Short Tail said approvingly some time later, as he and Climbs Quickly finally met.
The senior scout had come a long way, and his fatigue was clear. For that matter, it was somewhat more risky for the People to travel by night than by day. Some predators—like the death-wings—saw better in darkness than the People did. They could actually spot one of the People from a range greater than that at which the People could detect their mind-glows, and a scout had to be alert and quick on his feet to avoid a death-wing’s pounce under those circumstances.
Climbs Quickly agreed.
Short Tail’s mind-voice was quieter, his mind-glow darker, than a moment before.
Climbs Quickly’s ears came upright, and his whiskers bristled.
Short Tail said quickly.
Short Tail’s ears flattened in mingled frustration, fear, and anger.
Climbs Quickly repeated.
Short Tail replied.
A chill ran through Climbs Quickly, and his eyes narrowed intensely.
he said slowly.
Short Tail said flatly.
The chill in Climbs Quickly’s blood grew more intense. It wasn’t unheard of for one of the People to suffer an accident, or even to be pounced upon by one of the predators People normally evaded without undue difficulty. But it was highly unusual—in fact, Climbs Quickly couldn’t remember a single case in which it had happened—for one of the People within mind-voice range to fail even to call out for help in such a case.
he asked.
Short Tail responded, and Climbs Quickly’s ears pricked. The senior scout spoke more slowly, and there was an odd blend of hesitation, confusion, and unhappiness in his mind-glow. Obviously, he didn’t look forward to explaining further, and Climbs Quickly wondered why.
Short Tail continued after a moment,
Climbs Quickly’s mind-glow had darkened as Short Tail explained. He wasn’t surprised some People should feel that way. For that matter, he agreed with them. In fact, he suspected he could put a specific two-leg’s face behind what had happened.
But how? Speaks Falsely didn’t know where Bright Water’s central nest place was. No two-leg knew that aside from Death Fang’s Bane Clan, and Death Fang’s Bane and her parents had taken careful precautions to keep it that way.
he told Short Tail after a lengthy pause. His ears flattened, and his mind-glow was grim.
Short Tail looked back at him, then—in the gesture many of Bright Water’s People were adopting from the two-legs—he nodded slowly.
There were times, Climbs Quickly thought feelingly, when his inability to communicate with Death Fang’s Bane was particularly exasperating. He’d made strides in his ability to understand her as their bond matured and he learned to read more and more from her mind-glow. Either he was growing more sensitive to those echoes of thought which flowed through it, or else she was learning how to make them stronger, and he was learning to communicate simple messages back to her by gesture and body language. Sometimes he could even communicate a more complicated notion by acting out what he was trying to say. But so far, at least, he had no way to explain what he had seen in the mind-glow of the two-leg who had invited Death Fang’s Bane Clan to the eating place in the vast two-leg settlement where Death Fang’s Bane still went on occasion to fly with the other younglings.
The fact that he couldn’t explain it was maddening. He knew Death Fang’s Bane had sensed his own dislike for Speaks Falsely, and he knew she disliked him, as well. But there was no way for him to tell her every mouth-sound Speaks Falsely uttered carried its own freight of . . . falsity.
Matters weren’t helped by the fact that until the People had met the two-legs it had never occurred to any of them that someone could speak falsely. There was no point in one of the People attempting to deceive another person in that way, since the other person was always able to sense the emotions and thoughts behind whatever was said. It was possible for the People to deceive or trick one another, but not by telling the other something which was untrue. Instead, the People had to arrange things so that the one they desired to trick had no clue of what was about to happen, and many of the younger People, especially among the scouts and hunters, delighted in contriving clever ways to do just that. It was good training, both for the one arranging the trick and for the trick’s intended victim. On the one hand it taught the sort of forethought and cunning any hunter or scout might find useful one day, and on the other it taught the alertness and caution any hunter or scout most definitely would find useful one day.
But that was very different from what Climbs Quickly tasted behind Speaks Falsely’s smile. There was something almost frightening about Speaks Falsely’s concentration on Climbs Quickly whenever they met, yet Climbs Quickly had the strong impression (oh, how he wished he could read two-leg mind-glows as clearly as he could those of the People!) that Speaks Falsely was so deeply interested in him only because he was the two-leg’s . . . doorway, perhaps, to the rest of the People.
He knew Speaks Falsely was deceiving all of the two-legs about him, and he knew Speaks Falsely was interested in the People in the same way the People were interested in particularly tasty ground-runners. But there was no way he could penetrate beyond that awareness, and no way he could warn Death Fang’s Bane or her parents about even the little he did know.
Yet even if all that were true, how could Speaks Falsely have discovered the location of Bright Water Clan’s central nesting place? Death Fang’s Bane had been so careful to preserve that secret! And even if Speaks Falsely could have discovered that, how could anyone—even a two-leg, with all their marvelous tools—capture so many of the People without even one among the rest of the People hearing so much as a single mind-cry for aid?
You know what you do not really wish to think, Climbs Quickly, he told himself. You believe Speaks Falsely wishes to capture some of the People for study, but you could be wrong. And if, instead, what he truly wishes is to slay the People and he has one of the two-legs’ weapons, that might well explain why none of them have been able to call for help.
Perhaps, yet his thought kept returning to the same question. How could anyone, even one as clearly cunning as Speaks Falsely, have found Bright Water in the first place? And having found it, how could he come close enough to do one of the People harm, even with one of the two-leg thunder-barkers, without one single other Person tasting even the tiniest trace of his mind-glow?
he said at last.
Short Tail said.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Climbs Quickly’s mind-voice was dryly amused, and Short Tail bleeked a soft laugh.
Short Tail pointed out, and Climbs Quickly flipped his ears in agreement.
he said.
Short Tail asked, and it was Climbs Quickly’s turn to bleek in soft, bittersweet laughter.
he replied.
25
Stephanie Harrington was worried as she banked her tiger-striped glider for the final approach to the treecat community.
She hadn’t shared her anxiety with her parents before setting out this morning, partly because she wasn’t positive it was justified and partly because she was afraid they might have objected to her going if they’d decided it was justified. Yet it was painfully evident to her that Lionheart was deeply worried about something. Indeed, she could feel that worry simmering in her own emotions.
It was becoming clearer to her that while treecats might be empaths and humans weren’t, there was something about her bond to Lionheart which made her at least peripherally aware of his emotions. She couldn’t feel a single thing where any other treecat was concerned, but she was positive she was feeling his emotions, however imperfectly. That was the only explanation she could come up with for the occasional “sounds” she detected from him but no one else could hear at all. And because of that link to his emotions, she was only too well aware of his extreme . . . uneasiness.
Oh, I wish you could talk, she thought at Lionheart as the hang glider slowed still further and her feet found solid ground. She trotted forward for a few meters, absorbing the last of the glider’s momentum, then came to a halt, pulled off her helmet, and began unbuckling both of them. If you could just explain to me what’s wrong, I’d fix it in a heartbeat!
But Lionheart couldn’t talk, and even if she was beginning to sense his emotions, she was no telepath. So the only thing she could do was go home with him the way he obviously wanted her to and hope she could somehow figure out what was wrong when she got there.
* * *
Tennessee Bolgeo stepped out of the warehouse door and closed it behind him with a sense of profound satisfaction.
The dozen treecats in the large, comfortable cages concealed within the warehouse looked decidedly woozy but appeared to be in excellent health otherwise. That was good. His research had suggested that the drug his assistants were slipping them in their food would keep them permanently disoriented without causing any long-term damage. Of course, calculating a safe maintenance dose to keep them that way had been a little tricky, but a man in Bolgeo’s profession had to develop a good feel for xeno-biology, and it seemed evident he’d gotten it just about right.
The question, he thought as he strolled across to the largish commercial-body air car, was how many more he could capture before the little creatures figured out what was happening. He wanted a minimum of, say, fifty or sixty before leaving Sphinx. In fact, he’d like more than that, since he figured the odds were against his being able to return for another haul, although he could be wrong about that. If he handled it right and no one actually bothered to check his credentials from Liberty University, he might very well be able to come back after all. If that proved possible, the fact that he’d been here before would actually work in his favor. He’d be a known quantity as far as the Sphinxians were concerned.
Best not to count on that happening, though. And that meant he needed as many as he could catch this time around. Besides, so far he’d managed to capture only males. In fact, he wasn’t certain any human had ever actually met a female treecat, which led him to wonder why that was. It seemed unlikely there could be that huge a disparity between males and females in a clearly mammalian species. It wasn’t like there could be a single egg-layer, like the queen bee in a hive. No, there had to be sufficient females to bear enough young for the species to sustain itself, yet apparently no one had ever encountered on
e.
He’d studied the available long-range imagery the Sphinx Forestry Service had recorded of the clan it had assisted after the BioNeering disaster, and he’d noticed that while all the males who’d been observed—and all the males he’d captured, for that matter—had the same gray coats and cream-colored belly fur, with dark bands around their tails, there were other treecats who had a different coloration. Whose coats were dappled brown and white—rather like an Old Terran fawn—and who seemed smaller, on average, than their gray-coated fellows. Obviously, he had to be cautious about making judgments about size, since all he had was the Forestry Service footage and it was always risky to draw hasty conclusions about size or body mass from something like that.
Despite that, he’d come to the conclusion that the treecats’ coloration was as much linked to their genders as feather colors and patterns were among many species of Old Terran birds. The Cardinal came to mind, for example. If he was correct, then the brown and white treecats were the females, and he really, really wanted at least a few of them. They would undoubtedly fetch a premium price from the pet fanciers, especially if they were available in only limited numbers. More to the point, it would be impossible for Ustinov’s Exotics (or any of the genetic labs Bolgeo could think of) to maintain a useful population without females to bear additional young or at least provide ova for artificial breeding.
The problem was that they didn’t seem to venture far from home. Or, if they did, it would appear the males took on the riskier tasks. Which would make sense. By and large, Nature seemed to assume males were more expendable than females, no matter the planet. Childbearers were always more important, ultimately, to the survival of the species, when all was said. Which was all very understandable but left Bolgeo frustrated and more than a little irritated.