Earth's Song

By Dennis Fowler

Founded by pioneering refugees traveling at sub-light speeds, a cluster of colonies is lost to Earth in the vastness of space. When faster-than-light (FTL) travel does become possible scouts and traders rediscover them, bringing prosperity and an end to their isolation.

Then those same ships and traders vanish and with them FTL travel vanishes. Without that civilizations crumble.

On the colony planet of Henderson is a foundling girl with white hair, silver eyes, a wondrous musical talent, and a cat named Kapu. Together with a tavern owner whose son is lost in space, a cook with dreams of the stars, and a grounded spaceman, they seek the keys to bringing FTL travel back.

But not everyone wants that, while others want her talents for their own purposes.

In the end, it is her singing that makes the difference.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Fowler
• Release date: Jan 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463642023

Dennis Fowler

A freelance writer for over 40 years, I have written hard-core erotica, a gothic (The Ladies of Holderness, published by Berkley 1976), five romances (Jove 2nd Chance at Love books under the pen name Lauren Fox) numerous articles for computer publications and short fiction on the Internet under various pen names.

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Earth's Song

Copyright 2018 Dennis Fowler

Published by Dennis Fowler at Smashwords

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CHAPTER 1

I've seen the shapes of endless space,

The boundless curves of midnight lace

That cradle stars in soft embrace,

That guide the spheres and set their pace.

Engulfed in music, swept aloft by ethereal winds, she was a mote in a maelstrom, swooping, soaring in an exhilarating, awe-filled, giddy flight; breathless, tingling. Nothingness sensuously stroked flesh that was hers/not hers.

I've danced the Milky Way's bright path,

In time with Terpsichore's math,

I've braved the comets' baleful wrath,

Climbed the joyous spectral lath.

The lush melody buoyed her, strummed her nerves. Her whole being resonated with the anthem of praise and joy, anticipation and achievement.

Seen sands of Mars, and Saturn's rings,

Stars to grace the crowns of kings,

Coronas, bright encirclings,

Shining, jeweled, stellar strings.

Suddenly a soft, dissonant note intruded, a harsh murmur, jarring, discordant. Distant voices, soft, urgent – mournful – desolate - unintelligible – despairing, suddenly dragging at her. Her flight faltered.

Be quiet, be quiet! You’re spoiling the music! she cried voicelessly, fighting the drag, summoning up the joyous anthem.

I've seen it all; the planets far,

The birth, and life, and death of stars,

I've browsed the fairs, the sky's bazaars,

Raised my glass in heaven's bars.

The song modulated into a minor key, poignant and wistful. Her flight, still soaring, became gentler, less exuberant. Weary.

But still, in the background, growing, other voices, a mournful, discordant descant, calling, crying!

Don’t spoil the music!

Were they calling her? Calling to her?... Calling for her?

My bones are tired of endless trips,

My soul breathes now through weary lips.

So drink a toast with spectral sips,

As I this mortal coil let slip.

The song became an anthem of contentment, fulfillment. But in the background, the voices grew ugly, angry, impatient, louder, a crescendoing, insistent clamorous undertone.

Why couldn't they sing happily? They should be singing joyously! They were sour, despondent, despairing! What did they want?

Glowing now upon my hearth,

The shining stars have lost their warmth.

I return to the world that gave me birth,

That cool blue gem, that place called Earth.

Battling the dissonance, the song struggled for serenity. But the voices grew louder, more desperate … Cacophonous!

The refrain. What's happened to the refrain? Where’s the refrain? she cried.

Instead there came a dirge, the lyrics still unintelligible, chords shattered. Her flight stalling, she strained for lift, but the voices were clawing her down. She tumbled, falling, plummeting into a void, stars whirling around her.

Straining, reaching, desperately trying to save herself she tried to draw a breath, gulping for air in frigid emptiness, nothingness, vacuum tearing at her lungs. She tried to scream …

And awoke thrashing, gasping, her chest heaving, her throat seared by glacial air, lungs burning, heart hammering. Even though her body was chilled to the bone, bruised stiff and sore, her skin was drenched with frigid terror sweat.

For a moment she didn’t know where she was.

Then she remembered.

Curling tighter in her nest of frayed blankets on the cold, hard floor she hid her face and breathed air ripe with her own unwashed scent, grateful it was at least warmer than what was outside.

She twitched, joints protesting, her mind reaching for tatters of a dream that slipped away, evaporated, leaving her with a sense of loss and terrible misery.

Irritably, the cat cuddled against her tummy within the cocoon of rags, stirred, wriggled free, rejecting her warmth, flowing sinuously. Claws scratching her encircling arm, tunneling from beneath the makeshift bedding, the movement admitted an intrusion of icy air that scattered the last shards of sleep. The girl grabbed for the last, faint shreds of some wondrous dream, only to have them vanish, vague memories slipping through her grasp like morning mist melting in the sun, leaving her with only a desperate longing for … for what?

She couldn’t remember, and the forgetting left her desolate and irretrievably awake. Wearily, she pushed herself up, curling against the cold, arms hugging her shins, forehead braced on her knees, huddling against the frigid dawn. Something nudged her hip, making her raise her head.

It was the cat, curling to lick himself, rocking his haunch against her.

As if called by an unseen stage manager, a beam of sunlight, dust motes dancing in its hot white shaft, pierced a gap in a boarded-up window, washing over the smooth, glistening satin sweep of the cat’s jet-black fur.

Clever Kapu, she commented, her voice rusty, stroking his sleek head, his living warmth filling some hollow place in her heart. How is it you know just where the sun will be?

As if reading her mind, he purred, a smug, throaty rasp punctuated by his licking. Then a sliver of sunlight caressed the back of her own neck with welcome warmth. Tugging off her thick knit cap, the girl bowed her head to savor it, still too cold and stiff to do more.

I'll never be warm again, she mourned, picking through sleep-muddled wits to figure the day of the week. Counting mental fingers her spirits rose. Week's end. Payday! A good day for busking. A busy street corner on a sunny midday, singing for workers with fat purses.

Singing all day, and a feast tonight! How long since I’ve eaten? she mused.

Too long, her stomach grumbled.

Well, some food, at least, she cautioned it, trying to restrain her over-optimistic gut. The angle of the sun reminded her of the season, tempering her hopes further. PreVernal was tantalizing and teasing, treacherous. A warm sunny day could swiftly become bitterly, bone-chillingly cold.

Only a week ago a midday blizzard crushed a morning just like this, engulfing the city in a matter of minutes. Leaning into the snowy gale her sense of direction led her to a nearby recessed doorway. Once there she'd crouched down, wrapped herself in her blankets, Kapu curling in her embrace. Swiftly smothered by an insulating blanket of snow they huddled together beneath the drift.

All through a long, bitter afternoon and night the wind howled through the streets, a feral snarch seeking blood.

She'd survived. Others weren't as lucky. The next morning the fickle sun had once again blazed, glaring off head-high drifts, thinner patches already softening to slush. Slogging through a deeper drift she'd stumbled and dug down, finding a stiff corpse, someone lost in the whiteout had fallen and frozen only a few paces from a sheltering doorway.

Sweeping away snow, she’d touched cold, hard flesh, exposing a nose and cheeks. She used her breath to melt away the last of the white shroud, and the face of an old woman emerged, her papery skin lined with fine wrinkles, her pale ice-glazed eyes staring blindly up into the hard, blue sky.

Brushing away more had revealed a bright spring frock, high quality, but worn and frayed, on a painfully thin, frail body. Obviously the woman had gone out unprepared for the treacherous weather and paid the price.

Prying loose the purse clutched in the woman’s frozen fingers, ignoring the wad of nearly worthless paper money, she found the woman’s pension chit. In the photo she looked younger, alive and vital.

She'd wedged the chit between the woman’s stiff fingers, in plain sight. It would identify her body to the authorities so they could notify next of kin, if they bothered to take the time.

As she’d worked, the girl found herself softly humming the Pie Jesu from Mozart's Requiem. A remnant of her years as soloist at the Cathedral. Finished, she’d moved on, leaving the body to the callous, overworked inefficiencies of the sanitation department.

Now, shaking off the last of her sleep, along with the bitter chill of the memory, warmed by hot, white sunlight, she shed her bedding, such as it was, layer by layer, carefully bundling and tying it to her pack. A flare of motion in a dark corner froze her with fear.

Then she realized it was her own reflection in a shard of broken mirror. She studied herself, her silver irises dilated, her short white hair bristling from the burst of adrenalin. She was bundled in so many layers of ragged clothes as to be sexless … useful camouflage for her life on the streets.

Her hair slowly settled back on her scalp, becoming once again a gleaming cap close to her skull. Freak! she thought, grimacing self-consciously, her steaming breath a rising nimbus over her. Catching the sunlight it reminded her of the glow framing the angelic portrait of the Blessed Virgin that graced the wall of the orphanage's cavernous sleeping hall.

Sacrilege! Her mental tone mimicked Sister Stephanie's ugly nasal alto, a ghostly memory raking her flesh. Shuddering, she straightened her legs, rubbing her scarred wrist. Seeking a distraction from ugly memories, her hunger and the lingering chill, she unpacked her guitar. Hunching over, still stiff, she softly plucked the strings, tuning it, working the stiffness out of her knuckles before toying with the tune she'd heard the day before, humming softly, her usually smooth, pure soprano rusty at first, then warming and smoothing, cheering her.

Fearful of being overheard, she tried singing softly, but her voice echoed eerily in the desolate gloom and she lost the tune, striking a jarring discord. Impatiently shaking herself out of her funk, she glanced around at the shelves and fixtures of the long abandoned shop, bare of all but dirt and debris.

The gloomy expanse of cold hard floor was broken by the islands of shattered display cases, strewn with rubbish. Nearby, a corroded clothes rack leaned drunkenly. A tilted, battered, naked mannequin stared mournfully, vainly seeking clothes to cover its shame.

Against her hip Kapu stiffened, raised his head, hissing softly. Quickly casing her guitar, the girl checked belongings already bundled. What is it, Kapu? she asked softly, donning her dark glasses, hiding her luminous white hair beneath the muffling cap.

With a soft growl, the cat uncoiled, stood, stretched, black fur bristling, then flowed away, merging with the shadows. The girl didn’t hesitate, gathering her few belongings, following him, trying to move as silently as he did.

A door creaked, freezing her, and she listened intently. There were voices, grating footsteps, broken glass crackling to dust under hard soles. Someone invading her refuge? She slipped away, keeping to the darkest shadows, trusting her mental map, wary of jostling anything that would betray her.

Here?

Her blood ran cold. The voice triggered a thrill of fear.

Ae, Barry! someone answered softly. I seen her come in here, nehinei, late, dusk.

Barry cursed. Last night! Bloody busker’s probably gone by now!

I din’t see her leave! She maybe still sleeps?

Spread out, Barry ordered softly.

Barry! Four days ago, a single, passing encounter as she played on a street corner, cold, pale eyes crawling through her like slither grubs, seeking out all her secrets.

Her fingers curled reflexively.

Barry the Hammer, named for the tool he used for extorting tithes from the dealers, beggars, pimps and whores who ventured on his turf. Defying him meant crippled hands, or worse. Feet scuffled on the ’crete floor. Hand-lights flickered, doused as the gang boss cursed their clumsy stupidity.

Someone kicked something and a mannequin’s head rattled out of the darkness, coming to rest in front of her, dead blue eyes staring blankly up, triggering a jolt of fear. She froze, breaking out in a cold sweat, her guts knotting. She swallowed hard.

Footsteps crunched closer, shaking her out of her paralysis. Silently shoving pack and guitar out of sight under one counter she swiftly slithered into the cramped space across the aisle and held her breath. Feet came, passed inches from her face, kicking the mannequin’s head away into the darkness. She flogged her panicky mind into action.

Kapu could easily evade mere humans, but not her. She brought up a mental map of the store’s aisles and racks, desperately plotting an escape route through the littered maze. By the sound of his voice, Barry himself guarded the alley entrance. Others were between her and the door to the basement, behind her the front of the shop was solidly boarded up. She silently cursed herself for being so stupid as to let herself be trapped.

She prayed for a distraction.

A shout made her twitch. Oi! A cat!

That’s hers, Barry called, She’s got to be here!

A light flickered. There!

Kulikuli! No lights, idiot! Listen for her!

Taking advantage of the sudden flurry of action, not for the first time wondering if Kapu read her mind, she squirmed from beneath the counter, moving like a whisper toward the door, praying she’d be able to return later for her belongings. Especially her guitar!

In deep shadows, a few precious meters from the brightly sunlit door, she hesitated, heart in her throat.

A motion in the darkness. Kapu strutted boldly out of the shadows, darted past Barry, into the sun and away, the thug making a futile swipe at him.

She’s coming this way! Barry exulted, standing in the doorway like a soccer goalie, massive legs straddling a patch of ice. He was big in a way only a Poly could be big – fearsomely big.

Footsteps and a shout behind her made her react without thinking. Launching herself, she rolled, sliding on her back on the patch of ice. Passing between Barry's spraddled legs, she kicked upward, her foot slamming hard into the thug's crotch as he reached for her, doubling him over. His clutching hand grazed her ankle, but with her other foot she landed a hard kick on his fat ass, knocking him on his face.

Cold air bit her frost-burned nose. Spurred by his gasping curse she dove through the shattered window of a stripped and gutted ground car, huddled on the floor. Finding Kapu already there she pulled charred upholstery over them both. She risked a glance through a crevice between the twisted door and frame.

Barry appeared from the shadowy doorway, bent in pain, his pale cold blue eyes sweeping the alley, a shiny hammer dangling from his belt. Cursing, limping, he struck out to his left, his minions, a ragged rabble of young toughs, tumbling out the door after him, making no attempt at silence.

Somewhere down the alley a whistle shrilled and the gang scattered, vanishing. Hard boots pounded past her tenuous hideaway, more whistles sounding in the distance.

Peacekeepers! Barry may have been getting too bold with his extortion, his trade in drugs, sex and other vices, or perhaps he’d not kept up his bribes.

Or, she thought, it may just be another of the headknockers' periodic sweeps to round up what the newsies called street scum.

Either way, it was time to go. Headknockers meant the orphanage, the workhouse, or worse. They had their own uses for the pretty, the young, or the exotic.

And Barry’s no better, she mused, contemplating her limited options. Once more into the caves, she thought. The prospect gave her no joy. Praying the chase had moved on, she slithered from the wreck, back to the shop, Kapu riding her shoulder.

Pausing to gather her belongings she darted through the littered aisles, slid down the cellar steps on her bottom, grateful for the fading Everglows. Kapu tensed at rustlings from the dark corners, his claws biting into her.

Not now, Kapu. Reaching a panel pried loose for just this need, she sent the cat ahead into the darkness, following him with her staff, pack and guitar. She then slipped into the dark grotto herself, senses keyed high, and pulled the panel back in place behind her.

His tail lashing, Kapu tested the dank air, the gloom broken by distant pools of light from storm drains. Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, the girl bound the guitar to the pack, extracting an Everglow pried from a basement wall as she did, then shrugged her arms into the pack’s straps, heaving and wriggling to get it balanced.

Finally, even short as she was she was forced into an awkward half-crouch by the rough low stone ceiling. She gathered up her staff, a four foot length of metal pipe, blunted from testing the uneven stone. The Everglow was not living up to its name. Shaking it brightened it some, but it was not long for this world, which would leave her with only occasional storm drain grates providing welcome oases of light.

Unhappily, she contemplated her prospects. With both Barry and the headknockers on the hunt, the streets were out. That left the maze of caves beneath the city. Some few, in the uppermost level, had been converted into cellars like the one she'd just left. Deeper, most were used as drains and sewers. Despite tantalizing legends of untold wealth in gold and jewels to be found in their depths, they were avoided by all but the mad or the desperate.

And which category do I fit into? she mused wryly, warily probing the uneven floor ahead with her staff. In the Home she’d shuddered to the lurid, whispered tales of damned souls wandering the darkness, lost forever in the endless maze, the ghosts of those dead of starvation, drowning, entombed or crushed by cave-ins, smothered in pockets of dead air.

Eaten alive by slithers.

She didn’t know about their souls, but she’d encountered more than a few mortal remains; remains of mad adventurers seeking the rumored treasures, or fugitives like herself, or the victims of thugs like Barry.

This was the place, it was rumored, where the Governor sent his enemies.

Kapu ranged ahead, a darker shadow in the musty gloom. The tunnel ran straight the short distance she could see, a round, uneven passage eroded in the rock of the plateau, perhaps a lava tube from some long-ago eruption far in the west.

A trickle of noisome water meandered down the center of the uneven floor. She stepped cautiously, steadying herself with her staff. Down here even a twisted ankle could be fatal. Kapu's hunting snarl from the darkness ahead froze her in her tracks. It was answered by a feral hiss that set her scalp prickling.

More snarls and a shriek, then an aching silence broken at last by Kapu's soft growl of triumph. Moving warily, she found him standing over a slither's carcass. As she watched, the half-meter long body convulsed, spewing a half dozen squirming embryonic young from the end of its long, naked tail. Reflexively, her gorge rising, she mashed them into slimy smears with the butt of her staff, then carefully sluiced the gore off in the trickle of icy water.

After a brief lick to clean and smooth his ruffled fur, Kapu abandoned his kill to move on. She’d never known him to eat a slither. He preferred the invasive rats to native prey.

Giving the twitching carcass a wide berth, the girl still had to jump aside when the dead beast struck at her, its primitive reflexes reacting to her body heat, venom-loaded fangs barely missing her calf.

Once again she gave silent thanks to Kapu for her life. The first time she'd ignored his warning she'd stumbled over a bloated human body. It had twitched, perhaps still half-alive, eaten from within by the young slithers bursting from its distended belly in a gush of foulness, sending her fleeing in panic, blundering blindly into a cul-de-sac before she regained her senses.

Another time, exasperated at being blocked by the cat, she'd stamped forward and the seemingly solid floor had crumbled beneath her foot, tumbling into a swirling maelstrom. For a perilous moment she'd teetered on the brink of the torrent. If she'd emerged at all from that it would have been a thousand klicks to the east, her drowned, tattered remains gushing from one of the waterfalls dropping a hundred meters into the waves of Henderson’s Great Sea.

After that she never ignored his warnings, grateful for what seemed an uneven partnership. Without him she wouldn't have survived. All she offered in return was companionship, body heat, and an occasional special treat like a rare bit of meat or some sim-milk from a carelessly discarded container. These Kapu accepted with grave dignity, though they both knew he provided well for himself.

Pausing to rest and sip from her water bottle, the girl pondered the urge that dragged her ever westward. Once, at the Home, she’d slipped away from her chores, climbed endless steps and ladders to the top of the Cathedral’s bell tower.

Squinting into the setting sun, the longing had tugged at her. Far in the distance was a grim, jagged barrier― a forest-cloaked mountain range, the taller peaks snow-capped even during the height of summer.

It was said she’d been found up in those forbidding mountains, a thousand klicks from anywhere, a child wandering the desolate, crumbling highway from DarwinCity to the distant fishing port of Kaifa. And still something called to her from there.

She remembered, too, the beating she’d received for abandoning her chores, a beating administered for her own good, of course.

Irritably shrugging off the mystery she continued her cautious trek through the tunnels, telling herself that west was as good a direction as any, as long as it led away from Barry, away from the Cathedral, away from the church that denied her humanity, and its grim orphanage. She wished she could sing the songs running through her head, to pass the time, to keep her spirits up, but knew better than to try it. Aside from the echoes, both eerie and distracting, it drew undesirable company, such as slithers.

* * *

Hours later, legs aching, back spasming from her half crouch, she began looking for an outlet. Her nose was running from the relentless, damp chill. Her neck ached as she probed the sealed openings into building basements and storage places, praying for a relatively safe refuge.

She was getting discouraged when a plank finally yielded with a soft groan. Leaving her things behind, sniffling softly, she crawled wearily after Kapu into a cellar lighted by the bilious, ever-glowing slither lamps and one small, filthy window. Stifling a groan, she straightened up. The trek through the frigid caves had done nothing to warm her or loosen her aching joints. Neatly stored brew kegs and condiments and appetizing aromas suggested a restaurant or tavern overhead. The scent of cooking made her weak in the knees. The possibility of food was tempting, but traffic down here was probably high, making it a risky refuge.

Moving quietly, she shifted a crate to stand on to look out the basement window, polishing the grimy glass with her sleeve so she could see.

The sun was low in the west, slanting into the street. Bright trim on the buildings did little to relieve their boxy monotony. Two stories tall, shops on the lower level, apartments above, they were the drab, utilitarian structures thrown up in the early colonial years. Bare window boxes awaiting spring only accentuated the utilitarian architecture, a stark contrast to the ornately ornamented towers of the Cathedral that dominated the town.

Worse, rather than a wasteland of abandoned shops and apartments, most of the buildings here looked occupied, and tidy. This neighborhood clung to a prosperity lacking in her past haunts. If she ventured out on these streets the headknockers would be on her like snarch on a wounded smoose.

She was dismally contemplating a cold, hungry, dangerous, sleepless night in the caves when a rattling at the top of the steps sent her scuttling for cover. An overhead light went on, overwhelming the Everglows, and every step groaned. Holding her breath the girl huddled beneath the stairs. A flowered skirt swirling around ankles almost brushed her face. Even here, despite slither-repelling Everglows, the footwear of choice was boots.

CHAPTER 2

The boots reached the stone floor and Hale tried to make herself invisible as she huddled under the steps, watching as Kapu treacherously stroked himself against the woman's leg, his tail high, purring.

Well, hello, cat! It was a woman's voice, as Hale expected, a rich, warm and fruity alto with a faint Poly accent. Not that it made her less wary.

And glad to see you, too, am I!

Great! This time instead of avoiding someone you decide to make nice, she thought at him. Shifting nervously her boot made a scraping noise.

All right, come on out, whoever you are, the woman ordered firmly. But I warn you, I got a roomful of Peacekeepers upstairs, so forget the rough stuff.

Even to Hale that sounded like a bluff, but after a moment of indecision, she crept out, deliberately trying to look harmless and even younger and smaller than she was.

Why, you're nothing but a little sprout!

Hale ventured a wary look. The voice belonged to a large, a very large woman. The strings of the apron she wore strained to reach around her girth, cinching in a billowing, flowered dress big enough for a tent. The tight, silvery curls of her hair, almost brushing the ceiling, contrasted sharply with the coppery skin of her full-moon face. She was Poly. So was the Governor, but that meant nothing.

And who might you be? And how did you come by a real, live cat?

Please, ma'am, I'll leave, Hale offered. And I'll take Kapu, though he's not really mine.

The woman waved a big, ring-bedecked hand dismissively, bracelets rattling and clinking on her wrist.

Earth cats don't belong to anyone. Kapu? 'Taboo,' in the old tongue? Fitting name for a black cat.

The woman looked kindly on the feline. And you? The look Hale got was more suspicious.

I'm Hah-lay. Well, I mean, that's what I call myself, she admitted. She'd left Hoa Hele behind at the Home, along with too many bad memories. But I spell it H-A-L-E, she admitted.

Well, then, I'd say that was your name. Don't matter how you spell it.

Hale bobbed her head, relieved that the woman didn't press her, wondering if she might be as kind as she seemed.

So, how did you come to my cellar? And I'm Mrs. Jake, by the way, spelled just like it sounds, and the establishment upstairs is mine, called Jake's Place.

Hale gestured in the direction of the tunnel, the board still ajar.

Mrs. Jake looked surprised. You came out of the caves?!

Kapu protects me, Hale asserted stoutly.

I'll bet he does, Mrs. Jake agreed, watching the cat prowl the basement.

Then she spied the hand-carved flute dangling from Hale's belt. A busker, are you?

Hale nodded. I play my whistle and the guitar, and sing. For food and shelter? she hinted.

I've got a singer, Mrs. Jake noted, tipping her head back slightly, her eyes half-slitted as she gazed down at Hale, who squirmed under the scrutiny. Hungry?

Hale scuffled her feet. Yes'm, I am, she admitted. But I was just looking for a safe place for the night. I'm not a beggar or thief. I'll work for scraps and a place to unroll my bedding.

The big woman thought for a moment. If you're willing to wash dishes I'll feed you and give you a place to doss down for the night.

Oh, yes, Hale agreed quickly. And I can help with cooking, peeling veggies and the like.

Mrs. Jake nodded crisply, her full, round cheeks bobbing. Where's your bindle?

Hale dove for the tunnel entrance, wriggling far