by David Weber
“She did tell me she has a temper,” Anders admitted. “But she didn’t tell me about giving Trudy a bloody nose.”
“Oops!” Jessica giggled. “Still, I don’t think she’d mind your knowing. It’s not as if Trudy ever fooled you about the sort of manipulative bitch she really is. Trudy thinks there’s not a guy on the planet—maybe even in the whole system—who can resist her.”
“But she dates a doper like Stan Chang.” Anders shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”
“Figuring out other people’s relationships,” Jessica declared, “is impossible. I’m not sure anyone will ever construct a formula that will precisely explain why certain people fall for each other.”
Valiant reached over and patted her, so Anders knew she must be thinking about something specific, but before he could ask, she shifted the conversation, talking about how her parents had met—an unlikely courtship if ever there’d been one.
From there it was natural that they talked about her little brothers and sisters, about how much the whole family liked Sphinx. Anders wondered if Jessica thought talking about Stephanie might make him feel bad, if she was trying to save him pain. Even so, Stephanie’s name kept coming up. It was impossible not to talk about her since she’d become so deeply entwined in both of their lives since they’d each come to Sphinx.
Eventually, Jessica glanced at the navigation readout on the HUD.
“We’re getting close. I’m going to slow us down so I can be sure we don’t miss the right areas. Mom’s trying to collect data on precisely the same plants, along with doing a more general study.”
“Right,” Anders said. “Bring us down, Captain. It’s time we went a’hunting the infant forms of Sphinxian super-gigantic plants.”
Jessica’s giggle wasn’t Stephanie’s but it sounded pretty good. It cut through the loneliness, reminding Anders that—no matter how far away his girl might be—he still had friends.
* * *
Keen Eyes raced through the net-wood trees. Knowing how acutely aware of each other bonded pairs were, he’d set his course in the direction indicated by Beautiful Mind’s pointing finger. However, he kept his attention sharp for any other signs the Person he sought had come this way. He found precious few: fresh claw marks in the bark where Red Cliff had apparently leapt too far and had to grip in, a bit of shredded leaf, a patch of matted feathers. This last looked as if the hunter had sprung after a potential bit of prey and missed.
All of these worried Keen Eyes. They indicated haste and carelessness, neither of which boded well for the Person he pursued. Then, too, though he called repeatedly after his friend, there was no reply, not even the faintest flicker of a mind-glow. True, Red Cliff could be out of range. Since the fires, there were fewer People to relay messages than there would have been in the past. Nonetheless, Keen Eyes’ heart hammered hard in apprehension.
Keen Eyes knew when he crossed into the heart of the Trees Enfolding Clan’s range. He’d known he had been in what a stiff-tail like Swimmer’s Scourge would call that clan’s territory practically from the start. Now, however, there could be no claiming ignorance. He’d passed—and avoided—snares set for bark-chewers along the limbs of the net-wood. He’d seen pads made from leaves and branches set in convenient areas where a hunter might wait in stillness for prey animals to become convinced the forest was quiet and safe. He’d seen a spring, its tiny natural basin sculpted into a perfect pool. These, and a dozen other reworkings of the landscape, told him that People lived here.
Still his calls, kept as tight and directed as possible in the hope that he could avoid the attention of the Trees Enfolding Clan, met with no answer. Only a passionate desire to find Red Cliff and convince him to go home to his mate and kittens kept Keen Eyes searching. He was about to give up when he smelled blood—not prey blood, but Person blood—and mingled with that horrid reek was the odor of fear.
Without considering the consequences, Keen Eyes bounded towards the scent. Even if it wasn’t Red Cliff, to bleed so heavily a Person must be in danger. Any Person, no matter the clan, would come to offer aid. But when he burst into the clearing at the heart of a cluster of net-wood trees, Keen Eyes found no Person, only a patch of earth soaked with blood and ornamented with tufts of fur. This close to the source, Keen Eyes could have no doubt whose blood it was: Red Cliff’s.
Red Cliff was sorely wounded or—more likely—dead. Intent on keeping hope alive, Keen Eyes sought for any trace of Red Cliff’s mind-glow, but found nothing. He reminded himself that this did not necessarily mean the other Person was dead. The range over which People could sense each other’s mind-glows was much smaller than that over which they could speak. However, this did mean one of two things. Either Red Cliff was dead or so close to dead that his mind-glow had all but vanished. Or Red Cliff had managed to escape, despite his wounds.
Keen Eyes sniffed the air, examining his surroundings carefully with the acute vision and sense for detail that had won him his adult name. Mingled in with Red Cliff’s own scent he found that of another Person. It was not a familiar scent in the sense that Keen Eyes had met the Person to whom it belonged face-to-face, but it was familiar in that he had encountered traces of it before. It belonged to someone who regularly hunted in this area, so probably a Person belonging to Trees Enfolding Clan.
Keen Eyes sought additional information, but it was curiously lacking. A skilled hunter learned how to conceal his scent trail. Keen Eyes wondered just who had been here with Red Cliff—and had he proved a friend who bore the injured Red Cliff away or the enemy who had wounded him?
The mocking mind-voice was familiar: Swimmer’s Scourge! It did not wait for Keen Eyes to reply but went on in the same taunting fashion.
But there was no answer. Nor, no matter how determinedly Keen Eyes cast about, could he find the faintest trace of another’s mind-glow. Swimmer’s Scourge must have moved out of range as soon as he had issued his challenge.
Briefly, Keen Eyes considered going after him, but his concern for Red Cliff won out. Gathering all six limbs under him, he raced along the interconnected limbs of the net-wood trees, his tail flowing behind like a banner.
* * *
The first place Keen Eyes checked was where the Landless Clan currently had gathered. It was easy to tell Red Cliff had not returned, even without drawing attention to himself. If he had, the news would have shone in the mind-glows of those present.
Wanting to keep his fears to himself, Keen Eyes stayed in the vicinity of the camp for as little time as possible. The mocking words of Swimmer’s Scourge had repeated themselves over and over in Keen Eyes thoughts as he ran.
Keen Eyes thought he knew what that meant. He even thought he knew where within the wider range to look. If Red Cliff had been taken “home,” it would be to where the burned lands touched the lands of Trees Enfolding Clan. He knew, too, that this almost certainly meant that Red Cliff was dead. However, he would not rest until he knew for certain.
Although enough time had passed since the fires for the foliage to begin to shift color in reaction to the cooler temperatures, the air nearest to the fire ravaged areas still stank of burned matter. For once, Keen Eyes hardly noticed the smell. He was seeking an odor even less welcome. Before too long, he found it.
Red Cliff lay reduced to a crumpled heap of bloodied and torn flesh and fur. His mind-glow had long gone silent and his heart ceased to beat. Bereft of the fierce intensity that had filled him since his mate had been injured, Red Cliff looked small and pathetic.
Reaching out a hesitant true-hand, Keen Eyes patted the still form, wishing there was some way he could forget this broken creature and remem
ber his friend only as he had been. He wondered if Beautiful Mind knew her mate was dead. He suspected she did. Would he return to the camp to find she had given up her fragile hold on life? He had sensed no such thing when he had checked in, but often the process took longer, the remaining partner simply wasting away in a terrible misery.
So the Landless Clan—already small—had now been reduced by not one but two. Anger replaced sorrow in Keen Eyes heart. Swimmer’s Scourge—for even with the smell of death and ashes he could catch traces of the same scent he had found in the bloodied glade—must have guessed that Red Cliff had a mate. Perhaps he’d even seen her image in Red Cliff’s thoughts. Had Red Cliff begged? Begged for mercy? Begged for passage? Begged for food for his starving kits?
But Swimmer’s Scourge had shown no mercy. Worse, he had not only killed, he had made a cruel joke of his killing by moving Red Cliff’s body so that there would be no doubt that in life or in death the members of Landless Clan were not welcome in the lands of his clan.
Very well. No mercy. No passage. Not even a handful of roots or a couple of tough old bark-chewers to ease the slow starvation Landless Clan faced with the coming of winter. Swimmer’s Scourge had made his point clear. The search for a new home for the Landless Clan had become something far grimmer. This was a declaration of war.
12
“All right,” Jessica said, straightening from inspecting a hearty seedling. “That finishes this area. Mom’s going to go nova over what we’re finding. There’s always been a lot of interest in the way crown oak puts out broad leaves for spring and summer, then generates filament leaves for the winter months. From what we’ve seen today, I’m guessing they’re also very adaptable in fire recovery. No wonder they’re becoming the dominant tree in this region.”
“Definitely,” Anders agreed. “Where next? Another crown oak grove?”
Jessica shook her head, which caused her thick, wildly curly hair to toss very attractively around her face. She was apparently unaware of the appeal. With an annoyed sniff, she dug a band from one pocket and corralled the curly mass into an abundant ponytail.
“Nope. Both Mom and Dr. Marjorie are really curious about how picketwood handles fire. Dr. Marjorie was already studying picketwood, because it has some interesting disease control mechanisms. It’d have to since what looks to us like a whole grove is actually one tree with lots of trunks.”
“Weird,” Anders said. “But from what I’ve seen, really useful if you’re a treecat.”
“Exactly!” Jessica said, miming applause before she gathered up her collecting gear and started walking toward the air car. “The treecats are super-dependent on the picketwood. Aerial imaging’s shown that the groves cross mountains, go all over continents.”
“That means,” Anders said excitedly, loading various buckets and bags into the back of Jessica’s air car, “the treecats can travel just about anywhere.”
Valiant leapt gracefully into the front seat, then moved so he could sit on the back of the seat behind Jessica’s head. He made a bleeking sound and tugged at her ponytail, clearly protesting that the abundant massive hair was crowding him.
Jessica sighed and undid the ponytail, sweeping her curls into untidy order with the tips of her fingers. “I wish Valiant wanted to stick his head out the car window the way Lionheart does. Instead, he likes to snuggle. Sometimes I think I’m going to have to cut my hair all off—wear it really short, like Christine does.”
“Oh, don’t!” Anders protested impulsively, then felt himself color.
“What?” Jessica looked surprised at his vehemence, then laughed. “My hair’s just so inconvenient. It always was, but now that Valiant likes to sit on it . . .”
Anders swallowed his embarrassment and tried to sound casual. “Oh, I just . . . I mean, it looks really pretty. I like the curls. It wouldn’t look the same all short.”
Jessica laughed. “I know. It was short when I was small. Mom said I looked like an angel, but I think I looked more like a frizzly-leone.”
“Frizzly-leone?”
“It’s a sort of plant they have on Sankar. Seedpods as big as my head that stick out in little parasols. They come in pink and pale blue. I think they’d be really popular, but the seeds get everywhere so they’re considered a weed.”
Relieved—though he wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so flustered—Anders hurried to ask, “What makes something a weed, anyhow?”
Jessica’ explanation—that basically the difference had more to do with humans than with plants—effectively got them off the subject of her hair. Jessica went on to tell a story about the time her family had been so low that they were making a living by pulling weeds in some rich man’s garden.
“Dad’s client didn’t want the sound of machinery to intrude,” she said. “What he didn’t ever guess was that we were taking about half of what we pulled home and cooking it. He was pretty greedy, I bet he’d have tried to dock—”
She stopped and peered down, then glanced at the HUD.
“What’s wrong, Jess?”
“I thought I saw something moving down there, but I’m not sure. The zoom on this junker is busted. Did you see anything?”
“No. I’ve got to admit, all this burned forest gives me the creeps, so I wasn’t really looking. Was what you saw large?”
“Like a hexapuma or something? No. Probably just a near-otter or like that. Steph would know.”
“Yeah.” Anders felt the familiar pang. “She probably would, and—if she didn’t—she’d want to go after it and get some images.”
“Well, we’ll leave the poor critter be,” Jessica decided. “This is our last stop. Then I want to get home. Mom commed that she has medicine for Tiddles but, if I know her, she’s going to have worn herself out. She’ll need help.”
And your dad’s pretty useless for that, Anders thought. A nice guy, but useless or your family wouldn’t end up eating weeds.
He wondered why the thought should make him so angry. Jessica had clearly thought the idea of “stealing” the rich man’s weeds had been pretty funny. He was still trying to come to terms with the strength of his reactions when Jessica touched the air car down. Valiant, who’d been drowsing, woke up. All at once, he stiffened, gave a demanding bleek, and tapped the window.
Puzzled, Jessica opened the door. Valiant was out in a flash, loping over the burned ground in the direction of something that lay in a heap on the dirt. Jessica ran after him, then called back.
“Anders! It’s a treecat. I think it’s dead!”
* * *
Dirt Grubber awoke feeling distinctly unsettled. He had been dreaming of his gardens, inspecting the three different plantings side-by-side, as he never could do in reality. The plantings that grew within the protected confines of Plant Minder’s transparent plant place were larger and healthier than those that grew either near Windswept’s clan’s home or those that grew near Damp Ground’s central nesting place. Waking and sleeping, Dirt Grubber considered how to help those plants that must grow strong outside the shelter of the transparent plant place.
In his dream, he was sorting through the difficulties. The plantings near the bog were troubled by insects. He was considering the best way to protect them when, to his utter astonishment, the strong plants in the transparent plant place lifted off the roof, reached over, and began to rip the other plants out of the ground. The other plants fought back. Faced with two opponents, even the stronger plants could not escape injury. The destruction was horrible.
When Windswept touched the flying thing down, Dirt Grubber awoke. He felt very happy when he realized his plants were safe, that their destruction had been only a terrible dream.
He barely had a moment to enjoy his relief before his mind—reflexively searching the area as he always did when they arrived at a new place—touched that of another Person. The mind-glow Dirt Grubber encountered was dark and violent. If mind-glows had come in colors, this one would have been the purple-black of thunderheads.
He tapped the flying thing’s transparent side panel and Windswept let him free of the confined space. When he landed on the bare earth, he felt the brittleness of cinders beneath his feet. Without pause, he ran in the direction from which he tasted the other’s mind-glow. Before he reached it, he came upon the body of another Person.
Dirt Grubber stood aghast, sending forth his query once more, this time not relying upon words, but instead projecting a heartfelt desire to give whatever help this stranger required of him.
Pain and desperation now tinted the purple anger with lightning streaks of dark green and deep indigo.
Dirt Grubber protested, but the other was gone, his mind closed against hearing. Nor could Dirt Grubber tell in what direction the other had fled. People could easily trade information—entire life histories could be shared in moments. However, such a sharing took willingness on both sides. This angry stranger desired a privacy so complete that it made a mockery of sharing.
Dirt Grubber heard Windswept’s feet pounding on the ashy ground. Bleached Fur followed her a few paces behind. In a moment, they would see the dead Person. Would they realize the cause of that one’s death? Would they realize that, in defiance of custom, tradition, and common sense, one Person had killed another?
If they did not, could he keep them from realizing? Could he somehow hide this horrible crime from the knowledge of the two-legs?
* * *
Anders raced to where Jessica crouched next to the cream and gray figure that lay so unnaturally still upon the ground.
“I wonder how long he’s been dead?” He asked. “Not long, I think. I mean there aren’t any—well, there aren’t any bugs crawling on him.”