Kris Longknife 13 - Unrelenting (22 page)

Now it was Kris’s turn to wince. “You remember, this was just an idea. I’m not totally sure the Alwans who made the offer had the authority to.”

“Don’t say that too loud. How soon can you flesh it out?”

“Tomorrow, maybe. Nelly, do you have contact with anyone among the Ostriches?”

“No, Kris.”

“Can you set up a contact?”

“You might want to talk to Admiral Benson, or maybe Ada,” was all Nelly offered.

“I see he’s next on my list,” Kris said, and turned toward him.

Pipra stayed with her planners; Kris’s key staff followed her.

“Admiral Benson, I see you’ve got reinforcements,” Kris said, with just the right amount of smile.

“I figured it’s better to have hard numbers. I’ve put in the honest numbers for repairing damaged ships. We also fed in estimates for applying crystal armor to ships that don’t have it. I’ve even included what it would take to spin out an entirely new crystal armored frigate with 22-inch lasers, assuming we decide to make a few.”

“Thank you, Admiral. I’m glad that everyone will be working with real numbers, not wild estimates for the Navy,” Kris said.

“Now, about those land grants. The word’s out on the shop
floor that they may be coming our way, along with the week on, week off. I have to tell you, morale is taking a skyrocket ride. When do you think we can actually see those grants?”

“I’ll be talking with the Ostrich government tomorrow. Next day at the latest,” Kris said.

“Good. Good. Now, what kind of prefabs can we have to set up our dirtside homesteads?”

“Talk to Pipra,” Kris said, and watched two shipyard superintendents head off to get in her hair.

“Do you see the problems I see?” Amanda asked Kris softly.

“I see all sorts of problems,” Kris said. “I’ve got to get land, but land grants are worthless unless someone can set up a homestead. Every homestead takes consumer goods away from the Alwans.”

“I’m glad you didn’t miss that. Suddenly, we’ll have humans competing with the Alwans,” Amanda said.

“Will we get any production out of all these homesteads?” Jacques asked, “Or are these fab workers planning on being gentleman farmers?”

“This will not turn out well,” Amanda whispered.

“Not unless we get ahead of this stampede,” Kris said.

“I think Pipra is planning on letting the market control all this,” Amanda said.

“This market better meet a Longknife’s expectations,” Kris said, darkly. “Nelly, how’s this all going?”

“Kris, I hate to say it but the Black Plan is starting to look more and more like a Turquoise Plan. Plenty of growth for butter, some for industry, not a lot of guns.

“How bad?” Kris asked.

“Something like sixty, thirty, ten,” Nelly said.

“That bad, huh.”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, Nelly. Please have your kids save all the plans as they now exist.”

“Done, Kris.”

“Now clear the boards.”

“Kris,” came in four-part harmony from her staff, with a lone “Done” from Nelly.

“What the hell?” seemed to be one of the more neutral responses around Kris.

Kris let the uproar run for a moment, then said in a command voice that carried, “Now that I have your attention,” and the room fell silent.

“Boys and girls,” she began in dripping sarcasm. “I gave you free run to see what you would do. I do not find the present trend acceptable. Sixty percent for consumer goods and only ten percent for defense is not what I had in mind when you started this exercise.”

“But we need this for homesteads dirtside,” came in a plaintive cry from a corner of the room.

“Maybe we need to be clear about those homesteads. They are not dude ranches,” Kris said. “I expect those farms to grow food. One person enjoying the good life on their private half-time bit of heaven is not something we can afford—not out here in the dragon’s mouth.”

Kris glanced around the room. Few met her eyes.

Abby, however, was not one of them. She had a tight smile on her face and was nodding. Once again, Kris’s former maid had apparently called the shot.

“Now then, let’s start this over again, and let me give you more precise guidance. Defense will be lowered from sixty percent of our effort to thirty. Industrial growth will raise from an anemic ten percent, which was barely enough to provide spares and support infrastructure growth for the colonials, to a solid thirty percent. Consumer goods will stay at thirty percent.”

“And the remaining ten percent?” Pipra asked.

“Will be apportioned as best to level out resource usage,” Kris said.

“Got you.”

“Now,” Kris said in her most reasonable, but still Longknife voice, “let’s go back to work as adult men and women.”

The glass tables and walls came back to life, and people studied them.

NELLY, DID YOU CHANGE THE PLAN?

I PUT THEM BACK THE WAY YOU SAID. THIRTY, THIRTY, AND THIRTY.

WELL DONE, NELLY AND KIDS.

YOU’RE WELCOME, came in several-part harmony in Kris’s head.

Pipra headed in Kris’s general direction but made no show of it. Still, she was at Kris’s elbow in no time.

“I foresee a problem,” she whispered softly when she was close enough.

“I foresee many problems. Which one do you want to talk about?”

“The thirty percent that we were devoting to consumer goods was split fifty-fifty between the Roosters and the colonials. Now we’re looking at splitting it three ways.”

“No,” Kris said, “four ways. Don’t forget the Ostriches.”

“Damn, four ways?”

“If we move onto Ostrich land, they’ll want TVs and commlinks, electric cars and egg warmers for starters.”

“That means a drastic drop in goods for the colonials and Roosters.”

Oops.

Kris took a deep breath. “So,” she said, in her most reasonable, but solidly Longknife legend voice, “how do we solve this?”

Across from Kris, Pipra’s eyes went unfocused. Kris waited patiently.

“One of the things that’s bugged me,” Pipra said softly, “is that we brought a lot of heavy industry. Hell, everything we brought was for heavy production.”

“Heavy fabrications to support the fleet.”

“Right, as you keep reminding me. Anyway, we’ve been using heavy fabs to make light consumer goods. That’s a poor use of resources. Now, if our initial fab growth was in light manufacturing, just the stuff to make consumer goods . . . ?”

“Are light fabs easier to make?”

“As one is to two,” Pipra said.

“So what we really need is the light stuff.”

“Exactly, my CEO, Princess, and Admiral.”

“Give me a plan that shows a month’s worth of growth in light fabricators.”

“And those fabs will be a lot safer for rookie Alwans to learn on.”

“See, I knew you had it in you,” Kris said, smiling as she sent Pipra on her way.

Admirals Benson and Hiroshi were next in line.

“You really want me to cut my level of effort in half?” he asked.

“That’s what I said. You’ve got BatRon 1 back in fighting shape or
Wasp
would be back in your body and fender shops. You’ve got two badly damaged ships from our last fight to mend. We’ve recovered enough Sailors from the ships we lost to crew one, maybe two. We’ll commission more, but only after we grow some local manpower up to crew qualifications. I don’t see Roosters going straight from the trees to a reactor watch. First, they lose their egg teeth on fab work, then we trust them aboard a warship.”

“So, this cut in defense is really one step back to take three steps forward,” Admiral Hiroshi said through a broad grin.

“I hope for more reinforcements from home, but if we can grow our own, I’m all for it,” Kris said. “People fight harder in defense of hearth and home. Let’s give them a hearth to fight for.”

“I’ll ask for volunteers for moon fab duty,” Benson said.

“More of the same old same old,” Jacques said, as he and Amanda sauntered up.

“Yep,” Kris said. “Amanda, what do you think of all this?”

“Economics at its messy best,” she said. “I think Jacques is having a field day.”

“The human animal howling at its best,” he said. “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs going full steam ahead. They’ve got food, water, warmth, and I might add air to the list. Now they want more.”

“Despite the fact they may have their throats cut next week,” Kris said dryly.

“It’s your fault they’re less worried about staying alive. You’ve beat back the bogeyman three times and made it look easy.”

“So if I’d lost more ships and had more people killed, I wouldn’t be having to put up with this mad dash for the cookie jar.”

“Something like that,” Amanda said, dimples showing in her smile. “It’s all your fault, you damn Longknife.”

Kris did a sarcastic bow to the both of them. “Thank you very much. Tell me, Jacques, I delayed Phil’s run to human
space. How many of our alien friends were planning on taking the trip with him?”

“The crazy bitch was going to be locked away on Phil’s
Hornet
,” Jacques said. “Strange as it may sound, the bald-headed old woman wants to go. ‘To see where the star walkers come from,’ as she put it.”

Kris felt a chill. “We need to keep her away from the wild woman.”

“She’s on the
Endeavor
,” Amanda answered. “Her and her man.”

“They’ve made up?” Kris asked.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Jacques said, “but he’s not willing to let her walk among the stars without him at her elbow.”

“What about the rest?” Kris asked.

“The kids, both the three hunter kids and the twenty kids we saved from suicide, are coming along like rocket cadets. They love their readers, and they’re fitting right into school at their age level. Well, math for the older kids is a bit slow, but the kid whose leg you saved is taking to math like peanuts. Lord, is that kid smart with numbers. Several of the younger men have taken to hunting in the deep woods, even using rifles.

“I think that might be why the older folks are more willing to follow the wise woman and the man into the ships and across the stars. They aren’t quite fitting into the new hunting scheme of things, and it’s rough, eating the younger men’s meat. Anyway, we’ve got six old folks taking the trip.”

“I’ll get them under way as soon as I sort out everything,” but Kris was kept from thinking further on that. Pipra was headed her way with a half a dozen planners in her wake.

“Kris, we need to know exactly what you have in mind for these farms,” Pipra said.

“A working farm. Don’t any of you know what a working farm looks like?”

The planners looked at each other. From their looks, none had ever done manual labor.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never worked a farm myself,” Kris said. “But when I was out in the farm belt campaigning for Father, I never saw a farm with less than four or more
hands, usually family, and I never saw a farm that worked one week on, one week off. Haven’t any of you talked to Ada and the colonials?”

Silence.

“Okay, crew, what say we walk over there and have a little chat?”

Since no one objected, Kris started walking.

Ada must have seen them coming. She was waiting, Jack at one elbow, Granny Rita at the other.

“Kris, I don’t like this new batch of numbers any more than I liked the last,” Ada started.

“I didn’t think you would,” Kris said, cutting her off from a direction Kris didn’t want to go, at least not with these witnesses. “But I have a question for you right now. What does it take to run a farm?”

“No good sense,” Granny Rita put in. “Desperation. A lot of sweat and hard work, sunup to sundown. Why do you ask, Kris?” was posed with an all-too-knowing grin.

“Well, Granny, some of our fab supervisors up on the moon think it would be restful to get some fresh air, working out in the sun. Some good, old-fashioned back-to-nature relaxation.”

“Ha,” came from both women. Jack just grinned.

“I take it that you don’t see it that way.”

“I take it that these fools have never had to farm for their lives,” Granny Rita said.

“So, how many hardworking people do you think it would take to manage 144 hectares?” Kris asked.

“I wouldn’t try to work that much land without a good-size family,” Ada said. “Husband, wife, at least three kids up man- or woman-size.”

“And if they were industrial workers?” Kris posed.

“More,” Granny said. “I remember how we mucked around when we first landed. We hardly knew what a hoe was, much less which end went into the dirt.”

“Well,” Kris said, and tried to sound like she was seriously considering the problem, “what if these farmers had the usual modern tools? What might those be anyway?”

Ada smiled. Wickedly. “You mean tractor, plow or rototiller, disk harrows, posthole digger, unless they plan to feed anything that wanders by, a mower and rake? They planning
on buying all of these up front, collecting them slowly, or maybe sharing them around among a couple of farms?”

“I don’t know,” Kris said, eyeing Pipra and her crew, trying not to smile.

“I think we may have been overly optimistic,” Pipra said. She glanced at her team. As one, they looked poleaxed. “We thought it would be good to do some different work for a change. To have our own land, you know.”

“I bet none of you ever farmed a day,” Granny Rita said.

Heads nodded.

“But the movies about how the landers tamed a raw frontier are always so romantic,” Kris said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“For people that never had to lance a blister,” Granny added.

“No doubt,” Pipra agreed dryly.

“So, are you going to call it quits on this idea?” Kris asked. “Or do we get serious about how we make it happen?”

“What do you think it would take?” a pale, reed-skinny man asked from the back of Pipra’s bunch.

“Granny Rita, you’re the only one here who’s been raised to fabs and done hard sod busting,” Kris said.

The old woman eyed the folks through the screen. “You won’t have it anywhere near as bad as us. Leastwise, you don’t have to unless you make it hard on yourselves. Let’s say, for discussion purposes, that you’ve got 144 hectares with easy access to water. Assuming you can put up a prefab for a roof and some outbuildings to keep the sun and rain off your gear, you’ve got a good start. A modern tractor can break most ground here with a simple cultivator and tiller. A seed drill can go on for the second pass. Then you got the usual hard work of getting the crop in. Fencing, weeding, not all of which can use the tractor. I say at least four to six willing pairs of hands. Best would be if you had a couple say, family high, off a colonial farm to give you some help doing it right the first time.”