Anders distinctly hoped he’d been spared this particular gene. He had even checked with his doctor during a routine physical a few years ago and had been disproportionately relieved to learn that his scans showed no evidence of the baldness gene. More likely, he’d wind up with a thick head of hair like his maternal grandfather.
Surreptitiously comparing himself with his father, Anders thought that overall he hadn’t done too badly. He was showing promise of his father’s height and solid build, but his deep blue eyes and sandy-blond hair came from his mother. His features were also shaping into a masculine version of hers, a throwback to Scandinavian ancestors who had favored clean lines, rather than the blunter, more polyethnic mix that dominated in his father.
“Part of the field team?” Anders echoed.
“That’s right, my boy. You’ve shown yourself interested in the treecats, but have you considered that anthropology is more than studying interesting cultures? Sometimes you must also work with those who dominate the area.”
Anders had a sneaking suspicion where this was heading, but he’d long ago learned that it was politic to hear the other person out before jumping to conclusions. He also had a creepy feeling that he now knew why Dr. Whittaker had been so enthusiastic about taking him to Sphinx.
“Oh?”
“That’s right. In this case, of course, the ones who dominate the area are not the treecats themselves, although they are the indigenous intelligent species and therefore should have some rights themselves to decide who does and does not have access to them.”
Anders noted with some admiration how Dr. Whittaker could use this complex conclusion-one that, as far as he knew, was not shared by the majority of the residents of Sphinx-to his own advantage. It made Dr. Whittaker sound like the true treecat advocate, not the Forestry Service, who had set themselves up as the treecats’ protectors.
I guess I’m not the only one who has learned something from living with a politician all these years. Now if Dad could only learn to be as nice-as genuinely caring-as Mom, he’d be ahead of the game.
Anders nodded. “Like the treecat who made friends with Stephanie Harrington-Lionheart. He chose to make contact with the humans.”
“Actually, that’s not precisely correct,” Dr. Whittaker said. “‘Lionheart,’ as Ms. Harrington has so quaintly named this treecat, actually was making contact with the greenhouse. All his actions show that he intended to stay away from humans. He showed remarkable ingenuity in avoiding the alarms. Only Ms. Harrington’s admittedly brilliant deduction regarding the wavelengths in which treecats perceived light enabled her to catch a recorded image.”
“But,” Anders protested, “they’ve stayed friends since.”
“Again, Anders, I fear you are jumping to the same romantic conclusions that so many have reached. Lionheart-I do wish we knew what manner of naming conventions treecats use for themselves-actually fled from that initial contact. It was not until Ms. Harrington pursued him, using tracking methods about which she has been very vague, and was injured, that Lionheart came to the rescue. Her actions were irresponsible, putting both herself and the treecat in considerable danger.”
“She saved his life!” Anders said angrily.
“Only after endangering it in the first place. Really, Anders, I thought you were more capable of scientific detachment. Perhaps your mother is correct and you have developed a-romantic attachment, shall we call it? — to the idea of the heroic Stephanie Harrington.”
Anders glowered and bit back a couple dozen things he would have liked to say. Instead, dreading more discussion on this subject, he steered the conversation back to his father’s original statement.
“So, Dad, you said there was something I could do to help out the team?”
Dr. Whittaker brightened. “That’s right. As I was saying, often well-meaning non-indigenous cultures assume a paternalistic attitude regarding what they consider vulnerable primitive cultures.”
“That is,” Anders couldn’t resist saying, “the high-tech newcomers decide to protect those who might suffer otherwise.”
“You are romanticizing again,” Dr. Whittaker replied, waggling one finger at Anders. “Paternalism is not simply protectiveness. As the word-which has its roots in an old word for ‘father’-implies, those who become paternalistic set themselves up in the role of parents, assuming they know better for no other reason than they have more technology and that technology enables them to dominate.”
“So the Sphinx Forestry Service is paternalistic,” Anders summarized.
“Yes,” Dr. Whittaker agreed enthusiastically, “and not merely toward the treecats, but also toward Ms. Harrington herself. You heard Dr. Hobbard’s warning.”
“That didn’t sound protective,” Anders said. “I mean, except maybe of us. Dr. Hobbard was warning us that Ms. Harrington might button up if we pushed her too hard.”
“I can see you are determined not to see things my way,” Dr. Whittaker said. Since this was pretty much the truth, Anders said nothing, but waited for him to continue. “I do not plan to ‘push’ Ms. Harrington. Clearly, this would be a bad tactic. However, it has occurred to me that you are about her own age. She might loosen up around you. Moreover, you are a handsome young man and she is a young lady-a clever young lady, no doubt, but no less a female for all that.”
“You want me to sweet-talk her so she’ll tell us more about the treecats?” Anders didn’t know whether to be indignant or to laugh.
“Befriend her,” Dr. Whittaker says. “Flirt, if that is what you wish. Make her comfortable with us. Let her see us as humans who care as much about the treecats and their well-being as she herself does. Remember. Her initial contact with anthropologists was that fake Tennessee Bolgeo. She may retain some reflex aversion to our profession.”
“So you want me to flirt with her,” Anders said, amazed.
“Befriend her,” Dr. Whittaker pressed. “Or, if you are unwilling, then I believe there is a young man who is also an SFS ‘probationary ranger’-a post created, apparently, to enable the SFS to better control Ms. Harrington. Don’t look at me so disapprovingly. I’m not asking you to seduce the girl. I’m not asking you to do anything more dishonest than what your mother does when she kisses strange babies and hugs little old ladies she’s never met. All I’m asking you to do is be nice.”
Anders didn’t know what to say to that. Anyhow, refusing to talk to Stephanie or this other fellow-Karl something-beginning-with-“Z”-would be really stupid, since, in addition to seeing a treecat himself, there wasn’t anything Anders wanted more. And if he could make his dad happy, earn points as a “team player,” then what was he doing wrong?
“Okay, Dad,”Anders said, putting on his most winning smile, uncomfortably aware of how much it resembled the one on thousands of his mom’s campaign posters, “I see your point. I’ll do what I can to befriend Stephanie Harrington.”
Climbs Quickly managed to convince Left-Striped and Right-Striped that they would be perfectly safe in the gazebo, but it took some doing. Not only was the gazebo far closer to the ground than a more usual sleeping platform, but it was uncomfortably close to the two-legs’ own dwelling.
In the end, Climbs Quickly thought that Right-Striped’s injuries had as much to do with convincing them to stay as any reassurance he offered. When Right-Striped had been forced to climb the green-needle, the pads of his hand-feet and true-feet had not only been burned, but also had been badly abraded. What skin remained had been blistered and swollen, leaking blood and slime, and in great danger of becoming infected.