Freedom’s Choice (5 page)

“Only reason I can think of for them to send four,” Chuck Mitford said with a snort. “That wouldn't have been enough of a guerrilla gang to do doodly against us but sufficient to snatch a man. Zainal did mention that he was wanted back home for a duty of some sort he'd rather avoid. Maybe they want him badly enough to come after him.”

“Lemme see the unit,” Dane asked, and Chuck handed it over. “Oh, that's the idiot kind. Already preset to its destination. So what do you want me to report?”

“Do they give a damn if the team landed safely?” Chuck asked.

“I doubt it.”

“Then let's say that they're hiding out. Haven't located Zainal…no, make it target personnel.”

“Emassi?” Worrell suggested, and Chuck nodded agreement to the change.

Leon scribbled what looked like hieroglyphics on a sheet of paper.

“You can write it, too?” Worrell asked, more impressed.

“A little,” Leon said with a wry grin. In his professional capacity as a surgeon, working on injured Catteni under the eyes of their medics, he had been in a very good position to pick up the language as well as aid the subversive elements in Sydney. “Most of what I learned is either medical or military. I can't ask for my aunt's pen on the table or order a meal. But I can spout real good Emassi-like orders.” He scribbled something else,
this time in English. “How does this sound, sarge? ‘Emassi not here. Moving to find. Report tomorrow this time. Do not contact.'”

“That sounds about right. They'd hide from our people during the day,” Chuck said, thoughtfully. “That'll give us some time at any rate. You can say that much?”

“Too right,” Leon said, grinning broadly. “Most fun I've had all week.”

They all went outside and up to the top of the Rock for a clearer message. The moon shone down on the trio.

“Right out in the bright light, too,” Leon said, shaking his head and grinning. Then he sobered, depressed the appropriate send stud, and, with his free hand clutching at his throat, growled out the message in a hoarse whisper.

He released the stud, counting. He shrugged. Depressed the stud and repeated the message. This time a single word answered his effort.

“What was that?” Chuck asked.

Leon gave him a conspiratorial grin. “‘Kotik.' Means ‘Accept.' Nothing about doing a good job or anything but Catteni don't expect thanks, do they?” He handed the unit back to Chuck Mitford. They were starting back down when he had a sudden thought. “Hey, maybe I should have sounded feminine. You did say you think one of the victims was a female?”

“One set of boots was much smaller,” Worrell said. “But,” and he scrubbed his head, “I don't think women lead many Catteni commando units.”

“No,” and now Chuck's tone was smug, “though they might just have sent along someone Zainal might be glad to see about now…as bait.”

“Guessed wrong, didn't they?” Leon remarked in a level tone.

* * *

It was when Kris, Sarah, and Leila decided to have an afternoon swim that they found more skeletons, gleaming
white bones in the shallows among the thick water reeds that grew there.

“That does it,” Sarah announced, refastening her coverall. “Makes me wonder what the fish we had for lunch had for lunch.”

Leila looked slightly nauseous.

“Sarah!” Kris exclaimed. Medics often had displayed a ghoulish sense of humor. She did have to swallow before she added: “We'd better see what kind these are.”

Zainal waded in to fetch some of the nearer skeletons, which were identified as loo-cow, rocksquat, Turs, and another human skull, still partly attached to its neck. It was Leila who found the odd scales and quills. No one had taken any more than a glancing look skyward for any hovering avian predators but everyone agreed they didn't seem to be feathered, so perhaps they used the lake for bathing or in a grooming ritual.

“But they could just fly in and out. That barrier wasn't for them,” Sarah said, frowning over the puzzle.

“It must have been something real bad for the Farmers to want to keep it contained,” Kris said, trying not to shiver. She glanced up to see the position of the sun. “I move we get back to the vehicle and out of here. I don't want my next place of residence to be that lake.”

So they put out the fire and retraced their steps to the barrier.

“Start up,” Zainal told the others. “Whitby, with me. I look closer at stream…”

The two trotted down the other end of the valley. Kris, Leila, and Slav made the first ascent on the ropes. When Kris gratefully reached the top, she could see Zainal and Whitby having quite a gawk where the stream went through the bluff. The water boiled up over whatever outlet there was for its flow and made a wide pond at cliff base. She wondered what Zainal had hoped to learn from scrutiny. As soon as Fek, Sarah, and Joe joined
them, they continued on up the cliff, reaching the top just as Zainal and Whitby surmounted the slanted barrier and began to unhitch the rappel equipment. The others started down to the vehicle but Kris waited for Zainal and Whitby.

“Well?” she asked as Zainal pulled himself up beside her.

“Something could swim through underneath,” he said.

“Have to have been damned desperate to take such a risk,” Whitby added, “unless you've some amphibious species here you haven't told me about yet.”

“On Earth large carnivores will swim,” Kris said.

“On Earth,” Whitby agreed, nodding as he mopped his forehead and face. He looked back down at the daunting rock face. “If whatever it was had nothing left to eat, even the fish, possibly it would take such a risk. But I would still rather not meet whatever it was. Let's take a look at that aerial—”

His words were broken off by the loud buzz of Zainal's portable.

“Worrell here. You guys all right?” The Aussie was shouting into the speaker.

“Yes, all right. Deep in a valley all day,” Zainal explained.

“Oh. Well, a problem dropped in here the other night,” he said. “And you're needed back as fast as you can make it, Zainal.”

“What sort of problem?” Zainal asked but Kris thought from the twinkle in his eyes that he had some idea. “They look for me?”

“We think so. Only they weren't briefed proper.”

“Night crawlers?” Zainal asked, and grinned when Kris shuddered.

“You bet,” and Worrell sounded pleased. “And someone's asking them questions on the portable comunit that was about all that was left of them…barring
the shoes. Leon told whoever called that you weren't here and they were still looking.”

“You want me to give myself up?”

If Zainal hadn't been grinning like a loon, Kris would have gasped.

“Hell no, Zainal,” and Worrell's tone was indignant. “Chuck's got an idea.”

“I wonder if we have the same one,” Zainal said, winking at Kris. “We come as fast as possible.”

“Find anything good?”

“Tell you when we get there.”

Worrell disconnected and Zainal replaced the unit in its pouch, fastening the flap.

“Should I know what I just heard?” Whitby asked respectfully, but his curiosity was apparent.

“Why not?” Zainal said with a shrug, and nodded to Kris to explain.

Whitby had breath for a good chuckle over, “I drop, I stay,” and Zainal's demonstration about the night crawlers and showing the hand unit that proved the planet possibly had another owner.

The question which Whitby did not ask, nor did Kris volunteer to answer since she didn't know it, was what duty was so important that Zainal had to be abducted by stealth.

They had reached the ground now.

“We go back to camp as fast as we can,” Zainal said.

“We're five days away,” Joe protested.

“We took side trips up here,” Zainal reminded him. “We take turns. Drive all night.”

“Hey, it sounds important.”

“Dirty work with cross feet?” Zainal asked.

“
Crossroads
,” Kris corrected in spite of realizing that he was being deliberately obtuse.

“Sticky wicket, huh?” Joe said, and neatly finished recoiling the ropes. “Let's move out. I'll drive first. I've had a breather.”

Both Slav and Fek liked to stand up in the front of the load bed of the vehicle, hanging on to the frame, staying alert and watchful. Sarah and Leila sat in the wide front seat with Joe. Kris, Whitby, and Zainal arranged themselves on the bedrolls in the back. Zainal then slid down until he could put his head on Kris' shoulder, folded his arms, and promptly went to sleep in the smooth-riding air-cushioned ground machine.

T
hey arrived back in Camp Rock by sunset of the next day, having pushed the vehicle to the limits of its panel-supplied power. Joe was of the opinion that the two full moons had been bright enough to keep the power levels high but Whitby and Leila had argued the point. It made an interesting discussion during the long hours of the trek, when they halted only long enough for natural requirements and to bag a few rocksquats. Joe turned out to be correct about the power, though the vehicle had slowed down considerably.

The sentry hailed them on their approach and rang the bell so that Worrell and Mitford were awaiting them in the parking area, one of Camp Rock's newer amenities. A big hauler and a small runabout, reserved for Mitford's use, occupied the space.

“We heard the transport,” Zainal said as he swung down from the driver's seat. “Another drop?”

“Yeah, another thirteen hundred reluctant colonists,” Mitford said with a grimace.

“Your species shouldn't be so difficult to manage,” Zainal said with a grin.

“We also had to answer another message,” Mitford said, showing his teeth.

“Tell me,” Zainal said.

“We'll just unpack,” Joe said tactfully, and gestured to the others.

Zainal caught Kris' arm as Mitford and Worrell started up the stone steps that led to the height's office. The two-roomed stone building had been built on a leveled-off area, well above any spring flood that might rampage down the gorge that split Camp Rock. Aerials and solar panels were attached to the slated roof of the good-sized facility. A desk, occupied as much by Mitford as Worrell in his capacity as Rock's manager, commanded a view down the length of the camp from the main window. From the other, smaller one, the view was across sloping stone to the first of the Farmers' fields.

Mitford gestured for all to sit on the stools and benches provided. “Leon's coming,” he added. “Lemme fill you in.”

Zainal nodded.

“The unit buzzed off shortly before we heard the transport angling in for a landing.”

“Usual field?” Zainal asked.

Mitford nodded. “They've got that much right at any rate. Leon got a message that suggested the commando group was to meet with the transport and deliver your unconscious body. Certainly there was a group hanging around near the hedges doing nothing, apart from peering around and listening to their wrists a lot.”

“What did you say back?”

“Leon told them the search continued.”

Zainal frowned slightly. “What words did he use?”

“I knew the right ones,” Leon said, entering just then and leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath from the climb. “I always had a team watching me operate on any wounded Catteni. I got used to some of the distinctions Emassi made. So I adopted a hoarse whisper
in case it was the female who was to report.” Zainal shook his head, his expression inscrutable. “I said,” and Leon put one hand on his windpipe to alter the sounds he made, “‘Mekichak Zainal obli. Tik escag eridi. Tikso tag.'” He removed his hand to speak less growlingly. “Which, I think, translates into, ‘Moves Zainal much. Hear he returns soon. Report then.'” Leon raised an eyebrow at Zainal.

It wasn't often that the big Catteni burst out laughing as he did now, grinning broadly and obviously also enjoying some sort of a personally satisfying private joke. “You don't know it, Leon, but I am always moving a lot. You said exactly what they will believe. Where is the unit?”

Leon slid it out of a chest pocket. “Since I'm the only one who knows enough Catten to answer, I've been in charge of it.”

The communicator looked much smaller in Zainal's large hands and could be slipped into a pocket or down a boot. He examined it carefully, his smile broadening again.

“This is very good. Very good,” and Zainal's eyes sparkled with amused triumph.

“These were found in a boot,” and Dane very carefully laid the other three items on the table.

Zainal held one vial up to the light and snorted. “Vikso. In very small doses, it will be useful to you, Dane. Makes muscles weak,” and he pretended to sag like a limp string puppet before he handed it back to the surgeon.

“So, they knew they'd have to knock you out,” Chuck Mitford said, tipping back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Care to tell us why they'd go to this much trouble over you?”