mother.
Although Windswept could not read mind-glows, the new arrival was apparently aware of the tension. She asked a question. In reply, both Death Fang’s Bane and Shadowed Sunlight began talking rapidly, their mouth noises overlapping each other in a manner that Climbs Quickly wondered if anyone ever found confusing. However, whatever was being said, one thing became clear: whatever was wrong was centered on Bleached Fur. Death Fang’s Bane’s mind-glow as she explained matters to Windswept became shaded with a level of dread that was distinctly unsettling.
Climbs Quickly was certain this feeling was rooted in something real, not in those wild surges of emotion that filled Death Fang’s Bane whenever the young man was near. For one thing, Shadowed Sunlight and Windswept were also both disturbed.
Climbs Quickly was not in the least surprised when Death Fang’s Bane turned to him. Most of her mouth noises as she spoke to him were incomprehensible, but he caught two he recognized: “Go” and “Anders.” These, combined with the urgency in her mind-glow, were all he needed to know.
They were going to do something about this “Anders” problem, and his two-leg wanted him along.
“Bleek!” Climbs Quickly replied, scampering ahead in the direction of Shadowed Sunlight’s air car. “Bleek! Bleek!”
For Anders, the days since the crash had been a blur of cascading emergencies. Once the crew had accepted that they couldn’t hope for rescue any earlier than two or three days from now, there had been a round of blame- slinging.
Anders knew his own angry explosion had triggered this, so he felt guilty when Dr. Whittaker diverted the issue by tossing around some blame of his own.
“And, why,” Dr. Whittaker said to the air in his best “professor questioning the class” tone, “aren’t our uni- links working?”
He glowered generally, but it was Virgil Iwamoto who wilted. As junior member of the crew, he had been responsible for assembling much of the gear.
“We did notice a few problems before,” he began hesitantly, “but they didn’t seem to matter much, since we’d have the on-vehicle unit.”
That had been the wrong thing to say. Dr. Whittaker hadn’t been married for nearly twenty years to a politician without knowing that disapproval worked far more efficiently than anger in reigning in subordinates. He ignored the question of the vehicle and focused on the uni-links.
“You should have looked into having the problem fixed or substitute units purchased as soon as the problem first showed,” he stated in a manner that brooked no argument-and how could Virgil argue? What Dr. Whittaker said was correct.
Then came the question of where to set up their camp. They weren’t high enough in the Copperwall Mountains for peak bears to be a problem, but the highly adaptable hexapumas could not be ignored-especially since their only weapons were utilitarian vibro-blades and a single tranq rifle with only one clip of darts. That meant setting up camp in the trees, and that, as far as Dr. Whittaker was concerned, meant finding a location that would not contaminate his beloved site.
Again, arguing was useless. There was no overlooking the fact that when they were found, Dr. Whittaker was going to have a certain amount of fast-talking to do if the expedition’s relationship with the SFS was to be salvaged. Damage to the treecat site would only complicate matters.
Valuable time was spent while they surveyed the area until they located a stand of yellow rock trees that didn’t seem to have been used by the treecats. However, the anthropologists’ insistence on not contaminating the site made setting up camp more difficult. While the network of branches and nodal trunks made picketwood ideal for what Kesia flippantly termed “treehouse building,” the straight-trunked rock trees were less well-suited.
Eventually, however, they located a stand of younger trees, many of which retained horizontal limbs at a relatively “low” seven or so meters from the ground. At least rock trees-called such for the extreme hardness and density of their wood-were strong enough that even a young one could hold a fair amount of weight.
Transporting their gear and erecting the camping shelters at that height above the ground introduced the next problem.
“I just looked at my counter-grav unit,” Virgil said. “The read-out seems lower than it should be.
His tone was hesitant. Anders didn’t blame him, given that Dr. Whittaker seemed set on making Virgil the scapegoat for any and all problems having to do with equipment. He’d already been reprimanded for only arranging for enough food for their planned jaunt and because the box containing the tea Dr. Whittaker favored, along with a few other luxury goods, hadn’t been among those removed from the sinking van.
There was a moment’s hesitation while everyone else checked their units. All, to varying degrees, were exhausted below the level they should have been. Dr. Whittaker’s was the closest to normal. He somehow seemed to think this made him virtuous.
“Perhaps you damaged the unit,” he began, “with all that jumping about in the bog…”
Dr. Emberly cut him off.
“The source of the problem is obvious,” she said crisply. “At our usual rate of use, these units are good for about thirty-three hours. However, since we’ve been using them to lighten our loads while we make camp, we’re burning more power. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, since broadcast power from the van would have recharged the units as we used them, but that isn’t available.”
And, Anders added in silent, vicious commentary, since Dad has mostly been standing around, giving orders and not doing much hauling, he hasn’t burned as much power as some of us.
Anders’ own unit’s read-out was about the same as Virgil’s. He tried to remember the conversion factor. Details escaped him, but he did remember that at minimum power use-which reduced gravity by about twenty-five percent-the counter-grav units were good for right on forty-eight hours. Since they already had been using them at a higher setting-Sphinx’s gravity was one Terran normal, plus an additional third or so-they had been drawing power to counter an extra fifteen percent. That was why the units were good for about thirty-three hours, rather than the full forty-eight, since increasing counter-grav above the minimum drew power at a higher rate of use.
And over the last couple of hours, Anders thought, we’ve been acting as if this is an inexhaustible resource, when it’s anything but…
“Do we have any power packs?” Kesia asked anxiously.
“We have a few,” Virgil replied. “We don’t have anywhere near enough for us to continue at normal use without our completely running out.”
“So,” Dr. Emberly said, making an adjustment to her own unit, “we need to decrease use immediately. We have ladders, so we’ll use them. All of us who are healthy and strong should see if we can decrease to minimum usage levels.”
Anders spoke up. “Dr. Emberly, you mentioned ‘healthy.’ I noticed that your mother has taken off her unit so that Dr. Nez could use it. She can’t keep doing that or we’re going to have two patients, not just one.”
As soon as they’d gotten the first platform and shelter up, Dr. Nez had been moved to safety, with Dacey Emberly accompanying him as nurse. At first she’d taken her sketchbook out, but the last few times he’d been up, Anders had noticed she was sitting very still, moving only to periodically check on Langston Nez.
Kesia Guyen said, “I agree with Anders. Dacey’s looking a bit blue around the lips. Does she have a heart condition?”
“She does,” Dr. Emberly said, a thin line appearing between her brows. “Nothing so bad that she couldn’t go on this trip, but that’s one of the things she takes medication for. Any chance we can get Langston’s unit working, even a bit?”
“I could take a look at it,” Kesia said. “John’s good with gadgets and I’ve learned a trick or two, but I can’t offer a lot of hope. The type of units we’re using aren’t meant to be submerged and then cemented with mud.”
Setting up their camp took most of the rest of the day. That night, they ate lightly, but at least water wasn’t an issue. The same swamp that had eaten the air van gave as much water as they needed, and the purification unit Virgil had selected was efficient and used minimal power-a model intended not for luxury camping, but for disaster situations.
Since he slept with his counter-grav unit off to conserve power, Anders might not have slept well if he hadn’t been exhausted. The next morning, he awoke, not precisely refreshed, but feeling better. It had been agreed that
