War World X: Takeover (4 page)

“Look kid, you’re making me think that I should have left you to your fun-loving friends out there.”

There was a look of thoughtfulness on the kid’s face. “How did you do that? I mean, with the broom. I never thought of a broom….”

“It’s just using what you have at hand to do the job.” Brodski thought a moment, “’Being at one with the moment is all; this is the path to Harmony with the universe,’” he quoted a Zen master he had studied under once.

“But…I have been taught that violence is dis-harmonious.”

Brodski pulled up the argument he’d used with Harmonies before. “Lad, when you come to think of it, striking a drum with a stick to make a beat is violent. Plucking a string on a guitar is violent. Nobody asks the skin or the string if they want to be treated that way, but what is produced can be music or discord depending on how it’s done. Just in case you’re wondering, that’s called Zen, and is part of a way of defending yourself.”

“…I’d like to learn more.”

“Well lad, I’m willing to teach if you’re willing to learn. You can write your message for Leo and leave it here. It won’t get read unless by him, but he won’t be back for a couple of days. You can write can’t you?”

The look on the child’s face told it all.

“Well, I can teach that, too. Flora, bring me a writing pad, some milk and a beer.” Looking over the kid, he added, “And a meat sandwich for my student. What’s your name, youngster?”

“Wilgar.”

“Well, I guess first we teach you to write your name.”

Van Damm was still smarting from the dressing-down Max Cole had handed out in his private cabin aboard the
Kennicott Harbinger
, but at least Van was staying on Haven and getting a chance to recover some of his professional pride. With 2.5 kilos of assorted gold coins (the Golden Rand and English Guinea were still the small change of the espionage business), out-system trade units (plastic with embedded holograms), and paper CoDo money in various denominations, it would be possible to set up the kind of network Cole had ordered him to. Using DeCastro’s connections wouldn’t hurt, and would speed the process.

The question was, did he want to do it?

Seeing the virtues of one’s victims: this is how agents get turned, or go native.

As he headed for his temporary cabin in officers’ country he noticed a career corporal he’d played chess with on the way out, and the man didn’t look all that happy.

“What’s new, Heinrick?” he asked.

“Moving out, Mr. Van Damm. Planet-side. Down to that hellhole til God knows when. The Powers That Be have decided to lighten the ship by jettisoning half the ship’s guard in forty-eight hours. We go right after the Kennicott stuff drops for Kenny-Camp. You taking passage back to Earth?”

“No,” said Van Damm, an idea dawning. “I have part interest in a business in Docktown: one that you might like. A bar run by a friend of mine…an ex-Fleet Gunny named Brodski. Ever hear of him?”

“You mean Hot-Wire Brodski?! We hid him all the way out here! I served with him in Belize and the Sudan, in the old 2nd Division. You say he’s got a bar down there?”

“Bar and grill, probably the best food and booze on the planet. Drop in and see us when you hit dirt.”

“Sure will, Mr. Van Damm! Say, did he ever tell you about the time in Belize, when the Guat’s were kickin’ up, and him and me was on this hill….”

Forty-eight hours to wait for the next shuttle,
Van Damm considered.
Oh well, I can listen to a combat story or two till then, seeing as I’m to ride down with the troops.

“I hereby bring this meeting of the Fraternal order of Hibernians and Caledonians to order,” Himself in his green coat announced with three bangs of his fist on a piece of plank. “So all of yahs, shut up.”

The motley crowd obligingly shut up.

“First order of business will be a committee of constitution, since we have no committee, with the exceptions of Black Jim who’s takin’ notes and meself who’s the best man of yous all. And we have no constitution so we have no laws as of yet. But since yous here you all seem to think that some sort of law is in order: I appoint the scholarly Robert of the heathen land of Milwaukee as head, and Peter Flowers of Arizona as his Deputy, since he has the best fists of the bunch of all of yah. They can pick the rest.

“I appoint as medical board two others that Doc Schaffer picks, and I want all of yah to go to him wit any hurts that yah got. He’s got a good survival rate.

“Some of yahs don’t understand what we’s about here at Hell’s-A-Comin’, so I’ll explain it to yahs. We help each other…even if yah wasn’t lucky enough to come from Ireland, Or Scotland, or Wales. Yah’s miners, and we’s the older of all miners’ unions. We help each other out when we’s outside and on surface, yah understand? If ya got food, ya don’t let a brother go hungry. Ya help him in a fight. Ya protect his claim when he asks ya, and he’ll do the same for yahs.

“All of ya’s Brothers now…so as ya line up at the beer, look at each other’s faces so ya’ll know each odder. And with the tappin’ of the keg I call the meeting adjourned.”

And he hit the plank once more.

As the others were turning toward the bar, an older miner came limping up to him. “Hey, Irish,” he almost whispered. “A word in private, if you please?”

Himself studied the older man for a moment, heart thudding as he recognized him. At last, this was the man he’d waited so long to see. He looked left and right, then strolled out of the dugout and into the windswept street. The old miner followed.

“This should be far enough t’avoid unwelcome ears—Mr. Bronstein,” he said quietly.

Bronstein winced, but then smiled. “You’ve done your homework,” he admitted.

“What’s left o’ the unions on Earth ain’t fools,” Himself grinned. “We’ve taken a page from you Wobblies, and learned ta study well—an’ keep good records.”

“Knowledge isn’t exactly power,” Bronstein admitted, “But it’s way the hell out in front of raw ignorance.”

“It ain’t power, but it damn-well is survival. That’s the mistake your First Union made.”

“We had knowledge,” Bronstein growled. “It wasn’t enough. Why do you think you can do better?”

“First Union had only the one cave-complex,” Himself said carefully. “We’ve got several already, and we’re workin’ at diggin’ more. We’ve spread further up and down the river, and we’re makin’ settlements a good ways inland from it. We’ve already got connections with the farmers, and we make more—and we also help ’em by digging, uh, storm cellars for the lot of ’em, if ya know what I mean.”

“It’ll take you a lot of work to connect them.”

“So we take our time. First Union, well, ya jumped too fast: didn’t get enough bolt-holes an’ supplies before ya made yer move.”

“Hell, we thought we had to make our move before Kenny-Co brought in the next load of transportees for scabs. We didn’t think the company could hold out for much more than two hundred days.” Bronstein laughed bitterly. “We also thought, miners being rare then, that we were too valuable to shoot. Honest mistake.”

“Well, we gotta big population down here now.” Himself glanced up and down the dirt street, just making sure. “Aye, and we got no illusions about what the companies will do if we challenge ’em straight out. Nah, we don’t just strike; we use a different tactic.”

“Such as?”

“First, we don’t call ourselves a union. Nobody mentions the Industrial Workers o’ the Worlds, nobody quotes the old sayings, and nobody gives any hints the Kenny-Co ears might pick up. By the way, how did ya get alive out o’ that cave?”

The old miner winced. “When the survivors saw that the Marines weren’t going to follow us into the cave, we put on a little performance for them. They bought it and we kept our heads down afterward. How did you guess?”

“People talk, and I’m good at listenin’. But you get the idea we’re playin’ at here? We’re just the Fraternal Order of Hibernians and Caledonians, and we’re just a social an’ charitable organization. Ya got that, too?”

“Starting slow, then.”

“An’ as a charitable organization, it makes sense we should make deals and ties an’ all with the settlers.
All
the settlers.”

“Even the Harmonies?”

“Especially the Harmonies.” Himself fixed Bronstein with an impaling glare. “Who do ya think’s got the biggest supply o’ seeds an’ livestock?”

“The ‘Workers’ and Peasants’ League’,” Bronstein laughed. “That used to be a joke, outdated even when we were founded, and that was 1905.”

“It wasn’t a joke a good half-century earlier,” Himself said, straight-faced.

Bronstein frowned. “There are no surviving unions from that far back,” he noted.

“Not survivin’, no.” Himself looked innocently up at the stars. “Reborn, at need. Conditions here are more primitive than they were on Earth, even in 1905, so we go back to something’ earlier.”

Bronstein gave him a long look. “Don’t tell me,” he said slowly, “That your real name is Maguire.”

“No,” Himself laughed, “An’ me mother’s name wasn’t Molly, eyther, but the ideas are the same. Unify the farmers an’ small shopkeepers an’ miners—aye, an’ even the Harmonies—because there’s really only two classes here: the mining companies, with their CoDo troops for harness-bulls—”

Bronstein smiled thinly.

“—an’ everybody else. That means we got ta unify all o’ that everybody else. Organize everybody who isn’t the Ruling Class. Build ’em up so they can run the whole planet by themselves, even if another ship never comes. That’s what we got ta do first.”

“And now we’ve got enough population to do it.” Bronstein took a deep breath. “Knowledge can be power, after all.”

“How d’ye mean?”

“You know, we organizers of the First Union had a couple of good computers with us, part of our ‘traveling organizer packs’. When Kenny-Co called in the Marines to smash the strike, they never imagined—and never looked for—anything like those computers. Those jobs had plutonium batteries that can last a century and more if they aren’t smashed. Jablonski’s long past needing his. You want it?”

“Jaysus,” Himself breathed. “What a difference that could make!”

“Come along with me, up to the old cave complex, to the one furthest from the river, and I’ll show you a corner that the Marines never found. That’s where I’ve been keeping it for all these years.”

Jane paced back and forth across the tower room, chewing her lip. “Is that everything Vann Damm said, Leo?” she asked.

“All I can remember. I’m no expert on politics, Jane, but it all makes ugly good sense.”

“Too good. Everybody wants to steal Haven from the Harmonies. Kennicott wants it for the hafnium, Dover for the shimmer stones, the other mining companies want it for whatever they can get, BuReloc wants it for a dumping ground and everybody else wants it for the shimmer stones. That means CoDo has to takeover and run the place itself. The Harmonies won’t be able to hold out forever, no matter what we do.”

“I never thought I’d feel sorry for the arrogant bastards,” said Makhno.

“But there’s plenty we can do to slow down the takeover, slow it down until we’ve got our own population strong enough to deal with the CoDominium. It can be done….” She cast a long look out of the tower window, taking in the view of the island, the river, and the land beyond. “Ever hear of a guy named Thomas Jefferson, Leo?”