Ensign was nearly upside down when he got his tumbling body under control. With a heave and a twist he righted himself and hung in the cloud bank’s updraft, every muscle quivering from exertion and release. One or two remoras who were shaken loose by his violent maneuvering glided in to reattach themselves.
The second shark! It hadn’t stayed low as the song said. While Ensign spoofed its mate the second predator had climbed above him and waited in ambush. Perhaps it had deliberately headed for the nearest rift in the clouds knowing he would instinctively seek the first clear air he could find.
And it had nearly worked. If the shark had held its swoop for just a little longer, or if Ensign had been a little slower to react, he would be a slashed and bleeding wreck sinking into eternal darkness as the sharks tore at him.
He quickly reviewed the newly learned song and confirmed that it didn’t mention the tactic. Another verse to be added, then, taught to the remoras and spread through them to High Folk everywhere. And one more proof that, for all their viciousness, sharks could learn.
“Thanks, little friend,” he vibrated through his earmouth to the remora whose memory had saved them. There was a warm tickling on his earmouth as the remora purred in pleasure.
Ensign scanned for his companions and took stock. He’d vented more hydrogen than was healthy in his jet-driven climb. His buoyancy cells were so low he had to flap occasionally to hold position even in an updraft. He’d have to work to stay up with the pod for the next several days as he rebuilt his hydrogen reserves. But he was alive and that was the important thing.
Ensign expanded as best he could under the influence of a sun too cold for human sensing and almost too dim for human sight. But then no human would ever visit Jupiter’s cloud tops unaided by a mountain of special protective gear.
Nor would any of the High Folk ever visit humanity’s home. In spite of his 120-meter wingspan and powerful muscles, Ensign’s manta body was fundamentally shaped by internal gas pressure in the network of cells, bladders and chambers that made up more than 90 percent of his volume. His nervous system was perhaps more complex than a human’s and his body could stand external pressures from three Earth atmospheres down to less than 1 percent of Earth normal—not to mention temperatures from above freezing point of water down to far below anything ever found on Earth. But for all his complexity, adaptability, and strength, Ensign was basically as fragile as a balloon in a Thanksgiving Day parade.
Off to the east and a couple of thousand wingspans below, Ensign spotted the dark manta shapes of the other members of the Bach Choir working their leisurely way through the field of plankton. With a quick flip of his wings, Ensign glided off the updraft to join them.
“Ensign, what was that all about?” Melody called as soon as he got close. She had slimmed her body out of feeding mode to tighten her timpani so she could talk and hear him before the others.
Ensign paled in embarrassment as he realized the whole pod had seen him after he came up over the cloud bank. “Sharks,” he said quickly. “Two of them, down in the clouds.” Quickly, as only a being who speaks on twenty or more frequencies at once can, he related the encounter, including the shark’s new tactic and his wingtip-breadth escape. The other members of the Bach Choir rearranged themselves so they could hear his tale as they grazed.
“That’s really something,” The Geek said enthusiastically when he finished. “Hey, maybe we can turn it into a performance piece.”
“Yeah,” came a sarcastic retort from above them, “a comedy number.”
Ensign looked over Melody and The Geek and saw Killer had maneuvered in close. The Bach Choir’s lead singer floated above and behind Melody in a position that was so proprietary it verged on insulting. Ensign checked his temper and The Geek made an inarticulate protest.
“You should have seen yourself when you broke out of the clouds,” Killer chortled. “You were doing a half barrel roll and I swear it looked like you stalled out on the top. If you showed a shark moves like that it’s no wonder you confused him.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” Ensign muttered.
“Intentional or not it was one of the best pieces of comedy aerobatics I’ve ever seen. Polish it up and we can use it as an interlude at our next concert. While we get set up for the serious singing.”
There was a brief, strained silence. “Seriously,” Killer went on without missing a beat. “I’m glad you’re safe.” The way he said it left no doubt he was sincere but it didn’t draw the sting. Before Ensign could reply Melody cut in.
“Did you find Teacher? Is he near?”
“Closer than we thought,” Ensign said, not sure whether he felt glad of the distraction or not. “He should be here in a few more day tenths.”
That set the whole choir to muttering and buzzing. Ensign had dropped down to a thermocline to seek out travelers at long range. Sound carried far down there if you limited yourself to lower frequencies and the ability to communicate over long distances made it worth the greater risk of shark attacks.
“There’s more,” Ensign added. “He says he’s bringing someone with him.”
“Who?” asked Yearling, pushing forward in a manner that would have been rude in someone else. In Yearling it was just part of an odd mix of juvenile behavior and towering musical talent that made Yearling Yearling.
Ensign rippled his trailing edge in the High Folk’s equivalent of a shrug. “Didn’t say. Not enough time.”
Yearling’s wingtips drooped in semi-serious disappointment. Low frequencies meant low data rates and the longer you stayed at those depths the more likely you were to attract sharks.
“It would help us to know,” Killer said. “It may be another Master.”
Again, Ensign bit back a retort. His relations with the Bach Choir’s lead singer had become progressively more strained this season and unlike Killer, Ensign didn’t want to do anything to make them worse. As much as he could he ignored the older singer’s needling. But that was getting harder and harder.
“Should we start our welcoming song now?” Melody cut in.
“Good idea,” Killer told her. “We need the practice. Spread out and we’ll run through it. Geek, this time try to hold to the beat. Yearling, watch the high notes. And Ensign, you’re still pretty worn, if you want to rest—”
“I’ll handle my part,” Ensign gritted.
Almost automatically the Bach Choir sorted itself out into a performance formation, line-abreast so their song would reach as far as possible. Since the High Folk sang through their skins rather than their mouths the Bach Choir could keep their fore scoops and belly vents wide to continue sucking in plankton-laden air and straining out the hordes of tiny creatures. But they altered their shapes for best sound production rather than most efficient grazing.
“Come ye weary travelers,” Killer sang out strong and resonant in a narrow band of middle frequencies.
“Come gather and be welcome,” Melody’s voice soared above Killer’s in higher range. Crystal came in over top adding her distinctive trill. Shorty and the three newest singers, Winger, Floater and Fuzzvoice moved into position to add counterpoint to the basic theme.