by neetha Napew
with you. You sound almost Emassi. After “Schkelk”, you repeat the original message to be sure they heard you right the first time. Next you say “Kotik?” in the way which means they are not to question you again?”
“Got it.”
He drilled her and drilled her until her voice became hoarse enough without a need to strangle herself. She was surprised to see that first moon was bright and high when he finally said she was good enough.
He took out the unit and held it up. ‘Now!’
“Now? You mean, we do it tonight?” She panicked; she wasn’t ready yet. ‘But Bert and Raisha . . .” ‘They are here. I saw them drive in. I brief them, too. So we send message now. All is fresh in your mind. And mouth.” He pressed the finger pad and, much too quickly for Kris’s peace of mind, a voice responded. Kris gulped and began her well-rehearsed message: overriding one question with as harsh a’Schkelk’ as she had ever been given. Zainal nodded assurance, wagging his hand to reassure that the interruption meant nothing. She said ‘Chouma’ as nastily as she could and went right into the prepared speech again. By this time she was so scared that her final ‘Kotik?” came out every bit as savage as the worst Catten guard.
An almost meek ‘Kotik’ plus two syllables she didn’t understand was the response, and Zainal depressed the disconnect button.
“Baby, you were great!” And Zainal tousled her hair and pressed his cheek against hers with great affection. That had become his special caress for her.
“But what was that last bit?”
“Your name. You are, or were, Arvonk.”
Kris made a face. ‘Awful name.”
“Useful to know.”
“They answered awful fast.”
Zainal considered that. ‘They want Zainal bad. They are there till they get me.”
“In a bigger ship?”
“The scout is ship enough for this errand.”
“They’re NOT getting you!” she said, jumping to her feet.
“No, they are not,’ he agreed equably and took her hand as they made their way down and across to Mitford’s office.
I:
l
Mitford must have been watching because the group he had been speaking to were abruptly dismissed. Surprised, they passed Zainal and Kris on the way up the steps. Bert Put, his lean face alight with anticipation, and Raisha Simonova raced across the gorge to catch up.
They didn’t until Zainal and Kris
entered Mitford’s office.
“You got the message through?” Mitford asked.
“They come. Kris spoke like good Emassi.” Zainal was grinning with obvious pride as he held the door open for her.
“I had to say it often enough to get it right,’ she said gruffly
and, with instant solicitude, Mitford offered her a cup of the
herbal tea that everyone had come to enjoy.
Bert and Raisha came in and took seats, but sitting so tenta- I
lively that Kris knew they had no idea why they had been
summoned.
“Have you spoken to your team yet, Zainal?” Mitford asked.
“Not yet. They will do what needs to be done with no
problems.”
Mitford grunted and scratched the back of his head. He still
did not look Kris in the eye, which somewhat appeased her.
“May I have paper?” Zainal asked and Mitford quickly supplied him with sheets and a pencil. With his usual quick, sure strokes, Zainal sketched what had to be the interior of the scout.
Bert’s eyes grew rounder and wider, while Raisha watched with
avid fascination.
“The interior of a Catteni scout?” Bert asked, incredulous eyes
on Zainal’s face. ‘How?” he demanded, and Raisha sat right on
the edge of her stool.
“You said nothing to them about Phase One, sergeant?” Zainal
asked as he continued to detail the layout.
Kris covered her grin with her hand because Zainal had
suddenly turned pure-Emassi and Mitford reacted by sitting straight up,
exactly as a subordinate should. He did spare one
droll but respectful look in Zainal’s direction before he spoke.
“Bert, Raisha, we mean to catch us a scout ship tonight,’ he
ll
l said, and both gawked in disbelief. ‘A few nights ago a Catteni ship landed four commando types on a field.”
“Oho!” Raisha said and turned pale.
“That would have been their first mistake,’ Bert said with a smug grin.
“Their second was in thinking it would be easy to find Zainal,’ Mitford said. ‘Fortunately night-crawlers left boots and some other inedible pieces of equipment. So we can lure the scout back down.” ‘You mean, like tonight?” Raisha shifted forward on her chair, inhaling with deep delight.
Kris couldn’t resist jumping in then. ‘I told them to land silently, with no lights, to meet me and an unconscious Zainal.
That I needed help moving him as he’d killed two others trying to escape before I could zap him.” Raisha looked slightly confused. ‘One pair of boots was a lot smaller. Cherchez la femme.” ‘Oh, gotcha!’ Raisha said. ‘Only how do we avoid the nightcrawlers?” - Mitford went through the rest of Phase One and the two gave a small round of applause when he finished.
“Look, I did a lot of training but only one short shuttle flight,’ Raisha began anxiously.
“I only had two, but one as navigator,’ Bert said, though both were clearly dying to go on despite admitting their inexperience.
“You’ll do good,’ Zainal said, so convincingly that both demurred. ‘A scout can carry six at most. Four were set down.
I think only two remain. Both can be told to come help Arvonk, the contact,’ and he pointed at Kris. ‘Maybe not. So, if we have to get in fast and kill, inside is like this.” He walked them through the tight passageways of the scout ship and then, using the drawings he had also made of the control panels, talked them through the short preflight sequences. He mentioned the colours of the relevant toggles and drew diagrams of the icons above other controls. They concentrated so hard that Kris could almost see them absorb words and drawings into their heads.
“We take Leon who speaks Catten to give last warning of trick by Zainal and then . . .” Once again he used his finger across his throat and grinned. ‘I will show you how to circle moon and glide to land.” He turned to Mitford. ‘We hide scout and then I work you hard to learn how to pilot Catten vessel.” ‘You will?” Bert’s eyes were nearly popping out of theirI sockets, but Raisha assumed an aura of complete calm con-I fidence and gave a little sigh. i Zainal had certainly made two people very happy. ‘Study hard now. Kris and I prepare our team.”
-
For a plan that had been so hastily put together, it could not have gone more smoothly. Kris was shaking badly when the comunit buzzed, but Zainal had rehearsed her in two more phrases.
“Arvonk,’ she said, hand on her windpipe, and added in harsh Catteni, ‘See you. Glide in. Chouma.” Which she added on her own.
They could just make out the ship in the gleam of the rising moon as it settled silently in the corner of the field. A brief glint of muted light was cut off as the hatch closed.
Zainal was pretending to be one of his own captors, Kris the other, while Leon, being tall, was plainly leaning against Zainal as if unconscious. Joe Marley, face blackened, hunched over the controls of Mitford’s usual air-cushion machine and eased it forward at a slow walking pace.
The first surprised burst from the Catteni was the signal for Fek and Slav to rise from their crouching positions and dispatch both with silent lances. Then Joe increased the power of the vehicle and they whizzed down the field to the scout. Zainal hit the exterior release and Bert and Raisha bolted through as soon as the hatch was wide enough. It was Leon’s turn now.
“Stolix Zainal,’ he called out, trying to sound triumphant
but listening to be sure there was no sound of another person on board.
Zainal pushed past, knife at the ready, and strode with no stealth at all towards the bridge in the prow of the small spaceship.
Those listening outside heard him slide a panel.
“Were only two,’ he called back.
“Permission to come aboard, sir?” asked Bert, not quite facetiously, as he adhered to protocol.
“Permission given,’ Zainal replied and Kris heard the relief ini
his voice.
“I just want a quick look,’ she said and followed Raisha and Bert down the passageway. She wondered if scout crews were chosen because they were physically small enough to manoeuvre in such enclosed spaces.
Zainal certainly had to walk sideways.
Raisha was already seated in one position, with Bert running his fingers lightly across this and that panel as if confirming the briefing Zainal had given them. The look on his face made Kris gulp.
He was having a hard time believing that he was actually preparing to go into space again - not as an unconscious passenger this time. She envied them.
“Kris, one last message,’ Zainal said, turning her towards the controls. ‘Say “Arvonk icts, stolix Zainal. Escag. Klotink.”’ She muttered them over to herself and then Zainal pointed to the speaker grille and threw up a toggle. She almost forgot to grab her throat, but the fact that she could say the words with authority lent a certain vibrant triumph to her tone. ‘What did I say?” Zainal ruffled her hair. ‘Arvonk here, have Zainal. Return.
Out.”
“Out sounds too much like Kotik, accept.”
“Not to Catteni listener. Now, out. The satellite must record the
take-off.” He escorted her down the cramped aisle to the
l
hatch, one large hand on her shoulder. At the hatch, he put his cheek against hers, pressing hard against it before he hit the ‘open’ button.
Dazed as she was by the night’s success and the prospect of being without him for a day or two, she remembered to step carefully down onto the air-cushion platform. She lifted one hand to her cheek, feeling his against hers.
Joe drove off, and was picking up speed when Fek abruptly shouted, ‘Stop!” Surprised, Joe braked so quickly his passengers had to grab at each other to remain upright and in the vehicle. Fek leaned over the side, peering down at something Kris was very glad she could not see as clearly as the Deski could. With a grab as deft as Whitby’s fishing, Fek wrenched aboard something that clattered as it fell. She reached down again, arm at full stretch and her other hand clutching Joe, and got hold of something else. A ray of light illuminated a field that writhed and seethed, for it was a hand beam she had retrieved. Kris groaned and turned her face away. The nightcrawlers bumped in futile search at the floor of the vehicle.
“You see, Slav?” Fek asked, grinning the triangular Deski smile as she focused light on the other side of the vehicle, and the other victim.
“I see. I get.” And Slav made two equally speedy retrievals.
One he held up for Kris to see in the light, and his smile was the broadest she’d yet seen on a Rugarian face. ‘Stunner.” And in a sudden, unexpectedly juvenile manner, he leaned the barrel across his arm and made the hissing sound of a stunner blast.
“Can we leave now?” Joe Marley asked in an edged voice. He didn’t wait for an answer, pushing the control bar hard over.
“We could have waited until morning. Crawlers can’t digest metal.”
“I want tonight,’ Fek said with uncharacteristic firmness.
“And stop shining that thing around,’ Joe added testily as they sped up a field which writhed and glistened.
Mitford was waiting in the parking area, as if he didn’t quite trust the participants to keep the night’s event to themselves.
Kris knew herself to be on an adrenalin high
, so his presence
had a certain sobering effect on her. He gestured for them all to go through the silent Camp and up to his office, where he had thoughtfully provided beer and the salty pretzel-like snacks.
Rugarians and Deskis rather liked beer now and then but they were careful not to drink much or often. It had some sort of an effect on their metabolism - not a hangover, according to Leon Dane, but something similar - that they did not cope well with.
Kris took a long pull on her beer, to settle her stomach, and noticed that Joe did too. Mitford just waited, knowing from the looks of their faces that the hijack had been successful.
“I’d say by now I’ve been killed and Leon is dying,’ she began.
“Otherwise it all worked out just as we planned . . . with a little diversion from Fek and Slav.” She shuddered as the two now dropped the retrieved equipment on Mitford’s desk.
He only glanced at the hand beams, which Kris thought would have been more useful than stunners. But, of course, weapons would come first with a military man. He picked up the stunner, turning it over in his hand, checking the controls and snapping something shut.
“That’s the safety on - now - but you guys wouldn’t have known.” He almost patted it when he put it down and took up the other to render it harmless.
“Bert and Raisha looked as if they were having Christmas,’ she went on. ‘I had a peek around once Zainal said the coast was clear.” Mitford nodded, and she went on. ‘Rather cramped.
Good thing Leon isn’t an inch taller.” Mitford nodded again.
“He will be back, you know.” Mitford nodded once more.
She finished off the beer, took a handful of the pretzels and stood up.
‘I’m knackered,’ she said. ‘Good night - and thanks, Joe, Fek, Slav.
We’re the best team on Botany!’
Mitford nodded.
It was only when she turned over in her bed that Kris realized she still had the comunit. A lot of good it did her, even if it was a link with Zainal up in the scout ship, faking the next step of Phase One. She slipped it up on to her shelf and then let herself fall deeply asleep.
* * *
Mitford took her and the unit down to Drop Field the second day, when Zainal could be expected to return. Camp Rock had vibrated with rumours, although everyone connected with Phase One had done their best to act in a normal fashion. To keep out of the way and not unintentionally give something away, Kris had to pretend she’d sprained her ankle, so Sarah kept getting hot or cold water to reduce the swelling. Joe, Fek and Slav worked on servicing their big exploratory vehicle or writing reports. Leon Dane was reported to have gone off with Zainal, Bert and Raisha for some emergency at Shutdown Camp. But the rumours persisted.
“We’ll still surprise them,’ Mitford said as he pulled the little air-cushion runabout up against the hedge. They’d seen a few of the avian predators on their way there, so he took what cover there was.
“I hope.” ‘We’re alone, serge, so I’ll give you a piece of my mind on that stunt you pulled . . .” Kris had the satisfaction of seeing Mitford flush with embarrassment. ‘You had no right to insult Zainal that way . . . and even less right to use me as his surety.
I came awful close to hitting you . . .” She cocked her fist in demonstration.
“Goddamitall to hell’ntgone, Kris Bjornsen,’ and Mitford recovered sufficiently to snarl at her, ‘I had to! I do trust Zainal, quite likely more than I’ve ever trusted another human being . . . and he is human to me . . .” Mitford’s response was as fervent as hers had been, and his eyes were sparking. ‘But I can’t take any chances. With him or you.” He let out a deep snort, rubbing his hands through his close-cropped hair in a gesture of exasperation and, oddly, impotence.
“And I need him more. We,’ and he meant the colony, ‘need him more.” Then, in one of his swift mood changes, he grinned at her, impudent and oddly melancholy. ‘I would have liked to be where he is now with you .
. .” He held up both hands quickly in defence. ‘Don’t take me up wrong, Kris. But you’re a fine woman and Zain
al’s the only man I wouldn’t try to muscle out.” It was Kris’s turn to be embarrassed.
She had vaguely known that Mitford fancied her though, after he kept sending her out with Zainal, she had to decide that she had imagined it.
“I’m sorry, Chuck,’ she said, all her previous aggravation dissipating.
‘It sort of happened and you kept throwing me at him . .
. more or less.” ‘More,’ and Mitford let a wry expression touch his rough features, ‘because I shouldn’t. And you were the only one I could trust to keep him alive until the rest of them figured out he was far more valuable alive than dead.” ‘We owe you a lot, serge,’ she said and touched his arm lightly and gratefully. ‘But you still made me real mad yesterday.” Mitford laughed, stretching his legs out of the side of the parked vehicle.
“Yeah, well, sometimes I gotta do what I gotta do, and there was no time really to call in some of the brass we got around here now.” “Ha!” Kris grinned back at him. ‘You wanted this one to yourself without any brass involved. But I strongly suspect you’d really better let the others in on planning Phase Two . . .” ‘And Phase Three,’ said Mitford, turning his head slightly to gaze off down the field its ground cover matted down by the frequent landings of the transport ship and unconscious bodies. He scratched at his head again and looked back at her.
“I’d be stupid, real stupid, not to get the strategists in on Phase Two. But this first one . . . that,’ and he jabbed his thumb into his chest, ‘was for me! And you,’ he added magnanimously. ‘In fact, I’m sort of phasing me out.”
“Oh, come now, Chuck . . .”
“No, I mean it, Kris. We’ve getting on to eight thousand here now. I knew what I was doing for five hundred and seventytwo, even two thousand, but . . . goddammit all, I want to be the one finding the good stuff, not leave it up to you and Zainal, or the Doyles or that Scandinavian crowd. Me, Chuck Mitford, wants to have some of the fun.”
“Who’ll you have on your team?” she asked, as much to cope with his