Freedom's Ransom

by Anne McCaffrey

  Kris was wondering about improving on a mere ten percent. She couldn’t quite sort fifty pounds of beans into individual portions, nor how much weight the KDM could haul, but she did believe that they could probably sell any coffee they could bring to Barevi.

  She wondered if the Kenyan coffee merchants might do a deal with them for tires, batteries, and spark plugs. She didn’t want to be greedy but so much depended on their success. For both Earth and Botany.

  She found herself rushing up the ramp of the KDM, grateful to hear voices, experiencing an unexpected nostalgia for the ship as a haven. Good Lord, what had gotten into her?

  Then Kathy was there, giving her a big hug, Jax was beyond, grinning like a fool, and the boys rushed to greet their father, demanding his attention with glad cries at his return.

  Kris and Zainal thanked Jelco and asked him to thank Wylee, Murray, and Dover for their assistance.

  “Miss Kris,” and for the first time she detected his southern accent, “it was a real pleasure. ‘Sides, you bake a mean loaf of bread! I’ll see you tomorrow. Until then, ciao.”

  And with another salute of two fingers to his eyebrow, he left them, lounging away toward the terminal building.

  “We managed to trade for fresh food,” Jax told Kris excitedly. “You should have seen Ferris and Ditsy. They just knew where stuff was growing.” She waved a hand toward distant green fields. “And they brought back carrots! And potatoes! I haven’t had them in years! We know you were successful with the dental stuff, and boy, did those guys covet the lifts.”

  “I don’t know how we would have gotten those units down eighteen flights without them. And, Kathy, thanks for helping me with the rolls,” Kris said, squeezing her arm gratefully, “because they opened doors everywhere.”

  “Those simple rolls?” Kathy was amazed.

  “We’ll do a full report at dinner, as we’ve a lot to discuss, but right now, is there enough hot water for me to have a shower? I feel sticky.”

  “You don’t look sticky,” Kathy said with mock horror and whooshed her down the corridor to her quarters. “We filled all the water tanks, and there should be plenty of hot by now.”

  The water was hot and Kris let it sluice down her body, soaping herself well, luxuriating in the warmth until Zainal tapped on the shower door. The amenity was not large enough for them to share the shower as they often did at home, but she gave herself one more rinse before she emerged and let him in.

  While dressing, Zainal said that they would discuss the upcoming coffee-bean project with the entire crew. Considering the benefits of such an excursion for the commonweal, she doubted anyone would object to the detour.

  Before they left, Kris had told Ferris to barter another sack of wheat for a good supply of carrots and potatoes. They did taste unbelievably good. She wished they could take seedlings back to Botany but not with a long stopover at Barevi. There was a green salad as well with early lettuce (greenhouse lettuce, which Clune said was evidently a thriving business, delivering crates of fresh produce to be taken into the city) and spring onions, crunchy and sweet. She wondered about dried beans. Well, besides coffee beans.

  Jax Kiznet had had more air miles on Earth than anyone else, so Zainal had given her the charts to see what she thought of piloting for the trip.

  “Well, I haven’t flown over Africa,” she demurred, looking at the flight charts, “but if we could land the KDM here, I don’t see why we can’t at Nairobi. The Jomo Kenyatta Airport’s an international facilitator was,” she added. “There’s a good one at Mombasa, too, plus the port. We aren’t circumscribed to just this area, at least I didn’t get that impression from our interrogation on the way in. I’ll just check frequencies and weather reports.”

  “We need to go to the northeast of Nairobi to the coffee plantation area … and the Kiambu Ridge area.” Kris found the place, which had been underlined on the detailed map.

  “Oh, near the Rift Valley,” she said, following Kris’s pointing finger. “Well, that’s hard to miss and so is Lake Rudolf.”

  “We don’t need to go that far north.”

  “No, we don’t,” Jax said, staring down at the map. “I like the idea of getting coffee.”

  “I think we all do,” Kris agreed. “Even Zainal’s beginning to become addicted.”

  Jax grinned back. She was doing some figuring. “Look, if we can go orbital, we can do the great circle route at orbital velocity and it’ll only take the KDM an hour and ten minutes to reach our destination. Wow! Hey, I like hypersonic!”

  “Kenya’s where Chief Materu comes from, isn’t it?” Peran asked.

  “Right you are,” Zainal said, giving the boy a hug. “And we have another reason for being there. Alkoriti.”

  “Oh, hey, that’s right,” Kris said, remembering their earlier search for the acacia plant that had proved to be the unexpected weapon that had brought about the defeat of the Eosi, who had suffered respiratory failure from inhaling the dust.

  She grinned at Zainal, spreading her hands in acceptance of the excuse. “As if bringing vaccines to Kenya isn’t enough.”

  “Only how did you happen to get to be messenger?” Clune asked cynically.

  “Evidently, individual coords will arrange things to suit themselves.”

  “We’ll just hope that’s a good enough excuse.”

  “Well, we know the Biffs are at two hundred and fifty kilometers and their sensors are fixed outward, not inward,” Kathy pointed out. “So we’re delivering medicines. Big deal.”

  Jax talked with the meteorology folk at Newark Tower, got the latest reports —no turbulence anticipated—and had her flight plan checked. There had been judicious gifts of rock squats to the tower staff, so they were disposed to be helpful … once they got over the shock of a vertical landing and takeoff craft.

  “We coulda used a whole flock of the durned squats,” Clune said as they finished the last of the supply.

  “They’re a game bird so they’re also kosher,” Kris said, and no one else quite appreciated why Eric guffawed.

  The equipment that was now lodged in the cargo hold had fascinated Ferris. Later Zainal told Kris that Eric had explained to Ferris exactly what he had traded from Eddie Spivak and what it was used for. They decided that a number C-4 Vitapan shade matched the boy’s tooth color, and Eric had pantomimed how he would use it, bonding it to a tooth in layers. Although Eric couldn’t set up his equipment, he did check Ferris’s teeth and found some cavities that ought to be taken care of as soon as possible. Ferris did not remember ever having been to a dentist and, because he knew Eric, did not have any anxieties about having his teeth fixed. During the evening, Eric checked over everyone on the ship, even Kris, and he shook his head over the state of her teeth. Zainal submitted and Eric said that he could probably fix the chip off one of Zainal’s eyeteeth: in Zainal’s case, not caused by a brawl but by a fall against something tougher than Catteni teeth. Peran and Bazil were pronounced to have excellent teeth with not a trace of decay, though Bazil’s bite could stand a little correction.

  o~O~o

  The next morning, after Jelco boarded the KDM, they received clearance to leave Newark Airport, with many good wishes for a safe flight. New York Center was going to turn them over to Air Africa Control so certain protocols were taken care of. And now that they were aware of the surprise a vertical lift and takeoff vessel gave Tower Control crews, they would handle their appearance at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport with more aplomb if they had to land there.

  Kris decreed that, since the rolls had been so useful in New York, she didn’t see why they wouldn’t be in Kenya, where they might meet more people who would be delighted with freshly baked bread.

  The notion of baking her way across the Atlantic and the Dark Continent left her grinning.

  She did her baking with the help of Clune and Floss. The girl was still a restless type and had not liked being immured in the KDM the previous day when “everyone else” appeared to be out an
d about and having fun. She ignored the fact that Ferris and Clune had lugged heavy sacks of potatoes back to the ship, and that Bazil and Peran had carried in bundles of carrots and greens. They had been out and about her native planet. Kris recognized a certain merit in her argument and hoped she would be able to include Floss in some unusual activity at their current destination, even if she only helped with the rolls and bread they were going to use as goodwill offerings. She couldn’t remember if Kenyans ate bread as a rule but it had once been a British colony and probably bread was known, no matter what other cereal grain was more popular. Jax remembered something about manioc but didn’t know what it was. Kathy had suggested rice but Kris didn’t think Kenya was rice country, which required irrigated fields. Kenya did have avocados, bananas, and other fresh fruits that might be available. They’d just have to wait and see. A banana, Kris thought whimsically, would taste very good. It had been so long since she had had one!

  They were not challenged on the flight. The Atlantic Ocean was not that exciting from a high altitude. Even Africa was more a pattern of greens and beiges as they sped across it on the great circle route. Jax handled the controls well as they dropped out of hypersonic space, being high enough for a view of Lake Rudolph and the ripple of the Rift Valley. Nairobi Tower welcomed them in their space and gave them directions to their destination.

  o~O~o

  Follow the big road northwest fifty miles: you can probably see it—it’s the C-84 and keep the Karura forest on the port side. You’re looking for a small town among ridges. About thirteen land kilometers from the airport. We understand that you are VTOL and there is sufficient parking in front of the warehouse to accommodate you.”

  “Over, Nairobi, and thank you. Out.”

  “They said they were from Botany,” they heard the air controller say. “Where the hell’s Botany?” Whatever response he got was lost as he shut off his microphone but those in the cockpit grinned at his confusion.

  They found the site without too much trouble. The forest was unmistakable and the road twisted, visible to the starboard of the thick trees. Jax reduced airspeed. In fact, she laughed that it took almost more time to lose speed than it did to make the transatlantic segment.

  It was easy to follow the road, visible through the lush forestry when the land swept upward to the very edge of the Rift Valley area.

  As a final identification, the warehouse had KIAMBU RIDGE painted in big white letters on its roof.

  “Hey, neat,” Jax said with relief at having almost completed such a prestigious run. “Hope they don’t freak out seeing a spaceship land”

  “Open the hatch and let the smell of fresh bread waft out and entice them to our web, hehehehe,” Kris said, doing her evil-witch imitation and rubbing her hands together. Chuck grinned but the display was lost on Zainal, though Floss, whom Kris had made sure had one of the jump seats to witness this landing, gave a contemptuous “Pshaw!”

  Though the KDM was no longer supersonic, it made sufficient noise in landing to bring a number of people out of the warehouse. The building had a galvanized roof, propped up by pillars of cinder blocks, but the facade was lined with local stone. As Jax cut the engines, Zainal and Jelco took places at the hatch until it was safe to open and extend the ramp. Several men, dressed in the long skirts used for cool comfort on this continent, came forward to greet them.

  “Hi there, I am Jelco, representing Dan Vitali, Newark Airport Coordinator,” Jelco said, holding the pharmaceutical package up so it was visible.

  A very tall black man grinned, his teeth so white in his face that Bazil, standing by his father, was astonished and automatically came out with a Masai greeting.

  Startled, the man halted midstride, staring first at Bazil and then at Zainal.

  “Catteni?” he demanded, his nostrils flaring, smile disappearing.

  Whatever Bazil said in response relieved the man, and he resumed his welcoming grin. He said something else and Bazil gave what was obviously a very courteous reply.

  “He did not think our race could speak his language,” Bazil said in a proud aside to his father. “He feels honored for his entire tribe.”

  “Good,” Jelco murmured. “We have the medicines that were requested.”

  A second man, a stethoscope lying around his neck and sweat dripping down his shoulders, heaved a dramatic sigh of relief and stepped forward. “You cannot know how many lives you will be saving with this. Welcome, and thrice welcome. I’m Dr. Standish.” He looked through the contents, sighing with relief as he identified the various packages. “Will you excuse me if I dash off?”

  “Certainly,” Jelco said. “We understand the need for haste.”

  “What I don’t understand is how you got here so fast. My coordinator only got the radio message an hour ago.”

  “This ship is hypersonic, Doctor,” Zainal said, “and we understood that time was critical.”

  “You have no idea,” the doctor replied, somewhat distracted. “Father Simeon’s prayers are the most efficacious I have ever encountered. Excuse me.” He dashed off to a waiting jeep that bore a faded Red Cross insignia and some other emblems that neither Kris nor Chuck could identify.

  “Please to come inside. Coffee is available for your pleasure,” said the African. “I am Chief Sembu.”

  Bazil then suavely introduced the arrivals and included Floss, who was hovering, slightly out of sight. Sembu was once more astonished when Floss gave him a greeting in the Masai’s Swahili dialect. Kris urgently gestured for her to accompany the party.

  Jelco strode into the warehouse and into what was obviously a tasting room. The smell of rich, dark coffee was a fragrance everyone inhaled, and there was a small pot of brown sugar fragments to sweeten the fine brew. Underlying the coffee odor was something else, fruity, which she couldn’t identify.

  Jelco and Sembu sat opposite each other and began the dickering.

  “A plane we could load easily,” Sembu was saying, gesturing to the contents of the warehouse, glimpsed through the separating window. “That … aircraft looks as if it could take all we have bagged.”

  “And roasted?” Jelco asked.

  “Well, not all are roasted,” Sembu had to admit. “For one thing, we counted on an average-sized plane. Secondly, our buyers usually have their own roasters and prefer to have their people supervise such a delicate operation.”

  “Will Barevi appreciate ‘careful’ roasting?” Kris asked Zainal. She knew the process took time but did they have any to spare?

  “How much is already roasted, Chief Sembu?” Jelco asked.

  “We surmised that you would bring the largest aircraft you have,” Sembu said with an understanding grin. “A 747, perhaps. We have sufficient to fill that size craft that have been roasted, as we agreed with Coord Vitali.”

  “And enough for a two-thousand-ton capacity?” Chuck asked.

  “Hmm, but not all would be roasted.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Nor winners poor losers,” Sembu said and extended his hand to Chuck. “I can provide you with a roaster and instructions, but roasting is a delicate business.”

  “We’ll take the roaster, and the mistakes will be ours,” Chuck said, taking the hand. “In all fairness to Jelco here and the green coord,” he added, “they’d no idea we’d be dropping the KDM in their lap, so to speak.”

  The deal was struck and the chief gave orders to his workers to start loading. At which point Zainal called back to the ship to bring out the lifts. He suspected they’d be needed to load the roaster, though he’d no idea what size the thing would be.

  That was providential because the large and bulky roaster could accommodate three sacks of beans at a time. It was loaded onto the KDM. Sembu was fascinated by the lift, even after Zainal warned him that its power pack was half-drained, but trading it bought them all the fresh produce they could store as well as four twenty-five-pound sacks of the rough brown sugar that Kris and Floss found in the local mark
et. Kris also bought some lengths of a blue fabric displayed at the market so that Floss could finally have some new dresses. The girl was touched that Kris remembered such a detail amid all the others she was currently handling. Kris tried to find cinnamon and raisins but no one paid her much mind in the scurry to load the coffee beans. The entire warehouse of coffee bean sacks fit neatly into two of the three KDM cargo holds.

  “Having all robustas is great,” Kris said, “but we could use some of the milder arabicas, too.” She had listened to enough of the spiel to have absorbed some details about the romance of coffee.

  “They are grown elsewhere than Kenya,” Sembu replied. “However, as ours are often used in combination with arabicas, and considering that trade is nonexistent, you might be able to exchange robustas for a few sacks of arabicas in, say, Santa Lucia in the Caribbean. If that’s on your way, of course.”

  “That’s an island,” Kris said, trying to place it.

  “In the Caribbean. There are many plantations on it. One, in fact, not far from the volcano.”

  “Volcano?” An acceptable landmark, certainly.

  “Oh, it’s not active. Or wasn’t when I last had news, but you might do a deal with them. Their beans are very good—for arabicas,” he said with a slightly deprecating smile for a lesser breed, “but excellent in its category.”

  Kris grinned.

  “Asante sana,” Bazil said politely, bowing slightly to the man.

  “I never thought I’d hear a Catteni speaking Swahili. It is worth much to have you here,” Sembu said, smiling benignly down at the sturdy boy.

  “Would you know, sir, where we can get some Alkoriti?” Kris asked.

  “But of course.” Sembu was really surprised.

  “We found some bushes the last time we were here,” she said, “for the Masai tribe that now resides on Botany. They require the plant for a rite of passage.”

  “You have Masai on Botany?”

  “Yes,” and when the man frowned, Kris hurried on. “They have their own settlement on the southern peninsula and we brought them some acacia bushes, but there is always a need for more Alkoriti.”