"Hanford."
"Jonny Moreau. I'm at the southeast part of the perimeter. Get over here, quietly. And bring any Cobras nearby with you."
"Got it."
Jonny replaced the phone and waited. The bird waited too, but seemed to be getting a little restless. Though perhaps that was his imagination.
Hanford arrived a couple of minutes later, running with an awkward-looking waddle that made for a fair compromise between speed and stealth. Banyon and a
Cobra named Porris were with him. "What is it?" the zoologist stage-whispered, coming to a stop at Jonny's side.
Jonny nodded toward the bird. "Tell me what you make of that."
"You mean the bushes-?"
"No, the bird there," Chrys said, pointing it out.
"The-? Ah." Hanford got his own binoculars out. "Ah. Yes, we've seen others of the species. Always at a distance, though-I don't think anyone's ever gotten this close to one before."
"They're rather skittish, then?" Jonny prompted. "Normally, that is?"
"Um," Hanford grunted thoughtfully. "Yes. He does seem unusually brave, doesn't he?"
"Maybe he's staying put because he's afraid of us," Banyon said.
"If he's afraid then he should take off," Hanford shook his head.
"No, sir. We're too close to him for that." Banyon pointed. "The instant he leaves that bush he'll be silhouetted against the sky-and he'll be in motion.
Either one would be more than enough for most predators. He's in lousy position where he is, but it's the best option he's got."
"Except that he's a bird and we're obviously not," Hanford said. "Once he's aloft he shouldn't have anything to fear from us."
"Unless," Jonny suggested quietly, "he understands what weapons are."
There was a short silence. "No," Hanford said at last. "No, I can't believe that. Look at that cranium size, for starters-there's just not enough room in there for a massive brain."
"Size isn't all-important-" Porris began.
"But cell number is," Hanford shot back. "And Tactan cell sizes and biochemistry are close enough to ours to make the comparison valid. No, he's not a sentient lifeform-he's just frozen with fear and doesn't realize he can escape any time he wants to."
" 'Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,' " Chrys murmured.
"Yes, well, he's missed his chance now," Hanford said briskly. "Porris, you know where the flash nets are stored?" He half-turned toward the Menssana-
And the bird shot off its perch.
Chrys gasped with the suddenness of it, as beside her Banyon reflexively snapped his hands into firing position. "Hold it!" Jonny barked to him. "Let it go."
"What?" Hanford yelped. "Shoot it, man-shoot it!"
But Banyon lowered his hands.
The bird went. Not straight up into the sky, as Jonny would have thought most likely, but horizontally along the tops of the bushes. And... zigzagging.
Zigzagging like....
It disappeared beyond a gentle rise and Jonny turned to find Banyon's eyes on him. "Evasive maneuvers," the other almost whispered.
"Why didn't you shoot it?" Hanford barked, gripping Jonny's arm, his other hand clenched into a frustrated fist. "I gave you Cobras a direct order-"
"Doctor," Jonny interjected, "the bird didn't move until you suggested we try and capture it."
"I don't care. You should-" Hanford stopped abruptly as it suddenly seemed to penetrate. "You mean-? No. No. I don't believe it. How could it have known what we were saying? It couldn't have."
"Of course not." Banyon's voice was dark. "But it knew it had to leave; and it took a low, evasive route when it did. The sort of pattern you'd use against enemy fire."
"And it waited until you, Doctor, had your back turned," Chrys added, shuddering. "The one who gave the capture order. Jonny... this sounds too much to be coincidence."
"Maybe they've seen tool-makers before," Jonny said slowly. "Maybe the Trofts landed when they were surveying the area. That way they could know about weapons."
"They could all be part of a hive mind, perhaps," Porris suggested suddenly.
"Each individual wouldn't have to be independently intelligent that way."
"The hive mind theory's been in disrepute for twenty years," Hanford said. But he didn't sound all that confident. "And anyway, that doesn't explain how they knew our language well enough to realize I was sending you for a flash net."
Abruptly, Jonny realized he was still staring at the spot where the bird had vanished. He looked around quickly; but no vast clouds of attacking birds were sweeping down from the sky, as he'd half expected. Only occasional and far-distant specks marred the red-tinged blue. Still... "I think it might be a good idea to get everything packed up early," he said to the others. "Be ready to leave at a moment's notice if... it becomes necessary."
Hanford looked as if he would object, seemed to think better of it, and turned to Banyon instead. "Would it be possible to get a couple of Cobras to come on a hunting run with me? I want one of those birds-alive if possible, but I'm no longer that fussy."
"I'll see what I can do," Banyon said grimly. "I think finding out more about them would be an excellent idea."
In the end, Captain Shepherd accepted all the recommendations put before him.
The quick-lift preparations were made, the perimeter Cobra guard was doubled, and the scientists shifted into an almost frantic high speed. Two separate hunting parties failed to make so much as visual contact with any of the mysterious birds. The facts, the speculations, and the rumors circulated widely... and the Menssana lifted a full twelve hours ahead of schedule. For once, there were no complaints.
Chapter 15
They spent a great deal of time wandering around the Huriseem marketplace-more time, York thought, than they'd spent at any other single place during their entire Qasaman tour-and he breathed a private sigh of relief when the end was finally in sight. The presence of so many mojos virtually eye to eye with him was something he found particularly unnerving, and Moff's continued absence wasn't helping a bit. He wondered how Mayor Ingliss would explain the latter, something he would have no choice but to do as soon as they left the marketplace mob. Alone with their escort, the team would have to "notice" that Moff was missing, and Ingliss would then have to spin some story.
York didn't want to hear it. It would be a packet of lies; worse yet, a packet of obvious lies. Moff's exit had been too smooth, the timing of it too well chosen, to have been accidental. Clearly, the team hadn't been intended to miss him at all. York's gut instincts told him that having to admit Moff had been away would be almost as bad in the Qasaman's minds as actually telling where and why he'd gone. The more York saw of the Qasamans-the more he listened to Moff's evasive answers to their questions, the more he saw of what they were and were not being shown through all of that the descriptions overcautious and suspicious were gradually giving way to the word paranoid. Whether their history had given them a right to be that way was irrelevant; what mattered at the moment was that
York had seen paranoid minds at work before, and he knew how they worked. The simple fact of Moff's absence gave him not a single byte of useful information, but the Qasamans might not recognize that. They were just as likely to assume that their entire plot-or plan, or scheme, or damn surprise party, for all he knew-had been totally compromised, and that they would have to spring things prematurely.
York didn't want that. If Moff were planning something-anything-it would be safer for all involved if it went off smoothly and on schedule. Damn it, Moff, get back here, he thought furiously into the air. Get back here and keep your illusion that you're in control.
So engrossed was he in watching surreptitiously for Moff that he completely missed whatever it was that started the fight.
His first rude notice, in fact, was a sudden grip on his shoulder by one of