Freedom's Landing (8 page)

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.

The Catteni sure had a good footwear design in those shapeless fold-abouts. Body heat had molded hers so faithfully to her long narrow feet that, although her feet were tired, she hadn't raised a single blister or rub. Her leg muscles were complaining about abuse, but after an unknown period of time doing sweet fanny adams, what else could she expect? The spring had gone out of everyone's step, especially the water carriers, although Mitford had seen to it that those were rotated every rest period.

Then the word was passed back that they'd take an hour's break to eat. And if anyone had eaten up all their bars, tough titty. They weren't breaking out any spares today.

Kris had had another third before the trek, so she munched out on the last third and had half another one. She got Patti Sue to eat all of a bar by feeding it to her bit by bit. The girl's fatigue was not put on. Her cheeks were gaunt and her breath was shallow. Kris thought she heard rales in her lungs, but it might have simply been exertion after long idleness. There wasn't much more travel in Patti.

When the call went back to start again, they were on the edge of a fairly dense plantation. And plantation was the appropriate word because the vegetation—trees, whatever—had been set out in rows. There were several different specimens, judging by what went for leaves on this world; different sizes, too, and a soft mulch underfoot that was a welcome relief from the harder surfaces of the fields, despite their grassoid ground cover. While she could approve of forestation, it was real queer to find it on a planet that wasn't supposed to be inhabited. Although Zainal hadn't exactly
said it was
uni
nhabited, had he, she reminded herself yet again.

Kris got Patti Sue to her feet. The girl was so tired she didn't even have the strength to apologize. Kris draped one lax, thin arm about her waist, holding it to her with her right hand while she tucked her left under the girl as support. Kris gave a half-hip lurch and carried Patti forward step by step.

At the next rest stop, Kris herself was panting and sweaty. She'd draped Patti's blanket, cup, and ration package across her own to free the girl of any burden. Now she rearranged her accoutrements and when the order to move came, she hoisted Patti pickaback as the easier way to deal with the problem. Kris had good strong shoulders and a strong back and it was much easier, in some ways, to carry the girl than try to keep her on her own feet.

She was moving along at a better clip—they had fallen back from the water carriers some time before. She felt someone touch her shoulder and looked a human straight in his blue eyes. He had straight blond hair.

“Hey, there, ma'am, I'll take her. You shouldn't have to pack her.”

“Why not? She ain't my brother but she ain't heavy,” Kris replied, moving right along, but she smiled gratitude for the offer.

“Naw,” the guy said, reaching out to take Patti. “You take my gear and I'll lug her.”

Patti felt his hands on her and whimpered fearfully, clinging with what strength she had left in her arms to Kris. Kris moved out of the column.

“Tell you what, you carry my gear and that'll make it easier. But I don't think Patti Sue wants any guy around her. You know what I mean.”

The guy looked shocked for a moment, resenting the implication that he might have an ulterior motive to his offer.

“She won't tell
me
more than her name and where she came from,” Kris said, “and you must have heard how popular us Terran females were with the Cats.”

“Oh, gawd. Didn't think of that.” He flushed with embarrassment.
“Jay Greene,” he identified himself. “Denver.”

“I'm Kris Bjornsen and Denver's also where I was caught.” She had eased Patti down to the ground. Patti clung to her legs, still whimpering and mumbling unintelligible pleas. “It's okay, honey, it's okay. I'll carry you. You're my buddy, aren't you?” She divested herself of the blanket rolls and her ration bars but kept the cups and Patti's food.

“Hi, Patti Sue,” the man said, leaning down to her. “I'm Jay Greene, and I'm just going to lift you to Kris' back. Save her a bit. Is that okay?”

“Just do it, Jay,” Kris said and was nearly strangled by Patti, who almost sprang from Jay's hands to Kris' back.

“Wow!” Greene said softly. “Rough.”

Kris shifted the girl to a more comfortable position, feeling bones grind in the slender body. “Let's get back in line. We'll be the tail that wags the dog pretty soon.”

“Don't fret, ma'am. I won't leave your sight.”

“Not while you have my rations, you won't.”

The last part of that heroic march was uphill, scrambling on a rock-strewn surface where Greene often had to grab Kris to keep her balanced. She was concentrating so hard on not falling that Kris didn't really see where they were going until they got there. A wide ridge with—when she had a moment to look—a fantastic view of the patchwork of fields and hedging that seemed to stretch out for miles and miles into the twilight. The column also stretched in front of her, and there weren't that many behind, they'd dropped back so far. All along the way, marchers were sitting down where they stood, too tired to move much farther or worry about the hardness of this night's accommodation.

“I don't think much of this as a campsite,” Greene said, looking about him. He pushed a spot clear of rocks and pebbles and pointed it out to Kris. “This is as good as any.”

This time Patti was too exhausted to even whimper when Greene very gently lifted her off Kris' back. Kris gave a loud sigh of relief. Scuffed a second patch clear for herself and sat down with a “whoof” of relief. Greene
handed her the blankets and the food as he swept a place clean.

“Gimme the cups and I'll get us all some water,” he said and she handed them over, realizing that she was done! She hadn't the energy to get her own water.

When he came back, they managed to prop Patti Sue to a sitting position while Kris fed her again, and used some of the water to wash her face and then her own.

“Hey, we got a Prometheus in this ragtaggle group,” Greene said, pointing toward the front of the column.

Kris cried out in surprise and relief. Somehow the torches bobbing along the ridge in their direction reassured her as nothing else could have. Tears came to her eyes and she bit her lip and averted her face from Greene. 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 torchbearers made it to the rear where she was. Patti was asleep, her head pillowed on Kris' thighs. A few people seemed to have enough energy to talk, or complain: the Deskis were emitting their odd susurruses 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, Taglioni, and two others she didn't know were checking on the column.

“You okay, 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 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 awhile?”

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

“Okay, you keep an eye open here. You'll wake Bass…you know him? Good, at second moonset,” 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 toward the lanky figure of Bass, who was coming into the torchlight, 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 moonsets, 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 'cause the nights here are long, but it should help.”

“Gotcha.”

Mitford started to retrace his steps to the front. Zainal favored Kris with a long look and then pivoted to follow the Sergeant and the others.

Kris wrapped herself up good 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 of warm blankets, too. She finally got rested enough to fall asleep.

*   *   *

AS MITFORD, ZAINAL, TAGLIONI, 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 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 parceling out these gems or was he putting on an elaborate act? Years in the Army 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 veranda.

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 galaxy.”

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.