muscular and well-developed he was, especially for a young man of his age.
I wonder, if I stayed here, would I get like that, or do you have to grow up in this sort of environment?
Anders knew he was thinking like that to quiet the latent shaking in his muscles, his fear that when he went back down his dad would go after him again. Instead, he concentrated on finding and testing each hand- and foothold, all too aware of the price he’d pay if he fell. At last he was up where he could poke his head above the leafy boughs. What he saw was poor reward for his labors. Even as cooler breezes caressed his face, drying the accumulated sweat, he saw in the distance a pillar of white and gray smoke billowing upwards to the east.
At first, the smoke looked self-contained and quite small. Then Anders’ perspective adjusted and he realized that the plumes of smoke were enormous. Beneath them, he glimpsed a reddish-orange glow. Belatedly, Anders recalled that he’d been sent aloft with a pair of high-powered binoculars. With these, he was able to pick out more detail. He realized that this fire was only one of two-a much larger one was burning to the north.
Although Anders was aware of voices shouting up at him from below, he did not reply. He was too high up to shout with anything like clarity and he certainly wasn’t making this climb again. Dismissing the northern fire-which, despite its size, posed no threat to their group-he focused again on the one to the east.
His initial impression had been that the plumes of smoke were going straight up, but now he realized that this had been an illusion created by their vast size and his own position relative to them. As he studied them more carefully, he was able to guess at wind direction.
He swallowed hard. There was no doubt about it. Although the main body of the fire was still a good distance away, the conflagration could eventually head in their direction. The main push of wind was from the south, but a secondary current was slowly shoving the fire west.
“I’m coming down,” Anders called. “Wait a minute.”
When he reached the location of their camp, he reported what he’d seen, ending, “I think we’re safe for now, but we should get ready to evacuate.”
As he fully expected, his announcement caused considerable debate. Virgil was ordered up the tree to take a look at the fire himself, since Dr. Whittaker felt “we cannot plan solely on data supplied by a boy my son’s age.” Anders guessed that maybe he deserved that, since he really hadn’t been able to evaluate distances or provide any idea how rapidly the front of the fire might be progressing in their direction-but in light of their recent conflict the words stung.
Virgil’s scouting expedition didn’t provide much more information, but he did second Anders’ recommendation that they should prepare to evacuate if necessary.
“If necessary” was said with an uneasy glance toward the comatose form of Langston Nez. This morning the sick man had seemed a little…Anders wasn’t sure if “better” or “stronger” was the right word, but both Dacey and Kesia agreed that Langston was swallowing more readily and that his bladder was beginning to function. Kesia cheerfully admitted to having rigged a sort of diaper for him from a couple other items out of her supply of clothing.
However, swallowing and peeing did not translate into “up and ready to go.” Therefore, any plans for evacuation had to include how they would move Langston-plans that would doubtless mean exhausting more of their nearly depleted stock of power packs for the counter-grav units.
Making matters worse was the fact that Dr. Whittaker was reluctant to leave behind any of his precious artifacts. Never mind that Dr. Calida had pointed out none too gently that treecats were hardly an endangered species and that doubtless other such items could be gathered in the future. Dr. Whittaker’s attachment to these bits of stone and fragments of basketry ranged on the fanatical.
“Don’t you understand?” he urged, cupping a particularly fine flint point in the palm of one broad hand. “As the SFS actions following the Ubel disaster demonstrate, they are perfectly willing to contaminate treecat culture with material from our own. These represent uncontaminated specimens-gathered without the treecats’ knowledge. The history of anthropology is full of situations where a people under examination told the anthropologists what they wanted to hear and so distorted and contaminated the study sample.”
“Bradford,” Dr. Calida said, speaking so gently that Anders knew she distrusted his father’s mental stability, “I don’t think the situations are comparable. The treecats are not going to invent technologies simply because they think you might like to study them. Even if they do, well, I would think that level of adaptability would be proof of their intelligence that no one could doubt.”
“Yeah,” quipped Kesia. “If one of those furry little critters showed up right now with a heap of packs for the counter-grav units, I’d be thrilled, even if the packs were made from leaves and berries.”
“As long as they worked,” Virgil agreed with a grin, then swallowed hard when he saw Dr. Whittaker glowering at him. “What I mean is we wouldn’t want a cargo cult situation, where the locals were making facsimiles of what was then high-tech equipment like airplanes, in an attempt to bring the benefits of that technology to them.”
His answer seemed to satisfy Dr. Whittaker.
“Non-functioning imitation is an interesting possibility,” he said. “There has been some evidence that treecats are developing agriculture. Dr. Hobbard has written a report indicating that this development may post-date human arrival on Sphinx-that is, that the treecats have learned from observation.”
“Well,” Kesia said, her tone almost sassy, “I don’t think they’re likely to learn flintknapping from any human on Sphinx, so I guess we can leave the spear points behind. I, for one, am not shlepping rocks with everything weighing at least fifteen percent more.”
Her open mutiny so stunned Dr. Whittaker that Anders was able to get a word in.
“We can’t get far, not carrying Langston. I suggest we move back into the bog where there’s water. True, there isn’t a lot, but fire and water don’t mix.”
“Into the bog?” Dr. Whittaker scoffed. “So we can sink along with the van?”
“While Anders and I have been foraging,” Dr. Calida said, “we’ve located some stable areas-islands, you might say. There’s at least one that’s large enough to hold all of us.”
Everyone fell silent as they contemplated this option, then Dacey spoke up.
“There’s something else we need to consider,” she said. “Smoke. Even if the fire doesn’t reach us, eventually smoke will. Langston is having trouble breathing already. He’s not going to handle poor air quality well at all, even if we rig him some sort of filter.”
“Smoke rises,” Anders mused aloud, “so our tree house will be a weak point then. If we move out into the bog, we’d be at ground level, the fire might go around us, and yet we wouldn’t have to move anything-Langston or Dad’s artifacts-more than a hundred meters or so.”
Virgil nodded. “I like that. You and I are the only ones who have actually seen the fire. I’ll admit, I’m just not comfortable sitting here waiting up in a tree and hoping the fire doesn’t come this way.”
Dr. Whittaker nodded. His hand wrapped around the piece of worked flint he held so protectively.
“Very well. I don’t much like the idea of settling on ground that could give under us at any minute, but hopefully we won’t be out there for very long. Maybe the SFS will finally get its act together and do its job.”
Anders turned away, swallowing a sigh. The SFS was doing its job. He didn’t doubt for a minute they were out risking their lives, fighting that raging crown fire to the north. He also didn’t doubt that they didn’t have time to worry about seven missing people when the lives of so many others were at stake.
“Slow the fire?” Karl said. “We don’t have the equipment to put out a forest fire.”
“Slow,” Stephanie repeated. “Not stop.”
Jessica cut in. “Stephanie, don’t you think we’d do a lot better calling this in to the SFS?”
Stephanie shook her head angrily. “I don’t. Remember what they said when I asked about keeping up the search for Anders and his group? They’re stretched too thin already. The SFS is a great organization, but Jess, look at the map. You’ve been following the updates. The northern fire is now officially a crown fire. Every time they think they have it blocked, some bit skips ahead of the fire line. Hayestown and the Painter settlement are seriously threatened. How do you think the residents of those areas would react if the SFS suddenly pulled out a team saying, ‘Sorry. We’ve got to go rescue a bunch of ’cats’?”
Jessica pushed her lips together in a tight line. “I get it. But do you think just the three of us can do anything?”
“Yes,” Stephanie said. “And it doesn’t have to be just us three. Karl, we’re going to need to figure out where the fire is in relation to the treecat colony. Can you move us away from here?”
