by neetha Napew
“Leon, Mayock, front and centre and let’s get them out of there,’ and he charged up the ramp with the medical personnel.
Kris slipped ahead of him to her post at the deck controls.
“All right, now, let’s do this efficiently,’ she heard Bull Fetterman roaring. ‘Move that big sled up, stretcher-bearers up front.
Someone get blankets ready as makeshift . . .” The cargo hold doors parted and, although several people choked over the rancid body smells that wafted out, they walked on it and stopped.
“God in heaven . . .” Rastancil whispered, staring at the human debris, crumpled in small heaps, though some had managed to lie flat before the drug overcame them.
“And I thought we had it bad,’ Leon murmured, kneeling beside the first unconcious body, feeling the neck for a pulse, his eyes ranging around the deck.
Kris had turned on what lighting there was.
“Stretcher here,’ Leon said, pointing to the man and then moving inward, to the next prone body. ‘Mayock, we’d better do a triage.”
And the operation began its final stage.
Sixteen hundred humans, fortunately not all of them mindwiped but many with abused bodies and minor injures, were disembarked from the two ships. And two hundred Deski, one hundred and fourteen Rugarians, ninety Ilginish and twelve Turs.
The Turs were left on a lower deck which confined them should they wake before Raisha returned from taking the Catteni to their new accommodations. The two crewmen from the KDM had been secured in its cheerless brig throughout the trip, seeing only Coo or Mitford in his Catteni role. They were told that their ship had been commandeered.
One of them protested such treatment every time food was brought: even protested the good food he was served because it wasn’t what he was accustomed to. The other Catteni slept almost the entire time, rousing only long enough to take care of natural needs and eat. They were blindfolded before they left their cell so they would have little to add to what information the other captives might have.
With so many hands to help, Leon’s triage team separated those who needed the most attention from those who needed only rest, good food and reassurance. By then, quite a few were regaining consciousness and could be offered water and soup, hastily brought from the dining hall.
Even without, formal orders, there was suddenly a carer with every victim in a response that certainly gladdened Kris’s heart. Scott should have had more faith in the community’s generosity. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen examples of it with every new Drop the Catteni made.
Some awakened and were utterly passive: their empty faces expressionless. They had to be helped to drink, though they could manage to swallow or eat once food was put to their lips.
Others woke, screaming or sobbing helplessly and that was nearly as heartbreaking even if it gave an indication that some vestige of the original personality might remain.
“Just keep talking to them, folks,’ Leon called out. ‘Let them hear English, see human faces around them. Feed ‘em, but don’t let them gorge.” ‘Who knows when they’ve had a decent meal,’ Anna Bollinger muttered, trying to keep the bruised and battered woman beside her from gulping down the entire can of soup. ‘Just sip it.
There’ll be all you need.” ‘Gawd, it’s like a disaster scene, an earthquake or something,’ Joe Latore said, helping his male victim to his feet since the man was trying so desperately to stand.
“What’nthell are you doing, Zainal? Taking pictures of people right now.”
“I show the Farmers what Eosi do to people. I show the
Farmers what humans do to help,’ he said, bringing the taper in close to the vacant eyes of Joe’s man.
Then Zainal turned the camera to include the woman Leon was treating for body lacerations that covered every inch of her torso. He went from her to a group of three whose faces were devoid of any expression, eyes dulled and unfocusing.
Those who could be classified as walking wounded, were sent to the homes of volunteer caters, with instructions for basic care.
“Like a bath!” someone remarked loudly. ‘Wonder what I’ll find under all that dirt and . . . yuck.” Everyone volunteered to help almost to the point of being disappointed when all the victims had been assigned a place.
Leon and other medical staff gave general directions for emergency care. ‘Keep them warm, give them plenty of fluid, but limit solid food until their bodies can adjust. Let them sleep all they want. But don’t let them go off on their own. We’ll set up evaluation conferences and see which might respond to rehabilitaion.”
“Can you manage, Leon?” Scott asked earnestly.
“You better believe it, Ray,’ Leon replied sharply. ‘In fact we can and have managed it,’ and he swung his arm in a broad gesture across the all but empty field. ‘Who knows? Good food, fresh air, plenty of friendly faces . . .” he added with a wry grin, ‘and good trauma skills, we may even effect a significant number of complete recoveries.” ‘You really think so?” Scott looked ready to accept any reassurance for the responsibility he had off-loaded on the colony.
“Sure do!” Leon said in such a positive tone that Scott finally relaxed. ‘No way you could have left them! Any road, they’re better off with us.”
“They are, you know,’ Kris said. ‘You look beat, Ray.”
“I should take one in with me. My house is finished,’ and Scott stared after the last couples leaving the field.
“We’ll switch people around, Ray. I’ll make sure you take your turn,’ Leon said ironically. ‘Now, my prescription for you, Ray Scott, is get some rest. You too, Kris. You left your baby in the creche or does that seem years ago?” ‘It does, you know,’ she said. She’d been too busy to give much thought to Zane. But he was happy where he was: one of the creche girls had told her that he’d been just fine.
“I believe it. Get on up to him, now,’ and Leon gave her a little push in the right direction. Then, when he saw Kris glancing about her for Zainal, he added, ‘he was following the final load on the sled that last time I saw him.” To her delighted surprise, she met him just short of the creche, with Zane in his arms. He shrieked with joy on seeing his mother and, almost overbalancing himself out of Zainal’s arms, reached out both hands for her. Zainal let the exchange be made, one hand holding the recording camera tight against his side.
“I saw you filming,’ Scott said, altering his direction to join them. He even managed a tired smile at the enthusiastic way Zane was hugging his mother. Zainal patted the camera, nodding. ‘Such evidence is needed to show the Farmers how the Eosi treat humans. You will help me write a report, Ray?” And when Scott nodded wearily, Zainal added, ‘What words do not say, the film will.” ‘You’ll use one of those homing capsules the Farmers have in the Command Post?” ‘The Farmers do not approve of species’ injury. Once they see what Eosi do, we will hear from them again.” There was considerable discussion about whether or not the Farmers would be able to play the pictorial record when Zainal, Kris and the former movie cameraman had finished making it.
Baxter, however, did still photographs that were indeed worth a thousand words of explanation, and these were carefully inserted in the message tube.
The homing device had no trouble penetrating the Balloon on its way to its destination. Its departure was once again noted by the orbital and the geo-synchronous satellite, as well as its abrupt disappearance just past the heliopause. The event was immediately sent to Eosi headquarters for distribution.
The Ix Mentat, just returned from its almost futile investigations on the rebellious planet, was so contorted with rage that its juniors feared it might lose connection with its host. It had only just received a report from Barevi, citing the disappearance of one of the new transporter vessels as well as over 2,000 slaves, destined for the mining colony at The Sot Fac Set which had been expecting replacements for unavoidable casualties in a major shaft collapse. When the report came to the composition of that shipment, the Ix Mentat came close
r to self-extinction than any of its peer group in their long history.
Its recovery from such a seizure was slow: its host had suffered bodily injury and had to be repaired, an almost unheard-of complication in an Eosi/Emassi symbiosis.
To calm their senior, Mentats Co and Se issued orders that an installation was to be built on the innermost moon of the subject planet: a second orbital, programmed for a slower rotation, would provide constant surveillance and prevent the recalcitrant population from effecting another covert exit since it was now obvious that they had two or more spaceships.
When the Eosi Ix recovered fully from its incapacity, it began to organize the largest expedition ever mounted by Catteni forces. It would wreak the most horrific vengeance on that recalcitrant planet that had ever been mounted by Eosi Mentat.
Afterwards there would be no opposition left in the galaxy that could subject an Eosi to such humiliation. But first, they must find weapons or the method to breach the barrier around the colony planet.
A planet the Ix Mentat stoutly told all its colleagues, which was undoubtedly the cause of all the problems recently encountered by Catteni and Eosi alike. Once it was destroyed, the Eosi could resume their normal activities and enjoy their conquests unopposed.
Chapter One.
WHEN ZAINAL HAD ORGANIZED THE data he wanted to send to the Farmers via the homing capsule, he let Boris Slavinkovin and Dick Aarens fly it down to the Command Post for dispatch.
“You have a nasty sense of humor, Zainal,” Kris said when the hatch of the scout vessel Baby closed behind the messengers. She had been surprised by his choice of Aarens, considering the man’s behavior on their first visit to the Command Post.
“Well,” and Zainal gave a shrug of one shoulder and an unrepentant grin, “Aarens has had experience sending one off. Let him do it official this time. As a reward for his improvement.”
“What improvement?” Kris still had little time for the self-styled mechanical genius who had deliberately launched a homing capsule without authorization on their first trip to the Command Post.
They both stepped back from the takeoff area, as much to avoid the fumes as the wind, although Boris lifted the little craft slowly and cautiously.
They watched as it made an almost soundless vertical ascent before it slanted forward and sped off, disappearing quickly in the dusk of what had been a very long and momentous day.
The wide landing field that stretched out level with the immense, Farmer-constructed hangar could accommodate a half dozen of the K-class ships that had arrived today. They now were out of sight, within the vast hangar. At the far end of the landing area grew small copses of the lodgepole trees: young ones in terms of the age of the mature groves above and beyond the hangar. In the nearest of those groves the cabins of the colonists were being constructed, out of brick or wood, in separate clearings to allow the privacy that everyone preferred. Further up the slope were the infirmary, which today was crowded, and the huge mess hall, which served food all day long and well into the long Botany night. The largest building that faced Retreat Bay was the administration, where Judge Iri Bempechat held court when necessary, with the stocks just outside as a reminder that offenses against the community would be publicly punished.
The building also held the living quarters for the judge and other members of the body known as the Council, which included those with experience in management and administration to run the affairs of the colony. In the earliest days, when Master Sergeant Charles Mitford had taken charge of the dazed and frightened First Drop colonists, he’d kept records on pieces of slate with chalk. Now the admin building posted weekly work rosters and the community services that all were required to perform. (It still shocked Kris to see Judge Iri washing dishes, and he did it more cheerfully than many.)
Ex-Admiral Ray Scott had elected to live in a small room behind his office in the hangar complex. It was he, disguised as a Catteni Drassi, who had insisted that the Victims be rescued from the fate to which the Eosi had condemned them: working until they died as mindless slaves in the appalling conditions that existed in the mines, quarries, and fields. There had been no way that those of his crew who had been among the first dropped on Botany would have allowed those battered people to be transported to their deaths.
Considering the excitements of the day, the unloading of the victims of the Eosian mind-wipe experiment, which had occupied a good third of Botany’s settlers, the field was now abnormally quiet, peaceful. Kris sighed and Zainal gave her a fond look.
“ZAINAL? KRIS?” Chuck Mitford’s parade ground voice reached their ears over the muted sounds that Baby was making. They looked back to the hangar and saw Chuck urgently waving to them. He was talking to someone who had just pulled up in a runabout.
“Oh, now what?” The testy demand left Kris’ mouth before she could suppress it. She was tired and she earnestly desired a shower and a long sleep. She’d even arranged with the crche to keep Zane overnight since she knew herself to be stretched to the limit after the tense voyage home and the stress of landing all the pitiful mind-wiped people.
“We’d better see,” Zainal said, taking her hand in his big one and pressing it encouragingly.
“Don’t you ever get tired and just... have too much, Zainal?”This was one of those moments when his equanimity bordered on the unforgivable.
“Yes, but it passes;’ he said, leading her to where Chuck Mitford waited for them with the passenger of the runabout.
It wasn’t a long walk but long enough for Kris to get her irritation and impatience under control. If Zainal could hack it, so could she. But when would she get a shower? She stank! Well, maybe her body odor would encourage whoever this was to shorten their errand.
“What’s up, sarge?” she asked, noticing that he was talking to a woman she vaguely recognized from the Fourth Drop: as much because she managed to look elegant in the basic Catteni coverall. Kris wondered if she’d taken it in at crucial spots to make it look so fashionable. She was fleetingly envious of such expertise.
“Dorothy Dwardie who’s heading the psychology team needs some of your time, and right now,” Chuck said and had the grace to add, “though I’d guess another meeting’s the last thing you two need right now.”
“It is,” Kris said without thinking but she smiled at the psychologist to take the sting out of her candor.
“It is important?” And Zainal’s question was more statement than query.
“Yes, it is, quite urgent,” Dorothy said with an apologetic smile. “We need to know more about that mind-probe before we can proceed with any sort of effective or therapeutic treatment.”
“Why don’t you use the small office?” Chuck said, gesturing to that end of the immense hangar.
Zainal squeezed Kris’ hand and murmured: “This won’t take long. I know
very little about the probe;’
“I was hoping you’d know something, if only the history of its use among your people,” Dorothy said ruefully and then looked about for a place to park the runabout.
“I’ll take care of it for you,” Chuck said so helpfully that Kris smothered a grin.
Dorothy Dwardie gave him a warm smile for his offer.
“We’ve had a bit of outrageous luck,” she said as they walked to the right-hand side of the enormous hangar where other small offices had been constructed.
“We could use some,” Kris agreed, struggling for amiability.
“Indeed we could, though I must say that hijacking all those poor people
out from under Eosi domination is certainly their good luck. And you
deserve a lot of credit for that act of kindness:’
What she didn’t say rang loud and clear to Kris. There were some who weren’t sure she and Zainal deserved any credit? As well for them that Ray Scott had loudly declared that he took full responsibility for the decision to save the damaged Humans so no one could blame that on Zainal or her.
Actually the guilty were the Eos
i but too many people failed to make a distinction between overlord and underling. Kris’ mood swung back to negative again.
“But until we...” and Dorothy’s hand on her chest meant all the psychologists and psychiatrists on Botany who would now take charge of the mind-wiped, “understand as much as possible about the mechanism... ah, here we are...” and she opened the door to the small office and automatically fumbled for a light switch on the wall.
Kris had seen the cord and pulled it.
“Oh . . . I suppose I’ll get used to it in time,” Dorothy said with an apologetic grin.
“You’re Fourth Drop, aren’t you?” Kris replied as neutrally as possible while Zainal closed the door behind them. There were several desks against the long stone wall but a table and chairs made an appropriate conference spot by the wide window. There was nothing but darkness outside, since the hangar faced south and there were no habitations yet beyond the field.
“You said you had a bit of outrageous luck ?”
Kris asked when they were seated.
“Yes, not everyone in the group you brought had been mind-wiped.”
“Certainly the Deskis, Rugs, and Turs weren’t,” Kris said.
“Nor all the Humans,” Dorothy said, smiling over such a minor triumph.
“They weren’t?” Kris asked, exchanging surprised glances with Zainal.
“Yes, some faked the vacuity of the mindless . . .”
“Faked it?”
Dorothy smiled more brightly. “Clever of them, actually, and they got away with it because those in charge weren’t keeping track of who had been... done.”
Kris let out a long whistle. “All us Human look alike to Eosi? Proves, though, doesn’t it, that the Eosi aren’t all that smart after all. Clever of us Humans to run the scam.”
“They’re also able to give us names for many of the people who no longer remember who they are.” Dorothy gave a little shudder. “I’ve dealt with amnesia patients before, of course, and accident shock trauma, but this is on so much larger a scale... and complicated by not only emotional but also physical shock and injury. We have established—thanks to Leon Dane’s work with injured Catteni---that there are more points of similarity than differences between our two species since both are bipedal, pentadactyl, and share many of the same external features, like eyes, ears, noses. We can’t of course cross-fertilize,” and to Kris’ surprise, Dorothy ducked her head to hide a flush.