Part 55 (1/2)

”Depends on how much data you want to take back,” the other shrugged. ”We're already combining the original day two and day three schedules, taking half the data points we'd originally planned for each-”

From one of the rooms down the hall came a m.u.f.fled shriek and the crash of a falling object. ”What-?” McKinley snapped, spinning around.

Winward was already moving at a dead run, auditory enhancers keyed for follow-up noises. The sounds of a struggle... m.u.f.fled curses... that door-

He slammed it open to see one of the Cobras pulling a struggling Qasaman from the desk he'd apparently thrown himself across. The experimenter, picking himself up shakily from the floor behind his overturned chair, was white-faced with shock, the pale skin in sharp contrast to the oozing blood on his cheek.

Beside him on the floor lay a dead mojo. The Cobra looked up as Winward strode in. ”The mojo tried to attack, and I had to kill it. I was a little too slow to stop this one.”

Winward nodded as McKinley skidded into the room behind him. ”Get him out of here,” he told the Cobra.

”Killers,” the Qasaman spat toward Winward as the other Cobra hauled him toward the door. ”Foulspring excrement vermin-”

The door slammed on his tirade. ”Loses a lot in translation, I'll bet.” Winward and McKinley moved to the tester's side. ”You okay?”

”Yeah,” the other nodded, dabbing with a handkerchief at his cheek. ”Took me completely by surprise-his control just seemed to snap, and there he was on top of me.”

Winward exchanged glances with McKinley. ”When was that? When his mojo was killed?”

”Oddly enough, no. As a matter of fact, I think they both jumped me at the same time. Though I couldn't swear to that.”

”Um,” McKinley nodded. ”Well, the tapes will show the details. You'd better go to HQ, get those scratches looked at. No point taking any chances.”

”Yes, sir. Sorry.”

”Not your fault. And don't come back until you're sure you feel ready to continue. We're not in that much of a hurry.”

The tester nodded and left. ”If he's too obviously nervous it could skew his results,” McKinley explained.

Winward nodded. He had the recorder box back on the table now and popped the rear panel. ”Let's see what really happened.”

The tester, it turned out, had been correct. Bird and man had attacked at precisely the same moment.

”You can see signs of agitation in both of them,” McKinley pointed out, running the tape again. ”The rippling feathers and snapping motions of the beak here; the s.h.i.+fting muscle lines in his face, here, and the hand movements.”

”This is all in response to ultrasonics that humans can't hear?” Something p.r.i.c.kled on the back of Win-ward's neck.

”Right. Just took at the tester here-he's in the same ultrasonic beam and isn't so much as sweating hard.” McKinley bit at his lip. ”But I wasn't expecting this much of a common reaction.”

”They're getting some of their courage back, maybe, knowing troops are on the way.”

”But the birds aren't supposed to be intelligent enough to pick up on things like that,” McKinley growled.

”Maybe they pick it up via body language from their humans. Maybe that's the way the mojos' agitation transmits in reverse, too.”

”Possible.” McKinley sighed. ”Unfortunately, the body language and telepathic theories are going to be very hard to distinguish between without long-term studies.”

”Which we don't have time for.” Winward grimaced. ”Well, do the best you can-maybe you and the bio people will be able to pull useful results out of the raw data. In the meantime, try to avoid pus.h.i.+ng any more of your subjects over the brink.”

”Yeah.”