Freedom's Choice

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Almost everyone’s got some kind of house now. We can give them shelter, food and…a lot of caring,” Dowdall said, clearing his throat. He was another one who didn’t let emotions overwhelm him.

  “And we shall inform the Farmers,” Zainal said.

  “You think they can perform some sort of a psychic whammy and replace what got wiped?” Dowdall asked.

  Zainal shrugged. “It is possible, since their science is so much better than ours. Why not such healing?”

  “I think that’s asking for too much of a miracle,” Ray Scott said, although the brief flare of hope in his eyes at the mere suggestion of a possible restoration was not lost on anyone at the table.

  “We shall inform them,” Zainal repeated.

  “Speaking for myself,” Kris said, “they can’t be any more trouble than a baby and we can handle one more in our house, can’t we, Zainal?”

  He nodded. “If he or she doesn’t get upset seeing a Catteni around.”

  “Well, I think,” Kris went on staunchly, “it’s important for everyone to know that there’s at least one good Catteni in this universe!”

  * * *

  They were nearing the heliopause when Zainal mentioned, quite casually, Kris thought, that it was just possible that they might have a little trouble getting the second ship through the Bubble.

  “Why?” Kris asked. “They’re alike as two peas in a pod.”

  “There are two and only one went out.”

  “The KDL was pregnant when she left. The KDM is her daughter,” Kris said, surprising herself with such a whimsy. The others around the wardroom table laughed politely.

  “It is a problem,” Beverly said.

  “Why?” Scott wanted to know. “If we proceed slowly, as we did getting out, just nudging past the Bubble.”

  Zainal was not convinced.

  “Too bad we can’t call downside and get Raisha up in the scout to poke a hole for us,” Bert said. “We could go piggyback, maybe,” he suggested, and then canceled that notion with a whisk of his hand. “Too risky.”

  Zainal agreed with a skeptical twist of one shoulder.

  “Fine thing if we get these folks right up to the door and can’t wedge ’em in,” Dowdall said.

  “There has to be a way,” Scott said, looking at Zainal for inspiration.

  “If there is, we find it,” the former Emassi said.

  But it was obvious that everyone on board the KDL worried about it for the rest of the journey through the solar system to its third planet.

  “Engines,” Kris said as she sat on the bridge watching their approach to Botany.

  “What?” Scott demanded. He looked up from the final course plotting that would escape both the satellite and orbital observation.

  “Would there be such a thing on board as a tractor beam?” she asked Zainal.

  “A what?” He frowned, unable to find those words in his now very large vocabulary.

  “Something to pull another ship along, a ship with no power.”

  “She’s got it!” Scott said. “Does the KDL have one?”

  It took a little time for Zainal to understand exactly what they meant, but when he did, his grin was broad.

  “Not a tractor beam but is possible to connect,” and he jammed both fists together. “One ship hull is negative, the other positive. Very easy to do. I tell Bert.”

  They had not allowed themselves many intership broadcasts on the off chance that they might be overheard. But so close to Botany, they could risk it. The orbital might pick up some of what was transmitted, but not enough to give any alert. Not unless there were Eosi hiding behind the moons.

  “Oh, he means magnetize the hull,” Bert said, catching on. “Okay, give me the procedure.”

  * * *

  The light bump as the KDM magnetically sealed itself behind the KDL was felt by everyone. There was also a certain tingling in the air. The KDL would be pushed through the Bubble first, propelled by the KDM. All watched nervously as the Bubble’s smooth skin got closer and closer and behind it, a luminous half-moon, was Botany. Bert had slowed to the barest possible forward motion while Zainal, in the fore, guided him. The nose of the KDL prodded the Bubble, which gaped wide enough to admit the ship. All of the KDL was shortly inside the Bubble and they felt no resistance, nor any sudden disconnection of the KDM.

  “We did it!” crowed Bert on the open line. “We did it! Now how do I separate us? Just kidding.”

  Then Rastancil opened a channel, demanding to know were they all right. What was the other ship doing on his screen? “What have you guys been up to?”

  “Well, we needed it to complete our…rescue mission,” Scott said, suddenly dropping from the high of successfully penetrating the last obstacle to home. “We couldn’t just…” and his voice faltered then continued firmly, “leave them there on Barevi.”

  “Rescued? Who? What?”

  “You’ll see,” Scott said almost angrily. “Some of them are pretty bad. Have all the medics on hand and anyone else with any nursing experience we’ve got. Especially the psychiatrists. We’ve some more Catteni prisoners to go to the valley. So have Raisha stand by to fly ’em out. Then we’ll need another valley for a bunch of Turs we had to bring along, too. She ought to have guards with that lot in case any wake up prematurely.”

  “Medics? Psychiatrists? What sort of casualties are they?” Rastancil sounded alarmed.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Scott said in a terse voice, “and we’ll need a good nutritious soup or something easy to eat.”

  He disconnected, a brooding expression on his face.

  “It’ll work out, Ray,” Kris said, laying a hand on his arm. “You’ll see.”

  “Botany can take on any challenge,” Dowdall added with the pride of a First Drop survivor.

  * * *

  When the two ships landed in the big field in front of the hangar, Rastancil had mobilized transport, medical staff and enough personnel to assist in unloading the sleepers. Jim Rastancil, Geoffrey Ainger, Bob Reidenbacker, Bull Fetterman—in fact all those who constituted the Council—waited patiently for Scott and Zainal to descend from the KDM, which landed slightly ahead of its sister ship.

  “This should have been a unanimous decision by all Botanists,” Scott began, nervously finger-combing his hair back from his forehead or rubbing the back of his neck.

  “It was sure as hell unanimous with all the Botanists there,” Beverly said firmly.

  “Hell, yes,” Dowdall, Kris, and Mitford added in unison.

  “Who? What?” Rastancil asked, surprised to find Scott hesitant.

  “The ones the Eosi mind-wiped,” Scott said flatly. “They were about to be shipped off God-knows-where as slaves.”

  “Jesus! Of course you had to bring them here,” said Rastancil. “Leon, Mayock, front and center and let’s get them out of there,” and he charged up the ramp with the medical personnel.

  Kris slipped ahead of him to her post at the deck controls.

  “All right, now, let’s do this efficiently,” she heard Bull Fetterman roaring. “Move that big sled up, stretcher bearers up front. Someone get blankets ready as makeshift…”

  The cargo hold doors parted and, although several people choked over the rancid body smells that wafted out, they walked on it and stopped.

  “God in heaven…” Rastancil whispered, staring at the human debris, crumpled in small heaps, though some had managed to lie flat before the drug overcame them.

  “And I thought we had it bad,” Leon murmured, kneeling beside the first unconscious body, feeling the neck for a pulse, his eyes ranging around the deck.

  Kris had turned on what lighting there was.

  “Stretcher here,” Leon said, pointing to the man and then moving inward, to the next prone body. “Mayock, we’d better do a triage.”

  And the rescue operation began its final phase.

  * * *

  Sixteen hundred humans, fortunately not all of them mind-wiped but many
with abused bodies and minor injuries, were disembarked from the two ships. And two hundred Deski, one hundred and fourteen Rugarians, ninety Ilginish, and twelve Turs.

  The Turs were left on a lower deck, which confined them should they wake before Raisha returned from taking the Catteni to their new accommodations. The two crewmen from the KDM had been secured in its cheerless brig throughout the trip, seeing only Coo or Mitford in his Catteni role. They were told that their ship had been commandeered. One of them protested such treatment every time food was brought: even protested the good food he was served because it wasn’t what he was accustomed to. The other Catteni slept almost the entire time, rousing only long enough to take care of natural needs and eat. They were blindfolded before they left their cell so they would have little to add to what information the other captives might have.

  * * *

  With so many hands to help, Leon’s triage teams separated those who needed the most attention from those who needed only rest, good food, and reassurance. By then, quite a few were regaining consciousness and could be offered water and a soup, hastily brought from the dining hall. Even without formal orders, there was suddenly a carer with every victim in a response that certainly gladdened Kris’ heart. Scott should have had more faith in the community’s generosity. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen examples of it with every new drop the Catteni made.

  Some awakened and were utterly passive: their empty faces expressionless. They had to be helped to drink, though they could manage to swallow or eat once food was put to their lips. Others woke, screaming or sobbing helplessly, and that was nearly as heartbreaking even if it gave an indication that some vestige of the original personality might remain.

  “Just keep talking to them, folks,” Leon called out. “Let them hear English, see human faces around them. Feed ’em, but don’t let them gorge.”

  “Who knows when they’ve had a decent meal,” Anna Bollinger muttered, trying to keep the bruised and battered woman beside her from gulping down the entire cup of soup. “Just sip it. There’ll be all you need.”

  “Gawd, it’s like a disaster scene, an earthquake or something,” Joe Latore said, helping his male victim to his feet since the man was trying so desperately to stand. “What in hell are you doing, Zainal? Taking pictures of people right now.”

  “I show the Farmers what Eosi do to people. I show the Farmers what humans do to help,” he said, bringing the taper in close to the vacant eyes of Joe’s man.

  Then Zainal turned the camera to include the woman Leon was treating for body lacerations that covered every inch of her torso. He went from her to a group of three whose faces were devoid of any expression, eyes dulled and unfocusing.

  Those who could be classified as walking wounded were sent to the homes of volunteer carers, with instructions for basic care.

  “Like a bath!” someone remarked loudly. “Wonder what I’ll find under all that dirt and…yuck.”

  Everyone volunteered to help almost to the point of being disappointed when all the victims had been assigned a place.

  Leon and the other medical staff gave general directions for emergency care. “Keep them warm, give them plenty of fluid, but limit solid food until their bodies can adjust. Let them sleep all they want. But don’t let them go off on their own. We’ll set up evaluation conferences and see which might respond to rehabilitation.”

  “Can you manage, Leon?” Scott asked earnestly.

  “You better believe it, Ray,” Leon replied sharply. “In fact, we can and have managed it,” and he swung his arm in a broad gesture across the all but empty field. “Who knows? Good food, fresh air, plenty of friendly faces…” he added with a wry grin, “and good trauma skills, we may even effect a significant number of complete recoveries.”

  “You really think so?” Scott looked ready to accept any reassurance for the responsibility he had off-loaded on the colony.

  “Sure do!” Leon said in such a positive tone that Scott finally relaxed. “No way you could have left them! Any road, they’re better off with us.”

  “They are, you know,” Kris said. “You look beat, Ray.”

  “I should take one in with me. My house is finished,” and Scott stared after the last couples leaving the field.

  “We’ll switch people around, Ray. I’ll make sure you take your turn,” Leon said ironically. “Now, my prescription for you, Ray Scott, is get some rest. You, too, Kris. You left a baby in the crèche, or does that seem years ago?”

  “It does, you know,” she said. She’d been too busy to give much thought to Zane. But he was happy where he was: one of the crèche girls had told her that he’d been just fine.

  “I believe it. Get on up to him, now,” and Leon gave her a little push in the right direction. Then, when he saw Kris glancing about her for Zainal, he added, “He was following the final load on the sled the last time I saw him.”

  To her delighted surprise, she met him just short of the crèche, with Zane in his arms. He shrieked with joy on seeing his mother and, almost overbalancing himself out of Zainal’s arms, reached out both hands for her. Zainal let the exchange be made, one hand holding the recording camera tight against his side.

  “I saw you filming,” Scott said, altering his direction to join them. He even managed a tired smile at the enthusiastic way Zane was hugging his mother.

  Zainal patted the camera, nodding. “Such evidence is needed to show the Farmers how the Eosi treat humans. You will help me write a report, Ray?” And when Scott nodded wearily, Zainal added. “What words do not say, the film will.”

  “You’ll use one of those homing capsules the Farmers have in the Command Post?”

  “The Farmers do not approve the species’ injury. Once they see what Eosi do, we will hear from them again.”

  “What if the Farmers can live with that?” Scott asked bitterly.

  “That’s what we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” Zainal said, but the tone of his voice told Kris that he wouldn’t rest until he had completed Phase Three, no matter what it took.

  * * *

  There was considerable discussion about whether or not the Farmers would be able to play the pictorial record when Zainal, Kris, and the former movie cameraman had finished making it. Baxter, however, did still photographs that were indeed worth a thousand words of explanation and these were carefully inserted in the message tube.

  The homing device had no trouble penetrating the Bubble on its way to its destination. Its departure was once again noted by the orbital and the geosynchronous satellite as well as its abrupt disappearance just past the heliopause. The event was immediately sent to Eosi headquarters for distribution.

  The Ix Mentat, just returned from its almost futile investigations on the rebellious planet, was so contorted with rage that its juniors feared it might lose connection with its host. It had only just received a report from Barevi, citing the disappearance of one of the new transporter vessels as well as over two thousand slaves, destined for the mining colony at Ble Sot Fac Set, which had been expecting replacements for unavoidable casualties in a major shaft collapse. When the report got to the composition of that shipment, the Ix Mentat came closer to self-extinction than any of its peer group in their long history.

  Its recovery from such a seizure was slow: its host had suffered bodily injury and had to be repaired, an almost unheard-of complication in an Eosi-Emassi symbiosis.

  To calm their senior, Mentats Co and Se issued orders that an installation was to be built on the innermost moon of the subject planet: a second orbital, programmed for a slower rotation, would provide constant surveillance and prevent the recalcitrant population from effecting another covert exit, since it was now obvious that they had two, or more, spaceships.

  When the Mentat Ix recovered fully from its incapacity, it began to organize the largest expedition ever mounted by Catteni forces. It would wreak the most horrific vengeance on that recalcitrant planet that had ever been mounted by Eosi Mentat. Afterwards
, there would be no opposition left in the galaxy that could subject an Eosi to such humiliation. But first, they must find the weapons or the method to breach the barrier around the colony planet. A planet, the Mentat Ix stoutly told all its colleagues, which was undoubtedly the cause of all the problems recently encountered by Catteni and Eosi alike. Once it was destroyed, the Eosi could resume their normal activities and enjoy their conquests unopposed.