Freedom's Challenge (11 page)

Zainal grinned. And said in Catten: “They have destroyed enough planets so that they are careful about this one. All manufacturing work is done on other worlds.”

“You should see Earth,” Ninety said proudly.

“Not all of it is as pleasant as…” Mark paused because
there was no Catteni word for Ireland, “where you live.”

“More unpleasant since Catteni come,” added Gino grimly with an apologetic glance at Zainal who merely nodded. “KDM and…yaya…” which was all Gino could think of as a Catteni description of “Baby,” “will not like what is there now.”

Everyone paused in reflection on that unhappy observation. Then Gino pointed to a good-sized satellite. “How many moons?”

“Four,” Zainal replied, then added as an immense space station spun leisurely into view in its geo-synchronous orbit above Catten, “we do not want to dock there.”

Everyone gawked at the sight of the monstrous edifice, with gantries and netted supplies far larger than the KDL floating on tethers about it. Ships of all sizes made their way in and out of docking slips. One entire quadrant seemed to be a shipyard, taking advantage of the lack of gravity to push large structural members into position for assembly.

Suddenly the com unit blurted out a harsh barking which was either muffled or distorted so much that only Zainal understood; the others caught maybe one word clearly.

“…chouma.”

Zainal rattled off his assumed name, the fact that his ship was damaged and requested landing at an isolated emergency site on planet.

By listening with intense concentration to the Catteni language, the crew got most of the next exchange, demanding details of the damage. Zainal responded that he could not maneuver into the moon base with currently faulty equipment. Immediately he was bluntly told to sheer off his present course while a landing site could be warned of his imminent arrival. Zainal twitched fingers
behind his back to indicate to the others how well their scheme was going. Considering the size and complexity of the space station, the Terrans could well appreciate the need for caution, and why ships had to be in maneuverable condition. They were probably as fastidious about unstable cargoes.

The interrogation went on. What was the trouble? Where had the KCX been? Was it contaminated? What cargo did it have on board?

Zainal signaled to Gino to go into his well-rehearsed reply, the pilot scrambling to get his notes out of his pocket in case he needed to refer to them.

“Engineer Tobako speaking,” he said. He'd had fun choosing an alias. “Gyro unit, two-three-eight…” and he spoke the Catten letters appended to the part, “malfunctioned in meteor swarm, flash-back damaging many boards in control panel and causing helm problems. Maneuvering affected. Suffered hull and interior damages. Landed on largest meteor to repair damage. Gyro part badly made,” and Gino infused a lot of contempt in his voice for that failing. “Imperfect metal. Had to reduce cargo to lift from meteor. Only one cargo deck remains. Three crew died.”

“Only one part cargo?” The contempt and dismay was clearly audible and nothing at all was said about the loss of lives. “Go to field at…” and the Catten rattled off the coordinates so quickly that, while Gino managed to jot down the English equivalents of the first four numbers, that was as far as he had got by the end of the message. He gave Zainal a startled and anxious look. Zainal nodded to assure those on the bridge that he had heard all he needed to obey.

“What is the cargo?”

“Platinum, gold, rhenium, some germanium.” Zainal took up the report now.

“Ah…” and that drawled exclamation was close to approval. “Is there more where that was found?”

“Yes. All can be collected again. I will return to the meteor with a repaired ship, and braver crewmen than the Drassi who died. These were only a step above Rassi…” Zainal paused to be sure that his complaint was understood. “It is a cargo I do not wish others to get.”

“Ah…” and there was more warmth and approval. “A vehicle and mechanical support will meet you on the surface. Klotnik.”

“Klotnik,” Zainal responded. “Out.”

When the com line had been cut, every one reacted, sighing, or whistling or mimicking the wipe of a sweaty brow. In fact, Ninety took out a square of cloth and was about to mop his face when Zainal thumped him. Immediately Ninety used his finger to scrape off the sweat, as a real Drassi would do.

“There is really not that much of a cargo,” Kris said dubiously. Would they get in trouble with what they had? It was all that Walter Duxie, the head miner, could find that might be considered valuable by the Catteni in the short time he had to do any prospecting. The germanium had been pure luck. And what little of the platinum groups they had so far discovered. While the gold had seemed a real sacrifice to some people, the metal had little intrinsic value on Botany. The two professional and many amateur jewelers used it as settings for some of the rather magnificent gemstones which had turned up on the planet during the general assessment of mineral and metal deposits.

“It is enough, since they think we go back for what was left,” Zainal said and grinned, looking more like the man she knew so well than the very Catteni Emassi who had barked answers over the com. “It has gone well. Now proceed slowly until we are in atmosphere and remember to vent smoke often.”

That was an effect that Peter Snyder had been particularly pleased to install. It would dissipate fast enough in
space but would certainly be visible from the space station, to enhance the story of a “damaged” ship.

“Much traffic,” Gino said, glad enough to be steering away from the space station with so many other vehicles zipping here and there or ponderously moving out.

“There are two dreadnoughts in dock, nine large surface landers,” Zainal said, pointing to the stern ends.

They were visible once you knew what to look for, Kris realized. They looked bigger to her than the Empire ship from
Star Wars.

“I count eighteen H-type ships,” and again Zainal indicated where to look. What initially looked just like protrusions of the spaceship were, in fact, spaceships in dock. The H-types were similar to the one Kris remembered landing at Denver. She shuddered. Zainal went on. “Look beyond the station to your right, past the freighters and drones.” His big finger now indicated a three o'clock position. “There's a full flotilla there.”

“I can spot another one on the screen, farther out,” and Gino tapped the screen with the proximity display.

“Wow!” Mack swallowed as he saw the incredible number of ships being handled by the station. He stared at the display as they moved slowly away from a direct view of the massive unit.

“How big a navy did you say the Catteni have?” Ninety asked, looking quite anxious.

“More than you see here,” Zainal said.

“Lots of traffic, too,” Chuck said.

“That is good. For us.” And Zainal smiled.

When they were far enough from the space station for Kris to feel as if there were no eyes on them, she and the others began to relax. Now they could spend the descent watching, as more details of the planet were visible.

“I know the field we've been assigned,” Zainal said as their ship slowed for landing. “It has some facilities. Always be Catten there. I pilot now.”

•   •   •

“SMALL?” KRIS MURMURED, REMEMBERING TO speak Catten as she took in the landing site. Nine football fields wide at the very least, and long as a Denver jet runway: almost larger than the landing field at the Farmers' hangar on Botany. Low, large buildings framed one side, and beyond them, across an access road, were separate structures, small enough to be dwellings though they reminded her more of the hovels in a Brazilian barrio.

They came down, venting more of Pete's smoke for effect. Zainal's handling of the ship made them all glad they were well strapped in but the motions certainly imitated a ship that was barely controllable. He also halted at a distance from what looked to be hangar or servicing facilities.

Immediately he and Gino, who seemed to be moving slowly for such a generally deft man, removed the panels of the control positions and substituted the scorched boards, handing the good ones carefully to Ninety and Chuck to wrap and store in a prepared hiding place. Ninety and Chuck grunted and seemed to get out of their seats like old men. Zainal replaced the damaged panels, as Gino couldn't seem to get his hands to work properly.

“What's the matter with me?” Gino demanded, in English, looking at his hands.

Ninety and Chuck were taking forever to walk down the short passage and Kris then realized that she felt awfully heavy. It took a real effort to bring one hand over to release the safety belt.

“Me, too,” she said, struggling to stand.

“Hmmm,” was Zainal's anxious response. “Catten's gravity is heavier than Earth's. You will adjust—but slowly. Just move slowly and pretend that is how you move.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Gino when, with considerable effort, he pushed himself to his feet. “My knees are not going to like this.”

“Hurry with the hiding,” Zainal called out down the passageway to Ninety and Chuck.

“We try, Emassi. We do,” but even Chuck Mitford's heavy baritone voice sounded strained by the heavier gravity.

“They will think me a great pilot,” Zainal said, with a toothy Catteni smile, “to bring down a ship in this condition.”

“Will they believe that we're Catteni?” Gino muttered.

Zainal gave one of his inimitable shrugs and grinned. “Who else but a Catteni would come here?”

“I can sure believe that,” Gino said in English. Zainal thumped him and cocked a warning eyebrow at him. “Kotik,” he answered, chagrined at his lapse.

Zainal gave him a gentler pat for the proper response.

A pounding on the door and Zainal leaned forward to flick the release switch on the hatch.

There were Catteni growls of “get out of the way” and the thud of nailed boots on the deck as three men, none of them small, stalked into the cramped bridge compartment. Remembering all the drills, Kris somehow managed to get to her feet and assume the proper attention stance. She thought her arms would lengthen from the weight on her shoulders and it was hard to keep her chin up. Fortunately, she didn't have to say or do anything.

“Kivel,” said the lead man who acted as Emassi as Zainal did. Since he neither stated that he was Emassi or saluted, Kris knew he had to be the same rank. His brutish features and small bright yellow eyes were also more typical of the species than Zainal's.

“Venlik,” replied Zainal and waved to the scorched, warped panels while Gino, who was supposed to be another Emassi, displayed the carefully manufactured defective gyro part.

“Hmph.” Kivel took and examined the gyro and handed it back to the Drassi behind him.

Kris decided she was getting good at differentiating the ranks.

Kivel now gestured for the damaged panel to be opened, and turned slightly so that Kris, being a lowly Drassi, could do it.

“Too many in here,” Zainal said irritably, and with an imperious wave at Kris, “open cargo, bay three. You hear me?”

Kris nodded which was a lot harder to do in the heavier gravity than she would have believed. And, by sheer effort of will, passed the other two big Drassi and, when she was out of sight, put both hands on the sides of the companionway to give herself some support. She made it to the cargo deck and was grateful that she knew how to operate it. As soon as the cargo hatch swung open, she saw the vehicle, load bed against the side of the ship, and stepped aside as seven men swarmed aboard. One was Drassi and the other poor wretches were obviously the Rassi, the primitives from which the Eosi had made the two more intelligent groups.

The Drassi shouted his commands, obviously delighting in his ascendance over these dumb creatures. For that was what they were. He had to show them where to place their hands on the crates, shoved them toward the open hatch, and even walked them onto the vehicle and pointed to where the crates must be stacked. He sent them back for another load but paused long enough to pick up one of the gold lumps, scratch the soft surface as if to reassure himself it was gold, before he dropped it with a dull thud back into the crate. Then he walked back and forth, the gravity not affecting him one iota, Kris noticed enviously, as he supervised the unloading.

“Is that all?” he asked, glowering at Kris.

“All on board,” Kris replied negligently.

“Humph,” was his unimpressed response. She then handed him the receipt that Zainal had prepared.

“Everything must be signed and acknowledged,” Zainal had told her, in a discussion of the unloading procedure. “He has to take it up front for my signing and whoever is his leader.”

“Sign,” she said firmly and held out the Catteni issue clipboard that had been in the KDL's supplies.

“Humph.” He scrawled some runes.

She pointed to the companionway for him to take the board to his commander and with another “humph” he stomped off. She hung on to the control panel until she heard him returning before she straightened up against the awful weight. He jabbed the clipboard into her midriff. Fortunately she was leaning against the bulkhead so he didn't quite knock her down. She did remember to check that there were two new rune lines before she nodded and gave him the wave to leave. She was appalled to see him jump off the cargo deck to the ground—but then he was Catteni and had on heavy boots—her ankles ached from even watching him. He strode to the front of the vehicle and she was able to close the hatch and just slide down the bulkhead to sprawl on the deck, exhausted by this battle with Catteni gravity.

She was actually close to tears, thinking that she would be no good to Zainal at all on this mission when she couldn't even stand up for more than a few minutes without collapsing.