Fire Season-eARC (7 page)

“That’s right. In this case, of course, the ones who dominate the area are not the treecats themselves, although they are the indigenous intelligent species and therefore should have some rights themselves to decide who does and does not have access to them.”

Anders noted with some admiration how Dr. Whittaker could use this complex conclusion—one that, as far as he knew, was not shared by the majority of the residents of Sphinx—to his own advantage. It made
Dr. Whittaker
sound like the true treecat advocate, not the Forestry Service, who had set themselves up as the treecats’ protectors.

I guess I’m not the only one who has learned something from living with a politician all these years. Now if Dad could only learn to be as nice—as genuinely caring—as Mom, he’d be ahead of the game.

Anders nodded. “Like the treecat who made friends with Stephanie Harrington—Lionheart. He chose to make contact with the humans.”

“Actually, that’s not precisely correct,” Dr. Whittaker said. “‘Lionheart,’ as Ms. Harrington has so quaintly named this treecat, actually was making contact with the greenhouse. All his actions show that he intended to stay away from humans. He showed remarkable ingenuity in avoiding the alarms. Only Ms. Harrington’s admittedly brilliant deduction regarding the wavelengths in which treecats perceived light enabled her to catch a recorded image.”

“But,” Anders protested, “they’ve stayed friends since.”

“Again, Anders, I fear you are jumping to the same romantic conclusions that so many have reached. Lionheart—I do wish we knew what manner of naming conventions treecats use for themselves—actually fled from that initial contact. It was not until Ms. Harrington pursued him, using tracking methods about which she has been very vague, and was injured, that Lionheart came to the rescue. Her actions were irresponsible, putting both herself and the treecat in considerable danger.”

“She saved his life!” Anders said angrily.

“Only after endangering it in the first place. Really, Anders, I thought you were more capable of scientific detachment. Perhaps your mother is correct and you have developed a—romantic attachment, shall we call it?—to the idea of the heroic Stephanie Harrington.”

Anders glowered and bit back a couple dozen things he would have liked to say. Instead, dreading more discussion on this subject, he steered the conversation back to his father’s original statement.

“So, Dad, you said there was something I could do to help out the team?”

Dr. Whittaker brightened. “That’s right. As I was saying, often well-meaning non-indigenous cultures assume a paternalistic attitude regarding what they consider vulnerable primitive cultures.”

“That is,” Anders couldn’t resist saying, “the high-tech newcomers decide to protect those who might suffer otherwise.”

“You are romanticizing again,” Dr. Whittaker replied, waggling one finger at Anders. “Paternalism is not simply protectiveness. As the word—which has its roots in an old word for ‘father’—implies, those who become paternalistic set themselves up in the role of parents, assuming they know better for no other reason than they have more technology and that technology enables them to dominate.”

“So the Sphinx Forestry Service is paternalistic,” Anders summarized.

“Yes,” Dr. Whittaker agreed enthusiastically, “and not merely toward the treecats, but also toward Ms. Harrington herself. You heard Dr. Hobbard’s warning.”

“That didn’t sound protective,” Anders said. “I mean, except maybe of us. Dr. Hobbard was warning us that Ms. Harrington might button up if we pushed her too hard.”

“I can see you are determined not to see things my way,” Dr. Whittaker said. Since this was pretty much the truth, Anders said nothing, but waited for him to continue. “I do not plan to ‘push’ Ms. Harrington. Clearly, this would be a bad tactic. However, it has occurred to me that you are about her own age. She might loosen up around you. Moreover, you are a handsome young man and she is a young lady—a clever young lady, no doubt, but no less a female for all that.”

“You want me to sweet-talk her so she’ll tell us more about the treecats?” Anders didn’t know whether to be indignant or to laugh.

“Befriend her,” Dr. Whittaker says. “Flirt, if that is what you wish. Make her comfortable with us. Let her see us as humans who care as much about the treecats and their well-being as she herself does. Remember. Her initial contact with anthropologists was that fake Tennessee Bolgeo. She may retain some reflex aversion to our profession.”

“So you want me to flirt with her,” Anders said, amazed.

“Befriend her,” Dr. Whittaker pressed. “Or, if you are unwilling, then I believe there is a young man who is also an SFS ‘probationary ranger’—a post created, apparently, to enable the SFS to better control Ms. Harrington. Don’t look at me so disapprovingly. I’m not asking you to seduce the girl. I’m not asking you to do anything more dishonest than what your mother does when she kisses strange babies and hugs little old ladies she’s never met. All I’m asking you to do is be nice.”

Anders didn’t know what to say to that. Anyhow, refusing to talk to Stephanie or this other fellow—Karl something-beginning-with-“Z”—would be really stupid, since, in addition to seeing a treecat himself, there wasn’t anything Anders wanted more. And if he could make his dad happy, earn points as a “team player,” then what was he doing wrong?

“Okay, Dad,”Anders said, putting on his most winning smile, uncomfortably aware of how much it resembled the one on thousands of his mom’s campaign posters, “I see your point. I’ll do what I can to befriend Stephanie Harrington.”

*
 
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*

Climbs Quickly managed to convince Left-Striped and Right-Striped that they would be perfectly safe in the gazebo, but it took some doing. Not only was the gazebo far closer to the ground than a more usual sleeping platform, but it was uncomfortably close to the two-legs’ own dwelling.

In the end, Climbs Quickly thought that Right-Striped’s injuries had as much to do with convincing them to stay as any reassurance he offered. When Right-Striped had been forced to climb the green-needle, the pads of his hand-feet and true-feet had not only been burned, but also had been badly abraded. What skin remained had been blistered and swollen, leaking blood and slime, and in great danger of becoming infected.

Healer’s treatments had minimized the pain and all but eliminated the swelling. However, the false skin he had misted over the injuries would not hold up under the demands of travel.

Then, too, the food Death Fang’s Bane brought them was a selection based on Climbs Quickly’s own favorites. The grand finale of the meal was a fresh piece of cluster-stalk for each of them. This fine and exotic treat brought rhapsodies of delight from the two guests, even bringing Right-Striped out of the silence that had shadowed him long after much of his pain had been alleviated.

Over cluster-stalk, Left-Striped told how they had happened to be so near an area inhabited by two-legs.

<
The Damp Ground Clan recently relocated to a fresh central nesting place within our territory. Although this hot, dry weather has not drained the lands beneath our former nesting trees, many of the feeder streams that bring us fish and water crawlers have diminished their flow or dried entirely. Hunting was growing more difficult, since too few ground-runners come into the wetlands to make up the difference.
>

The images that accompanied Left-Striped’s words gave Climbs Quickly a fair idea of the area into which the Damp Ground Clan had made their new home. As with all treecat nesting areas, it was well-supplied with the net-wood trees that made travel without touching the ground so easy. He noted that the Damp Ground Clan’s new nesting place also had exceptionally good overhead coverage, supplied in part by association with golden-leaf.

<
Yes
.> Right-Striped said in response to Climbs Quickly’s unarticulated thought. <
One of the reasons the elders of our clan chose this area was that the golden-leaf provides further shelter from the two-legs and their flying things. Our territory is near enough to lands the two-legs have claimed as their own that there has been some disturbance.
>

Left-Striped added, <
Our new nesting place is not very near where the two-legs live, but some of the best hunting does take us close. My brother and I were scouting the region, checking to see if we could find what routes the two-legs use and gather some idea of how frequently so our hunters could make appropriate plans.
>

Although the People had resolved to be cautious in their interactions with the two-legs, they were also learning that where the two-legs settled, interesting opportunities were to be found. Climbs Quickly himself had taken cluster stalk from their transparent plant places—an act justifiable for a scout, although it would be considered theft if a Person took such from another Person.

However, even if the People would not steal directly from where the two-legs grew their food, it could not be ignored that often the two-legs created secondary food opportunities. Small ground-runners often came to browse at the edges of their planted fields. The two-legs’ practice of leaving out food for the animals they kept also drew scavengers. Some of the plants they grew also migrated outside the areas the two-legs had marked for their own. These were often quite tasty and very robust.

So, although doubtless the elders of the Damp Ground Clan would have argued otherwise, Right-Striped and Left-Striped had been sent to scout the forests near to where the two-legs had staked a claim precisely because the two-legs were there.

Climbs Quickly did not blame them, although he was growing a bit weary of how the People could fill their mouths with cluster stalk while their minds denied the value of those who had brought it.

He bleeked amusement as he tasted Left-Striped’s—Right-Striped had drifted off into a doze—awareness of the irony.

*
 
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*

When the next morning Death Fang’s Bane’s actions made clear that she and Shadowed Sunlight were heading off again, Climbs Quickly debated staying behind to continue visiting with Left-Striped and Right-Striped. He also thought his presence might reassure them that it was safe to remain in the gazebo. However, beneath the excitement in Death Fang’s Bane’s mind-glow was a sense of uneasiness. He could not read her thoughts, but he knew the taste of this particular emotion and knew it had much to do with her relationship with the People.

Time and again, Climbs Quickly had sat with his two-leg, reassuring her as she answered question after question. From her gestures and a few words—as well as the taste of her mind-glow—he knew when the People were the subject. There was a special note that entered into her mind-glow during some of these discussions. It reminded Climbs Quickly somewhat of the feeling of stalking or scouting—as if she was being very, very careful, as a hunter took care not to break a twig lest the prey hear and flee. Or as if she was scouting some dangerous creature, like a death fang or snow hunter, and knew that a slip might mean disaster.

For these reasons, although he would have enjoyed relaxing with these members of another clan—especially after the exertions of the previous day—he decided to join Death Fang’s Bane and Shadowed Sunlight when they departed that morning.

This time, Climbs Quickly noted with amusement, there was no question as to who was operating the air car. Despite their traveling above the trees and at a high speed, Shadowed Sunlight slid down one of the transparent panels for Climbs Quickly without being asked, but Climbs Quickly did not enjoy the ride as much as he usually did. His thoughts were too full of the implications of change.

*
 
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*

When Karl brought down the air car at the familiar SFS regional headquarters complex, Stephanie noticed that several vehicles were already parked in the visitors’ area.

“Dr. Whittaker and his team must already be here,” she said, gathering Lionheart into her arms and hugging him. Surely Dad wouldn’t mind if she carried him just a short distance.

“Ready?” Karl asked.

“You bet,” Stephanie replied.

Inside, they were immediately directed to a conference room off to one side of the building. The room was large—it doubled as a lecture hall—but today seemed quite crowded. It smelled strongly of coffee—the beverage favored by the hard-working SFS staff—but there were under-notes that promised other options. When Lionheart bleeked in delight and strained in the direction of the refreshment table set up to one side of the room, Stephanie suspected the presence of celery.

“Little pig,” she whispered. “You had some just last night!”

But she knew she’d give in. She suspected that Lionheart liked meetings as little as she did. She appreciated his company—and the support he gave her could go far beyond the comfort offered by a warm, furry body to hold.

She set Lionheart on the long table that bisected the room. Frank Lethbridge, one of the two rangers who had been assigned to train her and Karl, was the first to intercept her, but others quickly followed.

In addition to several representatives of the SFS, including Chief Ranger Gary Shelton himself, Dr. Sanura Hobbard was attending. Stephanie knew Dr. Hobbard all too well. At first she’d found the professor somewhat annoying, but now she had come to respect her devotion to careful and responsible study of other cultures. Eventually, they’d even come to a sort of compromise as to what Dr. Hobbard would and would not publish about the treecats.

Even as Stephanie politely greeted those she knew, sharing with Karl a mixture of ribbing and congratulations for their heroics during the fire the day before, she was very aware of the large group that clustered at one end of the room, clearly waiting to be introduced.

The group was dominated by an extremely tall, broad man. Somehow he gave Stephanie the impression of being made all of curves: the dome of his balding head, the arc of a budding gut, a round smoothness to his heavy, muscular limbs. This proved to be Dr. Bradford Whittaker himself.