by neetha Napew
Kris asked.
The moment Easley put his hands on the toggles, an alarm sounded.
“Don’t enter.” Zainal’s voice issued from an intercom right above their heads. ‘Please,’ he added.
“He’s not totally assimilated, is he?” Easley remarked. ‘Let’s see what they’re up to. Unless you want to clear out those lockers.
We might need clean Catteni uniforms.” Kris gave him a stern look.
“We might, but I think it would count as a morale booster for others to see just what slobs the Catteni can be.”
“Point!’
“What I really want to do is itemize all that lovely gear I hope we scouts have first pick of,’ she said, rubbing her hands together.
“Damn, I’ve no paper.” ‘Voile!” Easley said, taking a wad of small sheets out of one thigh pocket and a pencil from his chest pocket.
“Hey, the comforts of home. Mitford can’t operate without a pad and pencil, either.”
“Where do you think I got them?”
Sharing a grin over that, Kris and Easley began to take stock.
They were interrupted by a clanging on the open hatch.
“Who’s on board?” an irritated voice demanded.
“Scott?” Easley called back.
“With Fetterman, Reidenbacker and Marrucci,’ and the four men climbed on board, crowding the passageway. ‘Didn’t see you leave, Easley.” Easley smiled, ignoring the implied accusation. ‘Decided to inventory what’s here before the crowd gathers. Rastancil’s forward with Zainal, doing print-outs or something operational. I have six only of what looks like pack frames,’ he went on to Kris and put the first one back in its slot.
When they heard the newcomers moving forward, Easley grinned at Kris.
“Took ‘em long enough to miss us, didn’t it?”
“I wonder,’ she replied, grinning back at him, ‘if they ever reached any conclusion.” ‘Oh, probably not until they’ve gone over Baby with a finetoothed comb. The Catteni don’t seem to stock such items, do they? Not even toothbrushes or soap.”
“I found what looks like liquid soap, remember?”
“Oh yes, drawer nine.”
The inventory turned out to be the pleasantest part of the day.
Once that was finished, Kris went to find Mitford. Easley, who had initially gone forward to see how Zainal was faring, ran to catch up with her half-way to the barn where Mitford held office in Camp Narrow.
“The compartment’s jammed back with those who need-toknow. I’ll wait for a quieter time,’ Peter said.
Kris gave a- snort. ‘No matter what he explains, they’ll still need him to fly the thing.”
“I expect so,’ Peter replied equably.
Chuck Mitford’s eyes bugged out when he spread out the.
pages of available equipment. He was flabbergasted when he saw the aerial photos.
“Clearest recon photos I ever saw,’ he said, amazed, picking up one after another and scanning them.
“Look, here . . . here . . . and here,’ Kris said, pointing out
spots on the various photos. One was quite close to Camp Narrow,
although it was in an area that had been lightly explored. ‘More
ill of those dead-end valleys. Zainal thinks they have, or had, a purpose.” ‘If they didn’t before, they may now. Especially as we’ve got enough personnel - AND the equipment,’ and Mitford’s voice rang with satisfaction, ‘so a team could hang around, safe enough, and see what comes up.” He tapped the near valley with his index finger. ‘If we can secure this area . . .” He broke off as his shoulders convulsed in a shudder. ‘I want us out of the Farmers’ facilities. I got a hunch about ‘em.” He gathered the inventory sheets into one neat pile and the photos into another one. ‘Anyone seen these yet?” ‘No,’ Easley replied, ‘you’re in charge of exploration. And were I you, I would secure these supplies for your teams and start sending them out.” Mitford grinned crookedly. ‘Appreciate the advice, Pete.” He turned to Kris. ‘The rest of your team’s doing kp, but they should be finished by now. I’ll just rev up the load-bed trundler and secure those supplies. Any weapons?” ‘Some, but I’d leave them where they are until Zainal drills us in their use,’ Peter said. ‘Some of’em’ll make right nasty holes in people. You know,’ and he scratched his head, contorting his features as the sort of prelude that Kris decided was his way of leading up to an utterance of a diplomatic suggestion, ‘we might take a page from the Catteni book of colonial administration and drop the next bunch of Turs into one of those valleys. Come back in a few weeks and see how they’ve got on.” He paused. ‘Oh, better still, dump any Catteni prisoners we take in them. A bit of turnabout’s fair play.” Mitford stared, frowning at Peter Easley.
“You a bleedingheart or something?” ‘It was Yuri Palit’s notion, actually,’ Easley replied, slightly abashed. ‘I mentioned that you’d discovered the one. I don’t see the need for gratuitous violence or killing. There’s been quite enough of that. I’d rather we Humans fell on the side of the Angels than the Eosi. Besides, it rounds things gut,’ end he made a cage of the fingers in both hands, rotating one around the other, ‘and they get back a little of what they’ve been dealng out besides supplying us with guinea-pigs for whatever might lurk in one of those valleys.” Mitford was unconvinced. ‘They want this referendum first, don’t they?” ‘I think you’ll have trouble getting the notion of lenience across to anyone who’s tangled with a nerve-whip,’ Kris said.
“I can see it for the Turs, Easley,’ Mitford allowed. ‘I’ve never liked just turning them loose. They’re dangerous and, if there’s enough of them, they constitute a menace.” He rubbed his jaw.
“Actually, we could use them as a detention facility. That’s less messy than staking a guy out at night for the crawlers.” Then, with a shrug, he dismissed that topic and split his attention between the photos and the inventory.
“The print won’t fade,’ Kris said, pulling his sleeve. ‘Let’s go get what we need before someone else requisitions it.” ‘Damn well told,’ and Easley and Kris had to run to keep up with Mitford.
Vic Yowell was back on duty, standing squarely in the inset door, his expression inscrutable until Mitford leaned out of the driver’s side.
“Open up, will ye, Vic? I’ve requisitioned some of the gear on board to outfit my scouting teams.” Vic took no exception to that and pushed the main door back. So Mitford reversed the vehicle right up to the hatch, the load-bed almost level with it. With Joe, Sarah, Whitby, Leila, Pete and Mitford working quickly and quietly, Kris checked off the items they were taking from the inventory list. Soon they had emptied the passageway lockers.
While the others were stowing the last acquisitions, Mitford took a quick look at the arsenal and closed that compartment firmly.
Temptation, step behind me, Kris thought.
Just then Scott appeared in the forward end of the passageway.
“What’re you doing, Sergeant?”
“Looking at the arsenal, sir. Could be useful.” ‘Pete and I have just finished the inventory of the lockers, Admiral,’ Kris added, holding up the pad.
“Good idea, Bjornsen. Carry on.”
“We will,’ she said jauntily and, stifling a giggle at her deception, she followed Mitford out.
“Get what you needed?” Vic asked as the flatbed silently moved out of the hangar.
“I think so,’ Mitford said and elbowed Sarah before she laughed loud enough for Vic to hear.
They had their loot all neatly stored at the back of Mitford’s office, covered with Catteni issue blankets. The rest of Kris’s team went to get some lunch while Mitford called in Judy Blane, who’d been a cartographer; he wanted to match the photos to their appropriate areas on the map. Meanwhile, Mitford called in the recon squads he wanted, ordered travel food from the kitchen and was ready to equip them as soon as they reported in.
“Before the brass-heads find out where it’s all gone to,’ Kris said wh
en the sergeant paused briefly.
“Brass-heads?” He chuckled. ‘Zainal?” She nodded.
“Are you going to lead a group this time, serge, and get out of their way?” He shook his head with a rueful smile and grimace. “New, not this time. I figure I better hang around.” ‘I can’t say I’m not happy you will, Chuck,’ she said, tilting her head towards the hangar and the ‘brass-heads’ occupying it.
“But you deserve to get out of here for a while and clear your head. You’ve done more than your share. You need some R&R.” ‘I’ll go after Phase Two’s complete. And don’t you worry, Kris. No matter what they decide in their conferences and brass-headed strategy meetings, they need Zainal more than he needs them. Or us.” Then he levelled a cocky grin at her. ‘With the exception of you . . . Bjornsen.?
“Scott doesn’t trust him at all,’ Kris said, perching on the edge of the worktop.
“The Admiral doesn’t trust anyone,’ Mitfordsaid with a snort, folding his arms across his chest. ‘For starters, he’s stuck on dry land which isn’t really where he functions best. But distrust’s not altogether a bad habit.” A knock on the door which opened without his permission disclosed the first of the teams he’d called in, Ninety Doyle’s.
The Scandinavians arrived, breathlessly eager, before Mitford could brief Ninety’s squad on the current situation. Kris left him to it and eased herself out of the now crowded office and went to get some lunch.
Part of the original strategy and tactics group were still busy at the end table, and those coming in to eat left a sort of noman’s land of unused tables around the area to maintain their privacy. She picked up her lunch of soup and fresh bread and made her way to where Sarah’ Joe, Leila and Whitby were sitting.
“Are we going to get to use some of that beaus gear?” Joe asked.
“We won’t be going out . . .”
“Until the brass start believing Zainal?” Sarah asked in a caustic voice.
“Oh, I think they believe him,’ Kris said.
“It’s trust that’s lacking,’ Whitby added when she paused.
“I would rather wait until Zainal comes with us,’ Leila remarked in her quiet but firm way, and sipped soup.
“Besides which, I wouldn’t want to miss Phase Two for anything,’Joe added. ‘Got any update on that, Kris?” She shook her head and gave a little snort, jerking her thumb towards the earnest knot of men at the end table. ‘They have to make up their minds first.” “Whaddya bet they’ll end up doing what Zainal suggested in the first place?” Joe asked, looking around the table.
“Just so long as they make up their minds before the next transport gets
here,’ Sarah said. ‘It could come any day now, too, judging by the
frequency we’ve been getting Drops
“You’d think they were planning World War III,’ Whitby
said, entering the conversation, ‘instead of a minor commando action.” They had just finished their meal when the rumble of male voices was audible, heralding the arrival of Scott, Fetterman, Rastancil, Beverly, Marrucci and Zainal. He halted at the door, surveying the room, spotting Kris and, cocking his finger at her, indicating she was to join them at the Strategy table.
“I’ve been paged,’ she said, cleaning the corners of her mouth of any traces of soup with two fingers and brushing breadcrumbs off her front with the other as she rose. ‘Hang about, will you?” ‘Over at Mitford’s, dear,’ Sarah said, also rising. ‘I don’t want to get sucked into another session of kp just because we’re all sitting here, looking as if we’re doing nothing.” ‘Which we are,’ said Joe, but he got up, too, and, as Kris joined Zainal, they all left the mess hall. Peter Easley passed them on his way in, sauntering in that easy bent-knee gait, pausing to exchange a few words and a laugh.
As he came up, he winked at Kris.
“There you are, Easley,’ Scott said. ‘When can the next transport be expected?”
“Any time now,’ Easley replied indifferently.
Everyone turned around to stare at him.
“They come when they have a full load, evidently,’ he said and looked to Zainal who shrugged.
“Last one was eight days ago. Sometimes there’s twenty-one days between Drops.” He dismissed that concern with a flick of his fingers.
“Deskis hear the best. Deskis spread out . . .” and now he waved his big hand, splayfingered, over the map that occupied one end of the long table. ‘They hear. They report.” ‘And they have been using the same field they dropped us in?” Scott asked.
“Lately at any rate,’ Easley said, grinning at Zainal, ‘ever since Zainal had a little word with them.”
“Can the Deskis be trusted?” Rastancil asked.
“With what?” Kris asked. ‘Hearing or reporting?” ‘Do they know how to use ermilnitc9’ Pratt a her remark.
“The ones we have, even your grandmother could manage,’ Kris snapped back, ‘begging your grandmother’s pardon,’ she added, making herself grin at Scott’s indignant reaction.
“Are they capable of giving a detailed enough report, though?” Beverly asked, slightly more respectfully. ‘I mean, I’ve never heard them use more than one word.” ‘What more is needed? Hear ship. Comes down near. Comes down far. Your way,’ Zainal said, and Kris was delighted to hear him effect the odd-tonality of the Deski voice.
“A Deski did all right warning us about the scout,’ she added.
to use ‘;umumS! Scott asked, Ignoring
and telling Worrell exactly where it had landed.”
“Point,’ Beverly said. ‘So we can count on their ears . . .
“And eyes,’ Easley added. ‘Deskis and Rugarians are also blessed with exceedingly acute night vision.”
“Send a human along if you’re worried,’ Kris suggested.
“No need,’ Zainal said, and then took out of his coverall a sheaf of pictures, evidently second copies of the ones now being examined in Mitford’s office. He spread them on the table, while some of the other tacticians exclaimed and reached out for one to examine. Zainal found the one he wanted. ‘This is hne I flew m.
It had been taken at an altitude of the descent well above the cliffs in which Camp Narrow was located, but showed the fields leading to what was now called the Drop Field. The scope of the photo included the third Drop area, and the boggy swamp where Zainal had lain, wounded by the toxic thorns.
“Drop made here, too.” And he put his finger squarely on the little patch of field.
“But all the others have been made here,’ and Easley pointed to Drop Field.
“Good cover for troops in those hedges. We can improve on it, though,’ Fetterman said, indicating the three upper sides.
“And move forward when enough crates have been positioned,’ and Rastancil tapped a pencil on where the supplies were usually unloaded.
r
“There are some spare Catteni uniforms on the scout . . .” Kris said.
‘They’ll have to be washed first, but I saw them in the lockers.
So guys stocky enough could actually get on board easily.” ‘Catteni don’t talk much when unloading,’ Easley said, having watched the procedure often enough in his official capacity as In-flow Officer.
“Most don’t even carry whip or stunner.” The whole procedure was then gone over and over until Kris felt her stomach roiling. She hated meetings where the obvious got repeated and repeated and no conclusions made. Once, when she shifted impatiently, she felt Zainal, who was sitting next to her, press his leg against hers and she settled for a little while longer.
Then orders were issued, for Deski teams - Easley, Beverly and Rastancil backed Zainal’s assurance that the aliens would manage such a duty without a human counterpart - to spread out in a wide circle around the sprawling human settlement, equipped with comunits, to report the first rumble of an approaching transport ship. They were given extra rations and blankets and a translation in Deski by Zainal of their orders, in case they hadn’t understood Beverl
y’s. They had grinned broadly enough when they had listened intently to the black general, but they hiccuped with amusement after Zainal’s remarks. Kris saw that he was grinning back at them, a grin which left his face as he turned back to the brass-heads.
“Now, we wait,’ he said.
“No, now we train the assault forces,’ said Scott, and he marched off with those who were assisting him in that. The others drifted away, gathering up their notes, maps and papers and leaving, probably to get some sleep.
“You cleared equipment?” Zainal asked Kris as he guided her to the buffet table to get some lunch.
“Everything that looked useful - except the dirty uniforms.”
She asked for a cup of the herbal tea and joined him at the table he took, set at the opposite end of the mess hall from the conference area, in an unoccupied corner. All day and night people drifted in and out of the mess hall, eating whenever their duties permitted. Kris noticed Aarens coming in, arguing with a man she recognized as a senior design engineer. However, Aarens had lost a lot of his arrogance though he still maintained a unique position as a clever adapter of useful gadgets from the Farmers’ materials.
“By now the sergeant probably has sent most of it out with the scout teams he called in.”
Zainal grinned slightly. ‘Did he go?”
Kris shook her head. ‘He’s got the right to be in on Phase Two.”
Zainal nodded. ‘He is.”
“Oh, was that decided in the scout?” ‘I believe so.” Something else about his morning amused Zainal and although she tried to get him to tell her, he shook his head.
“Not to worry,’ he said. ‘He is in his office?”
“Probably.” She stood as Zainal did. When they had carried their dishes to the proper place and the weary young woman who was handling that chore, they made for Mitford’s office.
Although he called a cheery ‘come in’ when they knocked at the door, he was not alone. A rather officious young man with a receding hairline, holding a clipboard fashioned from a piece of supply crate, was jotting down notes as fast as he could write. Glancing to the back of the office, Kris noticed that the equipment - which had reached nearly to the ceiling when they had finished unpacking it that morning - was now down to a single level in most places.