" 'Fief?" Makhno scratched his head. "More of a co-op, I think. Everybody's got their little patch, but we share the tools, knowledge, labor and resources."
"Come on, boy. Jane's really in charge here. She was the one who smuggled in the pot seeds, wasn't she?-Oh, don't jump like that; I'm not about to run and tell Jomo on you. Hell, I think it's the best thing to hit Haven since the Survey Teams! But it's her seed, her land and her rule, isn't it? And she lends-or more exactly, rents out-her tools and knowledge and seed and the other resources in exchange for shares of the crops, right? And it's her castle that everybody's going to hole up in when the attack comes, right? So just what would you call an arrangement like that?"
"That depends." Makhno grinned toothily. "The women may decide not to fight that way, you know. They may vote to spread out among the neighbors on the riverside, fight it out farm by farm, or go hide out 'til the Simbas leave, like they did when the miners were rafting downriver, or a dozen other things."
"Good Lord!" Brodski bellowed. "Ya mean they're gonna decide on defense by vote? Every last welfare-witch ranking the same as Jane, or you?"
"Why not?" Makhno's grin got wider. "You just said yourself that they made pretty good soldiers, so they're not that ignorant. They all wanted the land deal, so they're not that lazy. Besides, it's their land, their kids, and their asses on the line when the Simbas come-so who's got the right to dispose of all that for them?"
Brodski subsided into swearing and muttering. He was still at it when the dinner-bell rang.
Half the population of Docktown, and no few eyes from Castell City, watched Jomo's expedition depart. The Last Resort, loaded with three-fourths of Jomo's army-with food, supplies, and all of the CoDo stunners-chugged away from the dock and out into the lake. Some of the crowd actually cheered, and meant it.
DeCastro stood on the dock, watching them go, his smile only half forced. He calculated that Jomo's expedition would take at least three full cycles to sweep all three branches of the river, with brief returns to Dock-town in between to unload cargo.
That meant that one Tomas Messenger y DeCastro had roughly one cycle to assure the loyalty of the twenty troops Jomo had left him. Such assuring would necessarily include thinning out the unreliable. With less than twenty soldados, DeCastro could not possibly hold all of Docktown. Certain adjustments would have to be made, troop-strength concentrated on the most important sites and the others patrolled often enough to keep them from becoming hotbeds of rebellion. Explanations could be made to Jomo at some well-chosen time.
The five men sat plotting and scheming and arguing at the cleared dinner table, Jane looking on from the head of the table.
"So what is it you want?" asked Falstaff. "Understand that we don't have a lot of resources."
"I was thinking through dinner," replied Van Damm. "What I think we need is a variable timed explosive charge that you could attach to their boat . . . ."
"You'll have to be careful of River-Jacks. They're nasty and hungry and they'll take care of any Simbas we miss," said Makhno.
"How will we get through them?" asked Brodski.
"Blue tree sap will do it. Just rub it on your body and it keeps them away."
"Yah . . . Painted blue like an ancient Briton," said Van Damm. "But what boat are they likely to have, Captain Makhno?"
"Since they couldn't grab the Bitch . . . the next best ship is the Last Resort. She mostly fishes on Lake Castell; easy prey for Jomo, I'd guess. Hmm, but she's just a diesel-powered trawler with a wooden hull."
"A wooden hull!" Brodski snorted. "How're you going to put a mine on something like that?"
Falstaff giggled, his white teeth showing sharply against his black skin. "I have a solution. One of the kids pissed in a pot of Eggtree sap I had been working with, and I tried to wash it out."
"So?" asked Van Damm.
"The stuff stuck my hands to the pot and to the wooden spoon. I had to use alcohol to get loose. I figure it'll do as an underwater glue. Hell, I was stuck tight in less than ten seconds."
"I . . . see . . ." purred Van Damm.
"Sounds good to me," chortled Brodski. "A real-heh!-'solution' for a real problem."
"Captain Makhno, do you know the interior of the Last Resort?" Van Damm plowed on. "Can you draw a plan showing where a small charge would fill the greatest open space, other than the engine room?"
"Maybe, but why not the engine room?"
"Because we might want to salvage her later."
Donato chewed his mustache and punched numbers into his rechargeable pocket computer. "I have some frying pans that are heavy cast iron; they'll probably do for the cases. Jeff, can you do something about the charge?"
"Well, I can boost the shotgun propellant some, maybe get a medium explosive. What I see as a problem is the timer. Any ideas?"
"There are a couple of clock chips in that stunner you brought back; they'll do, but . . . they'll have to be set before they go into the water."
"Keep at it, gentlemen." Jane, grinned, getting up. "I trust your sense of . . . timing."
She strolled off, leaving a table of assorted groans.
The lands along the eastern branch of the great river were low, flat, rolling, rich with tall grass and wandering herds of muskylope. Jomo and his troops only glowered at the passing scenery; it hadn't shown them lootable prey yet.
There was great joy when they spotted a rising column of smoke from a chimney, and the smokestack that was its source. Below it sat a turf-roofed dugout farmhouse surrounded by paddocks, storage-shacks, livestock-barns and a good-sized kitchen-garden. Five men, four women and several children were busy working therein. When they spotted the oncoming Last Resort, they stood up and waved.
Jomo smiled from ear to ear. "Fresh meat, Simbas," he said.
As the last dishes were cleared away, Brodski stood up and waved his cane for attention. "Awright ladies," he bellowed. "All those who . . . voted . . ." He managed to keep the sneer out of his voice. ". . . to go to the neighbors' farms and snipe from the shore, take these radios and pass 'em around. Set up schedules so there's always somebody on the radio reporting back to the island. That's vital, dammit, so remember it! I just hope everybody'll be awake and on the air when Jomo's boys come."
"Amen," said Jane.
Van Damm shook his head and reached for his beer.
Brodski sat down with a thump and reached for his mug, muttering under his breath about deciding strategy by town meeting.
Jane, still standing, turned to face them. "Now, concerning your land-grant . . ." she began.
Brodski and Van Damm sat up straighter, grinning.
". . . You'll have your share of the working land on the island. However, for tactical purposes, we'll need you two on an advance listening-post downriver."
The two mercs looked at each other, shrugged, and muttered agreement.
"The best post I've been able to find is just north of MacDonald's, right on the bend of the river. There's a dugout house and some furnishings, a storage-bam, two paddocks and a kitchen-garden gone to seed. We can give you hand-tools and seed. Sorry, but we don't have enough livestock yet to spot you more than a few turkeys; you'll have to hunt for most of your meat, but there's plenty of game. Now, how much seed do you want, and what sort of crops?"
". . . Seed?" Van Damm gave her a blank look.
"Crops?!" Brodski followed him. "You expect us to be farming?!"
"Of course." Jane frowned, puzzled. "You're going to have to pose as standard river farmers. That means working in the field. Now, which crops do you want?"
Makhno couldn't help laughing as he saw the two mercs look at each other, saw the slowly growing realization on their faces, saw plainly what they'd expected out of life on Lady Jane's estate. They really had thought they'd always be fed, supplied, taken care of, paid even after their contracted work was done, coddled and fussed over like roosters in a henhouse as two of the only five men among more than a dozen women.
Falstaff caught it at the same time; he erupted into howling laughter. Donate only looked to heaven and waved both hands to some unnamed saint. Makhno laughed so hard he fell off his bench and rolled, whooping and yukking, on the stone-and-clay floor.
"Welfare bums!" He tired to hiccup explanation to the worried faces turned toward him. "Just sit on your fanny and whine! Hic! Oh, they've got a lot to learn about polygamy . . . ."