Pok, who had a yellow beak, blue eyes, white head feathers, and the crimson shoulder plumage that marked his membership in the scarlet flock, cocked his head to one side and listened as the ship warbled its report. A report so strange, so essentially nonsensical, that merchant demanded to hear it again. Then, convinced that he really had dropped into the midst of an enormous fleet, Pok “called” for his daughter. Her name took the form of a short three syllable song.
Veera, who was a good deal smaller than her father but bore the same cape of reddish feathers, looked up from the component-strewn workbench. As with any vessel of her size and complexity, the Dawn Song required a good deal of maintenance—something Veera and a half dozen robots had responsibility for. There were twelve ways to sing her name each having a different meaning. This one meant, “come to me—and do so immediately.” It was one of the first communications a youngster learned, and Veera warbled the appropriate response.
The teenager placed the tuning wand on the tray-shaped work surface and entered the tunnelway that led to the portion of the Dawn Song where her father spent most of his time, a circular space that functioned as office, roost, and galley.
As with any spacegoing creature, Veera was very attuned to the feel of the ship. She noted the slight increase in vibration, one or two degrees of additional heat, and a change in the never-ending “ship song,” a sort of humming sound that provided the crew with feedback and was as unique to Dawn Song as Veera’s variegated back plumage was to her. The vessel spoke of how difficult it was to make more speed while simultaneously charging the accumulators—a process that preceded a hyperspace jump and normally took most of a day. They were in trouble then—and running from something. The youngster increased her pace and emerged into the all-purpose living area. “Father? What’s wrong?”
Pok finished his latest instruction to the ship, forced his feathers to fall into something resembling
“peaceful rest,” and turned toward his daughter. The extent to which the teenager resembled her mother never ceased to amaze him. The same expressive eyes, slender body, and gorgeous plumage. How long had Malla been dead now? Only two years? It seemed longer. But all things end—separations included.
“Some sort of fleet, my dear, though nothing we’ve seen before. It’s huge ... and clearly hostile. At least two ships are closing with us as I speak. I tried to make contact but no response. I want you to enter the lifeboat and strap yourself in. If, and I emphasize ;I, they attack, we’ll try to escape.”
Veera knew her father better than anyone else in the universe. The lie was as obvious as the brittle manner in which the song was sung, the high conflict-ready way in which Pok held his head, and the neck plumage that refused to lie flat. “No! I won’t go. Not till you do.”
Per Pok was far from surprised. His daughter was not only willful, but less deferential than was appropriate, the direct result of living with her father in such confined quarters. He fluttered the feathers along the outside surface of what had once been wings The gesture meant “I love you” and served to distract Veera just long enough for her father to produce the spray tube, aim it in her direction, and press the trigger.
The inhalant, which was found in every Prithian’s onboard medical kit, functioned as a powerful anesthetic. Veera barely had time to register the nonverbal communication and realize what the tube was before darkness pulled her down.
The merchant managed to catch the teenager before she hit the deck and swept her into his arms. She was light, very light, and easy to carry. Careful not to breathe, lest he inhale some of the still-lingering gas, the Prithian hurried away.
The ship song had changed by then, had grown more intense, and warned of approaching vessels. Pok scurried down a passageway into the ship’s belly. A hatch opened in response to the Prithian’s command, and indicator lights began to flash. The very act of entering the bay had activated the lifeboat’s various onboard systems. Any one of the four seats would do. The merchant placed his daughter in the one nearest to the hatch and strapped the youngster in place.
Then, knowing he would never see Veera again, Pok backed out through the lock. He sang “I love you,” and the hatch cycled closed. The Dawn Song shuddered as a missile exploded against her protective force field and started to cry. It was a keening sound like an animal in pain. The Prithian had one more thing to accomplish . . . something that might make all the difference. He turned and hurried away.
The fighters launched their weapons against the Prithian ship with no more emotion than a pair of maintenance bots might demonstrate while scrubbing a deck. They locked onto the target, activated their launchers, and waited for the range to close.
Then, just as the fugitive vessel came within reach of their long-range missiles, it seemed to vanish as a container fell free, exploded, and scattered preheated chaff in every direction. It was an old trick—and one the Sheen were well-prepared to deal with. It did buy some time, however, because as the fighters waited for their sensors to clear the Dawn Song continued to flee. Bio bods might have missed the lifeboat as it tumbled end over end through the chaff, dismissed it as unimportant, or, in a moment of pity, allowed the fugitive to escape. But not the Sheen. They identified the seemingly inert lump of matter as having an 82.1% match to the identification parameters typical of a Type 4 auxiliary spacecraft, which, based on a reading of its core temperature was equipped with a hyperdrive. This information was transmitted to a nearly insignificant aspect of the Hoon, which routed it to a salvage ship, which was already under way.
In the meantime the chaff had cleared, the machines took note of the fact that the quarry had turned on them, and fired their weapons.
Knowing that the Dawn Song’s relatively puny arsenal would have very little impact on his pursuers, and knowing he was about to die. Per Pok chose to target all the offensive weaponry he had on only one of the incoming fighters. Then, eyes closed, he thought of home and his fervent desire to go there. Unit AV7621769 registered the machine equivalent of surprise as the incoming missiles hit his shield and hammered their way through. Most destroyed themselves in the process but one managed to penetrate the hull.
Thousands of miles away the Hoon “felt” what amounted to a tiny pinprick, a unit of machine pain so small as to barely register on its consciousness, yet annoying nonetheless. The AI accessed the back feed from the surviving fighter just in time to witness the explosions. There were three of them, each more powerful than the last, as the Prithian vessel ceased to exist.
Satisfied, and eager to return to what it had been doing, the machine intelligence severed the connection. Veera felt pain at the back of her head, struggled to penetrate the thick gray fog, and remembered the tube. Had her actually father aimed the device at her? Or was that a dream? The teenager forced her eyes to focus, saw where she was, and knew the truth. She remembered the fleet, the argument with her father, and the hiss of anesthetic. The youngster threw herself forward, felt the harness cut into her shoulders, and called out loud, “Father? Where are you?”
But there was no answer. He was gone. Just like her mother. The weight of Veera’s sorrow threatened to crush her chest. But there was no time to mourn, to sing the death song, or to enter the traditional fast. Something grabbed me lifeboat, jerked it back and forth, and drew it in. Something huge. Veera touched controls located in the arm of her chair and a 3D vid screen popped into life. What she saw was a ship, a strange ship that shimmered as if lit from within, and a steadily growing rectangle of light. A hatch! The aliens planned to take her in! Veera felt her heart race and wondered what to do. The Sheen swallowed the lifeboat whole.