she said. 'I never intended to give offence.'
'It is more your safety that is of concern,' Weynl said. 'Some of the darker corners below harbour predators that could devour a Human in a bite or two.'
T understand your concerns, Listener,' she said. I assure you that I will take them very seriously'
The elderly Uvovo regarded her for a moment, his amiable smile never wavering, then he nodded.
'Seek with care, Doctor,' he said before tapping his trictra's side carapace with his herding stave.
Even as the Listener and his companions continued up the braided cable-ladders, Catriona told Pgal to hurry. The herder guided the trictra up hanging ne;s and across leafy curtains, reaching the hammock platform nearest to the cluster of adapted native dwellings that constituted the enclave of Human scientists. Unstrapping herself from the saddle restraints, she climbed out onto the springy matting, stripped off the bulky robe and turned to Pgal. But he spoke first:
'I not carry you again.'
Astonished, she stared. 'Why, Pgal? Has someone threatened you?'
It was the herder's turn to be surprised. 'No! - I go to Highsong vudron. Rejoin Warrior clade.' He smiled. 'Very happy'
Catriona nodded, understanding. Vudrons were large, spherical chambers fashioned from huge, empty · seed husks which grew only at the highest places of Segrana. Bonded to a branch or trunk near a Uvovo town or village, they served as a Listener shrine, a refuge for private meditation, as well as the centrepiece of public ceremonies. An outcast like Pgal could become a full member of either Uvovo clade by taking a vigil in a vudron, but only if invited by a Listener. Like Weynl.
'I am happy for you, Pgal,' she said. 'Thank you for all your help, and go in peace.'
The herder smiled, bowed his head, then steered his trictra down from the platform and along the meshed vines.
And thank you, Weynl, she thought, watching him leave. You really don't want me going near the forest floor, do you? Well, let's see what my wee camera spotted, shall we}
She glanced around her to make sure she was alone, then took out the cam, fitted a viewing ocle to the output, pressed Play and held it up to her eye.
And saw . . . only flickering confusion. The timer readout was the same as when she got the trip signal, but the recording was a blurred, stuttering mess. She ran it again and again, trying to find more than just hints of a dark form that might have been a creature, or shaky stick-like things that might have been limbs . . .
She lowered the cam and sagged against one of the platform's heavy, woven hawsers. She suddenly felt weary, as if the recording had knocked the vitality out of her. It had been such a waste, scrounging the cam from Lyssa Devlin's team over at Skygarden, skulking down there to plant it then retrieving it, all a waste of time and effort. It might be possible to process and filter the image data, but only the Institute office at Viridian Station would have that kind of equipment and anyway, how could she explain how she obtained such a recording without admitting to multiple violations of the Respect Accords?
Disconsolate, she put the minicam away in her pouch, slung the baggy robe over one shoulder and climbed the branch stairway that led to the Human enclave. Halfway up, the stairs trembled a little underfoot as someone came hurrying across a flimsy-looking gantry from another platform. It was Tomas Villon, one of her team's tech assistants. His features were ffusl ed and excited as he raised a hand in greeting and :al ed out.
'Doctor Macreadie,' he said. 'Have you heard the news?'
'No - what news?'
He grinned. 'The president announced it in his widecast this morning, and the channel heads have been talking about nothing else . . .'
'Sorry, Tomas, but I've been working hard, and Ive been away all morning. What's happened?'
Clearly delighted at being able to let her in on the story, he cleared his throat. 'Well, as I said, the president came on the
'It is more your safety that is of concern,' Weynl said. 'Some of the darker corners below harbour predators that could devour a Human in a bite or two.'
T understand your concerns, Listener,' she said. I assure you that I will take them very seriously'
The elderly Uvovo regarded her for a moment, his amiable smile never wavering, then he nodded.
'Seek with care, Doctor,' he said before tapping his trictra's side carapace with his herding stave.
Even as the Listener and his companions continued up the braided cable-ladders, Catriona told Pgal to hurry. The herder guided the trictra up hanging ne;s and across leafy curtains, reaching the hammock platform nearest to the cluster of adapted native dwellings that constituted the enclave of Human scientists. Unstrapping herself from the saddle restraints, she climbed out onto the springy matting, stripped off the bulky robe and turned to Pgal. But he spoke first:
'I not carry you again.'
Astonished, she stared. 'Why, Pgal? Has someone threatened you?'
It was the herder's turn to be surprised. 'No! - I go to Highsong vudron. Rejoin Warrior clade.' He smiled. 'Very happy'
Catriona nodded, understanding. Vudrons were large, spherical chambers fashioned from huge, empty · seed husks which grew only at the highest places of Segrana. Bonded to a branch or trunk near a Uvovo town or village, they served as a Listener shrine, a refuge for private meditation, as well as the centrepiece of public ceremonies. An outcast like Pgal could become a full member of either Uvovo clade by taking a vigil in a vudron, but only if invited by a Listener. Like Weynl.
'I am happy for you, Pgal,' she said. 'Thank you for all your help, and go in peace.'
The herder smiled, bowed his head, then steered his trictra down from the platform and along the meshed vines.
And thank you, Weynl, she thought, watching him leave. You really don't want me going near the forest floor, do you? Well, let's see what my wee camera spotted, shall we}
She glanced around her to make sure she was alone, then took out the cam, fitted a viewing ocle to the output, pressed Play and held it up to her eye.
And saw . . . only flickering confusion. The timer readout was the same as when she got the trip signal, but the recording was a blurred, stuttering mess. She ran it again and again, trying to find more than just hints of a dark form that might have been a creature, or shaky stick-like things that might have been limbs . . .
She lowered the cam and sagged against one of the platform's heavy, woven hawsers. She suddenly felt weary, as if the recording had knocked the vitality out of her. It had been such a waste, scrounging the cam from Lyssa Devlin's team over at Skygarden, skulking down there to plant it then retrieving it, all a waste of time and effort. It might be possible to process and filter the image data, but only the Institute office at Viridian Station would have that kind of equipment and anyway, how could she explain how she obtained such a recording without admitting to multiple violations of the Respect Accords?
Disconsolate, she put the minicam away in her pouch, slung the baggy robe over one shoulder and climbed the branch stairway that led to the Human enclave. Halfway up, the stairs trembled a little underfoot as someone came hurrying across a flimsy-looking gantry from another platform. It was Tomas Villon, one of her team's tech assistants. His features were ffusl ed and excited as he raised a hand in greeting and :al ed out.
'Doctor Macreadie,' he said. 'Have you heard the news?'
'No - what news?'
He grinned. 'The president announced it in his widecast this morning, and the channel heads have been talking about nothing else . . .'
'Sorry, Tomas, but I've been working hard, and Ive been away all morning. What's happened?'
Clearly delighted at being able to let her in on the story, he cleared his throat. 'Well, as I said, the president came on the
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