7
Soon after they had returned to the nesting place he shared with Death Fang’s Bane and her parents, Climbs Quickly had been delighted to taste the distant but still discernable mind-glow of Shadow Hider, one of the scouts of Bright Water Clan. Climbs Quickly considered it a gift that he now had two clans—three, if one counted the two-leg family grouping of which he now was very much a member. His newer clan, which he himself had helped to make, was the scattered group of People who now lived most of their lives with the two-legs. Nonetheless, his birth clan, Bright Water, kept an equally important place in his heart.
Death Fang’s Bane had always appreciated that and gone out of her way to make certain he was able to regularly visit with Bright Water Clan. They, in turn, had welcomed her, and had enjoyed watching her develop from the skinny little thing they had helped him to rescue from that death fang so long ago, to the young adult she was becoming, her always brilliant mind-glow now richer and deeper with the wealth of her many adventures.
When Climbs Quickly had a sense of Shadow Hider’s location, he loped through the net-wood until they were close enough to mind-speak.
<You are here again!> came Shadow Hider’s delighted cry. <You warned us you were going far, but we had no word of you, nor did Keen Eye’s clan of him. We did not worry because Dirt Grubber and Stone Shaper both said their two-legs were not in the least distressed, not even when Dirt Grubber and Windswept came to Death Fang’s Bane’s nesting place to do things in the plant places. We all agreed that if something horrible had happened to you, there was no way the two-legs would not know, and would not be sad. Still, you were gone a very long time.>
<Longer, I think,> Climbs Quickly replied, <than was planned, and neither Keen Eyes nor I are completely certain as to why, but I have wonderful experiences to share with you all. If the weather remains good for travel, I think we will be coming to you soon. I saw Death Fang’s Bane checking the folding flying thing she uses when we make a visit.>
<If a visit does not happen,> Shadow Hider said, <then I feel certain that Sings Truly will once again push the patience of the other elders and insist on leaving our central nesting place to come to you. One way or another, the songs of your adventures will be shared.>
But Climbs Quickly had indeed interpreted his Death Fang’s Bane correctly. Shortly after Shining Sunlight and Keen Eyes had departed, she came to him, making mouth noises and waggling her linked hands back and forth in a fashion that did an amazing job of mimicking the folding flying thing in flight. Her mind-glow held many tastes: still a touch of the sorrow she’d felt when Shining Sunlight had departed, overlaid with notes of anticipation. From this, Climbs Quickly deduced that she was anticipating the proposed outing for itself, as well as for the pleasure she thought he would feel at seeing his birth clan again.
And maybe even as a distraction from her own welter of emotions.
He did his best to mimic her hand gesture with his hand-feet, making her laugh.
Not long after, they were aloft. Climbs Quickly was grateful for the warmth of the made-fur Death Fang’s Bane had bundled him into as he enjoyed this peak wing’s eye view of the world that had been his home for so long. The cold times had removed leaves from many of the trees, but there were some that kept long needles. Others, such as the golden-leaf, grew much thinner foliage in the cold times when so much of the world slept blanketed in snowdrifts far deeper than any Person.
Although the People made their nests in the trees, many of the creatures that they hunted tunneled beneath the snow, rarely coming to the surface. Climbs Quickly remembered lessons in how to tell when the crust of the snow would bear a Person’s weight, how to listen for the burrow runners and grass runners beneath, and how to pounce without giving away the hunter’s presence.
Even if he had not seen it from the air in previous cold times, Climbs Quickly would have recognized Bright Water’s central nesting place because of the modifications that had been made to make it a better place to live during the times of deep snow. Like most People, Bright Water used the interconnecting net-wood to let them range safely throughout the region without touching the ground. However, larger trees made for better-concealed, more stable nests, a factor not to be overlooked when hunting birds like the death-wings and peak-wings soared out, seeking prey that was not deep beneath the snow.
The bright water that had given the clan its name was a rounded lake that supplied both water and opportunities to fish. Semi-aquatic hunters like the lake builders and sleek swimmers made holes in the ice, which the People then kept open for their own use. Climbs Quickly found himself thinking of the long sticks with string and hooks that the two-legs used for fishing, and wondered if the People might adapt this to their own needs, much as many now used the hard, bright not-rock scavenged from two-leg leavings instead of the traditional stone knives.
The People did not clear away or tramp down the snow beneath their nesting places, as the two-legs did around theirs, but there were several large outcrops of rock that the winds kept scoured mostly clear, and that was where Death Fang’s Bane usually brought her folding flying thing in to land. Unable to even sense mind-glows, much less mind-speak, Death Fang’s Bane always circled her folding flying thing over the area a few times before beginning her descent, apparently to give the People an ample opportunity to see that she was not a death-wing or a peak-wing or some other aerial threat.
Climbs Quickly had, of course, been aware of the wide variety of mind-glows from some distance out. As they had moved closer to the central nesting place, he had been exchanging mind-speech with Bright Water’s inhabitants, sharing greetings, and answering questions.
<Welcome home!> came the cheerful greeting from Sings Truly, the clan’s senior memory singer, and Climbs Quickly’s own sister. In her own way, Sings Truly was as great an explorer as he was, although her challenges fell within extending the traditional limits of the customs the People had long followed.
<Climbs Quickly! Did you bring clusterstalk?> This was from Long Jumper, a youngling already notable for his considerable—some said “foolhardy”—daring. When they had left for the faraway places, Long Jumper had been a mere kit, but the passage of time had noticeably strengthened his mind-voice. Judging from his outspokenness, he was no less of a risktaker. However, Long Jumper’s query was echoed by numerous spikes of intense interest from the other younglings, no less eager, if somewhat less bold.
<Plenty for all,> Climbs Quickly reassured them, thinking of the bag of neatly trimmed stalks he’d seen Death Fang’s Bane put in the folding flying thing’s carry net.
Despite having done very little soaring since their departure, Death Fang’s Bane touched down smoothly on the large rocky outcropping she had often used as landing place. Once down, she unstrapped herself and Climbs Quickly. He immediately loped off to touch noses with Sings Truly, who had scampered down the trunk of the golden-leaf in which she had her nest. After securing the folding flying thing, Death Fang’s Bane seated herself on the wind-scoured rock to put on the big, flat foot covers that enabled her to walk over the snow almost as easily as did one of the People, whose already long fur grew thicker and longer in the cold seasons. The fur on their feet actually widened their feet, so their weight was more dispersed.
After Death Fang’s Bane had finished donning her footwear, she took a few tentative steps to test her footing and balance. Then she went back to retrieve the carry bag that held the much-anticipated clusterstalk. She was striding lightly over the snow, heading to join Climbs Quickly when, from the overarching limb of the golden-leaf, Long Jumper decided to live up to his name.
<Catch me!> he cried out gleefully, his mind-voice full of images of a much smaller him and other kittens of his year clambering all over Death Fang’s Bane, who in these memories was a near giant. The setting for Long Jumper’s memories was leaf-turning time. In them, a laughing Death Fang’s Bane stood with her feet slightly spread, and firmly anchored on the forest floor. The situation now was much different, but a kitten who had not yet seen a full turning of seasons could not be expected to understand this.
Long Jumper plummeted down toward Death Fang’s Bane. She raised her arms, either to catch him or to protect her face—perhaps both. The force of the treekitten’s impact unbalanced the two-leg’s unstable stance on her wide false feet. She toppled backwards into the several body-lengths depth of accumulated snow and vanished, the heavy white wetness covering both two-leg and treekitten with smothering cold.
Stephanie was pleased at how quickly her muscles remembered how to handle a hang glider in Sphinx’s 1.35 gee, although she had needed to work harder at it than she would have before spending nine months off-planet. and even had to tweak her counter-grav to help her avoid a couple of patches of minor turbulence that would just have been fun when she was in full condition.
Working out isn’t the same as living day to day in a heavier-grav environment, Meyerdahl mods or not. I hope Karl’s being careful. He doesn’t have the mods. Do I give him a hint or would that be nagging?
When they arrived in the area of the forest where Lionheart’s family had their nests scattered throughout the surrounding trees, Stephanie grabbed a dense fortified fruit and nut bar from one of the side pockets of her snowsuit and downed it while folding up the hang glider and getting on her snowshoes. The calories helped some.
The Meyerdahl mods are great, but they do demand a price. Good thing Mom loves to experiment with new recipes, and there were still some of these in the freezer.
Stephanie’s test walk on the snowshoes satisfied her that she hadn’t lost her reflexes for using these either. Across the clearing, Lionheart was definitely enjoying his family reunion. Morgana, the female Stephanie was almost sure was his favorite sister—although Morgana could have been his mom, since female treecats didn’t have the convenient rings which almost certainly indicated age on their tails, as the males did—had scampered down the trunk of the vast crown oak in which she had her nest, and was hanging head down, claws firmly anchored in the bark. Although there were no sounds but an occasional “bleek,” Stephanie felt sure they were talking.
Stephanie was picking her way over the snow to join them when she heard high-pitched excited squeaks from above. Glancing up, she saw several treekittens, probably from some of last spring’s litters, scampering back and forth in the over-stimulated fashion of juveniles of any species.
Like kids on their birthday, waiting for cake and ice cream, Stephanie thought fondly. I bet Lionheart’s told them I brought celery. I’d better hurry.
She considered just switching on her counter-grav and drifting up to join the kittens, but that would have violated her personal code of ethics. As soon as she’d realized treecats were people, she’d resolved to treat them just like she would humans. So, just as she wouldn’t have given candy to Jessica or Karl’s younger sibs without asking for permission from their parents, that meant no celery for treekittens until their folks indicated it was okay.
“Cool your jets, kids,” she called, and increased her pace.
“Bleek!” came a shrill cry from above.
Stephanie glanced up and was astonished to see a grey and white blur plummeting down, right at her. Automatically, she leaned back and put out her arms to catch him, forgetting that even a few kilos of treekitten coming down from that height would be like catching a hard-thrown ball. When he connected with her, she pitched backwards, further unbalanced by the large bag of celery she’d flung over her shoulder. Together they hit the snow which gave beneath them.
My fall alarm isn’t going to register that, she thought. We barely hit before the snow crumpled.
The combined weight of Stephanie’s gear and the force of the treekitten-turned-missile drove both of them down through the snowpack. Compacted snow tumbled into the hole they’d created, immediately burying them both beneath a considerable weight. The treekitten began to struggle frantically, and Stephanie wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her chest. Thankfully, the thickness of her snowsuit provided some armor, and the treekitten’s claws were not yet the lethal scimitars of an adult.
He’s pushing us deeper! Stephanie thought, her heartbeat hammering in her ears as the insulating snow cut off light and sound. Then she felt them drop about forty centimeters. They were momentarily surrounded by musty air, before the snow tumbled in after. Did we hit a pocket? Maybe part of some burrowing animal’s tunnel system, wood rats or chipmunks, one of those creatures that rarely surfaces once the snowpack is established.
Stephanie had been trained in avalanche survival techniques. Oddly, this situation was little different. Holding the treekitten pinned to her chest with her left arm, she used her right arm and hand to open up a space over her face, then over his. People buried in snow usually suffocated before they froze, the moisture from their own breath turning into clinging ice that made further breathing impossible. At the same time, she wriggled her legs gently, working to create space around them so she wouldn’t be cemented into place, as well as to provide an air space.
She tried to ease an arm down to reach the controls of her counter-grav unit, but the heavy snow was like being wrapped in wet bricks. Worse, the now-still treekitten provided an effective block between her and her belt. Unable to reach the counter-grav controls, Stephanie poked her arm in a straight line over her head, parallel with her torso.
If this is part of a tunnel, I might be able to poke through to it, get us a little more air.
Her questing fingers did find what seemed to be an open area, but she couldn’t make a hole larger than a couple of digits before the snow started sifting down once more. She stopped probing and instead concentrated on breathing as shallowly as possible to make the air last.
Lionheart will get us out. I could make matters worse by struggling. Use up the air faster, for sure. The kitten is awfully still. I hope he’s all right. He couldn’t be dead, could he? Tears flowed unbidden from Stephanie’s eyes, freezing on her skin and lashes. I’d never be able to face his family if he is. Just a kid wanting “candy,” just a dumb, eager kid.
At least she had dressed not just for cold, but for the added cold of flight, so that although the snow burned against the exposed skin of her face, she wasn’t in immediate danger of freezing. She clung to that reassurance. Lightheaded from lack of air she found herself fighting to keep from laughing.
I’ll smother before I freeze. I guess that means I’ll make a pretty corpse. Karl…Two of your girls killed by this damn gravity, this endless snow.
But even as her imagination wove morbid fantasies as preferable to panic, Stephanie could sense the light, the warmth, she associated with Lionheart. He wasn’t that far away. Heck, if some of what they’d speculated about treecats was true, he probably knew more about her situation than she did herself, including whether the furry weight she held against her chest was alive or dead.
Was she imagining those rhythmic vibrations from above? Surely the treecats would be working to excavate them. They’d have to know how to safely move snow, wouldn’t they? This was their world, after all. Nonetheless, it was all Stephanie could do to trust, not to panic or flail about or do anything that could make the situation worse.
I’ll believe it’ll be all right. They’ll get us out. Breathe slowly. Don’t use up the air.
Only when an opening appeared over her head and cold air flooded in did Stephanie realize how thin her belief had been. Forcing open eyelids nearly sealed by frozen tears, she looked up to see Lionheart’s bewhiskered face peering down at her, ears perked forward.
“Bleek!”
“Bleek yourself,” she replied. She tried to sit up, but the motion only made more snow tumble down.
“Bleek! Bleek!”
“Got it. Wait. Be patient. Can you tell me if the baby is okay?” She dumped down more snow by gesturing with her head toward the bundle on her chest.
“Bleek.” A reassuring sound, but without content. The treekitten didn’t move. Was this because it was being told to hold still, or because it couldn’t move, would never move again? Stephanie shut her eyes and practiced patience.
She wasn’t very good at it.
When at last the treecats had dug them out—a task, she would figure out later, that had been complicated by the network of burrows that ran hither and yon under the snow—Stephanie checked her uni-link and estimated that the entire ordeal had lasted no more than ten minutes, probably closer to five. The treekitten moved first, scrabbling out of her grip and leaping onto the snow’s crust. After that, Stephanie activated her counter-grav and used it to lift herself clear of the snowy pit. Neither she nor the treekitten were damaged, though Stephanie’s face was rosy from contact with the snow.
“Bleek!!” Lionheart said, bounding over to her.
Off to one side, the treekitten was being loomed over by a brown and white female treecat who was probably his mother. He hunkered down against the snow, his ears flattened and his tail drooping. After what was apparently the treecat version of a serious dressing down, the female wrapped her upper two sets of limbs and her tail around him and hugged him to her furry underside. The little guy squeaked what had to be “Mom! You’re squashing me!” but Stephanie noticed that he was hugging her back.
I’ll think I’ll call him Tarzan, Stephanie thought.
Once Lionheart was certain Stephanie was recovered, he very gently patted the sack of celery. Stephanie let her counter-grav carry her up to one of the broadest limbs of the crown oak, which gave her a place to sit easily as wide as the trunk of many types of trees. As she distributed the treats, she watched to see if little Tarzan’s mother would let him have one. Apparently, his regret was sufficiently sincere, but he did wait until the other treecats got their celery sticks first.
He sat down next to Stephanie, leaning against her leg so she could feel his purr. After he’d had a few nibbles, he held out the shredded celery stick to her, tilting his head beguilingly to one side.
“Bleek?”
Stephanie was enchanted all out of proportion. “Thank you, Tarzan, but I have my own treats. You finish that off.”
“Bleek!!” Tarzan responded ramping up his purr.
There seemed no reason not to finish their visit, so Stephanie used her counter-grav to hover to a perch on a sunny tree limb, and watched the treecats go about their activities. A few were fishing out on the ice. Others were twisting fiber—mostly their own shed fur—into cords. She thought several of the females were rounding with kittens, although given the additional fluff of their winter coats, it wasn’t easy to tell.
Stephanie and Lionheart flew home while there was still plenty of daylight. As they did so, Stephanie debated whether or not to tell Karl about what had happened, because he was sure to be upset—not at her, but at the situation. She decided to tell him, though, because protective lies were a lousy foundation for any friendship, and an even worse one for love.
As Karl listened his expression on the vid-screen was stiff with all the emotions he wasn’t letting out. His first words startled her.
“I wonder,” he said carefully calm, “if the treecats deliberately don’t hunt the chipmunks and wood rats who tunnel in the areas where the treecats have their nests because that way the ’cats have a sort of larder for those times when snowstorms are so bad that going far to hunt would be dangerous.”
Stephanie guessed that he was still processing all those horrible “what ifs,” so she answered levelly, “Good thought. Maybe they even drop seeds or nuts down to draw the burrowers close, and encourage them to stay around. There’s some support for that sort of behavior documented among creatures who are a lot less smart.”
They discussed the possibility of setting up surveillance equipment next autumn, so they could do a detailed survey of the ways that treecats prepared for winter.
“At the very least,” Karl said, “it would provide the SFS with guidelines for when we might provide supplemental feed, like we’re already doing for some of the prong bucks and tuskalopes whose ability to range and forage has been impacted by human settlement.”
Autumn, Stephanie thought, her lips shaping in a dreamy smile. Nearly thirty T-months away that would be. T-years. Nice to be planning for the future.
As they were signing off, Karl paused and quirked one of his sideways smiles. “In case I haven’t told you, I love you, Stephanie.”
He hadn’t told her, at least not that way, not with that look in his eyes. Stephanie felt a tingle run through her and her breathing come unexpectedly short.
“I love you, Karl,” she managed. “Lots. Sleep well. Sweet dreams.”
“Of you,” he promised. “Of you.”