"Good-bye then, Mr. Castell. I hope you survive what is coming."
"We will, Captain. Go in peace."
Leo figured it was time to see if he could find at least one of the Military types he had seen earlier.
If a deal to at least train the women at Janesfort could be struck, some progress would be made.
Owen Van Damm was hunting. It was his profession to hunt on occasions, and he took pride in his ability at it. Right now he was approaching the "lair" when he saw his quarry leaving. He followed unobtrusively down the street.
This quarry was difficult in that he didn't walk very fast, perhaps slowed by his lame leg, and was quite aware of his surroundings. Van Damm stayed about ten meters back and ambled slowly.
The quarry turned a comer at one of the newer buildings in Castell City (it had an entire floor aboveground and was made out of wood), and Van Damm followed. He made the turn-
– and stopped right there, nose to nose with his Target standing and confronting him.
"Are you following me?" came the question. The voice was polite but the body language said: I am armed and dangerous and you seem to he a threat.
Van Damm sighed, and answered. "Yes, I am."
"Why?" The man smiled, but his keen blue eyes never wavered.
Well, in such situations, the best defense was the truth.
"Someone has been asking questions about you and I, looking for us. I do not know who is asking, nor what connection he sees between us, and such puzzles are healthier if you solve them."
"Agreed." The man relaxed slightly, and leaned on his cane. "What do you think we have in common?"
"Your name is Nicholas Brodski. True?"
"Yes." No surprise, nothing else given away.
"You have the carriage of a military man, perhaps senior enlisted, likely of the Fleet Marines."
"Right again, laughing boy."
"I would also guess that you were retired for wounds?" Van Damm said, looking at the "penalty weight" the man was carrying, his gray hair and the cane loosely ready at his side.
"Right again. What's all this about? You ex-Fleet?" Brodski's blue eyes turned hard. ". . . or still working?"
"I am . . . retired from the Fleet, also. My name is Owen Van Damm." Truth enough.
"Okay, Owen. Let's get off the street and discuss this in more civilized surroundings."
"I agree." Van Damm allowed himself a quick smile. "If you know of some place where the food is not synthetic slop and the beer is better than the horse urine that seems to be all they serve now in Docktown, I will buy the first round."
"I've found a 'speak' that has some decent brew. Their sandwiches are pretty good too. Just let Ol' Nick Brodski show you where."
The speakeasy proved to be not far away, and connected by a backdoor to a recently used barn. Brodski knocked twice, waited, knocked twice more, waited, then knocked thrice. A voice came through the door: "Who's your friend, Ski?"
"Another old Marine, Charlie. Let us in; he's got cash to spend."
A Chinese of indeterminate age opened the door and let them in. Van Damm wondered, as he scraped goat manure off his boot soles, where the observation port was. He hadn't spotted it from the outside.
The room was lit by lamps that burned a sweet-smelling oil, one of the few places that still had lamp oil, and was warm, and-despite the crowding-quiet.
After the beer (a pitcher containing a liter and a half, for two tenths of a CoDo trade-credit) came the sandwiches: fresh meat and Earth condiments, all good.
"So," said Brodski, around a mouthful of meat, "tell me more."
Van Damm finished a swig of very good beer. "There is not much to tell. As far as I know, there is this man named Makhno, some sort of boat captain, who has been asking questions about us for the last six hours, at least. I thought that I would look you up and we could compare notes, so as to know more about what he wants."
Brodski turned a look toward Charlie who beckoned from behind the bar. Brodski said, "Excuse me," and went over to him.
Van Damm shrugged and went back to his sandwich and beer, which were better than in any other place Owen had tried in the last couple of turns.
Brodski came back with a funny look on his face. "What you just told me was confirmed by Charlie over there. He says that Leo Makhno was looking for me earlier. He runs the zodiac that trades on the river."
"A coincidence, that. I came ashore on the zodiac, and since I don't think that there would be two of them on this planet . . ."
"Right you are. So let's add things up. Point one: We are both ex-Fleet. Point two: We are newly arrived on Haven . . . . I got here on the ship before this one."
"Point three," added Van Damm. "I understand that the flow of food and beer in Docktown has slowed to a trickle in the last few days. Who better than a cargo-boat captain to know why?"
Good point," said Brodski. "You're not as dumb as you look . . . . Which brings us to point four. This shortage started shortly after one Jomo came up with a big batch of CoDo stun-rifles and began consolidating Docktown. Hmm, and have you noticed there's almost no off-world money around? Interesting."
"That means somebody-perhaps several somebodies-don't want to work for Mister Jomo, and they are not sending food into Docktown." Van Damm actually smiled as he let the idea expand.
"A . . . strike? Of the 'union' kind?"
". . . And maybe the strikers would like some professional help in case of strikebreakers," finished Brodski. "And a local shipping captain just might recognize a couple of old pros when he sees them. It fits. How do you feel about becoming a merc, Owen?"
"Not badly, after looking for work in this place for the past shifts . . . no, Turns."
"Turns is right, I've noticed the lack of honest work myself. I've been teaching Tai-Chi to some deacons for room and board."
"I had some idea of selling my skills when I came here-but I soon found that it was work for a gang or not work. The Harmonies don't hire much, and no honest Docktowners could pay anything-thanks to the curious shortage of currency. Since the only gang leader left is Jomo, I couldn't work there. He 'dislikes' people that are not of mixed blood."
"Umhmm. So what do you say to finding this Makhno fellow and applying for the job?"
Van Damm shrugged. "Since I have no job right now, and things are beginning to get rough here in Docktown, I think that I would perhaps like to see a bit more of the planet."
"Yeah. And I thought I'd quit being an armed tourist when I quit the Corps . . . . Well, Semper Fi, buddy," said Brodski, refilling both glasses.
" 'Til the Final Muster," toasted Van Damm. "Now, how shall we find our employer?"
"I have a funny feeling that if we just wait right here long enough, hell show up . . . . Or do you have to go home and pack?"