Foxfire
"Yes!" A cry of pleasure and sigh of release all at once.
Through already or in trouble? Foxfire dropped the med-tek she was unpacking and spun toward the
sound. Sometimes, she reminded herself, Bears don't mean what they say. Normal speech is so
awkward for them. If only I could talk their language. It takes a body like theirs to do that.
Grizzly staggered slightly as he backed away from the rubble that now covered the north train
tunnel. Foxfire jumped to his side and took his elbow to steady him, although he massed nearly
three times her thirty-seven kilos. He looked down at her, a grin spread across his round face,
then he raised an arm and pointed. "Yes!" he cried again.
Releasing her grip, Foxfire followed his point. She struggled to see what he meant. She'd asked
him to make a hole, but where was it? She searched for it among the tassles of covering grass, the
scramble of underlying dirt, the harsh juts of epox-crete that had lined the tunnel, now vomited in
all directions by coaches as they exploded from it. Shadows just starting to grow from the
double-suns behind them didn't help. Nor did the rich, conflicting odors of disturbed nature and
artifact.
Then, she noticed sunlight that chased itself in a glinting swirl inside a curiously smooth
darkness. She stepped forward for a better look. The oval hole bored down through the jumble at
an angle. At its bottom, an airy murkiness promised access to the coach she and Weir had watched
plug the tunnel — and trap dozens of people out of reach of the tek-less rescuers.
But it's too small! About the size of Grizzly's head. But he's so proud. He ought to be. No
Bear has ever used his talent to cut holes before. But we need more!
Stretching toward empathy, Foxfire turned to the dear person towering behind her. She took
Grizzly's big hands in hers and smiled up into his deceptively simple face. "Well done, Grizzly.
Now make it bigger."
He crinkled his face with puzzlement.
Foxfire pointed at the med-tek she'd deployed behind him. Several packs of face- and
chest-huggers, and a few first-aid kits. Nurse Poplar hadn't wanted to tie up much med-tek that
could be put to use elsewhere in the drome, not when Foxfire's chances of getting into the tunnel
were so small. The need to prove Nurse Poplar wrong shook within Foxfire, but she knew better than
to let on to that urgency with Grizzly, even though every second leeched at the lives underneath
them. Instead, slowing her thoughts down, she concentrated on the tasks at-hand.
"I have to get that tek down to the people trapped inside, so I can stop them from getting worse.
Then, I have to get those people out of there, so we can treat their injuries properly." She
thought he understood, but decided to make it simpler. "I have to climb down there to help those
people." She thumped her chest. "Make it big enough for me to get inside. O.K.?"
He lifted his gaze to study the hole, his heavy lids widening to permit a better look.
Foxfire took the chance to check on Glacier. Farther along the tunnel, the girl Bear, also from
Grizzly's cohort, hunkered on a flat, undisturbed surface. She worked steadfastly to cut her way
through to the second coach trapped even farther underground.
"Should I get Glacier?" Foxfire asked Grizzly. "The two of you could get done faster."
"No."
"Sure, she could work alongside you—"
He slid his wide gaze in her direction. "No."
Part of empathy is backing off, ndito. Let him work. Foxfire spread her hands and said, "Thanks,
Grizzly." She took herself away to check on Glacier. Glancing back, she saw Grizzly hunch
forward, shoulders rising to touch his ears, eyelids flaring as he focused his mind. A
toast-colored mist formed at his focus, then bore down toward the ground.
Foxfire tore her gaze off the oddly compelling sight and sent it to their surroundings.
Just the three of them worked in this part of the drome. Without rescue-tek, there was no hope of
progress in the tunnel, so the other rescuers directed their efforts — and their med-tek — where
they could make a difference. So far, Nurse Poplar had made sure that everyone stayed away from
the tunnel — and the Bears.
After all, that was the deal Foxfire had struck with the Nurse Supervisor in the entrance room of
the Neighborhood Health Concern: no one outside The Tangent should see the Bears at work,
At first, Nurse Poplar wouldn't hear of any Bear, even just a single, older one, leaving his
training place, especially to go in harm's way.
"We have to open up a way to the people trapped in the tunnel," Foxfire had declared.
"They can wait for rescue-tek," Nurse Poplar said.
"That's too long. Weir has none, and I don't think he can even talk to the anshin, much less
borrow any rescue-tek from them. Look, I'll just take Grizzly on ahead. We can start work while
you organize the others. I've taken him out to help before."
"Did you not learn from the Elders after that? The Bears must be protected!"
"'Draw near to trouble, for another, friend or enemy, may need your help,'" Foxfire quoted in
rebuttal.
Nurse Poplar stopped her smile of approval before it bloomed and twisted it into a stare of
assessment. "Why is this so important to you? You have failed no one here." She gestured at the
NHC around them.
At least she tries to understand my issues. But not well enough. Foxfire snapped, "I fear to fail
anybody who needs me, and they—" she shot a hand toward the door to the rest of the world
"— need me a lot. Not just me, but everything I can possibly bring to bear on their trouble."
Pun intended? No, subliminal intended.
"What is it with you and the Ausländer? Is it that boy of yours — what's his name? — Meyer?"
Stunned, Foxfire stammered, "You can't know that — I was careful — but—" She does know
me!
"Are they different, the Ausländer?"
"No," Foxfire snapped. "That's why we must help them."
Nurse Poplar frowned with thought as she nodded. "The Ausländer must not know of the Bears'
special skills; that is most important. On this point, I agree with the Elders — at this time —
but they also say that the Bears must not see troubles, must not lose the innocence the Lord has
granted them. No, I do not agree there. If they are to become their own people, they must know
sorrow and fear; otherwise, they cannot truly know joy and love." She took Foxfire's elbow and
turned them both toward the inner rooms of the clinic. "Take Glacier as well as Grizzly. She
shows as much promise in adapting to Life as he does. I will bring the rest of our help and keep
them — and all the Ausländer I can influence — away from the tunnel. Together, we must make sure
no one gets to curious distance — either way."
Foxfire had squeezed her teacher's hand, then scurried into the training rooms, interrupting with
quick courteousness and dragging off her two favorite Bears as they giggled with excitement.
They'd led the rescue exodus from the building.
Now, she glanced quickly around the drome. The train station just across the way seemed to teeter
from its gaping wounds. Tending to them — and the victims ripped and smashed inside them — were
people from Weir's clinic, distinguished by their casual uniform of trousers and overshirts. But
she didn't recognize them. Weir's other teams must have arrived! And there, an anshin in
blue-gray jumpsuit helped out ... and another. Weir did work a deal! Of course, he would. Then,
where's the rescue-tek?
Guilt surged through Foxfire, torqing her stomach. Did I risk Grizzly and Glacier without need?
But they're not rushing the tek over here. They must not have it yet. We're still needed. And
Nurse Poplar is keeping them away so we can work.
Beyond the drome, though, she noticed people gathering atop its berm, not rescuers, but spectators,
zhee-tely gathering as people have always gathered at disasters. Gawking? Or admiring our work?
Is Meyer there?
Remembering how he'd come checking on her during an early riot, Foxfire hoped he would show up
again, but feared he wouldn't. Not that he cares anymore. You don't know that, ndito. Then why
hasn't he called? Why haven't I?
She stared at the berm, but even in those few seconds, the crowd broadened and deepened. Her
longing changed to fear. They've nothing to do but watch? And watch and watch. Just who is
watching? Just who can see the Bears? Glory in the Lord! Let no one see!
"Yes! Yes!" A double cry of success, two Bears celebrating in different places.
Foxfire jerked from startle — and from guilt. Wool-gathering while they're working. Now it's my
turn.
She turned back to the rubble in time to see Grizzly's head follow the rest of his body down the
hole he'd drilled. He plunged toward the most horrible scene of his life. He shouldn't see that
much sorrow, not now, despite what Nurse Poplar said. I never thought he would do that. Never —
As punctuation to the lament, Glacier cried "Yes!" once more and came running, scampering, intent
on following her cohort-brother.
Foxfire caught the big girl's arm, then tugged even harder to slow down her excitement. When
Glacier looked around, Foxfire said earnestly, "You must not go down there. Do you
understand?"
Glacier wagged her head in disappointment and muttered, "No-Yes."
"Help me, Glacier. Stay up here and send the med-tek after me. Understand? That would be the
most help. Understand?"
"Yes-No." Obedient despite her complaint, Glacier swung to her chore, snatching up two med-tek
packs in each hand and swinging them up and around.
Foxfire dived for the hole, not sure what she'd find, sure only that she had to get to Grizzly's
side as he faced carnage and that she had to get ahead of Glacier's throws. She grabbed the edge
of the hole, a pudgy trefoil made from three of Grizzly's Spaceª punctures. Two would've been
enough for me. He cut big on purpose. I should've stopped him, I should've known. I should go to
him now. Clumsily, she stuck her feet inside, hopped forward once on her fanny, then slipped on
the smoothest surface she'd ever known. Any hope of controlling her drop vanished as she plummeted
into the wrecked coach below.
Though she'd never worked rescue on a train, her training had made promises about that situation.
Light would flood down from the ceiling. Normally transparent, it would provide emergency lighting
from a stark-white surface. Seats would stand bolt upright, their acceleration harnesses
protecting their occupants. Med-tek carts would scurry from the dining alcove to tend to unlikely
injuries.
Foxfire landed smartly on a rubbery square, the stoop that connected one of the coach's doors with
the interior carpeting. A coincidence or had Grizzly aimed for the door and the space around it?
She took the fall by giving with her knees, even as she jerked her head around, trying to match the
scene to her expectations.
Light didn't flood; rather, it burped from flickering strips that had been recently slapped across
a stark, dull-gray ceiling. Seats had been jammed into the floor in slapdash sitting circles. The
coach's back-end provided a blind wall that blended with the ceiling. Doors had been slashed into
this back-wall as well as the matching sides. No dining alcove, and no scurrying med-tek carts.
A freight-car converted hastily to passenger coach.
Just that glimpse before something heavy and rough-surfaced — the med-tek packs! — slammed into
Foxfire's knees, buckling them, pitching her forward into the nearest sitting circle.
Hands reached for her, helped her up. Faces topped the hands, looked down with concern. Foxfire
blinked for perspective. People, smeared with shadow, sat in all the chairs around her, their
acceleration rigs now hanging loose. They started talking abruptly: "Can we get out now? Was
that some kind of new rescue-tek? The skin just melted away — that's ceramalloy, you know — and
this brown mist poked out, then vanished; how weird was that? Are there more rescuers coming? Can
we get out now?"
"Are any of you hurt?" she called over the patter.
They replied by sitting back with surprise and shaking their heads No. An older man said, "Toward
the front, they're hurt. People closer tried to help. We're all right back here. Our harnesses
did the trick. Only, up front the walls caved in. The big guy went that way without our telling
him."
Glory in the Lord! With some reluctance, Foxfire turned toward the front. Isn't being down here
enough for Grizzly? Half-again as long as wide, the coach tilted up, giving her a dappled view of
its front-end. Its smooth curve had been swatted into abrupt flats and sharp breaks and cruel
points that thrust every which way through the darker front of the compartment. Seats had been
heaved over and sideways, then somehow stacked together against a wall. Overwhelmed, the makeshift
coach had turned on its wards with haphazard violence. Must he run towards horror? No apparent
casualties, though. Who moved them? Did they know how? Pray those seats were mostly empty. She
gathered up one pack, then another. Where's Grizzly? Why don't I see him?
She called out, "Grizzly, you come away from there," then sprang into the path leading out of the
sitting circle. "Grizzly, you shouldn't be trying this kind of thing." She dashed past the next
sitting circle and saw —
People, dead and dying — two neat rows of them — atop jumbled and torn carpeting — cleared of
those chairs now stacked on the side — streaks and splashes of gore — some people upright,
tending these victims — Grizzly hunched over a body, its twitching legs all Foxfire could see.
She skidded to a halt, called, "Hey!" and tossed a pack to one of those ministering who looked up.
Then she went after Grizzly. She snagged his shoulder. "Grizzly, you shouldn't be trying anything
here." She pulled at him. "You'll get hurt." The shoulder didn't budge. She reached for more
persuasive words. "Your mother is worried. She'll blame me if you get hurt."
Grizzly looked around at that, his bulbous eyes gleaming with what light there was. "No-No-No," he
said, then catching sight of the second pack, grabbed for it. "Yes!" Quickly, he flipped it open,
palmed a face-hugger, then spun back to the victim.
Foxfire stepped across the legs even as they spasmed again; she looked down. Lying on one side, a
lanky woman writhed weakly, outlined darkly in her own blood, drenched with more of it. A spike of
ceramalloy reared its point from the base of her neck like an odd decoration. A trick of the
light, Foxfire thought, then registered the scarlet-soaked clothes packed around its base to
staunch the bleeding. That helped some, that she's still alive after all this time. The wide end
of the impromptu blade peeked out behind the woman's shoulder. Nothing I brought can handle this.
Carefully, Grizzly reached around the bloody spike and laid down the face-hugger. Its tendrils
immediately went to work and sucked its fluid-bags dry even as its red flag erupted like a grasping
hand, demanding help. The display told Foxfire a grim series of buts: more fluids were needed,
but would be lost quickly without patches to major vessels; it — or another face-hugger like it,
like the ones still in the pack — could patch the major vessels, but a foreign substance — the
spike — blocked its reach; pulling out the substance would unblock the vessels, but probably cause
more damage than a face-hugger could offset. The flag posted a triage level of 0 and added a white
slash across its face. Don't bother, it meant, move on.
Even as Foxfire reached this conclusion, Grizzly flicked an impatient finger at the data, then
reached for the spike.
"Don't try it, Grizzly!" Foxfire grabbed him under the arm and lifted, more to prod him than move
him. "It won't work—" The words rang in her mind, echoing from her past. "You'll only fail."
Stronger muscles defeated hers, adding a pulse to the feedback from her own memories. "You—"
Hound's voice, not hers "— will —" now Painter harried her "— make Mom cry." Together, they
pulled her back from life, made her fear it. These were the words they'd inflicted on her, that
made her always afraid of venturing forth — and failing.
The same words I'm inflicting on Grizzly. Insight jarred her, slammed her teeth together. The
same fears, I'm giving him the same fears. Nurse Poplar was right, about them, about me, about
everyone. I have to let him try. Be careful he doesn't fail miserably. He can't learn if he's
dead — or broken.
Foxfire changed her grip on Grizzly's arm, now pushing on him with encouragement. She also changed
her words, now guiding him on. "Don't pull it, Grizzly. That would kill her. Make it go away
without moving it." Can he do that? It worked on the hole. She'll die without it. Foxfire
brought up another face-hugger to show she believed in him and crouched on the other side of the
victim, ready to apply it — and anything else she could do if things went wrong.
With a grunted "Yes," Grizzly opened his hands and spread them to keep them out of the way. He
hunched his shoulders and flared his eyelids into a hot stare. An anomaly formed almost
immediately, smaller than before, and already swarming over the spike like a brownish coat of
paint. Casting its usual spell, the mist grabbed Foxfire's attention as it hid the dull-gray of
the ceramalloy, then winked away, taking the spike with it, this time like an illusionist's
tablecloth. Oh, the spike was still there, just a whole lot smaller, small enough med-tek could
ignore it. Grizzly snatched the face-hugger from her and with two twists of his wrists, put it to
work.
This time, the tendrils reached deeper, worked longer, didn't quite drain the fluids. This time,
the flag indicated hope, but only with the application of major med-tek.
Foxfire squeezed Grizzly's shoulder, told the big boy, "Good job," handed him the pack. "Check
others. I'm going for more help." She threw herself up and away — and halted at the sight.
Glacier hunkered at the stoop below the hole Grizzly had punched, right shoulder brushing the
dull-gray wall below it. A line of passengers trailed off to her left. With astonishing
regularity, a passenger stepped forward, Glacier offered her linked hands as a stirrup, and
jointly, they propelled the passenger up and out through the hole. All with a quiet orderliness
that belied the hellish setting.
Foxfire eyed the line to gauge its size and saw that it wound twice across this coach, then out the
door in the back-wall. People from that second car calmly waited for their escape. Check them for
casualties? No. Get up there and bring stretchers back down.
Stepping to the head of the queue, she put up a hand and an apologetic smile. "I've got to go for
more help. May I?"
Fear darkened the man's face for a moment, but he forced it aside and waved Foxfire on.
Immediately, she leaned toward Glacier with a much brighter smile. "Good work, Glacier. I'm next,
then you keep getting these people out of here as fast as you can."
Glacier ducked her head in a nod, then broadened her already wide grin. Enjoying herself, proud of
herself.
Foxfire held a thick shoulder for balance and set her foot in the stirrup of hands. As she
should. As we all should, given the chance to dare and succeed. Foxfire pushed against the lift
surging under her and pierced the hole with her hands, then head, then body. She popped into
sunlight, head high as she paused, then dropped feet first, flailing for a flat spot among the
rubble. Again, hands caught at her, swept her aside, and set her down safely. She spun out of the
way and looked back.
A gauntlet of men stood beside and below the hole, ready to catch the next person flung out. They
were feeding people to a triage Nurse who dispatched them into a field of other Nurses standing by
with med-tek and stretchers. There, they were put into treatment, or more often, they didn't need
anything and were sent out of the way. To many, this meant collecting on the other side of the
gauntlet to chat and gawk. The rescuers were too busy to move them on.
Impressed, appreciative, Foxfire turned toward the triage area. Breathing deep of the open, fresh
air, she skirted the gauntlet. Overhead, a beautiful and expansive blue filled the sky. Below it,
she looked past a couple of anshin and picked out a stack of Hoberman stretchers for a
destination. She glanced back at the cops and saw — that red-headed bitch of an anshin
tactician. Rote anger gushed into Foxfire's mind, but she caught the other woman's gaze, then slid
into the pain that filled it. Grief, yes, over the loss of something very important to this woman,
but more ... failure. The Chief's soul hung shriveled behind those eyes, hanging there like a
tattered uniform that had been discarded, but held erect by the fire of desperation.
"You!" the Chief snapped, then stepped in a short circle as she surveyed the Nurses working the
survivors, then the gauntlet efficiently supplying the Nurses, and finally, the on-lookers who
barely paid her any mind. "Has The Tangent sent help too?" she asked Foxfire. "Why now? Why
here?"
"They're working for me," a heavy voice said with authority. Weir shouldered his way out of the
crowd's trailing edge. "As are some of your people. I'm acting as tactician at this site now."
"I'm well aware of that," the Chief said bitterly. "And I'm changing that as of now. I'm taking
over."
"What's the point?" Weir challenged as he moseyed to Foxfire's side. "I'll finish the rescue."
He turned to Foxfire. "How are things down there? Ready for stretchers?"
Foxfire said, "Most of the passengers are uninjured. They're being evacuated as you can see, but
there are some badly hurt. Yes, they need stretchers down there now."
Weir reached high and grabbed some air. Drawn by his gesture, constables Foxfire hadn't seen
trotted forward, carrying the small wads of unopened stretchers. They paused at the gauntlet to
negotiate use of the hole.
But Weir was already talking to the Chief again. "When we're done with Stage 5, Evacuate, my
combine will go back to their clinics, The Tangent back to their neighborhood, and your anshin can
complete the Response Pattern. Some of the casualties will need more care than my clinic can give
them. And you can finish cleaning up the gangs."
If anything, the Chief's face hardened further, as though her grudging courtesy had been sandstone
that now morphed into granite. She answered quietly at first, "Your combine can go back to your
continent." Her voice filled with authority, as if she were being recorded. "I'm
expelling you all from my direvnya as of right now."
A setback for Okra. Okra? I just lost my ticket into the Bear Project.
"The Collective has invited us to compete," Weir said evenly. "We'll stay till the selection."
"As Chief of Anshin, I am authorized to eliminate any threat to my service capability. That's
you. Right now. As soon as the Em-Deh returns to service, you'll find its policyware will enforce
that order. No products, no services anywhere in Ganj Dareh. Until it does come back, you can't
get anything done anyway." She leaned her head around to glare at Foxfire again. "As for The
Tangent, I am commandeering any and all people, tek, and any other resources that could conceivably
help me take care of the Collective."
Weir eased forward, eclipsing the glare. Grateful, Foxfire fled into the crowd around them, out of
the line of fire. Hold on, ndito, the Chief opens another door: a chance to work in new places,
in new ways. She quit slipping between elbows. I give Grizzly and Glacier a chance, so I get
another chance of my own? Glory in the Lord! Se would not work that direct. It's all a matter of
point-of-view. Exactly, and mine has changed abruptly. She retraced her steps. Even with this
bitch — ah! Foxfire regretted the word now, having seen the Chief's pain. Yes, even with this
driven woman in charge. Leeway for others flowed more easily now than ever before. Foxfire joined
the periphery watching the battle of tacticians.
At that instant, behind these antagonists, a stretcher clawed its way out of Grizzly's hole, aided
by a tugging constable. Another cop elbowed his way to the surface behind it, obviously slipping
on the hole's sides, just as obviously boosted from below.
Ignoring the continuing rescue — or unaware, though Foxfire doubted that — Weir spread his hands
as if batting away the order. "You don't want The Tangent in your operation, Phoebe. May I call
you 'Phoebe' now that we're finally talking to each other?"
"No. 'Chief Heejanus' will do. And—" she drew a long, shuddering breath "— and I did
finish with Bande Gastarbeiter. We have all of them in custody." She drew more air that
must have chilled her because she shivered again, robbing her voice of surety. "In one way or
another, we have them in custody. If you hadn't interfered, we would be completely
finished with that Response Pattern."
Weir reached out to encompass the drome. "This so-called accident interfered, no' me. All
I did was respond to it since your combine was ... otherwise engaged. Besides, this event showed
too much pattern to be a true accident." He propped his fists on his hips, daring dispute.
The Chief faltered, like Weir's words joined doubts already raiding her insides.
A new voice intruded, "Patterns do not prescribe violence." A man brushed past the Chief.
From-Nihon, he stood a half-head shorter than the Chief, even with a black hedge of hair standing
out around his open face. Slight, with broad shoulders, he radiated certainty driven by intellect,
but inspired by a concern not altogether professional. He cut in front of the Chief as though
defending her from Weir's claim. With a gentle nudge, she resettled him partly to the side, but
did not upstage him.
"Patterns are prescriptive," Weir replied with a trace of amusement. "But I do not speak
of patterns formally. I use the word in its descriptive sense, after the fact. A pattern can be
induced ... with enough data. And I was here, on the site, able to collect data because I watched
as those coaches erupted from their tunnel. Who are you?"
The man's dark eyes gleamed coldly, like obsidian. "Dyr Kanpachiro Nitsta, consortium advisor to
the Chief."
"Ah, Byukan-Hamil. Advising — or getting in the way?"
"As proposal tactician, I — we — I assisted the Chief in submitting a proposal so
innovative and competitive that the Collective will certainly renew our contract."
"I look forward to their decision — in our favor." Weir shoved the topic away and looked beyond
Dyr Kanpachiro. "Chief, you found a conspiracy among Die Gastarbeiter?"
The Chief's pale face twitched in a mostly hidden struggle. Control versus delegation? Foxfire
guessed. Or confidence losing out to its lack? I certainly wouldn't want to give Weir any opening
to tear into.
So, after the briefest pause, her advisor answered, "We did. A small portion of our Guest Workers
ganged together for taunting and destroying ... and eventually, for killing. They instigated many,
if not most, of the Commotions over the past eleven days."
"So now that you've captured them, it's all over? Tensions will ease? People will become more
peaceful? Conditions won't return to the quiet before the Rendezvous of Futures came to town, but
much less than yesterday?"
Dyr Kanpachiro lifted his smooth chin with challenge, "You have reason to think otherwise?"
Oddly, Weir broke from the scrutiny, pulling everybody's attention toward Foxfire, or at least her
side of the crowd — and away from Grizzly's hole. Nurse Poplar stood over there now, supervising
the gauntlet as they pulled a rope from the hole, a rope taut with weight. The Bears! I should
have thought! I can't go over there now without limelighting Grizzly and Glacier. Weir must've
noticed; he's distracting people. Nurse Poplar will take care of my Bears. And me. I'm sure
she'll have some words for me later.
"Denied," Weir boomed. "No reason at all — but I do have a feeling about it."
"You'll have to do better than that." Dyr Kanpachiro turned as if leaving. Backing just slightly,
the Chief seemed relieved, even appreciative of the support. "You have your orders, and we have
work to do, completing your cobbled-together response in accordance with our established
Patterns."
Weir called, "Have you determined why the gangs did these terrible things? Surely you know
how they got them done, what patterns — descriptive patterns, of course — they were
employing. You must have. Otherwise, your arrests won't lead to convictions. But do you know the
'why?'"
Dyr Kanpachiro shrugged. "Not important. We've stopped them from ever doing them again."
"Patterns are always important." Weir sounded scandalized, and somehow Foxfire doubted it
was an act. "To fully understand a pattern, you must understand why it's true, why it's
consistent, why it repeats. Otherwise, you haven't really grasped the essence of behavior, its
archetypal Pattern.
"In this case, we must be very sure that the cause behind all this violence, well, that it isn't
still hungry, because it may have other resources, other means to achieve its goals. Do
you think?"
Dyr Kanpachiro stood quietly now, his eyes still direct, but softened. Behind him, the Chief
seemed a touch ... Amused? What could possibly be funny here? Or is she amused with this guy?
Her guy? Is something going on between the two of them?
In a voice open to discussion, Dyr Kanpachiro said, "Their leader was killed."
"By your action?"
"No, we found him that way, slaughtered along with his bodyguard."
"A power struggle?"
Dyr Kanpachiro shrugged again, a gesture turning more and more defensive every time he used it.
"No way to know."
Weir waved in Ganj Dareh's direction. "How many gangs?"
"Five, nearly a thousand gangsters total, and from what we know so far, they all follow the Lesser
Patterns for Failure, including laziness and impatience. We've found no others — beyond the
leader — who aspired after Power, not on the scale we saw these past days."
Weir hurried after something in him that denied this dismissal. "Where did this Leader find his
resources, these 'gangsters,' as you call them? And how many of ... of ... that kind could there
have been around Direvnya Ganj Dareh? Could there still be more?" Patterns must haunt him.
Better him than me. Except when I saw a True Pattern in my life, down there in the pit, it
liberated me.
Dyr Kanpachiro admitted, "The ones we've processed come from all over the continent."
"Just like thousands of others who came for the Rendezvous. Did you get all the bad ones?"
Here, pattern, pattern. Foxfire nearly giggled at the thought. Don't mock him, she sobered
herself immediately.
The Chief stiffened, taking the question as a challenge to her competence. Even worse, to her
people's competence. She caught Dyr Kanpachiro's elbow, tried to steer him away, but the man
resisted.
"How could we possibly know?" he said. "Patterns describe the past and distill it into truth.
They prescribe the future and hope that we acknowledge and obey that truth." He hesitated just
slightly, as though summoning a dare. "Anything more is wishful thinking."
Throwing his hands around as though grasping for something he couldn't see, Weir wandered away.
Beyond him, Foxfire saw that no one stood around Grizzly's hole, only a barrier to prevent
accidental falls. Nurse Poplar has tucked Grizzly and Glacier safely back into our clinic, to
venture no more into daring situations. That haven, formerly so reassuring, now saddened Foxfire.
Do I go back there too?
Abruptly, Weir snapped around and marched up to Dyr Kanpachiro. Nose to nose, he said quietly, "Do
you think a pattern can be predictive?"
"Well, I have found that generally, Pattern Languages imply that if we don't observe them,
we'll reap troubles just like generations before us. You could call them backhanded
'predictions.'"
"Let's not be so philosophical ... or so derivative." Weir leaned into his words. "Let's be
shepherds instead of sheep. We know a certain subset of gangsters. I'll credit you with that.
From that subset, can we prove that you've exhausted the pattern of behavior that generated them?
Or are there more out there, still threatening Ganj Dareh?"
"Maybe ... if we plow a lot of data."
"Do you have something more important to do?"
Dyr Kanpachiro cast a glance over his shoulder at the Chief. Concerns of different magnitudes
warred on his face. Her face, on the other hand, had softened. Like Weir is addressing a fear she
couldn't answer herself. What could be worse than this mess at the drome? Not being sure there
wouldn't be more messes like it.
Before either one of the anshin generated a reply, though, Weir took Dyr Kanpachiro gently by the
shoulders and set him aside, then aimed a speculative face at the Chief.
"You were wrong about a couple of things, Phoebe. First of all, you're back in the Em-Deh. We
brought in a macready, re-connected my clinics, then added the network that you jury-rigged for
your combine via Harlan's llevar. As soon as we get the chance, we'll see if we can
restore the direvnya to its proper place. That means we can rustle up all the data we could
possibly need for this little exercise.
"Second, as I said before, you don't really want The Tangent clogging up your organization. They
don't have any resources to spare. Lots of sick people in their neighborhood, few Nurses and
little tek because of budget constraints. They helped here only because I bent their tactician
backwards over some prior obligations."
That image of Okra seemed to please the Chief. She nodded for Weir to go on, though Foxfire
noticed her fumbling for her llevar.
"So, here's what you should do. Let The Tangent go home. Commandeer my combine instead, at least
the part that's in-town for selling to the Collective. I can put 56 Nurses to work for you right
away, plus another 56 tactician-, admin-, and Techniker-types, plus whatever med-tek I've got left
over from this shindig."
"And what do you get in return?" the Chief asked quietly.
"For one, we stay here till the selection, and for another, Dyr Kanpachiro here —"
"Call me 'Kanpa!'" A yelp from the set-aside advisor.
"Kanpa and I figure out whether we are still facing a threat from the gangs."
The Chief took a few seconds here to poke buttons on her clunky llevar and scan results on its
flimsy foilscreen. What she saw apparently eased more of her concerns, for her face lost even the
last touches of sandstone. It showed now the pain of loss, past and future, that her anger had
displaced before.
She lowered her llevar and said calmly, "You and your people work for me?"
"We co-öperate," Weir corrected, "with you setting our tasks and priorities."
The Chief flicked her gaze about the crowd as though looking for someone. "The Tangent crawls back
to their neighborhood? Closes the doors behind them? Never to help you or me again?"
"They take care of their own again, though I'm sure Okra will continue to take my requests
for meetings."
"My Site Tactician takes over here immediately. You relinquish authority and
responsibility, then go work with Kanpa to make sure that I — ah, we — have incarcerated
all the gangsters."
Weir took a little time, but finally said, "Agreed."
"We have a deal, then. Wait here while I see who's available." The Chief turned away to consult
with her llevar.
Weir called, "Harlan's working the terminal for air-freight. He could be here in just a few—"
The Chief interrupted, her voice suddenly firm again with authority. "Harlan won't be considered
for this."
"Ah," Weir said. "I'll just be right here." He raised a just-a-moment finger to Dyr Kanpachiro
and spun lightly on one foot, searching the crowd.
For me? For you, ndito. Foxfire slipped forward to be seen. What's he got to say to me? We're
no longer working together.
Weir hustled over. In a not-so-small whisper, he said, "I don't know what you all are hiding in
Skeinswift, but I've protected it from exposure this time. I don't know if I can keep protecting
you, but I'll try." Suddenly, his friendly face chilled, and he stabbed out a lumpy, brown
finger. "But I do know I'm going to come looking for that secret myself when this mess is over.
You can tell Okra that for me."
That chill leapt from Weir and swarmed over Foxfire. The once-friendly Weir had vanished, driven
away by The Tangent's secrets. The once-promising Okra would also disappear as he retrenched to
protect The Tangent first and the Bear Project next. And the once-loved Meyer had already slid
away from her.
Do I tell them nothing's really changed here except perceptions? Perceptions are reality,
ndito. Just look at how I've changed from realizing my own past anew. Besides, how could I
possibly change Weir's mind? Oops, that shows I maybe haven't changed all that much, after all.
Ah, but I have, just not completely — yet. I'll work on that ... back at our clinic. Yea, back
at our clinic. Once full of promise, the place now shrank back from the sunshine that had just
filled her world as it shut itself away in the dark behind those doors the Chief had mentioned.
At least I've still got the Bears.
As she trudged away toward the only place she'd ever known as home, Foxfire hoped that was still
true.
