by David Weber
When Sings Truly replied, her mind-voice was shaded with the rueful notes of one who regularly tested established limits, sometimes limits that no one else even saw as limits until she pressed against them.
Twig Weaver—who alone among them was pair-bonded and whose partner, Water Dancer, was nearly as strong-willed and innovative in her own way as Sings Truly—flirted his tail in a chuckle.
Chapter Five
“Over to the right,” said Ranger Jedrusinski, “you’ll see the nest of a mated pair of condor owls.”
Anders craned around—he was on the left side of the air van, in the backmost set of seats. His dad, sitting on the right, next to Ranger Jedrusinski, who was piloting, had the best view, but he didn’t pay much attention. Anders wasn’t surprised. Dad’s specialization was material remains. This specialization was sometimes called ethno-archeology, because efforts were made to draw connections between past cultures and present.
Dr. Nez who, despite his rank, had taken the other rearmost seat, specialized in living cultures, not things. To him, the other native life-forms on Sphinx were at least as important as the treecats themselves.
Now Dr. Nez grinned at Anders and pointed. “Look! Up there, near the top of that huge crown oak. Wow! That’s a messy nest. I wonder if the condor owls build heavy for insulation in the winters?”
Dr. Nez leaned back so Anders could see past him. Gratefully, Anders shifted so he could get a good look. He’d never seen a Terran oak tree, except in pictures. He wondered if the person who’d named this tree had either. He supposed that the general shape was about right, but he didn’t think that oak trees had those large arrowhead-shaped leaves. He didn’t think any Terran oak had ever reached 80 meters in height, either.
Anders wondered why the plants were so large here, especially given that the gravity was higher than Terran normal. He’d have thought all the plants would be short and squat. He’d seen how humans born on Sphinx, even with access to counter-grav units and various therapies, tended to develop stockier builds. When Karl had taken Anders back to base, they’d gotten to talking about Urako in comparison to Sphinx. Karl had mentioned in passing that he had to take all sorts of supplements to assure strong bone growth.
The condor owls had built their nest in the upper third of the tree, taking advantage of the combination of an area where the trunk was heavy enough to be stable, but the branches were lighter, allowing for good launching points.
Ranger Jedrusinski brought the van around so all the passengers could get a good look at the nest.
Maybe she’s figured out Dad isn’t really interested, Anders thought. He moved so Dr. Nez could get a view from this angle.
Meanwhile, Ranger Jedrusinski was saying, “Despite the name given by early colonists on Sphinx, the condor owl is actually mammalian. It is covered with fine down, rather than feathers. Like most animals native to the planet, its structure is hexapedal. The front set of legs have become the wings, but it retains four strong legs, each of which has a very powerful set of talons.”
“Am I correct,” asked Dr. Emberly, the team xenobiologist, “in recalling that condor owls have been known to prey on treecats?”
“We’ve never witnessed such an event,” Ranger Jedrusinski replied, “but the secondary evidence is pretty strong. We’ve found treecat bones in condor owl waste. This, of course, could be a result of scavenging on carrion. However, treecats shown what appeared to be a condor owl shadow take cover immediately. Certainly, the condor owls themselves should be capable of preying upon a treecat. They have extraordinarily keen vision and enough intelligence to realize that the picketwood serves as a highway for all sorts of creatures—treecats among them.”
“But,” protested Virgil Iwamoto, the lithics—or stone tool—specialist of the team, “treecats make stone tools. Doesn’t that argue for an ability to defend themselves?”
“Treecat tool use,” Ranger Jedrusinski replied, “seems to involve close-range tools used primarily for manipulating their environment. We haven’t seen any evidence of bows and arrows, or even spear throwers. Unlike humans, treecats are excellently equipped by nature to hunt the creatures that are their usual prey. They show no ambition to take on creatures markedly larger than themselves, except in self-defense or defense of another of their kind.”
Or Stephanie, Anders thought. He wondered what it would be like to find yourself being defended from a monster by a horde of treecats.
That morning, one of the other Forestry Service rangers had taken them to see a sort of “zoo” inhabited by native animals that, for one reason or another, needed care. Among these were captive hexapumas that were being prepared for release back into the wild. He didn’t think “monster” was too strong a word for a creature over five meters long—without the tail, which added another 250 or so centimeters—that weighed as much as a horse.
Ranger Jedrusinski was wheeling them away from the crown oak that held the condor owl’s nest. “At a meeting today, it was announced that a recently deserted treecat settlement had been located by SFS rangers inspecting the area after the Franchitti fire. We have just enough time to go by and look at it from the air.”
This interested Dr. Whittaker.
“Is the settlement in a Forestry Service district or on private lands?” he asked.
Anders could swear his dad was already calculating contacting the land owners. If so, Ranger Jedrusinski’s response must have dashed his hopes for finagling a way closer to the treecats.
“Oh, it’s safely in a Forestry Service district,” she said, obviously thinking Dr. Whittaker had wanted to be reassured that the treecats were safe. “The fire was on nearby privately held lands and, unfortunately, fire is no respecter of human boundaries.”
“Ranger Jedrusinski,” Anders asked. “I’ve been wondering. Just what is a Forestry Service district? Are they public lands? And are the treecats only protected if they’re in a district?”
The ranger looked distinctly uncomfortable, but she didn’t dodge his question.
“Forestry Service districts are lands that are actually owned by the Crown. We simply administer them. Currently, our policy is to preserve them as relatively pristine territories. This hasn’t always made us popular with some local residents who feel that Crown lands should be exploited—they prefer words like ‘utilized’—for human profit. As for the treecats…I don’t think the Crown would like to hear of anyone mistreating any wildlife, but it’s certainly a lot harder for us to enforce such policies on private lands.”
Dr. Whittaker’s interest in questions of land ownership had vanished as soon as he learned he still had to deal with the SFS.
“Ranger Jedrusinski, will we have an opportunity to get out and take a closer look at the treecat colony site?”
“We’ll just look today,” Ranger Jedrusinski replied. “Maybe later. We’ll want to observe and see if the treecats have actually abandoned it. Some
times they leave for short periods of time. It’s possible that the fire in that area led the inhabitants to temporarily relocate.”
“I’m puzzled,” said Kesia Guyen, the linguistics expert. “Why don’t you know more about the treecats? Stephanie Harrington first encountered them in late 1518. I would think that in three years you would at least have major settlements marked.”
Something in Ranger Jedrusinski’s tone told Karl she’d answered this question a lot. “First of all, although Stephanie now admits to having first seen the treecat now called ‘Lionheart’ in late 1518, she didn’t share the information immediately. It wasn’t until March of 1519 that the rest of us were let in on the secret—and I wonder if we would have been then, except that Lionheart was so badly injured that he couldn’t escape and his clan chose to stay and support him.
“That brings me to a point you can’t overlook. Humans have been on Sphinx since 1422. We didn’t see our first treecats until nearly a hundred years later. That means they chose to hide from us.”
“But now you know they’re there.” Guyen’s protest was phrased politely enough that Anders felt pretty certain she was showing off for Dad—after all, he was the boss. “Couldn’t you do satellite surveys, use infrared to detect clusters that might indicate population density?”
Such options had been debated quite seriously when the research design for this mission was being put together. When he’d listened, Anders had thought the suggestions quite reasonable, so much so that he was surprised to hear Ranger Jedrusinski laugh in genuine amusement.
“It’s wonderful to talk to someone who’s as interested in treecats as some of us at SFS are. I wish the rest of Sphinx shared your priorities. The reality is that while most residents of Sphinx are delighted that such an interesting new species has been identified—sales of treecat toys do well with both locals and tourists—the fact is, treecats aren’t considered very important.”
“Not important?” Dr. Whittaker nearly bellowed the words. “A sentient species and not important?”
“You forget, sir, one of the reasons you and your team are here is to help decide if treecats are indeed sentient and, if so, to what extent. No one disagrees that they’re tool users, but their lack of an apparent language remains a huge barrier to the acceptance of them as sentient.”
“But the elaborate platforms they build…” Dr. Whittaker protested.
“I can name you a dozen species of birds on Terra alone,” Ranger Jedrusinski replied, “that build nests as or more elaborate. Consider termite mounds or beehives or beaver dams—and those are only Terran examples.”
Predictably, Iwamoto spoke in favor of his specialization. “What about the stone tools? Surely those show intelligence.”
“Various Terran primates have been shown to make simple stone tools. Sea otters will carefully select and even reshape rocks they use for opening clams. Ursoid species on your own Urako, which no one claims are ‘people,’ make simple stone axes. Actually, we’re placing a lot of hope on you in particular, Mr. Iwamoto. The stone tools—and the nets—are some of the best evidence of treecat intelligence we have—the sort that convince all but the most hard-headed.”
“But what,” persisted Guyen, perhaps miffed that tools were being favored over language, “about using satellite look-down to map colonies?”
Ranger Jedrusinski sighed. “Sphinx is rich in wildlife—some of it quite large. Moreover, treecats are not the only native creatures to live in groups. Finally, quite simply, SFS doesn’t merit much satellite time. Our primary mission is viewed as managing wild areas for the benefit of the colonists, not taking away resources that are needed for other things. Remember, this is a colony world. We simply don’t have the infrastructure for what many consider luxuries.”
“I read,” Anders cut in, thinking someone should support the ranger, “how smaller thermal scanners can’t penetrate the thick leafy canopy, so even if you could get the satellite time, it might not be of much use.”
“There’s that,” Ranger Jedrusinski agreed cheerfully.
This question of technological options and priorities occupied the next leg of the journey. Anders half-listened—he’d heard a lot of similar discussions before, even between his mother and father about how government money “should” be spent. Instead, he studied the landscape, remembering the things Stephanie and Karl had taught him while they were hiking, about different trees and the zones in which they grew. He felt he was getting better at identifying different types.
Surely that was a grove of picketwood coming up. Those straight trunks were distinctive, even from a distance, even—maybe especially—from the air, where their odd connected patterns really stood out. With summer coming to an end—it could even be argued that the season was verging on autumn—a few rich, red leaves stood out among the green.
Anders had read that picketwood shed its leaves in autumn. He wondered if the treecats could stay as easily hidden in winter. Maybe that would be the time to try and map colonies or use thermal imaging technology. He was about to suggest it, but then he remembered the length of the seasons on Sphinx. Winter wouldn’t be here for fifteen months. By then, this expedition could be long gone.
He felt a little sad, then brightened. Maybe there would be a winter expedition. He’d be seventeen by then. If he studied hard, contributed something significant to this first expedition, maybe he could come back. Maybe, like Stephanie, he could serve as a sort of provisional ranger—or provisional grad assistant or something. Dad would never see him that way, but he bet Dr. Nez would.
When Ranger Jedrusinski brought them into the location of the abandoned treecat settlement, the buzz of excited conversation was general.
“This stand of picketwood borders on a more open area.”
“Look! That platform is nearly new. Even from here, I can tell they’ve used a substantial amount of lace willow. That differs from the samples Dr. Hobbard showed us.”
“That basket has quite a large hole in the bottom. I wonder if that’s why they left it. Maybe it was ceremonially ‘killed.’”
Anders could tell Dad was itching to get out and look around. When Ranger Jedrusinski was distracted answering Dr. Emberly’s question about the probable source for a hank of fur pinned to a picketwood trunk, Anders saw Dad glance at the air van’s directional readout, then make a few notes on his uni-link. Something about the way he then quickly leaned to take some pictures made Anders think Dad hoped no one had noticed.
After far too short a stay, Ranger Jedrusinski turned the air van in the direction of base. “Sorry, but I’ve got fire watch tomorrow morning at an hour when all of you will be snug in bed. I’ll check with Chief Ranger Shelton about when we might come back. After all, you folks are going to be here some months yet. There’s plenty of time.”
If Ranger Jedrusinski had known Dr. Whittaker as well as Anders did, she might have worried about how placidly he took this departure. Certainly, Dr. Nez gave his long-time boss a curious look, but he didn’t say anything.
When they got back to the ranger housing where they were staying, they found a message waiting.
“Hi. This is Marjorie Harrington. We’re having a fifteenth-birthday celebration for Stephanie. We thought that if you’re not in the field, Anders might like to come. Stephanie and Karl—who he’s already met—will be here, but it will give him a chance to meet some of the other local kids his age, in case he ever gets tired of people who think of nothing but treecats. Anders certainly doesn’t need to bring a present or anything, but I think Stephanie would be glad to have him here.”
She ended with giving a date and time, and offering her private contact number.
Dr. Whittaker looked nearly as pleased as he had when he’d learned he’d won the competition to head the project to Sphinx.
“Good, boy,” he said, pounding Anders between the shoulder blades. “If Dr. Harrington doesn’t think her daughter is at least a little sweet on you, I’m no anthropologist. I’ll certainly make
sure we’re available to get you to that party. Maybe I’ll drop you off myself, just to show friendly…of course, I’ll turn down any offer to stay. Don’t want to cramp your style.”
Whistling, Dr. Whittaker went off towards the shower. Anders, slowly stripping off his own field clothes, wondered why his own reaction to accepting the invitation was so mixed. After all, his father wasn’t asking him to do anything worse than his mother did on a daily basis, right?
* * *
Gritting her teeth, Stephanie let herself out of the air car, then tugged her black-and-orange hang glider out of the cargo compartment. Lionheart leapt lightly out after the glider. He, at least, was clearly looking forward to today’s practice.
Stephanie wished that she was.
“Thanks for the ride, Dad,” she said.
“Unless something goes wrong,” Richard Harrington replied, “I’ll be back to get you no later than an hour after practice ends. I’ll com if I’ll be late.”
Stephanie nodded. “I brought my uni-link. If you’re late, I’ll go over to the café and do some homework.”
She saw Dad swallow a comment. She knew he and Mom wished that she’d use time in town to visit with people her own age.
Well, she thought glumly as she waved good-bye to her father, shouldered the hang glider, and trotted off toward the practice field. Today they’ll get their wish. Damn birthday party…
The late summer/early autumn weather was just about perfect for hang gliding, the winds light, with just enough variation to provide some challenge. Unlike those who had originally practiced this sport, Stephanie and her teammates had counter-grav units to make launching easier. So, instead of having to drop off a cliff or hope for a promising breeze, they could begin in an open field that air traffic control had isolated from any other vehicles.
