Because of Jupiter’s high gravity and thick atmosphere, the pressure gradient went from three Earthly atmospheres at the melting point of water to a fraction of an atmosphere at temperatures well below anything on Earth in a matter of fifty miles. Compounds borne up out of the warmer, thicker, denser layers nourished the life in the cloud layers and the complex ecology down in the dark produced the tiny organisms borne upward to bloom and grow in the sun and feed the High Folk. Danger and food came from the clouds below and the life of the High Folk was a constant balancing act between avoiding the danger and sucking in enough plankton to fuel their huge bodies.
Special problem for me, Ensign thought glumly as he flapped his outer wings to try to hold his position. He had jetted so much hydrogen escaping from the shark that he was less buoyant than the others. Unless the Choir was very lucky at finding updrafts to glide from, he would have to spend more energy to keep up. With little food and the low pressure of high altitudes he wouldn’t be able to build up his hydrogen reserves. Ensign’s knowledge of thermodynamics was intuitive rather than systematic but he knew what that meant for his chances.
Killer was right. Some of us aren’t going to make it. He only hoped that Teacher was as right as Killer.
The updraft topped out before they reached the limits of their altitude endurance and the Choir members peeled off, flattening their mantashaped bodies to glide as far as they could toward the next cloud column that might mark another updraft. Behind them Ensign could see all the way to the milky center of the small cyclonic storm they were leaving.
He ignored the darker plankton fields around the edge and concentrated on the storm’s dark central pool. The more turbulent the air, the richer the feeding, but get too close to the inner edge and you couldn’t fight the wind. If the turbulence didn’t batter you to death, or even if it did, you would eventually be sucked into the eye and hurled into the dark, crushing depths.
It was not an uncommon way for Ensign’s kind to die.
The storm was a baby, only a few thousand kilometers across. In the next zone north was the monster of all storms, the Great Red Spot. They would cross well clear of it, but before they got there they would have to cross the stormy sky between the bands and that was nearly as dangerous. And beyond that there would be another band edge, and beyond that…
He shook himself. There was enough to do today without worrying about tomorrow.
“What are you thinking about?” Melody’s voice cut through his reverie.
Ensign looked ahead at a cloud tower standing gold-tinged against the hazy blue sky. He focused on the pink and saffron clouds swirling below.
“I was just thinking what a fine day it is,” he said.
The haze grew thicker as they glided down toward the cloud tops. Ahead the cloud column towered above them, blocking out more and more of the sky. Unfettered by the need to stay in thermals, the group spread out over several hundred wingspans, staying close enough to speak but with each member instinctively seeking the course that suited him or her best. Ensign let the others lead so he could judge the line of least energy from their glide paths. As pod leader, Teacher steered a fairly conservative course, Melody and Crystal tended to stay high and toward the middle of the pod; Droner was sloppy as usual; Yearling came down so fast and steep he had to drop his trailing edge occasionally to kill speed and keep from rudely getting in front of Teacher.
Ensign watched the youngster’s antics with amusement. Was I ever that young? Ever that full of life? Probably not, he admitted. He was a plodder, steady rather than exuberant like Yearling or flashy like Killer. Still, he could appreciate both of them. He enjoyed watching Yearling, just as he enjoyed sharing The Geek’s insights into all kinds of arcana or even, he admitted, as he had enjoyed Killer’s dash and style back before things started to go wrong.
There was still a lot of admire about Killer, for all his faults. Ensign hadn’t really liked him, but he had admired him. Then why was it that the tension seemed to center on him and me? he wondered.
It came as a new thought and he was still working on it when something else caught his eye. They approached the cloud column now, close enough to read the fine structure of the updrafts and swirling air masses by infrared. Teacher held them well off the cloud tops, but Droner had dropped low, lower even than Yearling at the bottom of his swoops.
That’s not right! He’s too low. For an instant a tendril of mist hid Droner and Ensign focused his tympani to shout. But Droner already saw his error. He angled up sharply, trading speed for height and climbing away from the opaque cloud mass. He broke free into the clear air, hanging for an instant, teetering on the edge of a stall. Then a dark torpedo shape lunged out of the clouds and slashed across Droner’s underside.
Soundlessly, Droner crumpled in on himself. With most of his central gas cells torn he lost lift and rigidity simultaneously and began to flutter down into the clouds.
The sharks were tearing at him before mist closed over them.
“Nooo,” Crystal screamed on all frequencies. Ensign’s body tightened. He wanted to lunge down into the clouds and lash the sharks, blind and deafen them with his voices, to fight and destroy them utterly for what they had done to his friend.
But it was useless, suicidal. There was no hope. Even if the sharks had not been at him so quickly, no one could live with that many gas cells ruptured. Droner, with his warm middle ranges and complicated rhymes, his endless and near-point-less story-songs, was gone.
Without thinking, the pod had pulled itself into a tight defensive formation well clear of the clouds. There were rasps of grief and hums of shock, but no coherent communication. Even Simon had stopped his mumbling.
At last, slowly, painfully, the pod unwound from its box. Melody started the Mourning Song and they all joined in, bawling out their grief and anger to the uncaring clouds and endless, eternal sky.
They were lucky in their choice of a cloud column. The towering mass marked a strong updraft with a minimum of internal turbulence. As soon as the Choir rose smoothly and well clear of the cloud layer, Teacher summoned them into a classroom formation.
“We have songs to learn,” Teacher called in the way he had summoned them to class. “New ones for all of you.”
No one objected. One of them was gone and would be no more. They had mourned him in song and perhaps later they would mourn again in other, more personal, songs. But for the High Folk sudden death remained a constant and life always went on.
“…Bzzhum songs to learn,” Simon breathed, “many, many, many… hisss.” Ensign wished the ancient would either shut up or move away from them, but it would be impolite to say anything, so he tried to block out the sound and concentrate on Teacher.
The Choir began to sort itself by sound range so the similar parts could stay together on a new song. Teacher stopped them with a wing ripple. “That won’t be necessary. There are no parts to these songs.”
“You mean we all sing the same part?” Melody sounded a little put off. She prided herself on the ability to carry a theme through the Choir’s complex harmonies.
“On these, yes. Now, here is the first one.” He hummed a simple rythym.
“—To find the best fields when the Sun’s sinking low…
“That’s not a performance piece,” Yearling protested. “That’s a childrens’ song.”
Teacher stopped and focused his full attention on Yearling. “Do you know it?” he demanded.
“Well, no.”
“Then learn it.” He swept the group with an admonitory sound pulse. “All of you.”