Treecat Wars

by David Weber

  The corner of Karl’s right eyelid dropped in what might have been the smallest of winks, and Stephanie suppressed a sudden smile. Yes, Karl had recognized the name. In fact, Stephanie was willing to bet he’d guessed who Ms. Adair was associated with the instant Harper had introduced her. That was probably what had prompted his remark about hexapumas and tourists.

  “I’ve heard about the foundation, Ms. Adair,” she said. “I’ve been messaging with a couple of our friends back on Sphinx about the expedition it sponsored.”

  “Oh, I wish we could take the credit for that,” Adair said. She had a melodious contralto voice, and the gleam in those green eyes invited them to laugh with her. “Unfortunately, honesty compels me to admit that we only expedited it. I wish we’d been the ones who thought of it—and a lot sooner than this—but, well—”

  She shrugged, her expression wry.

  “Sooner than this?” Karl repeated, and Adair nodded.

  “We’re dedicated to recognizing and protecting biodiversity. It’s what we do. Most people aren’t that worried about things like that just this moment, given three entire planets that are basically still empty of humans, but the foundation figures it’s only a matter of time before humanity starts really extending its footprint here in the Manticore System. We’re already doing that on Manticore itself, you know, and it won’t be so many more years before the same thing begins happening on Sphinx. You would’ve thought that an organization worried about things like that would have been on its toes enough to immediately recognize what Stephanie’s discovery of the treecats meant—or might mean—for our declared mission, but frankly we were asleep at the switch. We should have sponsored a reputable xenoanthropologist instead of letting that horrible Bolgeo person slip past us. For that matter, we should have insisted on vetting his credentials better, in which case that whole mess might not have happened.

  “But we were too focused on what we were doing here on Manticore, I suppose. And by the time we realized just how bad a choice ‘Doctor’ Bolgeo had been, the Interior Ministry and Governor Donaldson had written a contract with a reputable, properly credentialed team from Urako. We decided the situation was properly in hand, but then there was that whole incident this past year’s fire season. To be honest, we began to feel . . . concerned over the future of the Whitaker expedition, and until the status of Dr. Whitaker’s contract was fully resolved the entire treecat situation was in limbo.

  “Frankly, we’ve let some other people steal a march on us. By the time we started to worry, the Star Kingdom Chamber of Commerce, the Scientific Association of Manticore, the Royal Institute, and at least three or four other private and public organizations had already come to the conclusion that we needed to broaden and deepen the scope of our study of the treecats. In fact, they’d begun raising funds to bring in additional xenoanthropologists before we ever got involved. We’re a stakeholder ourselves, of course, but our financial participation is relatively minor. Our biggest real contribution has been to facilitate the arrangements and to work with the university and the Ministry to assist in vetting Dr. Radzinsky’s entire team’s credentials and background, planning travel arrangements, and, to be honest, opening a few doors for them here in the Star Kingdom and integrating them into a noncompetitive relationship with Dr. Whitaker and his team.”

  “I can only assume you’ve never met Dr. Whitaker,” Karl said dryly. Adair cocked an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. “He’s actually a really nice guy in a lot of ways,” he said. “But where academic discovery’s concerned, he’s about as ‘noncompetitive’ as a pair of starving hexapumas with a single range bunny.”

  “Oh, he’s not that bad, Karl!” Stephanie protested with a laugh, and Adair chuckled appreciatively.

  “Trust me, even if he is, he won’t be the first academic I’ve met who feels that way. No offense, Allen,” she added with a glance at Dean Charterman’s assistant.

  “You do realize I spend virtually all of my time here on this campus, don’t you?” Harper responded. “Trust me, I’ve had the range bunny’s perspective on scholarly hexapumas just like Dr. Whitaker at quite a few faculty get-togethers.”

  “Exactly.” Adair turned back to Stephanie. “The truth is, one of the main reasons the foundation got involved—even at this late date—was to try to . . . smooth out some of the bumps where academic egos were involved. Obviously, we believe there’s no such thing as too much knowledge about the treecats. That goes without saying. And the more people we have looking, the more perspectives we have, the more we’re likely to learn. But at the same time, we have to limit our intrusiveness. Whatever else may be true of the treecats, they’re the original owners of Sphinx, and we owe them a certain courtesy when we come visit. More to the point, we want to avoid contaminating the culture or overstressing their society. The last thing we need to do is to be crashing in with competing teams of scientists who might—with the best possible intentions—do a great deal of damage to the treecats out of pure ignorance simply because we haven’t had enough time to learn some critical truth about them.”

  Her expression was far graver now, and Stephanie felt herself nodding in response.

  “Bringing in those additional perspectives and viewpoints is important, but it was equally important to us to have everyone . . . under one roof, I suppose. And with enough direct Forestry Service involvement to preclude another Bolgeo slipping by us.”

  “I see what you mean,” Stephanie said. “And I certainly agree that the last thing Lionheart or his family needs is to have hordes of strangers tromping all over their territories! I’d really prefer not to have brought in still more scientists, to be honest, but I do see your point, and I appreciate the way you’re trying to look out for the ’cats.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” Adair told her. “And that brings me to why I asked Dean Charterman to provide an introduction to you. Allen here is more concerned with rocks than with trees and birds—or treecats—but given your status with the SFS, and especially your relationship with Lionheart, the foundation would be very interested in hearing your impressions of how well the human presence on Sphinx is interacting with the native ecology. And, of course,” she looked at Lionheart across Stephanie’s shoulder, “how humans on Sphinx are reacting to the discovery of the treecats. We’re all aware that’s going to become a major issue in the not too distant future, and we’d appreciate all the insight we can get into it is early as possible. We know you’re only on Manticore for your coursework here at the university, but we’d really hate to miss the opportunity to pick your brain on something like this while we’ve got the chance.”

  Stephanie felt herself tighten a bit more internally, the way she always did when the issue of the ’cats’ future was brought front and center, but there was a lot of sense in what Adair had just said. Not that recognizing that fact did much about the sense of wariness flowing into her from Lionheart.

  “I hope it won’t become a major issue,” she heard herself say.

  “So do we,” Adair assured her, “but we can’t pretend the human race has an unblemished record where aboriginal species are involved. Which is why we’d like to invite the two of you to attend the foundation’s monthly dinner this coming Tuesday as our guests. Most of the directors will be present, and with your permission, we’d like to invite some of our more generous donors—and some members of the Star Kingdom’s business community who it couldn’t hurt to get on the treecats’ side—and ask you to possibly give a brief presentation on the treecats and then take a few questions.”

  “The two of us?” Stephanie asked, and Adair grimaced.

  “I know. I know! Here we want to talk about treecats, and we’re not even asking you to bring Lionheart along, which is dumb. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize you were on planet until last week, and we’ve run into a problem with the restaurant where we always meet. They aren’t prepared to allow a treecat on their premises . . . yet.” Her eyes glinted. “We’re working on them, and I don’t th
ink they’re going to be raising any objections by the time we’re done with them, but we won’t be able to get it resolved before this month’s dinner. Hopefully, by next month, we’ll have them sorted out and be able to invite Lionheart, as well, before both of you have to head home to Sphinx again.”

  “I see.” Stephanie looked at Karl, who shrugged. Then she reached up to caress Lionheart’s ears. “I imagine we could be there,” she said after a moment. “Assuming our class load lets us, anyway.”

  “Oh, I think you could count on the dean to run interference for you in this case,” Harper assured her. “If it was necessary . . . which it won’t be.”

  “In that case, we’d be happy to accept, Ms. Adair.”

  “Good!” Adair smiled brilliantly. “The entire board will be delighted to hear that, Stephanie, and I’m personally looking forward to a very interesting and informative evening.”

  * * *

  When Anders saw Jessica’s ID on his uni-link, he almost didn’t take the call. By this point, he’d had enough of the x-a’s and dreaded the thought of another interview. Still, if he was dreading it, how might Valiant feel?

  “Hi, Jess. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Anders. Toby and I scored some free tickets to an open air concert in one of the parks outside Twin Forks. We were wondering if you wanted to come. We could swing by and pick you up.”

  Anders didn’t even pause. “You mean an outing that has nothing to do with treecats and their technology—or lack of technology, or whether or not they can communicate on a sophisticated level? I’m in!”

  “Don’t you even want to know what sort of music it is?”

  “I don’t care. Even monotone ding-jow would be a welcome break from anthropological sniping. When can you bust me outta here?”

  Jessica giggled. “The concert starts just after lunch.”

  “Then let me buy you lunch first—and Toby, too. Can you get away that early?”

  “Sure. Mom and I juggled schedules.”

  As it turned out, the music was really good—at least from a human perspective. Shortly after the concert started, though, Valiant pressed his true-hands to his ears.

  “They must be using some sort of frequency he finds annoying,” Toby guessed when Jessica grinned ruefully, then carried the treecat off.

  She hurried back just a few minutes later.

  “I took Valiant to the edge of the field. We’re not so far from home that he can’t make his own way back. I suspect he’ll take his time and do some botanizing along the way. He brought a carry net and some sample bags.”

  The first band—the one that had so annoyed Valiant—was definitely of the high-brow, sit-and-listen sort, but most of the ones that followed encouraged the audience members to join in in some way. Anders found himself dancing with people he didn’t know, laughing as they tried out unfamiliar steps. More than once, he danced with Jessica. That was really nice. Stephanie wasn’t much of a dancer.

  When Jess had said “she and Toby” had gotten tickets, Anders had wondered if there might be a bit of romance going on. But if Toby’s interested in anyone, it’s that cute little redhead, he thought. I think I’ve seen her watching the hang-gliding club’s demos. I wonder if he has an admirer?

  The crisp chill of the Sphinxian autumn evening brought the concert to an end. Jessica dropped Toby off first, then glanced at the HUD.

  “Want to have dinner at my house? I helped Mom with prep this morning, so I know there’s plenty. Dr. Marjorie asked Mom to help herself from the greenhouses. Otherwise, lots of stuff would go to waste. The freeze-unit’s filled to bursting.”

  “You’re sure it’ll be all right?”

  “I sort of hinted to Mom this morning, but I’ll double-check, just so you can read her ‘yes’ yourself. So you’ll come?”

  “Absolutely! But swing by the Red Letter Café. I’ll get a box of those iced pastries to sweeten my welcome.”

  “Oh . . . That’s not necessary. You’re sweet enough.” Jessica blushed to the roots of her hair. “I mean you’re welcome without the bribe.”

  Anders found himself coloring. “Seriously. Take it from the son of an x-a. Guests bearing dessert are always more welcome.”

  He commed his dad and left a message, saying he’d be back later. When he came back to Jessica’s car after buying a large box of the promised pastries, he found her ending the call. She held out her uni-link so he could read the final text.

  “You’re very welcome for dinner,” she said. “Mom and Dad haven’t gotten home yet, but they’ll be back soon. Right now, the twins, Melanie-Anne and Archie, are in charge. Mom has Tiddles and Nathan with her.”

  Anders and Stephanie were both only children. They’d shared their amazement at the disorganized but somehow still functional amoeba that was Jessica’s large family. Actually, though, on Sphinx such large families were more usual than their mutual status as “onlies.” Stephanie said her parents hoped to add a child or two, but so far the time hadn’t seemed right. She’d been pretty philosophical about it.

  “Actually, I’m almost out the door,” she’d said when Anders asked her how she felt about it. “College in a couple of years. After that, well, I’d really like to take some posts on parts of Sphinx I don’t know as well. There’s a lot of this world I want to experience firsthand.”

  Anders was wondering if he’d feel as calm if his parents suddenly presented him with a younger brother or sister when he heard Jessica draw in her breath.

  “Hang on,” she said, reaching for the controls. “There’s an air car down there I don’t recognize. The twins know they aren’t supposed to let strangers in, but Melanie-Anne in particular is just too trusting. Still, I’d rather not cause a fuss. I’ll bring us down on the back lot and we can walk in without being noticed.”

  She pulled off the maneuver with such skill—and so quietly—that Anders entertained the thought that Jessica might have found it convenient to go in and out without being noticed from time to time.

  Or am I just being suspicious? In a house with so many little kids, it’s probably second nature to find ways to avoid waking the baby.

  “Valiant’s not back yet,” Jessica said softly as she opened the air car door. “He’s on his way.”

  Evening chill had driven everyone inside. Jessica led the way around the side of the rambling house. Anders had been here many times with Stephanie and knew enough of the basic layout to know they were heading for a side door that led into a corridor that bisected the front and back portions of the house. It was a good choice. They could enter without being seen and hear whatever was being said in most of the house.

  Jessica slid the door open and motioned him inside quickly. Anders was immediately struck by the relative quiet. The Pheriss house was never quiet—too many people lived there for that to be the case—but this evening the usual lively ruckus was subdued. Music was playing somewhere, but no feet were thundering up and down the stairs, nor was cutlery clattering in the kitchen areas.

  Instead, from the front of the house where there was as close to a formal living room as existed, an adult male voice was speaking. A moment later, it was answered by a piping childish voice that Anders thought belonged to Archie, the male half of the twins. They couldn’t make out the words, but everything sounded calm enough, and Anders felt his shoulders relaxing from a tension he hadn’t realized was there.

  Jessica held a slim finger to her lips and motioned for Anders to follow her. Stepping over scattered toys, they went down the corridor toward the front of the house and paused outside the living room door.

  The man’s voice said, “So you’ve never felt threatened, even though you’ve heard that treecats are meat-eaters?”

  “No,” Melanie-Anne said thoughtfully. “Our dogs, Otis and Mookie, are meat-eaters, but we’re not scared of them.”

  “Otis and Mookie,” corrected a younger voice—Billiam?—pedantically, “eat kibbles. Valiant thinks kibbles are yucky. He ate a chipmunk. I saw him. He
ate it all up.”

  “And did that upset you?” the man asked. “Some people keep chipmunks for pets because they’re cute.”

  The voice was familiar. In a moment, Anders placed it: Duff DeWitt, assistant to Dr. Radzinsky. Just the other day, Dad had said something about him . . . what was it? Right! “I wonder what sort of connections that DeWitt fellow has. He’s certainly not the best anthropologist I’ve met, not even close. Radzinsky must’ve picked him for some other reason.”

  DeWitt was a good-looking man with his fair hair, dark eyes, impressive musculature, and chiseled features. The leer in Dad’s tone of voice had made it perfectly clear what reason he thought Cleonora Radzinsky had for bringing DeWitt along. At the time, Anders had dismissed his scorn for the other man as yet another example of Dad’s professional cattiness, but now he wondered if Dad might have been right. Certainly, this wasn’t a professional way to conduct an interview! All Jessica’s siblings were younger than her—definitely too young to be interviewed without their parents present—and these were certainly leading questions.

  Billiam, bless him, was prattling happily on about how Valiant’s choice of a meal hadn’t bothered him at all. In fact, he seemed to have taken a childish delight in the fact that Valiant had “even gulped down the guts!”

  Anders expected Jessica—who’d shown herself at least as fearless as Stephanie in her own way—to go charging in to defend Valiant’s character, but she hung back. Then she glanced at him, and when Anders saw the deep lines of worry etching her face, he realized what held her back.

  Defending Valiant would imply that there’s something to defend him against. Jessica—and me, too—would be just about the worst people to interrupt, because we’re known to like treecats. DeWitt would find some way of twisting it to his advantage, I’m sure.