Gods of War (Jethro goes to war Book 5)

by Chris Hechtl

  Of course he'd also learned he could get some “tax interest” paid by desperate people. Husbands would turn over their wives or daughters, anything to get him to come back in a day or week. He'd had more sex in the past week than he had in his entire life.

  His favorites were farmers’ daughters. Some were right dogs, and he disdained them. He'd finished up Bixby easily; Fallbrook was going to be a pain though since there were large farms surrounding the area.

  He'd decided to hit on the farms when he'd gotten word of one farm buying up the neighbors. They had their own scam going, so he took his team out to the Smith place.

  <)>^<)>/

  Jon saw the truck and air drone coming and sent Ronald off to warn his mother and siblings. He was guarded when the truck pulled into his drive, but he met them at the gate.

  “Tax assessment,” the driver said. He pointed to the man sitting beside him. Jon fought a grimace, letting his face go expressionlessly slack as he turned to look at the young man. The man had something in him, the signs of a zealot. He was also getting a bit fat. A tick, Jon thought as he opened the gate.

  “We'll meet you in the yard,” the driver said as he peeled out. Jon waved away the dust and then swore under his breath as he closed the gate.

  They just had to come when they were starting the harvest he thought as he took his hat off and used it to swipe at his thighs. He stomped back up the driveway, ignoring the light breeze and occasional wayward leaf from the trees on either side of the drive.

  When he got to the yard, he noted there were five men. Four were obviously guards; one had been a deputy in Bixby he thought. All were human of course.

  “This shouldn't take long,” the guy with the clipboard said. He jutted his chin out. “Are you the proprietor on record? Or a hand?” he asked.

  “Name's Jon Smith,” Jon replied grudgingly. “I own this,” he said, waving a hand to indicate the farm.

  “Ah,” the man said, nodding as he jotted the name down.

  Jon looked at the guards and then to the drone. It buzzed like a mechanical fly overhead. He looked over to his kids and Vanessa, all arrayed on the porch. The kids were wide-eyed and enthralled by the show of technology.

  “We pay our taxes every time we go to town,” Jon said. “I don't know what this is about,” he said.

  “Oh, that? That's a toll,” Shen explained, making another note. “That's not a tax.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” Jon muttered. Shen looked up from what he'd been writing to stare at the farmer before he went back to his note taking.

  He took out a pocket camera and took images of the farm for the records, then went up to the porch. He brushed past Vanessa and went inside with a guard. Jon went to follow, but a guard shook his head. He simmered and waited outside of his own house.

  After a few minutes, Shen came out munching on something that had been in the kitchen. His and his guard’s pants and jacket pockets bulged suspiciously, but there was nothing Jon could do about it.

  “Okay … well look at you,” Shen said as he laid eyes on Gretchen as if for the first time. “My, my,” he murmured in admiration, making the girl blush and look away.

  Jon grimaced as the voice tickled at his memory. He knew the punk kid. He'd seen him, most likely in town. Bixby? He glanced at the former deputy. Possibly he thought, eyes going back to the tax collector.

  Shen felt his lust rise. It wasn't like he needed another lay, but he was drunk with power. He'd met Gretchen once or twice in town, but she'd been younger and he'd been hit hard by acne. Now though, she had clearly blossomed into quite a looker. He made a note to do a follow-up visit.

  “Now, we have it on record that you have quite a homestead. The proceeds from three farms …,” he looked at his clipboard and made a tisk tisk sound as he stepped off the porch.

  “We're barely running the other two,” Jon protested. Shen just stared at him. “Patterson's old place is mostly wooded. He had a truck farm, pastures, and that was about it. And the Desmond place …”

  “Were they Neos? Did you help them?” Shen demanded, eying him.

  “No! They were good folk. Patterson was … is old. He went south to where his daughter has a farm. They'd been trying to get him to move for years. He only stayed because he loved his stills.”

  “Stills,” Shen echoed. “That means alcohol tax.” His eyes brightened at the idea of getting alcohol. He could skim off plenty for the winter he thought happily.

  “Maple stills,” Jon said, popping the young man's bubble. He'd hidden his pot stills, including the one old Patterson had left. Shen blinked in confusion at him. “His farm is wooded as I said. It's next to ours,” he said, pointing across the road to a field on the other side of the hedge row of berry bushes and then beyond it to the woods that climbed the hills in the distance. “Some good sugar maples in there.”

  “You're saying maple syrup?” Shen asked, staring at him, aghast at the idea. Then he remembered he'd seen a bottle of Patterson maple syrup a few times growing up. It was his turn to blush.

  “Yeah. The land's not flat enough around his place for much corn,” Jon explained patiently. “It takes a lot of corn to run a good still. Most of that is used for food and feed for the stock these days anyway,” Jon said gruffly.

  Shen grimaced, then grunted. “Still have to figure something out,” he muttered, turning away in disappointment. He checked his records, then turned back. “And this Desmond place?”

  “They grew flowers for the florists in neighboring towns mostly, that and seedlings,” Jon said. “They've got a few greenhouses. We're keeping them up, but I've never used ‘em so it's a learning process.”

  “Flowers?” Shen demanded, wrinkling his nose. He had no clue how to tax that.

  “Well, I ain't growing flowers,” Jon said with a snort. “My wife talked me into it. We're trying to grow some food and seedlings for the winter and spring. I don't know if it will work; I can't get to them more than once or twice a week to mind them,” Jon said with a shake of his head. “And I've heard about some of the local ruffians going about breaking into places and tearing them up.”

  “Yeah, there have been some vandalism,” Shen admitted. “Well, let's check this main place out, then I'll have to check out the other places,” he said gruffly.

  “You don't have a truck? Shouldn't every farm have one?” Shen demanded when he finished with the silos and livestock barns and had turned to the tool sheds, spring sheds, and buggy barn.

  “A truck has parts I can't fix on the farm,” Jon said, hooking his thumbs into his overalls. He nodded to the assortment of buggies and wagons in the buggy barn. “That's all I need. I keep the animals fed and in good condition and breed them when I want to replace ‘em,” he said.

  Shen grimaced, then nodded. “Okay, well, I'll have to tax you on each. You'll need to register each. Fortunately, for you the vehicle registration program won't be until next spring,” Shen said.

  Jon grimaced.

  Shen insisted on checking every square centimeter of each property and doing an inventory. He also insisted on assessing each of the people as well. He took his time with Gretchen. The girl played it shy.

  He took photos of the farm and each of them for their records. He had a machine in his vehicle that printed out ID cards, which he handed to each of them.

  “Keep these on you at all times. Have them ready to show if a soldier or someone asks for them or you'll be in trouble,” Shen warned. “If you move, you need to let us know so we can change the address,” he stated.

  Jon and Vanessa took their cards and looked at them. They nodded dutifully as they looked them over and then pocketed them.

  The menacing guards intimidated the younger kids, but Kevin and Gretchen were enthralled by them. Kevin kept trying to chat them up.

  Shen added up his tally and gave Jon the bill. “Don't bother protesting; it's not worth the breath. And if you don't pay, you'll have your last breath or the last on this farm at any rate,” Shen
said menacingly.

  “The harvest isn't in yet. We don't know if we'll get these kinds of yields, and the fields on the other farms … well, you saw it,” Jon protested.

  “Tough,” Shen replied, clearly indifferent to the Smith's plight. One of the guards smiled nastily. Shen took a tithe of what he wanted as a deposit. “I'll give you until the end of the week to come up with the rest,” he said.

  Jon seethed but nodded.

  “One week,” Shen said as his group climbed into the truck. “Seven days,” he warned as he punctuated it with the slam of his passenger door. “I'll be charging you interest too. And the interest rate doubles if you don't have everything. I don't like being kept waiting,” he warned.

  “We'll get it I think,” Jon said. He came over and rested his hands on the window sill of the truck. “If I sell some of Paterson's old tools I think I can just make it.”

  “Your problem,” Shen said dismissively.

  “If I get the money up, how do I pay you before the week is up?”

  “I'm staying at the Essen Inn. I've got an office at the bank—either or,” Shen said indifferently. “I'm usually in after sundown. You've got a week,” he said. He turned to the driver. “Drive, we've got other stops to make,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said. Jon slowly walked behind them as they took off. He closed the gate and then returned to the house. Vanessa bit her lip, then quietly urged the kids to get back to chores.

  <)>^<)>/

  The following day Jon left Kevin and Alvin to spell each other on the harvester as he took the biggest wagon and a pick of old Patterson's tools and gear off to Fallbrook. He knew he'd get a better price at a smithy, but there wasn't one in town. He suspected that without one people were having trouble keeping their tools going, so he might fetch a fair price.

  Al took a couple of the tools in trade. He paid in the new coins the invaders had minted. Jon checked the paper the tax collector had left with him and then went about selling the other tools at a few places in town. It took the better part of a day to get what he needed and a bit more for the “interest.”

  The hay the boys were cutting would have to lie out to dry before it could be bailed he knew. The women were working on picking in the garden. He was tempted to hire a couple hands to help, but upon seeing some of the looks from the layabouts hanging out at the taverns, he had decided against it. He didn't want them casing his place and kids.

  He stopped by the bank when he saw a familiar truck with the Horathian flag on the door panels. He tied off his animals, uncinched their girth straps, and then made certain they had feed in their feed bags before he went inside.

  Shen took his money and dutifully gave him a receipt. He insisted on taking the full week's interest even though Jon had paid him a day after. Jon seethed but pocketed the receipt and then stormed out.

  On the way back, he traded some of the remaining tools for a better windmill generator, batteries, antenna, and radio. The radio was pretty in its stained wood case. He knew Vanessa and the kids would appreciate being able to listen to it in the winter. Their old radio didn't get good reception when it was windy out. He hoped the new radio would do better.

  He smiled. The kids loved the music, and truth be told, he didn't mind the comedy skits or stories told. It gave him a better sense of community. Since no one was having a harvest party this year, he decided they could indulge in it. It would be fun.

  Winter was a harsh time, but it could be fun he reminded himself. The kids loved to play, and with fewer chores, he enjoyed the occasional time too. He loved to hunt, and now that the boys were old enough, they could do their share of the snow shoveling. And then there was other mischief he and his wife could get up to he thought with a smile. Which was why they had so many kids he thought with a fleeting grin as he passed Al's place.

  He paid his “exit toll” on the road home. He was amused that the guards didn't have a shack or something to fend off the bitter winds. They blew into their hands and stomped their feet and tried to huddle around the fire they'd made. Suddenly paying the toll didn't bother him as much after seeing them suffering in misery for their greed.

  The kids were excited when he set up the radio. They eagerly listened to it each evening as he dozed in his favorite chair.

  But over the next week he noticed a change in his kids. They chattered about what they'd heard and said things about people that he didn't like. They started to side with the invaders more and more. Then Alvin deliberately broke a turned nightstand in his room. The boy was defiant, saying it had been made by a Neo carpenter.

  “So?” Jon had demanded, befuddled.

  “So they should all get off our planet! And anything they touch should be destroyed!” Alvin insisted. But his voice quavered as he realized his father's anger.

  Jon was angry all right but confused as well. He looked over his shoulder to see the other kids peeking in the doorway.

  “It's easy to love to break things. It is much harder to be patient and make something, son,” Jon said patiently to them. “To build this … it took years and years. And yet they burn it down in minutes. They kill what took years to grow. They are the definition of evil. And you … you like it. You like them,” he said with a shake of his head. “That horrifies me. It horrifies your mother.”

  “But, you don't talk about them. You said we have to do what they say! They are the rulers!”

  “Yes but might doesn't make right,” Jon said patiently as he sat on his son's bed. He picked Alvin up and put him down across from him on Ronald's bed. “Son, we try to protect you and your brothers and sisters from what's going on. To not worry you since there isn't anything we can do to stop it from happening. But that doesn't make it right,” he said.

  “But …”

  “He's right, Dad. Nothing good ever came from a Neo,” Kevin said from the doorway. Jon turned his eyes to his eldest son. “They are … hairy and … freaks!” Kevin said waving his hands.

  “I grew up with some,” Jon said. “I know you had fun with them not so long ago,” he said, eying Kevin. “And I know Nate who made that,” he said, pointing to the broken table, then to the bed he was sitting on. “ …Was a good man who made good furniture. You had this bed before you grew out of it. Remember?”

  “But that's …”

  “I remember when you went and saw Frey and Chuck at their smithy,” Jon said. “They liked you, and I know you liked their boys. You kids certainly had fun in their shop,” Jon said gently.

  “But … that's different …”

  “Is it?” Jon asked as he rose to his feet. “Clean up the mess,” he said to Alvin. “No supper tonight. And you're obviously not getting another nightstand since you like to break them,” he said. The boy bit his lip and looked tearful.

  Jon went out as the other kids ducked out of his way. He went downstairs and disconnected the radio and put it away. Vanessa saw him doing it but didn't say anything.

  <)>^<)>/

  Isabel muttered as the tax man came around. She held up her new ID card for him when he came to the door. He dutifully took it, swiped it in his scanner, and then made a note on his clipboard.

  “I've got it. Barely,” she said. She had scraped together what she could from her meager belongings to pay the heavy yearly tax. She wasn't certain what she would do come the following year. She hadn't given up anything she needed to keep her income flowing, but it still hurt to turn over heirlooms that she had treasured over the years.

  He had her take it all out to his truck. Guards stood around and watched them as Mister Lajoy measured and weighed each piece and wrote it down. She noted he underestimated a few pieces but didn't protest.

  When they finished, he wrote out a receipt and handed it to her. “Keep this for your records,” he said. She nodded and tucked it into her pocket. She noted items she recognized from Old Buck and the Broussard's in the back of the man's truck.

  “Well, since you are paying them off so easily, I guess I un
derestimated your worth,” Shen said with a malicious grin. “I'll have to do another assessment next year,” he said. “Most of your neighbors have arranged payments,” he said as he took her yearly tithe and placed it carelessly into the back of his truck. He picked at her mother's jewelry and bit the gold ring. “Not really good quality,” he said, eying it. “But it'll do.”

  He left a guard on the truck and then went over to Judith's home and knocked heavily on the door. Isabel watched as the two women met the hated man, then closed her door as she heard a wail and slap.

  <)>^<)>/

  As summer became fall, the resistance groups on the planet began to harden. There was a desire to hit back, especially when they had more and more refugees turning up with news of atrocities. Harambe had to divide his people up into separate camps to lower their heat signatures and reduce the chances of everyone getting caught. Few had weapons; most of the refugees had at best a kitchen knife with them, if that. For Neos their natural weapons of brute strength, tooth, and claw were enough.

  Most of the time, the Neogorilla thought, looking at his own massive hands. He clenched and unclenched them a few times, then chuffed at himself. They were dick all useless against someone with a gun, Harambe thought bleakly as he looked out to the skies around them.

  He had considered hitting a patrol or armory but wasn't sure how successful they'd be at it. It was tempting to hit one of the tax men, but he'd held off on that idea when he'd noticed they were armed. Playing Robin Hood would be romantic, but the bastards were taking items like money and other things, not food. Besides, it would alert the enemy of organized resistance and even give them a partial location. That would spell doom for him and the people looking to him for protection, since they'd heard that others who'd tried it ended up dead. No, it was best to lie low.

  The problem though was food. Food for today and for the long winter ahead he mused. They had too many mouths to feed, and the local wildlife had soon become depleted by their hunting. So were the berries, veggies, and other fruits of the forest. The hunter and gather parties had to range further and further out to find food.