Freedom's Landing (42 page)

“How would I know?” Kris muttered out of the side of her mouth, but, from the look on the captain's face, she also decided to get into the act. Zainal had given her the clue—
he
was in
her
patrol. She gave Zainal a stern look as if he shouldn't have retaliated. “Now wasn't that a half-ass thing to do when all we have to defend ourselves with is slingshots?” she said to Zainal in as imperious a tone as she could muster, as if telling him off. Which she was since the drawn weapons had scared her badly. She'd seen them in action and the charge they propelled jerked every nerve in a body unless you were lucky enough to be knocked out first.

“Worth it,” Zainal said but he made a subservient nod of his head at her and, stepping back slightly behind her, crossed his arms again.

The captain asked one more question, his tone almost plaintive as he rubbed his jaw.

Zainal gave a “that's impossible” sort of hitch of his shoulder.

The captain said something else, more briskly now, waving at his two subordinates, who moved off into the body of the ship. With a very respectful salute to Zainal, and a crisp but equally respectful bow to her, the captain stepped back into the ship and the portal slid shut, putting them in a darkness lit only by the one remaining moon in the sky.

“Hey, couldn't they leave the lights on until we got safely off this field?” Sarah cried.

“Stamp as you go,” Zainal said, turning and trotting away from the ship, coming down hard every third step.

“You'll tell us what we couldn't understand?” Worry asked, trying to pace Zainal but his shorter legs were unequal to it.

“I will.”

They were safely away from the ship when it raised vertically, as the transport had done, and then gathered speed in an ascent angle.

“VTOL! Wow!” Joe said. “Do all your ships have that capacity, Zainal?” He pantomimed the action.

“The ones that land, yes. Biggest, stay above,” Zainal replied and continued on.

Stamping, even every third or fourth step, jarred her tired body, but every time Kris felt herself slacking off, she thought of the slimy look to the scavengers' tentacles or feelers and that reinforced her step. They reached stony footing and, as one, leaned against the safety of the nearest rock.

“That last bit he said, before you socked him,” Kris asked firmly.

“Socked him?” Zainal asked.

He wasn't temporizing, because she realized “hitting” and its synonyms might not yet have come up in conversation. She demonstrated.

“In Catten women lead only other women,” Zainal said.
“But special…ah, rank of women do command even Emassi.”

“Why did you hit him?”

Zainal's lips curled in a snarl before he answered. “He put a bad name on you. A wrong name.”

“Thanks, but didn't you take a chance? They might have shot us because you hit their leader. That sort of thing got you in trouble before, you know.”

Zainal grinned, pressing his thumb against his chest. “The trouble is mine. I do not ‘sock' to kill so the others do not fire. They only…how do you say…” and he crouched, reacting with his hand standing for the weapon.

“Reflex action?” Joe suggested.

“Hmmm,” Zainal said although he had not quite understood the term.

“Let's leave the subject of Kris' honor aside,” Worry said. “Why did you want these?” He was unfolding the sheets. “Can't even see what they show in the dark.”

“Maps of this planet from space to tell us where we are. Where to go. Where…” and now he paused, frowning, unable to find words to use, “where biggest garage is.”

“Really? Had your blokes found it?”

He shook his head. “Show where metal is. A very…oh, funny? No, not funny.” He struggled, turning to Kris to help him out.

“An anomaly?”

“How in hell would he understand ‘anomaly'?” Worry asked.

“Oh, hush, I'll explain it. An anomaly is something that should not be where it is. A deviation from the normal. A queer difference.”

“Ah, yes.” Zainal became quite agitated. “That is it. More metal than good to be there. Many places. Lots of metal. Not right metal. Anomaly…hmmm,” and he almost tasted the word. “Something that is different.”

“They didn't
want
to give you these maps?” Sarah asked, also trying to discern details from the printout.

“No.”

'They wanted you to go with them, didn't they?” Kris asked pointedly.

“Yes, they said all was okay,” and his grin was broad with malice, “to come home. More than one day. Catteni drop me here. I stay here. They cannot make one rule for me, because I am useful to them, and one for other Catteni.”

“Man's got a sense of honor, so he has,” Joe said in mild surprise.

“Why not?” Kris snapped back.

“Why not indeed,” Joe said in a placatory fashion.

“Why didn't you go when you could? What was the duty they want you for?”

“Emassi duty,” and Zainal's voice turned inflexible. “Too late for that duty now. Once I wanted that duty. Not now. Much has happened. They drop me. I stay drop.”

“Dropped,” Kris said automatically.

“Dropped. Funny language, English.”

“You're not the first to think so.”

“Nor will I be last,” and he grinned in the night at her.

“So,” Worry said, “they wanted you for a duty you no longer feel you need do?”

“Right. No one believes what I told transport men about Mecho Makers.”

“So that's why you showed him the comunit,” Sarah carried on, “because he knows what supplies came with us and that certainly wasn't included.”

“Right,” Zainal said.

“So you showed him and now they will have to believe you,” Sarah went on, “but why wouldn't they believe you?”

“I dropped,” and he emphasized the final
d
of the past tense.

“So now what?” Kris asked, worried.

“We wait. We see.”

“And if the Eosi come before the Mecho Makers?”

“Not Eosi but someone higher than…” Zainal jerked his thumb upward indicating the late captain. “We wait. We see.”

“I don't like this,” Worry said. Then the comunit he wore
at his belt bleeped, a curious intrusion in the night. “Worrell here…Oh, Mitford. Yes, Zainal did make contact with the spacecraft. Here,” and Worry handed the unit to Zainal. “He shoulda called on yours.”

The conversation was one-sided but since everyone listening knew what had happened from Zainal's point of view, some of his responses were amusing. Possibly not on Mitford's end, but in the middle of a cold night—and Kris was beginning to feel the chill in the air—the responses held a humorous element. Finally Zainal gave a series of “okays” in response to Mitford's instructions, depressed the off button, and passed the device back to Worry.

“He knows. We know. We say nothing,” Zainal informed them.

“Say nothing?” Worry exclaimed. “The whole camp got wakened by that damned sentry rousing you and then me. They'll
demand
to know.”

Zainal shrugged and struck off up the next tier of rock.

“False alarm, that's what we'll tell them. It was a false alarm. Ship just flew over,” Worry went on.

“Wrong time of night to overfly anything,” Joe suggested, climbing behind Worry. “Moons went down early.”

“Nonsense,” Kris said firmly as she followed Joe, Worry, and Zainal. “We tell the truth, or how will they trust us?”

“Good point,” Sarah said, starting up. “We want to build trust, not destroy it.”

“Say nothing,” Zainal called down to them. “Smile and say nothing. Sarge will tell them what they need to know.”

“He's got a point there,” Worry said.

“One thing puzzles me,” Joe said, spacing out words as he climbed, “why your survey didn't tumble to the fact that this world—well, this continent at least—is all carved up into neat fields? Surely they must have seen the anomaly in that…a clear indication this planet was, had been, cultivated?”

Zainal answered. “Loo-cows and rocksquats not smart so planet is not occupied! They do not ‘see' the machinery.” He added a plainly derogatory phrase in the harsh Catteni.

Then they all had to save their breath for climbing. When they reached the Rock, only the sentries were awake, as they should be, and Worry brushed off their questions with a “Nothing to worry about. Tell you in the morning, I'm bushed.”

MITFORD ARRIVED THE NEXT MORNING IN A REFITTED
tractor which had been altered to carry six passengers. Mitford had with him the two NASA Mission Specialists, both of whom, he said, had had training in discerning planetary features from space. Kris, Zainal, and the others had breakfasted, well prepared for a Mitford debriefing. The MSS—a man and a woman with really nothing to distinguish them from anyone else except that they had been in space—took charge of the maps at one end of Mitford's desk which Worry had hastily surrendered to the Sergeant.

“Why'n't you take off with 'em?” was Mitford's first sharp question to Zainal.

He smiled. “I like it here better.” Zainal didn't look at Kris but Mitford did and she mildly returned his stare in a “none of your business” attitude. “I dropped,” and again he made much of the past tense, emphasizing the
t
sound. “I stay.”

She really didn't think it was only her presence that had caused Zainal to stay: he had made it clear to the ship captain that he felt bound by some obscure point of honor, though he might have used that as an excuse, she thought. Still and all, they must have really wanted him back to send a special fast courier to collect him. Hadn't they known where Emassi Zainal had been taken, considering the circumstances of his capture
before
the grace period had expired? The captain had
registered surprise, not a pleasant one, either, on seeing Zainal at his portal. Possibly the captain hadn't known who he was going to meet on this planet.

She found it hard to believe that Zainal liked her so much he couldn't live without her. Kris gave her head a little shake of denial but she couldn't help grinning slightly. Catteni and human were biologically sterile, even if they could enjoy sexual relations and “enjoy” was a pale word to apply to that tempestuous event. She was sort of hoping he'd ask for more: not that they'd had time for any further such…enjoyments. She didn't consider herself remarkably sexy—well, until Zainal had aroused her. Even without the sexual rapport, she liked Zainal. He was a complex man.
Man oh man, wasn't he just!
And he had conducted himself with tact and a respect for others during a very difficult few weeks. Back on Barevi, having a Catteni “interested” in you was not what you wanted. Zainal was, in all respects, different.

She had to wrench her thoughts back. The NASA pair were excited about some aspect of the symbols Zainal was translating from the map legend. Craning her head, she could see that not only were there overviews of each hemisphere of the planet but close-ups—if you wanted to call pictures of entire continents close-ups—showing contours, mountains, valleys. There were even seascapes of the ocean floors and their mounts and abysses. Complete! Then she gave full attention to what was being said.

“The position is perfect for a command post, sarge,” the man—Bert Put—was saying, tapping an elevation point, almost dead center of this, the main continent. “Not easy to get to but that's only a sensible precaution and here,” he pointed a blunt finger again, “is another concentration that matches the same symbol of the abattoir which we've already discovered. Possibly a garage, situated below the main facility. Everything's on remote, so it doesn't matter how far above the garage the command point is.”

“That location's not all that far…” Mitford said, pulling at his lower lip in a pensive fashion. “Hmmm.” He walked his fingers the distance. “Well, a good week's march.”

“Not now we have that vehicle,” Worry said eagerly.

“We've only got the one big one in operation…” Mitford began, “but hell's bells, it'll get a patrol there and back faster ‘n' safer than they could trot it. Okay, Zainal, Kris, Bert, Joe as medic, Sarah as hunter, and you'll need a good mechanic.” Mitford winced. “He's a pain in the butt, I know, folks, but the best mechanic we've got is Dick Aarens.”

“Aw, sarge,” Kris began in protest.

“Now,” and Mitford held up a placatory hand and stared her down, “he's not going to trouble you with Zainal along.”

“He hates aliens' guts,” Kris complained.

“He may, but he's proved that he can read the Mecho Makers' schematics and alter them as easily as you'd play with a Lego set. This is not an outing. This is a patrol! You gotta pass by Camp Narrow on your way so I'll go with you and give Aarens the business. You,” and Mitford turned to Zainal, including Joe and Sarah in the same glance, “discipline as and when he needs it. As hard as need be. The trip may even do him good.”