To Sing the Calu

Jay Greenstein

Jay Greenstein

All rights reserved

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

Copyright 2015

Other Titles by Jay Greenstein:

Science Fiction

As Falls an Angel

Samantha and the Bear

Foreign Embassy

Hero

Monkey Feet

An Accidental War

Starlight Dancing

Wizards

Trilogy of the Talos

(Sci-fi)

To Sing the Calu

Portal to Sygano

Ghost Girl

Sisterhood of the Ring

(Sci-fi)

Water Dance

Jennie’s Song

A Change of Heart

A Surfeit of Dreams

Kyesha

Abode Of The Gods

Living Vampire

An Abiding Evil

Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romantic Suspense

A Chance Encounter

Kiss of Death

Intrigue/Crime

Necessity

Betrayal

Hostage

Young Adult

My Father My Friend

Romance

Zoe

Breaking the Pattern

Short Story

A Touch of Strange

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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Portal to Sygano – Excerpt

° ° ° °

Book one of: Trilogy of the Talos

The dashboard clock read 5:45, when Fred Randal left the central produce market and headed for the WKDZ studio building. With luck, and assuming he could stay awake long enough, he could do a rough draft of what he’d be saying during his segment of the noon news, then catch a few hours of sleep to make up the stupidity of staying up all night. But it had been a great party, and his boss would certainly not find fault with him for staying up, given that Pete had thrown the party.

It was getting light when he took the turnoff for the station and started up the long front drive. It was probably the start of a nice day, but he wasn’t ready to think about little details like day or night yet. Just staying awake till he got into the building was a chore. The headache helped in that, but was a mixed blessing.

He took the parking lot turnoff, running mostly on autopilot, and drove past without more than a mental comment of, Nice little cow. Nearly fifty feet later, the image that prompted that remark percolated into a marginally functional area of his brain. He frowned, then, unsure as to exactly what was wrong. It wasn’t till he was parked and getting out of the car that a nearly clear thought made its way to the surface. A cow? On the lawn of the station?

He leaned against the car while his fuzz-filled head tried to make sense out of it. Sure enough, there she was, calmly mowing the lawn in time-honored bovine fashion. Picture pretty, yes, but a cow on the station’s lawn didn’t make too much sense. Something for his segment of the news?

He scanned the parking lot for a truck or animal carrier, but except for the night crew’s cars, it was quiet, and empty.

It was that lonely damp time of the morning when the sky is just lighting and the street lights are unneeded but still on—a time when everything seems to be in suspension, just waiting. Shivery in his suit jacket, but more awake, he ambled across the dew-wet grass to look her over.

As he approached, she raised her head and strolled in his direction to look him over, too. It was then that he fell in love. She was simply too beautiful for words.

Tiny, a dwarf species of some kind, she couldn’t have gone over three hundred pounds, but from the looks of her udder, might well be an adult, and lactating. Her coat was a thick glossy brown, of a color that most women would kill to have in their hair. Someone had spent a lot of time grooming and brushing that coat. In the growing light of morning, it glowed with an almost translucent beauty. She stood with the regal carriage of a true lady, too, and had the smooth lines of championship breeding.

She mooed a hello and cocked her head to study him, as he returned the favor—minus the moo.

Interesting, and enough of a mystery to do wonders for his mood. The headache still annoyed but interest pushed it aside for now, and got him more in tune with the day, and starting to notice things, beginning with the weather. The sky promised a glorious fall day, of the kind with puffy little clouds and a tiny hint of winter’s chill to announce the season’s change.

Hello lady, he said by way of greeting. Do you know that you’re beautiful? He walked around her, while she studied him with those big sad eyes that cows have.

Yes, you are. You’ve got great legs, beautiful hair, and nice teats too. He reached out and patted her on the head. You’re even the perfect size for me. I sure wish I could find a human woman as pretty as you.

He looked again at her udder. If she was lactating she’d need to be milked within the next few hours.

He moved closer and began to stroke her side, and to talk to her, to get her used to his presence. Dairy cows can be touchy about who handles them, and he didn’t need any trouble. Especially with his head in its present condition. She might be tiny by cattle standards, but she could still be dangerous. She looked back at him and mooed in what he hoped was a friendly manner as he stroked her flank. Her coat was surprisingly soft and pleasantly warm against the chill in the air. She even smelled clean.

He squatted, and slid his palm down to warm on the side of her udder, talking to her to keep her calm—explaining what he was doing to get her used to the sound of his voice. Then he gently slipped his hand over one of her teats. It was small, barely reaching his ring finger. He cupped his other hand under the end and rippled his fingers in the milker’s squeeze he learned as a kid. Sure enough, a small puddle of milk formed in his palm.

He shouldn’t have done it, the milk was untested, but this little girl was surely a healthy animal, so he lapped it out of his hand.

Like the rest of her, first-rate. Rich enough to have nearly a six percent butterfat content, it had an interesting tang, and he wondered what she’d been eating.

He stood and wiped his hands on a handkerchief as he studied her. His head wasn’t as clear as he might’ve liked, but he was nearly fully awake now. Even the headache had settled down from the bulging pulsing forehead stage to a background annoyance.

An interesting situation. A competition class animal left on the lawn of a television station, with no identification and no tether. Definitely not part of an existing news or human-interest story, because without a tether she could easily wander into the street, and to an unpleasant introduction to traffic.

His new friend had resumed grazing, so he assumed she’d be okay for the few minutes it would take to get things into motion. He gave a final pat to her shapely rump and started for the studio, whistling.

As he crossed over from the lawn to the asphalt parking area the patter of four little feet followed. Sure enough, his lady friend was strolling along behind him.

He turned and took her head in his hands, squatting to do so.

Look lady, I love you too, but be reasonable. A TV station is no place for a woman of your breeding, not to mention your toilet habits. She shook her head. Perhaps he’d insulted her with the comment on her lack of toilet training. She licked her lips with a tongue that looked to be a foot long, and tried to plant a big wet kiss on his face. That got him backing away in a hurry. He assumed his best hurt expression as he told her, "I’ll have you know, young lady, I never kiss on the first date. She seemed unimpressed, so he scratched her head and said, Anyway, you stay here till I get back." He’d have said more, but she turned back to the lawn. As a final sample of her ire, she demonstrated the reason he couldn’t take her into the studio. Luckily she missed.

The thought occurred that fifty percent of the people who worked at the station would have ignored her. Most of the rest might’ve called the humane society and let it go at that. The remaining few might have had the good sense to have a camera record the event. He, on the other hand, knew just what he had, thanks to his two-year stint as Farmer Fred, discussing farm issues with the experts.

His new friend was as valuable an animal as there was, and someone must be very upset about her loss. Why someone bred an animal her size wasn’t clear, unless it was to end up with a substitute for a milking goat, but her quality was obvious at a single glance. This wasn’t a news item. This was a Story.

Sid, the night security guard sat dozing in the lobby, so Fred rapped the window with his keys.

Sid finally roused himself, and stretching mightily, unlocked the door. Good morning, Mr. Randal, he said, yawning. You’re here early this morning.

Sid, do you know anything about the young lady out on the lawn?

Sid followed his pointed hand and stared for a few moments. He watched Sid’s expression change, and could almost read his thoughts: "That’s no lady, it’s a cow.... No, it can’t be...not on the station’s lawn. And, it’s too small to be a cow. Maybe it’s a heifer? But...but....

But, Mr. Randal. There’s not supposed to be a cow on the lawn...is there? By the aggrieved tone of his voice, Sid held him personally responsible for the animal.

I’ll take that as a no, Sid. Is there anyone here beside the regular night staff? Sid’s mystified expression and shaking head threw out that possibility.

Finding a length of sturdy rope in a TV studio building wasn’t likely, but a fifty-foot extension cord would be available in the storeroom. A bit of searching yielded a three-foot length of electrical piping, with the empty shell of an outlet box yawning openly on one end. A bit of pawing through the shop yielded a serviceable hammer. After a fast check of the night crew, which yielded puzzled looks but no information, he went out to rejoin his new friend.

No cow in sight, but he tracked her hoof prints in the soft ground to the lawn around the south side of the building. This might be a better spot for her, as she couldn’t be seen from the road, and thus, attract less attention. She seemed to have an easy-going temperament, but that might not hold for groups of people. Highly bred animals can be spooky sometimes, and as small as she might be for a cow, she could still do a lot of damage if she ever got it into her head to go after someone.

Searching his memory he remembered a knot, called a cow knot. Unfortunately, while he had the name, how to tie it was no longer part of his memory, so she got a bowline, courtesy of his Boy Scout training, plus a twenty-foot run of cable to the electrical tubing. That, he drove all the way into the dirt. If she took it into her head to give a good pull on the line she could easily pull it up or snap the cord, but probably wouldn’t. As is the case with many restraining devices for animals, the beast has the power to escape, but not the inclination. She accepted the tether with good grace, so he took a seat on the grass to look her over.

So tell me, pretty lady, what am I going to do with you? Are you stolen? There’s no way you just walked here without being noticed, and no one in their right mind would willingly give you up. He cupped his chin in his palm and studied her. If you were a people, you’d be royalty. And royalty just doesn’t go running around loose. He sighed, deciding that this was a weird one. Moving over a few feet, he leaned back against one of the path-light posts, to think over what to do and promptly fell asleep.

Moooooo....

He nearly sprained his body getting to his feet. He wasn’t thinking yet, but his eyes were fully open and his feet were ready to run—as soon as his brain told him which way.

The noise came again and he relaxed. His new friend had mooed a complaint, only two feet away from his right ear.

His mouth tasted like she’d dropped a few pounds of the end product of her lawn mowing in it, and his head seemed to have a slight crack in the area directly above his eyes. Other than that, and his clothing being a crumpled mess, he was fine.

Still blinking himself back into a semblance of normality he asked, Lady, didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to shout in someone’s ear? In response, she complained again. His brain finally kicked into operation and he realized that her milk had come in, and she wanted to be relieved. He checked, and sure enough her bag was tight and distended. That had to be taken care of at once.

Okay ma’am, wait here, he told her, patting her head. Old Farmer Fred will go find a bucket. She answered with another complaint, so he hurried toward the studio. Okay! Okay, lady, he called back to her. I’m hurrying.

Luckily, the shelf of the janitor’s closet held a new plastic bucket. He scrubbed it, rinsed the sleep out of his eyes for good measure, and started for the door. Halfway there he ran into Gus Holstead, one of the best of the station’s camera operators, and began to think more like a broadcaster. This event had to be recorded for the noon news. She was his story, and he was, he decided, with a mental laugh, going to milk it for all it was worth.

Gus, he called, still heading for the station’s outside door, walking backward and stopping with his hand on the door. Grab a mini-cam and trot over to the south side of the building.

With a single puzzled glance at his bucket, Gus turned away, calling, Right away, Fred.

She came to meet him at the limit of her tether and reminded him to hurry.

Sorry, ma’am, he said as he set the bucket down. I know you’re anxious to get started, but give me a moment to get ready. He removed his jacket and hung it on a bush, then turned to unbuttoning his sleeves. She snorted contempt for his lack of speed.

He finished rolling up his sleeves as Gus arrived, carrying a camera. Gus, in turn, was trailed by the arriving station personnel, obviously curious to see what was going on. He stopped and stared for a moment, and apparently sized up the situation, because he began to laugh.

Fred motioned for quiet as Gus began to set up, and breathed a prayer that his new friend would stay in a good mood. Patting her to keep her calm, he placed the bucket in position and squatted by her. Because of her size, the bucket was nearly too tall. He’d neglected the matter of a milking stool, but that was a minor detail.

Gus got the camera powered up, aimed the mike, and gave a thumbs-up, so he faced the camera. Ready Gus? How’s the sound level?

Gus nodded an okay, so he began, This is Farmer Fred Randal, and I have an unusual item for you today. Someone seems to have abandoned this lovely young lady on the lawn of the WKDZ studios, and....

He went on for a few minutes, telling the story of their meeting. He finally concluded with a plea for information, while the level of foamy milk slowly rose in the bucket. Gus moved around them, getting a variety of shots. Finally satisfied, and chuckling to himself, he said he’d get started on a rough edit and left. As he disappeared around the corner, he let go with a loud moo.

Through it all, the cow stood quietly. Now and then she emitted a grunt of pleasure. She apparently enjoyed being milked.

Finishing up, he stood and shook out the kinks from his aching knees. He remembered just in time and snatched the bucket out from underneath her before she could kick it over, as cows sometimes do. As he patted her and turned away, he found he’d attracted a considerable crowd, including his friend and station manager, Peter Cain, looking wide awake. Somehow, Pete could party most of the night, as he had, and then put in a full day’s work the next day, while looking none the worse for wear. Also amazing was how much Pete looked like what he was. He had a touch of gray at his temples. Just the thing to highlight his dark skin. He had a fierce black bush growing on his upper lip, and a look around the eyes that screamed: executive. It showed in the way he walked, the easy confident way he acted, in the way he dressed, and, in the way people reacted to him.

Pete shook his head, smiling. Something unusual for the segment today? Apparently, he’d not been there for the milking.

Before he could respond, Pete waved a hand in the cow’s direction, adding, I must say, you certainly have original ideas. Where’s the rest of her?

What you see is what you get, Pete, he said, with a laugh. I think she’s a dwarf species, but I don’t have the faintest idea which, or where she came from.

The rest of the station people were drifting away, except for a few girls from accounting, who’d just arrived. While they oh’d and ah’d over the cow, Pete motioned for them to move the conversation a few feet to the side.

Be careful where you step Pete, he warned, as he moved to comply. She’s been...busy.

Pete grunted and adjusted his path. He turned and studied the cow for a few minutes, then said, Okay, Fred, talk.

He talked. Pete was a good man, a loyal friend, and a great person to have for a boss. But when he turned on business mode he wanted lots of data and no cow manure, so he filled him in on what had happened so far, and how he hoped to present her on the noon news. This would be exclusive to the channel—and by extension, the network. In fact, there was a good chance of the story being the feature article. The other local stations would just have to eat their hearts out, and make do with the news service feed. With luck, this might go national, and if it took a day or two to get her moved out, could, possibly, double viewer share for the news until she left. National exposure wouldn’t hurt his career either.

Pete nodded approval.

Don’t forget to slip a teaser on the morning news, if there’s time. Definitely, include it at station breaks. He looked Fred over and frowned, adding, And you might de-wrinkle yourself while you’re at it.

He turned his attention back on the animal for a few moments more, humming tunelessly to himself before saying, Have you given thought to what we might do if her owner doesn’t show up for a while? It’s likely she was stolen, then dumped when they didn’t find anyone willing to take a chance on her.

Not a lot Pete. She’s a valuable animal, and by now her owner is probably frantic. That being said, though, we can have a field day with her if it takes time to locate the owner. She’s unique, beautiful, and lost. If we play this right, we can have everyone in the city tuning in to get a report on the search for the owner.

That’s what I was thinking. With a final hard look in her direction, he turned and started for the front of the building, motioning for him to follow. When they reached the door Pete paused with his hand on the push plate, nodding in decision.

All right, Fred, you found her, and you have a good handle on the story. She fits in with your segment too, so she’s yours for as long as you keep her drawing viewers, national feed and all.

He smiled and nodded, following Pete into the building, calmly, but doing handsprings of joy in his mind. One of the first things to do was call the family and tell them to watch the network’s evening news.

Pete looked down at the bucket and smiled as he said, Tell me, farm boy, what are you going to do with that?

The bucket held close to a quart of milk. Not much for a producing cow, but for her size and apparent youth, adequate.

Well, I have to have it tested, but if it checks out, I’ll pasteurize it and we can use it in coffee. It’s not cream, but people should get a kick out of it.

Good idea. He turned off to his office as Fred headed for the break room.

It seemed a shame, but this first batch would have to be thrown away, except for a testing sample. About to dump the bucket, hating the waste of good food, he had the thought that since he’d already tasted it, he’d be no worse off if he had a full glass. If he died, at least it’d be a news story.

He poured out a cup’s worth of milk, bought a cheese Danish from the rack, then settled wearily at a table in the corner for a delayed breakfast.

That milk was good! The animal was a lot more valuable than he’d originally thought. Forgetting the uniqueness of her size, and her beauty, she’d be worth a fortune just for the flavor of her milk. He might use part of it for the staff’s coffee, but the lion’s share went home with him, tonight. There’d be a cooler coming to work tomorrow, to take home as much as possible until the word got out and he had to fight everyone else for it. Being warm and fresh helped, but this milk was first-rate.

He scrounged around in the break room cabinets and found a small bottle he could use for the testing sample, plus an empty gallon milk jug. He rinsed the jug in the sink and used it for the remainder of the milk. Using a marker, he wrote: Do not touch, do not discard, contaminated milk. He signed it, Fred, and put it back in the fridge. That should keep it safe.

° ° ° °

Chapter 2

He never did get that nap, and that day easily rated as one of the busiest of his life. To begin with, almost everyone in the building found an excuse to drop into the broom closet he called an office, to talk about what happened. He told the same story at least twenty times, and finally began to understand part of the reason old soldiers hate to talk about their experiences in the war. It’s not only because of the horror of war. You can only tell the same story so many times before it begins to drive you crazy.

He still had to make time to prepare his regular noon spot and finish editing the milking video. Gus did a good job, but he had to do the final editing, and decide what to say to frame the video.

As if that weren’t enough, he also had to initiate a check for a missing cow, then arrange for a more secure tether, bales of hay and straw, and a ration of grain for his new friend. This little lady had done a lot for him so far, and the least he could do was see that she ate well.

° ° °

Pete’s office was filled with people, some of whom reported to the network.

Interesting. Pete stood when he came in and shook his hand—to demonstrate his importance to the others in the room, he assumed. They might not have been impressed, but he certainly was. When it came to business, friendship mattered little to Pete. Only getting the job done with the best talent available, in the shortest time, mattered. A friend he might be outside the station, but one step through the station’s front door and that friendship came in a distant second to getting the job done, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Pete’s attitude, he supposed, was one of the things that made him such a competent manager.

Okay, people, Pete announced, to open the meeting. For those of you who haven’t met him, this is Fred Randal. He found the cow, and he’s both talent and writer for the on-air issues. He’s got that part of it under control, and I have every confidence he can do a great job.

Better and better. Career-wise, that cow was the best thing that ever happened. Buoying his spirits still further, Pete introduced him individually to the group. There were people from several fields, but it boiled down to public relations. And that reduced to ratings. Finished with the introductions, Pete slid a disc into a player and switched a monitor on.

Ok, you’ve seen the cut from the noon news, and the cow herself, he said, starting the video, but leaving the audio off. "This is the footage shot this morning. As you can see, she photographs