At first, the smoke looked self-contained and quite small. Then Anders’ perspective adjusted and he realized that the plumes of smoke were enormous. Beneath them, he glimpsed a reddish-orange glow. Belatedly, Anders recalled that he’d been sent aloft with a pair of high-powered binoculars. With these, he was able to pick out more detail. He realized that this fire was only one of two—a much larger one was burning to the north.
Although Anders was aware of voices shouting up at him from below, he did not reply. He was too high up to shout with anything like clarity and he certainly wasn’t making this climb again. Dismissing the northern fire—which, despite its size, posed no threat to their group—he focused again on the one to the east.
His initial impression had been that the plumes of smoke were going straight up, but now he realized that this had been an illusion created by their vast size and his own position relative to them. As he studied them more carefully, he was able to guess at wind direction.
He swallowed hard. There was no doubt about it. Although the main body of the fire was still a good distance away, the conflagration could eventually head in their direction. The main push of wind was from the south, but a secondary current was slowly shoving the fire west.
“I’m coming down,” Anders called. “Wait a minute.”
When he reached the location of their camp, he reported what he’d seen, ending, “I think we’re safe for now, but we should get ready to evacuate.”
As he fully expected, his announcement caused considerable debate. Virgil was ordered up the tree to take a look at the fire himself, since Dr. Whittaker felt “we cannot plan solely on data supplied by a boy my son’s age.” Anders guessed that maybe he deserved that, since he really hadn’t been able to evaluate distances or provide any idea how rapidly the front of the fire might be progressing in their direction—but in light of their recent conflict the words stung.
Virgil’s scouting expedition didn’t provide much more information, but he did second Anders’ recommendation that they should prepare to evacuate if necessary.
“If necessary” was said with an uneasy glance toward the comatose form of Langston Nez. This morning the sick man had seemed a little…Anders wasn’t sure if “better” or “stronger” was the right word, but both Dacey and Kesia agreed that Langston was swallowing more readily and that his bladder was beginning to function. Kesia cheerfully admitted to having rigged a sort of diaper for him from a couple other items out of her supply of clothing.
However, swallowing and peeing did not translate into “up and ready to go.” Therefore, any plans for evacuation had to include how they would move Langston—plans that would doubtless mean exhausting more of their nearly depleted stock of power packs for the counter-grav units.
Making matters worse was the fact that Dr. Whittaker was reluctant to leave behind any of his precious artifacts. Never mind that Dr. Calida had pointed out none too gently that treecats were hardly an endangered species and that doubtless other such items could be gathered in the future. Dr. Whittaker’s attachment to these bits of stone and fragments of basketry ranged on the fanatical.
“Don’t you understand?” he urged, cupping a particularly fine flint point in the palm of one broad hand. “As the SFS actions following the Ubel disaster demonstrate, they are perfectly willing to contaminate treecat culture with material from our own. These represent uncontaminated specimens—gathered without the treecats’ knowledge. The history of anthropology is full of situations where a people under examination told the anthropologists what they wanted to hear and so distorted and contaminated the study sample.”
“Bradford,” Dr. Calida said, speaking so gently that Anders knew she distrusted his father’s mental stability, “I don’t think the situations are comparable. The treecats are not going to invent technologies simply because they think you might like to study them. Even if they do, well, I would think that level of adaptability would be proof of their intelligence that no one could doubt.”
“Yeah,” quipped Kesia. “If one of those furry little critters showed up right now with a heap of packs for the counter-grav units, I’d be thrilled, even if the packs were made from leaves and berries.”
“As long as they worked,” Virgil agreed with a grin, then swallowed hard when he saw Dr. Whittaker glowering at him. “What I mean is we wouldn’t want a cargo cult situation, where the locals were making facsimiles of what was then high-tech equipment like airplanes, in an attempt to bring the benefits of that technology to them.”
His answer seemed to satisfy Dr. Whittaker.
“Non-functioning imitation is an interesting possibility,” he said. “There has been some evidence that treecats are developing agriculture. Dr. Hobbard has written a report indicating that this development may post-date human arrival on Sphinx—that is, that the treecats have learned from observation.”
“Well,” Kesia said, her tone almost sassy, “I don’t think they’re likely to learn flintknapping from any human on Sphinx, so I guess we can leave the spear points behind. I, for one, am not shlepping rocks with everything weighing at least fifteen percent more.”
Her open mutiny so stunned Dr. Whittaker that Anders was able to get a word in.
“We can’t get far, not carrying Langston. I suggest we move back into the bog where there’s water. True, there isn’t a lot, but fire and water don’t mix.”
“Into the bog?” Dr. Whittaker scoffed. “So we can sink along with the van?”
“While Anders and I have been foraging,” Dr. Calida said, “we’ve located some stable areas—islands, you might say. There’s at least one that’s large enough to hold all of us.”
Everyone fell silent as they contemplated this option, then Dacey spoke up.
“There’s something else we need to consider,” she said. “Smoke. Even if the fire doesn’t reach us, eventually smoke will. Langston is having trouble breathing already. He’s not going to handle poor air quality well at all, even if we rig him some sort of filter.”
“Smoke rises,” Anders mused aloud, “so our tree house will be a weak point then. If we move out into the bog, we’d be at ground level, the fire might go around us, and yet we wouldn’t have to move anything—Langston or Dad’s artifacts—more than a hundred meters or so.”
Virgil nodded. “I like that. You and I are the only ones who have actually seen the fire. I’ll admit, I’m just not comfortable sitting here waiting up in a tree and hoping the fire doesn’t come this way.”
Dr. Whittaker nodded. His hand wrapped around the piece of worked flint he held so protectively.
“Very well. I don’t much like the idea of settling on ground that could give under us at any minute, but hopefully we won’t be out there for very long. Maybe the SFS will finally get its act together and do its job.”
Anders turned away, swallowing a sigh. The SFS was doing its job. He didn’t doubt for a minute they were out risking their lives, fighting that raging crown fire to the north. He also didn’t doubt that they didn’t have time to worry about seven missing people when the lives of so many others were at stake.
* * *
“Slow the fire?” Karl said. “We don’t have the equipment to put out a forest fire.”
“Slow,” Stephanie repeated. “Not stop.”
Jessica cut in. “Stephanie, don’t you think we’d do a lot better calling this in to the SFS?”
Stephanie shook her head angrily. “I don’t. Remember what they said when I asked about keeping up the search for Anders and his group? They’re stretched too thin already. The SFS is a great organization, but Jess, look at the map. You’ve been following the updates. The northern fire is now officially a crown fire. Every time they think they have it blocked, some bit skips ahead of the fire line. Hayestown and the Painter settlement are seriously threatened. How do you think the residents of those areas would react if the SFS suddenly pulled out a team saying, ‘Sorry. We’ve got to go rescue a bunch of ’cats’?”
Jess
ica pushed her lips together in a tight line. “I get it. But do you think just the three of us can do anything?”
“Yes,” Stephanie said. “And it doesn’t have to be just us three. Karl, we’re going to need to figure out where the fire is in relation to the treecat colony. Can you move us away from here?”
Karl nodded, but as he started the air car moving, Lionheart bleeked loudly and pounded at the window with his hands.
When Stephanie—who had been about to make a call on her uni-link—looked down at him, Lionheart very gently moved his paw to press the latch that operated the door. Ever since the treecat had learned how to open them, they’d routinely kept the doors locked from the master control. Stephanie frowned. She didn’t want him to go out there, but…
“Karl,” she said, “unlock the door so Lionheart can get out. I think he wants to get closer to those treecats. Maybe he can tell them that we’re going to do our best to help and not to be afraid.”
Karl bit his lip. “Steph, I’ve been checking and the fire has definitely crossed east of us. He’s not going to be safe out there.”
Stephanie felt her heart twist, as if someone had taken it in two hands and wrung it. Then she looked at Lionheart.
“It’s dangerous out there,” she said. “Are you sure?”
Lionheart bleeked and touched the door latch again.
“Let him go out,” Stephanie said. “He’s a person and deserves that chance to make his own decisions…”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she opened the door so the treecat—her treecat, no matter what she said to others, her best friend—could go out. Air thick with smoke set them all coughing. Lionheart sneezed.
“Be careful,” Stephanie said. “Please, be careful.”
The treecat nodded once, as if he understood every word. Then he stood up and made the “wait” gesture.
“He wants us to wait,” Stephanie said. “So he’s not going to run off.”
Relief washed over her as Lionheart raced to where the ’cats up in the branches were watching uneasily.
Behind her, Stephanie thought she heard Jessica sniffle as if suppressing a sob.
It’s a good thing I can code in without seeing the pad, Stephanie thought miserably as she finished pulling the contact information from her uni-link.
“Chet,” she said. “Where are you all?”
“We’ve just gotten our gear,” he said, “and we’re heading toward my truck to go to the fire line. Christine and I are going out to help, but Toby’s been told he has to stay back in a safe zone and pour drinks.”
“Creeps,” came Toby’s voice from the background.
“Listen,” Stephanie said. “I’ve got an offer for you. It’s a heck of a lot more dangerous, though, so I want you to think carefully.”
“Go ahead,” Chet said. Stephanie had the impression he was angling his uni-link so Christine and Toby could hear.
“We’ve just discovered—as in like five minutes ago—a clan of treecats on the move from the southern fire. We’re going to try to help them get out, ’cause from what I’m seeing here, I don’t think they can move fast enough on their own. Would you come and help? Bring the gear you were issued, especially any bladder bags and shelters. Were you given fire-suits?”
“All of us,” Chet said, “but Toby only got the suit, none of the other stuff.”
“Still, that’s enough to work with,” Stephanie said. “Can you come—and can you sort of ‘forget in the excitement’ that you didn’t tell anyone of your change in assignment?”
Chet’s expression showed that he was aware Stephanie was acting without orders.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“I am,” Stephanie said. She thought about a night three years ago when she had ventured out into a thunderstorm, knowing her parents would not quite approve. “Sometimes it’s better not to ask; that way, no one told you that you couldn’t do it.”
There was a murmur of voices, then Chet was back on. “We’re coming. Christine insists on leaving a delayed message for her folks, but they won’t get it unless she isn’t back by midnight tonight to deactivate it. That’s okay?”
“Fine,” Stephanie agreed. “One way or another, this is going to be over long before nightfall.”
* * *
The smoke was thick, even near the ground, but it was choking when Climbs Quickly scampered up the trunk of the tree to join the People who huddled there.
They were younglings, he saw, not kittens, but not much older than a full season’s turning. Knowing how his own Bright Water Clan dealt with such evacuations, he guessed that these had been sent out ahead of the main body of their clan—considered too young to help with evacuating the slower ones, young enough that they might be a danger to themselves as well as to others.
Certainly their behavior showed that assessment had been perfectly accurate. Looking apprehensively over at the air car, they stayed huddled in the choking smoke, blinking green eyes at him as if he were a death fang or snow hunter.
Climbs Quickly ordered.
He knew the edge in his mind-voice was unkind, but the tension and worry in Death Fang’s Bane’s mind-glow didn’t help. Three of the younglings obeyed, but the fourth—a dainty female who carried her tail as if she was much prized by all around her—blinked her large eyes at him.
she said, beginning her descent from the tree only after making clear that she was doing it because she wanted to, not because he had given any sort of order.
One of the males spoke up, embarrassment shading his voice.
Little Witness, for so this sassy female must be called, only flirted her tail in reply and scampered along. Her name explained much. It was likely that—like Climbs Quickly’s own sister, Sings Truly—Little Witness already showed promise of a strong mind-voice, perhaps even of being a memory singer some day. In some clans, especially those where a memory singer valued herself very highly, those with promise gave themselves airs.
And, strong-voiced or not, in any case, Little Witness was a very cute youngling and evidently knew it.
the young male introduced himself shyly.
Climbs Quickly stroked his whiskers.
Springer’s reply was troubled.
Climbs Quickly said.
Springer asked.
Climbs Quickly assured Springer,
He would have liked to try and convince them to get into the car, but he knew that Little Witness, at least, would have been stubborn, and time was not to be wasted. From images he had gleaned from Springer, they were not far from the clan’s central nesting place.
Turning from the four younglings, Climbs Quickly bunched his muscles and ran as rapidly as he could back to the air car. Inside, the air was sweet and clear, but even as he filled his lungs with it, he began pointing—this time in the direction where the Damp Ground Clan was battling against time and encroaching fire.
Chapter Twelve
With Lionheart to guide them, they found the endangered clan far more quickly than they would hav
e otherwise. Treecats and their dwellings blended very well into their surroundings.
Stephanie had visited Lionheart at “home” and knew what to look for. Treecats didn’t impact their environment as much as humans did, but they did create sleeping platforms and places where they could store food.
Examining the section of picketwood to which Lionheart had brought them, Stephanie thought that at any other time this would be a very nice place for treecats to live. A stream originating from some inland source—probably a freshwater spring—created the eastern border, while in the near distance the southern fork of the Makara River ran to the south. To the north, she could glimpse a large meadow thick with waist-high grass. The picketwood grove itself looked strong and healthy. Now, however, with smoke wreathing through the tree limbs, cutting off the daylight so that the lurid glow of the approaching fire seemed like dull, angry sunlight peering out sideways, the area was ugly and unsettling.
It was also a scene of chaos—chaos, Stephanie realized, that had been triggered by their own arrival.
Lionheart bleeked authoritatively and tapped the door with one hand. This time Stephanie opened the door for him without hesitation. If he didn’t calm the ’cats, their arrival would do more harm than good.
“We’ll wait here,” Stephanie said. “Go on.”
Whatever Lionheart said to the gathered treecats, it was not accepted with universal approval. Several of the males hissed and spat. They didn’t quite arch their backs as Terran cats might do—their long, six-limbed torsos were shaped differently—but the attitude was much the same.
Whatever Lionheart “said” in return did not immediately defuse the situation. From the backseat, Jessica muttered in a mock “hick” accent, obviously speaking for the resident treecats.
“Go away. We don’t need your type here, stranger. We’re doing fine, just fine, on our own.”
Despite the tension of the situation, Stephanie giggled. Karl quirked one corner of his mouth in a half-smile, but when he spoke his voice was tight.
“The fire crossed to this island along the picketwood to the east. As of yet, the wind hasn’t carried it to the crown, but when it does, it’s going to be too late for these guys, even if they run all out.”