fur.›
‹ I have heard that song, › Left-Striped said, a note of excitement coloring his mind voice. ‹ When I realized that your voice was coming from the two-leg’s flying thing, I wondered if the one who had offered hope when there was none might be you.›
Climbs Quickly felt pleased at this generous recognition, but he did not bask in it.
‹ Then you realize that the two-leg who came out onto the burning green-needle is the one our people call Death Fang’s Bane?›
‹ Yes. She is as brave as the songs tell.›
‹ We are going to her home. She is a youngling by their count. Her father is a healer. Her mother does interesting things with plants. It was in the clear-walled plant place attached to their house that I first tasted cluster stalk.›
‹ And were seen in the process,› added Left-Striped, his mind voice mingling admiration for boldness with traces of disapproval. ‹ The elders of our clan-my brother and I are of the Damp Ground Clan-are still arguing as to the wisdom of Bright Water’s choice. As for me, having been saved when I had no belief such rescue was possible, I am interested in learning more about the two-legs.›
‹ They are as different from each other as the People are, › Climbs Quickly cautioned. ‹ One cannot meet Death Fang’s Bane or Darkness Foe-both of whom have shown themselves friends and protectors of the People- and say “Now I know what two-legs are.” There are those such as Speaks Falsely or the one who caused the burning destruction of Bright Heart Clan who also walk on two legs.›
Much of this conversation was augmented with a flow of images. There was no chance that Left-Striped would mistake which specific two-leg Climbs Quickly referred to. The names were accompanied by mental images: sharp in the case of Darkness Foe and Speaks Falsely, both of whom Climbs Quickly had met personally, less sharp in the case of those he had only heard about from another treecat. The People could lie-however, when they did, it was usually by leaving out some important piece of information, as Sings Truly had done when encouraging the Bright Water Clan to come to the rescue of Climbs Quickly and a “youngling.”
‹ I think,› said Left-Striped, ‹ based upon what you have shown me, that there must be greater variation between these two-legged people than there is among our own people. They have no memory singers to bind them together with shared histories. From what we witnessed when Speaks Falsely preyed upon the People, they find it all too easy to deliberately hide what they are doing from each other.›
Considering what he had seen Death Fang’s Bane do, such as her venture in the pilot’s seat of the air car earlier that day, Climbs Quickly could only agree.
Left-Striped went on. ‹ This lack of shared stories would make for dangerously varied ways of behaving. How can the People know which of the two-legs can be trusted and which should be avoided?›
A good question, Climbs Quickly thought to himself. But one for which I do not yet have an answer.
Stephanie was worried that her dad would ask all sorts of awkward questions regarding how she and Karl had come up with two more treecats, but whatever Karl had said over his uni-link had apparently left Richard Harrington with the impression that they had been working the fringes of a fire with the SFS and that the treecats had been handed over to them.
“Have I ever messed up the air car,” Karl said, ruefully surveying the array of scratches and smoke stains while the vet examined his two newest patients where they huddled in the backseat.
Richard Harrington pulled out a spray applicator and gave each treecat a light sedative. “This will let us move them without stressing them further.”
“Help yourself to the supplies I keep in the hangar,” he went on. “You won’t be able to get the smell of smoke out of the upholstery, but this should go a long way toward your keeping your use-privileges. I’ve found a buffing compound that does wonders with scratches.”
“Thanks, Dr. Richard. I was wondering what my folks would say. Do you need help moving the ’cats?”
“No, I can handle them. Once I get them out, you can take the ’car directly over to the hangar.”
Of average height, but strong enough to carry his heaviest gear without assistance even under the pull of in Sphinx’s 1.35 g, Dad easily lifted the two stranger treecats. Stephanie bent to give Lionheart a ride.
Without turning, Dad said, “Let him walk, Steph. It won’t hurt him to work off some of what I’ve seen him devouring at the table. In any case, how many times do I have to tell you that you may be strong, but your skeleton is still pliable. Hauling that treecat around could give you curvature of the spine.”
“But, Dad, I used to carry him all the time.”
“That was before Scott gave you your last physical, young lady. Consider the facts. You are a hundred and thirty-five centimeters tall. Lionheart is sixty-five centimeters through the body. His tail adds another sixty-five centimeters, so he’s one hundred and thirty centimeters long-only five centimeters shorter than you are.”
Stephanie knew that was true. When Lionheart stretched out next to her in bed, he was just about as long as her. Still, she wasn’t going to give up without trying at least a little more. Motioning for Lionheart to come along, she followed her dad toward his in-house clinic.
“He’s not as heavy as I am, though.”
“No, he’s not, but when you consider that a poorly balanced backpack or even a large purse can contribute to scoliosis, you surely can see my point. Scott MacDallan may carry Fisher half-perched on one shoulder, but Scott’s a grown man. When you’re an adult, you can make your own choices, but for now, you-and your skeletal structure and soft tissues-are my responsibility, got it?”
“Got it,” Stephanie sighed.
I can handle being short, Stephanie thought, as long as one of these days I get around to having a figure. Mom’s built okay. She keeps telling me she was a late developer, but what if I got the Harrington genes for figure and the Quintrell genes for height?
The thoughts, a constant source of minor worry as her fifteenth birthday drew closer, ran like background music through her mind as Stephanie hurried after her father.
In the clinic, Stephanie assisted her father as he cleaned up the two treecats and treated their surface injuries. One good thing about having a resident treecat was that Richard Harrington had a good idea of what medications would work and which would not.
The smoke inhalation was more of a problem, since Dad didn’t like the idea of forcing a breathing mask over the treecats’ heads.
“They’re tense enough without scaring them with that, but from the wheezing in their chests, they took some damage. I’d hate for them to get pneumonia.”
Lionheart had been standing by making reassuring croons and bleeks when the stranger treecats-especially the one that had been more severely injured-bristled at being handled. Even though the burn medication was applied with a light spray, the treecat clearly hadn’t liked it and had hissed back at the applicator.
Maybe he thinks the applicator was threatening at him, Stephanie thought, and wished, not for the first time, that she could ask Lionheart a question more complex than “Want some celery?” (the answer to that was always enthusiastic agreement) or “Want to come with me?” (This also almost always met with agreement, although with varying degrees of enthusiasm.)
Now, remembering how Karl had reported that Lionheart had brought him his respirator when the air car had filled with smoke, she had a sudden idea.
“Dad. Lionheart was in the smoke, too, though not for as long. Do you think he could use a dose from the inhaler? Maybe if he used it, he could somehow let the others know it won’t hurt them.”
Richard Harrington had long gotten past the days when he underestimated Lionheart. He looked thoughtful, then nodded. “You show him what we want.”
Stephanie did so, miming using the inhaler on herself, then holding the inhaler to Lionheart’s mouth. He sniffed it carefully, then sighed gustily and opened his mouth. This revealed a remarkable array of very sharp teeth, but Stephanie trusted him not to bite her. The procedure completed, she held up the inhaler, then pointed it at the other two treecats.
“They need this, too,” she said. “Can you explain?”
Lionheart bleeked and directed his attention at the other ’cats. Whatever he said also involved a great deal of wheezing and deep breathing, but in the end, the two treecats submitted to one deep breath each.
“Very good!” Dad said after they had finished with the breathing treatments. He leaned forward and took a
