The Stone Seeker council was waiting for them in the room with the giant Knowledge Transfer Device.
Mud Bubble conducted the introductions and acted as Morgan’s translator since he was the only one who knew her language. (As it turned out, Mud Bubble wasn’t even the strangest name there. It was a close race between Fish Gill, Weather Eye, and Gray Water.) Each councilor was in charge of a separate academic field, which was represented by their colored necklace.
“Red Wave studies tactics and strategy, including the methods of war used by other species,” Mud Bubble said to Al. “It may be productive to trade knowledge with her, should she agree to the bargain.”
“Bargain?” Morgan asked sharply. “What do you mean?”
Mud Bubble’s unsettlingly blank eyes focused on her. “No knowledge is truly free. It must be traded for something of equal value.”
“So you aren’t big on libraries?” She waved off the question when Mud Bubble’s whiskers flattened in confusion. “Never mind.”
Al shifted from foot to foot. “I know all of my nest’s weavings in the basic and extraordinary materials.”
“We are not interested in weavings,” Mud Bubble replied. “Red Wave will be most interested in the methods the Wolves used to destroy your people.”
Al stiffened.
Morgan aimed a pointed glare at Mud Bubble. “You know, a little tact can go a long way.” And wow, she could practically hear her father’s voice come out of her own mouth as she said that. It had been one of his favorite phrases, which was ironic. Her dad regularly found a way to piss off anyone who knew him.
Mud Bubble did not apologize or acknowledge his rudeness at all. He simply turned his attention back to her. “Of course, as the first of your species to visit us, any knowledge you provide of your culture and former world will be unique. It will be worth much more than any others of your kind who visit us later.”
She hesitated, unsure if she should still be offended on Al’s behalf or not. Then again, it didn’t seem like Mud Bubble was trying to be rude. He was just… well. Alien. And weird.
“Fine. So, how does this work?” she asked.
He gestured to the Knowledge Transfer Device. “First, we must view the memory to determine its value.”
“I understand,” Al said, which was good because Morgan certainly didn’t. “I’m ready.”
Mud Bubble flared his whiskers in satisfaction and lumbered over to join the rest of the councilors.
Morgan hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she was on board with this plan. View the memory? Could Stone Seekers read minds?
“Are you sure about this?” she asked Al in a low voice.
He flicked his tongue out in a pensively, then bobbed his head. “Someone should remember my people… even if it is a bunch of rude swamp slugs,” he added with a distasteful glance at the council.
Morgan hid a smile. “All right.”
With another bob of his head, Al stepped away from her and up to the Knowledge Transfer Device. He, at least, seemed to know what he was doing.
The Stone Seekers stood waiting on the other side of the room, and made no move to join him. Apparently, this wasn’t going to involve two people exchanging languages again. Thank goodness. Morgan was certain her brains would leak out of her ears if she tried that twice in one day.
Al placed his clawed hands flat upon the large globe. Instantly, the foggy surface illuminated as if something inside had been activated. A deep, warm hum filled the room.
Morgan jerked back in surprise as a beam of light shot out from the other side of the giant gray bulb to splash against the opposite wall. After a moment, it focused into a floor-to-ceiling spotlight. No, not quite a spotlight…
It’s a giant projector, Morgan realized with a swift, unexpected pang of homesickness.
Her father had owned an old-school projector. In happier times, she and her little sister had traced pictures of landscapes upon butcher paper from projected slides her father and mother had taken when they were younger—all projected upon a wall a lot like this.
At first, Morgan wasn’t sure what exactly she was supposed to be looking at. The colors were off, with the reds and yellows more vivid, whereas the greens were washed down to a muddy brown split with streaks of vivid purple where purple shouldn’t reasonably be.
… Because this was how Al viewed the world. His eyes processed light differently than her own.
This is Al’s memory. That was what the Stone Seekers meant. They weren’t mind-readers. The Knowledge Transfer Device had the ability to bring memories to life.
As soon as she grasped that, the image resolved itself into another Yellow Crested raptor. He sat like a resting goose upon the ground, his clawed feet neatly tucked under his body. Even sitting, it was obvious he was much larger than Al—probably a good six feet tall without his crest of glorious yellow and blue feathers adding attentional height. The black and white magpie markings along his wings were gorgeously vivid, as was the spray of yellow at the tip of his tail. He looked like a work of art.
Al, in comparison, looked much less mature. Like a painting half filled in.
The other raptor seemed to be sitting in a dark, cave-like place. There were no lightbulbs, glowing stones, or even a candle to give illumination. But Al could see just fine, which meant Morgan could, too.
The walls surrounding them weren’t made of rock or stone, like in a cave. It looked like plant material woven into tight interlocking mats.
The other raptor clutched several ropey green vines. His straight claws made soft click-click sounds as he weaved them together so fast that the vines seemed to be knotting themselves. No human master-knitter could have held up against a Yellow Crest. They had six needles instead of two, made up from their own hands.
Morgan tore her gaze from the projection to glance at Al. There was a rapt look to his face, his jaws slightly parted. He stared not at the image of the other raptor against the wall, but deep within the cloudy globe of the Knowledge Transfer Device. Morgan got the feeling he was seeing what was projected for them within the cloudy gray fog, instead.
Then the projection of the raptor’s voice filled the room.
“Matron and your sisters are out patrolling for signs that the eloon herds are on the move. It’s almost migration season.” The larger male glanced up. “I understand Matron has taken Krimzon’Lekk under her wing for this patrol.”
Al’s reply came from the device, slightly tinny as if from a recording. “Good. I’m happy for Krimzon.”
“You should be happy for your own sake,” the male corrected in a chiding tone of a parent to a child. “It would be a good match. The nest of Lekk is strong, and the girl is the first hatched daughter of her Matron. She would lay many eggs for you.”
“Dad!” Al sounded mortified. Morgan grinned. Apparently, kids being embarrassed by their parents was universal. “I don’t care about eggs.”
Al’s father didn’t bother to look up from his weavings. “You may not now, but that will change when your mate leaves them in your care.”
“I thought Matron hated the Lekk house.”
“The Lekk do have… odd notions,” his father agreed.
“Salun said they let their males hunt with them, sometimes,” Al said in a rush.
“As I said. Odd notions.” Al’s father waved his tail in a so-so gesture. Morgan caught a flash of creamy white under him and realized with a start that Al’s father was currently incubating an egg of his own.
The gender roles are reversed, she thought. Or, partially. Females laid eggs, and the males sit at home with them.
“I like to hunt,” Al said mulishly. “And I’m a better tracker than half my sisters.”
His father’s magnificent crest of feathers raised upward, making him look like an annoyed cockatoo. “Once your adult plumage grows in, any prey with eyes will be able to spot you from hills away.”
“But—”
“If you want to be useful today, go gather reeds. I need more of the medium weight if I’m to get this section done by sundown.”
Al shifted. “But if they spot the herds, they’ll come back. Krimzon might need me for the hunt—”
“No one with sense wants a male underfoot in an eloon hunt. Now go.”
Al made a snarling sound, but obediently rose. As he turned to leave, his father called out, “And clip them neatly. Don’t bring back any broken stems.”
Al didn’t reply.
The house—if it could be called a house—seemed to be made up of low, twisting tunnels. The floors were packed earth, the walls and ceilings made of the woven reed mats.
He passed wide open rooms with other males chatting with each other as they sat on eggs. Younger raptors played in games of chase along the tunnels, some standing only as tall as Morgan’s knees, with squeaky voices and soft gray down. They were unbearably cute.
Eventually, the tunnel sloped upward to open up to a field outside. Al stepped out, and Morgan was treated to a view of a completely alien landscape.
The tunnel Al had just walked through was one of many, all dug into a steep blue-green hillside like a giant rabbit warren. The nearby trees were spindly, with twisting branches and goofy bunches of leaves that would have made Doctor Seuss proud. In the distance, a herd of heavy creatures peacefully gazed. They sort of resembled cows—if cows had millipede-like legs and feathers.
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Al trudged to a nearby field where stalk-like reeds grew higher than a man could stand. The colors ran the spectrum from red to yellow to a purple so deep it looked black. Again, Morgan got the impression that she was somehow missing a few color variances. There was dull gray where there shouldn’t be—like Al’s memory was showing something that Morgan’s eyes couldn’t understand.
Bending, Al used two of his finger-claws like scissors to crop the nearest reeds.
He was at it for a few minutes when a movement within the field caught his attention. He lifted his head as another raptor leapt out, nearly on top of him.
Al fell back with a hiss of displeasure. “Father told you to stop cutting through the field, Rammel! You’re breaking the reeds.”
The other raptor stood a head taller than him. In contrast to Al’s stark magpie coloring, her feathers were a tawny dull brown, edged here and there in dirty gold. Her heavy claws curled inward on her hands to look like curved daggers, and the short crest of feathers atop of her head was a bullish brown-red.
“Oh, go curl up on an egg,” she snapped. “Matron’s sent me back from the hunt.”
“Why? You’ve found the eloon herds?”
“No, scouts have picked up trouble on the eastern border. Aliens, from some other range. All the males and chicks are supposed to stay indoors until she says it’s safe. The matrons from the other nests are doing the same.”
Al dropped his bundle of reeds. “Where’s Matron and the others, now?”
“I just told you, at the eastern border—Where do you think you’re going?”
Al had turned to run back through the path his sister had cut through the reeds. “To help!”
“But Matron said—”
“Krimzon’s out there. She’d want me to help.”
“So? She’s not your mate yet.”
Pausing, he looked back at her. “I’m going, Rammel. Don’t try to stop me..”
She growled, one foot claw digging a sharp furrow in the soil. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when father bites off your tail feathers for this.”
With that, she leapt straight up into the sky and used her wings to glide to the base of the raptor warren faster than she could have arrived at a run. On landing, she lifted her head to the sky and let out a cry.
Primed by Hollywood, Morgan had been expecting to hear a high-pitched velociraptor scream. But what came out was like the trumpet of an angry elephant—large and feral.
The effect was instantaneous. Raptor heads — mostly male — popped out from distant reed fields. Some took up the alarm, echoing up and down the small valley between hills with the sounds of alarm. Raptors began herding downy chicks into the tunnels.
Al didn’t wait for the evacuation to be complete. He turned into reeds and ran.
It was like racing through a field of corn, with tall, thick vegetation on every side and zero visibility. Morgan had no idea how Al knew where he was going, but within a few minutes the reeds ended at the base of another sharply sloped blue grass hill. At the top stood clusters of other raptors.
Most were the dull patterned females. Full-grown, they stood at least seven to eight feet high. A few of the smaller, brighter males stood out here and there like glinting pebbles at the bottom of the river.
Cresting the top of the hill, Al headed towards one of the smaller, half grown females. They exchanged head bobs.
“I thought you would come here eventually.” The girl’s tone was warm and amused. Morgan guessed that this was Krimzon.
“It looked like a good day for a fight,” Al replied lightly. “What’s going on?”
“My Matron thinks some other species is trying to scavenge the prey off our range.” She pointed her snout towards another line of distant hills. “The nest matrons sent out a second wave of scouts, but… it’s been too long since we’ve heard from them.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they haven’t returned by now, they were captured, or killed.” Krimzon words were flat and business-like, but she flexed her large claws dangerously. “You can smell the intruders on the wind when it blows just right. It’ll probably mean war.”
“I expect we will have to kill every last trespasser,” another female replied, obviously eavesdropping. “Males and hatchlings alike, just to send the message. It won’t be pretty. You sure your male is up to it?” she added, looking to Krimzon.
“I can do anything you can,” Al said. “And I’ll look better doing it, too.”
The other female showed her teeth, but turned away.
Krimzon’s own short head-crest rose in amusement. She bobbed her head at Al again, deeper this time, and leaned in close. Her voice was low. “No matter what else happens, stay with me.”
“I will.”
A sudden cry of alarm filtered down from the line of raptors. On the opposite hilltop, a line of distant figures emerged, silhouetted against the double suns.
At first, Morgan thought that they might be more Yellow Crests. Then, it was as if someone had hit the zoom feature on a camera. The far away hilltop jumped forward in a blur, and then resolved in a close-up view.
Al’s eyes have some sort of telescopic lens built in, she realized.
The image focused, and it became clear that they weren’t raptors at all.
“Wolves,” Krimzon murmured, echoed by other voices around her. “Damn. I thought they were ranges away from here.”
“Wolf” was the word that Morgan’s brain had translated the Yellow Crest phrase into. In truth, the other aliens looked only vaguely like wolves, in the Earth sense.
Larger than a dog, but smaller than a man, the wolves had fur-covered bodies in shades from the black to gray, with a few sunny blondes here and there. Their heads and faces were doglike, with pricked ears, and wedge-shaped snouts. They stood at attention, crouched backward on two hind feet. However, an extra set of arms grew out from muscled shoulders, ending in very human-like hands.
Unlike the raptors, which seem to be grouped in family clusters, the wolves formed up in neat ranks that made squares. One large wolf stood at the head of each square, like a captain. They held no weapons, but gleaming teeth peeking out through parted jaws.
There had to be dozens of ranked squares. The wolves, whoever they were, had brought an army.
One of the larger female raptors — a Matron? — screamed a challenge.
Instantly, Al’s vision flicked back to close-up mode. Around him, other raptors pointed their snouts to the sky and screeched out war-bugles. Al added his own voice, slightly deeper, but no less enthusiastic.
On the opposite hill, the wolves watched silently.
If these were two opposing human armies, this would be the point where terms would be exchanged… At least from Civil War and other old-time war movies she remembered. Someone would ride out and exchange notices of intent/insults with the head of the other army.
Nothing like that happened here. Then again, neither spoke each other’s language.
The raptor’s screams died off into the empty air as there was no visible reaction with the wolves. Glances were exchanged with one another. Everyone seemed baffled over the wall silence.
Then, one female marched forward, her brown and gold wings extended in threat. “This is our territory! This is our range! Leave it, or die!”
Another female screeched out, “Sisters! Defend your mates and your nests!”
It seemed to be the moment everyone was waiting for. As one, the raptors surged down the hill, or else gliding the short distance with wings outstretched. Al and Krimzon ran forward, too, but Al’s shorter legs meant he fell behind most of the females.
The wolves waited with eerie, disciplined, silence.
Only when the raptors, still screaming ululating war cries, reached the bottom of the hill and started to move up was their movement from the wolves. With a guttural command, the ranks moved forward… but only enough for make room for more wolves — soldiers, Morgan realized with a chill— to appear over the top of the hill.
The raptors hesitated. Some slowed. Others called out warning.
But they were committed to the charge, now. The largest in the lead bounded forward and leapt upon the first line of wolves with wings and claws spread.
From that moment, the projected image jumped and shifted multiple times, probably following Al’s jerky memories of the events. One second, Morgan had a crystal-clear view of a wolf bowling into a raptor. The raptor was taller but her body broke under the force of the rush as if she were made of glass.
Hollow-boned, Morgan realized, remembering how she’d been able to throw Al off her when he had first attacked her backpack. The raptors were tall, but didn’t weigh much for their size.
The image jumped again. A wolf snapped at Al with rows of needle-like teeth. It missed by a hair. Al slashed with his claws and caught it across one eye. The wolf reeled back a screaming yelp of pain. But it never broke from its place within the line, and when its neighbors on the right and left moved forward to help, Al was forced back.
After that, it was a blur. Al’s vision flashed from long-range to close-up, too fast to make sense of what he was seeing. The growling, crunching sounds of bone breaking, and shrieks of agony from two species filled the room. Morgan wanted to cover her ears, but if Al could endure this, she should be able to as well.
The projection stabilized again. In a flash, Al and Krimzon worked as a team to take down one wolf, only to have three others its place. One grabbed Krimzon’s arm in crushing jaws and twisted its head upward at an impossible angle. She screamed—
“I can’t!” Al gasped, eyes wide. He wrenched his hands away from the knowledge transfer device, staggering.
Morgan didn’t think about what she was doing. Rushing over, she stopped herself just short before she pulled him into a hug. Crap, he wasn’t human and he might think that was an attack. This close, she saw fine tremors ran up and down his body. His nerves had been stretched to the breaking point.
She couldn’t imagine going through a battle like that once, much less having to share it all over again with a roomful of strangers. “It’s okay,” Morgan said. “That was terrible. I don’t blame you at all.”
Al sagged. “I ran away.”
Her heart went out to him. “I think I would have, too.”
“This is unacceptable,” said the Stone Seeker with the red necklace. Mud Bubble had introduced her earlier as Red Wave. “We must have a full accounting of the incident for this memory to be viable.”
Letting go of Al, Morgan turned to put herself between them. “Why don’t you just… just back off!” Not her finest comeback, but it was the thought that counted. “It’s his memory. He can share as much of it he wants.”
There was a pause as Mud Bubble translated her words for the others. Only he knew Morgan’s language.
Red Wave folded her multi-jointed arms in front of herself primly. “Incomplete information is worse than useless. It is all too easy to come to the wrong conclusion.”
Wow. Turned out that being a bitch was universal. Morgan opened her mouth, but Mud Bubble stepped between them.
“The Yellow Crest is young, and of course this memory would be upsetting to him,” he said to Red Wave. “Would a verbal report be enough?”
Another council member, Gray Water, looked more haunted from the memory than the others. “You could append your memory of his verbal report to the end, Red Wave. Surely, that will suffice.”
Red Wave clicked her jaws together again, looking sullen and sour. “It is far from ideal, but it will have to do.”
Mud bubble nodded and turned an expectant look to Al.
Al drew in a long breath, but the few seconds of rest seem to have steadied him. “I saw at least one more of my clutch sisters pulled down by the wolves, but I’m unsure what happened to the others. My Matron saw me, and told me to run back and warn the nests. I… I was frightened.” He looked down at his clawed toes. “I turned tail and ran as hard as I could. I was too afraid to look back. I didn’t want to see anyone I else I knew, die. But when I got to the hill which overlooked the nests, I saw…” He paused again and took a deep breath. “More wolves had approached from the opposite direction to attack the nests directly. There were bodies everywhere, and… smashed eggs. They were in the tunnels and they were running out down chicks who were trying to escape…”
Hot bile rose up in Morgan’s throat. She forced it back down. She was glad Al hadn’t been able to show this part. It didn’t sound like something she could ever unsee.
“I never thought battle could be like this. I didn’t want to die either.” He swallowed. “So I fled.”
“Where?” Red wave demanded. “To which direction?”
“To the south. I had heard of your people through the Elders, and the knowledge of all the species that you had of all things, including war. I thought if there was a way for one male to get revenge on the wolves, you would know it.”
Red wave dismissed the last portion with a sharp, impatient gesture. “And your journey?”
Morgan wasn’t sure what she meant, but Al replied, “I expected to find bare, blank ranges, but the makers had recently remade one into Morgan’s world.”
“Wait,” Morgan said, mind racing. “Wait… You’re saying your home is practically next door to us?”
Al nodded, human style. “Fifteen days' journey.”
Oh crap. How many miles was that? Did the wolves know about her range yet?
Now was not the time to grill him, but suddenly Morgan found herself very interested in what the Stone Seekers had to say about war, too.
Meanwhile, the councilors had gathered together to discuss Al’s memory. Several were blowing fat bubbles in displeasure.
Al had… sagged, for lack of a better word. He stared listlessly at his hands, all of his feathers pulled tight against his body.
“Al, I’m… I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “Krimzon seemed like a nice…” What? Raptor? Mate? “Girl. Are you sure she’s…”
“The whole field was bloody,” he said.
Which wasn’t a positive yes, but she had the feeling he hadn’t stuck around to identify bodies.
“We have a saying,” she said, trying to think of something, anything, to be helpful. “‘It’s not over until the fat lady sings.’ I… um, don’t know what it means, exactly,” she admitted, “but you don’t know for sure they’re all gone.”
Al was silent for so long she wasn’t sure if he heard her. “Our saying is ‘Don’t let the egg cool until it’s hatched’.”
“I think I like that one better,” she said.
Mud Bubble shuffled up to them. “Red Water is not satisfied with the quality of the memory.”
Al looked sick.
“No,” Morgan said, rising. “If she wants war, she can get it from me. Can I use my memories as payment for him, right?”
It was hard to tell, but Mud Bubble looked slightly taken aback. “If that is your wish, although… Forgive me, Morgan, but I took you as part of a prey species. You appear to have no claws or natural weapons. What do your people know of war?”
She smiled, showing teeth, thinking of all the war movies she watched. Documentaries she’d caught, video games she’d played. “Whatever you want to know.”
The Stone Seekers thought Al’s memories of watching his own people being killed was unsatisfactory? Well she could show them all the first few scenes of Saving Private Ryan and blow their minds.