Fire Season

Chapter Twelve

With Lionheart to guide them, they found the endangered clan far more quickly than they would have otherwise. Treecats and their dwellings blended very well into their surroundings.

Stephanie had visited Lionheart at “home” and knew what to look for. Treecats didn’t impact their environment as much as humans did, but they did create sleeping platforms and places where they could store food.

Examining the section of picketwood to which Lionheart had brought them, Stephanie thought that at any other time this would be a very nice place for treecats to live. A stream originating from some inland source-probably a freshwater spring-created the eastern border, while in the near distance the southern fork of the Makara River ran to the south. To the north, she could glimpse a large meadow thick with waist-high grass. The picketwood grove itself looked strong and healthy. Now, however, with smoke wreathing through the tree limbs, cutting off the daylight so that the lurid glow of the approaching fire seemed like dull, angry sunlight peering out sideways, the area was ugly and unsettling.

It was also a scene of chaos-chaos, Stephanie realized, that had been triggered by their own arrival.

Lionheart bleeked authoritatively and tapped the door with one hand. This time Stephanie opened the door for him without hesitation. If he didn’t calm the ’cats, their arrival would do more harm than good.

“We’ll wait here,” Stephanie said. “Go on.”

Whatever Lionheart said to the gathered treecats, it was not accepted with universal approval. Several of the males hissed and spat. They didn’t quite arch their backs as Terran cats might do-their long, six-limbed torsos were shaped differently-but the attitude was much the same.

Whatever Lionheart “said” in return did not immediately defuse the situation. From the backseat, Jessica muttered in a mock “hick” accent, obviously speaking for the resident treecats.

“Go away. We don’t need your type here, stranger. We’re doing fine, just fine, on our own.”

Despite the tension of the situation, Stephanie giggled. Karl quirked one corner of his mouth in a half-smile, but when he spoke his voice was tight.

“The fire crossed to this island along the picketwood to the east. As of yet, the wind hasn’t carried it to the crown, but when it does, it’s going to be too late for these guys, even if they run all out.”

Stephanie nodded. “So let’s do what we can to slow the fire’s approach and keep it from climbing into the crown. That little stream’s too narrow to do more than slow the fire, but it does give us a source of water. It’s also a logical place to start a fire line.”

“Agreed,” Karl said. “Let’s leave the car back west of the stream. It’s just a passenger vehicle-and a light one at that. We can’t use it to take down trees. I’m going to set my uni-link to send automatic updates to the SFS.”

“Won’t they notice we’ve stopped?”

Karl grinned. “Well, I’m not being precisely dishonest, but I’m programming to send messages that will show us checking out the extent of this particular tongue. I’m guessing that unless we flag something ‘urgent,’ our data is going into a computerized mapping program. They don’t have enough humans to process data by hand.”

“It’s not precisely dishonest,” Stephanie agreed. “Let’s get going.”

As she and Karl laid their plans, Stephanie had been peripherally aware of Jessica speaking in the backseat. Now the other girl interjected herself into the conversation.

“I called Chet and updated him on our location. A bit of good news. Since he knew he might get assigned to shuttle service, he’s piloting one of his family’s older ’trucks. It won’t be strong enough to take out trees either, but if we can convince the treecats to trust us, we’re going to be able to move a bunch all at once.”

“Diplomacy,” Stephanie said, getting out of the car and casting a worried glance over where Lionheart was now exchanging hisses and snarls with a couple of husky ’cats, “is going to be Lionheart’s job.”

And let’s hope, she thought as she unloaded her gear from the back to the air car, he can manage it without resorting to violence.

Unlike most humans, Stephanie Harrington knew all too well how dangerous treecats could be. She’d been in pretty bad shape when the furry mass of Lionheart’s clan had swarmed down from the treetops to take on the hexapuma that had attacked them both-drawn, she now suspected, by the scent of her blood from when she’d crashed her hang glider. However, she’d seen the aftermath, heard Frank and Ainsley talk about how badly shredded the corpse had been.

If this group decided to go after Lionheart, he wouldn’t have a chance-not one against many, not crippled as he was. She had her handgun with her, but could she shoot at a bunch of treecats, even to save Lionheart? She didn’t know and she really hoped she wouldn’t need to find out.

Leaving that train of thought behind, Stephanie slung the bladder bag over her shoulders, wearing it like a backpack over her fire-suit.

Such devices had been in use since the earliest days of mechanized firefighting, but this model had a great advantage over its predecessors. When those were empty, that was it, but this one contained a powerful miniature pump and a supply of tablets to recharge the chemical supply. All one needed to do was drop a feeder hose into a source of water and the pack would refill, feeding in the necessary chemicals. Once her own pack was on, Stephanie turned to help Jessica adjust hers.

“Remember what we told you about the fire triangle?” Stephanie asked Jessica.

Jessica nodded, moving next to Stephanie as she hurried toward the stream.

“Yes. Fires need heat, oxygen, and fuel or they can’t keep going.”

“Right,” Stephanie hefted her Pulaski. “That’s where this comes in.

“You help your mom with her garden, so use the skills you already have.” They were down by the stream now, and Stephanie demonstrated. “Trim away all these little shrubs and suckers. That’s what the fire will use first as fuel. If you come across something too thick, activate the vibroblade. Then use the hoe to pull the slash back a few meters. Clear away leaf matter, too. When you’re done with an area-say a couple of meters wide, activate the bladder bag and soak the ground. Soak the tree trunks for a couple of meters up their length.”

Jessica immediately fell to work. Her technique wasn’t SFS-approved, but it was good enough-and fast.

“I get what we’re doing,” she said, the radio in her suit carrying her voice in short bursts. “First we eliminate the fuel, then we soak the area so it’s cooler.”

“Right,” Stephanie said, from where she was working a few meters upstream. “The chemicals we’re mixing in also help keep the fire from processing fuel. If we get a chance, we’ll clear both sides of the stream, but one is enough for now.”

“But what about the tree trunks?” Jessica asked. “Aren’t they fuel?”

Karl’s voice joined the conversation. “This stuff we’re cutting away is what’s called ‘light fuel.’ It burns fast. Tree trunks are ‘heavy fuel.’ It takes the fire more time to get a hold of them. Sure, when they do, it’s a real pain, but if we can stop them from catching…”

“Like when you’re trying to get a fire started when you’re primitive camping or something,” Jessica said. “You can’t just put a match to a log and expect it to catch. You need tinder, then twigs…”

They worked together in easy cooperation. If it hadn’t been for the fire they could see burning closer with every minute, Stephanie thought they might even have enjoyed themselves. She’d connected her uni-link to the suit’s com system. Just as she was finishing trimming down a stand of saplings, Chet’s voice came into her ears.

“We’re close,” he said. “We’ve got a visual on Karl’s car. Should we land next to it?”

“Do it,” Stephanie said. “Are you suited up?”

“All of us,” Chet reassured her.

“I’ll meet you and show you where to go. Listen, the treecats are really edgy. I don’t know if Lionheart’s convinced them we’re on their side or not, but it’s best if you don’t go near them.”

“Got ya,” Chet said. “We’re coming in.”

Stephanie knew Karl and Jessica had heard Chet’s call, so, bending to grab a bunch of the saplings and haul them back out of the cleared zone, she hurried off to meet the new arrivals.

Looking ahead of her, she saw Lionheart and the treecats, apparently unchanged from before. Or were they?

The thrum of the approaching truck made everyone look up. Stephanie, fearing that what looked like a delicate situation was about to become unbalanced, hastened to meet it.

Lionheart, she thought, I wish I could ask you what’s going on…

‹ Go away,› said a big male who had introduced himself as Nose Biter, including with the name a short but very vivid image of how he had earned the title.

Climbs Quickly had no doubt that out there was one snow hunter who-no matter that it had been quite young at the time-would never ever go near one of the People again, much less make the mistake of thinking one might serve nicely as the main course for lunch.

However, admirable as Nose Biter’s ferocity was in defense of self and kin, it was misdirected and just plain stupid now.

‹ We are here to help,› Climbs Quickly said. ‹ Is this not the Damp Ground Clan?›

‹ We are,› growled Nose Biter.

‹ Then,› Climbs Quickly said, not hiding his confusion, ‹ Why are you so hostile? Surely Right-Striped and Left-Striped told how my two-leg and her friend saved them from the burning green-needle tree. Where are they? Have they been sent away like the younglings I met-Springer, Little Witness, and their litter mates?›

‹ They have not,› came the reply, underscored with a hiss and a snarl. ‹ Although they should have been. No. The twins have been sent forth to scout the route back to our former nesting place, checking if the way is open. They were eager to redeem themselves for their earlier foolishness.›

Climbs Quickly thought that if the smoke didn’t make smelling anything else impossible, that this Nose Biter would smell very much like Broken Tooth, a senior elder of his own Bright Water Clan and an individual so hide-bound that one needed to jump up and down on his head to make him see reasons for change.

Yet, to be fair, more of the People were like Broken Tooth and Nose Biter than were like himself or Swift Striker or even his own sister, Sings Truly. They were capable, but change was not viewed as particularly good or even something to be sought. This was why the People had avoided the two-legs, although they had known of them from the moment the first of their shiny eggs had broken the sky and left the world forever transformed.

Indeed, had Climbs Quickly not been discovered-let himself be discovered-as some still hissed, the People still might be trying to hide from the inevitable. Two-legs had not landed like some strange migrating bird only to flap off and leave nothing but a bright feather and a tale for the memory singers to relate on a dull winter’s afternoon. The two-legs were here to stay-and were spreading like fan ears after a rain shower.

Two of Nose Biter’s confederates-possibly litter mates, for they shared a similar heavy build-had lumbered forward to flank him, standing between Climbs Quickly and the frightened members of the Damp Ground Clan.

Behind him, Climbs Quickly was aware that Death Fang’s Bane, Shadowed Sunlight, and Windswept had gotten out of the car and were taking equipment from the back. Death Fang’s Bane was talking in a low voice to Windswept. He felt her mind-glow, calm and steady, brighter somehow than the devouring fire. He also sensed her trust that he could handle these idiotic members of the Damp Ground Clan.

Climbs Quickly projected his mind-voice to address all who cared to listen.

‹ We are here to help. This fire is larger than you might realize. It was born when lightning touched in the mountains to the east, but now the winds carry it here. Two-legs are attempting to stop the fire-I do not ask you to believe me-if you live, you may speak to others who surely have witnessed their actions. My two-leg and those others-and myself-came to see how the fire was progressing. I heard the unguarded speech of some who ‘shouted’ and brought us here. Now that we are here, we will not ‘go away.’ At the least, we will make time for your clan to flee. And I suggest you do so quickly-and hope the fire does not chase you so far that your only hope is to take your chances with the river.›

There was noise from back near the narrow freshwater stream. Climbs Quickly glanced back to see that Death Fang’s Bane and her friends were using their tools to make a barrier near the stream, obviously hoping to slow the fire’s approach.

‹ Are they trying to stop the fire? › asked a new voice. This belonged to another male, one who offered no name but did send the sense that he was kin to the twins.

‹ Yes. They are clearing away the dangerous brush. › Climbs Quickly decided a little sarcasm was not out of line. ‹ A precaution that doubtless this clan meant to take when it was not more pleasant to gather late summer nuts.›

A general flush of embarrassed thought let him know that his guess had been close to what had happened-that there had been those members of the clan who had argued that with fire weather in the air, some needed to protect this new nesting place. Doubtless, after living over such a wet area as he glimpsed in their mental images of their former home, they had forgotten how dangerous scrub growth could be.

‹ Why then, if clearing the brush is all they do,› retorted Nose Biter, hostility in every note, ‹ do they also scent mark where they are? See how they pee all over the cleared ground? Disgusting behavior! They mark their territory as does a death fang in heat.›

Climbs Quickly whooped aloud, nearly choking on the smoke as he laughed.

‹ They do not scent mark. Those are tools for carrying water, as we use gourds and lined baskets. They seek to make the earth too wet for the fire. Like us, they know the two are not friends.›

In the far distance, he heard the sound of an approaching air-vehicle. Doubtless Death Fang’s Bane had enlisted help. Although the two-legs did not have mind-speech, he had learned they used tools to throw their mouth voices over vast distances.

Already some of the members of the Damp Ground Clan were edging away, panic bright in the air. Climbs Quickly caught fragmented images as they murmured among themselves. The tale of Speaks Falsely and how he had stolen away many of the People and kept them in bondage had come to this place. Apparently, several members of this clan feared that all two-legs were the same.

Death Fang’s Bane was trotting up from the side of the stream, hurrying to meet the approaching vehicle. Climbs Quickly knew he only had a few breaths before the most panicked fled-and in fleeing might drive themselves into the very danger he had come here in the hope of avoiding.

‹ More helpers, › he said. ‹ Two-legs know that it takes many hands to slow a fire. Will you take advantage of the time they give you or will you act like kittens who tremble when a death wing’s shadow covers the moon?›

Three other two-legs spilled out of the vehicle almost before it had landed. Climbs Quickly recognized them as members of the hang-gliding club. He was pleased and let the other People feel his pleasure, sending them an image of how these younglings caught the wind, mastering it as did birds.

Did that image tempt fate? Climbs Quickly wasn’t certain he believed such things, but it was at that very moment that the wind itself took a hand in the battle of wills.

The border Death Fang’s Bane and her friends had been making to hold back the approaching fire paralleled one edge of the net-wood grove which the Damp Ground Clan had adopted as their new home. Another edge was a wide meadow, thick with the high summer grasses, seasoned to golden brown with the coming of cooler nights and the reduced water in these dry days.

Climbs Quickly felt no doubt that this meadow was one reason the Damp Ground Clan had chosen this particular section of net-wood. Not only would the thick grass make excellent lining for winter nests, but the stubble fields would attract foraging burrow-runners and other little ground dwellers, making for better hunting. Lastly, the open area on this flank would be easy to watch over in the cold times, when hunger drove the great predators to take risks.

Already the edge of the meadow showed evidence of the beginning of the harvest, but although the People did eat some plants, their teeth were not well-adapted to cutting. Most such harvesting needed to be done with sharp-edged stones, a slow and wearisome labor. The border that had been cut was only about a body’s length-and that without the tail-not enough to stop fire.

And at that moment, upstream from where the two-legs worked so intently hacking away at the shrubs and branches and spreading their “pee,” a gust of wind hurled across the stream a branchlet live with sparks and blew those sparks into flame. It landed in a patch of dry grass at the far side of the meadow as gently as if it had been placed there and, like an exotic flower blooming, burst into flame.

Death Fang’s Bane shouted something, then began running directly toward where the meadow fire now raged.

While Anders and Dr. Calida went to mark a path to a stable island in the bog, Virgil and Kesia started lowering crucial equipment to the ground so it could be transferred to their new camp. Dacey Emberly prepared Langston Nez to be moved, easing him limb by limb onto a stretcher and tying him into place.

Only Dr. Whittaker continued to place his own priorities first. When Anders gently suggested that perhaps bedding was more important than artifacts, Dr. Whittaker shook his head with pity. He, for one, seemed to have forgotten how close he had come to hitting Anders. Anders wondered if he was going crazy.

“My boy,” Dad said kindly, “aren’t you the one who has been reassuring us that we’re going to be rescued any moment?”

Anders hadn’t, but he really didn’t think this was the time to mention that. He climbed over to where he could check the knots that held Langston’s stretcher-they were very firm, if somewhat elaborate, a heritage of what Dacey called her “macrame phase.” Then, with both Dacey and Virgil’s help, he began easing the stretcher toward the ground.

As Anders strained every muscle, he was aware of his father’s chattering, apparently completely unconcerned about a man who had been his closest assistant.

“Remember what we talked about on the trip here? It has already been conclusively shown that the treecats use tools. That hasn’t been enough to prove to the narrow-minded plutocrats who have such influence here in the Star Kingdom that treecats are intelligent. What will convince them conclusively is proof that the treecats also practice art and possess philosophy and religion.”

As he spoke, Dr. Whittaker waved the broken pieces of a gourd scoop that had been one of his most recent finds. Although purely functional, it was etched around the edges with what were clearly images of the long, splayed picketwood leaves, fanning out realistically from a bough that began at the lower bowl of the scoop.

Anders thought the “art” wasn’t much more than what he’d done as a small child, but he had to agree that it clearly was meant to be representational, not random scratchings.

Langston was a few feet from the ground now. Kesia was raising her arms to steady the stretcher and guide it level.

“What’s wonderful about this piece,” Dr. Whittaker went on, wrapping it in what Anders recognized as his own spare shirt, “is that no one can argue that it was done under human influence. That makes it seminal.”

Langston was down now. Anders rolled his shoulders and began the slow climb down so he could help carry the stretcher.

“Anders!” Dr. Whittaker snapped. “Couldn’t you at a least help a little? Surely you could carry one of these bundles down. No need to go empty-handed.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Anders said without pausing. “If you’d been up and down these ladders as many times as I have, you’d know I need both hands.”

He got to the bottom and trudged over to join Kesia.

She spoke very softly. “Don’t think too hard of your dad. He’s suffering from what psychologists call ‘displacement.’ My grandmother went through something like it when my granddad died in an unexpected wreck. She couldn’t deal with the idea that something so horrible could come out of nowhere. Suddenly the health of her pet fur-button became the most important thing to her. Dr. Whittaker will probably snap out of this, uh, obsessive behavior when we’re back at base. Right now, he’s trying to convince himself that something good will come out of this.”

Anders bent to pick up the top of the stretcher, flexing from the knees as he raised it. His words, when he spoke, were gasped out around the effort.

“Maybe, but I’d like him a whole lot better if he’d just admitted he f…” He hesitated out of respect for Kesia, not that he hadn’t heard her use worse.

“That this is mostly his fault?” Kesia grunted as she picked up the other edge of the stretcher. “That he has behaved unconscionably? Believe me. He’s not going to be allowed to forget it.”

Anders wondered if this was a prediction or a threat-maybe a bit of both. For a moment gladness coursed through him. Then he realized what it would mean. If Dr. Whittaker was disgraced, then he’d lose the project. Anders hated the idea of Dr. Whittaker losing the project. That would mean leaving Sphinx and the treecats-and Stephanie, who was becoming a friend, and Karl and Jessica…

Worse, this would be the second time off-planet scientists-not that Tennessee Bolgeo had really been a scientist, but Anders had heard more than one person refer to him as “Dr. Bolgeo”-would have fallen short of the Star Kingdom’s high expectations. What would that mean for the treecats? At the very least, a delay in having their status as sentient creatures verified.

Anders and Kesia were alone now-except for the unconscious Langston Nez-and as they picked their way slowly along the trail he and Dr. Calida had marked, Anders spoke softly.

“Kesia, I know my dad has been a blackhole, but…You do realize that if this all blows up, the project is doomed. Dr. Calida is a xenobiologist with an interest in anthropology, but she couldn’t take over. You and Virgil are depending on the research you’ll do on this expedition to finish your degree work…And Langston…”

There was a long pause from where Kesia carried the back end of the stretcher, then she said, “You’re not saying we should defend Dr. Whittaker?”

“I’m saying,” Anders said, “that he’s behaved like a self-centered jerk-but like you said, that’s this ‘displacement’ thing. Not for one minute has he forgotten the treecats.”

“No. Just the humans.”

“Still, think about it?”

“I will.”

If hauling all the gear from where the van had sunk to land had been bad, hauling it back was three times worse. Yes, there was less-they’d given their last power pack to Dacey and they were pretty much out of their own food-but they were much more weary.

The odor of smoke hadn’t become stronger, or maybe their noses had just accepted it as part of the background. Maybe, the fire was even being gotten under control. Anders didn’t think he had the energy to climb above the canopy again, at least not until he’d had something to eat and maybe a nap.

He picked up a pair of high-powered binoculars and scanned the tree line, trying to see if he could glimpse his flag. Motion lower down in the tree caught his eye.

He saw them only for a moment, clearly defined against the leafy background: two treecats, gray-and-cream males. It seemed to Anders that their gazes met his own across the distance-although that was impossible. Then they were gone.

For a moment, Anders thought about mentioning what he had seen to the others, then he stopped. What good would that do? His dad might call him a liar or, worse, insist they go back and see if the treecats were still there.

Anders’ legs ached; so did his neck and shoulders and back. In the end, lying back on a blanket and resting, even with the extra gravity pressing down on him, was all he wanted.

Closing his eyes, Anders didn’t so much drift off to sleep as plunge off a cliff into purest exhaustion.

Relieved and delighted as she was when Chet, Christine, and Toby arrived, Stephanie knew they were fighting a losing battle. Sensations of uncertainly and guilt surged through her. If they hadn’t meddled, would the treecats have managed matters on their own? Had the presence of humans disrupted their usual behavior patterns?

She remembered how many years ago on Meyerdahl she’d brought home what she thought was an abandoned baby squirellette, how her father had taken it from her, concern drawing lines on his face.

“Steph, never move a baby animal. Likely its parents are close by, ready to help. This little one…”

He didn’t say more, but Stephanie could tell from his expression that he was concerned that her actions had doomed the little creature. It would have been doomed, too, except that her father was a vet and had happened to be home. The experience had cured her from “adopting” wild pets forever. When they’d left Meyerdahl, she’d found homes for those pets she did have, knowing it would be cruel to transport them to an alien planet just because she loved them.

Was this the incident of the squirrelette all over again? Had she condemned these treecats through her arrogance?

Stephanie hacked violently through the base of a shrub, not even bothering to turn on the vibroblade edge. Realizing she was wasting energy she could spend more productively, that she was letting her temper-that wild and dancing flame that ate into her as the fire now consumed the shrubs on the other side of the stream-rule her, Stephanie wished for Lionheart’s soothing presence.

Glancing over at him, she remembered that he was the one who had guided them here, so clearly he had thought they could do some good. She was turning back to the next section of her patch, when she saw a windblown branch come sailing across the stream and land in the midst of the farther edge of the grass-filled meadow.

“Karl!” she yelled. “Fire line’s been broken. I’m going in.”

Grasping her Pulaski firmly in one fist, Stephanie galloped beneath the picketwood trees, in the direction of the burning segment of the meadow. Her bladder bag had long emptied its original load, but she’d had the siphon in the stream, so she had some water with her. Even so, playful tongues of wind were spreading the fire through the dry meadow grass faster than she could reach it.

“Steph,” Karl called, his voice reaching her through her fire-suit’s radio, “we’re not going to be able to put that out. Do you have your drip-torch?”

“Yes.”

“I think we have enough room to start a counter-fire. It’s risky, we’ve got to try. If that fire takes the meadow, it’s going to reach the trees and then…”

He trailed off, perhaps remembering that his words were audible to anyone on their channel. She knew what he had been about to say. If those flirtatious winds pushed the fire in the direction of the tree line, there would be no saving the treecats. There might be no saving themselves, either.

Within a few steps, Stephanie reached the edge of the meadow. One corner of her mind noticed that a few meters of the tall grass had already been cut down to a few millimeters’ height. That might slow the fire if the wind was not driving it, but not enough to count on-especially since the grass had only been clipped, not raked down to bare earth.

When she dashed out into the taller grass, she cursed her lack of height. The grass came up to her neck in places, making progress difficult, but she could hear the whoosh of the fire as it licked at the dry stalks, and knew the direction in which she must go.

Karl’s voice again. “Steph, we’re deep enough in. If we go much closer, we’re going to just join up with this fire. Ready?”

She glanced over, saw Karl standing about three meters to her right.

“Ready. I’m starting now!”

Essentially, the drip torch was nothing more than a tube holding very flammable liquid with a quick-lighter set at the tip. Stephanie pressed the tab that caused the tube to elongate outwards so that she wouldn’t be starting the fire at her own feet. Carefully, pretending this was nothing more than a training exercise, she drew a neat line with the liquid, then set it alight.

Fuel, heat, oxygen, she thought, fanning the flames so they’d burn away from her, back toward the already existing fire, not toward the trees. When her backfire was burning well, she traded the drip torch for her Pulaski. Turning it hoe side down, she started raking back the grass on her side of the new blaze so that even if the wind decided to take part, the flames would only find bare earth.

Over to her right, Karl had also started drawing a new fire line. Then, to her left, Stephanie became aware someone else-shorter even than her-was tearing away at the grass.

“To-” she started to say, but this person was smaller even than Toby. In fact, this person wasn’t even human. It was a treecat, a very large treecat. The same treecat, she somehow felt certain, who had confronted Lionheart upon their arrival. To his left another cat was digging away at the grass, exposing the bare, unburnable earth.

Wow! Stephanie thought. I wish Dr. Whittaker and Dr. Hobbard were here. They’d love this.

She swallowed a laugh. She supposed the opponents of treecat intelligence could still claim that constructive firefighting wasn’t an indication of constructive thought. They’d say that what treecats were doing was a matter of instinct or imitation or that anyone who thought running towards a fire, rather than in the opposite direction, was an indication of intelligence needed their heads checked.

Time vanished into motion as Stephanie concentrated on building a barrier against the fire. Occasionally, one of the human members of her team would ask a question, but common sense and initiative were the order of the day.

Over across the stream to the east, the fire was spreading.

We’re not going to be able to stay here much longer, Stephanie thought. I hope Lionheart convinces the treecats to let us get them out of here.

She glanced over to where Jessica, Toby, Christine, and Chad, assisted by a few treecats, had done a good job clearing their side of the stream. Stephanie knew all too well that all it would take was another stray branch or windblown bundle of leaves and that hard-won fire line would be broken.

Already the drought-dry leaves in some trees were catching fire. One dead near-pine went up in a blaze of isolated glory.

Candling, Stephanie remembered. That’s what they called that effect in class. Weirdly pretty…

She was turning back to her work when the flames coursing up the near-pine flared, burning scorchingly hot, probably as they consumed a pocket of resinous material. With a loud cracking noise, the tree trunk exploded, showering sparks. Then the entire burning mass tumbled down, directly toward Jessica.

A shrill scream cut through Stephanie’s earphones, followed by a mass of confused chatter, chatter in which Jessica’s voice was conspicuously absent.