Free Freedom's Landing by Anne McCaffrey Page A

couple 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?”
    â€œThat’s me.”
    â€œCan you hang awake awhile?”
    â€œSure can.” Greene got to his feet, stiffly, but made it upright.
    â€œOkay, you keep an eye open here. You’ll wake Bass…you know him? Good, at second moonset,” 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 toward the lanky figure of Bass, who was coming into the torchlight, 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 moonsets, now hear me!”
    â€œWe hear and obey,” Bass said, according Mitford a fancy eastern salaam.
    â€œI leave you the torch,” Mitford said and handed the one he held to Jay Greene. “It won’t last all night long ’cause the nights here are long, but it should help.”
    â€œGotcha.”
    Mitford started to retrace his steps to the front. Zainal favored Kris with a long look and then pivoted to follow the Sergeant and the others.
    Kris wrapped herself up good 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 of warm blankets, too. She finally got rested enough to fall asleep.
    *   *   *
    AS MITFORD, ZAINAL, TAGLIONI, 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. Ofcourse, 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 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 parceling out these gems or was he putting on an elaborate act? Years in the Army 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 veranda.
    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