I guess, Stephanie thought, he’s figured out this isn’t a time for the wind in his fur. I wonder if he’s just looking out because that’s what he always does or because he knows we’re looking for Anders and his dad and the others. Whatever, I’m glad to have him here.
She was no less glad when the search was called at twilight and despair as black as the gathering night filled her. Climbs Quickly stood on his hind legs and stroked her cheek with his true-hand, then leapt into the backseat to wrap his tail around Jessica and nuzzle her downturned face. Since Karl was piloting, the treecat settled for patting him lightly on one shoulder before getting back into Stephanie’s lap.
Jessica’s voice came disembodied from the back of the air car. “You don’t think they’re all dead, do you? I can’t believe there could have been an accident that huge without some sign.”
Unless they crashed in the river, Stephanie thought. Unless they were somehow sabotaged. Chief Ranger Shelton mentioned that not everyone was happy Dr. Whittaker was here, but would they go to such lengths?
Once she wouldn’t have had such thoughts, but that was before Dr. Ubel had sabotaged Arvin Erhardt’s air car just to get rid of an inconvenient witness. Or before she herself had held a gun on Tennessee Bolgeo, knowing she would shoot him if he didn’t stop what he was doing. Before she had seen what Bolgeo was willing to do to creatures he, at least, didn’t seem to doubt were sentient.
Karl spoke reassuringly. “Tomorrow they plan to expand the range of the search. We already have our assignment-that ravine we saw today, but couldn’t go down into without spending more time than we should.”
But by the next morning, everything had changed.
Chapter Ten
As the second day of their exile drew to a close, Anders was aware of a growing sense of expectation among the crew. He thought it was unduly optimistic-they wouldn’t even be missed until that night-but he knew that both Virgil and Kesia hoped their spouses would alert the authorities.
Anders realized, too, that his own activities had certainly added to this sense that rescue was certain to come quickly. After helping Dr. Emberly with checking the fish traps and more foraging, he’d asked to be excused.
“It’s not that I’m not interested, Dr. Emberly,” he said, looking at the four rather strange-looking “fish” they’d taken from the traps. It was a good thing the SFS guidebook assured them this species was edible, because based on appearance alone, Anders would have had serious doubts. “But I have some ideas how we might make it easier for us to be found.”
“Why don’t you just call me Calida,” she suggested. “It seems ridiculous to use titles while we’re all stranded here.”
“Because my dad wouldn’t like it,” Anders replied promptly. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Doctor Calida.”
“Done,” she said. “Now, what is it you have in mind?”
After listening to Anders outline his plans, Dr. Calida had agreed. “But be careful up in the trees.”
Figuring that talking to Dr. Calida counted as asking permission, Anders avoided talking to his father. Dr. Whittaker-Dad had glowered when any of his underlings had addressed him by anything except this title-was behaving really strangely. Not only was he insisting on maintaining the academic hierarchy, but he was carrying on with his fieldwork as if nothing else was important.
When Anders had questioned him about this, privately, so as not to cause any embarrassment, Dad had smiled fondly and all but patted him on the head.
“You go ahead and play at camping adventure if you’d like,” he said, his tone so warm and affectionate that Anders wondered if he somehow imagined they were on holiday at their mountain cabin. “I’m here to work and so are the others. We’re learning a great deal. Dr. Emberly has already recorded some fascinating evidence that the treecats may be in transition from a purely hunter-gatherer lifestyle to one with elements of agriculture. She wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn this without our current situation. Even if we’d waited only a few weeks for permission to come here, much of the evidence-such as those patches of near-lettuce-would have grown beyond the point where we could record the treecats’ use of them.”
Anders could tell he wasn’t going to get through, so he went on with his plans, embarrassingly aware that there was a certain adventure story quality to them. Experimentation had shown that for someone of his weight, walking on the surface of the bog was relatively safe-as long as he didn’t stick his foot on one of those areas where only a thin screen of vegetation covered the sucking mud beneath. Dr. Calida had explained that in more normal situations traversing the bog would not have been as safe.
“I’m guessing,” she said, “that in addition to the wetlands providing the treecats with drinking water, an interesting variety of useful plants, and fresh fish, the bog also provided a natural moat. A creature as heavy as a hexapuma would think twice or even three times before crossing that area. The risk of getting trapped would be too great.”
After consulting his SFS guide book to make certain he would not be exposing himself to any toxic saps, Anders cut a quantity of undergrowth from the edges of the bog in which the air-van had sunk. This he dragged out onto the bog itself and arranged it on a slight rise in a large X pattern. He was very careful where he stepped, but even so, his shoes-the only pair he had brought with him-got thoroughly muddy, and he had reason to be glad that he’d packed extra socks.
He was also reassured to know that Dacey Emberly was keeping watch on him from her perch in the treetops. The elderly painter might be less than active, but she was earning the gratitude of the expedition. Not only was she tending to the unconscious Langston Nez, but she minded the pots simmering on the cookstove-fresh food could not be prepared as quickly as the camping staples Anders had been familiar with before this. She also had assigned herself the role of watch-not only for aerial traffic, of which there was depressingly little, but also for ground-level hazards.
“I don’t know much about Sphinx,” Dacey said, “but I haven’t associated with a xenobiologist all these years without learning that water always draws the wild things. Though that area’s dry for a bog, it’s still plenty wet to provide drinking water.”
When Anders expressed concern that despite his efforts to place it safely, his brushwood X would simply doom another vehicle to land and sink, Dacey had chuckled.
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve been spotting wood rats-and even a smaller critter or two Calida tells me might not yet be in the official zoological record. I got pictures, even!” She turned serious. “Honestly, I’m not going to miss something the size of an air car. If one comes here, I’m going to holler so loud that, first, they don’t fail to know we’re here, and, second, they set down somewhere else.”
Making the X, especially under the demands of fifteen percent added gravity, wore Anders out thoroughly enough that he didn’t get on to the next part of his plan until the third day. That day, after once again helping Dr. Calida with the foraging, then helping Dacey with cleaning and turning the still unconscious Langston Nez, Anders set off on a slow climb to the top of one of the highest of the picketwood trees.
He’d had to argue with his father about this part of his plan-not because Dr. Whittaker was worried about Anders falling, but because he was concerned about contamination of the treecat habitat. In the end, Anders won, but only when he promised that the blazing he planned to do would not be permanent. That meant he’d need to carry even the post for the flag he planned to erect with him-adding to both his weight and to the awkwardness of his climb. At least the “flag” itself would not be too heavy.
Most of what Langston Nez had tossed out of the sinking van had been gear brought along for the expedition, rather than the personal property of the crew. Dr. Whittaker had not stopped grumbling that his goodie bag had gone to the bottom, but at least the bag containing his and Anders’ clothing had made it out. Poor Virgil didn’t have even a change of clothes until Anders gave him some. Neither of the Emberlys’ clothes had made it out, but Langston had made a point of making sure that the small satchel in which Dacey kept her medications-along with her painting supplies and camera-had been among the first he retrieved.