Tamia scanned the line of grim faces gathered around the conference table in the Executive Building that Friday afternoon. Men and women in suits and uniforms murmured to one another, poking at tablets and phones while waiting for the governor to arrive. A couple of them had printed copies of the report that had been e-mailed that morning. Tamia flicked on her phone and scrolled through her copy, recognizing some of the phrases she herself had written just a couple of months earlier.

She checked the time. Two o’clock on the dot. With every passing minute, she imagined a team of armed heavies bursting in and arresting her and Dr. Block in a display of shock and awe. The door opened and her body tensed, but instead of police, it was the chief of staff sharing a last few words with the governor at the threshold. Palmer switched his expression into “grim-but-friendly” mode and entered the room, shaking hands and patting shoulders as he worked his way to the empty chair at the head of the table. She’d heard this was his habit. Three minutes late, just enough time to make guests aware of the wait, but not long enough to be perceived as unprofessional.

Greg trailed the governor and chief of staff, carrying a large cardboard box with a notepad perched on top. He lowered the box to the floor and nodded discreetly at Tamia as he sat down in a row of chairs against the wall. She nodded back, strangely unable to relate to the Tamia of a few weeks ago who would have enjoyed seeing him relegated to the side taking notes.

The governor sat down and acknowledged the men and women around the table. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know everyone’s hands are full right now, so I appreciate your time. Is everyone here?”

“All but Dr. Nystrom,” answered Greg, consulting a list. Tamia was, in fact, sitting in the seat that had been reserved for him. “He had a family emergency.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Palmer. He looked around the table, his eyes only briefly alighting on hers. She wondered how much he really knew about what was going on. Was he the mastermind, or was Jones the real puppet master?

“Let’s start with introductions,” said the governor. Tamia listened to officials from the Forest Service, Department of Natural Resources, the State’s Ecology Department, and the Bureau of Indian Affairs introduce themselves. One or two of the names sounded familiar; they might have been on that press list she used. The men in uniform were from the State Patrol and the National Guard, as she’d suspected, and the State FEMA rep sat to her right.

FEMA, thought Tamia. Shit just got real.

Introductions worked their way around the table to Dr. Block, who introduced herself and Tamia. Dr. Block hardly needed an introduction, however. A couple of people smiled at her, apparently eager to hear from one of the foremost experts on the issue that had brought them all together. Others responded with a flat stare, perhaps angry at having been proven wrong. The guy from the Guard looked at Dr. Block so intently, Tamia wondered if he actually blamed her for the whole thing.

Governor Palmer took the helm. “The report you have is the current stand as of this morning. Paul, could you give us an update?”

The Forest Service representative began his report. “State and local fire crews kept the blaze contained to a five-mile by one-mile swath, thankfully with low population density. Currently, five fatalities, ten critically injured. But those numbers will change as more residents are accounted for. The main blaze has been extinguished, but we’re still dealing with flare-ups in a ten-mile radius, and growing. The trees are keeping the ground fires moving so we can’t track them.”

“Do you need more air support?” asked Palmer.

“That’s not the core problem, Governor. Ground fires burn in duff, the layer of decomposed leaves and other organic debris underneath the surface of the soil, or inside decaying tree roots. These ground fires produce very little smoke, so air patrols can’t always spot them. But if they come into contact with surface fuels, they can flare up at any moment.”

“And you say the trees are moving these ground fires around?” asked the woman from FEMA.

“We can only assume it’s the trees,” replied the Forest Service rep. “Fires are, by nature, unpredictable, but this particular one is defying all previous patterns. We’re seeing crown fires over terrain where we’d expect to see surface fires. And there was minimal wind last night, not anywhere near enough to push a fire in the direction it went. I can only explain it as targeted.”

“Targeted?” asked the guardsman, transferring his glare from Block to the Forest Service spokesperson.

“Yes. Unless there’s some kind of wind or crazy thermals going on, the fire should follow fuel sources, like dead trees and dry underbrush. But this thing leapt into the crowns and practically made a beeline for Tacoma. Ground crews can handle surface fires up to four feet high, but they can’t get their arms around this. Digging a fire line won’t help, in this case, and we’re too close to watersheds and population centers to use aerial retardants. It’s like the trees are choosing the most difficult type of fire to fight, in the most difficult terrain.”

“Do we know how it started?” asked Palmer.

The Forest Service rep shook his head. “Still too hot to investigate. But to be safe, we’ve coordinated with Natural Resources to stop all scheduled burns until further notice.”

“But what about private citizens?” asked the trooper. “Folks have to stop messing with the trees. That’s what’s escalating this.”

“We’re already working on a public service campaign,” said the FEMA rep.

Governor Palmer tapped his pen on the table. “With all respect, Don, how many people really listen to those things? We have to get some private partners involved, get the media’s ear.”

Tamia was stunned. Just a few weeks ago, the chief of staff was trying to shut her down. Now the governor was calling for media partnerships?

“We need to figure out what triggers these trees,” Palmer went on. “Why are they engaging in acts of destruction and what will make them stop?”

“Trees are not destructive by nature,” said the BIA representative. “They are only reacting to hostility from us.”

“That’s right,” said Dr. Block. “Wouldn’t you defend yourself if someone were trying to cut you down? We’re all panicking because now they actually can.”

“But what’s the alternative?” asked the woman from Natural Resources. “I mean, even if private citizens stop harassing trees, we still need lumber. What about our timber industry, our pulp mills? And what about prescribed burns? The longer we wait, the more dry fuel accumulates, and the worse future fires will be.”

“The forest has managed itself far longer than we have,” said the BIA rep. “Perhaps we should ask the trees what needs to be done.”

“I agree,” said Dr. Block. She set her jaw and looked around the room. “Richard Nystrom’s son is one of those residents not ‘accounted for.’ Dr. Nystrom is out there right now, walking around a charred forest looking for him. Both of them would probably be home safe right now if we’d stopped to listen to what those trees want.”

The officials in the room shifted and looked at one another.

“We’ll find him, Ma’am,” said the guardsman quietly.

The governor pointed at Dr. Block. “People, she’s right. We can’t just keep fighting the trees with brute force. We need to know what they want. Greg?” He looked over at his assistant. Greg opened the large cardboard box sitting on the floor and lifted out a smaller, metallic box about six inches in length.

“Pass them around, please,” said the governor.

Greg handed out one rectangular metal box after another. The attendees murmured and passed them around the table until everyone had one.

Tamia turned the device over in her hands. Her eyes widened in recognition.

“These are translators,” said Governor Palmer, “much like the ones our esteemed scientists have been using to monitor the trees thus far.”

“Where did you get these?” asked Dr. Block, her face ashen.

“You must know, Dr. Block. These are from ArborTech.”

Tamia looked at the faces around the room. She wasn’t alone in her surprise.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the Ecology rep. “But aren’t they under federal investigation?”

Palmer nodded. “Yes. Keep in mind, however, we don’t have all the details yet. ArborTech is still obliged to protect its clients.” He looked directly at Dr. Block before going on. “In the meantime, they’ve been authorized to help us in this manner.”

“Authorized by whom, exactly?” asked Dr. Block.

“Public safety is the main concern right now,” answered the governor. “We have to do whatever we can to keep people safe.”

“I agree,” she pressed, “but is the State of Washington buying equipment from the same company that—”

“No, not buying. ArborTech is donating the translators to us. They are every bit as committed to saving lives as we are.”

Tamia watched Dr. Block seethe quietly. It was just like she’d said. If ArborTech were able to come out of the investigation relatively unscathed, they’d have cornered the market on the only known solution to a—literally—growing international problem.

“Dr. Block,” said Palmer, “I hope that you and Dr. Nystrom can put aside any differences you might have with ArborTech to help us with this new equipment. Surely whatever happened in the past is not as important right now as keeping more people from getting hurt.”

“Certainly,” said Dr. Block grudgingly. “But, Governor Palmer, based on our observations, it would be better to coordinate communication among ourselves before speaking with the trees. Each network of trees seems to have a group consciousness, and they may expect the same from us. It could be confusing and potentially dangerous to have multiple sets of negotiations going on, at least until we can map how far each network extends.”

“So what are you suggesting?” asked Palmer.

“It would be best to have one point of contact for them.”

“For the whole state?” interrupted the Forest Service rep.

“At least a unified strategy, one set of rules or guidelines,” Dr. Block concluded.

“Hang on,” said the trooper. “You’re talking about these things like they’re people.”

“Well, they’re raisin’ Cain like people,” muttered the guardsman.

“They’re protecting themselves, as any living thing would,” the Ecology rep argued.

Palmer raised his hand to quell discussion. “Dr. Block, can you and Dr. Nystrom come up with a set of guidelines for negotiating with these things?”

The trooper shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but we need more than just another report. People out there want answers, now. Every day that goes by without a solution, some yahoo out there is stuffing his family into a bunker, or organizing a militia, or worse yet, planning some kind of preemptive strike that winds up getting a whole neighborhood burned down.”

Palmer tapped the table with his pen again. “Dr. Block, I’ll need a set of recommendations on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, folks, take these translators out there and establish contact with the trees in your jurisdictions. Tell them you mean no harm, try to get them talking. Coordinate between your agencies to get as much coverage as possible.”

Dr. Block raised a hand in protest. “Governor Palmer, I really wouldn’t—”

“We don’t have time to dance around the issue, Dr. Block. The sooner you get those recommendations to me, the sooner we can review and distribute them.” He addressed all the meeting participants. “We have more translators here, with instructions, so please see my assistant Greg and take as many as you can carry. We’ll send more around to your branch offices as needed.”

The scientist opened her mouth, but the chief of staff spoke first. “Dr. Block, I know we have more to discuss, so why don’t we let all these people get back to work before we continue.”

Dr. Block nodded, but her expression told Tamia she hadn’t been expecting a second meeting.

Palmer stood and addressed the group. “Drs. Block and Nystrom will be available, as agreed, to answer any questions you may have about the translators. Their contact information will be included in the minutes of this meeting. We are very grateful for their assistance, and we will be praying for the safe return of Dr. Nystrom’s son. Thank you all for coming, and let’s keep each other informed.”

A buzz of conversation rose as the meeting broke up. Greg continued to distribute translators while the governor circulated and shook hands with agency representatives. Tamia observed him working the room. His expression was grave, but he was likely congratulating himself inside. Whatever his reason, his goal must have been to get those things into as many hands as possible. Men and women filed out into the hallway, and Palmer nodded at his chief of staff just before he left the room.

Only she, Dr. Block and Derrick Jones remained. Greg hovered at the door with his tablet and an empty box.

“Thank you, Greg,” said Jones. “Get those notes to me ASAP.”

Greg nodded and smiled quickly at Tamia before closing the door behind him.

“Well,” said the chief of staff expansively, “that was a productive meeting. I’m sorry Dr. Nystrom wasn’t able to attend. I hope they find his son soon.”

“We do too,” said Dr. Block.

“Tamia, would you mind waiting outside?” asked Jones. “Dr. Block and I have some things to discuss.”

“Tamia is working with me,” Dr. Block countered. “I would like her to stay.”

Jones observed the two women for a moment, his lips parted as if about to object. Then he sat down and gestured for both of them to join him. “This is, of course, off the record.”

“Understood,” said Dr. Block. She and Tamia lowered themselves into chairs across the table from him.

The chief of staff tipped his head and smiled at Dr. Block. His voice was warm and conciliatory. “Barbara—”

“Dr. Block,” she insisted.

Jones’ smile faded. “Dr. Block, our main concern is keeping people safe. That’s what this is all about.” He folded his hands on the table. “How you started communicating with these trees, using whose property, doesn’t matter now. We just need you and Richard to concentrate on figuring out what they want. Leave the other questions be. We don’t need the two of you in jail right now.”

“Jail?” said Dr. Block, raising her eyebrows. “For disagreeing with ArborTech?”

And “right now”? thought Tamia. Did that just mean they were saving prison for later?

“The investigators haven’t yet clarified who did what and when,” said Jones coolly. “But you’re not doing yourselves any favors by pushing on ArborTech the way you have been.”

Tamia’s stomach clenched.

“Let’s be frank,” said Jones. “It’s pretty clear by now that ArborTech was involved in this, and perhaps Defense, and who knows who else. It’s just a matter of time until they have to produce all of their records. The only question now is exactly what those records will reveal.”

“What are you saying?” asked the scientist.

“This is a professional lab, Dr. Block. Don’t you think they have contingency plans for this kind of thing? You have to know they’re sitting down with their counsel right now, discussing a variety of options. One position they might take is that you and Dr. Nystrom were their eyes and ears the whole time, in accordance with responsible environmental monitoring. Then again, they might find grounds to accuse you of unauthorized possession and release of experimental biological material—something you might have wanted to track with the unreturned translators.”

“You seem to know something about the science behind this phenomenon,” said Block. Tamia wondered how she could keep her voice so steady.

“My staff keeps me up to date,” replied Jones, smiling at Tamia. What kind of game was he trying to play here? She hadn’t ever said anything to him about the science.

“I understand Dr. Nystrom was assigned to the project,” he continued, “so he would be the first to come under scrutiny. But as a colleague, Dr. Block, you could also be implicated. Things could get very complicated for both of you.”

Dr. Block’s mouth tightened. “So what do you advise?”

“Well, I can’t tell you what to do, but if it were me, I’d be a little less strident in my claims against ArborTech. And the DoD for that matter. I mean, you don’t have any documentation about their involvement, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I have or don’t have,” insisted the scientist. “Everything’s got a paper trail. What do you think’s going to come out in the investigation?”

“That’s for other people to decide,” he said calmly.

A chill ran down Tamia’s spine. Could it really be that easy to rewrite the history of an outbreak?

The chief of staff looked intently at the older woman. “Dr. Block, we have to work as a team to make sure the people of Washington are safe. And we need you and Dr. Nystrom out in the field, not embroiled in some investigation. That wouldn’t be good for anyone, would it?”

Dr. Block glared at Jones. “I’ll discuss it with Dr. Nystrom,” she said at last.

The corners of his lips curled into a smile. “Excellent.” He rose and extended his hand to both women in turn. “You’ll have to excuse me now. Please give my best to Dr. Nystrom. Let him know our thoughts are with him and his son.” He escorted them out into the hallway. “We’ll be looking for your recommendations tomorrow morning.”

Tamia watched Dr. Block clench and unclench her fists, then followed her out toward the reception area.

“Looks like we’ve got to get moving,” said the older woman. “I’ll call Richard on my way home. Can you take him one of these new translators on your way back to Seattle?”

Tamia took a second machine from Dr. Block and trailed her down the stairs. She hated the way men like Palmer and Jones got everyone to jump whenever they wanted.

The two women stepped out onto the sidewalk. “I’m parked this way,” said Dr. Block, pointing down the street. “I’ll send you a first draft this afternoon, and then—” She stopped and studied Tamia’s face. “I know, strange bedfellows. But we have to move quickly if we want to be part of the solution.”

“The governor couldn’t make a move without your recommendations,” said Tamia. “He needs you, but they’re still trying to make us look like criminals.”

“Sometimes you have to play the game. You studied political science, you know that.” She squeezed Tamia’s arm before heading toward her truck. “I’ll e-mail you this afternoon,” she said over her shoulder.

Tamia walked to her car, so deep in thought she almost overlooked the little slip of paper fluttering on her windshield.

“Dammit!”

She ripped the ticket out from under her wiper blade. She should have put more money in the meter. No, Jones shouldn’t have made her late. She could barely afford gas, much less a parking fine. Something had to change.

Tamia got into her car, threw her purse and the ticket onto the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb. Before she hit the highway, she reached back and grabbed a bottle of water from her back seat stash. She headed up the I-5 toward Seattle, brooding about still living with her parents, asking herself what those four years of college were supposed to have accomplished. As she reached for the radio, she glanced over at the ticket. Her heart sank at the thought of having to ask her mom for more money. She grabbed the slip of paper, crumpled it up and let it fall to the floor. Then she turned up the music and leaned on the gas all the way to Tacoma.