Freedom's Challenge by Anne McCaffrey

continent, from measurements Kris’ 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 allus 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.
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    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.
    â€œHey, 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.
    â€œAhh, 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. Sssshing 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 intosummer, 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 Fetterman, 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?
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    SHE AND ZANE HAD THEIR SNACK, A HOT rolled sandwich with a sort of sausagey filling, the constituentsof 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.
    â€œWe’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