He’d been a jet-engine propulsion engineer and was fascinated by the Catteni drives: especially how they kept working in the state they were in. By using the schematics in the manuals, he and the other aviation and space-shuttle personnel were trying to reconstruct one working system from the remainders of four.
“To know how it should work, mainly,” Snyder had said. He was an amiable fellow, medium in build and height, and usually either whistling or humming, on key, as he and his team worked to rebuild the engine. “We’re in sort of no-man’s-land here, with bits and pieces we know worked in a high-tech society and should work if we reassemble them right, but we are working with the equivalent of early Iron Age tools. Aarens is miraculous, sometimes—if you tell him what you want a tool to do, he manages to provide one which does it. The problem is knowing what tool you need next and how long you’ll have to wait until he can contrive it.”
Kris, now hobbling on crutches with well-wrapped feet and a bandaged hand, accompanied Zainal to the various meetings. She still seemed to be the necessary verbal bridge for vocabulary for him. Half the time, she was floundering for technical jargon even more than he was, but she was not about to admit that failing to anyone. Easley probably had guessed, but he was on their side. Kris would be very glad when she, Zainal, and their team could get back to what they were best at: exploring.
Sometimes it seemed to her that Scott resented what Zainal had had no reason to learn—as far as details of his own species’ space drive technology went—while he was still forced to include the Catteni in all major meetings because of the little he did know and the insights he could provide on other details.
“Scott’s got an incredible mind for detail,” Easley murmured to Kris one evening during a long session.
“He comes across ultrasuspicious and snide to me,” she whispered back.
“Suspicion is detail, too, you know, but I happen to know that he is impressed by Zainal.”
“You could have fooled me,” Kris replied, glaring at the end of the table where Scott, Rastancil, Ainger, Marrucci, and Beverly were crouched, heads together in inaudible conversation.
“But I don’t,” Easley said, his low voice vibrant with sincerity. “He knows a man of integrity when he sees one, and he sees Zainal as one. I don’t think many of us had any idea of the role the Eosi play in what the Catteni do. So he’s abandoned the position of detesting the Catteni for what was done on Earth, to come halfway to absolving the tool for the work it’s been put to. Zainal’s responsible for that adjustment without losing either dignity or respect in Scott’s eyes.”
Kris absorbed that speech, feeling a little better about what seemed like Scott’s persecution of her lover. But only a little better.
* * *
Once again when the extra-acute hearing of the Deski sentries caught the first sound of the approaching vessel, they alerted the camps before the landing ship announced its imminent arrival on the communication band.
The “bridge” accepted the message with typical Catteni stolidity as Zainal had drilled them, reaffirming the coordinates of their downed ship’s position. Though Leon had prepared a report of what had disabled the ship, he wasn’t asked for it. Zainal had told him it wouldn’t be required but had helped him learn the terms.
The camps in the line of the ship’s descent—Bella Vista, Ayres Rock, and Shutdown—cleared away any signs of orderly living. All the air-cushioned vehicles were stowed out of sight and there was some concern over people, scouts and hunters, who might be seen out and about. Narrow, particularly, must appear deserted from the air.
“They will know from heat signs people are on the surface,” Zainal had said, “but not what they are doing or what they live in. Wiser for them to see men out hunting.”
“You mean they’ll be counting noses?” someone had asked.
Zainal laughed at the notion. “No, just the presence of sufficient life signs to suggest survivors down here.”
“So they can send us more?” Mitford asked in a sour tone.
“At this point, it’s the more the merrier,” Easley had said, grinning so infectiously that Mitford had smiled back.
* * *
The instrumentation on the bridge in the hangar was now working with an efficiency it had lacked for many voyages and the descent of the rescue vessel was easily estimated. The assault team, in position from the moment the first Deski alarm had come in, lounged about the downed transport: some were outside, others sitting on the ramp, while the “Drassi” would not appear until their counterparts called for them.
Camouflaged in the hedgerows and up the trees in strategic positions were sharpshooters with crossbows and lances. Zainal had had no information about the crew complement of the new transports. The “Catteni” to be rescued were armed with stunners, which might be all that was needed. Surprise was on their side.
The takeover of the transport ship was even smoother than the hijacking of the scout. The supercilious Drassi of the rescue vessel had been so eager to mock the stranded captain that he had been first down the ramp, the other Drassi staff following, while the crew began to unload what passengers remained. They were laughing and chatting, pleased to be on the last leg of this journey and going home. They were also looking forward to making the rescued Catteni work while they loafed.
Flat on her stomach in the next field, Zainal by her chuckling softly to himself, Kris watched as the Catteni Drassi strolled arrogantly across to the damaged transport.
The mock-Catteni crew had, of course, jumped to an appropriate alert stance, calling out—in an excellent accent, Kris thought proudly—to those inside that the Drassi captain was coming aboard. They followed in, a respectful distance behind, and one remained at the open hatch, leaning against it as the rescuers finished unloading the latest unconscious droppees. They had no sooner finished than they were called to come aboard the wreck.
“Now what do we have to do?” one Catteni demanded of another as they made their way across the field, or so Zainal translated for Kris.
“Probably dismantle equipment the beasts might use,” the other said.
“Beasts, huh?” Joe muttered on the other side of Zainal. “We’ll beast them.”
Zainal translated the first part of the Catteni response. “‘Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long, then. I need my…’” And he refused to translate that rather long sentence to Kris. Considering the nasty way the two Catteni chuckled, she was glad he hadn’t.
After the observers had waited anxiously for what seemed an interminable time, the mock-Drassi captain—actually Vic Yowell, who was not only the right size but had known enough Catteni to handle the necessary interchanges—appeared and with his men strode purposefully across to the newly arrived ship and up its ramp.
There was a brief interval before he reappeared, waving his cap and showing the difference between his Catteni makeup and his own skin color.
“It’s ours now!”
The hedges sprouted humans, cheering and dancing with glee at the success of the second Phase Two assault. Then they hurried to attend to the newly arrived, 114 of them, all from Earth and in far better condition than many of the most recent arrivals. The Catteni prisoners were sent off to join their compatriots in the valley.
Yuri Palit, another mock Catteni with his skin back to its original shade, headed the guards who accompanied the prisoners. On the way they were given an example of night crawler activity and so descriptively warned of other dangers of Botany that they were thoroughly cowed by the time they arrived.
By the time the new transport had been gone over, Scott was actually smiling at everyone. This had been the maiden voyage of the KDL, according to its log and the look and smell of still-new equipment. Zainal, Kris, Bert Put, Peter Snyder, Rastancil, and Beverly were up all night translating manuals and understanding the improvements incorporated in its systems.
Best by far was the discovery of two small ships, capable of short-range planetary flight, and one large we
ll-equipped ground vehicle, suitable for rough terrain, with exterior plating to resist many corrosive-type atmospheres. Looking at its specs on its control board, Zainal said that it was also probably “watergoing.”
“Amphibious,” Kris had murmured, and they had locked eyes and smiled. They would not have to risk using the scout, and being seen, in order to get to the other continents. This craft would hold twelve passengers and three crew and would transport them safely to at least the closest landmass. They’d better pick a day when the channel waters were calm, because she didn’t like to think of being seasick in such confines.
But that sort of exploration was not in their immediate future. The next scenario to be played out was to take off in the brand-new transport, and head back toward Barevi, its base.
As many as could fit aboard entered the KDL 45 A—which is how the glyphs on its side translated—and took off, and that about took in everyone who had worked in NASA or on air force jets from various countries. The decks could be arranged in a variety of heights and ways, according to cargo or passengers, awake or unconscious. Rather an ingenious arrangement, Marrucci and Beverly agreed, when Zainal showed them how to achieve various combinations. So the KDL could actually accommodate the many who had some reason, or claim, to make the journey. Some were going to have a chance in space; others had to learn how to manage the transport, and all would help jettison the traces of the sudden and complete destruction of a brand-new ship. Zainal had found log references to several minor incidents with the propulsion unit on the outward-bound journey: one severe enough for the captain to shut down the engines and send an EVA team to clear the tubes. That had been reported to their base, since it had delayed their touchdown at Botany to collect the transport crew.
Pete Snyder headed a team appointed to figure out just what malfunction could now result in a fatal accident. They had plenty of debris from the damaged ship—fortunately the components were all constructed of similar alloys. With a little ingenuity in their messages to their base, each describing further problems and then…a delayed-action explosion, sufficient detritus would be left floating in space to convince anyone who cared to examine it that the KDL had indeed, exploded on her way home. An appropriate outer panel had been taken from the old transport, and paint had been found in the KDL’s supply bay to duplicate her glyphs. The bogus outward-bound voyage was scheduled to take a week, since Zainal wished to get beyond the system’s heliopause, beyond the satellite’s range, before conducting the explosion.
Kris had remained behind, her hand insufficiently healed for her to be useful on the voyage…especially when so many, like Raisha and other space-trained women pilots, deserved the chance. Truth to tell, she was tired from late nights and long sessions of translating. And then Mitford had asked for, and got, the land vehicle for his scouting teams. She’d be of much more use familiarizing herself with that piece of machinery than being a supernumerary on a space flight.
* * *
“They should be back by now, shouldn’t they?” she asked Mitford as they were storing their equipment on the land-sea vehicle, nicknamed the Tub. When Zainal returned, Mitford was planning a trip, himself as leader, to cross the channel that separated this continent from its nearest neighbor. He was combining two teams for the project and was happier than Kris had seen him since he’d handed debriefing newcomers to Peter Easley.
“Yeah, in fact, they’re three days overdue. But the destruction went off okay. You know that.”
The link between the old transport’s bridge and the KDL was open and all the mounting hysteria, orders and counterorders, as the propulsion system “failed” had been duly followed by those on the ground…including the final bang. So that part had gone well.
The Deski sentries were ordered to keep their ears wide open, since their senses were trusted far more than the obsolete and erratic detection system on the bridge in the hangar.
Kris accompanied Mitford when they did a check on the prison valley and found the Catteni alive, but certainly not making any move to “settle” in.
“No initiative,” Mitford muttered to Kris. “Just like Zainal said. Not even that pair of Drassi captains.”
These seemed to be concentrating on a small space of dirt in front of them, but neither moved.
“Chess?” Kris asked, for they had that sort of concentration about them.
“Chess?” Mitford regarded her with surprise. “They haven’t the wits for checkers, much less chess.”
“Well, there’s someone trying to fish,” Kris said, pointing to the one man poised over the stream with a thin lance in his hand.
“So he is. Even Catteni get tired of those dry rations,” he said, and turned away.
Yuri Palit, in his authority as head of resettlement, had gone to check the Turs and came back with the information that they had already made a few shelters, chopping down the lodge-pole trees. There also seemed to be several wounded lying in the sun: broken legs and arms and one with raw wounds visible down his side.
“Trying to climb out?” asked Astrid.
“How stubborn can Turs be?” Yuri Palit asked of Mitford.
The sergeant shrugged. “Damned stubborn. Leave ’em alone.”
“And let them ruin that lovely valley?” Kris demanded.
Mitford jerked his head toward the photos that adorned his back wall, the ones showing the other closed valleys Zainal had seen on his way in. “There’re others as well as the other continents.”
“Now, about them,” Astrid began.
Mitford held up one hand, grinning at the tall attractive Swede. “Gotta wait until Zainal checks us out on the amphibian.”
Which reminded everyone that KDL was now six days’ overdue. Kris tried to appear unconcerned, but possible disaster scenarios kept her awake most nights.
“What could have happened?” Astrid asked her the morning of the seventh day. “Surely they should be returning now?”
“That bang wasn’t for real,” Mitford said, avoiding Kris’ eyes, but speaking as positively as if he had consummate faith in Zainal’s return.
“There’ll be a good reason, I’m positive,” Kris said so firmly that Mitford shot her a quick look.
“Yeah, there would be, kid. I just can’t imagine what.”
“Asteroids, some technical difficulty, or operational problem, there could be dozens of good reasons.”
“Yeah.”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to get in touch and give it all away since the ship’s been destroyed and that damned satellite would catch any message he sent.”
“You’re right there,” Mitford acknowledged and then went to do something else.
* * *
“New satellite,” Zainal told them as soon as the hatch opened to the crowd waiting so anxiously. “We go…” and he gestured a circuitous course. He looked for and found Kris at the side of the hatch. “Lenvec’s work.” He dropped down beside her, touching her cheek just briefly as the rest of the spacefarers exited, exultant in their shouts to the welcoming committee.
The biggest smile was on Scott’s face as he came down the ramp, Beverly, Rastancil, and those who were now being called the High Command following closely.
“Mitford, Easley,” Scott called out, and added other names, “meeting at nineteen-thirty at Narrow. Beggs!” The officious lieutenant Kris disliked so came running up to meet him, clipboard in hand. “I want all these men and women to make that meeting if humanly possible…” and he continued giving orders while proceeding to the nearest air-cushion vehicle and gesturing for it to take off toward Camp Narrow.
Zainal, taking Kris by the arm, steered her off to one side, away from the general jubilation around the hatch.
“Lenvec got them to put up a more powerful satellite spy?” she asked.
“Someone did. We had to time its orbits to sneak back in. KDL is very good at glide.”
“You glided? From where?”
Zainal grinned at her astonishment. “Not hard
. Your space, shuttles did it. Catteni still better space jockeys.”
“Jockeys?” Kris had to admit to herself that she didn’t like him picking up slang from other sources—and severely curbed her reaction.
“Bert brought her down. Good man, Bert. Now, where can she hide?” Zainal frowned over that problem.
Kris looked up the field at the hulk still sitting there. “Put it there. They expect a wreck in that place. How much detail will the satellite be able to make out down here on the surface? The name glyphs?”
Zainal began to chuckle. “Why not? The KDL masses more but not that much more.”
“Hiding it right out in sight always confuses a searcher,” Kris said.
“Scott will agree?”
Kris shrugged. “That thing’s too big to fit in any garage—except maybe the one we can’t get into at the seaside. Who will come looking for it? You had us all excited, listening to orders and counterorders and all the hysterics…”
Zainal chuckled louder now, his yellow eyes reflecting his laughter, most un-Catteni-ish.
“And if you guys avoided the satellite’s eyes on the way in, surely we’ve succeeded in deceiving them.”
“Some one of your wise men said once,” and he tipped his head back a moment, recalling the exact words, which he carefully enunciated, “that you can fool most of the people part of the time but not all of the people all of the time.”
She had to smile at him, he looked so pleased with remembering the apt quote. And she was so pleased he was back, safe. “You think Lenvec is that vindictive?”
“Not think. I know. When I was chosen…” He paused briefly and then went on, “I was given privileges the chosen have. Lenvec was…jealous. If he is now to take my place as chosen, he will feel like he got robbed.” He gave her a sideways glance, to see her reaction to his slang. She grinned at him. He was also, speaking with a less guttural tone to the English words. Soon his accent would be indistinguishable from a native-born speaker.
“Hmmm, yes, if he’s the jealous type, he would feel robbed. But maybe he’s been…chosen already. How much of him is left in the Eosi?”
Freedom's Choice Page 13