"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, soon or late, 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. He'll want to have control solid before then."
"Mmhmm. 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 downriver, or a dozen other things."
"Good Lord!" Brodski bellowed. "Ya mean they're gonna decide on defense by vote? Every last 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 no few eyes from Castell City, watched Jomo's expedition depart. The Last Resort, loaded with three-fourths 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 Dock-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 troops 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, troop-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 explosive 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, 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 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, dammit, 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-bam, 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 fed, 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. Donate 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 yukking, on the stone-and-clay floor.
"Welfare bums!" He tired to hiccup 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 goddam vegetable garden.
"I've done it the last three times," Van Damm complained, nursing carefully on his next-to-last bottle of downriver beer. "I have blisters from the verdammt weeds. It's high time you did it."
"You should've worn gloves, like I told you," Brodski retorted, measuring out a half-bowlful of his dwindling tobacco. "Hell, you expect a lame man to go bendin' and choppin' all over that garden? My back would lock up before I finished one row. Besides, who's been doin' all the cookin' and laundry around here?"
"I washed the dishes, last time."
"Yeah? And who scoured the pans?"
"Scheiss! This is no proper work for a man!" Van Damm gulped the last of his stoneware-cup load, and glowered at the sky.
Brodski laughed until he ran out of wind. "Whooo! Heh! What'd you think, that all those women would come over here and do the housework for us, for nothin' but a sight of your pretty face? Get real, Vanny: we got exactly what we contracted for, and now we're stuck with it."
"Shh!" Van Damm whispered, looking down river.
"Shh, what?" said Brodski, warily setting down his pipe.
"Boat." Van Damm jumped out of his hammock and sprinted for the cabin.
It took Brodski longer to get up; he was just struggling clear of the hammock when Van Damm ran back out carrying a pair of binoculars and the portable radio. He threw the radio to Brodski and peered out at the river.
"Which boat and which way?" Brodski asked, working the radio.
"The Last Resort, right enough," muttered Van Damm, peering low toward the river. "Heading upstream, and. . loaded with armed men. Makhno guessed right."
"That tears it; the war's starting." Brodski thumbed down a switch and winced at the chatter coming through the earpiece. "Girls, clear the lines! We've gotta get word down to Janesfort. The Last Resort's heading there right now, with Jomo's boys on it. Spread the word, warn everybody, get everyone into the fort, and be sure to tell Jane first."
There was an instant's pause for breath, then a wild jumble of chatter on the airwaves, most of it demands for more news. Brodski rolled his eyes heavenward, muttered something about civilians, then repeated his message slowly and carefully.
This time, only one voice answered. "This is the fort. We receive your message, Se?or Brodski. Can you see Jomo's people yet?"
"Not yet. Give us ten minutes to get down to the water and we'll call you back. Ski out." Brodski thumbed off the switch, picked up his cane, slung the binoculars around his neck and started back into the cabin. "You get to carry the spare rations and water."
Jomo scanned the riverbank slipping slowly past, and considered where suitable farms might be hiding. Surely some of the squatters must have hidden in these thick woods; the cover, and the possible game, were too good to go to waste. He didn't like this alien forest himself, but he could tell a good hideout when he saw one.
Hey now, what was that? It looked like a thin streak of smoke against the sky, the marker of a farmhouse's chimney. How handy that everybody on this cold planet kept at least one heating-fire going all the time; it gave him a dead-sure way to find prey.
Jomo snapped his fingers at the pilot, then pointed a languid hand toward the riverbank.
Feinberg, having grown used to Jomo's little ways after all these turns, sighed wordlessly and turned toward the shore.
Van Damm poked his binoculars a little further through the screen of eggtree fronds, studying details of the Simbas' equipment. He smiled sourly at the bell-mouthed stunners. "Mark I's. . lousy guns," he whispered. "No range, not designed for woods work, good for nothing but hosing down the near scenery. Doesn't anyone use good weapons anymore?"
"Yeah, Jane." Brodski tapped the shotgun and the silenced rifle on Van Damm's back. "Now let's fade back and keep watching."
They slipped back quietly through the woodlot. Where the wood gave way to the narrow plot of cleared land they hurried around the lone field, back into the woods again on the field's far side, and flattened behind an ancient half-rotted log. "Hey Vannie, you ever work for Intelligence?"
Van Damm froze for an instant, then rolled slowly to face Brodski. "What makes you say that?"
"I did some troop training at Camp Pendleton about six years ago," said Brodski, casually pointing his rifle in Van Damm's direction. "And we had a couple of spooks come through. I didn't have anything to do with them, but I remember one in particular. He was an Afrikaaner, and had a scar on his thumb-just like yours. I remember it because I watched his hands when he arm-wrestled with
Bill Mason for the beers at the E.M. Club one night. He moved like you. That's a real hard thing to change, you know?"
"Ja, I forgot." Van Damm smiled thinly. "You know, that's how covers get blown."
"You working for the CoDo?" Brodski wasn't smiling.
"Yes, Fleet Intelligence." Again, Van Damm considered, the truth was the best defense. "But I'm thinking of settling down here. I'm getting to like the place. It grows on one."
"Van, I got on that ship one jump ahead of the cops and arranged my retirement on board. I'll only get twenty-five years instead of thirty, but what the hell, this place is a lot looser than Earth." His gun-muzzle lowered a little.
"I'll tell you one thing, Ski; I am not doing anything against Jane. In fact, I was sent here to do what I could to start trouble, give the CoDo its excuse. . Nobody knew about Jane back on Earth, but she has done a very good job on her own."
"How do y'mean? She hasn't hurt Castell or his claim."
"You don't understand." Van Damm shook his head in frustration. "CoDo wants Haven for-for, dammit, Kennicott's mining! They have found a rich strike of hafnium here, and BuReloc's dumping miners from Earth. . Does that suggest anything to you?"
"Where does Janey come in?"
"Farming!" Van Damm almost wrung his hands. "Aside from the Harmonies, who farms? Squatters, trying to live off the land, barely surviving-how could they feed the numbers BuReloc wants to dump here, even with the synthetic food factories? People would starve. BuReloc or the CoDo wouldn't care. . Scheiss!"
"Why, Vanny, can a spook actually have a conscience?"
"Their training did not take that from me." Van Damm looked away, automatically checking the empty field. "Jane. . She makes farming successful, even for squatters. Surplus of food, not to mention the cloth, oil, paper. . She can make poor squatters rich, Brodski."
"More precisely, she's creating an independent middle class."
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