3
“Do you mind if I stay the night with Scott and Irina?” Cordelia asked her mother. “He thought it might be nice if Athos had a ‘play date’ with Fisher. It’s possible some of the other treecat people are going to come, too, sort of an orientation for me.”
In the few days since Athos had come to live with Cordelia and her family, the treecat had definitely become a part of the family. That he would be Cordelia’s shadow surprised no one, but he also seemed to have decided that Barnaby was his responsibility as well, standing by and purring loudly whenever the Rottie’s bandages were changed, as well as apparently encouraging the big dog not to spit out his medications. The threat that Athos might be taken from them—as a variety of responses to Nosey Jones’s post had suggested—made it all the more important that the Schardt-Cordovas show that they were doing their best by the injured ’cat.
“That seems more than reasonable,” Danette agreed. “I certainly can’t complain about your going to the doctor’s, can I? Sure you can fly yourself? The ankle not bothering you too much?”
“I’m good for flying,” Cordelia assured her. “I’ll message when I get there, though.”
Cordelia hurried away before Natalie, who had been making “I want a treecat, too” noises, could suggest she come along. Although neither Scott MacDallan nor Stephanie Harrington had said anything specific, Cordelia had a feeling that more was going to be discussed than what laxatives were best for a treecat who had scored an entire bunch of celery.
* * *
Athos clinging to her shoulder, Cordelia walked around the rambling stone structure which served as home, clinic, and studio for Dr. Scott MacDallan and his wife, the potter, Irina Kisaevna. Scott wasn’t currently Cordelia’s family’s doctor, since they lived south of Twin Forks, while he was north, closer to Thunder River, but they’d come to know him well during the final, tragic stages of the Plague, where his dedication to his professional duties had been nothing short of heroic. Later as the second human to be adopted by a treecat, he had become something of a celebrity.
Today, as Cordelia walked around the building to the residential entry, she felt a little awkward, like when she’d been invited to a party of a school friend she knew mostly from the planetary data net. She became aware that Athos was softly buzzing where he rested with the foremost of his three sets of paws on her shoulder and found herself relaxing. Unlike those parties, she wasn’t going alone to face a group of people who already knew each other well. She had a friend.
Cordelia was raising her hand to knock when the door swung open. Irina smiled warmly at her. She was a little shorter than Cordelia and, like her, shared the well-muscled build of someone who had grown-up on Sphinx. As often, she wore her straight, dark-brown hair swept up and back, a style that not only kept it out of her clay, but displayed her enormous, expressive brown eyes to good advantage. She greeted Cordelia as if they were old friends who met often, rather than mere acquaintances.
“Stephanie, Karl, and Jessica are already in the living room,” Irina said, holding up her hands to take Cordelia’s jacket, “as you can doubtless hear…”
Stephanie’s voice carried. She wasn’t quite whining, but she did sound distinctly exasperated, “Nosey’s article about treecats as pets was fair enough. I admit that. He even raised some good points. But these ‘letters to the editors’ that he posts without any attempt to provide balance or commentary are a real problem. Listen to this one.” Her voice shifted as she read in a tone of voice so carefully neutral that it provided a subtext of its own. “We get that Stephanie Harrington ‘discovered’ treecats, but that was five years ago. She’s no longer the sole expert. Isn’t it just a little suspicious that all the adopted treecats end up going to friends of hers? Does that mean everyone has to suck up to a fifteen year-old to get a treecat for a pet?”
“Annoying, I admit,” said Jessica, laughter rippling under her words. “Especially since I don’t suck up. Don’t let them get you so riled, Steph. This problem is never going to go away, because the ’cats have too good taste to adopt a loser, right, Karl?”
“I agree,” came a deep male voice. “I don’t know Cordelia well, but we’ve had data net classes together. She seems very solid, actually more well-balanced than Stephanie. I’ll never forget how the first time I saw Stephanie, she was getting into a rumble with a bunch of kids.”
Stephanie made a rude noise, but she was laughing, too.
Irina cleared her throat loudly. “Speaking of Cordelia, she and Athos have just arrived. I’ll call Scott in from his office.” She gave Cordelia a gentle shove. “Go on. Refreshments are there. You’ve already met just about everyone.”
Paradoxically, the praise she’d heard made her even more shy, but she was used to pretending to be more social than she actually was. Raising her chin just a little, she marched out to meet what she would soon come to think of as the Great Treecat Conspirators.
Stephanie and Jessica were sitting side by side on one of the comfortable sofas, each sipping steaming mugs of cocoa. Lionheart and Valiant sat behind them, each messily tearing into a stalk of celery.
Unlike their first meeting on the day Cordelia and Athos were hurt, Karl Zivonik wore his SFS uniform, which initially made him seem very grown-up and formal, an impression somewhat undercut by the fact that “his” treecat, Survivor—showing evidence of his fur growing back from recent injuries—was perched on Karl’s knee, daintily eating a piece of sashimi. Karl rose politely to greet Cordelia, and his height, combined with the powerful build of a born-Sphinxian, made him an imposing figure. A life spent mostly outdoors had tanned his skin, which provided a nice contrast to his gray eyes and dark hair.
As he rose, Karl, automatically picked up Survivor and held him loosely in one arm. The sudden image of Karl as a boy with a very battered stuffed toy flashed into her mind, and Cordelia stifled a smile.
Karl seemed to feel the smile and grinned back. “Good to see you looking less battered and bitten,” he said. “And Athos is looking a lot better, too.”
“Thanks,” she said. “We are—better I mean, both of us.”
Stephanie waved Cordelia to take her choice of one of several comfortable over-stuffed chairs. “Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?”
“Coffee, please.”
Jessica shoved a tray of cookies over toward Cordelia. “Try these. Be honest. My mom and I have been experimenting on ways to use some of Sphinx’s human-friendly plants. These are pseudo-doodles, sort of a variation on a snickerdoodle, but made with range barley flour.”
And as easy as that, Cordelia found herself welcomed and drawn in. Athos left her long enough to get a slice of smoked river trout and touch noses with Fisher, Lionheart, and Survivor, but he returned and snuggled into her lap, tufted ears moving as he tracked the conversation.
Scott MacDallan joined them as they were analyzing the cookies. (The general verdict was that they were pretty good, but needed more work to cut the astringent taste of the range barely.) Scott had red hair that burned with a fiery hue rarely seen in adults. That, along with his freckles, made him seem boyish. As he helped himself to some strong black tea and his share of the pseudo-doodles, Scott asked about Cordelia and Athos’s injuries, then sank back into his chair. His next statement transformed what had been a purely social occasion into a meeting.
“Cordelia, you must know that the question of just how intelligent treecats are is of serious interest right now. And you’ve had several days now to observe Athos up close.”
Cordelia couldn’t hide her enthusiasm about her new friend. “He’s smart. Incredibly smart.” She told them about how quickly he had adapted to her household’s routine, how he helped with Barnaby, how she’d seen him actually making what looked like some sort of stone tool.
“He wasn’t happy with it, tossed it away, but I thought it was incredible, so I saved it. When he saw what I was doing, he sort of snorted, came over, took it from me, picked up a piece of stone and rubbed it along the edges and gave it back. I think he was deliberately blunting it, so I wouldn’t hurt myself like some dumb kid.”
She pulled the partially-finished stone tool from her pocket and showed it to them. “I’d never believed treecats were toolmakers. But this is something more. From the way Athos acted, how he figured out what I was doing and what he needed to do to, well, protect me from myself. That was really, really smart!”
“Did you tell anyone about what Athos did?” Stephanie asked, sounding a trace apprehensive.
“Just my older sister, Dana, but she basically rolled her eyes and said I should tell her when he learned to talk.” Cordelia looked sheepish. “I’ve been, well, sort of enthusiastic about Athos.”
“How would you feel if we told you that we”—Scott’s gesture encompassed all present—“thought that the best thing we could do for the treecats would be to conceal just how smart they are?”
“What?” Cordelia exclaimed. “That’s crazy. Having them acknowledged as fully sentient would be the best thing for them. Have you been reading the comments to Nosey Jones’s articles? It’s not going to be long before there’s going to be a craze for pet treecats. My little sister is already hinting about what she wants for her birthday.”
“Um,” Stephanie said, and Cordelia looked at her. “That’s the problem,” the younger girl said. “They aren’t pets. They’ll never be pets.”
“I’ve already figured that out,” Cordelia replied, just a bit more sharply than she’d meant to, and Stephanie waved a hand between them.
“I know you have,” she said quickly. “I only have to watch you with Athos. But you’re right—way too many people are already like your sister. They really, really want a neat ‘pet’ of their own, and a lot of them aren’t likely to be too particular about how they…acquire one. The SFS is doing its best to protect them, and they’re way too smart to walk into any obvious traps.” Especially, she didn’t add aloud, after Lionheart’s clan spread the word about Bolgeo’s traps. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t keep trying. It doesn’t mean those of us who end up adopted by one of them aren’t going to be under a microscope, either, and trying to explain to someone who hasn’t been adopted that we can’t be separated, is…well—”
She shrugged, and Cordelia nodded in understanding, irritation fled.
“That’s a big enough problem to be starting with,” Karl chimed in, drawing her eyes back to him, “but there’s more. Maybe even worse.” He twitched his head in Stephanie’s direction, his expression very serious. “Steph’s dad was right when he reminded her about what happened to the Amphors.”
“Amphors?” Cordelia repeated. Her brow furrowed. The name was vaguely familiar, but…
“Barstool,” Stephanie said grimly, and Cordelia inhaled sharply.
She hadn’t thought about Barstool in a long time—not since her last history class, four T-years ago. History, unfortunately, had never been her favorite subject. She was too focused on “now” and rebuilding her world in the Plague’s wake. But she remembered now. The Amphors had been an amphibian species native to the planet named Barstool by its human settlers. They’d built their homes underwater as protection against predators, and—like the treecats—they’d been missed in the early planetary surveys. Their eventually discovery, and the realization that they were tool-makers and users, had created a furor, and that furor had included demands from some quarters that the human settlers leave the planet entirely. Others had demanded that huge portions of the planet be set aside as habitat for its native sentients. Even more moderate voices had called for a moratorium on further human settlement or development on the planet until examination could determine just how intelligent—as humans ranked such things—the Amphors truly were.
No one had ever completed that examination. That was because the human government had solved the “Amphor problem” by officially declaring them animals, and the species had been hunted into extermination in less than thirty T-years.
Barstool had paid for that with near universal condemnation, trade boycotts, even the official condemnation of the Solarian League Assembly. Indeed, it was still paying for it. But that hadn’t brought the Amphors back.
“Do…do you really think that could happen here?” Her arms tightened protectively around Athos, and he looked up quickly. He touched her cheek with his nose, his purr buzzing loudly, and she kissed him between the ears.
“We don’t know,” Stephanie said somberly. Cordelia looked back at her, and she shrugged. “One thing that’s different from Barstool is that there are three habitable planets in this star system. It’s not like humans wouldn’t have other places to live if some or all of Sphinx got set aside for the ’cats. At the same time, there are people who have plans for the planet, and then there are those of us who already live here.”
“This is what you really invited me here to discuss, isn’t it?” Cordelia said slowly, and Stephanie nodded.
“We’re still in the really early stages of figuring things out about the ’cats, Cordelia, but we already know they’re super smart, just like you’ve said about Athos, and the Forestry Service knows they’re tool-users. So does the government on Manticore. So far, they’re going really slow, and Dr. Hobbard—she’s the xeno-anthropologist heading the official government study teams—is on our side. But sooner or later, the question of just how smart they really are, where they fall on the sentience scale, is going to have to be determined. Dr. Hobbard says the fact that they can’t talk and don’t seem to have any kind of writing or record keeping argues they probably rank pretty low, but her own observations—and ours—of their actions and interactions argue exactly the opposite.
“The problem is that if we can’t demonstrate where they rank, and if it isn’t high enough, then they’ll just be ‘animals’ to way too many people…just like the Amphors. Maybe there won’t be some kind of organized extermination campaign, the way there was on Barstool, but they’ll be protected only as animals. This is their world, it belongs to them, and if we can’t prove they’re ‘smart enough,’ humans will just keep pushing in and take all of it away from them!” Stephanie’s eyes flashed, and she shook her head hard. “We can live here with them, but they were here first!”
“Of course they were,” Cordelia said sharply.
“But until and unless we can figure out a way to prove they’re intelligent enough to be considered Sphinx’s rightful owners, they’re at risk,” Scott said. “Some of the inclination to classify them as animals, not sentients, is inevitable and natural, but there are also people who will push that idea just as hard and as fast as they can because of the way an official recognition of the ’cats sentience would interfere with their plans for Sphinx.”
“So what do we do about it?” Cordelia asked tautly.
“What we’re doing so far is to go as slow as possible,” Stephanie said. “We’re trying to dodge any questions about how smart they really are because we hope that as long as people in general think of them as cute, adorable little animals, the folks who might want to kick them out of the way won’t feel threatened. Won’t come out into the open and start campaigning to have them officially classified that way. And the whole time we’re doing that, Dr. Hobbard and some of her friends—and us, of course—are recording everything we can about the ’cats. We’re keeping records of their interactions with us and studying them ‘in the wild’ as closely as we can. We’re trying to build up enough data to demonstrate that even without a spoken language or writing, they are truly sentient, and the longer we have to do that, the stronger our case will be. Most of the SFC is in on it, and so are at least a couple of off-world xeno-anthropologists, but keeping a lid on what we’re doing while simultaneously protecting them and integrating them into human society as our friends—not pets—is…hard.”
“That’s our Steph,” Jessica said dryly. “As always, the mistress of understatement.”
Karl and Scott both laughed, and Lionheart and Survivor bleeked with what was clearly laughter of their own. It was a welcome break in the tension, Cordelia thought, and settled back into her chair.
“Well, it is hard,” Stephanie said with a grin. Then the grin disappeared. “And it’s going to get even harder if Nosey and his friends try to set up some sort of Treecat Protection Society. If they really were just animals, just pets, I’d be a hundred percent on his side, actually.” It seemed to irk her to admit that, but she did it without flinching. “I can think of dozens of people who’d just love to have a treecat ‘pet’…and shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred kilometers of one of them! Fortunately, the ’cats seem pretty picky about who they choose, and they’re really good at disappearing when they need to, so most of those people probably won’t get within a hundred kilometers of them. But—”
“But if somebody sets up something like a protection society to start looking over our shoulders, that ‘going as slow as possible of yours’ goes out the window,” Cordelia said.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But probably, yes,” Stephanie said. Then she exhaled and sat back on the sofa beside Jessica.
“So there it is, Cordelia,” she said. “Welcome to the club.”
“Gee, thanks.” Cordelia shook her head with a grin of her own. “Boy, I figured you guys wanted to talk about more than just the care and feeding of treecats. Didn’t see this coming, though. On the other hand—” her grin vanished as completely as Stephanie’s had “—sign me up. Is there a membership card and everything? Or just a secret handshake?”
* * *
That José “Nosey” Jones had embraced the seriously unkind nickname he’d been given in middle school said a lot about him. That he’d transformed it into a career said the rest: Nosey Jones—Your Nose for News. Nosey Knows You Want To Know.
He’d raced over to the Harrington Clinic because Stephanie Harrington was rumored to be prone to losing her temper, and she might say something eminently quotable. Despite keeping a treecat as a pet, she was well-known to have “opinions” regarding the attractive little beasties, opinions quite at odds with her own behavior, or so many people saw it. Differing opinions led to hits on newsfeeds, especially when there was a lack of “real” news; hits led to micropayments from his advertisers, which Nosey turned around into funding his research.
But Stephanie had kept her cool, and the Schardt-Cordovas and Kempers had proved unreceptive to being interviewed. Nosey was considering pushing harder for a few quotes, even going out to the Schardt-Cordova’s homestead to take some long-range shots of the site of Cordelia’s encounter with the near-weasels. Thing was, that was private land, and trespassing was…discouraged on Sphinx. Those Schardt-Cordovas and Kempers had a reputation for being quick on the trigger, and he had no desire to be the subject of one of his own news stories.
For the time being, he decided to focus in on a safer topic. A nice tearjerker follow-up piece on Paschel Trendane would fit the bill. He had an opening there, which helped. The Trendane family was one of the many he’d assisted both during and after the recent spate of fires. They were relatively new settlers on Sphinx, but they were from Manticore itself, not immigrants from out-system, with every prospect of becoming landowners. While they were waiting for the paperwork to go through, they were residing on land owned by the Franchittis.
Jordan Franchitti had turned a deaf ear to their requests for help, saying that he had his own family to look after, and that the terms of the Trendanes’ lease did not obligate him to assist with repair to their damaged home. Nosey knew better than to directly attack a powerful landowner like Earl Franchitti, so he went about shaming the earl into helping by arranging a sort of “barn-raising” event to help the Trendanes with repairs. Once Jordan Franchitti realized everyone assumed that he and his family would be partaking, he’d shown up, all forced affability and fake smiles. No one ever directly referred to what Nosey had done, but the Trendanes viewed him as a sort of hero for the underdog.
When Nosey dropped by, Paschel’s mother, Maisha, greeted him warmly, motioned for him to come inside, then handed him a stoneware mug full of the rich clove-scented, honey-sweet tea she knew he liked, almost before he had taken off his outdoor gear. She was a lovely woman, with dark skin and eyes. Rumor had it that her family was related to the Manticoran Royal family but, if so, they weren’t trading on the relationship to get their request for a land grant expedited. To Nosey’s way of seeing things, this made the connection more, rather than less, likely, since the Wintons were renowned for believing in doing things themselves.
“How’s Paschel?” Nosey asked, reaching into his messenger bag to remove a small box of nut clusters he’d purchased at the Red Letter Café, after consulting with the owner, Eric Flint, about what sort of treats Paschel liked. “Up and about?”
Maisha’s brave smile couldn’t conceal her worry. “She had some bad bone breaks, but tests show she’s healing. Still, she doesn’t seem to be bouncing back. Why don’t you go see her? I’m sure she’d love a visitor.”
Nosey wasn’t certain that was the case. Of the three younger Trendanes, Paschel was definitely the shy one, but he hefted his mug and said in a hearty tone of voice, “Point me in the right direction.”
Paschel was ensconced on a daybed on the sunporch. Her skin was several shades lighter than her mother’s, but her enormous eyes were the same melting dark. As she looked up from her holovid-screen, Nosey was reminded of a wild animal peeking out from the underbrush.
“A visitor for you, dear!” Maisha chirped. “You remember Nosey Jones, don’t you?”
Unspoken in her inflection was, “And everything he did for us.”
Paschel managed a shy smile. “Hi, Nosey.”
“Candy for you,” he said, sliding the box over the table and feeling fully rewarded by the smile that lit her features. “How’re you feeling?”
“For somebody who left her c-gee off?” Paschel spoke so softly that if Nosey hadn’t trained himself to listen, he wouldn’t have heard her. “Dumb.”
“Ouch!” he said. “Sympathies. I’m not sure there’s a pill for that. If there was, I’d have a whole bottle in my pocket.”
Once again, he was rewarded by Paschel’s shy smile, but doubt shaped her expression, too, saying as clearly as if with words, “You? Seriously?”
“On my honor,” he replied, hand over heart. “You don’t die from it. You just wish you could.”
Paschel murmured. “I almost did.”
* * *
Several days after the meeting at Scott’s, Stephanie and Karl drove out to the Schardt-Cordova holding to visit Cordelia and Athos. Stephanie had hoped Jessica would come along, but she was babysitting her little brother, Nathan, then going by the hospital for a volunteer shift.
When Stephanie and Karl arrived at the Schardt-Cordova holding, they were invited in for snacks. As soon as the tiny fruit pies and cold drinks were set out, Natalie, Cordelia’s younger sister, materialized as if my magic. Zack Kemper wasn’t far behind.
Superficially, Zack resembled his older brother: brown hair and eyes, the classic Sphinxian muscular build. He was shorter than Mack but, at sixteen, he still might shoot up. As if determined to set himself apart from Mack, Zack wore his hair longer, with a side part. He’d bleached the upper portion a pale golden brown, which contrasted to make his brown eyes seem even darker. For all this flamboyant flare, his smile was shyer than his older brother’s, although no less friendly.
Then Mack came in, grabbed a couple of pies, and positioned himself where he could finish off something on his computer, although this didn’t keep him from firing in random quips.
Noticing how easily Karl—who most people tended to think of as the “strong silent” type—joined in the familial banter, Stephanie saw the influence of his own mob of siblings. Back on Meyerdahl, where she’d been born, Stephanie’s only-child status was more normal than not. Here on Sphinx, she was definitely an oddity. In their circle of friends, only Anders was also an “only,” and he was from Urako. If recent rumor was correct, he might be going back there soon.
Anders was Stephanie’s former boyfriend. He’d broken up with her a short time before, and was now courting Jessica, for whom he had fallen hard while Stephanie had been away, studying on Manticore. Stephanie had been really hurt at first, but she’d more or less gotten over it. After all, Jessica wouldn’t be her best human friend if she wasn’t a pretty fantastic person. Making her adjustment easier was that Stephanie wasn’t certain if Anders was out-competing Jessica’s new obsession with getting into med school.
As soon as they had arrived, Lionheart had accepted a stick of celery, then climbed up a nearby crown oak with Survivor and Athos. Without him to pat, Stephanie felt oddly lonely, acutely aware of how awkward she was in a crowd where there was nothing to do but make idle chatter. Now if there had been an activity where she could do something…
She remembered an offer she’d already made.
“Cordelia, you and the Kempers were marking timber to be cleared when you were injured, right? Do you need any help? I mean, not just with the marking, but with the cutting?”
Zack answered as if the question had been addressed to him, one of those weird sibling dynamic things Stephanie still didn’t understand. “If you wanted, that would be fantastic. Cordy’s not supposed to put a lot of weight on that ankle yet, and Aunt Danette doesn’t want just me and Mack out in the bush, especially with Barnaby on the sick list, too. Dana’s got a job in Twin Forks, and…”
“A beau,” Mack added, rolling his eyes.
Cordelia intercut Mack’s comment, neat as steps in a dance, swinging back to Stephanie’s question. “Normally, we’d trade favors with some of the neighbors, but with Athos…”
She trailed off. Stephanie suspected that Mack, Zack, and Natalie would “read” the unfinished sentence as Cordelia not wanting people goggling at a wounded wild animal, but that Cordelia was letting her and Karl know she was taking what she’d learned at the recent meeting seriously.
“Terrific!” Stephanie said, leaping to her feet. “Where do we start?”
“Normally,” Mack said, “I’d say we should get to work on feather bramble clearing down where Cordy had her encounter with the near-weasels. The survivors made themselves scarce. But, if you don’t mind, Zack and I have a job to do on our own holding that needs to be done ASAP.”
“We have a tenant,” Zack explained importantly. “Have had for a couple of months now. She’s a mycologist, researching mushrooms and fungi, and not just for the bounty for new discoveries, like you might think. She’s crazy interested in the squishy things. Someone at the SFS sent her to us, because she was looking for land not that far from a town, but that hadn’t been in use for a fair while.”
Karl paused in mid-reach for a mini-pie and said, “I remember that coming up at a briefing. The mycologist had an interesting name…Glynis…Glynis…” He snapped his fingers. “Glynis Bonaventure! That’s it. Nice lady. Rich as can be. She wanted to set up her operation on SFS lands, but after the bit with the Whittaker Expedition, Chief Ranger Shelton is leery about having off-worlders roaming around the bush, unsupervised. But we knew with her money she wasn’t going to be stopped, so a few suggestions were made, places that would suit her needs but weren’t just dumping her in unexplored bush. I hadn’t kept track of what happened, though. I’m glad you guys got her as a tenant.”
“So are we,” Mack said. “We’re hoping to shift back to living on our own homestead full-time by next T-year. Aunt Danette has done right by us financially, keeping most of, well…” He gulped a little, then forged on. “Our parents had life insurance. She’s invested most of it for us, so we have grubstake, but we can use more.”
Stephanie bounced in her seat. “I’ve met Glynis. She’s come to consult with my mom a bunch of times. Mom’s more into leafy plants than fungi, but the two fields are interlinked. I liked Glynis, even if she’s inclined to be fanatical. To listen to her, you’d believe that mushrooms can solve every problem from affordable meat substitutes to cleaning up industrial pollutants.”
“And she may be more than half-right,” Mack said seriously. “I’ve learned more than I ever knew there was to know because I’ve been helping out, part neighborly goodwill, part to keep an eye on what they’re doing over there.”
“And don’t forget,” Zack poked him, “because she pays extra for labor, and you can always use pocket money.”
“True, true,” Mack admitted. “Anyhow, today’s job is putting up a new prefab building. Parts have been delivered, but the job will go faster with a bunch to help. Otherwise it would just be us two and Herman. That’s Herman Maye, Glynis’s assistant. He’s the one who actually lives at the lab while Glynis goes mushroom hunting.”
“I have time today,” Karl said. “Full shift tomorrow. Can we get on it now?”
“Sure thing!” Mack said, reaching for his uni-link. “I’ll let Herman know to expect us, then we’ll grab some tools and be off.”
* * *
Up in the reaches of a towering golden leaf, Climbs Quickly concentrated on flooding his mind-glow with his pleasure in his piece of cluster stalk. Keen Eyes amplified his pleasure. The way Stone Shaper ripped into his own stalk demonstrated that he was pleased that his guests were enjoying his hospitality.
When the cluster stalk was only a soggy memory and fur had been groomed back into place, Climbs Quickly presented a small carry net containing a chunk of stone to Stone Shaper. As a scout, he had been taught to recognize resources of all sorts, and he knew this to be one of the types of flint that skilled artisans among the People turned into tools.
When Stone Shaper realized what the net contained, he bleeked aloud, pleasure evident in the taste of his mind-glow.
Keen Eyes pointed to the stone, then play-acted the art of making stone tools.
Stone Shaper nodded, a gesture that the treecats had rapidly adapted to facilitate communicating with the two-legs.
Keen Eyes mind-spoke, as if Stone Shaper could understand him, but augmented speech by mimicking using an imaginary pressure flaker. <Do you have the tools you would need?>
Stone Shaper tilted his head to one side as he watched, then his mind-glow brightened. He scampered up the tree trunk and came back with a carry net that had been tucked into a small hollow in the tree’s trunk. Within were a tidy selection of pressure flakers, hammer stones, as well as a few pieces of partially worked flint. Doubtless this was the kit he had used to make tools for himself during the days of his self-imposed exile.
Climbs Quickly filled his mind-glow with excitement. Taking Keen Eye’s example, he mind-spoke as he would have if Stone Shaper could understand him but, as he did so, he took out his own well-worn stone knife, and indicated the unworked stone.
<I hoped you still practiced your craft! Perhaps now I may earn a new knife.>
“Bleek!” Stone Shaper said, his mind-glow cheerful, but then he puffed out his fur as might an adult reprimanding a kitten.
Climbs Quickly was momentarily confused, then he understood and bleeked laughter. <I see. If I’m a good boy you’ll let me have one of your creations! I see you have not forgotten my…mischievous youth. I assure you, I am a reformed Person.>
He let his laughter spill out, and Keen Eyes joined in. Soon Stone Shaper was laughing as well, his mind-glow warm and bubbling. Who needed speech when the desire to understand was there?
The bough of the golden leaf was comfortably broad, and without further delay, Stone Shaper began examining the piece of flint Climbs Quickly had brought. Although not a tool maker himself, Climbs Quickly’s basic education had not been neglected, and he knew that some types of flint needed to be immersed in hot fires before they could be worked. He hadn’t been certain if this was one such type, and wondered what Stone Shaper’s two-leg would think if her bondmate came and put a chunk of stone on the fire. That reminded him…
<Keen Eyes, while I am certain that Stone Shaper has a name for his bondmate, he cannot tell it to us, nor do I think we should even try to ask. Can you think of a name for her?>
Keen Eyes paused to scratch vigorously where new fur was growing in, an itchy process as Climbs Quickly himself knew all too well.
<We have only met her a few times, but we know she is brave or she would not have taken on a nest of needle fangs.>
<We already have my Death Fang’s Bane,> Climbs Quickly said, <and Swift Striker’s Darkness Foe. I suppose we could keep with tradition and call this one Needle Fang Biter.>
Keen Eyes bleeked laughter. <From what I have heard, that name better suits her big, black barker. Shall we call him that? He is hero enough to deserve a name.>
<Needle Biter he will be then,> Climbs Quickly agreed. <But what of the two-leg female? She not only fought bravely, but she seems to have given Stone Shaper a new will to…not just live. He has faithfully done his best to stay alive since he left our clan. This is more. I felt his mind-glow when he awoke to first discover his bond. There was joy, then confusion, even a touch of sorrow. But then he reached for the bond and accepted it with determination.>
<In Shining Sunlight,> Keen Eyes said, looking down from the tree to where his tall two-legs was just now emerging from the human nest, <I found someone who understood the despair into which I had been driven but, more than that, I found desire to move out of darkness into light. Neither of us could do it alone, but we could make the journey together.>
<We will never know precisely why Stone Shaper decided to risk his life to fight alongside his two leg and her barker. I believe that Death Fang’s Bane and I had bonded before our own faithful battle, so the battle was not the reason for our bond, only the confirmation. But from what I tasted when Stone Shaper awoke, his bonding happened in the course of that battle. Perhaps just when he was ready to throw his life away in a noble cause, he discovered how much he valued that life.>
<Reason For Living is quite a cumbersome name,> Keen Eyes mused, <although no less so than Death Fang’s Bane, I suppose.>
<Awakening Joy,> Climbs Quickly said suddenly. <That is what I felt from Stone Shaper. A fresh awareness that there could be not just life but joy.>
<I like it!> Keen Eyes agreed. <Awakening Joy she will be…>
And, almost as if he could understand them, although doubtless what he felt was the happiness in their mind-glows, Stone Shaper looked up from his handiwork and bleeked satisfaction.
* * *
Fruit pies and drinks finished, the two Kempers, Cordelia, Natalie, Stephanie, and Karl—laden with a variety of tools—headed out to the vehicles. The Kemper holding might border the Schardt-Cordova, but that didn’t mean it was in walking distance.
“Who wants to ride with us over to Mr. Ack’s?” Mack said.
“Mr. Ack’s?” Stephanie asked.
Zack grinned. “The official name is the Glynis Bonaventure Mycological Research and Analysis Center but, since that’s a mouthful, GBMRAC or MRAC. After I had a taste of one of the samples—which tasted horrible raw, though a lot better cooked, I will admit—I decided that Mr. Ack’s fit, ’cause ‘ack’ was definitely what I wanted to say. Besides, that makes it rhyme with Mack and Zack, which is cool. Now, who wants to ride with us?”
“In the Garbage Truck?” Natalie asked, rolling her eyes.
Mack stiffened. The refurbished vehicle was one of his many pet projects, although that didn’t mean he didn’t tend to toss empty food bags and cups into the little used back seat.
“It’s been thoroughly cleaned!” he protested.
After hauling me, Barnaby, and Athos off to Twin Forks after that attack, Cordelia thought, “and us bleeding all over everything.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “C’mon, Athos.”
The treecat, who had scampered down from the crown oak with an ease that was a tribute to Richard Harrington’s skills as a vet, came over to join her. He still limped from where his tendon had been damaged, and his fluffy gray fur looked as if he’d lost a battle to a swarm of moths, but his green eyes were bright and his whiskers curled with interest.
“Can I ride with you, Stephanie?” Natalie wheedled. “And Karl and”—the longing that flooded her voice left no doubt at the real attraction—“the treecats?”
“Sure,” Karl said, “if you don’t mind sitting in the middle. They like to hang their heads out the window if we’re not going too fast.”
“Can I hold one?” Natalie begged. “Please!”
“That,” Stephanie said firmly, “is up to the treecats. They’re not tame and, while they’re too small to be peak predators, having to complete with creatures like hexapumas and condor owls for that honor, they’re plenty dangerous.”
Natalie looked unconvinced, but Cordelia saw her take a second look at the scars both Lionheart and Survivor sported. She nodded solemnly.
“I’ll remember, but it still would be cool to cuddle one.”
Cordelia waved as she headed over to the Garbage Trunk. “Don’t disgrace us, munchkin.”
* * *
Cordelia had been over to the area the Kemper boys had leased to Glynis Bonaventure a couple of times, helping set up the cluster of buildings that would become the mycology lab. The area selected was on the northern edge, to be more convenient to Twin Forks, as well as a couple of kilometers from the original Kemper residence. That meant that even when the Kemper boys started spending more time in the childhood home they barely remembered living in, no one would feel crowded.
There had been enough for her to do on the Schardt-Cordova homestead that Cordelia hadn’t been over recently and she was impressed by the changes. Initially there had been just two geodesic dome structures—one to serve as a caretaker’s cottage, the other as a work and propagation area—now several others had appeared, as well as a sign proclaiming the facility’s official name.
“Is it my imagination,” Cordelia said, leaning forward for a better look through the front windscreen, “or have those domes been painted to make them look like mushroom caps?”
“Got it in one,” Mack said languidly, pulling to a halt in the designated parking area. “Glynis said that we set up the first geodesic domes so quickly that it seemed as if they had sprouted overnight. After that there was no stopping her. When Herman said that he needed dedicated space for the propagation lab—something about needing to recreate proper microclimates—she had some customization done and ordered cosmetic kits to enhance the original two. Zack’s been doing most of the arty stuff.”
“Unlike some,” Zack said, chuckling as he moved around to unload tools from the Garbage Truck’s trunk, “I am not afraid to express myself. Anyhow, it gave us extra work, and it was sort of fun. I like the effect. Geodesic domes are great—easy to build and adapt; they shed snow easily, too—but they are a bit drab.”
“Artists!” Mack sighed theatrically. “I still haven’t gotten over the suspicion that you put the idea into her head.”
Zack’s unusually broad grin was answer enough. “But we got paid for the work, just like we will today.”
“Did you invite anyone else to the building party?” Cordelia asked. “I don’t recognize that van.”
“How could we,” Mack asked sensibly, “when we didn’t know we were going to do this today until Stephanie got the fidgets? Must be someone visiting Herman.”
Karl pulled in while they were talking. Stephanie hopped out, moving with an energetic grace that made Cordelia wonder if she had a counter-grav unit on under her jacket, even though she hadn’t been wearing one before. Now Stephanie paused in mid-step and stared at the air van, brow furrowed in thought.
“That looks sorta familiar but… No, can’t be.”
“Can’t be what?” asked a deep voice that somehow managed to make those three conversational words sound like an insult. “Can’t be your old pal, Frank?”
The speaker had curly black hair and tanned skin. Black eyes studied them mockingly from beneath heavy brows. Cordelia thought this “Frank” could have even been considered handsome, except for something loutish and leering in his manner. She guessed he was in the same general age group as the rest of them, maybe closer to her and Mack than Stephanie, but when she searched her memory she couldn’t remember meeting him in any of her virtual classes. Of one thing she was sure: from how Stephanie was bristling, she didn’t consider Frank any sort of pal.
Frank had been towing a counter-grav sled laden with a stack of low, hard-sided boxes. Now he dropped the pull and came toward them, hand extended.
“Frank Câmara,” he said, “of Câmara’s Comestibles and Produce. We’ve probably crossed paths around town. Steph and I used to be in the same hang-gliding club, but I quit. I’m working in the family business now. You two fellows must be the Kempers. Are you going to introduce me to your sister?”
Before either Mack or Zack could reply, Athos hissed from where he was peering over Cordelia’s shoulder.
“Whoa!” Frank said, reeling back theatrically. “I remember hearing about your sis on the news: she’s the chick who stumbled on a bunch of near-weasels and nearly got herself and the family dog eaten. That must be the heroic furball. I know scientists keep saying these treecats are smart, but if they keep getting themselves nearly killed rescuing females that aren’t even their own species, I just don’t see it.”
Frank clearly thought he was being hilariously funny, hiccoughing laughter as he reached for the sled-pull. “Look, it’s been real, but I’ve gotta get these ’shrooms to the shop. Later.” Without waiting for a response, he trotted around them, and started loading the flats into the back of the van.
Cordelia had the strange feeling that, for all his bravado, Frank was afraid of something. Athos? It must be. Mack and Zack had long-ago learned what battles were worth fighting, and Karl clearly agreed. Natalie had retreated to within Karl’s air car and was staring out wide-eyed and frightened. Stephanie stood, a pint-sized fury, flexing and unflexing her fist. When Lionheart bleeked softly and patted her on the side of her face, Stephanie shook herself.
“Lead on, Mack,” she said with false heartiness. “From the stink in the air, I think this is the perfect time to cultivate another giant mushroom.”
As she spoke, Herman Maye popped out of the office dome. Clearly, he’d been hoping to catch Frank, but when he saw the Kempers he stopped short.
“Have you fellows come to put up the building already?” he said. He was a small, pale man, wiry, with reddish curls that poked every which way from under the cap he’d hurriedly jammed on his head. “I wish all the landlords I’ve had were as responsive.”
Mack grinned easily. “I know where the prefabs were dropped off. We can get started if you need to…” He jerked a thumb at where Frank was snapping the sled onto the roof of the air van.
“Oh, no worry. We’ve been selling off some of the surplus of the approved varieties,” Herman said. “We’re producing some of the promising new types. I can text Frank just as easily later. I don’t want to keep you and your crew waiting.”
This time, Mack was quick with introductions. Herman greeted Cordelia and Natalie warmly as the neighbors they were, and expressed delight in meeting Karl and Stephanie. Unlike most people, he seemed only mildly interested in the treecats. Cordelia guessed that, like his employer, for Herman anything other than a fungus just wasn’t interesting.
Certainly Herman was proud of GBMRAC. On the way to where the new geodesic dome was going to be assembled, he took them into each of the various labs. In one, he demonstrated how newly collected specimens were recorded, even to letting Natalie set up a spore print. There were different growing environments as well, with the smart tiles from which the domes were built programmed to maintain appropriate light and moisture levels.
“The new building is going to be dedicated to experimental growing environments,” Herman told them. “Once we’ve identified a fungus as having a useful property, then we want to discover if it could be grown other than in its native habitat.”
“Useful?” Natalie asked. “You mean like good to eat?”
“Or for medicine,” Herman replied, “or, even better, as a means of converting or reducing a material. Fungi are amazing that way. Back when Terra was being overwhelmed by industrial waste and artificial materials, mycologists discovered fungi that would break down plastics or chemicals, rendering them to a more benign form. But we can’t just go around introducing off-world flora into our new environments. We do introduce familiar plants, but only after we’ve thoroughly evaluated their possible ecological impact. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find similar fungi—fungi with equivalent value—right here in our own star system. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a fungus that could eat your trash, then be sliced up and eaten as part of a tasty omelet or veggy burger?”
“I guess,” Natalie replied, wrinkling her button nose just a little. “I’m not super crazy about mushrooms.”
“I’ll change your mind,” Herman declared. “I’m growing one that reduces wood pulp and, in the process, creates a fruiting body that, when dried, tastes amazingly like vanilla wafers.”
“No way!” The disbelief was general.
“Way,” he said complacently. “What makes for the flavor is the type of wood pulp used as the growing medium.”
Herman nattered on until they reached where the tiles and support struts for the new dome had been dropped off. Mack tapped his uni-link to download the instructions. Zack popped open a footlocker sized case that, so Cordelia saw when she looked over his shoulder, contained a variety of bright decals, stencils, and spray color coat applicators.
“Leave the art supplies for later, bro,” Mack called. “Work first, play after. The materials for the foundation are on this flat. Let’s unpack those.”
Stephanie and Karl immediately started cutting the restraints on the barrels. Zack, with a last wistful look at the decoration case, went to help wrestle containers of ceramcrete medium off the pallet.
Cordelia was about to join them when Mack waved and pointed to a tidy little backhoe fitted with a roller attachment. “You get to operate that, Cordy,” he said. “Save your gimpy ankle. We chose an area that was already pretty even and clear cut, but it’s going to need packing down so it won’t settle under the dome’s weight.”
Cordelia gave him a brisk nod, not wanting to admit her relief but feeling it nonetheless. She glanced around for Athos and found that he was up in another crown oak with Survivor and Lionheart, apparently involved in some task of their own that involved twisting lengths of bark.
It’s fun getting to know new people, she thought, feeling curiously happy. Then, thinking of Frank Câmara, unaccountably, she shivered.