Freedom's Landing

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Why not indeed,” Joe said in a placatory fashion.

  “Why didn’t you go when you could? What was the duty they want you for?”

  “Emassi duty,” and Zainal’s voice turned inflexible. “Too late for that duty now. Once I wanted that duty. Not now. Much has happened. They drop me. I stay drop.”

  “Dropped,” Kris said automatically.

  “Dropped. Funny language, English.”

  “You’re not the first to think so.”

  “Nor will I be last,” and he grinned in the night at her.

  “So,” Worry said, “they wanted you for a duty you no longer feel you need do?”

  “Right. No one believes what I told transport men about Mecho Makers.”

  “So that’s why you showed him the comunit,” Sarah carried on, “because he knows what supplies came with us and that certainly wasn’t included.”

  “Right,” Zainal said.

  “So you showed him and now they will have to believe you,” Sarah went on, “but why wouldn’t they believe you?”

  “I dropped,” and he emphasized the final d of the past tense.

  “So now what?” Kris asked, worried.

  “We wait. We see.”

  “And if the Eosi come before the Mecho Makers?”

  “Not Eosi but someone higher than…” Zainal jerked his thumb upward indicating the late captain. “We wait. We see.”

  “I don’t like this,” Worry said. Then the comunit he wore at his belt bleeped, a curious intrusion in the night. “Worrell here…Oh, Mitford. Yes, Zainal did make contact with the spacecraft. Here,” and Worry handed the unit to Zainal. “He shoulda called on yours.”

  The conversation was one-sided but since everyone listening knew what had happened from Zainal’s point of view, some of his responses were amusing. Possibly not on Mitford’s end, but in the middle of a cold night—and Kris was beginning to feel the chill in the air—the responses held a humorous element. Finally Zainal gave a series of “okays” in response to Mitford’s instructions, depressed the off button, and passed the device back to Worry.

  “He knows. We know. We say nothing,” Zainal informed them.

  “Say nothing?” Worry exclaimed. “The whole camp got wakened by that damned sentry rousing you and then me. They’ll demand to know.”

  Zainal shrugged and struck off up the next tier of rock.

  “False alarm, that’s what we’ll tell them. It was a false alarm. Ship just flew over,” Worry went on.

  “Wrong time of night to overfly anything,” Joe suggested, climbing behind Worry. “Moons went down early.”

  “Nonsense,” Kris said firmly as she followed Joe, Worry, and Zainal. “We tell the truth, or how will they trust us?”

  “Good point,” Sarah said, starting up. “We want to build trust, not destroy it.”

  “Say nothing,” Zainal called down to them. “Smile and say nothing. Sarge will tell them what they need to know.”

  “He’s got a point there,” Worry said.

  “One thing puzzles me,” Joe said, spacing out words as he climbed, “why your survey didn’t tumble to the fact that this world—well, this continent at least—is all carved up into neat fields? Surely they must have seen the anomaly in that…a clear indication this planet was, had been, cultivated?”

  Zainal answered. “Loo-cows and rocksquats not smart so planet is not occupied! They do not ‘see’ the machinery.” He added a plainly derogatory phrase in the harsh Catteni.

  Then they all had to save their breath for climbing. When they reached the Rock, only the sentries were awake, as they should be, and Worry brushed off their questions with a “Nothing to worry about. Tell you in the morning, I’m bushed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  MITFORD ARRIVED THE NEXT MORNING IN A REFITTED tractor which had been altered to carry six passengers. Mitford had with him the two NASA Mission Specialists, both of whom, he said, had had training in discerning planetary features from space. Kris, Zainal, and the others had breakfasted, well prepared for a Mitford debriefing. The MSS—a man and a woman with really nothing to distinguish them from anyone else except that they had been in space—took charge of the maps at one end of Mitford’s desk which Worry had hastily surrendered to the Sergeant.

  “Why’n’t you take off with ’em?” was Mitford’s first sharp question to Zainal.

  He smiled. “I like it here better.” Zainal didn’t look at Kris but Mitford did and she mildly returned his stare in a “none of your business” attitude. “I dropped,” and again he made much of the past tense, emphasizing the t sound. “I stay.”

  She really didn’t think it was only her presence that had caused Zainal to stay: he had made it clear to the ship captain that he felt bound by some obscure point of honor, though he might have used that as an excuse, she thought. Still and all, they must have really wanted him back to send a special fast courier to collect him. Hadn’t they known where Emassi Zainal had been taken, considering the circumstances of his capture before the grace period had expired? The captain had registered surprise, not a pleasant one, either, on seeing Zainal at his portal. Possibly the captain hadn’t known who he was going to meet on this planet.

  She found it hard to believe that Zainal liked her so much he couldn’t live without her. Kris gave her head a little shake of denial but she couldn’t help grinning slightly. Catteni and human were biologically sterile, even if they could enjoy sexual relations and “enjoy” was a pale word to apply to that tempestuous event. She was sort of hoping he’d ask for more: not that they’d had time for any further such…enjoyments. She didn’t consider herself remarkably sexy—well, until Zainal had aroused her. Even without the sexual rapport, she liked Zainal. He was a complex man. Man oh man, wasn’t he just! And he had conducted himself with tact and a respect for others during a very difficult few weeks. Back on Barevi, having a Catteni “interested” in you was not what you wanted. Zainal was, in all respects, different.

  She had to wrench her thoughts back. The NASA pair were excited about some aspect of the symbols Zainal was translating from the map legend. Craning her head, she could see that not only were there overviews of each hemisphere of the planet but close-ups—if you wanted to call pictures of entire continents close-ups—showing contours, mountains, valleys. There were even seascapes of the ocean floors and their mounts and abysses. Complete! Then she gave full attention to what was being said.

  “The position is perfect for a command post, sarge,” the man—Bert Put—was saying, tapping an elevation point, almost dead center of this, the main continent. “Not easy to get to but that’s only a sensible precaution and here,” he pointed a blunt finger again, “is another concentration that matches the same symbol of the abattoir which we’ve already discovered. Possibly a garage, situated below the main facility. Everything’s on remote, so it doesn’t matter how far above the garage the command point is.”

  “That location’s not all that far…” Mitford said, pulling at his lower lip in a pensive fashion. “Hmmm.” He walked his fingers the distance. “Well, a good week’s march.”

  “Not now we have that vehicle,” Worry said eagerly.

  “We’ve only got the one big one in operation…” Mitford began, “but hell’s bells, it’ll get a patrol there and back faster ‘n’ safer than they could trot it. Okay, Zainal, Kris, Bert, Joe as medic, Sarah as hunter, and you’ll need a good mechanic.” Mitford winced. “He’s a pain in the butt, I know, folks, but the best mechanic we’ve got is Dick Aarens.”

  “Aw, sarge,” Kris began in protest.

  “Now,” and Mitford held up a placatory hand and stared her down, “he’s not going to trouble you with Zainal along.”

  “He hates aliens’ guts,” Kris complained.

  “He may, but he’s proved that he can read the Mecho Makers’ schematics and alter them as easily as you’d play with a Lego set. This is not an outing. This is a patrol! You gotta pass by Camp Narrow on your way so I’ll g
o with you and give Aarens the business. You,” and Mitford turned to Zainal, including Joe and Sarah in the same glance, “discipline as and when he needs it. As hard as need be. The trip may even do him good.”

  “We’ll see that it does,” Kris promised caustically, but she wasn’t at all pleased at Aarens’ inclusion in what should have been a great jaunt with good people she trusted. Even if she didn’t know Bert Put well, she liked his frank, open face and enthusiasm and the avid way he had examined the alien charts, like a boy with a gizmo he had never expected to own.

  Careful inspection of the terrain to be crossed suggested this would take three, possibly four days, at the speed the modified tractor could make.

  “We run faster,” Zainal said with a little grunt.

  “Not over some of the ground, m’friend,” Mitford said, pointing out several areas that appeared to be significant heights, also wide rivers. “That thing hops barriers like a gazelle, saves you having to take the long way around. We tested its stability on every sort of terrain and it’s better ‘n’ a tank. Can’t tip because it just lifts on its air cushions. More comfortable than the tractors I remember as a kid.”

  “Sarge, you were never a kid!” Kris said teasingiy.

  “I begin to think you’re right, Bjornsen,” and he slipped the map over to Dowdall. “Dow’ll make you a copy to take along. The originals aren’t going out of my possession. Now, figure out the supplies you’ll need and you’re to take along some furs. You’ll be at altitude and it’s bound to be colder this time of year.”

  * * *

  ZAINAL LOOKED EVEN LARGER IN THE FUR VEST that had been made for him. But he wore it with an air that made it seem regal ermine.

  “Biggest damn rocksquat I ever saw,” Sarah said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “I am funny?” Zainal asked in mock indignation. He flexed his shoulders. “It fit well. Warm.” He slid out of it and, folding it up with care, tied the bundle with a thong.

  There were fur rugs as well as vests for each member of the expedition, including Dick Aarens. Kris was still struggling to accept the necessity of him joining the patrol.

  “I know he’s a horse’s ass, Kris, but he helped put this vehicle together and he knows how to get the most out of it. You will need him on the team.”

  “I will not like it, sarge, and if he so much as…”

  “Clobber him. Or better still, let Zainal do it. Only not too hard. You may need him undamaged.” Mitford gripped her arm in a firm but friendly emphasis to his orders.

  * * *

  BERT PUT’S PRESENCE HELPED A GREAT DEAL, even when all he had to look at was the relevant section of map that Dowdall had competently produced. They let Mitford off at Camp Narrow, reluctantly collected a cockily grinning Dick Aarens, who was still festooned with his belt of tools and vest of pockets which bulged with unidentifiable lumps.

  “Ready when you are,” he said jauntily, climbing up to the seat Mitford had vacated between Joe Marley and Sarah McDouall.

  “Just don’t let it go to your head, buddy,” Kris said, glaring at him because he was deliberately playing kneesies with her.

  “Only trying to be friendly,” Aarens said in an almost plaintive whine. “Maybe I should drive. I know this baby inside out.”

  “I drive,” Zainal said and that was that. Mitford had tested his skill on the way to Narrow and this wasn’t the first ground vehicle Zainal had ever driven.

  Zainal turned the control handle and the Hopper moved forward. It had been so named on the trip down since it invariably “hopped” any terrain that exceeded its preprogrammed optimum angle. They had all learned to hang on to something to be secure against unexpected maneuvers. Generally the air-cushioned vehicle proceeded smoothly.

  Aarens’ attempts to chat up Sarah failed when she made it obvious—by linking one arm through Joe’s—that she was uninterested. Aarens sulked until Bert Put’s look of disbelief at such childish behavior shamed him into neutrality.

  The Hopper might be faster than the average tank, but it was no McLaren on a Grand Prix circuit. It also “flew” neatly over a wide, meandering river and three narrower ravines they encountered the first day. When they camped for the night on a rock ledge, above a small cataract and pool, Zainal and Bert figured they had covered nearly seventy miles.

  Rocksquats and some tasty little fish taken from the stream provided supper. After reporting in to Mitford, Zainal assigned watches and gave Aarens the dog watch. When Kris woke the next morning, she found Aarens asleep.

  “What is there to watch for?” Aarens demanded in outrage when Zainal roughly shook him awake. “Hey, take it easy. Scavengers can’t attack on rock and no one’s even seen fliers out at night.”

  “There’re renegades still unaccounted for,” Kris said, “and you know damned good and well they’d want this Hopper.”

  “We haven’t seen anyone,” he protested.

  “Do you think they’d be stupid enough to expose themselves until they were ready to attack?” Kris went on, livid with rage at his stupid arrogance, clutching her hands at her sides because she was afraid she’d deck Aarens. Even as she thought of the joy she’d have in seeing him prostrate on the hard rock underfoot, she realized the unwisdom of such retaliation. They might indeed need Aarens if the machine failed.

  “But no one did attack us,” he replied in sullen self-defense.

  That night he was made to gather firewood and rocksquat dung as punishment for dereliction. Nervously, Kris woke several times that night during Aarens’ watch, to be sure he remained awake. Evidently Zainal did the same thing. The time they woke together, Zainal pulled her close to him and affectionately nuzzled her neck but that, unfortunately Kris thought, was as amorous as he got. She was glad of that much, though she ached for more.

  It took them six days to make the designated point, and the garage they found was visible for miles above the barren wasteland that spread out before it.

  “Strange place for a garage,” Joe Marley said, trying to gauge the height of the doors.

  “The command post is directly above this, isn’t it?” Kris said, peering over Bert’s shoulder to check the map.

  “It would appear to be…up there,” Bert replied, pointing and then sighing at the sheer façade of the cliff it topped. Only the solar panels, too regular in shape to be a natural formation, marked its location. “I wonder if we can get the Hopper up there from another approach…” and he looked eastward along the range.

  “No, we have rope,” and Zainal hefted the coil from the storage shelf of the Hopper.

  “And pitons,” Joe said gratefully, having watched Jay Greene include those recently manufactured items in their supplies.

  “If you’ll bring the Hopper alongside, I’ll just start dismantling those solar panels,” Aarens said, speaking for the first time that day. “I wouldn’t want anything called down on you guys while you’re climbing that cliff,” he added with a sneer.

  “Too right,” Joe Marley said. “I’ll help you. We don’t all need to climb.”

  Zainal peered at the sun, already well down the sky.

  “Not today. Tomorrow. Today we all help remove panels. Get inside, too.” But he did not appear too sanguine about that possibility as he inspected the huge gray-metaled doors. “No crack.”

  When they reported in to Mitford, he was glad to hear they’d reached their destination but warned them to go slow if this appeared to be a totally different sort of installation. Since it might well be the control point for an entire planet, the Mech Makers might well have equipped it with safeguards.

  Aarens took down the solar panels. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” he demanded nastily. “What I’m good at. You guys’ll take forever and you…” and his hostile gaze settled accusingly on Zainal’s heavy fingers, “…might damage the panels. Some were damaged beyond use, you know. You guys don’t respect technology like you should.”

  Knowing how the patrol had had to struggle with the solar
panels, Kris reluctantly had to admit that Aarens did it faster, and probably better than any one else could. The fact did not endear Aarens to anyone and he had to stand watch that night, too, though he complained about the duty.

  “I have big hands,” Zainal said, raising one big fist and examining it as if he’d never seen it before. He smiled and turned toward Aarens, his intent very clear. “Big hand, big damage.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” and Aarens moved around the fire near Sarah, who promptly resettled herself, leaving him all alone again. “You need me as your mechanic. To tell you what’s up there.”

  “Perhaps,” Zainal said, “but I have pilot spaceship many years now. I know a thing or two about circuits and more about spaceships.”

  Aarens retreated into dour silence again, glaring across the campfire at them.

  “Wake me for the dog watch,” Joe said in a low voice to Zainal. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Where he go?” Zainal asked, with a shrug.

  “Not so much where would he go, but what would he do? Like disable the Hopper for spite or slip some of those poisonous leaves into our morning tea? Hell, I wouldn’t trust him not to usher renegades in and laugh while they slit our throats.”

  Aarens said nothing the next morning when he was awakened at dawn with the others. But he had a smug sort of twist to his features as if he’d won a round by not having to stand a watch as the others did. Which he had, Kris thought, disgruntled.

  Try as they could, and Aarens was doing his level best to solve the problem, they could not find out how the door opened, and there was only the one.

  So, having spent a fruitless morning, Zainal decided to use the afternoon daylight to make the climb.

  “Whyn’t we start tomorrow, early, first thing?” Aarens demanded in a suddenly nervous twitch. “Get some rest today. Hunt.”

  “No, we climb,” and Zainal slung one coil of rope to his shoulders, “I, Kris, Bert. Aarens, you go hunt greens by river. Joe, Sarah, watch. Kris, give Joe your comunit.” When she had, Zainal approached the cliff beside the garage where there were some irregularities providing foot and handholds. At least in the first fifty or so feet.