War World X: Takeover (13 page)

“What?! How could Kennicott be so stupid—”

“They’re denying it, of course, but the evidence is pretty damning. Nobody else on the planet could have produced those explosives.” Van Damm gave a sour smile. “It’s no use, Mr. Sanchez. The mining companies are about to go to war with each other and there’s no way to blame the Harmonies for it.”

Sanchez swore and rubbed his forehead. “There must be some way to spin this, or at least keep it quiet. Keep the damage minimal….”

Right then came the rolling boom of a distant explosion. Van Damm sat bolt upright, listening.

“Was that normal mining operations…?” Sanchez hoped desperately.

“That wasn’t from the pit!” Van Damm shoved back his chair and lunged to his feet. “It was nearer—somewhere near the equipment shed or the company office.”

Another explosion boomed, closer.

“The company office!” Van Damm shouted, running for the door. “They’ll hit the landing-field next, or the warehouses!”

Sanchez jumped up and ran after him. In the main room, everyone else was running toward the front door. Through the open doorway they could see great clouds of dust rolling down the street.

Another explosion, closer yet, shook the ground. Everyone scrambled out the door and began running through the dust in different directions.

“The ore-shed!” Van Damm yelled through the noise. “They could flatten the whole town before they’re done!” He grabbed Sanchez by the shoulder and pointed him toward the dock. “Get out on the water,” he shouted. “The boat should still be there—”

Sanchez needed no further urging. He ran through the roiling dust, guided more by the smell of the river than by the sight of landmarks, not seeing where Van Damm went. Running bodies loomed out of the dust and vanished. There was another explosion, sounding as if it came from the same distance, as if Reynolds’ avengers were determined to destroy the warehouse completely. Shouts and screams didn’t cover the ominous sound of crackling flames, and drifts of smoke began mingling with the blowing dust.

Sanchez blundered his way into buildings, down obscured streets, following the smell and sound of the river until the road disappeared, almost under his feet, at the water’s edge. He turned to run along the riverbank until he saw the outline of the dock. He hurried down it, searching through the choking clouds, until at last he saw the
River Dragon
huddled against the piers. Yes, thankfully, her captain was still aboard, shoving the last of his cargo up onto the dock. Sanchez practically fell into the craft, shouting: “Get out on the river! Get away from here!”

Captain Makhno needed no further urging. He cast off the mooring lines, ran to the engine and started it. In another moment he was backing the
Dragon
away from the dock, then turning it, then steering out into deep water.

Sanchez looked back and saw, above the dust, the Kennicott company shuttles rising fast into the air. No doubt they were carrying the company managers and engineers to safety, wherever that might be. All else was dust, smoke, flames and confusion.

“Hopeless,” he muttered. If the company’s office radio still survived, there was no way to reach it. The nearest space-capable radio was all the way back in Castell City.

“What happened?” the captain was bawling at him, like an idiot. “What’s going on?”

Quick, put the right spin on this!
“Miners’ revolt!” Sanchez shouted. “They didn’t like the prices they were getting for the stones, so they attacked the company.”

“That makes no sense,” said Makhno, looking innocently astonished. “Everybody knows that the best prices for shimmer stones are back in Castell City. All anyone had to do was take the supply boat upstream. And I was right here, ready to take on passengers.”

That won’t work,
Sanchez silently cursed himself. “Maybe they were mad about wages, then. They’ve rebelled before.”

“Damn,” said Makhno, turning the raft to face the current. “That doesn’t make sense either. Everyone knows that Reynolds, inland, pays better wages. All anyone had to do was sneak off to Reynolds’ Camp.… Say, do you think Kennicott was locking miners up to keep ’em from getting away? That would qualify as slavery!”

Worse and worse!
Sanchez rubbed his forehead.
Think of something…
“We have to get back to Castell City,” he announced. “This place is burning down.”
And I need to get to a decent communications center
….

“No, look.” Makhno pointed. “There’re no more explosions, and the fire doesn’t seem to be spreading. Besides, I don’t have a cargo. Let’s wait until the noise dies down and go back to the dock.”

And nothing would move him from that decision. They sat out on the water and watched for hours, seeing the fire shrink under the steady work of a bucket-brigade. Sanchez noted that the impromptu firemen all had the look of indentured miners, and wondered where everyone else was. Eventually the cloud of smoke and dust sank down, revealing the extent of the damage.

Yes, the Kennicott equipment-shed was a wreck, as were several machines inside it. Yes, the ore-warehouse had been blown flat, with the burned wreckage lying atop the muddied pile of ore. Yes, there were gaping holes in the sides of the Kennicott office building. Yes, the shuttles were landing again, and the engineers—identifiable by their work uniforms—were coming out and cautiously approaching the office building.

Sanchez groaned inwardly, realizing that the engineers would go for the radio first and call for assistance. If they could cut through the static and interference, they would spread the story all over the Shangri-La Valley and up to the waiting ship, and to whomever was listening in on the ship near Ayesha. Of course, once the shuttles returned to the ship it wouldn’t make any difference, whether or not the land-based radio transmissions got through, word of the attack would be broadcast from the ship to Castell City and all interested parties. There was no chance of keeping this quiet, or of blaming it on anyone but Reynolds.

The Church of New Harmony would come out of this looking innocent as lambs and the mining companies would stink to high heaven, no matter what anyone did.

Sanchez felt a twinge of sympathy for Van Damm, wondering if the man were still alive in all this mess.

“So, where did you leave him?” Van Damm asked quietly, as he and Makhno paced up the path to Traitors’ Cave.

“Back at the company guest house, trying to find anybody with a radio.” Makhno automatically glanced around him. “As soon as I’ve got a cargo, he wants to go back to Castell City.”

“Good. How long will that take you?”

“Heading upstream?” Makhno smiled. “I can take a good slow three T-weeks getting there.”

“Time enough for the story to spread off-world, at least,” Van Damm grinned back, “With nothing he can do to stop it.”

“By the way…” Makhno paused again to make sure nobody was within hearing range. “How did your guys get the explosives to look like company issue?”

“Much of it
was
company issue,” Van Damm whispered. “‘Liberated’ by the Hibernians, and replaced in the work-orders by the homemade product. That, or bought outright by supposedly independent prospectors, but gathered in tiny amounts over the course of the past half-year. Kennicott, of course, swears they had nothing to do with the bombing of Reynolds’ Camp, and Reynolds likewise swears it had nothing to do with the bombing here, but nobody believes either of them—and they certainly don’t believe each other. Dover and Anaconda are likewise looking fish-eyed at each other, wondering if either of them set this off.”

“Now we just have to keep the pot boiling a little longer.” Makhno glanced up the path to the lighted doorway ahead. “I don’t know about this, Vanny. I’m not a very good actor.”

“Just respond to me, then. I am very good at keeping, as they say, a straight face.”

Makhno nodded, and they walked on up the path and into the Golden Parrot.

One of DeCastro’s former thugs, now dressed in a downright civilized looking suit, offered to guide them to a table. Van Damm insisted on one in a quiet corner, knowing that was enough to attract attention.

They ordered the red clam appetizer with amber ale, followed by the roast muskylope entrée with green corn and spice-root sauce and began their planned conversation while waiting for the food to arrive.

“I tell you, this is just the beginning,” Van Damm was saying, loud enough for the waitress to hear him as she delivered the appetizers. “Kennicott won’t sit still for this. Not just the buildings wrecked, or the ore they had to dig out of the ruins, but the personnel losses. A lot of the indentured miners got killed, you know.”

Makhno, knowing where a lot of those missing miners had actually gone, managed not to smile.

“I heard from—well, never mind who: a secretary who works for the company,” Van Damm went on. “Kennicott’s going to try to call in the CoDo Marines for a strike on Reynolds.”

The waitress, barely batting an eye, moved out of sight but not out of hearing.

“The Marines?! They’d never do it,” Makhno replied, right on cue. “Shooting up strikers is one thing, but deliberately going after Reynolds—No, they won’t hit a big company like that.”

“If they can’t get the Marines, they’ve got a contingency plan.” Van Damm leaned closer, but didn’t actually lower his voice. “Those shuttles of theirs: they can use those to fly over Reynolds’ Camp and drop, hmm, interesting things on it.”

“Bombs?” Makhno did his best to sound shocked. “That’s what they did last time. They’ve got to know Reynolds will be watching for it. They’ll have their gear under shelter.”

“There are other things that can be dropped from a shuttle,” said Van Damm. “Everything from plague-spores to… well, interesting wildlife. They’ll try to make it look like a natural accident, if they can. I tell you, my friend, nobody will be safe anywhere near Reynolds’ Camp—and, who knows, they may try to steal laborers from Dover or Anaconda, just to make up for their losses? Tell your merchant friends not to make any more runs to Reynolds’ Camp for a good while; it’s going to be attacked—within five Turns, at most—and it won’t be safe. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll pass the word on,” Makhno agreed, digging into his red clams.

Van Damm likewise addressed himself to his food and said nothing further. He knew how DeCastro’s place worked; a word to the waitress’ ears was sufficient.

Before his guests had finished their meal DeCastro was up on the ridge with his CB radio, calling Reynolds’ Camp, selling the details of Kennicott’s planned revenge for 1000 creds per item.

Brodski watched with his binoculars from the shelter of Harp’s Sergeant while Makhno dutifully took his passengers out to the waiting shuttle. Yes, Vince Sanchez was definitely one of them. Once the man was safely on the ship Brodski heaved a profound sigh of relief, strolled into the back room and turned on his radio.

“CoDo-Boy’s gone,” he announced into the microphone. “How’re things going at your end?”

To his surprise, it wasn’t Van Damm who answered first but Himself. “All’s well here, me lad. We’ve got all the refugees well settled, and the factory’s doin’ just foine, thank ye.”

Van Damm cut in over him. “Kenny-Camp is almost deserted, save for the shopkeepers and the company white-collars. The mayor was seen wandering around in a daze, until one of the Red-Scarves gently led him home.…”

There was explosive laughter from Himself, quickly smothered.

“…and our scouts are leading the Reynolds serfs away, one by one. Reynolds and Kennicott are no doubt screaming through the radio-relays to their friends back at CoDo HQ, each blaming the other and wanting the Marines sent for protection. This, I daresay, the Grand Senate will be unlikely to do.”

“So it has no excuse to yank control away from the Harmonies,” Brodski chuckled, “At least not until it’s settled the squabble between Kennicott and Reynolds and their shifty allies. How long do you think that’ll take?”

“We have bought ourselves safety for perhaps a year, my friends,” Van Damm gloomed. “What we have to worry about now is the floating beggars and any refugees from Reynolds who go to work for Kennicott instead, and the next load of transportees that CoDo dumps on us. If there are too many, Castell City will be overloaded no matter what we do. And there’s always the possibility that Old Castell will back out of his bargain….”