Freedom’s Choice (10 page)

“I do not desert,” Zainal said with a slight frown. “I was dropped. I stay.”

“Then that's some kind of duty or just a personal preference?” Scott wanted to know.

“Zainal is referring to the fact that no one placed on one of these trial planetary occupations is ever released,” Kris said firmly and trying not to glare at Scott. “This is essentially a penal colony, you know. Zainal
refused
the option to leave because that would break another rule: only because it suited his superiors. If they'd retrieved him before he was sent off with us dissenters, it would've been another matter entirely. But they let him get sent.” She added that, whether it was true or not, just to make sure Scott wasn't going to call Zainal a deserter or coward or anything like that.

“We concede the issue,” Rastancil said, smiling.

“So we can be sure we won't be in for any reprisals because you brought the scout here,” Scott added.

“I think we've established that that is unlikely,” Easley said, trying to end that topic, “since Zainal deliberately took a course that would take him out of this
system on his departure. Ah, here's the sergeant.”

Mitford cleared the look of irritation from his face as he stepped down from his runabout.

“Damn Aarens claiming he had rights…” he muttered to Kris as he hunkered down beside her. “Finished discussing Phase One?”

“Indeed we have…” Easley began.

“Could we have a written report for the record?” Scott asked.

“One's all we got paper for, sir,” Mitford said with no apology. “Kris, can you do it for me? So, Zainal, if you'll describe Phase Two just as you told it to me three nights ago…”

Zainal suddenly rose to his feet. Even though most of the brass were sitting on a slope, his new position required them all to look up at him, as neat a bit of strategy as Kris had ever seen.

“The transports that make the drops come more often. Your planet is giving Catteni trouble they did not expect. The ships are not in good repair. We have weapons now. We can take a second ship.” He held up one hand to forestall questions that goal provoked. The gesture was one of such dignified command that even Scott subsided, scowling. “We take transport. Then scout takes load of metals from mechs and bomb and explode in space far enough up there…” He extended his hand upward. “Satellite is geo-syn-chron-ous,” and if he sounded out the syllables, he had them in the right order. “Can only see this side. Will see explosion.” He made the scissors gesture again.

“Now don't try to tell me the Catteni will let that go without some sort of an in-depth investigation!” Scott said, making no attempt to disguise his skepticism and disapproval.

“Not if crew's last message tells of…system's failure.” Zainal had to work to find the words, but he found the right ones.

“Two famous last messages and each time a ship disappears?” Scott said, openly scoffing.

“Only Drassi are on transport ship. No big loss,” Zainal said coldly. “Catteni…” and he laid an emphasis on the word, “do not worry over small casualties. Ship or Drassi. You should know that by now.”

“Does that mean you, a Catteni officer, are willing to let
us
kill Catteni?” Scott demanded, watching Zainal with narrowed eyes.

Zainal gave a shrug. “War makes casualties. You know that. I know that. Or,” and he let a wry smile play on his lips, “do as Catteni do. Let crew go free, those that remain alive. If they are not found in one whole day,” and he lifted a finger, “they live and join us. They are dropped. They stay.”

Kris hastily covered her mouth with her hand but she scanned faces to see who understood Zainal's wit. More got it than didn't. These guys were sharp enough. Scott seemed the only hard critic.

“You did know about that Catteni rule, didn't you, admiral?” Mitford asked very politely.

Scott gave him a curt nod.

“With respect, sir, in case no one mentioned it,” the sergeant went on, “Zainal was shanghaied aboard that ship in contradiction to that rule. Just in case any of you wondered why he didn't feel he had to comply with any further orders from Emassi.”

“Thank you for explaining that, sergeant,” Easley said. “I think that should clear up any lingering doubts about where Zainal's loyalties now lie. To return to Phase Two, what good does it do us to have a ship that may not be useful? Even if Zainal believes we can disregard reprisals.”

“I think of the Farmers,” Zainal said, and all eyes were on him again. “With two ships, we can send one with their transport…”

Scott dismissed that notion with a snort and looked away.

“Now, wait a minute, Scott,” Fetterman said. “I'm not entirely clear on these Farmers or Mech Makers or whatever you want to call them.” Then he turned back to Zainal. “You
want
them to know we're squatting on their land?”

“Squatting?” Puzzled, Zainal looked down at Kris for an explanation.

“Slang for taking over lands or a place that you don't own,” she said quickly. “Actually, that's Phase Three.” Before they started arguing over Phase Two, Kris wanted them to have some grasp of the scope of Zainal's plans. “Forming an alliance with the Farmers against the Eosi because if they can farm a planet without any sentient being in charge, Zainal thinks they may have a sufficiently sophisticated technology to help the Catteni get out from under the domination of the Eosi—and stop being made into zombies and doing things because the Eosi order them to be done. Like take over Earth.”

“Whoa, there, young lady,” Fetterman said, but he was grinning and so was Rastancil, while Scott looked more annoyed than ever. “Pretty ambitious, if you ask me.”

“The longest journey starts with the first step,” she said in a firm but clear voice, and gestured back over her shoulder at the spaceship. “Step number one.”

“Kris has a point,” Easley said, once again taking charge as he seemed able to do almost effortlessly. “Until this morning none of us would have remotely considered the possibility of hijacking a Catteni ship…”

“Having a damaged transport's no damned good…for going after Catteni or Eosi or these Farmers,” Scott said, standing up.

“But transport allows us to shift a lot of people to one of the other continents that the Farmers are not using,” Mitford said, beginning to let his irritation show.
“It's another step to owning ourselves instead of being a goddamned Catteni colony they think they can just walk into and take over when it gets on its feet. That's the usual plan, isn't it, Zainal?”

Kris watched Mitford winding himself up and looked anxiously in Easley's direction, but the man was watching eagerly as if he wanted Mitford to sound off.

“Well, a scout's a start on our Botany Defense Initiative and I'll back Phase Two with every man and woman that's been following me the past nine months.” Then Mitford caught hold of himself, took a deep breath. “If we pull that off, too, then we can reevaluate the situation. And there's more than just the Catteni to worry about. There're the Farmers and how they'll take to us being dropped here on their prime real estate without their say-so. Now I know I've mentioned to you that most of us are beginning to think we ought to leave the Farmers' installations alone and find our own. That's why I have scout parties out all over the continent.”

“Hold it there a minute, sergeant,” Rastancil said, getting to his feet. “Thought you dismantled all those mechanicals so that the Farmers would come and see who was vandalizing their planet.”

“That was the only option open to us
then,
sir. But we've been having discussions about that,” and Mitford gestured to Easley, Fetterman, and up the hill toward Camp Narrow. “Nor was I the only one who wanted to get off this planet
then.
” He paused. “I'm not so sure I want to leave now. And I know a lot of others have had second thoughts like me. But that,” and he pointed back toward the scout ship, “alters everything. Or…hell, you should see that as well as I can.” And he ended with his arms at his sides, waiting for reaction.

“Definitely the situation has changed,” Easley said, and heard murmurs of seconds to that. He seemed to be appraising the moods around him. “Phase Two seems feasible but, as Sergeant Mitford says, it's going to need
some intense planning and good timing…even with weapons at our disposal. I suggest that we adjourn and discuss ways and means.”

“Scout hides,” Zainal said, and pointed toward Camp Narrow.

“You're going to fly it in?” asked a man with a rather rakish mustache as he got to his feet, brushing off the seat of his coverall. “I'd like permission to be aboard, sir. I was mission control on the last shuttle project. Trained as a test pilot. Gino Marrucci.”

Zainal looked to Mitford, who nodded. Then Zainal looked to Scott. “You come, too?”

Someone stifled a chuckle but Scott, controlling his expression, stood up. “I would like to.”

“Ship only holds eight at the most,” Kris said, though she'd hoped to be one. “You have to go, sergeant.”

“Then you do, too,” Mitford said, jutting out his chin.

“One more,” Zainal said. “Air force man?”

“I was air force,” the black general said, getting to his feet. “John Beverly.”

“That's settled then,” Peter Easley said. “Shall I drive your runabout back to Camp Narrow, sarge? And be sure that garage's…or should I say, hangar's…ready.”

“Good idea,” Mitford said.

Zainal pivoted and, without looking back to see who followed, led the way back down the field.

“Always meant to go see the display at Houston but never found the time,” Mitford said conversationally to no one in particular in the group walking in step with him. He grinned as Kris made a hasty leg change to match strides with the others. “Happens all the time with us military types.”

* * *

“Okay, okay,” Joe Latore was saying when he saw the phalanx moving in on the spaceship, and gestured for
those in line to see the ship to make way. Grumbling started until Mitford swung into view, when it was replaced by cheers for Zainal and Mitford.

“We're gonna fly this baby up to Narrow now,” Mitford said. “You'll get a chance to look inside later.”

“You mean, the Catteni are goin' to be lookin' for it?” a man asked in a nervous tone.

“Naw,” Bert said, appearing in the open hatch. He grinned when he saw the delegation, and jumped to the ground, waving those behind him from the last tour to make a quick exit. “Why would a Catteni in his right mind want to live on Botany if he could get off?”

There was good-natured laughter, as those still hoping to see inside the prize began to drift back up the hill.

“Gentlemen.” Bert waved the new group in. “Shall I…” he began to Zainal, as if he anticipated being replaced.

“You must watch me do it,” Zainal said. “These watch, too.”

“I'll bet they do,” Bert murmured low enough for only Kris and Zainal to hear as they passed him.

Kris stepped up, into the hatch, ahead of the brass. She wasn't going to be left behind this time. Mitford did give precedence to Scott, Beverly, and Gino Marrucci. When they reached the bridge, Raisha was in the second seat and hastily got to her feet.

Zainal gave her a nod and then pointed to Bert to take her place, while he folded himself into the pilot's chair.

“Secure hatch, Raisha,” Zainal said, and looked at the arrangement of those standing in the cramped space of the small bridge. He nodded and gestured for them to stay where they were.

Kris inched closer to Mitford, who was just behind Zainal.

“You watch good?” Zainal said to Bert, who nodded as Zainal's fingers moved in slow sequence over toggles and switches. “Got that?”

“Yes, yes…”

A quick glance around and Kris saw that Bert was not the only one memorizing the sequence. Beverly and the test pilot were the most eager but Scott's expression was less critical.

“Ve-ry smooth,” Beverly said. He was the first to be conscious of the vertical takeoff.

“It is extremely maneuverable craft,” Zainal said in an instructional tone, two fingers of his right hand on the grip. “One of its biggest…” He tipped his head back, toward Kris, for her to give him the word he needed.

“Assets,” Kris supplied.

“Ass-
ets,
not asses?” Zainal asked, blank-faced.

“You pick up too much bad language, man,” she muttered as everyone else grinned.

“In space as well?” asked Beverly.

“Better in space,” Zainal answered, as he depressed a button on the panel in front of him and began a horizontal forward movement, skimming safely above the heads of those moving back to Camp Narrow.

“That satellite won't see the movement?” Scott asked.

Kris wondered if the admiral would ever give Zainal any slack.

“Not that kind. Very basic and geo-syn-chron-ous,” Zainal replied, twitching one shoulder. “I use only…guide…” He craned his head about, for Kris' help.

“Guidance,” Beverly supplied. “Thrusters? Or rockets?”

Zainal made a gesture with his free hand as if pressing the earth away from him.

“We'd call 'em thrusters, I think,” Beverly said. “Do they move?” and he rocked his hand to indicate different positions. Zainal, flashing a look at the signals, nodded. He was watching the landscape closely.

“Is there much fuel left?” the test pilot said, looking over the gauges and dials. “Which one?”

“This one,” Bert said, and tapped it—a needle point just a shade over a halfway mark.

“Reason two for Phase Two. Transport will have fuel,” Zainal said.

“How far will what there is take us?”

Zainal shrugged. “Not back to your Earth.”