The contents of this tray also disappeared very quickly, and then Clune and Herb carefully deposited the sacks they had hefted in.
“Some wheat and flour for your supplies,” Chuck said. “Gift of the Farmers.”
“Hey, don’t look like no Trojan horse, do they?” Vitali quipped. “Accepted with thanks. Anyone seen Grace so we can turn the wheat over to Catering Supplies, legal-like?” There was a bustle in the room and someone had obviously made a hurried call because the same woman arrived, this time with her own helpers and, with another curt nod of thanks, gestured for the sacks to be taken off.
“Well, we got some business we need to take care of in Manhattan,” Chuck said, perching on the edge of another armchair. “Can you get us there?”
“Ain’t a nice place no more,” Vitali said, his eyes flickering over the women and the two Catteni boys in the group.
“Being dropped on Botany wasn’t any nicer,” Kris said as Kathy came to stand by her shoulder, looking equally firm.
“No, I ‘spect it wasn’t. Please, sit.” Dan Vitali gestured for them to seat themselves and pull their chairs closer to him.
“Dr. Sachs here,” and Zainal gestured at the dentist, “would like to take possession of his dental chair and the equipment from his office.”
“Oh?” Vitali blinked in astonishment. Then comprehension brought a knowing smile to Vitali’s face. “Catteni like gold crowns, don’t they? Hey, well, Doc, wish you luck. Where was your office in the good of days?”
“Columbus Circle.”
“You’re in luck. Big trading there with the Cardinal Coord in charge,” he said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “And we deal with him regular. Repossessing your equipment will be no problem.”
Eric blinked, confused, until Dan Vitali gave him a reassuring look. “I can set up the repossession. No problem.” Then he cocked a forefinger at Zainal before swinging it to Eric again. “Heard Catteni got into dentistry-replacing their front teeth. Hear tell they don’t have dentists on their planet.” Then Vitali tensed, his jaw dropped and he stared at Eric. “You going to Catten to set up your practice? Brave man.” Then comprehension brought a sly gleam to Vitali’s face.
“Well, actually,” Eric stumbled and turned to Zainal again.
So Zainal, speaking in a low tone for Vitali’s ears only, explained about Barevi and his assignment. As soon as he mentioned the comm satellites, Dan Vitali held up his hand.
“Wendell’s the one you need to talk to about comm sats,” he said, and waved a man forward. “John Wendell, Chuck Mitford and friends,” he added, smiling at Kris, Kathy, and Zainal’s sons. “John keeps my phone system working,” he said by way of explanation. John acknowledged the introduction as he came forward, rock squat bones in his hand. He was a wiry man, in the Levi’s that seemed almost a uniform. He also wore a broad belt from which depended pouches and on which were fixed special loops. Visible as a mound under his Levi’s jacket was a mobile phone. He wore a baseball cap decorated with a Motorola M logo.
One of Vitali’s cohorts passed around cups of coffee, thanking them quietly for the food. Instant coffee, Kris could tell the moment she had a mouthful, but it was welcome. She wondered if coffee figured in bartering at Columbus Circle. She remembered photos of that New York landmark with artists’ sketches and paintings propped up against the Circle’s balustrade.
“And you hope to trade dentistry, gold crowns, for spare parts?” Vitali asked.
“We have other things that may be tradable,” Zainal said cautiously.
“You’re going to need a lot if you’re trying to ransom all the loot the Cats took … no offense, Zainal.” The coord nodded courteously. “They got just about anything portable. We could restart some industries for the most urgent stuff but we haven’t got ores. Mines are in production but it’s slow, and we’re just beginning to have coal for them. What you got handy ‘sides wheat—which we appreciate, I assure you—that can pay for the gasoline and men to get you safely to Columbus Circle and back?”
Zainal was slightly taken aback by the query but, recovering, gave his broad shoulders a little twitch of acceptance. “Should have brought a lot more rock squats.” He glanced apologetically at Kris. “We have some small quantities of ore. What had you in mind?” Zainal asked, his expression bland.
“We can use just about anything: copper, tin, lead, zinc, iron, right here in New Jersey, Zainal. Whatcha got?”
“Gold?”
“If that’s all you got.” Vitali’s reluctance to accept the former standard was an interesting insight into the current economy.
“Could manage some copper and tin, I think,” Zainal finally admitted. “How much?”
“Pure ore? Or recycled?”
“Some pure ingots mined on Botany.”
“Well, in that case,” and Vitali slapped his knees with flat hands, “I think we can do a trade.”
“How much?” Zainal repeated. “We didn’t think we’d need ores here.”
“Here, there, and everywhere. We have some mines open, specially for coal,” Vitali went on, “but it’s transporting it to where it can be worked is the problem.”
“They say they’re going back to sail, Coord,” one of his minions remarked with the smirk of a mechanically oriented man for such a primitive alternative.
“Don’t knock sails, Binjy,” Vitali said amiably. “It did Columbus okay.”
“Yeah, Coord, yah. Guess it started the whole shebang.”
“However they get it to Detroit and other places ain’t our problem. Getting things started again is. We ain’t got tires, batteries, spark plugs, windshield wipers. You know, the stuff we used to take for granted.” Vitali waved one hand in frustration. “Some stuff doesn’t require much ore but—”
“How much … in pounds, Vitali?”
“Pounds? Well, I’d say ten pounds would be the least I’d be able to accept for the loss of the irreplaceable supplies it’ll take to get you all the way to Columbus Circle.” He glanced down at the note on his pad.
“Eric has to go here, to get supplies,” Zainal said, offering the exact address.
“Oooh,” murmured Vitali but he didn’t seem too put out.
“Subways don’t run anymore?” Kathy asked sharply. “Thought they were working on mass transportation as a top priority.”
Vitali flung his head up, regarding her with something close to pity. “D’you know how much it costs to run a subway, girl? Even if we had diesel fuel?”
“No, sir, I don’t, but we’ve all been sort of out of touch with what’s been happening recently on Earth.”
“We do get electricity on at least part of every day, to do water pumps and lights in hospitals ‘n’ essential things like that. Ain’t got no time for fripperies that we used to consider rightful.”
“Five pounds each of copper and lead settle our account with you, Vitali?”
Vitali drew in a long breath, regarding Zainal and rubbing his hands on his worn Levi’s. “Well, I think it might. Can probably trade them to someone for something. You’re sure it’s pure?”
“Smelted on Botany, never felt a pick or shovel before we came.”
“Hmmm, pure stuff’s worth a lot more.”
“Indeed it should be,” Zainal agreed amiably. “And that covers our expedition to Columbus Circle? And our second stop at West Thirteenth Street before we come back to the KDM? Deal?” Zainal held out his hand, hoping to conclude the bargain.
To his surprise, Vitali closed the deal with a shake. “This’ll help more than you know. We’re out of everything.” He waved his hands around his head in frustration. “You bring us a load of tires back and you can name your price.
“I saw sheds full of tires and battery boxes,” Chuck said. “All on Barevi. ”
“All looted from us, too,” Vitali said, scowling. “I’ll take anything off your hands you can get … for anything you ask for … that we might still have. It’s raw materials we need right now, to get industry sta
rted.”
“We’ll keep your wish list in mind,” Kris said with a courteous nod. “Our main objective is to get spare parts and repair the comm sats.”
“Speaking of which, Mr. Wendell,” Kathy began, and that man looked around him as if he didn’t realize she could mean him. “Are you familiar with the Boeing arrays?”
“Sort of. Why?”
“We have one on board the KDM—”
“You what?” John Wendell’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “Zainal netted it, neat as you please. But I’d appreciate a professional survey of how best to repair it.”
“Antennae and solar panels gone, I’ll bet, sight unseen.”
“Yes, exactly.”
He motioned Kathy to one side and the pair engaged in a spirited conversation with many gestures on Wendell’s part while Kathy listened, Kris thought, with far less reserve than she usually showed. Wendell was a personable looking man and obviously well versed in his specialty. At least, Kathy looked impressed.
“Keeps us in contact real good,” Vitali said approvingly. “Now, you guys want to go into Manhattan and grab the doc’s stuff, right? It’s essential to this operation of yours on Barevi, right? Aside from the issues of wear, tear, and personnel, what sort of a vehicle had you in mind?”
“Any sort of truck will do. Pickup, if you have one.”
Vitali gave a little snort. “Even one with good tires. You’re in luck. So that’s the transport and you’ll need a guide and some guards, unless you have weapons.” He cast a wary glance at Zainal. “And I don’t mean those nerve whips either, Catten.”
“We will need your guides, and your guards for we have no weapons, but we’re not defenseless,” Zainal replied, as he held up his big hand and made a sizable fist.
Vitali cleared his throat.
“We have more wheat, if that can be tossed in to sweeten the pot,” Kris offered.
“That’s a sure enough sweetener, little lady, being as it will feed everyone, and a full stomach makes people easier to live with. Okay, Zainal, you got a deal, a truck, guide, and guard and my safe conduct for you tomorrow. Night’s not a good time for going through the tunnel anyway, to mention only one hazard.”
“The Lincoln Tunnel?” Kris exclaimed.
“Yes, ma’am, that and the Holland are the only ways to get to the island. No fuel for ferries, though they may start commandeering pleasure boats soon,” Vitali said in the greatest of good humor. “We’d be pleased for you to join us for a meal here.”
“We wouldn’t want to deprive you,” Kris said, having seen the dismay on several faces when Vitali made his offer. “We have enough rations on board and we wouldn’t want to tap more of your resources than absolutely necessary.” Particularly, she thought to herself, if it takes more of our raw ores.
“You’ll sleep on board then?” Vitali asked, beaming appreciatively.
“Yes, and be ready to move out whenever you have made the arrangements. We do need to replenish our water tanks.”
“Water’s still available—and guaranteed,” Vitali said. “I’ll have to check with the coords involved, as a matter of courtesy and for your security, but I can set up the transport personally,” he said, so convincingly that Zainal nodded.
“If you’ve someone to take charge of the metal ingots, we can unload them tonight,” Zainal said, showing goodwill.
“Our pleasure, I assure you,” Vitali said. Then he gathered several of his officers around him and gave quick, low, confident orders. The men left to obey them.
Coffee and business finished, Zainal stood, ready to make delivery of the ingots, however much he may have wanted to hold such commodities back to trade on Barevi. Kathy asked to bring John Wendell on board to look at the comm sat, which Zainal thought a good idea.
“Fine-looking lads, Zainal. They yours?” Vitali asked, rising to his feet.
Zainal nodded and introduced his sons. Peran and Bazil made courteous bows and offered limp hands to the coord, who smiled benignly at them.
“Got one about the same age,” Vitali said. “If you’ve got two on board for the trip, I’ve another I can lend you: my grandson. For the good of our relationship, of course.”
“If we were returning directly to Botany, that would be a possibility, Coord Vitali, but we go on to Barevi, and that is not a place I would suggest a young Terran visit right now. My sons travel with us for tutoring there.” Peran and Bazil regarded their father with such shock that Vitali grinned.
“I see.” There was regret in Coord Vitali’s voice but he concluded the visit with a firm handshake, and the two groups separated.
“A tutor, Father?” Peran began as they started back down the stairs to the ground level.
“A tutor, Peran,” Zainal said so firmly that the boys bowed their heads in rueful acceptance.
“Oh, and Zainal, have no worries about your ship’s safety while here on the ground,” Vitali said, pausing in the doorway of the VIP suite. “We have an excellent perimeter security. Sleep well and soundly.”
“We’re obliged,” Zainal said, winking at Chuck, who grinned back. There was no real chance that anyone could break into the KDM. She had good external security devices, too.
Chapter Five
Once outside, a truck kept pace with them. As they neared the ship, Zainal opened the ship’s comm unit to alert Gino of their return. The ramp was extended and Gino and the rest of the crew framed the open hatch as they watched the return of their crewmen. Kris noticed the pessimism on Zainal’s face as he cycled the cargo holds to the one containing their metal ingots. He must have been wishing he hadn’t said anything about having ores, but she felt paying for a convoy to safely acquire Eric’s equipment was worth the swap. Botany did not produce much ore but the deposits were high quality. At least she thought the miners would object less to losing copper, zinc, tin, and lead even though in some instances those ores were far more useful than gold, silver, or platinum. Nevertheless, she could see how it pained Zainal to hand over the ingots and how eagerly Vitali’s men received them.
Kris did not seek her bed yet. She was still absorbing the import of their interview with Vitali and other, less obvious information that she had gathered. Earth’s victory was a hollow one, despite evidence of recovery. The rock squats had been worth their weight in any metal, and while they still had a few trays to spare, fresh bread might be useful to have on hand for goodwill and any unexpected “fees.” She hauled another sack of flour out of the supply locker and mixed up a triple batch of bread dough. It could rise overnight, have another quick rise as rolls, which would be easier to distribute than loaves, and be ready for their journey.
Kathy was still in heavy conference with John Wendell, who was almost drooling over the comm sat in the cargo hold. She was listening avidly to his remarks, jotting down notes and looking all too bright-eyed, Kris thought, and not the least bit reserved.
Kris was grateful to fall asleep once she hit her bunk, and answered Zainal’s sleepily muttered “Who’s there?” with a kiss, which sent him back to sleep with a smile on his face. She hated to be roused by the alarm the next morning but rose and flicked it off before the noise woke him. It was fair. He often let her have an extra half hour. In the galley, she started the big oven and punched down the dough, deftly separating it into convenient rolls before she made the morning’s breakfast of boiled groats. She wondered if it would be hard to find cinnamon and maybe raisins somewhere in Manhattan. She had often longed for a Danish at breakfast.
It was the smell of baking bread that got folk out of their beds before the official Klaxon sounded.
Everyone was dressed and ready when the security sensors beeped a proximity alert. Chuck greeted those who arrived in a battered pickup truck. He eyed the load bed but it looked long enough to hold Eric’s equipment. He also tossed in a coil of rope on top of the two lift platforms, which he and Clune carefully loaded, ignoring questions from the curious guards.
The truck had a wide front se
at, which Zainal and Kris took. She was seated next to the driver, careful to keep her backpack full of rolls from being crushed against the battered dashboard. She was aware that the driver’s pistol dug into her left hip and eased her buttocks slightly to the right. The smell of freshly baked bread vied with the smells of oil, diesel fuel, and unwashed bodies. As surreptitiously as possible, she held the pack closer to her nose. Then a final passenger wedging himself next to Zainal slammed her back into the driver’s holster. The door was closed only because someone outside the truck gave it a good push.
“Sorry about the squeeze,” the latecomer said, “but I’m Jelco, your official guide on this tour of New Manhattan.” He nodded amiably at Zainal and Kris. “Driver’s Murray. He don’t talk much but he’s a good driver. We were lucky to get him for this job. I believe he claims he knows every hole in every avenue and street in the city.”
Courteously Kris nodded to her left and was startled by a toothless grin. She wondered if he knew he was driving a dentist to his old office. She also wondered if he could enjoy the nice crunchy bread they had in their backpacks. Murray hadn’t so much as glanced at the backpack she held in her lap but he must have smelled the bread because his nostrils flared every now and then and he had to lick his lips frequently. Salivating, possibly. The smell of fresh bread had its own magic.
“Dover and Wylee are our guards, case you wanted to know. Good men.”
Which was what Kris hoped they would prove to be. “We’ll have Kejas and Potts through the tunnel. They’re actually the Midtown Coords men this week. They wear red bands.” He pointed to the kelly green one on his upper arm. “We do a week on, a week off tunnel duty.”
Zainal nodded.
There were very few people around as Murray drove slowly out of Newark Airport, its vast parking lots empty, except for a few burned-out autos. Then Murray pulled out onto a three-lane highway. Along the weedy verge of the highway, damaged bushes and trees were showing growth with new sprouts, and the occasional forsythia had some blooms. Shortly they turned again, off the turnpike onto the approach to the Lincoln Tunnel. Signs had been torn down but the wide highway, though pocked with gravel-filled holes, was empty except for their pickup and a cart full of what looked like potato sacks to Kris, laboriously drawn by two raggedly dressed men. The wheels were not pneumatic but wooden, rimmed by metal, and the axle squealed for lack of lubrication. Three small boys, walking behind the cart, eyed the truck. From the dirt on their faces, Kris wondered if they had dug the potatoes that were in the cart.
Freedom's Ransom Page 11