Free A Desert Called Peace by Tom Kratman Page A

down?"
    "I'll try, sir," she answered, smiling. She walked up to one of the dancers and asked, politely, "Sir, could you please—"
    And then the ceramic knives came out.
     
Cochea
    Hennessey sliced off a bite of ham as he, Parilla and Jimenez took their breakfast in the courtyard, not far from the statue of Linda.
    The sun was up, a pleasant breeze blowing. The head of the waterfall was just visible from the spot where they sat. The air was fresh and clean, washed by the previous night's rain. The mosquitoes were vanquished by day. Nor was anything allowed to gather anywhere near the house that might draw or breed flies. There was only the smell of the flowers, Linda's carefully nurtured garden in the courtyard, and of the repast: bacon, ham, eggs, corn tortillas, some cheese Lucinda made herself from the few score cows the Hennesseys owned, mostly for the sake of Linda's family tradition. Above all was the smell of strong Balboan coffee, grown by one of Hennessey's in-laws in a high, cool mountain valley halfway to the southern coast.
    The courtyard was doubly screened in, overhead. The finer mesh was intended to keep out mosquitoes and flies. The coarser, steel wire mesh was prevention against entry of the unsavory antaniae , nocturnal flying lizards with batlike wings and highly septic mouths. Like tranzitrees, bolshiberry bushes, and progressivines, antaniae were neither terrestrial in origin nor Terra Novan, but showed evidence at the cellular level of being artificial creations.
    A portion of the screen, a panel of perhaps four feet by six, had receded when light sensors told it the sun had risen enough to drive off the bugs and the winged lizards. Just as Hennessey took the bite of ham an emerald, blue, red and gold reptilian bird—or flying reptile; it was somewhere between the two, though most called them birds— appeared at the opening, circled almost incredibly slowly twice, then descended to land in front of Linda's statue. There it squawked several times before twisting its head to cast an accusing glare at Hennessy.
    "She's still not back, Jinfeng ," Hennessey called to the bird. "Come over for your breakfast."
    Hennessey picked up a still warm corn tortilla and held it down between the level of the table and the level of the courtyard's ground. The bird looked at the tortilla, then looked with vast suspicion at Parilla and Jimenez in turn. Hennessey wriggled the flat fried corn cake to distract the bird.
    "My friends won't harm you, Jinfeng . Come get your chow."
    The bird opened its beak wide, wide enough to show that it was lined with teeth. A warning? Possibly. Jinfeng and her kind had not survived—so far—on Terra Nova by failing in the paranoia department. Then she waddled over, her long boney tail scrapping along the stone walkway that ran the length, also the breadth, of the courtyard while the claws on her partially reversed big toes went click-click- click.
    She stopped beside Hennessey's chair and reached out with a three-fingered claw sprouting from her wing for the tortilla. Before eating it she gave another screech, this one sounding almost polite. Then she raised the tortilla to her beak and began ripping off pieces with her teeth.
    "You don't see many of those around anymore," Parilla commented. "There were a lot more when I was a boy."
    "They're smart, you know," Hennessey said. "At least as bright as a grey parrot."
    "If they're so smart," Jimenez asked, "why are they nearly extinct?"
    "It's the feathers," Parilla answered. "I daresay if you were that good looking, my ebony friend, people would be hunting you, too. Besides, coming near extinction, in the presence of man, is no shame . . . except to man."
    "And they still do hang on," Hennessey added, flipping the bird a slice of fried ham that it caught and likewise bolted down. "Linda's been looking for a mate for this one."
    "Speaking of hanging on, why did so many of you stay and hang on in the Estado Mayor ?" Hennessey asked