Freedom's Landing Read online

  “How’d you get sent off with all of us?” the Sergeant asked.

  Mahomet gave him a long look, a slight frown on his face. “Say again?” He surprised them by asking in accented English.

  “You are here, too,” Kris said, rephrasing the question. “Why?”

  He didn’t look in her direction and shrugged. “I kill. I escape. I am…took. Day not over.” He shrugged again.

  “You killed another Catteni?” Mitford asked and when Mahomet nodded, “And they deported you for that?”

  “Day not over.”

  “That rule you were talking about?” Mitford asked Kris and she nodded. “Why’d you kill a Catteni?”

  Mahomet gave a little snort, and the expression on his face suggested that they were not going to believe him. “He insulted Emassi and he kill four strong slaves no reason.”

  “Slaves? Like we were?” Mitford turned his thumb against his chest.

  Mahomet nodded.

  “Guy’s too clever,” Arnie said in a growling tone. “Clever enough to lie his way out of being killed.”

  “I don’t happen to think he’s lying,” Mitford said slowly. “I heard something the day of that riot. Some Cats’d been hunting another Cat captain who’d killed their patrol leader.”

  “Patrol leader,” Mahomet repeated, recognizing the words and nodding his head. “I kill. Not wise…” His lips twitched and then he added, “Cat.”

  Suddenly everyone was aware of a weird noise.

  “Down. All down, still!” Mahomet said as he dropped flat to the ground. The urgency in his voice and his tone of command was compelling.

  “You heard him,” Mitford said and gestured furiously at those on the crate. “Get down, you fools. Lie still.”

  The noise got louder and louder, piercing eardrums. Some of those in the process of getting up lay back down, covering their ears. The two Deskis who had been issued their knives moaned and cowered against the crates.

  A shadow out of the west preceded the shape that overflew the field while the weird sound became an ungodly whistling shriek. Whatever it was was big and it swooped suddenly. Some unfortunate let out a terrified scream which trailed off as the flying monster departed with its prey. Kris saw brief struggles of outflung arms and legs and then all movement ceased. The weird noise cut off as abruptly.

  “What the…was that?” Arnie cried.

  “Deathly,” Mahomet said. Then he pointed to the tree shapes at the upper edge of the field. “Watcher?” he both asked and suggested to Mitford. “Alert by call?”

  “Many of them things around?” Mitford asked.

  “Don’t know. One is not enough?” Mahomet asked in a droll tone.

  “Yeah, one’s enough. Murph, you got a loud voice, you and Taglione, get up there and play sentry. Anyone see who it got?” he called up to those at the far end of the crates who would have had a better view.

  “Didn’t see. Looked like one of us.”

  “Would be. We got more meat on our bones than the Deskis,” and Mitford looked over to the spindly creatures who were still cowering and moaning against the crates. “Do you Deskis know what those are?” he asked one of them in lingua Barevi. They both shook their heads but lowered their hands from their ears.

  “Sound hurt Deski ears,” Mahomet said, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “They hear faster. Send them watch.”

  “Good idea, Cat,” and Mitford issued the orders. The Deskis both tried to slink away until Mitford called Murph and Taglione to escort them.

  Mahomet said one brief spate of sounds at them and they instantly obeyed.

  “You speak Deski?” Mitford asked the Catteni.

  “Deski, Ilginish, Turski, Rugash,” Mahomet said. “Angleesh not many verds,” he added in English. “Unnershtan better talk ssslow.”

  “Well, now we’re cooking,” Mitford said. He looked around at his allies, nodding especially at the recalcitrant and dissatisfied Arnie. “I don’t think I got across the message to some of the aliens here.”

  Mahomet nodded. “Easy to say not unnershtan…doan like order.”

  Mitford barked out a laugh. “Damned well told, Cat. I think we keep you alive a while longer.”

  “Thank you.” And Mahomet briefly inclined his upper body toward Mitford.

  “Name? Rank?” the Sergeant asked the Catteni, ignoring the mutters of disapproval at that decision. When the mutter grew louder, he turned fiercely around. “Look, you sorry lot asked me to take command. Don’t buck me when I make a command decision. Someone’s got to. I say this mother is worth more to us alive—until he proves otherwise. Already saved somebody’s neck from the flying thing. You don’t like it, go it on your own. Get me?”

  The human protest subsided and Kris felt her knees wobbling with relief. She was also dry-mouthed again from stress.

  “So.” Mitford turned back expectantly to Mahomet. “Name. Rank.”

  “Zainal, Emassi,” he said, but Kris knew that wasn’t the Catteni word for captain.

  “Mitford, sergeant. I outrank you,” he added in such a bland-faced lie that Kris coughed to hide her guffaw.

  “I’m going for some more water,” she told Mitford and walked off without waiting for any permission.

  “Water good,” Mahomet Zainal remarked in an even tone.

  “All right, but I’ve some more questions for you, Emassi Zainal.”

  “Zainal now.”

  Kris grinned as she heard the correction but Zainal kept right on walking to the stream.

  “You shouldn’t’ve let him go off like that,” Arnie said in a whine of protest.

  “Like what? He’s only going for a drink. Where else can he go? Now, let’s get back on the job. Be glad I didn’t ask you to go get water for him.” He ignored Arnie’s curses and continued. “Here come some more customers. Let’s get this done before those flying things strafe us again.”

  “I dunno why you’d believe anything that Cat says…” Arnie said to Mitford. “And you let that bitch get away with…”

  “Stow it, Arnie.”

  Kris took two slow cupsful of water before she started back to the crates. Zainal, an interesting name, she thought, was ahead of her, but at a tangent, aiming for Mitford, who was looking out over the field of bodies still lying motionless. He’d handled a very difficult situation deftly and gotten her off the hook at the same time. She saw him look out over the body-strewn field. He paused briefly to examine those nearest. Shamelessly she cocked her ears to hear what he said to Mitford, his rumbling bass carrying easily.

  “There are dead.”

  “Do Catteni expect casualties?”

  “Kaz-u-all-tees?”

  “Dead ones.”

  “Long trip here,” and Zainal’s hand went to the scar on his head. “Some too weak. They feel nothing.”

  “I guess they didn’t.”

  “Unwise to stay here near dead,” Zainal added. “Not only flying danger.”

  “Just how much do you know about this place?” Mitford asked, slightly suspicious.

  Zainal gave a long sigh. Kris could see the regret in his expression: at least he permitted his expressions to show—not many of the Catteni she’d encountered did. Of course, that was one way to communicate when language failed.

  “Not enough,” he said with visible regret, “now I am here, too.”

  Mitford gave a short bark of laughter. “Shoe’s on the other foot, huh?”

  “Say again?”

  Mitford waved his hand. “So we should leave the dead here…I’d better get a head count, just in case. Most of the goblins have gone and I can’t say I’m sorry about that. Those mothers were dangerous all on their own-i-o! If the Deskis got good hearing, I’m for including them. What else are they good for?”

  Kris noticed that Zainal had listened very intently to Mitford’s words. He nodded once as if he had caught the gist.

  “Deski good for much. You name Turs goblins? Ah! Good for hardest works. Hate all but Turs.”


  “That’s the truth,” Mitford agreed sourly. “The Rugs at least try to get along,” and he gestured to the Rugarians, who had clustered together, drinking water and chewing away at their ration bars. “Don’t mind the Ilginish, but they sure stink.”

  “Stink?”

  Mitford held his nose. “We got a mixed bag left. And kids.” He pointed to the half-dozen youngsters huddled together behind the crates. Too intent on what was happening to Zainal, Kris only noticed them now. “A rough detail to get organized and moving. And where do we go? D’you know that?”

  “Safer in hills,” and Zainal pointed to what could be considered the north. The sun of this system had not yet reached its zenith.

  “Is it? That flying thing came from there.”

  “Places in rock to stay best. Creatures in…” he reached down and tapped the ground, “come in dark. Very bad.” He shook his head from side to side to emphasize that caution. “Don’t see.”

  “Stuff comes out of the earth at night?”

  “True.” He made the motions of a sinuous track upward with one hand and then pinched his fingers closed to indicate biting. “Day long enough to go. Find rock place.”

  “D’you know if there are caves—safe rock places—on this planet?”

  “Rock right kind,” Zainal said, kicking at one that looked like limestone to Kris. “Will make me remember more.” He shook his head as if to free up more information.

  “I’d rather move into some sort of a defensible position anyhow,” Mitford said and jumped to the top of the crate. “Listen up, you hairy lot,” Mitford bellowed in a parade-ground voice that made the Deskis clamp hands to their ears and cower to the ground. “This place won’t be safe at night. We’ve got to move to the hills, find caves to shelter in.”

  “You’re taking his word for this?” Arnie demanded, running up to Mitford and tugging at his pant leg. “You gonna listen to a Cat?”

  “I’ll listen to anyone who talks sense, and as the Cat’s the only one knows anything about this planet, I’m not about to ignore any local info I can get, Arnie. No one’ll force you to do anything now you don’t wanna. Hear me?” He raised his voice again. “First, you lot,” and he pointed a thick finger at Bass, Murph, and some of the others who’d been lounging behind the crates, “take a body count. Team up and cart any that are breathing—and I mean any—back here and we’ll try to rouse ’em. I wouldn’t even leave my mother-in-law to what walks at night. Now move it. You, too, Kris, and take the Cat with you.”

  “If we had a canteen or something to carry water in,” Kris started.

  Zainal tapped one of the empty crates. They were fashioned out of some sort of plastic and were capacious enough. He tipped it over and shook out some packing debris.

  “I carry,” he said and nodding at Kris to follow, started down to the stream.

  “Good idea,” Mitford said and got the two nearest Deskis to start emptying another half-full crate. “Useful.”

  “Sarge, what do we do with cups and blankets? Leave ’em on the stiffs?” Bass called.

  “Strip ’em,” Mitford yelled back. “They won’t need ’em. We might.”

  Remarkably everyone, Deskis as well, fell to and by the time Zainal had brought back the filled crate—without so much as puffing from the trek uphill—the count was complete and only the dead remained behind in the field.

  By the time the sun had reached its zenith, everyone living had been revived and informed of the current situation. There was one more flying attack, but Deski ears had heard the three creatures approaching long before they were seen and everyone was able to play dead. The creatures, still whistling their unbearable noise, caught nothing on that run.

  By tearing strips from spare blankets, crude carrying straps were contrived to make crates easier to transport, for Mitford intended to leave nothing behind that might later come in handy. He even ordered the dead stripped of footwear and coveralls. He got some resistance for that decision but in the end, the unpleasant task was done and garments stored.

  When the columns were ready to move off, Kris had acquired considerable respect for Mitford. She was equally glad she’d made the effort to spare Zainal for he had more than talk to use to placate dissenters. The added benefit to his show of strength was that few would have tried to take him on even if they hated his guts for being a Catteni, like Arnie. Some of the more recently revived were weak, so Mitford assigned each a buddy and announced that he intended to take skin off anyone who might happen to “lose” his or her buddy as they moved out.

  “How many bought it?” Mitford asked Bass, who had kept a tally.

  “Eighty-nine didn’t make it,” the lanky man said. “Mostly Deski and some older humans and two kids. That’d make about a ten percent loss if you figure a hundred bodies in each of the eight rows. Live head count’s five hundred eighty-two: haven’t sorted ’em out by race yet.”

  “Forget race,” Mitford said with a snort. “We’re all in this together. Operation Fresh Start.”

  Bass snorted good-naturedly. “You military types with your operations this and that.”

  Mitford raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s good for morale.”

  “So’s a fresh start. And being free again,” Bass added with a sideways glance at Zainal.

  Mitford walked to the top of the field and, fists on his hips, roared for attention.

  “Listen up. We’re moving out. You lot,” and he pointed to a bunch of humans, “form up in a column, four abreast. We got nine water carriers: distribute yourselves along the line of march. You with buddies, sing out if you got trouble but try to keep up. Don’t be shy asking for help if you need it. Bass, you be rear guard. Take Cumber, Dowdall, Esker, Movi, Tesco, and you three.” He held up three fingers at the nearest group of Rugarians and gestured them over to Bass. “We’re all in this together, remember!”

  “Yeah, sarge, Operation Fresh Start,” said Bass, evidently having thought the designation appropriate: “Okay, now move it out.”

  Mitford motioned for Zainal to join him and they trotted out to where people had begun to form up the column. At the front he swung in his arm the wide gesture that meant advance.

  “MOVE OUT OPERATION FRESH START!” His parade-ground voice reached all ears.

  Chapter Three

  KRIS WAS BUDDIED WITH A FRAIL-LOOKING RED-HEADED girl with the delicate complexion that often accompanies red hair. Patti Sue had been one of the last to rouse. She did a lot of coughing but she didn’t feel feverish so Kris decided she must have had some kind of allergic reaction to the drug they’d been given in their soup. Patti Sue spent a lot of time apologizing for being a burden. Such self-effacement bothered the hell out of Kris, who was naturally self-reliant and positive: she tried not to be curt with Patti Sue. The only other information the girl gave was that she’d been taken in Detroit. Every time Kris tried to open a conversation or asked a question, Patti Sue would take a coughing fit. The fifth time that happened Kris got the hint Patti Sue had been giving. She wondered if Patti’d survive until they made it to shelter.

  She inserted herself and Patti in column right behind one of the water containers, carried between two Rugarians. There were Rugarians all around Patti and herself and, at first, Patti kept so close to Kris she almost stepped on Kris’ feet a couple of times. Rugarians were sturdy, was Kris’ reckoning, so if she did need help with Patti, she’d have it at hand. She’d also seen how some of the human males had looked at the redhead. Hope springs eternal, she thought with amusement, but she was reasonably sure Patti would have repelled any offers of male assistance.

  She felt the pull uphill in the muscles of her calves and thighs but when they reached the tree shapes, she saw that the next bit of march would be downhill, along another field. The panorama bothered her but it wasn’t until she was halfway down the slope that she realized exactly why. This new field was exactly the same size as the one they’d been dropped in. Tree shapes marched along the borders, and
in adjacent fields of the same size. It was too even. Everything was laid out so neatly, far too neatly for a supposedly unoccupied planet. Only Zainal had not said the planet was unoccupied, had he? He’d definitely said it had indigenous dangers and he couldn’t remember what types, only that there were “deathly” creatures. At the bottom of this field was another stream. Brooks created on demand? And another field on the other side, identical to all the others in this area. On the entire planet? Where were the browsers? The ruminants for whom these fields were made? Were they some of the “deathly” creatures?

  She looked ahead and saw distant foothills. God, they were a long way away. She looked over her shoulder and saw the four-wide crocodile stretching out behind her. Safety in numbers? It said much for Mitford’s leadership ability that he had managed such cohesion from such a diverse group. Well, some of the obedience had originally been inculcated by Catteni forcewhips. A lot of people wouldn’t have had time to recover from their enslavement and be able to start thinking for themselves. Mitford was obviously counting on that. Whatever saved as many souls as possible, she thought to herself.

  During that long march, she found herself resenting Patti Sue’s frailty. She’d’ve preferred being up front with Mitford and Zainal, able to see where she was going: scouting ahead even. She liked being first, not tamely following others. But she’d accepted the responsibility of buddying with Patti Sue and she’d see it through.

  By the time the sun had reached a halfway point down the sky, she was supporting more of Patti Sue on the way up the hills. Downhill was easier except that Patti tended to stumble, always apologizing for the trouble she was making Kris, and telling Kris how good she was to put up with her. Kris had to clench her teeth to keep from telling Patti Sue to shut up and just do her best.

  Every hour they got five minutes to rest and get watered, or whatever, although how Mitford knew when an hour was up was beyond her. Maybe his military training gave him a built-in watch or something. Whatever, she welcomed the brief respite.