Copyright 2004
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"A Star for Bailer"

Slice Sweet stands on the twisted mangrove roots, snapping her fingers to the silent rhythm in her head. Why she is so still is a mystery to me. She knows just where she's going, and I've been with her every step of the way.

One month ago we had such a simple assignment: trudge through the sawgrass, tag a few birds, and get out of the Everglades before the permits expire. Now I stand in knee-deep sludge, four miles from base-camp with a Celestron G-14 telescope strapped to my back. I hope we get to high ground before the comet sets.

1.

I'm late. It's five minutes after eight, and all I feel like saying is "yeah, yeah, yeah." Tim's first day, and I knew he'd be on time. Parked next to his rusty little Honda outside. I take a big gulp of coffee as I come up on my office. Doesn't help or anything. Just worked out that way. I see a big brown folder smack in the middle of the desk riding piles of paper like driftwood on a churning sea. The NSF returned my grant, again. Submission deadline is next week. I hesitate for only a second. Maybe they really are going to fund me and just decided to send back the entire proposal. This office is such a dump, though. Let it surf paperwork. I know I'm just going to get pissed off in there.

I head towards the research labs. Kip, the Grey Parrot, is already yammering for seed. Romulus and Remus, our troublesome ravens, are tugging at their cage again. 'Bam,' it goes. Sounds huge here in sub level two. Sucks being in the basement. Loud, cold and wet. A little wood paneling and it would look like my grandfather's rec room.

'Bam!' They're testing the cage again. Once tipped it over by working in unison like that. Then they began working on the tin bottom. Managed to get a beak out. Now we've fastened it to the wall, but the ravens will figure out how to upset things again sooner or later. Oh, yeah. Got written up for nailing it there. If it isn't the birds, it's the building management. That's the way things go at the Duke Primate Intelligence Lab. You never get a break, not even five minute's worth.

Tim, the second-year grad student new to birds, is heading my way with pretty indecisive steps. His oversized trousers do a good job sweeping the floor. Looks like he teased up his hair and dyed it red. Maybe a holiday thing. Makes him look paler than usual.

He's holding his right index finger in his left hand.

"Doctor Bailer, I got, a...Kip's a...helmet on, but I knew I was supposed to hold off on feeding him until you arrived." Tim turns and motions with his index finger towards Kip. I can see blood on Tim's fingertip. Tim knows I see it.

"He's a little ornery, Doctor Bailer."

"He a..." I motion at the hidden finger with my travel mug. Feels like its getting low.

Tim flashes the sheepish smile of a kid caught in a harmless lie.

"Yeah. Kip. Um..."

"He knows you're new. You didn't try to feed..."

"The, uh, ravens? No way, Doctor Bailer. After everything you told us
about them last semester?"

Tim reaches for a notepad and I walk towards their cage. The two black birds hunker down and vocalize, each in turn, one, then the other. Caw, caw, caw! Damn, they're loud.

I look at the concrete wall to my right.

"Like we covered in class, these are a little different. Just as much smarts as a Grey or simian. But they're a little cruder. Not much language, but man, do they work together. They don't miss much. They're great observers. If they bother to do something, it's because it affects their survival."

Tim has that ever hopeful look on his face.

"But that's part of your research, isn't it, Doctor Bailer? You know, talking to ravens?"

"Yeah. That, or some really wild natural behavior. Tool use or something."

A second or two must have passed. Once again, I am dumbly staring at the ravens while thinking about that damn grant.

Time to go to my lousy office.

Lots of e-mail. One v-call from the National Parks Service. Christ, by the time I finish the bullshit, its nine-thirty. Then I get the link up from Parks. A Doctor Necretta is on the line.

"Doctor Bailer? Nick Necretta, Project planning for the National Parks Service. How are you?"

God, it's all business with this guy. His kind is one of the reasons I left field research. I fiddle with my headset and clear my throat.

"Glad to meet you, Nick. What can I do for you?"