by David Weber
After Jessica had been adopted by Valiant, the café had become the preferred hangout for the hang-gliding club after practice. So when, on the way home, Dr. Whitaker asked, “So, son, where do you want to go for your birthday dinner?” there was really only one answer.
“The Red Letter Café. All this shifting stone has given me a real taste for a milkshake.”
* * *
Stephanie swung her feet out of bed as soon as her alarm beeped, but it was harder than usual for some reason this morning. Even having stayed up last night getting to know a few of the other students couldn’t explain why she felt so dragged down.
Only after she’d gotten out of the shower and was strapping on her uni-link did she glance at the date and remember.
“Anders’ birthday!” she said aloud.
Lionheart stopped scratching at his shedding fur. “Bleek?”
“It’s Anders’ birthday,” Stephanie repeated. “I wonder if he’s got my message yet?” She calculated the differences in time quickly. “I bet he has . . . I wonder if he’s figured it out yet?”
“Bleek!”
“Yeah. I think he will, too. He’s pretty smart.”
Her uni-link beeped and for a moment she had the crazy hope it might be a message from Anders. Instead, it was a text from Karl: “Heading down to eat. Meet you. Remember. Early target shooting before forensics.”
Stephanie sighed and shoved her feet into her shoes. She thought about eating in her room—she’d laid in a stash—and seeing if she could record a quick message to Anders, a follow-up to the timed one. Then she shook her head and continued talking to Lionheart as she gathered up her stuff.
“No. I can’t risk seeming standoffish, especially not so early in the session. Last night was fun. I especially liked that Carmen Telford. But there were a lot of people who were looking at me like I was a trained neomonk or something. And if the word somehow got out that I was brooding over a boy . . . ”
She hugged Lionheart, sneezed at the cloud of shed fur that came up, and ran for the door.
* * *
Anders certainly hadn’t been wrong about his solution to Stephanie’s puzzle. What he hadn’t expected was that it would have more than one part. After they’d had dinner, he’d gone up to Eric Flint and said, “I believe you have something Stephanie left for me.”
Mr. Flint had grinned and immediately produced a slim envelope from one of the cubbies at the reception desk. When Anders got home and opened it, the contents read: “High, high, up in the sky, where purple moths go drifting by!”
He got this one immediately. Not long ago, when he and Stephanie had been hang-gliding on the Harrington freehold, they’d found themselves flying in the midst of a host of delicate little six-winged creatures that they’d dubbed “purple moths.” They’d hovered on the counter-grav units built into the gliders, taking images and—when a few unfortunates chose to commit suicide against the glider wings—taking samples, as well.
They’d nursed hopes that they’d discovered another new species, but it turned out that their moths were already known under the name “lavender hexaflies.” Nonetheless, the SFS was happy to have the samples and images, since it was suspected that various species of hexaflies played an essential role in the late-season pollination of some of the faster-growing Sphinxian plant species.
That had been a wonderful, magical day, and Anders was certain he could locate the place again. However, he also knew he was one of the less skillful flyers in Stephanie’s gang, and air currents this time of year could be unpredictable. It would be a good idea to bring someone else along. He’d also better get the Harringtons’ permission. Their freehold was huge—over six hundred square kilometers—and they would probably not even notice people poking around, but Anders’ mother had always stressed that remembering one’s manners applied even when no one was likely to notice.
Richard Harrington asked where Anders wanted to go and, after checking the coordinates, gave the okay.
“You’re not going alone, are you?”
“I know the safety rules, Coach,” Anders replied promptly. “I figured on asking the gang: Toby, Chet, Christine, and Jessica. Club games and races are nice but, well, there’s something great about flying just for the fun of it.”
“I agree. Have a good time, then.”
Anders debated which of his friends to call first. He realized that despite the amount of time he’d spent with them, this would be the first time he was the one setting something up. Usually Stephanie handled that, following some shared unwritten assumption that they were “her” friends. Finally, Anders decided a blanket invitation had the best chance of succeeding.
He was delighted—and a little suspicious, when all four were available. Could Stephanie have set this up in advance? Maybe Mr. Flint had been asked to let them all know when Anders picked up the note, indicating that he’d solved the first puzzle. Or maybe Richard Harrington was in on it and had signaled when Anders called to get permission. Anders wouldn’t have been surprised. If Stephanie hadn’t wanted to be a ranger, she would have made a great fleet commander.
* * *
“So that’s Ms. Stephanie Harrington and the famous Lionheart,” Gwendolyn Adair murmured, gazing at the imagery on her display. Harrington and the SFS had maintained a very low profile on her arrival and none of the newsies seemed to have realized she was coming, but Gwen had positioned her own camera team ahead of time.
“Yep,” Oswald Morrow agreed, looking over her shoulder. “Doesn’t look all that impressive, does she? She’s just a kid!”
“Who went up against a hexapuma with just a vibro blade and a treecat,” Gwen reminded him a bit frostily. “And you might want to remember what happened to our good friend Bolgeo when he crossed swords with her.” She shook her head, never looking away from the imagery. “Don’t sell this particular kid short, Ozzie.”
“Umph.” Morrow shrugged, but he didn’t argue with her. Not out loud, anyway. Instead, he tapped the display with a fingertip. “That’s Zivonik?”
“No, Ozzie; its Crown Prince Edward.” She glared over her shoulder at him. “Of course it’s Zivonik!”
Morrow glared back at her, but only from the corner of one eye, and she snorted.
“Sorry.” There might have been just a little insincerity in her tone. “Yes, that’s Zivonik. Bigger than I expected, really . . . though he could just look bigger because he’s standing next to her.”
“How did they do coming through the terminal?”
“Better than I’d hoped they would, actually.” Gwen shook her head. “I’d sort of hoped all the people running around everywhere would spook the ’cat, but he seems to’ve taken it in stride.”
“Too bad,” Morrow murmured. “That probably means he’ll behave himself in crowds on campus, too.”
“We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.” Gwen shrugged, gazing at the imagery for another handful of seconds, then shut it off and tipped back in her chair. “Like I say, our young friend Stephanie’s not someone to take lightly, and I’m beginning to think her six-legged friend isn’t, either.”
“Are you thinking about changing the plan?” Morrow sounded both surprised and perhaps a bit anxious, but then, despite his confident exterior and reputation for brokering big deals, he was much more of a creature of habit than Gwen. He liked to make a plan then stick with it, and her tendency to improvise made him nervous on occasion.
“No,” she reassured him. “I am thinking about how best to apply it, though. And the more I look at the imagery, the less confident I am of our being able to convince people treecats aren’t really sentient.”
“Then why are we sending all those anthropologists to Sphinx?” Morrow demanded, and grimaced. “It’s costing a pretty penny just to get them out here, Gwen. And even with your backing through the foundation, I burned more favors with the Interior Ministry than I like to think about getting Vásquez to sign off on making Hobbard give them access right along with Whitaker! If he h
adn’t messed up so badly during the forest fires, I don’t think she would’ve overruled Hobbard, no matter how we’d approached her.”
“Oh, stop hugging your wallet, Ozzie!” Gwen shook her head again. “Our people are going to argue against admitting sentience as long as they can, and even if Hobbard doesn’t buy into it, it’ll create plenty of confusion in the minds of people who aren’t anthropologists. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what the scientists decide, now does it? What matters is what Parliament decides, and that means we have to convince a bunch of voters who probably don’t even know what ‘sentient’ means that the ’cats are only cute, cuddly woodland creatures.”
“But you said—”
“I said it was going to be harder, not that I thought it was going to be impossible. Besides, that was never more than our first line of defense. You just be sure your pet anthropologists’ reports underline these things’ inability to truly understand the implications of modern technology or the real impact human settlements are going to have on them. We deny their sentience as long as we can, and when we finally admit it, we argue that the reason it took us so long to realize the truth is because they’re so different from human beings. And with the foundation sponsoring their research, it’ll be easy to tell everyone how concerned we are about their well-being. How much we want to protect them from the corrupting influence of human contact. After all, think how other aboriginal cultures have been scarred and destroyed by contact with more advanced societies!”
He looked at her, eyes narrowing, and then began to nod slowly.
* * *
Stephanie finished the newly arrived message from Anders, freezing the final frame on her viewscreen so she could enjoy the warmth of his parting smile while she thought about the news. More xenoanthropologists! She was happy for Anders that his dad had returned, and she was ecstatic at the thought that the Whitaker expedition’s time on Sphinx had actually been extended, rather than cut short. But she’d learned to know the members of Dr. Whitaker’s team, and she didn’t know any of these newcomers Anders was talking about. She wished she could be there to see them firsthand—and to have Lionheart check them out.
“We can’t be there, though. But I wonder . . .” An impish grin lit her face, and she quickly set herself to record.
“Anders . . . I’m so glad you’re enjoying the scavenger hunt. Thanks for telling me about this new group of xenoanthropologists. I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with your dad, and I wish Lionheart and I could be there to check them out. Since we can’t, though, I’ve got an idea. How about Jessica and Valiant?
“Jessica’s good with people—better than I am, really. She’s been so many places. I think Valiant is a bit more shy about strangers than Lionheart, but he’s a wise sort. I think he’d be able to spot a blackhole like Bolgeo right off. Then you and Jess and all would know who to keep an eye on.
“I’m going to message Jess right away and see what she thinks. If she’s for it, then I’m sure something can be set up.”
Her voice softened. “I really, really wish I could be there—and not just to check out these new arrivals. I can’t believe I’ve only been here three days . . . Three months seem like an eternity.” She blew him a kiss. “Miss you!”
* * *
The weather wasn’t as cooperative as the human elements, so it wasn’t until a few days after Anders’ birthday that the group assembled on the top of a cliff that offered a good place to park Jessica’s car and Chet’s truck. Unlike traditional hang-gliders, the modern glider included a counter-grav unit that made the blind leaps into the air that belonged to the traditional sport unnecessary. A few of the stronger fliers—Karl and Toby among them—had experimented with jumping off cliffs anyway, but Anders was just as glad to let his counter-grav carry him up to where he could find a strong thermal.
As he shrugged into his glider, Anders noticed Valiant reaching up to accept a neat little shoulder bag from Jessica. The contents clinked slightly as the treecat slung the strap over one shoulder, then over his chest, positioning it so that it rested comfortably between his upper and middle sets of limbs. Then the ’cat wandered off toward a cluster of thick, shrubby trees that—despite showing evidence of having been bent by the winds—were evidently thriving.
“Dr. Richard helped adapt my glider so Valiant could ride with me like Lionheart does with Stephanie,” Jessica explained, “but he’s not as keen on flying as Lionheart. I get the impression that Lionheart’s a bit of a daredevil.”
“Like Stephanie.” Christine chuckled, settling her helmet over her indigo crest. “Where’s Valiant off to?”
“Collecting plants,” Jessica said. “Dr. Marjorie set him up with little bags that will protect his samples. She figured that was a good compromise that let her encourage him while not steering him. Valiant has gardens at our place, in the Harrington greenhouses, and back with his clan.”
Very much the anthropologist’s son, Anders asked, “Does Valiant seem to be doing any sort of systematic gardening or is he just sticking things in at random?”
“Systematic,” Jessica answered promptly, “although what his system is, I can’t say. We can’t talk, remember. The best I can do is observe, but it sure looks to me as if he’s trying out the same plants in different locations. His clan lives where the soil is very moist compared to our garden.”
“I remember.” Anders grinned. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It’s interesting that Valiant’s clan moved back into that territory after the fires burned them out of their new home. My dad had the impression that they’d moved in the first place because the area near the bog was fished out or hunted out or something.”
“Maybe,” Jessica agreed. “But they’re back—despite having to put up with a swamp siren for a neighbor.”
“I wonder,” Anders continued thinking aloud as he went through his preflight check, “if they didn’t have a lot of choice. Maybe treecats are territorial.”
“Maybe,” Jessica agreed again. She might have said more, but at that moment, Chet cut in.
“Hey, are we going to fly and find Anders’ prezzie, or are we going to yack?”
“Fly,” Anders replied. “Let’s go prezzie hunting.”
The small flock of gliders rose on counter-grav, gleaming in the sun, and from his newly elevated perch, Anders checked his uni-link for the coordinates he and Stephanie had filed when they had first discovered the purple moths.
“There,” he murmured to himself. “Over by those rocks, then over to the right . . . Uh-oh.”
He spoke into his uni-link. “Guys, we’ve got a problem.”
“Problem?” Chad asked. “Can’t you find the spot?”
“Oh, I’ve found it,” Anders replied. “But something’s changed since Stephanie and I were out here.” He read off the location, then pointed. “See? Looks as if a flock of some sort of avians has decided this series of cliffs would make a perfect autumn aerie.”
“I’ve got a good visual on them,” Toby commed in. “I think your avians are rock ravens. Karl told me about them when we went out to do some traditional gliding a couple of weeks ago.”
Still listening, Anders called up the SFS ranger’s guide on his uni-link. The information available was depressingly brief. Like most lifeforms native to Sphinx, rock ravens were structured on a hexapedal model. In this particular case, that worked out two sets of wings and a single pair of powerful talon-tipped legs.
The wingspan was about a meter wide, and their feathers seemed to change color between shades of blue and brown, depending on their surroundings. No one had yet had time to study whether the color variants indicated different species or whether some other factor was involved. That was it.
“The rock ravens weren’t there when you were here before?” Christine asked.
“Nope. All that was here were a bunch of purple moths—like I told you when I showed you Stephanie’s clue.”
“They weren’t here when Steph and I came out to—�
� Jessica cut in, then stopped. “I guess I’ve got to admit that I know where the prize is hidden,” she continued after a moment. “Anders has pinpointed it exactly, so it’s not like I’m helping him cheat.”
“I’ve got a different angle on the cliff from Toby,” Chet said. “Jess, is what we’re looking for wrapped in purple?”
Anders shifted screens on his uni-link and saw that the star indicating Chet on his map was drifting higher than the rest of them.
“Yep.”
“Then I’ve spotted it, and you’re right, Anders has pinpointed the target. There’s something wedged in a cleft down there, right where the rock ravens are thickest.”
“What a lousy coincidence!” Toby said, his voice full of sympathy.
Anders cleared his throat. “Actually, it may not be a coincidence. It’s possible the rock ravens were drawn here by the swarms of lavender hexaflies—or because they came to prey on the creatures that came to eat the hexaflies.”
“The circle of lunch,” Chet quipped. “I always thought that would be a better name than ‘circle of life.’ So, how do we scare them off?”
Anders shifted the sights on his flying goggles for long distance. He’d honed his skill at this when he went gliding. Stephanie’s capacity for aerial acrobatics went far beyond what he could manage. Rather than slow her down, he sometimes preferred to switch to counter-grav mode and drift on the winds, observing the land below. Now he focused in on the area where the rock ravens were thickest.
Looking at the flock, Anders could understand why some long-ago colonist had given the birds (“bird analogs, not birds,” he heard his father pedantically lecturing in his head) the name “rock raven.” They definitely belonged to the group that possessed beaks and feathers—a group which included mountain eagles and finches—rather than the more batlike flyers like the condor owls. Where condor owls were covered with a fine down, these rock ravens had the Sphinxian equivalent of feathers—hollow quills with outlying veins that captured the air. The rock ravens were nicely streamlined, too, with wedge-shaped tails that gave them extra finesse as they dodged and dove, sometimes skimming right up against the rock face before looping around into open-air.