Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  * * *

  The bedroom had probably been a closet at one time. The bed was far too small for two people, and the couch was way short for Haskins.

  “I’m good on the floor,” Haskins said. He found an area near the steam radiator under the window in the main room. “Good right here. Warm.”

  Saxon worried about that. What was to keep Haskins from taking the computer, anything else, while Saxon was asleep? And that’s stupid, Saxon thought. If he wanted to he could knock me in the head anytime. But what if Dr. Lee got angry, called off the whole deal because Saxon couldn’t keep his mouth shut, had to brag to a friend, not even a friend, a guy he’d met on the street?

  But Cal wants the job more than I do! And if that blows it, well, I’m no worse off than I was this morning. Better, really. I’ve got a friend now. Sort of. Practically almost.

  * * *

  Haskins was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee when Saxon woke up. The bottle of Scotch was on the kitchen counter, still unopened. Haskins looked cleaner.

  “Morning. I’d have got you a newspaper, but I don’t have the keys to get back in.”

  “Newspaper?”

  “Man going to interview you, he’s going to want to see if you take some interest in your surroundings,” Haskins said.

  “Sounds reasonable, but how do you know?”

  “Told you, I worked with the Company people before. They’re big on shrinks. Betcha anything this Dr. Lee is a shrink himself.”

  “Well, he could be—”

  “Lend me the front keys, and a couple of bucks. I’ll get the papers and something to eat. I’ll be back by the time you get cleaned up.”

  Saxon hesitated for a moment then laughed at himself. If Haskins wanted to steal from him, he had only to take out that butterfly knife. Saxon took a five-dollar bill from the change he’d got at Lefty’s, and laid it and the keys on the table.

  * * *

  The headlines were about how Boris Yeltsin was able to get the backing of the Russian military and end the recent putsch against him. The article said that, and the withdrawal of Russian troops from Poland, officially signaled the end of the Russian Empire, which struck Bart as about damned time, given the fact that the Soviet Union had officially ended two years before. There was an article about China conducting a nuclear test, ending what was supposed to be a universal moratorium, and one about the boom in Silicon Valley and a program called Mosaic that allowed people to access some sort of web that connected computers together.

  Bart was actually a little surprised how none of it was interesting to him, after so long on the street.

  * * *

  George Lee let himself in at two. He nodded greeting to Saxon, then frowned at Haskins.

  “How much does he know?” he asked.

  “Pretty well what I do,” Saxon said. “Something wrong with that?”

  “Maybe not. Who are you?”

  “Cal Haskins.”

  “Mind giving me your prints?”

  “Naw, I expected that,” Haskins said. “Where we have to go?”

  “I can do it here.” Lee opened his briefcase and took out a small box that he plugged into a port on the desk computer. He lifted a folded down antenna. “Here, you know the drill.”

  He rolled Haskins’ fingers one by one on the transparent plate of the scanner, then sat at the computer and typed rapidly.

  “Calvin Haskins,” he read a moment later. “Former Corporal, Adjutant General Corps, US Army. Honorable discharge. No known profession. No visible means of support. Nine arrests, one conviction for breaking and entering, sentenced to time served and probation. Three arrests for possession, charges dropped when you entered rehab. Completed rehab four weeks ago.”

  “That’s me,” Haskins said. He hesitated. “They left out a couple. I copped a plea to petty theft in Los Angeles, but I didn’t serve any time. They booted me, told me to get out of town and never come back. Same thing, sort of, happened in Bakersfield.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Lee demanded.

  “That thing tell you what I did in the Army?”

  “Military government. I could probably find more, but why don’t you tell me?”

  Haskins explained.

  “Nation building, they called it,” he said when he was done. “I liked doing it, Dr. Lee, I surely did.”

  Lee eyed him suspiciously.

  “Sure you want this? Did Bart tell you he’ll be going to a primitive place?”

  “No more primitive than parts of the Tenderloin,” Haskins said. “What the hell good am I doing now?”

  “Good question,” Lee said. He gestured towards the fat San Francisco newspaper on the table. “Lot of jobs in there.”

  “Not so many for me,” Haskins said. “Maybe I can be a fry cook. Done that. Done a lot of things. Wash dishes. Done that. Gardening? I liked gardening, but it’s harder to find work. Too many Chicanos, Japs, everyone knows about them. How’s a Black man gonna find that kind of work around here? Used to work in a nursery. Done a little farm work. None of that around here either.” He shrugged. “One of these days maybe I’ll go back to Texas. Better chance there. Show me in there something for a Black man down on his luck in San Francisco.”

  “You tell the tale well,” Lee said, and Haskins grinned.

  “You know I do. Mostly I don’t got a job because I don’t want one.” Haskins’ grin faded, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “But I can’t stay here. If I stay too long I’ll be hooked again. Somebody’ll find me dead with a needle in my arm. Them shrinks at the Glide say the only way I’m gonna stay clean is to care about something, something bigger’n myself. The Army gave that to me, I was just too bull headed to see it.”

  “Do you understand that if you accept this job you cannot leave until we allow it, and that might be a long time?”

  “Sure, I figured that.”

  Lee frowned, then nodded.

  “All right. We can use some help, and we don’t get many volunteers. One thing. Don’t sign on with the notion of ripping us off. We’d really resent that, and it’s not worth it. Work with us, help us get all the gear assembled, and if you decide at the last minute not to go, I’ll pay you more than you’re likely to get for anything you can steal—and you won’t have to look over your shoulder for the next year, either.”

  “Year.”

  “Or more. Unless you run a long way from here,” Lee said. “And we won’t ever forget, even if we’re not actively looking. You turn up on our screens, we’ll squash you.”

  Haskins grinned knowingly.

  “I guess I worked with you guys before,” he said. “I know better’n to cross you.”

  “Who do you think we are?”

  “You’re the Company,” Haskins said.

  Lee didn’t say anything.

  “So just what does this job pay?” Saxon asked.

  “Why do you care?” Lee demanded.

  “Good point. Maybe I just want to keep score.” He hesitated. “Mostly because my ex-wife is entitled to half. For child support.”

  “You’re not going to be anywhere subject to the jurisdiction of US courts,” Lee said dryly.

  “Maybe not, but I still have obligations to my kid.”

  “Commendable. Well, your salary would be seventy thousand dollars a year,” Lee said. “If we were paying you directly in the United States. We won’t be.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “We’ll send half that to Mrs. Anderson. The other half will be paid into an offshore bank account you can draw on. Needless to say, you won’t be subject to US taxes. We’ll also pay you the equivalent of thirty thousand in locally acceptable currency. That’s the equivalent of a fortune there.”

  “And me?” Haskins asked.

  “Hadn’t thought about it,” Lee said.

  “Half what he’s getting?”

  Lee laughed.

  “Well, what, then?”

  “Thirty thousand local,” Lee said. “Still a small fortune, ther
e. I may as well be blunt, there’s a certain degree of difficulty in setting up bank accounts. We thought Mr. Saxon might want some means of sending money to his child, so we already took steps to accomplish that. We hadn’t counted on you.”

  “And I ain’t in much of a bargaining position,” Haskins said. “Okay, thirty grand and saving’s up to me. But no taxes.”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “Done,” Haskins said. “Walking around money here? For outfitting?”

  “We’ll outfit both of you. All right?” Lee looked from Haskins to Saxon and back, and nodded satisfaction. “That’s settled. Let’s go, then.”

  “Go?” Saxon asked.

  “Go. As I told you, there’s a lot of gear to buy. You would be far too conspicuous bringing expensive computer equipment here, not to mention the security problems. You’ll work out of Silicon Valley.” Lee chuckled. “Where everyone buys computer equipment. If anyone pays attention to you at all, they’ll think you’re another startup company. Ready to go?”

  Saxon and Haskins exchanged glances.

  “Sure,” Saxon said. “We haven’t lost anything here.”

  “We’ll take the computer,” Lee said. “The van’s downstairs. Get anything else you want. We won’t be coming back here.”

  They took a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, but left the bottle of Scotch on the kitchen counter. If Lee noticed that he didn’t say anything.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NUCLEAR PHYSICS

  They drove to San Jose. Not far from the freeway was a major street that had been upper middle class once, gone downhill, and was in the process of regentrification. They turned into a side street of large houses, some large enough to have been called mansions in their prime. About half the houses on the block seemed to be residential. The other half had signs identifying them as commercial offices, but they still looked like houses. Lee parked the Dodge van in the driveway of a two-story house that sported the sign Universe Software and Communications.

  “This is it,” Lee said. He led them up on the porch. Before he could unlock the door, it opened. “And now it’s time to meet the third member of your team.”

  She was small and wiry, vaguely Italian in appearance with brown eyes, dark hair, and small features except for a Romanesque nose too large for the rest of her face. With a smaller nose she might have been beautiful, Saxon thought, but even with the nose she was pretty enough. She wore tan trousers and shirt, both neatly pressed, and had a radio and baton in her wide, black equipment belt. A badge said security officer, and the nametag above her shirt pocket said sandori.

  “Lorraine Sandori,” Lee said. “We usually call her ‘Spirit.’ Bart Saxon, meet Spirit. And Cal Haskins.”

  “Which one’s the boss?” Sandori asked. There might or might not have been a smile, and Haskins chuckled.

  “Well it sure ain’t me. Good to meet you, Officer. I think we met before.”

  Sandori nodded.

  “Where?” Dr. Lee asked.

  “Tenderloin,” Sandori said. “I rousted him for hustling tourists. One of the crackdowns.” She turned to Saxon. “I’ve seen you before, too. Same places.”

  Saxon nodded.

  “Never busted you, though. So now you’re the boss.”

  Saxon thought about that for a moment.

  “If he says I am.”

  “Okay, that’s settled then,” Sandori said. This time she did grin. “Gentlemen, may I show you to your rooms?”

  * * *

  They each had a room on the second floor. Saxon’s was sparsely furnished with a bed, dresser, table, and chair. Haskins’ room was similar. All the furniture was used, some very much so, as if this had been a rooming house before Lee rented it. Saxon’s room had a private bathroom attached. There was another down the hall, and a third in the tiny servant’s suite Sandori had claimed. There were clean towels in the bathroom, and someone had made the beds with clean sheets.

  “Housekeeping service comes for two hours every other day,” Lee explained. “They get here at eleven sharp. Rooms all right?”

  “Sure,” Saxon said.

  “Good. We’ll get started downstairs. You can have ten minutes to unpack.”

  Saxon grinned to himself. He didn’t need ten minutes. He was wearing everything he owned, and so was Haskins.

  He tried to remember what he’d seen in the papers about Officer Lorraine Sandori. He didn’t often read the papers, but sometimes, so he would have something to talk about Wednesday evenings at Lefty’s. It had been something involving a shooting, a gang member with friends in the Mayor’s office. Black kid? Saxon couldn’t remember. Young kid, sixteen maybe, carrying a gun. There hadn’t been any question about the shooting being justified, but there’d been demonstrations even so, as well as threats from the other gang members, promises of retaliation against the whole police department. Some cops complained that their lives weren’t safe with her on the force. The Mayor had taken Officer Sandori off the streets, put her in some desk job. It hadn’t been all that long ago, but he couldn’t remember any more. Maybe she resigned, he thought. I can see how she would. Quit and get a job as security.

  Security for who? CIA? Haskins was sure of it.

  There was a knock on his door.

  “Time to get started,” Sandori said through the door.

  * * *

  The old living room was set up as an office, with a computer, two telephones, mostly empty bookcases, and tables with nothing on them. The dining room was furnished with a big formal dining table, shield-backed chairs, and varnished wood sideboards. All the furniture was scarred and battered, but it had been expensive once.

  The meeting was in the dining room. Sandori had made coffee in the kitchen. She brought it out and set it on the sideboard, poured herself a cup, and sat down at the table.

  Saxon grinned to himself. She’ll make coffee but she’s damned if she’ll serve it. Okay by me, but Lee doesn’t look all that happy about it.

  George Lee waited until Haskins and Saxon had poured their own coffee, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He came back to sit at the head of the long table and looked at his watch.

  “Four. A little late to get anything done with the electronics places, so we’ll start early tomorrow. Tonight after dinner we’ll go to Sports Chalet and get you three some new clothes, outdoors gear. Do you have questions?”

  “A million of them,” Saxon said. “But I’m not sure where to begin. We’re going to need stuff, some expensive.”

  “Let me worry about the expense.”

  “Sure. But I thought about what I need while we were driving down. There’s a lot.”

  “I know. There are limits, but money isn’t our major worry,” Lee said. “Shipping is, both volume and weight. I’ll have some cargo containers delivered. All your stuff will have to go in them. Two, I think. Three at the most. We’ll pack them here.”

  “I can help with outfitting,” Haskins said. “Tell me the climate, I’ll get us gear for it.”

  Lee nodded.

  “Glad to hear it. Climate varies. Wet, usually hot, but it can get cold in the mountains.”

  “Mountains,” Haskins said. “Snow?”

  “There can be snow.”

  “Hmm. Now where in Africa—”

  “I never said it was Africa,” Lee said. “Just think tropical shorelines and high mountains with snow.”

  “Not too many places like that,” Haskins said.

  “Mosquito nets? Snakes? Scorpions?” Sandori asked. She wasn’t laughing.

  “Probably not,” George Lee said. “But I never thought about it. I’ll have to ask. You keep thinking that way, think about what you’ll need.”

  “I’m not much for the rugged outdoors,” Saxon said.

  “That’s why we brought Ms. Sandori aboard,” Lee said. “And Mr. Haskins. Let them worry about that aspect.”

  “I pretty well have to,” Saxon said. He sat in thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, then re
focused on Lee.

  “Okay. So we’re looking at some tight weight and volume limits. Laptop computers, then. Cost more but they’re smaller, use less power—”

  “By all means.”

  Inscrutable Chinee, Saxon thought. Well, I’m not sure he’s Chinese, but he’s inscrutable enough.

  “What about power?”

  “There isn’t any,” Lee said.

  “None? Can we at least assume petroleum supplies?”

  Lee chuckled.

  “Assume nothing. You can take some diesel fuel with you, but not enough to operate beyond a few months. There’s oil in the ground, even some bubbling oil pools, but all the refineries have been blown up.”

  “Blown up. You mean like in a war. Guerrilla action?” Sandori asked.

  “Not precisely,” Lee said. “That war’s long over. But look, the place is primitive. I can’t promise you peace and tranquility. There will certainly be bandits, and hell, the government’s no better than it should be.”

  No better than it should be, Saxon thought. The phrase was mildly jarring. Why would a Chinese-American sociologist be using an English lower-middle-class expression? Another question to be answered someday.

  “Maybe this is too dangerous,” he said.

  “Chicken?” Sandori asked, and Haskins chuckled.

  “More dangerous than the streets here, man?” He laughed again.

  “All right,” Saxon said. “The point is made.” He turned back to Lee. “But without oil, kerosene, something, we can’t run a diesel generator. You already said there’s no reliable electric power. What do we run the computers on?”

  “Computers don’t use much juice.” Lee waved dissmissively. “Get solar cells and batteries.”

  “Expensive,” Saxon said.

  “Labor’s cheap there,” Sandori said. “Right?”

  Lee nodded.

  “Man-powered generators, then,” she said.

  “Yeah!” Haskins said. “I’ve used those. You need a bicycle to do it right, though. And we take the diesel generator in case there’s kerosene.”

  “You might be able to distill kerosene from sludge oil,” Lee said. “Whether it would run a diesel generator I don’t know. But in any event manpower and solar cells will do. With batteries. And a bicycle generator, they use those in Vietnam. I’ll get all that in the budget. Spirit, you can make some calls about solar-cell suppliers. And windmills. Do they make windmills that would power a computer? How big are they? Find out.”