Freedom’s Choice Read Free

Mic was far too accustomed to working with all-sorts, as he called them, not to appreciate talent wherever it was found.
    â€œEven scout ships leave a stench behind them,” Worrell agreed. “Take a party of those newbies with you. Give ’em a chance to hunt.”
    â€œSure thing,” Mic said with a businesslike nod.
    Worrell grinned when he saw Rowland tag the first five people in the breakfast line whose new-looking coverallsmarked them as the latest drop. He did let then eat first before he took them off.
    Worrell knew the trip would do them good. So many got to Botany still full of their Earthside sabotage activities and how many Cats they’d injured or killed and other kinds of derring-do, and they needed to be taken down a few pegs to the realities of Botany. Fortunately more were adapting well to the new world than Worry would have expected.
    What worried the Australian, and the other camp managers, was the indisputable fact that the Catteni were making more frequent deposits of dissidents. Zainal had been surprised, too, and had suggested, slyly, that it was because Earth was showing far more rebellion than any other race the Catteni had subjugated. So there were more rebels to be exiled. So far the colony had been able to absorb quantities of both human and alien species, though they had followed Zainal’s suggestion to let the belligerent and uncooperative Turs go off on their own in the small groups in which they arrived. However, the population of Botany had risen from the original drop of 582 to nearly 9,000.
    Worrell worried all day over what Mic Rowland would find. He also widened the perimeter guard, in case of infiltration, warning them vaguely that someone had seen Turs prowling about. It was possible, in Worrell’s view of human frailties, that even some specimens of Mankind could have been brainwashed into cooperating with their Catteni masters, and try to slip into the colony to cause trouble. That actually made more sense to him than a secret landing of Catteni, since they would be instantly noticed. So far Zainal remained the only one of his race resident on Botany. And he had barely escaped being killed that first day. Which was fortunate, since he had proved so helpful in the first days, and ever since: even to rejecting a chance to leave.
    Mic Rowland returned with enough game to justifythe hunt. Dismissing his weary group, he caught Worrell’s glance, jerked his head toward Worrell’s office on the height, and moved quickly to join the camp manager there. He dropped the rocksquats with the cooks, but not the sack in his right hand.
    Once they were private, Mic upended the sack on the table and grinned at Worrell’s surprise.
    â€œBoots?”
    â€œThat was all that was left. And not the same sort they issued us,” Mic said, “much better made. And this.” He took from his chest pocket a very thin plate about seven centimeters long, and maybe two thick. “I’d say it was a comunit, or some sort of call device. Maybe even an implant. I rubbed the gore off.” Then he picked up one of the boots, which was scored as if something hot, or very strong, had twined around it, leaving deep grooves. He twisted the heel and the whole lower part of the shoe swiveled free, showing a compact kit of small tools embedded in the material of the thick sole. “There’s something in each boot.” He picked up the smallest pair and opened the sole of one, revealing its contents to Worrell. “This looks like a drug injector.” He opened the other, which contained two small vials. “And the drugs.”
    â€œDrugs? Yes, well, I’ll give that stuff to Dane.” Worrell counted eight boots in an effort to defuse his mounting anxiety. “Dropped a team, did they? To do what?” Though Worrell had an awful suspicion his first guess might prove correct. Would Mic know?
    Mic shrugged. “You been here longer. An educated