by John F. Carr
DeCastro strolled up to the River Dragon with a smile on his face and his hands in plain view.
“Greetings, Capitan Makhno,” he chirped. “Could you take another passenger up to Castell City?”
“I could,” said Makhno, giving him a measured look. “What pay?”
“CoDo creds. Not a penny of company scrip, I swear.”
Makhno glanced at his other passengers, who shrugged. “That’ll do,” he said. “I have some business ashore, but be here in an hour and I’ll take you.”
“Indeed, I shall be content to wait,” said DeCastro, easing himself into the boat.
The miners looked at him, saying nothing. Makhno climbed out, hauling a heavy sack, and one of the bodyguards followed him. The two of them strolled away, in the opposite direction from the assayer’s office. The central miner, the one who probably had the shimmer stones, smiled broadly and leaned a little closer.
“Eh, m’good man,” he said, showing crooked teeth, “Mightn’t you be the fella who runs the Golden Parrot?”
“That I am,” DeCastro agreed. “I take it you have sampled my… beer, once or twice?”
“Aye, an’ interestin’ stuff it is, too. Yah haven’t any good whiskey, though.”
“That, sir, is precisely why I am going to Castell City. I’ve heard that a decent brandy, at least, can be purchased there.”
“So they say,” the miner shrugged. “What with the Kenny-ship gone, folks’re cast back on their own resources. Aye, but then, without yon Official People breathin’ down their necks, they’re free t’experiment wi’ the booze, yah know.”
“Ah, indeed.” DeCastro considered that he might nudge some workable information out of this one. “It is difficult to experiment so with the Company also peeping over one’s shoulder.”
For some reason, this struck the lucky miner and his hulking companion as extraordinarily funny.
“Oh, aye!” the miner wheezed. “Nobody loves Kenny-Co, not at all. Nor Anaconda, nor Dover neyther.” He leaned closer and added in a conspiratorial whisper: “There’s some that say Reynolds would love a piece o’ the action, and ’twould do us no harm if Kenny-Co had a decent rival. There’s another deposit o’ hafnium that the Kenny-boys haven’t discovered, yah know?”
“Indeed, I did not know.” If DeCastro’s ears had been mobile, they would have pricked up like a hound’s. “And I surely agree that some healthy competition would improve Kennicott’s manners, both here and off-world. But how would you pass the word to Reynolds?” Telephone, telegraph, and tell me!
The miner leaned even closer, and whispered almost in DeCastro’s ear: “There’s an off-world-reachin’ radio in Castell City. That’s one o’ the reasons we be goin’ there.”
“If you can give them the exact location of the lode…” DeCastro hinted.
“That we can, that we can,” the miner chuckled. “Ah, but let’s say no more ’til we be clear o’ the camp, an’ any Kenny-Co ears, me lad.”
“Oh, to be sure,” DeCastro happily agreed, already considering how he could use this knowledge. Yes, Reynolds would dearly love to know the location of a hafnium lode outside of Kennicott’s knowledge—and mining-grant. The presence of a rival mine would certainly irritate Kennicott and a battle between those two giants might give CoDo the excuse it needed to step in and take over—not to mention allowing a certain Tomas Messenger y DeCastro an opportunity to profit by playing both sides against the middle.
The voyage upriver would be long, but DeCastro was certain he could wheedle the location of that hafnium lode out of the three miners in that time. He also happened to know that there was usually a Reynolds-loyal ship out near Ayesha, listening for any usable news.
He could hardly wait for the captain to return and start-up the engine.
Brodski, hidden in the shadows of the bar, watched the River Dragon coming in with his personal set of binoculars. He noted the surreptitious hand signal from Makhno, and tightened his focus on the passengers. Yes, the first man to get off was DeCastro.
“Bait taken,” Brodski muttered, watching.
Sure enough, DeCastro promptly strolled up the dock and turned toward Sam Kilroy’s. The three men who climbed out afterward, grinning, were recognizable from their descriptions. The central figure watched DeCastro hurrying off and smirked widely.
“Hook, line and sinker,” Brodski chuckled, shoving the binoculars back in their case. He had a few minutes yet before his co-conspirators arrived, and he made good use of them.
By the time Makhno strolled into Harp’s Sergeant, with one of the two H&C bodyguards and Irish Himself in tow, Brodski had the drinks poured and the sandwiches ready. He smiled at the lot of them, lifted the tray and led them into the back room where Van Damm was waiting for them.
As soon as the door was shut behind them, Himself—not even waiting to take hold of his glass—delivered the news. “Aye, he fell for it, and he’s a-runnin’ off to radio the Reynolds boys right now.”
“Excellent!” said Van Damm, reaching for his drink.
The others hastily sat down, took their glasses and lifted them in a toast.
“Here’s ta playin’ ‘Let’s You and Him Fight,’” Irish intoned.
“Hear, hear,” said everyone else, and clicked glasses, and happily downed their contents.
Van Damm, ever the worrier, asked: “Are you certain he got the right coordinates?”
“Now, lad,” Himself chided, “Are we miners, or are we not? Aye, we made sure he got ’em right.”
“By the way,” Makhno added, “We brought in a good load that Jane—and especially Benny—will be happy to see: coal, iron, brass, and a lot of interesting fruit that grows down river.”
“Jacko’s watching it now,” the bodyguard added. “How much do we unload here?”
“Half of everything,” said Brodski. “The coal and metal go to Heinrick, as pay for the use of his metal saw. We’ll be taking him along, up to the fort again. Little Wilgar, and maybe a Harmonious friend or two, will mind the store til he gets back.”
“And the fruit?” Himself asked.
“Ah, that’s for the Harmonies to study and take good care of the seeds.”
“For a group of miners and prospectors,” Van Damm noted, “You Hibernians seem to know much about the local wildlife. One might almost think you had a guide.”
Irish paused for a moment before answering. “Aye, we do,” he admitted. “Let’s say, it’s someone with a copy o’ the original survey.”
“Very good.” Van Damm smiled. Then he addressed himself to his sandwich and said nothing further.
“So how long, d’ye think,” Himself turned back to Brodski, “Before Reynolds moves in?”
“As fast as they can get a ship here, send a team down and make the claim.” Brodski turned to Van Damm. “Where’s the nearest station where they’ve got ships?”
Van Damm took a sip of his drink before answering. “Certainly one at Ayesha, and others…no more than a couple of months out, at most. I daresay DeCastro will be sending his message to Ayesha, and the other company ships will get it soon after. Do you think you’ll be ready by then?”
“That depends on just what we’re t’be ready for.” Himself leaned closer across the table. “Don’tcha think, me lads, that ’tis time yah filled me in on just what yous hopes t’accomplish, besides givin’ Kenny-Co a distraction from us?”
“No ordinary distraction.” Van Damm’s smile was thin and cold. “Kennicott, having gotten here first, got claim to the big hafnium deposit—and thereby raised enough money to buy the right politicians, so as to sway CoDo in its favor. Anaconda and Dover were late-comers, and had to take second-best deposits—and not as many politicians. There’s a fragile and uneasy truce between them and Kennicott and it has held in spite of the discovery of the shimmer stones. But add Reynolds to the mix, and the balance tilts; the three of them together could get their politicians to out-vote Kennicott’s.
“Now Kennicott will have a re
al fight on its hands—a fight with other big corporations, not just some fringe church that has nothing but right on its side. That will keep Kennicott too busy to try wresting Haven away from the Harmonies—and also too busy to note how its wage-slaves are escaping into the settlements—for a long time yet. That, we hope, will keep CoDo out of Haven long enough for us to build up a solid, independent, local society with its own government and economy—”
“And army, y’mean?”
“That too. A society too strong for CoDo to squash and rule, no matter how many transportees they dump on us, or how many Marines they land. Do you understand now?”
Himself nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said. “Indeed I do.”
DeCastro’s coded message had received its reply within twenty minutes. Dickering over his fee, in exchange for those precious coordinates, had taken another hour. By the time the arrangements were finished, DeCastro was tired and hungry. A quick visit to his old establishment showed that it had been converted into a repair shop and he knew better than to try for Harp’s Sergeant. That meant strolling around Docktown for awhile, looking for a safe hostelry.
The town had changed remarkably in the past quarter-year and he had no idea where to search. The old waterfront had been cleaned up, was patrolled by a dismaying number of Harmony beadles, and there were no brawls or drunks on the streets. There were productive shops everywhere he looked. There were new warehouses, busy and well-filled, with an astonishing number of Harmony brethren delivering, buying and dickering, in peaceful equality with the settlers. There was a new building called the Starman’s Inn that was clearly a hotel, with restaurant, currently hosting what appeared to be nothing but local merchants and planet-sided marines.
DeCastro rented a room for the night and got a meal in the restaurant, but found the place too well-lit, quiet and clean to attract the sort of clientele who would be useful to him. For a lawless town, Castell City had become shockingly respectable. He couldn’t understand it.
What the hell has happened here? he wondered, while putting away a good-sized dinner of well-cooked lake fish, tasty vegetables and excellent beer. Perhaps I should go explore in the morning….
One thing he knew for certain; there would be no clash between Docktown and the Church, not the sort that CoDo wanted. Castell and his minions had somehow made a—feh! Harmonious—working in peace with the settlers.
Disgusting!
Brodski put an end to the discussion by getting up and announcing that he had a bar to run. Himself and his bodyguard remembered that they had a ship to unload and departed with Makhno in tow. Van Damm likewise got up and strolled into the main room, ordered a beer at the bar and then—as soon as Himself had gone—slipped into a table in a back corner. After serving the next round of customers, Brodski came over and joined him.
“No fool, that Irishman,” Brodski said quietly. “I do wonder, though, where he gets all his information. The cargoes we’ve been getting from Hell’s-A-Comin’ are, well, surprising.”
“…As if he had access to all the original survey records, constantly updated,” Van Damm agreed. “He must have his own radio and possibly a computer. I have heard things from the other colonies about well-equipped labor organizers there and someone did organize the miners here ten years ago, so Haven is not unknown to them.”
“If so, it’s a guard-with-life secret.” Brodski shrugged. “Let him keep it, then. We’re getting along well enough with what we’ve got here.”
“My friend Heinrick has been recruiting among the landed Fleet-men, and the settlers, who can actually build radios.” Van Damm lifted his glass in appreciation. “It’s amazing what a glass-blower can do, given the right knowledge.”
“I could make a comment about the advantages of ‘Harmony’,” Brodski grinned.
“And I could comment about your silver-tongued ability to make Castell and his cronies see reason,” Van Damm acknowledged. “I would never have thought to see such unity between the miners, settlers and Harmonies. Jane’s plans bear fruit with astounding speed.”
“Uh-huh.” Brodski gave him a keen look. “So, what’s gonna happen to you, Vanny, when your bosses learn that you haven’t been able to deliver?”
“I’ll be exiled here. Oh, woe.” Van Damm smiled, and took a long pull of his beer. “Of course CoDo will send a replacement for Cole, probably on the next ship. We must be ready for him. He must see only what we wish him to see.”
Brodski thoughtfully scratched his chin. “You know, Kenny-Co won’t stop short of a shooting war to keep Reynolds and friends at bay. Will that give CoDo the excuse it wants?”
Van Damm gave a rare laugh. “That is the last thing CoDominium wants! When civilians fight civilians, the civilian rule is at fault and CoDo can move in. Ah, but when company fights company, with company-bought senators as well as local troops, CoDo has no one to blame but its rich friends and itself. Such a war could tear the Grand Senate apart while leaving the tranquil Church in charge here on Haven. Oh, no. CoDo will try to end the fight as speedily as possible—and for just that reason, we must use all our resources to keep it going.”
“The miners and settlers they’ll be fighting across won’t care for that, and won’t add to it.”
“With the help of Himself, I think we can keep the civilians safe from the battle. And so long as anyone can be bribed for money—gold, trade-coin or CoDo credits—I can keep the pot boiling.”
“Hmm, I get the feeling you’ll be taking a trip down river again soon.”
“I expect to return with DeCastro.” Van Damm set his glass down decisively. “I shall need a certain amount of equipment….”
“Aren’t you going up to Janesfort with Himself and Makhno first?”
“No, I prefer to keep my eye on DeCastro. I can talk to Jane by CB radio—one of the old portable ones. These new hand-mades are a little too bulky for me.”
Jane greeted her guests warmly and sat them down to dinner with the rest of the co-op, after which they retired to Benny’s lab for more serious discussion.
“All roight, then,” said Himself, looking over the extensive report. “So yer next step is a real factory, not too near yer island yet not too far either, and someplace where neyther the companies nor CoDo will think ta look for it, eh?”
“That’s about the size of it,” said Jane. “For convenience and concealment, some place along the river between the fort and Castell City would be ideal—some place beyond the forest, since we don’t want to cut down any more of that than we have to. I’m already pushing my settlers to go out on the plains, on the grounds that they’ll have to do less ground-clearing but can always use the river-transport.
“However, for skilled labor, the best source is Hell’s-A-Comin’. Transport would be easy on the river, though time-consuming. What do you think?”
Irish Himself pondered the report, and the map, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Nah, the back end o’ Hell’s-A-Comin’ be yer best bet,” he pronounced. “We’ve got the hills thoroughly tunneled out there, enough ta hide an army—surely enough ta hide a factory, or two, be they small. Aye, an’ no worries about the ventilation; we took care o’ that from the start.”
“And…” Jane leaned forward on the table. “How well could you hide it and all your people, should the squabble between Kennicott and Reynolds-and-allies become a shooting war?”
An unlovely smile spread across Irish’s face. “Better than ye’d believe from here. We planned that from the start, too. The population o’ the whole town could vanish underground in minutes, an’ not even dogs could sniff ’em out.”
“Stinkbush sap,” Makhno guessed, “Or bluetree.”
“So whoever wins will be obliged to import more laborers for their mines,” Jane went on. “Of course, they’re making plans with the Bureau of Relocation to do just that, anyway. We’ll need to have a sturdy enough economy in place to absorb them.”
“I daresay we’re all workin’ on that.” Himself gave Jane a kee
n look. “The key will be river transport. With most o’ the old boats all rotted away or sunk, that leaves us all dependin’ on just a few ships, includin’ the good captain’s here. Beggin’ yer pardon, me lad, but that’s a slender thread ta hang all this on.”
Makhno started laughing. Jane smiled.
“That, Mr. Irish,” she chuckled, “Is the first thing we want your factory to make. Come along with us; Benny has something to show you.”
Benny Donato had, indeed, been practically squirming with eagerness. He now led them proudly to the rear door of his shop, the one that opened on a path down to the river. There, hidden under a low roof covered with living greenthorn bushes, was a large boat-shed. Inside that, as Benny raised his lantern to display, was his completed creation.
Himself dropped his jaw and fervently crossed himself as he saw it.
It was another three-hulled ship, bigger than the River Dragon by a good third, made of steelwood planks, caulked and varnished with something that smelled somewhat like bluetree sap.
“I love my old Bitch,” Makhno murmured, “But oh, you kid!”
“We’ll need to make still bigger versions,” Jane added, “Which can’t be done here. They’ll also need more brass and iron for the engines. Benny can give you the schematics and instructions, and I think our friend from the city has come up with saws that will cut steelwood. Can you make a factory close enough to the river to tow the ships out when they’re finished?”
“Oh yes,” Himself breathed, not taking his eyes off the lovely ship. “In fact… uh, do ye have a crew for this beauty yet?”
A week spent investigating Castell City had not improved DeCastro’s mood any. Everywhere he looked were signs of progress, prosperity and cooperation. There was even a new small hospital, and rumors of a school of all things, outside the walls of the Harmony enclave. It was almost as if Docktown, Cambiston and the enclave had merged, making Castell City a single town. In the bar of the Starman’s Inn he’d overheard talk of building another dock, out of proper stone and wet-setting concrete this time and he’d wondered where the money for all this was coming from. He couldn’t imagine a shimmer stone miner giving a rat’s-ass for the town, and the Harmonies didn’t seem the types to spend cash on such worldly things. Was there some ingenious banker setting up business somewhere in the city? If so, he was keeping too low a profile for DeCastro to find.