by Paul Lucas
All three-hundred twenty-two of our tribe gathered as what we thought was the Sky-Spirit approached our Tower. No youngsters flew, no hunter brandished a weapon. Even our diminutive Shaman, Windrider, tried none of her spirit-callings. We stood, shifting our feet nervously, awaiting our fate. For what could we do against a power such as the Sky-Spirit?
If it was truly the Sky Spirit. Many had expressed serious doubts. But we knew of nothing else that could be so huge and solid and still fly. We could not take the chance that it was not the Sky Spirit.
A great flurry of activity followed in the wake of the youngsters’ discovery. Flier and Windrider came immediately to join Cloud and I in watching the approaching object. I had kept my eyes on it the whole time and confirmed that it had not deviated in its path at all. It was definitely coming here. We had only a handful of hours to prepare, and we all turned to Windrider for guidance.
Windrider was stunted from birth and barely half the height of any other adult in the community. This small miracle had allowed her to still use her wings to fly until well into adulthood, until pain from her aging joints made that all but impossible. But all had recognized such an enormous gift from the Sky Spirit, and it had been only natural that one so favored by the Divine should become our tribe's spiritual leader.
She began barking orders immediately. We all leapt to obey our Shaman, from the youngest flyer to the staunchest patriarch. In matters of the spirit no one questioned her, and the coming judgment of the Sky-Spirit would be our people's ultimate spiritual moment. Not even our chieftain Flier would dream of defying his Mate in this.
The two of them had always been a tale of contrasts. He, so tall and powerfully built, yet gentle, soft-spoken, and imminently practical. She, so small and frail-looking, yet fiery-tempered, loudly out-spoken and given to losing herself dreamily in matters spiritual and philosophical. The elders of the tribe always remarked how unlikely it seemed that so different a pair could have formed such a powerful bond as Mates that was now well into its fourth decade.
Flier and Windrider were much more to me than just Chieftain and Shaman. They had welcomed me into their family as an adopted daughter.
My true parents had died four years before. They contracted a terrible sickness from tainted food a nomad tribe had given us in trade. The food was perfectly safe for the strangers, dark-furred Felinoids who had different metabolisms, but for us their spice-treated meat turned out to be a deadly poison. Many quickly fell ill, but my mother and father were two of only a handful to die from it.
Their death sparked a horrible time in my life. I was sick for weeks from the food, my wings had just begun to fail me, and I was left utterly alone when my parents’ spirits flew free. For months afterward I would spend many hours on the cold, high ledges of the Tower, contemplating stepping off and not unfurling my wings until the ground had separated my body from my spirit.
Flier and Windrider took me in. For all the great blessing of Windrider's size, she had paid dearly for it in that childbirth was very dangerous for her. Her only natural-born child, Skimmer, had almost killed her coming into the world, and had been so deformed that the poor twisted youngster had only lived a dozen years. They had adopted Windblossom years ago, but she had long since moved into her own quarters. After so long without youngsters in their own Hearth, Flier and Windrider were more than happy to welcome me into their home. I became Windrider’s apprentice, as my mother had been, as a small way of expressing my thanks to our Chieftain and Shaman.
I knew they wanted me to think of them as my new family, that they loved me as one of their own, but on many levels I always had trouble accepting it. My true parents would always be Softpetal and Arrow, my mother and father. My heart would always be empty for their absence.
But Flier and Windrider would always be the best friends I would ever have.
Windrider insisted that we welcome the Sky-Spirit properly as our traditions and honor demanded, if indeed it was the Sky-Spirit approaching us. Even if he decided to annihilate us on sight, we still had to make all the gestures of a proper greeting. This was the Myotan way; to remain true to ourselves and to do the proper thing no matter how dire the circumstances. It was what separated us from the primitives in the surrounding lands; it was what made us worthy to live in the Sky-Spirit’s house.
Food was gathered for a great offering. We all groomed frantically. Children were sent winging on the winds to recall hunters and other away from home. Finally, with everyone present, we gathered outside to greet the Sky-Spirit as it finally grew large enough for us to distinguish details.
It was nothing like what we expected. The Sky-Spirit was supposed to have wings as large as cloud banks and be the most physically perfect example of the most noble of intelligent beings, a Myotan. Our legends said that the Tower was his original home upon the earth, built to his scale, a house he had bequeathed to our people to save us from an eternity of wandering.
But this thing approaching us had only immense size in common with our legends. It must have measured nearly one hundred wingspans long and was shaped like a gigantic raindrop turned on its side, broad in the front and tapering to thinness in the rear. Its bottom-most surface was flat, with strange lights blinking at regular intervals. On its sides were huge whirling blades of metal, a half-dozen strong on each flank, roaring like a thousand wasps as they ate the air and spat it toward the ground. We were buffeted by its winds, careful to keep our wings tightly folded to our sides lest we be swept away.
"By all that is sacred," Feather, a close friend my own age, whispered. Her thin ears tapered back to hug her long golden hair. "Is that really the Sky-Spirit?"
"I-I think maybe it is his boat," I said.
She and several others standing nearby regarded me oddly. "Boat?"
I nodded, unsure if I had just said something offensive. "Um, yes. Why should the Sky-Spirit fly down himself when he can have a magical boat that can sail the currents of the sky? Do not some nomad tribes use wooden boats to sail the currents of the Great Water three days’ flight from here?"
The others nodded, some re-assured by my explanation. Now that they had a label for it they were not quite so afraid.
Windrider appeared at my elbow a handful of heartbeats later. Because she was so small--the tip of her ears would barely brush my chest--I had not noticed her approach. "Come," she said.
I glanced at the Sky-Spirit's vessel. We had but a hundred heartbeats before it reached us. It was slowing down, perhaps in preparation for landing.
"Come," she insisted, pulling me forward with a grip of surprising strength. Soon we were at the front of the crowd. She glanced at me and saw my puzzlement. "You are right,” she said. "It is a boat. A sky-boat. It is obvious now, but I did not think of it until someone whispered to me what you said. You must have insight I do not, Gossamyr. You will stand with Flier and myself, to greet the Sky-Spirit when he descends."
"B-but, Windrider," I protested. "I am not a shaman! Just an apprentice. I am not worthy to greet the Sky-Spirit! That’s for you and Flier and the elders!"
She glanced back at our assembled people before regarding me. “You are as worthy as any of us. Besides, I would very much want the daughter of my heart by my side today of all days." She pulled my arm so that I advanced with her and Flier a dozen paces in front of the others in order to greet the Sky-Spirit properly. Windblossom, their other adopted daughter, stood nearby with her own family. Flier clasped my shoulder affectionately before returning his attention to our visitor. That was his way; he preferred deeds to words. Windrider’s hand found mine and gave my tool fingers a reassuring squeeze.
The sky-boat slid to a gradual halt in mid-air. It hung motionless ten wing-spans above the ground, ever so slowly dropping. It landed gently on the broad slope surrounding our Tower, but as its great blades of metal stopped whirling, its vast weight made it sink nearly a hand-span into the loose soil.
For a brief moment, all was silence, as if the very world held its br
eath. A rectangular door slid open in the boat’s side, and out stepped a human.
We had seen other humans, of course. Tall, robust, flat-faced, and almost furless except for their heads. Most nomad tribes who passed through our territory were humans. When we were younger, my playmates among the clouds would snicker at them and their crude things, so far below us. Humans possessed none of the Myotans' sophisticated metal tools, no sleek long bows, no pretty-rock jewelry, no sturdy pottery painted with hunting scenes. Giggling, we wondered aloud if they had enough brains among all of them to bathe occasionally.
But the human who strode forth from the bowels of the sky-boat wore no smelly animal skins nor brandished a wooden spear. He wore a form-fitting garment intricately woven beyond the skill of anyone in our tribe. His jaw was cleanly shaven and his dark hair closely cropped. At his belt hung intricately-carved tools, not of bone or flint or wood but of metal, like the walls of our Tower. Clearly this was a breed of human we had never encountered before, perhaps a magical being. His hands were held up and open in what we hoped was a greeting as his lips moved, pouring forth unintelligible words.
Flier and Windrider approached the human and bowed respectfully before him, asking for peace and understanding. The human shifted uncomfortably and pulled out an odd box with glowing lights. He tried to get them to do something with the box, but they only murmured in confusion and bowed deeper. The human sighed and looked around, settling his eyes on me. He approached, stepping around our leaders. I turned back to look for support from the others only to realize that everyone else had followed Flier and Windrider’s example. I was the only one not bowing. I swallowed hard in a very dry throat as the human stopped an arm's length away.
After many gestures about his neck and mouth, the human made me understand that I was to speak at the box. "What do I say?" I asked him.
He just nodded in approval and encouraged me to talk more. I concluded this might be some sort of test, and nervously segued into our oral traditions, recalling all the stories and legends of the Sky-Spirit and his servants that I could. The more I spoke to the box, the more pleased the human seemed to be. Flier and Glider rose to watch, relieved to see the human pleased. Their nods and nervous smiles lent me gentle encouragement.
Other humans from the sky-boat emerged, bringing food and liquid-filled jars made of an odd, clear material, their gestures indicating they were gifts for us. Murmurs of delight and confusion rippled through our assembled people. What had we done to please the Sky-Spirit so?
Finally, after many hundreds of heartbeats and my voice growing hoarse, the human holding the small box spoke. Or rather, his box spoke, in a crude approximation of the Myotan language. I jumped back and squeaked in surprise. It spoke in my own voice! "I am Armand Lerner," it said as the human soundlessly moved his lips. "We are friends."
"What do you want of us?" Flier asked.
The Lerner-human turned to him and smiled. "We need your help."
THREE
Contact successfully established with the inhabitants of Artifact Site X12 at 5:13 PM Standard Time, 13 June 542.
Contactee race confirmed Myotan, identical physically to tribes found by the North Sea and Exploration Zone Map Grid 112. Estimated local population: 300.
Advancement Level: approximately equivalent to the earliest Babylonian city-states of old Earth. This makes them the most technologically advanced group of their race yet contacted. Significant technologies present: advanced flint tools; primitive metal working (bronze, tin, copper); writing; basic mathematics; pottery; archery; agriculture (in the form of several large orchards adjacent to X12); animal domestication (small canine variants.)
Nanotech Matrix Manipulation Capabilities: limited. Practitioners confined to a female shaman and a handful of lesser apprentices. Spell sophistication estimated to be no greater than level two.
Language: preliminary syntax analysis indicates a highly variant derivative of the originating Builder spoken language. Nanotech Matrix-enhanced translators enabling ongoing communication.
Preliminary Sociological Profile: authority-driven tribal structure, as is common with groups of their size and biological classification. Clan is headed by a single chieftain, who is married to the tribe’s spiritual leader. Elderly members are held in high regard, and are considered authority figures. Children whose wing-to-body-mass-ratio still allow them to fly are highly cherished and doted upon.
Monogamous male-female pairings predominate, and overall family structure seems similar to that of our own culture.
Personal Note: As a whole the tribe seems to be extremely open-minded and accepting of further contact. Despite some minor misgivings upon our initial encounter, one could say they are the next best thing to being xenophilic we could hope for.
I like them. I just hope we don’t end up being the worst thing that ever happened to them.
--Official contact report by Captain Lawrencia Rhiannon, captain, Explorer-class helistat Sword of Thorena.
* * *
After the sun hid itself behind its disk of darkness and the slowly-moving Shards framing it in the sky sparkled in all their countless glory, a feast of legendary proportions was thrown beside the humans’ great sky-ship. Our previous preparations combined with the exotic foodstuffs the humans had brought us made for a night of feasting and delight.
Our visitors had explained at length that they were not supernatural in any way, just simple mortals like us who had the good fortune of possessing the knowledge to make more capable tools. Knowledge they professed they would be willing to share with us, eventually. Many among us harbored doubts about such assertions, but we humored our visitors as best we could. No matter the truth, it was clear they were powerful enough that we did not want to anger them.
Flier, Windrider, and the elders sat before a great roasting pyre beside the human leaders, who had emerged after the Lerner-human and the food-bearers, discussing a great many things. Many of my people crowded around the other humans who had left the sky ship, nearly half a hundred in all. I stood apart, away from the numerous fires around which most of the others gathered, unsure of where to fit in or what to do. The past day had been a cyclone of confusing events, and I needed some time alone to sort them out for myself.
Who were these humans who could tame the sacred winds so easily with their magical machines? The whirling creature we had spotted earlier was revealed to be a scouting boat of theirs, called a ‘helicopter.’
I frowned as I tried to whisper its alien name. Many of their harsh-sounding words fit strangely on my tongue.
They called their vast sky-ship a helistat, which they claimed to be one of a large herd of such vessels that they used to explore an enormous wilderness called the Outlands. They considered my people and our Tower to be a part of this wilderness. But most extraordinary of all was their claim that their own home territory lay some fifty thousand Tower-lengths away in the direction of the Great Water Ocean. I tried repeatedly to visualize such an incredible distance, only to have my mind falter with every attempt. The world could not be so huge!
Of course, we could not really be sure that anything these humans told us through their magical talking boxes was true. Yet they seemed so friendly and generous, and they answered all our questions directly with little hint of evasion. Most of them seemed to genuinely delight in our company, an attitude that many found very easy to return, especially with their bellies full of exotic foods.
Our visitors could at the same time seem very alien, even though my people had dealt their more primitive nomad cousins many times. Their magical tools and odd garb were the least of it.
The sky-humans had a confidence, an easy-going energy I had never seen in any people, even my own. As if they knew their place in the world to a degree the rest of us did not, and were pleased with it beyond words. In an odd, collective way, they reminded me of Cloud on his pleasanter days, when he was the cool, supremely-competent Chief Hunter, but who nevertheless could not completely hide the
overbearing pride seething just below the surface.
Soft peals of laughter drew my attention upward. Many youngsters flew and wheeled overhead against the sky, daring each other to swoop near the humans' immense sky boat. They exalted in their wing-borne freedom, as was their holy right. I looked up at them and felt the sharp sting of loss deep within me, remembering my own time in the skies, now forever lost.
Click. Vhirrr.
I jumped as the alien sound startled me. I turned to see the Lerner-human a few paces away, holding yet another odd box in his hands, this one with a blunt cylinder on the side facing me. A small square of shiny parchment slid out of its bowels.
"I greet you, sky-human," I said, bowing slightly, trying to be as polite as I knew how.
He quietly mouthed some words. His talking box--a "computer translator" I had heard it called--spoke a half-second later. "There's no need to be so formal," he said through his device. “You're the female who first spoke into the translator, yes? I mean no offense, but I’m still having trouble telling your people apart. I’m Armand Lerner. So, what’s your name?"
"Gossamyr," I said, trying not to betray the nervous tremor in my voice.
"What are you doing here away from the others?"
I canted my head. "I might ask the same of you."
He shrugged, smiling. "Just taking some pictures of your Tower."
"Pictures?"
He held out his metal box. "That's what this is for. It's a camera. An instant one, actually, complete with low-light filter and digital memory. A new design taken right from the Great Library. I just took a picture of you, as a matter of fact."
I ruffled my folded wings in confusion. Did he need to talk so much to make his magic box work? “A picture of me?"
"Yeah. Want to see?" He grabbed the small square of parchment that still hung from his camera-box and handed it to me. "It should be pretty much developed by now. Can you see it all right? Our xenobiologists say your eyes give you better night vision than us, but if you need a light..." He began fumbling at his belt.
