Trouble struck the next night, after they found the food Mr. Plumber had cached for them along the right-of-way. Rory lit the stove and started heating the packets, while Micah went for water. He came back at a fast jog. “Men in the woods, Da. Carrying slingshots and stuff. I ducked out of sight and ran back as fast as I could.” Rory turned off the stove and jammed the food into his bag, while Ted and the others started bunching the sheep and shahma.
Kos grabbed Basil’s arm. “Get our rifles and come,” he hissed. She did as ordered and added a spare energy pack to the little bag she wore on her belt. “Down here,” he knelt behind some brush and thick, tall grass the shahma hadn’t found yet. He breathed in her ear, “Don’t fire unless you mean it, remember.”
I don’t want to shoot at all, she wailed silently as she nodded her understanding. She triple-checked that the safety was on and that her finger remained clear of the trigger. She and Kos stayed still, listening hard for not-flock sounds. A few minutes later, she heard voices from the woods. Kos shifted beside her, and she turned off the safety on her rifle.
“Lookie! Sheepsies!” a man laughed, his voice high pitched and cutting.
“Wonder how fast they can run?” a second, rough-edged voice asked.
Now she could see the four men in the evening shadows. They wore basic-issue coveralls and had dust-masks over their faces. She wondered for an instant if they had fleece or flower allergies. “Run pretty damn well, I’d guess. Especially once they go over that cliff,” and a third man pointed across the meadow. “They bounce funny, too.”
Kos stood up, rifle pointed at the strangers. “Go away and leave us alone.”
Two of them turned and ran at the flock, yelling and spinning their slingshots. Two more charged Kos, one with a short-out gun in his hand. Basil froze. Everything slowed down, almost stopped, and she saw the man with the gun aiming it at her husband. No! Not my man, you don’t! Without thinking any more, she raised her own rifle, sighted, and fired, catching the attacker in the chest just like she had the holo-sims of dardogs. A char-rimmed hole appeared in his shirt and he fell over. His partner skidded and slowed, giving Kos time to shoot as well. Then Kos turned and fired at the men harassing the sheep. He missed, but the attackers yelped and ducked, changing direction. Rory’s dogs grabbed at them and the pair fled upslope, crashing through the brush in the twilight.
I’m going to be— Basil threw up, but only after confirming that she’d turned the rifle’s safety back on. She wanted to cry and sat in the grass, hugging herself and rocking back and forth, tears making the world shift and shimmer. I killed a man. I killed someone. Oh Great and Holy One forgive me, I killed a human.
A hard hand grabbed her shoulder. “Later,” Kos snapped, intense but quiet. “Go help Ted and Micah calm the beasts. Rory and I have work to do.” She sniffed, got up, collected her rifle and sheep stick, and eased through the grass, trying to be calm and to help keep the animals in order.
“We need to move on a ways, get the sheep, especially, away from the danger so they’ll settle down for the night. I’ll take the lead, you follow and watch for stragglers, Basil,” Ted ordered. “Micah, keep them away from the edge of the trees,” and he pointed in the direction the stranger had said hid a cliff. “Saul, watch the other side.” Basil nodded and began walking behind the blob of white, cream, and brown, urging them on down the right-of-way lane at a quiet, steady pace. She found two limping wethers and a shahma that seemed worse for wear, its fleece ragged around one hind leg. The flock slowed as darkness fell, allowing Basil and her three charges to catch up with the others without too much stress. Basil, Ted, Micah, and the dogs got the animals bedded down. Then Ted held a light, and Basil checked the slow animals. The shahma seemed fine, but one wether had a rock jammed into his hoof, and the other squalled when she pressed on his shoulder. Ted doctored the hoof as Saul held the animal down. “We’ll watch this boy and see what happens,” Ted decided after inspecting the second wether. “I think the shahma pulled a muscle, nothing major.”
Kos and Rory caught up with them not too much later, as Basil and Saul set up their night shelters. Rory re-heated their somewhat battered and scrambled supper of sausage, bread stuffed with vegetables, and fruit hand pies. Basil stared at the food. I think my appetite is still up in the meadow with dinner. But it’s a sin to waste food, and with that she forced herself to choke down the meal. When they finished, Kos led her to their shelter. “We’ll have the last watch, the dawn watch.”
She nodded, then burst into tears. Kos held her, muffling her sobs against his chest and shoulder and patting her back. “You did the right thing, Baa,” he assured her. “I warned them and they attacked.”
“But I killed a human,” she sobbed.
“So did I.”
“I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t know I was killing him until he fell over.”
Her husband held her until she stopped crying.
She sniffed, hard. “Kos, what are we going to tell the Company rep?”
She heard him shake his head in the darkness. “Nothing.”
“But we have to—”
“No.”
She tried again, “Their families will report them missing, and the Company searchers will—”
He put his hand on her mouth. “No. Rory and I took care of that. He knew what to do, and the scavengers will do the rest. The two that ran into the woods may regret it. We saw dardog sign in the dirt by the stream earlier today, and the tracks of something bigger.” He sounded like a stranger, ferocious and cold.
She shivered again. Beside her, Kos sighed. “I’m sorry they attacked us, and I’m sorrier that we had to kill them.”
“Kos, is this,” she stopped, not wanting to say her fear aloud. “Is this part of what you and David were talking about, with the machinery stopping and other things?” If this is what happens out here, what will the cities be like?
He rolled over onto his side and stroked her hair. “No. Nasty, mean people have always existed, even here on ColPlat XI,” he assured her. “David the shepherd carried a sling because of more than just wolves of the field, remember? Now sleep as best you can, little love, because we have a lot of walking to do tomorrow.”
She heard the truth beneath his comforting lie and wondered. Then she fell asleep.
Bettina droned on for five more minutes before concluding. “Remove the rising water, Mr. Babenburg. Then, and only then, can we discuss completion of the secondary water system. Your primary duty is to protect what we have, and that includes the take-offs for the city supply.” She brushed a hank of wind-blown hair out of her face and pointed to the Donau Novi rushing past, two kilometers from where they stood on the top of the wall. She’d decided to combine an inspection walk with the weekly municipal amenities meeting, much to her associates’ dismay. The fine, misty spring rain and cold wind cut to the bone through light jackets and trousers.
If you’d given us permission nine months ago, we would not be praying over the water intakes, Administratrix Monsiérvo, Pete thought, glowering at his data pad. “Very well.”
He looked up to see her frowning at him, her lips pursed so tightly that they formed a carmine molehill on her pale face. She favored almost white cosmetics in order to enhance the contrast between her black hair and brows and pale skin. Or so Cynthia assured Pete, when he’d asked if Bettina suffered from a skin condition. “No dear,” she’d explained, shaking her head a little, “It’s just that permanent transport pallor is very fashionable in the interior worlds.” Pete had shrugged, relieved that whatever it was wasn’t contagious.
Bettina turned to Arturo Montoya. “Why is the road not finished?”
Arturo shrugged broad shoulders. “Because we still have only two fully functioning combo pavers, and because it now takes six weeks for paving material to get here instead of two. We could move faster if corporate policy permitted the use of local sand and native hydrocarbons, but—”
“No!” Her eyes bulged and Pete wi
nced. Arturo not only struck nerves, he backed up and ran over them a second time just to confirm what he’d hit. “I will not tolerate the wonton violation of corporate policies within my managerial jurisdiction. Such practices insult not only the planetary colonization charter, but the very operational philosophy of Colonial Plantations, Limited itself. Environmental amenities must be left undisturbed for visitors and future residents to observe and learn from, especially non-renewing amenities. The goal of Colonial Plantations Limited is to preserve and protect autochthonous attractions while assisting with population overcrowding reduction. Wise use philosophy drives the Corporation’s very existence,” and she continued reciting boilerplate and sales copy for another minute before winding down.
“Oh, my, that one’s big,” Harding Korso exclaimed, his attention apparently fixed on the river.
Pete peered through the mist in the direction the mayor pointed. “Hmm, yes.” No, actually that’s pretty small compared to what might come downstream once the snow really starts melting in a few weeks. But if you’re used to controlled streams and not to a mostly unchanneled native one, yeah, it’s an impressive bunch of driftwood.
Gerald White snorted, then sneezed. “Sorry.” He tapped on the screen of his data pad. Pete leaned over and saw a list of floating objects from the river, including the flotsam now passing the wall. “Ms. Monsiérvo, remind me, if company policy dictates minimal alteration to the landscape, why does this city intrude onto the active floodplain? Bankful discharge comes within a kilometer of the base of the wall on the east side.”
“Because this is the higher bank, as you are well aware.” Her acid tone could have etched the rocks they stood on.
Gerald raised one white-blond eyebrow and made another note.
After more pointless blather about preserving the integrity of the native geologic environment, Bettina Monsiérvo called the meeting to a close. Pete and Gerald followed Arturo down from the top of the wall and out of the wind. “Are you making total equipment shut-downs standard from now on?” Gerald asked.
Arturo grunted what sounded like an affirmative. “Can’t get parts for pavers so I’m taking a worst-case approach,” he elaborated once they reached the ground.
“None at all?”
Arturo rocked one hand back and forth. “No electronics. We’re at the bottom of the priority list, because what we need is common to the staples extruders. Gotta feed and clothe the,” he cleared his throat, “ahem, members of previously deprived cultural and genetic groups.”
Pete smothered a comment as a fat woman in subsistence-issue coveralls marched past, intent on some errand or other business. Piff, Art, you’ve called ‘em lazy asses in their hearing more than once, as I recall. But that was before the news story about the riot in New Amsterdam hit the holos. We don’t have enough full citizens here to fight off a mob that size just yet. Better be circumspect for a while, at least when they’re within hearing distance. And no point in giving Bettina more reasons to cut project funds or other things, either. She’s been mighty touchy since spring started.
Pete went with Gerald to the construction engineer’s office. A graphics screen projection took up one entire wall, and Gerald hug up his jacket, then waved his hand and said, “Design files ‘Brüke’ and ‘Outfall Two’, please.” The lights dimmed, and the wall grew brighter. Two schematics appeared in the air, both in two-dimensional form. The bridge reminded Pete of a design he’d seen somewhere else, somewhere old, but the outfall attracted most of his attention.
“Upstream or downstream of the bridge?”
“Downstream by a few meters. I want the reinforcements for the bridge pilings to help with your outflow problems. Tide and flood gates?”
Pete nodded. Gerald handed him a remote infrared stylus, and Pete added the gates to the drawing of the sewage outfall. “Double. A basic grill to stop debris like the mayor’s tree, and a one-way flapper here” He sketched it about five meters inside the pipe. “Rainwater and treated blackwater both come out here.”
Gerald rubbed under his nose. “Solid waste?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. The system is mass composting, and we’ve got enough microbes—native and imports—to process for fifty thousand people or so for a couple hundred years.”
Gerald gave him a skeptical look, one eyebrow rising along with the corner of his thin mouth. “Like the water supply for five hundred thousand people at ColLandPlat?”
Pete didn’t take the bait. “I don’t guarantee, I just suggest.” He looked from the bridge to the sewer and back again. “You’re anticipating a siphon effect?”
“Up to bankful discharge, yes. After that it’s going to overflow into the water-meadows on the opposite bank, which is why I need an elevated roadway on both sides.”
“And the symmetry produces a more aesthetically pleasing design,” Pete observed, tweaking his friend.
Gerald shook his head. “Different question. That high road Arturo’s talking about, for your aqueduct. Where?” He leaned to the side and touched part of the display. “Save changes. Map file four.” The projection shimmered and a current map of the city and forty-kilometer ring around it appeared in the air, replacing the bridge and sewer outfall.
Pete held out his hand, and Gerald passed the stylus back. to him Let’s see primary preferred route first, I think. Where’s that gate going to be? He drew a solid line from the western gate, past the farms, just north of the ridge where he’d watched the auroras, and then curved the line south and west, into the hills. He filled in some details, and the computer firmed up the projection. Then he drew a dashed line from the northern edge of the city, staying close to the walls, before following the river, then tracking up into the hills, still parallel to the Donau Novi. “This is a second, less favorable option. Both would be nice, but I really need this one,” and he ‘tapped’ the solid road, making it flash.
Gerald tipped his head to the side. “Gonna mess up flood overflows.” He took back the stylus, changed a setting, and sketched in water coming out of the river into the five-kilometer-wide low area between the city and the ridge. “Old channel, bad sediment for an aqueduct unless you build a helluva substrate and foundation. Needs flow-throughs, too, or you’ll flood the city.”
“What about the farms here? Their contracts warn about the flood hazard?”
Gerald shrugged. “It would be a four-hundred-year flood that got to them.”
Which means a quarter of a percent chance in any given year that they’ll be underwater. I may ask them about that when I see about confirming the right-of-way. Pete rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the muscles starting to tighten. “Right. Any suggestions for chasing the river away from the current drainage outflow?”
“Sorry. Father Jacob doesn’t part the waters. He says that’s why the good Lord gave us technology and engineers.” Gerald winked one pale blue eye. “And I don’t think the mystics at the Gynomajesty Center can do much, either.”
Pete closed his eyes and mimicked a meditative hand gesture. “No. It might interfere with the native energies.” And given some of the incense and drugs they use, I’m not certain I want to see what they’d do to any native energies they did manage to shift, if they can actually do that. They’d probably end up summoning a volcano rather than shifting the river away from the bank, the way his luck was running. “If we could dredge the channel and deepen the thalweg, my life would be easier.”
An eloquent snort answered that semi-question. “You’ve done what you can do. Add that grate to keep the trees out and secure the rainwater drain access points, is my recommendation, and tell those who fuss that rivers flood. That’s what rivers do.” Gerald’s folded arms signaled the conclusion of his advice.
“Right. Any word at all on a timetable for getting those parts and chemicals?”
“I’d hoped you had some news.”
Pete shook his head and wagged one hand a little. “I’m at the outflow of the information pipe—sometimes I get a trickle, sometime
s not.”
Gerald ran a hand through his hair, matched Pete’s gesture, and set about saving the files and their notes. “Life at the end of the supply line. We’re better off than New Benin, at least.”
“Thank the Lord.” The southern settlement and its daughter cities had lost over half their electronics and other tech in autumn’s electronic storm.
“You and Cynthia still up for a game tomorrow afternoon?”
Pete shrugged on his jacket. “Darn straight we are. Mrs. Gerald owes me ten credits, and I intend to collect.” Sheila White played no-holds-barred, killer cribbage, but the cards had smiled on Pete during their last game. They played for decicredits.
“Bring your banker, because she’s going to clean your accounts out and then some.”
“Promises, promises. Later.”
“Bis später.”
It wasn’t Pete’s day.
“Can’t do it,” Hamid bin Marwan said. He pointed to the silent, cold, metal fabrication unit. “I can still weld pipe and cast small pieces, but not what you’re talking about.”
Well, shit. Pete went to his back-up plan. “OK, how long until you could get the debris fence and valve plate welded up and ready to install?”
Hamid flipped a page on the homemade paper calendar on the wall. “Three weeks at the earliest. You’re lucky—we’ve got the pipe, and that kind of welding won’t need electronic control, just a good eye and steady hands at the grinder. The valve plate, hmm, I’ll see what we’ve got. Could it be reinforced scrap sheet or you want a solid casting?”
“Um, I’d prefer a casting, but scrap with backing and bars will do for the short term.” Damn, we’ll have to replace and inspect it more often, until we can get the extruders and materials back on line. “Like this,” and he borrowed an ink pen and quickly sketched what he needed on the back of a Company form lying on the work table. “I’m assuming two centimeter thick sheet,” he half-asked.
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