Treecat Wars (19 page)

“They’re proving more difficult to convince,” Doctor Hidalgo said sadly. “I indicate the artifacts, and Dr. Radzinsky counters with examples of other creatures that make tools or elaborate dens. I mention the ornamentation, and Dr. Darrolyn asks if I see any evidence of written language—or even spoken language.”

He sighed, tore a small square of bread from his sandwich, squashed it into a pill, and swallowed it. “Then there’s the problem that we’re dealing with contaminated samples.”

“Contaminated?” Jessica asked.

For reply, Doctor Hidalgo pointed to where Valiant was carefully sliding some seeds into one of the sample bags.

“Where once there was a potentially pristine culture,” he said, “we now have one irrevocably contaminated by its contact with humans. I’m not blaming you, young lady. The SFS gave tools to treecats before you ever set foot on this planet. However, once the damage is done, it becomes more difficult to judge just how intelligent a species is. Take Valiant’s interest in gardening. There’s some evidence the treecats observed humans practicing agriculture and decided to imitate. That’s quite different from evolving the skill on their own.”

Jessica looked uncomfortable as Doctor Hidalgo went on.

“I, personally, would like to see two things. First, I’d like to see the treecats recognized as sentient. Then I would like to see some effort made to protect them in their uncontaminated state. Populations that haven’t had human contact should be kept
from
human contact. Populations that have had human contact—for example, the clans from which Valiant and Lionheart originated—should be relocated to areas where they can practice their indigenous lifestyles in a manner uncontaminated by human influence. Only in this way can they evolve into the people they were meant to be. Otherwise, they’ll become poor imitations of humanity.”

“You must be joking!” Jessica exclaimed. “Treecats are treecats. They could never become humans.”

“Precisely,” Doctor Hidalgo said. He pulled at one ear lobe and smiled sadly. “Earlier you mentioned the care you’d taken to make sure Valiant developed his thick winter coat. However, if something happened to interfere, would you let him freeze?”

“Never!”

“So you’d either keep him indoors—an unnatural state for a treecat—or you’d provide him with clothing of some sort. Even in Dr. Whitaker’s most careful excavations, we’ve seen no evidence the treecats need clothing other than their natural fur. Therefore, your desire to protect him would introduce an alien element into his life. If treecats do have some form of communication—something I believe is so, although Doctor Darrolyn differs with me—that idea would be spread further.”

Jessica looked stunned. It seemed to Anders that she was wilting where she sat. He knew how much care both Jessica and Stephanie took to make sure that their treecat partners visited not only with each other, but with their clans. What would happen if treecats were isolated on reservations for their own good? Would those treecats who had adopted humans become exiles?

Valiant set aside his sample bag and bleeked softly. Then he loped over to Jessica and snuggled his furry head into the wild mass of her hair. However, he neither snarled nor growled at Doctor Hidalgo, so Anders guessed that the treecat could tell the man meant him no harm.

No harm. Only imprisonment. Only isolation from his own people and those people sealed away in tidy little reservations where they can practice their folkways in peace
. Anders swallowed hard.
And you can bet that the lands “given” to treecats wouldn’t be the best. They’d be destroyed by the “kindness” of people like Doctor Hidalgo
.

He remembered a section from the book Dr. Nez had given him for his birthday. There’d been an entire chapter on how less advanced cultures had been destroyed by forced assimilation into more advanced ones. But that same chapter had also offered up examples of how often well-intended efforts to
protect
those less advanced cultures had ended up confining, strangling, and ultimately destroying them just as thoroughly as assimilation possibly could have.

“I’m sorry, Anders,” Doctor Hidalgo said. “Did you say something?”

“No, sir.” Anders tried hard to sound normal. “Just thinking about some of the long-term implications.”

“Ah. A natural anthropologist, following in your father’s footsteps.”

Anders forced himself to grin, but inside he winced. He thought about Stephanie’s reports about how Lionheart was shedding. When Stephanie and Lionheart came home, would she put the ’cat in a sweater? He imagined the x-a’s reaction, how Hidalgo would be sorrowful about the contamination of culture, how some of the others would certainly sneer.

For the first time since Stephanie had left, he found himself wishing her return could somehow be delayed.

* * *

In addition to his usual scouting duties, Keen Eyes went out of his way to patrol along the sun-setting edge of the clan’s range where he had sensed Swimmer’s Scourge and Nimble Fingers of the Trees Enfolding Clan. Aware that this was a dangerous area, Keen Eyes requested that the other members of the Landless Clan keep back from it. He did not meet with any complaint, for he had shared Swimmers Scourge’s warning with the rest of the clan. Moreover, the loss of their home meant there were tasks enough to keep every set of true-hands and hand-feet busy every waking moment of the day.

Keen Eyes himself hunted when he could, setting traps and snares for small game. He was removing a tree-hopper from one of his snares when a mind-voice spoke.

<
Those snares may catch you more than tree-hoppers and bark-chewers, Keen Eyes of the Landless Clan. You might want to move a little further towards sun-rising.
>

Keen Eyes recognized Nimble Fingers of the Trees Enfolding Clan, but when he searched for the other’s mind-glow, he did not touch it. He wondered if Nimble Fingers had a mate, for one benefit of such a partnership was that both the mind-voice and ability to detect the mind-glows of others intensified. That would explain why Nimble Fingers could find him while he could find no trace of the other. He suspected Nimble Fingers was at extreme range, but, nonetheless, he took care to dampen his own mind-glow, uncomfortable that someone who was not a clan member or a friend would have such an advantage over him.

He replied politely. <
May I keep my prey, or do you claim
it?
>

<
Keep it, but when you reset the snare, move it further to sun-rising. There are those in my clan who fear that your People will seep into our territory as water overflows the banks of a river
.>

<
And you would dam the spread of that river?
>

<
Such is the command of the elders of my clan
.>

Keen Eyes thought that perhaps Nimble Fingers did not completely agree. However, the way of the People, as contained in the oldest songs of the memory singers, was that the wisdom of the elders was to be listened to by the younger members. In this way, the entire clan could avoid errors made in the past.

Usually, Keen Eyes had no problem agreeing with this approach. A traditional way of teaching hunting was to let the youngling attempt a hunt or two without coaching. Only after the youngling had gone hungry from a pounce too soon or from not knowing a particular trick of the intended prey did the serious teaching begin, for only then did the youngling realize that there was something to value in past experience.

Lately, however, he had begun to wonder why the elders should have the final say when the problem was one in which they had no genuine experience to guide them. Of course there had been forest fires in the past, but these fires were among the first where the ability of the People to move into new ranges was complicated by the presence of the two-legs.

He heaved a gusty sigh but, as it was his own policy not to challenge the rights of the Trees Enfolding Clan lest they decide the time of toleration was ended, he could not protest.

<
I thank you, Nimble Fingers, for letting me keep my prey. Would you perhaps like to come share it with me?
>

<
That is kind of you, Keen Eyes, but I had better keep my post. Our clan has not suffered as severely as you report your own has, but the mind healers have asked us to do as little as possible to upset our clan’s internal harmony—and that means not upsetting the elders.
>

Keen Eyes was very interested. Even the ability to share thoughts did not mean the People were immune to disagreement. When consensus could not be reached, that disagreement could sometimes become intense enough the mind healers stepped in. Healing always involved a certain amount of work on the mind of the victim as well as the body even for purely physical injury—moderating of pain, offering comfort and reassurance. Mind healers, however, specialized in touching actual minds, feeling where they had become twisted from the true and helping them return to understanding that the needs of others were as important as the needs of the individual.

<
Your elders are stretched thin?
>

Nimble Fingers’ reply overflowed with exhaustion. <
We lost much of what had been stored up against the winter to a fire on our moss-growing border. We also lost several members of the clan
.>

<
And suffered injuries no doubt
.> Keen Eyes was glad they were communicating only by mind-voice. If Nimble Fingers had been close enough to immerse himself in Keen Eyes’ mind-glow there would have been no hiding the bitterness Keen Eyes felt.

<
Many injuries. Not so much from the fire itself as from the smoke. It blanketed the forests for a great distance beyond where the fires burned
.> The innocent agreement in Nimble Fingers’ reply confirmed Keen Eyes’ guess that Nimble Fingers could not read his mind-glow. <
Several of our wisest elders were killed or disabled. The clan is still trying to sort out who has the most balanced view of how we should deal with our changed situation
.>

<
There are different opinions, then?
>

<
Many, from whether we should change our central nesting site to what to do about
….>

Nimble Fingers’ mind-voice trailed off. On the whole, People were not very good at hiding things. They were simply too accustomed to shared mind-glows. Scouts and memory singers probably had the most teaching in that area, for they were the most likely to deal with People who did not share the same priorities.

Keen Eyes wondered what Nimble Fingers had been about to say. “What to do about the invaders?” Or something more mild, “What to do about those poor refugees?” He considered asking, but decided against it. On the whole, Nimble Fingers had been kind to him and, by extension, to the Landless Clan. Nothing would be gained by challenging him.

Instead, he said, <
Our clan has been relying heavily on our mind healers. We are lucky that although we lost all our memory singers, we did not lose our mind healers
.>

<
You are fortunate. We lost our most senior mind healer, a true wellspring of wisdom
about the twisting paths down which the pain of a few strong minds can lead a clan accustomed to following them
.>

That told Keen Eyes quite a lot. If the People of Trees Enfolding were dealing with conflict within their own clan, it explained why the Landless Clan had been kept in their particular limbo, neither welcomed and helped, nor driven away.

<
I am sorry. I hope the healing comes quickly
.>

<
I do as well. This is a bad situation for all of us
.>

His phrasing included the Landless Clan as well, and Keen Eyes was warmed. But Nimble Fingers’ next thought reminded him that the danger was far from ended—that, indeed, it intensified with every sun’s passing that brought them closer to the need to make a final decision.

<
Swimmer’s Scourge comes. He would not like to find me chatting at my post. Remember. Move your snares further to sun-rising. Remember
….>

Keen Eyes sent back a quick promise that he would, but as he shouldered the carry net with his catch and prepared to lope in the direction of home, he wondered just how long they could obey such warnings. In time, his clan must press to sun-setting…or die.

Chapter Ten

“Stephanie! Karl!”

They halted and turned in the direction of the shout. A young man, perhaps five years older than Karl, waved and came towards them, accompanied by a somewhat older, blond-haired, green-eyed woman. Stephanie recognized Allen Harper, one of Dean Charterman’s assistants. He was a grad student—in geology, she thought—and he was also from Sphinx, which was why Charterman had assigned him to show her and Karl around campus for their initial orientation. She had no idea who his companion might be, though.

“Are we catching you between classes?” Harper asked as the newcomers reached them, and Karl shook his head.

“We’re done till supper,” he said. “Just heading back to the dorm to get Lionheart back into the air-conditioning.”

“Just Lionheart, eh?” Harper laughed.

“Well, maybe me, too.” Karl wiped sweat from his forehead and smiled. “Blame me?”

“I’m from Sphinx, too, remember?” Harper shook his head. But I am glad I caught you. Dean Charterman asked me to introduce Ms. Adair to you.” He indicated the woman beside him. “Stephanie, Karl, this is Gwendolyn Adair. Ms. Adair, Stephanie Harrington and Karl Zivonik.”

“I’m so glad to finally meet both of you!” Ms. Adair smiled, holding out her hand first to Karl and then to Stephanie. “I’ve heard a great deal about you—and about Lionheart, of course.” She smiled at the treecat on Stephanie’s shoulder. “He’s even more impressive looking in person than he is on HD.”

Stephanie smiled back, but it was difficult. She’d felt a sharp spasm of something very like wariness the instant Ms. Adair had come within fifty meters, and she knew where it had come from. Now she reached up to touch Lionheart’s ears.

“I don’t know about impressive looking,” she said, “but he’s always been pretty impressive to me.”

“I imagine so, given the circumstances under which you met.” Adair shook her head. “I’ve been to Sphinx for visits, but I’ve never met a hexapuma in the wild, and I never
want
to, either.”