Freedom's Challenge

by Anne McCaffrey

  “We cannot make mistakes, Ray,” Zainal said as if he could see Scott planning all kinds of hijacking missions that would eventually be noticed: perhaps even traced to Botany.

  “There is one Mentat, the Ix,” Kamiton said, glancing at Zainal with a significant nod, “who is certain you all,” and his large finger circled the table, “are responsible for every disaster that has occurred recently. You realize that a moon base is being constructed to keep watch over you.”

  Ray nodded. “We know, which is one reason why we are using the south polar windows.”

  “Good.” Kamiton hitched his chair forward, the wood creaking under his weight. He glanced down at it, shifted experimentally, and then ignored the occasional noises.

  Kris really did hope that the chair, though made of lodge-pole wood, was sturdy enough for the heavily built Catten.

  “The Mentat Ix has had one seizure…”

  “Seizure?” Zainal came alert.

  Kamiton nodded, grinning. “Interesting, isn’t it? The Immortals have flaws. We must discover how we can use them to our benefit.”

  “Tactically,” Ray said, showing appreciation for that information, “it is always smart to get your enemy to destroy himself…if you possibly can.”

  “No species’ injury,” Chuck said with great satisfaction. “Only how the hell do we do it? One of them losing his cool doesn’t mean we’d be able to blow the minds of the others.” He cocked his forefinger and clicked his thumb, making his hand into an imaginary weapon.

  “A seizure in a Mentat has never happened before,” Kamiton said in Catteni, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest.

  “No, it has not,” Zainal said, then switched to English, addressing the others. “The significance of such an occurrence wouldn’t mean as much to you as it does to us,” and he turned back to Kamiton. “I would like to know more since I heard nothing of that on Catten,” he added in Catteni.

  “Nor would you,” Kamiton said in a droll tone. “But I know of it and several others as well. The Bubble frustrates Mentat Ix. Total annihilation of this planet is required as retaliation for the humiliation suffered by Ix.”

  “But this Ix fellow can’t get past the Bubble and we know he, it, whatever, has tried,” Ray Scott said smugly.

  “Necessity is the mother of invention,” Gino reminded them pointedly.

  Zainal translated to Kamiton.

  “Have you heard if their brain-wiping of Human specialists has given them any help?” Ray asked.

  “We know that it was done,” Kamiton said. “We are trying to find out if any worthwhile information was discovered. More importantly, if any new projects have been started. Not so far as I know.” And Kamiton’s attitude was that if anyone would know, he would.

  “I think that the Eosi,” Ray said slowly but with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, “have underestimated Humans.”

  Kamiton smiled. “They have and it gives us,” and his thick thumb touched his chest, signifying his group of dissidents, “immense satisfaction. And hope. How best may I serve you, Emassi?” Kamiton bent his head toward Ray in an unexpected gesture of compliance.

  “My rank was admiral, Emassi Kamiton,” Ray said, with a grin. “And it looks likely that I may resume it. We’ll have to consider how best to use your services. Welcome aboard.” Then he stood up and turned to Zainal. “I think that perhaps it would be wise if you all,” and he gestured to include Gino and Chuck, “escort Kamiton up to the hall and make sure everyone knows he’s on our side. I’ll see how soon we can schedule a tactical conference, but right now, unloading and the disposition of our latest arrivals takes precedence.”

  Kris was on her feet. “And I have a son to see.” Clearly it was safe for her to leave now that Zainal was himself again. And she was suddenly overcome with the urge to see Zane.

  “Take my runabout, Kris,” Ray said expansively. “I’ve got reports to write while all this is fresh in my mind.”

  Chapter Seven

  ZANE WAS SO INVOLVED, PLAYING WITH others his age, giggling outrageously over something they found funny that she stood and watched, drinking in the sight of him.

  Suddenly they went dead quiet, eyes wide open and staring. One of the little girls whimpered in fright but was instantly comforted by Sarah McDouall, one of the carers on duty at the crèche.

  “Great heavens, where did they come from?” she said, her voice part surprise and part reassurance.

  Kris turned and saw a line of the tall thin Maasai men and women striding up the hill. They had not been outfitted with the customary Catteni coveralls, possibly because the Catteni hadn’t made any that size before, so they wore the tatters of their traditional garb. And were as proud and dignified as she remembered seeing them in occasional news broadcasts when there had been that awful drought in Africa and Bob Geldof had started Band Aid.

  The size of the Maasai would intimidate more than two- and three-year-olds.

  “How come you’re leading the Maasai, Bart?” Kris asked, noticing him in the front, almost lost among the tall folk.

  “They seem to trust me. Now a few smiles wouldn’t go amiss right now,” Bart Tomi said firmly and immediately everyone complied, waving as well. “Hassan says ‘Jambo’ is a greeting. Can we have a chorus from you all?”

  Everyone obediently repeated the greeting. The Maasai beside Bart looked surprised, eyebrows ascending up his wrinkled forehead but he stopped. So did the others behind him.

  Abruptly Sarah brought the child she was holding closer, waving its arm as she did so. The transformation of the Maasai from surprise to delight was amazing. They all smiled now, at the children, rather than the adults.

  The leader came right up to the playground, the picket fencing not as high as his knees, grinning broadly and saying something that Kris heard as “kasserianingera?”

  Sarah held out the little girl’s hand to the man. Smiling with very white teeth and bending his tall frame down to her level, he very gently touched her fingers, so gently that the child, wide-eyed though she was, did not withdraw. The Maasai nodded and stepped back, then smiled at all the children. Behind him, the rest of his tribe, if that’s who they were, nodded and smiled and murmured their response of “jambo.”

  “Good, good,” Bart said. “That’s the first any of them have reacted at all.”

  “I’d heard,” Sarah said, “that they love children. And cattle. Our loo-cows are going to give them quite a shock.”

  The little girl had a grin hovering on her lips, but she burrowed her head into Sarah’s shoulder, peeking coyly at the tall man. But the breakthrough had occurred and a ripple of soft words went down the line. The Maasai all had smiles now and strode forward more cheerfully.

  Bart pointed toward the hall. Then, looking down at a strip of paper in his hand added in Swahili, “Hapa chakula kizuri! Get me?”

  “Ndio, ndio,” the leader said, nodding and looking around to gesture for the progress to continue. “Hapa chakula kizuri!” He repeated the same words Bart had used but with the proper inflections, and the Maasai behind grinned and nodded.

  “So much for Hassan’s instant Swahili lessons,” Bart said, grinning as he stuffed his paper back into a thigh pocket.

  At that moment, Zane came running towards Kris, arms outstretched to be picked up. “Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

  She was only too glad to collect him and hug him tightly and kiss him all over. Then she took his arm, turned, and had him waving at the Maasai as they flowed by in their long striding gait.

  “Mommy?” Zane whispered in her ear, his eyes wide.

  “These are good people, Zane.”

  “Not Deski, not Rugars…”

  “No, Maasai.”

  “Massssi.”

  “Maas—ai,” she corrected him and he got it right.

  “Has a quick ear, this one,” Sarah said. “Have a good trip?”

  Kris chuckled, thinking of some of the elements she was not going to mention. “Mind you, all we
brought back was a dissident Catteni which isn’t much against the increase in Botany’s fleet…”

  “Dissident Catteni?” Sarah made round eyes at that. “Do tell!”

  “Didn’t you see him go up to the hall with Zainal a few minutes back?”

  “Can’t say as I did. But then, I can’t say as I knew of any Catteni dissidents either.” Sarah grinned. “Nice to know we might have inside help, though. Will we?”

  “Tell you later.”

  “Over lunch perhaps?” Sarah said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

  “If you share what you’ve heard that I haven’t had time to find out.”

  “Good. It’s nearly lunchtime and sandwiches are all made. LUNCHTIME,” Sarah called.

  Out the window of the crèche dining room, they saw the procession of what Sarah called the “repossessed,” mainly Africans, but some whites, and their nationality not so obvious as they had been given Catteni coveralls.

  “Not so many injured either,” Kris remarked.

  “We did the unloading,” Sarah said, “and wait ’til you see what else we got.”

  “Zainal came back with equipment as well,” Kris said. “But it got loaded in such a hurry I don’t know what all he acquired.”

  “Did you see much of the planet?” Sarah asked, as others joined their table, eager to hear of Kris’ adventures.

  Kris shook her head, breaking a piece off her own sandwich, which Zane evidently preferred to what was on his plate. “The gravity damned near wore me out. I stayed on board and answered the com unit. My Catteni’s good enough for that but I don’t look the part. And I sure couldn’t operate in that gravity! Chuck did all the fronting for us. I’ll tell you one thing for sure, I was awful glad to lift off safely.” Then she laughed. “We ended up in an asteroid belt and whatever created it must have been one helluvan explosion.”

  She told them the ruse they’d used so that the space station hadn’t wanted them to land there, which would have meant handling more formalities than was wise. So they’d got to land on the surface of the planet, far enough away from any settlement so that their “faulty” systems would cause no damage. “And we sure were sent to the boondocks. I did see the Rassi and they are…” she gave a shudder, “really little more than animals. You can’t call them morons or retarded because they don’t have much intelligence at all. They copy what they are shown to do and even that has to be repeated over and over. But Zainal and the others got into the main city and made contact with Kamiton.”

  She could relate the deception about having to off-load an extremely valuable ore cargo, which is why they came back via the asteroid belt, and how they could get back to Catten if they wished.

  “So what’s this Kamiton doing here?” Sarah wanted to know.

  “Seeing’s believing, isn’t it?” Kris replied.

  “And if he likes what he sees, he brings in more dissidents?” asked another woman. Belatedly Kris recognised her as Jane O’Hanlon, the TV reporter who’d been one of those rescued from Barevi in a mindless state.

  “You’ve recovered!” Kris exclaimed.

  Jane gave a rueful smile. “I’m improving. Many are. Dorothy Dwardie’s been marvelous.”

  “Indeed she has,” Sally Stoffer said, as she wiped cereal off a baby’s face. “I’m practically out of my job there.”

  “Really?”

  “Seventy-five percent have recovered enough to function on their own now, to talk and help out. We’ve been busy while you were gone.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Kris said. “But boy-oh-boy, am I glad to be home.”

  “Daddy, daddy,” Zane cried excitedly just then, and Kris looked up to see Zainal and Kamiton in the doorway. “’Scuse,” Zane said in Sarah’s direction and ran up to his father, squealing in excitement when Zainal swung him up.

  “Watch out, Zainal, he’s just had lunch,” Kris cried.

  Obediently, Zainal positioned Zane on his back while Kamiton looked on in amused condescension at the sight of a paternally occupied Zainal.

  • • •

  LATER KRIS HEARD ALL ABOUT THE RESETTLEMENT of the Maasai from Sarah at dinner in the hall. Zainal had taken Zane off for an evening walk and talk. Zainal was also teaching Zane Catteni, and if Kris was there, he preferred to jabber away in English, which defeated the purpose.

  “Well, I did do some work in the outback with Aborigines, so they guessed I, and Joe, might be able to help,” Sarah said in her matter-of-fact way. “Problem is that the Maasai’re used to a totally different lifestyle, which was getting ruined in Africa even before the Cat…Eosi hit Earth.”

  “I remember the famine there in the eighties,” Kris said.

  “So they won’t be happy up here but Chuck thinks that the southern end of this continent might do, where we found semi-desert.”

  “Why not the desert continent?”

  “Maybe, in time, but right now, that’ll keep them in a more or less familiar terrain. Oh, and you should have seen their faces when we showed them the loo-cows!” Sarah laughed. “They couldn’t believe ’em and they wouldn’t believe that the critters don’t give milk until one was captured for inspection.”

  “What about night crawlers? As I recall it, the Maasai are nomadic, looking for grazing for their…cattle. Will loo-cows do for them? And they have huts or kraals…or something like ’em to live in.”

  “Well, tonight’s the big demo on night crawlers and all the newbies are going to have to attend,” Sarah said with a certain amount of grimness. “We gotta get that lesson across.”

  “What about using some of the closed valleys?” Kris asked.

  “That’s another solution but nothing to hunt and they don’t like fish. But you should have seen them looking at all the plants, grass, and stuff we wouldn’t think twice about. Hassan was damned near tongue-tied translating for my Joe and the other herbalists…”

  “It’d be helpful if there just happened to be a book on Swahili in that latest shipment…” Kris thought, remembering the crates of books she’d seen being transported to Retreat’s library.

  Sarah gave a snort. “They’re rummaging through ’em right now. Hassan’s running out of useful vocabulary.”

  “That’ll be a first,” Kris said with a grin. The former Israeli spy was the chatty sort at any time.

  “Let’s see what they got in. I’d love a good juicy murder mystery to read,” Sarah said.

  “With this new lot in, how’ll you find time?”

  “I’ll make it,” was Sarah’s firm reply. Then she sighed again. “I have missed reading, I really have.”

  “That’s because you weren’t rescued from two college survey courses with required reading lists this long,” and held her hand out at about four feet above the flagstones of the hall.

  “So this,” and Sarah gestured ironically around, “is a much better way to spend your time.” Before Kris could open her mouth to answer, Sarah added, “Actually, college would be pretty dull in comparison.”

  “Prof, do I get an A in this survival course?”

  “Too right,” Sarah said and they both rose, taking their dishes back to the window that led to the KP section of the dining hall.

  • • •

  WHEN THEY REACHED THE STRUCTURE, THEY found only Dorothy Dwardie unpacking and shelving books.

  “Oh, good, some help. I’ve found the most astonishingly eclectic…texts here. I can’t imagine how all these books got in the same case together,” and she showed them the ones in her hand.

  “Post-Renaissance Painters?” Sarah said, reading one title.

  “How the Grinch Stole Christmas?” Kris read the second title and took it from Dorothy, leafing through the colorful illustrated pages. “We may not have Christmas here, but I’m sure glad to see some good children’s books. Can we help?”

  “Yes, please,” Dorothy said and pointed over behind her.

  Cases had been stacked three and four high all the way back to the tarpaulin that
covered the end of the present library and the addition under construction. Aisles allowed access to the cases.

  “Marian, the librarian,” Sarah began in a sing-song voice, “where’s the mystery section?”

  “Now that’s a mystery to me,” Dorothy replied, rising to her feet with an effort. “Have at it. I can’t promise there will be any. I’m cataloging as I go along and thank God for more computers. Otherwise we’ll never know how much we’ve got.”

  “You’re not doing it all yourself, are you?”

  “Well, I’m supposed to get some help shelving,” she said. “We had some Victims in here this morning and I think it’s helping them remember some of the basic skills they once had.”

  “What’re you looking for?”

  “Anything, everything. Dr. Seuss for the children ranks in my eyes as a far greater treasure than anything Post-Renaissance. Though I’ve nothing against painters at all.”

  “Actually, light classics that we can read to the Victims: even Westerns or a good mystery story.”

  “Gotcha,” Sarah said and closing her eyes, she turned herself around and pointed. When she opened them, her finger directed her to one of the side aisles. “C’mon, Kris.”

  Kris was still chuckling at Sarah’s whimsical manner of choosing when they heaved a crate to the ground and opened it.

  “Lord love us, how’re we going to sort this mess out?” she said looking at the tumbled collection: books with spines bent and pages crumbled, all heaped together. A few loose pages only added to the tribulations of transfer.

  “By starting at the top and working down. I’ll get a few of those shelves over here,” Kris suggested, going over to one side where she’d seen the empty shelving, “and separate as we go.”

  “Good thinking,” and Sarah sat herself down and started pulling out books.

  However, they had “unerringly,” as Sarah remarked, migrated to a whole case full of mysteries and romances. Their conscientious efforts to perform their assigned task were interrupted by seeing books they either recognized or titles that looked interesting.

  “A new Hillerman,” Sarah crowed and settled against the back of the crate, shamelessly reading her find. “I’ll just read a few pages…”