by David Weber
A grisly ruin of white bone and mangled tissue lay to one side. Richard had done enough anatomical studies of Sphinxian animal life to recognize the half-stripped skeleton of a hexapuma, but neither he nor any other naturalist had ever seen or imagined anything like the dozens and dozens and dozens of tiny "hexapumas" who surrounded his daughter protectively.
He blinked, astonished by his own choice of adverb, yet it was the only one which fitted. They were protecting Stephanie, watching over her, and he knew — as if he'd seen it with his own eyes — that they, whatever they were, had killed the hexapuma to save her.
But that was all he knew, and he touched Marjorie's arm gently.
"Stay here," he said quietly. "This is my area, not yours."
"But—"
"Please, Marge," he said, still in that quiet voice. "I don't think there's any danger — now — but I could be wrong. Just stay here while I find out, all right?"
Marjorie Harrington's jaw clenched, but she fought down her unreasoning surge of anger, for he was right. He was the xeno-veterinarian. If the problem had been plant life, he would have deferred to her expertise; in this case she must defer to his, however her heart raged at her to rush to her daughter's side.
"All right," she said grudgingly. "But you be careful!"
"I will," he promised, and popped the hatch. He climbed out slowly and walked very carefully towards his daughter, carrying the emergency medical kit. The sea of furry, long-tailed arboreals parted about his feet, retreating perhaps a meter to either side and then flowing back in behind him, and he felt their watchful eyes as he stepped into the small clear space about Stephanie. A single creature crouched by her side — smaller and more slender than the others, with a dappled brown and white coat instead of their cream and gray — and he felt its grass-green eyes bore into him. But despite the unnerving intelligence behind that scrutiny, his attention was on his daughter. This close, the bruises and bloodstains — few of the latter hers, thank God! — were far more evident, and his stomach clenched at the evidence of her injuries. Her left arm hung beside her, obviously badly broken, and her right leg was stretched stiffly before her, and he had to blink back tears as he dropped to his knees.
"Hello, baby," he said gently, and she looked at him.
"I messed up, Daddy," she whispered, and tears welled in her own eyes. "Oh, Daddy! I messed everything up! I—"
"Hush, baby." His voice quivered, and he cupped the right side of her face in his palm. "We'll have time for that later. For now, let's get you home, okay?"
She nodded, but something in her expression told him there was more. He frowned speculatively — and then his eyebrows shot up as she opened her jacket to reveal another of the creatures hovering all about them. He stared at the badly mauled animal, then jerked his eyes to his daughter's.
Stephanie read the question in her father's gaze. There wasn't time to explain everything — that would have to come later, when she also accepted whatever thoroughly merited punishment her parents decided to levy — but she nodded.
"He's my friend." Her voice trembled, heavy with tears — the voice of a child begging her parents to tell her the problem could be fixed, the damage mended… the friend saved. "He… he saved me from the hexapuma," she went on, fighting to keep that fraying voice steady. "He fought it, Daddy — fought it for me — and he got hurt so bad. I—" Her voice broke at last, and she stared at her father, white-faced with exhaustion, pain, fear, and grief. Richard Harrington looked back, his own heart broken by her distress, and cupped her face between both his hands.
"Don't worry, baby," he told his daughter softly. "If he helped you, than I'll help him any way I can."
* * *
Climbs Quickly floated slowly, slowly up out of the blackness. He lay on his left side on something warm and soft, and he blinked. He felt the pain of his hurts and knew they were serious, yet there was something strange about the way they hurt. The pain was distant and far away, as if something were making it less than it should have been, and he turned his head. He looked up, seeking what he knew was there, and made a soft sound — a weak parody of his normal, buzzing purr — as he saw the face of his two-leg.
She looked down quickly, and the brilliant flare of her joy and relief at seeing him move blazed through the odd, pleasantly lazy haziness which afflicted his thoughts. She touched his fur gently, and he realized the blood had been cleaned from her face. White bits of something covered the worst of her cuts and scratches, and her broken arm was sheathed in some stiff, white material. He tasted an echo of pain still coloring her mind glow, but the echo was almost as muted as his own. She opened her mouth and made more of the sounds the two-legs used to communicate, and he rolled his head the other way as another, deeper voice replied.
His person was seated on one of the two-legs' sitting things, he realized, but it took several more breaths to realize the sitting thing was inside one of the flying things. He might not have realized even then, without his link to his person, but that same link — and the haziness — kept him from panicking at the thought of tearing through the heavens at the speed at which the flying things regularly moved.
Two more two-legs — his two-leg's parents — sat in front of them. One looked back at his two-leg, and he blinked again as their link helped him recognize her as his two-leg's mother. But it was the other adult — his two-leg's father — who spoke. The deep, rumbling sounds still meant nothing, and Climbs Quickly decided vaguely that he really must start learning to recognize their meanings.
* * *
"He looked at me, Daddy!" Stephanie cried. "He opened his eyes and looked at me!"
"That's a good sign, Steph," Richard replied, putting as much encouragement as he could into his voice.
"But he looks awfully weak and groggy," Stephanie went on in a more worried tone, and Richard turned his head to exchange glances with Marjorie. Despite the painkillers, Stephanie still had to be suffering fairly extreme discomfort, but there was no concern at all for herself in her voice. Every bit of it was for the creature — the "treecat" — in her lap, and it had been ever since they'd found her. She'd insisted that her father examine the "treecat" even before he set her arm, and given the vast, silently watching audience of other treecats — and the fact that Stephanie, at least, was in no immediately life-threatening danger — he'd agreed. Neither he nor Marjorie could make much sense of the bits and pieces of explanation they'd so far heard, but they'd already concluded that Stephanie was right about one thing: whatever else they might be, these treecats of hers were another sentient species.
God only knew where that was going to end, and, at the moment, Richard and Marjorie Harrington didn't much care. The treecats had saved their daughter's life. That was a debt they could never hope to repay, but they were quite prepared to spend the rest of their lives trying to, and he cleared his throat carefully.
"He looks weak because he is, honey," he said. "He's hurt pretty badly, and he lost a lot of blood before you got that tourniquet on him. Without that, he'd be dead by now, you know." Stephanie recognized the approval in his voice, but she only nodded impatiently. "The painkiller I used is probably making him look a little groggy too," he went on, "but we've been using it on Sphinxian species for over forty T-years without any dangerous side effects."
"But will he be all right?" his daughter demanded insistently, and he gave a tiny shrug.
"He's going to live, Steph," he promised. "I don't think we'll be able to save his forelimb, and he'll have some scars — maybe some that show even through his fur — but he should recover completely except for that. I can't guarantee it, baby, but you know I wouldn't lie to you about something like this."
Stephanie stared at the back of his head for a moment, then swiveled her eyes to her mother. Marjorie gazed back and nodded firmly, backing up Richard's prognosis, and a frozen boulder seemed to thaw in Stephanie's middle.
"You're sure, Daddy?" she demanded, but her voice was no longer desperate, and he nodded
again.
"Sure as I can be, honey," he told her, and she sighed and stroked the treecat's head again. It blinked wide, unfocused green eyes at her, and she bent to brush a kiss between its triangular ears.
"Hear that?" she whispered to it. "You're gonna be all right. Daddy said so."
* * *
Yes, Climbs Quickly thought fuzzily, he really did have to start learning what the two-leg sounds meant. But not tonight. Tonight he was simply too tired, and it didn't matter right now, anyway. What mattered was the mind glow of his two-leg, and the knowledge that she was safe.
He blinked up at her and managed to pat her leg weakly with his good arm. Then he closed his eyes with a sigh, snuggled his nose more firmly against her, and let the welcome and love of her mind glow sing him to sleep.
FB2 document info
Document ID: ee137b2a-9b26-4ef7-9f18-6f8242ecb26f
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 2004-10-16
Created using: FB Tools; FAR software
Document authors :
Alexandr (Alexandr)
Source URLs :
IRC
Document history:
v 1.0 — создание FB2 — Alexandr.
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