Freedom's Challenge

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Just this level, Drassi?” she asked in Catteni.

  “Yes, Emassi Khriss,” he said, staring straight ahead.

  Emassi Khriss turned to the passengers, the sunlight streaming in. The women were all standing now: the children, the youngest showing some fright, the others very silent and wary, grouped around them.

  “As your name is called, come forward and leave the ship. Follow the Drassi who will lead you to your quarters.” She noticed that each name had a number after it, indicating the number in the party. Flipping the top sheets, she noticed that each family had already been assigned quarters. She had only to call them out. She had no trouble remembering Catteni counting. She also remembered enough of what Zainal had told her about Catteni women: that they were almost as subservient as Drassi or Tudo and would have to be shown what to do. “You will be safe here.”

  One woman stepped forward and cleared her throat, bowing her head for addressing an Emassi without first being spoken to.

  “We were told that no Eosi can come here. Is that true?”

  “You are…” and Emassi Khriss impassively awaited an answer.

  “Sibbo, Kasturi’s mate. These are his sons and his child.” She bowed again.

  Well, at least one of them had some guts, Kris thought with relief.

  “Ah, I know Kasturi well. He has been here,” Kris said. “Eosi have not been able to penetrate the shield that surrounds this planet,” she added with as smug a smile as she had ever seen on any Catteni face. “You are safe. We have made you safe. Go with this Drassi to the quarters prepared, Sibbo. Place twelve.”

  Sibbo and her children picked up their bundles and they started down the ramp after Ninety. Crew members stepped forward to escort each group called.

  It took a while to work her way down the list. She had one interruption, an older woman, who bowed.

  “Drassi Khriss,” and she bowed an almost embarrassing depth, “are there no Rassi or slaves to assist us?”

  Kris was so surprised that she blinked, her mind racing to find an answer. She pretended to consult her list. This was the oldest of the women…ah, Nitin’s wife. How like him to have a critical mate!

  “Rassi do not leave Catten, as you know, Milista. There are no slaves on this planet. You will do what is necessary yourselves.”

  “But,” and there was real consternation on the woman’s lined face as she spread out her hands in a helpless appeal, “we have never been without slaves.”

  “Oh, my God,” Gino muttered behind Kris. “Never thought of that.”

  “Well, by God,” was Scott’s equally low but quite firm addition, “they’re going to damned well learn how to cope without them.”

  “All the food is Catteni, with pictures on the sacks or boxes,” Ninety said. “We did that special.”

  “With recipes?” Gino put in hopefully.

  “I dunno. Can’t read that much Catteni,” Ninety added.

  “Bummer,” was Gino’s final remark.

  “Any ration bars?” Kris asked.

  “Yeah, lots of those.”

  “Let them eat rations, then,” Kris said, startled to find herself paraphrasing Marie Antoinette. She turned back to Milista. “It is enough that you are safe and have food to eat and shelter. You will take what is provided and be grateful.”

  Kris didn’t have any trouble acting Catteni just then. She was thoroughly annoyed. Surely Kasturi or even Tubelin would have thought to tell Zainal, or someone, that the women were accustomed to servants. Not that she’d ask anyone to serve Catteni women. They could bloody well learn how to do for themselves as the colonists had.

  “All work will be shared, Milista. Learn that now.” She gave a curt dismissal to the woman who backed away before she turned. Indignation and fury were obvious in the way she stalked down the ramp, carrying a very small bundle, which she kept hitching or changing from hand to hand. Briefly Kris wondered what Milista had brought with her that could be heavy. She didn’t know if Catteni women had jewelry, and if that was all Milista had brought, instead of clothing, she was going to get very tired of the one wrap she was wearing.

  With mixed emotions of chagrin and irritation—and the latter was stronger—Kris crisply called out the next name. The gall of the woman, wanting servants as well as safety. Maybe once she’d had a taste of—Shut up, Kris, it’s not Milista’s fault.

  She got through the rest of the unexpected and generally unhappy guests. She’d been so busy ushering them out, she hadn’t seen that there were Humans boarding the KDL on the far side of the ramp. Some carried just tools while others humped excess building materials aboard.

  The last few arrived as the final Catteni family of seven was led off to cabin thirty-five. So Kris nearly gasped when Sarah passed her with a wink. Joe was right behind her, carrying carpentry tools. Sandy stalked up the ramp last.

  “They wanted servants,” Kris muttered savagely to Sandy, who burst out laughing.

  “That’ll be the day. Did you hear what Kris just said?” And Sandy was spreading the remark, causing both chuckles and exclamations of surprise.

  Kris was about to turn away, to retract the landing ramp, to get away from her before she lost her cool entirely. Then she paused, looking out at the tranquil valley. The scene was all wrong, even disturbing. Not a soul was in sight and the mess hall and quarters looked as empty as when they had landed.

  “Kris?” Sandy came to stand beside her. “What the hey?” And she frowned. “What’s wrong with them? Sulking?”

  Kris listened intently, but apart from an odd mechanical creak or a hiss from a vent, she didn’t even hear crying or angry voices.

  “Hell, any normal kid would have been out and snooping about by now.”

  “Maybe when we leave,” Kris said. “They’ve had a bit of a shock.”

  “Ha! About time!” Sandy took Kris’ arm and drew her inside. “D’you know how to close this?”

  Almost absentmindedly, Kris depressed the right switch and the ramp slid up and inside, and the cargo hatch made a low, well-oiled rumble as it slid shut.

  Kris strode along the corridor to the bridge.

  “We’re ready then?” Raisha asked, looking up from her pre-flight check.

  “Can I have a rearview screen as we take off, Raisha, and do a slow ascent, huh?”

  “Sure, Emassi Khriss, whatever you say, Emassi Khriss,” and Kris managed a little smile for Raisha’s teasing.

  “You do a swell Emassi act,” Gino said, entering from the captain’s ready room. He had an envelope in his hand and his expression was carefully neutral as he gave it to her.

  “Positions, please, for takeoff,” Raisha said in warning. Not that strapping in was needed with the smooth vertical lift she achieved.

  Kris watched the rearview screen as long as she could but the valley might have been uninhabited for all she could see. Then the KDL was over the enclosing wall and beginning to level out for the flight back to Retreat.

  “Well done, Kris,” Ray said, clapping one hand lightly on her shoulder. Then silently he gestured toward the captain’s room Gino had just vacated.

  Kris looked down at the envelope in her hand as she walked toward the privacy the room would offer. She had an awful feeling about what the letter would say to her. Sliding the panel shut behind her, she sat on the nearest surface and looked down at the message. It was upside down and Zainal’s distinctive script made an interesting pattern of her name from that angle.

  She turned it around. “Kris.” She spoke her name aloud.

  “Well, waiting’s not going to change a single word inside,” she said and, with a decisive nail, opened the edge of the sealed flap and then ran her finger up, spreading the paper. She also tore the corner out of the envelope with the force of her action.

  There were two sheets. Well, he tended to sprawl his words across a page, even if the sentences were exceedingly straight…as if he’d followed a ruled line.

  Kris, love,

  Don’t look
back in anger or be angry with anyone if I do not come back to you. It was my plan.

  She stopped reading, her eyes filling with tears, terrified of what he would say next.

  There is only one way to get into the Mentat meeting, and we shall take it.

  “We,” he had written. He had specified “we,” not just himself. But which we? Had the old pessimist Nitin been included in that plural noun?

  You will understand why the mates and children must be sent to safety. The Ways and Means Committee agreed as Scott will tell you.

  We…

  Somehow Kris couldn’t really believe in that plurality. Zainal led the others. He would lead them into whatever it was he had decided to do. But that didn’t mean “he” would be safe.

  We know that, should things not turn out as we have carefully planned,

  You leave him alone, now, you hear, Murphy? Your damned Law doesn’t operate in Catteni space, d’you hear me, Murphy?

  you and the rest of the Botany colonists will allow them to live in peace. The Council has promised us that and you will understand why Humans must learn to live with Catteni for the good that really is in us as a species, misguided by those who have controlled us for so long.

  If we fail, and I do not (she gave a sob when she saw that fierce underlining) return to Botany, this letter authorizes you and Chuck Mitford to be guardians of my sons, to rear them as near as your hearts will let you to be good Catteni but better Botanists. They will need to know all they can learn from you and Chuck. He will teach them what young men need to know. Chuck and Bert will be able to get home in Baby. We have every intention of being in that ship on its way back to Botany.

  I did not like keeping the plan from you who have invaded my heart and spirit. I never expected the wealth of love would be mine. And I have been so very happy with you that even this Catteni can ache with longing for you. You would have insisted on coming. I could not allow you to be in such jeopardy.

  You have been my only love.

  And the final letter was the bold crossed “Z” that he liked using.

  “Well, you were right, weren’t you, Kris, m’girl,” she murmured aloud, her voice sounding scratchy in the quiet cabin. “He was planning something dire. And he really doesn’t expect to survive.”

  She folded the two pages with very careful motions and replaced the precious letter in the envelope, smoothing the ragged edges down, over and over, until they remained flat.

  She opened the door and, although everyone was studiously looking elsewhere, she flagged Ray Scott and beckoned him into the room.

  “Okay, I’ve had my Dear John letter. What are he and those other madmen planning to do?”

  Ray exhaled and gave her a long look. “I don’t know either,” he said slowly. “Unless I was sure of its success, he knew I’d try to talk him out of it. Therefore, he’s taking unacceptable risks.” Ray sighed again. “They left before they could be stopped.” Another pause as Ray looked down at his hands and dug something from under one fingernail before he made eye contact again. “I didn’t think I’d ever say it of a Catteni, but I admire that man. I will always admire that man. And I hope to hell he gets away with whatever it is he went to do.”

  “I’m glad you’re rooting for him, too, Ray. More than you would have done when you first got here, but better late than never,” Kris said wryly. “Is there any of Mayock’s brew on board this ship?”

  Ray took one step to the wall units and pulled out a drawer. She heard the click of glassware as he extracted two glasses and a bottle of the somewhat ale-pale alcohol.

  Solemnly he filled the glasses and handed her one.

  “Down the hatch!” Ray said, lifting his in a toast.

  “Murphy,” Kris said raising her glass, “stay the hell away from my man!”

  They both knocked back the toast and turned as one to symbolically smash the glasses against the outer wall.

  Chapter Eleven

  “WE HAVE THE PRISONER,” SAID THE EMASSI commander, dressed in security uniform. He jerked his head back at the limp figure, which had been dragged on the knees between two members of the rather strong detail. The slimed skin of the naked captive showed a crisscross of angrily red, raised welts from frequent lashings with a nerve whip, and his legs and arms were bloodied from other wounds.

  “Prisoner?” asked the duty Drassi. “I have no knowledge of a prisoner summoned by any Mentat. The convocation is in session,” he added as if this was a sacred occasion.

  “Mentat Ix has been searching for this man,” and the Emassi stepped back, lifting the drooping head to display a gaunt, half-starved face, “for months. The name, I believe, is Zainal.” A smug smile suggested that the name was enough to secure admittance.

  “Zainal?” The name was certainly familiar to the Drassi guard and produced an instant conference between him and the other door guard.

  “I will inform the Junior Pe. It is just inside.”

  The door was opened just wide enough to admit the guard. It remained slightly ajar in his haste to deliver his news.

  The security Emassi tapped his foot impatiently, sighing. Then he stepped closer to the second guard, raising his right hand as if to muffle his words and the guard leaned closer. A slight breeze crossed his nostrils and he gave a reflexive sniff.

  “How much longer is the security going to be…” the security Emassi began conversationally. Then he caught the suddenly convulsing body of the door guard as he fell to the ground. Instantly two of his detail slipped out of line; one dragged the guard off down the corridor while the second stood in his place at the door just as it was thrown open.

  The grotesque body of the Junior Pe came out and went straight to the prisoner. It pulled up the head and stared into the grimed and bloodied face.

  “Revive him. When he is conscious, tap on the door and bring him in immediately.” The Junior Pe’s face shone with an awesome light and it washed its hands vigorously in anticipation of the delightful culmination of a long search. It reentered the room. As soon as the panel had closed, the limp prisoner got to his feet unaided, though his breath hissed from stretching muscles and flesh made extremely sensitive by the nerve whip. His dirt- and blood-grimed hands, restrained by Catteni manacles, were oddly cupped together.

  “Long enough?” the Emassi asked softly.

  “The rest have been deployed?” the prisoner asked as softly.

  “Yes.”

  “Then let us proceed,” and he stepped back and, as the two guards took hold of his elbows again, he nodded once.

  The security Emassi tapped and the door swung outward smoothly, giving the detail a good view of the many Eosi within the long narrow chamber where Eosi faced Eosi. A quick glance showed that there were very few vacant seats. If he experienced relief at the numbers within the room, he gave no hint of the elation he felt. Indeed, his expression was studiously impassive.

  “BRING HIM TO ME!” And the Mentat Ix, halfway down one side of the rectangular room, rose to his feet and pointed to the floor in front of it.

  The security Emassi beckoned to those holding the prisoner to follow him forward while the rest of his squad stopped at intervals on both sides, trotting beyond the Ix to complete a security cordon, formally protecting the Eosi. The Emassi then stepped ahead and turned to gesture dramatically at his prisoner.

  “As you have commanded, Mentat Ix, the chosen who chose not to serve is here. His physical records confirm that he is indeed the Zainal you have searched for.”

  The Mentat Ix looked down at the figure in front of him, head bowed as if in submission. The Ix towered above the captive, and the triumph of this moment seemed to expand the huge Eosian head.

  “Look at me, Zainal,” the Ix commanded, its voice rich with an anger that had grown moment by moment over the years since the subsumation of Lenvec.

  “At you, Lenvec? Or at the Ix?” Zainal said calmly, as he looked up, not at all the submissive and cowed prisoner. “Do you envy me any longer, brother, t
hat it was I who was chosen? For you have succeeded.”

  Then he raised his hands in what appeared to be supplication. The Ix inhaled at such a reaction just as a puff of mist issued through Zainal’s fingers, curling up to the Mentat’s nostrils. He turned to the Mentat beside the Ix and repeated the puffing of mist.

  “What is this?”

  The restraints fell away from Zainal’s hands. Then, with an energy surprising for one who was rib-gaunt and had been savagely beaten, the former prisoner began squeezing his bulb at the next Eosi who had jumped to its feet and opened its mouth to protest. The other soldiers of the detail, following Zainal’s example, were vigorously making use of their bulbs and the startled Eosi, never expecting to be attacked in this sanctum on the security-protected space station, inhaled the deadly mist in their surprise. Indeed, the long room was soon filled with particles, shining in the brilliant illumination of the room, as they slowly sank to the floor.

  The Ix was the first within the room to collapse, its body writhing and arching in agony as the dust it had inadvertently inhaled reached its lungs…reached and filled them with lethal allergens. Others were catching at their throats with despairing hands and reacting with the convulsions that the substance produced in Catteni bodies.

  “What is happening?” cried a voice from one of the screens at the end of the room. Not all the Eosi were in the long room but the fourteen who had been unable to attend in person had been viewing the proceedings on a visual com link. “Ix! Pe! Co! Se! Answer, one of you.”

  In the long chamber filled with Catteni bodies skewed in the rigors of death, Zainal strode forward and, hands on his bare hips, answered the impatient query.

  “These Eosi are dying. We, Emassi Catteni, have executed them for the twenty-five hundred years of exploitation and enslavement, for the heinous crimes you, and they, have forced us to commit against helpless planets. You had better find a new sanctuary for we, the Catteni,” and he brought his fist to his chest, “will hunt down and destroy you as we have destroyed these. There will be nowhere safe for you in this galaxy. Leave it.”