Freedom's landing

by Anne McCaffrey

Synopsis:

Kristin Bjornsen lived a normal life, right up until the day the Catteni ships floated into view above Denver. Now, as human slaves are herded into the maw of a massive vessel, Kristin realizes that her normal life is over, and her fight for freedom is just beginning.

prequel to Freedoms choice

Chapter One

Kristin Bjornsen wondered if summer on the planet Barevi could possibly be the only season. There had been remarkably little variation in temperature in the nine months since she'd arrived there.

She'd been four months in what appeared to be the single, sprawling city of the planet during her enslavement and now had racked up five months of comparative freedom - albeit a parlous hand-to-mouth survival - in this jungle, after her escape from the city in the flitter she'd stolen.

Her sleeveless one-piece tunic was made of an indestructible material, but it wouldn't suit cold weather. The scooped neckline was indecently low and the skirt ended midway down her long thighs. It was closely modelled, in fact, after the miniskirted sheath she'd been wearing to class that spring morning when the Catteni ships had descended on Denver, one of fifty cities across the world that had been used as object lessons by the conquerors.

One moment she was on her way to the college campus; the next, she was one of thousands of astonished and terrified Denverites being driven by force-whips up the ramp of a spaceship that made the Queen Elizabeth look like a tub toy. Once past the black maw of the ship, Kris, with all the others, swiftly succumbed to the odorlesss gas.

When she and her fellow prisoners had awakened, they were in the slave compounds of Barevi, waiting to be sold.

Kris aimed the avocado-sized pit of the gorupear she had just eaten at the central stalk of a nearby thicket of purple-branched thorn-bushes. The bush instantly rained tiny darts in all directions.

Kris laughed. She had bet it would take less than five minutes for the young bush to re-arm itself. And it had. The larger ones took longer to position new missiles. She'd had reason to find out.

Absently she reached above her head for another gorupear. Nothing from good old Terrrivaleded them for taste. She bit appreciatively into the firm reddish flesh of the fruit and its succulent juices dribbled down her chin onto her tanned breasts. Tugging at the strap of her slip-tight tunic, she brushed the juice away. The outfit was great for tanning, but when winter comes? And should she concentrate on gathering nuts and drying gorupears on the rocks by the river for the cold season? She wrinkled her nose at the half-eaten pear. They were mighty tasty but a steady diet of them left her hungering for other basic dietary requirements. By watching the creatures of the jungle, she'd been able to guess what might be edible for her.

Remembering her survival course gave her the clue to superficial testing on her skin. She'd had two violent reactions to stuff that the ground animals seemed to devour in quantity, but the avians had guided her to other comestibles. Heitemem in the food preparation unit of her "master' had given her other commodities to look for - though few of those grew wild in this jungle. Still, there were little yellow-scaled fish from the river that had provided her with both protein and exercise.

A low-pitched buzz attracted her attention. She got to her feet, balanced carefully on the high limb of the tree.

Parting the branches, she peered up at the cloudless sky.

Two of the umpteen moons that circled Barevi were visible in the west. Below them, dots that gave off sparkles of reflected sunlight were swooping and diving.

The boys have called another hunt, she mused to herself and, still smiling, leant against the tree trunk to take advantage of her grandstand seat. The jungle had quite a few really big, really savage creatures which she had managed to avoid, making like a jungle heroine and taking to the trees and vines. By dint of hard work and sweat, she had used the useful tools from the kit on thflitterer to tie vines to trees that led to and from hefavoritete food-browsing spots and to the river. Her escape routes were all aerial.

Before she had taken absence without leave from her situation', Kris had done her homework on more than what was edible on Barevi. She had picked up a good bit of the lingua Barevi, a polyglot language, made up from the words of six or seven of the languages spoken by the slaves and used by the "masters' to convey orders to their minions.

She had gleaned some information about those who had invaded Earth, the Catteni. They were not, for one thing, indigenous to this world but came from a much heavier planet nearer galacticenterre. They were one of the mercenary-explorer races employed by a vast federation.

They had only recently colonized Barevi, using it as a clearing house for spoils acquired by looting unsuspecting non-federation planets, and a rest-and-relaxatioCentrexre for their great ships' crews.

After years of the free-fall of space and lighter-gravity planets, Catteni found it difficult to return to their heavy, depressing home world. During her brief enslavement, Kris had heard the Catteni boast of dying everywhere in the galaxy except Catten. The way they "played', Kris thought to herself, was rough enough to ensure that they died young as well as far from Catten.

Huge predators roamed the unspoiled plains and jungles of Barevi, and the Catteni considered it great

sport to stand up to rhino likeke monster with only a single spear.

That is, Kris remembered with a grim smile, when they weren't brawling among themselves over imagined slurs and insults. Two slaves, friends of hers, had been crushed under the massive bodies of Catteni during a free-for-all.

Since she had come to the valley, she had witnessed half a dozen encounters between the rhinos and the Catteni.

Accustomed to a much heavier gravity than Barevi, the Catteni were able to execute incrediblmaneuverses as they softened their prey for the kill. The poor creatures had less chance than Spanish bulls and, in all the hunts Kris had seen, only one man had been injured and that had been a slight graze.

As the flitters neared, she realized that they were not acting like a hunting party. For one thing, one dot was considerably ahead of the others. And by God, she saw the light flashes of the trailinflitters's' forward guns firing at the "leader' Hunted and hunters were at the foot of her valley now. Suddenly black smoke erupted from the rear of the pursueflitterer. It nosed upwards. It hovered reluctantly, then dived, slantingly, to strike the tumble of boulders along the river's edge, not far from her hiding place.

Kris gasped as she saw a figure, half-leapinghalf staggeringng out of the badly smashed flitter. She could scarcely believe that even a Catteni could survive such a crash. Wideyed, she watched as he struggled to his feet, then reeled from boulder to boulder, to get away from thsmolderingng wreck.

With a stunningly brilliant flare, the craft exploded.

Fragments whistled into the underbrush as far up the slope as her retreat, and the idiotic thorn-bushes she had recently triggered sprayed out their poison-tipped little darts.

The smoke of thburninghfitterer obscured her view now and Kris lost sight of the man. The otheflittersrs had reached the wreck and were hovering over it, like so many angry King Kongish bees, swooping, diving, trying to penetrate the smoke.

An afternoon breeze swirled the black clouds about and Kris caught glimpses of the man, lurching still farther from the crash site. She saw him stumble and fall, after which he made no move to rise. Above, the bees buzzed angrily, circling the smoke and probably wondering if their prey had gone up in the explosion.

Catteni didn't hunt each other as a rule, she told herself, surprised to find that she was halfway down from her perch. They fight like Irishmen, sure, but to chase a man so far from the city? What could he have done?

The crash had been too far away for Kris to distinguish the hunted man's features or build. He might just be an escaped slave, like herself. If not Terran, he might be from one of the half-dozen other subjugated races that lived on Barevi. Someone who had the guts to steal a fffitteridn't deserve to die under Catteni force-whips.

Kris made her way down the slope, careful to avoid the numerous thorn thickets that dominated these woods.

She had once amused herself with the whimsy that the thorn were the gorupear's protectors, for the two plants invariably grew close together.

At the top of the sheer precipice above the falls of the river, she grabbed the vine she had attached there for speedy descent. Once on the river bank she stuck to the dry flat rocks until she came to the stepping-stones that allowed her to cross the river below the wide pool made by the little falls. Down a gully, across another thorn-bush-filled clearing, and then she was directly above the spot where she had last seen the man.

Keeping close to the brown rocks so nearly the shade of her own tanned skin, she crossed the remaining distance.

She all but tripped over him as the wind puffed black smoke down among the rocks.

"Catteni!" she cried, furious as she bent to examine the unconscious man and recognized the grey and yellow uniform despite its tattered and black smeared condition.

With a disdainful foot under his shoulder, she tried to turn him over. And couldn't. The man might as well have been a boulder. She knelt and yanked his head around by the thick slate-grey hair which, in a Catteni, did not indicate age: they all had the same cocolorair.

Maybe he was dead?

No such luck. He was breathing. A bruise mark on his temple showed one reason for his unconscious state.

For a Catteni, he was almost good-looking. Most of them tended to have brutish, coarse features but this one had a straight, almost patrician nose - even if there was a lot more of it than an elephant would want to claim - and a wide well-shaped mouth. The Catteni to whom she had been sold had hhick blubbery lips, and she'd known that Catteni were developing a sexual appetite for Terran women.

A sizzling crack jerked her head around in the direction of the wreck. The damned fools were shooting at the burning craft now. Kris looked down at the unconscious man, wondering what on earth he had done to provoke such vindictive thoroughness. They sure wanted him good and dead.

The barrage pulverized what was left of the ffifittereaving the fire no fuel. The wind, laden with coarse dust, blew an acrid stench from the wreckage. The man stirred and vainly tried to raise himself, only to sink back to the ground with a groan. Kris saw the ffifittersrcling to land on the plateau below the wreck.

"Going to case the scene of the crime, huh?" It was completely illogical, Kris told herself, to help a Catteni simply because there were others of his race out to get him. Rut. . . She backtracked his route, just in case he had left any marks for them to follow. She went as far as she could on the bare rock. Where dirt began, ash had settled in a thick layer, obliterating any tracks he might have made.

After all, the Catteni might stumble on her if they did a thorough search, thinking their victim had escaped the crash.

He had got to his feet when she returned to him, dazed, heavy arms hanging by his sides as he tried to get his eyes to focus. She attempted to guide him but it was like trying to direct a mountain to move.

"Come on, Mahomet," she urged softly. "Just walk like a nice little boy to the river and I'll duck you in. Cold water should bring you round.

A sharp distant gabble of voices made her start nervously. God, those Catteni had got up that rock-face in a hurry. She'd forgotten they could take prodigious leaps on this light-gravity planet.

"They're coming. Follow me," she said in lingua Barevi.

He groaned again, shaking his head to clear his senses. He turned towards her, his great yellow eyes still dazed with shock. She would never get used to such butter-colcoloredpils with black irises.

"This way! Quickly!" She urgently tugged at him. If he didn't shake his tree-stump legs, she was going to leave him. Good Samaritans on Barevi had better not get caught by Catteni.

She pulled at his arm and he seemed to make a decision.

He lurched forward, one great hand grasping her shoulder in a vice-like grip. They reached the river bank, still ahead of the searchers. But Kris groaned as she realized that the barely conscious man would never be able to navigate the stepping-stones.

The shouts behind them indicated that the others were fanning out to search the rocks. Urgently she grabbed several fingers of his big hand, leading him to the base of the falls.

"If you can't float, it's just too damned bad," she said grimly.

She dropped his hand, stepped back and leaping forward again, shouldered him into the water.

She dived in, right beside him, and when he continued to sink, she grabbed and caught him by the thick hair.

Fortunately, the water made even a solid Catteni manageable.

Exerting all her strength and skill as a swimmer, she got his head above water and held it up with a chichin lockBy sheer good luck, they had surfaced in the space between the arc of the falls and the cliff, the curtain of water shielding them from view. As the Catteni began to struggle in her grasp, the five hunters leapt spectacularly into view in the clearing by the pool. Her "Mahomet' was instantly alert and, instead of struggling, began to tread water beside her.

The Catteni were arguing with each other now and each seemed to be issuing conflicting orders to the others.

Mahomet released himself from her chichin holdis yellow eyes never leaving the party on the bank. They watched, hands making as little movement as possible although the falls would conceal any ripples their motions made.

One Catteni, after a heated debate, crossed the wide pool in a fantastic - to Kris - standing leap. He and another began to move downstream, carefully examining both banks and casually surmounting up-ended barge-sized boulders with no effort. The other three went charging back the way they had come, still arguing.

Mter an endless interval, during which the icy water chilled Kris to the bone, the refugee touched her shoulder and nodded towards the shore. But when she realized that he was going to head back the way they had come, she shook her head emphatically, pointing to the other side.

"Safe! That way," she shouted at him over the noise of the falls.

He frowned. "I've a flitter to hide in." She jabbed her finger in the direction of her hidden vehicle.

Stunned as she suddenly realized what she had just said, she stared at him. "Oh, God!" He raised an eyebrow in surprise, and she hoped for one long moment that he had not understood what she had said.

But he had, and now his yellow eyes gleamed at her in the gloom with a different sort of interest.

He's like a great lion, Kris thought and almost choked on fear.

"You have aided a Catteni," he said in a deep rumbling voice in the lingua Barevi. "You shall not suffer for that!" Kris wasn't so sure when she tried to climb out of the river and found herself numb with cold, and strengthless.

He, on the other hand, strode easily out of the water He looked down at her ineffectual struggles, frowning irritably. Then, with no apparent effort, he curled the long fingers of one hand around her upper arm and simply withdrew her from the water, supporting her until she got her balance.

Shivering, she looked up at him. God, he was big: the tallest Catteni she had yet seen. She had inherited the height of her Swedish father and stood five-foot ten in her bare feet. She had topped most of the Catteni she had encountered by several inches, but his eyes tilted downwards to regard her. And his shoulders were as broad as the scoop of a JCB.

"Where is this flitter?" he demanded curtly.

She pointed, furious that she obeyed him so instantly and that she couldn't control the chattering of her teeth or the trembling of her body. He reached for her hand, relaxing his grip a little at her involuntary gasp of pain.

Replace "grubby paws' with "high-gravity paws', she told herself in an effort to keep up her spirits as she stepped out in front of him.

"I'll have to lead the way through the thorns," she said. "Or maybe thorns don't bother Catteni hides?" she added pertly.

To her surprise, he grinned at her.

"It is perhaps fortunate for you that they do.

As she turned, she realized that she had never seen a Catteni smile before. She noticed, too, that he was following carefully in her footsteps. It was good to know that he was no more anxious to disturb the thorn-bushes with their vicious little barbs than she was.

They were halfway to the hidden flitter when both heard, off to the right in the valley, the staccato volley of loud Catteni voices.

Mahomet paused, dropping to a half-crouch, instinctively angling his body so that he did not touch the close-growing vegetation. He listened, and although the words were too distorted for Kris to catch, he evidently understood them. A humhumorlessile touched his lips and his eyes gleamed with a light that frightened Kris.

"They have seen movement here. Hurry!" he said in a low voice.

Kris broke into a jog trot; the twisting path made a faster pace unwise. When they broke into the dell just before the extensive thicket, she paused.

"Where? Are you lost?" he asked.

"Through those bushes. Watch. And when I say move, move!" He frowned sceskeptically she picked up a handful of small stones. With a prapracticedse and careful gauge, she threw in a broad cast to left and right, watching and counting the thorn sprays to be sure she had triggered every bush. To be on the safe side, she scooped up one more handful of pebbles and threw that in a wider arc.

No further thorns showered.

"Move!" His reaction time was so much faster than hers that he was hallway across the clearing before she got to the V. She dashed in front of him. "We have five minutes to cross before they re-arm." An expression that was almost respectful crossed his face. Impatiently, she tugged at him and then began to weave her way among the bushes, following her well memorized private route through this obstacle. When she made the last turn and he saw the flitter, its nose cushioned in the heavy cluster of thorn-thicket limbs, he gave what Kris assumed was a Catteni chuckle.

She waved open the flitter door and regally gestured for him to enter. He walked straight to the instrument panel, grunting as he activated the main switch.

"Half a tank of fuel," he muttered and cursorily checked the other readings. He glanced up at the transparent top, camouflaged by the intertwining leafy limbs, at the bed she had made herself on the deck, at the utensils she had fashioned from spare parts in the lockers.

"So it was you who stole the commander's personal car," he said, looking intently at her Kris jerked her chin up.

"At least I landed it in one piece," she said.

At that he gave one bark of laughter.

"Dropping it in a thicket like this?"

"On purpose!"

"You're one of the new species?"

"I'm a Terran," she said with haughty pride, her stance marred by a convulsive shiver.

"Thin-skinned species," he remarked. He looked at her chest, noticed the slight heave from her recent exertions that made her breasts strain against the all too inadequate covering and slowly started to stroke her shoulder with one finger. His touch was unexpectedly feather-light and more. "Soft to the touch," he said absently. "I haven't tried a Terran yet "And you're not going to start on this one," she said, jumping as far away from him as she could in the confines of the cabin.

His expression altered from bemusement to annoyance.

"I will if i so choose."

"I saved your life!"

"Which is why I intend to reward you suitably "By raping me?" She felt for and found a heavy metal tool. Not that such a comparative "toothpick' would do a Catteni much damage but she was determined to try.

A Catteni was not her idea of a candidate for the role of lover.

"Raping you?" His surprise was ludicrous.

"Did you think Terran women would faint with joy to he had by the likes of you?" she said, speaking in a low menacing voice and resetting her grip on the tool.

"None have complained - -" He broke off, ducking with incredible reflexes to a crouch as they both heard harsh cursing.

In the next instant, he had one large hand over her mouth and was pinning her body to his like a fly to sticky paper. The metal tool dangled uselessly in her hand. Neither of them had closed the flitter door and the vrrh vrrRh the thorn-bushes released their darts was plaluly audible. There were loud exclamations of disgust and further curcursingScrewing her eyes around, she could just see the Catteni's face and his left eye dancing with malicious amusement.

An authoritative voice uttered a rough command, and even Kris understood that it would probably translate "get the hell out of here.

Nothing came this way." Mahomet shifted her slightly, looking down at her face as he dropped his hand from her mouth, a gesture that was in part a challenge for her to scream. She glared back at him. He knew perfectly well that she stood to lose more if she did cry out.

They stayed like that until wildlife noises were again to be heard outside the flitter. Then he stood her back on her feet and glanced about him again.

"This car has been gone five months. Why have you stayed so long alone? Are there others of you near by?" He peered out of the one portion of the wraparound window that had a view of more than branches.

"Just me." She still had the metal tool in her hand and was wondering if she could hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious.

"Why were other Catteni so bent on catching you?"

"Oh," and he shrugged negligently, "a tactical error. I was forced to kill their patrol leader. He had insulted a brother emassi," and now she caught the syllables of the strange word. "As I was without allies, I withdrew." "He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day?"

"The next day," he corrected her absently.

"The next day!"

"Certainly. It is the Catteni Law that a quarrel may not be continued past the same hour of the following day. I have only to lie hidden," and he grinned at her, "until tomorrow at sun zenith and then I can return."

"They won't be waiting for you?" He shook his head violently. "Against the Law. Otherwise, we Catteni would quickly exterminate each other."

"You honestly mean to tell me that, if they can't find you before noon tomorrow, they have to give up?" He nodded.

"Even when you killed their patrol leader?" He looked surprised.

"It was a fair fight."

"I didn't know you Catteni fought fair."

"We do,' and he bridled at her accusation, then his face cleared of irritation and he grinned. "Oh, you think it wasn't fair of us to take over your planet?" j "Precisely." He straddled the pilot's chair and rested his heavily muscled forearms on the back of it, highly amused by her indignation.

"Your planet had no defences. It was pathetically easy to subjugate." "You do that a lot, then?"

"A highly profitable business, I assure you . . . How have you fed yourself?" he asked and she heard the most incredible sound coming from him, and realized that Catteni stomachs could rumble with hunger just like humans'. Oddly enough that made him seem less menacing.

"There's a lot edible in this forest and I fish from the river."

"You do?"

"I come from an ingenious species," she said. "I've had no trouble at all keeping myself well led.

He inclined his head respectfully. "Have you any supplies in here?" Deciding that she did not care to come within grabbing distance, she nodded to the basket on the control panel behind him. "Gorupears and the roots of a white plant that I have found quite edible." As he turned, she caught him wrinkling his nose and heard him sigh. "No diet for a Catteni, I'm sure, accustomed as you are to the best viands in the galaxy but the simple fare will stop your stomach roaring. The noise of it could give our position away." He did not, as she had observed some Catteni do, cram the entire pear in his mouth. He also picked up one of the roots which had a sweetish taste, not unlike a carrot, and switched from one hand to the other, taking polite mouthfuls. Finishing the first pear, he turned to her and raised his eyebrows in a polite query.

"Thank you, no. I had just eaten when I saw the dogfight."

"Dogfight?" "A Terran tem, derived from the aerial combat of fighter planes." "Fighter planes?"

"We had achieved space flight, too," she added, wondering as pride made her speak out, if any of the SAC units had been launched when the Catteni had invaded Terran space.

"Ah, yes, so you had. Primitive defences but manned by brave fighters." Her heart sank. So often lately, the answers she discovered were not the ones she wanted to hear. One of the slaves in the compound from the Chicago area had said that surface to air missiles had been fired at the Catteni vessels. Terran national leaders had been slow to take a defensive position, not knowing who or what had penetrated so far into the atmosphere. They had dallied too long to make any difference. Bill had been wearing his Walkman and had heard the broadcasts up till the time he had been whipped into the Catteni ship. By talking amongst themselves, the captives had learnt that not all big cities had been attacked and looted: just sufficient so that the entire world recognized the superiority of the invaders. Not much consolation for those who had been abducted but enough to restore some pride.

"We disarmed most of them', Mahomet went on in a matter-of-fact voice, "and grounded the air ships. Clumsy but showing some signs of developments to come."

"Thanks." He raised his eyebrows queringly.

"For what?"

"Such praise for the primitive savages!" Then he threw back his head and indulged in a loud guffaw.

"Ssssh, they'll hear you. You bray like an ass!"

"And you talk like a Catteni female!"

"Do I take that as a compliment?"

"You may," and he inclined his head in her direction, his yellow eyes twinkling in a humorous response she had never seen in other Catteni.

"You're not at all like the others.

"Which others?"

"ALL the other Catteni I've met, and observed."

"Of course I'm not. I'm Emassi, he said with a quiet pride, splaying his great hand across his chest in what she could interpret as a proud gesture.

"Whatever that is."

"A high rank," he said. With a dismissive flick of fingers sticky with gorupear juice in the general direction of the city she had escaped from, he consigned the local Catteni to an inferior status. "I order. They obey," he added, making certain she understood the distinction.

"And those trying to kill you? They obeyed?"

"Their patrol leader's dying words," he said, with a negligent shrug and a grin, "to make me pay for his death." Then he frowned, looking down at the floor as if reconsidering their import. "Never mind. By noon tomorrow all will revert. Now," and as he began to rise from the chair, intent plain on his face, Kris no longer hesitated.

With a karate-style leap, she flung herself at him, both hands on the metal tool, and brought it down with all the strength in her body on the side of his head. With a groan he collapsed to the floor.

Had she killed him? Horrified at taking a life, even that of an arrogant Catteni, she knelt beside him, noting that red blood flowed from the creased skull, and felt his throat. If he had blood, he had veins: and since he was shaped like most humanoids, he ought to have a pulse in the neck to carry blood to the brain she had just tried to smash. He had! It wasn't even faint but a firm throb against her seeking fingers. Which quickly became sticky with the blood that pulsed from his head wound.

Oh, this would never do, she told herself. The little nasty stingers would smell blood and come searching for the source. The flitter would be unliveable. First she bound up the wound with the absorbent material she had found in the lockers. Then she carefully cleaned up the rest of the blood on his face and rubbed the exposed greyish skin with gorupear juice. That had neutralized the smell for stingers on other occasions: a handy survival tip she had serendipitously discovered on her own.

One of his massive legs had caught on the chair as he fell. It looked uncomfortable that way, and the fabric of his trousers was caught against his genitals, outlining the size of them in a way that made her acutely embarrassed for him. And affected her in the oddest way. Well, she told herself, she had no reason, really, to offend the dignity of another living being if she objected to indignities herself.

Kris had a strong sense of fair play. She might have conked him to protect her virtue, but that done, she felt obliged to make him as comfortable as possible. How long would the blow keep him unconscious?

And, once he regained his senses, what would he do to her? Well, she thought, she could always cite the Catteni rule about reprisals! Quite likely that rule did not apply to slaves or non-Catteni. She looked through the lockers to find something to tie him up with. There was a length of sturdy rope but no chains and that was the only sort of restraint that might prove effective against Catteni strength.

She sat down on the pilot's chair and rethought her circumstances.

It had been a tiring day. And nearly at its end. Well, what if she returned him whence he had come? With darkness falling, there'd be a fair amount of tralfic back into the city so this purloined flitter might not be recognized: not after five months. How long did Catteni keep up "wanted' notices? Twenty-four hours?

Perhaps for Catteni emassis but not for escaped slaves that is, if anyone had even noticed her disappearance. She switched on the controls, reassured that he had said the tank was half full. She couldn't remember how the gauge had stood when she absconded but he little aircraft was supposed to be economical, which was why there were so many in use.

She knew the coordinates of the city, a good two-hour flight from here, but surely there'd be enough fuel for her to get back. No matter. She had to dump Mahomet.

She'd get him to the outskirts where a limp body wouldn't be that uncommon. Well, maybe not the outskirts where the slaves and hangers-on lived in semi-squalor, but there were all those assembly areas where Catteni held drills and public meetings. She'd been to one or two with the cook who found such displays helpful in maintaining discipline. One view of a miscreant lashed to death with the force-whips was enough for her. Enough to revive her desire to get as far away from such a discipline as possible.

Powered up, she reversed the flitter out of its concealing thicket. She really had been lucky in that landing which had by no means been as planned as she inferred to Mahomet. She hadn't been watching the altimeter the night of her escape or realized that the plains surrounding the city had altered to a hilly terrain. She'd felt the scrape of something on the belly of the flitter, panicked and the nose had dipped. She'd been in the middle of the thicket, and plastered with thorns from the angry bushes, before she could correct the error.

It had worked out. Kris had a great and abiding belief that things would work out - if you lived long enough to let them.

She headed the flitter southeast, but not before marking again the coordinates of her retreat. She'd have to come back in daylight or she'd miss the thicket.

The branches sprang back up again as soon as the flitter released them.

The lights of the city guided her more surely than the directional equipment. Only the altering position of the needle on one dial-face informed her that it was a compass. She supposed there was an auto-pilot but she hadn't figured which switch for that. She knew as much as she did about flying because she'd had to accompany the cook to the markets for fresh produce every day and had figured out the basics from watching him. Then, when she'd seen the commander's flitter, she couldn't resist the temptation it presented. So she hadn't. Like Oscar Wilde, she could resist anything except temptation.

Much good her English Literature was doing her now: it was all the extra-curricular stuff, like orienteering, that course in survival skills which her mother had laughed about, and her karate course that were invaluable. Like downing heavy-planet denizens. She glanced down at Mahomet but he hadn't so much as twitched a muscle.

The bleeding had apparently stopped.

The city looked rather nice lit up, she thought, with floodlights on some of the more unusual architectural styles: not that the huge looming Catteni Headquarters building smack dab in the centre of the hub layout of Barevi City would win any prizes. There seemed to be a lot of lights on in the city or maybe it was because she was seeing it on an overview, rather than being in the middle of it. There wasn't enough lighting in the outskirts as she approached them for her to find a good landing spot. Well, she'd go on until she found one of the assembly areas. They were ringed by the stumpy tree-forms that had been planted to supply some shade for onlookers of Catteni ceremonies.

Plenty of space for her to land the flitter. Strangely enough she didn't see many flitters coming into the city from her direction.

Well, she had come from open jungle lands. But there seemed to be a great number of the larger army type spreading out from the Catteni HQ.

Something was going on, she realized when she opened the door of the flitter. There was a lot of noise and it had a menacing sound to it. Of course such distant murmurs often sounded more threatening than they were. She'd just hurry and be out of here in next to no time and on her way back to her hideaway.

She got the rope she'd seen in the locker and tied it around Mahomet's feet. Then she looped that about a stumpy tree trunk. She'd winch his body out. She got his feet and most of his legs but his butt stuck at the lip of the door fratne. She was so busy tugging and pulling his posterior over the obstacle that she didn't notice how much closer all that sound was. And lights. Even the dark assembly area was brighter. Peering down the access lanes that led to the area, she could see lights? Torches? And the rumble was definitely intimidating. What was going on in Barevi City?

The sound made her redouble her efforts to haul Mahomet out of the flitter. The trunk of the man must weigh half a ton, for she could not budge it. The noise was very definitely heading in this direction and so was the aerial traffic. She stepped over his inert body and tried to lift his torso and shove him out the door. He'd only drop a foot and with his hard head, he was unlikely to hurt himself. Grunting, straining, propping her feet against the column of the pilot's chair, she tried every which way to move Mahomet.

Noise and light were erupting into the far side of the assembly area. She'd better get him back in and leave!

She skipped over his body, undid the rope from his feet and was starting to angle his legs back inside the flitter when she heard the heavy rumble of big aircraft and felt the compression of air over her.

She was panting with her exertions and had no time to cover her nose and mouth as the first sweet, and all too familiar, reek filled the air about her. She collapsed over her victim's feet, wondering why she had been foolish enough to risk her freedom for a Catteni overlord!

Chapter Two

The indescribable stench of many frightened bodies in close confinement and the unmistakable ssssslash of a force-whip followed by a scream roused Kris to her recurrent nightmare. She was lodged between two warm and sweating bodies, her cheek against a cold hard surface, her knees up under her chin, in an awkward and uncomfortable position. She wondered that she'd remained unconscious for so long.

Maybe she just didn't want to recognize that she was in a Catteni holding cell.

Which was holding far too many right now. It was dark, though not as dark as the hold of the transport vessel had been. She didn't know if that was a blessing or not.

She moved carefully, because she seemed to ache all over, and she could feel bruises and scrapes on her uncovered legs, arms and face.

The cold of the wall felt good against a sore cheek.

But there was movement now her eyes were open and adjusted to the semi-gloom. It was a low-ceilinged chamber of crowd containment size: she could barely make out the perimeter. The place seethed with bodies, but then she saw that there were two openings and bodies were being pushed out into a brighter space beyond.

Catteni whips sssslashed out again, and those around her got quickly to their feet, following the example of those in the outer ranks. Rank was right, she thought, breathing shallowly so as not to taste the disgusting air she had to inhale.

She got to her feet by supporting herself against the wall. The person on her right groaned in pain. Kris found herself trying to help the woman, for it was a female, one of the Deski, so slight and spindly limbed that she was afraid even her helping hand would break a bone.

They must be a lot tougher than they look, she thought, or they'd never survive the usual callous treatment accorded all species by the Catteni.

The whip lash sang dangerously close to her and she ducked. One of the disadvantages of being tall, but she'd got the Deski to her feet and supported her swaying body. Having the reflexes of a good Samaritan was also a disadvantage, she thought. You can't help everyone. So help the ones you can. She put both hands on the Deski's stick-thin shoulders to keep the creature upright as they moved away from the wall in the general direction the Catteni wanted them to move - the doors.

So she - and Mahomet - had been caught up in the Catteni crowd control. Well, he was probably out of it, since they could scarcely think he was one of the mob that they had quelled with their gas sprays. Her timing was, as usual, faultless: she was right back where she'd started. Well, not quite, but near enough to make no never mind.

Still, if she'd escaped once, she could do it again. She had to cheer herself up.

They had moved close enough to the door now to see that the next room was full of spraying water. One of those mass showers the Catteni used to cleanse captives.

There were occasional short pauses, as the Catteni guard at the door stripped clothing off. She gritted her teeth.

The procedure had overtones she didn't like, but she'd been through this sort of line in the slave pens and had come out the other side alive - and breathing fresh air.

Anything was better than the stench behind her.

Disrobing her was simple. The Catteni simply ran the cutter down the front of her tunic, pulled at the back and shoved her forward, naked, into the hot spray. It felt good, battering her from below, above and all sides It smelt slightly better than the room she'd just left but the disinfectant was undoubtedly a wise and sensible addition.

She walked as quickly as she could, her eyes front and unfocused so she wouldn't see anything. The water was hot enough to cause a misting, so there wasn't that much to see but bodies, green, grey, and other shades of pale, moving through it. Then they were in the drying room and assailed by jets of air almost too hot on skin roughened by the disinfectant, but she was dry by the time she had traversed that chamber. A slight pause at the exit and she was handed a bundle and peremptorily gestured to move quickly forward. She found enough space in this dressing room and clambered into the coverall. How her size had been estimated, she didn't know, but the garment fitted.

The lumps that constituted Catteni-style footwear folded around her feet and took the shape of them in the first few moments. Handy enough if masses of different sized and shaped feet had to be covered.

There was one of the thin thermal blankets, which she roiled up and tied over her left shoulder by the strings attached to the ends.

When she was clad she joined the line going through the next entrance, where she was given a cup and a package about a handspan square and about eight centimetres thick. As others did, she tucked the package behind the blanket. She was pushed along to where hairy brindle Rugarians were ladling a steaming liquid into cups and then she was allowed out, thank God, into fresher air and a huge force-field netted assembly area.

Catteni marched along a catwalk above it, sending their whips in random directions to remind the prisoners that they were there and watched. Having noticed that the perimeter walls were occupied by the early-corners, she worked her way deeper into the centre - the other area generally safe from force-whip lengths - and started to sip the soup. It was hot and it was liquid, both which her belly appreciated, but it was the tasteless sort of fflling food that was definitely mass-produced prisoner issue. She noticed that some people had opened their packages, which contained the sort of ration bars that had been handed out in the slave quarters. The way the rations were being wolfed down, it was fairly obvious some folks hadn't eaten regularly.

And if the Catteni gave them rations in advance, she rather suspected she'd better hang on to hers. They did nothing out of charity: always expediency.

Metallic clangings echoed over the silent throng as the doors through which people had filed were shut. She wondered what was going to happen next, but getting clean and being fed was somehow encouraging. Talking was never encouraged in such gatherings and, while Kris had noted that there were representatives of all the common species she'd seen in Barevi City and that she was currently in a group of Terrans, no-one had spoken to her. And everyone was avoiding eye contact.

A second series of metallic clangings and once again the force-whips slashed out over the assembled. This time they were driven towards eight apertures which, she saw when she reached the one nearest her, gave access to a ramp. She'd seen such a ramp once before and she started to tremble with apprehension. Where were they being driven this time?

A low terrified murmur arose from those already going up the ramp, and occasional cries of distress, but no-one could have backed out: the rampway was narrow and barred. Catteni appeared with the short force-sticks that ensured the prisoners would keep moving. The sticks hurt more than the force-whips, but both could be lethal.

As she was pushed towards the ramp by the press of bodies behind her, her height gave her the clearance to see over heads and into a dark place. Closer, she could also smell the combined acrid odours of metal and fuel and realized they were being packed into a transport of some kind that was adjacent to the processing area. She had to give the credit to the Catteni mind-set that they sure knew how to get the unwilling to do what they wanted them to do and go where they wanted them to go. No Disney world this!

She was halted by a Catteni force-stick barring her way. She sucked in her guts so it wouldn't touch her. A hatch slid shut in front of her. The ramp which had been aimed at a lower level now purred softly and moved level with the walkway she stood on. A second hatch slid open, the force-stick was lifted and she ducked into the ship.

She, and those emerging from the seven other entrances, moved quickly across the low-ceilinged compartment to the far wall. As she sat down to claim her space, she had a chance to look at the others piling in. A gasp of astonishment escaped her as she saw the unmistakable figure of Mahomet ducking through the low door. She had very little time to be surprised, even less to get comfortable and tuck her food package inside her coverall for safer keeping. Suddenly she was having trouble keeping her eyes open and a strange lassitude spread to her arms and legs. Looking around her, she realized that others were obviously feeling the same way. So the soup had been dosed. Why did she not feel surprised? Some of the others sort of folded as they entered and had to be pushed out of the way of the rest of this consignment.

Some crawled a few feet to stretch out in a clear space.

Here we go again, was her last conscious thought.

Kris woke, feeling as if every muscle in her body had been wrenched out of alignment and every bit of soft tissue bruised. She had a headache, a very dry mouth, and her stomach was so empty she was nauseous. Once again she felt the press of warm bodies against her.

But the air around her was fresh, free of stench, and her lungs welcomed it. Her eyes felt glued together and she had to fight with her eyelashes to part her lids. What she saw made her close them quickly and speak sternly to herself to recover from the shock. She was lying in a field of bodies: bodies front, left, right and centre.

And she certainly wasn't anywhere on Barevi. Not with that lavenderish sky.

There was an argument going on somewhere to her right, at least, loud male voices and some odd snorts and grunts. There was also a lot of low moaning and groaning in the background. She wasn't the only one coming round after that damned soup.Forcing herself to move, she managed to raise herself on one elbow, ignoring the twinges of abused flesh and stiff muscles. Blinking to clear her eyes of grit, she carefully turned her head towards the sounds of dispute. A group of males was evidently contesting the possession of a line of crates.

Several were standing atop of them and sunlight flashed on knife blades. The ones on the ground were mainly aliens: the goblinesque, squatty Turs, never very pleasant to deal with and given more to grunts than words, some hairy Rugarians and the green-skinned Morphins.

Well, knives certainly hadn't been issued before this voyage. Why were they available at the destination? The early bird gets armed and can then defend against the late risers. That wasn't a likely supposition. Even for a Catteni procedure. Unless there weren't any Catteni around here.

She pushed herself to a sitting position, noting that others were conscious but evidently very unsure of how to proceed now. There were no Catteni anywhere in sight.

Not even Mahomet, though he'd have to be here, too, she thought, since he'd also been aboard the transport.

"You only got two hands," the shouted words drifted to her and were repeated in lingua Barevi. Unmistakable gestures emphasized the next word. "You've got three knives now. Go on. Get out of here.

Take off. Beat it.

Go away!" That last was said in English.

Americans! She grinned with a famous pride in her compatriot.

She watched until the knot of aliens finally moved off, up the hill and out of sight. That led her to another discovery. Not only was the sky the wrong colour, the trees lining this field were of unfamiliar shape.

They didn't have leaves, not that she could see, but sort of bottle brush tufts of a not-quite green shade.

The desiccated condition of her mouth and throat could no longer be denied, especially when her survey of the area included half a dozen people kneeling down at what must be a stream, for they were dipping their cups in and then drinking. That was when she became conscious that the fingers of her left hand were sore from the death grip she had on her cup, still bearing traces of the drugged soup.

She'd rinse it real good before she did any drinking. And she wouldn't drink too much at first go, she told herself, remembering her survival course again. Not one of those drinking seemed to be suffering any ill effects as she watched. And watching them drink became unbearable.

She had to moisten her mouth and throat and guts.

She struggled to her feet, still holding the cup and lurching against the person lying sideways to her. She saved herself from falling on her face by propping her free hand on a cocked, bony hip.

"Sorry," she said automatically but the body didn't so much as twitch.

It also felt cold and rigid through the coverall material.

Startled, she peered up at the gaunt, odd-cheeked face - a Deski at the open mouth and staring eyes, dead: another casualty to Catteni mass productions.

"You poor devil," she murmured, shaking spasmodically. She got up in the next try, as much to get away from the corpse as to get to the water. That was her first priority.

She started in a direct line to the stream, then she noticed what some people were doing in and around the water and veered uphill. As she neared the stream she saw that it bordered this field, coming from beyond the oddly formed tall vegetation and cascading almost in steps down past the field and beyond the trees on the lower edge. The sound of the water rippling spurred her stumbling steps into a firmer stride.

Only the severest self-control kept her from dropping to her belly and burying her face in the clear stream. The water was divinely clear, running over a rocky bottom. Such a stony bed would filter out most impurities. Besides, the Catteni had put them close to water, so they'd probably tested it. No-one further down the stream had yet showed ill effects, although the way in which they were contaminating the stream disgusted her. Still, the water before her was clear. She dropped to her haunches and rinsed the cup, doing a bit of polluting herself as a film of residue from the cup was carried away. She only allowed herself to scoop out enough to cover the bottom of the cup.

She sipped once to moisten dry lips. Sipped again and rinsed the cool sweet water around in her mouth, letting the parched tissues absorb the moisture. Her throat demanded its share.

She swallowed slowly, attempting to trickle the water down drop by drop. They landed coldly in the pit of her stomach and her system insisted on more of the same. By then her taste buds had revived enough to appreciate the taste of the water, better by far than any designer water she had ever drunk either at home in Philadelphia or in IColorado. Good, simon-pure, mountain spring water.

A loud altercation started among the people downstream of her.

Well, maybe not an unpleasant argument, for there seemed to be cupfuls of water thrown about.

A few people moved away, out of the range, content to watch as they drank from their cups. She watched and sipped. She was not about to get embroiled in any group, not until she had figured out a few details like: Where were they? What were they doing here? Were there any Catteni in discreet guard over them? What, besides knives, was in those crates and who had taken control of them? She intended to get at least one knife. Preferably two - one to hide in her boot. That once-derided survival course had included instructions on how to sharpen, use and throw a knife. And the guys on the top of the crates were humans.

Thirst eased somewhat, her stomach started growling.

She reached in her coverall and took out the package, carefully opening it. That was why they'd been given food ahead of time, then.

To eat at this destination.

Water laid on. As she'd also no idea how long she'd been without eating, or drinking, she broke off a third of the bar and carefully nibbled at that, interspersing it with more judicious sips of water.

By the time she'd finished her portion she felt considerably better.

She rose and looked around her with a keener interest.

More bodies were moving among those laid out like disaster victims, row after row. The field must be a couple of acres at least and it was covered. Here and there were empty places where people had roused. There were more empty spaces - she counted - than the number of upright people she could see. How many had been chased off by the guys on the crates?

She dipped her cup for one more draught of cold, pure Adam's ale and sipped as she hiked slowly around the bodies towards the crates.

When she could see both sides of the line of crates, she realized that there were quite a few people lounging on the far side: mostly Terrans and some of them female. That was reassuring.

"Whatcha guardin' there, fellas?" she asked when she got close enough, giving a friendly wave with her free hand.

Kris was accustomed to reactions to her tall lanky self.

It never hurt to be blonde and moderately attractive. Until the men got past the usual trite remarks and innuendoes, she kept her smile intact and kept sipping her water a few safety lengths from the nearest one.

"Anybody sussed out where we are or what they've done with us?" She directed that query to the men on top of the crates. She could see now that most of the containers had been broken open to discover the contents. She saw other items besides knife blades, of which there seemed to be a great many.

"Knives, hatchets," the man said. He was a heavy-set man in his mid- to late thirties and had the unmistakable air of the military in his stance. He had two knives tucked in his belt, and one in each boot judging by the way his trousers bulged out at his ankles. His thermal blanket was stuffed with other items, for it bulged across his chest.

"Some medical kits with basic bandages and that orange stuff the Cats poured on anything that bleeds."

"You in charge, then?" He made a gesture with one hand and a second Terran jumped down, a knife on his open palm, the handle towards her. He was as well equipped with extras as the first speaker.

"Can I show you how to use it, beautiful?" the guy asked, leering at her.

"You mean - like this," she said, taking the knife from his hand, hefting it a moment to get its balance before ffickirg it into the nearest crate, which it penetrated enough to be held firm.

"Whoa!" The man jumped back, hands up in front to fend her off.

Above her she caught sight of a blade in the military man's hand.

"Didn't mean no offence, sister."

"No offence taken," she said airily and retrieved the blade, checking the point to be sure it hadn't been nicked.

"Good steel."

"It's not steel," the military man said, hunkering down so he was on a level with her. He held out a weaponless hand.

"Nice to see a woman who knows the value of a knife. Chuck Mitford." "Army?" she asked.

"Marine," he replied firmly and correctingly, as marines generally did after such a question.

"Kris Bjornsen. Where'd you get taken?"

"Recently?" He spoke with considerable bitterness. "Or do you mean on good ol' Terra?"

"Both,' she said and went back to sipping what water hadn't spilled out of her cup when she'd shown off her knife skill.

"Some damned fools started a riot at one of the discipline assemblies,' he said in a growl and in the southernish drawl that had become military standard among American forces. The other man looked as if he was about to erupt. "OK, OK, some of the poor dumb heads they were whipping to death were Terrans, too, but damned stupid to attack Catteni even if there were a helluva lot more of us than them." He made a throaty noise of disgust.

"We've taken enough from them, Sarge," the other man said, his resentment boiling over.

Mitford acted like a sergeant, too, Kris thought and decided he'd be a good ally.

"And look where it got us," he barked back. "Arnie here's never been against a superior force. Thinks being brave is all there is to overcoming dictators." He ignored Arnie then. "I was on leave from my unit in Lubbock, Texas, when we got pearl-harbored. Haven't found a trace of my family." He shut his mouth tight then.

"Denver," Kris said. She turned to Arnie. "You?"

"DC." She hadn't encountered anyone from the Philadelphia area so maybe the rest of her family was still safely at home.

If that was a safe place to be with Catteni overlords.

"Could I have some of those medical supplies, if they're going begging?" "Sure," and Mitford walked along the top of the crates while she followed on the ground. Arnie stayed a discreet step behind her.

"I figured someone had better take charge of supplies like these," and he pointed down to yet another crate of knives. At the next one he stooped and came up with a hatchet which he handed to her. "Here.

Might as well have one of these, too. There isn't more ration bars so make the ones you got do until we can figure out what's edible on this effing plant."

"I'd planned to," she replied, tucking the hatchet in the belt at her back. She'd hack a piece off the thermal blanket to make sheaths for knives and hatchet. Mitford handed her a compact kit, already supplied with a broad shoulder strap.

"Hasn't got much medicine. Cats don't use it, seems like. Tough mothers!"

"Hey, Sarge," yelled a man, running full tilt towards them and pointing back over his shoulder. "There's a Catteni! He's waking up. Let's kill the bastard before he does." Roaring out an order for others to join him, Mitford jumped down, a knife already in his hand.

"Wait a minute," Kris said, holding up her hands. "If a Catteni's here with us, he's as much a prisoner as we are.

"Who cares? He's a Cat and Cats should die," Arnie said, moving around her Kris started after them, running to catch up with Mitford who was the leader.

"Sarge, I saw one Catteni in the same hold as I was.

And he's a good guy."

"There're no good Cats!" Mitford said in a snarl, chopping at the air with one flat, finger-braced hand.

"There are," she said just as fiercely. "And if it's the one I think, don't kill him."

"You're asking too much, girl.

"Not right away, at least. Use the sense God gave you, Mitford," she said. "If it's the Catteni I think it is, he'll know a lot we have to find out about this place. Unless there were some guide books in those crates." Mitford halted so abruptly that the three men right behind him bounced off his back. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at her.

"And how would you know that about him, girl?"

"Because I watched him being hunted by other Catteni.

They blasted him out of the sky and then blew up the crashed plane and searched all around until they were damned sure he'd been blown up in it."

"Then how come he's alive and here?" Arnie wanted to know.

"Because I thought he was an escaped slave like me and hid him under the falls until the hunters left. Only then we got captured together," Kris said, which was true enough. "When I came to in the prison, I assumed he'd been released. Cattenis can't hold grudges more than twenty-four hours, you know." Mitford gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. "They must have hated him real bad to dump him in with us. Besides which, you'd only be doing the Cats' dirty work for them." Mitford scowled at her and she realized that she'd been clever to bring that up. "Hell's bells, man, they'd expect us to waste him, wouldn't they? So let's find out - first - what he knows. Then you can kill him." She said that cheerfully, hoping to God and little green apples that Mahomet would be able to show himself useful enough so that they wouldn't kill him. She found it odd in herself to think that way about the Catteni but he wasn't like the others "We sure could use some gen about this place,' Mitford agreed reluctantly, glancing around. He gave a convulsive twitch. "Place is too neat for an unsettled world and I'd rather know what we got to contend with now before we stumble into big kimchee with only knives and hatchets." He strode on then to the man who'd discovered the Catteni. He pointed in the proper direction and then followed them. It was Mahomet all right, and she bent down beside him, turning the heavy head to expose where t she'd belted him with the tool. A scar was there but it was well healed.

"Oho!" she said.

"Oho, what?" Mitford asked as the other men ranged themselves around Mahomet. Their expressions were unfriendly and most of them had knives in their hands.

She pointed to the scar. "I clobbered him there. And it's healed. We were a long time getting here."

"Kill him now before he wakes," Arnie said in a snarl, leaning over, knife-hand raised.

"NO!" Mitford's word snapped Arnie erect. "The girl's got something in keeping him alive and able to talk. Don't tell me he speaks English?" There was a little more respect for her in Mitford's eyes now and Kris realized that he'd been thinking she'd been Mahomet's toy.

"Enough lingua Barevi for us to understand him." She splashed the little water that was left in her cup over the Catteni's face and he reacted by lifting a hand to his face and moving stiffly from side to side. When his foot connected with someone's leg, she could see him tense. He drew his leg back and in one quick lithe movement was on his feet, arms held slightly out from his sides, alert and ready to defend himself despite the knife-carrying odds against him.

"Easy there," Kris said, stepping in front of him.

"Remember me?" He shot a quick glance at her but his eyes went right back to Mitford. Though the sergeant wasn't holding a knife, Mahomet had immediately taken him as the leader.

Kris gave him full marks for quick appraisals.

"Yes. You stole the commander's ffitter," he said in lingua Barevi.

"You did?" Arnie exclaimed. "You bitch !" And he shoved his face right up at her. His breath was vile but she held her ground and glared down at him, once again glad of the extra inches that had made her adolescence a trial. "I

got force-whipped because of you!" He jerked his coverall off his shoulder so she could see the weals, still purple, on his skin. "So did fifty others at the discipline assembly they called because of you!

She's as bad as he is. No wonder she wasn't for killing him." Arnie glanced at the other hard faces, willing them to join him.

"Stuff it, Arnie," Mitford said, holding his right arm up in a karate chop position. "We can deal with her later, too, but let's first find out what this mother knows." Kris's mouth was dry all over again and she was scared cold. But she couldn't have let them just kill Mahomet out of hand. She owed him, if only because she'd put him in jeopardy before the twenty-four hour moratorium had passed. She was sure that was why he was stuck here with the rest of them. She'd inadvertently told the truth.

Cattenis had hated him enough to make sure he came to a dead end.

"Hey, Sarge," someone yelled across the field, and they looked over their shoulders. In the interval quite a few people had roused and were now homing in on the crates.

Reinforcements were needed.

"C'mon, you," Mitford said to Mahomet and jerked his head to indicate the Catteni should move with them. "And you," he added coldly to Kris.

Kris briefly considered a belated apology to Arnie and decided not to make the effort. Arnie didn't seem the forgiving type and she might even make matters worse.

Mahomet had not moved, and when two of the men swiped at him with their knives, he ignored them and gestured for Kris to precede him.

Quickly she fell in behind Mitford, hearing the surprise exclamations from the men.

"See how well he knows her," one of them said in a salacious tone of voice.

"She conked him, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but before or after, Murph?" "Before, Murph," she answered for herself, making her voice as strident as she could. That wasn't too difficult Iconsidering how scared she was. The situation had turned very ugly. "And that goes for anyone with the same dirty ideas." Looking straight ahead, she strode as confidently as she could back to the crates.

Once there, Mitford signed two of the men to take her and Mahomet behind the crates until he was finished with the new arrivals. He jumped up to his vantage point and, arms cocked on his belt, began his spiel. "I'm here to see that these supplies get doled out properly.

So one at a time." He repeated the advice in lingua Barevi, speaking with a fluency that Kris hadn't expected.

Arnie was helping Mitford on the crates, but some of those who had been lounging on the ground behind the barricade got curious and wandered up to Kris and Mahomet.

"What's with the Cat?"

"Mitford's going to question him," said the lankier of the two, a good head taller than Kris and nearly as tall as Mahomet.

"OK, Murph, give Arnie a hand with the supplies now," Mitford said, jumping down. "Now, Cat, tell me why we should keep you alive."

"What is needed to know?" Mahomet asked in Barevi, his voice even, his manner diplomatic.

Kris let relief flood through her. Thank God he had sense enough - for a Catteni - to know how dangerous his situation was.

"Where we are. Who lives here. Any bad animals.

What can we eat that won't kill us." Mitford tapped the blanket where his ration bars were stashed. "These won't last long." Mahomet let out a dry rasp, tried to clear his throat to form words. Kris knew he'd be as dry as anyone else but she didn't dare ask for the favour of water for him.

She mustn't be seen to favour, much less help, him.

"Here, give me that cup, Bass," Mitford said, snapping his fingers at one of the onlookers who had a cup in his hand.

"Huh? Give a Cat a drink?"

"If that helps him tell us what we need to know. Give it. You've been guzzling water for the past hour."

"I like that!" But Bass handed over the cup. "I want it back." Mahomet held up his own cup and with a nod of his head towards Bass accepted the water Mitford doled out. He took a small sip, rinsing his mouth, and then a longer one.

"1 remember some details. This planet surveyed. I did not read all.

"What did you read then?" Mitford demanded.

"Longer day, mild climate, ..— He frowned, trying to find the words, "species not other found. Three types deathly." He paused for another sip and then circled the cup to indicate the field. "Better go from here soon.

Open field dangerous."

"Then why was we put down here?" Arnie demanded from his vantage on the crates. "So we could all get killed?"

"No,' Mahomet shook his head, a rueful grin on his lips. "To live, to fight what is here. This how Catteni settle planets - the not easy ones." He finished the water then, knocking it back in his throat, tapping the cup on his teeth to be sure he had received the last drops.

Then he stood there, his eyes going slowly from one face to another and coming back to Mitford's.

"How'd you get sent off with all of us?" the sergeant asked.

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

"You are here, too, Kris said, rephrasing the question.

"Why?" He didn't look in her direction and shrugged. "I kill. I escape. I am - - - took. Day not over." He shrugged again.

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

"Day not over."

"That rule you were talking about?" Mitford asked Kris and she nodded. "Why'd you kill a Catteni?" Mahomet gave a little snort, and the expression on his face suggested that they were not going to believe him.

"He insulted Emassi and he kill four strong slaves no reason."

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

Mahomet nodded.

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

"I don't happen to think he's lying,' Mitford said slowly. "I heard something the day of that riot.

Some Cats'd been hunting another Cat captain who'd killed their patrol leader."

"Patrol leader," Mahomet repeated, recognizing the words and nodding his head. "I kill. Not wise "His lips twitched and then he added, "Cat." Suddenly everyone was aware of a weird noise.

"Down. All down, sffll!" Mahomet said as he dropped flat to the ground. The urgency m his voice and his tone of command was compelling.

"You heard him," Mitford said and gestured furiously at those on the crate. "Get down, you fools. Lie still." The noise got louder and louder, piercing eardrums.

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

A shadow out of the west preceded the shape that overfiew the field while the weird sound became an ungodly whistling shriek.

Whatever it was was big and it swooped suddenly. Some unfortunate let out a terrified scream which trailed off as the flying monster departed with its prey. Kris saw brief struggles of ouffiung arms and legs and then all movement ceased. The weird noise cut off as abruptly.

"What the . . . was that?" Arnie cried.

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

"Many of them things around?" Mitford asked.

"Don't know. One is not enough?" Mahomet asked in a droll tone.

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

"Didn't see. Looked like one of us."

"Would be. We got more meat on our bones than the Deskis," and Mitford looked over to the spindly creatures who were still cowering and moaning against the crates.

"Do you Deskis know what those are?" He asked one of them in lingua Barevi. They both shook their heads but lowered their hands from their ears.

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

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

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

"You speak Deski?" Mitford asked the Catteni.

"Deski, Morphinis, Turski, Rugash," Mahomet said.

"Ang-leesh not many verds," he added in English.

"Unnershtan better talk ssslow."

"Well, now we're cooking," Mitford said. He looked around at his allies, nodding especially at the recalcitrant and dissatisfied Arnie. "I don't think I got the message across to some of the aliens here." Mahomet nodded. "Easy to say not unnershtan - - doan like order." Mitford barked out a laugh.

"Damned well told, Cat.

I think we keep you alive a while longer."

"Thank you." And Mahomet briefly inclined his upper body towards Mitford.

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

Get me?" The human protest subsided and Kris felt her knees

wobbling with relief. She was also dry-mouthed again from stress.

"So," Mitford turned back expectantly to Mahomet.

"Name. Rank."

"Zainal, Emassi," he said, but Kris knew that wasn't the Catteni word for captain.

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

"I'm going for some more water," she told Mitford and walked off without waiting for any permission.

"Water good," Mahomet Zainal remarked in an even tone.

"All right, but I've some more questions for you, Emassi Zainal." "Zainal, now." Kris grinned as she heard the correction, but Zainal kept right on walking to the stream.

"You shouldn't've let him go off like that," Arnie said in a whine of protest.

"Like what? He's only going for a drink. Where else can he go?

Now, let's get back on the job. Be glad I didn't ask you to go get water for him." He ignored Arnie's curses and continued. "Here come some more customers. Let's get this done before those flying things strafe us again."

"I dunno why you'd believe anything that Cat says -" Arnie said to Mitford. "And you let that bitch away with "Stow it, Arnie." Kris took two slow cupfuls of water before she started back to the crates. Zainal - an interesting name, she thought - was ahead of her, but at a tangent, aiming for Mitford, who was looking out over the field of bodies still lying motionless. He'd handled a very difficult situation deftly and got her off the hook at the same time. She saw him look out over the body-strewn field. He paused briefly to examine those nearest. Shamelessly she cocked her ears to hear what he said to Mitford, his rumbling bass carrying easily.

"There are dead.

"Do Catteni expect casualties?"

"Kaz-u-all-tees?"

"Dead ones."

"Long trip here," and Zainal's hand went to the scar on his head.

"Some too weak. They feel nothing."

"I guess they didn't."

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

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

Zainal gave a long sigh. Kris could see the regret in his expression: at least he permitted his expressions to show - not many of the Catteni she'd encountered did.

Of course, that was one way to communicate when language failed.

"Not enough," he said with visible regret, "now I am here, too." Mitford gave a short bark of laughter. "Shoe's on the other foot, huh?"

"Say again?" Mitford waved his hand. "So we should leave the dead here I'd better get a head count, just in case. Most of the goblins have gone and I can't say I'm sorry about that. Those mothers were dangerous all on their own-i-o!

If the Deskis got good hearing, I'm for including them.

What else are they good for?" Kris noticed that Zainal had listened very intently to Mitford's words. He nodded once as if he had caught the gist.

"Deski good for much. You name Turs goblins? Ah!

Good for hardest works. Hate all but Turs."

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

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

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

"Is it? That flying thing came from there.

"Places in rock to stay best. Creatures in - . ." He reached down and tapped the ground. "Come in dark.

Very bad." He shook his head from side to side to emphasize that caution. "Don't see."

"Stuff comes out of the earth at night?"

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

Find rock place."

"D'you know if there are caves - safe rock places on this planet?"

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

"I'd rather move into some sort of a defensible position anyhow,' Mitford said and jumped to the top of the crate.

"Listen up, you hairy lot," Mitford bellowed in a parade ground voice that made the Deskis clamp hands to their ears and cower to the ground. "This place won't be safe at night. We've got to move to the hills, find caves to shelter in."

"You're taking his word for this?" Arnie demanded, running up to Mitford and tugging at his trouser leg.

"You gonna listen to a Cat?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Strip "em," Mitford yelled back. "They won't need "em. We might." Remarkably, almost everyone, Deskis as well, fell to and by the time Zainal had brought back the filled crate - without so much as puffing from the trek uphill - the count was complete and only the dead remained behind in the field.

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

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

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

"How many bought it?" Mitford asked Bass who had kept a tally.

"Eighty-nine didn't make it," the lanky man said.

"Mostly Deski and some older humans and two kids.

That'd make about a ten percent loss if you figure a hundred bodies in each of the eight rows. Live head count's five hundred eighty-two: haven't sorted "em out by race yet.

"Forget race," Mitford said with a snort. "We're all in this together.

"Yeah, all the Turs fecked off and a lot of the Morphis but that's all right by me," Bass said with a sideways glance at Zainal.

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

"Listen up. We're moving out. You lot," and he pointed to a bunch of humans, "form up in a column, four abreast.

We got nine water carriers: distribute yourselves along the line of march. You with buddies, sing out if you got trouble but try to keep up. Don't be shy asking for help if you need it. Bass, you be rear guard. Take Cumber, Dowdall, Esker, Movi, Tesco and you three." He held up three fingers at the nearest group of Rugarians and gestured them over to Bass. "We're all in this together, remember! OK, now move it out." He motioned for Zainal to join him and trotted out to where people had begun to form up the column.

"Move it!"

Chapter Three

Kris was buddied with a frail-looking redheaded girl with the delicate complexion that often accompanied red hair.

Patti Sue had been one of the last to rouse. She did a lot of coughing but she didn't feel feverish, so Kris decided she must have had some kind of allergic reaction to the drug they'd been given in their soup. Patti Sue spent most of the time apologizing for being a burden. Such slf-effacement bothered the hell out of Kris who was naturally self-reliant and positive: she tried not to be curt with Patti Sue. The only other information the girl gave was that she'd been taken in Detroit. Every time Kris tried to open a conversation or asked a question, Patti Sue would have a coughing fit. The fifth time that happened Kris got the hint Patti Sue had been giving.

She wondered if Patti'd survive until they made it to shelter.

She inserted herself and Patti in column right behind one of the water containers, carried between two Rugarians.

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

She felt the pull uphill in the muscles of her calves and thighs, but when they reached the tree shapes she saw that the next bit of march would be downhill, along another field. The panorama bothered her but it wasn't until she was halfway down the slope that she realized exactly why. This new field was exactly the same size as the one they'd been dropped in. Tree shapes marched along the borders, and in adjacent fields of the same size. It was too even. Everything was laid out so neatly, far too neatly for a supposedly unoccupied planet.

Only Zainal had not said the planet was unoccupied, had he? He'd definitely said it had indigenous dangers and he couldn't remember what types, only that there were "deathly' creatures. At the bottom of this field was another stream. Brooks created on demand? And another field on the other side, identical to all the others in this area. On the entire planet? Where were the browsers? The ruminants for whom these fields were made? Were they some of the "deathly' creatures?

She looked ahead and saw distant foothills. God, they were a long way away. She looked over her shoulder and saw the four-wide crocodile stretching out behind her. Safety in numbers? It said much for Mitford's leadership ability that he had managed such cohesion from such a diverse group. Well, some of the obedience had originally been inculcated by Catteni force-whips. A lot of people wouldn't have had time to recover from their enslavement and start thinking for themselves. Mitford was obviously counting on that. Whatever saved as many souls as possible, she thought to herself During that long march she found herself resenting Patti Sue's frailty. She'd've preferred being up front with Mitford and Zainal, able to see where she was going: scouting ahead even. She liked being first, not tamely following others. But she'd accepted the responsibility of buddying with Patti Sue and she'd see it through.

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

Every hour they got five minutes to rest and get watered, or whatever, although how Mitford knew when an hour was up was beyond her.

Maybe his military training gave him a built-in watch or something.

Whatever, she welcomed the brief respite.

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

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

Kris had had another third before the trek so she munched out on the last third and had half another one. She got Patti Sue to eat all of a bar by feeding it to her bit by bit. The girl's fatigue was not put on.

Her cheeks were gaunt and her breath was shallow. Kris thought she heard rales in her lungs but it may have been simply exertion after long idleness. There wasn't much more travel in Patti.

When the call went back to start again, they were on the edge of a fairly dense plantation. And "plantation' was the appropriate word because the vegetation - trees, whatever - had been set out in rows.

There were several different specimens, judging by what went for leaves on this world; different sizes, too, and a soft mulch underfoot that was a welcome relief from the harder surfaces of the fields, despite their grassoid ground cover. While she could approve of forestation, it was real queer to find it on a planet that wasn't supposed to be inhabited. Although Zainal hadn't exactly said it was uninhabited, had he? she reminded herself yet again.

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

At the next rest stop Kris herself was panting and sweaty. She'd draped Patti's blanket, cup and ration package across her own to free the girl of any burden.

Now she rearranged her accoutrements and when the order to move came she hoisted Patti pickaback as the easier way to deal with the problem. Kris had good strong shoulders and a strong back, and it was much easier, m some ways, to carry the girl than try to keep her on her own feet.

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

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

"Why not? She ain't my brother but she ain't heavy," 6o Kris replied, moving right along but she smiled gratitude for the offer.

"Naw," the guy said, reaching out to take Patti. "You take my gear and I'll lug her." Patti felt his hands on her and whimpered fearfully, clinging with what strength she had left in her arms to Kris. Kris moved out of the column.

"Tell you what, you carry my gear and that'll make it easier. But I don't think Patti Sue wants any guy around her. You know what I mean." The guy looked shocked for a moment, resenting the implication that he might have an ulterior motive to his offer.

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

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

"Denver."

"I'm Kris Bjomsen and Denver's where I was also caught." She had eased Patti down to the ground.

Patti clung to her legs, still whimpering and mumbling unintelligible pleas. "It's OK, honey, it's OK. I'll carry you.

You're my buddy, aren't you?" She divested herself of the blanket rolls and her ration bars but kept the cups and Patti's food.

"Hi, Patti Sue," the man said, leaning down to her. "I'm Jay Greene, and I'm just going to lift you to Kris's back.

Save her a bit. Is that OK?"

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

"Wow!" Greene said softly. "Hard lines." Kris shifted the girl to a more comfortable position, feeling bones grind in the slender body.

"Let's get back in line. We'll be the tail that wags the dog pretty soon."

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

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

"I don't think much of this as a campsite," Greene said, looking about him. He pushed a spot clear of rocks and pebbles and pointed it out to Kris. "This is as good as any." This time Patti was too exhausted to even whimper when Greene very gently lifted her off Kris's back. She gave a loud sigh of relief. Scuffed a second patch clear for herself and sat down with a "whoof' of relief. Greene handed her the blankets and the food as he swept a place clean.

"Gimme the cups and I'll get us all some water," he said and she handed them over, realizing that she was done.

She hadn't the energy to get her own water!

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

"Hey, we got a Prometheus in this ragtaggle gwup, Greene said, pointing towards the front of the column.

Kris cried out in surprise and relief. Somehow the torches bobbing along the ridge in their direction reassured her as nothing else could have. Tears came to her eyes and she bit her lip and averted her face from Greene.

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

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

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

She was drowsing when light roused her to attention.

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

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

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

"Shut up," Kris said in protest. "She doesn't weigh much."

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

"That's me."

"Can you hang awake a while?"

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

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

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

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

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

"We hear and obey,' Bass said, according Mitford a fancy eastern salaam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

""Emassi" one word for a captain," and Zainal's lips curled up.

"Special captain. You have heard "tudo" more.

And "drassi"."

"Yeah, tudo for ground and drassi for space?

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

"Drassi by order of Eosi," and that didn't sit well with the Catteni either.

"You killed a tudo, then -"

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

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

"We'll be left alone now to get on with the job of settling in?"

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

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

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

I am with you."

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

"Rebels?"

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

Zainal grinned. "Good word, rebels. I like it."

"You wouldn't be a bit of a rebel yourself, perhaps?"

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

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

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

"No, it is not."

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

Yeah, Mitford thought again, I like that.

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

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

"I will."

Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word was passed down to get a move on.

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

"What were you back on good ol' Terra?" Kris asked, to while away the time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Band Aids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll take her," a male voice said and the burden of Patti was lifted from her back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And hell's bells, after twenty-seven years in the Marines, he knew how to get a motley crew to act as a unit. He'd trained up enough raw recruits into good fighting men. Even women. Then he had a couple of advantages, too. For starters, everyone here had been taking orders they couldn't buck, so he'd just continue the practice, gradually easing them back into a more democratic government when he had everything suitably organized and independence was feasible. Right now, they'd better stick together and keep the useful aliens handy. He was glad to be rid of the Turs, sullen argumentative bastards, and the Morphins had always been difficult to deal with in the barracks at Barevi.

They'd taken themselves off, most of them, and that was fine by him. Humans he could handle any day of the week.

So, they were in a defensible position, even if he still didn't know what he might have to defend against. They had a good source of underground water in that cave lake his scouts had found. The Cat Mitford reproved himself - how he treated Zainal, the Catteni, would go a long way to establishing how most of the others would regard the alien. And if he wanted to make contact with the Catteni at a later date, he'd need someone in his ball park to hit the homers. Right now the only one available was Zainal. At any rate, Zainal had found time to hunt as he scouted ahead with Tag and Murph and had clubbed some local fauna. He proved it was edible by eating a hunk of it raw.

Mitford preferred his meat cooked but, to him, the gob which he had chewed and swallowed had tasted just like raw meat usually did. The critters just squatted on the rocks in droves or herds, didn't move when humans approached - which suggested to Mitford that they hadn't seen any humans to know to fear them - so they were dead easy to bring down.

So there was one source of protein to augment the ration bars.

Water, shelter, food. Not bad going for two days on a new world.

Mitford was optimistic, even though he rarely allowed himself that option.

He'd had a chance to talk to nearly a hundred or so men and women yesterday on the march and was much encouraged by the fact that quite a few had specialties that would be damned useful. Automatically his hands went to pockets where he usually kept pencil and pad.

Once again he cursed under his breath. A cup, a blanket, a knife and a hatchet were not much to work with. He'd had less when set loose on a survival course but he was accustomed to privations. This lot weren't. He missed paper and pencil. He was a visual man and conimitted facts to memory when he could first write them down.

Gerry Capstan had been a surveyor in the Colorado Park Service: he was sure they could find something to write with and he'd already seen slate along the rocky way Helluva way to write orders of the day, Mitford thought, but what the hell? The old granary foreman in Lubbock still used chalk and a slate as a notice-board for his drivers.

Murphy had been a machinist, knew welding, and he'd assured Mitford that all he needed was a decent hot fire to reshape some of those extra knives into a bevy of useful tools.

A woman near Murphy in the line of march perked up a bit when she heard the two men talking.

"I'm a potter . . . Sandy Areson. Yeah, I know what you're thinking," and she grinned at the dubious expression on Mitford's face, "arty-farty stuff you'd call what I used to produce but I know how to make up pitchers, mugs, plates and useful things. That is, if this planet has produced clay."

"We'll keep that in mind, Mitford said, knowing that something as simple as pitchers and plates could be a morale booster.

Now in the cool predawn, Mitford began to plan the day's activities. A good hot meal in everyone's belly would make them optimistic, too. So hunting was the first order of the day. A detailed search of the immediate area and the rest of the cave system was next. And torches were needed to light the corridors that had already been explored.

That herbal guy could see what he could find edible in the vegetable line. There might even be berries.

There were two miners and they could look for ore deposits.

He'd send out patrols, keep everyone busy, and Arnie could do latrines. That made him smile. And anyone who complained about anything would join Arnie in that duty. With so many people, proper hygiene was of prime necessity.

One of the few pluses was that they were all healthy: the ones who weren't had been left on the field.

He set about waking up men he had tagged the day before as those with some hunting experience back on Earth. He'd have them look out for any wood that could be made into bows, arrows and spears. And slingshots. Mitford grinned as he pulled on his boots.

He'd been a crack shot as a kid: could stun a jackrabbit at forty yards.

And what was the name of that paramedic? Ah, Matt Dargle. Damn, he'd be glad to have writing materials.

Mitford shook Taglione, Murphy and Zainal awake and started handing out the orders of the day.

It was the stink that woke her. She started coughing and couldn't stop. She wasn't the only one coughing, either.

Everyone around her was. Then a whiff of cool, clean air wafted across her face and she tried to go back to sleep again. It was much too soon to wake up. It was still dark outside.

Outside of where? That question did it: she pushed herself to a sitting position to find out where she was.

Inside a cave. The fire in the centre was down to embers, although someone was trying to revive it by putting lumps smell-producing lumps - on it.

"I think I'd prefer the dark to the smell," she murmured, realizing that folks were still sleeping around her. In fact, she recognized Patti Sue's frail body next to her. Kris was chagrined.

She hadn't even made sure she still had her trek buddy when she'd gone to sleep. Zainal? Zainal. Hmmm.

She looked around but she couldn't find his body among those in here with her. She considered going back to sleep and then realized that first she'd better find the latrine.

"Where's the latrine?" she asked the figure feeding the fire.

"From here?" The man paused briefly. "Hmmm. Go left, take the third right-hand opening."

"Can I see where I'm going?"

"Oh yes." Although torches had been spaced out along the walls, she found the right cave as much by a certain smell as following the directions. She was amazed at what had been accomplished. Or, how long had she slept?

A toothbrush!

When she thought of those handy little pouches handed out by airlines if you went Business Class she wished she'd had one to hand: toothbrush, comb and nail-file, not to mention toothpaste, breath neutralizer and face cloth, would be very comforting right now. And something to eat. She passed by "her' cave on her return because she smelt something scrumptious - well, by comparison with what she'd lately had to eat.

She followed her nose, passing other side passages and peering into caves filled with sleeping bodies. She took a wrong turning and ended up in a cul-de-sac which smelled not at all appetizing, but nasty, old-mouldy, dead.

Her nose led her to the source, and the largest of the caves. It was a-bustle with activity; men, women and aliens - Kris was glad to see the resurgence of whimsy in herself - coming and going. Though what they were going to and coming from she wasn't sure until she saw a group of men, each triumphantly brandishing their spoils. They'd been hunting and, although the creatures resembled oversized rats without tails, if they were what was being grilled over the fires, she'd forget the resemblance.

She went over to the nearest griller and paused by the rock on which two cooked fragments had been laid.

"How do I get in line?" she asked the dark-skinned cook.

"I wouldn't stand on no ceremony was I you," he said with a grin.

"Don't mind what they look like: they taste good and that Cat said they wouldn't kill us."

"He did?" and Kris tried to act casual as she reached for the . meat? Food? It wasn't too hot to handle and she brought it to her lips, inconspicuously licking the part nearest her to get a taste. The taste confirmed the notion that her stomach needed this no matter what else happened. She took a good bite, inhaling air to cool the morsel, hot against her teeth. But she chewed it well she had to; the meat was tough. It chewed good and tasted great and fell into a grateful stomach.

"Only one a customer," the dark man said, carefully inserting his knife point to check the state of the portions on the spit.

"Understandable. I've got ration bars to fill in the spaces, but this hot " She paused not only to take another bite to follow the first one but also to give what she ate a proper designation.

"We're calling it meat," he said, grinning.

"Well, whatever it's called, it hits the spot. Thanks - and she left her voice on an upnote for him to supply his name.

"Bart," he said. "You're Kris."

"How'd you know that?"

"Cos you carried that girl fer two days and you know the Cat."

"Oh!" Such glory was unexpected. She looked around then, rather embarrassed. She saw neither Zainal nor Mitford. "Where's the Sarge and the Cat?" "Out.

Hunting, I think, and seeing if there're more caves." He wrinkled his nose. "This place isn't really big enough for us all. Good idea to spread out anyhow, iffen you asked me. Only nobody did." He spoke amiably.

"Better if we had running water' "Oh, we do, but the way down to it's no picnic"Oh?"

"Underground lake and river. Probably feeding some of the streams we passed." Kris licked the thick bone that had been covered with meat.

"Crack it open. Marrow makes good eating, too." Kris scrutinized the bone with reluctance to take his advice.

"Marrow's got a lot of good in it, Kris," Bart said solemnly.

"Crunch down quick to break it open and then suck." Rather than appear squeamish, she did so and the marrow was not at all unpleasant. She made sure she had cleaned both halves and then looked around her.

"In the fire," Bart said. "We burn everything we can find."

"So I'd . . . smdt," she said with a grin.

"Yeah, do get kinda rank, don't it." Depositing the bones on the fire and hearing them snap as the flame caught, she also got a whiff of the "burnt bone' smell. She licked her fingers so she'd remember better the way the meat had tasted. Then she untied her cup from its place on her belt. "Where's drinking water?"

"Over there," and Bart nodded his head towards the side where she could recognize the symmetry of the water crates, stored against the cave wall.

She had no sooner taken a drink when a woman, with her dark hair roughly chopped to a short length, tapped her on the arm. "You wouldn't know how to skin and clean a dead animal, would you?"

"Yup," she said with considerably more willingness than she actually had for the task. But she'd skinned squirrels and rabbits on her practical for the survival 8o qualification and now was a much better time to display her abilities.

"I'm Sandy and I got put in charge without knowing doodly squat.

I used to be "and she gave a droll grin, "a potter."

"I'm Kn' "Yeah, I know," and the woman grinned at her.

"You know the Cat and you carried your buddy for two days.

Did everyone know those two facts about her? Kris wondered as she followed Sandy outside the cave. She hadn't noticed that the hunters had brought their catch outside again. Half a dozen people were busy skinning and gutting, using large stones as worktops. Two men and two women appeared to be dissecting entrails at another and arguing about anatomy.

"Guts are guts and I don't see why we can't use these, said the woman, holding up a long stringy grey rope.

"Ought to be as tough as any cat's."

"That's what Indians used to use to make bow strings, wasn't it?"

"Think so. They sure didn't have nylon." Kris was not squeamish but she didn't want to lose her breakfast. It had tasted so good going down, but coming up? She'd rather not find out.

Finding herself a space, she caught the beastie that Sandy tossed her. Limp, soft but firmly packed. The hide was unexpectedly pleasant to touch though the muted grey brown was an unearthly colour. It wasn't a furry hide, rather a suedey covering. Turning it around on her slab to examine it closely, she couldn't see what had killed it until she noticed that one half of the "head' had been mashed.

Too small to have been done by a club and certainly not a blow from the broad-edged hatchets they'd been issued.

It did have four legs, a chunky rounded body, and not much neck before the blunt end that was its head. She gave a sigh and, taking a quick glance round to see how others were tackling the job, she flipped it to its back and, tipping the head up, began the job of dressing it.

It had more meat on it than either rabbit or squirrel, having heavy haunches and well-developed shoulders.

Her knife, while large enough to be a shade unwieldy for precision surgery, was sharp. She made a bit of a hash of stripping the hide off the legs but hell, you didn't lose much below the "knee'. She had just finished when Sandy appeared with another one, and thus she spent her morning. There seemed to be endless quantities of that beastie and another, also suede covered with membranous wings that felt slimy. No meat on such wings, but she was told to save these, too.

"Did you get something to eat?" Sandy asked her at one point.

"Yes, something from one of the squatty things, I think."

"If we had a pot to stew in we could make everything go further," Sandy said with a rueful smile. "Bob the Herb," and she grinned back at Kris's startled expression, "well, he knew Terran herbs and he's found some root sorts of things that oughtn't to poison us. And some rather delicious sharp-tasting berries. At least, the Cat thought they'd be edible. He ate "em and didn't get the trots but Cats can eat a lot that'd give us the green apple two-step." Kris paused, another trick coming to mind. She sat back on her heels. "We got any natural holes anywhere?

I mean, holes with floors so they wouldn't leak?"

"Why?"

"Well, they'd make a self-contained stew pot. Fill one with water, then drop in clean heated stones. That'd boil the water and whatever else you had in it." "It would?"

"I haven't done it, but the theory's sound. A pot's only something you can move around' "What heathen country did you get that from?" Kris laughed. "The old Irish used to do that. I saw the places in the south of Ireland, great tourist attractions. The guide swore that was what field workers used when they didn't want to trek all the way back to their homes."

"Well, I never," Sandy said and went off, cocking her head this way and that.

"Hey, gal, you made it up," a cheerful voice said and Kris looked up from the animal she had just eviscerated to see Jay Greene making his way to her. He had a brace of avians in each hand. From the angle of their heads, their necks had been broken.

"Hi, Jay. Say, just how are these things being caught, or killed?" "Snares work as well on this planet as any other," he said, looking pleased. "Probably better. Fortunately for me, these fowls are stupider'n turkeys and will eat anything edible, especially ration bar crumbs."

"You know about snares?"

""Semper paratus", as the boy scouts used to say," he said modestly. "I worked one out and Mitford showed us how to use a slingshot. A crack shot, too." He was properly respectful. "Haven't got any elastic but, with a little practice and the right ffick of the wrist, you can aim pretty accurate. The rock-squatters haven't got sense enough to be scared so they sit there and die young! Hey, you're pretty good with that knife!"

"Yeah, I am," she said blithely. "Yours next?" She reached for his burden while she honed the tip of her knife on the rock of her table.

"Yes, ma'am," he said and, pretending extreme caution as she sharpened, deposited the bodies on the other side of her table.

The heat of the sun made her stop, mop her sweaty forehead on her sleeve and realize that she'd been working steadily for long enough to get a crick in her neck and more blood than she liked on her coverall.

Blood always attracted insects. At least on Earth and Barevi it had.

She finished the rock squat she was currently cleaning and stood up, taking the result to the next in the line of preparation.

"I want a wash, a drink and some time off," she told Sandy.

Sandy gave her directions to find the underground lake. More torches had been installed, so the way was lit well enough to keep Kris from stumbling down the uneven levels of the path. When she reached the end she saw the viny rope with knots in it to help you shinny up.

Peering over the edge, she saw that there was sand to cushion the shock of the jump which was roughly two metres down. The torch showed her the imperceptible movement of the water flowing past this point.

But she remembered that stillish waters could run deep. Sandy hadn't told her not to dunk herself in but she also hadn't said she could.

She bellied down to the edge of the water and took a quick sip: it had a soda-ish aftertaste but it wasn't bad. She buried her face in the water then, sucking in a longer drink. That was when the desire to be rid of the sweat and dirt of the past few days became irresistible.

Kris was prudent enough to see if the vine rope reached far enough into the water so she could hang on to it for her bath. It did. She sloughed off the wrap-around boots and the coverall and, keeping the vine rope in one hand, eased herself into the water. It was cold, no doubt about that, but it felt so good. She gave herself as thorough a scrub as she could with one hand - and no soap - in probably the fastest bath she'd ever taken. Using her blanket, she dried herself as well as she could with the non-absorbent material and rinsed out the bloodied sleeves of her coverall and the front of it where blood had spattered. She was back in her clothes, despite the dampness, and putting on the boots when she heard voices nearing. She hauled herself up to the top and started back, much refreshed by the respite.

She kept close to the right-hand wall as the group descending passed her.

"We gotta keep hold of that rope," one of the men was saying, "cos the current's fast according to the Cat."

"God, what I wouldn't give for a razor!"

"Sharpen your knife, buddy," someone else said with a laugh. "That's what pioneers did." When Kris found her way back to her sleeping place she saw that Patti Sue was the only one there, and still asleep. She dithered to herself about bringing some food back and making sure the girl ate, but maybe sleep was more important. The way the hunters had been bringing in game there'd be some for her when she did wake up.

Only how long would the game remain stupid enough to hang around and die? There were a lot of people to be fed.

That was when she heard a lot of noisy shouting and glad cries.

She made her way to the main cave again and tried to figure out what all the shouting was about.

Everyone seemed very pleased. Bart was grinning like he'd just won a lottery.

"What's up, Bart?"

"They found food. A mountain of it." Then he recalled himself to his duties and turned the pieces cooking on his fire before they were reduced to char.

"Where? Things we can eat?" Kris found herself regarding the french-browned food hungrily.

"I guess so, or why roar so much?" he said with a shrug.

Kris took herself where she could hear what was being roared.

"Mountains of food!"

"Some kinda storage cave. Like a silo."

"And other doors we couldn't open . . . yet!"

"They'd have to be saving for centuries. ""No-one near, no footprints, just cracks in the stone, like something real big stood there." She worked her way through the excited people towards the front of the cave, hoping to see someone she could ask for specifics. The storage cave bit worried her. It suggested that Zainal's information had been incorrect.

You don't store things, especially food, where there's no bodies to eat it.

Scratch tests will give you a quick idea," an Asian was saying in a firm voice. "They worked on some of the game you guys caught, as well as the roots and berries."

"Can we use the same method for the Rugarians and the Deskis, Matt?" she heard Mitford's voice ask.

"Gee, I don't know, Sarge. I was paramedic for human types."

"Zainal, can you ask "em?" Mitford switched to Barevi.

"Yes. I will ask," and Kris saw a movement among those crowded around Mitford as Zainal left to make his enquiries.

"OK, listen up!" Mitford's voice assumed parade ground volume. "I need some volunteers - you, you, you and you. Roll up your sleeves.

We got samples we need to test.

Suddenly the press of bodies thinned out as many decided not to be "volunteered' for any other bright ideas Mitford had in mind.

"Was food all that was found?" Kris asked as she moved towards Mitford.

"Isn't that enough?" a woman asked in an irritable voice.

"It's a help, surely, but we need so many things to set up a habitable place .

"Habitable? That's a laugh," the woman said and moved away from Kris.

"All that food could be a laugh, too," Greene said, appearing at her side, "if we can't stomach it."

"Anyone got any idea why there are such stores?" Kris asked him. "And what will happen if the Three Bears find Goldilocks?" She gestured to indicate they were cast as Goldilocks.

"Nope. Zainal hadn't any idea either. He insisted that the Catteni survey said the planet was uninhabited "With sentient life-forms?" "Mmmm. Yes, he did make that distinction," Greene replied and then grinned. "Scared the hell outa even the sarge when they came across metal doors, fer God's sake, across the cave entrances."

"How'd they get in, then?" Kris asked.

Greene chuckled again. "We got guys in this outfit with some very interesting skills." Kris grinned back at him. "Where are these sesame caves?"

"A good half-day's trek from here, so don't worry. And no road in or out. How'd they get crops in there without something that makes big tracks is puzzling."

"Stray mechanical things are more nervous-making than some honest-to-god alien creatures," Kris said.

"If you say so. Only the sarge has sent a detail to scout about and see if they can figure out how and from where the silos got filled.

He's calling a meeting this evening, anyway, to explain everything.

We might even have more to eat then, too." Greene licked his lips and Kris found herself- doing the same thing as the tantalizing smells were wafted towards them on the breeze. "I could've eaten a whole one by myself."

"You didn't finish off your bars, did you?"

"Hell no, and watch yours, will ya? As I said, we got guys, and gals, with taking ways as well as interesting skills."

"Oh, Lord, Patti Sue," Kris said and, ducking around Greene, started back to where the girl still slept.

She paused long enough to ask Bart if she could take Patti's share to her.

"I can count on you to give it to her and nobody else?" Bart said, fixing her with a stern eye.

"Yes, you can," Kris said solemnly, and found herself a rock on which to carry the hot meat.

Patti Sue was still asleep. Her food packet was gone.

Someone had rolled the girl over to get at it. Kris fumed and then decided that Patti Sue would just have to take some responsibility for herself. She leant over, careful not to tip the hot meat onto the dirty floor of the cave, and shook Patti Sue's shoulder. The girl's reaction - flailing about with hands and kicking out with her feet was so unexpected that Kris ended up juggling the hot meat from hand to hand, trying to keep it from dropping to the floor.

"Hey, Patti. Easy now, gal. Don't make me drop your food. It's hot,' she cried, trying to duck away from the girl's windmill of limbs.

"Kris?" Patti's voice broke and she stopped her battering.

"Ohhhh, you scared me."

"Didn't mean to. Sit up, will you.

This's hot! Use your sleeve Patti rolled down the overlong cuff and, using it as a pad, took the piece from Kris, who set about licking her fingers, as Patti regarded her portion suspiciously.

"Don't ask what it is "cos no-one's named the thing yet but it tastes pretty good and it is hot."

"I don't think I could eat anything - - -) Patti said and held it out to Kris.

"No way, gal. You eat it. Think of it as the fried chicken your mother used to make - - -"

"No'm, I won't, "cos she couldn't cook worth doodly," Patti said in the only personal comment yet to pass her lips.

Eyes closed, she then pulled her lips from her teeth and took a tiny and tentative bite. "Oh! It isn't bad, is it?" And opened her eyes, eating with more relish. "Or maybe it's "cos I'm so famished."

"Patti, you didn't think to hide your bars, did you?" Kris asked gently.

Patti looked up at her and her face fell. "No, why should I?

No-one would . . ." and with one hand she felt anxiously beside her and under her blanket, her face falling into tragic lines as she realized that her packet was gone. She started moaning and nearly dropped the meat.

Kris propped her drooping hand back in the direction of her mouth.

"So eat that, and we'll share. It's not the end of the world because they've found a storage cave with food in it."

"Cave? Food?" Patti seemed to shrink in on herself with fear. "There are Catteni living on this world, too?"

"No, not according to our live Catteni expert Patti's eyes got wider with her fright. "A Catteni - - "Eat!' Kris said urgently. "There was one Catteni dropped along with us and he's not a bad guy. He won't bother you -"

"Oh, oh, oh," and Patti moaned all the time she nibbled at the meat.

Kris had heard about dainty eaters but Patti took the prize.

Kris stayed with Patti Sue then, as much because the girl was so preternaturally frightened of every footstep in the corridor outside, every shadow that interrupted the torchlight into their cubby, as because she was also tired. Her hands and arm muscles ached from her stint at dressing meat and she had a couple of little nicks from kife cuts which were annoying. Then she remembered her first-aid kit and dabbed them with the yellow liquid It stung briefly but she knew that the Cat disinfectant would reduce any chance of infection.

She suggested a dip to Patti Sue but when she had to tell the girl how to get there and the primitive conditions, Patti just curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, and moaned.

"You're going to have to stop moaning, girl," Kris said, driven to it. "I don't mind, but there are others who will. We're all in the same condition - smelly, scared and suspicious. So you're not alone."

"But "Patti Sue began, her eyes wide and distressed, as she once again began to either apologize or explain.

She shut her mouth for a long moment. "You're right.

I am chicken livered. I always have been and I guess I always will be. And I won't say I'm sorry. I am what I am." 9' Kris began to regret her outburst. "Honey, we all are.

Scared, I mean."

"Are you still my buddy?" And the piteousness of her tone and the beseeching look in her eyes touched Kris the way the constant stream of apologies hadn't.

"You got raped, kid?" Kris asked, hunkering down beside her.

A convulsive shudder swept through Patti Sue's slender frame and she shot Kris an anguished look. "It shows, doesn't it?"

"Not like a birthmark or a scarlet letter," Kris said as kindly as she could. "The give-away is how you fiinch whenever you hear a man's voice, or see a shadow or someone totally harmless, like Jay Greene, who only tries to help you. I won't say there aren't guys in this group who wouldn't like to well, you know because you're a very pretty and appealing person. But right now, hon, there isn't anyone with much extra energy.

They need it all to stay alive on this crazy world. So why don't you buck up a bit? I'll stick by my ol' trek buddy as much as I can but I think I'm going to be getting some work assignments "or go nutty looking after you. . . Kris added to herself, "that'll take me away from you, so let's introduce you to a couple of other people . . .

women who'll keep an eye on you when I'm not here." Patti Sue had become more and more agitated as Kris explained the situation and Kris could see that the girl visibly fought, and subdued, her immediate reaction to such news.

"Now, c'mon. . . and take your blanket with you. Not that we don't have others but it's wise to keep your things together here." With nervous hands, Patti managed to roll up her blanket and draped it over her shoulder as Kris had.

Still anxious, she followed Kris out of the cave, glancing nervously about when she heard voices issuing from other openings and almost treading on Kris's heels, she was so much her leader's follower.

She hesitated, gasping, when they entered the main cave, as she saw so many people moving about on errands, or squatting by fires to cook, chatting with those waiting for the hot meats. Others were making their way to the entrance.

Surprisingly, Kris saw that the exit looked out on a darkness broken by the ffickering light of torches and a fire. She was somewhat reassured that Mitford felt illumination was safe.

"We're safe here, Patti," she said, motioning to the opening.

"Outside's all lit up like Christmas. Let's go grab some fresh air and get a good seat for the meeting." The main cavern reeked not only of cooking odours but others which were not as savoury and certainly not appetizing.

"Oh . . ." Patti moaned, cringing.

"You might as well, honey, unless you plan on immuring yourself for ever in the stink."

"If you say so. . ." Patti Sue was not going to venture anywhere, even with Kris's assurance.

"C'mon, I think I know where we can sit," and Kris hoped that the darkness would be enough to conceal the evidence that part of the ledge had been an abattoir.

She walked, Patti so close behind her that she hoped the girl wouldn't lurch into her and knock them both off the ledge, to a point just above the fire: a fair-sized one, its flames reflecting off the faces seated around it.

"Hey, we'll have a balcony seat to the events," Kris said.

"Front and centre." Kris sat herself down while Patti Sue edged to Kris's right, with no-one beyond her. Yet.

Kris tried to identify the faces in the firelight: she spotted Zainal easily, sitting beside Mitford; Bass, Murphy, a Rugarian and two Deskis just beyond them, and then faces she vaguely recognized from the march but couldn't put names to.

Patti Sue's fearful gasp alerted her to an approach and the girl gripped her arm with surprisingly strong fingers.

"Easy," Kris muttered under her breath, for she recognized the newcomer. "It's only Jay Greene and he's decent. Hi, Jay. Don't know if you've met my buddy yet. Patti Sue, this is Jay Greene and he's a veritable Nimrod with boy scout snares. Join us. You can be our body-guard." Kris regretted that ffippancy the moment it was out of her mouth for Patti Sue tried to get inside Kris's skin, she sat so close.

Kris sternly told herself that she might be as nervous if she'd been raped repeatedly, too.

After all, that imminent possibility had prompted her to dare to steal the ffitter and secrete herself in the forest, hadn't it?

Greene sat down a couple of good handspans from Kris. She took the moment to turn to Patti Sue.

"You're about choking the circulation off in my arm.

Relax!" she murmured and felt the clutching fingers ease their stranglehold. She could almost feel the effort it took Patti Sue to remove her hands from Kris's arm. "What's the scam, Jay? You heard anything?"

"Yeah," and the firelight glinted off his white teeth as he smiled. "I hear that we are not alone!" He spaced the words out so that they sounded like the voice-over of a video trailer.

Patti Sue's hands returned to crush Kris's upper arm.

"I knew that," Kris said and this time just peeled the fingers off, putting the girl's hands back in her lap and giving them a final pat to stay there.

"No, I mean, we're not the only flotsam that got planted on this planet," Greene said.

"Really? Hmm, makes sense, though," Kris said in her most nonchalant tone. Why had she been saddled with such a nerd like Patti Sue! "There were only - what - five, six hundred plonked down in our field. I wouldn't call that an efficient disposition of redundant personnel. That ship they herded us into could handle who knows how many more. I know there were two levels, if not more. Maybe they did a clean sweep of all the holding cells on Barevi.

That would make the journey here economically feasible.

Any more humans?"

"Well," and Greene shrugged, "I'm not sure anyone could tell." Patti Sue let out little whimpers.

"Look on the bright side, will you, Patti Sue?" Kris said. "You weren't one of them and you're safe with us.

Isn't she, Jay?"

"Safe as houses," he said in a warmly reassuring tone, for which Kris gave him a broad smile and a thumbs up with her left hand which Patti couldn't see. "In fact, the more the merrier.

So long as we can exchange information and band together to solve the problems this place poses."

"Any other scuttlebutt?"

"Like what?"

"Did that scouting party Mitford sent out find what brings in the grain harvest?"

"No," Greene said, shaking his head. "They did find other storage caves, all hollowed out of solid rock. And more valleys of fields and stuff. That's where - - -" Kris gave him a quick flash of her hand to stop him saying anything that would set Patti Sue off again. ". . . Where they could see other heavy vehicles had been parked," he finished off.

They all heard the murmur of voices and saw that people were emptying out of the cave now and either making their way down to the bonfire level or finding spaces on the ledge.

"Do we start off with a national anthem, or a prayer?" Kris quipped to Jay.

"I doubt the good sergeant is religiously inclined," Greene remarked.

"For which I am deeply grateful." Kris felt Patti Sue's body stiffen with resentment at her fiippancy. "We need a realist."

"I second that!" Chuck Mitford had now stood up and raised his hands for quiet.

"This is Mitford speaking, in case any of you can't see me," he said in his gravelly parade-ground voice that echoed slightly in the ravine. "We've had several teams out on recon - reconnaissance to those of you who don't know army slang.

"We've found storage caves with enough grains - which we humans at least can digest - to supply us for years. We don't know who - or what - stored the stuff but they're unlikely to notice what we have taken, and will take, once we get our commissary organized. We're lucky to have some botanists among us, who've figured out what we can and cannot eat of the local stuff- berries and roots As you've all found out, the water tastes pretty good.

"We're also looking for additional quarters so we won't be jammed in like sardines "Like those transport ships, maybe?" a man added with droll bitterness and got a laugh.

Mitford's grin was visible in the firelight as he held up his hand. "We've also discovered that there were other parties . . .

landed here. We haven't made contact but if anyone does, send your buddy back here for assistance.

Don't lead anybody here. Not even other Terrans." He paused to let that warning sink in. "We'll be safe sticking together with folks we've already got to know on the trek here. We'll integrate anyone who wants to but I think they ought to be vetted first." There were murmurs of agreement there.

"No more aliens " a voice said.

"That's a no-go," Mitford said sternly, glaring in the direction of the comment. "I make that plain right here and now. I don't know where you were on Barevi, but I learned that some of the aliens got lust as many smarts as I do." He jerked his thumb against his chest.

"And some have skills I don't. We get to make a fresh start on this planet so let's leave that sort of crap behind us. Huh?" He had a wide murmur of support for that suggestion.

"For those of you who don't know, it was the Deskis who found the caves for us. I doubt we Terrans could have done it. They climb like the spiders they resemble only they're humanoid like us, and I don't want to hear them called spiders any more. Hear me? Well, hear me good. They were ripped away from their planet same as we were. So we treat them the same as we treat one of us - because they are one of us.

Have I made that point clear enough?" The response he got was vociferous from most, which reassured Kris. She tried to spot those who were reluctant to grasp that announcement.

"A Deski carried May Framble's kid on the trek and never made a single complaint. - The look on Mitford's face chided those who had bitched. "So remember, they're in this, too, and pulling their own weight what weight there is of them. The Rugarians are part of us, too, by the sample principle. They accounted for more of our catch than human hunters did." He grinned. "Crack slingshotters!

"Another thing we gotta get straight like right now!" He pointed downwards to emphasize the immediacy.

"Any nasty individual caught stealing someone else's ration bars or in possession of more than a fair share - loses any he or she has on him or her and does latrine duty for a month. Understand?" He glared around the fire and up at the ledges. "We don't have much to steal but this colony isn't going to tolerate any pilfering. Not nohow, no way!' He sliced both hands across his body to indicate the finality of that statement. "You all got that straight?"

"Who made you boss, Mitford?" a male voice demanded irritably.

"You did!" Mitford jerked out his chin and glared in the direction.

Kris thought the voice sounded like the same one that had protested including aliens. She wondered if it was Arnie the weasel-faced but on second thought, Arnie wouldn't have the guts to speak up about anything. He was the kind to go behind your back. And steal a sleeping girl's ration.

"You want the job? Have it!" He made as if to leave the bonfire.

There was immediate loud and vehement protest from human voices and, Kris was glad to hear, a waving of arms and hands from the Deskis and Rugarians.

"I've had years of knowing how to get even more illassorted bunches of bods working together than you possibly could, buddy-' and Mitford's tone made that noun a dirty epithet, "so unless you can beat my twenty-seven years - fifteen of them as a master sergeant - close your mouth hole. Anybody else got some complaints about how I run this chicken-shit outfit? No? Well, that shows you've some sense upstairs.

I don't like the assignment any more than you do. But I took it on and I'll see it through until we know what's what on this planet. So listen up now.

"We've got a base camp but we need to check out the area so we don't get any surprises. We weren't the only ones dropped, you know, and some might like to move into our own choice piece of suburban development." That provoked some laughter. "Not much, right now. and his pause suggested that he had many improvements in mind, so there were a few groans. "But we'll do well-if we're let alone. So, two points . . ." and he held up his fingers, "first, we have sentries with their eyes open round the clock, even if we weren't issued one.

Second, when you hear me or a sentry bawling RED ALERT," and he cupped his hands round his mouth and roared the phrase, the sounds reverberating even as the people nearest him flinched back, with sheepish grins, "you come running as fast as you can, knives ready for action.

Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, my friends," and his expression became very solemn. "We lost out back on Earth but you may be damned sure I don't intend to lose out here. When we were dropped on that field, we got liberated again and I intend to stay that way and alive!

So, any time you hear RED ALERT, whaddya do?" He cocked his head, hand to his ear - "We come running, Daddy," the wit from the shadows beyond the fire yelled.

"You better believe it! We also got to stay healthy so that means latrines, and they need digging where we haven't found long drop holes.

And throw in some sand every time you go. Keeps the smell down. We need hunters out every morning and we need volunteers to try foods and others to cook "em. I talked to a lot of you on the way here but now I need to know which of you have specialist training, like medics or chemistry or even survival courses. Everyone's going to work at something here to make this go. And I don't want any bitching about takilig your turn at the dirty jobs. You'll be rotated. Now, you individuals with special training that I haven't had a chance to talk to, come to this side of the fire when this meeting's over.

You hunters, get your assignments from this Rugarian - he calls himself Slav - and he's got the best throwing arm I've seen since Lou Gehrig "Sarge, you weren't born when Lou Gehrig pitched -" some wit yelled.

"Nope, but I sure saw enough footage on him in his prime. So hunters with Slav. I'll need more scouting parties tomorrow, so if you want some exercise .

and there were guffaws at that, ". . . see Zainal here."

"You trusting that Cat?"

"Until hell freezes over," Mitford said in a tone that brooked absolutely no argument. "He got dumped here just like the rest of us and I'm not brave enough to ask him why.

Again a ripple of surprise but Mitford went on. "I want twenty individuals to make another run to get more grain lemme see a few hands before I volunteer you." The hands were raised, far more than twenty.

"Now, one last thing. There're more males than females. Some of our women got raped by the Catteni. We're humans! No-one bothers a woman in this camp. -, At the first mention of rape, Patti Sue moaned and tried to burrow into Kris. She was trembling all over as Kris put a protective and reassuring arm about her.

"What about a gal raping one of us?" the same wit called, and got snarling reactions from the women nearest him.

"If that kinda rape's inevitable, relax and enjoy it buddy," a woman's voice called out, a distinctly bitter and contemptuous edge to her words.

"I'll personally stake out any man forcing a woman," Mitford said, holding up his big and capable hands. "The same goes for any female dick-teasing." He paused a beat and then gave a wry grin, "That is, if anyone has any energy for anything after a long day here."

"You see, Patti Sue," Kris murmured soothingly, patting the nervous hands clenching and unclenching on her arm, "and he means it.

"He can mean it, but what if "No what-ifs, Patti Sue," Kris said as firmly as she could. But Mitford's call for explorers would give her the freedom to leave this clinging vine tomorrow and do something more noteworthy than gutting squatters.

"You heard and he means it." Patti continued to moan, despite her earlier promise not to "Now, I'll listen to intelligent questions, preferably ones I can answer," Mitford said. "I'll keep an open office but if I'm busy, talk to Bass here. Zainal, you just got appointed our alien liaison man, only because you speak better Barevi than I do.

Dowdall - stand up there, and you, too, Murphy. They're acting as corporals. Got any complaints? Bring "em to them. I assure you they'll be looked into and remedied . . . if humanly possible." "Sergeant Mitford?" A man called, standing up so he could be seen, "any ideas why we got dumped here?"

"Zainal says Cattenis do this to settle some planets.

They come back at intervals to see if anyone's still alive and breathing."

"00 "Then we won't get off?"

"I didn't say that," and Mitford's voice was grim.

"But they have to land to take a look-see, don't they?

There's no guarantee it's them'll take off in the ship, is there?" That comment brought a lot of hopeful murmurs and muffled remarks.

"And one good reason to be friendly to the one Catteni we got on our side," Mitford went on. "Any other questions?"

"Then who's farming this planet?"

"Good question and I don't know the answer."

"Does the Cat?" "Our Catteni ally," and Mitford paused to be sure everyone caught his use of the full name, "does not, as his knowledge of this planet is almost as spotty as ours - except he'd heard that some of the indigenous specimens are dangerous. Outside of this camp, you keep your eyes and ears open. Or live long enough to tell us what you saw or heard."

"Gee thanks, Sarge," and a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.

"Everyone's in remarkably good spirits," Kris said to Greene.

"Amazing how a full belly improves your outlook.

"Some bastard stole Patti Sue's rations," she added.

"Doesn't surprise me," Greene replied in a low voice.

"We can get her more. Or should you keep them safe for her?"

"After what Mitford said about having more than my fair share? Thank you no." "Ooops! Hmmm. Well, I don't think she'll lose "em again.

Maybe you should trade buddies with Sandy."

"A thought," Kris replied, knowing even as she spoke that she'd be conscience stricken if she did.

"Why should I saddle her with Patti?"

"She's one tough lady and will watch out for the girl," Jay said. "And someone's going to have to watch for her because she's sure one nervous kid." Kris sighed.

Decisions, decisions. But she wasn't going to be tied by Patti Sue to the cave and not get some "exercise'. And she'd survived on her own on Barevi, so she was confident she could be useful as a scout or food hunter here on wherever they were.

She cupped her hands to her mouth before she could think twice.

"Hey, Sarge, does this planet have a name?" Mitford looked up, trying to see her in the darkness beyond the firelight.

"Bjornsen? Zainal, you guys name your planets?" Zainal stepped into the firelight. "Only numbers," he said in Barevi, shrugging.

"What about "Bounty"? Like in Mutiny on the " a woman called.

"Alcatraz?"

"Be positive - El Dorado." The exchange of names and opinions stirred an uproar which Mitford let go on for a while before he held up his hand.

"Murphy found some sort of chalk. He'll put it by the cave entrance and those of you who can write - " there were laughs, "can put up your choice of name. We'll settle the matter tomorrow right here," and he pointed to the fire, "when we issue tomorrow's progress report.

Got me?"

"Gotcha!" was bellowed back at Mitford from every corner and the word bounced about the ravine.

"OK then. Sentries, take your positions. You'll be relieved at first moonrise. Dis-MISSED!" Despite the military order, Mitford was grinning as he stepped back from the fire and into the darkness beyond it.

"C'mon, Patti Sue," Kris said, rising to her feet. "I want to find Sandy and see where she's sleeping. That way you'll know who to go to tomorrow." Patti Sue was clutching her arm again. "Tomorrow?

You'll be going? Where? You can't leave me!"

"Honey, I can and I will," Kris said. "You'll be all right. You heard Mitford. No-one's going to mess with you.

"But supposing "Shut up, Patti Sue," Kris said firmly, giving the girl a shake. "I can't babysit you every minute of the day."

"Oh," and Patti sank back in on herself.

"Now, Miss Patti," Greene said in a soothing voice, making no move towards the frightened girl, "you will be safe. Sandy and I are supposed to inventory the supplies we've got and what's been brought in. We may have to use the walls for our records but I got some of the chalk Murphy found and you can be our secretary. Is that what you did on Earth?"

"Secretary?" Patti's voice took on a little substance.

"Yes, I was a secretary. A good one but "You've just been promoted to the job here," said Greene so kindly that Kris could have kissed him.

"You heard Mitford - we all have skills that he can use, Patti Sue," she said and, with one hand around the girl's waist, eased her along the ledge to the entrance.

"We'll just find Sandy. We'd better move along now or we might miss her. She's good people.

"But you're my buddy," Patti Sue said in a quavering tone.

"Yes, I was," Kris's conscience forced her to say, "for the trek, but that's over and we're here. Besides, Sandy's a good cook and it's a smart idea to be on the right side of the cooks, you know. Now let's find her." They did, grilling the last of the day's catch.

"Sentries get what's left over," she said, taking in Patti Sue's terror-stricken face and smiling reassuringly. "Patti Sue, you just sit here, right by me. . ." and she physically manhandled Patti Sue into the space she wanted her in. "You go on now, Kris, so Patti Sue and I can get acquainted." Give the woman her due, Kris thought, she didn't even blanch at the idea of having Patti Sue hanging on to her.

As Kris hastily departed, Greene on her heels, she heard Sandy telling the girl that she had a daughter about Patti's age and where she had come from on Earth.

"You can't be saddled with that one any longer," Jay said as they made their way down to the bonfire.

""And there's no discharge in the war"," Kris chanted out, resorting to Kipling.

"Huh?"

"Nemmind. Can you see Sarge or Zainal?"

"Beyond the fire, I think - -" It was an easier climb down than up, so she realized that wider, better steps had been carved out of the cliffside at some point during that day.

They had to wait their turn to speak to Mitford as there were no lack of volunteers for the scouting and hunting parties. Maybe another day Kris could go to the caves to see the stores with her own eyes.

"Got room for me on a scouting party tomorrow, Sarge?" Kris asked when he looked around and saw her. When he spotted Greene behind her, he scowled. "Oh, I left Patti Sue with Sandy but I've got survival skills "Yeah, you did well on Barevi," Mitford said but she thought, for a moment, that he had other plans for her.

"The skills're good anywhere. . .in the universe.

and she grinned. "Sides I had a good rest today, gutting beasties." Mitford hesitated until he saw Zainal watching him.

"Go with our ally. You're safer with him."

"I am?"

"You better believe it." That came out as a growl.

"Rendezvous at last moonset. Same cave? Good, Zainal'll know where to find you." He started to turn to those waiting behind her.

"Sarge, someone stole Patti's rations while she slept." Mitford nodded to Jay Greene. "Mark a package with her name then, Greene, and keep it in stores. At best, she'll get used to dealing with a male again. Next?" And he looked beyond them to others waiting patiently for his attention. Kris and Jay moved off.

"I don't know if that was an insult or not," Jay murmured drolly.

"Well, I'll know it's safer in your care and she'll get fed."

"Patti Sue'll always get fed," Jay said cryptically.

to her, then she stretched out and there was space left for Sandy, at least, and probably someone else. Because her noise would keep everyone awake, Kris leaned over and, shaking the woman, suggested that she turn on her side. Sleepily the woman complied, and then Patti sighed deeply in appreciation as she made herself as comfortable as possible.

Not that Kris needed any help getting to sleep. She didn't even turn once - that she remembered.

Kris collected Patti Sue from Sandy, trying to ignore the look in the girl's eyes which suggested that she had doubted that Kris would return for her. Sandy asked which cave they were stashed in and she'd just change her bedroll into it.

Kris escorted Patti to the water containers for a drink, and then to the latrine cave and showed her how to take care of that basic problem before they retired.

There was one woman fast asleep and snoring along the inside wall.

So Kris directed Patti Sue to lie next io6

Chapter Five

The panorama from the top of the cliff was breathtaking - and Kris needed to get her breath back after the climb Zainal had led his squad on. Before them stretched, in a westerly direction - as far as the eye could see - the large neat fields, punctuated by streams that glistened as sparkling ribbons in the morning sun. Some of the fields were occupied by grazers whose form was difficult to decipher at this distance. Off to the south there was a huge body of water but whether it was an ocean or a lake could not be ascertained.

This party had also been told to hunt and Zainal had said tersely that it was best to hunt farther from the camp. To this, all the experienced hunters agreed. There was little grumbling from the humans about the Catteni - or none after they'd been on their way an hour for he set them a bruising pace, and sheer human perversity required the eight members of her species to keep up with Slav, the Rugarian and the two Deskis, Zewe and Kuskus - or that was what their names sounded like.

Mitford's claim that the Deskis were useful was borne out when the spindly creatures seemed to ooze up cliffs.