by David Weber
Stephanie had thought the penalty was ridiculous, but now, considering Trudy and her blackhole friends, Stephanie thought she understood. Cockiness—especially when someone was handling something as potentially lethal as an air car—was not to be encouraged.
“I’m sure I want to try, ma’am,” Stephanie said.
“Then switch to manual,” the administrator replied, reaching forward to activate something on her override panel, “and follow the line.”
The second pass went smoothly until they were outside of Twin Forks. As they were passing over one of the many streams that fed the Mankara River, a freak squall blew up. Solid as the air car was, the vehicle bucked enough to rattle Stephanie’s teeth. Ms. Schwartz gasped aloud and leaned toward her override panel.
Here, Stephanie’s hours of hang gliding, as well as those spent practicing with Karl, paid off. Before Ms. Schwartz could activate the override, Stephanie had compensated for the turbulence, anticipated where the wind was headed, and moved the car into smooth air without diverting too far off the pre-ordained route. As soon as she judged weather conditions were safe, Stephanie brought the air car back on course and finished the test route.
Ms. Schwartz said nothing until the air car touched down outside of the government center and Stephanie had performed the shut-down routine in perfect order. Then she leaned over and clapped Stephanie on the shoulder.
“Good job, Ms. Harrington,” Ms. Schwartz said, beaming. “I’d heard you had a cool head. I’m glad the stories were true.”
“Does that mean I passed?”
“With a perfect score. I’ll be sending the results in to headquarters, and the official license should be on record before it’s time for you to fly home.” Ms. Schwartz gave an impish grin. “Be sure to ask your father to let you pilot.”
Stephanie grinned back. She knew her dad would, just as she knew he’d be nervous about actually letting her be in charge. Even the best parents were funny that way.
Because Lionheart had come into town with them, and treecats weren’t allowed inside without special permission, the doctors Harrington had waited outside the administration building for Stephanie.
“Lionheart has been ‘bleak bleaking’ in obvious glee since you brought the air car back from the second pass,” Mom said, laughing as Stephanie ran up to them, “so don’t bother to tell us you passed. We know!”
“This calls for a celebration,” Dad added. “I’ve called Eric Flint and reserved a table for us at the Red Letter Café. Fortunately, they’re open for late lunch.”
The Red Letter Café was one the businesses that had pioneered a “treecat friendly” policy. That—and the fact that it served desserts to die for in very large portions—made it a favorite of the Harrington clan. After they’d stuffed themselves with both lunch and enormous ice-cream concoctions, Stephanie looked at her parents.
“Dad, Mom, the woman who gave me my test said that I should ask you if I could fly home. Please?”
Richard Harrington sighed theatrically. “Well, at least I’ll die well-fed. Why don’t you go bring the car around? I know we usually walk here in town, but maybe you’ll get pulled over and I’ll be spared a terrifying ride.”
Giggling, Stephanie leapt to her feet and motioned to Lionheart.
“Not this time,” Mom said. “Let’s have your maiden voyage be with as few distractions as possible, all right?”
Stephanie didn’t protest. Lionheart was rather soggy, since his idea of a terrific dessert involved shredding massive amounts of celery. If he stayed with her folks, he’d have a chance to mop up.
They’d parked over near the administrative center, but Stephanie didn’t mind the walk. In fact, it was all she could do not to skip. She was considering comming Karl and sharing the good news when she heard familiar voices coming from a couple of businesses that had already closed for the day.
She couldn’t see the speakers—they must be around back—or make out what was being said, but one voice definitely belonged to Stan Chang, Trudy’s beau and someone Stephanie disliked, if possible, even more than she did Trudy. Another was Stan’s good buddy, Focus Câmara. Normally, Stephanie would have just hoped they wouldn’t see her, but as she drew closer, she heard Toby Mednick speak.
“No, guys, really. I can’t. I’m late already.”
“Awe, c’mon, Toby,” Focus said. “If you’re already late, then what does it matter if you’re later?”
“But, guys…”
Toby’s voice held notes of defeat rather than protest. Stephanie knew the prudent thing would be to keep going or at least get some backup, but remembering how Stan and Focus had gotten Toby into trouble at least once already, she couldn’t. Not only was Toby younger than her, but—remembering how much fun they’d had at her party the day before—Toby was her friend. Stephanie had gotten so used to thinking of herself as friendless—at least when it came to kids her own age—that the thought hit her with almost physical force. But it was true. Toby was her friend and she could no more leave him in the lurch than she could Karl…or Lionheart.
Again, Stephanie considered comming for help, but something in the tone of the voices made her think there wasn’t any time to waste.
Stan was saying, “You know, Toby, from how you’re acting, you’d think you didn’t want to be pals with us. Here we’re offering to share some really expensive, really good stuff with you and you act like we’re trying to give you dog shit. Now, here, take just a little, then you won’t care how late you are. You’ll be flying without a glider.”
“Well…” Toby was saying when Stephanie peeked around the corner.
The three boys were standing in a little garden that backed the shops. Toby was backed up against a round table, and Stan was all but shoving an amber-colored capsule toward his face. Focus hulked to one side, blocking Toby’s avenue of escape.
Thinking fast, Stephanie considered her options.
Should I confront them directly? Stan did back down that time last year, but what if he didn’t this time? And exactly how would that solve anything? All that would happen is that Toby would probably get beat up next time they got him alone…and I’d have to watch my back. No. There has to be another way.
An idea hit her. It wasn’t the best, maybe, but Toby was already reaching for the capsule. Feigning a delight she didn’t feel, Stephanie rounded the corner at a run, talking as fast as she could.
“Toby! Is that you? Toby! I did it! I passed!”
The three boys stared at her, Stan and Focus in astonishment, Toby in something like awe and amazement. He wasn’t so startled that he didn’t catch her hint.
“You did! Steph, that’s absolutely hexy!” He looked at the Stan and Focus, both of whom were now openly gaping. “Did you hear, guys? Stephanie just passed her air car test. Did you get the provisional licence?”
“I did,” she said, not bothering to hide her pleasure. She turned and beamed at Stan and Focus. “I heard Toby’s voice and I just had to tell someone. I’m so glad you guys are here, too. Great news, huh?”
She grabbed Focus by both hands and swung him around as if they were dancing—incidentally creating an opening for Toby. Focus stumbled a little, and his skin was so clammy that Stephanie had to resist an impulse to drop his hands as if they were a couple of dead fish. Clearly, he was already a bit “outta focus.”
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 d
idn’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.”
