by neetha Napew
He had repeated “vowel” and now spoke “consonant.” Zainal had no trouble committing the sequence of the alphabet to memory—nor of naming any of them when Kris drilled him. His concentration was incredible.
He kept her going until even such words as “Spot” and “Jane” were blurring her eyes. He had also read through the book nine times and had it memorized.
“No spot and jane on the computers,” he said.
“We’ll work on computer language tomorrow,” she said, rising stiffly from the chair in which his need to learn had pinned her for hours. She yawned.
“I work more now,” he said, looking at her expectantly.
“Okay, see how many words you already know that rhyme with Spot... like dot, and tot, and Scott... or with Jane, like mane... no not drain... ah, try run, fun, gun, stun...”
“Oh,” he said, delighted at such an exercise.
She went to bed. When Zane woke her in false dark, hungry, Zainal had filed pages of similarly sounding words, not all of which were spelled properly but she had to give him an A for effort. Spelling would come later.
What did astonish her as she fed Zane by candlelight was the computer manual she found under a pile of his laboriously hand-printed sheets. He had underlined all the unwords... ctrl, del, esc, Pgdn, Pgup, num, menu.
“He can’t have read the manual,” she murmured and smothered a laugh.
“He may be one of the few who ever did before they turned on a computer.”
She and Zane had gone back to sleep again before full daylight and, by then, Zainal had gone off to work. In a neat pile on the mantel he had left all but the primer. Doubtless that had gone back to the library shelves for something more challenging. The manual was still there but then, there had been plenty of those in the packing cases they’d brought back from the marketplace at Barevi. But why this sudden need to understand computers . . . ah, yes. It probably had something to do with Zainal’s master plan. Maybe it was plans since he intended not only to free Earth but destroy the Eosi and release Catten from slavery. Did he also plan to use the mind stimulator on everyone? To equalize the Catten race? Ooops, she sort of thought that might be a bad idea. Zainal was a most unusual Catteni.
Still, there might well be similarly motivated Emassi among those whom he was going to enlist to help. But the Drassi... and the Rassi... though she despised herself for generalizing... were different: especially since they were such big people with lots of muscles and not much common sense.
She had an early shift this morning so she and Zane started off in the fresh morning air to the day care center. He was crawling around everywhere, even trying to climb, and spent more time falling down. But she let him fall... and let him get up. He rarely hurt himself. On the advice of other mothers, she had put extra padding on the knees of his trousers, saving him scratches if not bruises. Actually, Kris thought, Botany’s new generation was generally sturdy and few mothers had the time to pamper their children. With the notable exception of Janet and Anna Bollinger. Their kids, however, had enough rough and tumble at the day care center to have developed allergies to maternal fussiness.
No television, no Coke, or chocolate—though sometimes Kris’ craving for a chocolate bar was almost overwhelming—was all to the good. She did miss caffeine and, while the experiments with beer and other spiritous liquors had been successful, there was as yet no tobacco substitute. As soon as the children were able, they were put to little tasks and chores that would make them as self-sufficient as their parents had learned to be.
Raisha Simonova was checking in the children at the day care center this morning. Zane toddled firmly off to the room that catered to his age group. One of the Deski children, Fil, was on its way (gender in Deskis developed later) so he waited for Fil. Another plus for Botany—no racism.
Well, not to fret over, because the few who had trouble assimilating with the Rugarians and Deskis were gradually losing their sense of Human superiority: difficult to maintain when a Deski walked up a wall to carry slates to the roof. Or a Rugarian easily hefted weights that took two or three Humans to manage. Both races were also becoming more and more fluent in English, though they had trouble with past tenses of verbs. Who didn’t?
And a good couple of dozen Humans were attempting to master their languages.
Almost, Kris thought, as she stopped by the library to pick up the day’s reading, it would be a shame to have to open Botany up. It could easily ruin the harmony that had been achieved. And yet...
All three of her charges were sitting in their bedside chairs, an aura of anticipation about them.
“They know to the minute when you’re due, Kris,” Mavis Belton said.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know how good,” Mavis said with a deep sigh, slightly turning her head toward one of the “difficult wards” where the worst of the Victims were kept.
“Good morning, Marjorie,” Kris began, initiating her morning routine by touching the arm of each in turn, “Good morning, Peggy. Good morning, Sophie.”
“Why do you call me Sophie? That’s my middle name. My Christian name is Norma,” the woman said with a hint of petulance. “Norma Sophie Barrow. Miss Barrow.”
“I do apologize, Miss Barrow;’ Kris said sincerely, holding her hand now for the woman to shake. ‘I’m Kris Bjornsen, the nurse’s aide.”
“Of course, you are. We’ve been expecting you,” Miss Barrow said almost tartly. “Aren’t we?”
Marjorie and Peggy nodded.
“In that case, let us walk up to the dining hall,” Kris said.
Behind the newly restored Miss Barrow, Mavis was almost in tears with joy at the breakthrough. It was a very mixed blessing. Miss Barrow was stunned to find herself in such rural, primitive surroundings.
“Rustic, ! should say,” she remarked as they entered the log-built main hall. “I would certainly never take my vacation in such a setting:’ She wanted coffee and refused to drink the herbal tea which was all that was served. She wanted white bread toast and butter and did not like the berry preserve, which did service as a spread. Nor would she eat the hot oatmeal. Porridge was for children or invalids. She wanted an egg, boiled, three minutes.
Although Marjorie and Peggy were hungry enough to eat what Kris served them, they began to falter as Miss Barrow’s complaints jarred their own memories of breakfasts or homes or what they had once been accustomed to.
Just as Kris was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to cope with this sort of insurrection, Dorothy Dwardie slid in beside Miss Barrow.
“I am so glad to see you looking so well, today, Miss Barrow.”
Miss Barrow recoiled from Dorothy, a hint of fear contorting her features.
“Surely, you remember me, Doctor Dwardie?”
“Doctor?” Miss Barrow was only slightly reassured while Kris admired the friendly but not intimate tone Dorothy used.
“Yes, Doctor Dwardie, I’m in charge of your case.”
“I’ve not been well?” As Miss Barrow’s fragile hand went to her chest and her expression became even more confused, Dorothy nodded, still smiling with great reassurance.
“Yes, but nothing life-threatening, I’m happy to report. The tests have all come back negative. You may not remember things in the detail you used to but we’re positive that you will make a complete recovery.”
“I was working very hard,” Miss Barrow said, running one nervous finger along the edge of the table and watching its progress, “the merger, you know.”
“Yes, exactly, the merger. One of the elements of your convalescence has actually been a change of diet to a very bland one. A change to flush the toxins of fatigue out of your system. If you just look at Marjorie and Peggy, you’ll see how healthy and fine they are. And you’re very much improved.”
“Toxins . . . yes, there were toxins,” Miss Barrow said. “Some of them . . .” She closed her lips and gave a weak smile. “I’m not allowed to talk about my work, you
understand.”
“Yes, yes, Miss Barrow, we do. Miss Bjornsen is the soul of discretion but as I have a top security clearance, perhaps if we had a quiet little chat in my office, I could relieve your mind, and we can figure out just what other therapy will speed your recovery.”
Gently Dorothy got Miss Barrow to her feet and led her out of the dining room and toward her putative office.
“She’ll be all right, won’t she?” Marjorie said, her eyes wide with fright.
It was also the first time Marjorie had said more than yes, no, and maybe.
Peggy stared from one to another and then back to Kris for reassurance.
“She’ll be fine;’ Kris said firmly, smiling and nodding her head. “But I think we’d better finish our breakfasts. Then we’ll find a quiet spot for me to finish reading Pride and Prejudice.”
“I read that once,” Peggy said in a vague tone, frowning slightly.
“I like Kris reading,” Marjorie said.
“Why, thank you, Marjorie;’
“You know you don’t have to be so formal, Kris. I don’t mind if you call me Marge like everyone else.”
Then she grimaced, looking down at the table and, with furtive glances, gradually looked around the room. Peggy, however, held up her cup for more tea, which Kris instantly supplied.
“Some of your friends aren’t here with you, Marge;’ Kris said, thinking some explanation should be offered before Marjorie’s returning awareness caused her dismay.
“They aren’t?”
“More tea?” Kris offered and Marge shook her head.
“Doesn’t really taste like tea to me.”
“It’s part of the bland diet to reduce the dose of toxicity you had,” Kris said.
“But you’re drinking it, too. Did you get a dose?”
“No,” Kris replied, “but we aides thought it wasn’t fair for us to drink something you aren’t yet allowed.”
“Oh!” Marge accepted that.
Kris tried not to wonder what else would happen today or who would have a breakthrough but the rest of her eight-hour shift went without any further incident, other than Marge making comments about beautiful scenery and the lovely fresh air. Peggy said nothing more and seemed to be deep in her own thoughts. And Kris certainly hoped she was having some.
She got her two charges back for their afternoon nap and, for once, they lay down in their beds immediately and were asleep in moments.
Mavis beckoned her into the nurse’s office.
“That Miss Barrow’s a pisswhistler,” she murmured in rather unprofessional language. “And that’s exactly what brought her around.”
“How so?”
“She ran a huge lab for Erkind Pharmaceuticals and everything, but everything had to be precisely in place and exactly done.”
“Oh! And suddenly her neurones meshed and nothing here was as it should be in her neat little mind?”
“Exactly/’
“Has she realized where she is now?”
Mavis cocked her. “She’s fighting it but with every twitch of
disagreement, she’s remembering more. She’s more than halfway back to
sanity:’
Kris grimaced. “If precision and order are her sort of sanity, she could be a real pain in the arse.”
Mavis shook her head this time. “No, we’ll let her manage our lab when
she’s fully recovered. It’ll be the envy of . . .” Then Mavis
giggled. “We couldn’t actually ask for someone with a better
background/’
Kris thought of Leon Dane, of Thor Mayock’s hooch, and the easy, if effective, way the hospital facilities had been run, and wondered.
“You’ll see,” Mavis said. “How’re the other two?”
“Some speech from Marge... she prefers that... and one sentence from
Peggy but that one’s been thinking hard all day long/’
“Good,” and Mavis made notes on the day pad. “We’ll see if we can improve on your start. You’re mid-shift tomorrow?”
Kris nodded and then another group returned to the dormitory and Mavis went to help settle them for their rest.
ON HER WAY TO COLLECT ZANE, she wondered just how the prim and proper Miss Barrow would view the Deski and Rugarians with whom they shared the planet. And how she could react to Zainal’s presence when she saw him. Once the Victims started being people again, they would have to see, and become accustomed to, the one Catteni since he was the one who had organized their rescue.
Zane was having a late nap and Kris looked rather enviously at all the small bodies, all curled up under their blankets on the mats that had been woven for the purpose.
“Go grab some zzz’s yourself;’ murmured Sheila who was in charge.
She was also working on a detailed map of the eastern coast of this continent, from measurements Kris’s exploratory team had brought back. “I’ll never get used to the long days here. Not to mention the long nights. I’ll wake you when Zane’s up. I always say, leave sleeping dogs and chilluns lie.”
There were bunks for the nighttime staff, two of which were already occupied, so Kris climbed as quietly as possible into an upper one and very shortly fell asleep.
A SLOPPY WET KISS WOKE HER: the donor being her dearly beloved son, who had managed to clamber up the ladder at the head of the bunk.
He giggled, delighted with his accomplishment, though Kris was only too relieved he had escaped unscathed. She’d take ladders away the next time she slept here.
“Hey, love, you don’t know how to climb ladders yet,” she said, alternating between being frightened at the risk he had taken and proud that he had tried.
“Ahh, Mummy.”
Kris threw back the blanket, jumped lightly to the ground and held up her hands for him. Quick as could be and without a moment’s hesitation, he flung himself down at her, giggling when she caught him neatly. Ssssh-ing him, they left the sleeping room. Two beds were still occupied.
Zane was in great form and, as it was snack time, they went hand in hand to the dining room, which was crowded with others. With such long days, four or five meals were frequently offered. A hearty breakfast, a mid morning sandwich, a three-course dinner midday, a mid-afternoon fruit and sandwich, and then a good supper. Late-night snacks were leftovers of bread, cake, and sandwiches, whatever needed to be eaten up and usually was. The herbal tea and, with spring now leading into summer, fruit juices were available all day long. Caterers worked in several short shifts but nevertheless worked a twelve-hour day. Food preparation was as often as not a punishment detail for minor infractions of colony laws, but everyone took a turn at those chores. The big difference here on the new land was that the food didn’t also have to be picked, dug, fished, or gutted: other working groups had already processed it for cooking.
On the northern wall of the dining room were the listings of jobs and rotas so that there was no excuse for anyone to miss assignments. Diners customarily checked before or after they ate to see what their duties were for the next day or the next week.
Zainal was listed as working with ex-Admiral Ray Scott, Bull Fetter-man, Bert Put, John Beverly, Chuck Mitford, Jim Rastancil, Salvinato, Gino Marrucci, Raisha Simonova, Boris Slavinkovin, Hassan Moussa, Laughrey, Ayckburn, Peter Easley, and Worrell. These week-long meetings were scheduled at the hangar. Considering that most of these men were ex-service of one country or another, Kris had no problem figuring out that Zainal was probably talking up his master plan. Whether the others would go for it or not was debatable. Certainly there were significant absences from that list, such as the odious Geoffrey Ainger, the Brit naval commander, Beggs, who had been Scott’s gopher, and Sev Balenquah, who had so nearly blown their disguises on their sneak trip back to Barevi to obtain the supplies which were making all the difference in the efficiency and productivity of the colony.
And if all those with experience in flying the Catteni craft, including Raisha, were there, she wondered just what esca
pade was being planned.
And why wasn’t she included?
SHE AND ZANE HAD THEIR SNACK, a hot rolled sandwich with a sort of sausagey filling, the constituents of which she did not wish to know but the result tasted good. Zane licked his fingers so hungrily that she found a small extra one to give him.
“We’ve our garden to tend now, love,” she said, and he hopped and skipped alongside her as they returned to their cabin. She got out the hoe and his little weeder prong and they finished that chore by the time they saw Zainal being dropped off from the flatbed, still occupied by those living farther up the way to the main administrative area.
“Daddy, daddy!” And Zane made a wobbly beeline to his father who heaved him up so high that Kris caught her breath, even though she knew perfectly well that Zainal would never drop the boy.
“And what might I ask are you and all the high, low, and middle brass doing at the hangar these days?”
“Heard one of your old girls remembered who she is,” he replied.
“Ah, how good the gossip system is here;’ she said drolly. “First, please, the answer to my question?”
“Those who played... doggo?” and Zainal’s yellow eyes twinkled as he
looked for confirmation on his use of the slang, “knew a lot more than
they thought they did:’
“That’s good. About what did they know more?”
“I believe Scott calls it ‘the state of the nation.””
“And?”
“We’re mounting an expedition.” He did not meet her gaze, but threw the delightedly squealing Zane up in the air again.