Freedom's Landing (9 page)

“Just checking.”

Zainal chuckled. “Know that Emassi have no reason to lie.”

The first moon was now well above the hills and shining hard into their faces, lighting the rocky track so that they didn't inadvertently step on sleeping bodies. For a big guy, Zainal was agile. Course he was used to a heavier gravity, but that didn't keep some Cats from being damned clumsy, squashing bystanders in their brawls.

“We'll be left alone now to get on with the job of settling in?”

“That is the way.”

“How soon before anyone checks in?”

Zainal paused, walking in silence, then held up two fingers. “Depends. Drop more prisoners if we live. Then check in half a year, year. See how we do.”

“You're part of ‘we'?” Mitford wasn't sure if he liked that suggestion of solidarity. The Cat hadn't been in the same boat as the humans: figuratively, that is. Or maybe he was.

Zainal snorted. “I drop. I stay. I am not against you. I am
with
you.”

“Fine by me,” Mitford said, waited a beat, “but you won't find everyone exactly welcoming.”

Zainal chuckled. “Emassi are also not welcome everywhere. I will survive.”

Somehow Mitford didn't doubt that a moment. And he intended to keep this Catteni alive. Mitford could think of several ways, easy, that this Zainal might be of use to him, especially if he was also discontented with these Eosi overlords who ordered everything. “Then if we can keep alive, they unload more rebels?”

“Rebels?”

“Yeah, rebels,” Mitford said, “people like us who protest Catteni rule.”

Zainal grinned. “Good word, rebels. I like it.”

“You wouldn't be a bit of a rebel yourself, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

Mitford caught the edge on that mild rejoinder and wondered.

“We must talk about this at a later date,” Zainal said. “You speak Barevi lingua well,” he added in a louder voice.

“I'm a survivor, Emassi. And learning the local lingo fast is essential to survival. I got enough of five-six languages from Earth to get around the world: Barevi wasn't hard to pick up.”

“No, it is not.”

“A simple language for simple folk?”

Now Zainal gave a soft chuckle. But that was the last either said because fatigue was getting the better of both as
they neared the head of the sleeping column of rebels.
Yeah
, Mitford thought again,
I like that rebel bit.

After checking that the sentries he had set were still awake, Mitford gratefully spread his blanket on the ground.

“If you think of anything more from that report, Zainal, lemme know,” Mitford said as he lay down.

“I will.”

MORNING WAS NOT FUN
!
ONCE AGAIN KRIS ACHED
in many places and knew that pebbles had moved under her during the night to make tender spots where she didn't need them. Patti was still flaked out when Kris rearranged the girl so she could get up. She had to go. She made her way down the hill to a boulder that had already been used for this purpose although someone had had the courtesy to sprinkle dirt on what they'd done. She did the same. Greene was waiting for her with full cups of water.

“Gawd, what I wouldn't give for a cuppa coffee,” he said, grinning at her over the rim of his cup.

“Never said a truer word,” and Kris rather liked his grin. Why was it she had to be dropped on this godforsaken planet before she met any decent fellas? She could notice a few more details about him, too. He looked awful thin, and his hands showed lots of healed cuts and nicks and the palms, when he gestured, were heavily calloused.

“Did you really steal the commander's flitter?”

Kris groaned. “I did but I wouldn't have if I'd known the sort of reprisals the Catteni would take.”

“Don't distress yourself over that, ma'am,” he said, grinning more broadly. “The very idea that one of us could, did, and had gave us all heart.”

“Except the ones who had long interviews with force-whips.” She shuddered, her back muscles writhing in sympathetic
reaction. The twice she'd felt that sort of nerve-paralyzing lash had been quite enough.

“The Cats looked for any excuse to intimidate us Terrans,” Greene said. “We were more than they expected, in case you hadn't heard. Did they recapture you er something?”

“No,” Kris said, drawling the negative out to emphasize her chagrin. “My timing was bad. I'd snuck a trip into the city just when the cruisers started spreading gas to quell that riot. And what was that riot about?”

“Oh, we tried to break up another one of their little discipline sessions. One thing led to another and we ended up a mob. No sense, no reason, just rushing about breaking up anything to hand!”

She nodded, finishing the last of her bar and licking her fingers.

Word was passed down to get a move on.

Patti Sue managed the morning on her own feet and then collapsed again. She apologized to the point that Kris was grinding her teeth not to snap at her. It was a little difficult to avoid the apologies and self-deprecations when the girl's lips were a few inches from her ear. Greene did what he could, chatting about this and that because his talking silenced Patti. His buddy was a Rugarian who said nothing, stopping and starting when Greene did, and seemingly oblivious to every other stimulus.

“What were you back on good ol' Terra?” Kris asked, to while the time.

“Ahha, computer technician. So, of course, they had me digging, shoveling, and sweeping on Barevi. At least they weren't prejudiced. Anyone big got that duty.” He made a muscle in his arm and pulled the coverall tight across it so she could admire the result. “Actually, it beats a sedentary life in front of a screen. I've never been this fit.” And he cast a critical eye on Patti's frail body. “You're sure…” he began for the third time since lunch.

“I'm sure.”

Patti Sue had either fallen asleep or retreated into a comatose
state. The only thing that reassured Kris was that her skin was cool, not hot with fever. She soldiered on. However, she told herself that next time buddies were assigned, she was going to choose.

The afternoon became one long struggle to keep upright and put one foot in front of the other. They had to make three climbs up rock faces…Kris did hope that Mitford had had accurate reports from his advance scouts, because she sure didn't want to come back
down
the last one. They'd had to rig a blanket sling to get the limp Patti Sue up it. Kris ended up with scraped shins and lost some fingertip skin. The items that hadn't been in the Catteni survival crates were legion. Decent gloves, pitons, rope, pickaxes, backpacks, a bar of chocolate were among those she dreamed of. Needles and thread! Band-Aids.

There were three falls, one broken leg. The Deskis, for all their fragile looks, had almost glided up the rock face. That could be a useful skill, she thought, amazed that she could think of anything other than being able to continue walking.

When her courage was beginning to peter out into utter despair, the word was passed back that their destination had been reached by the first elements.

They'd had one? That amazed and heartened her.

*   *   *

WHEN SHE GOT THERE, SHE DIDN
'
T KNOW IT. ONE
, she had stumbled and had to lean against the cliffside to steady herself. She'd had a terrifying, if brief, look at the drop she'd nearly plummeted down. Two, she was too exhausted even to care that she would now be able to stop walking.

“I'll take her,” a male voice said and the burden of Patti was lifted from her back.

Someone put a hand on her arm and led her from the cliff, pushing her head down so she wouldn't crack it on a low entryway. The darkness a few meters inside was suddenly alleviated by—of all things—fires. They didn't
smell
like fires should but the rosy glow
looked
like the real thing. She later found out that Zainal had experimented with various
types of wood, for lack of a proper description of the material he gathered from the vegetation, until he found a combustible substance. He found other things, which included dried dung, to augment what “wood” could be gathered as they marched. The dung smelled but it gave off heat and light, which were essential.

Someone took her cup—she protested, but before she could get violent about the matter, the cup was returned to her, full of water.

“Keep moving,” she was told and a hand gently guided her in the direction she was supposed to go…a narrow path through outstretched legs and boots. She went left, then right, then left again as guided and had her head pushed down to enter a smaller cave. There was a small fire, one that didn't smell too badly, in a circle of glinting stones in the center. Smoke went straight up and she tilted her head, nearly falling over backward since her balance was as tired as the rest of her senses, and couldn't see the ceiling.

“Over here,” and she was guided to one side of the fire where there weren't any legs or boots. “Sit.” A gentle hand pressed down on her shoulder and, quite willing to obey, she sat.

When she felt someone fumbling with her blanket, she tried to push the hands away.

“Sleep in blanket.”

The odd phrasing caught her attention and she blinked to focus on the face in front of her. Zainal it was who was untying her blanket. No one else was that big. That was all right then. She owed him. Or did he owe her?

“Lie down,” he said, an order that she was only too happy to obey.

She worked her way down to a recumbent position and felt the blanket tucked around her. What odd behavior for a Cat…no, she must not shorten the name. Catteni. Maybe “Teni” would be less egregious than “Cat”?

That was the last thing she remembered for a very long time.

*   *   *

MITFORD WOKE SUDDENLY, HIS WELL
-
DEVELOPED
internal clock rousing him after his customary six hours' sleep. It was dark as the inside of a pocket and it took him a moment to establish where he was. He rose cautiously to one elbow, identifying the sleeping forms around him: Taglione, Murphy, Dowdall, and yes, the dark mass of the big-shouldered Catteni.

Fit as Mitford tried to keep himself, apart from that enforced sleep on the prison ship, he felt some twinges of yesterday's exertions. Well, today would be another bitch and he'd better start it, what with all he had to do.

He berated himself once again for setting himself up in command of this chickenshit outfit, but who the hell else in this misassorted herd of humanity, and aliens, would have organized anything? It had made his blood boil to see them quibbling over how many knives they should get, and who'd have the blanket concession. Just chance that he'd known a couple of the looters from being in the same barracks with them on Barevi so he'd been able to inveigle their support with a hint and bit of verbal persuasion. No need for anyone to get greedy over the goodies. There looked to be more than enough to go round. He couldn't stand greed and he hated bullying. Some might not believe that, but it was the truth. So he'd waded in and got the supply situation organized to his satisfaction and doled out the hardware in an orderly fashion. He should have known one thing would lead to another. But no one had contested his authority. Or them that had, had taken themselves off.

And hell's bells, after twenty-seven years in the Marines, he knew how to get a motley crew to act as a unit. He trained up enough raw recruits into good fighting men. Even women. Then he had a couple of advantages, too. For starters, everyone here had been taking orders they couldn't buck so he'd just continue the practice, gradually easing them back into a more democratic government when he had everything suitably organized and independence was feasible. Right now, they'd better stick together, and keep the useful aliens handy. He was glad to be rid of the Turs, sullen argumentative bastards,
and the Ilginish had always been difficult to deal with in the barracks at Barevi. They'd taken themselves off, most of them, and that was fine by him. Humans he could handle any day of the week.

So they were in a defensible position, even if he still didn't know what he might have to defend against. They had a good source of underground water in that cave lake his scouts had found. The Cat—Mitford reproved himself—how he treated Zainal, the Catteni, would go a long way to establishing how most of the others would regard the alien. And, if he wanted to make contact with the Catteni at a later date, he'd need someone in his ballpark to hit the homers. Right now the only one available was Zainal. At any rate, Zainal had found time to hunt as he scouted ahead with Tag and Murph and had clubbed some local fauna. He proved it was edible by eating a hunk of it raw. Mitford preferred his meat cooked but, to him, the gob which he had chewed and swallowed had tasted just like raw meat usually did. The critters just squatted on the rocks in droves or herds, didn't move when humans approached—which suggested to Mitford that they hadn't seen any humans to know to fear them—so they were dead easy to bring down.