinted: no, not dancing. They were darting, splashing, their wings outstretched, their heads jerking up and down. They were moving so fast he couldn't tell one from the other at this distance. He heard a scream, and was startled to find Thunder circling the group low, shrieking.

"What the hell. .>." Bruce murmured, watching the scene.
"That
girl doesn't fly at night 'less she
has
to!"

Bruce moved toward them and Jib followed. The water around the Grus was past their hocks, and it slowed them down. Wings bumped into wings, and there was a sudden break in the circle. That's when they saw Tesa, in water up to her chest.

Jib could barely believe it. She'd swum out there in the dark? Alone? No wonder the avians were frantic. The Grus surrounded her, blocking her as though afraid to let her go forward. But she ignored them, pushing her way roughly past them, searching, seeming almost frantic. She turned her head in one direction and then another as though . . .

"Look at her," Bruce whispered, grasping Jib's shoulder.

Tesa faced left and moved forward, then turned right and went that way. But she wasn't watching where she was going ... no, Jib realized, that wasn't it at all.

"She's
listening'."
Bruce whispered. "She
hears
it!"

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"Come on," said Jib, then dived into the water, kicking hard. After a long swim, he finally stumbled onto the sandbar, then waded toward Tesa. She kept forging ahead, despite the efforts of the Grus. The water fell away as the sandbar rose, until it lapped about her calves.

" The River Spirits are calling Good Eyes!" Lightning signed as Jib pushed his way past him. "They'll take her with them if we can't stop her!"

Distractedly, Jib remembered the avians' concerns and their deep-seated religious beliefs. He couldn't imagine the courage it had taken for them to follow Tesa out here.

"You are not-of-the-World," None-So-Pretty reminded him. "The River Spirits won't be able to harm you!"

The young Maori was no longer so sure of that. "Tesa!" he called, rushing to catch up with her. "TESA!"

"She can't hear you," Flies-Too-Fast reminded the young man. "She only
hears
their song."

She hears something,
Jib realized, but when he touched Tesa's shoulder, she spun, surprised to see him.

"Hurry," she signed, "we've got to help.. . ." She turned as a high, clear note ripped through the air. Looking out over the dark water she tried to go around Jib, but the Grus surrounded her again with a barrier of wings. Jib grabbed her arm just as Bruce caught up to them. K'heera hovered nearby on an a-grav sled. They both appeared as confused as he felt.

'Tesa," Jib signed, "can you
hear
that singing?"

"Of course not!" she signed impatiently. "I'm Deaf!"

Jib, Bruce, and K'heera all exchanged glances. The Maori thought if either of them said one word about Spirits .. .

The Interrelator shook her head. "That's not sound--it's telepathy!"

Telepathy?

"Doesn't it all make sense?" Tesa signed, her hands moving 66

so fast he could barely make out what she was saying. "All the legends about the Spirits, how they've affected the behavior of the local animals .. . ?