by David Weber
There was a general murmur of agreement, and Richard Harrington raised his wine glass in Shelton’s direction.
Despite the chief ranger’s conversation with Hobbard, he’d shared the xeno-anthropologist’s suspicion about Bolgeo’s official credentials to the full. And despite how terribly shorthanded he was, he’d arranged to keep tabs on the Chattanoogan. He hadn’t had the manpower to do it himself, but he’d discussed the situation with the Twin Forks chief of police, and the cops had kept an eye on Bolgeo for him. They hadn’t managed to actually spot any of the treecats being transported into the warehouse holding facility, but they’d been watching one of Bolgeo’s assistants when he leased the warehouse in the first place. So the instant Shelton got Frank Lethbridge’s com message about Bolgeo’s apprehension, he and the police had moved on the warehouse.
As a result, all of the missing treecats had been found, rescued, and restored to their clan. It was unlikely Bolgeo and his cronies were going to serve a lot of time, given the treecats’ unresolved legal status, but they’d probably get at least half a local year or so for poaching, if nothing else, during which Shelton would be sending out their biometric data to see if there happened to be any outstanding warrants floating about the galaxy. Everyone would have preferred something a bit more forceful, yet the important thing was that the treecats were safe.
Richard Harrington had monitored their condition until they were fully recovered from the tranquilizers Bolgeo and his partners had been feeding them, and a couple of them had seemed a little slower to snap back than the others. Those two had become semi-permanent fixtures at the Harrington freehold, and one of them was currently perched on the back of Karl’s chair, next to Stephanie and Lionheart. The two treecats looked like matching bookends, both clutching celery stalks extorted—without any particular difficulty—from the two young people. Fisher sat on the back of MacDallan’s chair, facing them across the table, and now Hobbard let her eyes circle the three treecats before they came back to Stephanie.
“Stephanie,” she said quietly, “I know how protective of the treecats you are. I understand that, and I don’t blame you a bit. Or you, Scott. I think I even know what it is you’re worried about, and I promise you I have absolutely no desire to see what happened on Barstool repeated here on Sphinx.”
Stephanie’s smile had disappeared. She looked seriously back at Hobbard for several seconds, then nodded slowly.
“We’ve never been afraid that was what you wanted, Dr. Hobbard,” she said quietly.
“I’m glad to hear that. And I have to confess I was a little surprised—as well as disturbed—by what Bolgeo had to say about ‘backers’ right here in the Star Kingdom.” Hobbard shook her head. “It doesn’t sound like there are very many of them yet, and they don’t seem to have themselves well organized, but the fact that there are any of them this early in the process is worrisome. I’ll admit that. But in a lot of ways, it really only strengthens my belief that we have to get some sort of official protective status in place for the treecats. And for me to do that, I need . . . well, I need more cooperation than I’ve been getting.”
“Dr. Hobbard,” MacDallan said, “Stephanie and I have never disagreed with you about the need to protect the treecats. What we’re worried about is how those protections are structured. How good they are—and how solid. You’re right, we haven’t been cooperating with you as fully as we could have. And Steph is right that our lack of cooperation was never aimed at you in the first place. We understand your commission has to look into the question of treecat intelligence, look at the whole question of whether or not they’re really telepathic. It’s just—”
“Just that we’d rather go slow than rush ahead too quickly and make mistakes we can’t fix later,” Stephanie said.
“Exactly!” MacDallan nodded firmly.
“Would it help any,” Hobbard said slowly, “if I admitted I share some of your concerns? Or, for that matter, that I’d be prepared to . . . shave my final report, let’s say, in the treecats’ favor?”
“Is this something official representatives of the Forestry Service should be hearing?” Shelton wondered.
“I don’t see why not.” Hobbard smiled. “I’m not going to get away with any ‘shaving’ without the Forestry Service’s active connivance, you know.”
“ ‘Connivance’ is such an unpleasant word,” Shelton said, gazing down into his own wine glass. “I’d prefer to think of it as cooperation.”
“Excuse me,” Lethbridge said, looking back and forth between Hobbard and his superior, “but do my ears deceive me, or am I hearing something that sounds suspiciously like the birth of a pro-treecat conspiracy?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a conspiracy,” Hobbard said, her tone considerably more serious than Lethbridge’s had been, “but that might be moving in the right direction. The main thing is that we’ve got to get some sort of support structure in place before more of those ‘backers’ of Bolgeo’s wake up to the threat the treecats represent to those land options. And we’ve got to—at least some of us have to—really understand what the treecats are. How we can coexist with them on this planet without doing them irreparable harm even if we have absolutely no intention of doing so. We have to figure them out, Stephanie.”
She looked earnestly across the table into Stephanie’s eyes.
“We have to know how to avoid hurting them, and to be honest, I think you, even more than Scott or anybody else who winds up adopted, are going to have to be our point person on that. You and Lionheart were the first to establish your bond, and in some ways I think yours is stronger even than Scott and Fisher’s. I promise you that anything I learn from you will remain confidential until and unless you and I both agree the time has come to go public with it, but please, let me in. Let me learn enough about the treecats to keep them safe.”
Stephanie gazed at her for two or three heartbeats, then turned and looked into Lionheart’s eyes. Those green, slit-pupilled eyes. They gazed back at her, and she felt an odd sensation, one that hovered on the very edge of clarity, like a memory she could almost recall. That wasn’t a good description of it—only as good a one as she could come up with—and yet she was certain that Lionheart understood at least the heart of her concerns, her worry. There was no way he could possibly have understood all of it, but he knew what she longed to ask him. She could never have explained to another human how she knew that, but she did, and she realized she was almost holding her breath. Then he reached out and touched her cheek very gently . . . and nodded.
“All right, Dr. Hobbard,” she sighed. “I won’t say I don’t have some reservations, and I don’t promise Lionheart and I may not decide there’s something we don’t want to tell even you. But we’ll try to cooperate.”
“Thank you,” Hobbard said simply.
“Well,” Shelton said brusquely into the short silence which followed, “this is all well and good I suppose, but there’s still that question of the cooperation you wanted, Dr. Hobbard. It’s obvious to me that you’ve already co-opted at least two of my officers”—he glowered at Lethbridge and Jedrusinski—“but it’s equally clear you’re going to expect me to cooperate with that young woman, as well.” He jabbed an index finger in Stephanie’s direction. “In fact, it sounds to me as if you’re about to start leaning on me to cave in on that ‘junior internship’ nonsense of hers, and I’m here to tell you it isn’t going to happen. No way, no how.”
Stephanie’s face fell, and Shelton folded his arms across his chest and sat back from the table, his own expression a model of mulishness.
“Don’t try that woebegone look on me, young woman,” he said firmly. “Unlike some people, I don’t go around changing my mind at the drop of a hat! I said I’m not having any ‘junior interns,’ and I’m not. Which is why the Sphinx Forestry Service has just instituted the rank of probationary ranger.”
“ ‘Probationary ranger?’ ” Stephanie repeated in a puzzled tone. “I’m not sure what that is, Ch
ief Ranger.”
“What it is,” Shelton told her, “is the lowest of the low. The bottom rung on the Forestry Service ladder. The equivalent of junior assistant bottle-washer. However, it does have a few perks. For example, it has this.”
He reached into his breast pocket, extracted a small leather folder, and slid it across to Stephanie. She picked it up, her expression still puzzled, and opened it. For a moment or two, she just looked confused. Then her eyes widened suddenly.
“But this is—!” she began.
“That,” Shelton interrupted her, “is a badge. It is, in fact, your badge, and that and a nickel will get you a cup of coffee in Twin Forks. Of course,” he smiled suddenly, “it may get you a few other things, as well. Like assigned as the Forestry Service’s official treecat expert. I’ve got one around here somewhere for your buddy with the big grin, too,” he added, grimacing down the length of the table at Karl. “Hopefully he’ll be able to supply at least a little restraint to the equation. Not that I hold out much hope of that of course! Still, since I don’t seem able to keep you out of the bush no matter what I do, and since you and that little monster on the back of your chair seem determined to litter the forests with slain hexapumas wherever you go, it seems to me that the only way I can possibly hope to limit the carnage is to give you official status so you bloody well have to take orders. Is that understood, Ranger Harrington?”
“Yes, sir!” Stephanie said, grinning hugely. “I always take orders if they make sense!”
“Oh my God.” Shelton put one hand over his eyes. “I can see I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”
“Well, that’s only fair, sir,” Stephanie said. “I mean, it’s a big planet, and you are the Senior Chief Ranger. Why, I can’t even begin to imagine what Lionheart and I are going to find out there for you!”
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Chief Shelton?” Marjorie Harrington asked in a very serious voice, although it was obvious she was fighting hard not to smile herself.
“Of course I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Shelton replied. “I’m just sure all the others that have occurred to me are even worse.” He shuddered delicately. “Your daughter and her friend are a menace, Dr. Harrington. This is simply the best way I could come up with to minimize the damage. I hope.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” Stephanie reassured him, grinning even more hugely and reaching out to catch a double armful of treecat as it leapt down from the back of her chair. “Lionheart and I’ll be good— promise! Won’t we, Lionheart?”
“Bleek!” Lionheart agreed joyfully, and the table dissolved into laughter.
Table of Contents
UNEXPECTED MEETINGS
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WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . .
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