Freedom's Ransom (7 page)

Before they took off for Barevi, they would have to get some suitable clothing for Floss and the boys, who were wearing only the minimum required for Masai modesty. Breechclouts would not be acceptable on Barevi. If they wished to be seriously considered as negotiators, they had to look more presentable. This whole ransom business meant that Zainal would have to suspend his plan to seek out the Farmers' home world, or at least whatever depot they used to store the grain and the meat they farmed on Botany. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed that he would be denied that opportunity. However, it was only spring here and the Farmers' cargo containers did not come until after the fall harvest. He had some time to spare. And his plans for Botany, and the repatriation of Terran slaves, were certainly as important to him, she knew, as his somewhat grandiose and quite possibly dangerous scheme to track the Farmers' vehicle to its destination. She did wonder, as Zainal did, why the Farmers, with their advanced robotechnology, needed so much produce. She sighed. Every time she thought she understood a lot, she came smack up against something else unknown, tantalizing, unfamiliar, and, she sighed again, more than likely very dangerous.

Surely the Farmers would have had to have the means to supply themselves on any one of a number of Botany-type planets. Since the Eosi and Catteni had already explored neighboring space, surely they would have come across some vestige of the Farmers' culture. She wondered if indeed the Eosi had and merely kept the knowledge secret. Having secrets made people feel superior and secure. Or perhaps Human frailties were not part of Eosian characteristics. They certainly had extended their life spans by subsuming young hosts. For years, Humans had
been investigating the possibility of cloning to sustain characteristics and supply body parts that would not be rejected in transplant. She shuddered. She could not, in conscience, go along with that. There was a reason for a life to have a span, predestined or not. How she would feel if she needed new organs to remain alive, she didn't know as she herself enjoyed vigorous health.

She caught the almost proprietary look on Clune's face as Floss swanned up to him, offering him more bread. Yes, she would have to speak to Dane about this young couple. She had no doubts at all, from the expression on Floss's face, that she cared very much for the young African-American man. It had been at Floss's instigation that her Diplomatic group had practiced birth control when they'd been running loose and free after the invasion. The same contingencies were not now in force but discretion was required until after the ransom negotiations were concluded. That is, if the youngsters proved as valuable as she thought they probably were, considering the success of the covert operations that had kept them free when most of the populace had been rounded up and carted off on Catteni slave ships. That might have been just luck but this mission needed that in quantity.

•   •   •

EVERYONE AT RETREAT PRETENDED TO BE pleased to see Floss, approving the change in the girl from the intransigent, loud-mouthed brat of her first introduction to Botany. She was not overly enthusiastic about the garments produced for her to wear at the stores house. Most of the women had been making their own blouses and dresses out of the fabric and accessories that Kris had brought back from Barevi. Kris had to admit that utilitarian was not the style a girl Floss's age would appreciate, but she was offered fabric to make her own clothing, patterns, and even the use of the one sewing machine that Retreat owned.

“I learned how to sew skins together,” Floss said with
some contempt, “not how to cut and fit them. I wouldn't want to waste good material.”

That won her some points with the stores keeper, who was a good seamstress, and Kris saw the two in conversation and hoped something would materialize. A girl in her teens as attractive as Floss would certainly want something pretty and well fitting to wear. Someone did produce a silk scarf for her and she spent time in front of a mirror deciding how to tie and drape it—her longing for pretty and becoming things quite obvious to others in the room.

Beth Isbell offered to trim her hair, which Floss instantly accepted. “You don't happen to have a conditioner, do you? I had to use a very strong soap at Masai camp and it's just ruined my hair.”

“We do have an herbal rinse that will help,” Beth said. “A local herb but much like rosemary—it brings out the sheen.”

“Oh, that would be marvelous. I almost hate touching my hair, it's so brittle and dry.”

“It works with mine,” Beth said, fluffing out her blond hair, sun-streaked but shiny with health. “C'mon. The shower water should be hot. I'll shampoo and trim it, and it will be much improved.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Floss said, showing a genuine warmth and enthusiasm.

“Why did you bring that renegade back?” Sally Stoffers asked in a discreetly low voice when they had left.

“She speaks Catteni and so do that gang of hers.”

“She's a troublemaker, born and bred!”

Kris turned, almost defensively, to Sally, who also was a Catteni-speaker. “Zainal's option. Remember, those kids survived in the post-invasion turmoil, so they were either very lucky or very clever. Clune, the oldest boy, has negotiated and bartered with Catteni before and we will desperately need that type of experience. How are you at driving bargains?”

“She seems more biddable but she's a flirt, that one,”
Sally repeated, her tone and expression spiteful.

“Clune will watch out for her,” Kris replied firmly and began folding the new clothing that would constitute Floss's improved underwear. She didn't think they would find any purloined clothing in the Barevi stores but perhaps there would be some. The Catteni had been magpies as to what they loaded on board their cargo ships. When she was nineteen, she had wanted to look well dressed at college so she appreciated Floss's lack of interest in long-wearing, sturdy work garments. The scarf would be treasured. She had noticed how Floss had run it through her work-hardened hands, savoring the feel of the silk. A sapphire blue would look very well on Floss, and Kris tried to recall the bolts she had seen, of silk and satin, the last time she was on Barevi. But then, she hadn't had Floss in mind when she'd bought fabric. Well, they'd have a look with Floss in mind while they were there this time. Who knows who would trade fabric for gold? She wished she knew what was most in demand at Barevi. Maybe Chuck could remember something. Gold teeth were simply not enough of an “inducement.” What they needed was a real crowd-gatherer: something that even the most conservative of the Catteni would not ignore. Would kill to have!

Leaving Floss in Beth's hands and saying that she could be found in the mess hall, Kris went for a cup of coffee. The work roster, prominently located as one entered the mess hall, listed her as assigned to Zainal's mission with no concurrent duties. Their latest recruits had been listed at the bottom as being part of the Barevi team. She was glad that she didn't have to sign Floss up for mess hall duties—at least not immediately. Maybe by the time they returned from Barevi, Floss would be more willing to take her turn at the less glamorous duties. Even KP would be more appealing than marital duties to an old man.

As she entered the big room, she glanced around and saw Eric, hunched over printouts. She waved at him,
indicating a wish to join him and he nodded vigorously. She got her one cup of the rationed coffee, some fresh rolls, inhaling the aroma of the drink and fresh bread. She also wondered how much longer this treat would be available and if they could possibly search out additional supplies, possibly as trade goods since the Catteni had come to appreciate the caffeine hit. How many coffee beans and/or cups of the brew would buy a carton of stolen goods? She wondered, not for the first time, if the merchants had set any value on the cartons of spare parts they were now trying to sell. She had seen such a diversity of goods on display on her last trip. Surely not all of them—toasters and electric frying pans—were viable on Barevi. Much less automotive parts and spark plugs. Well, you never knew what would capture another species' interest. Certainly not the Catteni, who now evidently prized coffee, chocolate, and gold caps. Did any of them realize how easily they had picked up Terran vices like coffee? She smiled at the notion of the conquerors corrupted.

She made her way to Eric's table and was cordially greeted, noticing that some of his paperwork included maps: maps that showed the destruction of vast areas of New York City.

“I think I might be lucky. The building remains standing,” he began, tapping the map. “And there is relatively little damage below Fourteenth Street, where the dental supply house is. What'll we be able to use for barter back on Earth?”

“I think we'll be able to take some wheat with us. Possibly even the rock squats, as fresh food would be appreciated,” Kris replied. “There are hunting parties out today to see what they can gather and, from the smell of the kitchen, some are being broiled even as we speak. And I smell fresh bread cooking.”

“Now, all we need to figure out is how to hump heavy equipment down eighteen flights of stairs,” Eric said with a despondent sigh.

“Oh”—she smiled at him—“you didn't know that the Catteni have ‘lift' platforms that handle that sort of thing quite comfortably?”

“No, I didn't, but see me grinning,” Eric replied, and he was, his eyes sparkling with relief and humor. “Glad I asked. Those units are very heavy and even with a lot of manpower, getting them down to where they can be loaded was worrying me.”

She patted his hand. “Well, fret no more. That was actually the least of our problems.”

“What's the most?”

Kris was thoughtful. “Being sure we have the right stuff to trade with the Barevi.”

“Count on me, Kris! And, if we can find him, I know another dentist who does splendid work. Also in my building. He has the sort of personality that would deal well with the Catteni. Even as allies, they would be tricky, I suppose.” He gave her a shrewd glance.

“Some more than others,” she replied, grinning.

“Answer me a question, if it's not out of line,” Eric went on, cocking his head to one side. “Why is Zainal seemingly working against his own people?”

“It might look that way, but it was the Eosi that he wanted to overthrow—”

“And did, I understand, with no small effort on his part.” His manner was that of someone hoping to be told more than he had actually asked for.

“When he was dropped here as an unwilling colonist—with the rest of us”—her gesture included everyone in the dining room—“he wanted to free his people from Eosi domination.”

“He did that,” Eric agreed, wanting her to continue to explain a situation she really didn't have an explanation for.

“There were other like-minded Catteni Emassi, remember. He couldn't have pulled it off without their help.”

“This Kamiton being one of them?”

“Yes.”

“So?” Eric prompted, lifting both arms in a gesture of perplexity.

“I think the situation was not as simple on Catten itself and obviously not on Barevi. The Catteni are set in their ways, and Kamiton may have overestimated support from other Emassi. Zainal achieved freedom for Botany and the other enforced colony worlds. It wasn't just Botany that the Catteni dumped people on, you know.”

“No, I didn't know,” and Eric slightly stressed the last word.

“There are three other planets that the Eosi were colonizing the same way.”

“Those planets that worked out were then taken over by the Eosi?”

Kris nodded. “We were exceedingly fortunate, you know.”

“To have someone like Chuck Mitford, you,” and he pointed a finger at her, daring her to deny his role, “and Zainal.”

“We were lucky,” she amended, “to have the right mix of people to work with.”

“I like your positive attitude, Kris Bjornsen.”

“I dropped, I stay,” she replied, with a broad grin, pleased that he was willing to accept Zainal and work with him.

“Is that Botany's motto? I hear it often enough,” Eric said.

“It's been a rallying slogan as well as a promise, Eric.”

Eric glanced around, from the duty roster to the glass doors opening outside. “I like the promise! If I could just practice my profession here, I'd stay.”

“Don't you have family back on Earth?”

“Nephews; my wife, Molly, was in Florida when the Catteni invaded so I've no idea what happened to her. Her name hasn't appeared on any of the Florida lists of survivors.”

Kris touched his hand sympathetically. “Not all the
survivors are listed yet, Eric. We'll be picking up the updated lists when we touch down on Earth. One of the goals of this ransom trip is to widen the communication channels so we can find where survivors are—and get back those who were taken.”

Eric's eyebrows rose high. “That's a large job to undertake.”

“The Holocaust survivors managed to trace their relatives. And we have just as many dedicated folk!”

“Why don't you just relax and raise your kids?”

“I can't.” She gave a self-deprecating grin. “Zainal feels responsible, in a bizarre way, and so do I.”

“Responsible for entire worlds? Oh, c'mon now, girl. Be reasonable.”

“I don't think ‘reason' has much place in my feelings, Eric. People who are unreasonable sometimes achieve more than those who are totally rational!”

“Admittedly. Ah, here comes Zainal now.”

Kris saw him entering, with his sons and Clune, Ferris, and Ditsy, obviously showing them around. The boys all wore new clothing, suitable to the cooler weather at Retreat, and had packs slung carelessly on their backs or over one shoulder.

She tried to keep Eric at the table but he rose, gave her a little bow from the waist, and, smiling at the approaching group, made his way out of the hall. Zainal waved for her to stay where she was as he took the boys to the serving tables and introduced them to the people on duty. With laden trays, they all converged on her. Zainal thoughtfully brought her an extra cup of coffee.