The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars, Part One: Eagle Ascendant

MAN WHO FOUND BIRDS AMONG THE STARS

A Biographical Fiction

Part One

EAGLE ASCENDANT

by

Lorinda J. Taylor

This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. However, the person presenting this book does not guarantee that such characters and events will not come into existence at some time in the future.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover illustration by Lorinda J. Taylor

The Prologue Survivor was originally published in Read for Animals (first published by Golden Box Books, © 2014 by Erika M Szabo).

Copyright © 2017 by Lorinda J. Taylor

For Neil Aplin

who read most of this lengthy tome

when it was still a Work in Progress,

was captivated by my Captain and my future world,

and persistently encouraged me to publish it.

Table of Contents

Facsimile of 29th Century T. P.

Disclaimer

Publisher’s Response to Disclaimer

Prologue: Survivor

Beginnings

Chapter 1: How Robbin Nikalishin Got His Name

Chapter 2: School days at Epping Academy

Chapter 3: Crises and Decisions

Chapter 4: Best Friends

Chapter 5: Robbin Nikalishin and Sharlina Graves

Chapter 6: Robbin Nikalishin and His Silver Mother

Chapter 7: A Summer Adventure

Chapter 8: An Introduction to Temporal Quantum Physics

Chapter 9: Robbie’s First Visit to Eira

Chapter 10: The Bridge Collapses

Chapter 11: A Death in Patagon

Chapter 12: Robbin Nikalishin and Wilda Mull

Chapter 13: Triumph and Loss

Chapter 14: New Assignments:

SkyPiercer

Chapter 15: Introduction to Herinen Memorial Space Port

Chapter 16: Capt. Prf. Anezka Lara

Chapter 17: The Nature of Temporal Quantum Pods

Chapter 18: A Simulated Jump

Chapter 19: The Public Life of Robbin Nikalishin Begins

Chapter 20: Robbin Nikalishin Makes an Enemy ...

Chapter 21: ... And Gets Chewed Out

Chapter 22: SkyPiercer Flies

Chapter 23: A Triumphal Progress

Chapter 24: A Visit to Eira

Chapter 25: New Ships, New Posts, New Personnel

Chapter 26: An Epping Old Boy Returns

Chapter 27: A Fragile Reconciliation

Chapter 28: The Irina Hilo Flies

Chapter 29: Robbin Nikalishin Averts a Catastrophe

Chapter 30: Robbin Nikalishin and Sushmita Bandari

Chapter 31: Captain at Last

Chapter 32: Leave Time

Chapter 33: Sterling Asks for Help

Chapter 34: Successful Experimental Missions

Chapter 35: Life and Death on Earth Continue

Chapter 36: Robbin Nikalishin Loses Another Love

Chapter 37: Adm. Hurtline Changes the Agenda

Chapter 38: Robbin Nikalishin and Fedaylia High Feather

Chapter 39: Kolm MaGilligoody’s Last Bash

Chapter 40: An Eirish Wedding

Chapter 41: Aftermath of the Wedding

Quickspeed

Chapter 42: A Radical Change

Chapter 43: Dangerous Times

Chapter 44: Robbie Visits the Doctor

Chapter 45: Kolm Announces a Decision

Chapter 46: The Crew Is Muzzled

Chapter 47: What Else Can a Captain Do?

Chapter 48: Duplicitous Dealings

Chapter 49: Crew Assignments

Chapter 50: Robbin Nikalishin Ties Up Loose Ends

Chapter 51: Wilda Receives a Package and Takes Action

Chapter 52: The World Watches the Darter Launch

Chapter 53: Robbin Nikalishin Has a Dream

Chapter 54: The Darter Births

Appendix: Mythmaker Precepts

Facsimile

of 29th-Century Title Page

THE MAN WHO FOUND BIRDS

AMONG THE STARS

A Biographical Fiction

Issued in the year 2849 as

Part of the Commemoration

of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Death of

Capt. Robbin Haysus Nikalishin

(10 May 2799)

Part One

EAGLE ASCENDANT

by Tania Barden

Fellow, Brassnose/Queens’ College

Oxkam University

Published by

The Midammeriken Publishing Link

New Washinten, 2849

Disclaimer

In connection with the commemoration of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the death of Capt. Robbin H. Nikalishin, ESC commissioned the Midammeriken Publishing Link to produce an official biography of the man acclaimed the greatest hero of Earth’s New Age of Space. However, the publisher chose instead to issue a series of fictionalizations written by Prf. Tania Barden, a novelist who is notorious for taking liberties with her subjects.

While the Space Command’s inspectors have scrupulously verified the chronological facts of Capt. Nikalishin’s life as set forth in Prf. Barden’s work, many people will undoubtedly take offense at the disrespectful light cast upon the Hero of Epsilon Eridani and some of those who played a part in his life. The occasion is one for deferential admiration, not defamation, and we find it impossible to accept that this intellectually gifted, self-sacrificing, and stouthearted space pioneer could have been anything like the feckless and conflicted individual portrayed in Prf. Barden’s rendering. Hence, ESC wishes to disclaim all responsibility for such an unfortunate trashing of Capt. Nikalishin’s character and to issue an apology to all who find it an insult to our heritage. That this work should even be permitted to be published is a tribute to the freedom of expression that is so vital to the society of 29th-century Earth.

Fleet Adm. Andro M. Terenski

Chief of Staff, Earth Space Command

5 October 2849

Publisher’s Response to Disclaimer

The caveats of the ESC are duly noted and not unexpected. However, in defense of ourselves and our author, let it be stated that Prf. Barden’s works are always based upon a thorough researching of all records that touch upon the character, behavior, and motivations of her subjects, including archival materials and the traditional insights of descendants of the principals. While we concede that the portrayal is a bit suppositional in places and frequently irreverent, we assert that it’s not necessary to be pompous or dull (or to deify a subject) in order to express admiration and respect. We are content to leave it to the more insightful of our readers to decide whether the reputation of Earth’s deservedly well-loved Capt. Robbie is diminished or enhanced by these moving humanizations.

Audry P. Hakim

Editor-in-Chief

Midammeriken Publishing Link

Prologue: Survivor

March, 2737

When Milo Tanner found his ewe, there was blood on the ground and on her head and she was no longer pregnant, but no lamb was anywhere about. Deep puncture wounds had almost put the ewe’s eye out. Cherry the border shepherd had led Milo to her, and now the usually unflappable dog was running in circles, sniffing the blood and barking excitedly.

It was the third lamb Milo had lost this year in mystifying circumstances, but this was the first time a ewe had been injured. He was getting damned angry about the situation. Cherry, you don’t suppose we got some kind of PDA religious cult rearing its ugly head, he said.

But that didn’t make sense. The lamb had just flat disappeared into thin air, and the marks on the ewe’s head looked like the work of – claws or teeth …

That was absurd – there were no animals in 28th-century Britan who ran around nabbing lambs – unless it was a pack of feral dogs … Maybe that was it.

But there were no drag marks on the ground, or paw prints …

It’s like it disappeared into thin air, Milo repeated, and then he thought of something … Aw, it couldn’t be that. There’s no bird big enough in these parts to take away a whole newborn lamb.

And the sheep farmer looked up into the sky …

… and there it was, wheeling in slow majesty beneath the overcast: the biggest godawful flying animal he’d ever seen. That was no hawk … that had to be …

Milo swore. What’s a golden eagle doing over the south of Britan?

But that didn’t seem right, either. He’d seen pictures of golden eagles and even a wild one in the flesh when he and the wife had taken a vacation to the northern highlands. This thing was gleaming white underneath, with a dark head and bib and dark flight feathers, and it was big – bigger than any golden eagle he’d ever heard of. He gawked until his neck hurt – until it began to seem that the creature was watching him, perhaps sizing him up for a strike …

… or sizing up Cherry … Suddenly, Milo sprang to life. Come on, dog, let’s get that ewe home where we’re all safe. I got to get Dr. Fitzpierce out here, and then I got to do something about this situation.

*****

Evan Fitzpierce bent over the scratch marks on the ewe’s head. He had been skeptical when Milo Tanner had informed him that a demonic bird the size of a ram was terrorizing his flock, but now, as he measured the distance between the punctures, he wasn’t so sure. You see, Milo was saying, there’s one hole right here and another over there. A centimeter to the right and she’s lost an eye.

I got eyes myself – I can see that, the young veterinarian said testily. God almighty, this measures a good 15 centimeters. That’s one whopping set of talons.

There, now do you believe me?

Well, I believe something. What other evidence did you find out there in the field?

I saw the thing! Isn’t that enough?

Well, I mean on the ground. Didn’t you look around?

Not with that thing hanging up there waiting to strike me down! Are you going to doctor my ewe, or do I got to get somebody all the way from Tunebridge?

Fitzpierce cleaned the ewe’s wounds and administered an antimicrobial, and then he talked the farmer into taking him to the scene of the crime. The flying monster didn’t show itself, but the vet did find a couple of long, dark feathers – obviously primaries.

Huh, Fitzpierce said, that’s no golden eagle. And here’s some white feathers stuck on this patch of nettles – probably breast feathers. We’ve got to be dealing with an exotic here.

What’s a ‘zotic’?

The vet sighed. ‘Exotic.’ A foreign bird. A bird that didn’t originate in these parts.

Yeah, a demon.

Fitzpierce declined to dignify that assertion with an answer. I’m going to take these feathers along with me. May help me identify the creature.

What good will that do? I just want to get rid of it. I got to make my quota of lambs in these goddam times or this land that my ancestors have owned since the beginning of the world will go into the goddam Gov pot.

Aw, Milo, you’re not in danger of losing your land. You only have to produce 400 lambs with this number of hekters, and you’ve got 700 breeding ewes. Say only 600 of them lambed successfully, you could still lose 200 and safely meet expectations. And no one bird is going to kill 200 lambs in the space of a couple of weeks.

The farmer was stumping back toward the house on the heels of the vet. Well, whatever. I know I want my lambs to go to feeding the good citizens of these Islands of Britain and not some goddam alien demon bird.

*****

The vet took the feathers away with him, but Milo returned to his house and started ringing up his neighbors. The foreman of a nearby poultry operation said he’d had several disturbances in the yards recently and found some blood and feathers. The man asserted he had thought at first it was marsh harriers, but then he had caught a glimpse of what must have been a goshawk flying off. Milo suspected what he had really seen was the demon. Then a woman reported finding the remains of one of her barn cats, reduced pretty much to a few scraps of fur and bone. None of the sheep operations had suffered any losses, but a goat farmer was inexplicably missing a kid.

Why am I the only one losing lambs? said Milo grumpily.

And his wife said, Maybe it’s because we got that beech grove up on the hill. I mean, the thing has to hang out somewhere out of sight, doesn’t it?

Milo swore some more, then sat thinking for a while. The creature’s boldness was escalating, it seemed – it had gone from chickens to cats to kids and lambs, and then it had attacked his ewe. Of course, Fitzpierce had thought the newborn lamb might have been quite close to the ewe and the bird’s talon had simply raked her accidentally. Milo, the vet had said patiently, there’s no bird in the world big enough to pick up a 75-kilogram sheep and carry it off.

But Milo Tanner wasn’t so sure; the thing was a monster, as big as a cow.

After thinking awhile longer, he decided what he ought to do. He sat down at the com port and rang up the regional headquarters of the Terrestrial Security Force in Madestone.

*****

Back in the Ag Office, Evan Fitzpierce was doing some research on the Ed Link. If this really was an exotic eagle, there weren’t that many species big enough to carry off lambs. There was the crowned eagle of Afrik – the harpy eagle (but that Southwest Quad species was thought to be extinct) – maybe the imperial, but those also had become quite rare, except in captivity …

But none of those matched the colors that Milo had given him – a dark head with white underparts – although Evan wasn’t sure he could trust the excitable farmer to be describing the demon accurately; the thing got bigger every time he mentioned it.

Fitzpierce discovered the rare species known as the stellar sea eagle. The Ed Link mentioned it had been known to prey on mammals, and it had a dark head and white legs. However, its belly was dark and its tail white, and besides it was native to the coasts of Northeast Quad – whatever would one of those be doing halfway around the world in the Islands of Britan?

Wait a minute – here was a picture of a truly fierce-faced bird with white underparts: the martial eagle. It was from Southern Afrik, but maybe it had somehow gotten blown off-course during a migration. Or did they even migrate? Dr. Fitzpierce was not all that knowledgeable about wild raptors. And anyway, this one in the picture had a white head and throat.

Presently, Fitzpierce closed out the link. This was getting him nowhere, and it was lambing season – he didn’t have time to hang around the office studying the problem. There was only one thing to do. A search of the comdex yielded the number for the Avian Pavilion at the Lunden Zoological Park.

But it was a Sunday and the principal curators were not there, so Evan wrote a note to the appropriate parties, bundled up the feathers, and dispatched them to Lunden. The packet would arrive the next morning; he should get a call back by the following afternoon.

*****

Dr. Fitzpierce was out in the field early the next day and didn’t get back to the office until midafternoon. When he walked in, the receptionist said, You’ve got two visitors waiting for you in your office, doctor. They said they’re from the Lunden Zoo – some kind of beefeaters, it looks like. They’ve been here about an hour – seemed pretty heated up about something. I couldn’t get ’em to go away.

Holy crap. I expected maybe a com call but not …

As the vet entered his office, a woman and a man jumped up and Evan said, I’m Dr. Evan Fitzpierce, Chief of the Gov Ag Vet Clinic here in Madestone. You must be …

Prf. Sylvia Locke, Director of the Avian Pavilion at the Lunden Zoological Park. And this is the Chief of the Raptor Section, Prf. Peter Klement.

They shook hands all around and Dr. Fitzpierce said, I must say I’m a bit surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to come down – I just wanted some help identifying …

An obviously gleeful Prf. Klement interrupted. "When you’ve got our missing eagle, doctor? When you’ve found our Polemaetus bellicosus living in the Kentish countryside? Certainly that was worth a trip!"

"Polemae- … Uh – that’s the martial eagle, as I recall. But the farmer who saw it said the bird had a dark head, and the picture I found showed the head to be white."

You were looking at a juvenile bird, said Prf. Locke. The head and upper chest turn dark as they age, and this one is an unusually large mature male, about ten years old.

And it escaped from the Zoo?

Not exactly, said Klement as they settled down around the vet’s desk. It was being imported from the Kruger Raptor Research Center, which is operated by the Vitsrant School of Biological Sciences at the Jonnsberg Consortium. It’s a wild-caught bird. Our Zoo was selected for an off-continent raptor-breeding program and this was the first acquisition. After this one settled in, we were to get a female to go with it. Anyway, the bird was flown into Dover Flight Base, but while he was being transferred to a wing hopper for the jaunt to Lunden, somehow the lid of the box came off – we aren’t sure how.

The Kruger people have told us this bird is a wily character. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t figure out how to undo the latches.

Maybe. Anyway, he escaped and simply disappeared. That was about two months ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see the publicity, doctor.

Well, I stay pretty busy around here – can’t always keep up on the news. But how big is the thing, anyway? Milo Tanner is saying it was the size of a ram.

The two ornithologists laughed. Well, not that big, said Prf. Locke, but he’s a good 6.5 kilos of bird, with a wingspread of almost two meters. We’re absolutely thrilled to find him – we’ve had the Afrikens denouncing us as a bunch of incompetent northern nincompoops and we’ve had the Environmental Authority threatening to cut back our research funding. But now we can arrange to trap the old boy and get him back behind bars where he belongs.

Hmm, said Dr. Fitzpierce, finding that phraseology rather distasteful.

Prf. Klement seemed of the same mind, because he said, I don’t know that he really belongs in a cage, but we need him to help ensure the future of the species.

Well, said the vet, at least he should be healthy. He hasn’t wanted for exercise or food.

And we’ll be glad to compensate the local farmers for their losses, said Sylvia Locke. It’ll be worth that to know our eagle didn’t end up starving or dying of hypothermia up here in this damp hyperborean land.

Does the big fellow have a name? asked Fitzpierce.

Not yet, said Klement. We wanted to get a bit acquainted with him before we stuck him with a moniker.

Presently the doctor rang up the Tanner household and got the farmer’s wife Merrilee. Merri! Evan Fitzpierce here! I’ve got an answer for Milo about his big bird.

Oh, gar! You have?

Yes, it’s an Afriken raptor called a martial eagle that belongs to the Lunden Zoo. It escaped while it was being transported. I’ve got people from the Zoo here right now. Can you get Milo into the house? I need to talk to him about making arrangements to set some traps.

Uh, great gaw … I can’t get him into the house, Evan.

Why not?

’Cause he just went off somewhere looking for the bird, with two TeSeF officers.

What? Fitzpierce laughed. What’s he thinking – that he’s going to have it arrested?

No, he’s thinking he’s going to have it shot.

And after Prf. Klement had seized the com piece and lost his temper with Merrilee Tanner, reducing her to tears, and after Prf. Locke had apologized, saying they understood that this disaster wasn’t Ms. Tanner’s fault, Dr. Fitzpierce and his visitors piled into the Vet Office’s half-hauler and headed out through the sunken lanes toward the Tanner farm.

*****

Milo Tanner stood in the middle of a field alongside Sgt. Jack Alcorn and Officer Bertie Cope. The three of them were staring up at the sky. Is that it there? asked the young Cope, fingering the holster of his sidearm breathlessly. He had never before been asked to shoot anything except targets on the firing range, and he found the prospect both seductive and alarming.

Hell, no, said Milo, disgusted. That’s pigeons.

I have a feeling you’d know it if you saw this thing, Bertie, said Alcorn nervously. Frankly, I still think you’re imagining things, Mr. Tanner.

Dammit, I am not! I showed you the ewe.

I’d have rather talked to the vet first. Not knowing what we’re shooting … it could be we’re doing something illegal.

It’s an animal, for gods’ sakes! I’m not asking you to shoot my neighbor down the way! You’re sworn to protect the public, aren’t you? That’s why you’re allowed to have guns when the rest of us aren’t. If I coulda had a gun, I coulda shot it myself.

Well, there’s more good reasons than bad for not letting the general public have firearms, you know …

Yeah, it’s so you TeSeF goons can lord it over everybody. But we didn’t come out here to argue gun ownership. You’re supposed to protect the public, and if this thing could carry off a lamb, it could carry off a human baby. So let’s …

Bertie Cope grabbed hold of his superior’s arm and pointed upward with his other hand. Uh-h … uh-h-h …

And there it was, just as Milo had seen it earlier, spiraling upward above their heads. Something was dangling from its talons – the corpse of some small animal, probably a hare.

Oh megod! Shoot it! Shoot it! cried Milo.

Both the Security men had drawn their pistols, which were ballistic weapons; the electropistols and laser guns with which present-day TeSeF officers are armed had not yet come into regulation use. But Sgt. Alcorn said, It’s out of range, Mr. Tanner. It may take shotguns or rifles to get this done, and I don’t have access to those without petitioning my superiors.

Hell, you people aren’t good for anything. I don’t know why I should have to pay taxes for your upkeep.

Look! cried Officer Cope. It’s headed for that line of trees!

They watched the bird swoop down and disappear into the greenery at the top of a small rise. Just like the wife said! exclaimed Tanner. Come on! Let’s follow him up there! Maybe we can catch him on the ground and get close enough for a shot!

The three men trotted off through the sheep that were scattered about the field and scrambled up toward the beech copse. They made no particular attempt to approach quietly, but apparently the eagle did not feel threatened, because it didn’t fly away. They did hear a little scruffling and a few wing beats, however, as they stepped cautiously into the cover of the trees.

On the ground they discovered the remains of the hare, as yet unconsumed. And then … they looked up …

Above them on a tree limb, much too close for comfort, perched the biggest bird any of those Brits had ever seen. His enormous talons gripped the branch, yet he seemed to be standing on tiptoe, stretching tall on his muscular white legs as he hunched over and mantled his meter-long wings. But it was the head that completed the work of intimidation; it was more than the viciously hooked beak – it was the eyes … the vivid gold eyes with round, black pupils that pierced his antagonists, set in beetling, slanted patches of darker feathers that lent a truly demonic intensity to the gaze. The whole was topped off by a short, bristling crest that kept rising and falling like a signal flag.

Then the eagle opened his beak to show a quivering tongue and emitted a series of high-pitched screeches … klee-klee-klee-kluee-kluee … What was he expressing? Warning? Threat? Triumph? Perhaps he was laughing at them – or perhaps he was only inviting them to talk. But what human can understand the subtleties of the language of birds?

And then a terrified Bertie Cope, who had never before turned his weapon on a living being, raised his pistol and fired. And the screech ended in a squawk as the martial eagle, who had never before encountered a living being with a weapon, toppled backward from his perch and crashed into the bushes below the tree.

Milo surged forward, but a more cautious Sgt. Alcorn grabbed him. Let’s make sure it’s dead first, he said. Something like that wounded is worse than whole.

And he was right, for there was a thrashing in the brush and then the eagle emerged and succeeded in scrambling back into the tree. Blood was dripping from near the tip of one pinion; Officer Cope had only managed to wing him. But the raptor didn’t give ground; he continued to mantle and dance back and forth in agitation on the branch, screeching again.

Somewhere in the distance behind them, the three men heard shouts, but they were too absorbed in the drama before them to pay attention.

Well, finish him! cried Milo. What are you standing around for, you dunces? He’s about to attack us!

And this time it was a shaken-up Sgt. Alcorn who fired. The bird crashed backward again and for a moment there was no sound. That allowed the men to hear the voices in the background … Stop, stop! Don’t shoot! Holy Mother Earth, they’re killing my eagle! You’re destroying Government property – that’s a valuable bird! Stop!

The TeSeF men and the farmer looked at one another in alarm and then they bolted out of the trees, to see two men running madly across the field toward them, scattering sheep in all directions. A stocky middle-aged woman was paddling along behind, doing her best to keep up.

That’s the vet, said Milo. I don’t know who the others are.

The two groups came together on the fringes of the trees and Peter Klement shoved past the farmer and the TeSeF officers. As the others followed, Dr. Fitzpierce was explaining, These people are from the Lunden Zoo. What we’ve got is an Afriken eagle that escaped while it was being imported …

Just ahead of them Prf. Klement was cursing violently. Damn you all to perdition, you pea-brained bloody bastards! What have you done? You’ve shot my eagle!

The Sergeant’s aim had turned out to be no better than his subordinate’s. The eagle had come to life and had been hopelessly attempting to regain his refuge in the tree. Now his struggle had brought him out of the undergrowth and he was crouching with his back to the tree trunk, bobbing up and down, with the dead hare on the ground before him. Both wings were maimed and bleeding now, and his white belly was splashed with red but only from contact with a wing. He kept snaking his head and his gaping beak toward his assailants and, while he no longer made any sounds, pain had done nothing to mitigate the ferocity of his glare.

Prf. Locke rasped, This is absolutely reprehensible! Shame on you, Sergeant, taking matters of which you know nothing into your own hands like this! You’re going to have to answer to the law, all of you, and that includes the owner of this property.

And Klement kept repeating, You sons-of-bitches, you went and shot my bird!

Mightily discomfited, Milo Tanner retorted, Well, if he’s your bird, mister, what’s he doing out here flying around the countryside terrorizing the law-abiding citizens of Britan? Seems like we got a right to protect ourselves against alien incursions …

Peter Klement sprang around as if he might attack the farmer himself. It’s a bird, not an army! And you’re not just a British citizen anymore – you’re a citizen of Earth! How long is it going to take for you provincial nitwits to get that fact through your thick skulls, that things have changed on this planet? Every creature on it … belongs … to everybody … And as he turned back to the panting eagle, the ornithologist began to weep. All he was doing was earning his living – surviving, just like you. And you bloody bastards shot him – this majestic creature … you shot him …

Sylvia Locke had seized her colleague warningly by the arm. You better calm down and back off, Peter. Sergeant …

I’m really sorry, Ms. – whoever-you-are. Tanner convinced us the public safety was threatened, and it did seem …

I wish I hadn’t done it, wailed Bertie Cope suddenly. Gaw, I’ve always wished I could know what it felt like to shoot something, but now I don’t think I could ever shoot anything again!

Then Dr. Fitzpierce sprang to life. Well, at least he’s not dead. But he was thinking the same as the Zoo people. The chances he’ll ever fly again are minuscule, and he may lose his wings, and he may not survive … I’ve got gear in the hauler – a big net and some trank and a dart gun …

That’ll stress him more, said Prf. Locke.

Yeah, I know. We won’t tranquilize him unless we have to. Maybe the net will be enough to handle him.

There’s a hood and some gauntlets in the hauler, in my pack, said Peter Klement, mopping his face on his sleeve and turning to cast a final woeful eye on the grounded eagle.

I’ll be back as quick as I can, said the vet. Professors, you stay and keep an eye on our friend in case he decides to make a break for it. Tanner and you TeSeF chaps, you better come with me. I don’t think anybody wants you out here any longer.

But you’ll be hearing from our legals forthwith, said Prf. Locke frostily.

And Tanner muttered as he hiked off after Dr. Fitzpierce, All a man wants out of existence is something to make his life more comfortable – tangible benefits, those global econ types call it. But they won’t even let us have that anymore.

*****

They netted the eagle; surprisingly, subduing him was easier than Dr. Fitzpierce had expected. Perhaps he was weakening, or perhaps he understood his best chance for survival lay in submission – or perhaps he realized that these particular humans were not his enemy. However that was, he struggled very little as they threw the net over him and scooped him up, then caught him by the feet and the back of the neck, hooded him and bound his legs. But as Prf. Klement was pulling down the hood, Fitzpierce could still see the untamed defiance in those golden eyes, and it was something that he was never to forget.

They put the eagle into one of the vet’s cages and Klement rode with his charge in the bed of the vehicle all the way back to Madestone. In the Vet Office’s surgery they decided to sedate the bird after all so that Fitzpierce could do scans and make a preliminary assessment of the damage. Sgt. Alcorn’s bullet had shattered the humerus in the right wing, while Bertie Cope’s wilder shot had wrecked the carpals in the left. My advice, said the vet, would be to amputate the tip of the left wing. It may be possible to repair the right humerus, although it would be pretty dicey surgery. Of course, I’m no avian expert. But no matter what …

I know, said Klement, despairingly raking his fingers through his hair. Amputation will deprive him of his primary flight feathers on that left side. No matter what we do, he’ll never fly again. Probably never breed either.

The Kruger people will never trust us with a female now, said Prf. Locke. But we have a top-notch avian surgeon on staff in the Pavilion. If anybody can fix up our unfortunate friend, it will be her. At least, we may be able to render this bird cosmetically fit to be displayed to the public and maybe used for educational work, if he should prove trainable. But the breeding project will have to be put on hold for a while, I fear.

As the ornithologists were leaving, armed with information as to the identity of the culpable parties, they thanked Evan Fitzpierce profusely for his help. And he said, You know, this experience has really piqued my interest. I’ve always been a mammal man, but I’m suddenly thinking of going back to Vet School and taking some advanced courses in avian surgery. I may be about ready for a change in my life, anyway. Maybe I’ll start looking for a job with a raptor center.

Well, birds make for a rewarding and fascinating study, said Prf. Locke. We would welcome you to our ranks, doctor.

Fitzpierce drove the visitors and their cargo to the Madestone Flight Port where their wing hopper awaited them, and they flew away. The groggy eagle was recovering consciousness, but still he didn’t struggle. Could he have known how oddly his life was playing out? In Afrik he needed no one, soaring in splendid isolation high above the veldt; in Britan he was surrounded by caring friends, but he would always be alone.

As the wing hopper began to descend into the heart of the Precinct of Lunden, Prf. Klement said suddenly, Sylvia, I know what we should name this eagle – that is, if he lives.

What?

We should name him ‘Survivor.’

Beginnings

Chapter 1

How Robbin Nikalishin Got His Name

November, 2737

Roberto Haysus Vargas was born in Mount Vid Precinct in Arentina on 31 October in the year 2729. His mother, whose name was Sterling Nikalishin, was descended from Russan stock. Her ancestors had migrated into Western Uropia during the era of the Techno-Warlords, only to flee to Britan when the bombs that had obliterated the Franco-Jerman Federation began to fall 400 years ago. In the ensuing centuries, the Nikalishin lineage had become stoutly British, although the family had resisted the pressure to anglify its name during the 27th century’s Campaign of Cultural Unification.

Upon completing prep, Sterling attended a tech school, studying Spainish and information technology with the intent of becoming an interpreter and transcriptionist. Earth’s Global Unification Charter was less than forty years old at that time and the implementation of a Pan-Global government remained a work in progress. Segments of the Earth such as Britan and Midammerik prided themselves on possessing an unusually enlightened heritage. They had not quite lost their distrust for less homogenized lands in distant sectors of the Earth, so they still maintained delegations in those parts to keep an eye on their interests. Sterling had gazed in fascination at the llamas and scarlet macaws in the Lunden Zoological Park and became infatuated with the prospect of visiting their home turf, so she applied to the Trade Authority for a job in Southwest Quadrisphere.

Her assignment, however, put her nowhere near llamas and parrots. She was stationed in Bunair in Arentina Section, the capital of the Southwest Quad, a cosmopolitan city with a decent climate. She ventured on a couple of excursions to the Andean West and the tropical North but quickly became disillusioned and happy to return to a comfortable urban environment. She was put to work as a translator in QuadGov’s Agribusiness Division and planned to return to Britan at the end of her year’s contract.

Then she met Manual Vargas.

Vargas was quite different from any man she had ever known – a rough-talking, sexy outdoorsman who was an agrobiologist with QuadGov, specializing in the rehabilitation of worn-out land. Before Sterling fully understood what was happening, she was pregnant. She made a fuss and Manual gave in and signed a nuptial contract with her. He had family living in Mount Vid and so, when the baby was born, they were waiting in that precinct for Manual’s next assignment to come through. When his son was four months old, Vargas was dispatched to Barsilia Section to help run an experimental plantation of fruit palms, with the purpose of replacing derelict maize and soy farms with something friendlier to Barsilia’s environment.

Thus Sterling found herself transplanted to that tropical North that she had found disagreeable, dwelling in a village complex prosaically called Plantação das Palmas, número dois, or simply Dois Palmas, some two hours by rail from Bell Horizon. Fortunately, Vargas was a supervisor and so the young family was allocated a cottage to themselves and was spared the necessity to share communal barracks with the native field workers and overseers.

The plantation had been purposely located somewhat near to the Devastation Zone of Regioneiro in order to study the effects of slightly contaminated soil and water on the crops. During the 24th century the city of Regioneiro itself had been pelted by so many radiant bombs that even in the early 2700s it still remained too hot for rehabilitation. The nearby environment had been certified safe for habitation, but a good deal of controversy still surrounded that ruling. Half the population of Bell Horizon had died during the Wars even though the city itself had escaped a direct attack and the Prefecture continued to suffer a cancer rate three times higher than normal. The local population was impoverished and poorly educated, speaking little Inge and only the dialect of Spainish native to Barsilia, which Sterling could barely understand. Loathing for the situation in which she had trapped herself soon began to fester within her.

*****

When Robbie Vargas was five years old, some of the village children made fun of his mother’s given name, calling it meaningless. He bloodied a couple of noses and had his own bloodied in return.

"What does that mean – ‘Sterling’?" he asked his mother as she cleaned him up.

She told him it was another word for silver and he looked up at her tall, slender form and said, I like that. You look just like that.

She only laughed and didn’t take him seriously, but he meant it seriously; she almost always wore white or pale gray or creamy beige – an absence of color that glimmered in the dark when she would bend over to kiss him and tuck him up at night. Her fine hair was a pale blonde and it would be hanging loose when she came to him, brushing his face like spun moonbeams. Even her eyes were gray, and they seemed to carry glimmers in them, like tiny facets cut in stainless steel. There was not a great deal of beauty in the place where they lived, and the boy thought his mother was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, or ever would.

*****

Robbie had two significant memories of his father. One of them was positive: it was Vargas who first introduced him to the stars. When Robbie was five, they visited relatives in Mount Vid and Manual took his family on an excursion into Patagon. Sterling hated every minute of it, saying, We live in a wilderness all the time – why waste our vacation tramping around in an even worse one? Bunair has music and nice restaurants and stage shows and art museums – why can’t we enjoy some civilized pleasures? But she would never have considered allowing Manual to take Robbie off alone, so she was forced to accompany them.

Afterward, the boy retained vague memories of guanacos and maras and sitting on a rock beside a real fire, but the thing that remained with etched clarity in his mind was the vast, black night sky and his father holding him on his knee and pointing out the stars. And then the naming of them – the Southern Cross, Majelan’s Galaxies, the Centaur, with Alpha Centauri twinkling in its heel … That one is the nearest star to Earth, Roberto, and it’s a lot like our sun.

Do people live there? asked Robbie breathlessly.

The scientists don’t think so. But if they did, our sun would be the eighth brightest star in their sky.

I’m going to go there, Papá.

Vargas laughed. That would be a good trick! So far, nobody’s figured out how to do that.

After that, Robbie wanted to do nothing but look at the night sky. He had just discovered that something did exist that was as beautiful and untouchable as his mother.

When they returned to Dois Palmas, Sterling printed out some sky charts from the Ed Base for him, and he would go out at night with an electric torch and his paper charts to the far edge of their cottage’s yard and lie on his back and study the sky. The exterior lighting was turned off early in the village to conserve power, so it was velvety dark in the clearing among the palm trees and the sky looked like a big game field on a port, with markers on it so thick the pointer would never be able to pick them all out. The stars were different here from what he had seen in Patagon, but he soon learned to love this version of the sky. He was particularly drawn to the wandering River – the Eridanus constellation. It, too, had a star that was not so far from Earth, called Epsilon Eridani. The information his mother had printed said it had planets around it. He lay and stared and made up stories about what it would be like to walk on one of those planets and talk to the wonderful alien people who lived there.

*****

The negative thing that Robbie remembered about his father was to have an equal effect on his life. Manual Vargas was one of those men in whom alcohol induces violent behavior. And he drank more than was smart; he wasn’t happy with his job, where he was the third supervisor, serving under a couple of women with less education than he had. And he wasn’t happy with the married life; his consort believed a contract meant he ought to behave like a proper husband and be faithful to her. However, her ethereal beauty never ceased to fascinate him even as it did their son, and he wasn’t about to let go of her.

His dissatisfaction sometimes boiled over and he would take out his frustrations on his elegant, sterling silver Brit. Robbie never forgot the first time he came home from school to find his mother with a large bruise on the side of her face. She didn’t tell him what had happened, but it scared him because he was pretty sure he knew the cause.

While physical fights between Manual and Sterling were not all that common, verbal ones were a constant. Sometimes, lying out under the stars, the boy would hear the voices of his parents through the open windows of the cottage, the rough bellow of his father, the swelling stridency of his mother, the tones rising and falling like the voices of wild animals in the night. Then he would crush his face between his hands and stick his thumbs into his ears to deafen himself to the harsh realities of Earth, and he would stare at the stars and name them to himself. Beteljewz … Rigel … Achernar – that’s Alpha Eridani … Cursa – that’s Beta Eridani … Zaurak – that’s Gamma Eridani … Acamar – that’s Theta Eridani … and the one that doesn’t have a special name – Epsilon Eridani, where the aliens live …

One night while he was doing this, he didn’t hear his father calling to him to come in. All he knew was that suddenly the big man was there, towering over him, yelling at him, jerking him off the ground, pitching him across the yard. The next thing he knew he was lying on an examining table at the village clinic with a bad pain in his head and his silvery mother standing there in the midst of MedTechs who wore garish green tunics. She was holding his hand and whispering his name.

All his limbs convulsed, but the Techs gently pushed him back. "Lie still, hijo, you may have a concussion. Do you see this light? Can you follow it with your eyes?"

What happened, Mummy? he said, clutching at her hand.

Your father did this. He threw you across the yard and you landed on a rake, she said in a low, quivering voice, not caring who heard her.

Are you going to press charges, Ms. Vargas? asked one of the doctors. "Should we send Security out to your compound?’

No, said Sterling, don’t send them. I’m not going to press charges.

To his dying day, Robbie carried the scar of his father’s intemperance above his left ear. He always wore his hair full, to hide it from view.

Robbie remained at the clinic overnight and the next day Sterling took him home. He hurts you, too, doesn’t he, Mummy? Robbie said, feeling very shaky. Is he going to be there? If he is, I’m going to beat him up.

No, you aren’t, his mother said sharply. You’re going to be very quiet and do exactly what I tell you to do. I told him … I told him I could stand anything myself, but if he ever laid a hand on … And then she fell silent. Robbie never said another word.

Vargas stayed in the fields all that day, perhaps afraid to face what he had done. In the afternoon, Sterling left Robbie locked up in the stifling house and went down to the neighboring village for a while. She came back with a little packet in her hands and Robbie didn’t ask what it was. He still felt woozy and was perfectly content to remain in his room lying on the bed.

He had fallen asleep when Sterling came in and woke him. I want you to come out and have some supper.

It’s late for supper, Robbie said, rubbing his eyes. How come we didn’t have it earlier?

Just do as I tell you.

So he did. As he tried to eat his maize mush and soymilk, his mother fussed about in the bedroom she shared with her consort. He got up and went to the door, and realized with a sort of thudding shock that his father was lying on the bed. Robbie had approached him before Sterling realized he was there. Manual Vargas was lying on his back with his mouth gaping open and one arm hanging off the bed.

Hearing Robbie’s caught breath, Sterling jumped over, seized his arm, and dragged him out of the room.

Mummy, is he dead? He looks dead …

Of course he’s not dead. Couldn’t you see him breathing? What do you think – your mother’s an idiot? You think I want to spend the rest of my life in some rotten South Ammeriken prison? It’s just a drug – a sleeping compound I got from the locals. It’ll keep him unconscious probably till noon tomorrow, at least.

And then what? asked Robbie, staring at her.

And then we’ll be gone. She took him by the shoulders and steered him toward his room, jamming a small valise into his hands. Robbie, I want you to put some clothes in this – all your socks and underwear, a pair of closed shoes, three shirts, and a couple of pairs of long pants … yes, long pants! Where we’re going, it’s not going to be as warm as here. And pick one toy. That’s all you can take – there’s not room for any more. Just one, understand? Come out when you’re done.

Mummy, where are we going?

But she was already off doing other things.

So Robbie filled the suitcase, then stood looking at his toys. He was only eight years old and they represented his whole life. Mummy, do the star-charts count?

She didn’t hear him, so he slipped them under the clothes at the bottom of the bag. Surely they could be counted as schoolwork, not toys. Then he picked up the stuffed animal he still slept with. It was meant to be a replica of the extinct spectacled bear.

Something caught his eye – a glint from the top of the dresser. It was a star, mounted at the tip of a thin metallic rod that projected from the nose of a space plane. The nose pointed upward, as if it were flying toward the star. The rod was so thin that it seemed the star hung there unsupported.

He stared at the plane and he stared at the bear.

Sterling called, Robbie, are you nearly ready?

Coming. Hastily, he chucked the bear under the bed, grabbed the plane, detached the rod and the star, and placed the three pieces of the toy in the valise. It wouldn’t close, so he threw half the socks after the bear and fastened the latch. Then he turned his back on his childhood.

*****

They walked fast through the darkness, each carrying a valise. Robbie’s seemed awfully heavy; the taped gash on the side of his head throbbed and he felt a little dizzy. He stumbled and his mother’s hand gripped his shoulder.

You all right, Robbie? I’d carry you if I could, but I just can’t manage …

I’m all right. I’m too big to be carried, anyway. He half wished she would hold his hand, but he would have died before asking her. But she continued to grip his shoulder and that helped.

Where’s your bear? she said.

He swallowed. You said, only one toy. I brought the space plane.

Oh … Robbie, I really didn’t mean to include Specky in that. I just expected you would carry him with you. He’s sort of a part of you.

Robbie said nothing, clutching his suitcase, breathing hard.

After a bit, she said, I’ll get you another bear, an even nicer one.

It’s all right. I’m going to give up all that baby stuff.

Then he asked, Where are we going?

To the rail terminal.

And then where are we going?

"To Bell Horizon, to the flight port.

Oh. Are we going to Mount Vid?

And she replied, No. We’re going to Britan.

He felt a kind of shock in his stomach. Britan … that’s where you were born. It seemed as far away to him as Epsilon Eridani – both places where silver people came from.

Right. The grandparents that you’ve never met live there.

He trudged along digesting this information. They don’t speak Spainish there, do they?

No. You’ll never speak anything but Inge after tonight.

They were approaching the lights of the rail terminal, and Sterling stopped suddenly and crouched down before Robbie, taking him by the shoulders and looking into his face.