Freedom's Landing

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Even with so many mouths to feed, sarge?” a woman shouted.

  He waved off that concern. “We got a whole planet to hunt and plenty of grain stored where we can get it.”

  “Winter’s coming…”

  “So’s Christmas and we’ll have heating units from those solar panels long before. Now settle down. What we’re going to do to relieve the housing shortage here is move into the buildings we know are empty and already plumbed for our benefit.”

  “But all those machines…”

  “Have been decommissioned,” Mitford said, raising his voice to parade-ground volume. “The Botany Hilton or Sheraton or whatever, is safe, sound, and has,” he paused, “space available. Our local home decorators have been busy designing alterations, so I think you’ll be surprised at how comfortable you’re going to be.”

  “I’m not so sure I wanna live near machines.…”

  “Quietest neighbors you ever had, I’ll betcha,” Mitford said and got another ripple of laughter. “Good chance of us having an intercom system, too, now we got more technicians. All that machinery’s going to be recycled for our benefit!”

  “Yeah, and what happens when their owners find out?”

  The man spoke with a slight accent but Kris couldn’t locate the speaker.

  “As I understand it, Doctor Who always managed to evade the mechanicals and so can we,” Mitford said with great good humor and got more laughs. “Seriously, though, folks, our population’s growing and,” once again he paused, “everyone’s welcome. This is an equal opportunity situation. Let me make that plain. D’you get me?” He waited for the response and, to Kris’ relief, got a fairly hearty cheer. “For one thing, there’s safety in numbers, especially when you can recruit a lot of specialists who can improve our conditions. And we do. Hell, sixteen days since we got dropped to freedom on that field, we’ve even got decent spoons and forks, and better rations than we landed with. Furthermore, we’ve sorted out some basic problems our allies were having since Zainal and Kris Bjornsen found the nutrient plant that seems to be helping the Deskis. Even if Zainal found it…the hard way.”

  Applause and good-natured laughter acknowledged that announcement and Kris was well pleased by both elements: that Zainal was getting the credit and that the Deskis were stabilizing.

  “We Yanks have a reputation for making something out of nothing, and now that the Aussies have joined us, we’ll do even better. There’ll be duty and housing rosters up on the bulletin board,” and he pointed to the location on the main cave wall opposite him, “in the morning, so be sure to check. We’re going to try and make space here in the headquarters to process incomers and as general hospital. Tesco’s in charge of quarters, Dowdall’ll take work assignments. You need to see me, check with Cumber. That’s all for now, folks. Dissss-MISSED!”

  There was good-natured laughter at his military salutation and he disappeared into the darkness beyond the main campfire.

  “Hi, Patti Sue,” and Kris leaned around Jay to speak to her. “Heard you’ve been a real Nightingale to the Deskis.”

  Patti Sue linked her arm through Jay’s in such a proprietary fashion that the gesture indicated her improvement from terrified refugee to self-confident young woman.

  “Do what I can,” she said, her drawl more pronounced than ever.

  “You’ve done marvels, and you know it,” Jay said, stroking her hand.

  “D’you know if you’re moving from the Rock?” Kris asked Patti Sue and then looked at Jay.

  He shrugged. “Dunno yet. COQ’ll be up tomorrow morning. We’ll all know then.”

  * * *

  IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, KRIS WAS ROUSED by considerable noise in the corridor. Even Zainal was awakened, propping himself up on one elbow and trying to see out.

  “Don’t you dare put a foot on the ground,” she said, pressing him back down. She felt his cheek and he was considerably cooler than he had been when she had last checked him. “You’re better. Don’t mess up. I’ll go see.”

  She’d told him about the meeting and also that Mitford had given him credit for finding the remedy for the Deskis.

  “Even if you had to do it the hardest way possible,” she’d said with some acrimony. He’d only snorted. “At least they know one Catteni’s a good guy.” Maybe others wouldn’t. She didn’t add that, but that sentiment naggingly lingered at the back of her mind.

  She folded on her shoes, the only thing she took off before going to bed, and went out into the corridor.

  “Good!” One of the new Aussie medics grabbed her by the arm. “We need all the help we can get.”

  The newest arrivals had not had a Zainal or Kris to stamp the ground and dispatch the scavengers, and there were many with mangled arms and legs. Most of the victims spoke languages she didn’t understand but which sounded Slavic or Scandinavian. Only a few had some English.

  When she was sent by Leon to get more supplies and rouse additional helpers, she saw that the ravine was crammed with bodies, draped wherever they had stopped, too tired to move another step. But the cook cavern was ablaze with lights. Sandy, Bart, and half a dozen others were busy at their hearths, and the “store” was busy with Jay and Patti Sue doling out supplies. Jay instantly filled the hospital order and she returned.

  The third moon had set before she was released, and when she got back into the tiny den she shared with Zainal, she had to step carefully over the three other bodies bunked in there during her absence. Fortunately they were fast asleep, though she thought she saw Zainal’s eyes glimmer in the corridor light as he checked out her arrival.

  So no one was able to follow the carefully detailed rosters that were up on the camp’s main bulletin board. More parties were sent out to help stragglers, to hunt, to collect additional supplies of grain from that supply depot. Jay complained that folks had to search fairly far from Camp Rock to find firing and brush for bedding.

  By high noon, all the new arrivals had been fed a decent meal and had someplace to lay their blanket.

  The Rugarians, led by Slav, finally returned, bearing the crates with the basic supplies that had been left with this new group. Class C was what Mitford decided to call them. All morning had to be spent extracting information from those who could speak English among the Russians, Norwegians, Swedes, Danes, Bulgarians, Romanians, and some Greeks who comprised this drop. The fact that so many different nationalities were resisting the Catteni on Earth gave the entire camp a morale boost.

  “But why’d they have to dump ’em here when they don’t even speak English?” one man complained in a wail.

  “Who asked?” a wit demanded. “We’ll manage. Hell, I know five Deski phrases and nine in Rugs. I’ll manage another few lingos. Well, at least, until they learn English.”

  By evening the population had increased by a thousand and fifty-two: far more than the camp could accommodate even by crowding into all available cavern space.

  Of Class C, those that could speak English and had not been injured or had suffered only minor hurts were sent off with Sandy, Joe Lattore, and Tesco to organize quarters in the abattoir buildings.

  “They don’t know what happened there, and I don’t plan to tell ’em,” Sandy remarked to Kris when Kris came upon the woman, packing her pots and utensils. “I’ll organize the cooking there. Twenty barns, are there?” When Kris nodded, “Ah, we’ll probably be able to accommodate a lot more than we’re taking with us right now, but it’ll sure ease the crush.”

  There was no longer sitting room in the cook cavern and every single hearth was going full-out all the time. The smell from unwashed bodies exuding fear as well as sweat quite masked the more appetizing odors of grilled meats and fresh bread.

  When Sandy and her contingent had left, Kris couldn’t see where space had been gained and went back to the hospital with the broth she’d gone to collect. Zainal was more eager for any news she had than the food she brought him but he ate that hungrily enough. His leg was nearly back to its normal
sturdy size and the wound was healing cleanly. But it was still crater-sized and Leon had made it clear that Zainal was not to move about much.

  Zainal did, though, helping with patients who had to be lifted when their dressings were changed or were being moved to new accommodations. He did more than he should, but she couldn’t keep her eyes on him all the time and there was a lot to be done to make the injured as comfortable as possible with no pain relief or more anti-infection medication than the harsh Catteni fluid. The merest drop of the powerful anesthesia tended to render a patient unconscious for a full day. Medically that was imprudent, however much relief it afforded the injured party.

  “Whatever those critters are that scavenge, at least they bite clean,” Leon said later that day when Kris helped him bandage an arm wound. Flesh had been excised as cleanly as a scalpel would cut, but the patient had lost muscle as well as flesh and, from the extent of the injury, Kris rather thought the man would lose the use of his arm entirely.

  “They bite big, too,” she murmured under her breath, after looking to be sure the victim was unconscious.

  Leon only sighed and continued his repair. Kris was rather surprised at her ability to regard hideous tears of flesh and muscle with an objectivity she didn’t know she possessed. She hadn’t been nauseous once, though others on the temporary nursing staff were.

  The dressing complete, both she and Leon finished the current round and walked toward the front of the “hospital.” A breeze was blowing in and freshening the air of the “emergency room,” which, for the first time in several days, was empty of patients.

  “You,” and she took Leon by the arm, “need food and rest, not necessarily in that order, but I can see to it that you eat!” She gave a deep sniff of the incoming breeze. “Smells good, too.” Hauling him by the arm, she marched him out and down the ledge to the cook cavern.

  “I hate managing females,” Leon protested, but weakly, as she maneuvered him past those busy with chores on the ledge.

  Below, in his “office,” Mitford was still debriefing the able-bodied of the last batch though, from the expressions on his face and Esker’s, he was making slow work of it with two blond Scandinavian types sitting there.

  “Most Scandinavians speak English,” Leon remarked.

  “The ones you’ve met in Sydney, or the ones in Oslo, Bergen, or Copenhagen?”

  Leon laughed wearily. “I always wanted to take a travel year.”

  “Well, guess what? You’re on it.”

  Already Kris missed the presence of Sandy at her hearth, but Bart was present, and evidently in charge of the catering.

  “Never been in a job that was so damned constant,” Bart said when they presented themselves at his hearth. He rolled his eyes and then mopped the sweat off his forehead with a pad of fluff which he then dropped into the fire. It hissed. “I’m cooking all the hours the good Lord put in this crazy day. What’s your pleasure? We got soup for starters, soup, and then, for the main course, soup. We even got crackers,” and he offered a square of unleavened stuff, “’cos we ran outta bread and the new baking hasn’t risen yet.”

  “Why, I think I’ll have soup,” Kris said, getting herself a clean bowl from the stack at the hearth.

  “I’ll have a taste adventure, then, and try the soup,” Leon said and Bart grinned as he ladled out their portions.

  “Don’t ask what’s in it, will ya,” he said as a final caution when they moved out to the ledge to enjoy their meal.

  “That’s a promise,” Kris said with a laugh.

  The soup was tasty, with a tangy bite to it, as well as unidentifiable shreds of meat. The satisfying warmth in the stomach revived her. That was, until she saw Zainal carefully making his way down the steps to Mitford’s office.

  “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Dane demanded.

  “Something other than lying in bed doing nothing,” Kris answered Leon’s complaint. She nervously shifted her feet, knowing she shouldn’t follow the big man, but wanting to be sure he didn’t open that leg wound. He very carefully negotiated his descent, so she made herself relax. The question was: what urgent business could Zainal have with Mitford that he’d risk opening that wound? Something he couldn’t trust her to do for him? Down girl, she told herself firmly. She might be his keeper but she was not his conscience. Whatever he was saying to Mitford, the Sergeant was listening very hard. Zainal was still there in the “office” when she and Leon had finished eating and had to go back on duty.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING ESKER FOUND HER, SETTLING THE other patients—none of whom had any English—in her den.

  “Mitford needs to speak to you, Kris. And you, too, Zainal.”

  He was gone before Kris could question him but, thinking over the tone in which the summons was delivered, she felt no apprehension. After all, Zainal had had that intense discussion with Mitford. Had the Sergeant reached a decision? If one was needed?

  Mitford was, as usual this time of his long workday, sitting by the fire, the pottery pitcher of beverage by the side of his rock, the half-full cup in one hand. In the other, he had a stick and was prodding a chunk of wood to a better position in the fire.

  “Zainal has some cockamamy notion of sending a mayday to his people next time they overfly us,” Mitford said, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at Kris. “He feels we haven’t had the last of these drops.” Mitford gave a little sigh for the problems yet another influx of people would provide. “Now, fer starters, I don’t know as how I want to appeal to them for any help, but it’s the truth we need some sort of medical supplies as well as the proper nutrients for the Deskis. That thornbush junk is not quite enough, not for the older Deskis, though it’s helping Coo. I just don’t like to lose anyone, human or alien.” He scowled as he delivered that remark.

  “How could we possibly contact them?” Kris said, turning to Zainal.

  “Make this message on field,” Zainal said, and unfolded a slip of bark on which were written, or maybe drawn was the proper term for the four complex hieroglyphics Zainal had inscribed.

  “How? We haven’t rediscovered paint yet here.”

  He gave her a brief smile. “Ground is dark under…” and he waggled his hand to try to find the appropriate word.

  “Stubble? Grass?” she supplied.

  “Whatever. Take off covering, leave ground bare.”

  That was a good idea, only somehow Kris shared Mitford’s obvious reluctance to make any contact with the Catteni.

  “We put message many fields off,” and Zainal gestured to the north. “They know we live. They bring more they don’t want.”

  “They know we’re here?” Kris asked, more disturbed by that than she liked, though a quick look at Mitford showed him more sanguine.

  Zainal nodded. “Heat sensors.” Then he stretched his lip in a humorous grin. “That’s why they fly over.”

  “Humph, thought that might be it,” Mitford said. “Bastards!”

  Then Zainal’s grin altered to one of amusement at the Sergeant’s acceptance and once again Kris was amazed at how that smile transformed his alien cast of countenance. He looked almost human, except for the white of his teeth contrasting with the gray of his skin. “Know we live so send more.”

  “Yeah, but they still don’t know about the existence of the Mech Makers!”

  Zainal shook his head. “Sensors find warm bodies, not machinery.”

  “Hmmm,” Mitford said, stirring the fire with his branch.

  “Coo still weak but young. Older ones worse and get worser,” Zainal said urgently in English, then, in his concern, resorted to Barevi. “Catteni take captives everywhere, but they take good care of them. Of Rugarians, Deskis, Turs and Ilginish, and Terrans. Healthy bodies work better. Asking for proper food is acceptable.”

  “Won’t they find it strange that we ask in Catteni symbols?” Kris asked, pointing to his bark message.

  Zainal grinned broadly again. “They know humans are smart,” he said in E
nglish. “Too damned smart so they drop them here. No trouble here. Coo and Pess good folks. Can’t lose.” Now he turned his earnest expression on Mitford. “I work with Deskis and Rugarians before. Good folks. We save them?”

  “You sure have learned English quick, Zainal,” Mitford said in a drawl, temporizing, Kris thought. Then he regarded Zainal for a long moment. “And the Deskis deserve saving. Your guys’d just drop the supplies?” Zainal nodded. “They wouldn’t come down to find out?” Zainal shook his head. “Why not?”

  Zainal now laughed. “You make trouble. They…” He paused and Kris could almost see him trying to sort through his head to find the right words. “Play it safe. I play it safe, too.”

  “You mean, you wouldn’t take the opportunity to get off Botany?” Mitford asked that in such a mild tone that Kris hoped Zainal would see he was being deftly interrogated.

  “They don’t take back what they put down,” he said with a philosophical shrug.

  Mitford grimaced. “So there’s no chance we could commandeer one of their transports?”

  Zainal considered this and finally shook his head. “They be careful where they drop.” He grinned. “Especially near you Terrans.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Zainal’s teeth gleamed in the firelight when he smiled. “Know it before, back on Barevi. Lots of talk. Hear it now from the new ones. Believe it, too. I see how you work.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” Mitford replied sardonically but amused by Zainal’s approval. “Why would they do us a favor then?”

  “I tell you why.” Now Zainal seemed to tense and Kris felt Mitford was pushing him too much, as if he didn’t quite believe Zainal was on the level. “Keep healthy to…improve this planet.”