“So how are you going to dust them?” Kris said, leaning back to rub the taut muscles of her neck and shoulders.
“Dust?” Kamiton asked.
She pantomimed inhaling and then fell to one side, twitching, as Kamiton had done.
“Ah, plant dust. Yes, we are thinking.”
That was the same answer that Zainal gave her later that night when they finally returned home. Once again she had had to leave Zane to sleep over in the crèche but instinctively her head had turned to where his crib was when they entered the door.
“He is safe,” Zainal said gently, circling her shoulders with one arm and drawing her toward the bedroom.
“I know that,” she said, almost peevishly. “Sorry,” she added instantly, rubbing at her neck again. “All that thinking in one language and writing down in another gave me a headache.”
His strong fingers pushed hers out of the way and he began a restorative massage, all the time easing her toward their room. She chuckled. But she was not at all unwilling. Especially when the fingers of his other hand began to massage elsewhere.
• • •
WHEN SHE WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, AND IT was morning, not dawn, so she had been very tired indeed, his space in the bed was empty. She allowed herself the luxury of a leisurely awakening. She needed a shower so she took that, since the solar panel would have warmed the cistern water by now. Her hair was growing out from its last crop but she’d have to endure that again for the KDL’s next spurious trip back to Catten. It was while she was soaping herself that she noticed a bulge in her abdomen and felt it. Firm and…She stopped and didn’t move until the water turned cold once the tank had emptied. Her mind rapidly did a series of figuring, taking into account the length of the Botany day, the number of days since her last period and when she had had it. Could she have been fertile on Catten? Could she be pregnant by Chuck Mitford? He’d been too drunk to…hadn’t he?
But when she began to fasten the belt to her overall, she realized that she was buckling it two holes up from the usual one. She sat down heavily, as much because she needed to sit to put on her boots as to gather her stunned wits. Not that she would really mind having Chuck’s child. But she hadn’t been nauseated or had any morning sickness and her breasts weren’t that tender—yes, they were a tad sore, but last night could account for that.
“Stop fooling yourself, Kris Bjornsen,” she said out loud.
Well, it could be worse. But she couldn’t tell Zainal. At least not yet. He wouldn’t let her crew the KDL, not if it was going back to the heavy gravity of Catten. Though gravity oughtn’t to interfere with her pregnancy, not if she wasn’t even showing the usual discomforts. She figured again. She was well into the first trimester. But she didn’t want to have to admit a pregnancy, just when things were getting so interesting. And Zainal would need her help, wouldn’t he?
She looked at the time. She did a swift deduction for the longer Botany day, reset the watch to what would be the local hour and figured she had time to see Zane, take him along to the mess hall and get her cup of coffee and something to eat while she played with her son. Boy, there’d be some explaining later on when each separately sired child wanted to know why. No, why should they know why? That was the Botany way of doing things, not the Terran one. And even if they did manage to get Earth back—no, Kris Bjornsen, not if but when Earth was returned to its proper owners and governments—she intended to stay here on Botany. Catteni, even erstwhile heroes like Zainal, might not be appreciated on Earth for some time to come.
• • •
TODAY SHE HAD TO COMPLY WITH BOTANY ethics, which required everyone to do some “dirty work.” She had drawn KP but that happened so infrequently that she could almost consider it a vacation day. Well, a change was as good as a rest.
She had her breakfast with Zane who was a vacuum cleaner at breakfast time the way he gobbled his cereal. Sarah joined her with her three children and offered to take Zane to the crèche.
“Maizie’s getting to be quite a help,” Sarah said, smiling at the much-too-sober-faced orphan she was fostering. “Will you hold Zane’s hand?”
Maizie nodded after a quick, too-mature evaluation of Zane. Then, with what was for this five-year-old an almost daring action, she picked another piece of toast from the plate in the center of the table. In an absent fashion, Sarah passed her the jar of sweet berry jam. Sighing with relief, Maizie slathered the jam over her piece.
“Yes, I saw that,” Sarah said without turning toward Maizie. “She is improving. Now if we can get her to talk. I know she understands every word I say. Maybe I should have made her ask for the toast,” and Sarah made a grimace, then sighed. “It’s hard to know.”
“What does Dorothy say?”
Sarah made a second, self-accusing grimace, “That I shouldn’t just give her what I know she wants but make her ask for it.” Then she laughed in a self-deprecating way. “When I think how firm I was with Tony here…” and she broke off with a weak laugh.
“She may just start talking all on her own once she knows she’s really, truly, genuinely safe, won’t you, Maizie dear?” Kris said, smiling as she leaned toward the girl.
“Yes,” Maizie said quite distinctly and continued licking the jam off her mouth with a pink tongue.
Kris and Sarah exchanged stunned glances.
“Would you like another piece of toast, Maizie?”
“Yes.” She reached toward the last one on the plate.
Sarah immediately snatched it out of reach, and Maizie sort of crouched in surprised terror. Quickly Sarah shoved the plate back in reach but Kris intercepted.
“First, it’s good manners to say, ‘yes, thank you.’ Can you manage that after ‘yes’?”
Maizie, her face recovering its color, looked from Kris to the plate Sarah still held.
“Thank you,” came the almost inaudible reply.
“You’re quite welcome,” Kris said formally and removed her hand.
Still watching her, Maizie took the piece of toast but she didn’t pick up the spoon to spread the jam.
“Would you like more jam with your toast?” Sarah asked.
“Yes…thank you.” This time it was more audible.
“You may have jam with your tea, too,” Kris said, as proud of Maizie’s little step forward as Sarah was.
As it was time for Kris to start her day’s work, she hunkered down by her son.
“Maizie’s going to take you with her to the crèche, Zane. Give me a hug and be a good boy.”
Zane threw his arms about her neck and she could tell she had jam there for she had missed a patch earlier in wiping his mouth. Then she put his hand into Maizie’s and watched, with a deep sigh, as the two small people followed Sarah who was carrying her youngest.
• • •
BABY REACHED THE HOLLOW ASTEROID WHERE Kamiton had stashed his spaceship. They could take no chances with a ship of dubious identity. Nitin, ever the pessimist, had voiced a serious concern that, especially with a convocation of Mentats requiring extra security measures, a vessel that had supposedly been destroyed or lost could not suddenly appear. Security checks could be extremely thorough. They must cover every contingency, including the two non-Catteni crew members. Chuck Mitford at least passed, and his knowledge of both Catten and Barevi was an asset. Lean and tall, the Australian Bert Put, who might have to pilot Kamiton’s ship, would never pass as a Catteni. A hide must be constructed for him.
It was Bert who suggested it. The lower crew bunk in each bank had three drawers for the personal belongings. That meant just enough space under the lower bunk to accommodate Bert if the drawers were left ajar. As the general mess in any crew quarters, short of an inspection by a High Emassi, was never very tidy, half-open drawers, with contents half-in and half-out would be unexceptional. The credentials which Nitin had supplied for the unquestionably Catteni members had been genuine with support documentation on the files of the administration. There were even a few more that would pa
ss the most rigorous inspection.
It was as well that such attention to detail had been observed for Kamiton’s vessel had to pass five separate full inspections to be passed to land on Catten. There would have been more had the conspirators tried to land on the station.
There had, however, been a very tense moment when an Emassi captain who knew Kamiton quite well was the inspecting officer. He had given the vessel and the documentation only a cursory inspection but settled himself in the mess for an update on Kamiton’s latest exploration.
Kamiton had played out his part with laudable indolence, ordering Chuck and Nitin to provide food for their guest.
Bert, sweating in his hiding hole, worried about Zainal, Tubelin, and Kasturi on the KDL. But it was laden with ores—all in the useful platinum groups—that would make it so welcome any suspicion of its genuineness would be overlooked: Nitin had also supplied the non-Catteni members of the crew with equally authentic documentation. Since their destination was the refinery area of the planet, well away from the main city, they ought not to be in any danger.
Nitin had so picked at that first part of the overall scheme that even he had come to be satisfied with its high chance of success. About the rest he was only certain that he had done all he could to ensure the possibility of success: not, he was quick to add, the probability.
“Too many things could go wrong. Our group could have been infiltrated and our plans known…”
“Only so much of the plan,” Kamiton interjected. “When,” Kamiton stressed the conjunction, “we get down on Catten and when we have contacted the rest of us, I think you will raise the odds in favor of probability.”
Kamiton turned his head ever so slightly to see Zainal taking a few more sips of water, all that he was allowing himself since he had designated his role in their plan. He hoped that Zainal would not overdo the starvation he had deemed necessary to the success of their stratagem. One did not underestimate an Emassi of Zainal’s proven ability.
He was however glad to change into his own ship and let others do what was necessary to improve on Zainal’s disguise.
Well, as soon as this niggit left, Kamiton thought, they could proceed. This appeared to be the last of the space inspections. He had never seen so many security shuttles and craft zipping around the planet before. Ah, well, there hadn’t been a full convocation of Mentats during his lifetime. And, with any luck, this would be the last. The most that ever had assembled since he had taken up his adult duties had been ten. He rather doubted that some of those farthest from Catten would make the journey but whoever came would receive a lasting reward for their trouble. He did spare a thought for those on the KDL. He really wanted to get the dependents away to the safety of Botany. Good idea of Zainal’s on several counts: one of them being that Kasturi had a girl child and so did Tubelin: mates for Bazil and Peran. That way some of their families would survive the blood bath that would be certain to follow a failure. But this time, they would not fail. Kamiton grinned and fortunately his smile coincided with some fatuous remark of the security Emassi, and Kamiton rose, able to signal that they really had best end their conversation.
They landed on the field they had been directed by security to use. Then proceeded, as planned, in a ground vehicle to Kamiton’s quarters in a secluded area of the city where many Emassi kept temporary units. As Kamiton disarmed the alarm system, it blinked its message that persons still within the apartment had recently deactivated it. Kamiton warned the others by silently pointing at the message and took out his stun weapon, setting it on medium.
“Kamiton?” and, as that was Zainal’s voice, Kamiton reholstered the weapon with relief.
He stopped in the doorway to his main room, shocked at Zainal’s altered appearance, and quickly looked beyond the haggard man to the other members of the KDL group and ignored Zainal’s battered and nerve-whip lashed body.
• • •
ZAINAL REMAINED IN SECLUSION WHEN THE others went out on their individual errands of contacting other dissidents and setting in motion the next step of the scheme. If some of the dependents objected to being forced to leave their comfortable homes in the middle of the night, carrying only basic necessities, they were silenced by the dire consequences of ignoble deaths or futures if they chose to stay behind. By dawn, the empty ore carrier, the KDL was aloft and received only the most cursory of queries by security patrol ships as it proceeded at a leisurely speed out of Catteni space. As soon as it was in relatively empty space, the KDL would run at maximum speed, red-lining if necessary to be sure the dependents were safely at Botany before the last of the Mentats arrived, and more were assembling in their fast and comfortable ships every time period.
• • •
ON THE FIFTH DAY AFTER THE KDL HAD DEPARTED, Kamiton received the short burst of code from their space station colleague.
“Ugred,” said Kamiton when he had translated the message, “says that there are only two more Mentats and four juniors scheduled to arrive. All should be in place by morning.”
“Everything else is ready?” Zainal asked. He spent a lot of time on his belly buffered by the softest material Kamiton’s quarters contained since his back had been lashed by nerve whips. He rather thought Kasturi had enjoyed that exercise a little too much, but the disguise had to pass any close inspection. He wasn’t sure, at this point, which annoyed him most—the necessary wounds or the equally necessary starvation.
The medic among their secret group had injections ready to sustain him—but these would only last so long and would have to be administered in the last safe moment on the space station. If they made it that far.
“Everything essential to the operation is in place, or so Ugred said in his last message. The presence of so many Mentats has everyone nervous, agreed, but one more security vessel is not likely to cause any unnecessary attention. And Ugred will have issued a special clearance to the duty officer in case he cannot himself be there.”
“Waiting is always hard,” Kasturi remarked to no one in particular.
No one had an answer for such a truism.
“Any message from Chuck and Bert?” Zainal broke the silence to ask.
Kamiton shook his head. “No message is good.”
Zainal fell into a light doze, which he did more often than he liked, but it helped him to conserve energy. He went over and over the plan, fretting that Chuck and Bert who had remained aboard Kamiton’s ship might be discovered. He reassured himself that the ex-marine sergeant, with his knowledge of both Barevi and Catteni, could handle any eventuality. He would be able to move about the huge field, would be able to listen to any rumor in the mess on the field where other Drassi were awaiting the return of their captains. Most of the talk was about the Mentats coming to Catten and everyone wondering what it was all about.
The variety of speculations amused Chuck, but he added a few little tweaks to find out just how popular Eosi rule was. It was not. No one said so in so many words, for that was dangerous, but many lowly Drassi were unhappy with their lot, with their Emassi, and the crazy planet that was resisting unexpectedly. Some Drassi boasted of the loot they and their officer had come back with, though a lot of the stuff that wasn’t edible or potable hadn’t seemed worth the fuel to transport it back to Catten.
As it was normal for a ship to be securely locked when empty, Chuck did so, which meant Bert had some freedom of movement. Chuck had arranged a code remark so that Bert would know to resume hiding if someone might be snooping about the scout ship. And Bert was also there in case they received emergency messages and had to hightail it back to Botany. The package containing the new ID decals had arrived by special messenger on the first day, a fact that they confirmed to Kamiton in an innocuous report by his Drassi that the ship had been serviced and was awaiting his convenience.
Chuck never found waiting easy, and it was almost twice as bad in the heavier gravity of Catten. At least, when he and Bert were safely alone on the ship, they could play poker. Right now,
Bert owed him a small fortune and had suggested bezique as a change of game. Chuck had learned that game from an English commando and, though he didn’t win as often, he didn’t lose much either.
• • •
WORKING KITCHEN DUTY ON BOTANY HAD A few rewards, like first samplings of the day’s baking and first servings of lunch, before the crowds started in. There were always options: sandwiches which people could take to eat elsewhere, or a quick snack of soup and bread at a table, or a more leisurely meal. On a fair summer’s day like today, many chose to take their food outside and enjoy the fine weather. That meant less washing up to be done. Paper plates had once been discussed but paper was too valuable for other necessities to be wasted when pottery was available. Pottery and some finer china as well, now that Sandy had a full kiln again, bigger than her first ones at Ayres Rock on the Farmers’ continent. Those who had bartered for a fine china plate did not use it to eat off of—especially the hand-painted ones, which were hung as wall decorations or displayed on the mantelpiece.
Since this sort of mechanical work required no great mental effort, Kris occupied her thoughts with whether or not she should say anything about her pregnancy. She had imaginary discussions with Mavis, who did a lot of the midwifery, about the effects of heavier gravity on an unborn child. She ran several scenarios on telling Chuck that he was going to be a father—even if both of them had been too drunk to know what they were doing. That was almost a pity, in a way, but in another, a relief. Chuck might well be mortified to think he had abused her—but, hell, she hadn’t resisted and she could have—since he seemed to be seeing a lot of Dorothy Dwardie. Kris rather hoped her having Chuck’s child wouldn’t complicate that arrangement. She’d be quite willing to explain the circumstances to Dorothy. It certainly hadn’t been premeditated…not in that gravity! She shook her head because she kept trying to imagine how they had managed, both of them damned near wrecked with the heaviness and alcohol. But not completely wrecked, Kris told herself. Let’s face that fact squarely. I’ll simply have to give up drinking any more than a glass of hooch unless Zainal is with me.
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