Treecat Wars

by David Weber

  He reached for Jessica’s hand and tapped the uni-link strapped to her wrist. “Go and make a call,” he mouthed. “Interrupt that way.”

  Jessica nodded. She could have texted, but it was likely that the absorbed group would ignore that. However, with both parents out, it was unlikely the Pheriss kids would ignore the signal of an incoming call.

  She was moving toward the back of the house when a very unlikely knight came to the rescue. There was the sound of the front door—which opened into a small foyer directly off the living room—opening. Buddy Pheriss’ booted feet could be heard striding in.

  “Who are you, young man? And what are you doing in my house?”

  Jessica pointed to where a slight change of angle would permit them to watch the action in the living room in the reflection cast onto one of the many windows. DeWitt rose smoothly to his feet, apparently not in the least flustered, and held out his hand to Mr. Pheriss. Buddy Pheriss was a big, wiry man who made his living doing an assortment of jobs, many of them involving physical labor. Currently, he wore a beard that jutted out in a point and his dark auburn hair—as curly as his daughter’s—was longer than the current fashion. He looked rather wild, but DeWitt didn’t seem in the least intimidated.

  “I’m Duff DeWitt, Dr. Radzinsky’s assistant. I called earlier and was told I could come by and talk to your family about life with a treecat.”

  “And who gave permission?” The rumbling growl was addressed to the assorted children, and Melanie-Anne raised a tentative hand.

  “I guess I did, Dad. I mean, he asked if anyone here knew anything about treecats and could talk to him. I didn’t realize he was coming over, but when he did . . . ”

  She trailed off.

  “Ah.” The monosyllable promised repercussions later, but Mr. Pheriss wasn’t distracted.

  “Mr. DeWitt, you may not have realized it, but the front window has a cracked pane. Landlord keeps forgetting to fix it, and it’s become an issue, so I won’t.”

  Anders grinned. The Pheriss’ landlords were the same Franchittis Stephanie so deeply despised.

  “So I just happened to hear what you were asking my children. Quite a lot of what you were asking them actually. That bit where you showed them the diagram of a treecat’s teeth was very interesting. So was the bit where you stressed how hard their claws are and how very many they have. Not exactly scientific, now, was that?”

  DeWitt blinked. If he’d researched the Pheriss family at all, he’d obviously made the mistake of thinking that lack of formal education was the same as lack of brains. From the expression that flickered across his handsome features, he’d just realized that he’d made a major error.

  The next few minutes were quite interesting from the observers’ point of view—especially since those observers could now be assured that Duff DeWitt was not going to leave the Pheriss household with any juicy soundbites regarding vicious treecats. Not only did Mr. Pheriss make certain that DeWitt had been recording the conversation—Billiam was quite helpful there—but he thought to make certain that not only did the whole the record get wiped, but so did the backup being made by DeWitt’s uni-link.

  “I’ll be talking to your boss, young man, about scientific methods and ethical treatment of minors as subjects,” Mr. Pheriss concluded as he ushered his unwelcome guest out the door. “I will indeed. Can’t have the sample ruined, now, can we? I might even mention what I think of the sort of bottom-feeding, slime-sucking scum dogs who would frighten small children. But if you leave quietly, I might keep that to myself.”

  When DeWitt, wrath lighting his dark eyes, had departed, Mr. Pheriss called out, “Well, you might as well get out here, Jessica. And that young man, too. Before your mama gets home for dinner, we’re going to have a scavenger hunt to make sure our fine visitor didn’t leave behind any other devices. Always pays to play it safe, at least that’s how I see it . . .”

  Jessica barreled out of her concealment and hugged her father. Anders followed more slowly, thinking hard.

  Now I think I understand why—despite needing to move all the time—this family works. When it all comes down to it, they can count on each other. Here I’d been pitying Jessica, but now—Now I think I actually envy her.

  * * *

  The Charleston Arms was the fanciest restaurant Stephanie had ever seen. In fact, it was fancy enough to make even her a little nervous. Her mom had insisted that she pack at least one “good outfit,” although Stephanie was always most comfortable in the sort of clothes better suited to knocking around the bush. At the moment, she was glad her mother had been so inflexible on that point, but she was pretty sure her notion of “good outfit” fell a light-year or so short of the Charleston Arms’ standards.

  She knew from her own experience on Sphinx that newly settled worlds tended towards lower buildings, without the hundreds of floors a proper tower might possess, but the Charleston Arms was ridiculous. Set in the midst of its own four-hectare expanse of meticulously landscaped grounds, it favored what its public site had called “neoclassic architecture,” although Stephanie couldn’t quite figure out which neoclassic style it had followed. It was no more than three floors tall, its roof was covered in red tile, its walls were made of native Manticoran granite, and its façade was fringed with tall, fluted columns whose bases were almost as thick as Stephanie was tall. It was the sort of place which simply reeked of wealth, power, and prestige, and despite the imposing sweep of its clear, clean lines, something about it set her teeth on edge the instant she saw it.

  Probably just the fact that the people who run it won’t let you bring Lionheart, she reminded herself. So remember to be polite!

  The incredibly superior live human who insisted on opening the taxi’s door as if Stephanie and Karl were incapable of such a complicated and demanding task managed—somehow—not to sniff audibly at their ragamuffin appearance, but it was obviously hard. She retaliated by smiling up at him sweetly as he escorted the two of them up the broad, shallow steps into the restaurant proper. She couldn’t decide if he was more worried that they’d get lost or that they might decide to steal the antique doorknobs if he didn’t keep an eye on them.

  The interior had exactly the sort of wood-paneled walls, polished marble floors, and ever so quiet and discreet background music she might have anticipated, and she found herself beginning to wonder just how much she could possibly have in common with the Adair Foundation if this was where it regularly held its meetings. She was just beginning to think about beating a strategic retreat to the taxi when someone called her name.

  “Stephanie! I’m so glad you and Karl could join us tonight,” Gwendolyn Adair said. She swept across the gleaming stone floor towards them, tall and beautiful in a “casual” little gown which had probably cost more than the Harrington air car, and smiled hugely. “I’m sorry you had to come by taxi. If you’d screened me the foundation would’ve been delighted to arrange to have you picked up.”

  “We managed just fine, thank you.” Stephanie smiled again, politely, though she was tempted to point out that she and Karl were perfectly capable of finding their way around the Sphinx bush on their own. The terror of finding an air taxi was probably something they were prepared to face when they absolutely had to.

  “Well, now that you’re here, let me show you the way to our dining room.” Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose with a charming little smile. “Personally, I think they were a little too concerned with making certain people would be properly impressed with the establishment’s grandeur when they built this place. You need GPS just to find your way around inside it!”

  There was so much rich amusement in her tone that Stephanie found herself smiling back at her again, much more naturally this time. She glanced up at Karl and saw him smiling, as well, as Gwendolyn somehow made their escort/keeper disappear without saying a word. Then she turned and led the two of them across that sea of polished marble, through an arch, down two flights of shallow steps, around a corner, down a hall, up a f
light of steps, through an atrium with its own private grove of exotic ornamental trees and flowering shrubs, past a koi pond, and—finally!—through another door into a cozy little dining room which probably couldn’t have seated more than three or four hundred of Stephanie’s closest friends.

  It was a journey which could make even Stephanie feel more than a little out of her depth.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a small, beautiful lake on the restaurant’s grounds, and the setting sun hung directly above it, pouring down a rich, golden light. A lectern had been set up at one end of the dining room, forming a small, bare island among the ice floes of tables draped in white linen tablecloths and glittering with silverware and crystal glasses. A couple of dozen people were already present, waiting for them. The attendees seemed almost lost in that enormous room and (she noted glumly) just about every one of them was as elegantly dressed as Gwendolyn.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” a voice said very quietly in her ear, and she glanced up from the corner of her eye as Karl smiled down at her. “You’re the one they’re all here to see and listen to, Steph,” he added, and gave her shoulder a gentle smack.

  She smiled back up at him, then turned and followed Gwendolyn calmly out into the banquet room’s splendor.

  * * *

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Gwendolyn Adair announced the better part of two hours later, “it gives me considerable pleasure to present Stephanie Harrington!”

  She smiled from her place at the lectern, inviting Stephanie to join her, and the seated diners applauded enthusiastically as Stephanie rose. The introduction wasn’t strictly necessary, given the fact that she and Karl had already been introduced to a seemingly endless array of rich, aristocratic, and rich and aristocratic people. Still, the applause was heavier than Stephanie had expected it would be, and she felt an undeniable little stir of pleasure as it greeted her. At the same time, she felt a matching irritation that she was the only one being invited up to speak to them. Karl had been just as involved with the SFS—and with protecting the ’cats—as she had, but the Adair Foundation (just like everyone else in the Star Kingdom) seemed fixated on the drama of her original meeting with Lionheart.

  Well, the “original meeting” they all know about, anyway, she corrected herself, remembering a thunderstorm and a small celery thief in the rain.

  The applause continued until she joined Gwendolyn on the small stage, then died away, and Gwendolyn continued.

  “I know all of you are familiar with the news reports about Stephanie and Lionheart, and I’m sure all of you are as irked as I am that he couldn’t join us as well tonight. However, since you do know the public parts of their story, I think we can skip the usual flowery introductions and get right down to the real reason all of us are here tonight.” She looked at Stephanie. “I thought it might be a good idea to ask you to tell us a little about what treecats are really like and then, if you don’t mind, take a few questions from the floor, Stephanie.”

  “Sure.” Stephanie smiled back at her just a bit more confidently than she actually felt, then stepped up behind the lectern and adjusted the mic more comfortably to her height as Gwendolyn returned to her own chair.

  “First,” she began, “let me thank all of you for inviting Karl and me to join you this evening.” She emphasized Karl’s name ever so slightly and saw several people glance in his direction. “And, like Gwendolyn, I’m sorry Lionheart can’t be here as well. He’s actually a much better spokesman for the ’cats than I could ever be . . . even if he can’t talk.”

  A quiet rumble of amusement answered her last remark, and she drew a deep, unobtrusive breath. Now for the tricky part, she reminded herself. It was time to enlist these people in the ’cats’ support, but she had to do it in a way that made them eager to protect Lionheart and the others without over-emphasizing their intelligence.

  “When I first met Lionheart, I was doing something really stupid,” she began, “and if he hadn’t come along, I wouldn’t be here today. I guess that means I’m probably a little prejudiced in his favor, and that makes me very happy to have the chance to talk to an organization like the Adair Foundation about him and the rest of the treecats. We’re obviously only beginning to really learn about them, and it’s going to be years and years before anyone’s ready to provide any kind of definitive evaluation of them. But one thing that’s already clear is that they were on Sphinx a long time before we were, and that’s why the SFS has declared them a protected species. That’s only a provisional status, though. It’s subject to being changed or revoked, and Karl and I both think that would be a really bad idea. I hope that after this evening, you’ll agree with us, because we can use all the help we can get making sure the ’cats are protected the same way they protected me against the hexapuma.”

  She heard the quiet sincerity in her own voice and, looking out at her audience, she thought she saw it reflected in attentive expressions and cocked, listening heads. She hoped so, anyway.

  “That afternoon,” she went on, “when my hang-glider crashed into the crown oak, I had no idea what was going to happen. I thought—”

  11

  “Well, I have to admit I’m glad that’s over with,” Stephanie admitted several hours later as Gwendolyn Adair and Oswald Morrow, who she’d introduced as one of her cousin the earl’s financial managers, accompanied her and Karl back towards the waiting taxi. “Talking to that many people made me a lot more nervous than I expected it to!”

  “Really?” Gwendolyn tilted her head, looking down at her. “I don’t think anyone would have suspected that looking at you. In fact, I thought you handled that extraordinarily well. Didn’t you, Oswald?”

  “I didn’t see any signs of anxiety,” Morrow agreed. “And I thought you handled the questions quite well, too.”

  “And . . . shrewdly,” Gwendolyn said. Stephanie looked back at her quickly, and the older woman smiled faintly. “I hope you won’t take this wrongly, Stephanie, but it was pretty apparent to me that you chose your words rather carefully a time or two. You’re very protective of the treecats, aren’t you?”

  “Well, maybe I am.” Stephanie tried not to bristle. “I think I’ve got pretty good reasons to be, though!”

  She felt one of Karl’s big hands settle on her shoulder and squeeze gently, and she made herself relax muscles that had tried to tighten up.

  “Of course you do,” Gwendolyn agreed calmly. “That was an observation, not a criticism. I happen to think you’re entirely correct to be protective of them—that’s what the Adair Foundation’s all about, isn’t it?—and I meant it as a compliment. I don’t know where the final judgment on treecat sentience is going to fall in the end, but I thoroughly agree that this is a time to go slowly and carefully. The last thing any of us want to see on Sphinx is a repeat of what happened on Barstool.”

  An icicle touched Stephanie’s heart at the reminder of the Amphors of the planet Barstool and how they’d been exterminated by the human settlers of their home world to prevent anyone from suggesting that it belonged to them and not the human interlopers. The hand on her shoulder tightened again, this time as much in comfort as in warning, and she made herself meet Gwendolyn’s green eyes levelly.

  “No, we don’t,” she heard herself agree calmly. “And you’re right—thinking about things like Barstool does make me kind of careful about how enthusiastically I talk about the ’cats. Oh, I know it’s early to be worrying about things like that in Sphinx’s case, especially with the Forestry Service looking out for them and especially when there’s no way we can demonstrate how intelligent they really are. I do worry about it, though. I owe Lionheart too much to just stand around and watch something bad happen to him or the rest of the treecats.”

  “Of course you do,” Gwendolyn acknowledged as they reemerged from the Charleston Arms into the warm, breezy night of the city of Landing, where the taxi waited on the parking apron. “It couldn’t be any other way, and I’m glad—I’m sure the entir
e foundation is glad—they have such a good friend in you. And in Karl and the rest of the SFS, of course.”

  Stephanie smiled brightly at her, then held out her hand.

  “Thanks! And I’m glad the foundation’s on their side, too!” she said, shaking Gwendolyn’s hand firmly. “I wish we could stay to talk about them some more, but Karl and I have a nine o’clock exam in the morning, and I just know a certain ’cat is going to be waiting to demand an extra stalk of celery when we get back to the dorms!”

  * * *

  “We are so screwed,” Oswald Morrow remarked quietly as he and Gwendolyn Adair watched the taxi lift away.

  “She is rather more personable—and formidable—than I’d expected out of someone her age,” Gwendolyn agreed. “I knew she had to be tough and determined just to have survived the hexapuma, and it was obvious she was smart as they come, too. But she’s a lot calmer and more collected than I thought she’d be. She didn’t even turn a hair talking to the foundation members, did she?”

  “Not that anyone might notice.” Morrow grimaced. “The newsies are going to just love her the instant she starts giving interviews, you know. Smart, cute, tough, mature—she’s a PR campaign’s worst nightmare, Gwen! If she starts handing out interviews like the little talk she gave tonight, but with the treecat sitting on her shoulder and looking just as cute—and tough, with all those scars and the missing leg!—we’re going to have every gooey-hearted idiot in the Star Kingdom pulling for the little monsters. And if that happens, you can kiss all those land options on Sphinx goodbye. Parliament’ll grandfather in those little beasties’ claim to the planet, and their market value will drop straight into the basement.”

  “You do have a dazzling grasp of the obvious, don’t you, Ozzie?” Gwendolyn observed acidly. “Of course the options’ values will tank if that happens! Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the very thing you and I are trying to prevent, now isn’t it?”