Freedom Omnibus Read online

  She didn’t want to spoil the impression that she was a survivor type.

  It was a long time, and darkness had fallen, before the torch bearers made it to the rear where she was. Patti was asleep, her head pillowed on Kris’s thighs. A few people seemed to have enough energy to talk, or complain: the Deskis were emitting their odd susurrahs from the tight little circle they had created. The Rugarians had curled up in hairy balls, blankets hauled over their faces. Kris was too tired to sleep, her back muscles aching from the day’s strain and her neck taut. She rotated her shoulders and waggled her shoulder blades trying to ease things.

  Then she felt Greene’s hands begin a massage for which she was intensely grateful.

  She was drowsing when light roused her to attention.

  Mitford, Zainal, Taglione and two others she didn’t know were checking on the column.

  “You OK, Bjornsen?” Mitford asked, one hand lightly resting on her shoulder.

  “She carried her buddy here half the afternoon,” Greene spoke up.

  “Shut up,” Kris said in protest. “She doesn’t weigh much.”

  “And she’s your buddy,” Mitford said, nodding. “Know this is a lousy campsite . . .” Beyond him, Zainal was talking to the Deski that had been awakened by the torch. It was a male, his eyes wide with an anxiety which abated when Zainal had finished speaking. “Best we can do. Zainal and a couple others are going to scout forward to see if there’re any caves near enough. He thinks we’ll be safe enough on the open ridge tonight. You’re Jay Greene?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Can you hang awake a while?”

  “Sure can.” Greene got to his feet, stiffly, but made it upright.

  “OK, you keep an eye open here. You’ll wake Bass you know him?

  Good, at second moon set,” and now Mitford pointed to the moons just rising, one much larger and ahead of its smaller companion. “This planet has five.

  Useful for lack of any other markers.” He turned his head towards the lanky figure of Bass who was coming into the torchiight, the rest of the rear guard clustered behind him.

  “You hear that? Greene here will relieve you. Cumber, Bass’ll get you up and you’ll be on until the fourth moon goes down, then you wake Movi. Don’t cheat and mix up your moon sets, now hear me!”

  “We hear and obey,’ Bass said, according Mitford a fancy eastern salaam.

  “I leave you the torch,” Mitford said and handed the one he held to Jay Greene. “It won’t last all night long “cos the nights here are long, but it should help.”

  “Gotcha.” Mitford started to retrace his steps to the front. Zainal favoured Kris with a long look and then pivoted to follow the sergeant and the others.

  Kris wrapped herself up well in the blanket, moving Patti until she got as comfortable as she could - after digging up a couple of rocks. The Catteni also did a good line in warm blankets. She finally got rested enough to fall asleep.

  * * * As Mitford, Zainal, Taglione and the others tiredly retraced their steps to the front of the column, the sergeant reflected on the wisdom of keeping the Cat alive. For starters, he liked the guy’s style when he had to brave it out among folks who had no cause to like his species. Of course, Mitford knew that the psychological moment to waste Zainal had passed back in the field, when the Cat got to his feet. He was one big mother and no-one, not even Mitford, would have taken him on single-handed. Guys like Arnie, who’d had too long a taste of Catteni whips, might just organize a lynch party at some auspicious moment. But there were ways of avoiding murder if you knew who victim and murderer were. Mitford had defused a couple of similar situations. Then, too, the big guy kept coming out with damned useful gen: like the five moons. Was he deliberately parcelling out these gems or was he putting on an elaborate act? Years in the Marines had taught Mitford how to spot liars and malingerers. Zainal was neither but he knew exactly what sort Arnie was.

  For most of Mitford’s life, in particular since he’d enlisted as an enthusiastic, lying sixteen year old, the sun had ruled Mitford’s days: from boot camp to his one tour in “Nam, through his two jaunts to Kuwait, until he’d been nabbed, by aliens, in a hammock on his dad’s verandah.

  Idly his thoughts ranged to wondering if his old unit had seen any action against the Catteni on Earth but reports from the old world were few and far between.

  All the more reason for making the one they were stuck on now better. And if keeping the Cat they had alive was one way of doing it, Chuck Mitford would see he lived.

  He wondered exactly how that tall blonde Bjornsen had met the Cat.

  She hadn’t been lying, but she hadn’t told all the facts. Whatever!

  She’d been clever in handling the situation and keeping the Cat alive.

  She had class, that one. And she was good people, the way she’d lugged that poor scared kid all day long.

  Taglione stumbled again and this time didn’t throw off the Cat’s hand when it went out to steady him. Maybe they could integrate him, though Mitford doubted it.

  Too much feeling against Catteni right now. He’d have to figure out some way of using the Cat without keeping him about all the time.

  That was easy, he’d send Zainal out on reconnaissance: they’d need to know the terrain wherever they finally came to roost. Send Bjornsen with him, and keep two potential problems out of his hair.

  He’d have enough. Not that he hadn’t made a good start but oh, Lord, how did he get in this situation in the first place? Mitford, he told himself, don’t you know the first rule of survival? Don’t volunteer!

  “You were telling me you work for the Eosi? The Catteni are not the overlords?” he asked Zainal in Barevi.

  “No, Eosi. Emassi take orders. Eosi order the gy) That chain of command didn’t seem to sit well with the Cat either, Mitford thought, reading the way the guy set his jaw as resistance, if not downright rebellion.

  “Emassi is not the word I heard for captain,” Mitford went on in a bland voice.

  He caught the gleam of Zainal’s eyes in the moonlight as the big Cat glanced down at him.

  “”Emassi” one word for a captain,” and Zainal’s lips curled up.

  “Special captain. You have heard “tudo” more.

  And “drassi”.”

  “Yeah, tudo for ground and drassi for space?

  Right?” So, as Mitford had thought, this Catteni was a couple of cuts above the usual individual the sergeant had met. “So which was it set us down here? Tudo, drassi or emassi?”

  “Drassi by order of Eosi,” and that didn’t sit well with the Catteni either.

  “You killed a tudo, then -“

  “As I have told you,” Zainal said quietly but with an edge to his words.

  “Just checking.” Zainal chuckled. “Know that Emassi have no reason to lie.” The first moon was now well above the hills and shining hard into their faces, lighting the rocky track so that they didn’t inadvertently step on sleeping bodies. For a big guy, Zainal was agile. “Course, he was used to a heavier gravity but that didn’t keep some Cats from being damned clumsy, squashing bystanders in their brawls.

  “We’ll be left alone now to get on with the job of settling in?”

  “That is the way”How soon before anyone checks in?” Zainal paused, walking in silence, then held up two fingers. “Depends. Drop more prisoners if we live. Then check in half a year, year. See how we do.”

  “You’re part of “we”?” Mitford wasn’t sure if he liked that suggestion of solidarity. The Cat hadn’t been in the same boat as the humans: figuratively that is. Or maybe he was.

  Zainal snorted. “I drop. I stay. I am not against you.

  I am with you.”

  “Fine by me,” Mitford said, waited a beat, “but you won’t find everyone exactly welcoming.” Zainal chuckled. “Emassi are also not welcome everywhere. I will survive.” Somehow Mitford didn’t doubt that a moment. And he intended to keep this Catteni alive. Mitford could think of several ways, easi
ly, that this Zainal might be of use to him, especially if he was also discontented with these Eosi overlords who ordered everything. “Then if we can keep alive, they unload more rebels?”

  “Rebels?”

  “Yeah, rebels,” Mitford said, “people like us who protest Catteni rule.

  Zainal grinned. “Good word, rebels. I like it.”

  “You wouldn’t be a bit of a rebel yourself, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps.” Mitford caught the edge on that mild rejoinder and wondered.

  “We must talk about this at a later date,” Zainal said. “You speak Barevi lingua well,” he added in a louder voice.

  “I’m a survivor, Emassi. And learning the local lingo fast is essential to survival. I got enough of five to six languages from Earth to get around the country: Barevi wasn’t hard to pick up.”

  “No, it is not.”

  “A simple language for simple folk?” Now Zainal gave a soft chuckle. But that was the last either said because fatigue was getting the better of both as they neared the head of the sleeping column of rebels.

  Yeah, Mitford thought again, I like that.

  After checking that the sentries he had set were still awake, Mitford gratefully spread his blanket on the ground.

  “If you think of anything more from that report, Zainal, lemme know,’ Chuck said as he lay down.

  “I will.”

  Chapter Four

  Morning was not fun! Once again Kris ached in many places and knew that pebbles had moved under her during the night to make tender spots where she didn’t need them. Patti was still flaked out when Kris rearranged the girl so she could get up. She had to go. She made her way down the hill to a boulder that had already been used for this purpose, although someone had had the courtesy to sprinkle dirt on what they’d done. She did the same. Greene was waiting for her with full cups of water.

  “Gawd, what I wouldn’t give for a cuppa coffee,” he said, grinning at her over the rim of his cup.

  “Never said a truer word,” and Kris rather liked his grin.

  Why was it she had to be dropped on this godforsaken planet before she met any decent fellas? She could notice a few more details about him, too. He looked awfully thin, and his hands showed lots of healed cuts and nicks and the palms, when he gestured, were heavily calloused.

  “Did you really steal the commander’s flitter?” Kris groaned. “I did but I wouldn’t have if I’d known the sort of reprisals the Catteni would take.

  “Don’t distress yourself over that, ma’am,” he said, grinning more broadly. “The very idea that one of us could, did, and had, gave us all heart.”

  “Except the ones who had long interviews with forcewhips.” She shuddered, her back muscles writhing in sympathetic reaction. The two times she’d felt that sort of nerve-paralysing lash had been quite enough.

  “The Cats looked for any excuse to intimidate us Terrans,” Greene said. “We were more than they expected, in case you hadn’t heard. Did they recapture you or something?”

  “No,” Kris said, drawling the negative out to emphasize her chagrin. “My timing was bad. I’d snuck a trip into the city just when the cruisers started spreading gas to quell that riot. And what was that riot about?”

  “Oh, we tried to break up another one of their little discipline sessions. One thing led to another and we ended up a mob. No sense, no reason, just rush about breaking up anything to hand!” She nodded, finishing the last of her bar and licking her fingers.

  Word was passed down to get a move on.

  Patti Sue managed the morning on her own feet and then collapsed again. She apologized to the point that Kris was grinding her teeth not to snap at her. It was a little difficult to avoid the apologies and self-deprecations when the girl’s lips were a few inches from her ear. Greene did what he could, chatting about this and that because his talking silenced Patti. His buddy was a Rugarian who said nothing, stopping and starting when Greene did, and was seemingly oblivious to every other stimulus.

  “What were you back on good ol’ Terra?” Kris asked, to while away the time.

  “Aha, computer technician. So, of course, they had me digging, shovelling and sweeping on Barevi. At least they weren’t prejudiced.

  Anyone big got that duty.” He made a muscle in his arm and pulled the coverall tight across it so she could admire the result. “Actually, it beats a sedentary life in front of a screen. I’ve never been this fit.” And he cast a critical eye on Patti’s frail body. “You’re sure he began for the third time since lunch.

  “I’m sure.” Patti Sue had either fallen asleep or retreated into a comatose state. The only thing that reassured Kris was that her skin was cool, not hot with fever. She soldiered on. However, she told herself that next time buddies were assigned she was going to choose.

  The afternoon became one long struggle to keep upright and put one foot in front of the other. They had to make three climbs up rockfaces . . . Kris did hope that Mitford had had accurate reports from his advance scouts, because she sure didn’t want to come back down the last one. They’d had to rig a blanket sling to get the limp Patti Sue up it. Kris ended up with scraped shins and lost some fingertip skin.

  The items that hadn’t been in the Catteni survival crates were legion.

  Decent gloves, pitons, rope, pickaxes, backpacks, a bar of chocolate were among those she dreamed of. Needles and thread!

  Band Aids.

  There were three falls, one broken leg. The Deskis, for all their fragile looks, had almost glided up the rockface.

  That could be a useful skill, she thought, amazed that she could think of anything other than being able to continue walking.

  When her courage was beginning to peter out into utter despair, the word was passed back that their destination had been reached by the first elements.

  They’d had one? That amazed and heartened her.

  When she got there, she didn’t know it. One, she had stumbled and had to lean against the cliffside to steady herself. She’d had a terrifying, if brief, look at the drop she’d nearly plummeted down.

  Two, she was too exhausted even to care that she would now be able to stop walking.

  “I’ll take her,” a male voice said and the burden of Patti was lifted from her back.

  Someone put a hand on her arm and led her from the cliff, pushing her head down so she wouldn’t crack it on a low entryway. The darkness a few metres inside was suddenly alleviated by - of all things fires.

  They didn’t smell like fires should, but the rosy glow looked like the real thing. She later found out that Zainal had experimented with various types of wood, for lack of a proper description of the material he gathered from the vegetation, until he found a combustible substance.

  He found other things, which included dried dung, to augment what “wood’ could be gathered as they marched.

  The dung smelt but it gave off heat and light which were essential.

  Someone took her cup - she protested but before she could get violent about the matter, the cup was returned to her, full of water “Keep moving,” she was told and a hand gently guided her in the direction she was supposed to go. . . a narrow path through outstretched legs and boots. She went left, then right, then left again as guided, and had her head pushed down to enter a smaller cave.

  There was a small fire, one that didn’t smell too badly, in a circle of glinting stones in the centre. Smoke went straight up and she tilted her head, nearly falling over backwards since her balance was as tired as the rest of her senses, but couldn’t see the ceiling.

  “Over here,” and she was guided to one side of the fire where there weren’t any legs or boots. “Sit.” A gentle hand pressed down on her shoulder and, quite willing to obey, she sat.

  When she felt someone fumbling with her blanket, she tried to push the hands away.

  “Sleep in blanket.” The odd phrasing caught her attention and she blinked to focus on the face in front of her. Zainal it was who was untying her blanket
. No-one else was that big. That was all right then. She owed him. Or did he owe her?

  “Lie down,” he said, an order that she was only too happy to obey.

  She worked her way down to a recumbent position and felt the blanket being tucked around her. What odd behaviour for a Cat . . .

  no, she must not shorten the name. Catteni. Maybe “Teni’ would be less egregious than “Cat’?

  That was the last thing she remembered for a very long time.

  Mitford woke suddenly, his well-developed internal clock rousing him after his customary six hours’ sleep. It was as dark as the inside of a pocket and it took him a moment to establish where he was. He rose cautiously to one elbow, identifying the sleeping forms around him:

  Taglione, Murphy, Dowdall, and yes, the dark mass of the big-shouldered Catteni.

  Fit as Mitford tried to keep himself, apart from that enforced sleep on the prison ship, he felt some twinges from yesterday’s exertions. Well, today would be another bitch and he’d better start it, what with all he had to do.

  He berated himself once again for setting himself up in command of this chicken-shit outflt but who the hell else in this mis-assorted herd of humanity, and aliens, would have organized anything? It had made his blood boil to see them quibbling over how many knives they should get and who’d have the blanket concession. Just chance that he’d known a couple of the looters from being in the same barracks with them on Barevi, so he’d been able to inveigle their support with a hint and a bit of verbal persuasion. No need for anyone to get greedy over the goodies. There looked to be more than enough to go round. He couldn’t stand greed and he hated bullying.

  Some might not believe that, but it was the truth. So he’d waded in and got the supply situation organized to his satisfaction and doled out the hardware in an orderly fashion. He should have known one thing would lead to another. But no-one had contested his authority. Or them that had had taken themselyes off.