Freedom's Ransom

by Anne McCaffrey

  “The children grow well?” Sembu asked, interested. He had also beckoned a worker to his side and gave him a low command. The man raced down the hill at such speed Kris worried that he would do himself damage.

  “Well and strong,” Bazil said proudly, “so that my father wanted me with him on this trip.”

  Shortly, Zainal reappeared, having finished securing the cargo, and joined Peran.

  “Sembu has offered to bring us Alkoriti,” Kris said.

  “Ah, very good. Our thanks, Sembu. We promised to find more for Chief Materu ” He also winked at Kris, for now they could honestly answer queries—if there were any—as to why they had detoured to Kenya instead of departing spaceward from Newark. Jelco joined them while they waited for the return of the messenger, who came back panting somewhat from a quick round-trip, but carrying a pouch that he turned over to Sembu. Who, in his turn, passed it over to Kris.

  “Please to say that we of Kenya are happy to provide this to your Masai chief.”

  “You must let the green coord know when you stand in need of medicines again, Sembu, and we will return.”

  “For more coffee beans, no doubt.” The man’s smile was understanding.

  “I shall send along more power packs for the float, too,” Zainal promised, before he bowed formally to Sembu and waved at the other workers who were unwilling to miss any of this pageant. Then Zainal led them all back into the KDM and pushed the button to retract the ramp.

  Carefully, so that little dust lifted from the ground to discommode Sembu, Jax lifted the KDM away from the heights and eased the ship over the forestry before she increased power. Heading west, she turned the KDM’s nose skyward and increased power until the ship could once again engage its hypersonic drives and take them back to Newark.

  It was almost anticlimactic to be back in Newark air space barely two hours after they had taken off—a fact that the air tower personnel remarked on as they extended a warm welcome back, “so soon.” They were assigned their previous landing spot, and by the time Jax had landed the KDM, there were all kinds of trucks waiting to offload the precious coffee beans.

  Twenty sacks of robusta beans were left in the KDM’s hold and a good half of the fresh fruit and vegetables they had acquired at Kiambu Ridge. On the way back they had all enjoyed various fruits they had acquired: bananas, oranges, passion fruit, cape gooseberries with their lantern-like husks, custard apples and guavas, avocados, coconuts, papayas, and pineapples. And there were even chicken eggs and milk. Kris made a huge custard for dessert and planned to treat everyone to pancakes for breakfast. The KDM had a freezer unit but not a refrigerator, so she could not keep milk fresh for long.

  Rummaging in the galley cabinets, Kathy had found a grinder of sorts and managed to reduce some beans to the proper consistency to brew coffee, so everyone had enjoyed the spoils of their excursion.

  She gave Murray half a dozen eggs and the same to Jelco as well as a carton of milk for his young child and a hand of bananas. She had a huge stalk to present to the caterer. And two green stalks to ripen on the way back to Barevi as well as several crates of oranges, limes, and lemons.

  Then she got in touch with the tower controller and bribed him with some of their own coffee beans to give her aerial maps of Santa Lucia so they could plot a course and see if they couldn’t exchange a quantity of robustas for arabicas. Nothing else they had, even the largesse from Nairobi, would be useful for trade, and they had only three sacks of wheat left with which to trade on Barevi.

  There was no need to mention to anyone that they planned to stop off at Santa Lucia but they did spend the night at Newark. If this next stop was anything like the Kiambu Ridge one had been, Zainal thought they needed to be rested.

  Kathy and Jax plotted the southern course, which they figured would take about twenty minutes, allowing another fifteen first to get to speed and then to slow down enough to land without damaging anything. The volcano, while not active, was currently sending a gray plume skyward so they had a fine guide to it on the northern tip of the island and a great look at the plateaus as well as the choice of several obvious landing sites. They saw several long, low, galvanized roofs that looked similar to the type used for bean storage in Kenya. Well, that made sense to Kris.

  Somewhat to their dismay, they found that Catteni must have visited the plantation several years earlier for the KDM’s type of ship was recognized and men armed with rifles and machetes were waiting as the ramp extruded. Chuck was their spokesperson and Zainal and his sons stayed tactfully out of sight. Kathy and Jax accompanied the sergeant, with the remaining float carrying a sack of robusta beans. The sight of the logo on the sack turned out to be the reassurance needed, and with a minimum of talk and an excess of pleasure, they managed to trade five robusta sacks and the remaining float for thirty arabicas, plus thirty more pounds of unrefined sugar. They got more green bananas and a case of local rum. Despite the fact that she was safe with Zainal, Kris did not join in the evening celebration once she had had a sniff of the liquor.

  “That’s stronger than Mayock’s hooch,” Kris remarked, after a smell of the rum and felt no desire at all to imbibe. She did reserve one bottle of the case for cooking. No one had cinnamon or raisins to trade. They were given more crates of citrus fruits, which would be novelties on Barevi. She wondered if she could manage to keep at least one stalk of the green bananas and a crate of oranges to bring back to Botany.

  They stayed the night on the surface—at the owner’s invitation— and evidently he had sent messages to his neighbors to come see what had landed on his parking lot. And they came in droves, on horse back. Peran was much taken with horses and was put in the saddle of one animal (very gentle, Kris was assured) for a walk around. Bazil, naturally, had to have a turn, too. It was a convivial evening and established their KDM as friendly, Catteni and all.

  When Kris suggested that they would probably return, they were begged to do so, and she made a list of the items for which they would gladly trade. She was not astonished to note that tires, Toyota truck spark plugs, and twenty-volt batteries were the most important items. “We could keep all our KDMs busy hauling stuff in and coffee beans out,” she said to Zainal.

  “Mmmm,” was his response. “But these folks don’t have what we desperately need.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, when the KDM lifted from Santa Lucia, everyone was refreshed and keen to get on with the next phase of their mission. They logged out of the system with the Watch Dog and were given a cheerful “farewell, come back again soon” from the Cheyenne Mountain NORAD facility. If Gino, who was pilot for the first leg of their flight to Barevi, cheerfully assured them that they would, there was no demur on their part.

  “The Botany boys will be back,” he crowed as he signed out of Terran space, and the powerful engines of the KDM sent them galactically north toward Barevi.

  o~O~o

  As they neared the trading planet, there was more chat on the comm lines between Catteni captains, and whenever possible the duty officer repeated Peter’s carefully composed commercial about the new trader and goods coming soon to Barevi. The other key members of the ransom group now spent shifts listening to Catteni messages and practicing with Zainal’s sons, who were delighted to be in the position of teachers instead of pupils. They also absorbed new vocabulary and phrases.

  When not on duty, Bazil and Peran indulged in what Kris knew was simple sibling bickering, but she was unable to discipline the boys. They certainly resented any interference in their “discussions” or the way they teased Floss. Fortunately, Kris could distract Floss, and Jax and Kathy both helped the girl make a dress from the fabric Kris had unexpectedly found at the market in Kenya. Floss had gushed with appreciation for Kris’s thoughtfulness. Of course, the boys teased Floss about that—when Zainal and Chuck were absent—but she was well able to make sharp retorts. There were a few incidents when they tried the same tactics on Ferris and Ditsy, but the two Terran boys were m
ore than able to deal with the Catteni ones and earned their respect. Kris knew they resented her monopolizing their adored father’s free time and were inclined to disregard any requests she made of them; she had expected that, even if she didn’t know how to counter their impudence. But it was a long flight to Barevi. She would be very glad when there was a tutor assigned to keep them occupied.

  When it came time for the BASS-1 to contact the Barevi space station that regulated all traffic in and out of the system, Captain Jax Kiznet was the pilot. This included her insistence that she did command the BASS-1, origin: Botany Free Planet. Zainal was sitting as copilot, letting her handle the contact and repeat the landing instructions. Barevi Tower was sarcastically upset over having a female answering their orders and evidently in command of a ship: a pilot of unknown ability flying in busy traffic space. Jax was quizzed on docking procedures by the space station commander, Ladade, who sounded surly until finally Zainal intervened and said that he, Zainal, had been her instructor and that she was competent to pilot, even in such a busy port.

  “Hey, this Ladade backed down real quick when you said you were Zainal,” Jax said admiringly.

  “See that you prove my ability to teach you properly,” was Zainal’s reply.

  She did, concentrating on the job. As they made their approach, Zainal kept checking the screen for any navigational anomaly. Although there were stiff penalties for abusing Barevian space, there were also hazards, which he hoped to help Jax avoid. The barges that carried inter-system traffic were known to deviate from their projected courses and provide obstacles. She had her eyes open for such problems and kept one eye on the screens.

  “This is a very active spaceport?” she asked Zainal when he pointed out an erratic ship for her to avoid. “And I thought there was a lot of junk in Earth space!” She pointed to the mass in the upper starboard quadrant.

  “Oh, that,” Zainal replied, shrugging it off. “That’s real space junk. Barevi port facility is equipped to do major overhauls and refits. That’s where they put carcasses and damaged structural members. And ships that don’t pay their docking charges.”

  “Oh? When they haven’t a bean left?” she asked, flashing a quick grin at him.

  She really was a good pilot, Zainal thought, wondering whom he should train next on their return to Botany. There were plenty of willing candidates. He had watched all of them on the simulator and they all had good reflexes and instincts. The Botany Space Force had enough cargo ships now that new pilots were always needed.

  From space, Kris thought that Barevi Market really hadn’t changed at all, except perhaps for its lack of eager customers filling the vast places. As they hovered above the docking facility seeking their as signed bay, Kris pointed out the overlapping squares of the market. She felt an almost-definitely almost- nostalgic relief at seeing it again. It was, after all, the site of the beginning of her amazing adventures. They’d already started the rumor mill with Peter’s intentionally provocative commercial, and they had had to keep the comm unit manned on a twenty-four-hour basis with their best Catten speakers. Even Peran and Bazil had taken short stints, enormously pleased to be allowed such a responsibility, and certainly Zainal was delighted that they handled their first official duty so capably.

  o~O~o

  The next morning, Zainal sought out the market’s manager and paid over almost all the Catteni coin he had to lease appropriate space in the market. Over several hundred years, the facility had grown from its original square, each addition overlapping older ones. The corners provided enclosed shops that afforded some privacy. Zainal wanted one for Eric’s “office.” The first week’s rental reduced his small store of Catteni coins to a handful of loose change.

  “What commodities, Emassi?” Chief Kapash asked.

  “Various. Food items from Botany and oddments. We expect to trade for items available only on Barevi.”

  “Yes, Supreme Emassi Kamiton told me”—the commander paused for Zainal to recognize the significance of his having had a personal interview with such a personage as the Supreme Emassi—“that you were coming and you must be accorded the respect and privileges of a trader. However, I will have no personal disputes settled in my market space.”

  “Will you also police the market to be sure we are allowed to trade freely?”

  “I’ll have you know we allow no brawling or bullying within the confines of the marketplace,” Kapash said, straightening at the implied slur on his management. Zainal had known the man from his previous tour of duty on Barevi. Kapash was running more to fat than muscle for his extra flesh strained his uniform and destroyed the fit of it.

  “My! How Barevi has changed,” Zainal remarked and noticed the smug grin on Kapash’s blunt-featured face as he accepted the keys to the enclosure he had just leased and left the office. He didn’t fail to see Kapash give a sign to one of the huge Catteni in the outer room and knew that all his movements would now be reported back to the chief. Nothing new in that. May the fellow at least have the intelligence to understand what he saw. Zainal hadn’t run Barevi’s market for a full Catteni year without learning a few tricks and the counters to them.

  His next task was to apply at the hiring hall for a tutor for Peran and Bazil. The two boys were running a little too wild for his liking. He knew they flagrantly disobeyed Kris and that they had gotten a little out of hand by the end of the long journey here. That must stop.

  The hiring hall had the usual number of unemployed, some with the unmistakable look of “command” about them, but he required more than authority to control and shape his sons. He filled out the form, specifying a younger man, preferably one with pilot training, and definitely with a good educational background in the sciences. Considering the current situation with no new exploratory expeditions, there was surely some young man who would meet his requirements.

  On his return to the ship, he passed by storage sheds with doors ajar, and men working among cartons displaying Terran manufacturers’ logos. Yes, Chuck had been right. Most of what they urgently needed was here. To acquire tires and batteries and the spark plugs required to repair Terran ground vehicles might be less of a challenge than getting the comm sat components. He passed by a large locked unit that smelled aromatically of warm rubber, for the sun was hot enough to heat many of the inadequately vented warehouses.

  He took one last look at his new premises, checking first on the electrical system and taking pictures with a small camera. Bayes had also supplied him with a unit that would test the circuits and power available. They did have some step-down transformers for Eric’s equipment. The shop was equipped with a stout reinforced door, though only a broken chain and lock dangled from the latch. Well, there were many ways to lock a door. A faucet slightly askew on its pipe let out rusty water, which gradually cleared. When it did, Zainal filled a small bottle so they could analyze it in the ship’s little medical station. Generally speaking, such resources were potable and the rust was only from long disuse. He was within his rights to insist on properly filtered water, and the last thing they needed was to distribute anything contaminated to their customers.

  He also rented the largest lift platform that he spied in the street in front of Kapash’s office, available from its owner, an old, one-armed ex-soldier whom he thought he remembered from his Barevian year as market manager. The man certainly recognized him. Veterans were allowed to work on the docks as compensation for their loss of limbs. A name came to mind—Natchi—and seemed to be accepted by the garrulous veteran. The poor devils all looked alike, distinguishable only by the parts they were missing.

  “They’ll all be watching you, Emassi Zainal,” Natchi remarked out of the side of his mouth. “We have heard rumors of your return. And how you single-handedly accomplished the end of Eosi domination. This has not made you popular in all places. Do not lower your guard for a moment,” the veteran muttered as he handed over the lift control hand unit. “You kept Barevi relatively calm the year you were here. May you pro
sper.”

  Zainal nodded in acceptance of the warning. “If you hear more, come to my shop. We shall always have a hot drink for you, Natchi, and a seat in the shop whenever you need to rest your old bones.”

  “Old they are, Emassi. Return the lift when you have no further need of it, and my gratitude that you remembered my name.”

  Zainal nodded and, guiding the lift in front of him, went back to the BASS-1’s berth. He assumed his most aloof manner as he made his way, glad, after Natchi’s warning, that he had already put Chuck on an alert status at their berth.

  “They been around like flies,” Chuck said, scurrying to join him when he spotted Zainal approaching. “I was improving Peran’s and Bazil’s targeting skills.” He pointed to the dartboard hung from a convenient loading spike, and the number of green-fletched darts lodged in the King ring. “Bazil’s got the keener eye, but what could be more typical than me teaching two kids an old game?”

  “Nothing,” said Zainal, though he suspected that Chuck had removed the boisterous youngsters to give Kris a break from their bickering. “Much interest?”

  “Think most of the other ships in port sent someone to take a gander and had quite a few not-so-subtle inquiries. Merchants’ reps, all of ‘em, trying to figure out what we’re going to sell.”

  “Make me a copy of these,” Zainal said, tossing Chuck the keys. “And do we have digital locks with us?”

  “I’ve got locks aplenty. I’ll set up several, in fact, because I heard rumors that there are some who have bones to pick with Emassi Zainal ” Zainal nodded for he knew many Catteni considered him a traitor, even if he had managed to end the restrictive Eosi domination. “Who’s market manager? Vitters?”

  “Kapash is market manager.”

  “Had dealings with him before?” Chuck asked. “Don’t know him but Vitters was useless. Kept forgetting who took the biggest bribes from him. Wonder who killed him?”