Freedom's Landing (14 page)

“You're encouraging,” Kris replied.

“Are you?” and Cumber cocked his head at her, his eyes bright with suggestion.

“Well, on that score, no, buddy, not encouraging,” she said bluntly but with a smile.

She would have liked to stride forward, right up on top of Zainal's heels, but that didn't seem a good idea either so she shortened her stride and dropped back with the Deskis, who were ambling along, both festooned with necklaces of the rocksquats which their unerring aim had downed. They were as good as hunters as they were as climbers.

The cubes were indeed Catteni-issue: one was even unopened and contained blankets which Zainal parceled out among the hunters to be carried back. There were dried brown puddles in an irregular pattern across the field but little else. Kris felt a wave of regret for those who had lost their lives here from “unknown assailants,” as a news bulletin might say.

Reassembling her clutch of blankets, Kris saw the Rugarians quartering the field while Zainal had several others spread out and searching the borders.

“Think those flying things got 'em?” Cumber asked, returning to her.

“Could be. But all of them? When the crates have been opened?”

“Or what comes out of the ground in the dark and sucks corpses dry,” Cumber went on, waiting to see the effect his words had on her.

“This world does its own recycling,” she replied. “No waste, no debris, no Coke bottles or dead aerosol cans.”

“Huh?” Cumber was plainly a literal-minded man and her facetious remark did not register with him.

Then one of the border patrol let out a shout and everyone, of course, had to go see what he'd found: a clear trace that some large objects had pushed their way through the bushy hedge.

“Looks like something stampeded through there,” Cumber told Kris.

She could see the line of retreat, or flight, through the foot-high crops in the next patch. At that point one of Rugarians shouted.

“Quiet, he says,” Zainal said in his deep-voiced Barevian that carried just loudly enough so that the entire group heard him.

Slav was gesturing with his knife and then Kris clearly heard the Barevian word “hot.”

“Hot metal?” she asked, making her voice carry as she strode toward the knot of people clustering about Slav.

“Hot metal?” he was asked. Someone else pulled out their knife, pantomiming a hot blade.

“Yissss,” and the Rugarian pointed downhill and inhaled deeply.

“He smells hot metal,” Kris said.

Zainal took charge, directing everyone to hide behind the hedges and for Slav and a human male to go investigate.

“Hot metal? The people who farm this planet coming to see who's messing up their fields?” Kris asked of no one in particular.

“'Bout time someone came to have a look-see, if ya ask me,” Cumber said in a pessimistic tone.

“And all we got is knives!”

The returning scouts were not much ahead of the “thing” that lumbered after them. Only it wasn't
after
them: it was following a course to the fields above. It was gliding along on an air cushion, for it negotiated the hedges in a smooth hop and, while Kris and everyone else watched in fascination, it reached one of the crop-bearing fields and immediately went into a different mode: spraying the field.

“Willya looka that!” The speaker rose to full height in his surprise. Immediately those on either side of him pulled him back down behind the screening hedges. “Ah, it ain't got no eyes. It's just a farm machine. An' I think I saw another one down below, spraying another field.”

He was correct, as everyone immediately discovered by the simple expedient of taking a careful look.

“Close look now,” Zainal said in Barevi and pointed at not only Cumber but Kris and Slav to take the detail. “Stay down. Stay quiet. Don't know what these machines can do.”

“Wal, I doan mind restin' my dawgs,” was someone's response. “That Cat can sure trot the klicks.”

Kris was rather pleased to be singled out as someone whose opinion on the machine might be useful. Crouching low—and indeed Zainal moved as close to being on all fours as she'd ever seen a man move, even in Rambo pictures—they traversed the field where another group of whilom settlers had been deposited. They could see the top third of the machine, diligently switching back and forth, spraying evenly.

“That's why the fields are so damned regular,” Cumber muttered beside her. “So the machines don't have to do corners or nothin'.”

“Work-efficient,” Kris replied in a whisper.

Zainal's hand flagged at them, and they saw him put his finger to his lips for silence. Kris grimaced at having to be reminded. Machines who came all on their own to do even methodical tasks might be programmed for other actions.

When they got closer to the farther hedge, Zainal motioned them to get even flatter to the ground. Kris suppressed a
groan as she fell to her belly and inched along like the rest of them.

They found gaps at the base of the hedges, between the thick trunks of the vegetation, and peered out at the machine, which was now on the far side of the field. It was still balanced on its air cushions, still spraying, and the only mechanism that it reminded Kris of was a Dalek from old
Doctor Who
videos.

“Exterminate. Exterminate.” The Dalekian cry echoed through her head and she wondered just how apt it was. Was the thing spraying fertilizer or insect killer? It was nearly finished, whatever. When it got to the last corner, however, it turned and came toward them.

Zainal signaled for them to make themselves as unnoticeable as possible by squinching up against, under if possible, the thick hedge. Kris heard the thing nearing just as she also damned near gutted herself on a pointy root. Grimacing, she endured the discomfort for what seemed to be hours.

She heard a clicking, whirring, and other such noises that were so much like the sounds of that old
Doctor Who
series that she was also close to laughter. Except this wasn't a laughing matter.

Then the machine “jumped” the hedge and they all got a blast of hot, smelly, metallic air before it swept across the field, not touching any of the debris but certainly, Kris felt sure, checking it over.

Another hopscotch leap and it left, fortunately never getting into the field where the rest of the hunters were, hopefully, making themselves as scarce as possible.

“That thing's dangerous,” Cumber told Zainal, who merely nodded.

“We get the others and leave,” he said, emphasizing the last word significantly.

Slav, who had been listening carefully to the Catteni, now raised his hands to his lips and emitted a shrill sound that wasn't birdcall or dog call or anything.

It was answered by a similar call from Zewe.

“Tell. Go,” and Slav pointed uphill, the way they had come.

“Good!” And so they started on the way back, joining the rest of the hunters by the time they reached the next field.

The Deski then gave one of their warnings, quick gestures indicating flying things, and everyone froze in their tracks. A formation of five fliers came gliding in from the east, swooping down over the field and then quartering it. As nothing moved, the predators were balked of their reward and, with squawks of complaint drifting back to the breathless waiting hunters, they proceeded on down the slope.

“Wow!” Cumber said in a low and respectful voice. “That damned machine called in an alarm.”

“We weren't seen by it,” Kris said thoughtfully, “so it must have some sort of sensors, because it sure knew we were there. Like a Dalek.”

“A what?” Cumber clearly had never watched the old s-f serials.

“A robot with deadly intentions.”

One of the other men grinned and said in a nasal falsetto, “Exterminate! Exterminate!”

“Hey, mac, keep it down!” someone else ordered in a nervous whisper.

“What is said?” Zainal quietly asked in English.

“The machine reported our presence,” Kris said, pantomiming the actions of her words. “It may be heat-sensitive. Knew we were in the hedge because of body heat.”

Zainal nodded. “Take good care. We go to caves now. Hunt. But watch always.” He tapped Slav and Zewe and gave them some rapid orders. “They hear best,” he added to Kris.

The two Rugarians moved to the sides of the main group and then, on Zainal's signal, everyone moved out again.

The return home was even rougher, with all the descents to be made while they were laden with the rewards of their hunting. No unusual hazards were encountered. On the plus side, the six-legged grazers which they had spotted in the field bled red blood when nicked. Two were slaughtered
and dressed right there in the field so that their meat could be portioned out among the hunters to carry home. The additional blankets were put to good use. And very helpful later when the insects began to rise after the sun went down.

Deskis evidently had a sharp homing instinct because they led the way back in the semidarkness. Kris had never been so glad to see the campfires of home!

There was certainly applause for the hunters when they returned so well laden. No sooner had she divested herself of her burden than Zainal touched her arm and gestured for her to join him in reporting to Mitford. Cumber and Slav were there, too.

“Cumber said you identified these machines, Kris,” Mitford said. He looked very tired.

“Me? No, not really, only that they're some sort of robots.”

“Cumber said they didn't even touch the ground.”

“Air-cushion propulsion?”

“Hmmm. High-tech. And heat-seekers?”

“Well, the machine must have called in those flying predators,” Kris said. “And there were five of 'em so I'm extrapolating that the machine sensed our five bodies hidden in the hedge. But anyone's guess is as good as mine,” she ended modestly.

“But yours is a tad more educated from watching all those kidvids. I'll buy it, Bjornsen, I'll buy it. G'wan now, and you as well, Cumber. We've got a sort of bread tonight, soda bread.” He grinned. “One of the chemists found a deposit of sodium bicarbonate. Bread doesn't taste half bad—if you're hungry enough and you ignore occasional grits from the grinding.”

No sooner had Kris reached the main cave, to stand in line for her hunk of bread, than Patti Sue discovered her. The girl threw her arms about Kris' neck and howled with tears of relief.

“Hey, now, Patti Sue, I was perfectly all right,” Kris told the girl, trying to calm her down to mere hysterics.

Sandy came to her rescue. “There now, Patti, I told you Kris can take care of herself.”

Patti Sue was persuaded to release her death hold on Kris. As she stood back, she looked down at her front, now smeared with what also covered Kris' garment.

“Oh, my gawd, what's that?”

“Probably blood,” Kris said, for the meat she had lugged back had dribbled down her, attracting the insects.

“Oh, my gawd!” And Patti Sue backed away from Kris as if she had turned leprous.

“Guess I need a bath,” Kris said cheerfully and, taking her portion of bread, ate it on the way down to the underground lake to make herself more presentable.

She wasn't the only one to want to get clean. There were quite a few white bodies splashing in the water. Someone had added more ropes. Pausing only to add her wrap-on boots, food packet, and blanket to the row of similar belongings awaiting the return of their owners, she grabbed a spare tether and plunged into the water. Twisting the rope about one wrist, she then winkled herself out of the garment and rinsed it thoroughly. The water was invigoratingly cool and somewhat restored her energy level. She got out, drying herself on her blanket and then wrapping it sarong fashion. She squeezed the water from her coverall and then made her way back out of the lake cavern. She was sure she'd sleep that night.

She did. Until Zainal roused her. It had to be the middle of the long Botany night because everyone around her was fast asleep, especially Patti Sue, who would have had a knicker attack if she'd awakened to see the Catteni so close by.

There was just enough light supplied by the flickering torch in the passageway for her to see Zainal touch his lips for silence. Groaning involuntarily because she was stiff from yesterday's exertions, she had trouble rising. Zainal put out a helping hand and—zip—she was on her feet. She grinned up at him as she followed him out. He didn't release her hand and she was content to let it stay in his strong mitt. She had to entertain the thought that she was definitely attracted
to the Catteni, and not just because he was taller than she was. He had conducted himself with such dignity and tact during the past few days that surely even those who hated the Catteni violently couldn't fault him. Certainly Mitford had made it plain to the motley crew that Zainal was a large and useful entity in their continued survival. Once the euphoria of the past few days settled into boring routine and less exciting uncertainty, she suspected there would be problems.

“Trouble?” she whispered in Barevian once outside the room. “Don't you ever sleep?”

“Not in danger,” he murmured back and led her.

It was third moonset when they got outside. Kris could see faces lit by the campfire in the ravine; one of them was Mitford's.

“Sorry to rouse you, Bjornsen,” he said with a grin and gestured for her to hold up her cup. She didn't realize until that moment that she had unconsciously gathered up her accoutrements—her blanket, the cup, and her ration bars. “As far as my internal clock is concerned, this is well past dawn.”

“And you're a creature of habit?” She grinned at him, accepting the warm liquid. It was some sort of herbal tea, which was an improvement on bare, naked hot water.

“Pull up a stone,” he added and she sat on the one just to his right. “I want you to go with Zainal, here, and Slav and the Deski Coo, and suss out what other surprises this place has in store for us. No sense in thinking we're safe in this ravine. One of the eggheads mentioned that there are indications this,” and he waved about the walls of the ravine, “may get flooded in spring. High-water marks and scrapings of trees on the sides, higher up than we can stand, and I ain't that good at treading water.”