Freedom's Landing (38 page)

“They're twitching.”

“Let's not lay it on too thick.”

“Ah, sarge!”

“Easy does it. You do remember forcewhips, don't you?”

“They're not carrying any.”

“Only because everyone's unconscious.”

“Are you counting, Tesco?” Mitford added.

“I would if you…eight hundred twenty, one, two, and three…don't interrupt me allatime.”

“Let's not make them too mad, blokes,” Joe Marley said. “They're taking it out on 'em.”

Everyone shut up, now that Joe had pointed out the rough—rougher—way the Catteni were depositing the unconscious bodies. Almost slamming them into the ground.

“Zainal, can you tell them not to mash the cargo?” Mitford said, raising his voice to parade-ground level.

Zainal swiveled at the hips and, seeing one Catteni doing exactly what Mitford protested, snapped a savage bark. The erring Catteni made a big show of placing his burden down more carefully. The others, under Zainal's watchful gaze, behaved more circumspectly.

“Is Zainal going to stay there until they finish?” Lenny asked, leaning down to Kris, his expression anxious.

“I think so. At least he can curb their boyish bad habits.”

“How does he get away with it?” Lenny asked.

“Because he knows how to give orders,” Mitford said almost admiringly.

Idle conversation continued among the watchers' gang, but no more bursts of laughter to annoy the Catteni. Tesco had got up to a thousand when Mitford gestured for Dowdall to take over. Then more cartons were brought out which the Catteni stacked on the other side of the field, in a sort of farewell gesture of bad feelings. Still Zainal waited.

All the soldiers had disappeared within the ship and the silence was broken only by noises from the vessel itself, metallic complaints and emissions of liquid and steam. Suddenly the watchers could all hear the sound of boots on metal and a second delegation, five Catteni this time, appeared in the opening. Two stayed inside, three came down, and two stopped partway. The remaining Catteni, dressed in a more elaborate uniform and shorter by a full head than Zainal, came right up to him and presented first a sheaf of what Kris thought had to be printout, and then another folder. These were presented most punctiliously. Kris thought for a moment
that the officer was going to click his heels together and bestow a Teutonic military bow on Zainal.

Zainal accepted the offerings, almost diffidently, said a few words in a low voice, and casually sauntered away from the ship. The blinding blue-white lights went out, the ramp was retracted, and they could hear warm-up engine sounds from the ship.

For a moment Kris feared that the exhaust from its engines would fry the nearest bodies. But, whining at a pitch that made everyone cover their ears defensively, the big transport lifted vertically in a slow ascent, then edged forward. When it was several fields beyond its landing site, the rear engines glowed from yellow to white to a blue actinic light that made Kris and the others cover their eyes.

The wind of its passage was enough to knock several off their feet: the bodies of the latest victims fortunately were low enough to be under the blast path.

Kris could no longer contain herself but rushed out to Zainal, who had begun to walk more briskly, undisturbed by the takeoff wind.

“Did you get what you wanted? What
did
you want that took so long?” she cried as she neared him.

“I got the explore report,” and he held up the folder, “and medicals on Deskis.” He held up the sheaf. “Treatment for Deskis…” and he pointed to the carton Kris had lugged over. “Medicals for humans and Rugarians,” and he indicated the others. “And testers.”

“How come they snapped to for you, Zainal?” Joe asked.

Zainal grinned. “I may be down but not out.”

Kris giggled nervously at his casual use of the slang.
Go to the head of the class
, she thought.

“I am still Emassi and they
know
it,” he added, snapping out the “know.”

“So what's 'emassi' when you're at home?” Joe demanded, cocking his head to one side.

“A…born rank.” Zainal shrugged it off.

“Birth rank,” Kris corrected automatically. She wanted Zainal to speak English properly.

“I understood him,” Joe said in tacit reprimand.

Kris firmly closed her lips to a smart retort. Now was not the time to bicker.

“Look at it this way, folks, we've almost doubled our population—the easy way,” Mitford announced when he jumped to the top of the crate.

“Back at the old stand, huh, sarge?” someone shouted.

“Yeah, and we'll follow the same routine. Only this time we're ahead of the game. We know the drill. Dowdall, get back to Camp Narrow and organize beds and food. Send me at least twenty more people. Bring some buckets and pitchers so we can water 'em. We'll start sending folks back as soon as they're able to walk. It's not that far and that's a blessing. You, you, you and you, start moving among 'em and pick out the injured—those Cats really banged some of 'em down hard—and any d.o.a.'s. Lenny, Ninety, break open these cartons. Su, Jay, start distribution. Then, Jay, you lead the first group of fifty back to Camp Narrow.” Mitford jumped down again and stood by Zainal. “It looks to me like they emptied their entire load on this one field. That right, Zainal?”

Zainal nodded.

“Is that report readable?” Mitford peered at the glyphs, which resembled those that Kris had helped carve in the hillside.

“Yes. I also told them that this planet is occupied by others of high-tech skill.”

“Did they believe you?”

“No.” Zainal's grin was bleakly amused. “But they will tell to those who need to know.”

Mitford gave him a sharp stare. “Why didn't they believe you? Did they think you were lying er something, to get off planet?”

Zainal shook his head. “I told them, first, that I am dropped and I stay.” He did not look in Kris' direction but she knew, definitely, that he was saying that for her benefit and her heart did a little painful jump.
Stupid!
But she was so glad that he hadn't gone. “They believe report says this planet…empty.”

“Lord,” Joe Marley said in a groan, “how'd they miss the garages?”

“Garages do not show warm-blood life forms,” Zainal said and grinned.

A nearby groan from one of the bodies interrupted the conversation and they sprang into action. Actually, Kris thought as she took Mitford's own canteen to the nearby stream to fill it, Zainal, she, and the others needn't have run so fast or risked broken bones to get here. It had taken the Catteni several hours, at least, to unload. They could've walked, or waited for breakfast, but she was damned glad they hadn't. She'd have missed Zainal standing there like a Gibraltar Rock. Would he have continued to stand there all day, if they hadn't been willing to accede to his requests? Or demands? Being an Emassi certainly granted him privileges, even if he had been dropped.

THEY WERE SO WELL ORGANIZED
,
AND MITFORD
harangued so effectively, that the “indigenous personnel,” as he referred to them, were served hot, revitalizing drinks from a hastily erected camp kitchen before the sun was halfway up the sky, and later sandwiches for lunch. The newly awakened were kindly advised to stick to water at first and then slowly chew down a third of a ration bar: gorging on empty stomachs led to unpleasant reactions.

Mitford had immediately sent the medical crates—all but one tester kit—on to Camp Rock with news of this new drop and a request to Worry to send Leon and other medical assistance. The Catteni had broken a few bones for those they had slammed down so hard. Some of the new lot would have to be accommodated at the Rock, as people were beginning to call the cavern camp, almost affectionately. Kris felt considerable gratification at the thought that Leon would now be able to treat Coo, Pess, and the pregnant female and to keep the newly arrived Deskis healthy.

By the time the first batch of fifty moved slowly out on their way to Camp Narrow, Mitford had taken Kris off wake-up duty and put her onto debriefing: getting names, occupations, origins, and lastly but just as importantly, what they might know of recent events—recent to them—on Earth. The mere fact that people were resisting the Catteni continued
to boost morale. Today's encounter on the field also ranked as a major plus.

“Getting something out of the Cats without having to pay for it,” was the happy summation.

When she took a few moments to eat her lunch, Mitford approached her for a synopsis of her findings.

“So far the humans I've got originated from North America, Canadians as well. Then there seems to be a whole raft of English, French, and German. Resistance,” and she grinned, “is increasing and the Catteni have had to call in reinforcements to deal with stoppages and sit-downs and all kinds of passive movements. There's also active sabotage, too, blowing up Catteni supplies or shipments destined for Catten or Barevi.”

“Shipments? Arty things?”

“Not that I heard. Somehow, sarge, I don't think our artistic tastes would parallel Catteni.”

“Hmmm. Possibly. Any useful professionals?”

“Two Canadian dentists, nineteen teachers—it seems the Catteni emptied a private school for one reprisal. They took…all the girls away,” and the words came reluctantly out of her. “Some of the teachers are nuns. They resisted the kidnapping. One said she had had her arm broken. It looks a bit crooked, and I can feel the excess calcium where the break was, but basically it's completely knitted.”

“A long time coming here, then. What
do
they use for this stasis junk?”

Kris shrugged as she flipped over her sheets to pick out the more interesting occupations. “Five hairdressers, two masseurs, a reflexologist…”

“A what?”

“Makes your feet happy.”

“Argh.”

“You should try it, sarge, it can really relax you!”

“I said
useful occupations!
”

“How about two chemists, five pharmacists, a structural engineer, nineteen housewives, three with kids still attached,
and…you know, there's not a single person over fifty among those I've talked to.”

“Don't give me nightmares,” Mitford said.

“Two jewelers, three ex-soldiers, and a detective-inspector.” She came to the end of her report on the morning's interviews.

It took the rest of the long Botany day to process everyone. Zainal talked to the new Deskis and sent several up to watch for fliers, but Mitford felt that, having disassembled the garages, whatever mecho summoned the fliers had been disabled, but he was quite willing to post sentinels, “just in case.”

Three hundred and two dead were left on the field. Some could be identified by others who had been captured with them at the same time, so their names were recorded. Kris had to look away from the small bodies of the children. Those under five could not endure the stasis. Their deaths, so needless, so terrible, distressed her.

“You never know them,” Zainal murmured to her when he saw the tears in her eyes.

“No, and no one will now.”

She turned away, fighting with the fact that Zainal was Catteni, too, and a member of the species who had caused the deaths. She told herself firmly that Catteni or not, Zainal had done all he could to help and certainly he had been able to reduce unloading injuries. They should also give thanks that he'd been able to ensure just one drop site. Even Mitford's talents as an organizer would have been stretched to mount multiple rescue operations and get everyone under cover before the scavengers emerged from the night ground.

Zainal touched her arm gently. “We go now. Night falls.”

“Yes, it does,” she said, heaving a sigh against the stresses of the very long day in which she had been going all-out most of the time.

*   *   *

THE RESCUE TEAMS WERE SOMEWHAT CHEERED BY
the hot meal awaiting them at Camp Narrow. Having so many barns available for housing—since the resident population
of the camp was only a few hundred—made the difference between total chaos and mere confusion. Many of the newly arrived did their best to help, either settling their injured comrades or lending a hand with the chore of feeding the multitude. Leon and his medics had set up an infirmary for the injured and the weak. Kris saw Zainal and Leon examining the contents of the tester kits, Zainal carefully translating the properties of the various vials to the doctor.

Since there were a number of totally frightened aliens in that category, Leon had Zainal stay on to translate. Slav could at least reassure members of his own species who, Kris noticed as she ate, seemed quite cheerful. They were certainly inspecting Slav's weapons and even trying to pull his bow, hissing in the Rugarian equivalent to laughter. Several of them were females, which might account for Slav preening as much as he did. She hadn't really thought about how the other species would manage, either in relationships or propagation. If what was dropped on a planet stayed down, at least mating would be possible for all five species. But not Zainal. She put that exclusion to the back of her mind.