S. Gorden - Eyes of an Eagle a Novel of Gravity Controlled

Eyes of an Eagle

by S. A. Gorden

Renaissance - Science Fiction

Renaissance

www.renebooks.com

Copyright (C)2001 S. A. Gorden

EYES OF AN EAGLE

A Science Fiction Novel

By

S.A. GORDEN

A Renaissance E Books publication ISBN 1-58873-427-7 All rights reserved Copyright 2001, 2004 S. A. Gorden This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

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Publisher@renebooks.comPageTurner Editions Futures-Past SF Preface

From a legend of the Oceti Shakowin ofthe Lakota

A young man skilled in hunting one day left the village in search of meat. He spotted an elk. He had a new bow with a quiver full of straight arrows, yet the elk managed to stay just out of range. Deep in the woods, the tracks and elk disappeared.

Night came to the thick forest and there was no moon. The young man realized he was lost. He came upon a cool, clear stream. Refreshed from the water, he ate his pack food. Curling up in his fur robe he tried to sleep, but the forest was full of strange sounds. The cries of the night animals, the hooting of the owls, the rustling of the trees all sounded new and different.

Suddenly, there was a new sound. It was something neither he nor any other living creature had heard before. Afraid, the man pulled the robe close about him. Clutching his bow in one hand and his knife in another, the young man listened. The mournful sound became a song both beautiful and sad. The song was full of love and yearning.

The young man fell asleep. In his dreams, the redheaded woodpecker came. He sang the beautiful song and said, “Follow me and I will teach the song to you."

When the young man woke, the sun was already high in the sky. In the tree, above him tapped a redheaded woodpecker. When he got to his feet, the bird fluttered to the next tree and waited. The young man followed. The woodpecker flew to another tree and then another. For the rest of the morning, the bird led the man through the forest. Finally, the young man heard the song again. Walking past the last line of trees, he heard the drumming of the woodpecker and saw the bobbing of the red head in a cedar tree. As he got closer, he saw the bird was beating on a branch filled with holes that it had made. A breeze blew through the forest and the woods were filled again with the music.

The young man watched and listened and discovered that the hollow branch was making the beautiful music. He climbed the tree and broke off the branch the wind was singing through. He called the watching woodpecker a friend. He thanked the redheaded bird for the gift he had made.

When the young man got back to his village, he hid in his tipi and tried to make the branch sing. He blew hard on the branch and then soft. He held it in one hand and then the other. He swung it through the air, but no sound came.

The young man then went to the sweat lodge. After, he climbed a lonely hill. For four days and four nights without food or water, he cried for a vision, which would show him how to make the song. With his head resting on a large rock during the last night of his quest, the redheaded woodpecker came to him in the night breeze. The woodpecker turned himself into a man. Cautioning the youth to watch carefully, the redheaded man showed him how to make the branch sing.

Awaking the next day from the vision, the young man found a cedar tree. Breaking off a branch the length of his forearm, he used his bow-drill and knife to whittle the cedar wood branch. The shape he whittled was of a bird with a long neck and open beak. He painted the bird's head sacred red. He smoked the branch with sage, cedar, and sweet grasses. He put his mouth to the flute calling his bride and his destiny in the beautiful melancholy music. And the redheaded bird watched.

* * * *

From the Kalevala

Vainamoinen was born an old man from the sea, the ageless singer and harpist. His mother was air-daughter and his father the foam raised by the strong east wind. Vainamoinen's song brought the small man from the sea who chopped down the evil old oak. Vainamoinen had a sharp axe made, cleared the land and sowed the seven seeds he found. He left one birch tree standing in the cleared fields. The eagle stopped and rested there. Curious, the eagle asked Vainamoinen why he left the birch in the middle of the fields. “So you will have a place to rest,” he replied. The cuckoo stopped and rested on the birch. Curious, he asked Vainamoinen why he left the birch in the middle of the fields. “So you will have a place to rest,” he replied. All the creatures of the air stopped and rested on the birch tree. They watched and listened to Vainamoinen sing the eternal magical songs and play his enchanting harp.

When the Day-god rises over the land of Kaleva and the heat of midday comes, the birds still rest in the birch trees. The leaves of the birch still whisper the melody of the harp and the echo of the songs of the man of quiet water, the knower eternal, Vainamoinen. And the birds still watch.

Watching

I spent the morning being watched by an eagle. This was the day of the week I did outside work. It was early fall. The leaves were just beginning to change. The light frost had melted and the grass had dried enough for me to start mowing the lawn. I had just finished mowing one track around the lawn when he flew in.

He came in low from the slight rise in the west. I saw the dark shape crest the tree line and started immediately to reject the shapes it wasn't. Not a crow ... too big. Not a heron ... wrong neck. Not a hawk ... An eagle! He flew right in front of me and landed in the tallest tree in the yard. As he spread his wings in landing, I saw the white head and a small white spot. He was a young bird then; maybe that was why he landed?

He looked at me mowing. I knew how good the eagle's eyes were. He could have watched me from across the farmer's field to the east. Why did he come here? I cut the grass watching the bird as he watched me. He tracked my movements with his eyes, across and up and down the yard. As I mowed under the tree waiting for him to take flight, the minutes stretched to an hour and still he watched. Every time my back was toward him, I could feel his eyes. When I couldn't stand the prickly sensation on the back of my neck, I would twist around and there he watched with his head canted to one side.

I turned a corner with the mower and looked. He was gone! I scanned the empty sky, the far tree line looking for the familiar shape. Why had he come? Why had he chosen me to watch? The back of my neck tingled; I looked and saw nothing. But I felt the eyes, the eyes of an eagle watching. In my mind I saw the raptor cock his head and fluff his feathers as he watched. What was he thinking when he watched? Did he think me strange for staying on the ground? Or did he envy the way I easily covered the yard? Or was there something else? Somehow I knew there was something else to those watching eyes.

* * * *

The Chameleon was a scout infiltrator. He worked for a group known to themselves as the Users. Referring to the Chameleon, as a he, could be wrong. The only one who still might know the gender of the Chameleon is the Chameleon. Depending on the infiltration, the Chameleon could be a male, female, neutral or somewhere in-between.

The Users would move into a community. After living in the neighborhood for possibly years, they would leave, stripping it of everything they could take. This would be more than just the material wealth of the community. The Users would scavenge the intellectual and social fabric of the society. Local companies would be taken over and sold. Copyrights, plans, the very soul of the community would be copied and destroyed. When the Users were done with a neighborhood, it would be a hollow shell of what it had been. It would take decades, if ever, for the community to recover. By then the Users, richer than before, would have sucked dry the life of other communities. Stronger, they would wait for the chance to return to harvest the strength of the region again.