Freedom's Landing

by Anne McCaffrey

“No.” Zainal’s grin was bleakly amused. “But they will tell to those who need to know.”

  Mitford gave him a sharp stare. “Why didn’t they believe you? Did they think you were lying er something, to get off planet?”

  Zainal shook his head. “I told them, first, that I am dropped and I stay.” He did not look in Kris’ direction but she knew, definitely, that he was saying that for her benefit and her heart did a little painful jump. Stupid! But she was so glad that he hadn’t gone. “They believe report says this planet…empty.”

  “Lord,” Joe Marley said in a groan, “how’d they miss the garages?”

  “Garages do not show warm-blood life forms,” Zainal said and grinned.

  A nearby groan from one of the bodies interrupted the conversation and they sprang into action. Actually, Kris thought as she took Mitford’s own canteen to the nearby stream to fill it, Zainal, she, and the others needn’t have run so fast or risked broken bones to get here. It had taken the Catteni several hours, at least, to unload. They could’ve walked, or waited for breakfast, but she was damned glad they hadn’t. She’d have missed Zainal standing there like a Gibraltar Rock. Would he have continued to stand there all day, if they hadn’t been willing to accede to his requests? Or demands? Being an Emassi certainly granted him privileges, even if he had been dropped.

  Chapter Twelve

  THEY WERE SO WELL ORGANIZED, AND MITFORD harangued so effectively, that the “indigenous personnel,” as he referred to them, were served hot, revitalizing drinks from a hastily erected camp kitchen before the sun was halfway up the sky, and later sandwiches for lunch. The newly awakened were kindly advised to stick to water at first and then slowly chew down a third of a ration bar: gorging on empty stomachs led to unpleasant reactions.

  Mitford had immediately sent the medical crates—all but one tester kit—on to Camp Rock with news of this new drop and a request to Worry to send Leon and other medical assistance. The Catteni had broken a few bones for those they had slammed down so hard. Some of the new lot would have to be accommodated at the Rock, as people were beginning to call the cavern camp, almost affectionately. Kris felt considerable gratification at the thought that Leon would now be able to treat Coo, Pess, and the pregnant female and to keep the newly arrived Deskis healthy.

  By the time the first batch of fifty moved slowly out on their way to Camp Narrow, Mitford had taken Kris off wake-up duty and put her onto debriefing: getting names, occupations, origins, and lastly but just as importantly, what they might know of recent events—recent to them—on Earth. The mere fact that people were resisting the Catteni continued to boost morale. Today’s encounter on the field also ranked as a major plus.

  “Getting something out of the Cats without having to pay for it,” was the happy summation.

  When she took a few moments to eat her lunch, Mitford approached her for a synopsis of her findings.

  “So far the humans I’ve got originated from North America, Canadians as well. Then there seems to be a whole raft of English, French, and German. Resistance,” and she grinned, “is increasing and the Catteni have had to call in reinforcements to deal with stoppages and sit-downs and all kinds of passive movements. There’s also active sabotage, too, blowing up Catteni supplies or shipments destined for Catten or Barevi.”

  “Shipments? Arty things?”

  “Not that I heard. Somehow, sarge, I don’t think our artistic tastes would parallel Catteni.”

  “Hmmm. Possibly. Any useful professionals?”

  “Two Canadian dentists, nineteen teachers—it seems the Catteni emptied a private school for one reprisal. They took…all the girls away,” and the words came reluctantly out of her. “Some of the teachers are nuns. They resisted the kidnapping. One said she had had her arm broken. It looks a bit crooked, and I can feel the excess calcium where the break was, but basically it’s completely knitted.”

  “A long time coming here, then. What do they use for this stasis junk?”

  Kris shrugged as she flipped over her sheets to pick out the more interesting occupations. “Five hairdressers, two masseurs, a reflexologist…”

  “A what?”

  “Makes your feet happy.”

  “Argh.”

  “You should try it, sarge, it can really relax you!”

  “I said useful occupations!”

  “How about two chemists, five pharmacists, a structural engineer, nineteen housewives, three with kids still attached, and…you know, there’s not a single person over fifty among those I’ve talked to.”

  “Don’t give me nightmares,” Mitford said.

  “Two jewelers, three ex-soldiers, and a detective-inspector.” She came to the end of her report on the morning’s interviews.

  It took the rest of the long Botany day to process everyone. Zainal talked to the new Deskis and sent several up to watch for fliers, but Mitford felt that, having disassembled the garages, whatever mecho summoned the fliers had been disabled, but he was quite willing to post sentinels, “just in case.”

  Three hundred and two dead were left on the field. Some could be identified by others who had been captured with them at the same time, so their names were recorded. Kris had to look away from the small bodies of the children. Those under five could not endure the stasis. Their deaths, so needless, so terrible, distressed her.

  “You never know them,” Zainal murmured to her when he saw the tears in her eyes.

  “No, and no one will now.”

  She turned away, fighting with the fact that Zainal was Catteni, too, and a member of the species who had caused the deaths. She told herself firmly that Catteni or not, Zainal had done all he could to help and certainly he had been able to reduce unloading injuries. They should also give thanks that he’d been able to ensure just one drop site. Even Mitford’s talents as an organizer would have been stretched to mount multiple rescue operations and get everyone under cover before the scavengers emerged from the night ground.

  Zainal touched her arm gently. “We go now. Night falls.”

  “Yes, it does,” she said, heaving a sigh against the stresses of the very long day in which she had been going all-out most of the time.

  * * *

  THE RESCUE TEAMS WERE SOMEWHAT CHEERED BY the hot meal awaiting them at Camp Narrow. Having so many barns available for housing—since the resident population of the camp was only a few hundred—made the difference between total chaos and mere confusion. Many of the newly arrived did their best to help, either settling their injured comrades or lending a hand with the chore of feeding the multitude. Leon and his medics had set up an infirmary for the injured and the weak. Kris saw Zainal and Leon examining the contents of the tester kits, Zainal carefully translating the properties of the various vials to the doctor.

  Since there were a number of totally frightened aliens in that category, Leon had Zainal stay on to translate. Slav could at least reassure members of his own species who, Kris noticed as she ate, seemed quite cheerful. They were certainly inspecting Slav’s weapons and even trying to pull his bow, hissing in the Rugarian equivalent to laughter. Several of them were females, which might account for Slav preening as much as he did. She hadn’t really thought about how the other species would manage, either in relationships or propagation. If what was dropped on a planet stayed down, at least mating would be possible for all five species. But not Zainal. She put that exclusion to the back of her mind.

  Mitford was everywhere, encouraging, detailing jobs, trying—it seemed to Kris, watching him from the corner of the kitchen barn where she had wearily slumped—to make himself known to all the Terrans. To her surprise, she even heard him speaking a few words of German and French to representatives of those nationalities. She knew French well enough to tell that his usage was rudimentary, but he was trying. And the folks responded with a little more hope in their manner. Then she saw Aarens, hunkering down by a very pretty girl and chatting her up in what sounded like extremely fluent French. She was clearly flattered a
nd, as clearly, recovering from the shock of the journey. Aarens, who wore a vest of many pockets and a belt of tools, including an assortment of screwdrivers of all sizes, was making her laugh.

  “Come,” and Zainal held out a hand to her. “You sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

  Grinning at his unwitting use of the famous Scarlett O’Hara phrase, she extended her hand and let him haul her to her feet. She couldn’t help but notice that many eyes followed them out of the barn. Maybe she should paint “one of the good guys” on his forehead. Then she flinched, remembering her own recent and less than charitable thoughts. But she’d been tired and upset when she’d thought them. And she’d had the grace not to voice them. She was even more tired now and where on earth was Zainal taking her? Halfway to the Rock? He turned her in at the last barn which, she noted, was relatively empty. Others were already sacked out—or would that be strawed out? She giggled.

  “Soft bed,” Zainal said when he had gently herded her to the far corner, where a huge mound had been carefully prepared.

  “Oh, thank you thankyou thankyou,” and turning, she just let herself fall backwards into it. She was faintly aware that Zainal was tucking her against his body and then she was out for the count.

  * * *

  SHE AND ZAINAL BOTH DREW DEBRIEFING DUTY the next day, she with humans and he with the various aliens. As they were in the same barn for that job, she saw how he handled the different species: the forty Deskis with dignity, the twenty-nine Ilginish with a cool, diffident manner, and the thirty-eight Turs with a sharp, very Cattenish delivery. Slav had been handling contact with his own species, of whom there were sixty. Since there were over eight hundred humans, there were five other debriefers beside Kris, three of whom could speak other languages: German, French, and Italian.

  Late that afternoon, Mitford called a meeting of his aides in the garage of the Welcome Committee to organize the dispersal of the huge addition to Botany’s population. Worry and Esker had made the trip over from the Rock; Tesco and the Doyles, who were in charge of Camp Narrow, were on hand; Aarens was conspicuous by his absence. She’d last seen him breakfasting with a half-dozen girls.

  Kris was amused to see that pieces of mechos were doubling as stools while the carcasses, in various stages of dismantlement, had been pushed back to allow enough space for the meeting. She noted the veritable snow of sketches, diagrams, and drawings that were tacked up on the walls and hung over different worktops, which were littered with components being reused.

  Mitford made a point of having Zainal sit on his right while Slav was on his left.

  “First off, folks, I’d like to say that we owe a lot more to Zainal here than we can ever repay. He got us nutrients that’ll keep our Deskis alive and tester kits so we won’t have to risk poisoning to find out what is edible. He got,” and now Mitford held up the folder that the Catteni captain had passed to Zainal, “the ‘official’”—and he paused for a sardonic grin—“survey report on this planet. You will be glad to know that we’re on the biggest of Botany’s four continents, the temperate one. Zainal’s translated the report and, frankly, I don’t think much of the exploratory team that landed on this world. Neither does Zainal.”

  “Nice to know the Cats aren’t as great as they think they are,” someone said. “No offense, Zainal!”

  “None taken,” Zainal said with a cheery wave and a bland expression on his face.

  “Zainal will summarize the report to us. Floor’s yours,” and Mitford sat down, gesturing for Zainal to stand.

  “The report says that the planet has good air to breathe, good water to drink, and the…green plants…grow so plants for other worlds can…grow well, too. True. The report says two…Cats…” and Zainal’s use of that nickname in a pejorative tone of voice elicited grins from his audience, “disappeared one night. Guard saw movement but did not go see. He thought men go to leak.” Zainal might not be obviously trying to ingratiate himself, but he was couching his comments very cleverly indeed. “Not found anywhere. Guard tells of strange movement. This planet has dangers. Two more are not seen so all sleep inside.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Zainal, how’d they miss the garages and these barns and all?” Esker wanted to know.

  “Sensors look for live flesh and ship lands in cold season.” Zainal shrugged. “Sensors register metal but not much for…” he turned to Kris, “those who work in ground…”

  “Miners.”

  “Miners and no special metals needed by Catteni.”

  “Some of those mecho alloys are very special indeed,” Lenny Doyle said, “very special.”

  “I agree,” Zainal said, “but the stupids on survey do not know. Take dirt, water, stone samples, and flesh of rocksquats, avians, loo-cows, and critters they find on other lands but…they do not see trees for forest.”

  Ninety laughed aloud at that. “Attaboy, Zainal.”

  Kris had been watching reactions and, of all there, only Dowdall and Tesco didn’t seem to respond in any way to Zainal: they just sat there, eyes on the Catteni. Kris wondered from their attitude if they even believed what he was saying.

  “What about winters here, Zainal?” Lenny asked.

  “Report of…” he frowned and turned to Kris, “what falls from skies, wet, cold, solid but…runs like water from sun…”

  “Snow.”

  “Ah, snow.”

  “Deep snow?” Lenny asked.

  “Not when here. Oh, hand wide,” and Zainal held his big thick hand flat, thumb down, to indicate the depth.

  “That’s deep enough.”

  “Longer day than Catten, longer year.”

  “How long?”

  “Report says,” and now he held up four fingers, then all five, and finally two.

  “Oh, lordee, that’s longer by three more months. How’re we going to feed twenty-five-hundred-plus all winter long?”

  “Find more silos and start breeding rocksquats in captivity,” Mitford said. “Anyone volunteer to farm rocksquats?”

  “Hell, sarge, don’t take the fun out of it for us hunter types,” Worry said plaintively.

  “Say, Zainal, how long did this team of surveyors stay on Botany?”

  Zainal looked down at the report. “Twenty days.”

  “Hell’s fire, we’ve surveyed better than they did, haven’t we?” Ninety said, laughing.

  Zainal tapped the sheets. “This has tests done which Leon and Joe Marley need. Useful. Some plants deadly.”

  “Tell us something we didn’t find out the hard way,” Tesco muttered.

  “That’ll help even at this date,” Mitford said. “Now, would you mind telling us about your conversation with Catteni ship captain?”

  Zainal’s wide lips twisted briefly in mild contempt. “Not captain. Below captain. One step.”

  “His exec?” Mitford suggested.

  Zainal shrugged. “Emassi may command, even Emassi who is drop. They obey. Good habit. They do not believe mechs. Do not wish to believe what is not in report.” He gave an amused snort. “They will. They also debrief.” He shot a glance at Mitford. “We will see.”

  “Yeah, but they won’t see any mechos if they do a fly-by now, will they, since we’ve disabled them all,” Ninety said, almost querulously.

  “So?” Zainal asked. “We are here. We can use mechos. Next time Catteni drop, different story. I do not stand,” and he imitated his cross-armed stance at the bottom of the ramp, “and wait.”

  “You’d attack one of your own ships?” Ninety asked, surprised.

  “Why not?” And Zainal regarded Ninety with amused condescension. “A ship useful when mechos return next year to collect.”

  “You mean you’d mount an expedition to follow them to their home system?” Kris asked, amazed by his intention.

  Zainal nodded. “Be very good to see who farms whole planet.”

  “Hell, I’d be scared out of my wig,” Dowdall said, regarding Zainal with interest. “Wouldn’t they be a bit much for you by yourself?”
/>
  “You come with me?”

  “Me?” Dowdall was surprised and then he grinned, rather nervously, back at the Catteni. “Man, if you’re willing to go, I guess I would be, too.”

  “We have six airline pilots now plus two retired NASA mission specialists,” Kris said brightly. “Maybe we could…Boy, I’d just give my eyeteeth to be in a first contact group.”

  “No eyeteeth left,” Zainal told her with a big grin.

  A rather odd silence followed that remark which made Kris blush though no one was actually looking at her.

  “A lot of us here would, not just those NASA blokes,” Worry said, breaking in. “But I think that’s down the road awhile. You didn’t happen to find out if they’re going to dump more people on us, did you?” he asked wistfully.

  Zainal shook his head. “Not the question to ask. Captain takes orders. Low captain. Not smart,” and he held up one big hand, rocking it as he had seen Ninety do. “You Terrans make trouble, get put here. Simple.” He grinned in what Kris took as approval. “Terrans make big trouble for Catteni.” His grin broadened.

  “And you like that?” Tesco asked, an edge to a voice that was louder than it need be.

  “Yes, I do,” and he jerked one thumb at his own chest, “other Catteni do not!” And he shook his head. “Good on you,” he added, “to make big trouble. Makes Catteni think.”

  Worrell guffawed out loud. “Good on you, Zainal, too. Couldn’t be cast off with a nicer bloke.”

  “So we can expect more?” Mitford said, not entirely pleased with that prospect.

  “Believe so. But…” and Zainal held up his hand, “maybe report changes minds. Maybe…”

  “But don’t count on it, huh?”

  “And the Cats would let us take the rap from the creatures who own this planet?” someone at the front of the garage asked in a sharp voice.

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Kris said emphatically, having caught the hostile tone in the murmured comments around the garage. “We’re here and we’re obviously going to stay.”

  “Catteni are not the highest. We take orders, too,” Zainal surprised everyone by saying.