Freedom’s Choice (22 page)

No one commented on his arrival or moved an eye muscle from whatever panel their duties bound them to.

Several hours later, the captain was awakened from an inadvertent doze by a stir and excitement, palpable on the bridge.

“Sir, the ship is…”

Wide awake, and staring at the view screen, the commander watched, awed, as the strange ship, magnified many times to keep it on the slower warship's screens, dipped briefly into the atmosphere of the subject planet, then bobbed up again and continued on its way to the other side of the solar system. Where, upon reaching the heliopause, it disappeared from even the most sensitive instrumentation.

The commander reported to the Eosi, who was ensconced on a huge chair in the cargo compartment which had been altered to provide it with the maximum comfort. The huge chair faced a large screen which had already shown the Ix everything the captain would have to report.

“The planet is of no importance in the face of this.” The Eosi paused. “Return to Catten. At all possible speed,” and its tone was contemptuous of such a torpid rate now that it had seen a velocity that transcended the best of Eosi capabilities. “This must be reported—and countered.”

As the AAI passed through the heliopause of the system, a faint shock, like a low voltage of electricity, was felt by those awake. Only a nanosecond blip registered the shock on the bridge and it was dismissed as an anomaly.

* * *

Deski ears felt the noise in the air long before the huge vessel was visible. But, while frightened people ran for the nearest cover in the caves they still occupied and the
valleys they were exploring, the noise did not increase. To those with binoculars the ship was visible more as a scintillating lozenge very high overhead. On the view screens of the bridges, the monster seemed to do no more than skim the very top of the stratosphere, skipping like a flat stone across a calm lake, before altering its course and flying off into space, taking its skull-shattering noise with it.

Scott blinked, cleared his throat, and managed to unclench his fists. He had been in the KDL's bridge, his eyes glued to the incredible astronautic event shown on the detection screen.

No one cared to break the silence, for no one quite believed what they had just seen, until a comunit beeped, an almost impudent noise considering the enormity of the recent event.

“That's about the size of the first one, Admiral,” said Su. “I think we're lucky it was so high up…. What's that? 'Scuse me, sir…” and the connection was broken.

Dick Aarens came running full clip down the passageway to the bridge, catching himself on the doorframe to stop, his face ashen and the expression in his eyes as close to awe as he was ever likely to come.

“They did it, Scott. They did it. They've replaced every last fri—”

“Watch your language on my bridge, Aarens,” Scott recovered enough to reprimand him. “What has been replaced?”

“All the Mech Makers' stuff, the farm machinery we disassembled. It's all back. Back in the abattoir and everywhere…”

Peter Easley, who had been just as flabbergasted as everyone else on the bridge, absorbed that news before Ray Scott or John Beverly did. “Good thing we got the main garage cleaned out then, isn't it?”

“It would have been very messy if we hadn't,” Beverly remarked, and then he and Peter burst out laughing.

“Yes, but did they take the
parts
back?” Scott demanded.

“The parts?” Aarens was confused.

“I don't think so, Ray,” Beverly said, holding up the comunit usually attached to his belt.

Aarens ran to the hatch but sauntered back to the bridge, a smug grin on his face. “The air-cushion's still there. Maybe the Farmer didn't recognize what I'd done to their material.”

The newly devised com board of the KDL lit up with other incoming calls from Shutdown, Bella Vista, and the other three garage sites that had so recently been cleared of human occupation. Then the caves and the valleys that were now human habitations.

“They don't know we're here, then,” was Worrell's reaction.

“And couldn't care less,” said Jay Greene. “Hope the satellite caught that visitation!”

“You do?” Worry began to fret over what trouble that could cause back in Barevi or Catten or wherever the Eosi hung out.

* * *

The machinery was back, gleaming new models of every single unit that had been disassembled by the colonists, in pristine condition and arranged in the appropriate order in each garage, barn, or building. The solar panels that had been taken down and installed elsewhere for the camps' needs were also replaced and seemingly operational.

“Why aren't the machines moving?”

“It isn't spring yet. Not the time to farm.”

“Weren't we lucky to have moved out in time!”

“No messages with the unpacking?”

“As if we could have read them?”

“Was Kilroy here or his ET counterpart?”

“
What
do we do now?”

Chuck Mitford, having seen the huge spaceship on the
Tub's screen as they made their way back to the headquarters at New Narrow Valley to report, had one answer to that when John Beverly informed him of the arrival of complete replacements.

“Get into those garages and remove the anesthetic darts from the launchers before those machines are fully charged.”

“Won't such interference be noticed?” Beverly asked.

“I sure hope not. We took the first ones out when they were down, but you'd want to do it before they get fully operational. Fill the reservoirs with water. That anesthesia damned near put paid to a lot of us on the First Drop. Lenny Doyle or Pess'll show you how. They've done it before.”

“Any other suggestions, sergeant?” Beverly asked at his most respectful.

“Watch out for the avian predators. Those machines can call them down on anything that moves where it shouldn't.”

“Anything else?”

“If I think of something, I'll let you know. But check with Cumber, Esker, the Doyle brothers, Mack Su, any of the First Drop who scouted for me.”

Mitford had been sending back daily reports on their explorations. Now he turned back to his team.

“I thought for sure we'd have more than three weeks before anything happened,” he said, scratching his head in a measure of anxiety. “Can we make a bit more speed on this thing, Sarah?” he asked, since she was the driver.

“Sure, but it's about to get bumpy again.”

“We are not far now,” Zainal said, peering out the front windows.

“How long would it take the Eosi to do something, Zainal?” Mitford asked, now drumming restless fingers
on his knee with his free hand as he clung to a safety strap with the other.

Zainal shrugged. “I do not think they can move as fast as Farmers. Eosi are not automated. Nor do they have matter transmission.”

“I sure hope it galls their souls to hell'n'back,” Mitford said, grinning. “I sure hope it makes 'em squirm with envy and dismay.”

“Just so long as they keep out of our hair,” Kris added. She knew that despite Zainal's assurances, she wasn't the only one fretting over the possibility of Eosi reprisals on the colony. He would know better than she, of course, but it didn't keep her from worrying. She daren't even
think
how the Farmers might react in a direct confrontation with their uninvited tenants, though Zainal's point about the valleys' protection barriers was comforting—as far as it went with an unknown species.

New Camp Narrow was located in one of the closed valleys, south and east of the original cliff installation and itself suitably narrow but longer than most. It had been opened up by the simple expedient of blowing the barrier down with ingredients taken from Baby's arsenal. Zainal had instructed several miners and an ex–ordnance officer as to the explosive capability of the different substances in her lockers. The original notion had been to use such combustibles for mining operations, since the Farmers had apparently ignored the mineral and metal resources of the planet. Inside the appropriately long, narrow valley, Baby and the KDL were parked one beside the other: despite Baby's size in comparison to the larger, oblong transport vessel, she looked sleek, powerful, and far more dangerous. Parts of the wrecked transport had been utilized to make a fair-sized shelter nearby and the returning explorers had no trouble identifying it as headquarters from the flow of people in and out.

Small tents of loo-cow skins dotted the other side of
the usual valley stream and the carcass of a loo-cow was turning on a spit over a firepit. The rubble from the opening had been lugged across the stream for use in constructing homes. Several were as high as window height, with masons busy around them. A much larger building was already in use, its heavy stone pillars supporting a roof of slate that overhung to provide shelter from rains while half-built sides of rough timber gave the edifice the look of a forestry preserve facility. Tables, benches, stools, a few chairs, and a neat pile of blanket rolls suggested it was providing several functions, unfinished as it was.

As the explorers swung around to park and dismount from their vehicle, they were hailed by many but no one stopped working for more than a few moments.

“I wonder where they stashed the airplanes and all the air cushions,” Kris said, noting their absence.

“This wouldn't be the only valley in use,” Mitford said, stretching his legs. “Okay, Kris, Zainal, Bjorn, Whitby, Coo, we'll make the initial report. You got all the maps. Whitby? Yeah…”

“I have pictures,” Zainal volunteered, showing the mass in one big hand.

“I have soil samples,” and Bjorn showed the little case he had made for them.

“And I have the log printout,” Kris added, wondering why Mitford was so antsy suddenly.

“Sarah,” the sergeant said, turning toward her and Joe, “go see what the drill is here. Astrid, see if we can get some food. Slav, put water in the tank. Oskar, Jan, Leila, air the Tub out good, and maybe even give it a good wash.” He waved toward the stream.

If the refinements of headquarters left a lot to be desired as they entered and looked around it, the essentials—including the yet again reconstructed bridge of the wrecked transport—showed it to be in good working order and array. There were even “offices,” cubicles
with reed-woven walls to afford some privacy. Old mech parts still doubled for stools, cupboards, shelving, and benches.

“D'you suppose the Farmers didn't
recognize
their own stuff?” Kris murmured to Zainal.

“Bring your group over this way, sergeant,” called Scott, standing in the opening of one of the larger reedwalled compartments, on the far side of the bridge.

“Even has a ready room,” Kris murmured, this time to Mitford.

“You're getting far too impudent, ma'am,” Mitford replied, though he was also peering at the equipment. The Catteni who had once operated from this bridge had never kept it in such good order.

“Mitford, Kris, Zainal, Bjorn, Whitby…” Scott was solemnly shaking hands as he ushered them in. “Saw you coming,” he added, “so John, Bull, and Jim asked to be in on the debriefing.”

He sat at a desk that was really no more than several planks fitted together, rubbed smooth with some sort of polish to prevent splinters; two woven baskets sat on the surface. For in and out, Kris thought irreverently, but their presence was oddly comforting. Business as usual. The other brass-heads sat on Scott's side of the desk.

“It'd be a super place to settle a lot, if not all, of our people in, admiral,” Mitford said, pulling the stool closer to his legs. Whitby was unfolding the map indicating the scope of their explorations as Zainal arranged the photos of the sites that looked suitable for habitation. “Though you look like you've settled in here well.”

“Thanks, sergeant. It is indeed a pleasant place and there've been no indications of undesirable elements in any of the valleys we're utilizing.” Scott had taken up one photo, and Kris nudged Zainal because she'd had a bet on with him that it'd be the one that took his eyes. “Now this is a magnificent setting,” he said, and passed the picture to John Beverly on his right.

“Thought you'd like the view of the harbor,” Kris said. “It's deep enough for an aircraft carrier.”

“What would you know about draft, Kris?” Scott asked, but he was clearly in a good mood.

“The water's real dark down there,” she said, grinning. “Too bad we don't have any big ships. Yet.”

Mitford nodded to Bjorn to report now. “The ground is fertile, though it had not been tilled in many years.”

“You mean it was, once?” Scott sat forward, dropping the second picture he had taken up.

Mitford pulled the telltale picture away from those overlapping it. “The Farmers always put their facilities on unusable real estate, rocky or sandy, or plain nonarable. Look at the way this cliff has been hollowed out. We could damned near hide the KDL in here. For sure, it'd take Baby and all our converted equipment. This whole area shows sign of previous usage. And we found another section further along that ridge that reminds me of the way the abattoir was set up.”

The four bent their heads to examine the suspect photos and it was obvious they agreed with him.

“We found two more garage-type installations further up here,” and Mitford indicated the positions on the map. “We didn't concentrate on finding any more because they had so obviously been vacant a very long time.”

“We think we saw some likely spots on the other side of the bay,” Whitby said, “but the terrain was too steep for the Tub, so we didn't cross the bay.”

“Is it possible that the Farmers have just allowed the land to remain fallow because they have enough here?” Scott asked.

“It has been fallow many, many years,” Bjorn said. “But the soil is rich and would grow everything we needed. Especially if we used the land as wisely as the Farmers do.” He ended on an admonitory note.