Escape Velocity

Chapter Thirteen

We stood in a large meadow lined by trees on three sides, a fence, and the falconry building on the fourth. From the Parallax group, it was just me and Kate. When I told Melisse I wasn't going riding, I was afraid she would be mad, or worse, suggest everyone do the falconry class. Instead, she had taken it all in stride. It might have been the hot fudge sundae we shared that softened her. If it did, breaking Gramp's "There's no sharing in dessert" rule was worth it.

"Her species is Parabuteo unicinctus or Harris's Hawk, native to the Southwest and areas as far south as Argentina. This bird here is called Willow," said the man who'd introduced himself as Matt.

The beautiful dark brown and chestnut hawk, about two feet tall, stood on the falconer's gloved hand. A leather hood covered her head, which twisted quickly from side-to-side, sensing us without sight, perhaps evaluating if we might be prey.

Matt continued, "We have other species as well, but we'll be flying Willow today. Afterward, Ben here will be available to take your photos with one of our other Harris's Hawks, Remington."

Ben, holding a camera and with his free hand held low, bent his wrist, waving in acknowledgment. Leather gloves poked out of a canvas bag at his feet. He winked at me or at Kate. I couldn't tell.

Kate said, "Ben is cuter out of that awful green uniform. Rugged in that old barn jacket and all." Kate wore khaki hiking shorts with all sorts of zippered pockets and a form-fitting tee-shirt. She flicked her hair behind her ears and then in front while Matt spoke. It seemed Kate wasn't that different from Willow, although Kate wasn't wearing blinders and already knew who her prey was.

"He may be cute, but he's not exactly the falconer I expected. He's a gofer for Matt. I guess he's the kind of guy who exaggerates," I answered, preparing a reason to distance myself from Ben. In case Kate was more his style. And there was a good chance she was.

Matt paired us in two lines of four, facing each other, an arm's length apart. Kate was across from me. I didn't see Matt give any commands, though when he removed her hood, Willow flew across the field into the treeline.

"Relax, everyone. Now hold still." As Matt held up a piece of raw meat, Willow dove out of the tree and, in a rush of wing and feather, swooped between the two lines at chest level and snatched the raw chicken from Matt's fingers.

Kate screamed and ducked, too late to have been any defense if Willow intended to attack her instead of Matt's reward. The noise and movement from Kate seemed to excite Willow who, with ruffled feathers, flapped and showed us her impressive wingspan.

"Easy, Willow." Matt stroked Willow like I might stroke Darwin or Sophie when the cats had one of their rare fights. "That's my girl." Matt's expression showed no irritation at Kate, but I caught a grimace from Ben. Or it might have been wishful thinking on my part.

With Willow calmed, Matt talked about how the birds were trained and had Willow fly out and back several times, chasing bits of chicken Matt threw for her. I loved the grace of Willow's flight. As she rose with the wind, I imagined a world where she could fly forever. That she was free to fly, but never really free, was tragic. As mournful as one of those beautiful old Irish ballads Gram listened to. I tried to imagine Willow unrestricted by a world where she didn't quite fit. In the same way, I had imagined myself all the way to Mars.

"All right, one more show before we do the photos." Willow, who had been perched on Matt's hand, flew again to a tree. Matt shook his index finger toward the bird enclosure across the field where Ben now stood. A raggedy gray artificial lure shot out from the fenceline, headed away from the trees. Willow raced toward her prey and seized it in her powerful talons as if it was real. It happened so fast, it was hard to process. When Matt returned her to the falconry building, I hated to see her go. When I looked into her eyes, it was weird, as if we were equals. I supposed we were.