"They don't like to be touched by strangers," he said, backing away from me.
"Do you know how suspicious you're acting?" I wasn't one for melodrama, but who hasn't seen a dozen shows where an archaeologist on some isolated planet fixates on an alien species? And nine times out of ten in those shows, someone gets her brains eaten before the closing credits.
"It's not what you're thinking," Jerith blurted out.
"How do you know what I'm thinking?"
His face blanched. Turning away from me, he hurriedly slid the parrot back into his pocket. The animal didn't put up any fight at all. When he turned back to face me, Jerith kept his hand in that pocket.
"Look," he said, "I know I've developed some quirks out here. Being alone…knowing there isn't another human being within seven light years…I'm a little obsessed about the parrots, I know that. But they've been my only company…Caproche doesn't have any other land animals, not really, you can't make friends with insects…and the parrots are these sweet-natured, gentle little animals…."
"I was only going to pet it," I said.
"I know, I just…I'm possessive, it's wrong, I know, I'll work on it. I have to get used to dealing with people again. To tell the truth, Lyra, I've never been good at dealing with people, certainly not beautiful women…damn, you're defensive again, I'm sorry." He closed his eyes in pain. "Look," he said at last, "you can find your way back to camp, right?"
"Yes…"
"I really have to be alone for a while. To think. I'm sorry." He took a few steps into the darkness, then turned back. "I know I'm odd," he said, "but I'm harmless, you said so yourself. I won't hurt you or embarrass you…oh, good-bye."
He hurried away, around the Silk-covered wall and off into the night. I watched him till he disappeared behind a charred stockade fence.
Once again, I felt like shit. Maybe it was something in the Caproche air—I hadn't done anything, I hadn't said anything, and still I felt guilty. Angrily, I punched at a thick patch of Silk on the wall beside me. It exploded with a double-bass <SPLINK> that coated my hand with gunk. I bent to wipe off the goo on the ground and saw a small nose emerge from a hole under a stone.
"Hello," I said softly. "You just heard the dinner bell, didn't you?" I nudged a nearby thread, <SPLINK> The nose came out a little farther. Another <SPLINK>, and the parrot under the stone waddled into the starlight, its crimson head swaying slowly back and forth.
Hesitantly, I reached out my hand. It actually moved slightly toward me, extending its neck. "Going to bite me?" I asked. But it made no further movement, so I bent my finger and rubbed its nose.
"Going to bite me, to bite me, bite me?" I heard my own voice say.
I pulled back from the parrot and looked sharply around. Had someone recorded me, putting my voice through an echo synth? It wouldn't be the first time a smartass roadie targeted me for a practical joke. But when I thought about it, the sound wasn't my recorded voice, the one I heard on playbacks and barely recognized as my own. It was my head voice, the one I heard when I talked—fuller than my recorded voice, less shrill.
It was me.
Oh, shit, I thought, and reached out to touch the parrot again.
"Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit…"
Except I hadn't said anything this time. I just thought it.
"Thought it, thought it, thought…"
Parrots.
"Parrots, parrots, parrots…"
I lifted my finger and the sound stopped instantly. I touched the little animal lightly and the sound kicked in again…but I knew it wasn't a sound, not a real one.
I tried to think things through; and as I did, every chance thought, every tiny notion echoed back to me a fraction of a second after passing through my mind…disorienting at first, but I was used to singing in concert halls with a tiny delay between hitting a note and hearing it over your headphones. I could handle the telepathic equivalent.
First question: did the parrot only echo the thoughts of the person touching it? Or did the parrot echo every thought nearby?
I remembered how Jerith had responded to my thoughts all evening, like touching me when I was annoyed that he hadn't tried anything yet. His hand had been in his pocket most of the night, the pocket that held the parrot.
The parrot must echo everyone's thoughts. And not just the unspoken words; I could sense it broadcasting my emotions too, the outrage growing in me as I realized how Jerith had eavesdropped on my mind. I felt violated. He'd seen me more naked than naked. Hell, who cared about being naked anymore? I'd bared my all three times on Trash and Thrash; by now, half the galaxy had had the chance to count my freckles.
But this…I tried to remember all the thoughts I'd had in Jerith's company. I tried to recall what shameful things might have passed through my mind…
Jerith had said, "That Kilgoorlie is a spooky guy."
I wondered what thoughts the Singer had. About me.
I wondered what thoughts Alex had. About me.
And Roland. And Helena. And the roadies and everyone.
But of course it was wrong to eavesdrop on them.
The parrot didn't resist as I picked it up and stroked its nose. The little animal seemed perfectly content to be held. It nestled into my palm and gave a tiny yawn.
I told myself I would take it back to camp, to prove to the others what the animals could do. Telepathic parrots that echoed people's thoughts—no one would believe that without proof. Well, Alex probably would; but that was a mean thing to say. The parrot repeated the thought over and over, "Alex would believe it" …and under that phrase other thoughts chorused like backup singers, copies of my own voice whispering things I hadn't put into words: Alex is gullible, Alex is a child, I want to know what he thinks, I want to know what he thinks of me.
I barely recognized I'd had those thoughts, but they echoed back clearly.
"I won't use the parrot," I said aloud. "I'm just taking it to camp as proof."
The backup singers in my brain said, I'm lying to myself, I'll probably eavesdrop, I don't know what I'll do.
I stuffed the parrot into the pocket of my dungarees and hastily pulled out my hand. The voices cut off instantly and the silence of the night flooded in. I breathed a sigh of relief and began walking back to the camp, trying to fill my heart with good intentions.
I touched the parrot several times as I walked, just to see that it was still working. The parrot didn't react. It seemed to be asleep, but it still broadcast my thoughts loud and clear. Some creatures give off body temperatures; others give off mental echoes.
What did I hear from the parrot? Excitement mostly, the feeling of power. Qualms too—using the parrot to spy on others was wrong, but could I resist? And a memory of facing a similar conflict when I discovered masturbation at the age of thirteen: an exciting power, an irresistible compulsion, yet an act I'd been told was dirty. Secret vice. Is that a parrot in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? "How far do I have to dig this damned hole?"
I jerked my head around. That last thought wasn't mine.
There was no one in sight…but I stood on barren ground between two flat-topped hills. Someone could be on one of the hills, within range of the parrot's hearing, whatever that range was. I took a few steps toward the hill on my left, then stopped and touched the parrot: nothing but my own thoughts, racing, trying to figure out whose voice it had been. Male. Alex? Roland? I hadn't paid enough attention.
I wanted it to be Alex. The thought of eavesdropping on Alex was so tantalizing…
As quietly as I could, I moved back toward the other hill, stopped, and listened again. "Damned stone. Why are there so many damned stones?"
Alex.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my hand from my pocket. I would resist. I would be good.