War World X: Takeover Page 12

  “For what?” Chuluun demanded.

  “For a khan.”

  “They are nothing! Just barbarians!”

  “Instead of what?”

  “Instead of a people who believe in something! A people who have a code to live by! People who believe in their own sworn word of honor. We must be as trustworthy as we are tough! Live or die, we have to keep our humanity—”

  “Not me, you idiot!” Tuya screamed, pointing toward the crowd from within the enclosed wagon. “Tell them!”

  Hot with fury, Chuluun yanked back the flap at the rear of the wagon. He snatched up the Winchester and leaped to the ground. Then he stormed to the bonfire, where two women who attended Tuya happened to pass in front of him, their shadows briefly large and misshapen against the dancing flames behind them.

  As he advanced, he was aware that those who saw him first went silent and watched him in fascination and dread. The troops were all on the other side of the bonfire, built in a deep, circular pit. He stopped on his side of the fire, aware of the heat and light on his face.

  Little by little, the roar of arguing and shouting grew quiet. The men and women watched him, quietly shifting into a large crescent shape on the other side of the bonfire, removed a respectful distance from the flames.

  Chuluun studied those in the front whose faces, dels, and weapons were illuminated by the blaze just as he was. The cold breeze blew his hair back from his face and spread his long, broad del slightly behind him.

  Everyone waited, neither moving nor speaking.

  The big fire separated him from those he had to reach. Chuluun recalled, then, how the shadows of women passing between him and the bonfire a moment ago had been dark, misshapen and mysterious. He walked briskly to his left around the big bonfire, and saw that the lines of his people drew backward, away from him, as he came closer. Finally he stopped dead center before the flames, throwing a large, shifting shadow on those who stood directly in front of him.

  “Who are we?” Chuluun shouted. “Are we barbarians?” He strode from one side of the fire to the other, not many steps, but in doing so he gave them a view of his shadow in profile and let his del swirl slightly as he moved. “Dover Mining and the other company slaves will always hate us! CoDo troops will always look down on us! We know that. It was the same in the mines of Dongbei and the same in the mines on Haven! We are nothing to the rich and powerful, and those who work for them. Shall we prove them right?”

  He paused, catching his breath, and heard no one answer, not even a snide comment or angry shout.

  “They believe we are nothing but predators! Like animals in the wild! Shall we prove them right?”

  Chuluun moved to the center of the fire again. “Live or die, we will keep our humanity! I give you the First Law of the Code of Honor: We keep our word!”

  “To our enemies?” A man called out from the crowd.

  “To our enemies most of all!” Chuluun shouted back. “They will hate us and fear us—but the next time I give my word of honor, they will believe us. They’ll believe!”

  He could hear a growing hum of agreement, then, and calls of encouragement. “We will always keep our word! That’s the First Law of the Code!”

  “First Law!” Someone shouted.

  “Word of honor! First Law!” Chuluun called out. “Word of honor! First Law!”

  The riders took up the chant: “Word of Honor, First Law!” He shouted the words and they answered back. While he strode before the fire, whirling in his del at each side, the chants grew louder and louder. Soon the voices were deafening, and changed to “Chuluun Khan! Chuluun Khan!”

  Chuluun held up the Winchester and unloaded it before them. Then he smashed the antique wooden stock against a big rock, where it shattered. He threw the rest of it into the bonfire, in a sacrifice that was the final rejection of the man who had given it to him.

  “Chuluun Khan! Chuluun Khan!” The crowd roared.

  He had their trust again. Before the chants could fade, he whirled one more time and strode back around the bonfire to disappear into the shadows. He was Chuluun, the Second Khan of the Free Tribe of the Steppes.

  When dawn broke through the long Haven night, Chuluun Khan took a position on his mount to one side of the route leading back to the Karakul Pass. Once through it, they would again turn east to the Girdle of God Mountains and their home in the Gobi Valley. In a long column, the riders, many of them leading strings of pack mounts, started their long day’s march by passing him.

  Stern and unmoving, Chuluun held his head high in the cold morning air, looking out over the heads of his riders as they passed. Even while he gazed aloof into the distance, he was aware that each rider, man or woman, looked at him as they rode by. Some gave a quick, furtive glance while others watched him openly. Though many seemed curious, others seemed to hope for the friendly camaraderie he had shared with the riders before the raid.

  The column proceeded, but he refused to look at them or even acknowledge their presence.

  Chuluun knew he commanded the loyalty of his riders once again. If the tribe survived, he would again share their campfires, exchange stories, and trade drinks with them on raids or wars of survival. With pride and humility, he would be their khan. He understood, however, that he would never again have a friend.

  As the cold wind whipped tears from his eyes, his love for Tuya and Bataar warmed his heart.

  MARCHING ON POLAND

  By Leslie Fish

  2057 A.D., Haven

  The first hint of disaster came when Brodski, with Wilgar beside him, marched up to the gates of the Harmony enclave to give his usual lessons in Aikido and T’ai Chi, and found the gates barred fast.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked politely. “Don’t the brethren want to continue lessons?”

  The man at the gate had the decency to look ashamed. “The Reverend Castell has forbidden all such lessons,” he said, adding: “I’m sorry.”

  Wilgar, who had been growing like a weed this past year, pulled himself up to his full gangling height and said: “Surely the reverend will want to see me.”

  The gateman, looking even more apologetic, explained: “No, Brother. He considers you…touched by the corruption of the wicked city and will not allow you within the precinct until further notice.”

  Wilgar gaped at him for long seconds, then backed away shaking his head.

  Brodski asked carefully: “Is the Reverend in good health?”

  The gateman bit his lip, but didn’t answer.

  That was all Brodski needed to know. “We won’t trouble him, then,” he said. “We’ll return when the Reverend feels better.” He turned and walked back the way he’d come, all but dragging Wilgar with him.

  “I never thought he’d turn on me,” Wilgar whispered, seeming to shrink by several inches.

  Brodski gave him a thoughtful look. “Say, Wilgar, you never told me your last name.”

  “It’s…Castell,” the boy whispered, hunching his shoulders higher.

  “Ah.” The old fool treats his own son like this? He never even taught his son to read? Brodski marveled. “It’s all right, Wilgar. You’ll always have a home at Harp’s.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said the boy, looking only a little less miserable.

  Brodski patted Wilgar on the shoulder, thinking to himself that he needed to confer with Jane, Van Damm and Makhno again. If Castell was off on another of his Purity fits, it could ruin the fragile alliance between the Harmonies and the Alliance. That would be hard on Docktown, hard on the rest of Castell City and its burgeoning suburbs, but hardest of all on the Harmonies themselves.

  The next warning of trouble to come arrived at the new dock with the Queen Grainne. Brodski noticed that the ship carried scars of damage, as if she’d had to fight a battle recently. He also noted that Van Damm was on the ship, along with Irish Himself, both of them looking exceedingly glum, and both of them came marching straight toward Harp’s Sergeant as soon as the ship was moored. Brodski
simply ushered the two of them into the storage room, set down a bottle and three glasses and let them speak first.

  “Motherless spalpeens!” Himself snapped, even as he reached for his glass. “The Floatin’ Beggars have turned into bluidy pirates, attackin’ any ship that passes. Oh, we fought ’em off with little effort, but look how they scratched up the Queen! And think o’ how they’re ruinin’ river-trade for any smaller ship.”

  “Between the Queen, the Princess and the Black Bitch, could we clean them out?” Brodski asked.

  “We could,” said Van Damm, “But that cleaning out, by itself, could give CoDominium the excuse it so badly wants. Can’t you see the headlines: ‘Castell Merchants Slaughter Innocent Fishermen’? We couldn’t keep it quiet enough for them to miss it.”

  “I get the impression that CoDo is getting close to desperate,” Brodski noted. “And I’ve got to wonder what’s pushing them to grab Haven away from Castell so fast.”

  “A few powerful senators, the mining companies and BuReloc.” Van Damm downed his drink in a single pull. “They want the shimmer stones, they want the minerals, and they want a dumping-ground for ‘undesirables’ from Earth. I get the impression that there’s some manner of grand purge developing on Earth and CoDo doesn’t want its plans delayed any longer.”

  “I could almost pity crazy old Castell,” Brodski sighed. “If he wasn’t likely to ruin the rest of us with him. But anyway, Vanny, why did you come upriver to see me?”

  “Because I think I’ll be needed here shortly.” Van Damm poured himself another glassful. “Besides,” he smiled briefly at Irish, “Hell’s-a-Comin’ is in good hands.”

  “Aye,” Himself beamed, “That it is. Between the mines and the settlements, we can absorb twice the numbers we’ve got. What’s the maximum CoDo could dump on us at any one time, eh? How much do those ‘resettlement’ ships hold?”

  “Ten thousand, easily,” Van Damm gloomed. “Less if they use the mining ships. Now that Kennicott and Reynolds have resolved their differences, they’ll be happy to get more cheap labor. BuReloc will be happy to send it to them.”

  There was a long pause as everyone thought that over. “Another five thousand we can take,” Himself murmured, “But ten is a bit much.”

  “And you know they won’t be dumped near Hell’s-A-Comin’,” Brodski guessed. “They’ll be dumped right here in Castell City, to make trouble for the Harmonies.”

  “With all three ships workin’ hard and constantly, it’ll take several T-weeks to move them down to Hell’s-A-Comin’ anyway,” Himself finished. “Meanwhile, they’ll be sittin’ around in Castell City with no idea what ta do with themselves.”

  “I expect Reynolds, Dover and Anaconda will have shuttles waiting as soon as they hear the ship is approaching,” Van Damm considered, “But the same problem applies.”

  “Castell City will be overrun,” said Brodski. “The beadles won’t be able to contain the robberies and assaults, and the Marines won’t be much help either.”

  “Will you be safe?” Van Damm asked.

  “Me? No problem,” Brodski chuckled. “The Marines will cluster here, as always, and they’ll protect their beloved watering hole. Heinrick’s should be safe, too. It’s the lesser shops and the clinic I’m worried about.”

  “P’int the Marines toward the clinic,” Himself suggested. “The others… Aye, an’ I’m sure I don’t know. How’s the Lady Jane farin’?”

  “She’s got the island well fortified, not that anyone’s likely to go looking there, anyway. As far as CoDo or anyone else knows, the eastern river shore is uninhabited: nothing of interest out there.” Brodski shrugged. “By the way, her settlers have done a fine job of domesticating the muskylopes. We’ve got ranchers and drovers out on the plains now and lots of meat and hides coming into the city.”

  “But I doubt if her settlements can absorb all those raw transportees, either,” Van Damm sighed. “If Hell’s-A-Comin’ can’t take them, we’ll have to get them out to Reynolds’, Dover’s and Anaconda’s camps as fast as possible. Even so, Castell City will become a hellhole no matter what we do.”

  “If we can just keep that pot from boiling over…”

  “Had you heard? Kennicott Mining has given land grants to its various managers, so as to make them officially citizens of Haven. I do not like what this portends.”

  “Why are they willing to take the jobs?” Brodski asked.

  “So that they can become the new rulers, the ‘upright citizens’ who will become the mayors and governors when CoDo takes over.” Van Damm glowered at his glass. “The companies are setting up their own secondary ruling class—who will, of course, have the use of the CD Marines to keep their positions safe.”

  “Hmm.” Brodski gave him a keen look. “Are you in any particular danger, Vanny?”

  “Not so far. I was careful to have no further contact with Sanchez before he left; I did my best to let him think I died in the ’bombing’. Still, I do not doubt that the next ship will bring another CoDo agent, seeking trouble to stir. Best I be here, not in Hell’s-A-Comin’, when he arrives.”

  “Your old friend, Cole?” Brodski asked.

  Van Damm shrugged. “If Cole made it back to Earth, I’m sure he got a not-so-gentle reaming. Besides, not enough time for a return trip to End-of-the Line, which is one of the nicer things they call Haven.”

  “So, what’s ta be done?” Himself interjected. “We’ll dig more caves, train more miners ta farm an’ work the factories, see what we can do about absorbin’ more transportees, but what else?”

  Van Damm thought for a long moment. “All I can think of is to make more ships like the Queen, and arm them well. And… if you can do it quietly, kill as many of the pirates as you can.”

  The third warning came from Wilgar, who returned from a morning’s rambling to beg Brodski for the loan of some trowels. Brodski, making a good guess, steered him into the storeroom. He noticed the boy’s surprise at not seeing the radio there.

  “I moved it to the…spare room,” Brodski explained. “Three trowels are the most I can give you right now. Didn’t Old Castell let you back into the enclave?”

  “In, yes.” Wilgar shrugged. “I just had to…make my own way out.”

  “I see.”

  Brodski opened a crate on a bottom shelf and pulled out three hand-trowels, recently made at Heinrick’s shop. “How many are willing to come with you?”

  “None!” The boy’s face crumpled as he struggled with tears. “Papa had some kind of fit, and he’s been getting crazier ever since. He doesn’t want anyone leaving the enclave and he’s even leaning on our farmers to come stay in the enclave. It’s like he’s trying to lock everybody up in a storm cellar, except there’s no storm.”

  “There’s one coming, but this isn’t the way to deal with it.” Brodski heaved a sigh, and handed over the trowels. “Wilgar, if you can, warn those outlying farmers to get clothes that don’t look like Harmony robes, and tell them to set aside seed and tools they can carry quickly. When CoDo comes, they may have to get away from Castell in a hurry.”

  Wilgar looked up, eyes wide. “You think it’ll get that bad?”

  “It’ll get bad, son.” Brodski chewed his lip for a moment. “And, Wilgar, get hold of your grandpa’s book.”

  “But I don’t know where it is,” replied Wilgar. “My Papa keeps it hidden.”

  “Find it and get that book to safety. You’re going to need it.”

  “Me?” Wilgar whispered.

  “You. You’re the Last Castell and after the dust settles that will be worth something. You’ll be needed then. Your grandpa was a smart man, and by rights his wisdom should descend to you.”

  “I…see.” Wilgar thoughtfully stuffed the trowels in his robe and wandered out of the storeroom.

  Brodski watched him go, then went to a stack of shelves by the wall and pulled on it. The stack swung forward, revealing a hidden doorway. Brodski went through it, pulling the shelf-disguised door s
hut behind him. He picked his way carefully down the narrow lightless passage until he came out in a wide underground room, lighted by a solar panel. A narrow pipe coming down from the ceiling brought in a steady breeze, the creak of the windmill far above, and two narrow cables. One cable snaked over to the solar panel; the other attached to the radio on a table directly under the pipe. Brodski pulled out a chair, sat down at the table and turned on the radio.

  A moment’s fiddling brought the sound of static and a woman’s voice saying only: “Yes?”

  “Jane,” Brodski sighed into his microphone, “Old Castell’s gone off the deep end, and there’ll be no saving the Harmonies. He’s trying to lock everybody up in the enclave and ignore the rest of the world.”

  “Damn,” Jane sighed in return. “Well, the deal was good while it lasted. What’ll happen to the rest of the city? It’s as wide open and helpless as Poland was before the German troops, and the Russians, and everybody else.”

  “Next load of transportees will make it a hellhole, and our only hope is to move them out as fast as we can.”

  “Hmm. If your team can pick out a thousand good ones, we can settle them up here—but it’ll have to be done quietly.”

  “A thousand for you, five thousand for Hell’s-A-Comin’, maybe another three thousand for the other companies… We just might make it. That still won’t save the Harmonies.”

  “I guess nothing will.” Jane paused for a long moment. “Can you save those outlying farms?”

  “Maybe, if they’ll listen to…my, uh, agent.”

  “We’ll keep trading with them, then, but we may as well cutoff trade with the enclave. If Old Castell won’t keep up his end of the bargain, there’s no point keeping up ours.”

  “Keep goods coming into Docktown, though.” Brodski paused to think. “Jane, is there any way we could start overland trade? Once the CoDominium takes over, you know they’ll be watching the river.”