Bolgeo had figured he’d probably have to retain a private investigator to follow the kid and the treecat to get that kind of footage, and he’d expected that to cost a pretty centicredit. There weren’t many PIs on such newly settled colony worlds, as a rule, so he’d been afraid he’d have to recruit someone from the much more populous planet of Manticore, where there were now enough people to make finding someone to sneak around and spy on his neighbors fairly straightforward. He hadn’t liked the prospect, though. The sort of PI who’d follow a fourteen-year-old girl around at the behest of an off-world stranger was also the sort who was likely to wonder why the off-worlder in question was interested in the kid. The possibility that he’d try to blackmail money out of Bolgeo in return for not mentioning his interest in Stephanie Harrington to the authorities—purely as a concerned citizen, of course!—had not seemed beyond the realm of possibility. And given most colonial planets’ attitude towards child molesters, Bolgeo was pretty sure explaining his interest to those authorities would not have been the most enjoyable experience of his life.
Instead, he’d pulled it off for no more than the cost of lunch for six humans and one treecat, which made it one of the best bargains he’d ever managed.
He ran the imagery again, checking the moment at which Lionheart had become aware of his approach for the third time, then fast forwarding to when he took his own departure. He’d excused himself early in response to a previously arranged com call, but he’d urged his guests to finish their meals at their leisure and instructed their waiter to put whatever deserts they might choose to order on the credit voucher he’d already authorized. Then he’d left . . . and Lionheart’s turned head had tracked him with unerring accuracy even after he’d vanished into the pedestrians. In fact, the treecat had looked after him until his GPS indicated he’d been one hundred and eleven meters from the restaurant.
So, he thought now, tipping back in his chair and clasping his hands on the back of his head as he gazed up at the ceiling, the little critter picked me up at just over a hundred meters. And he tracked me outbound to just over a hundred meters. So I think we can probably take his . . . “empathic detection range,” for want of a better term, as a hundred meters. Of course, that’s here in town. Twin Forks may be a podunk little burg, but there’s probably enough people around to produce a lot of . . . background noise.
He frowned thoughtfully. There was no way to know just how distracting an empath might find the emotions of others. Would it be like trying to listen for a single voice in a roomful of talking people? Or could the treecats block out emotions they didn’t want to hear? Could they listen for a single emotional . . . fingerprint, call it, without being distracted by the other humans in the area?
Best to assume his range is knocked back if there are a lot of other people in the vicinity, Bolgeo decided. It’ll be a lot smarter to operate on the assumption that he can “hear” me—or someone else—from a lot farther away out in the woods. On the other hand, let’s not get too carried away with allowing for that. So if he could pick me up at a hundred meters here in town, let’s assume he could pick me up at . . . oh, two hundred meters in the bush.
His frown turned into a smile, and he chuckled.
I can work with that, he thought.
23
Stephanie watched the treetops slide by below as she and Lionheart floated towards the heart of his clan’s territory. Sphinx’s slow, ongoing seasons were turning those treetops steadily denser and leafier, and a part of her still wanted to slip her glider through the nearest opening in that canopy and land so that she and her companion could explore the cool, green depths of the forest. She felt all those yet unseen trees and hills and streams and creatures calling to her, and someday she would answer that call. But not today. Today she was bound for yet another visit with Lionheart’s relatives, and she’d found that the lengthy flight was a good time to think things through.
She banked slightly, compensating for a crosswind and felt Lionheart shifting his weight in tandem with her. Whatever else the link between them did, it had turned him into the ideal passenger. Maybe it was his arboreal evolution, but he seemed to possess an instinctive grasp of how to help control their flight . . . and to be aware of what she was going to do even before she was.
She smiled at the thought, but then the smile faded as she contemplated her problem. At least some of her and Scott’s friends and allies were prepared to do what they could to hamper whatever Dr. Bolgeo might be up to, yet there really wasn’t much they could do. Frank Lethbridge and Ainsley Jedrusinski had agreed to help keep an eye on him, but the Forestry Service wasn’t giving them much time off lately. In fact, the Interior Ministry’s pressure to provide guides for all the off-world scientists so eager for excursions into the bush in search of treecats had most of the rangers working overtime.
That could have worked for them, since having Lethbridge or Jedrusinski assigned as Bolgeo’s guide would have been the perfect way to make sure he wasn’t getting into anything he shouldn’t. Unfortunately, Bolgeo wasn’t venturing out into the bush anymore. In fact, he hadn’t been for several weeks now. In a more reasonable world, the fact that he was staying peacefully in Yawata Crossing should have made her less suspicious, Stephanie supposed, but not in his case.
If he’s really here to study treecats, then he ought to be out in the bush trying to study them, not sitting on his butt in town, she thought grimly. But he’s not even trying to get onto the request list for Forestry Service guides. Or hire a private guide, like Mr. Franchitti. For that matter, he’s not even pestering Dr. Hobbard anymore! So if he’s not going to be studying them, why doesn’t he just buy himself a ticket back home and leave all of us alone?
She squeezed the button on her right hand grip to bring up the holographic display from her glider’s built-in GPS. The moving map popped into existence on her helmet’s visor, transparent enough for her to see through but automatically kept centered in her field of vision as long as she held the button down, and she allowed herself a certain sense of smug satisfaction as the green icon tracked directly across the map towards her destination. Now if only the rest of her life could stay that firmly on track!
Her satisfaction faded and she released the button as her thoughts came back to Bolgeo yet again, like a bit of space debris sucked into a planetary gravity well. She wished she had some sort of proof that Lionheart and Fisher’s antipathy for him was deserved, and not just so she could show it to other people. She hated this sense of distrust and suspicion when she couldn’t prove it was justified even to herself.
And I can’t prove it—not really, she admitted. Sure, he’s acting pretty strangely for a xeno-anthropologist, but there’s not exactly a law against that. And at least he’s not one of the “scientists” trying to insist on studying the BioNeering survivors. Idiots. She grimaced. As if anyone with any sense was going to let them stress those poor ’cats even harder after everything that’s already happened to them! And as if studying a treecat clan as shattered as they are was going to tell them anything about normal treecat interactions, anyway.
She shook her head in disgust, although part of her admitted (very unwillingly) that it had to be incredibly frustrating for any xeno-anthropologist to be denied the opportunity for first-hand observation of the only known clan. Not that it made her any more sympathetic with the effort some of them were mounting to treat Lionheart and Fisher like some kind of zoo specimens. There’d actually been talk of getting a court order to grant access to the two “captive treecats,” but Chief Ranger Shelton had stepped on that one hard.
He’d done it very publicly, too, and despite her concern, Stephanie smiled broadly as her mind replayed the interview in which a local newsy had “just happened” to ask him about that. The newsy in question was a friend of Scott MacDallan’s, but Shelton had seemed unaware of that as he explained in blistering terms that so far as he was aware, neither Lionheart nor Fisher had been consigned to any public zoo (or any other pub
lic institution) and that neither he nor the Star Kingdom’s courts had any intention of infringing upon the Harringtons’ or Dr. MacDallan’s privacy. And, by the way, if anyone else cherished any thought of doing anything of the sort, he recommended they take a good long look at the stringent legal penalties for trespassing on private property and privacy violation. Which he, as an officer of the court, would of course be duty-bound to enforce . . . assuming the freeholders in question didn’t simply shoot the tresspassers in question on sight.
He’d looked remarkably free of any dismay the thought of enforcing those penalties might have caused him, too, she thought.
At least he’s on our side . . . some, at least. Or I think he is, anyway. I’m pretty sure he’s not on the other side, at least. I just wish I knew what he’s really thinking. Especially about Bolgeo.
* * *
“Dr. Hobbard,” Chief Ranger Gary Shelton said as patiently as he could, “what, exactly, is it you want me to do? I mean, if you want me to arrest the man, I can think of at least a dozen homegrown scientists I’d rather lock up first!”
The Sphinx Forestry Service’s commander leaned back in his desk chair and raised both hands in a gesture which mingled helplessness and frustration, and Sanura Hobbard sighed heavily.
“I understand, Chief Shelton,” she said. “And I don’t know what I want you to do, really. It’s just . . . just that for someone from such a prestigious university, he’s simply not a very good xeno-anthropologist. I mean, it’s almost like he knows the theory but doesn’t seem to have any practical field experience. And someone of his stature should be pretty well represented in the field’s literature, too, but I’ve done an intensive search of our library records without finding a single published paper under his name.”
“I’m as proud of the Star Kingdom as anyone, Doctor,” Shelton said with a wry smile, “but we’re not exactly the center of the explored universe out here. Is it really all that astonishing our library files—especially in a field as esoteric as yours—should be a little behind the curve?”
“Of course not,” Hobbard agreed. “In fact, we’re probably at least fifteen or twenty T-years—or more!—behind the Solarian League’s mainstream scholarship in quite a few fields. That’s inevitable when we’re so far from the core worlds and the major universities and research centers.”
“So the fact that you haven’t found any books or papers of his doesn’t mean none’ve been published,” Shelton pointed out.
“No, it doesn’t,” she sighed. “I’m just not easy in my mind about it, though, Chief. And I suppose I’m feeling a little protective about the treecats myself. Maybe I’ve been hanging around with Stephanie too much!”
“Girl does have that effect, doesn’t she?” Shelton grinned widely. “You’ve got to admire her, too. Even if she is keeping her mouth shut about half the things you and I would just love to know about the treecats!”
“I keep telling myself that sooner or later she’s going to figure out she can trust me and open up,” Hubbard said. “And when she does, I’ve got a feeling she’ll be able to tell us plenty. Maybe that’s one reason I’m so worried about Bolgeo, now that I think about it. I introduced him to her—not that I had much choice, given Minister Vázquez’s letter—and if it turns out he’s not who and what he claims to be, it’s going to undercut a lot of the trust I’ve tried to establish. Not to mention the fact that if it turns out he’s used me to get to her, I’m going to be royally pissed in my own right.”
Sanura Hobbard seldom used that sort of language, Shelton reflected, which said quite a bit about just how seriously she took this entire thing.
“Well,” he said out loud, “I’ll try to keep as close an eye on him as my manpower permits. You know how strapped we are for warm bodies, though. I can’t guarantee to make him a primary responsibility, Doctor. As you just pointed out, his papers from the Ministry are all in order, and so is all the rest of his documentation. I have exactly zero evidence to justify initiating some sort of criminal investigation at this point. So I’ll do what I can, but to be perfectly honest, that’s probably not going to be a lot.”
* * *
Dr. Tennessee Bolgeo sat in his hotel room once more, watching a holographic display. It showed an overhead view of the Copperwall Mountains and their foothills, and he was watching a small green icon move slowly but steadily eastward, deeper into the mountains.
You know, he thought admiringly, that really is one smart little cookie. And her parents have to be in on it, too.
He’d wasted the better part of three local weeks tracking the location transponders he’d had planted on the Harringtons’ air cars. He’d been positive from some of Stephanie’s answers—and even more from some of the questions she’d carefully not answered—that she knew exactly where to find “her” treecats. Even without those clues, no one who’d spent fifteen minutes in the girl’s company could’ve supposed for a moment that she wouldn’t have found the other treecats by now.
At the same time, it was obvious from what other investigators (and newsies) had turned up that the treecats’ range wasn’t actually on the Harrington freehold. It had to be considerably farther away, or some of those searching so assiduously for it would have found it by now. So logic had suggested she was getting back and forth in her parents’ air cars. But after weeks of tracking every move those air cars made, it had become obvious that whatever else they were doing, they weren’t going anywhere near the heart of the Copperwalls.
Then it had hit him: hang gliding. That was what she’d been doing the day the treecats rescued her from the hexapuma! So was it possible she’d received her parents’ blessing to use her replacement glider to visit the “wild” treecats no one else seemed able to locate?
The more he’d thought about it, the more logical it had seemed, but what to do about it? Fortunately, every planet, even a colony world this new, had its shady side, its criminal elements. Finding them wasn’t too difficult, and it helped that three of his associates from Ustinov’s Exotics had arrived. They’d come in separately, on two different starships, and none of them had had any contact with him. Not any open contact, anyway. But that hadn’t kept them from making a few quiet arrangements for him, or from serving as his go-between with certain of the less savory locals. None of the Manticorans knew exactly what their new employers were after, but they didn’t really care, either, as long as the pay was good and no one seemed to be getting hurt.
With their help, it hadn’t been difficult to get a transponder planted on the girl’s glider. Trying to get a bug planted directly on her would have been a lot harder, given her treecat’s early warning system, but the glider had been easy. He’d kept an eye on Dr. Hobbard’s schedule so he’d known when she and both her parents would be in town to meet with the xeno-anthropologist. From there, it had been simple to use one of those locals to visit their freehold in their absence and install the tiny, almost completely undetectable bug inside her glider’s counter-grav generator’s housing. Then all Bolgeo had had to do was sit back and wait until she led him directly to what he sought.
And speaking of leading me places, he thought, leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowing, I do believe she’s stopped moving. Which means she’s landed.
He tapped a query into the keyboard and smiled as a set of GPS coordinates came up.
24
Climbs Quickly’s eyelids popped open as the mental shout disturbed his sleep. His two-leg slept quietly and deeply, her dreams a drowsy backdrop to her slumbering mind-glow, and he thought for a moment that the call which had awakened him had been a dream of his own. But then it came again.
Climbs Quickly called back as he realized it was no dream.
The Bright Water scout’s mind-voice was faint with distance, although Climbs Quickly could sense him moving steadily—and rapidly—closer. ave sent me to fetch you.>
Climbs Quickly started to ask what sort of trouble, and why his sister and Broken Tooth might think there was anything he could do about it. But then he paused. Short Tail was at the very limit of his mind-voice’s range. It would be difficult for him to hold any kind of detailed conversation at such a distance.
he sent back, instead, and leapt down from the perch his person’s father had constructed for him above her sleeping place.
He stood up on his true-feet, true-hand on the edge of his person’s sleeping pad and nose perhaps a true-hand’s width from her ear, and considered waking her. He knew she would be upset if she awoke and realized he’d ventured out in the middle of the night without her, but he also knew she would insist on accompanying him if he did wake her. And he had a shrewd notion of how her parents would react if they happened to awaken and discover he’d taken their daughter off into the night-struck forest without their permission or knowledge.
No, he thought. Better to go and discover what Short Tail was so bothered by. Besides, Death Fang’s Bane’s sire had made provision for him to go in and out of their nesting place without disturbing the two-legs with whom he shared it.
He turned and trotted down the hallway outside his person’s room, turned left through the living room and crossed to the front door. The swinging panel his person’s sire had installed in the door required Climbs Quickly to manipulate a small latch before he could open it. Climbs Quickly approved of that feature; there were several creatures, like the bark-chewers, who could have come in through that door and done much damage to his two-legs’ possessions if not for the latch.
He pushed through the door and gave it a firm pat from the other side to make sure the latch had reengaged. Then he moved briskly across the cleared space around Death Fang’s Bane Clan’s nest place. With the loss of his right true-hand, he was no longer quite as quick as he’d been when Bright Water Clan first gave him his name, but he was still quicker than most as he swarmed up the net-wood trunk. He made his way to the lowest branch leading in the direction he wanted and went streaking along the aerial highway towards Short Tail.