A Beautiful Friendship-ARC (40 page)

* * *

Bolgeo found himself breathing heavily as he forged through the thick drifts of leaves. It was like wading through mud, he thought. The upper layers were dry and crisp, but as the leaf mold got deeper, it got moister and more crumbly. There had to be a good forty or fifty centimeters of . . .
mulch
, for want of a better word, under those upper layers. And in Sphinx’s dratted heavy-gravity, his feet sank deeply into it with every stride.

Still, it wasn’t that much further. Every picketwood trunk looked the same to him—he imagined it was easy for even the locals to get badly disoriented in a thicket like this one—but the tracker kept him on course and he caught fairly frequent glimpses of his target crown oak through breaks in the foliage.

Catching these little beggars is
hard
work, he reflected.
Next time, I’ll send one of the boys out here instead of coming myself!

* * *

<
Climbs Quickly!
> Short Tail said suddenly. <
Do you taste what I taste?
>

The senior scout had suddenly come upright, gazing intently off into the forest. But unlike everyone else, he wasn’t looking in Speaks Falsely’s direction. Climbs Quickly looked at him, ears pricked in question, then reached out in the direction Short Tail was looking.

<
Yes, I do!
> he said, snapping fully upright himself.

<
Are you thinking what I am thinking?
> Short Tail asked, and Climbs Quickly nodded.

<
Oh, indeed I am, Short Tail,
> he replied, his mind-glow dancing with evil delight. <
Indeed I am!
>

* * *

Stephanie caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She glanced sideways, and her eyes widened as she saw Lionheart and half a dozen other treecats go scampering off through the picketwood. For just a moment, she thought they were running away, but she knew instantly that that couldn’t be what was happening. There was too much focus and determination in Lionheart’s body language. No, he and his friends were up to something—something they believed would help—and she found herself hoping they were right.

They might not be, though, and she settled back into her waiting position.

* * *

It was a very young death fang.

An older, wiser death fang would have realized it was drawing perilously near to the central range of a clan of the People, at which point it would have turned and gone someplace else. Quickly.

But this death fang was in no more than its first turning of adulthood, so Climbs Quickly supposed he shouldn’t be too quick to judge. In fact, it wasn’t all that unusual for a youthful death fang to blunder into even closer proximity than this. The People tended to locate near rivers and streams, and death fangs needed water as much as anyone else. So every so often a particularly incautious death fang was likely to stray into forbidden territory.

As a general rule, the People preferred to herd young death fangs back out into the forest rather than attacking them in earnest. There was always the possibility—as Climbs Quickly knew better than most—that one or more People might be badly hurt or killed in a death struggle against a death fang. Besides, it made more sense to teach them when they were young to fear the People. That way when they were older they would know better, and some of them at least might teach their mates or their own young to stay clear of the People’s range, as well.

Now Climbs Quickly and his fellows looked down on the death fang ambling steadily along as if it had not a care in the world.

<
A
very
young death fang
,> Short Tail thought dryly.

<
Yes
,> Climbs Quickly agreed. <
It is well grown, though
.>

Short Tail radiated silent agreement. Although young, the creature was very nearly two-thirds the size of the one Climbs Quickly and Death Fang’s Bane had faced. No wonder it seemed so unconcerned. It was big, powerful, dangerous . . . and too young to realize there might be things abroad in the world which were even more dangerous than
it
was.

<
I realize we are all angry at Speaks Falsely, and rightly so
,> Broken Tooth said. <
Still, are we certain we wish to do this thing?
> Climbs Quickly and Short Tail looked at him, and the elder flipped his tail. <
I am simply saying that so far as we know, Twig Weaver has not been injured. Now that we have seen the manner in which he was trapped, I think it likely
none
of our vanished People have been. And now that we know who is responsible, I believe the good two-legs should have a far better chance of restoring them to us. If we do this, though, it is highly likely Speaks Falsely will be slain. Do we wish that outcome? And perhaps even more importantly, how will the other two-legs react if they realize what we have done?
>

Climbs Quickly and Short Tail exchanged glances. Intellectually, they could understand what Broken Tooth was asking, and the People never killed for the sheer pleasure of killing. Unnecessary deaths were to be avoided whenever possible. Yet true though that might be, it was also true that for the People, those who had chosen to make themselves enemies came in two categories: those who had been properly dealt with, and those who were still alive.

<
If Speaks Falsely . . . suffers a misfortune on our range, he has no one to blame but himself
,> Climbs Quickly said, tasting Short Tail’s emphatic agreement. <
Besides, he undoubtedly has one of the two-leg flying things, like the one Death Fang’s Bane wears. If he is quick enough, he will be able to get out of harm’s way before anything
unfortunate happens. And if he is
not—>

He flipped his ears in a shrug, and Short Tail—and two or three other scouts and hunters—bleeked in amusement.

<
I did not precisely
object
, you know
,> Broken Tooth replied. <
As a clan elder, however, it is my responsibility to ask such questions. Now that you have answered me, how do we wish to do this thing?
>

* * *

Bolgeo was more than two-thirds of the way to the crown oak when his suit’s external microphones picked up the sounds.

He paused, turning in the direction they seemed to be coming from, trying to figure out what they might be. He’d never heard anything quite like them, and something inside him turned cold as he heard them now.

The snarling, yowling ruckus was headed his direction, and it was coming fast. It seemed to be emanating from several distinct sources, as well, and his expression tightened as he realized they were the voices of treecats. Obviously the little beasties
had
spotted the trap. In fact, it was entirely possible they’d had something to do with the failure of its counter-grav, although he couldn’t imagine how they’d been able to get close enough without being gassed. At the moment, though, they were clearly headed his way, and they didn’t sound any too happy.

Don’t panic, Ten!
he told himself sharply.
If they’re really as intelligent as all their champions’ve been claiming, they’re certainly smart enough to try to run a bluff to scare you off. In fact, they’re probably smart enough to realize that killing a human being wouldn’t be a very good idea, whatever the provocation!

It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Scott MacDallan and the Forestry Service had never gotten around to publicizing the fact that a treecat named Fisher had ripped out the throat of a human murderer named Mariel Ubel. True, Ubel had already been dying from two bullets fired by MacDallan, and under the circumstances, MacDallan and the rangers had agreed there was nothing to be gained by emphasizing Fisher’s part in her demise. But Fisher hadn’t known his person had already killed her before he hit her . . . and he’d been perfectly willing to take responsibility for her death.

Still, even if Bolgeo had known about that incident, he probably wouldn’t have panicked. He did have the protective suit, after all. And he had the trank gun. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more pleased he was by the treecats’ noisy approach. If they’d found the trap, it was possible they
would
manage to share their discovery with the Harringtons, and from that point, the Forestry Service would be thoroughly on guard. He’d already accepted that he probably wasn’t going to trap many more of them, anyway. But if they were prepared to come out into the open to scare him off, they’d also come out where he could get at them with the trank gun. He might be able to take as many as fifty or sixty of them under those circumstances!

He grinned at the thought and brought the trank gun to his shoulder, gazing through the electronic sights towards the steadily growing ruckus.

* * *

The trapper’s sudden pause puzzled Stephanie.

Unable to taste Bolgeo’s mind-glow, all she could see was a sealed, completely anonymous environmental suit. It could have been anyone, although she would hardly have been surprised to discover who it actually was. But she couldn’t understand why whoever it was had stopped. For that matter, she had no idea what Lionheart and the other treecats were up to. They were certainly making plenty of noise, though, and—

Her thoughts broke off and her eyes went suddenly round in astonishment.

* * *

Tennessee Bolgeo was expecting treecats.

What he got was something rather different.

His mouth dropped open in horrified astonishment as four meters of enraged, panicky hexapuma came bounding out of the forest straight at him. A Sphinxian might have recognized the huge creature’s adolescent clumsiness. One of the Forestry Service’s rangers would certainly have realized it was as frightened as it was angry—not that that made it any less dangerous. But Bolgeo was neither a Sphinxian or an experienced ranger. What he saw was a night-black monster charging right at him. He didn’t even notice the treecats bounding from limb to limb behind it, or the dozens of deep, bleeding cuts and scratches on the hexapuma’s hindquarters.

The trank gun was already up and ready. His thumb automatically switched it from semiauto to full automatic, and he pulled the trigger frantically.

Panic is not a helpful thing where accuracy is concerned, and he managed to miss with his first dozen darts. The trank gun’s rate of fire at full auto was in excess of four hundred rounds per minute, however, and he emptied the entire magazine in just under six seconds. Most of the other darts didn’t miss, either.

Unfortunately, what would have dropped an eight or nine-kilo treecat instantly only made an enraged,
650-kilo
hexapuma even angrier, and this one’s priorities shifted from simply getting away from the tiny demons goading it along to the much larger threat which had just stung its tough hide so painfully. In its present mood, it would have been prepared to tear almost anything apart. The fact that the bipedal tormentor in front of it was bigger—and obviously far slower—than the treecats only moved it to the very top of the hexapuma’s “to eat” list.

Bolgeo yelled in terror as the hexapuma headed right for him, totally unfazed by the tranquilizer darts. He threw the trank gun at it butt-first, turned to run, and slapped at the controls for his backpack-mounted counter-grav unit, all in one movement.

The trank gun—hurled with far more force than careful aim—flew straight into the hexapuma’s mouth with freakish accuracy. It drove a twenty cetimeters of its length directly into that fang-studded maw, and the hexapuma hacked painfully at the sudden obstruction blocking its airway. It shook its head and slowed, but it didn’t quite stop, and Bolgeo had risen no more than a meter into the air when a huge, taloned paw ripped into his backpack.

The counter-grav unit kept the claws out of his flesh, but it had never been designed to stand that sort of abuse. It stopped functioning abruptly, and the power of the hexapuma’s strike hurled Bolgeo through the air. His arms windmilled wildly, fighting for balance, and then he slammed into a picketwood trunk headfirst.

He slid down it, stunned, less than half-conscious despite the enviro suit’s protective headpiece, and the only thing that saved him was the irate hexapuma’s frantic efforts to get his trank gun out of its gullet.

* * *

Stephanie stared in disbelief at the scene below her.

The hexapuma—coughing, choking, spitting—batted at the rifle stuck in its mouth with all four of its forward limbs. She didn’t think the weapon was going to be stuck there long, though, and when the creature finally got it unjammed
. . .

There was no doubt in her mind how the hexapuma came to have arrived at such an opportune moment. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She had no clue how it had come to be in the vicinity in the first place, but she knew
exactly
why it had come thundering right past the base of her tree. The tidal wave of treecats flowing through the picketwood behind it made that crystal clear.

For a moment, all she was aware of was just how unnecessary to defending her treecats she’d suddenly become. They’d managed quite well for themselves, thank you, although even then the back of her brain realized it was only because the hexapuma had happened along. Still, they
did
seem to have found a solution to their problem.

That was her first thought. Her second was that the hexapuma was definitely going to tear the treecat trapper limb from limb as soon as it got its mouth unclogged. And however angry she might be, the thought of watching another human being—even one willing to trap
her
treecats—being shredded the way
she’d
almost been shredded wasn’t something to be looked forward to.

It was odd, she thought later, but it never occurred to her even once to blame the treecats for what they’d done. As far as she was concerned, they were simply defending themselves. That didn’t mean she wanted to see anyone
killed
, but she wasn’t going to pretend the trapper hadn’t brought whatever happened to her upon herself.

Still
. . .

* * *

Tennessee Bolgeo shook his head dazedly, blinking hard, trying to get his eyes to focus. They didn’t seem very interested in cooperating with him on that. Then, abruptly, they did, and he gave another fully understandable squall of terror as the hexapuma flung its head to the side one last time and the badly battered trank gun went spinning away.