I don't understand! Squeak cried. What do you mean?
But in reply the voice only took up the chorus of the Song. That, it seemed, was all she was going to get.
Squeak swam on, confused and frustrated. Your song lies ahead of you. It sounded like an empty platitude a pompous old matriarch might offer to an impatient young orca. Squeak knew she was supposed to respect the Grandfathers and be grateful for what guidance they offered, but she felt that at a time like this she was entitled to something more! If he knew something she didn't, why not tell her? Why force her to swim upstream like this?
Squeak continued to brood over the Grandfather's words, when she heard an echolocation pulse. And another, and another. At first she thought the brothers had heard her song and tracked it back to her, but then she realized there were too many. Almost without sound, nearly a dozen whales descended upon her. Too despondent to run, she let them approach.
Quick and agile, these whales swarmed about her like a herd of bredfish. They were orcas, certainly, but smaller and sleeker than those Squeak knew-this she heard by the almost seamless way they cut the water. Their sonar beams roamed her body curiously, but they uttered not a word. Did they have something to do with the Grandfather’s cryptic message?
"I am Squeak," she said in tentative greeting. She sensed a shudder go through the group, but no reply came. That was when Squeak knew what she was facing: they were Songless whales.
Genetic throwbacks to the days of pre-sapience before the Migration, Songless whales were unable to comprehend the Song of the Grandfathers that wove the skein of whale civilization. They lived as savages, preying upon other whales. Her mother had terrified her with tales of how they took calves who strayed too far. They more than anything else were the reason for the Breeding Laws.
Well, let them have her if they wanted. Let them feast upon her flesh. It was no more than the civilized whales wanted to do.
One of the Songless made a careful scan of her from tail to rostrum. Then it directed a stream of what sounded like communication clicks at her. Squeak was taken aback-was this creature trying to talk to her? It repeated the call and then made a pass in front of her, close enough for her to feel its bow wave move along her body.
As Squeak was wondering what to do next, a second whale made a close scan of her and then sent an almost identical stream of clicks. Was this call a threat? A challenge?
Then to her surprise, one of the whales directed an intense beam of sound at the other, hard enough that it rang like a blow. She wasn't sure what happened next, but judging by the thrashing of the water and the sounds of tail-blows and aggressive echolocation beams, these two were fighting like a pair of young males over a female.
Slowly it dawned upon Squeak that this was exactly what they were doing-they were fighting over her. First the deep scan to confirm her gender, then the competitive behavior-she had seen it many times. It made perfect sense. Orcas travelled in family groups, so the males would always be on the lookout for a young female without calf. She was meat to them all right, just not the kind she had expected!
Squeak laughed-a rapid chattering of her teeth-for the first time since her old pod broke up.
What should she do next? She certainly wasn't going to mate with one of these creatures. Perhaps if she just moved off. . . . But off to where? There was nowhere for her to go. That tiny flicker of joy made Squeak realize that she didn't want to be alone. Her mother's absence was like an open wound and she didn't want to give up even the paltry comfort these strange, silent orcas brought.
But could she swim with them? Part of her recoiled at the idea. Everything she had been taught said that these were beasts, monsters, not orcas but killer whales. Still, at this moment, they seemed less barbaric than the members of her own adopted pod.
Over the sound of the duel, Squeak could hear the other Songless whales moving on. She decided to chance it and followed them at a discreet distance.
The sounds of battle ceased and Squeak felt two whales shoot past her. Each one took up a position ahead of her such that she was tugged along by their wake. Were they staking claim or attempting to curry favor? This brought mixed feelings; because of her deformity, no male had ever shown interest in Squeak before. At least this suggested that it was safe for her to accompany the pod.
It was not long before Squeak heard a small shape approach her. A miniature echolocation beam probed her tentatively and Squeak realized she was being examined by a calf. A calf! Of course Songless whales had calves too-the thought had just never occurred to her.
Squeak tried a call she had heard mothers use with calves before: a whistle that rose in tone to a peak and then fell again. She was rewarded with a happy squeal, which she returned.
Squeak was about to try another call when four more small, inquisitive forms appeared and swam around her. She laughed for a second time. Juvenile orcas were intensely curious and difficult to control. One of them appeared to imitate her laugh.
Moments later, the water was disturbed by the simultaneous approach of several adult orcas. Squeak made ready to flee, but the adults ignored her and instead prodded the juveniles with sonar beams. Emitting squeals of protest, the little ones were herded by their mothers back to the pod. Playtime, it seemed, was over. But Squeak hoped she would be allowed to play with these calves again.
Squeak followed the pod of Songless whales through the channel and down the slope of the ridge on the other side. Here she was about to leave them for fear of losing contact with her mother completely, but they turned to follow the contour of the channel mouth. It was not difficult to figure out why: the whales foraged constantly, and food was less sparse here where the channel gathered in the tidal current like a Grandfather scooping krill.
Wild whales did not eat only calves, as it turned out. In fact, they ate everything, as far as Squeak could telclass="underline" creepercrawlers, wavetails, bottom lice. . . . There was even the occasional bredfish-apparently enough had escaped from herds to form a wild population. But it was meager fare and everyone gobbled up whatever they found before another orca could get at it. It was easy to tell why they were all so small and thin, eking out an existence in this inhospitable environment. Was she going to have to live like them, if she didn't find a way to return to the Singing Valley pod?
The Grandfather had said she would find her song out here, but he couldn't have meant this, could he?
****
After a time, Squeak heard an unmistakable voice: Squeak, mother calls. To me! To me! Her mother, at last! Not caring if the tail-biters lay in wait for her, she swam joyfully toward the sound.
She was not far off. Drawing near, Squeak recognized her heartbeat, her breathing, even the rhythm of her tail-strokes. Squeak and her mother nuzzled, rubbed cheeks, and stroked one another with their fins. She was overcome with joy. Then she detected the acrid flavor of blood and felt a gash on her mother's side.
"What's this?"
"It's nothing. A little souvenir from the Grabjaws."
Squeak understood. They had given her a tooth-raking for standing up to the tail-biters. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
"It doesn't matter," her mother went on. "We're together again, and that's all that counts." Joy, she sang.
"We're together again. . . ." Squeak echoed.
Then she felt an echolocation beam sweep over them. Her mother darted and directed a stream of sonar pulses at the intruder. Reading the reflection, Squeak recognized one of her suitors. When a second beam scanned them it was easy enough to guess who it came from.