Freedom's Challenge

Chapter Two.

IT SHOULDN'T HAVE SURPRISED KRIS that by the next afternoon many people were aware of the substance of their discussion with Dorothy Dwardie. Rumor circulated the settlement as fast as a Farmer orbiter. Fortunately, it worked more in favor of Zainal than against him.

The Catteni were, however briefly, also seen as Victims of Eosian tactics, more to be pitied than feared.

A quintet of anthropologists, while loudly deploring the forced evolution of the Catteni, requested most politely for Zainal to take some tests to evaluate his "stimulated" intelligence.

Kris was furious and Zainal amused. In fact, Kris was so incensed that she was even mad at him for agreeing.

"They cannot do me any harm," Zainal said in his attempt to placate her.

"It's the whole idea of the thing… as if you were no better than a laboratory mouse or rat or monkey," she said, pacing about the house while her mate and her son regarded her with surprise.

"They are also testing the Deski and the Rugarians." He grinned at her.

"I would like to know how I rate."

"How can they possibly evaluate you fairly? In the first place," she said, waving her arms about as she paced, "lots of the questions require a similar cultural background… and history and things you've never had a chance to study:'

"So?" Zainal reached out and stopped her mid-stride as she was going past him. "You are annoyed for me? Or with me?" he asked at his gentlest, a gleam in his yellow eyes.

"With them! The nerve, the consummate gall"' and she tried to struggle out of his embrace.

"Sometimes, Kristin Bjornsen, you protect me when I do not need it;' he said, smoothing her hair back from her face. "As you would Zane:'

"Nonsense;' Kris snapped, trying to push him away. "You don't know when to be insulted. I am insulted. For you."

Zainal laughed and easily resisted her attempts to break free.

"It is difficult to insult an Emassi;' he said. "I think it is better for them to find out that I am very, very smart. It will solve other problems."

That mild remark stopped her struggling.

"What problems?" she demanded, suspicious.

"The ones I must solve."

"Which are?"

"How to free us…" and he gestured himself and then to her, "and your people from the Eosi:'

"But we need the Farmers' help for that and we have no idea when we'll have a response-if any-to that report you sent them. What are you planning, Zainal?"

"This time you, too, must wait and see," he said, giving her a final squeeze before he released her. And she got no more out of him.

He went off to the session with the anthropologists while she fumed and fretted as she did the household chores. She was not due for her shift until late afternoon. She couldn't even find satisfaction in taking care of Zane, which she usually enjoyed thoroughly. She all but pounced on Zainal when he returned a few hours later.

"Well?" she demanded as soon as he entered the cabin.

His grin was a partial reassurance but she insisted on details. "They say I am very smart. At the top."

"How could they figure that out? What did they ask? How did you reply?"

"Carefully"' he said, pouring himself a cup of water. "Thirsty work."

Kris let out an explosive "oh" of total frustration. "You'd drive a saint to drink."

"Saint? More of that God stuff?"

"What sort of questions?" She would not be diverted.

"Logic ones which I am well able to answer. Sorrell told me that they used some of the Mensa tests? That you would know what those are?"

Kris nodded, obliquely reassured. "And?"

"I passed;' he said and then bent to lift the lid on the pot over the fire.

"We eat here tonight?"

"Yes, it's the stew you like. How high did you pass?"

Zainal's grin was malicious. "Very high. They were surprised and…"

he paused to let his grin broaden, "they were respectful."

"Well, it's about time."

He turned and put his arms about her, drawing her close to him so that he could look her in the eyes. "One earns respect. It is not just given:'

"But you've earned it twenty times over, Zanal," she said, not quite willing to be totally placated by his proximity but she did let her arms creep around his neck. "When I think of how lucky we were that you got dropped…"

"I was very lucky," he said, burrowing his head in her hair. "Very lucky;' They remained in that embrace, enjoying the simple pleasure of touching and being together until Zane, waking from his afternoon nap, disturbed their communion.

"So, what have you been planning in that devious stimulated Catteni mind of yours?" Kris asked.

"I think we have to go to Earth," he said so casually that she nearly dropped her son.

"Just like that? Go to Earth? How? Why? Can you? Will they agree?"

"It is safer right now than it will be…" he began, taking Zane from her to dandle on his knee, which had the boy chortling with delight, while she tasted the stew.

"Oh?" The stew needed a pinch more salt, which she added.

"Yes, because it will take time for the Eosi to discover that the Victims did not get to the intended destination. They will also be thinking of a way to break through the Bubble. They do not like such defenses."

"So? What good would a trip to Earth do?"

"Now I think there may be other Catteni, who have had enough Eosi," and he grinned at her. "I am not the only one who thinks for himself.

Who is smarter than the Eosi want us to be. I know of five who are like me. I need to know where they now are. I need to know if there are more now)'

"Five? Against how many Eosi?"

Zainal considered as he tickled Zane's toes while the little boy giggled, withdrawing his feet and then presenting them again.

"I think there are no more than one hundred."

"Because that's all the Catteni they upgraded? Don't they reproduce or something?"

Zainal shook his head. "Not that we know of."

"We?"

"The others of like mind I told you about. We have met, in small groups, from time to time, to exchange knowledge)'

"You mean, you've been plotting against the Eosi for a long time?

What would have happened if you had to be subsumed?"

"A risk all Emassi take," he said with a shrug. "Yes, I do believe that we have been looking for some way to shake Eosian domination. Your people have shown a resistance no other species has. That's good)'

"As far as it goes and look what happens to Humans who resist…"

and Kris's gesture included the planet. "How many worlds do the Eosi dom-Mate?

I mean, there're the Deski, the Rugarians, the Turs, the Morphins, and the Ilginish… How many others?"

"The Eosi control fifteen star systems that have at least one intelligent race: another ten where they take metals and materials."

Kris laughed. "You honestly believe a rebellion has a chance against such a setup?"

"If we have the Farmers' help…"

"Boy, oh boy, oh boy, are you an optimist!"

"It is a start. It is more than we have ever had."

"With two spaceships and a scout, we can go up against that sort of opposition?"

"it is a start."

"I've got to hand it to you, Zainal. God loves a trier," Kris said, shaking her head at the impossible task he had proposed. And yet… "Have you mentioned any of this to any one else yet?"

"I talked to Chuck. I will speak to others. We need to go to Earth as soon as possible. Earth needs to know that Botany is!"

"Let's eat first, shall we?" Kris said as brightly as she could, trying to assimilate the magnitude of his vision.

DOROTHY DWARDIE'S TEAM spent the first week assessing the condition of the mind-wiped and divided them into various arbitrary groupings, according to the perceived severity.

As she said in her initial discussion with her aides, there were two levels of healing: one, the physical trauma of assault on the tissue and/or function of the brain, and two, the psychological trauma of assault on the psyche or self. She expected that some trauma would be time-limited.

"The mind has gone into functional frostbite," she said, "and when it thaws after the trauma, returns to normal function without help. Since most of these people were trained scientists, it's possible that many will sim ply reestablish old neural pathways. There may be some loss of factual memory: maybe even a great deal. Even then much may return over a period of time.

"Right now, they need reassurance, interaction: music, smells, kindness, encouragement, gentle exercise. As normal a routine as we can manage.

Talk to them, about anything and everything: help them reestablish themselves.

Where we know the name, repeat it often. When we know something of their background, refer to that as frequently as possible. Help them reacquaint themselves with themselves."

Kris had three women, all in their late fifties: two had been research physicians in a drug company-Peggy Ihde and Marjorie Flax; the third they called Sophie because Sarah McDouall said she thought she looked like a Sophie. Kris was to supervise their meals. Just putting a spoon or a fork in their hands stimulated self-feeding. She read to them from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, which they might even have read in their younger days. She took them on quiet walks in the lodge-pole copse, or sat with them above the bay where benches had been placed for meditation.

"Pleasant surroundings are extremely important after the holding pens they've been in," Dorothy said. "Soft, kind voices, gentle handling will reassure even the most damaged."

There were a few whose condition was clearly catatonic but Dorothy was serenely confidant that, in time, even these would recover.

"There's something about this place," she said, spreading both arms out to include the entire subcontinent, "that will generate healing. The smells are good, the food is fresh and tasty, and the vibes…" she smiled at using the vernacular description, "are good because we've made them so. Beauty is a natural stress-absorber, you know. It reassures on a nonverbal level that they are now safe.

"You see," she went on in her soft voice, "we've decided to use a multi-modal treatment of this stress. The right hemisphere-which thinks in pictures-can't tell time: therefore it needs pictures to counteract the negative images of the trauma. The left hemisphere stores rational thought processes in thought and ideas. The two hemispheres interact and each approach can help the other side. We need to maximize good input and involve as much as possible in terms of brain resource utilization. Many of our friends here may never recall exactly what happened. That would truly be a blessing."

"But won't we have to explain something of how they got here?" Sarah McDouall asked.

"Oh, yes," Dorothy said with a smile, "and by then we'll probably have a coherent answer for them. They are, to all intents and purposes, on a holiday from their own minds right now."

"We could always tell them they're in Oz," someone at the back of the room quipped.

"And no red slippers in sight," someone added.

Dorothy's expression was droll. "We're all in Oz."

"The Eosi are the wicked witches…"

"Let's leave the analogy there, shall we?" Dorothy said in the firm tone of she-who-must-be-obeyed.

Kris felt her shoulder muscles relax. She had been readying herself to protect Zainal. Really, she had to stop doing that. He had made his own position here on Botany and was firmly entrenched. She didn't need to fret over possible snide remarks and animosity. She devoutly hoped!

THAT EVENING WHEN ZAINAL CAME HOME from the construction site of the new units for the Victims, he very carefully put a book down on the table.

"That's for kindergartners," she said in surprise, recognizing the title.

"Kindergartners? It is for learning to read," Zainal said and gave it a little shove with one large and very dirty thumb.

"Please wash up, dinner's nearly ready," she said, because she really couldn't tell Zainal not to handle the book-which might be the only one of its kind-with his dirty hands.

"I learn to read," he said and gave it another, almost angry push.

"You?"

Zainal scowled and Zane, who was seated in the high-seated chair his adoptive father had made for him, began to whimper in apprehension. He was very quick to sense moods. Immediately Zainal turned a smiling face and diverted the child by tickling his feet until he was hilarious with tickle laughter.

"I need to read to use computers."

Kris blinked in surprise, having forgotten for the moment that Botany now possessed working computers… which were being put to all kinds of good use. There had been several uninterrupted sessions to develop adapters for the units to run on solar power.

"Oh, yes, of course you would," Kris said. "Dead easy for a man with your smarts."

Zainal turned his smiling face from Zane and gave the little book a dark scowl. "Not when all those… squiggles… make no sense at all."

"Are there many-" and Kris thought swiftly for a less insulting description than "kids' books"-"primer books in what we got?" She hadn't had occasion to look in that section of the hastily assembled "library."

"This was given me. I wash my hands… and Zane's feet…" he added pointing to the oily smears now marking the child's bare feet.

ONCE ZANE WAS IN BED, she took, not the book, but a pad and pencil and wrote out the alphabet in upper and lower case, as large as she could lengthwise across the page.

"But I brought the book to read…:' he said, pulling it toward him with now clean hands.

"First you must know the… squiggles that spell the words we use. Too bad we didn't have a book on English for second-language speakers… although come to think of it, that wouldn't do you much good. Now, this is the first letter of the alphabet… 'ay." Which can also be pronounced 'ah'… just to confuse you. It is a vowel. B, which is usually just 'bee' is the second letter and a consonant."

He had repeated "vowel" and now spoke "consonant." Zainal had no trouble committing the sequence of the alphabet to memory-nor of naming any of them when Kris drilled him. His concentration was incredible.

He kept her going until even such words as "Spot" and "Jane" were blurring her eyes. He had also read through the book nine times and had it memorized.

"No spot and jane on the computers," he said.

"We'll work on computer language tomorrow," she said, rising stiffly from the chair in which his need to learn had pinned her for hours. She yawned.

"I work more now," he said, looking at her expectantly.

"Okay, see how many words you already know that rhyme with Spot… like dot, and tot, and Scott… or with Jane, like mane… no not drain… ah, try run, fun, gun, stun…"

"Oh," he said, delighted at such an exercise.

She went to bed. When Zane woke her in false dark, hungry, Zainal had filed pages of similarly sounding words, not all of which were spelled properly but she had to give him an A for effort. Spelling would come later.

What did astonish her as she fed Zane by candlelight was the computer manual she found under a pile of his laboriously hand-printed sheets. He had underlined all the unwords… ctrl, del, esc, Pgdn, Pgup, num, menu.

"He can't have read the manual," she murmured and smothered a laugh.

"He may be one of the few who ever did before they turned on a computer."

She and Zane had gone back to sleep again before full daylight and, by then, Zainal had gone off to work. In a neat pile on the mantel he had left all but the primer. Doubtless that had gone back to the library shelves for something more challenging. The manual was still there but then, there had been plenty of those in the packing cases they'd brought back from the marketplace at Barevi. But why this sudden need to understand computers… ah, yes. It probably had something to do with Zainal's master plan. Maybe it was plans since he intended not only to free Earth but destroy the Eosi and release Catten from slavery. Did he also plan to use the mind stimulator on everyone? To equalize the Catten race? Ooops, she sort of thought that might be a bad idea. Zainal was a most unusual Catteni.

Still, there might well be similarly motivated Emassi among those whom he was going to enlist to help. But the Drassi… and the Rassi… though she despised herself for generalizing… were different: especially since they were such big people with lots of muscles and not much common sense.

She had an early shift this morning so she and Zane started off in the fresh morning air to the day care center. He was crawling around everywhere, even trying to climb, and spent more time falling down. But she let him fall… and let him get up. He rarely hurt himself. On the advice of other mothers, she had put extra padding on the knees of his trousers, saving him scratches if not bruises. Actually, Kris thought, Botany's new generation was generally sturdy and few mothers had the time to pamper their children. With the notable exception of Janet and Anna Bollinger. Their kids, however, had enough rough and tumble at the day care center to have developed allergies to maternal fussiness.

No television, no Coke, or chocolate-though sometimes Kris' craving for a chocolate bar was almost overwhelming-was all to the good. She did miss caffeine and, while the experiments with beer and other spiritous liquors had been successful, there was as yet no tobacco substitute. As soon as the children were able, they were put to little tasks and chores that would make them as self-sufficient as their parents had learned to be.

Raisha Simonova was checking in the children at the day care center this morning. Zane toddled firmly off to the room that catered to his age group. One of the Deski children, Fil, was on its way (gender in Deskis developed later) so he waited for Fil. Another plus for Botany-no racism.

Well, not to fret over, because the few who had trouble assimilating with the Rugarians and Deskis were gradually losing their sense of Human superiority: difficult to maintain when a Deski walked up a wall to carry slates to the roof. Or a Rugarian easily hefted weights that took two or three Humans to manage. Both races were also becoming more and more fluent in English, though they had trouble with past tenses of verbs. Who didn't?

And a good couple of dozen Humans were attempting to master their languages.

Almost, Kris thought, as she stopped by the library to pick up the day's reading, it would be a shame to have to open Botany up. It could easily ruin the harmony that had been achieved. And yet…

All three of her charges were sitting in their bedside chairs, an aura of anticipation about them.

"They know to the minute when you're due, Kris," Mavis Belton said.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"You don't know how good," Mavis said with a deep sigh, slightly turning her head toward one of the "difficult wards" where the worst of the Victims were kept.

"Good morning, Marjorie," Kris began, initiating her morning routine by touching the arm of each in turn, "Good morning, Peggy. Good morning, Sophie."

"Why do you call me Sophie? That's my middle name. My Christian name is Norma," the woman said with a hint of petulance. "Norma Sophie Barrow. Miss Barrow."

"I do apologize, Miss Barrow;' Kris said sincerely, holding her hand now for the woman to shake. 'I'm Kris Bjornsen, the nurse's aide."

"Of course, you are. We've been expecting you," Miss Barrow said almost tartly. "Aren't we?"

Marjorie and Peggy nodded.

"In that case, let us walk up to the dining hall," Kris said.

Behind the newly restored Miss Barrow, Mavis was almost in tears with joy at the breakthrough. It was a very mixed blessing. Miss Barrow was stunned to find herself in such rural, primitive surroundings.

"Rustic,! should say," she remarked as they entered the log-built main hall. "I would certainly never take my vacation in such a setting:' She wanted coffee and refused to drink the herbal tea which was all that was served. She wanted white bread toast and butter and did not like the berry preserve, which did service as a spread. Nor would she eat the hot oatmeal. Porridge was for children or invalids. She wanted an egg, boiled, three minutes.

Although Marjorie and Peggy were hungry enough to eat what Kris served them, they began to falter as Miss Barrow's complaints jarred their own memories of breakfasts or homes or what they had once been accustomed to.

Just as Kris was beginning to think she wouldn't be able to cope with this sort of insurrection, Dorothy Dwardie slid in beside Miss Barrow.

"I am so glad to see you looking so well, today, Miss Barrow."

Miss Barrow recoiled from Dorothy, a hint of fear contorting her features.

"Surely, you remember me, Doctor Dwardie?"

"Doctor?" Miss Barrow was only slightly reassured while Kris admired the friendly but not intimate tone Dorothy used.

"Yes, Doctor Dwardie, I'm in charge of your case."

"I've not been well?" As Miss Barrow's fragile hand went to her chest and her expression became even more confused, Dorothy nodded, still smiling with great reassurance.

"Yes, but nothing life-threatening, I'm happy to report. The tests have all come back negative. You may not remember things in the detail you used to but we're positive that you will make a complete recovery."

"I was working very hard," Miss Barrow said, running one nervous finger along the edge of the table and watching its progress, "the merger, you know."

"Yes, exactly, the merger. One of the elements of your convalescence has actually been a change of diet to a very bland one. A change to flush the toxins of fatigue out of your system. If you just look at Marjorie and Peggy, you'll see how healthy and fine they are. And you're very much improved."

"Toxins… yes, there were toxins," Miss Barrow said. "Some of them…" She closed her lips and gave a weak smile. "I'm not allowed to talk about my work, you understand."

"Yes, yes, Miss Barrow, we do. Miss Bjornsen is the soul of discretion but as I have a top security clearance, perhaps if we had a quiet little chat in my office, I could relieve your mind, and we can figure out just what other therapy will speed your recovery."

Gently Dorothy got Miss Barrow to her feet and led her out of the dining room and toward her putative office.

"She'll be all right, won't she?" Marjorie said, her eyes wide with fright.

It was also the first time Marjorie had said more than yes, no, and maybe.

Peggy stared from one to another and then back to Kris for reassurance.

"She'll be fine;' Kris said firmly, smiling and nodding her head. "But I think we'd better finish our breakfasts. Then we'll find a quiet spot for me to finish reading Pride and Prejudice."

"I read that once," Peggy said in a vague tone, frowning slightly.

"I like Kris reading," Marjorie said.

"Why, thank you, Marjorie;'

"You know you don't have to be so formal, Kris. I don't mind if you call me Marge like everyone else."

Then she grimaced, looking down at the table and, with furtive glances, gradually looked around the room. Peggy, however, held up her cup for more tea, which Kris instantly supplied.

"Some of your friends aren't here with you, Marge;' Kris said, thinking some explanation should be offered before Marjorie's returning awareness caused her dismay.

"They aren't?"

"More tea?" Kris offered and Marge shook her head.

"Doesn't really taste like tea to me."

"It's part of the bland diet to reduce the dose of toxicity you had," Kris said.

"But you're drinking it, too. Did you get a dose?"

"No," Kris replied, "but we aides thought it wasn't fair for us to drink something you aren't yet allowed."

"Oh!" Marge accepted that.

Kris tried not to wonder what else would happen today or who would have a breakthrough but the rest of her eight-hour shift went without any further incident, other than Marge making comments about beautiful scenery and the lovely fresh air. Peggy said nothing more and seemed to be deep in her own thoughts. And Kris certainly hoped she was having some.

She got her two charges back for their afternoon nap and, for once, they lay down in their beds immediately and were asleep in moments.

Mavis beckoned her into the nurse's office.

"That Miss Barrow's a pisswhistler," she murmured in rather unprofessional language. "And that's exactly what brought her around."

"How so?"

"She ran a huge lab for Erkind Pharmaceuticals and everything, but everything had to be precisely in place and exactly done."

"Oh! And suddenly her neurones meshed and nothing here was as it should be in her neat little mind?"

"Exactly/'

"Has she realized where she is now?"

Mavis cocked her. "She's fighting it but with every twitch of disagreement, she's remembering more. She's more than halfway back to sanity:'

Kris grimaced. "If precision and order are her sort of sanity, she could be a real pain in the arse."

Mavis shook her head this time. "No, we'll let her manage our lab when she's fully recovered. It'll be the envy of…" Then Mavis giggled. "We couldn't actually ask for someone with a better background/'

Kris thought of Leon Dane, of Thor Mayock's hooch, and the easy, if effective, way the hospital facilities had been run, and wondered.

"You'll see," Mavis said. "How're the other two?"

"Some speech from Marge… she prefers that… and one sentence from Peggy but that one's been thinking hard all day long/'

"Good," and Mavis made notes on the day pad. "We'll see if we can improve on your start. You're mid-shift tomorrow?"

Kris nodded and then another group returned to the dormitory and Mavis went to help settle them for their rest.

ON HER WAY TO COLLECT ZANE, she wondered just how the prim and proper Miss Barrow would view the Deski and Rugarians with whom they shared the planet. And how she could react to Zainal's presence when she saw him. Once the Victims started being people again, they would have to see, and become accustomed to, the one Catteni since he was the one who had organized their rescue.

Zane was having a late nap and Kris looked rather enviously at all the small bodies, all curled up under their blankets on the mats that had been woven for the purpose.

"Go grab some zzz's yourself;' murmured Sheila who was in charge.

She was also working on a detailed map of the eastern coast of this continent, from measurements Kris's exploratory team had brought back. "I'll never get used to the long days here. Not to mention the long nights. I'll wake you when Zane's up. I always say, leave sleeping dogs and chilluns lie."

There were bunks for the nighttime staff, two of which were already occupied, so Kris climbed as quietly as possible into an upper one and very shortly fell asleep.

A SLOPPY WET KISS WOKE HER: the donor being her dearly beloved son, who had managed to clamber up the ladder at the head of the bunk.

He giggled, delighted with his accomplishment, though Kris was only too relieved he had escaped unscathed. She'd take ladders away the next time she slept here.

"Hey, love, you don't know how to climb ladders yet," she said, alternating between being frightened at the risk he had taken and proud that he had tried.

"Ahh, Mummy."

Kris threw back the blanket, jumped lightly to the ground and held up her hands for him. Quick as could be and without a moment's hesitation, he flung himself down at her, giggling when she caught him neatly. Ssssh-ing him, they left the sleeping room. Two beds were still occupied.

Zane was in great form and, as it was snack time, they went hand in hand to the dining room, which was crowded with others. With such long days, four or five meals were frequently offered. A hearty breakfast, a mid morning sandwich, a three-course dinner midday, a mid-afternoon fruit and sandwich, and then a good supper. Late-night snacks were leftovers of bread, cake, and sandwiches, whatever needed to be eaten up and usually was. The herbal tea and, with spring now leading into summer, fruit juices were available all day long. Caterers worked in several short shifts but nevertheless worked a twelve-hour day. Food preparation was as often as not a punishment detail for minor infractions of colony laws, but everyone took a turn at those chores. The big difference here on the new land was that the food didn't also have to be picked, dug, fished, or gutted: other working groups had already processed it for cooking.

On the northern wall of the dining room were the listings of jobs and rotas so that there was no excuse for anyone to miss assignments. Diners customarily checked before or after they ate to see what their duties were for the next day or the next week.

Zainal was listed as working with ex-Admiral Ray Scott, Bull Fetter-man, Bert Put, John Beverly, Chuck Mitford, Jim Rastancil, Salvinato, Gino Marrucci, Raisha Simonova, Boris Slavinkovin, Hassan Moussa, Laughrey, Ayckburn, Peter Easley, and Worrell. These week-long meetings were scheduled at the hangar. Considering that most of these men were ex-service of one country or another, Kris had no problem figuring out that Zainal was probably talking up his master plan. Whether the others would go for it or not was debatable. Certainly there were significant absences from that list, such as the odious Geoffrey Ainger, the Brit naval commander, Beggs, who had been Scott's gopher, and Sev Balenquah, who had so nearly blown their disguises on their sneak trip back to Barevi to obtain the supplies which were making all the difference in the efficiency and productivity of the colony.

And if all those with experience in flying the Catteni craft, including Raisha, were there, she wondered just what escapade was being planned.

And why wasn't she included?

SHE AND ZANE HAD THEIR SNACK, a hot rolled sandwich with a sort of sausagey filling, the constituents of which she did not wish to know but the result tasted good. Zane licked his fingers so hungrily that she found a small extra one to give him.

"We've our garden to tend now, love," she said, and he hopped and skipped alongside her as they returned to their cabin. She got out the hoe and his little weeder prong and they finished that chore by the time they saw Zainal being dropped off from the flatbed, still occupied by those living farther up the way to the main administrative area.

"Daddy, daddy!" And Zane made a wobbly beeline to his father who heaved him up so high that Kris caught her breath, even though she knew perfectly well that Zainal would never drop the boy.

"And what might I ask are you and all the high, low, and middle brass doing at the hangar these days?"

"Heard one of your old girls remembered who she is," he replied.

"Ah, how good the gossip system is here;' she said drolly. "First, please, the answer to my question?"

"Those who played… doggo?" and Zainal's yellow eyes twinkled as he looked for confirmation on his use of the slang, "knew a lot more than they thought they did:'

"That's good. About what did they know more?"

"I believe Scott calls it 'the state of the nation."

"And?"

"We're mounting an expedition." He did not meet her gaze, but threw the delightedly squealing Zane up in the air again.

"Soon?"

"Quite likely."

"Who all's going?"

"That's what's taking so long to decide," and Zainal gave a heavy sigh.

"Just think how much more time that gives you, my dear, to learn how to operate computers."

"That is the only reason you find me in such good fettle."

Kris burst out laughing. Zainal knew just how to get her into a good mood… proving that he'd mastered yet another Terran expression.

"Can we eat here tonight? Kurt Langsa-well, however you pronounce the rest of his long name-said he would come?"

"I'm not good enough?"

He had Zane safely ensconced on his shoulders now and pulled her against him, kissing her cheek. "I read nine books during the talking," and he wrinkled his nose. "I need someone who uses computers all the time to show me what the manual says. It uses words I know but not the same way;'

"I know exactly what you mean, Zainal. I'll go get some food from the Hall."

"No, Kurt brings. I would like you to go over the words I have learned so that I pronounce them correctly. The spelling is always different and yet the words sound alike." He sighed now in exasperation.

"I don't imagine it's any consolation to you, Zay, but we had to learn, too, as kids."

"In Catteni, the sound is always the same…"

"If you're accustomed to gargling, yes, they would be," Kris agreed affably, remembering how hoarse she had been when she'd had to talk to the Catteni scout ship before they captured it. "I do speak some Catteni," she added, slyly glancing at him. "More Barevi."

He gave her a sideways look, so that she couldn't really see the expression in his eyes.

"That is known," he said at his blandest. "But you must learn to understand more."

"When do the classes start?" she asked in an equally bland tone, determined to find out.

"Soon."

"Ah, then let us continue teaching you antonyms."

Hane was busy in his play corner with the blocks and the miniature vehicles that Zainal had fashioned for him. He was mimicking the solar panel hum as he played, oblivious now to the adults.

She had no sooner reached for the list than there was a knock on the door, and Zainal called out "Enter!"

Kurt Langsteiner peered cautiously around the door, a thin-faced man with an expression of perpetual anxiety. He smiled, which altered his face considerably to a pleasant appearance, and stepped inside, carefully closing the door with one foot as both hands were full.

"Name plates would help," he said. "This is the third house I've tried in your neck of the woods."

"Let me help," Kris said, rising to take the basket from one hand. She immediately exclaimed with real pleasure at the three long loaves of bread that stuck out around the stew pot. "Rocksquat…"

"What else?" Kurt said with a droll laugh, "but they put some salad in as well and something for young Zane." He stepped up to the table now and placed on its surface the six large bottles of beer that had been tied at the neck and clanked against each other.

"Remnant of my student days when I found that beer made the studying go more easily." He put the bottles down, and he shook his creased fingers to circulate blood to them.

First Kris brought three glasses to the table. They were still sort of odd shaped, with uneven blemishes from the not-quite-expert glass blowers. In fact, some said that the glasses, with their slightly skewed sides, looked half-drunk. A new guideline had been formulated: if a drinker was asked if his glass was straight and he answered "yes," you had proof he had had more than enough to drink. She was setting out plates and utensils as Kurt started pulling out notepads and books from the various pockets of his ship suit. It still looked new, by which Kris figured he must have been in the Sixth Drop. She didn't know that group of arrivals as well as she did those from the other five.

"What is the worst trouble you're having, Zainal?" Kurt asked as he made an orderly pile of his materials.

"It is the words that sound the same that are not the same," Zainal said with considerable asperity.

"Quite understandably. They're bitches to get right at any age." Then he turned to Kris. "I used to teach computer in junior high school before I got rounded up so Mitford thought I'd be the best candidate to do both jobs on Zainal," Kurt said to her as he organized his teaching materials on the table. "And Zainal here," and Kurt nodded at him, "said he'd teach me how to read and write Catteni."

Now Zainal grinned at Kris and pointed to the third chair. "You will learn, too."

Obediently Kris settled down. Leave it to Zainal to throw her a real curve ball. Oh, well, she had only herself to blame.

"You learn a lot better on an full stomach… and it gives you a base for the beer. Zane, please wash your hands for dinner," she said, using hot pads to lift the stew kettle to the table.

The three males obediently went to wash their hands as she finished setting the table. Kurt must be well liked by the caterers for a whole cake had been carefully tied between two baking tins to keep it from being damaged by the hot stew pot. And so had a good portion of salad greens, though the heat from the stew had wilted some of them.

THEY MADE A GOOD MEAL, with Zainal beginning his part of the teaching bargain by using the Catteni words for everything on the table.

Even Zane tried to repeat them, giggling as easily at his own mistakes as at his mother's but had the good sense to cover his mouth when Kurt had trouble. Though Langsteiner certainly seemed to get the guttural sounds more easily.

"German was my first language," he said in an aside to Kris.

"You'd never know it to hear you speak English," she replied.

"My parents spoke both," he explained.

"We really should make Zane learn Catteni, too," Kris said, leaning toward Zainal.

"And Rugarian and Deski," Zainal said at his blandest.

"Them, as well, of course," was her quick, equally bland response, and Kurt laughed.

"And what a hodgepodge they'll all be speaking," he said.

"It will be helpful," Zainal said, "when we free Rugar and Deski, too."

Kurt's eyes bulged at that, and he looked quickly at Kris to see her reaction.

"Why settle for freeing just ours?" she said with a diffident shrug though this was the first she'd known of that facet of Zainal's master plans.

"Besides, Zane already speaks some Rugarian and Deski at day care."

"Really?" Kurt was startled.

"Gets a bit like the Tower of Babel in there some days," Kris said, dipping the ladle into the stew pot to offer second helpings. The pot had been graciously full.

They all had two pieces of the excellent nutty-flavored cake that had a topping of thick sweet blue-colored berries that did not at all taste like blueberries, nor had similar seeds.

As was often the case with young Zane, he was ready to go to sleep with his stomach nicely full so Kris prepared him for bed while the two men cleared the table. When she returned, she rather thought the humorous glint in Kurt's eyes was for the accustomed manner in which the Catteni had performed the KP duties.

The beer helped a great deal as the two Humans struggled with the guttural, harsh Catteni words, first jotting them down phonetically and then in the Catteni script. This was a cross between runes, Kurt's definition, and glyphs, which was Kris' notion. By the time the beer had run out, the two of them knew how to count to five hundred in Catteni, and Zainal could now spell all the words that had bothered him as well as understand all the computer abbreviations which had so baffled him. They set a time for the next lesson, and then Kurt got into the runabout and made a slow but competent turn to head back to the main settlement.

SINCE THE MIND-PROBE had discovered very little useful information -apart from some shady dealings among the former administrators and administrations of the planet's political divisions-the Ix had abandoned the project: bored even by the occasional scientific theories that had yet to be proven. Most of these were already in use by the Eosi: and far more sophisticated usage than the silly Humans had ever thought to employ.

Unfortunately the obsession to destroy those protected by the Bubble had become so entrenched in the Ix Mentat's mind that it thought of nothing but the means to do so. Where the Bubble had come from and what comprised the amazingly invulnerable material was almost a secondary consideration.

The Juniors-which was not how they were called in Catteni but the translation was close enough to their actual position and authority within the Eosi context had repeatedly tried to divert the Ix with other matters. Lest the Ix be provoked by their counter-arguments into another seizure, they had no choice but to proceed with the Mentat's latest plans: to organize the greatest force the Eosi had ever assembled, even larger than the one with which they had assaulted a planet that many High Emassi wished they'd left strictly alone. But it had seemed such a useful place: with a population density that would provide other, less desirable locations with an endless supply of workers needed to produce and refine the raw materials that kept Catteni ships in space. There was also the added fact that the Eosi were committed to extending their control of this arm of the galaxy as far as they could-and as fast as they could.

So the orders were sent out to the naval shipyards and the plants and planets that produced the materials needed to build more AA-ships, and devise heavier, more devastating missiles to launch at this mysterious Bubble.

The Ix Mentat was approached by one of its peers and tactfully asked why one small, insignificant world was its target.

"Because it's there," the Ix replied, glowering and seething with rage.

"Because it defies us!"

"Defiance is not permitted," the Le Mentat agreed and that was the end of that.