Part 20 (1/2)
”Yeah...” he agreed, wis.h.i.+ng she hadn't reminded him of that. She, like all agents, was a ruthless killer.
”So it behooves us to catch them before they catch us.”
”But we're not paranoid! We don't have to -- ”
”You aren't. As an agent of our government, I am.”
He didn't like that, but he understood it. ”You have to serve your master, I guess. But if you ran the government -- ”
”Things would change. I don't like paranoia; it's inefficient. I don't like killing to maintain a defective system. But that is academic. Right now I have to trace this chain -- if that's what it is -- to its end. And deal with what I find there.”
”Yeah...”
”You a.s.sumed the projector would be within fifty feet because the last one was. That does not necessarily follow.”
”h.e.l.l of a better chance to find it than looking three miles out.”
”Yes. I ranged three miles. The snow covers all traces.”
”Maybe it's under cover -- in a hollow tree or under a rock or something. Because of its being winter.”
”Good idea. I'll check for that.” She moved out again.
She found it. The mound gave it away. Another aperture projector, very similar to the others.
”You can still go back,” she told Veg.
”I'm getting curious,” he said, ”Let's go. It's cold here.”
She shrugged and activated the device. They stepped through.
Veg braced himself for any extreme of climate or locale -- hot, cold, lush, barren, metropolis, wilderness. And stood amazed, caught unbraced for the reality.
It was an alien orchestra.
The instruments were conventional, even archaic: strings, woodwinds, percussion. The technique was flawless to his untrained ear. The melody was pa.s.sionate, stirring mind, heart, and entrails. It was only the players who were alien.
Tamme looked about warily, as bemused as he. Veg knew she was searching for the next projector. There was no sign of it.
Meanwhile, the alien orchestra played on, oblivious of the intrusion. The players on the violins had at least twelve appendages, each terminating in a single finger or point. These fingers moved over the strings, pressing to change the pitch; half a dozen fingers bunched to control the bow. The creatures on the flutes were bird-like, with nozzle-like mouths with gill-like apertures around the neck that took in air alternately so that there was always pressure. Those on the drums had arms terminating in hard b.a.l.l.s on flexible tendons; they did not need to hold any drumsticks.
Veg wondered whether the creatures had been designed for the instruments or the instruments for the creatures. If the latter, as seemed more reasonable, what did this signify about music on Earth? Human beings adapting to instruments that were designed for aliens? That would mean strong crossover between alternates... He tried to speak, but the music was loud, coming at them from every side, and he could not hear his own voice. Not surprising since the two of them had apparently landed right in the orchestra pit, huge as it was. They had to get out of it before they could communicate. He looked for the edge of it -- and only saw more musicians. They were really devoted to their art to ignore creatures as strange as he and Tamme must seem to them. He started to walk between the players, but a hand on his arm restrained him. It was Tamme, shaking her head ”No.”
He realized why: There was no distinguis.h.i.+ng feature about this spot, and they could readily lose it. For that matter, they could lose each other if they stayed apart. There seemed to be no end to this orchestra!
Tamme pointed to a spot on the floor. ”Stay!” she mouthed several times until he read her lips and understood. He would be the place marker, she the explorer. Ordinarily he would have insisted on reversing the roles, but he knew she was more capable. He squatted where she had indicated.
Tamme moved through the formations of musicians. They were not exactly in lines or groups, but they were not random. There was a certain alien order to it -- a larger pattern like that of the leaves on a tree or the stars in the sky.