“The only Earth banks approved for off-planet loans are owned by World Life,” Sally replied. “None of them will touch Pukui right now.”
“The U.N....”
“Can't step in financially without going through Company channels,” the U.N. rep said.
“Well, hell, I have enough to keep this place afloat through at least one harvest,” Angie said. “You know that, Sally. You've been handling my private accounts for years. I'll loan Pukui the credit it needs.”
“You?” Toma said.
Angie grinned up at him. “You didn't break the code on all my personal records, Inspector.”
Sally didn't join in her humor. “It's true you have enough,” she said, “but...”
“Major investors in Lesaat development have to be directly related to the leaseholders, or else be approved by the Company,” the U.N. rep said. “That's why the other Lesaat leaseholders are ineligible to contribute, despite their secret reciprocal investments prior to this. Some of those earlier investments, by the way, sound highly questionable.”
“It's these damn Lesaat laws,” Sally said. “During the past twenty years, World Life has put a stranglehold on this planet's economy. With the exception of the last perpetual-lease holdouts, they've established a virtual monopoly on any financial activity here. It's been tolerated because no one outside recognized how far it had gone, and those who might have suspected kept quiet for fear of losing their access to the 410 Standard.”
The U.N. rep spoke again. “We can establish indigenous status for the kids. I'm sure we can get that through, although it's going to take some careful maneuvering. They'll end up with free access to all lands and waters on the planet and full inheritance rights to specific reef areas through their biological parents. But there's nothing that can be done about Pukui. The farm has to be rebuilt immediately, and the only one in a legal and financial position to do that is World Life.”
Angie glanced up at Pua. Angie wondered if the Earther would be speaking so casually if he had witnessed Pua's defense of her territory three nights before. Fatu laid a hand on Pua's shoulder, but his own lips were tight with rage.
“I've gone at this from every angle I can think of,” Sally said. “I can't find a way out. I'm sorry.”
“The children, as well as at least a few of the current residents,” the U.N. rep said, glancing toward Fatu, “will be allowed to remain living at Pukui. But the leases will have to be returned to the general pool. When Pua turns eighteen, she'll become eligible to apply for lease rights here just like any other adult waterworlder.”
“But on a short-term basis,” Angie said. “With forced renewal every three years or less so the U.N. and the Company both can keep her under their control.”
“The law has to be—”
“I won't let it happen,” Fatu said softly.
“Nor will I,” Toma said, and that drew a truly startled look from the U.N. man. Toma was the primary keeper of the law on Lesaat. He was the last one the Earther had expected to defend breaking it.
Pua's jaw was clenched so tight that her lips had turned white. The nicks and scratches on her arms had nearly healed, and she stood straighter now, as if the pain of her cracked ribs no longer bothered her, but she still cradled her casted arm in her opposite hand. Her eyes blazed with fury.
“Pukui is mine!” she said.
They had gathered an audience. To Angie's dismay, she saw that it had already split along Earther and waterworlder lines. She lifted a hand against the murmur of disquiet. Then she returned her attention to the U.N. rep.
“There must be a way around this,” she said.
Grayson shook his head. He was not entirely displeased by the situation, Angie suspected. The U.N. wanted the Company's power broken, but they had already expressed concern about what kind of control Pua and the other Lesaat heirs might choose someday to exert. Better the devil you know, Angie thought. Spit!
“What if there was another heir to the Pukui leases?” she asked. “An heir of legal age and with the financial means to begin rebuilding the farm. Would that make a difference?”
“What?”
“There's no—”
“Warden,” the U.N. rep said, “we all know there is no other heir.”
“Would it make a difference?” Angie insisted.
“Of course, but what—”
“Your team has been processing genetic identification checks on the Pukui kids all day,” Angie said. “Tell them to take a tissue sample from one of my hands and run a comparison check with Pua and her parents.”
Sally blinked in surprise. Both Toma and Fatu straightened.
“You'll find that Pua's genetic fingerprint and mine are identical,” Angie said. “The way the current law is worded, that defines us as biological twins.”
The shells along the fringe of Pua's shirt went silent. It was the first time Angie had seen her stand perfectly still.
“You'll also find, naturally, that my ID bars match those of Lehua and Zed Pukui closely enough to legally define me as their biological daughter.”
“Warden, you can't be—”
“In their will, which has already been accepted as binding by both World Life and the U.N., Zed and Lehua left all of their worldly possessions, in particular their perpetual leases to Pukui, to their beloved daughter Pualeiokekai and to any other offspring of their union—assets to be distributed equally. They must have recorded that will before Lehua discovered she couldn't bear any more children,” Angie said, “but that's the way it's written.”
“You can't claim your genetic identity from those hands,” the U.N. rep said. “A sample taken from anywhere else on your body would prove you're no more Pua's sister than I am.”
“You took the kids’ tissue samples from their hands,” Angie said. “Why should I be treated differently?”
“But those aren't your hands!”
Angie lifted her long, strong hands and spread her fingers. Five on the right, three on the left.
Toma spoke before she could. “It is common practice on Lesaat to take tissue samples from people's hands. In fact, Lesaat's immigrants are legally defined by their hands.”
“That's true,” Sally said slowly. “Any Earther with the money can get gills. I know a few who've done it just for sport. But only off-worlders are given waterworlder hands.”
“Only off-worlders would want them,” one of the Earthers muttered.
“But we have proof now of criminal acts at the Earth recon stations,” the U.N. rep said. “We'll be able to step in and make those places safe. You could get your own hands grown back.”
The shells on Pua's shirt clicked softly. Fatu's grip on her shoulder loosened.
“You'd never get away with changing your genetic ID more than once, Angie,” Sally said quietly. “You can be certain that very dangerous loophole will be closed the instant this case is settled.
Angie nodded.
“If you choose to do this,” Sally went on, “it's going to be permanent.”
Angie glanced at Fatu. The side of his mouth lifted into a small smile. Permanence, she remembered saying to him once, a long time ago. Permanence and Pukui. The two things did have a way of going together. Toma lifted his hand in a troubleshooter's salute.
“Don't you understand, Warden Dinsman?” the U.N. rep insisted. “You can get your real hands back.”
Angie turned her hands over. One by one, she coiled her fingers into her palms. Then she flicked them open again. The U.N. rep jumped. “These are real enough for me,” Angie said.
“Ha!” Pua huffed softly. “I knew if I could ever get her in the water long enough, I could turn her into a real waterworlder.”
And then Angie laughed. A good, clean laugh that washed away the last of her indecision. She listened for the sound of whispering evergreens and found it right where it had always been, singing sibilant accompaniment to Le Fe'e's rumbling roar.
* * * *
Some time later, Toma met her at
the top of Mauna Kea Iki. He sat beside her under the leaf-stripped snow trees. Whatever damage the storm had done to the bark had already disappeared. Like Pua's skin, Angie thought. She glanced down at her left hand. There was no sign of new fingers yet, but the gaping wound had nearly closed. She no longer even kept it bandaged.
Toma had the good sense to remain quiet.
Angie stared at the glowing mountainside, at the ocean—brighter now than ever—and up at the gloriously ringed sky. Shadow had just begun its nightly journey. The shimmering night hid most of Pukui's scars.
Finally, she tapped Toma's arm. “Come,” she said.
She took him to the base of one of the largest snow trees, the one that split into three thick branches high over their heads.
“Did you ever climb one of these things?” she asked.
“Lehua's snow trees?” he replied. “She'd have had me by the throat.”
“You can lie better than that, Toma!”
He laughed. “Of course I've climbed them. We all did after Lehua died. This seemed the most obvious place for her to hide the TC records. We looked into every crack and under every leaf. I even ran a scan for foreign material inside the wood itself. The trees are as clean as they look.”
“Give me a lift,” she said. “I want to show you something.”
He gave her a boost up, and when she reached the wide, smooth hollow that divided the three upper branches, she reached down and gave him a hand to follow. There was room for them both, but just barely. Toma stood behind her as she ran her palms slowly along the smooth, shimmering bark.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking for a snowball,” she said. From this height, she could see evidence of new leaves budding. There was a direct line of sight to all points along Pukui's barrier reef.
Angie found what she was looking for near the base of the branch. She squatted and began picking at the glowing bark. She continued scratching until, with a soft, tearing sound, the wood began to split. A crack opened, leading deep inside the tree.
Angie reached a finger into the narrow opening. She rubbed the split edges of the wood with her opposite hand and blew softly into the crack, just as Pua did when she was extracting a larger-than-usual snowball from one of the trees.
Her fingertip clicked against something hard. It shifted. The crack widened a fraction more, and a thin brown tube dropped into her waiting palm.
Toma caught his breath.
“Ha!” Angie said. “I guess this tree likes me.”
“The TC records?” Toma asked. She glanced up. He was staring openmouthed at the thing in her hand.
She nodded. “It has to be. Part of them, anyway.” She turned the wooden case over in her hand. It was made of koa wood; its red-brown sheen glistened in the sunlight. Its grain was infinitely finer than that of the snow-tree bark. Angie found and released a simple wooden latch at one end of the tube and looked inside. She smiled, then held it up so Toma could see.
“Paper!” Toma said. “Wood and paper. No wonder our scans didn't find it.”
“The tree sap would have eaten through a plastic container,” Angie said. “Besides, Lehua knew either plastic or metal could be too easily found. She knew from the foyer floor that koa is acceptable to, but not affected by, the living local woods, so...”
She handed it up to him. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”
“But how did you know it was here?” he asked. He squatted behind her in the narrow space. His skin was warm where his thighs touched her back. He smelled faintly of candleberry, but more strongly of the sea. He reached around her to touch the crack in the tree.
“When we were in the hot tub at Sa le Fe'e,” Angie said, “the first time, I mean, Pua said that after she was taken to Earth, Katie buried all of her snowballs under the house.”
“So?”
“She told Pili and me later that Lehua had told Katie to do it.”
“Lehua!”
Angie nodded. “It had to have been right before she died or Katie would have buried the balls sooner, and Pua would have known about it before she went to Earth. You said Katie was with Lehua when you found her, didn't you?”
“Aye,” he said softly.
“Lehua knew how vital the records were, both to Pua and to Earth,” she said. “If she realized she had loli fever, then she would have known that both she and Zed were going to die, but that Pua wouldn't—not of the fever, anyway. She had only a few seconds to leave a clue for Pua that the records were hidden here in these trees. The snowballs had no value other than the sentimental one between her and Pua, so Lehua must have reasoned their preservation would mean nothing to anyone who didn't know their source.”
Toma sighed. “Those wads of tree sap were dug up a dozen times during the search. Even Fatu and I thought Katie was just being stubborn by putting them and the rest of Pua's shells and coral back each time.”
“Lehua probably knew that Katie wouldn't, couldn't, reveal anything under formal questioning,” Angie said. According to Crawley's testimony, Katie had been secretly truth-drugged, but the slow-minded drone had not made any more sense under controlled questioning than she did at any other time.
Angie took the case from Toma and slipped it back into the tree. There would be others, and there would be time to find and study them all. This calm, ringlit night was better suited for other, more personal things. She thanked the tree silently for sharing its treasure.
“Lehua also knew how seriously Katie took her direct orders,” she said as she pressed the edges of the healing wood together. “She took the one chance she had that someday Pua, or maybe you or Fatu, would discover that it was she who had ordered the snowballs saved, and understand what that meant.” She smoothed the cool bark beneath her fingers.
“She took a bigger chance than you realize,” Toma said. He slid his hand over hers and turned it palm up. “Aside from Lehua and Pua, you're the only one these trees have ever voluntarily opened for.” Her long fingers twined around his without conscious direction.
Toma's warmth against Angie's back was like the smooth caress of the Lesaat sea; his breath brushed like a sun-warmed breeze across the sensitive edges of her gill flaps. She wondered, suddenly, if it was true that waterworlders never touched each other's gills unless they were trying to kill one another.
“Katie told me,” Toma said after a moment, “at least I think she told me, that the last of your Maldarian caramels got blown away in the storm.”
That made Angie laugh.
She pulled her hand from his, stood, turned, and squatted again, this time stepping over Toma's legs so that she sat in his lap. It was not entirely comfortable, but it certainly presented an interesting challenge. Toma's look slid down to the place where their bodies met. His touch was as firm as the snow tree's shimmering bark.
He was grinning when he looked up again. “Warden, is there something else I can do for you this evening?”
Angie laughed. “As a matter of fact there is, Inspector.” She proceeded to show him just what she had in mind.
Chapter 30
Pua waited for the mountainlady at the main house—she knew the warden would come there eventually. She sat on the smooth, polished floor, tracing the outlines of the koa-wood inlays. Katie had scrubbed and polished the remaining bits of the house until they shone. She had even, finally, gotten that faint mildew smell out of the foyer.
Pua grinned at the joke she knew her mama would have told if she had been there—about how the mildew really had been what held the place together.
The Sally woman—the one Pua still found so astonishing in her smallness; she was not much bigger than Pua herself—had promised to return her parents’ bodies to Pukui. It would take some time, Sally had said, but Pua was used to that. Everything the Earthers did took time. Pua still was not entirely comfortable around the mountainlady's friend, but she was beginning to trust her.
Finally, the warden came. She strode across the lawn to the house and lif
ted herself up onto the raised floor. The steps no longer reached all the way to the ground. She scuffed her bare feet across poor, battered Matt before stepping onto the patterned floor. Matt burped contentedly.
Or was that the woman? Pua grinned.
The warden sat facing her. She smelled of Toma and the freshwater bathing pool. “So, Waterbaby,” she said. “Did you and Pili learn anything useful up there on the mountain tonight?”
Pua blinked up at her.
The warden laughed. “Oh, Pua, that's perfect. That's just perfect. You have innocent confusion down pat.”
Pua held the look for a moment, then giggled. “How'd you know we were up there?”
“I'm the land person, remember? I always know when you're on the mountain with me.”
“You didn't that first time.”
Another laugh. “True. I missed you the first time.”
“I liked it best when you kicked him out of the tree,” Pua said, and they both laughed.
“Fatu said the damage at Sa le Fe'e wasn't as bad as we first thought,” Pua said. “We'll still be able to use it. And Le Fe'e told me he's going to grow the Grand Old Man back to guard the door just like he did before.”
The warden blinked slowly the way she did whenever Pua talked about Le Fe'e. “Did you hear that the coiler disappeared from the hydrofoil wing?” the woman asked.
Pua nodded. “Some of the Company swimmers are refusing to swim between the islands. They say it's down there, waiting.”
“Is it?”
Pua put on her innocent look again. “How would I know?”
Then she grew serious. She ran her hand across the polished, patterned floor. “Pukui is still mine, Mountainlady,” she said. “Mine and Le Fe'e's.”
“Legally,” the warden replied, “almost half of it is now mine.”
Pua looked up. “Which half?”
The mountainlady watched her for a moment. “The top half. I'll take the dry part, and you can have the wet part.”
Pua pursed her lips. “You can't divide an atoll that way. We'll slice Home and Second like pies, from the top of their mountains. Every slice will have mountain and shoreline, and reef and ocean.”
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