War World Discovery

by John F. Carr

  “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 you?”

  “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.”

  Makhno gave him a cold smile. “Now, how do you think Jomo will react to that? By just giving up and meekly knuckling under?”

  Brodski pursed his lips, and shook his head. “No, he’ll want a piece of every shimmer stone that leaves this planet.”

  “Right. He’ll plan some way to be profitable to the CoDo troops and governor. No way can he raise and train an army near town.”

  Brodski sat up straight, staring hard at the cleared fields around him and the meandering stone fortress.

  Makhno caught the look, and gunned sourly. “That’s right. They’d be happy to let somebody else do the clearing, planting and building for them—and then come in and take over.”

  “Right,” Brodski slowly agreed.

  “And the fact that Ahnli and Zilla knew about this place means that word has spread around Docktown. Don’t ask me how; I was careful to be discreet.”

  “Patient observers could add two and two,” Van Damm considered. “You leave with several women, you come back with valuable crops.”

  “That’s why we hired you two,” Makhno finished. “The Simbas’ll come, sooner or later, and we have to be ready for ’em.”

  “I see.” Brodski rattled his fingers on the log for a moment. “How do you think they will come? I doubt they’ll walk.”

  “They’ll probably use The Last Resort. According to Ahnli and Zilla, they were going to take her when she came in next, and we passed her on the way out.”

  “We had better figure out some kind of nasty surprise for them,” said Van Damm. “We must talk to your machinist and chemist.”

  “All right, you can do that after dinner. But how do you fight a ship?” asked Makhno.

  “By using its capabilities against it,” replied Brodski “More like preparing for the future. We put something together that will work under a lot of different circumstances and apply it when one of them turns up.

  “So as I was saying, what’s your position when the invasion comes?”

  Makhno thought that over for a moment. “Well, hell, I’ve been a supply-runner and news source. If I’m here when it happens, I’ll just go to Jane and ask her where she wants me.”

  “Good enough for now. I think Van Damm and I should start applying for jobs as gunnery and demolition officers. You’ll need somebody who’s blooded and seasoned to help you fight. I think I’ll stay on here.”

  “Stay?” Makhno was jolted to realize that he didn’t like the idea. The next instant he knew why, and kicked himself. Hadn’t he been complaining about the pure hard work of being one of only three men among a dozen women? “Uh, we can’t afford to pay you beyond what we agreed.”

  “No problem, son,” said Brodski, reloading his pipe. “We plan to do just what the ladies have done: Take our land-share. Just when do you expect Jomo to make his try?”

  “Well, the next ship is due in ten months. With news out on the stones, who knows how many’ll come after that. He’ll want to have control solid before then.”

  “Mm hmm. We’d better join Jane’s fief in a hurry.”

  “Fief?” Makhno scratched his head. “More of a
co-op, I think. Everybody’s got their little patch, but we share the tools, knowledge, labor and resources.”

  “Come on, boy. Jane’s really in charge here. She was the one who smuggled in the pot seeds, wasn’t she?—Oh, don’t jump like that; I’m not about to run and tell Jomo on you. Hell, I think it’s the best thing to hit Haven since the Survey Teams! But it’s her seed, her land and her rule, isn’t it? And she lends—or more exactly, rents out—her tools and knowledge and seed and the other resources in exchange for shares of the crops, right? And it’s her castle that everybody’s going to hole up in when the attack comes, right? So just what would you call an arrangement like that?”

  “That depends.” Makhno grinned toothily. “The women may decide not to fight that way, you know. They may vote to spread out among the neighbors on the riverside, fight it out farm by farm, or go hide out til the Simbas leave, like they did when the miners were rafting down-river, or a dozen other things.”

  “Good Lord!” Brodski bellowed. “Ya mean they gonna decide on defense by vote? Every last whore and welfare-witch ranking the same as Jane, or you?”

  “Why not?” Makhno’s grin got wider. “You just said yourself that they made pretty good soldiers, so they’re not that ignorant. They all wanted the land deal, so they’re not that lazy. Besides, it’s their land, their kids, and their asses on the line when the Simbas come—so who’s got the right to dispose of all that for them?”

  Brodski subsided into swearing and muttering. He was still at it when the dinner-bell rang.

  Half the population of Docktown, and quite a few eyes from Castell City, watched Jomo’s expedition The Last Resort, loaded with three-fourth’s of Jomo’s army—with food, supplies, and all of the CoDo stunners—chugged away from the dock and out into the lake. Some of the crowd actually cheered, and meant it.

  DeCastro stood on the dock, watching them go, his smile only half-forced. He calculated that Jomo’s expedition would take at least three full cycles to sweep all three branches of the river, with brief returns to town in between to unload cargo.

  That meant that one Tomas Messenger y DeCastro had roughly one cycle to assure the loyalty of the twenty Jomo had left him. Such assuring would necessarily include thinning out the unreliable. With less than twenty soldados, DeCastro could not possibly hold all of Docktown. Certain adjustments would have to be made, strength concentrated on the most important sites and the others patrolled often enough to keep them from becoming hotbeds of rebellion. Explanations could be made to Jomo at some well-chosen time.

  *

  *

  *

  The five men sat plotting and scheming and arguing at the cleared dinner table, Jane looking on from the head of the table.

  “So what is it you want?” asked Falstaff. “Understand that we don’t have a lot of resources.”

  “I was thinking through dinner,” replied Van Damm “What I think we need is a variable timed charge that you could attach to their boat…”

  “You’ll have to be careful of River-Jacks. They’re nasty and hungry and they’ll take care of any Simbas we miss, said Makhno.

  “How will we get through them?” asked Brodski.

  “Blue tree sap will do it. Just rub it on your body and it keeps them away.”

  “Yah…Painted blue like an ancient Briton,” said Van Damm. “But what boat are, they likely to have, Captain Makhno?”

  “Since they couldn’t grab the Bitch…the next best ship is The Last Resort. She mostly fishes on Lake Castell; easy prey for Jomo, I’d guess. Hmm, but she’s just a diesel-powered trawler with a wooden hull.”

  “A wooden hull!” Brodski snorted. “How’re you going to put a mine on something like that?”

  Falstaff giggled, his white teeth showing sharply against his black skin. “I have a solution. One of the kids pissed in a pot of Eggtree sap I had been working with, and I tried to wash it out.”

  “So?” asked Van Damm.

  “The stuff stuck my hands to the pot and to the wooden spoon. I had to use alcohol to get loose. I figure it’ll do as an underwater glue. Hell, I was stuck tight in less than ten seconds.”

  “I…see,” purred Van Damm.

  “Sounds good to me,” chortled Brodski. “A real—heh!—‘solution’ for a real problem.”

  “Captain Makhno, do you know the interior of The Last Resort?” Van Damm plowed on. “Can you draw a plan showing where a small charge would fill the greatest open space, other than the engine room?”

  “Maybe, but why not the engine room?”

  “Because we might want to salvage her later.”

  Donato chewed his mustache and, punched numbers into his rechargeable pocket computer. “I have some frying pans that are heavy cast iron; they’ll probably do for the cases. Jeff, can you do something about the charge?”

  “Well, I can boost the shotgun propellant some, maybe get a medium explosive. What I see as a problem is the timer. Any ideas?”

  “There are a couple of clock chips in that stunner you brought back they’ll do; but…they’ll have to be set before they go into the water.”

  “Keep at it, gentlemen.” Jane, grinned, getting up. “I trust your sense of… timing.”

  She strolled off, leaving a table of assorted groans.

  The lands along the eastern branch of the great river were low, flat, rolling, and rich with tall grass and wandering herds of muskylope. Jomo and his troops only glowered at the passing scenery; it hadn’t shown them lootable prey yet. There was great joy when they spotted a rising column of smoke from a chimney, and the smokestack that was its source. Below it sat a turf-roofed dugout farmhouse surrounded by paddocks, storage-shacks, livestock-barns and a good-sized kitchen-garden. Five men, four women and several children were busy working therein. When they spotted the oncoming The Last Resort, they stood up and waved.

  Jomo smiled from ear to ear. “Fresh meat, Simbas,” he said.

  As the last dishes were cleared away, Brodski stood up and waved his cane for attention. “Awright ladies,” he bellowed. “All those who…voted,” he managed to keep the sneer out of his voice. “to go to the neighbors’ farms and snipe from the shore, take these radios and pass ’em around. Set up schedules so there’s always somebody on the radio reporting back to the island. That’s vital, damn-it, so remember it! I just hope everybody’ll be awake and on the air when Jomo’s boys come.

  “Amen,” said Jane.

  Van Damm shook his head and reached for his beer.

  Brodski sat down with a thump and reached for his mug, muttering under his breath about deciding strategy by town meeting.

  Jane, still standing, turned to face them. “Now, concerning your land-grant…” she began.

  Brodski and Van Damm sat up straighter, grinning.

  “You’ll have your share of the working land on the island. However, for tactical purposes, we’ll need you two on an advance listening-post downriver.”

  The two mercs looked at each other, shrugged, and muttered agreement.

  “The best post I’ve been able to find is just north of MacDonald’s, right on the bend of the river. There’s a dugout house and some furnishings, a storage-barn, two paddocks and a kitchen-garden gone to seed. We can give you hand-tools and seed. Sorry, but we don’t have enough livestock yet to spot you more than a few turkeys; you’ll have to hunt for most of your meat, but there’s plenty of game. Now, how much seed do you want, and what sort of crops?”

  “Seed?” Van Damm gave her a blank look.

  “Crops?!” Brodski followed him. “You expect us, to be farming?!”

  “Of course.” Jane frowned, puzzled. “You’re going to have to pose as standard river farmers. That means working in the field. Now, which crops do you want?”

  Makhno couldn’t help laughing as he saw the two mercs look at each other, saw the slowly growing realization on their faces, saw plainly what they’d expected out of life on Lady Jane’s estate. They really had thought they’d always be fe
d, supplied, taken care of, paid—even after their contracted work was done—coddled and fussed over like roosters in a henhouse as two of the only five men among more than a dozen women.

  Falstaff caught it at the same time; he erupted into howling laughter. Donato only looked to heaven and waved both hands to some unnamed saint. Makhno laughed so hard he fell off his bench and rolled, whooping and yucking, on the stone-and-clay floor.

  “Welfare bums!” He tired to hiccup an explanation to the worried faces turned toward him. “Just sit on your fanny and whine! Hic! Oh, they’ve got a lot to learn about polygamy.…”

  Nobody else seemed to understand what he meant, unless one counted the thoughtful look on Jane’s face.

  *

  *

  *

  The last of Jomo’s men came aboard, dragging the last laden sack, and waved his stunner to signal “all clear”.

  Jomo turned toward the first man in line. “Is this all they had?” he asked, very coldly.

  “We searched thoroughly, Baas.” The man automatically dropped into the Submissive Position of the Chacma Baboon.

  Jomo frowned and turned away. “Poor pickings,” he growled. “Let us hope, that the next farm has more to offer. “Pilot, haul away.”

  Former-captain Feinberg cast one glance back at the thick smoke-column rising over the remains of the once-successful lakeside farm, shivered, and turned back toward his engines. There was nothing he could do about this, no available escape short of getting his throat cut. He breathed a quick prayer to any gods who could hear him to give him an opportunity to run.

  The Last Resort fired up her engine, and dutifully turned south.

  Brodski and Van Damm were sitting in the hammocks outside their cabin, arguing over whose turn it was to weed the goddamn vegetable garden.

  “I’ve done it the last three times,” Van Damm complained, nursing carefully on his next-to-last bottle of river beer. “I have blisters from the verdammt weeds. It’s high time you did it.”