War World X: Takeover (10 page)

One of his guards was serving as doorman, wearing a clean suit and shirt yet, and the other two were busy in the kitchen. All the tables were full, for once, and nobody was pausing to make offers to the girls—all of whom were busy anyway with carrying dishes back and forth.

The Golden Parrot had changed from a moderately-successful whorehouse into quite a successful restaurant.

DeCastro gave orders for storing the brandy, limped off into his private office, sat down and rested his head on the desktop. Of all the changes he might have expected on Haven, this creeping respectability was the last of them.
No conflict, no crisis, no CoDo
was all he could think. The only conflict on the horizon was the inevitable clash between Kennicott and Reynolds-and-allies, and that might not come to a head for, well, years.

Cheer up,
he told himself.
In the meantime I’ll become very rich.

He wondered briefly how Van Damm was getting on.

As the
Queen Grainne
made her stately progress down the river, she met the
River Dragon
coming back up. The ships paused in mid-river and tossed on lines so their captains could meet and confer. They had to gather on Makhno’s ship, since the wing-decks of the
Grainne
were crowded with cargo—not that there was much room on the
Dragon
either.

“Well, me boy,” Himself grinned, “It does look as if the trade has been good for both of us. What’re ye carryin’, if I might ask?”

Makhno laughed. “Medical supplies, pots and housewares, and… some interesting chemicals, if you must know.”

“Eh, blastin’ powder, ye mean?” Himself winked.

“More like gunpowder,” said Makhno. “Ah, also some useful books. Someone down in Castell City has put together a simple printing-press and Jane’s paper was welcome. What’ve you got?”

“Produce an’ timber—and a few homemade shotguns.” Himself winked. “Also the ammunition for ’em. Your ’interestin’ chemicals’ will be welcome; Falstaff said he was nearly out of ’em.”

“Ah. I take it all the settlers within miles of Janesfort are well armed, now?”

“Now, how should I know that?” said Himself, piously. “All I know is how many peculiar boxes I swapped for food, timber, furs and…ah, produce o’ the euph-leaf plant.”

“Lots of fiber, I hope? There’s a cloth shortage in Castell City.”

“Oh, aye! Enough ta keep the looms o’ the Harmonies busy for a Turn or two. …And other things.”

“Seed?” Makhno asked quietly.

Himself nodded solemnly. “Jane wants hemp growin’ all over the valley by year’s end.”

“Spread too far for anyone to wipe out. Good idea, though it’ll cut into the fort’s profits.”

“I do believe the lady thinks wider and farther than o’ next year’s profits.”

“She does, at that.” Makhno handed over a small wooden box held shut with a crude wax seal. “This is for you, from someone who just called himself The First Organizer. He also asked if I could bring him a workable radio next trip.”

“I believe I could get one in Castell City,” murmured Himself, studying the box. “Thank ye kindly, me boy.”

“I also have a message from Vanny. He says: ‘everything’s in place’, that’s all.”

“Aye,” Himself said thoughtfully, stuffing the box into his shirt. “Now all we need do is keep on as we’ve been, an’ watch for his boss’s replacement.”

“We’ll also have to watch for incoming transportees. The one thing that could mess up our plans is CoDo dumping more beggars on us than the system can sustain.”

“There’s more, laddie. All this prosperity in Castell City depends on the continuin’ good will an’ good sense of Charles Castell, an’ he’s a man not known for eyther.”

“True,” Makhno frowned. “Also, watch out for river-trash.”

“Eh?”

“When the settlers and Harmonies threw the troublemakers out of Docktown, a lot of them took to the water. They’ve got small floating cities along the shore between Castell City and Kenny-Camp and they’re not above a bit of piracy. Keep your guns ready.”

Brodski returned from his Aikido class in the Harmony enclave happily tired and looking forward to dinner. As he strolled through the door of Harp’s Sergeant, though, Flora came hurrying toward him waving a scribbled wax-board. “Mr. Van Damm called on the new radio,” she announced, “And wants you to get back to him. Here’s the channel; I wrote it down.”

“No rest for the weary,” Brodski sighed, plodding into the back room. He sat down at the plank desk that contained the clunky new Docktownbuilt radio, started the whining generator and turned the dials.

Van Damm’s voice came across a background of static, but clear enough. “’Ski, the ship is coming. Expect it in another Turn. There’ll be more transportees, of course, and Cole’s replacement. I mean to stay out of his reach as much as possible. Watch for him.”

“I think I’ll know what to look for,” Brodski replied. “Any idea when Reynolds will make its move?”

“It has already started.” Van Damm paused for a long moment. “Another ship landed last Turn, a much bigger one, out beyond the hills. The prospectors report they saw it unloading heavy equipment. All they lack is labor, and—as I said—the transport ship is coming soon.”

“I see. Everything’s ready on this end; how about you?”

“We’ve been in place for turns, since before Himself came back.”

“Ah. And the new ship?”

“She has a daughter almost ready to launch, already.”

“Heh! Those miners work fast!”

“Many of them are miners in name only, by now. I tell you, ’Ski, I am amazed at how fast everyone—the miners, the settlers, Jane’s people, even the Harmonies—have put this together.”

“Think of the donkey with the carrot in front and the stick behind,” Brodski smiled. “Everybody here wants to be prosperous, at least, and nobody wants CoDo to come in.”

“That is why I must keep away from my new boss, as much as possible.” Van Damm sighed. “Yet I know he’ll come here eventually. There’s nowhere else he can look.”

“Good luck then, Vanny.”

“Good allies are better than luck.”

The first sign was the landing of a quiet-running cargo-sized shuttle just outside of Castell City that certain Harmony goatherds saw and reported. The four men who got out of it and began walking down toward Docktown wore sturdy cold weather clothes of an off-world design, with pistol-sized versions of CoDo stunners hidden under their jackets. They also dragged a large fold-up luggage cart, which carried more folded carts. They took up positions at the foot of the old dock, and one of them took out and held up a sign saying: “Jobs Here”.

Brodski, watching them with his binoculars from Harp’s Sergeant, muttered: “Now it begins,” and picked up his old portable radio.

Leo Makhno, waiting at the dock, revved up the engine of the
River Dragon
the moment the shuttle appeared over the lake. By the time it had settled on Splashdown Island and opened its hatch, his trimaran was waiting at the shore. Sure enough, the first people out were ragged transportees. Makhno took as many as the ship could carry in the first load, hauled them back to the new dock and let them off. He noted that the man holding the “Jobs Here” sign stepped forward, smiling.

As Makhno turned the
Dragon
around and headed back to the shuttle for the next load, he picked up his radio and reported what he’d seen.

Little Wilgar, carrying a tray of euph-leaf packets, trotted close enough to the transportees to peddle his goods—and, incidentally, hear all of the sign-holder’s sales pitches.

It took hours to finish the unloading, and as Makhno brought the last of the cargo to the dock he saw that most of the transportees—hundreds of them—had signed up with the sign-holder. The other men with him had unfolded the carts, and the transportees were stuffing their luggage on them.

“Who are they, and where are they going?” asked his last passenger, a middle-aged man wearing a better grade of cold weather gear than the sign-holder and his friends.

“Recruiters from Reynolds mining,” Makhno dutifully replied. He had to bite his lip to keep from asking:
How well do you know Max Cole?

“Mmm,” said the man. “Tell me, where is the communications center for the city?”

“Oh, that’d be Sam Kilroy’s place.” Makhno pointed, as he surreptitiously signaled to whomever was watching from inside Harp’s Sergeant. “He’s got the only radio that can transmit reliably all over the valley when the atmospheric conditions are just right.”

“Ah. And the center of whatever government this place has?”

“That’s Old Man Castell’s office, in the Harmony enclave, inside that palisade.” Makhno obligingly pointed—and signaled—again.

“Hmm. And where’s the best hotel?”

“That’d be the Starman’s Inn.” Makhno wasn’t about to steer the CoDo man to Harp’s, or anywhere near it. “Down that street there.”

“Thank you, uh, Captain.” The man handed him a 5-cred CoDo bill as a tip, picked up his briefcase and strolled away in the indicated direction.

Makhno watched him walk away in one direction and the gang of freshly recruited laborers in the other, pulled up his radio and called Brodski.

Word filtered in steadily to the Jane’s Alliance radio network. Max Cole’s replacement had signed in at the Starman’s Inn under the name of Vince Sanchez. After questioning the waitress extensively about the menu, he’d eaten a meal there. Then he’d gone out to Kilroy’s place and paid to send a coded message, which received no reply after half a T-day’s waiting. Much annoyed, Sanchez had then strolled about Docktown studying the busy warehouses and shops. He’d struck up conversations with the assorted Fleet personnel in town and hadn’t seemed too impressed with the results. He had not approached any of the Harmonies, let alone gone into the enclave. At length he made his way to Harp’s Sergeant.

Brodski was ready for him.

Sanchez took a seat at the quiet end of the bar and waited until Brodski, moving slowly and leaning heavily on his cane, came close enough to talk to. “So you’re the famous Sgt. Brodski,” Sanchez opened.

“Retired,” Brodski smiled. “And lucked into a fine retirement plan.”

“Mostly by defeating Jomo’s army, I hear.”