Fire Season-eARC (17 page)

Flabbergasted at the interruption, Stan had dropped the arm that held the amber capsule, cupping his hand around it protectively. Stephanie wouldn’t be surprised if Stan had already sampled its twin or something like it because he was clearly having trouble processing the changed situation.

On the other hand, it might be just because Stan wasn’t very smart. But he was very mean. As much fun as it was seeing them gawping, it was time she and Toby got out of this too-quiet corner and onto a more public street.

“My folks said I could fly us home,” Stephanie babbled, “and I’m going to get the air car from over at government central. Want to come with me?”

She made the invitation general, but wasn’t surprised to see the two older boys shake their heads. The last thing they’d want was to do was go over by government central—which housed the police—in their currently impaired condition.

“I’d love to,” Toby said. “Bye, fellows. See you in the sky.”

Toby and Stephanie hurried out of the small park with perhaps a little too much haste for good manners, but Stephanie wasn’t going to let the older boys reconsider letting them go.

Toby didn’t say anything until they were well clear of the other two. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “You must think I’m as much of a blackhole as those two.”

“No. I think you were in a bad spot, that’s all. I thought you were staying clear of them.”

“I was,” Toby said, “but my dad asked me to take a late delivery over to that boutique before it closed. The owner was just leaving, but she opened up, then made me wait. Focus’s dad owns the eatery next door. I think he and Stan do some cleaning up after hours. I guess he and Stan saw me coming in, because when I came out with the boutique owner, they called me over, saying they had some news about the club. I couldn’t say no without it seeming strange to Ms. Bond, then, well…”

“I get it,” Stephanie said, and she did.

“I was so glad when you came six-legging it around the corner,” Toby went on. “I owe you, big time.”

Stephanie grinned at him. “Hey, no problem. I mean, what are friends for?”

*
 
*
 
*

Climbs Quickly slipped out the window into the autumn night. The day following the big party had been very busy. Despite the activity of the day, Climbs Quickly found himself unable to settle in to sleep. Change was in the air—and not just because of the events in Death Fang’s Bane’s life. The seasons were stirring.

Stretching out his body in an easy, ground-covering lope, Climbs Quickly made his way a distance from the houses. When he came to a particularly stately golden-leaf that had become one of his favorite lookouts, he left the ground. Scampering high up along the trunk, he came out above most of the leafy canopy. Then Climbs Quickly spread his whiskers and let the wind fingers tickle his fur.

Closing his leaf-green eyes to slits, the treecat let ears and nose keep watch while he concentrated on more subtle, less easily read signs.

Yes. The weather was changing. Up here, away from where all the two-legs’ machines and enormous nests created interference, he could feel it more certainly. The winds were moving with purpose, yet the restless clouds they carried were not heavy with the rain the land craved, but thin and starved. There was a friction in the air, a prickly sensation that made his fur feel itchy.

Fire weather. Every treecat knew of it. It didn’t happen every season’s turning, nor every hand of turnings, but once felt it was not to be forgotten. When Climbs Quickly had been half his current age, such fire weather had come. Bolts of blue and white light had forked from the skies, too often striking trees like this very golden-leaf, trees that might seem to flourish but which felt brittle beneath the claws from lack of moisture.

His ears caught a swoosh of faint noise far closer than the uneasy crackle of the building storms. Hunkering close to the branch he had chosen for his perch, Climbs Quickly caught the shadow of a death-wing passing over him, two sets of claws spread to grasp at the exposed treecat, downy wings spread wide so that it might glide without making any more sound than absolutely necessary.

But Climbs Quickly was no adventurous kitten and he had chosen this watch stand well. A branch protected him from above, while not interfering too greatly with the wind currents he had sought to read. Even so, death-wings were too dangerous to taunt. He had confirmed what he had already suspected—his current uneasiness had only a little to do with Death Fang’s Bane and her rioting emotions, but was tied into something far more primal. He scampered down to safer levels, considering what he had learned.

The changing from summer into autumn always brought storms, as cooler air argued with warmer. However, this season those storms would not bring much moisture. Instead, they would bring destruction. Destruction the elders always told them was needed for the forests to be healthy, but destruction nonetheless.

Memories of fleeing masses of the People racing ahead of the hungry tongues of flame, of the mind-screams of those who could not run fast enough, of mothers who would not leave their kittens, these and more flooded into Climbs Quickly and made his heart beat fast.

Fire weather was coming and with it blazes that would make the one from which they had rescued Right-Striped and Left-Striped seem little more than the contained blaze the two-legs lit to warm their dens in winter.

Fire weather.

He ran back to where Death Fang’s Bane slept, wishing it were possible to run from knowledge as simply as one fled a death-wing.

*
 
*
 
*

Anders hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d been in the bathroom hanging his robe on the hook behind the door when his father and Dr. Nez had come into the suite.

The two men were in the middle of a conversation that was one step away from being an argument. If either had even glanced at the bathroom door, they would have seen it was ajar and therefore assumed the bathroom wasn’t in use, that the suite was obviously empty.

If they had come in a few minutes before or a few minutes after, the suite
would
have been empty. That morning, Anders had not elected to go with the team to another of their interminable meetings. Instead, Anders had—with his dad’s enthusiastic encouragement—taken up an invitation from Stephanie to go with her and Karl on a hike. Jessica Pherris and Toby Mednick had joined them.

Jessica clearly liked the outdoors and seemed quite interested in the local plants. Toby’s reasons for joining them were a little more complex. After watching the dynamics, Anders was pretty sure Toby had a crush on Stephanie—or if not a proper crush, at least a major case of hero worship. The way he’d hovered near her, asking questions about everything from the ecology of the Copperwall Mountains to the handgun she wore in a businesslike holster, gave him away.

Amusingly, Stephanie seemed completely unaware of how Toby felt. For someone who could be so sophisticated when talking to adults, she was amazingly naive in other areas.

It had been a good day. Anders had come back to shower and change. He was then going to grab his reader, head down to the dining room, and, over a heavy snack, download some files Stephanie had sent him on the local ecology. One of these was an SFS ranger guide that wasn’t usually circulated. Another was an unpublished manuscript of her mother’s.

Stephanie had gotten permission to loan him both, she assured Anders, “But it might be better if you don’t pass them on to any of your dad’s staff without checking first.”

Now he stood behind the bathroom door, wishing that the first words out of Dr. Nez’s mouth hadn’t made it pretty much impossible for him to step out and let them know he was there.

“I wouldn’t say this in front of the rest of the team,” Dr. Nez said, “but I feel I must say to you that I don’t approve of your plans, not in the least. You’re violating the trust that both the SFS and Dr. Hobbard have invested in us—and for what reason? So we can see a site a few weeks earlier than we might otherwise.”

Dr. Whittaker put on his “more in sorrow than anger” expression, one Anders knew all too well. His dad never yelled at anyone if he thought he could make them feel guilty instead. Dr. Nez had to know that, too, since he’d been Dad’s grad assistant for years before he got his own degree.

“Langston,” Dr. Whittaker said gently. “I don’t see this as a violation of trust. You heard me ask Dr. Hobbard today whether we were free to take a look at public lands, as long as we didn’t bother treecat colonies. She said that was fine.”

“You implied,” Dr. Nez said implacably, “that we wanted a chance to examine a picketwood grove or two, so we would have baseline data about how they develop without the influence—or contaminating factor—of treecat dwellings. You didn’t say anything about planning to go to that abandoned nesting site.”

“True,” Dr. Whittaker smiled. “Sometimes it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission. You’ve heard the arguments at some of these meetings. For a while there, I thought we were going to be blocked even from reviewing the tapes made by the SFS of the recovering and relocated treecats. That Jordan Franchitti is pretty canny. His argument that the actions and reactions of a ‘captive population’ might bias our interpretations of a wild population was very convincing.”

“You have a point,” Dr. Nez said reluctantly. “Still, I’d be happier if we weren’t being so ‘creative’ in our interpretation of Dr. Hobbard’s permissions.”

“Langston,” Dr. Whittaker said, “I would agree but for one very important consideration. Every day we wait, the physical artifacts on that site are deteriorating. I want to get pictures before they do. I’d remove items if I didn’t think that
would
create trouble. However, fresh images, temperature and moisture readings, as well as investigations of fecal materials before they fully deteriorate, are all things that must be done sooner, rather than later.”

Anders couldn’t see Dr. Nez’s expression, but he must have looked at least somewhat persuaded, because Dad’s voice warmed.

“I see you understand. Moreover, although the data are scarce—humans haven’t known about treecats very long and so haven’t had enough cycles of the longer Sphinxian year to confirm initial impressions—there are indications that treecats do most of their migration in the summer and early autumn.”

“Because,” Dr. Nez added as if thinking aloud, “those are the times when there are surplus resources. Winter travel is further complicated by snow. Spring—especially early spring—is a lean time. What you’re saying is that if we don’t look at this site, we might not locate another so fresh for an entire Sphinxian year. Couldn’t we bring that up to Dr. Hobbard and have her ask the SFS for permission? Surely they’d see our desire is only reasonable.”

“Dr. Hobbard would,” Dad said. “She’s an anthropologist. I’m not so certain about the SFS. They’re overly protective of the treecats—even if our confirming the species’ obvious intelligence is the best protection the ’cats could have. The Forestry Service is also over-reacting to this ‘fire season.’ I can’t believe how much of their staff is simply sitting around waiting for a fire. I actually resent it when I think about how pre-Bolgeo researchers were given such accommodation—even though they hadn’t been hand-picked as our team has been.”

“You can’t really blame the Forestry Service for their priorities,” Dr. Nez protested. “They get their funding from the human citizens. They need to show they’re doing something for human interests—not just for the native ecology.”

“An ecology,” Dad countered, “that many of the locals would just as soon do without. I’ve had a couple of very good chats with Marjorie Harrington when I’ve dropped Anders by the Harrington place. She admits to having no trouble getting funding because everyone wants her to develop hybrids that will enable humans to have all the comforts of home here on a colony planet.”

“Humans are funny that way,” Dr. Nez agreed. “Over and over again, they go to new planets, then try to make them just like the places they left behind.”

Dr. Whittaker nodded. “Now, Langston, if you’re uncomfortable with my plans, I’ll offer you an ‘out.’ I don’t plan for this to be a long jaunt. If you or any other member of the team feel uncomfortable with my intentions, then you can stay behind. You, especially, won’t have any problems justifying that. Xenobiology and exotic botany are not your specializations.”

Anders knew none of the other team members would refuse to go. Both Kesia Guyen and Virgil Iwamoto required Dr. Whittaker’s approval before they could take that final step forward to the grand day when they could put Ph.D. after their names. Dr. Emberly
was
an xenobiologist and would not miss this opportunity.

Dr. Nez knew this too. There was a note of resignation in his voice when he next spoke.

“I’ll consider your offer, Bradford,” he said, “but I think I’ll come along. I’m no less eager than you to see a newly abandoned treecat settlement. I simply wish we could go about it more directly.”

“So do I,” said Dad, “but when it’s a matter of etiquette or science, science must always come first.”

And where it’s a matter of making sure you don’t go overboard in your enthusiasm for science,
Anders thought,
I guess I’m the only one who doesn’t have his career to worry about, so I’d better make sure I go along, too.

*
 
*
 
*

Stephanie’s wild excitement over getting her provisional license (rather than the dreaded learner’s permit) was somewhat dampened when it became clear that Mom and Dad planned to let matters go on much as before. The Harringtons owned three vehicles. One was Dad’s Vet Van—equipped not only with a portable lab, but with what amounted to a complete surgery. Mom had recently traded in her sedan for another tailored van, this one equipped with racks to hold plants of various sizes and shapes. Stephanie had hoped the family air car would be hers to use.

Stephanie had, in moments of fantasy, even imagined that her birthday gift would include an air car of her very own. She’d known that was unlikely, but both Chet and Trudy had cars of their own, and they didn’t even live as far away from Twin Forks as the Harringtons did. She’d felt a slight letdown when, a few days after she had passed the air car license test, no car materialized.