Freedom's Choice

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Bert, Raisha, we mean to catch us a scout ship tonight,” he said, and both gawked in disbelief. “A few nights ago a Catteni ship landed four commando types on a field at night.”

  “Oho!” Raisha said, and turned pale.

  “That would have been their first mistake,” Bert said with a smug grin.

  “Their second was in thinking it would be easy to find Zainal,” Mitford said. “Fortunately night crawlers left boots and some other inedible pieces of equipment. So we can lure the scout back down.”

  “You mean, like tonight?” Raisha shifted forward on her chair, inhaling with deep delight.

  Kris couldn’t resist jumping in then. “I told them to land silently, with no lights, to meet me and an unconscious Zainal. That I needed help moving him as he’d killed two others trying to escape before I could zap him.” Raisha looked slightly confused. “One pair of boots was a lot smaller. Cherchez la femme.”

  “Oh, gotcha!” Raisha said. “Only how do we avoid the night crawlers?”

  Mitford went through the rest of Phase One and the two gave a small round of applause when he finished.

  “Look, I did a lot of training but only one short shuttle flight,” Raisha began anxiously.

  “I only had two but one as navigator,” Bert said, though both were clearly dying to go on despite their inexperience.

  “You’ll do good,” Zainal said, so convincingly that both demurred. “A scout can carry six at most. Four were set down. I think only two remain. Both can be told to come help Arvonk, the contact,” and he pointed at Kris. “Maybe not. So, if we have to get in fast and kill, inside is like this.”

  He walked them through the tight passageways of the scout ship and then using the drawings he had also made of the control panels, talked them through the short preflight sequences. He mentioned the colors of the relevant toggles and drew diagrams of the icons above other controls. They concentrated so hard Kris could almost see them absorb words and drawings into their heads.

  “We take Leon, who speaks Catten, to give last warning of trick by Zainal and then…” Once again he used his finger across his throat and grinned. “I will show you how to circle moon and glide to land.” He turned to Mitford. “We hide scout and then I work you hard to learn how to pilot Catteni vessel.”

  “You will?” Bert’s eyes were nearly popping out of his sockets but Raisha assumed an aura of complete calm confidence and gave a little sigh.

  Zainal had certainly made two people very happy. “Study hard now. Kris and I prepare our team.”

  CHAPTER 3

  For a plan that had been so hastily put together, it could not have gone more smoothly. Kris was shaking badly when the comunit buzzed but Zainal had rehearsed her in two more phrases.

  “Arvonk,” she said, hand on her windpipe, and added in harsh Catteni, “See you. Glide in. Chouma.” Which she added on her own.

  They could just make out the ship in the gleam of the rising moon as it settled silently in the corner of the field. A brief glint of muted light was cut off as the hatch closed.

  Zainal was pretending to be one of his own captors, Kris the other, while Leon, being tall, was plainly leaning against Zainal as if unconscious. Joe Marley, face blackened, hunched over the controls of Mitford’s usual air-cushion machine and eased it forward at a slow walking pace.

  The first surprised burst from the Catteni was the signal for Fek and Slav to rise from their crouching positions and dispatch both intruders with silent lances. Then Joe increased the power of the vehicle and they whizzed down the field to the scout. Zainal hit the exterior release and Bert and Raisha bolted through as soon as the hatch was wide enough. It was Leon’s turn now.

  “Stolix Zainal,” he called out, trying to sound triumphant but listening to be sure there was no sound of another person on board.

  Zainal pushed past, knife at the ready, and strode with no stealth at all toward the bridge in the prow of the small spaceship. Those listening outside heard him slide a panel.

  “Were only two,” he called back.

  “Permission to come aboard, sir?” Bert asked, not quite facetiously as he adhered to protocol.

  “Permission given,” Zainal said, and Kris heard the relief in his voice.

  “I just want a quick look,” she said, and followed Raisha and Bert down the passageway. She wondered if scout crews were chosen because they were physically small enough to maneuver in such enclosed spaces. Zainal certainly had to walk sideways.

  Raisha was already seated in one position, with Bert running his fingers lightly across this and that panel as if confirming the briefing Zainal had given them. The look on his face made Kris gulp. He was having a hard time believing that he was actually preparing to go into space again—not as an unconscious passenger this time. She envied them.

  “Kris, one last message,” Zainal said, turning her toward the controls. “Say, ‘Arvonk icts, stolix Zainal. Escag. Klotnik.’”

  She muttered them over to herself and then Zainal pointed to the speaker grille and threw a toggle up. She almost forgot to grab her throat but the fact that she could say the words with authority lent a certain vibrant triumph to her tone. “What did I say?”

  Zainal ruffled her hair. “‘Arvonk here, have Zainal. Return. Out.’”

  “Out sounds too much like ‘Kotik, accept.’”

  “Not to Catteni listener. Now, out. The satellite must record the takeoff.” He escorted her down the cramped aisle to the hatch, one large hand on her shoulder. At the hatch, he put his cheek against hers, pressing hard before he hit the open button.

  Dazed as she was by the night’s success and the prospect of being without him for a day or two, she remembered to step carefully down onto the air-cushion platform. She lifted one hand to her cheek, feeling his against hers. Joe drove off.

  He was picking up speed when Fek abruptly shouted, “Stop!” Surprised, Joe braked so quickly his passengers had to grab at each other to remain upright and in the vehicle. Fek leaned over the side, peering down at something Kris was very glad she could not see as clearly as the Deski could. With a grab as deft as Whitby’s fishing, Fek wrenched something aboard that clattered as it fell. She reached down again, arm at full stretch and her other hand clutching Joe, and got hold of something else. A ray of light illuminated a field that writhed and seethed, for it was a hand beam she had retrieved. Kris groaned and turned her face away. The night crawlers bumped in futile search at the floor of the vehicle.

  “You see, Slav?” she asked, grinning the triangular Deski smile as she focused light on the other side of the vehicle, and the other victim.

  “I see. I get.” And Slav made two equally speedy retrievals. One he held up for Kris to see in the light, and his smile was the broadest she’d yet seen on a Rugarian face. “Stunner.” And, in a sudden, unexpectedly juvenile manner, leaned the barrel across his arm and made the hissing sound of a stunner blast.

  “Can we leave now?” Joe Marley asked in an edgy voice. He didn’t wait for an answer, pushing the control bar hard over. “We could have waited until morning. Crawlers can’t digest metal.”

  “I want tonight,” Fek said with uncharacteristic firmness.

  “And stop shining that thing around,” Joe added testily as they sped up a field which writhed and glistened.

  Mitford was waiting in the parking area, as if he didn’t quite trust the participants to keep the night’s event to themselves. Kris knew herself to be on an adrenaline high so his presence had a certain sobering effect on her. He gestured for them all to go through the silent camp, up to his office. He had thoughtfully provided beer and the salty pretzel-like snacks. Rugarians and Deski rather liked beer now and then but they were careful not to drink much or often. It had some sort of an effect on their metabolism—not a hangover, according to Leon Dane, but something similar—that they did not cope well with.

  Kris took a long pull on her beer to settle her stomach, and noticed that Joe did, too. Mitford just waite
d, knowing from the look of their faces that the hijack had been successful.

  “I’d say by now I’ve been killed and Leon is dying,” she began. “Otherwise it all worked out just as we planned…with a little diversion from Fek and Slav.” She shuddered as the two now dropped the retrieved equipment on Mitford’s desk.

  He only glanced at the hand beams, which Kris thought would have been more useful than stunners. But, of course, weapons would come first with a military man. He picked the stunner up, turning it over in his hand, checking the controls and snapping something shut. “That’s the safety on—now—but you guys wouldn’t have known.” He almost patted it when he put it down, and took up the other to render it harmless.

  “Bert and Raisha looked as if they were having Christmas,” she went on. “I had a peek around once Zainal said the coast was clear.” Mitford nodded. “Rather cramped. Good thing Leon isn’t an inch taller.” Mitford nodded again. “He will be back, you know.” Mitford nodded one more time.

  She finished off the beer, took a handful of the pretzels, and stood up. “I’m worn out,” she said. “Good night, and thanks, Joe, Fek, Slav. We’re the best team on Botany!”

  Mitford nodded.

  It was only when she turned over in her bed that Kris realized she still had the comunit. A lot of good it did her even if it was a link with Zainal up in the scout ship, faking the next step of Phase One. She slipped it up onto her shelf and then let herself fall deeply asleep.

  * * *

  Mitford took her and the unit down to drop field the second day, when Zainal could be expected to return. Camp Rock vibrated with rumors, although everyone connected with Phase One had done their best to act in a normal fashion. To make sure she gave nothing away, Kris had to pretend she’d sprained her ankle. Sarah kept busy getting cold water to reduce the swelling. Joe, Fek, and Slav worked on servicing their big exploratory vehicle or writing reports. Leon Dane was reported to have gone off with Zainal, Bert, and Raisha to be at some emergency at Camp Shutdown. But the rumors persisted.

  “We’ll still surprise them,” Mitford said as he pulled the little air-cushion runabout up against the hedge. They’d seen a few of the avian predators on their way, so he took what cover there was. “I hope.”

  “We’re alone, sarge, so I’ll give you a piece of my mind on that stunt you pulled…” Kris had the satisfaction of seeing Mitford flush with embarrassment. “You had no right to insult Zainal that way…and even less right to use me as his surety. I came awful close to hitting you…” She cocked her fist in demonstration.

  “Goddammitall to hell’n’gone, Kris Bjornsen,” Mitford recovered sufficiently to snarl at her, “I had to! I do trust Zainal, quite likely more than I’ve ever trusted another human being…and he is human to me…” Mitford’s response was as fervent as hers had been and his eyes were sparking. “But I can’t take any chances. With him or you.” He let out a deep snort, rubbing his hands through his close-cropped hair in a gesture of exasperation and, oddly, impotence. “And I need him more. We,” and he meant the colony, “need him more.” Then, in one of his swift mood changes, he grinned at her, impudent and oddly melancholy. “I would have liked to be where he is now with you…” He held up both hands quickly in defense. “Don’t take me up wrong, Kris. But you’re a fine woman and Zainal’s the only man I wouldn’t try to muscle out.”

  It was Kris’ turn to be embarrassed. She had vaguely known that Mitford fancied her, though after he kept sending her out with Zainal, she had to decide that she had imagined it.

  “I’m sorry, Chuck,” she said, all her previous aggravation dissipating. “It sort of happened and you kept throwing me at him…more or less.”

  “More,” and Mitford let a wry expression touch his rough features, “because I shouldn’t. And you were the only one I could trust to keep him alive until the rest of them figured out he was far more valuable alive than dead.”

  “We owe you a lot, sarge,” she said, and touched his arm lightly and gratefully. “But you still made me real mad yesterday.”

  Mitford laughed, stretching his legs out the side of the parked vehicle.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes, I gotta do what I gotta do, and there was no time to call in some of the brass we got around here now.”

  “Ha!” Kris grinned back at him. “You wanted to do this one yourself without any brass involved. But I strongly suspect you really better let the others in on planning Phase Two…”

  “And Phase Three,” said Mitford, turning his head slightly to gaze off down the field, its ground cover matted down by the frequent landings of the transport ship and unconscious bodies. He scratched at his head again and looked back at her. “I’d be stupid, real stupid, not to get the strategists in on Phase Two. But this first one…That,” and he jabbed his thumb into his chest, “was for me! And you,” he added magnanimously. “In fact, I’m sort of phasing me out.”

  “Oh come now, Chuck…”

  “No, I mean it, Kris. We’ve got nearly nine thousand here now. I knew what I was doing for five hundred and eighty-two, even two thousand, but…goddammitall, I want to be the one finding the good stuff, not leave it up to you and Zainal, or the Doyles or that Scandinavian crowd. Me, Chuck Mitford, wants to have some of the fun.”

  “Who’ll you have on your team?” she asked, as much to cope with his surprising announcement. She knew very well that the colony had trained men, like Easley and Rastancil and governors like Ayckburn and Chavell, but Mitford had made the colony work.

  “It won’t be the same without you in charge. Not at all,” she said with deep regret.

  Now he touched her arm lightly and winked. “You won’t know I’ve been gone until I get back. Frankly, my dear, I’d rather someone else who really knows how to plan big pushes carried the can on Phase Two and Phase Three. But you can bet your last nickel, I’ll wangle some part in it.”

  “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

  “Hell, Kris,” and he was serious again, “I made a promise to the folks when I took command Day One that somehow we’d get free.” He looked off into the distance of morning mist-shrouded fields. “Free, yes. Leave? I’m not so sure about that now.” He looked around him at a landscape that no longer seemed alien and unreal.

  “I wondered,” she said, encouragingly.

  “If we could come to some sort of an agreement with the landlords, either or both, this’d be a great place to build up without all those damned minorities messing up their own landscapes. It’d be a fresh start for everyone.”

  “We’ve already made one, you know.”

  He nodded and knuckled his nose. “That I do. But free. I promised that and now we’ve got a chance to deliver.”

  “Phase Three might mean leaving here if the brass does buy Zainal’s master plan and free Earth, and Catten, from those Eosi.”

  He gave her a narrow-eyed look of pure devilment.

  “Hell, gal, there’s at least one more war in this marine. I’m not at all sure of the combat zone or the weapons and you better believe,” and he waggled his finger at her sternly, “that I’m not going to be the only one to debrief that Zainal, article, clause, and all the fine print. There’s an awful lot we don’t know about the Catteni—not to mention the Eosi.”

  “And our landlords, the Farmers.”

  They both heard the faint rumbling sound from above, followed by a more vigorous rustling as Slav, Fek, Joe, Sarah, Whitby, and Leila pushed through the hedgerows just beyond them.

  Kris managed one startled glance at Mitford, wondering if their very private conversation had been overheard. He winked and pointed to the team, who were panting as if they’d been running a good distance.

  “Fek hear,” the Deski said, grinning. “Scout comes.”

  Slav pointed and they could see the speck in the sky that rapidly increased in size. The noise became not louder but clearer. Suddenly more avians than any of them had ever seen at one time swarmed around it: some bodies dropped as oak seeds
might, flittering and twisting groundward; some dropped more quickly as disparate sections, while those left alive did astonishing aerial maneuvers and flew away as fast as they could.

  “That’s handy to know,” Mitford said with an approving grunt, and climbed out of the runabout. He stood, arms crossed on his chest, his eyes narrowing as he watched the ship’s steady approach.

  Was Zainal piloting, Kris wondered, or had he let Bert? Whoever it was made a very neat touchdown about twenty yards from the onlookers with a final burst of steamy exhaust from the portside thruster. The hatch moved open and Raisha jumped down, grinning radiantly. She snapped a salute to Mitford, which he returned.

  “Mission accomplished, sir. All present and accounted for.” Then she threw her right arm in the air and let out an exceedingly unmilitary yell.

  With everyone else, Kris moved toward her, trying to peer around for a sight of Zainal, and Bert, too.

  “That Zainal…he even let Bert land her,” Raisha cried, shaking hands with everyone, even Fek and Slav, who were now accustomed to that odd human habit. “You should see this place from outer space, sarge. It’s even more beautiful than Earth. I know that sounds like heresy but it’s true! And we know where the satellite is, so Zainal says there’ll be an easy way to avoid it by taking different windows out because it’s positioned geosynchronously for this area. No way of telling how long it’s been up, so it’s possible that, even if it was in geosynch with this landing area, it might not have seen the Farmers’ ships.”

  Kris grinned at Raisha, recognizing the high she was on, but Kris also kept looking for Zainal.

  “Oh, he’s still explaining some of the finer points to Bert. You’ll have to drag them out of there,” Raisha said. “Sarge, we got good views of the other continents during our landing orbit. It looks like only one other one is being farmed as intensively as this. It’d be smart to have a look and see if it isn’t wiser to transfer everything to an unoccupied continent and just put the farms back to the way they were before we got here. Just think how that’d confuse the Catteni.”