War World: Discovery

by Discovery v2 lit

  “Okay, Owen. Coming out.” ...But where the hell were Makhno and the women? “What have we got?”

  “It looks like there were four of them. Three dead. One got away,” said Van Damm, frisking the body in front of him.

  Brodski produced a pocket light, looked down and saw a corpse, expertly killed with a knife. It took a good man to get that close in what had been turning into a fire-fight. His estimation of Van Damm went up.

  A powerful flashlight lit up the area, Makhno and the two girls just visible behind it.

  “Did you get them?” he panted.

  “Three out of four,” came Van Damm’s reply. “Not bad for this sort of thing.”

  Makhno’s light beam hovered over the bodies. “Hmm, they look like Jomo’s boys... I’ll wager they weren’t trying to ambush us; more like, they were headed the same way we were--maybe chasing the women.”

  Brodski put his pocket light away and reloaded his pistol.

  “Look what I’ve found!” chirped Van Damm. “A stun-rifle! I think you broke it though, Ski.”

  “Take it along, Mister Van Damm,” said Makhno, climbing to his feet. “We don’t waste anything.”

  “You take the woman on the right, Brodski sighed, thinking of the painful extra weight. “I’ll take the other one.”

  Makhno sent the older girl (Mary) to search the bodies, and the younger (Rose) to bring Brodski’s bag, while he helped the men pick up the stunned women. The little procession struggled its way through the darkened streets of Castell City, past the last of the outbuildings, up to the bent shore where the northern river emptied into the lake. There Makhno hunted through the underbrush until he found the disguised Black Bitch.

  “So you hid her here and walked in,” Brodski noted. “How come?”

  “Didn’t want to be noticed by Jomo’s men. There’s reason to think they’d grab the Bitch if they could.” Makhno pulled the concealing tarp off the zodiac and began testing her engines.

  “Not to mention what they’d make of these,” said Brodski, holding out the sack Makhno had set down. “You must have half the portable CB radios on Haven in there.”

  Makhno grabbed the sack and stuffed it aboard the Bitch. “Yeah. Better we should have ‘em than Jomo.”

  “Hmm, any idea why those bozos jumped us?” Brodski asked. “And were they really Jomo’s boys, or possibly independents?”

  “Jomo’s goons,” snapped Makhno, not looking up. “Maybe after the Bitch, maybe wanting the women. Saw us, jumped at the chance and started shooting.”

  “Why the women? Why your raft?” Van Datum pushed.

  “The Black Bitch is the fastest boat on the planet, and the women...” Makhno paused. “Jomo’s pulling all the whores in Docktown under his rule. These two used to be independents, who didn’t like Jomo’s working conditions. As for the girls--they’re Old Harp’s daughters. Do I need to tell you anything more?”

  “Er, no. Not a thing.”

  The girls handed in three sheath-knives, a revolver and ammunition from the other man that Brodski had shot. “They didn’t have any money on them, Captain Makhno, Mary duly reported. “Just these things.”

  “That’s all right, Mary. Now, everybody, get those women aboard and help push off.”

  They slid into the river at dead slow, without the superchargers engaged. When they made the lake proper Makhno opened the throttles, pointed the nose of the Bitch south and relaxed to the rising whine of the superchargers. They’d reach Janesfort at just about Eyerise.

  Nobody followed them.

  “You are quite sure,” Jomo asked coldly, “that the women are nowhere to be found in the city?”

  “I assure you, mi Commandante, my men searched the city most thoroughly.” DeCastro started to reach for a cigar, then thought better of it. The supply was running low.

  “We even managed to search some of the buildings in Castell City proper, under pretext of looking for two women who were contagiously ill.”

  Jomo raised one eyebrow slightly in appreciation of that trick. It was almost impossible to get any cooperation out of the Harmonies.

  “Therefore I must regretfully conclude, that the delectable Ahnli and Zilla have fled the city: DeCastro’s regret was genuine, and not just for the loss of income. He had sampled Ahnli’s charms last shift, and wanted more of her.

  “Then where could they have gone?” Jomo glowered. “There have been no boats in dock for the past three turns, no carts or wagons either. I do not see those two slits going far on foot.”

  DeCastro shrugged elaborately. “They must have fled with the assistance of those admirers who proved so effective against our search party. The survivor of that encounter was not able to recognize the men in the poor light. They could have come from anywhere, in a concealed boat or wagon, and taken the women back with them: to an outlying farm, or to some collection of the miners and prospectors to the west, or--who knows?--to the legendary Island of Women. In any case, gone out of our reach.”

  Jomo’s frown deepened. “We must discourage further such defections, and it is time we extended our reach beyond Docktown. We must have land and river transport, DeCastro.”

  “Of course.” DeCastro interlaced his fingers in thought. “When The Last Resort returns with her latest catch, we can persuade the owners to put the ship at our disposal. As for wagons, I cannot predict when another will come rolling into our reach. We may have to march our troops into farming country to look for one.”

  “Better to use the ship to take us to farms along the river,” said Jomo. “Indeed, we will have to visit those farms eventually. Best to start planning now.”

  “Si, mi Commandante? DeCastro sighed, wondering how to persuade Jomo not to send him out on any such expeditions. DeCastro hated the wilderness, had spent all his life in cities, wished to be nowhere on the planet but nice, comfortable Docktown, getting rich off the spacer trade.

  The trip upriver was long, wet, dark and cold. Makhno took the opportunity to explain some of the facts of life at Janesfort, but the reception was mixed.

  “Now we’re into Central Forest proper. Behind the screen of woods, you’ll find lots of farms--squatters, all of ‘em, but what Castell doesn’t know about doesn’t hurt anybody else. The squatters along here are all friends of Jane’s. They’re willing to help, but the real fortress is at the island.”

  The girls and women nodded acceptance, then huddled together in mute, miserable endurance.

  The two men weren’t nearly as patient. Brodski settled into griping and swearing; Van Damm joined him and looked sour.

  That they’d be working for women, or that the trip was uncomfortable, was no damned excuse. Makhno grew steadily more irritated with both of them.

  When they reached the north cliff-face of Jane’s Island, Makhno took his own sweet time pulling up to the anchorage spot under the ledge-hidden hoist. Sure enough, while Brodski reached, cursing, for the camouflaged bell-rope, Van Damm spotted the rising pipe to the water pump.

  “Weakness, that,” he said, pointing. “Invaders could climb it.”

  “Not likely,” Makhno teased, hiding his grin. “Too wet, too dangerous.”

  “Good troops could climb it,” Van Damm insisted, taking the bait.

  “Hell, I’d like to see you try,” Makhno nudged.

  “Fifty creds says I can.”

  “You’re on.”

  Van Damm actually smiled, made a smooth leap out of the raft and caught the pipe. Makhno had to admit the guy was good, didn’t even slip on the damp lower stretch of pipe, shinnied up fast and smoothly.

  “You just lost fifty creds fast,” growled Brodski, jerking on the bell-rope.

  “Not yet I haven’t,” Makhno chuckled, his reply muffled by the bell. He watched as braid-wrapped heads peered down from the ledge, grinned as they turned to look at the stranger shinnying up the pipe.

  Van Damm was better than ten meters up when he came abruptly nose-to-nose with a shotgun in the hands of Tall Lou. He ye
lled like a banshee, sprang away from the pipe, and went straight back down into the water, narrowly missing the raft.

  Makhno managed not to laugh as he hauled the man back aboard, but he couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear. Brodski, who’d been busy with the bell-rope and had missed the whole encounter, asked what the hell had happened.

  “A woman with a shotgun,” came Van Damm’s reply. “I couldn’t even see her until she poked it up my nose.... She was hidden by an overhang and a berm, damn-it”

  “Yeah. They keep watch on all the approaches.” Makhno snickered. “You should’ve gone up the hoist, like a proper guest.”

  About then the sling-hoist came creaking down to the raft. Van Damm shamelessly grabbed at it first, ducked into it and signaled to be hauled up. The windlass obligingly lifted him away.

  “As I told you,” said Makhno. “Jane’s no fool.”

  “I’m beginning to get that impression,” said Brodski.

  The crew of The Last Resort never knew what hit them. One minute they were unloading a good catch of fish at Castell City dock, and then there came a crackling sound, and then they were waking up on the dock with ringing heads, bound hands, and a bunch of mean-looking Docktown goons grinning down at them.

  Joey Brown looked toward Captain Feinberg, and got a bleak look in return.

  He wondered what these goons wanted to rob them of; all they possessed at the moment were their clothes, dry suits, tools, and a load of fish.

  The crowd parted and another man marched through. He was chunky, swaggering, puffing a thick cigar. “DeCastro,” Captain Feinberg muttered. “Damned if I’ll visit his bar again.”

  “Senores,” DeCastro announced through a cloud of odorous smoke. “Pray forgive this unorthodox greeting, but we have serious business to discuss. We need to hire the use of your boat and your estimable selves.”

  “What pay?” asked Feinberg, daring to stand up.

  “The usual shares,” DeCastro puffed calmly. “You will find that Senor Jomo is most generous to those who serve him well.”

  “Jomo’s in charge of this?” Feinberg gaped.

  “Shit,” said deckhand Brown--and lay back down on the dock.

  Makhno strolled down the line of exercising women assembled in the meadow below the fort, and considered once again that Jane had been very sharp in collecting her crew. After the initial gossiping and chattering, everybody agreed to work as a unit--and there was no dissension thereafter.

  For once, almost all of them were assembled in one place. Granny, Falstaff and Donato were off minding the little kids, the radio and the cook-pot, but everyone else was here: Tall Lou with her short gray hair tossing it with every stroke, big grumbling Latoya with her original fat, diminished enough to show the respectable muscles beneath her coffee-dark skin, skinny Ester and batty-eyed Nona bending and dipping with teenage enthusiasm, Muda methodical as ever, Harp’s daughters enthusiastic, the ex-whores Ahnli and Zilla struggling to prove they were as good as anybody else, even Maria-Dolores working soulfully while keeping one eye on the baby sleeping at one corner of the meadow. And there was Jane herself, blonde, big-breasted and stocky, the perfect stereotype of a Chicago Polack, unselfconscious working harder than the rest of them, setting an example, all quiet competence.

  Deadly practical, all of them. All willing to farm and grow the hemp, all of them busy making a good living this past Earth-year, now all of them willing to fight for what they’d made for themselves.

  Willing to pay for a couple of good combat instructors, like these two.

  Makhno strolled quietly behind the two men, watching. He’d hired them and brought them here, and now they were busy at their job, and he knew better than to get in their way, but he could take mental notes to discuss with Jane later. He’d learned much, just watching them. Brodski might be gray-haired, fat and lame, but Makhno decided that he would never want to get in the way of that man’s cane; it looked too...useful. In demonstration of hand-to-hand fighting, he moved with a vicious economy that boded ill for any opponent.

  Van Damm was muscular, shaven-headed and blank-faced, could have been any age between eighteen and thirty, and spoke little. Makhno had seen him teaching the hand-to-hand and knife-fighting class, and had done some practice bouts with him along with the women; he had decided to stay well out of his reach.

  Jane had been right: wherever these two had picked up their experience, they were the best instructors to be had for the price, most likely the best on the planet.

  And “CD Marine” hung on them like halos. Exactly what were they doing on Haven?

  “Awright, enough!” bellowed Brodski, much to the assembled women’s relief. “Take a break, get washed up for dinner, and then we’ll talk about defense plans for the island. See you back here in an hour. Diss...missed!”

  The women bowed as the two men had taught them, received a bow in return, gathered up their gear and trotted off toward the washhouse. Brodski ambled to the nearest woodpile, carefully sat down, rubbed his bad leg and took out a battered pipe and filled it with genuine Earth tobacco. Van Damm dropped to parade-rest and surveyed the scenery. Makhno sat down on the log and offered Brodski his lighter.

  “You two seem to be earning your pay,” he began. “So tell me, how’re these farmers coming along and how good are their chances?”

  Brodski puffed blue smoke. “Well, understand that we’re not exactly starting with prime military beef, here. They’re mostly middle-aged, undersized women, with kids in tow. Compared to the bulls in Jomo’s employ, they’re nothing for size, weight or strength. They’ve also grown up with a damned lot of conditioning that says: ‘you’re a natural victim and you can’t fight.’ It’s hard to overcome years’ worth of that crap.”

  “That’s the bad news. Is there any good news?”

  “Hell, yes.” Brodski poked inside his pipe-bowl with a twig, “They’re quick, tough, flexible, determined and willing to learn.” Van Damm’s found a style of hand-to-hand that they can use: get down low, come in fast, trip and toss--and the ladies are getting remarkably good at it. He’s worked up a similar style with knives, and they’re very good with that--good enough that his padding’s taken a real beating, and we’ll have to make him another set pretty soon. As for shooting, well, those shotguns are nice handiwork, what with the caseless ammo and piezo-crystal igniters in them: very good for the situation you’ve got. The ladies don’t have any preconceived notions about how to use ‘em, so they’ve learned quick.”

  Makhno chuckled. “I didn’t think some of those scrawny little things could even lift a 12-gauge, but they manage. Did you see Granny picking branches off trees at fifty meters?”

  “Yep. Damn good eyes on that little old woman.” Brodski puffed thoughtfully. “Now mind you, I don’t know what they’d do in real combat. They don’t have the arrogance of Jomo’s bullies, but then again, they’ll be fightin’ for their home and kids. Maybe they’ll fold-up in shock after they’ve shot their first man, and maybe they’ll be so damn fierce you won’t be able to keep ‘em from killing everyone they see. Hard to tell.”

  “My money’s on the women,” Makhno decided. “They’ve been stomped on all their lives, and now they’ve got a chance to stomp back. I suspect there’s a lot of revenge they want to get.”

  “Could be.” Brodski shrugged. “The ladies are good at hiding and sniping. I confess, I can’t figure out their table of organization, though it seems to work for them.”

  “What’s to figure? Jane’s top dog, little Ester and Nona are her aides, Latoya and Tall Lou are sergeants, Maria-Dolores runs radio, Granny takes care of supplies and the kids. The rest fall in wherever they’re needed.”

  “And you? Where do you come into this?”

  “Me?” Makhno glanced at him in surprise. “Hell, I’m just the captain Jane picked to bring her up here to her land in the first place. I kept on running up here because she paid me--first in timber, then in, uh, crops.”

  “There’s a little
more to it than that, I think,” Brodski grinned through a cloud of blue smoke.

  “All right! So I, uh, made a personal arrangement with Jane. So what?”

  “Only Jane?” Brodski laughed, blowing more smoke. “Twelve women around here, and, you the youngest and handsomest of the three men....”

  “Damn-it, you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Makhno almost yelled. “Did you ever try keeping up with more than one woman at once? No way am I getting it on with the rest. You’re nuts!”

  Brodski laughed until he choked, subsided into cough and glared at his smoked-down pipe. “More to the point, what’s your job when the Simbas invade? In fact, what makes you so sure Jomo’s going to bother you at all?”

  Van Damm turned around and asked. “Why should he even know about Jane and her people? We’re a good long way from Castell City, and I assume you have not precisely advertised our position.”

  “Because of things I’ve heard in Docktown for years.” Makhno chewed his lip momentarily. “This island’s a natural fort, if you’ve noticed.”

  “I’d noticed,” purred Brodski.

  “And you’ve got some idea that the CoDominium has plans for Haven, don’t your

  “Sure,” Brodski said. “News about the shimmer stones’ discovery had just reached Earth when I left. Wait ‘til all the miners and grifters start spacing in; it’ll be a regular ‘gold rush’--but for stones instead of geld. Don’t you think the CoDo will want a taste of that action? Let some Grand Senator’s favored company get in on the ground floor and milk it to its shriveled little heart’s content, then dump more BuReloc sweepings here for cheap labor.”

  “More than that,” Makhno said, with a pointed stare. “There’s talk that CoDo’s planning to space in its own viceroy or governor, complete with troops to back him up.”

  “Uh, I’ve heard rumors to that effect,” Brodski hedged. “Face it, the Harmonies aren’t exactly popular with the government right now, and if they have a planet of their own it’s more than they deserve. Or so I suspect thinks CoDo.”