Chapter 9: CHAPTER NINE

Chandrha didn’t know what they had in mind, but she sensed something deceptive about them. Just asking Jhevharel to fly sounded harmless enough, but wasn’t Clarence Fenwick in charge of special effects? She had gone to the library, checked out the mechanics of film making, and the section of CGI and special effects had fascinated her. Amazing what you could do with all the technology Hollywood possessed now.

What do they want me to do? Jhevharel asked. Anything special?

“You want him to do anything special?” she asked.

“No,” Creighton said. “Just get him in the air.”

Jhevharel flapped his wings, running along the ground. It seemed to take him quite a while to lift off, but a moment later he was airborne. He spread his wings, and soared above the forest.

“Wilson,” Creighton yelled, “are you getting this?”

Wilson maneuvered his portable video camera. “Yes, sir,” he shouted. “Beautiful, beautiful.”

“Get him to come back this way,” Creighton said. “Have him fly over our heads and over to that lake.”

Chandrha checked with Jhevharel to make sure that was what he wanted to do, and the whistling dragon told her he didn’t mind. He soared over their heads, and when he reached the lake, he dove. Moments later he brought up a large fish.

“Why did he do that?” Creighton demanded.

“He’s hungry,” Chandrha said.

“Edit that out, Wilson.”

“Yes, sir.”

Creighton walked over to the cameraman, Fenwick and Chandrha following. He regarded the scene Wilson had shot, muttering to himself, grumbling something about having to shoot the scene over again because the whistling dragon’s flight wasn’t the way he wanted it.

What did that mean? How else was Jhevharel supposed to fly? He had been flying since he was three, and his flight was just as good as any other whistling dragon.

Stupid earthbound humans. What did they know about flying? Sitting in the cockpit of an airplane didn’t count.

Fenwick watched the scene with Creighton, Chandrha standing behind them, peering between the two humans. As far as she could tell there was nothing wrong with Jhevharel’s flight.

Without turning around, Creighton said, “Could you get him to do something fancy?”

Could you get him...? “Like what?”

“Use your imagination. Didn’t you train him?”

Chandrha’s ears flattened against her head. “Train him? What do you think he is, a horse?” Mykharha grasped her chamber teat a little too roughly, and she winced.

Fenwick turned. “Are you all right, Chandrha?”

“My daughter is pulling rather hard.”

He glanced at her belly. “Oh... you have...”

“She’s in my chamber right now,” she said. “My mate and I exchange our daughter, on the average, every three days, but it could be more or less. When I have her in my chamber, Mykharha’s whistling dragon, Zedrheân, in her father’s chamber.”

Jhevharel was making lazy circles in the sky. “And you let him fly?” Creighton said.

“It’s all right,” she said. These humans sure didn’t know much about Tereskàdians and whistling dragons, even though an ample amount of literature had been brought to this planet.

I wish they’d learn more about us, she sent. Sometimes humans are more ignorant than they realize.

We’ll have to keep teaching them. He had carried the fish up from the lake, swallowed it whole. When Chandrha asked him if he could fly again, he protested that he wasn’t a performing animal, but he’d give it another try.

“Make him dive,” Creighton said, waving his hand at his cameraman like some kind of signal. “Like he did when he dove into that water.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“What did I say?”

“ ‘Make him dive.’ I can’t force him to do anything. I can ask, but I can’t make him.”

“All right.” Creighton held up his hand, palm toward Chandrha. “I’m sorry, it’s just my way of speaking.”

I’ll dive, Jhevharel sent. Hopefully this will be over soon.

He sailed high up to the blue cloudless sky, prepared to dive. Mykharha’s whistling dragon was safe in Jhevharel’s chamber, closed now that her father was plummeting straight down, as close to the ground as possible before swooping up again.

He hovered up there, waiting. For what? Through his eyes, all she could see was the forest, the village, the lake, the abandoned ship.

Jhevharel?

Arak is out here.

Where?

In the forest. And there was someone with him. A human.

Who was it?

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Couldn’t tell. I’m too far up. It might have been a female.

Might have been?

If it’s a female, she’s dressed like a male. You know, pants, a jacket...

Can you come down further, and check?

They’re in the forest.

“Are all humans nearby?” she asked aloud.

Creighton took inventory. “Benita and Cal are somewhere else... The entire cast and crew is somewhere, I don’t know. Is something the matter?”

“Arak is in the forest, with another human.”

“So? Maybe he’s chatting with one of the actors, or one of the crew members.” He scanned the sky. “Make him... sorry. Could you ask him to dive into the water, and come up with a fish?”

A moment later Jhevharel was into his dive, and Wilson, recorded every moment of it. When the whistling dragon landed in front of Chandrha, Creighton had a wide smile on his face.

Jhevharel asked her if she wanted a drink, and she wanted to say no, but he knew what she wanted, what she needed. So he flew up again, came down gently, and hovered in front of her, as graceful as a butterfly. His teats stuck out like elongated knobs, teats that were hidden in the fur when she wasn’t drinking, or when he was in flight.

“She’s not going to suck his tits,” Creighton said behind her. “I can’t believe it.”

“They’re aliens,” Fenwick said.

“Aren’t they supposed to be reptilians?”

“That’s the movies.”

“Wouldn’t want some kid sucking my tits.” Creighton scrunched up his face.

Chandrha shut off her hearing. Whatever these humans were saying was nothing new; Alharhanians had been saying the same things ever since they discovered the Tereskàdians.

We’re different, she sent, not expecting any comment from Jhevharel.

When she was done, she turned her hearing on again. Crew and cast members had come to watch her. What was so fascinating about a Tereskàdian sucking the teats of her whistling dragon?

She left them standing there, discussing a male’s ability to not only nurse his cubs, but also provide milk for an alien species called a Tereskàdian. The females said it wouldn’t hurt the males one bit if the good Lord had provided them with nipples that worked.

By the time she reached her home she had lowered her hearing to such a degree any talk of nursing, breast feeding, males and nipples, had drifted into the air.

“You’re spending too much time with them.” Rheôvhan said when she walked into the cabin.

“They just wanted to use Jhevharel for flying scenes,” she said. She greeted Lhorhanha with a few licks to her cheek.

“And what do we get out of this?” he asked. “They come here, they make this movie, they leave.”

She sighed, looked around for Ad‘herha, found her sleeping on the couch. “I don’t know, Rheôvhan. Maybe we can go to the premiere when the movie comes to the theaters.” She twisted one of her digits around an errant strand of fur on her chest.

“Where? In California? It’s hot there, isn’t it?”

“We survived in Treskebhar. You know how hot that city was during the summer. I’m sure we can survive a few days in California.”

“Why do you want to go that far? We could go to Toronto.”

The door burst open, and Sevirhan (Sĕ’ vĭ rahn), one of the older Tereskàdian burst into the room. Out of breath, as if he had been running, although in Sevirhan’s case, running was an overstatement. He tried to say something, stopped, started again. “Arak... he... Arak...”

“What about Arak?” Rheôvhan demanded.

“Dead... he’s dead.” Sevirhan bent over, paws on his knees.

“What?”

“Arak is dead,” the old Tereskàdian said. “Lying just off the path in the forest. He’s been stabbed.”

“Any sign of a weapon?” Chandrha asked.

“No.”

One of the numerous humans in the village had killed Arak. Tereskàdians couldn’t kill unless they were attacked, and Arak wouldn’t attack a Tereskàdian deliberately.

It would be easy enough to find the murderer. All she needed to do was ask the question.

Humans were basically fools. You didn’t kill anyone with the knowledge that Tereskàdians, who had the ability to weed out the truth, were all around you.

“I’ll have to contact the RCMP,” Rheôvhan said. “I wonder why anyone would kill that old man.”

“There’s a reason,” she said. “We’ll find that out when we catch the human who did this.”

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