Freedom's Landing (30 page)

“What the hell does he think he's doing?” Dane demanded.

“Something other than lying in bed doing nothing,” Kris answered Leon's complaint. She nervously shifted her feet, knowing she shouldn't follow the big man, but wanting to be sure he didn't open that leg wound. He very carefully negotiated his descent, so she made herself relax. The question was: what urgent business could Zainal have with Mitford that he'd risk opening that wound? Something he couldn't trust her to do for him?
Down girl
, she told herself firmly. She might be his keeper but she was not his conscience. Whatever he was saying to Mitford, the Sergeant was listening very hard. Zainal was still there in the “office”
when she and Leon had finished eating and had to go back on duty.

*   *   *

THAT EVENING ESKER FOUND HER, SETTLING THE
other patients—none of whom had any English—in her den.

“Mitford needs to speak to you, Kris. And you, too, Zainal.”

He was gone before Kris could question him but, thinking over the tone in which the summons was delivered, she felt no apprehension. After all, Zainal had had that intense discussion with Mitford. Had the Sergeant reached a decision? If one was needed?

Mitford was, as usual this time of his long workday, sitting by the fire, the pottery pitcher of beverage by the side of his rock, the half-full cup in one hand. In the other, he had a stick and was prodding a chunk of wood to a better position in the fire.

“Zainal has some cockamamy notion of sending a mayday to his people next time they overfly us,” Mitford said, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at Kris. “He feels we haven't had the last of these drops.” Mitford gave a little sigh for the problems yet another influx of people would provide. “Now, fer starters, I don't know as how I want to appeal to them for any help, but it's the truth we need some sort of medical supplies as well as the proper nutrients for the Deskis. That thornbush junk is not quite enough, not for the older Deskis, though it's helping Coo. I just don't like to lose anyone, human or alien.” He scowled as he delivered that remark.

“How could we possibly contact them?” Kris said, turning to Zainal.

“Make this message on field,” Zainal said, and unfolded a slip of bark on which were written, or maybe drawn was the proper term for the four complex hieroglyphics Zainal had inscribed.

“How? We haven't rediscovered paint yet here.”

He gave her a brief smile. “Ground is dark under…” and he waggled his hand to try to find the appropriate word.

“Stubble? Grass?” she supplied.

“Whatever. Take off covering, leave ground bare.”

That was a good idea, only somehow Kris shared Mitford's obvious reluctance to make any contact with the Catteni.

“We put message many fields off,” and Zainal gestured to the north. “They know we live. They bring more they don't want.”

“They know we're here?” Kris asked, more disturbed by that than she liked, though a quick look at Mitford showed him more sanguine.

Zainal nodded. “Heat sensors.” Then he stretched his lip in a humorous grin. “That's why they fly over.”

“Humph, thought that might be it,” Mitford said. “Bastards!”

Then Zainal's grin altered to one of amusement at the Sergeant's acceptance and once again Kris was amazed at how that smile transformed his alien cast of countenance. He looked almost human, except for the white of his teeth contrasting with the gray of his skin. “Know we live so send more.”

“Yeah, but they still don't know about the existence of the Mech Makers!”

Zainal shook his head. “Sensors find warm bodies, not machinery.”

“Hmmm,” Mitford said, stirring the fire with his branch.

“Coo still weak but young. Older ones worse and get worser,” Zainal said urgently in English, then, in his concern, resorted to Barevi. “Catteni take captives everywhere, but they take good care of them. Of Rugarians, Deskis, Turs and Ilginish, and Terrans. Healthy bodies work better. Asking for proper food is acceptable.”

“Won't they find it strange that we ask in Catteni symbols?” Kris asked, pointing to his bark message.

Zainal grinned broadly again. “They know humans are smart,” he said in English. “Too damned smart so they drop them here. No trouble here. Coo and Pess good folks. Can't lose.” Now he turned his earnest expression on Mitford. “I
work with Deskis and Rugarians before. Good folks. We save them?”

“You sure have learned English quick, Zainal,” Mitford said in a drawl, temporizing, Kris thought. Then he regarded Zainal for a long moment. “And the Deskis deserve saving. Your guys'd just drop the supplies?” Zainal nodded. “They wouldn't come down to find out?” Zainal shook his head. “Why not?”

Zainal now laughed. “You make trouble. They…” He paused and Kris could almost see him trying to sort through his head to find the right words. “Play it safe. I play it safe, too.”

“You mean, you wouldn't take the opportunity to get off Botany?” Mitford asked that in such a mild tone that Kris hoped Zainal would see he was being deftly interrogated.

“They don't take back what they put down,” he said with a philosophical shrug.

Mitford grimaced. “So there's no chance we
could
commandeer one of their transports?”

Zainal considered this and finally shook his head. “They be careful where they drop.” He grinned. “Especially near you Terrans.”

“How do you know that?”

Zainal's teeth gleamed in the firelight when he smiled. “Know it before, back on Barevi. Lots of talk. Hear it now from the new ones. Believe it, too. I see how you work.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Mitford replied sardonically but amused by Zainal's approval. “Why would they do us a favor then?”

“I tell you why.” Now Zainal seemed to tense and Kris felt Mitford was pushing him too much, as if he didn't quite believe Zainal was on the level. “Keep healthy to…improve this planet.”

Suddenly Zainal held out the slip of bark with its symbols and, with one thick fingertip, explained them.

“This says ‘drop,'” and he pointed to the intricate hook in the center of the first glyph. “This says ‘food,'” and he ran his finger halfway around the next curlecue. “This Deski
creatures. This means”—and he moved to next glyph—“‘danger to the death surrounded by urgent.' Fourth one says ‘medicines for infection.' Four only. Easy to make, easy to read from distance.” His tone was cold and firm.

“Okay, okay, man, I believe you,” Mitford said. “Just had to ask.”

“These my people, too, now,” Zainal added, straightening his wide shoulders as if he, too, would assume some of that burden from Mitford.

“We are one people now, or by god I'll know why!” Mitford said so fiercely that Kris almost recoiled. The Sergeant saw her reaction and gave her a quick grin. “I could even get to like being in charge of this motley crew. So when will you be able to travel, Zainal?”

“Sunrise…”

Kris started to protest but Mitford held up a hand to silence her. “If he thinks he can, he can. Those Deskis need the right food. And we can use the Deskis' abilities. You go with him, Kris. How many will you need to carve the message, Zainal?”

The Catteni waved his hand to indicate he'd go alone.

“Stuff it, buddy, man,” Mitford said irritably. “You'll need help making those figures large enough to be seen from that altitude. I know. Had to do it in Nam once. Even SOS takes time to make.” He turned to Kris, an almost wistful expression on his face. “You don't happen to speak any Scandinavian language, do you?” And when she shook her head, he sighed. “New guys are all I have to send with you, but you can break 'em in to our new ways at the same time. And I'll pick you one that speaks English and the rest'll be told what to do. Got it?”

“Got it, sarge,” and she rose, recognizing a dismissal when she heard it. Zainal extended one hand to Mitford, which the Sergeant took readily enough and shook.

“You will not be sorry,” Zainal said as he rose.

“I sincerely hope not,” Mitford replied. “Esker will have a patrol ready at first light.”

THE NEXT MORNING
,
THOUGH ZAINAL WALKED
slowly, he did not appear to favor the injured leg. But, as they left Camp Rock, Kris realized that last night both men—maybe unintentionally—had avoided discussing what would happen if the Mecho Makers appeared first. Of course, with winter approaching…but it struck her as unrealistic to think that everything mechanical went down with the close of the growing season. Surely there was some sort of supervisor, or superintendant or overseer on the planet? Maybe on one of the other continents? Nevertheless, some
thing
must be in overall charge. When there was no response from the garages now that the solar panels were disconnected, some
thing
must register the lack of response. And check up.

And response was what they hoped to get. Or had Mitford's objectives changed now he was getting accustomed to being the top man here on Botany?

Well, as her grandmother used to say, why borrow trouble? It finds you soon enough.

*   *   *

DESPITE A BROKED NIGHT
'
S SLEEP
—
SINCE TWO OF
their roommates were so restless that any long period of sleep was impossible—Kris and Zainal were up well before dawn on Botany. They'd eaten—Bart was absent, asleep, one of the other cooks said, yawning—and were getting their travel rations when Esker came in with six people, five men and a
woman who was nearly as tall as Kris. She seemed relieved to see that Kris was in the party.

“I speak English,” she announced. “I am named Astrid. These are Ole, Jan, Oskar, Bjorn, and Peter. We lived near Oslo. Esker has told us we go with you to dig?”

“Yes, dig,” Kris said, with a reassuring smile because she obviously thought it an odd job. She shook hands all round. “This is Zainal, our leader.”

“You have Catteni as leader?” Astrid asked in a startled whisper.

“Good one, too, or you'd all been eaten.”

“Pardon?”

“The scavengers? The things that go bump in the night on this planet?” And Kris made a mouth of one hand and bit her other arm. Astrid reacted to that, jerking back and away from the demonstration.

“I do not always understand,” Astrid said apologetically. “We are still alive. We keep others alive?”

“Exactly! To help the Deskis keep alive we send a message.”

“Someone will read?” Astrid was clearly amazed. One of the men shot her a quick sentence in the oddly liquid Norwegian language. She answered him as quickly and turned back to Kris. “I don't believe.”

“Believe. We will carve the symbols on the ground to be seen in the air,” and she pantomimed the actions.

“Oh,” Astrid said and explained to her compatriots, who nodded in vigorous understanding.

“Kris?” and Kris recognized one of the Australian nurses, hurrying into the cavern, waving a sack made from part of a blanket, the ubiquitous material used for anything from aprons to tents. “More fluff dressings for Zainal's leg.” Then she shot an accusing look at the Catteni. “I knew you'd go off without them—and that leg still needs support and dressings every day. I don't care if you are some kind of superman, you bleed red like the rest of us. Here!” And she jammed the sack into Zainal's hand and whirled about and ran out again.

With a half-grin, Zainal managed to look slightly embarrassed as he stowed the sack into the larger one he was carrying.

“
Now
we go,” he said. Whether he had seen Mitford's gestures on their first trek or not, he raised his arm above his head and brought it down in the direction they were to travel.

Reassured by his manner, Kris motioned for the rest of the patrol to follow her and they left, as a good team, she thought.

While Zainal was not setting the pace he had on the first patrol Kris had done with him, he certainly didn't amble. By the first rest stop, Kris knew that the Norwegians weren't going to slow them down. Probably skied all winter in Norway. She kept her eyes on Zainal, though, to watch for any signs of an unconscious favoring of his injured leg. Then she became aware that he was watching her watch him.

“You tell us names of things?” Astrid asked during the break.

“I don't know as we've named much, Astrid,” Kris admitted, taking a swig of water from her pottery bottle. Sandy's kiln worked and she'd found a glaze, so the canteen, while still breakable, didn't leak. She even had a proper pouch for it, now attached to her belt. “There're botanists going about checking plants to see if they're edible and stuff like that, but I can't say as I've kept up with what they're doing.”

“You are out on patrol?”