anthropologist.
“You mean, do they get addicted?” Stephanie asked back, hearing her voice sharpening.
She’d been asked this before, and knew that there were some humans who thought that the “pet” treecats stayed with humans more for access to this delicacy than out of affection-like a drug addict hanging around a pusher.
She went on before Dr. Nez could clarify his question. “No. They don’t get addicted-at least the treecats I’ve known don’t seem to be. They just like it a whole lot. It’s like my mom and chocolate. She can go without it, but offer her a slice of apple pie or a slice of chocolate torte and she’ll take the chocolate every time.”
Ranger Lethbridge chuckled. “I’ll second that. I’d say there are some members of the SFS who are more addicted to coffee than any treecat is to celery, but that doesn’t mean I’d leave a bunch of celery unsupervised when Fisher and Scott come to call-not if I expect to find it left untouched.”
There were more questions about diet, which segued pretty naturally into matters of food gathering and hunting. Stephanie and Karl could handle most of these questions without violating their sense of what was right. For the questions they didn’t choose to answer-Stephanie never gave away quite how often she and Lionheart went to visit Lionheart’s extended family-one of the SFS rangers could offer at least a partial answer.
After the fiasco with Tennessee Bolgeo, there had been two treecats in need of care and rehabilitation before they could be returned to their clan. Stephanie and Karl had helped with that, but it hadn’t been too long before the treecats had returned to Lionheart’s clan. There had been another case when a human had done considerable harm to treecats. In that case, an entire clan had come close to being wiped out. The SFS had helped however they could, relocating the ’cats and even giving them food and tools.
After they relocated the treecats, the SFS didn’t quite snoop, but they did take some long-range films. However, since the treecats lived in the shelter of the picketwood, satellite downlook was out for all but chance spottings. The microbugs that had been attached to ears or skin were meticulously groomed out of existence. Attempts to plant observation mini-cameras in known treecat colonies had ended with a series of mysterious accidents to expensive equipment.
Or not so mysterious, Stephanie thought, once you realize that Lionheart and a couple of the others figured out what those cameras were and passed the information along.
Eventually, the voice Stephanie had been longing to hear again without consciously realizing it spoke. His voice was clear, but there was a sense of hesitancy as well.
“Lionheart was really badly hurt,” Anders said. “He lost one true-hand entirely. Even with his fur grown back, you can see the other scars. Could he go back to being a wild ’cat if he wanted?”
Stephanie always hated this question because it implied that-like one of those birds who had a badly broken wing and so couldn’t be set free again-that Lionheart was a captive because of injuries he had taken protecting her.
She felt Karl stiffen slightly where he sat next to her, his foot moving to press against hers in a reminder to keep her temper. This time, though, maybe because Anders had asked so gently, the question didn’t sting as it usually did.
“I think Lionheart could,” Stephanie said. “He’d have to be careful. He doesn’t climb quite as fast or run as well as I’ve seen other treecats do, but he has adapted. The middle set of limbs are basically-as far as we can tell, anyhow-used for expanding options. Treecats can run like centaurs, but still have their hands free. Or they can manipulate things with two sets of hands while standing on their back legs. Or they can run all-out on all six limbs. Basically, Lionheart’s lost a few options, but he’s not as crippled as a human would be even if that human had lost only a couple of fingers.”
Karl, apparently not trusting this unexpected calm and wanting to give Stephanie a chance to collect herself, added, “Also, treecats are social. We haven’t had a lot of opportunities to observe their community interactions, but we have plenty of evidence that they help each other.”
He went on to tell about how Left-Striped had held Right-Striped in the burning near-pine. “Left-Striped did that,” Karl continued, “even though any chance of rescue was pretty slim. I’d say Lionheart would have plenty of support from his clan if he chose to go back.”
To a one, the anthropologists were eager for more details about this most recent treecat contact. This rescue, as well as the evidence of mirror twins among the treecats, was new material.
“It’s lucky you two came along,” Dr. Whittaker said, “or was it entirely luck?”
“Lionheart probably smelled the smoke,” Stephanie said. “He likes to hang out the air car window if we’re not going too fast.”
She went on to tell that part of the story, leaving out only that she had been piloting and that was why they’d been going so slowly. No one asked. Probably they figured she and Karl were doing some sort of sample survey. Not all SFS work was as glamorous as fighting fires.
“Was it Lionheart who led you to the others? Do you think he used that empathy or telepathy or whatever it is that they have?”
Again, the questioner was Anders, eager and wide-eyed. A few passing comments during the more general discussion had shown he really was pretty well-informed about treecats. Again, because it was him, Stephanie found herself answering maybe a little more freely than she might have otherwise.
“Lionheart did seem to sense them first,” she said. “It’s pretty clear treecats have means of communicating with each other that we don’t understand. The empathy seems clear. However, it’s possible that they have some manner of verbal communication we haven’t figured out, as well.”
She offered a winning smile to Kesia Guyen, the team’s linguist. “Maybe you’ll be able to figure out things we’ve missed.”
Ms. Guyen looked both pleased and concerned. “Well, that’s not going to be easy unless I have an opportunity to observe a colony or clan-at least some larger group-in action, and I believe that sort of thing is frowned upon these days.”
Ranger Lethbridge cut in. “We have hours of recordings of the clan we helped out after the Ubel affair. Hours upon hours of material that has never been out of our archives. Lots of it is of sick treecats sleeping. Once the danger of infection was gone, knowing they’re social creatures, we kept as many of them together as we could.”
Dr. Hobbard chuckled. “It’s seriously boring material. Definitely not for publication. However, if you want to watch it…”
Guyen nodded eagerly. “I’d love that. You’d be amazed at what you can learn from ‘dull’ stuff like that. They might have a gesture language to augment sound. Or they might be communicating in frequencies you didn’t think to check.”
Under the cover of the technical discussion of the recordings that followed, Stephanie sneaked a glance at Anders. To her embarrassment, she found he was looking right at her.
She knew she blushed up to the tops of her ears and felt relieved that her genotype hadn’t mixed to make her as fair as him. The conversation swirled on around her, but for the first time since she had discovered the treecats, Stephanie Harrington found there was something at least as fascinating to occupy her attention.
Chapter Four
Anders was the only one from the anthropological team who was in when Stephanie Harrington commed the next day.
For someone who had been so cool and controlled speaking in front of a big group, she seemed more than a little nervous.
“I was wondering,” she said, “if you-any of you, I mean-would like to come by our freehold. Dad thinks our patients are going to be moving on any day now, so this would be pretty much the last chance to see them. We could go for a hike, later, if you’d like.”
“To where treecats live?” Anders asked excitedly.
Stephanie’s expression grew stern. “No. None live near our freehold. A hike would be a good way to get a feeling for the local ecosystem.”
