“Well, I’ll be.” The manager leaned over the counter, clucking with delight. “Sam’s youngest. I heard the name, even, but it didn’t click. He was a good man, your dad.” He nodded, light glancing off his spotted scalp. “We miss him, eh Dan?”
“Where did you go?” The man named Dan spoke as if he hadn’t heard the manager, as if he and Nita were the only people in the store, or the world.
She took another step backward, suddenly wanting to run, to put distance between herself and this stranger’s frightening intensity. “Mama . . . took us to live with my brother Alberto. Down in the Willamette Valley.” The door was right behind her. “Thank you for offering to let me sweep,” she told the manager. “I think I’ll check one or two other places first.” She escaped, the door banging shut behind her, out into hot, dusty safety of the street.
He followed her, stretching his long legs to catch up, his determination like a hot breath on the back of her neck, making her want to run.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. Nita? Want to slow down for a minute, before we both get heat stroke?” He sounded plaintive. “I won’t bite. I promise.”
“You didn’t upset me. Oh, all right, you did.” Nita stopped suddenly. She couldn’t outrun him, and it was too hot even to try. “I hadn’t really thought about it . . .” She wiped her sweaty face on her sleeve, groping for words. “That people here would have known my father, I mean.” The town and the dusty yesterday that she remembered were two different worlds. “It just . . . took me by surprise.”
“I’m sorry.”
He was. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” His name was Dan Greely, she remembered. “Mama never mentioned you.” She heard the accusation in her tone, watched his eyes flicker.
“I’m not surprised.” He sighed and pushed hair that needed cutting out of his eyes. “Maria never liked me much. She blamed me for Sam’s death.”
Grief? His emotion struck Nita like a blow.
“How is your mother?” he asked.
“She died three years ago.” Rachel’s sling was rubbing her shoulder and Nita tugged at the knot, uneasy again. This man remembered her father much better than she did and after twenty years, he still mourned him. “A spray plane crashed into the residence compound at the ag-plex. Alberto died, too,” she said. “I don’t know where Ignacio is. He took off.”
“I’m sorry,” Dan said softly. “Poor Maria. She never made peace with Sam’s choice. I don’t think she ever understood how much that choice cost him.”
Nita sneaked a look at his face, studying the weathered profile. “I don’t really know what you mean,” she said. “Mama never talked about The Dalles at all.” Except to blame her husband for dying and Nita for living.
“I was serious about needing a hand in the fields,” Dan said slowly. “I’ve been spending too much time with politics lately and the beans are suffering. I can’t guarantee that you’ll get much more than a place to live out of it, what with the recent water cuts, but you and your baby are welcome, if that suits.”
She wanted to say no and walk away from this man and the ghosts he raised, but she was tired. If she and Rachel were going to eat, she had to find a job. Already she was losing weight and Rachel’s fussing suggested her milk was failing. Nita sighed, liking the quiet feel of this man, ghosts or no ghosts. She felt no darkness in him, no threat. The ghosts would be everywhere, now that people knew who she was, she guessed. “I’ll take it.” She hitched the sling higher on her shoulder. “I’ve never worked beans, but I’ve worked bushes. I know how to pull weeds and run a soaker-hose system.”
“Great.” His smile warmed her like sunlight. “I’m glad to share with you. I’ll put the word out about your husband. I know a lot of folk around here. How old is your baby?” He tickled Rachel lightly under the chin, smiled with her drooly smile.
“This is Rachel. She’s six months old.” Nita had the feeling that she had made a good choice, had found a place to wait for David.
Or hide from Carter?
She shook her head to banish that thought. “I appreciate the job.”
“I appreciate the help.” He held out a hand. “Why don’t you give me your pack? Rachel looks like quite a load on her own. My truck’s parked at the market. I was just on the way home.”
CHAPTER TEN
Stomach tight, Carter marched down the long hall that led to Hastings’ office. He hadn’t been back here since his first day on the riverbed, and the vast bulk of the dam still oppressed him; making him sweat in the cool air. He had received a preemptory summons from the general this morning. No explanation, just an order to report in person.
Either he had fucked up in a big way or something was coming down, too big to risk to email or the phone. Corporal Sandusky wasn’t in his cubicle. Carter paused outside the general’s door to straighten his uniform and run a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure which possibility worried him more.
“Enter.” The general’s growl answered his knock. “You made good time.” He looked up as Carter entered and jerked his head at the big wall map of the Pipeline. “We got trouble.”
“What kind of trouble, sir?” Carter braced himself.
“Orders from the top. We have to increase the flow in the Colorado Diversion line by three percent. Mexico filed a petition to the UN — whining about its share again. Hastings grunted. “Personally, I’d tell them to shut up and be glad we let them in on any of it at all.” He grunted again. “This time, the EU sided with China in the UN Water Committee. So the greedy Mex bastards get what they want.”
Carter didn’t remind him that Mexico had contributed one third of the monumental construction cost for the Trench Reservoir in the Rockies and the Pipeline system itself. He frowned, doing the numbers fast in his head. The increase would come from the Trench, because Mexico got its share of tundra water via the Colorado and Rio Grande aqueducts, and they had their origins in the Rocky Mountain Trench Reservoir. The Trench was already supporting its maximum outflow. “Where is the water going to come from?” Carter asked, knowing the answer even before the general spoke.
“It’s going to come out of the Columbia’s share. Every drop of it.”
Carter whistled a low, resigned note. “That means another big cut in everyone’s water share.”
“Not everyone,” Hastings said grimly. “We can’t reduce the volume going into the Klamath and Willamette shunts without causing major crop losses. I’ve been ordered to keep their flow at current levels.”
Cater stared at his commander. “If we maintain the Shunt flows,” he said flatly, “the residents between the Deschutes bed and the Willamette bed are going to get slashed. Local water use is already cut to the bone, sir. I’ve spent hours looking at the numbers. It’s going to finish off the soaker-hose farmers.” Ransom was going to love this.
“I see you understand what we’re likely to encounter,” Hastings said dryly.
“The local situation is going to blow sky high,” Carter said grimly.
“It’s your job to keep the lid on.” Hastings tossed his pen onto his desk. “I’ve filed a demand for support troops. Combat units. Maybe this time we’ll get some action out of those whipped dogs in Water Policy.” He gave Carter a cold, evaluating look. “I hear one of ’em’s your buddy.”
“John Seldon’s an old friend, sir,” Carter said stiffly. “It stops there.”
“We’re going to need tanks when this news breaks.”
That could well be. Carter stared at the wall map, thinking fast. “I’d have to look at the numbers again, but we should be able to divert flow from the Great Lakes canal into the Trench to pick up some of this shortfall.” He frowned, struggling to recall the use equations. “The Missouri and Mississippi systems were operating on a comfortable margin when I left Chicago. They could trim it.”
“That’s for Water Policy to decide.” Hastings shrugged. “Give me the numbers and I’ll look at them. If you haven’t missed something, I’ll pass them along upstair
s.” He looked sharply at Carter. “Don’t waste time grieving for the farmers along here, Colonel. They’re a damned inefficient bunch.”
It was true. Biomass crops would dramatically increase the final per-acre food yield along the riverbed if Pacific Biosystems pumped in seawater. He thought about the Corbett woman’s face when she talked about the dying Valley. And Jeremy’s assessment. Carter let his breath out in a sigh. “When is this reduction scheduled to go into effect, sir? I need time.”
“You don’t have any time. The UN came down hard on this. We got a forty-eight-hour notice.” Hastings got to his feet and paced restlessly across the room. “Water Policy is trying to impress the media. Save the Alliance. Nice line. Your buddy’s looking for hero status, Colonel. We get to do the dirty work.” He glared at Carter. “Any protest we make is going to come after the fact.”
Carter groaned and rubbed his face, thinking hard. “We’ll have to change the flow rates gradually or the turbulence will tear any weak spots wide open. Even so, people are going to see their flow cut before we have a chance to notify them.” Then the shit would really hit the fan. “Is there any way to stall on this?”
“Nope.” Hastings picked up a piece of hardcopy, waved it at him. “It’s our baby.”
Carter scowled at the wall map of the Columbia system, the blue veins that carried life to the dry, brown land. “Sir?” Carter cleared his throat. “Why did you deny my request for Major Delgado’s transfer?”
Hastings’ eye narrowed. “Why did you request it?”
“His brother’s death has affected his judgment where the locals are concerned.” Carter chose his words carefully. “He’s an excellent officer otherwise, but I think he needs to be stationed somewhere else.” With this cut coming down, Delgado’s inflammatory attitude could be the spark that started something.
Hastings was scowling at him. “I know about the major’s brother. Yes, he’s bitter, but he’s been here for a long time. He’s had a lot of experience with local politics, and he came up the hard way. You need his judgment.”
Carter felt himself flushing. “Sir . . .”
“That’s my final decision, Colonel.”
“Yes, sir,” Carter said stiffly. Damn it. “I’d better go get my people working on this.”
The flat photo of the man in dress greens had been moved. It stood beside Hastings’s terminal screen, as if he had been looking at it. It clicked suddenly — who he was. “Captain Hastings,” Carter said in surprise. “I knew Doug Hastings as O.C.X. We all liked him — he was a good man.” And a general’s son? That had been a well-kept secret. “Where’s he stationed now?”
“He’s dead.” Hastings picked up the photo. “A retaining wall came down and took out his whole crew. A bad design, approved by an officer who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”
Carter stiffened. “I realized that I’m short on experience, sir. I keep it very clearly in mind.”
“A pretty speech.” Hastings’ expression didn’t thaw. He put the photo down and straightened it carefully. “Doug should’ve gotten a purple heart. We’re in a war. We’re fighting drought and the hicks, all over the damn country. He should’ve gotten a medal. You better get going before all hell breaks loose.” He didn’t return Carter’s salute.
Now he knew where the hostility came from, anyway. Carter walked slowly back to his car, relieved to escape the looming weight of the dam. He was sure as hell on his own — and it occurred to him to wonder if Delgado wasn’t reporting back directly to the general.
As he left the complex, he called Delgado and told him to pull all the programmers back on duty. He didn’t explain why. Hastings was right to worry about eavesdroppers. All he needed was to have someone spread the word that the Corps was about to cut off the water. He’d need those tanks then. He might need them anyway. The wind had started up again, blowing hard from the east, hazing the air with dust. Dust devils twisted along the floor of the riverbed. The Chevy’s seals were shot and dust seeped into the car. Carter pulled on his goggles and punched in the number Dan had given him.
“Deschutes government store,” a cracked voice answered. “Bob here.”
“Hello.” Carter raised his voice to be heard over the roar of the engine. “I’m trying to reach Dan Greely. He gave me this number.”
“Probably. He don’t have a phone.” There was a pause and Carter heard distant voices, as if the man was talking to someone with his hand over the phone. “Who is this?” he finally asked.
“Colonel Voltaire. Dan asked me to get in touch with him.”
“He’s not here.” The voice had gone flat and cautious. “If I see him, I”ll give him your message.”
“Listen, it’s important.” Carter kept a tight rein on his rising anger. “Please get the message to him — ask him to come to the main gate at the base. I need to talk to him right away. They’ll let him in.”
“If I see him, I’ll sure tell him.”
“Send someone out to find him.” But the line had gone dead. “Damn.” He tossed the phone onto the seat. The suspicious old fart. If Greely didn’t show, he’d have to send a detail out to look for him, and that could be misunderstood. Carter clutched the wheel and concentrated on keeping the Chevy on the battered road. Chicago was leaning over his shoulder and he needed to talk to Johnny. Right now. There had to be another way to handle this water shuffle. He felt as if he were tiptoeing across a mine field — one misstep and it would blow up in his face. It was not a pleasant feeling.
When he reached the lower gate at The Dalles, the corporal on gate duty came out to the car instead of waving him through.
“Colonel?” He saluted. “I got a call from the east gate, sir. There’s a visitor waiting for you. A Mr. Greely, sir, a civilian.”
That had been fast. The old fart had given Greely the message after all. “Thanks. Have someone escort him to my office.” Carter drove on through the gate, worry knotting his gut.
He stopped by his apartment — to get the dust mask he’d forgotten this morning, he told himself. The empty rooms mocked him as he retrieved it from the kitchen counter. Part of him kept hoping she’d come back, coming up with reasons for her disappearance. He had looked for her at the weekend market, but hadn’t seen her. He slammed the door behind him and headed for Operations.
Greely was waiting in Carter’s office, examining the big wall map of the riverbed. An alert young private watched his every move.
“We locals aren’t very welcome here,” Greely said as Carter walked in.
“We uniforms aren’t very welcome in town. You can go,” he told the private, and switched on the office air conditioner.
“I heard you had some trouble out near the truck plaza last week.” Greely looked concerned. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.”
“Do you know everything that goes on in town?”
“Pretty much.” Greely shrugged. “I also heard that you didn’t do any more than you had to.” Greely leaned against the wall beside the cool breath of the air conditioner vent, his expression thoughtful. “Those kids could have hurt you. Killed you even. You might have been justified in beating the shit out of them. At least.”
Carter reached for the insulated carafe on the end of his desk. “I guess I just don’t feel so justified anymore,” he said slowly. “Water?”
“Thanks.” Greely watched Carter fill two glasses. “Those were highway kids. They stick to the convoy routes, come and go with the truckers. Sex earns ’em a ride and some food. Sometimes their parents are dead, some of ’em come from the camps or from families that broke up drifting.”
He took the glass Carter handed him and drank the water down in sharp, quick swallows, as if thirst was something he couldn’t quite control, or as if he’d never really gotten enough water to drink in his life. Jeremy drank like that, Carter remembered. He had noticed at the party. “Were you born in the Dry?” he asked.
“L.A.” Greely put the glass down. “I spent a lot of time o
ut in the Dry, though. Too much time.”
Carter took his glass, filled it again, and handed it back.
“Your kids were out to settle a score. A rough customer beat one of the boys to death a couple of weeks ago.” Greely stared into his glass. “A uniform, the rumor goes. Bob said you needed to talk to me right away.”
Carter set his glass down very carefully. “Trouble’s coming. We have to reduce the Columbia flow by nearly four percent in a little less than forty-eight hours. I didn’t know about this until this morning.”
Greely frowned, his face lined and tired. “I could say that you were stringing us along the other night. I could say that any promises you make are worth so much dust.” He lifted a hand. “I believe you.” He met Carter’s eyes. “I think you’re as much on our side as you can be. But I’m not going to be in the majority, Voltaire. Why this reduction?”
He listened without interruption as Carter repeated what Hastings had told him. “So the valleys get the water.” Greely’s shoulders slumped. “I’d get strung up for saying it, but you’re right about their production rate being better than ours.” His lips tightened. “They can do it because it’s all ag-plexes and they mix with seawater. You heard all this the other night. So.” He faced Carter, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You and I have to make some fast plans if we want to keep a lid on this riverbed.”
“What if the Coalition backs the cut?”
“Can’t happen.” Greely shook his head. “Yeah, Sandy and I kind of organize things, but we don’t run the show. The Coalition has a lot of members, and Ransom is pretty close to your average hose farmer as far as attitude goes.”
“Great.” Carter rubbed his eyes, a headache building at the back of his brain. “Got any other ideas?”
“Maybe.” Greely frowned. “Sandy and I might just yell about this, whip everyone into a nice frenzy, and head out to the Shunt for a big, noisy, demonstration.”
“Are you crazy? That’s just what we want to avoid.”
“What we need to avoid is bloodshed.” Dan’s expression was grim. “There’s no way the folks here are going to accept what you’re doing. They’re going to scream, and they need to scream. I want the media to come hear them scream. It’s their families who are going to suffer from that reduction, not their credit balance. This isn’t a chess game, Carter.” His voice had gone low and hard. “People are going to lose their land, they’re so close to the edge now. Do you know what happens if federal ag credit forecloses on you? If you’re lucky, you get a job hoeing bushes in the Valley — but bushes don’t take much labor. If you aren’t lucky, your kids grow up as campies, or hit the highways with the truckers. Some kind of protest is going to happen. We’ve got cool heads in the Coalition. They aren’t all Ransoms, and they’ll help me and Sandy maintain some kind of order. If you help, too, maybe we can at least keep anyone from getting killed.”
Water Rites Page 20