Freedom's Landing (16 page)

Full dark and first moonrise had occurred before they were
able to eat, using twigs like chopsticks to get the pieces from pot to leaf. A little salt would have made it even more palatable, but hot food in the stomach was enough of an improvement in itself over dry, hard rations no matter how nutritious.

When they had eaten as much as they could, Coo covered the “pot” with a flat rock, wiping his hands as any human would, for the finish of a good job.

“Slav, first moonset,” Zainal said. “Then Kris, to second moonset. I third, Coo, final.”

No one argued but Kris was just as glad to have a long enough sleep to restore her energy. She visited the waterfall, drank, and then, unfastening the boots, presented her swollen, tired feet to the cascade. She had to set her teeth against the pain but shortly enough the abused flesh was too cold to send any other messages to her brain. She stood the cold as long as she could before she minced her way back to the fire. She thought her feet's flesh had been reduced but she couldn't be sure, they were so numb. Coo and Slav had been off on a necessary absence, too, so they all arrived back to settle down for the night.

She unrolled her blankets, spread them, and settled herself on the rocky surface, her cooling feet toward the fire. A good pile of dead material had been piled near at hand to feed the fire all night. What primeval holdover made her feel better for having a fire?

It also didn't matter that there was no way to cushion her hips and shoulders on the hard rock: she was too tired to care. Briefly her mind dwelt on the distance they would have traveled that day, but she hadn't really noticed how many tally knots were on Zainal's string. Well, a good night's sleep mended many aches.

Slav woke her and the first thing she noticed was that the first moon was still visible in the sky. But it gave enough light for her to see that Slav was agitated…all the fur on his head stood up. He had also roused Zainal. He pointed down, to the field, and gestured for them to come. Whatever it was did not require either stealth or quiet.

Slav just pointed and looked at them for their reaction.

Kris wanted to throw up. Zainal simply watched the…things: things with long tentacles and writhing hairs, and seemingly no body unless the body was still underground: the things were crawling over the intestines that he had discarded onto the field. There wasn't that much left of the entrails, for whatever was feeding on them absorbed the matter quickly, and before many minutes had passed, there was only the grassy covering left, no trace of the refuse. Maybe she had just imagined the squirmy, wriggling roundnesses that had feasted.

Zainal was nodding his head as if this was what he had expected. Kris swallowed. Was that what had happened to those who had bled on the other field? And bodies that had been left on the one she had awakened on?

“Neat,” she said softly. “An internal garbage collection! Sure keeps the neighborhood clean. And those are not ‘boy' words.”

In the moonlight Zainal's teeth showed whitely.

“You knew?” she asked him.

“A thinking.”

“Thought, you mean.”

“Think, thought?”

“Right.”

“Sleep now. Show's over.”

Now where had Zainal picked up that one? Kris wondered as she returned to the warmth of her blankets. She sighed; maybe she should stay awake and give Slav just that much more uninterrupted rest. But she was asleep again so quickly—and without a single dream—until Slav roused her to a moonless sky.

She stood her watch, walking the perimeters of their rocky outcropping. Was that why Zainal had picked this camp? Or was it because they could make a stew pot in rock? Not that she didn't put it past this planet to have rockdwellers of horrific abilities, too. There was no sign of any further activity on the ground, however. And she was a little tempted to throw another piece of garbage down there to see what
happened: the sort of compulsion one has to be sure that what one saw was just as horrible the second time as the first.

Nighttime and silence were great aids to imagination and she had to keep her mind firmly on the positive things: she
was
alive, her stomach
was
full, she was as safe as anyone else in the camp, even if this planet had too many anomalies and mysteries to give anyone peace of mind. So, to keep from thinking of the wrong things, she reviewed all the camping trips she'd ever made—the stone pot was a good notion—to see if she could remember any other “doables.” A knife, a hatchet, a cup, and a blanket were not much to survive on, with, by. Not that they hadn't been doing pretty well with just that basic equipment. But there were so many “things” they lacked. A pail to carry water in, a frying pan to cook food in, a fork or two would be right handy. Why, when she needed it the most, did she not have her Swiss Army knife? Boy, that item would be worth its weight in platinum!

Of course, there were spare blades back at the main caves. Wasn't there someone at the camp who thought he could manipulate blades into other useful tools? Her stomach began to rumble. Damn this planet! Even mealtimes were skewed. She slowly ate half a ration bar. Nowhere near as tasty as that stew.

Despite such a positive bout of thinking, she was glad enough to rouse Coo to take over sentinel duty.

*   *   *

THE NEXT MORNING ZAINAL HAD ALREADY HOT
ted up the remainder of last night's stew for breakfast and a hearty one it was to fill night-empty stomachs. They cleaned up the leftovers, sopping up the last of the juices with another ration bar. Kris was stuffed but she'd work it off soon enough.

She asked Zainal how far they had traveled the day before and he showed her the tally string. She whistled appreciatively: they'd made forty klicks, no mean feat when you considered the ups and downs they'd had to negotiate. Her feet,
which she had bathed again in cold water, certainly knew they'd walked that far. Maybe she shouldn't have asked. It made her feel tired to think she'd trekked that far.

Zainal kicked out the fire and used the stew-pot rocks to make a cairn before he signaled them all to move out.

“Where are we heading for today?”

“Circle,” he said, gesturing a wide arc, and ending with his finger pointing to the cairn. “Find what is find.”

“What we can discover, find, see, know.” Kris had never thought of herself as a pedagogue but she had this intense itch to correct Zainal and improve his language skills. Thank goodness he was amenable to learn-as-you-go.

They jumped down off the outcropping and made their way across the field. Zainal moderated his pace from yesterday's stride but not by much. Maybe his feet hurt, too? How much walking did a space trooper get to do?

Coo found some green globes in one of the hedges that he gobbled juicily, humming happily to himself, but Slav curled his upper lip in distaste, a process which fascinated Kris as Slav really did
curl
his lip up and into a fold above his uneven set of teeth. She wondered again how Rugarians kept from seriously biting the insides of their lips with such dental equipment.

Everyone kept their eyes open, surveying behind them and above them, especially when they were out in the open. A rearview mirror would have been right handy, Kris thought. Dead things got sucked into the ground at night but clearly the avian critters patrolled daily for their sustenance on things that moved.

The fields were endless on this gently rolling terrain. Streams were laid on at such intervals that Kris' earlier wish for a canteen was redundant. There were no roads, no bridges, no overpasses, nothing more serious than rather abrupt little hillocks of stone that seemed to rise straight up out of the ground. She'd seen something similar somewhere on Earth, but it took her time to dredge up Ethiopia from her memory. Most of the hillocks were bare, but a few seemed to have caught enough soil to support bushes and
one or two were crowned with the almost-trees that baby bushes became, if they had a chance to live long enough.

Then they came to a whole series of fields that had recently been harvested. No track to tell them in what direction the harvesters had come from or gone to. Although the direction would take them out of the circular loop Zainal had proposed they make, they followed the harvesting signs.

They heard it before they saw it and only had time to take cover before the mechanical gadget floated over the intervening hedge in the very next field.

“Do we stand or run?” Kris whispered hoarsely to Zainal. He shrugged, but he was stuck as far into the hedge as he could get, and stock-still. She imitated him, wincing as branches dug into the softer parts of her.

They could smell hot metal, combined with odder smells that must have been fuel—only that begged the question in Kris' mind:
Who manufactured the fuel, not to mention the machinery?
They waited in this position until she got a knotting cramp in one side and grimaced, trying without moving much to relieve the spasm.

When is that mechanical going to move on? Or
, and the thought pierced her with a good deal of fright,
is it waiting for reinforcements? Does the machinery on this planet
learn? Very carefully craning her neck up, she could see through the funny-shaped foliage of the hedge material that the Dalek hadn't moved a smidgeon: it just hovered there, on the other side of the hedge.

She poked Zainal, who was also watching for movement, and when he carefully turned his head to her, she raised her eyebrows in query. Just then Coo came alert: not that the Deski hadn't been tense with the waiting. He turned his glance down the field and very carefully pointed out a direction. Something was coming for them? The fliers always seemed to come out of the sun at them. What would be coming up the hill? And should they leave? If they could, with the mechanical monster an arm's length away. And if they did make a run for it, where would they go? There wasn't even a hillock close enough that they could scramble up.

Kris didn't like this at all.

She liked it even less when Coo let out a whimper and pointed with more agitation down the hill.

The things moved so fast that Kris barely saw the glint of them in the sun when they were upon them…and shooting their little darts. She felt the prick and she lost consciousness from one moment to the next.

A HAND ROCKING HER SHOULDER ROUSED HER
from the stupor caused by the drugged dart.

“Kris, wake up.” Zainal's voice.

“Lemme sleep.” She ached and she was soooo tired.

“No, we go now or not.”

That brought recent events back and she shot up so fast she nearly cracked her head on Zainal's as he knelt beside her.

It was dark all around but she could make out both Slav and Coo, and then the odd stamping and heavy breathing, as well as animal smells, gave her another clue. They'd been dumped in a barn? Classified as animals by the mechanical? She didn't know whether she was amused or indignant.

“Water?” And Zainal handed her a full cup, which she sipped to revive her parched mouth and throat.

“Thanks.” She got up as she finished and, when she would have handed him back the cup, he pointed to the empty loop on her belt. “Oh! Yes. Thanks again.” Then she felt for the important parcel of ration bars and her blankets. All in place and accounted for. She breathed a sigh of relief. “So how do we get out of here?” she asked, sensorily aware of the size, as well as the darkness, of the building.

“This way,” and Zainal cupped one big hand under her right elbow and turned her in the proper direction. “Care…”

She just avoided tripping over a sleeping beastie of some kind: one of the creatures that made a liquid looing sound. She blinked furiously to accustom her eyes to the gloom and took a couple of quick and careful steps to catch up to Zainal, Coo, and Slav.

“The main door, of course,” she murmured when she realized that that was their destination. A very large set of doors. And how were they to open them, when there was no apparent handle or lock or knob.…

She heard a little snick, a click, and a pleased mutter from Zainal and heard the rumble of a door moving on a track as he replaced his boot knife.

“Come,” Zainal said and she and the others wasted no time in slipping out. Zainal carefully closed the door behind him and it snicked once more when shut.

They were by no means clear yet, for their temporary prison seemed to be only one of many such buildings, set in a long line, visible as a greater darkness against the lesser one of the sky. For she could see stars above but none of the moons.

“Hold,” and Zainal took her hand in his and then she felt Coo's dry fingers closing around her left hand.

Slav, with better night sight, was their leader.

They must have completed a full circuit of the immense yard before they halted again.

“Place to hide?” Zainal asked Slav. The Rugarian shook his head.

Coo said softly, “Up?” and pointed in the direction of the stack of crates that had been halfway around their exploratory circuit.