by neetha Napew
Coo and Slav returned then, Slav with a cut over one eye and Coo with visible abrasions down one side of his slender frame.
“Trouble?” Zainal asked, on his feet.
Coo held up one hand reassuringly. ‘Catteni gang. Hate aliens.” ‘They hate anyone,’ Dowdall said forcefully. ‘Here, femme fix that cut for you, Slav,’ and he took him over to the cabinet containing the few medical supplies they had. Slav endured the ministrations though the brown Catteni antiseptic stung like fire, even a Catteni.
“Bad news,’ Coo said, joining the others at the table.
Mitford fixed herbal tea when Coo politely refused.to drink the hooch already set out.
“They’re after your people, too?” Scott asked.
Coo shook his head. ‘We do not make machines.” ‘My people must work in noisy places,’ Slav said, scrubbing his chest hair in agitation. ‘We are strong.” ‘You Earth no good working,’ Coo said, grinning. “Too much trouble.” ‘We make trouble,’ Slav said, ‘if word is given.” And he looked pointedly at Mitford.
“All suppressed minorities rebelling at one time would be difficult for the Eosi to handle,’ Scott said, immediately savouring the notion.
Zainal, however, snorted and shook his head. ‘More species’
. . ù .
nurles.
Scott slammed one fist onto the table so hard that the hooch bottle jiggled. ‘Damn it, Zainal, there’re already species’ injuries on my people. You saw the state of them. How many more will be put through the same torture? Then sold off as mindless zombies and die who knows where!” Kris had never seen Scott so emotional but then, she could only imagine the horror of seeing brilliant people reduced to imbeciles.
“The Eosi look for ideas from your people,’ Zainal said, and there was no doubt from the perturbation on his usually inscrutable face that he felt for the victims and agreed with Scott.
“When they find none they can use, they will stop.” ‘When . . .” demanded Scott, stretching the in’ out to stress the urgency, ‘will that be?” ‘I heard nothing today. Tomorrow we can go elsewhere and listen, and maybe ask.” ‘And all those . . . those desecrated people?” Scott asked, grieving so keenly that Kris saw tears in the admiral’s eyes.
“We can do something about that,’ Zainal said firmly. Then he turned to Kris and Marrucci. ‘Tomorrow, early, get the wire the plastic, the electronic supplies needed. Be ready to move if I arrange . . .” ‘What are you arranging?” Mitford asked, though the look on his face suggested to Kris that he already had a suspicion.
“What can be done to help. The Farmers do not like,’ and Zainal emphasized that word, ‘species’ injuries. We show them what can happen.” ‘We’ll bring them back with us?” Scott began, his expression brightening for a scant second before common sense overruled that possibility. ‘How can we possibly care for so many damaged people?” ‘We will somehow.” Kris spoke so fiercely that Scott recoiled.
“How many are there?”
“Hundreds,’ Scott said, waving a despairing hand about.
“Not all are damaged,’ said Zainal. ‘But they will die in mines and fields with no care given.” ‘We can’t leave them if we can take them,’ Dowdall said firmly, glancing around the table for agreement.
Even the two Deski and Slav were in accord.
“Zainal, did you notice the other ship of this class a few berths down from us?” Marrucci asked, his eyes sparkling.
Bert Put, who had been silent through most of the discussion, sat up with an expectant look on his face, watching Zainal.
He nodded, a grin turning his mouth up in one corner. ‘I maybe go see guard tonight, drink a little Filth.” ‘No,’ Mitford said with an evil grin, ‘he’d be used to that. Take some of the hooch.” The next morning as they breakfasted, Zainal had good news from his evening’s interview. Most of the KDM’s crew were on shore leave, having just completed a wide swing which had included Earth. In fact, they had brought two decks full of the brain-wiped humans to the slave marts, and loot that would soon be available in the Barevi markets. Only two crewmen were on board, taking turns on watch; they were not happy about that duty but expected to be relieved in another two days. As was standard practice with Catteni ships, the KDM was already refuelled and stocked. The crewmen said they were slated for another trip to Earth: to collect cargo, as the Catteni invaders were systematically clearing warehouses and storage facilities, whether the items were useful or not.
“Whatever the Eosi hope to find on Earth, they have not,’ Zainal said.
‘Not even information. They may even be pulling out.”
“What?”
“Leaving Earth?”
“Hurrah, we socked it to them and they couldn’t take it.”
“No rush,’ Zainal said, raising his hands to indicate caution.
“Your Earth may never be the same.” ‘Then we improve it when we get back home,’ Beverly said, a fierce expression on his face.
Zainal pointedly said nothing. ‘I also learn that the port manager is very busy with so many ships going in and out.” ‘Which means he’s not checking on individual ones?” Beverly asked.
Zainal nodded. ‘We come at a lucky time.”
“Let’s leave lucky, too,’ Mitford said gruffly. ‘If we get all the stuff we need, can we like leave tonight? I got a gut feeling we’re crowding what luck we’ve already had. On our way back, I spotted just too many of those roving gangs charging about drunk. Glad we weren’t on foot.”
Everyone looked at Zainal, who hesitated and then nodded.
“Sooner is better than later, but first,’ and he held up one finger ‘we do not go back empty.” ‘Hey, if there’s only two crewmen aboard the KDM, couldn’t we hijack it?” asked Gino eagerly.
Mitford made a disgusted sound, dismissing the notion, but Scott leaned forward eagerly. ‘Could we?” ‘I think it would be very easy.
Gino can be captain Balenquah . . .” and Zainal looked around for the man.
“He was sick all night,’ Mitford said sourly. ‘He’s no use to us at all. I never did have more than a sip of pilth’and that was enough to make me avoid it.” ‘I told him it was no good,’ Kris repeated, with an innocent expression on her face.
“Which made him all the more eager to try it, huh9’ Mitford asked, giving her a dirty look.
“He deserved it . . .” Gino Marrucci began, but Kris kicked him under the table. ‘Sullen bastard that he is,’ the pilot said, in place of what he had started to say.
“All right,’ said Scott, getting back to the jobs at hand, ‘we find out what we can about the . . . disabled? Right?” He looked at Zainal, who nodded. ‘You got yesterday’s list, Kris? So today escort Matt Su, Ninety and Marrucci for whatever electronics we can acquire .
. .” ‘We’ll find plenty,’ Kris said, scowling. ‘I only had a quick glance, but everywhere I looked I could see things that had to have come from home.” ‘Good,’ said Matt, ‘that means we’ll have a good chance of finding what we need. We’ve done as much as we can with the Farmers’ material. But we could do a helluva lot more with familiar components, couldn’t we, Dowdall?” ‘Also get more hand-units,’ and Zainal tapped his Catteni comunit. ‘We need all we can get, or make.” Kris shoved pencil and the thin plastic that the Catteni used for notes towards him. ‘Make us out another shopping list, Drassi Kubitai!” Zainal grimaced. ‘I do not know the Catteni shapes,’ he admitted wryly.
“No word for spare parts in Catten?” Matt asked, grinning.
“Ah, yes,’ and Zainal deftly created the glyph, adding tails and squiggles to it. ‘That means anything to repair electronics.” He peered at it. ‘I think.” ‘Have we completely contaminated an upright Catteni lad?” Matt asked with one of his displays of whimsy.
“Absolutely,’ Zainal agreed heartily. ‘Let us make . . . con .
. .
con-something plans . . .
“Contingency plans?” Kris asked.
“Them. In case there can be two shi
pments of humans to mines or colonies or wherever they plan to send them. We are ready to go and take the problems with us,’ Zainal said. ‘I call in to Chuck, I tell him where to bring KDM. Then, sergeant, you will take more hooch to guard on duty. The other will be sleeping. You will know what to do.
Then Gino, Beverly, Coo, Pess and Slav get aboard as crew. Bert, Gino, be ready to bring the ships where I tell you.” He flipped through the pile of maps and charts and found the one he wanted. ‘Here are slave pens, but you must go round the city, not overfly.” ‘Don’t we have to clear take-offwith the port authority?” Gino asked.
Zainal slapped his forehead and sucked in breath between his teeth.
“After we secure the KDM, I can come back and do that, Zainal,’ Mitford said. ‘Give me the words for slave compound in Catten. I only know Barevi.” ‘Use Barevi if you need to,’ Zainal said, rocking one hand to indicate that the port authorities would know both. Then he rose in a decisive manner. ‘Good luck.” And he gave the thumbsup signal, grinning when his eyes fell on Kris.
“Right back atcha,’ she said as everyone else got to their feet.
“And watch your face paint if you start to sweat, you guys. And, for godsake, remember to keep your caps down, shading your eyes. No Catteni I’ve ever seen has blue ones, much less brown.” ‘Slav, Pess, Coo, you guard ship,’ was Zainal’s final order as he made for the hatch.
* * *
Kris, with Dowdall, Matt and Ninety, got the last remaining flitter outside the port. The driver grumbled that the market wasn’t open yet.
“Shop I go is,’ Kris answered in Barevi. ‘Drassi says so.”
That ended any further enquiries from the Catteni. He had no left hand, a hook attachment replacing it, but a flitter was easily driven with only one. Did only disabled Catteni get taxi licences on Barevi?
As the craft made its way to the market area, they all noticed smoke rising from various places.
“Many fights?” Ninety asked in Barevi, grinning but remembering to keep his lips over his teeth.
“Many,’ replied the Catteni in his own language and in a sour tone. ‘Nine ship gangs. Biggest fights in weeks.” Which meant the survivors would likely be sleeping off pilth as well as any injuries from the fighting - or hiding out for the requisite twenty-four hours.
Luck was again with them, she hoped, but didn’t dare hope too loudly.
Much of the first market-place they overflew - the one they had shopped in the day before - was a wreck of tangled stalls debris, and shop-keepers sorting for what might still be saleable.
As they crossed over the line of apartments separating the two, she saw that streamers of fabric, probably from some of the shops she had visited, festooned the area.
“Boys had lots of fun,’ Ninety muttered and got Kris’s elbow in his ribs for speaking in English. He rolled his eyes in apology, but the driver had not heard.
There was not quite as much damage in the third rectangle, the one they had directed the flitter to - possibly because there were fewer drink and food stands in this one. But one section seemed to have been levelled. Kris just hoped it wasn’t the very one they needed the most.
“Another ticco if you wait,’ she told the driver in her gravelly Catteni voice. She was getting so she could do it whenever she needed to, though her throat was a trifle sore from all the roughvoiced bargaining she’d done yesterday.
“Just one ticco?” he complained.
‘.
.
.
“Wait and see,’ she said, leaving it to him. She handed him a smaller coin and pointed to the stand selling hot drinks and the almost indigestible bread Catteni baked.
That sweetened him sufficiently and she walked off with the others to find the ‘spare parts’.
Four shops which displayed boxes spilling loose chips in their grilled windows were not open. They came upon a fifth on the long end of the rectangular market area where the shop-keeper was sweeping up components, ‘and’, ‘or’ chips, with total disregard for the damage done. Matt and Dowdall winced and Kris hissed at them for falling out of character.
“You selling?” she asked, acting the stupid Catteni Tudo.
“What does it look like?” the shop-keeper replied angrily, gesturing at the havoc within and without. He ranted on, switching from Barevi to Catteni in his fury.
Kris held up Zainal’s glyphed note. ‘You got some?”
The shop-keeper paused long enough in his description of what he would do to the gang who had smashed and kicked his stock into garbage and, eyeing her suspiciously, then turned his attention to Matt and Dowdall who were lovingly picking up this and that which had not been damaged.
“Got everything needed for repair. And then some . . . if it hasn’t all been smashed.” He put down the broom and led them through the shop, palmed open a rear door and showed them unopened cardboard boxes, all bar-coded and listing the contents in English, French, German and either Japanese or Chinese . . . Kris couldn’t tell the difference.
“Ah, many unhurt,’ she cried. ‘Drassi wants.”
“All?” The shop-keeper was both delighted and suspicious.
“Drassi Kubitai trades,’ said Dowdall, winking as he began removing boxes from the shelves and stacking them in the centre. His eyes were so alight with success that Kris yanked furiously at her own cap to warn him. ‘Kubitai pleased with us,’ he said in Barevi, turning his face away.
“Not all, but samples to show. How much?” Kris began, tapping the boxes Dowdall had chosen and to which Matt was adding selections, breathing heavily with excitement but remembering to keep his head down. “You deliver?” ‘Ha! When I must clean this and lock up before they come back again?” ‘Kubitai wants comunits, Drassi?” Matt asked, returning from a back shelf with a crate.
Kris pretended to look at the list. The shopkeeper pointed to the right glyph. ‘Here, stupid,’ he said, his yellow eyes turning crafty as he suspected he might be able to do her on the prices.
“I count well,’ she said, jerking her cap to shade her eyes but looking fiercely at him. ‘I be Drassi soon. You see.” ‘Ha!” was his reply, but he began to move the chosen boxes towards the front of the shop. ‘You got transport?”
“Flitter,’ she said. ‘I call it over.”
She had to fetch the flitter driver, who had indeed been treating himself to a meal on her coin. When he saw how much was stacked out in litter in front of the smashed shop, he shook his head.
“Call another,’ she told him, pointing to his control panel.
“Drassi Kubitai very happy with us. We get long shore leave.” She strutted back to the shop to find Dowdall, looking anxious.
“Won’t he suspect when we order so much? And check out the KDI?” He spoke in a barely articulated whisper.
“He probably has and, if the port authority has time to answer him, will know which berth the KDI has,’ she murmured back and then, seeing the shop-man out of the corner of her eye, punched Dowdall in the arm. ‘Work! No work, no leave!” However, greed - and possibly the call to the dock to verify that a KDI with a Drassi Kubitai was in port - moved the shopkeeper to encourage the large order.
Kris bargained in earnest with him, as part of her character as not-so-stupid-Tudo messenger. She had no idea what the parts would have cost on Earth, but Matt was slightly agog at the range of the merchandise. There were even laptops still in their packing-cases.
Now what possible use would the Catteni have for such items? They
couldn’t even read the manuals, much less
, A—r
figure out what the icons meant. She’d had enough trouble with her 286 IBM clone at college. Noticing a dozen units along with all the other parts, plus tool-kits and several cases of flopp’P arm she wouldn’t have to explain why those were among her purchases. She only knew so much Catteni and Barevi.
Kris haggled, and finally made her mark on the collection of glyphs that spewed out of his electronic equipment. She also ad
ded the glyph for ‘Kubitai’ that Zainal had shown her, grateful for his forethought.
Then they all loaded the boxes into the flitters. Their driver had
estimated the cargo space required and called in two, not
one.
All the way across the city, Kris forced herself to cheerful thoughts, terrified that something might happen and they’d be caught by an army trap or port patrol or some other unexpected glitch. But they made it safely back to the berth, and started unloading. Mitford, Gino, Slav, Coo and Pess hurried out to speed the process along, Gino whistling under his breath at the range of their purchases.
“Catteni can’t whistle,’ Kris said inside the safety of the ship.
“Ooops!’
“Any word from Zainal?”
Gino shook his head, trotting back down the ramp, muttering unintelligible noises that could be muffled Catteni curses and adding, “Drassi says,’ in a grumpy tone.
They had nearly finished the unloading when Balenquah staggered into the open hatch, his grey face-paint smeared with rivulets of sweat, his hair mud rubbed off overnight on the pillow, looking not at all like any Catteni.
Mitford recovered first. ‘Sick! Get back! Dow, Nin, get him back!” The two hauled the pilot back out of the way and he had time for only one muffled protest before someone knocked him out. Mitford rolled his eyes at Kris, who was facing the stunned flitter drivers.
Taking her cue from Mitford’s remark, she shook her head, feeling quite ill suddenly too.
“Very sick. Terran sick,’ she said, still shaking her head and making her wobbly legs carry her back down the ramp. There were only a few more boxes to be stored.
“Dockmaster knows?” the one-handed Catteni asked, his murky yellow eyes suspicious.
“Dockmaster says keep him on board and take him back to Terra,’ Mitford said, keeping his face away from the Catteni.
“Leave him there.” ‘Drassi say we leave today,’ Kris added for good measure. ‘I take shore leave back here! Told Bal no good there.” She gave the drivers just enough to satisfy them, not too meagre a sum to annoy them yet not enough to be considered a possible bribe.