Freedom’s Choice (18 page)

“They should be back by now, shouldn't they?” she asked Mitford as they were storing their equipment on the land-sea vehicle, nicknamed the Tub. When Zainal returned, Mitford was planning a trip, himself as leader, to cross the channel that separated this continent from its nearest neighbor. He was combining two teams for the project and was happier than Kris had seen him since he'd handed debriefing newcomers to Peter Easley.

“Yeah, in fact, they're three days overdue. But the destruction went off okay. You know that.”

The link between the old transport's bridge and the
KDL was open and all the mounting hysteria, orders and counterorders, as the propulsion system “failed” had been duly followed by those on the ground…including the final bang. So that part had gone well.

The Deski sentries were ordered to keep their ears wide open, since their senses were trusted far more than the obsolete and erratic detection system on the bridge in the hangar.

Kris accompanied Mitford when they did a check on the prison valley and found the Catteni alive, but certainly not making any move to “settle” in.

“No initiative,” Mitford muttered to Kris. “Just like Zainal said. Not even that pair of Drassi captains.”

These seemed to be concentrating on a small space of dirt in front of them, but neither moved.

“Chess?” Kris asked, for they had that sort of concentration about them.

“Chess?” Mitford regarded her with surprise. “They haven't the wits for checkers, much less chess.”

“Well, there's someone trying to fish,” Kris said, pointing to the one man poised over the stream with a thin lance in his hand.

“So he is. Even Catteni get tired of those dry rations,” he said, and turned away.

Yuri Palit, in his authority as head of resettlement, had gone to check the Turs and came back with the information that they had already made a few shelters, chopping down the lodge-pole trees. There also seemed to be several wounded lying in the sun: broken legs and arms and one with raw wounds visible down his side.

“Trying to climb out?” asked Astrid.

“How stubborn can Turs be?” Yuri Palit asked of Mitford.

The sergeant shrugged. “Damned stubborn. Leave 'em alone.”

“And let them ruin that lovely valley?” Kris demanded.

Mitford jerked his head toward the photos that adorned his back wall, the ones showing the other closed valleys Zainal had seen on his way in. “There're others as well as the other continents.”

“Now, about them,” Astrid began.

Mitford held up one hand, grinning at the tall attractive Swede. “Gotta wait until Zainal checks us out on the amphibian.”

Which reminded everyone that KDL was now six days' overdue. Kris tried to appear unconcerned, but possible disaster scenarios kept her awake most nights.

“What could have happened?” Astrid asked her the morning of the seventh day. “Surely they should be returning now?”

“That bang wasn't for real,” Mitford said, avoiding Kris' eyes, but speaking as positively as if he had consummate faith in Zainal's return.

“There'll be a good reason, I'm positive,” Kris said so firmly that Mitford shot her a quick look.

“Yeah, there would be, kid. I just can't imagine what.”

“Asteroids, some technical difficulty, or operational problem, there could be dozens of good reasons.”

“Yeah.”

“It wouldn't be a good idea for him to get in touch and give it all away since the ship's been destroyed and that damned satellite would catch any message he sent.”

“You're right there,” Mitford acknowledged and then went to do something else.

* * *

“New satellite,” Zainal told them as soon as the hatch opened to the crowd waiting so anxiously. “We go…” and he gestured a circuitous course. He looked for and found Kris at the side of the hatch. “Lenvec's work.” He dropped down beside her, touching her cheek just briefly as the rest of the spacefarers exited, exultant in their shouts to the welcoming committee.

The biggest smile was on Scott's face as he came down the ramp, Beverly, Rastancil, and those who were now being called the High Command following closely.

“Mitford, Easley,” Scott called out, and added other names, “meeting at nineteen-thirty at Narrow. Beggs!” The officious lieutenant Kris disliked so came running up to meet him, clipboard in hand. “I want all these men and women to make that meeting if humanly possible…” and he continued giving orders while proceeding to the nearest air-cushion vehicle and gesturing for it to take off toward Camp Narrow.

Zainal, taking Kris by the arm, steered her off to one side, away from the general jubilation around the hatch.

“Lenvec got them to put up a more powerful satellite spy?” she asked.

“Someone did. We had to time its orbits to sneak back in. KDL is very good at glide.”

“You glided? From where?”

Zainal grinned at her astonishment. “Not hard. Your space, shuttles did it. Catteni still better space jockeys.”

“Jockeys?” Kris had to admit to herself that she didn't like him picking up slang from other sources—and severely curbed her reaction.

“Bert brought her down. Good man, Bert. Now, where can she hide?” Zainal frowned over that problem.

Kris looked up the field at the hulk still sitting there. “Put it there. They expect a wreck in that place. How much detail will the satellite be able to make out down here on the surface? The name glyphs?”

Zainal began to chuckle. “Why not? The KDL masses more but not that much more.”

“Hiding it right out in sight always confuses a searcher,” Kris said.

“Scott will agree?”

Kris shrugged. “That thing's too big to fit in any garage—except maybe the one we can't get into at the seaside. Who will come looking for it? You had us all
excited, listening to orders and counterorders and all the hysterics…”

Zainal chuckled louder now, his yellow eyes reflecting his laughter, most un-Catteni-ish.

“And if you guys avoided the satellite's eyes on the way in, surely we've succeeded in deceiving them.”

“Some one of your wise men said once,” and he tipped his head back a moment, recalling the exact words, which he carefully enunciated, “that you can fool most of the people part of the time but not all of the people all of the time.”

She had to smile at him, he looked so pleased with remembering the apt quote. And she was so pleased he was back, safe. “You think Lenvec is that vindictive?”

“Not think. I know. When I was chosen…” He paused briefly and then went on, “I was given privileges the chosen have. Lenvec was…jealous. If he is now to take my place as chosen, he will feel like he got robbed.” He gave her a sideways glance, to see her reaction to his slang. She grinned at him. He was also, speaking with a less guttural tone to the English words. Soon his accent would be indistinguishable from a native-born speaker.

“Hmmm, yes, if he's the jealous type, he would feel robbed. But maybe he's been…chosen already. How much of
him
is left in the Eosi?”

Zainal nodded his head slowly over that point. “I do not know that. Fortunately,” and now he held his cheek down against hers, holding her tightly, “I was dropped and I stay.”

* * *

Kris was not the only one who thought of keeping the KDL right out in the open. An artistically scorched glyph took the bright new KDL 45's place but there were, actually, no other options, even if they could find a Farmer facility big enough to house it. The ship was not just a trophy, gathering dust, although how it would
be used was yet to be decided. Scott had approved Phase Two but who knew if the admiral, who seemed to have taken charge of the military aspect of the High Command, felt they should attempt Phase Three.

The KDL settled itself on the wreck, compressing its empty shell. The Deski sentries would give enough advance warning of any landings…should other transports be sent here…so that she could lift and settle down a few fields over, and be camouflaged from casual inspection. The Catteni rarely looked around during the process of hauling out their passengers and what few supplies accompanied them. A certain risk was taken, but Scott had come to agree with Zainal's assessment of the Drassi: Do as little work as possible and get back to base.

“You know, someone might just think it was odd that there have been three ships blown up in this area,” Leon Dane remarked at the end of the final debriefing, “and decide it isn't worth visiting this sector of the vast Eosi-Catteni empire and leave us alone.”

“I doubt that,” Easley said with a sad smile. “According to the latest arrivals, Earth's resistance is growing, and the Catteni are still taking anyone they think might be a saboteur or ringleader into custody. We had a troop of Sea Scouts in the last group and all they were doing was holding their monthly meeting. We may end up with more of Earth's population here…and wherever else they've been dumped…than on good old Terra Firma.”

“I just hope we can maintain a fresh-start approach on Botany and ditch the attitudes that made trouble back on good old Terra Firma,” Mitford said, with good reason to doubt the ability of people to forget ingrained intolerance and bigotry. Three men and a woman were serving time in the stocks right now who had revived an old prejudice in an hour-long brawl. The injured would serve their sentences when they had sufficiently recovered.
“The more people we get in, the more trouble we acquire.”

“We've got four continents…well, two, if we leave the Farmers theirs,” Leon said. “There's enough space for everyone, isn't there?”

“For some types, there's never enough space,” Sarah said.

“Too right,” Dane said, exhaling tiredly.

O
nce the excitement of procuring and hiding the KDL calmed down, Scott and others of the High Command, military branch, spent hours debriefing the latest arrivals from Earth, trying to figure out world events from fragmented individual reports. Not much news was broadcast anymore in a world that once had twenty-four-hour news bulletin coverage.

“Disasters every time of the day or night,” Kris had said.

“Do they do that on Catten or Barevi?” Sarah had asked Zainal. They were all sitting around their table after the evening meal in Narrow.

“Tell everyone everything? No,” and Zainal chuckled at the notion. His gray hair had grown so long now that he was wearing it in a ponytail, a style that suited him better than most. Kris had offered to braid it, Amerind fashion, as she did her now much longer hair, but he had declined. “Only need-to-know is told.” Then he gave a shrug. “And evenings of lies about new worlds and brave Catten.”

“Recruiting?”

Zainal considered the word, squeezing Kris' hand to indicate he was going to figure that one out himself. “Yes, to join space army.”

He got a thumbs-up for accuracy from the others at the table—their scouting partners and those from Astrid's six-strong team. They spent a lot of time together, learning how to drive the amphibious machine so that anyone could. The mechanics had been all over it, too, familiarizing themselves with its equipment, engines, systems, communications, and life support. While Mitford was ranked a senior in the High Command Committee now governing the settlers, he still had to get “proper clearance” to take such a valuable piece of machinery. He also needed Scott's clearance to take Zainal.

“They'll do anything, any damned thing, rather than let us function as a team,” Mitford had ranted the previous night. “They've got both bridges manned, and the KDL working off solar power, and we still have the Deski perimeter listeners. Almost nothing can sneak up on us down here. If they really needed Zainal, Marrucci could fly over in one of those atmosphere planes now that he's learned how not to kill himself in it. And it doesn't leave the sort of trail visible to the spy sat.”

Zainal wasn't exactly reassuring on that count because he didn't know how sophisticated the new satellite was, just that it was on a full global orbit, checking the surface of the planet once every thirty hours. He was positive that the reconditioned air-cushion Farmer vehicles would not show up on the satellite since they ran on solar power. The amphibious vehicle might possibly be visible—since it was no longer supposed to exist—so he had plotted a course and they would move only when the satellite was at another point around Botany's globe. It might take slightly longer to reach the coast, but once in the water, he thought, the Tub would be undetectable since water would not only cool its exterior but mask its emissions.

Kris' hand was still slightly red but her feet had healed, even if she was careful to keep a layer of fluff as an insole. And she dearly wanted to leave Camp Narrow, for Mitford's sake as well as Zainal's. She tried to convince herself it was just the wander-itch that made her restless, because she didn't think she had a trace of precognition in her, but she did very much want to leave. To go explore the neighbor continent.