HIGHWOOD
Copyright ©, 1972, by Neal Barrett, Jr.
All Rights Reserved.
Scanned by BW-SciFi
Cover art by Enrich.
Printed in U.S.A.
ONE
kearney wynn topped the steep path and paused to catch her breath. Behind her, most of Chrestigho Branch was already lost in heavy clusters of bottle-green leaves. She could still see where the big limb made a wide, quarter-mile arc and plunged into thick foliage. Beyond were the last traces of the female barkeries, and further, the hazy, olive-blue wall that was the immense trunk of Sherandhel itself.
For a moment, she imagined a necklace of tiny silver dots atop a bark crevasse, high up the sheer face of the great column. A hunting party, maybe, but it was too far to be sure. She followed the trunk until it vanished in a dark blur, where the foliage merged into a sun-green umbrella.
As she watched, the umbrella darkened, and she knew one of the perpetual rainclouds was brushing the top branches. If the rain was heavy enough, the late afternoon would bring a light mist over Chrestigho, as water filtered down through a mile and a half of greenery. But no individual drops would ever get this far.
She kept her eyes slightly lowered and straight ahead as she walked. Chrestigho Branch was as wide as a city block at the Colony, but it narrowed to no more than forty yards or so this far out. It was a safe enough margin, she knew, but she kept well to the high center bark, anyway.
Kearney had looked down once—her first day on Sequoia. And once had been enough. She still shuddered at the memory of green fading abruptly from olive to cobalt to yawning darkness-down eight thousand unfathomable feet to whatever Jay below.
The green ceiling darkened as she came under the looming shadow of Havarhta Bough. Havarhta was an offshoot of Hunter's Branch, which curved around from male territory and crossed a few yards above Chrestigho. She made the crossover quickly, without looking to either side.
Hamby Flagg was waiting.
He squatted on a stubby pinnacle of bark dangerously near Havarhta's edge. His pale skin was almost citron-colored in the filtered light, and she noted distastefully that he was wearing the same ragged shorts she'd seen before.
"Good morning, or whatever it is, now," said Kearney. "I'm glad you could make it. I thought perhaps you wouldn't come."
He gave her a quick, acid grin. "Oh, did you, now? Listen, friend—" He pointed a stubby finger at her midsection. "You ever pull that hand-talk crap on me again—"
Kearney waved him off impatiently. "Come off it, Flagg. You wouldn't have bothered if I hadn't made it interesting."
"Huh?"
She grinned impishly. "You read very well. And I did mean exactly what I said. I'd have walked right over The Line after you."
Ham frowned and muttered under his breath, "No, you wouldn't. You know better."
She smiled condescendingly. He wasn't sure at all, she was certain of that. Good. He didn't know what she might do, and that would help.
Ham shifted nervously and scratched his bare chest. "Look, I'm here. I can't stay forever. It's not safe to. What is it you want?"
Kearney stretched her long legs and notched her fingers in her belt. "I want to settle something else before we get into that. I want to know just how I got down from Sherandhel and into the female Colony. All I remember—"
Ham's eyes brightened. His lip curled into a slow grin. "All you remember is you passed out up there and you can't stand not knowing whether or not you got—what do you call it—molested?"
Kearney felt the heat rise to her face. "I assure you, the thought never—"
"Haw! Sure it did." The big grin widened. "Well, you can rest easy. Everything you came here with is still intact. What you did was keep your mask on too long on the way down. When you got to thick air you were already high on an oxy-mix and you couldn't get enough of the heavy stuff."
Ham spread his hands. "And that's it. Oh, I took a look at your papers and I know you're a socio-whatever-it-is and you've got a lot of fancy letters after your name. You've also got a lot of Class 'A' gear that's got no business on a 'C' planet. I put everything back where it was and dumped you and your stuff near the left fork of Chrestigho where the females'd find you. Anything else?"
Kearney was silent. She knew if she said anything now it would come out as a mild explosion.
"Listen," Ham said finally. He took a deep breath, squinted at her curiously and shook his head. "I don't know you and I don't want to. I got nothing against you, and we're not likely to get well enough acquainted for me to find anything. You caused me a hell of a lot of trouble showing up here—I had some tall explaining to do to those characters, you know that? Now, suppose you get on with whatever it is you got me over here for and we can both go about our business. And it's not morning, by the way, it's around noon. If you're going to stay here, and I suppose you are, you might as well learn how to tell Tree time."
Kearney was watching him. She decided he wouldn't be a bad-looking man if he hadn't let himself go to fat. Evidently, his four years on Sequoia had been too easy. He was flabby. Out of shape. A big, flabby lizard with a blond beard and that utterly ridiculous Bear! She couldn't help grinning at the picture.
"What's funny?" he said darkly.
Kearney bit her lip and pretended to study the bark under her boot. "Well, we could start with RA reports, I guess. . . ."
He looked up, puzzlement spreading across his face. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Resident Agent reports. Yours. I read them at ConFed. For—ho! ho!—background material on Sequoia." She laughed. "Now that's funny, Flagg."
Ham ignored her. He peered over his shoulder and listened to something, then faced her. He studied her a long minute, then his frown suddenly turned into a wide smile.
"Well, now. That's it, isn't it?"
"What's it?"
"You're on the track, Ham," the Bear broke in tinnily. "It's a fairly common defense mechanism, I'd say. She's attacking what she doesn't understand, primarily, and of course you can tell by her tonal quality there are very strong indications of fear, apprehension. . . ."
Ham nodded agreement. "I can see that."
Kearney opened her mouth in bewilderment. "You can see what? What are you talking about, anyway!" She tried to keep her voice down. The man was absolutely impossible!
"There, you see?" said the Bear.
"Who am I supposed to talk to," snapped Kearney, "you or that-stuffed brain?" She laughed shrilly. "Honest to God, Flagg—things must be very bad on Sequoia!"
Ham didn't miss the implication, but his expression didn't change. "Like I said—it's pretty clear. Nobody did your job before you got here and you don't much like that. You figured maybe you could just—cut up little pieces of paper and stick 'em all together and that'd be that." He grinned and shook his head. "Sorry—I didn't come out here to write guide books."
Kearney raised one brow. "Flagg," she said coolly, "nobody could ever accuse you of writing. And I can do my own work, I assure you. It's just a little easier not to have to start from scratch. Usually, the RA reports cut out a lot of unnecessary digging. This time they don't. It'll take me a little longer, is all."
He frowned at that. "How much longer?"
His meaning was obvious to Kearney. She gave a bitter little laugh and cast her eyes up to the high green ceiling. A rare, straw-colored beam of light, no thicker than her finger, stabbed through the miles of heavy growth and spotted a broad leaf.
"Okay," she said wearily, "let's get it all out, Flagg."
She eased herself down on rough bark and crossed her ankles. "I have a socioecological report to make. You can help or not help. I'd rather you did. I'll make it if you don't." She flicked a small green bug from her boots. "It's as simple as that."
Ham rested his square jaw in the palm of his hand. He looked at her and closed one glass-blue eye in thought. "Well, let's see," he said soberly, "the Lemmits live in trees. The males live on one side of The Line, the females on the other. They don't like each other very much." He looked up openly. "What else would you like to know?"
Kearney felt her face burning. She took a deep breath and swallowed her words.
"That's the way you see it, then," she said evenly. "Four years and you know the females and males 'don't like each other very much.' "
"That's what I said."
"And that's all."
"Now, look—!" Ham bit his lip.
"No, you look, Flagg!" She pulled herself to her feet and faced him. "I don't believe for one damn minute you're quite the dull-witted clown of Sequoia you pretend to be. Though God knows you're doing a marvelous job of trying! The male and female Lemmits don't dislike each other, Flagg. They despise each other—they can't stand the sight of the opposite sex!"
"Sometimes," Ham said absently, "I can kind of understand how they feel."
"That's good!" the Bear laughed.
"All right," Kearney said evenly, "we'll pretend for the moment you're striking a serious note. And you're right. There's nothing too new about sexual separation. It's happened before. But it's not the same on Sequoia. Sequoia doesn't have a simple separation of the sexes. Sequoia has hatred. Ritual mating. And a whole by God population of homosexuals! One hundred percent of the population, Flagg."
Ham leaned back on his perch and raised a shaggy brow. "Kind of depends on where you are, doesn't it? If you go messing around with statistics, I mean." He smiled crookedly. "I guess that makes you and me the deviates here, doesn't it?"
Kearney sighed. "Okay, Flagg. That's what it does, all right."
Ham was enjoying himself. "I mean," he went on, "everybody's not the same. If they were, you wouldn't have a lot to do, would you?"
"That's it, then?" Kearney asked him.
"That's what?"
"You don't intend to tell me what you know."
Ham stood up. He was taller than she'd thought. Some of the fat—not all of it—folded itself back where it belonged when he was on his feet. The Bear hung limply from a worn strap over his shoulder.
"Now you got it right," he said tightly. He was so close to her, she could smell the acid scent of sweat, and count the tiny beads of moisture on his brow.
"Nobody asked you to come here—least of all the Lemmits, who by the way are very damn touchy about everything—particularly their sex lives. And since it's kind of their world, I don't see any reason why they can't run it the way they want to. Do you?"
She looked away from him. "That's enough, Flagg."
"No. There's one more thing! Take some nice pictures of the funny planet, Miss Wynn, and put some fancy words together. Then hike it back up Sherandhel and flag a taxi. You don't belong here!"
He turned away, and stalked quickly up Havarhta Bough.
"Flagg!" Kearney snapped.
He stopped and glared back at her.
"You know something's terribly wrong with the Lemmits, don't you?" she said quietly. "And you really don't care. ..."
Ham squinted at her, then shook his head in disgust and disappeared through olive foliage.
Kearney stared after him a long moment. She'd seen the one small flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
She was right, then.
Ham Flagg knew.
And if he did, she asked herself, why was he so damned and determined to keep that knowledge to himself?
TWO
kearney pressed her face against the skimmer window as the dayside crescent of Sequoia curved over the horizon.
"My God-look at that!"
Immediately, she felt the heat rise to her face and she grinned sheepishly at Streeter Kane. Kane winked at her and chuckled to himself.
"Okay," Kearney said wryly, "so I sound like I've never been offplanet. But, Streeter, really—"
Kane nodded in understanding. He touched the control bank lightly. Blue lights flickered and he gestured to port as the skimmer veered sharply.
Below, gray clouds scudded over the broad surface of the planet. Occasionally, the clouds parted to show dark patches of green, and once Kearney thought she saw a flock of great-winged birds etched against dull olive. And everywhere gaunt, black spires poked sharply through the cottony mist.
"It's kind of hard to take, all right," Kane assured her. "And those are just the tops, of course. Most of 'em hit by lightning. Hell, they ought to have been over—what? Twenty thousand years? Fifty? I don't think ConFed's even got an educated guess on that, yet."
He nodded again, toward the invisible giants. "Real foliage doesn't start until three, four thousand feet under what you're seeing. It's another three on down to where the Lemmits live."
He grinned at Kearney. "Sure you don't want to change your mind?" He reached past her to check the panel and carelessly let his hand brush her leg.
Kearney looked past him out the window. "No," she said almost to herself. "I'm not sure at all, Streeter...."
Kearney knew a great deal more about Sequoia than Streeter Kane—as far as facts were concerned. But seeing the great Trees was something else again. She turned back to him.
"How do you—know which one is mine?" she asked.
Streeter shrugged. "Don't." He lifted his hands from the console. "Ship's got it now. There's a Homer on top of Sherandhel. I activated the signal as soon as we hit atmosphere. The RA ought to be on his way up to get you."
"Oh. I see."
Kane caught her tone. He reached out and touched her hand. "What, Kearney?"
Kearney shrugged. "Nothing." She looked up at him. "Do you know Hamby Flagg?"
"I hauled him in here. I leave his supplies up by the Homer. No, I don't know him." He paused and looked at her. "Why?"
Kearney sank down in her seat and folded her legs under the console. "He writes lousy reports," she said dully.
Kane stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed. "That's all you're worried about, Kearney?"
Kearney didn't answer.
The sunset was startling over blood-red clouds. Then, night dropped down without warning and brought angry winds razored with stinging pellets of rain.
Kearney huddled under the weather tent anchored to the naked branch and silently cursed Hamby Flagg. She checked her watch once more. Seven hours! What the hell was he doing? Did he intend to leave her up here all night?
She was grateful for the thermal suit and the oxygen. It was like spending the night on the bare peak of a mountain—only this mountain by God moved in the wind. And creaked.
She remembered with a cold shudder that lightning had been searing the tops of Sequoia's Trees for thousands of years. With her luck, it would be Sherandhel's turn again tonight. She made a grim face. A great way to begin the tour—baked to a crisp before she was twenty feet into the Highwood.
She swept the thought aside and settled in to wait for morning, or Hamby Flagg—whichever came first.
Flagg arrived at noon the next day.
He was an anonymous figure in a worn thermal suit much like her own. A thick airhose masked his features. All Kearney could see were glass-blue, expressionless eyes that seemed to look past her with no particular interest. He didn't speak to her. He hoisted the compact load of supplies the skimmer had left and pointed to the climbing vine that led to the foliage belt three thousand feet below. He showed her the safety clamp on her suit, and clipped his own into place.
Then he left her.
Kearney followed quickly. She didn't look down. She knew what was there and she didn't want to see it. Not just yet....
She couldn't remember being so tired.
Every muscle felt like an agonizing weight attached to her bones. Hamby Flagg wasn't much on rest stops. When he did pause, it wasn't for long. She was only able to sink down and catch her breath and then he was on his way again. So far, he hadn't spoken. Kearney decided she wasn't sure he remembered she was there.
She collapsed gratefully on the broad branch under a cover of heavy leaves. There was no sound around her. The foliage was bright emerald, the air itself tinged with a dull, topaz-yellow. Flagg was turned away from her, pulling the thermal suit down over his legs. She suddenly remembered how stifling hot she was, and reached eager hands to jerk the mask off her face and shove the tight hood from around her head. It was a painfully beautiful feeling. She ran fingers through her long hair, fluffing it out quickly with a comfortable sigh of pleasure.
Flagg turned at the sound. Kearney started to speak, then caught the man's expression. Color drained from his face. His jaw went slack.
"What-the-bloody-hell!" he gasped. He backed away from her as if he'd been struck.
Kearney looked at him quizzically. Now, what? She raised herself up on unsteady legs and faced him, hands on her hips.
"Well, what the bloody hell yourself, friend!" she blurted. "What's the matter with you, Flagg? It is Flagg, isn't it?"
Hamby stared. Whatever it was he saw, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder at the foliage behind and Kearney followed his gaze. She caught four golden eyes before they disappeared into green shadow.
"Well," she demanded, "what is it?"
She folded her arms and glared at him fiercely. "Come on—whatsr— whass—"
Now that was irritating, she thought crossly. The words wouldn't come out right. She tried to concentrate on Flagg. Flagg insisted on wavering in green air. He simply wouldn't stand still. She stared past him, followed the gigantic column that stretched above them through heavy foliage until its cold crest was swallowed in the sky. She followed it up ... up ... up until it faded into warm, salty darkness. . . .
Kearney opened her eyes.
At first she was sure she was in some kind of a cave, then she remembered they were unlikely to have caves in the Highwood. She brought her vision into focus and saw the walls curving above her were hollowed from richly-grained wood. The wood glowed with a soft orange light, and she saw the light came from a wicker cage directly over her head.
A tiny buzzing sound came from the cage and Kearney studied it thoughtfully. She decided, finally, the light was really thousands of tiny fireflies clustered together. The buzzing was restful, almost hypnotic, and she closed her eyes and began to drift into sleep again. Then she heard the sound. She opened her eyes quickly.
The two creatures sat across the room, watching her silently. As Kearney turned and saw them, one rose and moved soundlessly in her direction.
She followed the creature with her eyes—a light, fragile thing with a tiny waist and long, slender legs. The slim body was covered in a fine, silky gray fur that lightened to pale white over small, budding breasts. When it kneeled down, Kearney stared up into golden saucer eyes.
"You feelit better, Hai?"
The voice was soft, sibilant, almost a purr. Kearney strained to bring her crash course in the Lemmit language into play.
"Yes. Much better, thank you."
She wanted to ask where she was, how she had gotten there, where Hamby Flagg had gone—but something warned her this was not the thing to do at all. Not now.
The creature smiled. Small, pliant lips curved under a velvety button nose.
"You havit hungry? You colders?"
"No," said Kearney. "Maybe a little water. In a minute. Thank you."
"Erfedrie gettin foods, or whatevers," the creature insisted. "You be askit Erfedrie, Erfedrie bringin, Hai?"
Kearney smiled warmly and pulled herself up on her arms. She could see the other Lemmit over a silky shoulder. It sat unmoving on the other side of the room, big eyes fixed unwaveringly on Kearney and its friend.
"Is that your name? Er-fed-ree?"
The Lemmit seemed delighted. "Erfedrie!" She laughed. "And you callin whasit?"
Kearney frowned. "Oh. Of course! You mean my name? Kearney. Kearney Wynn."
A small red tongue appeared at the side of the Lemmit's mouth. It flicked in and out, tasting the new syllables carefully.
"Keeeernee. Kerneew'n!"
"Right!" Kearney laughed. "Very good—better than I did. We'll have to do some—"
Kearney stopped. She stared down, startled. Delicate silk fingers toyed with the snaps over her breasts.
"Hey, now!" She gently pushed the small hand away. "Wait a second, friend. . . ."
The fingers went away as softly as they had come. Golden eyes peered down at her curiously.
"Whas bein wrong, Kerneew'n? Hai?" She glanced across the room at the other Lemmit, then smiled gently at Kearney.
"Whasit, Kerneew'n?" she repeated sadly. "Whyser you pushit, Hai?"
Kearney looked up at the large, golden eyes, the small pink mouth that curled like the tips of mothwings. Erfedrie was alien—but she was unmistakably all female. And Kearney had the sudden, chilling sensation that she could see a sensuous, unearthly caricature of herself mirrored in the Lemmit's silken features.
"Erfedrie's likit you ver mucher, Kerneew'n," she said softly. "Ver mucher, Kerneew'n. ..."
Kearney felt the whisper-light fingers brush against her again and she shrank quickly away from them.
"Go away, please," she cried, "go away!"
THREE
ham froze, the long arrow nocked in his bow.
The Lemmits on the branch ahead had stopped. They stood perfectly still, deep golden eyes searching for shadow patterns, flat, dishlike ears trembling slightly with touches of sound.
Ham didn't try to listen. Whatever it was they heard, it was well beyond his own range. It might be a lizard scratching on a nearby branch, or something several miles away.
From the corner of his eye he saw Karajhak drop silently and press his ear against bark. He stayed a long moment, color and form molded to the branch itself. Finally, he raised one slender arm and another hunter moved quickly and melted into greenness.
Ham followed with his eyes. He saw the hunter slide off the branch through heavy foliage. If a single leaf noted his passage, Ham didn't spot the movement. He flowed with the uncanny grace peculiar to Lemmits that always seemed to remind Ham of quicksilver rolling about on a sheet of glass.
He caught the hunter moments later fifty yards above, flattened on a slim bough—a small discoloration, a blotch of gray on gray. Enough, though, if you knew what you were looking for.
...
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