The tiny image of Bruce waved frantically to call her attention back. "You've got him now, darlin'!"
Nodding, she watched the hologram firm up. It always took her a few moments to get used to the holo's realism.
"Hello, at last, Tesa!" Dr. Robert Gable, the director of StarBridge, signed.
His hand motions were slow, but she always appreciated his effort. The slightly built psychologist's dark hair curled in disarray. "I just saw your two recruits off."
"So they're on their way?" she asked.
Rob nodded, his expression rueful. "I really appreciate your taking this project on.... It won't be any picnic."
Tesa smiled. "Ambassador Dhurrrkk' " talked me into it."
"I'm not surprised. At least you'll enjoy seeing Jib again." Rewi "Jib" Parker, a nineteen-year-old Maori, had been Tesa's roommate and surrogate brother at StarBridge. "But as for the Simiu, K'heera," Rob spelled the name in American Sign Language, "she's only doing this because of honor."
"Is she at least... cooperative?"
"Anything less would be dishonorable. But her heart isn't in it. Her family is making her do this to recoup some of the prestige the Harkk'etts have lost since the Desiree incident."
The four-footed, baboonlike aliens the Terrans had dubbed "Simiu" had a culture dominated by a rigid, intricate honor code that had complicated a needless tragedy, marring the early, tenuous relations between the two races. Ten years after that botched First Contact, many Simiu still held the humans responsible, but others placed the blame on the Harkk'ett clan alone. The loss of honor had devastated the prestigious family.
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"Dhurrrkk' assured me," Rob continued, "that the Harkk'ett matriarchs are eager to make whatever amends they can tolerate to regain some of their lost status. They picked K'heera--we didn't get to choose her. She might be StarBridge material in a couple of years, but right now?" He shook his head.
"She's not totally xenophobic, I hope?" Tesa asked.
"No, no!" he assured her. "Doctor Blanket feels she has good potential, but it's buried under resentment and family shame."
The young woman peered at Rob wryly. "And Jib? Don't tell me he's StarBridge's answer to this diplomatic crisis?"
"Honestly," Rob signed, smiling, "we didn't just pick him because of your past friendship. I'm sending Jib partly because he's so easygoing--I thought he might be able to soften K'heera's edges--and partly . .. because I wanted him to be forced to use his language skills again."
She detected something in his expression. "Forced! Jib? The galaxy's hyper-communicator? What are you talking about?"
"There's a slight problem." Rob was trying to be reassuring, which only had the opposite affect. "Jib's developed TSS."
Telepathic Sensitivity Syndrome, Tesa thought. A catch-all term for a condition that couldn't be easily diagnosed.
Telepathy was not common among humans, but some descendants of the failed first Martian Colony carried it. Nontelepaths could usually be trained to communicate with telepaths, but for people with TSS, telepathic reception had a different effect--it stimulated their brain's pleasure center. With repeated exposure, TSS victims grew addicted to it.
"How bad is it?" Tesa asked.
"Very minor," Rob insisted. "After you left, his next roommate was telepathic, and they grew close. Then, he was assigned to work with the Shadgui."
The Shadgui were actually two species, symbionts who could not be separated; they were a peaceful, telepathic race.
"The onset was so subtle, I never noticed it, but Doctor Blanket did. Jib's . . .
still in denial. As long as he stayed here with telepaths all around him, there was no chance he'd recover."
Tesa hesitated. "You think he can recover?"
Rob shrugged. "Who knows? There haven't been enough cases to define the disease, symptoms, treatments ... if there are any, besides avoiding contact. Even if he can't be cured, it might not hurt his career... if he stays away from telepaths. I decided a trip to Trinity was just what this doctor should order."
"Well, he won't find any telepaths here," Tesa agreed, "unless 12
you're sending some out with the new crew."
"Nope," Rob signed, "not a one."
"Jib doesn't resent coming, does he?"
The psychologist shook his head. "He was pleased to help with this Simiu problem. His only regret is leaving his roommate, Anzia. He thinks he's in love with her. But don't worry about it. Jib couldn't be in a safer environment than Trinity, with you there. Oh, I almost forgot! There's one other thing you should know about K'heera. She's a technotype."
The Indian woman's eyes widened. "Isn't that a little unusual for a Simiu female?"
"Very. You know how rigid they are about sexual role-playing. Females are supposed to lead the world, not putter around with circuits and chips and tools."
Tesa grew thoughtful. "That might be a way to get closer to her... encourage her to follow her own interests.. .."
"I fully expect you to take this information and run with it," Rob admitted.
"Who knows? Maybe she'll end up as Bruce's assistant. .. ." He trailed off at Tesa's skeptical expression.
Bruce still blamed the Harkk'ett clan for the deaths of his friends, Scott Hedford and Peter Woedrango.
"This is shaping up to be one of those dreaded 'learning experiences' you always warned us about," Tesa told him.
Gable grinned and nodded. "Probably. So, how is everyone?"
"Well, Dr. Li Szu-yi went up to the Crane with Bruce to restock her medical supplies. Meg's out with Old Bear, Lightning, and our cohort, collecting plants. Grandma Lewis is under the weeping tree with her 'sewing circle.' A dozen of the flock's best weavers are teaching her Grus techniques, in exchange for her demonstrating classic Navaho weaving to them."
The psychologist stared pointedly at her. "And how have you been occupying your long boring days?"
"Me? Bored?" She grinned shamelessly. "Only when I've got to fill things out in triplicate. Don't tell me you haven't been reading all those reports you're always asking for!"
He nodded, amused. "Oh, I read them. They make it sound like you haven't had a minute to be bored ... or lonely."
"Is it time for my psych checkup already?" she quipped.
"That wasn't a frivolous question. You've got an intense job, surrounded only by elderly relatives, an aged biologist, a doctor who will never win any awards for warmth, a cantankerous middle-aged weatherman, and aliens with whom you are not biologically compatible. I'd say you're in a good position for
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feeling pretty isolated, if not downright lonely. And if you don't mind my saying so--you're looking a little tired."
Tesa shrugged, but it bothered her that he could see her fatigue in a hologram transmitted across the galaxy. "Believe me, Rob, I have all the companionship anyone could want."
"Well, I was just wondering how you were getting on ... since Thorn Albaugh left."
She recalled the young wildlife agent and their brief relationship fondly.
"Sure, I miss Thorn. I haven't heard from him .. . have you?" Thorn had left to follow an investigation, warning her that she might not hear from him for years.
"Well," Rob signed cryptically, "he's left Hurrreeah. . . ."
Tesa didn't find the psychologist's words very comforting. "Rob, has Thorn gone undercover into Sorrow Sector?"
The psychologist looked her squarely in the eyes. "I'm afraid so. That isn't what I wanted to talk about.. . I'm sorry."
She held up a hand. "Thorn has to follow his own path, just like I had to follow mine. I'm just lucky that mine led me to the best job on all the Known Worlds. I'm really happy, Rob."
He watched her with an odd expression, as if trying to see what was really going on in her heart. "I want to know if you continue to have trouble sleeping. Will you tell me?"
She hesitated. She'd never been a very good liar. "I will. Honest. Now, what's the latest update on the new crew?"
; He smiled, letting her close the subject. "Well, we've got the go-ahead to expand the station, and we've finalized most of the crew selections." He tapped a sequence on his desk, and images of strangers coalesced in the hologram beside him. "Meg will be happy to know we got her that ethnobotanist.. . ."
But later, when the conversation finally ended, Tesa watched Rob dissolve with an odd sensation, as though their talk had introduced something that would have been better left unspoken.
A chil breeze blew multicolored leaves around Tal er's feet as he watched Good Eyes step out of the humans' shelter. She gazed around the high bluff that overlooked his territory as though she couldn't remember what all these various people--human, White Wind, and Hunter--could be doing here. Most of them were simply waiting for her.
The avian leader swiveled his long head to peer one-eyed at the solitary Hunter that had just dropped from her perch on the highest limb of the dead tree that clung to the edge of the bluff. The huge predator sailed effortlessly toward Taller's son, Lightning,
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and their small cohort, who'd just returned from a foraging trip. Taller still marveled at how devoted Thunder was to both Good Eyes and his son, as if they were her true parents.
He turned back to his human friend, wondering about her odd expression.
The seventy-year-old avian approached this alien he considered his partner, and, lowering his head, draped a massive white wing around her, pulling her close in a Grus familial embrace. His iridescent wings ended in striking black primaries, two of which were actually long, jointed fingers, part of a nearly palmless hand with a short black thumb. The rest of his body was as white as his wings, except for the elegant black facial markings that framed his face, neck, and black bill. Taller peered at Good Eyes with both of his round, golden eyes, as his red crown--a patch of bare, warty skin on top of his head that colored and stretched with his moods--shrank to show his concern.
He inhaled her scent and blinked, realizing for the first time that she no longer smelled like a fur-bearer, like the other humans did. She smelled like a real Person now, she smelled like him. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before.
The human shivered, so he pulled her closer. Moving his other wing so that he could sign behind the screen of his embrace, he asked, "Did the See-Through Man give you bad news?"
Taller had faced the eerie holographic transmission only once, but it had been too disturbing an experience for him to repeat. He had announced, as regally as he could, that Good Eyes would forever after handle such discussions for him. To the nontechnological beings, the person in the holographic field seemed like a spirit. Good Eyes seemed pleased to spare him that discomfort. She said that was part of her job.
"No, not bad news...." she began.
"Has he heard something about Relaxed?" That was the name Taller had given the blond human called Thorn.
She stared at him. "I... I don't think we'll see him again."
Taller kept the woman under his wing. "Our people say that the best cure for a lost lover is a new one," he confided.
She smiled at his frankness and nodded toward the few humans living on the World. "Oh? Who did you have in mind?"
Startled, he pulled his wings in, fluffing his feathers out, then shaking them into place. Truly, there were no prospective suitors in that group.
"Matchmaking is best done by females," he reminded her. "We'll discuss this with Weaver."
"Private conference?" First-One-There asked, approaching.
Her human name was Margaritka Tretiak, but names like that
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were meaningless to the White Wind people. The gray-haired woman was Taller's age, with sparkling blue eyes, a wiry build, and an attitude that dared you to call her "spry." First-One had had something done to her ears so her hearing could be turned "on" or "off" by small gold balls on her lobes. Taller eyed them covetously. Anything that shiny had to be delicious.
"Rob say when his kids are coming?" First-One asked.
"They left today," the younger woman replied, "so we have two months to get a project lined up."
"Will the new Crane crew be sent soon?"
His partner nodded. "In a few weeks. And they're definitely going to enlarge the station."
Suddenly, Good Eyes' paternal grandfather stepped out from around Taller.
"Better put a limit on it," he advised the avian. The wizened old man stood as tall and straight as Good Eyes, in a sleek-fitting jumpsuit. Those un-Worldly clothes contrasted oddly with his short, silver braids tied with woven-grass thongs and studded with brightly colored shells. The old human had a weathered face that spoke of years of outside living. "If you don't, this place will get just like Grand Luna Station."
His long name was Grandpa Laughing Bear Bigbee, but Taller simply called him Old Bear, once he had learned that a bear was an animal like their ferocious Tree Ripper. Old Bear had received Taller's permission for an indefinite stay on the World. The avian had been happy to grant his request, and that of Good Eyes' maternal grandmother, Nadine Lewis, whom the people called "Teacher." Good Eyes needed her natural family with her.
Taller wanted the World to be her home. He wanted her to stay--forever, if possible.
Old Bear now worked as First-One's assistant, and the two enjoyed each other's company. On Earth, the old man had had great powers. He'd been a contrary--what the Lakota Sioux called a hey oka --a person who'd been touched by the Thunder Beings and ever after had to do things the opposite from what others expected. Knowing this, Taller was not surprised when Old Bear appointed himself ombudsman for the World, freely advising Taller on the ways of humans. The avian respected the elder Sioux, weighing carefully whatever the old man told him.
"Is Grand Luna Station a terrible place?" Taller asked.
"Just crowded," Good Eyes interrupted.
She, too, had been touched as her grandfather had, and it had been her actions as a contrary that had enabled her to bring about peace between the White Wind people and the Hunters. For Taller,
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that was proof enough of magical power. The Hunters had preyed on his people for all the years they had existed. Good Eyes had to be a visionary being to change that.
Good Eyes had warned Taller that her grandfather didn't want to share the World with other humans. She said his knowledge of human history made him too pessimistic about their motives.
"Remember, Taller," Good Eyes signed, "the new people will stay on the station. They'll never come here without your approval, just as we agreed."
That agreement was all part of the many CLS "rules" Good Eyes kept telling him about, rules that were supposed to ensure the World's independence and safety. But Taller was not as concerned about the new humans as Old Bear wanted him to be. He trusted his partner to have his best interests at heart. And he wanted her to stay, not just because she helped him in his interactions with beings he couldn't always understand--but because he loved her. For her to be happy, she would someday have to mate. She couldn't do that if there were no new humans on the World.
The avian watched Good Eyes coolly with just one eye, remembering their previous discussion. "I think we need at least a few more humans here," he decided.
Suddenly First-One glanced at her wrist where a small red light flashed on her translation device. "It's Bruce."
Taller recognized the human name-sign for the man they called "The Fisher." The Fisher was known for his endless questions about fish, where they lived, what their lives were like. He was good at predicting the weather, too, but not as good as Taller's neighbor, Cloud.
First-One stared at the small wrist screen, signed a few responses, then turned back to the others. "Well, Bruce has a project for our StarBridge pair!
The satellites have reported something splashing into the sea near the southern coast. He's guessing it's a meteor. It survived entry, so he'd like to collect it after they arrive. He says that it's a real vacation spot, Tesa--tropical beaches, warm blue water, the works
."
"Should be interesting," she agreed.
As the humans talked, Thunder, Lightning, the two-year-old Flies-Too-Fast, and the rest of their cohort approached, all signing rapidly. Taller marveled at the youngsters' ease in the raptor's company; it was as if she'd hatched next door to them. Still, the old leader kept one cautious eye on the avian.
Her eyes had recently turned red, which only added to her fierce appearance,
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even though her feathers remained a dull bronze. It would be years before her head and tail molted out to a brilliant gold.
Lightning had changed, too, in these last few months. There were still some cinnamon-colored feathers on the top ridge of his wings, on his head, and halfway down his neck, but the rest of him gleamed white. His crown peeked through pinkly as the short brown head feathers molted out. His facial markings were still undefined, muddy streaks, but his bill had darkened, and he had his black fingers and primaries. Standing beside the pure white, strongly marked Flies-Too-Fast, the difference in their ages was apparent, but in another six months, Lightning would be identical to his friend and his father--except that Lightning was just a bit taller, as a new leader would have to be.
Flies-Too-Fast was the oldest of the group, and Lightning somewhere in the middle, so the other six ranged in color from the pure white Hurricane to the cinnamon-and white Frost Moon. They were so young none of them had even found their voices. Their calls were irritating to humans, but not dangerous.
Taller realized he'd missed part of the discussion about the meteor. "I saw that star fall weeks ago," he told the humans. They watched him curiously. "I thought one of your satellites had failed. Where is it?"
"South," First-One signed. "A week's flight for you. Have you ever been there?"
"Where there's no winter?" Taller asked, concerned. "No, but our cousins the Gray Winds live there."
First-One cleared a spot in the russet and blue vegetation and drew an image of a fat, broad peninsula.
"Yes," he admitted. "That's the way it's been described."
She added a circle for forest, and lines of savannah and marsh. Then she cut in a wide, twisted river that slashed through the land from east to west, but did not cut through to the west coast. "Do you know anything about this river?"
Silent Songs Page 2
