Varian was pleased with the behaviour of the youngsters on the flight: they asked more intelligent questions than she'd been led to expect from them, sometimes straying in areas of which she had little knowledge. They seemed annoyed that she was not a portable data retrieval unit.
Cleiti was the first to spot the fliers, and preened herself for that feat later on. The creatures were not, as Varian had unconsciously expected, perched on the cliffs and rocks of their natural habitat, nor singly fishing. A large group – not a flock for that was a loose collection of a similar species, and the fliers gave the appearance of organization – was gathered above the broad end of the inland water, at its deepest part, where the cliffs narrowed to form the narrow isthmus through which the parent sea pushed the tide waters to flush the vast inland basin; a tide which seldom had force enough to crawl more than a few inches up the verge on the farthest shore, fifty kilometres away.
“I've never seen birds doing that,” Bonnard exclaimed.
“When did you ever see free birds in flight?” asked Varian, a bit chagrined that her tone emerged sharper than she'd intended.
“I have landed, you know,” said Bonnard with mild reproach. “And there are such things as training tapes. I watch a lot of those. So, those aren't acting like any other species I've ever seen.”
“Qualifications accepted, Bonnard, I haven't either.”
The golden fliers were sweeping low in what had to be considered a planned formation. The sled was a bit too far for unaided vision of the observers to perceive exactly what happened to jerk the line of fliers to half their previous forward speed. Some of the fliers were dragged downward briefly but, as they beat their wings violently to compensate, they recovered their positions in the line and slowly, the whole mass began to lift up, away from the water's surface.
“Hey, they've got something in their claws,” said Bonnard who had appropriated the screen from Cleiti and had adjusted it to the distance factor. “I'd swear it is a net. It is! And they're dragging fish from the water. Scorch it! And look what's happening below!”
Varian had had time to adjust her mask's magnification and the girls had crowded over the small viewer plate with Bonnard. They could all see clearly the roiling water, and the frenzied thrusts and jumps of the aquatic life which unsuccessfully tried to penetrate the nets and the captured prey.
“Nets! How in the raking rates do fliers achieve nets?” Varian's comment was more for herself than the children.
“I see claws half down their wings, there, where it goes triangular. Can't see clearly enough but, Varian, if they've an opposing digit, they could make nets.”
“They could and they must have, because we haven't seen anything else bright enough on Ireta to make 'em for 'em.”
Cleiti giggled, smothering the sound in her hand. “The Ryxi won't like this.”
"Why not?" Bonnard demanded, regarding his friend with a frown. intelligent avian life is very rare, my xenob says."
“The Ryxi like being the only smart ones,” said Cleiti. “You know how Vrl used to be . . .” Somehow the child lengthened her neck, hunched her shoulders forward, swept her hands and arms back like folded wings and assumed such a haughty expression by pulling her mouth and chin down that she exactly resembled the arrogant Vrl.
“Don't ever let him see that,” Varian said, tears of laughter in her eyes. “But it's a terrific mime, Cleiti. Terrific.”
Cleiti grinned at their success as Bonnard and Terilla regarded her with expressions akin to awe.
“Who else can you do?” asked Bonnard.
Cleidi shrugged. “Who did you want?”
“Not now, kids. Later. I want tape on this phenomenon.”
The three youngsters immediately took their assigned stations as the sled followed the burdened fliers towards the distant cliffs. Varian had time to dwell on the subtler implications of the fliers' fishing. The creatures were quite obviously the most intelligent species she had encountered on Ireta. Nor had she come across another cooperative avian race: at least, at this level. Bannard's xenob was not accurate in saying that intelligent avian life was rare: dominant intelligent avian life was, however. So often winged life was in such desperate competition with ground based life for the same foods that all their energies had to be directed to the procurement of food, or the preservation of the home nest, and the succour of the young. When a life form specialized, dropping the forearm with manipulative skill for the wing of retreat, they lost a tremendous advantage in the battle of survival.
The golden fliers of Ireta seemed to have managed to retain the vestigial hand without expense to the wing, thus used their flight advantage beautifully.
Occasionally smaller fish fell from the nets, back into the sea, to cause more frothing as the submarine denizens struggled to secure the prizes. Twice, immense heads rolled avidly up from the deeps, futilely as the fliers passed with their tempting loads.
Now the four observers saw additional fliers materializing from the cloudy skies, swooping down to take positions along the edges of the nets, supporting the load and relieving the first fishers. Thus assisted, the formation picked up speed.
“How fast are they going now, Varian?” asked Bonnard for the xenob had been carefully matching the forward motion, staying behind but above the fliers.
“With this tail wind, I make it twenty kph, but I think they'll gain air speed with all this reinforcement.”
“They're so beautiful,” said Terilla softly. “Even hard at work, they're graceful and see how they gleam.”
“They look as if they were travelling in their own personal sunlight,” said Cleiti, “but there's no sun.”
“Yeah, what's with this crazy planet?” said Bonnard. “It stinks and there's never any sun. I did want to see a sun when I got a chance.”
“Well, here's your moment,” said Terilla, crowing with delight as the unpredictable happened and the clouds parted to a glimpse of the green sky and the white-hot yellow sun.
Varian laughed with the others and almost wished that the face-masks didn't adjust instantly for the change in light. The only way she knew that there was sun at the moment were the shadows on the sea.
“We're being followed!” Bannard's amused tone held a note of awe.
Huge submarine bodies now launched up and slammed down on the shadow which the air sled cast on the waters behind it.
“I'm glad we're ahead of them,” Cleiti said in a small voice.
“There's the biggest crazy I've ever seen!” Bonnard sounded so startled that Varian turned round.
“What was it, Bonnard?”
“I couldn't tell you. I've never seen anything like it in all my born days, Varian.”
“Was the taper on it?”
“Not on that,” said Terilla, apologetically. “Forward, on the fliers.”
“Here, let me have it, Ter. I know where to point.” Bonnard assumed control and Terilla moved aside.
“It's like a flat piece of fabric, Varian,” Bonnard was saying as he sighted across the stern of the sled. “The edges flutter and then . . . it sort of turns over on itself! Here comes another!”
The girls gave small squeals of revulsion and delighted fear. Varian slewed round in the pilot seat and caught a glimpse of something grey-blue which did, as Bonnard said, flutter like a fabric caught in a strong breeze. She caught sight of two points half-way up one side (like claws?), then the creature flipped over, end for end, and entered the water with more of a swish than a splash, as Cleiti put it.
“How big would you say it was, Bonnard?”
“I'd judge about a metre on each side but it kept switching. I've got good tapes of that last leap. I set the speed half again higher so you can play back for more detail.”