Freedom's Landing (29 page)

“We call it broth.”

“Good.”

She fed him and felt good about it.

*   *   *

THE MEETING WAS VERY WELL ATTENDED THOUGH
Kris missed some of Mitford's usual satellites, the Rugarians, as well as the Doyles. Even patients who could be moved out to the ledge in front of the hospital were present: Anna and her baby, the fracture cases—everyone except Zainal.

Kris was obliquely offended by that but talked herself out of indignation: plainly Zainal was too ill to be moved and she could report to him—and defend him if necessary. Now why was she feeling so defensive about the Catteni?

Jay Greene had Patti Sue on one side of him. She joined them, leaning against the rock face on Jay's left side.

“What's up?”

“Oh, a Mitford morale-building session and the latest news.” Jay grinned.

“What latest news?” Kris demanded, knowing he was baiting her and giving him an ingenuous grin.

“The batch you and Zainal discovered weren't the only drops that night. Mitford sent off an exploratory patrol to see how many fields got seeded in what we believe is the typical Catteni drop pattern.”

“More people?” Kris gave a frantic glance around the cave system, certainly overcrowded by the latest group of refugees. How
were
they going to cope? Then a rattle of the alarm triangle brought a wave of hush over the congregation. Mitford stood up, waiting until he had complete silence.

“Okay, folks, listen up. There're more drop-ins…” He paused until the mutter—Kris thought she heard resentment as well as surprise and concern—had subsided. “I take it as a good omen, considering what debriefing I've had.” He chuckled. “The Catteni aren't finding it as easy to subdue good ol' Earth as they expected.” A cheer went up. “And they've just increased our specialist department by four doctors, eighteen nurses, nine computer specialists, fourteen engineers, some good ol' hunter types from Australia, and a bunch of other real useful individuals, including some professional cooks, so we oughta be eating even better in the near future.”

“Even with so many mouths to feed, sarge?” a woman shouted.

He waved off that concern. “We got a whole planet to hunt and plenty of grain stored where we can get it.”

“Winter's coming…”

“So's Christmas and we'll have heating units from those solar panels long before. Now settle down. What we're going to do to relieve the housing shortage here is move into the buildings we know are empty and already plumbed for our benefit.”

“But all those machines…”

“Have been decommissioned,” Mitford said, raising his
voice to parade-ground volume. “The Botany Hilton or Sheraton or whatever, is safe, sound, and has,” he paused, “space available. Our local home decorators have been busy designing alterations, so I think you'll be surprised at how comfortable you're going to be.”

“I'm not so sure I wanna live near
machines.
…”

“Quietest neighbors you ever had, I'll betcha,” Mitford said and got another ripple of laughter. “Good chance of us having an intercom system, too, now we got more technicians. All that machinery's going to be recycled for
our
benefit!”

“Yeah, and what happens when their owners find out?”

The man spoke with a slight accent but Kris couldn't locate the speaker.

“As I understand it, Doctor Who always managed to evade the mechanicals and so can we,” Mitford said with great good humor and got more laughs. “Seriously, though, folks, our population's growing and,” once again he paused, “everyone's welcome. This is an equal opportunity situation. Let me make
that
plain. D'you get me?” He waited for the response and, to Kris' relief, got a fairly hearty cheer. “For one thing, there's safety in numbers, especially when you can recruit a lot of specialists who can improve our conditions. And we do. Hell, sixteen days since we got dropped to freedom on that field, we've even got decent spoons and forks, and better rations than we landed with. Furthermore, we've sorted out some basic problems our allies were having since Zainal and Kris Bjornsen found the nutrient plant that seems to be helping the Deskis. Even if Zainal found it…the hard way.”

Applause and good-natured laughter acknowledged that announcement and Kris was well pleased by both elements: that Zainal was getting the credit and that the Deskis were stabilizing.

“We Yanks have a reputation for making something out of nothing, and now that the Aussies have joined us, we'll do even better. There'll be duty and housing rosters up on the bulletin board,” and he pointed to the location on the
main cave wall opposite him, “in the morning, so be sure to check. We're going to try and make space here in the headquarters to process incomers and as general hospital. Tesco's in charge of quarters, Dowdall'll take work assignments. You need to see me, check with Cumber. That's all for now, folks. Dissss-MISSED!”

There was good-natured laughter at his military salutation and he disappeared into the darkness beyond the main campfire.

“Hi, Patti Sue,” and Kris leaned around Jay to speak to her. “Heard you've been a real Nightingale to the Deskis.”

Patti Sue linked her arm through Jay's in such a proprietary fashion that the gesture indicated her improvement from terrified refugee to self-confident young woman.

“Do what I can,” she said, her drawl more pronounced than ever.

“You've done marvels, and you know it,” Jay said, stroking her hand.

“D'you know if you're moving from the Rock?” Kris asked Patti Sue and then looked at Jay.

He shrugged. “Dunno yet. COQ'll be up tomorrow morning. We'll all know then.”

*   *   *

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, KRIS WAS ROUSED
by considerable noise in the corridor. Even Zainal was awakened, propping himself up on one elbow and trying to see out.

“Don't you dare put a foot on the ground,” she said, pressing him back down. She felt his cheek and he was considerably cooler than he had been when she had last checked him. “You're better. Don't mess up. I'll go see.”

She'd told him about the meeting and also that Mitford had given him credit for finding the remedy for the Deskis.

“Even if you had to do it the hardest way possible,” she'd said with some acrimony. He'd only snorted. “At least they know one Catteni's a good guy.” Maybe others wouldn't. She didn't add that, but that sentiment naggingly lingered at the back of her mind.

She folded on her shoes, the only thing she took off before going to bed, and went out into the corridor.

“Good!” One of the new Aussie medics grabbed her by the arm. “We need all the help we can get.”

The newest arrivals had not had a Zainal or Kris to stamp the ground and dispatch the scavengers, and there were many with mangled arms and legs. Most of the victims spoke languages she didn't understand but which sounded Slavic or Scandinavian. Only a few had some English.

When she was sent by Leon to get more supplies and rouse additional helpers, she saw that the ravine was crammed with bodies, draped wherever they had stopped, too tired to move another step. But the cook cavern was ablaze with lights. Sandy, Bart, and half a dozen others were busy at their hearths, and the “store” was busy with Jay and Patti Sue doling out supplies. Jay instantly filled the hospital order and she returned.

The third moon had set before she was released, and when she got back into the tiny den she shared with Zainal, she had to step carefully over the three other bodies bunked in there during her absence. Fortunately they were fast asleep, though she thought she saw Zainal's eyes glimmer in the corridor light as he checked out her arrival.

So no one was able to follow the carefully detailed rosters that were up on the camp's main bulletin board. More parties were sent out to help stragglers, to hunt, to collect additional supplies of grain from that supply depot. Jay complained that folks had to search fairly far from Camp Rock to find firing and brush for bedding.

By high noon, all the new arrivals had been fed a decent meal and had someplace to lay their blanket.

The Rugarians, led by Slav, finally returned, bearing the crates with the basic supplies that had been left with this new group. Class C was what Mitford decided to call them. All morning had to be spent extracting information from those who could speak English among the Russians, Norwegians, Swedes, Danes, Bulgarians, Romanians, and some Greeks who comprised this drop. The fact that so many different
nationalities were resisting the Catteni on Earth gave the entire camp a morale boost.

“But why'd they have to dump 'em here when they don't even speak English?” one man complained in a wail.

“Who asked?” a wit demanded. “We'll manage. Hell, I know five Deski phrases and nine in Rugs. I'll manage another few lingos. Well, at least, until they learn English.”

By evening the population had increased by a thousand and fifty-two: far more than the camp could accommodate even by crowding into all available cavern space.

Of Class C, those that could speak English and had not been injured or had suffered only minor hurts were sent off with Sandy, Joe Lattore, and Tesco to organize quarters in the abattoir buildings.

“They don't know
what
happened there, and I don't plan to tell 'em,” Sandy remarked to Kris when Kris came upon the woman, packing her pots and utensils. “I'll organize the cooking there. Twenty barns, are there?” When Kris nodded, “Ah, we'll probably be able to accommodate a lot more than we're taking with us right now, but it'll sure ease the crush.”

There was no longer sitting room in the cook cavern and every single hearth was going full-out all the time. The smell from unwashed bodies exuding fear as well as sweat quite masked the more appetizing odors of grilled meats and fresh bread.

When Sandy and her contingent had left, Kris couldn't see where space had been gained and went back to the hospital with the broth she'd gone to collect. Zainal was more eager for any news she had than the food she brought him but he ate that hungrily enough. His leg was nearly back to its normal sturdy size and the wound was healing cleanly. But it was still crater-sized and Leon had made it clear that Zainal was not to move about much.

Zainal did, though, helping with patients who had to be lifted when their dressings were changed or were being moved to new accommodations. He did more than he should, but she couldn't keep her eyes on him all the time and there was a lot to be done to make the injured as comfortable as
possible with no pain relief or more anti-infection medication than the harsh Catteni fluid. The merest drop of the powerful anesthesia tended to render a patient unconscious for a full day. Medically that was imprudent, however much relief it afforded the injured party.

“Whatever those critters are that scavenge, at least they bite clean,” Leon said later that day when Kris helped him bandage an arm wound. Flesh had been excised as cleanly as a scalpel would cut, but the patient had lost muscle as well as flesh and, from the extent of the injury, Kris rather thought the man would lose the use of his arm entirely.

“They bite big, too,” she murmured under her breath, after looking to be sure the victim was unconscious.

Leon only sighed and continued his repair. Kris was rather surprised at her ability to regard hideous tears of flesh and muscle with an objectivity she didn't know she possessed. She hadn't been nauseous once, though others on the temporary nursing staff were.

The dressing complete, both she and Leon finished the current round and walked toward the front of the “hospital.” A breeze was blowing in and freshening the air of the “emergency room,” which, for the first time in several days, was empty of patients.

“You,” and she took Leon by the arm, “need food and rest, not necessarily in that order, but I can see to it that you eat!” She gave a deep sniff of the incoming breeze. “Smells good, too.” Hauling him by the arm, she marched him out and down the ledge to the cook cavern.

“I hate managing females,” Leon protested, but weakly, as she maneuvered him past those busy with chores on the ledge.

Below, in his “office,” Mitford was still debriefing the able-bodied of the last batch though, from the expressions on his face and Esker's, he was making slow work of it with two blond Scandinavian types sitting there.

“Most Scandinavians speak English,” Leon remarked.

“The ones you've met in Sydney, or the ones in Oslo, Bergen, or Copenhagen?”

Leon laughed wearily. “I always wanted to take a travel year.”

“Well, guess what? You're on it.”

Already Kris missed the presence of Sandy at her hearth, but Bart was present, and evidently in charge of the catering.

“Never been in a job that was so damned constant,” Bart said when they presented themselves at his hearth. He rolled his eyes and then mopped the sweat off his forehead with a pad of fluff which he then dropped into the fire. It hissed. “I'm cooking all the hours the good Lord put in this crazy day. What's your pleasure? We got soup for starters, soup, and then, for the main course, soup. We even got crackers,” and he offered a square of unleavened stuff, “'cos we ran outta bread and the new baking hasn't risen yet.”

“Why, I think I'll have soup,” Kris said, getting herself a clean bowl from the stack at the hearth.

“I'll have a taste adventure, then, and try the soup,” Leon said and Bart grinned as he ladled out their portions.

“Don't ask what's in it, will ya,” he said as a final caution when they moved out to the ledge to enjoy their meal.

“That's a promise,” Kris said with a laugh.

The soup was tasty, with a tangy bite to it, as well as unidentifiable shreds of meat. The satisfying warmth in the stomach revived her. That was, until she saw Zainal carefully making his way down the steps to Mitford's office.