Freedom's Landing (22 page)

“We
plan
the upsetting”—he grinned again—“but I don't want any of our guys to get darted out in the fields. So we disable the mechanism. Okay, fellas,” he said to the newcomers. Capstan and Macy were new faces and names for Kris, but they seemed to know who she and Zainal were. Mitford passed Zainal's sketches around. “Zainal's drawn the sort of mechanicals that are housed at the slaughterhouse. Seem to me to be different from the ones at the granary.”

“Highly specialized equipment,” Su said, leafing through the drawings, pausing briefly to scowl at several before he switched his lot with Capstan. Kris found out later that the older man had been a designer of highly specialized production-line equipment.

“Look, all of 'em are solar powered!” Su said, flicking his fingers at various flat surfaces on the individual machines. “Like I said, they had to be. Ecologically sound, using renewable energy. Small wonder the Catteni scouts thought the planet was unoccupied. They'd probably been scanning, or whatever they do, for life forms and those mechanicals aren't alive. Now, they have to have collectors and storage batteries, too, and where'd they…ah, yes, possibly these units. Hmmm.”

“And if there's no sun? Do they all just go down when it's overcast or rainy?” Kris asked, making a mental note of the solar panels on each variety of machine.

“Hasn't rained yet and we've been here ten days,” Mitford said with a sigh, his glance going up and down the ravine that had experienced floods which had left visible high-water traces on the walls.

Zainal also looked around the camp and smiled. “Much done in ten days.”

“Good for morale,” was Mitford's terse reply, but he added a brief smile at the compliment. “Now, we got individuals who've got real expert with slingshots. Can take out a rocksquat at twenty-five meters. Stones'd take out those solar panels, wouldn't they?”

Su thought about that but Capstan shook his head.

“We'd have to know what sort of material they use in the mechanicals' panels. But it would follow that, if enough of the surface was marred, it might not collect sufficient solar energy to perform efficiently.”

“Perhaps,” and Kris adopted an ingenuous look and tone to her voice, “we should practice some creative mudslinging? I didn't see a carwash in that Dalek barn.”

Zainal flicked her a quick glance because he didn't understand her allusion so she charaded it and then he smiled, nodding. Su seemed to like the idea and even Capstan gave a droll little smile.

“There're sure enough brooks where we'd need 'em to make mud,” Su went on with enthusiasm. “And if we got enough on the panels, the sun would dry it hard in place.”

“Mud at night. No machine runs in day,” Zainal suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Good idea, Zainal,” Mitford said, grinning. “Decommission them at source.”

“Well, now, hold on a moment,” Capstan said. “There would have to be storage batteries to keep them ticking over and start them off in the morning. Or there should be something like that. We'd have to disable those as well, you know.”

“So we do,” Mitford said cheerfully. “I wonder how many we would have to knock out for someone to come check the situation?”

That question was tossed around but they all agreed that they would first have to locate more installations for the plan to be effective. Kris, Zainal, and the two aliens had not been the only patrol which Mitford had sent out and one group, Mitford told them, was still missing. He wasn't worried about them—yet—because they'd gone north, away from the slaughterhouse. He admitted that there would need to be a
lot more such facilities to service all the land they could see cultivated and grazed. Enough hills could be seen from the sentry posts: each range could hide more mechanicals, farming nearby arable land.

“Zainal,” Kris said after a brief pause in the exchange of ideas, “how many would the prison ship have dropped in one journey?”

Zainal's shrug was almost apologetic. “Don't know. No need for me to know.”

“Well, they landed more than us and those you just freed up,” Mitford said in sudden anger. The others nodded solemnly. With a sigh, the Sergeant went on. “One of the recon patrols tangled with a savage bunch of individuals: only two of our guys got away and one was badly sliced up. Estimated there were close to thirty in the lot that jumped them. So it'll be more important than ever for any patrols to post sentries at night. Esher was smart enough to hide himself, and Barrett, who was injured, until they could be sure they weren't followed back here. And that,” Mitford's thick index finger pointed at each one in the circle to emphasize his warning, “is what no one does! I'll tell you one thing: they really hopped to it next time I called a Red Alert. And Murph made us a triangle out of metal that would wake the dead.”

“But we could hold off hundreds here, sarge,” Kris said, startled. The mere thought that the camp was vulnerable, and to renegade humans, depressed her. As it must have depressed Mitford.

“You better believe it,” Mitford said so resolutely and with such a knowing grin on his face that Kris relaxed. Mitford had obviously been busy placing safeguards as well as amenities. “Do they ever check up on the job lots they drop down?” he asked Zainal who nodded.

“Not soon,” he said. “In half a year,” he added, dropping into Barevi to express the time.

“Half a year,” Kris murmured in English and he nodded again as he accepted that new word.

“Would they bring in more prisoners?” Mitford asked Zainal, who nodded.

“Drop people many places,” and he made a spreading gesture with his hands. “Many times to seed planet.”

Kris wasn't the only one who received that information with a sinking heart. How many did the Catteni expect would survive? And if none did, was the planet written off? What a way to colonize! While she hadn't even thought to estimate how many prisoners had been in that holding area prior to being forced aboard the transport, there had been a lot more than the few hundreds ending up in this camp. They knew of at least four other deposits now. How many had there been in the initial load? At that, they might be better off making first contact with the Mechano Makers.

“Well, we deal with what we can,” Mitford said staunchly. “And we'll explore as thoroughly as possible under the circumstances. Zainal, any more information on how they seed the planet?”

“I was in space more,” he said, spreading his hands wide open to express his ignorance.

“Huh, so the Catteni operate just like any other army?” Mitford said in a droll tone. “Left hand doesn't know what the right hand does.”

Kris had a time explaining that remark to the puzzled Zainal, who grinned when he did understand.

When Mitford finally dismissed them, Kris made her way down the ravine and over to the stairs. The kitchen cavern walls were now decorated with outlines of vegetations. These were divided into several sections: one marked “Human,” with those plants to avoid and those to gather; another had “Deski” in elaborate Gothic lettering as a caption and the enscription “potassium? calcium?”

“Hi, there,” a cheerful voice said, and Dick Aarens moved to intercept her.

“Not now, Aarens,” she said, altering her direction to avoid him.

“Hey, gal, I'm only trying to be friendly.” He stepped in front of her.

“So am I, but right now all I want is my bed.”

His eyes, a pleasing shade of blue for all she didn't like the man who wore them, widened. “Why, so do I!” And he attempted to put his arm around her as if to lead her off.

She ducked out from under. “By myself, Aarens.”

“Kris…”

She was both relieved and concerned to hear Zainal's voice behind her. She turned, took a step toward the Catteni.

“Yes?” She hoped her response conveyed her relief at his timely arrival.

“We talk tomorrow's patrol now?” he asked.

Behind her, she heard Aarens mutter something and then the crunch of his feet on the sandy floor as he moved away.

“Thanks, Zainal. You saved my life.”

Zainal regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “You do not like him?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head for emphasis.

“I think so.”

“Watch him, though, Zainal. He's dangerous.”

“How?” Zainal was amused at her response.

“He doesn't like you.”

“Because you do?”

She shook her head. “Because first you're Catteni and second he fancies himself better than you. And irresistible to me.

Zainal shook his head, lightly gripping her on the arms, a tacit request for explanation.

“I'm not sure I can explain the nuances,” she said, grinning up at him. Yellow eyes were much nicer than plain old blue. And she liked Zainal's hands on her whereas Dick Aarens' touch made her skin crawl.

“Nu-an-ces?”

She put her hand on his chest, felt the faint pulse of his heartbeat—Catteni had hearts after all. “I'll explain later, Zainal. Right now, I'm so tired I can't.”

“Go,” and he turned her toward the corridor. But when he gave her a little push, she grabbed his hand.

“You come, too. I don't mean to have Aarens jump out at me.”

“I like to come,” Zainal said and there was a decided glint in his eyes that made Kris wonder how she was going to dismiss this courtier. And, if she hadn't been so tired, she might—just now—have considered…She shook her head. The timing was wrong. She was so tired.

So, her hand tucked into his large one, they walked to her cave.

“Sleep well, Kris.”

“Don't you just know I will,” she said fervently.

To her utter surprise, he cupped her head briefly, tousling her hair before he let go. But he was off down the corridor before she could react.

“Too damned tired even for a goodnight kiss,” she said ruefully and gratefully sank onto her bed of boughs.

*   *   *

THE NEXT DAY, HER PATROL CONSISTED OF
Zainal, Coo, Slav, and the Doyle brothers. Their main objective: to find and disable as many mechanicals as they could, starting with those at the abattoir. The optimum, according to Capstan, would be to dismantle the solar panels if they could do so. Smashing the panels or smearing them with mud were equally viable, so long as the mechanicals were disabled. The secondary aim was to continue the interrupted reconnaissance of their immediate vicinity. They started out better equipped than ever, with ropes braided of vines which didn't burn the skin as the tough synthetic material of the blankets did. They each had slingshots, a pouch of suitable small rocks—that was one of the duties for the few youngsters in the camp—a flint-tipped lance, and bags of the new trail food. Kris had sampled it when Jay handed over the ration and it was definitely an improvement over the dry compressed Catteni bar as far as taste was concerned. Coo and Slav were given ration bars, Patti Sue doling them out with thoughtful care. The girl evidently had no trouble serving the alien males, though she never once looked at Zainal.

“We don't know if the pemmican supplies all your daily nutritional needs,” Jay said, “but you can hunt to augment protein.”

The Doyle brothers made cheerful companions, asking questions of both Kris and Zainal. Kris wondered if they had been chosen because, being Irish, they seemed to get along with anyone.

*   *   *

THEY MADE GOOD TIME, ZAINAL SETTING A COURSE
diagonally west of the patrol's earlier trek, the one which had resulted in their capture. They found a hillock and made their evening camp on its crest…until the rain came. It wasn't a soft rain: Kris figured that it was comparable to standing under the waterfall in her Barevian refuge. They huddled under an improvised tent made from their blankets, which gave them some protection from the driving force of the torrent. It rained hard for what Kris and the Doyles decided was probably an hour, though battered as they were, it seemed an endless period. Then, as abruptly as it started, it stopped.

“Like someone turned the shower off,” Lenny said, peering out of the damp shelter. “And hey, not a cloud in the sky and it's only the first moon. I'd recognize her anytime by her craters.”

They shook the blankets out: the synthetic seemed to shed the water—the outside a trifle damp to the hand but the underside dry.

“Amazing fabric,” Ninety said, crushing the edge of his blanket in his hand. “Give credit where it's due. Those Catteni make good survival gear.”

“Durable,” Kris agreed and looked over at Zainal, who was staring about the land below their retreat. “What d'you see?”

“Nothing.”

“That bothers you?”

“Yes,” the Catteni said and then lowered himself to the ground. “You take this watch, Kris. Wake Slav. Slav, you wake Coo. Coo, wake Doyles. You wake me.” Feeling which was the dry side of his blanket, he then pulled it around him and pillowed his head on his arm. “I sleep, then think better.”

Whatever he had feared at least kept them all alert on their
separate watches. Maybe, Kris thought as she woke Slav to take his turn, that was what Zainal had had in mind: sneaky so-and-so.

They were all awake before the sun came up, still not yet adjusted to the longer days and nights. They had saved enough dry droppings to make a fire to heat water from a nearby stream in their cups, adding the dried herbs that became a fragant tea to sip while eating their pemmican. There were worse ways to break a fast.

When they came to the next ridge, Zainal climbed to the highest point and surveyed the distances before pointing to their right.

“Hills,” he said cryptically.

“Can the mechanicals have built into every hillside?” Kris asked, half running to keep up with his long stride as he marched downhill again.

“We see,” Zainal said, grinning at her, his yellow eyes twinkling.