“Come now and join us,” the rest of the choir picked up.
“Come, come, come, come,” Drummer and Droner sang out the low register, their whole bodies pulsing with the effort. Then all but Drummer and Droner paused for the listening period.
“Join us in the plankton fields,” Killer carried on.
“Come and take the guest’s place,” Melody and Jane trilled.
“Come and be welcome,” the choir continued.
“Come, come, come, come,” the bass section pounded out, running in riffs while holding the basic beat.
Ensign had lost so much hydrogen it was hard for him to sing. In a couple of spots he had to cheat and he knew that Killer noticed. But still he held his place, trying to produce the sounds allotted him as perfectly and clearly as if he had rested for a week.
“We come. We come.” Faintly and far away came the traditional traveler’s response at the pause. As one the Bach Choir turned in the direction of the sound so their song would be an even clearer guide. Off in the distance Ensign could see two tiny dark specks moving against the opalescent clouds. As the song and response continued they resolved themselves into two of the High Folk.
Even as the song continued, Ensign frowned to himself. The larger person must be Teacher, but who was the other one? The shape appeared so small it must be a child. But why would Teacher bring a child on such a journey?
One of the travelers was undoubtedly Teacher. None among the High Folk had such a commanding voice, such pure technique or such a fine inventiveness even on the stereotypical response to the greeting song. It was a voice and technique they all knew well. Nearly all of the Bach Choir had studied under Teacher. Some of them had come from halfway around Jupiter to learn from him. If his voice was no longer as ripe and full as it had been, if his timpani stiffened with age, there was still no question that Teacher was the greatest master of their time.
And his companion? As the pair came closer Ensign could begin to locate the voices more clearly. There was something wrong here! Ensign’s confusion deepened and then suddenly cleared. Teacher was the small one. And his companion was not young, but old. So old he looked puffy with expanded gas cells his aging muscles could no longer slim to a proper traveling shape. An ancient. But who? And why had Teacher brought someone like that?
Without missing a beat, Teacher and his companion glided into the places of honor in the formation moving through the plankton field. As they slid in, Ensign found another problem with the old one. He mumbled. He threw off a constant stream of wheezes, snorts and bits of phrases, apparently without realizing it. Ensign’s skin tightened in distaste and he moved as far away from the oldster as etiquette permitted. Why in the name of all Below and Above had Teacher brought him?
Killer sang the formal greeting and the whole choir chimed in on the chorus, each offering a fragment of his or her own. Teacher responded warmly yet gravely with a carefully controlled invention. The oldster stumbled and muttered through a trite formula of response.
“Well sung, all of you,” Teacher half-said, half-sang as soon as the formalities completed. “Drummer, you and Droner are unusually strong. Melody, Crystal, you carry a lovely harmony. And Killer, your singing is clearly up to your early promise.”
All of them puffed and flushed with pride at their teacher’s praise. Even Killer, who tried to hide it, expanded a little.
“But to business then,” Teacher half-said, half-sang. Almost without thinking the members of the Bach Choir rearranged themselves around their two visitors in classroom formation.
“You’re famous, you know,” Teacher said. “There is not an eclipse, a transit or a convocation held in the whole band without one of your songs.” He swept a searching beam over them all. “You have broken new ground in harmonies and song structure. Quite a remarkable achievement in ones so young.”
The choir members murmured a response. Then they waited. When Teacher started with an updraft there was sure to be a downdraft close behind.
“With your fame comes responsibility, and you have a task before you.”
The choir shifted and muttered in little bursts of sound. Teacher addressed them as if they were still pupils, children, not independent adults with their own pod.
Teacher continued, “My traveling companion is from Newcomb Pod, far to the south. He has come to meet the best of the younger pods and when he asked me, I suggested you.” Teacher wiggled a wingtip in a self-deprecating gesture. “Simon and his pod track the stars and the moons, predicting eclipses so the folk can gather for songs and rituals. With their songs and their watching they can predict a gathering time a thousand days in advance.” Teacher surveyed his class and continued, “One such a prediction has set a task for you.”
“High task. Long task. Task taken… bzzzzhmm…” the old one mumbled.
“A special festival?” Yearling cut in. “A Grand Gathering of moons?”
In spite of his fatigue, Ensign’s soul soared at the prospect. Sometimes the shadows of two or more moons would join together in a Grand Gathering. Those were special times for the High Folk and worthy of very special songs—if the singers had time to prepare them.
“Tell us what you desire of us,” Killer responded formally for the choir.
Instead of answering directly Teacher rocked back on his axis, as if studying the sky with his main eyes. “Soon enough. It lacks something of evening however, so there is time. Do any of you know the Skyfall Song?” Ensign felt utterly bewildered. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see he wasn’t the only one. The whole pod appeared obviously contused. Even Killer seemed uncertain.
“The Skyfall Song?”
“Yes, the one that begins ‘In the east we saw it.’ ”
There was more shifting and shrugging as the members of the choir repeated the request to their remoras. Finally Drummer, The Geek and Crystal eased forward, indicating their remoras knew that song.
“Sing it for the others please,” Teacher asked, as if demanding an impromptu recital in school.
After a moment’s confusion, the trio rearranged themselves close enough so they could communicate at very high frequency to keep together on the unfamiliar song. Then Drummer, the most experienced performer, gave the cue and the three picked up the song.
The beat came raggedly and with only three voices to cover all the parts the performance sounded thin. But Teacher didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he demand they start again when they got slightly out of phase. He only bobbed assent, as if lost in the song.
Something about this tugged at Ensign’s memory. He didn’t know the song, nor was it among the thousands his remoras had memorized. The pattern and the rhythm were old, a chanson style used only for important history songs. He did not know the song, and yet…