Freedom's Choice

by Anne McCaffrey

Synopsis:

In McCaffrey's latest novel, the unwilling colonists from Freedom's Landing struggle to survive on their new world. As the colony grows, divisions disappear. Still, questions arise. Should they settle in and begin to make this world their home, bearing children and creating a new society? Or should they return to Earth and join the battle against the Catteni oppressors who abandoned them on this planet?.

sequel to freedoms landing prequel to Freedoms Challenge

Preface

When the Catteni, mercenaries for a race called Eosi, invaded Earth, they used their standard tactic of domination by landing in fifty cities across the planet and removing entire urban populations. These were distributed throughout the Catteni worlds and sold as slaves along with other conquered species.

Since slavery did not sit well with many of the first world countries, the conquerors met with considerably more resistance than had been anticipated. The size and general brutality of the Catteni soldier generally inculcated sufficient fear and obedience to inhibit active resistance on many of their previous invasions.

However, since many M-type planets.had been discovered by the Eosi, the Catteni were advised to round up sufficient dissidents and felons alike, deposit them on whatever M-type planet was currently available for occupation and let them fend for themselves.

Not all M-type worlds are suitable for colonization but, since the Catteni had quantities of expendable personnel, they could utilize an empirical method of discovering which was fertile and friendly, and which contained dangers making them inimical. A check was kept on the survival rate of such inadvertent settlers. If few remained alive, the world was abandoned. If the survival rate was high, more deliveries were made. When the imposed population had made the world tenable, the Catteni would install an overlord and exact a percentage of the gross planetary product. Any dissenters to this procedure were then rounded up and deposited on yet another potential colonial world.

Botany was one such colonial world on which the Catteni, emptying holding cells on Barevi and Earth, dropped several species to see how they survived - each other as well as the peculiar, but as yet unidentified denizens.

The Catteni outfitted each of the unsuspecting colonists with durable clothing, a blanket and a packet of dry rations. The 'shipment' spent the voyage in a form of suspended animation and were deposited on the planet where knives, hatchets and rudimentary medical kits were left for their use, or abuse.

On Botany, however, a former staff sergeant took charge of those dropped with him, and warned by one of the alien species, the Deski, managed to avoid one of the local avian predators.

Zainal, the one Catteni who had been shanghaied in that shipment, remembered other vague problems about this planet from a cursory reading of the original exploration report. Although some of the stranded people wanted to revenge themselves by taking the Catteni's life, Kris Bjornsen forestalled the attempt, suggesting that he knew more than anyone else did about this planet and they'd better keep him alive for a while. Sergeant Chuck Mitford saw the wisdom in that - and also in the Catteni's advice to seek higher, stonier ground if they wished to survive. In a forced march to the safety of the nearby hills, Mitford realized that Zainal could be useful for quite a few reasons.

Establishing a base camp, hunting for edible life forms and foods, occupied every one of the survivors under Mitford's command. The settlers discovered that this planet was not as unoccupied as the Catteni report suggested. In fact, it seemed to be a planet extensively farmed by mechanized, highly sophisticated machinery, operating without any 'live' supervision. On a scouting mission, Kris Bjornsen and Zainal encountered more humans, as well as representatives of the other four races also dumped on Botany.

In order to save the Deski from dying of malnutrition, since Botany did not produce a basic dietary requirement, Zainal forced a confrontation with the Catteni captain of a second transport which was dumping a new load of people. He also sent back the message that this planet was obviously an agricultural subsidiary of a heretofore undiscovered sophisticated race.

Then he was summoned to a covert meeting with another Emassi high-ranking official, with an offer to be returned to his rank and duties: an offer he summarily rejected.

By then, there were sufficient technicians and engineers available to redesign some of the available equipment into useful appliances and machines, supplying communications and useful equipment to assist the settlers.

Using the aerial maps reluctantly supplied him, Zainal led a group to what might be a command centre on the planet.

However although it had obviously not been occupied for a very long time, a garage held several aerial devices and smaller missiles of a homing device design. One of these was deliberately launched by Dick Aarens.

The launch is observed by interested agencies - and so begins the second part of the Catteni story.

Chapter One

The satellite logged the departure of a missile from the surface of the planet under observation. It analysed the components and attempted to correlate the information within its memory banks, but found no match. The unusual speed and approximate direction of the device was also noted as it headed galactically north and east towards the furthest edge of the Milky Way. Just as the missile reached the heliopause of the system, it disappeared. A scan produced no debris; no ion or any other trace of what had powered its drive could be detected. It had vanished: a fact that was unacceptable to the monitoring program and caused a functional error which required internal investigation and repair. Although its earlier tracking was recorded, the satellite did not - due to the anomalies - immediately forward the data to its server.

Consequently, without a requisite emergency code, the information went through several processings before the anomalies were noticed. It was then immediately reported to the proper authority. A team was despatched to correct the malfunction, but none was found even after a complete overhaul and maintenance check of the satellite. The data was therefore suspect as a malfunction in itself, rather than the recording of an event. The planet was, after all, a penal colony; the exiles equipped with the barest essentials for survival and no technological equipment whatever. It was only by chance that the report was ever seen by persons with the essential information to realize the significance of the sighting, and the mysterious disappearance of the homing device.

Chapter Two

"You say that he refused to answer the summons?" The speaker scowled at the Emassi captain.

As they were also father and son, the son was accustomed to his sire's scowls; he almost enjoyed the reaction, knowing that Zainal's refusal to return and accept the duty imposed on his rank and family would blacken his brother's previously spotless reputation in their father's estimation.

"He was chosen,' Perizec continued, bashing one huge fist onto the pervalloy worktop. 'He cannot refuse the summons." 'He did,' Lenvec said with an imperturbable shrug of one shoulder. "'I'm dropped, I stay." You know the convention." Perizec crashed both fists onto the worktop, bouncing everything on it, and scattering the files from the desk rack. 'An Eosi matter has precedence over any Catteni convention! You know that!" The scowl deepened, pulling down the heavy mouth and jaw, darkening the gray-toned skin. 'He has known of this duty since he was presented to the Eosi. Dropped or not, he is to return to accept that duty." The fists banged emphatically again.

Then Perizec's eyes narrowed to slits through which his yellow pupils flashed with anger. 'How did he come to be dropped on that felon planet?" Lenvec shrugged. He knew that his father was well aware of the whole circumstance, but he repeated the report.

"Zainal engaged in a fatal brawl with a minor transport Allo l officer. The crew sought vengeance and Zainal escaped in a flitter, which was hit and crashed in the western hunting grounds. No trace was found of him then, but he was discovered later that night among dissidents who had been gassed during a riot. Because it was within the twenty-four hours, one of the crewmen made certain that he remained in the transport facility and was included in the shipment. He made his presence known to a second Drop crew. Your office was alerted and I made the run to retrieve him. He refused . . ." 'I know, I know,' and Perizec flicked thick fingers to end the recital. 'He must return. The duty is required of him. We cannot avoid the choosing." He frowned, deep in thought. 'See to it that the crew who arranged his deportation are sent to the same destination. They will ensure that he is ready to be collected when next you land there." 'A thought, sir,' Lenvec began, "Catteni would not be popular on the planet and may even be prevented from finding Zainal." Perizec regarded him with a direct anger. "Zainal survived.

You said yourself that he was the member of some sort of team." Lenvec shrugged. 'Zainal is, after all, Emassi, sir, and as clever a man as you yourself . . ." Perizec grunted at the filial compliment. "He is also Catteni and would resist attempts to eliminate members of his own race." 'He might not be in a position to do so. He may also wish to eliminate the crew for having put him on that planet in the first instance." 'They will have to be "rewarded",' and Perizec's smile was unpleasant, 'for their part in his exile. See to that. And let us find among the Emassi two or three of Zainal's hunting friends.

Them he would certainly protect, would he not?" Lenvec nodded. 'They will see to it that he is willing to leave when next you land."

"Am I to transport them there?"

"By no means. That would put Zainal on his guard. When is the next mass transportation scheduled?"

Lenvec consulted his wrist unit. 'In twenty-two days."

"Choose the men . . ' 'A female, too, sir, if I may suggest it. He's been a long time without . . . companionship." 'An excellent notion,' and Perizec grinned back at his son.

You have someone in mind?" Lenvec nodded. 'They will all be rewarded." He reached to the files and methodically began stacking them in order as he continued speaking. 'This must be completed as expeditiously as possible. I have told the Eosi that Zainal was sent on a special assignment and is unaware of their need of him. We have been granted a respite, but their anger will fall on us all if we do not present him within a reasonable period of time." Lenvec nodded. Since Zainal had been acceptable to the Eosi, there had been no need for Lenvec to be presented. Nor would he wish to be accorded such an Eosi 'honour' since he knew exactly what that entailed. However, he might yet find himself the substitute, if Zainal did not present himself. The honour of the family was at stake. Failure to comply with an Eosi demand brought disaster and disgrace to every blood relation.

"Keep me informed, Lenvec,' Perizec told his son by way of dismissal.

As Lenvec saluted formally, pivoted smartly and left the office, Perizec began to consider how to punish the stupidity of a mere freighter crew who had presumed to place an Emassi among transported dissidents. He enjoyed deciding on the exact and perfect punishment for their presumption and shortly was able to issue the necessary orders. Once the rumour was circulated, few Tudo or Drassi would dare to repeat such treatment, no matter what the cause. That this abrogated one of the main tenets of Catteni discipline did not bother Perizec. But then his rank had some privileges, and he exercised all frequently.

As he was supposed to do, the Deski immediately informed the camp leader what he had heard on the height above Camp Rock.

"You heard a ship come down?" Worrell asked, rubbing his face hard in an effort to comprehend what Coo was telling him.

"Come down,' Coo said, nodding vigorously, 'not big. Not you-zoo-al,' he added, struggling with the syllables.

"Not usual?" Worrell repeated, while Coo nodded with a Deski-style grin which Worrell was now accustomed to. 'You mean, not a Drop?" Coo shook his head and then nodded, to be sure he was understood.

Worrell sighed with relief. The damned Catteni had speeded up their deposits of Colonists' over the past month to the point where there was barely time to assimilate each new delivery.

"No Drop. No long down. Come,' and Coo gestured with his thin, oddly-knuckled digits, swooping them down to close with his other hand, then pause briefly before elevating it again. 'Go.

Soft." And now he put a hand to his ear and pretended to listen hard.

Instantly Worrell began to fret. His nickname 'Worry' was less a contraction of his surname and more a description of his chief trait.

"A quick Drop, then. A few people at the most. Only what kind?" he asked himself more than Coo. 'Nearby?" 'Not near-near." Coo dropped his head, orienting himself, then shifted his feet slightly to the right so that he was facing due north. The Deski ability to know where they were was an extremely useful trait on Botany. They could get themselves back to the main settlements, like Camp Ayres Rock, from any point so that it had become practice to include at least one Deski in every scouting expedition.

Now Coo extended both long, doublejointed arms, kept the right one facing due north and angled his left arm almost due west. 'There. Not near-near." 'Really?" Worry rose and patted Coo's bony shoulder. "Real good, Coo. Thanks."

"Good job done?"

"Beaus job, Coo." Worrell turned up the light so that he could see the map hung on his wall. Much of the continent it represented was still blank but, over the past few wintry months, details had been added by scouting teams. 'If we're here, Coo,' and Worrell put his finger on the cave system of Camp Rock, 'how far west?" Coo extended his head towards the map on a neck that seemed elastic, put one digit on the Camp and then slid it in the appropriate direction. 'No more far." 'Really?" Worrell felt anxiety bloom in his gut. The point Coo had indicated was where Zainal and his team had met the scout ship: the one sent to take him back to his duties as a Catteni Emassi. 'Thanks, Coo. You'd best get back on duty."

"I got' And the Deski slipped quietly from the room.

Worrell glanced briefly at his time-piece. Dawn was too far away for him to send a squad to check the landing site. The night-crawlers would be all too eager to catch anything that travelled above ground. Not even a large team, stamping heavily, would escape those winter-hungry denizens.

Then Worrell chuckled to himself. If Catteni had indeed landed someone for some purpose . . . like getting in touch with Zainal again . . . they'd have had a welcome they didn't expect.

"Serve 'em right, too,' Worrell said, though he was not by nature a vindictive man. In a considerably more cheerful mood, he returned to his bed and went soundly back to sleep.

Worrell would like to have had Zainal to send down to investigate the reported landing, but he and Kris Bjornsen were out with their team on another long scouting trip: looking for more caves, barns or rocky terrain to house the settlers continuously supplied them by the Catteni. So he sent for Mic Rowland, one of the Fifth Drop group. He'd been a stunt-man for the movies and could be trusted to observe, be discreet and get himself and a team out of trouble. Worry told him about the late-night landing, and where Coo had thought the ship had touched down.

"If a Deski said it landed there, we'll find some signs." Mic was far too accustomed to working with all-sorts, as he called them, not to appreciate talent wherever it was found.

"Even scout ships leave a stench behind them,' Worrell agreed.

"Take a party of those newbies with you. Give 'em a chance to hunt."

"Sure thing,' Mic said with a businesslike nod.

Worrell grinned when he saw Rowland tag the first five people in the breakfast line whose new-looking coveralls marked them as the latest Drop. He did let them eat first before he took them off.

Worrell knew the trip would do them good. So many got to Botany still full of their Earthside sabotage activities, and how many Cats they'd injured or killed and other kinds of derringdo? so that they needed to be taken down a few pegs to the realities of Botany. Fortunately, more were adapting well to the new world than Worry would have expected.

What caused the Australian - and the other Camp managers - concern, was the indisputable fact that the Catteni were making more frequent deposits of dissidents. Zainal had been surprised too and had suggested, slyly, that it was because Earth was showing far more rebellion than any other race the Catteni had subjugated. So there were more rebels to be exiled. So far the colony had been able to absorb both quantities and alien species, though they had followed Zainal's suggestion to let the belligerent and uncooperative Turs go off on their own in the small groups in which they arrived. However, the population of Botany had risen from the original Drop of 572 to nearly 9,000.

Worrell worried all day over what Mic Rowland would find. He also widened the perimeter guard in case of infiltration, warning them vaguely that someone had seen Turs prowling about. It was possible, in Worrell's view of human frailties, that even some specimens of Mankind could have been brain-washed into cooperating with their Catteni masters and would try to slip into the colony to cause trouble. That actually made more sense to him than a secret landing of Catteni, since they would be instantly noticed. So far Zainal remained the only one of his race resident on Botany. And he had barely escaped being killed that first day which was fortunate since he had proved so helpful in the early Drop, and ever since: even to rejecting a chance to leave.

Mic Rowland returned with enough game to justify the hunt.

Dismissing his weary group, he caught Worrell's glance, jerked his head towards Worrell's office on the height and moved quickly to join the Camp manager there. He dropped the rocksquats with the cooks, but not the sack in his right hand.

Once they were private, Mic upended the sack on the table and grinned at Worrell's surprise.

"Boots?"

"That was all that was left. And not the same sort they issued us,' Mic said, 'much better made. And this." He took from his chest pocket a very thin plate about seven centimetres long and maybe two thick. 'I'd say it was a comunit, or some sort of call device. Maybe even an implant. I rubbed the gore off." Then he picked up one of the boots which was scored as if something hot, or very strong, had twined around it, leaving deep grooves. He twisted the heel and the whole lower part of the shoe swivelled free, showing a compact kit of small tools, embedded in the material of the thick sole. 'There's something in each boot." He picked up the smallest pair and opened the sole of one, revealing its contents to Worrell. 'This looks like a drug injector." He opened the other, which contained two small vials. 'And the drugs." 'Drugs? Yes, well, I'll give that stuff to Dane." Worrell counted eight boots in an effort to defuse his mounting anxiety. "Dropped a team, did they? To do what?" Though he had an awful suspicion his first guess might prove correct. Would Mic know?

Mic shrugged. 'You been here longer. An educated guess would be they were after Zainal." When he caught Worrell's sharp look, he grinned. 'I heard. Damn few would have stayed if they had a chance to leave."

"Hmmm. No other . . . remains?"

Mic shook his head. 'Some bits of metal, probably from whatever they were wearing, but even Catteni material is edible to the crawlers.

Boots are just a touch too tough for 'em." And he flicked his fingers at one. 'Big mothers wore 'em. Big even for Catteni. They have goon squads, too." 'One pair is much smaller. Would they have sent a woman with them?" Mic shrugged. 'Who knows what Catteni will do?" He closed his lips on whatever he had been about to add and shrugged again.

Worrell could very well imagine what had been left unsaid.

Before his deportation, he had seen enough of the higherranking Catteni women to know that Kris Bjornsen was a lot betterlooking than the best of them. Many disapproved of her liaison with Zainal but no-one, other than Dick Aarens, had the gall to complain or dispute it.

"Thanks, Mic. Did the others notice?"

"Couldn't fail to, not with those empty boots scattered around. I don't think the newbies noticed that the footwear isn't the same stuff we have. So I'm reporting a missing patrol to you.

Right?" 'Too right,' Worrell said, 'and I trust you rammed home the lesson?" 'Never miss an opportunity like that, Worry." And Mic left with a big grin on his face.

Worrell made a mental note that Mic was ready for more responsibility. First he dialled Zainal's team number for them to report in, then he got in touch with Chuck Mitford.

"Well, put 'em in a safe place, Worry,' Mitford said, 'until either Zainal or I can have a look-see. Just give the medical junk to Dane; he might know what it is and maybe have a use for it.

I suppose you better send those tools down here to Narrow for the engineering types. They could use some high-quality stuff despite some of the new items they've been able to turn out recently. I'll have to figure out a way to explain their . . . ah . . . acquisition." He contradicted himself a moment later. 'I don't have to explain anything, do I?"

"Sure don't, Sarge."

Worrell grinned at the comment. In one of the recent drops there had been several ax-admirals, ax-generals and assorted other brass, most of whom - when they had had a chance to recover from the trials of their journey - were quite willing to refer respectfully to Mitford as 'Sergeant'. Most . . . and those who didn't soon learned how much was owed that 'sergeant', or found themselves settling into perhaps less amenable camp sites. No-one - except someone on sick call - shirked assigned duties, and everyone took a turn at hunting, preparing food, sentry and whatever other duty they were thought capable of managing. When he hadn't anything else to fuss about, though, Worrell worried that some sort of high-level executive-type consortium might try to bounce Mitford out of his current eminence. Of course, if Mitford decided on his own hook to step down, that had to be entirely his option. So far, Mitford's management - and he had listened to suggestions from just about everyone in the first couple of Drops - had worked pretty damn well.

"Sarge, should we worry about human infiltrators?" he asked, hoping to have such a notion knocked down.

Mitford's snort made the diaphragm of the portable phone vibrate and Worrell began to relax.

"Not unless they can run faster than a crawler can grab. And if there were four Catteni, they'd have been heavy enough on those big feet of theirs to have alerted every scavenger four fields over." There was a brief pause. 'Worry, you don't actually believe any human being would work with the Catteni, do you?" 'There've been traitors, renegades, spies, quislings in every war, Sarge. Why not this one?" Mitford cursed briefly, but colourfully. 'You could be right.

Damn it! Only why send in infiltrators by special delivery? You could as easily send 'em in a regular Drop. Anyway, why mess us up? Zainal says the Catteni prefer colonies to prosper so they can come in and take over when one gets going wells Pause.

"Furthermore,' and Mitford's tone was adamant, 'they'll have their work cut out for them if they try that tactic on my planet." Nor would anyone dispute Mitford's use of the possessive pronoun.

"We'd be with you four hundred percent, Sarge."

Another brief pause. 'I'll tell Easley we'd better be double careful checking IDs on the next Drops. Right?" With that he cut off, leaving Worrell not quite as anxious as he had been: no-one was going to take over 'my planet'. He grinned at the outrage in Mitford's voice. Scouts had come across the remains of several rough camps in the hills, above the level the night scavengers inhabited, and the skeletons of those who hadn't survived. But everything was much better organized now, especially the Drops. Peter Easley, former personnel manager of a huge international firm, had been responsible for that. His second morning on Botany, he sought Mitford out and made suggestions on how to simplify, speed up in-flow, and how to catch the signs of those still in trauma and needing counselling. He'd deferentially organized additional men and women experienced in crowd control and personnel handling, and passed on recommendations of other specialists that Mitford might want to interview himself. Mitford turned the whole problem of Drops over to Easleyand the complexity of Resettlement - another of Easley's sensible recommendations to Yuri Palit, previously a UN resettlement manager for displaced persons. There were now enough degree engineers, aviation and production line mechanics and inventor-types to keep Aarens from getting cocky while speeding up their output.

With enough hand-held communication units available, scouting teams could report in to Mitford on any unusual occurrences, as Worrell had just done, and the sergeant had actually been able to keep 'business hours'.

"I'll get enough time yet,' Mitford had recently confided to Worrell on a trip through Camp Rock to Camp Silo, 'to lead a recon group myself." 'Is that what you'd really like to do?" Worrell had asked, since it was the first time he'd ever heard something akin to a complaint from the man.

"All this brand-new world, and everyone else is getting to see it first!" Mitford had flung up his hand in frustration. 'Well, I get closer to it all the time." Then he'd grinned. 'And I get less and less paperwork to do." So now Mitford had more time to spend on organizing the teams and sending expeditions in every direction, trying to locate more bases, especially to replace Camp Rock which was established just above a deep gorge that showed the scars from centuries of spring flooding. Zainal and Kris Bjornsen were on just such a scouting mission now, hoping to find a site that was not an installation of the Mech Makers' or the 'Farmers', as many people were beginning to call them because of the agricultural emphasis of the planet.

Worrell packed the boots back into the sack, but he peered more closely at the plate. There did seem to be round indentations on one end: possibly touch points. He counted nine - as many as a numeric pad, and was sorely tempted, but decided against any whimsical experimentation. He'd sent out the recall sequence and Zainal and Kris should be back in a few days.

The team were at that time in a state of exultation, for they had managed to complete a difficult ascent up an irregular cliffmass and now looked down into a long valley that bore no traces of the neatness which typified the land the Mech Makers farmed.

Their ascent had been a quick decision, prompted by certain anomalies that both Zainal and Whitby, the mountaineering expert of the team, had noticed. The first was a stream bubbling vigorously from what seemed like a solid rock-face.

Investigating, they found the stream had bored a channel through the stony barrier.

"That's not the kind of rock that water erodes,' Whitby said.

"It was carved somehow." The second curiosity was that, in Whitby's estimation, the high mound of rubble that barred their way could not have been caused by a natural landslide or depression, and he called their attention to the top of the cliffs which did look shorn.

"Could have been an earthquake,' Kris had suggested.

"We've seen no other subsidence on our way here,' Basil Whitby had said, shaking his head and glancing along the cliffs on either side. "Not a landslide, not with that kind of stone." Then he grimaced at the tumbled rocks of the barrier.

"Don't see any kind of a road leading up here,' said Sarah, swinging around to be sure.

"As if mechanicals left any tracks with those air cushions,' Joe Marley reminded her, and she made a face at him. 'Not even a mark where a big mother would have parked for a time."

"Animals do leave tracks,' she replied.

"And we haven't seem many of them lately, now have we?" he said in good-natured sparring.

"There have to be other animals than loo-cows, rocksquats, night-crawlers and those vicious avians. Even I know that much about ecological balance." "Maybe," and Leila Massuri's tone was cautious, "that barrier's there for a good reason." She and Whitby were the new members of the Kris-Zainal team. Leila contributed more to the pot with her crossbow prowess than to discussions.

"Keeping something in? Or out?" Joe asked, accepting the premise.

"We find out,' said Zainal and began to pass out appropriate equipment for scaling the barrier. Though the air cushion of their all-terrain vehicle allowed it to traverse very rough ground, the gradient of the rocky obstacle in front of them was too acute.

They were far better equipped now for explorations that they had been in the initial days after being dumped on Botany. Leila slung her crossbow across her back and made sure the quarrel pouch was fastened, while Kris loaded her pouch with pebbles for her sling and slung the rope coil Zainal handed her over one shoulder. Whitby had fashioned himself a proper climbing pick which he slid into the loop at his belt, then stuffed pitons into thigh pockets and secured the short compound bow and quiver of arrows to the harness on his back. Sarah and Joe had slings as well as boomerangs, a type of equipment that was becoming more popular; Fek and Slav armed themselves with lances and hatchets. They all carried blanket rolls and a small sack with food and water.

The climb up the irregular and often shifting cliff-side had taken most of the morning, but the view at the top was more than worth the effort. Below them lay a peaceful valley, obviously undisturbed by the agricultural mechanicals that dominated the slopes behind them. At the narrow end of the valley they could see a distant waterfall, its descent a murmur as it fell into a small lake. The stream leading from it meandered down the far, lower side of the valley and blundered into the cliff, answering the question of its origin. The valley floor was interspersed with flat grasslands and some of the odd-looking thickets that in their season would bear edible berries. But the most unusual feature was the little groves of what Kris called lodge-pole trees: straight tall trunks that flattened at the very top into a thick, flat crest of narrow branches fanning out, and were covered in needles during the warmer weather. Specimens did grow in some of the hedgerows that lined the mechanicals' fields but only as single trees, not in copses like these, and certainly not as many groves as could be seen from their vantage point.

A cool, pungently scented breeze cooled their sweaty faces.

"It's as good as Shangri-la,' Sarah McDouall said, beaming down at the valley. 'It's lovely. So peaceful, so . . ." 'Secret?" Joe supplied. 'I wonder what else we'll find down there." 'Why, there's space for hundreds here,' she said, ignoring his implicit pessimism.

"Hmmmm,' Zainal murmured, obviously sharing Joe's caution.

"Slav?" he asked the Rugarian, who was shielding his eyes as he surveyed the valley.

Slav shrugged.

"Fek?" Zainal turned to the Deski, the only one who showed no exertion from the difficult ascent, but the Deskis were such natural climbers that Kris had wondered if their home planet was nothing but perpendicular surfaces. Actually, their oddlyshaped hands and the soles of their feet became slick with a sort of adhesive substance which gave them purchase on sheer surfaces, and their unusually jointed arms and legs permitted them to assume postures that would have broken human limbs.

Fek had assumed her intensive listening posture, almost as if her hearing organs were extending themselves from the side of her head, wide open to experience the slightest of sounds.

"Wind. Water. Small noises,' she said, shaking her head to indicate a lack of obvious danger. 'No livings." Without waiting for Zainal's signal, she started to descend. He shifted the heavy coil of rope he carried, rubbed the sweat off his face and followed.

Fek found the easiest descent for the rest of the party, zigzagging down some of the sheerer boulders which she would have managed quite easily with her natural advantages. But she, too, stopped where sheer-sided stone angled sharply outward.

"I'd say that looks like something was meant to stay in there,' Kris said.

"Twenty-five metres slanted at fifteen degrees or more,' said Whitby. 'So we rappel down." He unloosed his pick, found a piton and started hammering it in while Zainal removed the coil from his shoulder to rig it for the drop.

Once again, Kris thought as she took her turn at the descent, that silly survival course comes in handy in my new life on Botany. All of them, even Fek, grinning for all she was worth as she rappelled, made it safely to the floor of the valley.

"Leave,' Zainal said when Whitby would have released one of the three ropes used. He grinned. 'If something is kept in, we can leave quickly." Leila immediately armed herself with her crossbow and looked around warily.

"It's full daylight, Lee,' Kris said reassuringly. 'So even if our thudding on the ground here aroused anything, we're safe as long as the sun shines. Me, I'm for that stream." One bend of the meandering water was not far from them and, though Leila did not put up her crossbow, they all approached the stream. Sarah, as team medic, used one of the testing strips on a cup-full.

"Potable,' she said and dipped her cup back in to bring it full to her mouth, though she sipped carefully.

The other humans did likewise, then rinsed their sweaty faces in the cooling water. Fek and Slav, who never seemed to need much water, remained alert, listening and looking for any dangers unseen from the height. Then both knelt to take a sample mouthful directly from the stream, as they preferred to drink.

"This place looks almost too good to be true,' Sarah said, breaking off a branch from a nearby shrub and smelling it. 'One of the burnables, and growing all over the place,' she said with an expansive gesture of her hand up the length of the valley.

They could just make out the waterfall through the copses of lodge-pole trees. 'Plenty of stone, too, ready to build from,' she added, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the rocks behind them.

"Not bad at all,' said Joe Marley, already closely examining a handful of the ground vegetation and discarding the varieties he recognized. He was the team's botanist and medic.

"It is very pretty place here,' Leila Massuri said in her careful English, her contralto voice making inflections which were almost musical. She gazed around her with an almost dreamy smile on her unusual face. Maltese by birth, but with both parents of mixed blood, she had been corralled by the Catteni in a demonstration raid in Marseilles. 'So why was it blocked off?" 'We look closer,' Zainal said, pointing at Joe, Sarah and Whitby. 'You go right with Slav,' he said. 'Rest of us go left and meet at falls." Zainal gestured for Fek and the rest to accompany him as he waded across the stream, not more that knee-height at this point. Once on the other side, they spread out in a loose line, checking the ground, noting which of the low bushes would bear fruit in season and generally sizing up the environment.

"No rocksquats. That's odd,' Kris said when they had beentravelling a few moments. She pointed to rockyprojections where the stupid creatures would be likely to perch, since they enjoyed the sun.

"There were some,' Zainal said, and pointed to a little heap of bones just visible through the branches of a low shrub.

"No night-crawlers then,' Leila Massuri said with a shudder.

She was a Fourth Drop, and remembered all too keenly that the person next to her had been absorbed by a night-crawler before her horrified eyes just as she was waking up.

"I'm not sure I like the possibility of more omnivores,' Kris said although, in truth, they hadn't seen much in the way of any other hostile creatures in their considerable travels, except for the aerial marauders which either Slav or Fek warned them about. They either camped in the vehicle or on rock heights to avoid earth-bound scavengers.

"Things do die of old age or of falling off high places,' suggested Leila.

"This stream gets swollen, to judge by the height of these banks,' Kris said, pointing to them.

"Spring melt,' Whitby said. They could not see the higher ranges, now hidden by the unbroken line of cliff surrounding this valley; mountains which were snow-clad all year round.

Sarah McDouall had quipped that it must have annoyed the mechanicals to have so much unusable uphill land. Whitby's face had had a hungry look on it as he surveyed the towering peaks.

"Never did get to the Himalayas,' he had murmured, 'but those buggers'd be great fun." 'Later,' Zainal had said, but grinned as if he understood the mountaineer's yearning.

Now the Catteni stopped to squat beside dried dung, partially covered by dirt. Grooves did suggest the claw-marks of a considerable-size animal.

"Old,' Zainal said, finding a stick and poking the droppings.

"Big,' Kris remarked, and looked around the glade.

Zainal picked up the desiccated patty and dropped it into the sack he kept for fire makings. Then they all continued on their sweep, more vigilant now. More dried dung was found, but all examples seemed to be old and Kris was somewhat reassured.

"Reminds me of a place I went to once in Yellowstone Park,' she said when they reached the far side of the valley and its stony barrier. Craning her head she peered upward, looking for cave entrances, but saw nothing, not even a ledge to give access to even the most agile creature. 'We could use this wall for backing and build outward,' she said. 'If we could get one of the vehicles to manoeuvre through the pass, so we could transport all that stone someone dumped across it." 'We'd need explosives to move the lower rank,' Whitby said.

"They were planted there to stay." 'To keep what in?" asked Kris with a shiver for whatever that might be.

Zainal shrugged but, by the way he was examining everything, Kris rather thought he could see the valley as a human settlement too; it could accommodate several hundred folks, leaving plenty of elbow room. Of course, first they had to find out why the valley had been so tightly sealed.

Despite that consideration, she found herself looking for likely home sites. Imagine, a proper house at ground level . . .

maybe even steps-to a sleeping loft . . . one with plenty of head room. She glanced over at Zainal's large figure quartering the ground ahead, searching, searching. Considering how much time he'd spent in space, he seemed completely at ease on planetary surfaces. He looked over his shoulder and beckoned for her to join him.

More bones, larger ones this time.

"A six-footed animal. Too small for loo-cow,' and he held up what looked like a handful of thigh bones, then a smaller one that fitted neatly into a clean socket. He rubbed his fingers across the bones. 'Chewed, too." He pointed to obvious toothmarks. 'Wouldn't want to meet that on a dark night!" Kris grinned, as much for his use of the slang expression as for a sentiment she could immediately share.

He fiddled with the bones, making her hold the front set of legs, trying to get a size on the animal. The skull had been smashed into fragments, including the jawbone, although a scattering. of molars and pointed teeth did not suggest to Kris that this had been a herbivore.

"That should please the biologists,' Whitby said, joining them.

Leila and Fek peered over his shoulder. 'They said there had to be other carnivores for ecological balance." He picked up a fragment of the cranium and tapped it. 'Hmmm. Thick. And yet crushed like a melon. Wouldn't like to meet what did it." 'A sentiment we all share,' Kris remarked dryly, letting the bones fall out of her hands. Several smaller ones shattered. 'Been here a long time if they're that brittle."

"Hmmmm,' was the response from Zainal and Whitby.

"Caves, possibly?" Zainal added.

"Haven't seen any yet,' Kris said cheerfully, and then Zainal had them spread out again to search.

Though they came across more scattered bones, some in advanced states of decay, nothing else came to light. They reached the lake first, as the other scouts were finishing their explorations of the other side which was wider at the point.

Suddenly Joe let out one of his ear-splitting Australian howls and gestured broadly for them to come on the double to the cliff wall where he was standing. Zainal strode into the stream without a second thought, but Whitby pointed to a convenient

i scatter of rocks and boulders to get the rest of them across the water. Zainal was up to his chest in the centre of the stream, but he was already running towards Joe and the others before the rest of them managed to cross.

"I don't like the look of this,' doe said, holding aside branches so that the skeleton grotesquely draped on the scattering of rocks could be seen.

"It's human,' Sarah said. 'Or was." She was pale under her tan.

Kris peered briefly, enough to see that the skull was human but not all the rest of it. No leg- or arm-bones, just the torso.

Slav and Fek looked and nodded.

"Bird,' Fek suggested, gesturing the swoop of the predatory avians.

"Could be." Joe cleared his throat and let the bushes fall back.

Suddenly everyone was craning their necks back to scan the top of the precipice.

"Ah, they'd have attacked before now if they were nearby,' Joe said. 'You haven't heard anything, have you, Fek?" he asked

Fek shook her head and pointed above her head. 'I hear high."

"We do know that the avians always come down from the mountains when they attack,' Sarah said, her colour returning as she and the others moved towards the cover of the nearest copse of trees.

"I listen good,' Fek added, touching both ear holes.

"We found some lots of other bones, all old, some even partially embedded in the dirt,' said Joe. He sighed as he let his gaze rove across the valley. 'Too bad. It'd be a great place to set up a permanent headquarters." Zainal was shading his eyes from the now noon-high sun to look at the straight cliffs that formed the boundaries. He shook his head. 'We must know why,' and he pointed back to the barred pass. He clapped his big hands together, startling everyone so that he grinned. 'There are fish in stream. Let's catch and eat. We have time." So far all the brook and lake denizens had been edible, with the one exception of a multi-legged bottom-hugging worm that appeared only in stiller water and was toxic.

The dung that had been collected gave off such a stench that they doused the fire with water and started a new one in a fresh place, using windfall branches. Whitby rivalled everyone else by catching the orange-gray scaled fish with his bare hands.

Everyone ate their fill, and there was enough cooked left over to save for the next day.

Worrell and Chuck Mitford were enjoying a few pints of beer by the fire when they both heard a growling bark. With no dogs on Botany, the unexpected noise had both of them reaching for their daggers while Mitford roared for a sentry's report.

"Nothing's moving, Sarge,' the call came back. 'And First Moon's bright enough to see klicks in all directions." A second bark, which had at least three syllables twit, sounded again, this time with a hint of impatience. Instantly Worrell reached for the pouch in which he had put the thin plate that Mic Rowland had discovered.

"How did Leon say you operated one of these things?" Worrell whispered at Chuck.

Chuck took the object from his second-in-command and depressed the first button. 'Tikso dams. Chouma,' he said in a guttural voice as if he were expectorating rather than speaking.

He put the unit down on the table beside them and glared at it.

"Didn't know you spoke any Catten, Sarge,' said Worrell, impressed.

"Whoever it is wants a report. I told him later. And to be quiet,' said Chuck Mitford. 'At least, I hope that's what he'll understand I said. Where's Zainal?"

"Still hunting safe places up in the hills."

"I'll see can I reach him,' Mitford said and connected his unit to the aerial socket that served Camp Rock, high up on the cliff.

He let it ring awhile. 'Asleep or out of range. Well, let's keep after him until he does answer. Come to think of it, Leon Dane knows more Catten that I do. At least enough to stall them until Zainal gets back."

Leon Dane was on duty, but not occupied, when Mitford and

Worrell went to the infirmary caverns. He had already been given the injector and drugs, but had put them aside until Zainal could tell him what he might know about the contents of the vials.

"So someone's looking for those the midnight beasties ate up for us,' Leon said with a faint grin. 'Someone forgot to brief the landing party about Botanical life-forms. And Zainal went to such trouble to give 'em a demonstration. Served 'em right.

D'you think they were here to collect Zainal?" 'Only reason I can think of for them to send four,' Chuck Mitford said with a snort.

"That wouldn't have been enough of a guerrilla gang to do doodly against us, but sufficient to snatch a man. Zainal did mention that he was wanted back home for a duty of some sort he'd rather avoid. Maybe they want him badly enough to come after him." 'Lemme see the unit,' Dane asked and Chuck handed it over.

"Oh, that's the idiot kind. Already preset to its destination.

So what do you want me to report?"

"Do they give a damn if the team landed safely?" Chuck asked.

"I doubt it." 'Then let's say that they're hiding out. Haven't located Zainal . . . no, make that target personnel." 'Emassi?" Worrell suggested and Chuck nodded agreement to the change.

Leon scribbled what looked like hieroglyphics on a sheet of paper.

"You can write it, too?" Worrell asked, impressed.

"A little,' Leon said with a wry grin. In his professional capacity as a surgeon working on injured Catteni under the eyes of their medics, he had been in a very good position to pick up the language as well as aid the subversive elements in Sydney.

"Most of what I learned is either medical or military. I can't ask for my aunt's pen on the table or order a meal. But I can spout real good Emassi-like orders." He scribbled something else, this time in English. "How does this sound, Sarge?: "Emassi not here.

Moving to find. Report tomorrow this time. Do not contact."'

"That sounds about right. They'd hide from our people during

the day,' Chuck said thoughtfully. 'That'll give us some time at any rate. You can say that much?" 'Too right,' Leon said, grinning broadly. 'Most fun I've had all week." They went outside and up to the top of the Rock for a clearer message. The moon shone down on the trio.

"Right out in the bright light, too,' Leon said, shaking his head and grinning. Then he sobered, depressed the appropriate 'seed' stud and, with his free hand clutching at his throat, growled out the message in a hoarse whisper.

He released the stud, counting. Then he shrugged, depressed the stud and repeated the message. This time a single word answered his effort.

"What was that?" Chuck asked.

Leon gave them a conspiratorial grin. 's'Kotik''. Means "Accept". Nothing about doing a good job or anything, but Catteni don't expect thanks, do they?" He handed the unit back to Chuck Mitford, and they were starting back down when he had a sudden thought.

"Hey, maybe I should have sounded feminine. You did say you think one of the victims was a female?" 'One set of boots was much smaller,' Worrell said. 'But,' and he scrubbed his head, 'I don't think women lead many Catteni commando units." 'No,' and now Chuck's tone was smug, 'though they might just have sent along someone Zainal might be glad to see about now . . . as bait."

"Guessed wrong, didn't they?" Leon remarked in a level tone.

It was when Kris, Sarah and Leila decided to have an afternoon swim that more skeletons were found, gleaming white bones in the shallows among the thick water reeds that grew there.

"That does it,' Sarah announced, refastening her coverall.

"Makes me wonder what the fish we ate had for lunch."

Leila looked slightly nauseous.

"Sarah!" Kris exclaimed. Medics often displayed a ghoulish sense of humour. She did have to swallow before she added, 'We'd better see what kind these are." Zainal waded in to fetch some of the nearer skeletons which were identified as loo-cow, rocksquat, Turs and another human skull, still partly attached to its neck. It was Leila who found the odd scales and quills. No-one had taken any more than a glancing look skywards for any hovering avian predators, but everyone agreed they didn't seem to be feathered so perhaps they used the lake for bathing or removing damaged parts in a grooming ritual.

"But they could just fly in and out. That barrier wasn't for them,' Sarah said, frowning over the puzzle.

"It must have been something real bad for the Farmers to want to keep it contained,' Kris said, trying not to shiver. She glanced up to see the position of the sun. 'I move we get back to the vehicle and out of here. I don't want my next place of residence to be that lake."

So they put out the fire and retraced their steps to the barrier.

"Start up,' Zainal told the other. 'Whitby, with me. I look closer at stream . . ." The two trotted down to the other end of the valley. Kris, Leila and Slav made the first ascent on the ropes. When Kris gratefully reached the top, she could see Zainal and Whitby having quite a gawk where the stream went through the bluff. The water boiled up over whatever outlet there was, for its flow made a wide pond at cliff base. She wondered what Zainal had hoped to learn from scrutiny.

As soon as Fek, Sarah and Joe joined them, they continued on up the cliff, reaching the top just as Zainal and Whitby surmounted the slanted barrier and began to unhitch the rappel equipment. The others started down to the vehicle, but Kris waited for Zainal and Whitby.

"Well?" she asked as Zainal pulled himself up beside her.

"Something could swim through underneath,' he said.

"Have to have been damned desperate to take such a risk,' Whitby added, 'unless you've some amphibious species here you haven't told me about yet."

"On Earth large carnivores will swim,' said Kris.

"On Earth,' Whitby agreed, nodding as he mopped his forehead and face. He looked back down at the daunting rock-face. 'If whatever it was had nothing left to eat, even the fish, possibly it would take such a risk. But I would still rather not meet whatever it was. Let's take a look at that aerial . . ."

His words were broken off by the loud buzz of Zainal's

portable.

"Worrell here. You guys all right?" The Aussie was shouting into the speaker.

"Yes, all right. Deep in a valley all day,' Zainal explained.

"Oh. Well, a problem dropped in here the other night,' he said.

"And you're needed back as fast as you can make it, Zainal." 'What sort of problem?" Zainal asked, but Kris thought from the twinkle in his eyes that he had some idea. 'They look. for me?"

"We think so. Only they weren't briefed proper."

"Night-crawlers?" Zainal asked, and grinned when Kris shuddered.

"You bet,' and Worrell sounded pleased. 'Only someone's asking question on the portable that was about all that was left of them . .

. bar the shoes. Leon told whoever called that you weren't here and they were still looking."

"You want me to give myself up?"

If Zainal hadn't been grinning like a loon, Kris would have gasped.

"Hell no, Zainal,' and Worrell's tone was indignant. 'Chuck's got an idea." 'I wonder if we have same one,' Zainal said, winking at Kris.

"We come as fast as possible."

"Find anything good?"

"Tell you when we get there." Worrell disconnected and Zainal replaced the unit in its pouch, fastening the flap.

"Should I know what I just heard?" Whitby asked respectfully, but his curiosity was apparent.

"Why not?" Zainal said with a shrug and nodded to Kris to explain. Whitby had breath for a good chuckle over 'I drop, I stay,' and Zainal's demonstration about the night-crawlers and showing the hand unit that proved the planet possibly had another owner.

The question which Whitby did not ask, nor did Kris volunteer to answer since she didn't know it, was what duty was so important that Zainal had to be abducted by stealth. They had reached the ground now.

"We go back to Camp as fast as we can,' Zainal said.

"We're five days' away,' Joe protested.

"We took side trips up here,' Zainal reminded him. 'We take turns. Drive all night."

"Hey, it sounds important."

"Dirty work with cross feet?" asked Zainal.

"Cross roads,' Kris corrected, in spite of realizing that he was being deliberately obtuse.

"Sticky wicket, huh?" Joe said and neatly finished re-coiling the ropes. 'Let's move out. I'll drive first. I've had a breather." Both Slav and Fek liked to stand up in the front of the load bed of the vehicle, hanging on to the frame, staying alert and watchful.

Sarah and Leila sat in the wide front seat with Joe.

Kris, Whitby and Zainal arranged themselves on the bedrolls in the back. Zainal then slid down until he could put his head on Kris's shoulder, then folded his arms and promptly went to sleep in the smooth-riding air-cushioned ground machine.

They arrived back in Camp Rock by sunset of the next day, having pushed the vehicle to the limits of its panel-supplied power. Joe was of the opinion that the two full moons had been bright enough to keep the power levels high, but Whitby and Leila had argued the point. It made an interesting discussion during the long hours of the trek, when they halted only long enough for natural requirements and to bag a few rocksquats.

Joe turned out to be correct about additional power, though the vehicle had slowed down considerably.

The sentry hailed them on their approach and rang the bell so that Worrell and Mitford were awaiting them in the parking area, one of Camp Rock's newer amenities. A big haulier and a small runabout, reserved for Mitford's use, occupied the space.

"We heard the transport,' Zainal said as he swung down from the driver's seat. 'Another Drop?" 'Yeah, another thirteen hundred reluctant colonists,' Mitford said with a grimace.

'Your species shouldn't be so difficult to manage,' said Zainal with a grin. 'We also had to answer another message,' Mitford said, showing his teeth.

"Tell me,' Zainal invited.

"We'll just unpack,' Joe said tactfully and gestured to the others.

Zainal caught Kris's arm as Mitford and Worrell started up the stone steps that led to the height's office. The two-roomed stone building had been built on a levelled-off area, well above any spring flood that might rampage down the gorge that split Camp Rock. Aerials and solar panels were attached to the slated roof of the good-sized facility. A desk, occupied as much by Mitford as Worrell in his capacity as Rock's manager, commanded a view down the length of the camp from the main wmdow. From the other, smaller one, the view was across sloping stone to the first of the Farmers' fields.

who was to report." Zainal shook his head, his expression inscrutable. 'I said,' and he put one hand on his windpipe to alter the sounds he made: '"Mektichak Zainal obli. Tik escag eridi.

Tikso tag"." He removed his hand to speak less growlingly.

"Which, I think, translates into "Moves Zainal much. Hear returns soon. Report then."' Leon raised an eyebrow at Zainal.

It wasn't often that the big Catteni burst out laughing as he did now, grinning broadly and obviously also enjoying some sort of a personally satisfying private joke.

"You don't know it, Leon, but I am always moving a lot. You said exactly what they will believe. Where is the unit?" Leon slid it out of a chest pocket. 'Since I'm the only one who knows enough Catten to answer, I've been in charge of it." The communicator looked much smaller in Zainal's large hands and could be slipped into a pocket or down a boot.-He examined it carefully, his smile broadening agaih.

"This is very good. Very good,' and Zainal's eyes sparkled with Mitford gestured for all to sit on the stools and benches amused triumph.

provided. 'Leon's coming,' he added. 'Lemme fill you in." Zainal nodded.

"The unit buzzed off shortly before we heard the transport angling in for a landing." 'Usual field?" Zainal asked.

Mitford nodded. 'They've got that much right at any rate.

Leon got a message that suggested the commando group was to meet with the transport and deliver your unconscious body.

Certainly there was a group hanging around near the hedges doing nothing, apart from peering around and listening to their wrists a lot." 'What did you say back?" 'Leon told them the search continued." Zainal frowned slightly. 'What words did he use?" 'I knew the right ones,' Leon said, entering just then and leaning against the door frame to catch his breath from the climb. 'I always had a team watching me operate on any wounded Catteni. I got used to some of the distinctions Emassi made. So I adopted a hoarse whisper in case it was the female

"These were found in a boot,' and Dane very carefully laid the other three items on the table.

Zainal held one vial up to the light and snorted. 'Vikso. In very small doses, it will be useful to you, Dane. Makes muscles weak,' and he pretended to sag like a limp string puppet before he handed it back to the surgeon.

So, they knew they'd have to knock you out,' said Chuck Mitford, tipping back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. 'Care to tell us why they'd go to this much trouble over you?" Zainal chuckled again, still very pleased, and seeming to ignore the question.

"This will be useful,' he said and waggled the unit before replacing it carefully on the stone slab that was the sergeant's worktop. 'Now we can set traps. Two would be the most we could get." 'Two ships?" Kris caught on first, though Mitford's chair returned to all four legs as he leaned across the desk, looking so eager and hopeful that Kris caught her breath.

'two?" Worrell exclaimed, amazed at the audacious prospect.

Zainal nodded, leaning across the table towards the sergeant.

"You have captured me. You, Kris, will speak this in a message, but I have fought hard and killed two. You need fast scout before vikso,' and he tapped the vial, 'wears off. They must land where Emassi scout met us. They must land silent,' and he dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, 'with no lights, and walk to edge of field to help you move captured Zainal."

"But I don't know enough Catten."

"You will when you send message,' Zainal said, and the look he gave her told her she was in for it now, but she managed a grin. After all, she'd been teaching him English: turnabout was fair play. 'You will have made my capture." The?" Kris looked around the room at the others, grinning at her almost maliciously. 'Cut it out, you guys,' she said with an edge to her voice.

"At ease, Kris,' Mitford said, understanding her flare of resentment, and then focused his attention back on Zainal.

There was no question that the sergeant would do much to possess a useful space-ship, but he was not totally reassured by such sketchy details. 'So you get them out of the scout, and preferably disposed of by the night-crawlers, and then what?"

"We have one scout vessel."

"And no reprisals?" Mitford was extremely sceptical.

"No reason because the ship will take off . . ." and everyone exclaimed at that and Zainal glanced about, grinning again. 'It leaves to make them believe what will happen next." He turned to Kris. "You will manage to make one more message . . . and then . . ." He slid one finger across his throat and grinned.

"You overpower us again?" Kris rolled her eyes incredulously.

"Boy, will they buy that?" 'Buy it?" Zainal asked. His command of idiom and grammar was increasing, but was not yet as good as his accent.

"Believe it,' she substituted, and Zainal grinned.

"On Barevi I showed you I am difficult to catch."

Uris laughed. 'All right. So I manage a message out before you

"And I alter course . .

"YOU alter course?" Mitford asked, suspicious, narrowing his eyes and staring hard at Zainal.

"Certainly, so that moon hides ship to get back here." Then Zainal grinned again. 'I will bring Kris with me . . ." and Mitford glowered more deeply, 'and Bert Put and the woman, Raisha Simonova who flew in space from your planet. They learn to use the ship. It is very simple to fly. You may come, too,' he added with a grin and a bow to Mitford.

"Thanks, but no thanks,' Mitford said with a wave of his hand and a fleeting expression of distaste. 'I'll stick to good ol' Terra Firma. But taking the spacers is a damned good idea." 'I'll go in your place, serge,' said Worrell, raising his hand, his expression avid for the experience. 'If I could . . ." he added hopefully. 'We don't want too many people in on this, do we?" Mitford shook his head, fretting over flaws bathe plan, then caught Zainal's eyes again. "Your guys won't come looking here for the scout?" 'Scout does not leave much trail, and they will not be quick to look around here,' and he circled his finger in the-air, meaning Botany. 'They will start looking where I have friends to hide me.

If they come back, the scout will be hidden with other metallic stuff at Camp Narrow. It will not be noticed in a scan." Then, after a moment of silence when the others were thinking the plan over, he added, 'The last place they will look for me is here!" He pointed an emphatic finger at the ground as he grinned at them.

"Well, I'll buy that,' Mitford agreed in a droll tone, with the beginning of a smile on his lips.

"It will work,' Zainal said with such conviction that Mitford began to straighten up from his crouch across the table. The Catteni paused, a smile tugging at his mouth. 'Then . . ." and he had everyone's attention, 'the next transport ship to arrive will be surprised and we will have two to use." There was a long moment of surprised reflection, but Mitford broke it. 'Your people can't be that stupid,' he began . . .

"No?" Zainal said, raising his eyebrows with a sarcastic expression. 'The transport uses only Drassi. Not Emassi. The transports that come here are all in bad condition." He grinned again.

"Used over often. So if the ship explodes after take-off . . ." and he spread his hands at such a simple ruse.

"The ship will explode?" Mitford asked, jutting out his chin.

"An explosion can be made with metal left in space to prove accident. That is why it is very necessary to get the scout ship first. It can dump garbage into space. Then, we have two ships."

"Only one of them is not in good shape,' Mitford pointed out.

Zainal shook his head in denial. 'Many people here are trained to work with machinery. I am not just pilot. I know how to . . ." He tapped an impatient finger on the worktop as he searched for a word, 'to . . . repair as well." He grinned. 'I have faith in your people, Mitford. Have faith in me." 'Jesus, Zainal, I do, believe me,' Mitford said forcefully, slamming both palms flat on the table. "And I think that goes for all here." That vote of confidence was immediately seconded. 'And it would be great to know we're not stuck any more on .

. ." He paused, looked surprised and then laughed.

"You know, I'm not as eager to leave Botany as I used to be." He brushed away that candid remark. 'Won't the Emassi retaliate on Earth when they've lost both a scout and a transport here on Botany?" 'I don't think they would,' Leon Dane spoke up with a wry grin. 'The Catteni I met considered us a short step above aborigines. Our sabotage and revolts are annoyances that will stop when the leaders are all rounded up and dropped here." 'Or elsewhere." Zainal disconcerted them all by that qualification. 'There are other planets that need to be . . . tested for occupation. Not this one alone. I do have one worry,' and he glanced at Worrell.

"I'm almost glad to hear that,' Mitford answered drolly.

"What?" 'That Lenvec, who came in the first scout ship, speaks to a higher commander that we have technology not sent with us.

That this planet is in use. That is another reason to capture me again."

"How big are the odds he's done that?"

Zainal looked dubious. 'He can be persuasive but,' and now he gave a snort, 'many Catteni believe only what they like to believe."

"Just like some humans I know,' Leon said in a caustic tone.

"So, we might even have something to defend ourselves with if the Farmers come looking for us,' said Worrell, looking relieved.

Zainal shook his head. 'Only scout has weapons. But two is better than nothing, and there are other uses for a scout."

"Our own exploratory missions?" Mitford asked.

"I myself will like to know who the other owners are. Don't you?" and Zainal dropped yet another startling proposal. He grinned.

"Also, it is not the Catteni who are your real enemy. It is the Eosi.

Who farms this planet, who left that command tower, may be stronger, wiser and better than Eosi." He leaned back then, watching Mitford's expression changing as he absorbed this concept. 'I do not want Eosi controlling my people any more. Or yours. This is the first time I think there is the chance to end Eosi." 'Well, I'll be fucked,' Mitford murmured, dropping his shoulders as he relaxed in complete surprise at Zainal. He began to grin and a laugh started in his belly, a laugh that was joined by Leon Dane's yowl of approval and Worrell's expression of sheer incredulous delight.

"So that's what you hatched up on the way back here last night,' Kris said, eyeing him drolly.

"Isn't that taking on one helluva lot?" Mitford asked, but the gleam in his eye and the jut of his jaw suggested a measure of approval.

"Yes,' and Zainal shrugged. 'Why not?"

Mitford slapped the table again and gave another burst of laughter. 'Yeah, why not?" 'We can try . . ." Leon said, swatting his thigh with one hand in emphasis. 'By God, I want to!" 'Do you think we should?" asked Worrell, hitching his pants with his elbows.

"I mean, they may be mad enough at us for what we've already done to their neat agricultural enterprise . . ."

"But who put us here in the first place?" asked Kris. 'Only why do you have to pretend the transport explodes? And why do you have to be careful returning the scout to Botany?"I "We must joke the satellite." 'Joke?" Mitford raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, fool." 'Satellite?" Worrell exclaimed, anxiously.

Zainal held up the slim unit. 'They have one because this relays the messages. A satellite is standard for any colony planet.

It sends in reports. It must send in the right . . . fool it."

t ones so we . . . ah

"Clarify one point for me, will you, Zainal?" Mitford asked and when Zainal nodded, he went on, 'Why do they want you so bad for that duty you don't want any part of?" Zainal gave a harsh laugh. 'I was chosen for it by Eosi. They can choose someone else now."

"Just what is that duty?" Mitford asked, at his bluntest.

The change in Zainal's posture and face, though subtle, sent chills down Kris's spine and caused Mitford to recoil slightly.

"Eosi use your body." Then, with a second almost imperceptible change which emphatically told Kris that he would not elaborate on that subject, he went on, 'So, do we take the scout ship?" His expression altered back to his usual bland one as he looked around at the expectant expressions of Kris, Dane and Worrell before settling his gaze on Mitford. 'That much is possible, but we must act tonight.

Kris must learn what to say.

I need Bert Put and woman. Is that possible?" 'Can do,' Mitford said and reached for the hand-held com, tapping out the code for Camp Narrow. "Yo, Latore? Send Bert Put and Raisha Simonova up here on the double, will ye?

Something's come up. We need them before . . ." he glanced at Zainal who held up two fingers, 'second moonrise. Okay?" Then he paused, his eyes flickering with rapid thoughts. 'We'll call this Phase One, and all of it stays among us." The others nodded.

"Phase Two we'll talk about if Phase One works."

"It will work,' Zainal said with absolute confidence.

"Phase Three . . ." and Mitford pointed a finger at Zainal, 'is going to need a lot more thinking."

Zainal was in total agreement.

"Dammit, serge,' said Leon Dane staunchly, 'even the merei, notion of . . . Phase Three . . . puts heart in me. Think what it.t

can do to the general morale?"

"I do,' and Mitford's voice had dropped to a growl, 'and I don't want even a whisper of a happy smile on your faces when you leave here.

We're doing well enough right now, better all the time, and I don't want to have to deal with false hopes. Let's take it a step at a time." "Don't you mean a phase at a time?" Kris asked, stifling a desire to giggle.

Actually she wanted to cheer wildly for the surge of hope that Zainal's master-plan had personally given her. Securing the first ship would be a big enough coup. Hijacking a transport would prove to everyone on Botany that they could get their own back on the Catteni.

She wasn't at all sure about Phase Three, but having two space-going ships gave them a positive advantage in finding whoever did own Botany.

Would a Catteni scout ship be able to keep up with the monstrous leviathans sent by the Farmers to collect the harvests of Botany?

First, shetold herself firmly, get it, then dream. And, if they were a species that resented having their supply planets taken over by another space-faring power, maybe Phase Three would happen. And both Earth and Catten might get free of Eosian domination.

"Right,' and Mitford gave her an odd smile, 'hijacking spaceships sure beats sitting around waiting for the next Drop-ins." He caught Zainal's eyes and began ticking off details on his fingers. 'You teach Kris what to say to get the scout down here by second moonrise?" Zainal nodded. 'So, if the scout buys it, they come down, leave the ship . . . only how'll they know you're there to be picked up? I can't volunteer anyone at night out on a field . . ." 'Air-cushioned vehicles attract no night-crawlers,' Zainal said, grinning.

"On the way back,' Kris added, 'we found out that the full moon's enough to keep power up." 'Good point,' and Mitford went on, 'So we've got stand-ins far enough up the field . . ." 'Vehicle will move towards Catteni,' Zainal said, nodding.

"But not fast because they carry heavy load." He thumbed his chest. The." 'Good . . . so there's enough time for the night-crawlers to attack. What about the Catteni shooting 'em? That Lenvec Emassi saw what night-crawlers do." Zainal shrugged. 'Winter night-crawlers are very hungry, very fast and grab feet. Or we can be humane,' and he grinned as he saw the reaction to the word, 'and kill before they know. We have fast and silent weapons. Lance, crossbow, slingshot."

"Won't they leave a man on board?" asked Mitford.

Zainal shrugged. 'I am drugged. It will take two-three to carry me. If is one, once we open hatch, it is over for him." He tapped the knife at his belt.

Mitford made an approving sort of grimace. 'All right . . .

Everything goes according to plan and you, with your crew, take off and do your disappearing act. One small detail. Kris might be useful to lure the pick-up squad down but if you are overcoming a crew, would you not kill off the female first, the one who drugged you?" Zainal slowly nodded his head, perceptive enough to know what Mitford did not spell out. 'Leon speaks Catteni. I cannot talk because they have record of my voice. Leon can give final message." 'point,' end Mitford looked at Kris. 'You understand, don't you?" Kris did, and did not bother to hide the bitterness she felt for such a suggestion.

"You will go to space another time,' Zainal told her, looking from Mitford to her.

"Now, wait a minute, Mitford,' Dane began to protest.

"Leon will speak the necessary dying words,' Zainal said firmly, his eyes still holding Kris's. 'It reassures." 'It had better,' and Kris glared fiercely at Mitford for his insulting contingency.

"Why do you need Bert and Raisha?" Worrell asked.

"They need to have a first lesson in flying a scout. More people who know is better." Zainal put an odd smile on his face. 'And soon." 'I'll buy that,' said Mitford, shifting his eyes anywhere but in Kris's direction. 'Phase One is green for go . . . and definitely top security. Use your team, Zainal for the driving and . . . the executions. Slav and Fek see well in the dark. I'll send Bert and Raisha to you as soon as they get here." Then, in a complete change of voice and manner, 'Did your patrol find anything interesting before you were recalled for this?" Astonished by that 'business-as-usual' switch, even in Mitford, Kris glared at him.

"A very interesting valley,' Zainal said, rising and popping the unit up into his pocket before he picked up the sack of empty boots.

Leon took charge of the medical items. 'Let Joe and others debrief." Then he held out his free hand to'Kris. 'Now, you must to learn to speak like Catten female." 'I thought I'd already done that well enough to fool a Catten,' she said, cocking her head at him and reminding him of the episode when 'she' had suddenly become his 'leaders in front of the Emassi.

"We will improve the fool,' he said and gestured for her to precede him.

"No, joke is the right word in that context,' she murmured, still trying to defuse the anger she felt over Mitford's show of distrust.

The trouble was, she could see his point and that made her madder still. Surely he couldn't doubt Zainal's integrity?

"After all you've done,' Leon Dane muttered, exiting behind them.

"Not to worry, Leon,' Zainal said.

"I do all the worrying,' said Worrell, but his tone made it obvious that he felt Mitford's precaution of keeping Kris out of space unnecessary.

"Don't worry about tonight,' Zainal said- sounding, to Kris's ears, far too cheerful considering what he had just set into motion.

Then Kris found her mind going back to the echo of his colourless voice saying, 'Eosi use your body." Small wonder he wanted to avoid that duty. She knew without a doubt that he would have hated possession. And yet, his original comment on 'that duty' had indicated that it was considered an honour for an Emassi, and one they undertook with some pride. Had Botany wrought a great change in him, or was it simply that he now had an escape from such a hideous future? Then she began to wonder how deeply the possession went: was just the body used as a vehicle for these mysterious Eosi? Or did they subsume the entire personality, leaving nothing of the original man?

Or . . . what?

"Don't think about it,' Zainal said softly, touching her elbow as they reached ground level. 'I do not mean Mitford." Then he hailed the other members of their team, obviously waiting a turn to report to Mitford. 'Go on up. He's waiting to debrief you." 'We're in our usual abode,' Sarah told them as she followed Joe up the steps. "We've already put your gear there." 'Good. We have a small job to do at second moonrise. I tell you later." Kris knew Sarah was dying to ask what that was about, or why had Dane and Worrell also been in Mitford's office for an ordinary scout debriefing.

"We swim first?" Zainal asked as they made their way to their quarters in Michelstown cave.

"You bet. I think better cleaner,' Kris said and besides, not only could she use the immersion in the cold waters of the lake to reduce her anger but she also needed the privacy with Zainal . . . if they had the lake to themselves.

They did, and there had been clean coveralls in their quarters to change into. Zainal put the Catteni communicator carefully in the pouch with his portable unit in his fresh clothing before they left for their wash.

He seemed as eager to make this a special occasion, too. They spent time soaping each other and then swimming exuberant lengths against the lake's deep current within the roped safety area before emerging to dry each other off. That led to a chance to release tension. In moments like these, Kris wondered just how much Zainal really did deviate - no, differ - from other Catteni and even Emassi. She knew that her association with Zainal was not universally accepted. There were incidents of spitefulness with each new Drop but gradually, over the past months, that had altered - with very few exceptions - when most Botany settlers learned just how much they owed to Zainal's presence on the planet. Xenophobia was not encouraged by Mitford or Easley, or any of those involved in introducing the new world to its whilom residents.

Her pleasurable ruminations were rudely interrupted the moment they started back up the stairs to the main cavern, as Zainal barked sounds at her.

"We're starting already?"

"Second moon rises soon. You must be ready."

"I gotta know what the sounds mean, Zainal,' she complained.

"Get the sound right and then I tell you meanings,' he said, and repeated the four staccato syllables which she did her best to imitate . . . though the combination of fricatives was enough to choke her.

She'd already noticed that characteristic of the Catten language. Sort of like German with a French accent . . .

or maybe guttural French with a very bad German accent, and a little Chinese for seasoning.

She managed to get the first set of syllables to his satisfaction by the time they reached the main cavern. Food was still being served, and they stood in line for their portions which they took to the privacy of one of the look-out levels, out of earshot from those who were enjoying their meal outside in the mild evening.

Botany's primary had not yet set but the first moon was already above the eastern hills, a pale ghost in what was left of sunlight.

That reminded Kris that time was a constraint.

Because she had always learned better using visual aids, Kris took a sharp pebble and scratched out the phonetics of what Zainal coached her to say . . . as well as she could. Just when she though her mimicry was accurate, Zainal would shake his head.

"What's the matter with that?"

He shook his head again but patted her shoulder. 'You don't I sound . . . mean."

"Mean?"

He growled out the words she now knew meant, 'Report.

Found Zainal. He fought hard. Two dead. He is drugged. Land where Lenvec did. No lights. Meet in field." She tried again, as deep in her throat as she could, stillI realizing that even that wasn't perfect.I

"Look, I'll growl a whisper. How'll they know the difference?"

"They might." Then he held up his hand. 'What was it that Leon did to sound hoarse?" 'Grabbed his throat,' end doing that, she repeated the phrases once again, hoping she wouldn't accidentally strangle herself.

"That's it,' Zainal said, bringing both his hands together in a clap of approval. 'Now, listen . . ." and he rattled off a sentence of which she understood three words: 'Report' 'dead' and 'land'.

She told him what she understood.

"You may be asked. You must know what to answer to any question."

"What about "I don't know?"'

"You must sound as if you do know all. So, say first "Chouma" quiet - as if you can be overheard. Then "Schkelk" . . ." and Kris sat upright with surprise because she knew what that meant.

"Listen?"

Zainal grinned with surprise as he nodded. 'Say as harsh as you can because you are dealing with a stupid person." 'I heard it said that way often enough on Barevi,' Kris said in a rueful tone, and then spat out the word with appropriate venom. Zainal laughed and gave her hand an approving squeeze.

"Just use that tone with all the words and they will not argue

with you. You sound almost Emassi. After "Schkelk", you repeat the original message to be sure they heard you right the first time. Next you say "Kotik?" in the way which means they are not to question you again?"

"Got it."

He drilled her and drilled her until her voice became hoarse enough without a need to strangle herself. She was surprised to see that first moon was bright and high when he finally said she was good enough.

He took out the unit and held it up. 'Now!'

"Now? You mean, we do it tonight?" She panicked; she wasn't ready yet. 'But Bert and Raisha . . ." 'They are here. I saw them drive in. I brief them, too. So we send message now. All is fresh in your mind. And mouth." He pressed the finger pad and, much too quickly for Kris's peace of mind, a voice responded. Kris gulped and began her well-rehearsed message: overriding one question with as harsh a'Schkelk' as she had ever been given. Zainal nodded assurance, wagging his hand to reassure that the interruption meant nothing. She said 'Chouma' as nastily as she could and went right into the prepared speech again. By this time she was so scared that her final 'Kotik?" came out every bit as savage as the worst Catten guard.

An almost meek 'Kotik' plus two syllables she didn't understand was the response, and Zainal depressed the disconnect button.

"Baby, you were great!" And Zainal tousled her hair and pressed his cheek against hers with great affection. That had become his special caress for her.

"But what was that last bit?"

"Your name. You are, or were, Arvonk."

Kris made a face. 'Awful name."

"Useful to know."

"They answered awful fast."

Zainal considered that. 'They want Zainal bad. They are there till they get me."

"In a bigger ship?"

"The scout is ship enough for this errand."

"They're NOT getting you!" she said, jumping to her feet.

"No, they are not,' he agreed equably and took her hand as they made their way down and across to Mitford's office.

Mitford must have been watching because the group he had been speaking to were abruptly dismissed. Surprised, they passed Zainal and Kris on the way up the steps. Bert Put, his lean face alight with anticipation, and Raisha Simonova raced across the gorge to catch up.

They didn't until Zainal and Kris

entered Mitford's office.

"You got the message through?" Mitford asked.

"They come. Kris spoke like good Emassi." Zainal was grinning with obvious pride as he held the door open for her.

"I had to say it often enough to get it right,' she said gruffly

and, with instant solicitude, Mitford offered her a cup of the

herbal tea that everyone had come to enjoy.

Bert and Raisha came in and took seats, but sitting so tentavely that Kris knew they had no idea why they had been

summoned.

"Have you spoken to your team yet, Zainal?" Mitford asked.

"Not yet. They will do what needs to be done with no

problems."

Mitford grunted and scratched the back of his head. He still

did not look Kris in the eye, which somewhat appeased her.

"May I have paper?" Zainal asked and Mitford quickly supplied him with sheets and a pencil. With his usual quick, sure strokes, Zainal sketched what had to be the interior of the scout.

Bert's eyes grew rounder and wider, while Raisha watched with

avid fascination.

"The interior of a Catteni scout?" Bert asked, incredulous eyes

on Zainal's face. 'How?" he demanded, and Raisha sat right on

the edge of her stool.

"You said nothing to them about Phase One, sergeant?" Zainal

asked as he continued to detail the layout.

Kris covered her grin with her hand because Zainal had

suddenly turned pure-Emassi and Mitford reacted by sitting straight up, exactly as a subordinate should. He did spare one

droll but respectful look in Zainal's direction before he spoke.

"Bert, Raisha, we mean to catch us a scout ship tonight," he said, and both gawked in disbelief. 'A few nights ago a Catteni ship landed four commando types on a field."

"Oho!" Raisha said and turned pale.

"That would have been their first mistake,' Bert said with a smug grin.

"Their second was in thinking it would be easy to find Zainal,' Mitford said. 'Fortunately night-crawlers left boots and some other inedible pieces of equipment. So we can lure the scout back down." 'You mean, like tonight?" Raisha shifted forward on her chair, inhaling with deep delight.

Kris couldn't resist jumping in then. 'I told them to land silently, with no lights, to meet me and an unconscious Zainal.

That I needed help moving him as he'd killed two others trying to escape before I could zap him." Raisha looked slightly confused. 'One pair of boots was a lot smaller. Cherchez la femme." 'Oh, gotcha!' Raisha said. 'Only how do we avoid the nightcrawlers?" - Mitford went through the rest of Phase One and the two gave a small round of applause when he finished.

"Look, I did a lot of training but only one short shuttle flight,' Raisha began anxiously.

"I only had two, but one as navigator,' Bert said, though both were clearly dying to go on despite admitting their inexperience.

"You'll do good,' Zainal said, so convincingly that both demurred. 'A scout can carry six at most. Four were set down.

I think only two remain. Both can be told to come help Arvonk, the contact,' and he pointed at Kris. 'Maybe not. So, if we have to get in fast and kill, inside is like this." He walked them through the tight passageways of the scout ship and then, using the drawings he had also made of the control panels, talked them through the short preflight sequences. He mentioned the colours of the relevant toggles and drew diagrams of the icons above other controls. They concentrated so hard that Kris could almost see them absorb words and drawings into their heads.

"We take Leon who speaks Catten to give last warning of trick by Zainal and then . . ." Once again he used his finger across his throat and grinned. 'I will show you how to circle moon and glide to land." He turned to Mitford. 'We hide scout and then I work you hard to learn how to pilot Catten vessel." 'You will?" Bert's eyes were nearly popping out of theirI sockets, but Raisha assumed an aura of complete calm con-I fidence and gave a little sigh. i Zainal had certainly made two people very happy. 'Study hard now. Kris and I prepare our team."

For a plan that had been so hastily put together, it could not have gone more smoothly. Kris was shaking badly when the comunit buzzed, but Zainal had rehearsed her in two more phrases.

"Arvonk,' she said, hand on her windpipe, and added in harsh Catteni, 'See you. Glide in. Chouma." Which she added on her own.

They could just make out the ship in the gleam of the rising moon as it settled silently in the corner of the field. A brief glint of muted light was cut off as the hatch closed.

Zainal was pretending to be one of his own captors, Kris the other, while Leon, being tall, was plainly leaning against Zainal as if unconscious. Joe Marley, face blackened, hunched over the controls of Mitford's usual air-cushion machine and eased it forward at a slow walking pace.

The first surprised burst from the Catteni was the signal for Fek and Slav to rise from their crouching positions and dispatch both with silent lances. Then Joe increased the power of the vehicle and they whizzed down the field to the scout. Zainal hit the exterior release and Bert and Raisha bolted through as soon as the hatch was wide enough. It was Leon's turn now.

"Stolix Zainal,' he called out, trying to sound triumphant but listening to be sure there was no sound of another person on board.

Zainal pushed past, knife at the ready, and strode with no stealth at all towards the bridge in the prow of the small spaceship.

Those listening outside heard him slide a panel.

"Were only two,' he called back.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" asked Bert, not quite facetiously, as he adhered to protocol.

"Permission given,' Zainal replied and Kris heard the relief in his voice.

"I just want a quick look,' she said and followed Raisha and Bert down the passageway. She wondered if scout crews were chosen because they were physically small enough to manoeuvre in such enclosed spaces.

Zainal certainly had to walk sideways.

Raisha was already seated in one position, with Bert running his fingers lightly across this and that panel as if confirming the briefing Zainal had given them. The look on his face made Kris gulp.

He was having a hard time believing that he was actually preparing to go into space again - not as an unconscious passenger this time. She envied them.

"Kris, one last message,' Zainal said, turning her towards the controls. 'Say "Arvonk icts, stolix Zainal. Escag. Klotink."' She muttered them over to herself and then Zainal pointed to the speaker grille and threw up a toggle. She almost forgot to grab her throat, but the fact that she could say the words with authority lent a certain vibrant triumph to her tone. 'What did I say?" Zainal ruffled her hair. 'Arvonk here, have Zainal. Return. Out."

"Out sounds too much like Kotik, accept."

"Not to Catteni listener. Now, out. The satellite must record the take-off." He escorted her down the cramped aisle to the hatch, one large hand on her shoulder. At the hatch, he put his cheek against hers, pressing hard against it before he hit the 'open' button.

Dazed as she was by the night's success and the prospect of being without him for a day or two, she remembered to step carefully down onto the air-cushion platform. She lifted one hand to her cheek, feeling his against hers.

Joe drove off, and was picking up speed when Fek abruptly shouted, 'Stop!" Surprised, Joe braked so quickly his passengers had to grab at each other to remain upright and in the vehicle. Fek leaned over the side, peering down at something Kris was very glad she could not see as clearly as the Deski could. With a grab as deft as Whitby's fishing, Fek wrenched aboard something that clattered as it fell. She reached down again, arm at full stretch and her other hand clutching Joe, and got hold of something else. A ray of light illuminated a field that writhed and seethed, for it was a hand beam she had retrieved. Kris groaned and turned her face away. The nightcrawlers bumped in futile search at the floor of the vehicle.

"You see, Slav?" Fek asked, grinning the triangular Deski smile as she focused light on the other side of the vehicle, and the other victim.

"I see. I get." And Slav made two equally speedy retrievals.

One he held up for Kris to see in the light, and his smile was the broadest she'd yet seen on a Rugarian face. 'Stunner." And in a sudden, unexpectedly juvenile manner, he leaned the barrel across his arm and made the hissing sound of a stunner blast.

"Can we leave now?" Joe Marley asked in an edged voice. He didn't wait for an answer, pushing the control bar hard over.

"We could have waited until morning. Crawlers can't digest metal."

"I want tonight,' Fek said with uncharacteristic firmness.

"And stop shining that thing around,' Joe added testily as they sped up a field which writhed and glistened.

Mitford was waiting in the parking area, as if he didn't quite trust the participants to keep the night's event to themselves.

Kris knew herself to be on an adrenalin high, so his presence had a certain sobering effect on her. He gestured for them all to go through the silent Camp and up to his office, where he had thoughtfully provided beer and the salty pretzel-like snacks.

Rugarians and Deskis rather liked beer now and then but they were careful not to drink much or often. It had some sort of an effect on their metabolism - not a hangover, according to Leon Dane, but something similar - that they did not cope well with.

Kris took a long pull on her beer, to settle her stomach, and noticed that Joe did too. Mitford just waited, knowing from the looks of their faces that the hijack had been successful.

"I'd say by now I've been killed and Leon is dying,' she began.

"Otherwise it all worked out just as we planned . . . with a little diversion from Fek and Slav." She shuddered as the two now dropped the retrieved equipment on Mitford's desk.

He only glanced at the hand beams, which Kris thought would have been more useful than stunners. But, of course, weapons would come first with a military man. He picked up the stunner, turning it over in his hand, checking the controls and snapping something shut.

"That's the safety on - now - but you guys wouldn't have known." He almost patted it when he put it down and took up the other to render it harmless.

"Bert and Raisha looked as if they were having Christmas,' she went on. 'I had a peek around once Zainal said the coast was clear." Mitford nodded, and she went on. 'Rather cramped.

Good thing Leon isn't an inch taller." Mitford nodded again.

"He will be back, you know." Mitford nodded once more.

She finished off the beer, took a handful of the pretzels and stood up. 'I'm knackered,' she said. 'Good night - and thanks, Joe, Fek, Slav. We're the best team on Botany!'

Mitford nodded.

It was only when she turned over in her bed that Kris realized she still had the comunit. A lot of good it did her, even if it was a link with Zainal up in the scout ship, faking the next step of Phase One. She slipped it up on to her shelf and then let herself fall deeply asleep.

* * *

Mitford took her and the unit down to Drop Field the second day, when Zainal could be expected to return. Camp Rock had vibrated with rumours, although everyone connected with Phase One had done their best to act in a normal fashion. To keep out of the way and not unintentionally give something away, Kris had to pretend she'd sprained her ankle, so Sarah kept getting hot or cold water to reduce the swelling. Joe, Fek and Slav worked on servicing their big exploratory vehicle or writing reports. Leon Dane was reported to have gone off with Zainal, Bert and Raisha for some emergency at Shutdown Camp. But the rumours persisted.

"We'll still surprise them,' Mitford said as he pulled the little air-cushion runabout up against the hedge. They'd seen a few of the avian predators on their way there, so he took what cover there was.

"I hope." 'We're alone, serge, so I'll give you a piece of my mind on that stunt you pulled . . ." Kris had the satisfaction of seeing Mitford flush with embarrassment. 'You had no right to insult Zainal that way . . . and even less right to use me as his surety.

I came awful close to hitting you . . ." She cocked her fist in demonstration.

"Goddamitall to hell'ntgone, Kris Bjornsen,' and Mitford recovered sufficiently to snarl at her, 'I had to! I do trust Zainal, quite likely more than I've ever trusted another human being . . . and he is human to me . . ." Mitford's response was as fervent as hers had been, and his eyes were sparking. 'But I can't take any chances. With him or you." He let out a deep snort, rubbing his hands through his close-cropped hair in a gesture of exasperation and, oddly, impotence.

"And I need him more. We,' and he meant the colony, 'need him more." Then, in one of his swift mood changes, he grinned at her, impudent and oddly melancholy. 'I would have liked to be where he is now with you .

. ." He held up both hands quickly in defence. 'Don't take me up wrong, Kris. But you're a fine woman and Zainal's the only man I wouldn't try to muscle out." It was Kris's turn to be embarrassed.

She had vaguely known that Mitford fancied her though, after he kept sending her out with Zainal, she had to decide that she had imagined it.

"I'm sorry, Chuck,' she said, all her previous aggravation dissipating. 'It sort of happened and you kept throwing me at him . .

. more or less." 'More,' and Mitford let a wry expression touch his rough features, 'because I shouldn't. And you were the only one I could trust to keep him alive until the rest of them figured out he was far more valuable alive than dead." 'We owe you a lot, serge,' she said and touched his arm lightly and gratefully. 'But you still made me real mad yesterday." Mitford laughed, stretching his legs out of the side of the parked vehicle.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I gotta do what I gotta do, and there was no time really to call in some of the brass we got around here now." "Ha!" Kris grinned back at him. 'You wanted this one to yourself without any brass involved. But I strongly suspect you'd really better let the others in on planning Phase Two . . ." 'And Phase Three,' said Mitford, turning his head slightly to gaze off down the field its ground cover matted down by the frequent landings of the transport ship and unconscious bodies. He scratched at his head again and looked back at her.

"I'd be stupid, real stupid, not to get the strategists in on Phase Two. But this first one . . . that,' and he jabbed his thumb into his chest, 'was for me! And you,' he added magnanimously. 'In fact, I'm sort of phasing me out."

"Oh, come now, Chuck . . ."

"No, I mean it, Kris. We've getting on to eight thousand here now. I knew what I was doing for five hundred and seventytwo, even two thousand, but . . . goddammit all, I want to be the one finding the good stuff, not leave it up to you and Zainal, or the Doyles or that Scandinavian crowd. Me, Chuck Mitford, wants to have some of the fun." "Who'll you have on your team?" she asked, as much to cope with his surprising announcement. She knew very well that the colony had trained men like Easley and Rastancil, and governors like Ayckburn and Chavell, but Mitford had made the colony work.

"It won't be the same without you in charge. Not at all,' she said with deep regret.

Now he touched her arm lightly and winked. 'You won't know I've been gone until I get back. Frankly, my dear, I'd rather someone else who really knows how to plan big pushes carried the can on Phase Two and Phase Three. But you can bet your last nickel, I'll wangle some part in it."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't."

"Hell, Kris,' and he was serious again, 'I made a promise to the folks when I took command Day One that somehow we'd get free." He looked off into the distance of morning-mistshrouded fields. 'Free, yes. Leave? I'm not soo'sure about that now." He looked around him at a landscape that no longer seemed alien and unreal.

"I wondered,' she said, encouragingly.

"If we could come to some sort of an agreement with the landlords, either or both, this'd be a great place to build up without all those damned minorities on Earth messing up their own landscapes.

It'd be a fresh start for everyone."

"We've already made one, you know."

He nodded and knuckled his nose. 'That I do. But free. I promised that, and now we've got a chance to deliver." 'Phase Three might mean leaving here if the brass does buy Zainal's master plan and free Earth, and Catten, from those Eosi."

He gave her a narrow-eyed look of pure devilment.

"Hell, gal, there's at least one more war in this marine. I'm not at all sure of the combat zone or the weapons and you better believe,' he waggled his finger at her sternly, 'that I'm not going to be the only one to debrief that Zainal, article, clause and all the fine print. There's an awful lot we don't know about the Catteni, not to mention the Eosi."

And our landlords, the Farmers."

They both heard the faint rumbling sound from above, followed by a more vigorous rustling as Slav, Fek, Joe, Sarah, Whitby and Leila pushed through the hedgerows just beyond them.

Kris managed one startled glance at Mitford, wondering if their very private conversation had been overheard. He winked and pointed to the team, who were panting as if they'd been running a good distance.

"Fek hear,' the Deski said, grinning. 'Scout comes."

Slav pointed and they could see the speck in the sky that rapidly increased in size. The noise became not louder but clearer. Suddenly more avians that anyone watching had ever seen at one time swarmed around it: some bodies dropped as oak seeds might, flittering and twisting groundward: some dropped more quickly as disparate sections, while those left alive did astonishing aerial manoeuvres and flew away as fast as they could.

"That's handy to know,' said Mitford with an approving grunt, and climbed out of the runabout. He stood, arms crossed on his chest, his eyes narrowing as he watched the ship's steady approach.

Was Zainal piloting, Kris wondered, or had he let Bert?

Whoever it was made a very neat touchdown about twenty yards from the onlookers, with a fmal burst of steamy exhaust from the portside thruster. The hatch moved open and Raisha jumped down, grinning radiantly. She snapped a salute to Mitford, which-he returned.

"Mission accomplished, sir. All present and accounted for." Then she thrust her right arm in the air and let out an exceedingly unmilitary yell.

With everyone else, Kris moved towards her, trying to peer around for a sight of Zainal, and Bert too.

"That Zainal . . . he even let Bert land her,' Raisha cried, shaking hands with everyone, including Fek and Slav who were now accustomed to that odd human habit. 'You should see this place from outer space, serge. It's even more beautiful than Earth. I know that sounds like heresy, but it's true! And we know where the satellite is, so Zainal says there'll be an easy way to avoid it by taking different windows out because it's positioned geo-synchronously for this area. No way of telling how long it's been up so it's possible that, even if it was in geosynch with this landing area, it might not have seen the Farmers' ships." Kris grinned at Raisha, recognizing the high she was on, but she also kept looking for Zainal.

"Oh, he's still explaining some of the timer points to Bert.

You'll have to drag them out of there,' Raisha said. 'Serge, we got good views of the other continents during our landing orbit. It looks like only one other one is being farmed as intensively as this.

It'd be smart to have a look and see if it isn't wiser to transfer everything to an unoccupied continent and just put the Farms back to the way they were before we got here. Just think how that'd confuse the Catteni."

"Easy, now, Raisha,' said Mitford, grinning at her babble.

"Oh!" She looked over to the others. 'I should just debrief to you, shouldn't I? But they all know about Phase One, don't they? It's . . ." and she stopped, took a deep breath, brushed sudden tears out of her eyes, '. . . it's just that once the Catteni took over, I never thought I'd make space in a real ship." She dashed the tears from her eyes and made an obvious effort to control herself. 'One helluva an astronaut I'm making!" 'You did just great, ma'am,' Mitford said in military tones, and that did the trick.

"Thank you, sergeant. I appreciate having had the honour to go." "'Where no human has gone before",' Kris heard herself repeating the Star Trek phrase.

Mitford inched closer to the open hatch, but Kris reached it first.

"Zainal?" she called, damning herself for acting like a possessive female.

"On the bridge!" He sounded elated, too.

As Raisha had said, he was still explaining to Bert about yaw and roll procedures and which toggles and handles were used in which situations.

"You landed her on a dime,' Kris said, looking from one to the other, and it was Bert who smiled proudly back at her.

"Zainal insisted. Damn near wet myself,' he said, but Kris only laughed at him. 'There seem to be only so many ways to arrange controls and panels that it wasn't actually that hard.

Not that Zainal wouldn't have taken over if I glitched . . ." He pointed to the right-hand position at the bridge. 'Mind you, those predators coming at me like F-88s were scary . . ." 'I don't think they'll be back any time soon,' Kris said 'Those that lived to fly away."

"The scout makes a sort of whistle . . ." Kris suggested and he nodded. She wanted to do something more than stand there with both hands at her sides, something to show Zainal how very, very glad she was to see him. She wished Bert anywhere but on the bridge.

Then Zainal stepped to her side, pulled her so that their cheeks touched and his lips brushed her ear before he stepped back. 'I go debrief to Mitford." He turned back to Bert. 'Go through the sequences. We must put her out of sight before we close her down." Then he pushed Kris around and down the narrow passageway. 'We now know much more about Botany that is useful to know." All Kris could think of was that he was back and Phase One complete and Mitford was willing to go to Phase Two. As she stepped out onto the field where she had lain unconscious and vulnerable nine months ago, she could scarcely believe the change in fortune. As Kris discovered, while the curious and they came In droves down from Camp Narrow inspected the scout ship, Zainal's debriefing with Mitford dealt more with the details of what he had observed of the rest of the planet during the landing orbit than the flight. He had piloted in the initial stages, past the satelite, given the scout some rolls and yaws.

"To look out of control,' Zainal said with a grin, 'and then I went behind the moon and out of the satellite's range." Of Bert and Raisha, he said, 'They know more than they think they do.

Well trained. Able to drive while I looked. The scout makes fast . . . sketches . . ." He looked enquiringly at Kris who supplied 'photos'. 'Yes, photos, details of other continents. Got very close on last pass." Zainal grinned. 'Much better than what we were given." And he paused, twitching one eyebrow in irritation over the earlier reluctant handouts.

"Raisha said something about only two continents being farmed." Zainal nodded. 'One is empty but greening. Other not too good, I think. But I am not farmer." 'You want us to shift our living space?" and Mitford waved over his head to mean the camp-sites the colonists now occupied, 'and keep us out of trouble with the real landlords?" 'Land . . ." and Zainal separated the two words in puzzlement, 'lords?"

"The race which first claimed this planet."

"Ah, landlords. Yes. This is considerable. A people who could make a prison of that valley we explored do not act as Catteni or Eosi do. They kept something in there, or kept something from getting in.

That is not how Catteni or Eosi work." 'Nor even humans, if you look at history,' said Mitford in a droll tone, crossing his arms on his chest again.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Zainal gave Mitford a long look.

"Phase Two, serge?"

Mitford chuckled, dropped his arms to slap his hands on his knees. 'You found weapons?" 'Enough to overpower stupid Drassi,' Zainal said almost contemptuously.

"Things are getting more and more interesting, aren't they?" Mitford said to no-one in particular.

Someone nearby cleared his throat and Kris looked over her

shoulder at a group of men she vaguely remembered were formerly military and naval brass. Instantly she was alarmed for Mitford's sake. She didn't want him summarily replaced by newcomers who figured they knew more about running this world than Mitford. It was Peter Easley who had cleared his throat.

"Sergeant, when you have a chance, we'd like a few words with you?"

"More than a few, and your being here saves me sending for you." Mitford said, stepping down from the driver's seat. 'Have you met Emassi Zainal and Kris Bjornsen yet?" There was a formal shaking of hands all round, hands which Kris noticed were calloused and hardened by 'civilian' labours.

She noticed that everyone was respectful to both her and Zainal and told herself that she was imagining 'hostile takeovers'. The cordiality of all nine did not seem forced. Their comments ranged from 'Well done' to "A terrific boost to morale here'.

"What Earth rank is "Emassi" equal to, Zainal?" Mitford asked and winked at Kris.

'"Emassi" is captain,' Zainal informed Mitford, regarding him blandly. 'Emassi outranks sergeant,' he added and grinned.

"Beg pardon,' Peter Easley said, leaning forward politely, as if he thought he had missed something.

"Old joke,' Mitford said. 'Have you been in the ship yet, gentlemen?"

They all nodded and grins widened.

"Might we get filled in on the details?" asked one silver-haired man - one of the generals, Kris thought. His eyes travelled from Zainal to Kris to Mitford and then Easley. 'The implications of such a capture are staggering. Rastancil, Major General,' and he added with a rueful expression, 'retired." 'As I said,' Mitford began, 'I was going to send for you as soon as I could report that Phase One was successful." He gestured towards the ship, frowning briefly as there was a scuffle at the hatch. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he let out his parade-ground voice. 'EASY DOWN THERE! OR NO-ONE GOES IN!

LATORE, DOYLE, MAKE 'EM FORM A PROPER LINE. Sorry about that,' as he turned back to the brass. 'It is successful, and I think it's time I turned the matter over to Tactics or Strategy or whatever you want to call an appropriate body." 'Sergeant, if you got this much done,' Rastancil said, 'you've more than earned the right to sit in on a Phase Two, if that's what I think you mean." Mitford nodded sharply. 'A Phase Two and a Phase Three." He gestured to Zainal again. 'Yeah, we do need to talk." More sharp yells of protest from the spaceship.

"Lemme handle this first,' he said and, slipping back in the runabout, his expression ominous, he circled down to the crowd around the hatch.

"Just what had you in mind for Phase Two, Emassi Zainal?"

lone of the naval men asked. He had a definite British accent, so

Kris placed him as Geoffrey Ainger.

"I am Zainal, no more Emassi,' he said. 'I will tell you about Phase One." 'Then do it up at Narrow, why don't you?" Kris suggested as yet more people swarmed across the field to set eyes on the space vehicle. 'I'll wait here for the sergeant." 'We will all wait for the sergeant,' said Easley, but he gestured to a point further up the field, well out of the traffic from Camp to the parked ship, where there was a slope up to the hedgerow providing seating.

If there were one or two men who cleared their throats or raised eyebrows of surprise at that firmly delivered order, Easley was so deft at easing them the way he wanted them to go that they all complied.

When they got to the spot, Zainal crossed his ankles and sank gracefully to the ground. Kris sat beside him and Easley on Zainal's other side, facing the others as they made themselves comfortable. He gave a concise report of Phase One, from the first report by Coo to the moment it landed. Kris was particularly proud of his English, maybe not couched in perfect grammatical English but concise.

When he was finished, a balding, stockily built man with a

weather-beaten face and a fine scar from jaw to temple held up his hand. "Why would you have been the object of such a concerted kidnap attempt, Zainal?"

"How much do you know of Eosi?"

"More than I like, but not enough to understand why they'd hunt out one man,' was the reply.

"You are the American general, Bull Fetterman?" A nod answered Zainal's question and Kris gave him full marks for having sorted out names and ranks. But then Zainal kept himself informed of what sort of people had been dropped and knew from Mitford's report of the presence of military and naval officers. 'Then you will know that Eosi command Catteni manoeuvres." Fetterman wasn't the only one who nodded. 'They pick Emassi to make longer their lives." 'Say what?" Bull Fetterman assumed a posture and expression that had undoubtedly given him his nickname.

"They subsume the Catteni totally,' Kris said. 'Zainal would have become a zombie . . . or worse . . . he wouldn't be dead, but he wouldn't have any personality left. Like Heinlein's Puppet Masters' yarn." 'And the first scout came to take you back because you'd been chosen?" Easley asked.

Zainal nodded.

"I heard it was some sort of honour,' Rastancil said, though his expression suggested he didn't consider it so.

"It is." And then Zainal grinned. 'But I was dropped. I stay." He made a scissors motion with his big hands. 'I am off the honours' list."

Easley blinked and grinned. Rastancil did, too.

"But it was duty?" Fetterman said.

"Not once I was dropped here." And Zainal pointed emphatically at the ground.

"Someone has to take your place?" asked a black officer, lateforties Kris judged his age.

"Another male of my line. There are several,' Zainal said with a shrug.

"What about reprisals here?" another man asked. Kris thought he was Reidenbacker. She'd been reviewing in her mind all the names and occupations on Drop lists and was putting them now to faces.

"The last place they will look is here,' Zainal said.

"You're sure of that?" Admiral Scott asked, his tone barely civil.

"He's got a point, Ray,' Rastancil replied. 'If you were deserting, the last place you'd go to is the place you deserted from." "I do not desert,' Zainal said with a slight frown. 'I was dropped.

I stay." 'Then that's some kind of duty or just a personal preference?" Scott wanted to know.

"Zainal is referring to the fact that no-one placed on one of these trial planetary occupations is ever released,' Kris said firmly, trying not to glare at Scott. 'This is essentially a penal colony, you know. Which is why we called it Botany. Zainal refused the option to leave because that would break another rule: only because it suited his superiors. If they'd retrieved him before he was sent off with us dissenters, it'd have been another matter entirely. But they let him get sent." She added that, whether it was true or not, just to make sure Scott wasn't going to call Zainal a deserter or coward or anything like that.

"We concede the issue,' Rastancil said, smiling.

"So we can be sure we won't be in for any reprisals because you brought the scout here,' Scott added.

"I think we've established that that is unlikely,' said Easley, trying to end that topic, 'since Zainal deliberately took a course that would take him out of this system on his departure. Ah, here's the sergeant." Mitford cleared the look of irritation from his face as he stepped down from his runabout.

"Damn Aarens claiming he had rights . . ." he muttered to Kris as he hunkered down beside her. 'Finished discussing Phase One?"

"Indeed we have . . ." Easley began.

"Could we have a written report for the record?" Scott asked.

"One's all we got paper for, sir,' said Mitford with no

apology. 'Kris, can you do it for me? So, Zainal, if you'll describe Phase Two just as you told it to me three nights ago . . ." Zainal suddenly rose to his feet. Even though most of the brass were sitting on a slope, his new position required them all to look up at him, as neat a bit of strategy as Kris had ever seen.

"The transports that make the Drops come more often. Your planet is giving Catteni trouble they did not expect. The ships are not in good repair. We have weapons now. We can take a second ship." He held up one hand to forestall questions that goal provoked. The gesture was one of such dignified command that even Scott subsided, scowling. "We take transport.

Then scout takes load of metals from mechs and bomb and explode in space far enough up there . . ." He extended his hand upward.

"Satellite is geo-syn-chron-ous,' and if he sounded out the syllables, he had them in the right order. 'Can only see this side. Will see explosion." He made the scissors gesture again.

"Now don't try to tell me the Catteni will let that go without some sort of an in-depth investigation!" Scott said, making no attempt to disguise his scepticism and disapproval.

"Not if crew's last message tells of. . . system's failure." Zainal had had to find the words, but he also found the right ones.

"Two famous last messages, and each time a ship disappears?" Scott said, openly scoffing.

"Only Drassi are on transport coldly. 'Catteni . . ." and he laid not worry over small casualties.

know that by now." 'Does that mean you, a Catteni officer, are willing to let us kill Catteni?" Scott demanded, watching Zainal with narrowed eyes.

Zainal gave a shrug. 'War makes casualties. You know that.

I know that. Or,' and he let a wry smile play on his lips, 'do as Catteni do. Let crew go free, those that remain alive. If they are not found in one whole day,' and he lifted a finger, 'they live and join us. They are dropped. They stay." ship. No big loss,' Zainal said an emphasis on the word, 'do Ship or Drassi. You should

Kris hastily covered her mouth with her hand, but she scanned faces to see who understood Zainal's wit. More got it than didn't.

These guys were sharp enough. Scott seemed the only hard critic.

You did know about that Catteni rule, didn't you, Admiral?" Mitford asked very politely.

Scott gave him a curt nod.

"With respect, sir, in case no-one mentioned it,' the sergeant went on, 'Zainal was shanghaied aboard that ship in a contradiction to that rule. Just in case any of you wondered why he didn't feel he had to comply with any further orders from Emassi." 'Thank you for explaining that, sergeant,' Easley said. 'I think it should clear up any lingering doubts about where Zainal's loyalties now lie. To return to Phase Two, what good does it do us to have a ship that may not be useful? Even if Zainal believes we can disregard reprisals." 'I think of the Farmers,' Zainal said, and all eyes were on him again. "With two ships, we can send one with their transport . . ."

Scott dismissed that notion with a snort and looked away.

"Now, wait a minute, Scott,' said Fetterman. 'I'm not entirely clear on these Farmers or Mech Makers or whatever you want to call them." Then he turned back to Zainal. 'You want them to know we're squatting on their land?" 'Squatting?" Puzzled, Zainal looked down at Kris for an explanation.

"Slang for taking over lands or a place that you don't own,' she said quickly. 'Actually, that's Phase Three." Before they started arguing over Phase Two, Kris wanted them to have some grasp of the scope of Zainal's plans. 'Forming an alliance with the Farmers against the Eosi because if they can farm a planet without any sentient being in charge, Zainal thinks they may have a sufficiently sophisticated technology to help the Catteni get out from under the domination of the Eosi - and stop being made into zombies and do things because the Eosi order them to be done. Like take over Earth." 'Whoa, there, young lady,' Fetterman said, but he was grinmng and so was Rastancil, while Scott looked more annoyed than ever. 'Pretty ambitious, if you ask me."

"The longest journey starts with the first step,' she said in a

firm but clear voice and gestured back over her shoulder at the spaceship. 'Step number one."I 'Kris has a point,' Easley said, once again taking charge as heI seemed able to do almost effortlessly.

"Until this morning none of us would have remotely considered the possibility of hijacking a Catteni ship . . ." 'Having a damaged transport's no damned good . . . for going after Catteni or Eosi or these Farmers,' Scott said, standmg up.

"But transport allows us to shift a lot of people to one of the other continents that the Farmers are not using." Mitford said, beginning to let his irritation show. 'It's another step to owning ourselves instead of being a goddamned Catteni colony they think they could just walk into and take over when it gets on its feet.

That's the usual plan, isn't it, Zainal?" Kris watched Mitford winding himself up and looked anxiously in Easley's direction, but the man was watching eagerly as if he wanted Mitford to sound off.

"Well, a scout's a start on our Botany Defence Initiative, and I'll back Phase Two with every man and woman that's been following me the past nine months." Then Mitford caught hold of himself, took a deep breath. 'If we pull that off, too, then we can reevaluate the situation. And there's more than just the Catteni to worry about.

There're the Farmers, and how they'll take to us being dropped here on their prime real estate without their say-so.

Now I know I've mentioned to you that most of us are beginning to think we ought to leave the Farmers' installations alone and find our own. That's why I have scout parties out all over the continent." 'Hold it there a minute, sergeant,' Rastancil said, getting to his feet. 'Thought you dismantled all those Mechanicals so that the Farmers would come and see who was vandalizing their planet?"

"That was the only option open to us then, sir. But we've been having discussions about that,' and Mitford gestured to Easley, Fetterman and up the hill towards Camp Narrow. 'I wasn't the only one who wanted to get off this planet then." He paused. 'I'm not so sure I want to leave now, And I know a lot of others have had second thoughts like me. But that,' and he pointed back towards the scout ship, 'alters everything. Or . . . hell, you should see that as well as I can." And he ended with his arms at his sides, waiting for reaction.

"Definitely the situation has changed,' Easley said and heard murmurs seconding that. He seemed to be appraising the moods around him. 'Phase Two seems feasible but, as Sergeant Mitford says, it's going to need some intense planning and good timing . . .

even with weapons at our disposal. I suggest that we adjourn and discuss ways and means."

"Scout hides,' Zainal said and pointed towards Camp Narrow.

"You're going to fly it in?" asked a man with a rather rakish mustache as he got to his feet, brushing off the seat of his coverall.

"I'd like permission to be aboard, sir. I was mission control on the last shuttle project. Trained as a test pilot. Gino Marrucci." Zainal looked to Mitford who nodded. Then Zainal looked at Scott.

"You come too?" Someone stifled a chuckle but Scott, controlling his expression, stood up. 'I would like to." 'Ship only holds eight at the most,' Kris-said, though she'd hoped to be one. 'You have to go, sergeant."

"Then you do, too,' said Mitford, jutting out his chin.

"One more,' Zainal said. 'Air force man?" 'I was air force,' the black general said and he stood, grinning.

"John Beverly." 'That's settled then,' said Peter Easley. 'Shall I drive your runabout back to Camp Narrow, serge? And be sure the garage's . . . or should I say, hangar's ready.

"Good idea,' Mitford said.

Zainal pivoted and, without looking back to see who followed, led the way back down the field.

"Always meant to go see the display at Houston but never found the time,' Mitford said conversationally to no-one in particular in the group walking in step with him. He grinned as Kris made a hasty leg change to match strides with the others.

"Happens all the time with us military types."

"Okay, okay,' Joe Latore was saying when he saw the phalanx moving m on the spaceship, and gestured for those in line to make way.

Grumbling started from those next to go until Mitford swung into view, when it was replaced by cheers for Zainal and Mitford.

"We're gonna fly this baby up to Narrow now,' Mitford said.

"You'll get a chance to look inside later." 'You mean, the Catteni are gain' to be lookin' for it?" a man asked m a nervous tone.

"Naw,' said Bert, appearing in the open hatch. He grinned when he saw the delegation and jumped to the ground, waving those behind him from the last tour to make a quick exit. 'Why would a Catteni in his right mind want to live on Botany if he could get off?" There was good-natured laughter at that sally, as those still hoping to see inside the prize began to drift back up the hill.

"Gentlemen,' Bert waved the new group in. 'Shall I . . .?" he began to Zainal, as if he anticipated being replaced.

"You must watch me do it,' Zainal said. 'These watch, too."

"I'll bet they do,' Bert murmured low enough for only Kris and Zainal to hear as they passed him.

Kris stepped up, into the hatch, ahead of the brass. She wasn't going to be left behind this time. Mitford did give precedence to Scott, Beverly and Gino Marrucci. When they reached the bridge, Raisha was in the second seat and hastily got to her feet.

Zainal gave her a nod and then pointed to Bert to take her place while he folded himself into the pilot's chair. l

"Secure hatch, Raisha,' Zainal said and looked at the arrangement of those standing in the cramped space of the small bridge. He nodded and gestured for them to stay where they were.

Kris inched closer to Mitford who was just behind Zainal.

"You watch good?" Zainal said to Bert, who nodded as Zainal's fingers moved in slow sequence over toggles and switches. 'Got that?"

"Yes, yes . . ."

A quick glance around and Kris saw that Bert was not the only one memorizing the sequence. Beverly and the test pilot were the most eager, but Scott's expression was less critical.

"Ve-ry smooth,' Beverly said. He was the first to be conscious of the vertical take-off.

"It is extremely manoeuvrable craft,' Zainal said in an instructional tone, two fingers of his right hand on the grip.

"One of its biggest . . ." He tipped his head back towards Kris, for her to give him the word he needed.

"Assets,' Kris supplied.

"Ass-ETS, not asses?" Zainal asked, blank-faced.

"You pick up too much bad language, man,' she muttered as everyone else grinned.

"In space as well?" asked Beverly.

"Better in space,' Zainal answered, as he depressed a button on the panel in front of him and began a horizontal forward movement, skimming safely above the heads of those moving back to Camp Narrow.

"That satellite won't see the movement?" Scott asked.

Kris wondered if the Admiral would ever give Zainal any slack.

"Not that kind. Very basic and geo-synchronous,' Zainal replied, twitching one shoulder. 'I use only . . . guide . . ." He craned his head about, for Kris's help.

"Guidance,' Beverly supplied. 'Thrusters? Or rockets?"

Zainal made a gesture with his free hand as if pressing the Earth away from him.

"We'd call 'em thrusters, I think,' Beverly said. 'Do they

move?" and he rocked his hand to indicate different positions.

Zainal, flashing a look at the signals, nodded. He was watching the landscape closely.

"Is there much fuel left?" the test pilot asked, looking over the gauges and dials. 'Which one?" 'This one,' Bert said and tapped it.

A needle point just a shade over a half-way mark.

"Reason two for Phase Two. Transport will have fuel,' Zainal said.

"How far will what there is take us?"

Zainal shrugged. 'Not back to your Earth."

"What sort of fuel do you use?" asked the test pilot.

Zainal rattled out some Catteni sounds and then grinned at the pilot.

"Can't make here." He made another correction, moved a toggle and the pilot gasped.

"You're gliding in?"

"No need to waste fuel,' Zainal said, and pointed his finger just as the entrance to Camp Narrow appeared in the hillside.

There were a lot of people watching now, waving their hands, mouths open though no sound penetrated the scout.

"Fraggit,' Mitford muttered, his face pale, as he grabbed for something to hang on to as the scout seemed to slide down a corridor that had once seemed much wider.

"Easy as pie, sergeant,' Beverly said, grinning broadly as they headed inexorably towards the target barn's wide-open doors.

"It'll fit?" asked Mitford, taking a firmer hold on the ceiling handle he had found.

"No problem,' Bert said.

Kris sympathized with Mitford. She tried not to hold her breath.

The flight vanes on the rear of the fuselage must be just clearing the sides of the alley. Then she noticed someone encouraging the forward motion with hand gestures as he backed towards the barn. Zainal held up one hand, caught the man's attention and gestured him to stand aside. With the slightest possible touches on the thrust handlers, Zainal lifted the ship above the cliff side and, with equally delicate movements, turned the scout around, lowered it and began backing it into the barn. The ground crew leaped in front and now made pushing gestures, as he stood to one side so he could judge when to wave-off.

"No rear mirrors on this thing, huh?" Mitford murmured in Kris's ear, but he had colour back in his face now that they were nearly parked.

The wave-off came and, with one final adjustment, they felt the scout ship settle to the floor.

To Kris's surprise, the observers clapped their hands, even Scott.

"You'd've been a great Atlantis pilot,' Marrucci said.

Zainal stood up, squeezing up against Mitford and Kris in the cramped space. 'Bert, show Marrucci how to shut her down."

"Can we watch?" asked John Beverly.

Zainal shrugged, looking at Mitford.

"Sure, why not,' the sergeant said, easing himself towards the passageway to give the others more space. But he looked over his shoulder to observe that Scott stayed as well.

"Did it go well?" Raisha asked from her position in the passageway. 'I couldn't see a thing with all the bodies in the way, but I felt it turn around." Zainal unclogged the hatch and stepped out into the barn, giving Kris a hand down first, and then Raisha.

"Can this be locked, Zainal?" Mitford asked in a low voice, because the man who had acted as ground crew was loping up to them.

"There are six of these,' Zainal said, showing Mitford the small grayish-brown rectangle in his hand. 'I have hidden three.

Bert and Raisha each have one. Is that right?" Mitford looked thoughtful, almost sad. 'For now, but I think the fly boys and the brass will decide who gets to use this baby." 'Baby?" Zainal asked, turning to Kris. 'Is that like boy-o-boy, and man-o-man?" 'Ships are generally referred to as "she's", female,' she said, grinning. 'And special ships are babies. Specially good ships!'

.

"That's a lot of baby,' Zainal said with suspicious laughter glinting in his eyes as he looked down the length of the scout.

"Hey, Zainal, that was some sweet job of piloting,' the crew man said, running up with his hand out for Zainal to shake. 'I used to be flight deck officer on the George Washington . . ."

"Aircraft carrier,' Kris explained.

"Boy, you landed that baby as sweet as if you'd been backing her into this hangar all your life!" Zainal gave yet another of his shruggings. 'I had to learn.

And pay for holes made." 'Didja?" and somehow that pleased the man. "Need any more help with her, I'm your man. Vic Yowell's the name." He gave Zainal's hand another shake and then went to prowl around the vessel.

"All that brass aren't going to take the ship away from us, are they?" Raisha asked, keeping her voice down and her eye anxiously on Mitford.

"Listen up, you lot,' Mitford said, catching them with a stern glance, 'that ship makes this a whole new ball-game. I know General Rastancil by reputation - he has a good one. I heard good things about General Beverly . . . don't know about the navy, but I do know,' and he waggled his finger at them, 'that there'll be some changes and we gotta be flexible. So let's go with the flow. Right?" 'Where I flow, you go,' said Zainal, poking Mitford in the shoulder with one finger with each word. 'Right?" Mitford gave a short laugh, but Kris knew that he appreciated Zainal's statement of loyalty.

"I don't know about you lot, but I need some chow about this time of day." He walked out of the hangar.

The, too,' said Raisha. 'I didn't like Catteni ship-board rations. They tasted like cardboard wadding." 'Healthy,' Zainal said as he took Kris by the arm to follow the lead.

"Will we get to Phase Two?" Raisha asked over her shoulder.

"For fuel we muss,' Zainal said.

"So if I get a chance to learn to pilot the scout, I could pilot a transport vessel?" 'You can now,' Zainal said, grinning at her surprise. 'Drassi need very simple controls." 'Say, Zainal,' Mitford asked, 'how many ships do you think we can hijack before they stop landing here or your destroyers come to have a look?"

Zainal just grinned.

They had finished with the noontime meal when Bert and the others who had stayed on in Baby, as the ship was unimaginatively called, joined them at their table. Marrucci and Beverly were full of questions for Zainal about the performance levels of the ship, its cruising range, cargo capacity weaponry and maintenance requirements.

Kris translated terms as well as she could, with help from both Bert and Raisha when she bogged down over unfamiliar words and meanings.

Mitford sent someone for paper and pencil.

"Would you have such a thing as a manual?" Ray Scott asked at one point.

"What good would a Catteni manual do us?" Kris asked, almost defensively although Scott's attitude had modified considerably since the docking hop.

"Diagrams,' Scott said, as if that was obvious.

So Zainal told Bert where to find the service manuals in the pilot compartment, and the day became a session of terminology and translation. Engineers were sent for to decipher the schematics, while Zainal struggled to explain with his inadequate technical vocabulary.

For Kris, guesswork worked as well in some instances, but she came up with appropriate ones more often than the others did. Zainal did know the basic maintenance routines and checks required, since he had often flown this type and had had to make repairs.

Worrell arrived at one point and took Mitford off with him.

Reidenbacker left later on and took Fetterman with him, but Kris was far too occupied with spatial and aviation words to do more than register that there were other faces where those men had sat. There was also no question that the capture of Baby was the best thing that could have happened on Botany at that particular moment.

It was full dark before Zainal suddenly shook himself and stood up.

"I can talk no more tonight."