Second Chances (76 page)

“The hell you will,” Joe muttered. He caught Ciara's significant look then paused as she crossed her arms in front of her and tapped her toe meaningfully. “What? Someone want to tell me what the hell's going on? No one asked me,” he growled.

Paul frowned and then put his hands up. He stepped back and then indicated Ciara. “Okay, that's between you and um...”

“Me,” Ciara said, stepping forward. “With me. And we're
doing
the deal.”

Joe scowled. She took a package from the back of Paul's truck and handed it to him. “Here.”

“What's this?”

“The fuel lines, electrical harness and computer you requested,” Paul supplied. Joe blinked in surprise. “Also some spark plugs, clutch and transmission kit, and fittings that were on the list,” he expanded.

Joe frowned and peeked inside. He blinked in surprise. Fuel lines were a major concern. The electrical he could patch or repatch as needed. But there was only so much duct tape a fuel line could handle. They had a couple lines that were coated in the tape and still had issues. Or they were clogged up with gunk from that polyp juice.

One thing he was pretty sure of, that stuff was some sort of ethanol. And he knew from experience that ethanol blended fuels tended to gunk up and corrode fuel lines over time. It was a headache that was just building and building and building. But if they had lines to spare...

Ciara smiled, knowing she had Joe hooked. “You said we're in line for a CNC machine?” she asked sweetly, turning to Paul.

Paul nodded as Joe opened his mouth and then closed it with a clop. The older man's eyes bugged out then he got a rather thoughtful expression before he gave a curt nod. Ciara turned back to him with an arched eyebrow and a “don't blow this” look. He scowled blackly at her then turned away, tucking the precious parts under his arm. “Do what you want,” he snarled, storming off.

“He's not a happy camper,” Paul observed.

“He'll get over it. Especially when you come up with the other stuff I put in for. Just those items should keep two of our vehicles running and maybe get one or two into service,” she said with a shrug. “As soon as you get me that CNC thingy for him to play with, he'll be loco,” Ciara said wrinkling her nose. “Whatever that is. What is it again?”

“It's a laser torch-cutting machine. It a table.” She looked at him with a curious expression. “Look, it cuts sheet metal that can then be formed and welded into other things,” Paul explained. She nodded. “You can use a water jet, plasma jet or laser. We're producing lasers, or we will soon,” he said.
I hope,
he thought. Mitch wanted to produce lasers for defense. He and the military personnel wanted to mount laser weapons on towers to defend the bases from animal attack. Paul wouldn't mind having a few along when he camped but apparently they drew too much power for him to have in the field. That was a bummer.

“I'm actually surprised you want one. They are expensive. I know base is expanding their industry, we're making three or four for the factories to keep up with demand. But the only other community that put in for one is Copper Town,” Paul said, looking at her. It was his turn to be curious.

Ciara shrugged. “It was on the wish list Joe gave me a while back,” she said. “That and a ton of vehicle parts. But if this thing can make stuff...”

“It's one part of the process,” Paul explained, using his hands to indicate putting pieces together. Ciara nodded. “You still need other forming tools. A press break for instance, though you can improvise that if you need to. A CNC can only do so much, and it only cuts thin sheet metal up to I think a half-inch thick. If you want other things made, then you have to cast them or find other methods of making them.” He shook his head as she frowned. “Some people think that a CNC or 3D printer on hand and you are golden. Trust me, it's not anything like that though I wish it was,” he said wryly.

She blinked and then nodded. “I think I heard of 3D printers.”

“They were getting big back home. I mean on Earth,” Paul said, nodding.

“A printer that prints 3D. Plastic?” She asked, playing dumb as she batted her eyelashes at him. She made a show of stretching a bit in her shorty shorts and tied top.

“Plastic, some metals...we've got some good ones now that can print some electronics and circuit boards. Simple stuff, but every little bit helps,” Paul explained, trying to keep his cool. She nodded.

“Well, I think we'll want one of those next and solar panels and a wind turbine. Another radio might be a good idea.” She had orders to trade for goods and materials that made them as self-sufficient as possible but also put them on the board as competition with Chamber's outfit in the long term. She wasn't sure how well that plan of the colonel's was going to work. She doubted it would fly very far; after all, Chambers had deeper pockets, more people, more resources, and a head start. But there was no problem giving it a shot.

Besides, by making them as a possible industrial center in the center of the continent they would be able to not only trade goods and materials with the communities around them, but also do so when Paul's crew weren't around. It wasn't like he could do these road trains more than once every couple of months she judged. Maybe once a season if he was lucky; he had other stops to go to. And it was a dangerous trek.

Paul nodded and jotted that down on his tablet. “If you have a shopping list, we can talk terms, ma'am,” he said.

She flashed him a smile, intent on flirting with him to get the best deal...and get some revenge on Miles but then she noticed the gold circlet around his ring finger. That made her pause and adjust her strategy a bit.

“Well, I know the colonel is only interested in weapons. They are going for a premium I understand, so what do you have in surplus right now?” she asked.

“Well, we're on our second harvest or will be shortly. The first summer harvest for the farms I mean, the greenhouses have their own timetable. I know we're short on tropical goods and certain metals and materials, but we've got tons of plastics...”

------*------

Colonel Miles Dunn was not happy about the competition with Capital he just wasn't sure what to do about it. He'd seriously considered freezing them out, not doing business with them at all, but the rest of his little community didn't seem to agree with him. Ciara was aware of his concerns, but she was focused on short term goals, not long term.

He sighed thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the pistol in front of him. It was a revolver, a 357 that had belonged to Abe before he'd been killed. They'd salvaged it in the field, but it still had a bit of pitting no matter how he cleaned and polished the damn thing. He frowned, looking at it. He checked the action and then set it down in front of him again.

He'd have to figure something out. Just getting stuff from base was helping a lot. He'd recognized how his people were thrilled by the contact and by the trade...but not so even Ciara wasn't happy about the terms that guy Fen put out. Fen laid it out to them, what he had, what it cost to make...they still weren't sure if he was on the level or not. Sure he had to drive a damn long way, but he was on their home turf. He had no right to charge what he charged!

Ciara had been a bit put out over that, and she had vented with Miles who had agreed with most of her points. He frowned thoughtfully and then looked to the door before he sat back and ran a hand through his buzz cut.

He definitely wanted the gunpowder and baking soda from Klinger's group, and the fees for trade passing through might be lucrative in time he judged. Just getting them to pay for storing it at his fortress would be tricky, and he knew he didn't really have the negotiating skills needed to handle things. Ciara was good, but she'd banked on using her feminine whiles on whoever they sent...and she hadn't been happy about that not working. He snorted in amusement over that reflection. A lot of the stuff they were getting they could do without. Soap? They made their own now, though the stuff from Chambers was softer and he even had shampoo. The women loved that. He rolled his eyes. Salt they had a plenty. The same went for metal; Joe could pound out just about anything given a blueprint and time. But the gunpowder and baking soda were the two items that were critical, he knew the importance of both, they could always
pay
in both.

But that was where Ciara's rant came in. They wanted tons of material for even the simplest things like the automotive parts. Tons of sea salt, hides or smoked meat. There was no way Carlos and Fuji were going to give up the crops they grew, so it came down to those three items. He scowled.

And now this, he thought, looking at the schedule. According to what Jake had just told him, the first shipment was really for Klinger's outfit instead of his own. If he wasn't careful they'd hog all...no wait, he checked the list Fen had given them. He scanned it a few times before he found what he was looking for...gunpowder. So, they weren't competing with him for gunpowder...what were they after? The baking soda?

Ciara came in and looked at the paper before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Thinking deep thoughts?” she asked, slipping into his lap.

“A bit,” he said. “You're not helping,” he growled.

“Sorry,” she said, taking the paper from him. She set it down and then kissed him. “Does this help?” she asked innocently. He chuckled.

“Not a bit,” he said. “I can't get over this crap. Were they deliberately insulting us? Passing us over to send shit to Klinger's group?”

“They need some of it more than we do,” Ciara sighed, shifting about to take the discussion more seriously. “But it may be they want the baking soda. Or they've got a thing for this professor. From what I understand, the gear they are sending, a compact track loader, that truck, and some mining equipment will help them quadruple production in time.”

“If they quadrupled it, why are they only going to sell half?” he asked, moving the papyrus papers around until he found a note Kevin Thorn had written. He'd overheard part of the discussion between Paul Fen and Klinger's people. They'd gone on about production. “Yeah, here it is,” he said, pulling the radio transcript up. “They say only half of what they mine will be considered surplus.”

“Because they are using some for themselves,” his wife explained patiently. He grunted in response. “They are also probably stockpiling it. It's not like they can mine it in winter. Well, they can but it's dangerous with the animals around,” she said.

“True,” he replied grudgingly. “But that means it's less for us to trade for,” he said.

“Or they could be trading with other people too,” she said. “The Caribbean people for instance,” she said. He frowned thoughtfully as he digested that idea. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

“Driving the price up will be a pain in the ass for us,” he growled.

She sighed, getting out of his lap. There was no point playing with him when he was in this much of a grouchy mood. “True,” she said, adjusting her blouse. She hated the heat so it was unbuttoned most of the way. Not that he noticed right now. “We'll have to deal with it. We need to figure out something that people really want and need.”

“Want and need are two different things,” Miles said.

“How do you figure?”

“You may want something, but you can live without it. If you need it and don't have it, then you're willing to pay a lot more for it,” he said.

She nodded. “Clay is a local thing, so that is pointless. Also heavy, too heavy to transport far,” she mused. “So, salt, meat and hide. I'm drawing a blank on what else to export. I mean, we've got milk but we can't store it. I heard Chambers also has milk and produces cheese and dairy products for limited export too,” she said.

“Good for him,” Miles muttered.

“What about trained animals?” Ciara asked thoughtfully. “And leather goods?”

“Trained animals? What like a circus?”

“No, like riding animals? Or domestic animals? Beef? Dairy? They have to come from somewhere right?” She asked. “We have to play with the cards we've been dealt. Make our strengths into our exports. We've got plenty of animals. I know Diego bitches he wants the herds bigger, but...” she shrugged. “It ain't happening unless we can expand.”

“I told him before, we've got too much perimeter with the farm and pastures as it is,” the colonel grumbled.

“True. So, downsize. The animals just gave birth. We can, oh, export animals in trade to local places. The Caribbean's and Klinger's group. I wonder what they'd pay for a Barox cow?” She asked with a small smile. “Or the knowledge on how to handle them?”

He nodded thoughtfully as he got to his feet and headed to the door. “Now where are you going?” She demanded.

“I'm going to see a man about cattle,” he said over his shoulder. “I'll be home by dinner,” he said before she could remind him. He nodded politely to her and then walked off, shaking his head.

------*------

Out exploring north of East Village, Giles hit turbulent weather. An early summer thunderstorm swatted him from the sky. He hadn't had time to rise above the storm; it struck so ferociously fast.

The pitter patter and then steady drumming of rain on the plane woke him. He looked out, dazed and confused by what had happened. He finally remembered enough to realize he was in the crashed aircraft...and that he was also in excruciating pain. His hands clutched at his left knee but could get no further; the dash and wreckage had trapped the leg. He realized he had broken his left leg in the crash. He passed out again after checking himself over, lulled into a pained doze by the rain.