The Owling, page 26
And just as it happened in the tent, the song began with a lone voice, joined by others, until tens of thousands of Owlings were thundering out the words to Jesmet’s song, and the camp was filled with music that echoed across the low hills. Oriannon thought the sound of it might rattle a landing shuttle right out of the sky, while every assembled security stared. How long could this go on?
She wasn’t sure, but she pulled Margus aside, back to the tent, and motioned for Brinnin’s probe to follow.
“I have an idea,” she told them, stepping over to the disabled probe and picking it up. “Whoa. This thing is heavier than I thought.”
“I wouldn’t touch that,” Margus held out his hand in warning.
“Securities might come back for it, or it could restart any time.”
“Not if you reprogram it to our frequency.” She tossed it at him, and he caught it like a sack of aplons, grunting at the weight.
“How am I supposed to do that? Maybe if I was operating the probe, but from here, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re the tech guy. Can’t Brinnin help you, and you two can do whatever you did before?”
“Ori!” Brinnin spoke up for the first time, through the probe. “What are you volunteering me for?”
“I’m not volunteering you for anything, Brinnin. I’m just saying that if you two can work together, maybe you can unlock the access code to this other probe. Do they all work on the same master frequency?”
“It’s not that simple, Ori.” Margus shook his head, but he had already pried off the probe’s main access cover with the end of a spoon. “Besides, I don’t have any tools, and the last time I tried this, it took me days to figure out.”
“Oh.” Oriannon shrugged. “I don’t think we have days. But I thought you wanted to work with a few more probes.”
“You’re crazy, Oriannon.” Margus blew the air out of his lips and shook his head.
“But a nice kind of crazy.” She smiled at him. “Right?”
Crazy or not, Oriannon left them to see what was happening. The Owlings had not stopped singing, but the song had taken on a more somber tone, and Wist stood in the middle of the group with tears running down her cheeks.
“What’s going on?” Oriannon asked. But when she looked around the group, she knew the answer.
“He’s not in the tent.” Wist folded her arms to her chest as the others continued singing. “He’s gone.”
She looked up again with a soft smile mixed with tears.
Just like that? The securities appeared to have had enough of the concert, and they began staging once more. A swarm of probes flew overhead, broadcasting a warning message.
“A shutdown of all movement has been imposed,” they announced, flying low enough for everyone to hear. “Return to your tents immediately.”
The music softened a bit at the first flyover.
“You will all be reprocessed!” said the probes. “Return to your tents or you will be restrained.”
“We will not!” Oriannon shouted, looking to the sky. Everyone who heard her cheered, while no one showed any sign of moving back into their tents. Instead, the singing continued even louder, while none of the faces around her showed any of the dark fear that had once made this camp so grim and so hopeless. This celebration obviously wasn’t over yet.
Just down the hill from their tent, a group of about ten young Owlings stood in their own small circle, clapping and singing. Above them, two probes broke off from their formation and dove directly into the group, blue sparks flying. Screams of pain broke the peace, and Owlings everywhere cried out as if everyone in the camp had been attacked.
“Into the tents!” Several Owlings yelled at once, the confusion rising. Owlings ran in all directions. Oriannon looked for Wist and saw her out of the corner of her eye before she was bowled over from behind and tumbled to the ground between two tents. Looking up, she could see was an angry swarm of probes descending on the camp.
“Oh, Jesmet,” she whispered. “Is this what you wanted?”
How could they be swept up in the Maker’s Wind one moment and on the verge of destruction the next? The strange thing was, she felt no fear, even if this was the end. She would stand up this time to the machines sent to destroy them. This, she knew, is what Jesmet would have done.
And now she heard Sola’s voice being broadcast through the attacking probes, screeching in anger, ordering everyone who breathed to lay face down on the ground. When Oriannon heard the words, something snapped inside.
“Stay standing!” Oriannon yelled, running through the camp, lifting Owlings to their feet. “Stay on your feet! Don’t bow to these machines!”
At the same time, Owling men all around her ran through the camp, shouting and waving homemade clubs, tent poles, or any other weapon they could find. Only a couple of meters away one of them swung hard with a broken-off pipe, connecting squarely with an attacking probe. It exploded into flames and melted a gaping hole through the nearest tent. Owlings cheered.
So it began. Oriannon groaned at the sight of a battle she had not anticipated. Surely the peaceful Owlings had never fought like this, so savagely. They had always turned the other cheek. Even so, she picked up a pole herself, looking for a probe. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Behind you!” someone yelled. Oriannon spun just in time to see a probe, attack arms extended, flying straight for her. She stepped to the side, swinging hard. She might have connected if the flimsy wooden pole not been sheared in half by the probe’s energy field, and she could only stare helplessly at the stub as the probe veered back around to take her out.
That’s when a brave young Owling boy joined the fight, leaping up from behind a tent and literally grabbing the probe bare-handed and pulling it from the sky. He rode it down into a crumbling tent, screaming the entire way. Meanwhile Oriannon lunged at the attacker, thrusting what remained of her jagged pole directly into the probe’s eye. The explosion sent both her and the Owling boy flying backward on top of another tent.
“Yes!” the boy yelled as he scrambled to his feet, fire sparkling in his eyes. “One more down!” He ignored the fact that his face and arms were badly scorched, that he held no real weapon, and that thousands more probes would soon take this one’s place.
So many! The sky darkened as probes hovered overhead, selecting their targets and dropping to take them out, one by one. The air smelled of burnt ion weapons and charred flesh, while Sola repeated her demands for their surrender.
“Face down!” she screamed at them. “Now! You will be dealt with even more harshly if you do not surrender immediately!”
“How much more harshly than this?” Oriannon wondered aloud. Just up the hill, she recognized Siric Mil, roaring like a wild animal and swinging a broken piece of pipe in each hand. As he spun he took down first one, then another, before a third probe caught him from behind with a flash of blue energy and he sprawled on the ground.
“Siric!” Oriannon picked up a pole from the wrecked tent and raced over to help. Using her pole as a long spear, she caught one of the probe’s arms and twisted it to the side. From the ground, Siric’s well-placed kick sent the probe spinning to the ground. He smiled as she helped him to his feet, though he doubled over in pain.
“Perhaps this is a better way to die?” he asked.
Of course he meant better than what Sola had planned. Oriannon wasn’t sure how to answer. Siric simply nodded his thanks and hurried off to another nearby skirmish, leaving Ori wondering what to do next. All around her Owlings fell to the onslaught, while others took their places, bravely battling the attacking probes.
As the battle wore on, there was no avoiding the fact that more and more Owlings were falling as thousands more probes fell from the sky. One of them chose Oriannon and dropped from directly overhead.
When Oriannon caught the movement, she barely had time to cover her face with her arms. She recoiled at the powerful bite of its attack arms. She managed to roll under part of a ruined tent, forcing the probe to follow, and cried out at the fierce jolt on her elbow. Maybe she could entangle the probe in the tent fabric.
At the same time a living, breathing attacker screamed just over Oriannon’s head. She felt the dull blows, over and over, as someone joined in the fight and pummeled the life out of the probe.
“Ori!” yelled Wist a moment later. “Are you in there?”
Oriannon stared at the remains of a shattered probe, speechless for a moment — but still alive.
“Here!” She poked her arm out of the tangled mess so Wist could pull her out. As they stared at each other, Wist clutched a glassteel pole and panted for breath. Her face looked bruised and bleeding, but Oriannon smiled with relief.
“Thank you,” she told Wist. But this battle was far from over. Two nearby Owling girls had fallen in the probe attack, and they lay crumpled on the ground. Oriannon ran over to check their breathing.
“They’re alive!” she called to Wist. “Help me get them inside!”
As Oriannon’s duty changed from warrior to medic, they repeated their rescues over and over, losing track of time and victims. Though most turned out to be Owling men of all ages, some women were hurt as well. Many were even younger than themselves. Over and over Oriannon and Wist dragged them into the tent where they had experienced the Numa, though the brutal reality of the battle numbed the memory of what had happened there.
“Please don’t leave me here!” A little boy reached up to grab her hand, and it worried her that he didn’t cry, though his face was covered with the cruel red blisters of a probe’s attack. She kneeled at his side and tucked a rough blanket around him, praying quietly.
“Don’t worry.” Oriannon smiled at him. “We’ll be back.”
But by this time securities had started marching into their tent neighborhood, probably to mop up any remaining resistance. Of course, fighting probes was one thing; fighting real men quite another. This would end soon, and not in a good way. When Ori-annon and Wist rounded a corner between tents, looking for more injured, a security with a drawn stun baton blocked their way.
“What are you going to do,” asked Oriannon, parking her hands on her hips, “kill us all? Then go ahead! But we’re — ”
“Stop.” The security interrupted her with a raised hand. He lowered his baton and removed his visor to look at them directly.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody. This isn’t right. None of this is right.”
Oriannon looked from his young, tear-streaked face to the number on his helmet — 8111 — and gasped in recognition.
“You were in the tent,” she said, and he nodded. He’d seen what happened when the Numa swept through their camp. He’d seen Jesmet.
“I just want you to know.” He took a deep breath and coughed. “I’m sorry about all this, and — ”
He didn’t finish his sentence, and they didn’t see the probe before it hit him full-force, as fierce as anything they’d ever witnessed. Wist screamed, and they both jumped to pull him away, but the probe kept coming, striking at one of its own. He fell to the ground, unprotected, and his stun baton rolled out of his hand directly in front of Oriannon.
She didn’t stop to think, just grabbed the handle of the stun baton with two hands and swung it at the attacking probe. She missed the first time, nearly falling off balance, but connected the second, sending blue sparks showering in all directions.
At first the probe wavered but kept up its attack. So Oriannon swung again and again, sending the probe spinning out of control with the attack arms flying in several directions. The baton buzzed unpleasantly in her hands.
“Let’s get him out of here!” shouted Wist, looking overhead for more attackers.
Oriannon paused, wondering if the probe would return for more. She wasn’t sure she’d knocked it out completely. And though the young security didn’t look as if he was breathing, they each took an arm and dragged him back to the tent.
“This is one of the boys who came into the tent,” Wist explained to another Owling woman who was tending the injured. “He’s not like the others. He was attacked by his own probe.”
“Alive?” wondered the woman.
Oriannon couldn’t answer until she heard a low groan. His eyelids fluttered once, and he seemed to focus on her face. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.
“I know who you are,” he whispered, barely audible above the shouts and screams outside. “I used to guard your dad in the Temple before — before all this.”
“That’s okay.” She patted him lightly on the shoulder, afraid to touch him in the face where he had been badly burned in the attack. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“My belt.” He reached down to a clipped-on remote, pressed his thumb on the release, and managed somehow to remove it. He held it out to her. “Take this remote.”
She cupped her hands around his for a moment, unsure what he meant or what to do.
“Go on,” he said, his voice fading. He pushed it toward her, but weakly. “Take it. It might help you.”
He closed his eyes again, and his hands felt limp and cold in hers. She wasn’t sure if she was holding a dead man’s hands, but she had a good idea what he meant for her to do with the remote. She thought she could make out a tiny smile on his face.
“I knew the words to the song,” he whispered. “I’d never heard it before, but I knew the words. Did you know them too?”
“I knew,” she replied.
He didn’t open his eyes again as she pulled away and heard more shouting outside. There wasn’t much time.
34
Moments later Oriannon caught her breath in the tent where Margus was still working on the probe. He threw up his hands and tossed the spoon tool against the tent wall in disgust.
“Forget it, Ori.” The desperation shone in his eyes. “We just can’t — I just can’t make it work. Maybe with the right tools. But we tried everything, and it still doesn’t — ”
“Here.” She extended the security’s remote to him. “Would this help?”
His eyes widened as he took it in his hand. “How did you get this?”
“Long story.”
“But these are only issued to regular securities. I don’t know — ”
“Margus!” She brought him to attention. “Can you make it work?”
He shook his head and took the remote.
“I’m not sure. It might take me a while to figure out.”
She closed her eyes, wishing she could do something else. That’s when the strange peace settled inside her once more — as pure and simple as the fear was dark and confusing.
“Ori!” Wist poked her head into the tent. “They’re setting fire to some of the tents down the hill from us. We need to get out of here.”
Oriannon looked back at Margus, who had stripped off the Owling robe again, and who already had the remote taken apart. He nodded and waved at her without looking up.
“I’ll be good,” he told her, licking his finger and pulling out a tiny circuit board. “Just leave me alone for a few more minutes.”
“We may not have a few more minutes,” she replied, but he waved her off.
“Go, already!” He never looked up from his work. “You’re not helping.”
She swallowed hard but left with Wist to see a wall of flames claiming several tents below them, sending billows of smoke into the evening sky. If it got much closer she would warn Margus. But now all the attacking probes seemed to be returning to the staging area while securities set up stations every few meters, standing tall with the indifference of bored guards on a parade route. Many of the injured had already been dragged away.
“This wouldn’t have happened if Jesmet had stayed,” murmured a young Owling standing next to them. “We shouldn’t have made trouble.”
Oriannon wasn’t going to let the loose comment go.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she countered, facing him down. “After all that just happened, you want to go back to eating their slop and being scared? Not me. Jesmet left so we could have the Numa, and if you don’t believe that, you might as well go down and turn yourself in right now!”
As the Owling turned away, Oriannon wondered at her own words, since her tongue seemed to have a found a mind of its own. But she knew Jesmet’s freedom had been worth it — even if they were only meant to enjoy it for this short time.
“Ori, look.” Wist poked her in the side and pointed down a long row of tents toward the camp’s main gate. “Isn’t that . . .”
She didn’t finish. In the distance they could see that Sola’s familiar all-black shuttle had landed near the administrative huts, but that wasn’t what sent a chill up Oriannon’s spine. Even this far away, she recognized the robed man being held between two extralarge securities. As she watched, horror struck, they wrestled him to the ground and beat him mercilessly with stun batons. He tried to shield himself, but there was nothing he could do.
This can’t be happening!
Without thinking, Oriannon sprinted down the hill as fast as her legs would carry her, tumbling once but still waving and screaming.
“No!” she cried, scrambling back to her feet. “Stop!”
She didn’t worry that securities stood on either side, allowing her a clear path all the way down. She only knew she could not just stand and watch.
“Father!” she cried, and she didn’t care that every eye was on her as she ran. A small lev-scooter had crashed off to the side, and it still idled and sputtered. Perhaps her father had used it to get here. Oriannon paid it no attention, nor did she care that Sola Minnik and her three guardian probes stood at the door of her shuttle, presiding over the scene.
“Let go of him!” cried Oriannon, as if they would listen to her. She tore at the back of one security’s uniform, grabbing at his helmet. He just laughed and threw her off, a minor annoyance, as they continued the beating. But she must have pulled the security off balance enough so that her father could turn his head and peer up at her from the dirt.
“Ori, no,” he managed, his voice hoarse. But the next moment the security hit his face back down to the dirt as he struck again with his stun baton. Beyond panic, Oriannon turned back to Sola.
