by neetha Napew
“The transports that make the Drops come more often. Your planet is giving Catteni trouble they did not expect. The ships are not in good repair. We have weapons now. We can take a second ship.” He held up one hand to forestall questions that goal provoked. The gesture was one of such dignified command that even Scott subsided, scowling. “We take transport.
Then scout takes load of metals from mechs and bomb and explode in space far enough up there . . .” He extended his hand upward.
“Satellite is geo-syn-chron-ous,’ and if he sounded out the syllables, he had them in the right order. ‘Can only see this side. Will see explosion.” He made the scissors gesture again.
“Now don’t try to tell me the Catteni will let that go without some sort of an in-depth investigation!” Scott said, making no attempt to disguise his scepticism and disapproval.
“Not if crew’s last message tells of. . . system’s failure.” Zainal had had to find the words, but he also found the right ones.
“Two famous last messages, and each time a ship disappears?” Scott said, openly scoffing.
“Only Drassi are on transport coldly. ‘Catteni . . .” and he laid not worry over small casualties.
know that by now.” ‘Does that mean you, a Catteni officer, are willing to let us kill Catteni?” Scott demanded, watching Zainal with narrowed eyes.
Zainal gave a shrug. ‘War makes casualties. You know that.
I know that. Or,’ and he let a wry smile play on his lips, ‘do as Catteni do. Let crew go free, those that remain alive. If they are not found in one whole day,’ and he lifted a finger, ‘they live and join us.
They are dropped. They stay.” ship. No big loss,’ Zainal said an
emphasis on the word, ‘do Ship or Drassi. You should
Kris hastily covered her mouth with her hand, but she scanned faces to see who understood Zainal’s wit. More got it than didn’t.
These guys were sharp enough. Scott seemed the only hard critic.
You did know about that Catteni rule, didn’t you, Admiral?” Mitford asked very politely.
Scott gave him a curt nod.
“With respect, sir, in case no-one mentioned it,’ the sergeant went on, ‘Zainal was shanghaied aboard that ship in a contradiction to that rule. Just in case any of you wondered why he didn’t feel he had to comply with any further orders from Emassi.” ‘Thank you for explaining that, sergeant,’ Easley said. ‘I think it should clear up any lingering doubts about where Zainal’s loyalties now lie. To return to Phase Two, what good does it do us to have a ship that may not be useful? Even if Zainal believes we can disregard reprisals.” ‘I think of the Farmers,’ Zainal said, and all eyes were on him again. “With two ships, we can send one with their transport . . .”
Scott dismissed that notion with a snort and looked away.
“Now, wait a minute, Scott,’ said Fetterman. ‘I’m not entirely clear on these Farmers or Mech Makers or whatever you want to call them.” Then he turned back to Zainal. ‘You want them to know we’re squatting on their land?” ‘Squatting?” Puzzled, Zainal looked down at Kris for an explanation.
“Slang for taking over lands or a place that you don’t own,’ she said quickly. ‘Actually, that’s Phase Three.” Before they started arguing over Phase Two, Kris wanted them to have some grasp of the scope of Zainal’s plans. ‘Forming an alliance with the Farmers against the Eosi because if they can farm a planet without any sentient being in charge, Zainal thinks they may have a sufficiently sophisticated technology to help the Catteni get out from under the domination of the Eosi - and stop being made into zombies and do things because the Eosi order them to be done. Like take over Earth.” ‘Whoa, there, young lady,’ Fetterman said, but he was grinmng and so was Rastancil, while Scott looked more annoyed than ever. ‘Pretty ambitious, if you ask me.”
“The longest journey starts with the first step,’ she said in a
firm but clear voice and gestured back over her shoulder at the spaceship. ‘Step number one.”I ‘Kris has a point,’ Easley said, once again taking charge as heI seemed able to do almost effortlessly.
“Until this morning none of us would have remotely considered the possibility of hijacking a Catteni ship . . .” ‘Having a damaged transport’s no damned good . . . for going after Catteni or Eosi or these Farmers,’ Scott said, standmg up.
“But transport allows us to shift a lot of people to one of the other continents that the Farmers are not using.” Mitford said, beginning to let his irritation show. ‘It’s another step to owning ourselves instead of being a goddamned Catteni colony they think they could just walk into and take over when it gets on its feet.
That’s the usual plan, isn’t it, Zainal?” Kris watched Mitford winding himself up and looked anxiously in Easley’s direction, but the man was watching eagerly as if he wanted Mitford to sound off.
“Well, a scout’s a start on our Botany Defence Initiative, and I’ll back Phase Two with every man and woman that’s been following me the past nine months.” Then Mitford caught hold of himself, took a deep breath. ‘If we pull that off, too, then we can reevaluate the situation. And there’s more than just the Catteni to worry about.
There’re the Farmers, and how they’ll take to us being dropped here on their prime real estate without their say-so.
Now I know I’ve mentioned to you that most of us are beginning to think we ought to leave the Farmers’ installations alone and find our own. That’s why I have scout parties out all over the continent.” ‘Hold it there a minute, sergeant,’ Rastancil said, getting to his feet. ‘Thought you dismantled all those Mechanicals so that the Farmers would come and see who was vandalizing their planet?”
i
“That was the only option open to us then, sir. But we’ve been having discussions about that,’ and Mitford gestured to Easley, Fetterman and up the hill towards Camp Narrow. ‘I wasn’t the only one who wanted to get off this planet then.” He paused. ‘I’m not so sure I want to leave now, And I know a lot of others have had second thoughts like me. But that,’ and he pointed back towards the scout ship, ‘alters everything. Or . . . hell, you should see that as well as I can.” And he ended with his arms at his sides, waiting for reaction.
“Definitely the situation has changed,’ Easley said and heard murmurs seconding that. He seemed to be appraising the moods around him. ‘Phase Two seems feasible but, as Sergeant Mitford says, it’s going to need some intense planning and good timing . . .
even with weapons at our disposal. I suggest that we adjourn and discuss ways and means.”
“Scout hides,’ Zainal said and pointed towards Camp Narrow.
“You’re going to fly it in?” asked a man with a rather rakish mustache as he got to his feet, brushing off the seat of his coverall.
“I’d like permission to be aboard, sir. I was mission control on the last shuttle project. Trained as a test pilot. Gino Marrucci.” Zainal looked to Mitford who nodded. Then Zainal looked at Scott.
“You come too?” Someone stifled a chuckle but Scott, controlling his expression, stood up. ‘I would like to.” ‘Ship only holds eight at the most,’ Kris-said, though she’d hoped to be one. ‘You have to go, sergeant.”
“Then you do, too,’ said Mitford, jutting out his chin.
“One more,’ Zainal said. ‘Air force man?” ‘I was air force,’ the black general said and he stood, grinning.
“John Beverly.” ‘That’s settled then,’ said Peter Easley. ‘Shall I drive your runabout back to Camp Narrow, serge? And be sure the garage’s . . . or should I say, hangar’s ready.
“Good idea,’ Mitford said.
Zainal pivoted and, without looking back to see who followed, led the way back down the field.
“Always meant to go see the display at Houston but never found the time,’ Mitford said conversationally to no-one in particular in the group walking in step with him. He grinned as Kris made a hasty leg change to match strides with the others.
&n
bsp; “Happens all the time with us military types.”
. .,
“Okay, okay,’ Joe Latore was saying when he saw the phalanx moving m on the spaceship, and gestured for those in line to make way.
Grumbling started from those next to go until Mitford swung into view, when it was replaced by cheers for Zainal and Mitford.
“We’re gonna fly this baby up to Narrow now,’ Mitford said.
“You’ll get a chance to look inside later.” ‘You mean, the Catteni are gain’ to be lookin’ for it?” a man asked m a nervous tone.
“Naw,’ said Bert, appearing in the open hatch. He grinned when he saw the delegation and jumped to the ground, waving those behind him from the last tour to make a quick exit. ‘Why would a Catteni in his right mind want to live on Botany if he could get off?” There was good-natured laughter at that sally, as those still hoping to see inside the prize began to drift back up the hill.
“Gentlemen,’ Bert waved the new group in. ‘Shall I . . .?” he began to Zainal, as if he anticipated being replaced.
“You must watch me do it,’ Zainal said. ‘These watch, too.”
“I’ll bet they do,’ Bert murmured low enough for only Kris and Zainal to hear as they passed him.
Kris stepped up, into the hatch, ahead of the brass. She wasn’t going to be left behind this time. Mitford did give precedence to Scott, Beverly and Gino Marrucci. When they reached the bridge, Raisha was in the second seat and hastily got to her feet.
Zainal gave her a nod and then pointed to Bert to take her place while he folded himself into the pilot’s chair.
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“Secure hatch, Raisha,’ Zainal said and looked at the arrangement of those standing in the cramped space of the small bridge. He nodded and gestured for them to stay where they were.
Kris inched closer to Mitford who was just behind Zainal.
“You watch good?” Zainal said to Bert, who nodded as Zainal’s fingers moved in slow sequence over toggles and switches. ‘Got that?”
“Yes, yes . . .”
A quick glance around and Kris saw that Bert was not the only one memorizing the sequence. Beverly and the test pilot were the most eager, but Scott’s expression was less critical.
“Ve-ry smooth,’ Beverly said. He was the first to be conscious of the vertical take-off.
“It is extremely manoeuvrable craft,’ Zainal said in an instructional tone, two fingers of his right hand on the grip.
“One of its biggest . . .” He tipped his head back towards Kris, for her to give him the word he needed.
“Assets,’ Kris supplied.
“Ass-ETS, not asses?” Zainal asked, blank-faced.
“You pick up too much bad language, man,’ she muttered as everyone else grinned.
“In space as well?” asked Beverly.
“Better in space,’ Zainal answered, as he depressed a button on the panel in front of him and began a horizontal forward movement, skimming safely above the heads of those moving back to Camp Narrow.
“That satellite won’t see the movement?” Scott asked.
Kris wondered if the Admiral would ever give Zainal any slack.
“Not that kind. Very basic and geo-synchronous,’ Zainal replied, twitching one shoulder. ‘I use only . . . guide . . .” He craned his head about, for Kris’s help.
“Guidance,’ Beverly supplied. ‘Thrusters? Or rockets?”
Zainal made a gesture with his free hand as if pressing the Earth away from him.
“We’d call ‘em thrusters, I think,’ Beverly said. ‘Do they
move?” and he rocked his hand to indicate different positions.
Zainal, flashing a look at the signals, nodded. He was watching the landscape closely.
“Is there much fuel left?” the test pilot asked, looking over the gauges and dials. ‘Which one?” ‘This one,’ Bert said and tapped it.
A needle point just a shade over a half-way mark.
“Reason two for Phase Two. Transport will have fuel,’ Zainal said.
“How far will what there is take us?”
Zainal shrugged. ‘Not back to your Earth.”
“What sort of fuel do you use?” asked the test pilot.
Zainal rattled out some Catteni sounds and then grinned at the pilot.
“Can’t make here.” He made another correction, moved a toggle and the pilot gasped.
“You’re gliding in?”
“No need to waste fuel,’ Zainal said, and pointed his finger just as the entrance to Camp Narrow appeared in the hillside.
There were a lot of people watching now, waving their hands, mouths open though no sound penetrated the scout.
“Fraggit,’ Mitford muttered, his face pale, as he grabbed for something to hang on to as the scout seemed to slide down a corridor that had once seemed much wider.
“Easy as pie, sergeant,’ Beverly said, grinning broadly as they headed inexorably towards the target barn’s wide-open doors.
“It’ll fit?” asked Mitford, taking a firmer hold on the ceiling handle he had found.
“No problem,’ Bert said.
Kris sympathized with Mitford. She tried not to hold her breath.
The flight vanes on the rear of the fuselage must be just clearing the sides of the alley. Then she noticed someone encouraging the forward motion with hand gestures as he backed towards the barn. Zainal held up one hand, caught the man’s attention and gestured him to stand aside.
With the slightest possible touches on the thrust handlers, Zainal
lifted the ship above the cliff side and, with equally delicate
80a
movements, turned the scout around, lowered it and began backing it into the barn. The ground crew leaped in front and now made pushing gestures, as he stood to one side so he could judge when to wave-off.
“No rear mirrors on this thing, huh?” Mitford murmured in Kris’s ear, but he had colour back in his face now that they were nearly parked.
The wave-off came and, with one final adjustment, they felt the scout ship settle to the floor.
To Kris’s surprise, the observers clapped their hands, even Scott.
“You’d’ve been a great Atlantis pilot,’ Marrucci said.
Zainal stood up, squeezing up against Mitford and Kris in the cramped space. ‘Bert, show Marrucci how to shut her down.”
“Can we watch?” asked John Beverly.
Zainal shrugged, looking at Mitford.
“Sure, why not,’ the sergeant said, easing himself towards the passageway to give the others more space. But he looked over his shoulder to observe that Scott stayed as well.
“Did it go well?” Raisha asked from her position in the passageway. ‘I couldn’t see a thing with all the bodies in the way, but I felt it turn around.” Zainal unclogged the hatch and stepped out into the barn, giving Kris a hand down first, and then Raisha.
“Can this be locked, Zainal?” Mitford asked in a low voice, because the man who had acted as ground crew was loping up to them.
“There are six of these,’ Zainal said, showing Mitford the small grayish-brown rectangle in his hand. ‘I have hidden three.
Bert and Raisha each have one. Is that right?” Mitford looked thoughtful, almost sad. ‘For now, but I think the fly boys and the brass will decide who gets to use this baby.” ‘Baby?” Zainal asked, turning to Kris. ‘Is that like boy-o-boy, and man-o-man?” ‘Ships are generally referred to as “she’s”, female,’ she said, grinning. ‘And special ships are babies. Specially good ships!’
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“That’s a lot of baby,’ Zainal said with suspicious laughter glinting in his eyes as he looked down the length of the scout.
“Hey, Zainal, that was some sweet job of piloting,’ the crew man said, running up with his hand out for Zainal to shake. ‘I used to be flight deck officer on the George Washington . . .”
“Aircraft carrier,’ Kris explained.
“Boy, you landed that baby as sweet as if you’d been ba
cking her into this hangar all your life!” Zainal gave yet another of his shruggings. ‘I had to learn.
And pay for holes made.” ‘Didja?” and somehow that pleased the man. “Need any more help with her, I’m your man. Vic Yowell’s the name.” He gave Zainal’s hand another shake and then went to prowl around the vessel.
“All that brass aren’t going to take the ship away from us, are they?”
Raisha asked, keeping her voice down and her eye anxiously on Mitford.
“Listen up, you lot,’ Mitford said, catching them with a stern glance, ‘that ship makes this a whole new ball-game. I know General Rastancil by reputation - he has a good one. I heard good things about General Beverly . . . don’t know about the navy, but I do know,’ and he waggled his finger at them, ‘that there’ll be some changes and we gotta be flexible. So let’s go with the flow. Right?” ‘Where I flow, you go,’ said Zainal, poking Mitford in the shoulder with one finger with each word. ‘Right?” Mitford gave a short laugh, but Kris knew that he appreciated Zainal’s statement of loyalty.
“I don’t know about you lot, but I need some chow about this time of day.” He walked out of the hangar.
The, too,’ said Raisha. ‘I didn’t like Catteni ship-board rations. They tasted like cardboard wadding.” ‘Healthy,’ Zainal said as he took Kris by the arm to follow the lead.
“Will we get to Phase Two?” Raisha asked over her shoulder.
“For fuel we muss,’ Zainal said.
“So if I get a chance to learn to pilot the scout, I could pilot a transport vessel?” ‘You can now,’ Zainal said, grinning at her surprise. ‘Drassi need very simple controls.” ‘Say, Zainal,’ Mitford asked, ‘how many ships do you think we can hijack before they stop landing here or your destroyers come to have a look?”
Zainal just grinned.
They had finished with the noontime meal when Bert and the others who had stayed on in Baby, as the ship was unimaginatively called, joined them at their table. Marrucci and Beverly were full of questions for Zainal about the performance levels of the ship, its cruising range, cargo capacity weaponry and maintenance requirements.