Freedom's Ransom (14 page)

“Hi, y'all,” Kris said, wondering how her embarrassed greeting came out in a slightly southern drawl. She smiled broadly and then offered the tray of cold roasted rock squats to the man who had guided them in.

“These are cooked and taste a little like chicken,” she said.

The tray was almost ripped out of her hands and passed around, everyone reaching for a section. The tray was empty in seconds.

“Call it a landing fee,” she added. “And we have some wheat here, if that's any use.”

“All supplies go to a licensed caterer,” a stout woman said, charging forward and directing the disposal of the sacks. “Our thanks. And this is good,” she added, waving the remains of her portion of the rock squat.

“Did she inhale it?” Kathy muttered to Kris, who shrugged.

Zainal led their mission down the ramp, Chuck close beside him, trying to find a familiar face in the dusky light.

“Yo, here, Chuck.” A tall man wearing a baseball cap, a faded Levi's jacket, and oil-stained trousers with frayed cuffs over heavy leather boots stepped forward, waving both arms.

“Hi, Collin. Can we see the coord?”

“Yeah, sure, he's waiting inside.”

“Kathy, grab another tray of rock squat, will you? And, Clune and Herb, hoist a coupla sacks of the wheat and flour,” Kris ordered to those behind her.

“Can we come, too, Father?” Peran asked, bouncing behind Kris. She let him pass her to stand by Zainal.

“People who come in peace bring kids,” she murmured.

By then, Collin was embracing Chuck with great masculine slaps on the back and, in between, broad gestures for the rest of them to come down the ramp. “Botany
Boy gets back, huh? Coord Vitali should be here by now,” Collin said nervously, resettling his cap on his bristle-cut hair as he motioned for everyone to proceed to the airport building. “He sure was surprised to get a note from Biff.”

“Biff?” Zainal and Marrucci asked in surprise.

“Alias for Watch Dog,” Collin said with a laugh.

Another man, also capped, strode out of the gaggle of observers to lead the way and hurry people along. Zainal nodded at Gino and Jax to stay behind, on guard, and followed the man, with Chuck and Collin joining the little procession.

They were led upstairs to what Kris identified as a once-elegant VIP lounge, though considerably the worse for wear now, judging by the stains on the upholstery and the general seedy appearance and stale air. Much at his ease in one of the armchairs was the man Kris thought must be this Coord Vitali. As his name suggested, he had an Italianate countenance, swarthy skin, black hair, and a beard barbered close to a strong jawline. He also looked to have been a much stouter person for his clothes, which were of good quality, hung loosely on him and his face was gaunt. But he flashed a genuinely welcoming smile and met Chuck with an outstretched hand, vigorously seizing Chuck's.

“Chuck Mitford, we have all heard of
you
,” he said, his tone slightly awed.

“From your Texas colleague, I hope,” Chuck said, ignoring, as he usually did, any reference to the legend of his efforts on Botany. “From him as well. He said you might be paying this part of the Free World a visit.”

“And let me introduce the rest of my motley crew,” Chuck said, grinning. “Our Catteni friend is Zainal, his two boys, Peran and Bazil; Captain Kathy Harvey, copilot; Kris Bjornsen, Zainal's mate; Gino Marrucci, our radio officer; Lieutenant Mpatane Cummings, flight engineer; and Alexander McColl, one of our pilots; and Clune and Herb, with the wheat sacks on their shoulders.
Dr. Eric Sachs, lately of Columbus Circle. Allow us to present a small gift from Botany,” Chuck said, taking the tray of roasted rock squats from Kris and presenting it with due ceremony to Coord Vitali. He raised thick brows inquiringly.

“Rock squats, cooked and ready to eat,” Chuck said. “We lived on these birds the first few months on Botany. Make good eating.”

Between his offering and his words, those in the room who had stood back politely while the big men made their meeting looked eagerly at the tray.

“Don't mind if I do,” Vitali said, picking up a half squat and taking a good bite with astonishingly white teeth. “Hmmm, very good. Pass it around,” he mumbled as he chewed, his face lighting up with pleasure. “Hey, well, tasty. Nice to have something to sink one's teeth into. Chickens here are scarcer than their teeth.”

The contents of this tray also disappeared very quickly, and then Clune and Herb carefully deposited the sacks they had hefted in.

“Some wheat and flour for your supplies,” Chuck said. “Gift of the Farmers.”

“Hey, don't look like no Trojan horse, do they?” Vitali quipped. “Accepted with thanks. Anyone seen Grace so we can turn the wheat over to Catering Supplies, legal-like?” There was a bustle in the room and someone had obviously made a hurried call because the same woman arrived, this time with her own helpers and, with another curt nod of thanks, gestured for the sacks to be taken off.

“Well, we got some business we need to take care of in Manhattan,” Chuck said, perching on the edge of another armchair. “Can you get us there?”

“Ain't a nice place no more,” Vitali said, his eyes flickering over the women and the two Catteni boys in the group.

“Being dropped on Botany wasn't any nicer,” Kris said as Kathy came to stand by her shoulder, looking equally firm.

“No, I 'spect it wasn't. Please, sit.” Dan Vitali gestured for them to seat themselves and pull their chairs closer to him.

“Dr. Sachs here,” and Zainal gestured at the dentist, “would like to take possession of his dental chair and the equipment from his office.”

“Oh?” Vitali blinked in astonishment. Then comprehension brought a knowing smile to Vitali's face. “Catteni like gold crowns, don't they? Hey, well, Doc, wish you luck. Where was your office in the good ol' days?”

“Columbus Circle.”

“You're in luck. Big trading there with the Cardinal Coord in charge,” he said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “And we deal with him regular. Repossessing your equipment will be no problem.”

Eric blinked, confused, until Dan Vitali gave him a reassuring look. “I can set up the repossession. No problem.” Then he cocked a forefinger at Zainal before swinging it to Eric again. “Heard Catteni got into dentistry—replacing their front teeth. Hear tell they don't have dentists on their planet.” Then Vitali tensed, his jaw dropped and he stared at Eric. “You going to Catten to set up your practice? Brave man.” Then comprehension brought a sly gleam to Vitali's face.

“Well, actually,” Eric stumbled and turned to Zainal again.

So Zainal, speaking in a low tone for Vitali's ears only, explained about Barevi and his assignment. As soon as he mentioned the comm satellites, Dan Vitali held up his hand.

“Wendell's the one you need to talk to about comm sats,” he said, and waved a man forward. “John Wendell, Chuck Mitford and friends,” he added, smiling at Kris, Kathy, and Zainal's sons. “John keeps my phone system working,” he said by way of explanation. John acknowledged the introduction as he came forward, rock squat bones in his hand. He was a wiry man, in the Levi's that seemed almost a uniform. He also wore a broad belt from
which depended pouches and on which were fixed special loops. Visible as a mound under his Levi's jacket was a mobile phone. He wore a baseball cap decorated with a Motorola M logo.

One of Vitali's cohorts passed around cups of coffee, thanking them quietly for the food. Instant coffee, Kris could tell the moment she had a mouthful, but it was welcome. She wondered if coffee figured in bartering at Columbus Circle. She remembered photos of that New York landmark with artists' sketches and paintings propped up against the Circle's balustrade.

“And you hope to trade dentistry, gold crowns, for spare parts?” Vitali asked.

“We have other things that may be tradable,” Zainal said cautiously.

“You're going to need a lot if you're trying to ransom all the loot the Cats took . . . no offense, Zainal.” The coord nodded courteously. “They got just about anything portable. We could restart some industries for the most urgent stuff but we haven't got ores. Mines are in production but it's slow, and we're just beginning to have coal for them. What you got handy 'sides wheat—which we appreciate, I assure you—that can pay for the gasoline and men to get you safely to Columbus Circle and back?”

Zainal was slightly taken aback by the query but, recovering, gave his broad shoulders a little twitch of acceptance. “Should have brought a lot more rock squats.” He glanced apologetically at Kris. “We have some small quantities of ore. What had you in mind?” Zainal asked, his expression bland.

“We can use just about anything: copper, tin, lead, zinc, iron, right here in New Jersey, Zainal. Whatcha got?”

“Gold?”

“If that's all you got.” Vitali's reluctance to accept the former standard was an interesting insight into the current economy.

“Could manage some copper and tin, I think,” Zainal finally admitted. “How much?”

“Pure ore? Or recycled?”

“Some pure ingots mined on Botany.”

“Well, in that case,” and Vitali slapped his knees with flat hands, “I think we can do a trade.”

“How much?” Zainal repeated. “We didn't think we'd need ores here.”

“Here, there, and everywhere. We have some mines open, specially for coal,” Vitali went on, “but it's transporting it to where it can be worked is the problem.”

“They say they're going back to sail, Coord,” one of his minions remarked with the smirk of a mechanically oriented man for such a primitive alternative.

“Don't knock sails, Binjy,” Vitali said amiably. “It did Columbus okay.”

“Yeah, Coord, yah. Guess it started the whole shebang.”

“However they get it to Detroit and other places ain't our problem. Getting things started again is. We ain't got tires, batteries, spark plugs, windshield wipers. You know, the stuff we used to take for granted.” Vitali waved one hand in frustration. “Some stuff doesn't require much ore but—”

“How much . . . in pounds, Vitali?”

“Pounds? Well, I'd say ten pounds would be the least I'd be able to accept for the loss of the irreplaceable supplies it'll take to get you all the way to Columbus Circle.” He glanced down at the note on his pad.

“Eric has to go here, to get supplies,” Zainal said, offering the exact address.

“Oooh,” murmured Vitali but he didn't seem too put out.

“Subways don't run anymore?” Kathy asked sharply. “Thought they were working on mass transportation as a top priority.”

Vitali flung his head up, regarding her with something close to pity. “D'you know how much it costs to run a
subway, girl? Even if we had diesel fuel?”

“No, sir, I don't, but we've all been sort of out of touch with what's been happening recently on Earth.”

“We do get electricity on at least part of every day, to do water pumps and lights in hospitals 'n' essential things like that. Ain't got no time for fripperies that we used to consider rightful.”

“Five pounds each of copper and lead settle our account with you, Vitali?”

Vitali drew in a long breath, regarding Zainal and rubbing his hands on his worn Levi's. “Well, I think it might. Can probably trade them to someone for something. You're sure it's pure?”

“Smelted on Botany, never felt a pick or shovel before we came.”

“Hmmm, pure stuff's worth a lot more.”

“Indeed it should be,” Zainal agreed amiably. “And that covers our expedition to Columbus Circle? And our second stop at West Thirteenth Street before we come back to the KDM? Deal?” Zainal held out his hand, hoping to conclude the bargain.

To his surprise, Vitali closed the deal with a shake. “This'll help more than you know. We're out of everything.” He waved his hands around his head in frustration. “You bring us a load of tires back and you can name your price.”

“I saw sheds full of tires and battery boxes,” Chuck said. “All on Barevi.”

“All looted from us, too,” Vitali said, scowling. “I'll take anything off your hands you can get . . . for anything you ask for . . . that we might still have. It's raw materials we need right now, to get industry started.”

“We'll keep your wish list in mind,” Kris said with a courteous nod. “Our main objective is to get spare parts and repair the comm sats.”

“Speaking of which, Mr. Wendell,” Kathy began, and that man looked around him as if he didn't realize she
could mean him. “Are you familiar with the Boeing arrays?”

“Sort of. Why?”

“We have one on board the KDM—”

“You what?” John Wendell's eyes went wide with astonishment.

“Zainal netted it, neat as you please. But I'd appreciate a professional survey of how best to repair it.”

“Antennae and solar panels gone, I'll bet, sight unseen.”

“Yes, exactly.”

He motioned Kathy to one side and the pair engaged in a spirited conversation with many gestures on Wendell's part while Kathy listened, Kris thought, with far less reserve than she usually showed. Wendell was a personable-looking man and obviously well versed in his specialty. At least, Kathy looked impressed.

“Keeps us in contact real good,” Vitali said approvingly. “Now, you guys want to go into Manhattan and grab the doc's stuff, right? It's essential to this operation of yours on Barevi, right? Aside from the issues of wear, tear, and personnel, what sort of a vehicle had you in mind?”

“Any sort of truck will do. Pickup, if you have one.”

Vitali gave a little snort. “Even one with good tires. You're in luck. So that's the transport and you'll need a guide and some guards, unless you have weapons.” He cast a wary glance at Zainal. “And I don't mean those nerve whips either, Catteni.”