Freedom’s Choice by Anne McCaffrey

and tapped it—a needle point just a shade over a halfway mark.
    â€œReason two for Phase Two. Transport will have fuel,” Zainal said.
    â€œHow far will what there is take us?”
    Zainal shrugged. “Not back to your Earth.”
    â€œWhat sort of fuel do you use?” asked the test pilot.
    Zainal rattled out some Catteni sounds and then grinned at the pilot.
    â€œCan’t make here.” He made another correction, moved a toggle, and the pilot gasped.
    â€œYou’re gliding in?”
    â€œNo need to waste fuel,” Zainal said, and pointed his finger just as the entrance to Camp Narrow appeared in the hillside.
    There were a lot of people watching now, waving their hands, mouths open though no sound penetrated the scout.
    â€œFraggit,” Mitford muttered, his face pale, as he grabbed for something to hang on to as the scout seemed to slide down a corridor that had once seemed much wider.
    â€œEasy as pie, sergeant,” Beverly said, grinning broadly as they headed inexorably toward the target barn’s wide-open doors.
    â€œIt’ll fit?” Mitford asked, taking a firmer hold on the ceiling handle he had found.
    â€œNo problem,” Bert said.
    Kris sympathized with Mitford. She tried not to hold her breath. The flight vanes on the rear of the fuselage must be just clearing the sides of the alley. Then she noticed someone encouraging the forward motion with hand gestures as he backed toward the barn. Zainal held up one hand, caught the man’s attention, and gestured him to stand aside. With the slightest possible toucheson the thrust handlers, Zainal lifted the ship above the cliffside, and with equally delicate movements, turned the scout around, lowered it, and began backing it into the barn. The ground crew leaped in front and now made pushing gestures, as he stood to one side so he could judge when to wave off.
    â€œNo rear mirrors on this thing, huh?” Mitford murmured in Kris’ ear, but he had color back in his face now that they were nearly parked.
    The wave-off came and, with one final adjustment, they felt the scout ship settle to the floor.
    To Kris’ surprise, the observers clapped their hands, even Scott.
    â€œYou’d’ve been a great Atlantis pilot,” Marrucci said.
    Zainal stood up, squeezing up against Mitford and Kris in the cramped space. “Bert, show Marrucci how to shut her down.”
    â€œCan we watch?” asked John Beverly.
    Zainal shrugged, looking at Mitford.
    â€œSure, why not,” the sergeant said, and eased himself toward the passageway to give the others more space. But he looked over his shoulder to observe that Scott stayed as well.
    â€œDid it go well?” Raisha asked from her position in the passageway. “I couldn’t see a thing with all the bodies in the way but I felt it turn around.”
    Zainal undogged the hatch and stepped out into the barn, giving Kris a hand down first, and then Raisha.
    â€œCan this be locked, Zainal?” Mitford asked in a low voice because the man who had acted as ground crew was loping up to them.
    â€œThere are six of these,” Zainal said, showing Mitford the small grayish-brown rectangle in his hand. “I have hidden three. Bert and Raisha each have one. Is that right?”
    Mitford looked thoughtful, almost sad. “For now butI think the flyboys and the brass will decide who gets to use this baby.”
    â€œBaby?” Zainal asked, turning to Kris. “Is that like ‘boy oh boy,’ and ‘man oh man’?”
    â€œShips are generally referred to as ‘shes,’ female,” she said, grinning. “And special ships are ‘babies.’ Specially good ships!”
    â€œThat’s a lot of baby,” Zainal said, with suspicious laughter glinting in his eyes as he looked down the length of the scout.
    â€œHey, Zainal, that was some sweet job of piloting,” the crewman said, running up with