Warworld: The Lidless Eye (6 page)

“About one Haven mark.”

“I’d count them in pfennigs, myself. Bandits and gangs of marauders have been pillaging isolated villages and farms for several standard months. Their raids have emboldened them to the point where we’re getting reports of them sacking entire towns. The most we can hope for is to protect the Central Valley and Castell City, maybe help Graysontown
and Falkenberg, Hell’s-A-Comin,’ and help some of the smaller towns train their own defensive forces.”

Cummings sat down before speaking again, straddling the chair with his chin resting on the back. “Al, I don’t want to lose your friendship and respect. I need to know if there’s some kind of way we can work out a trade or swap. The Brigade’s paychests are empty; I need hard currency to pay and supply my troops. In return, I’ll give you five armored cars, three tanks and a full company of militia assigned to protect Whitehall.”

The Baron shook his head. “Piss on the rest of Haven and I hope the pack of scavengers who call themselves the Planetary Chamber of Deputies drown in it. They bought and paid for their problems. But for an old friend, hell, I’d do anything. In fact, I bet I can make you a better deal than the one you just offered.”

The Brigadier perked up.
This is going far better than I expected; for a minute there, I thought I’d insulted him.
“What is it?”

“First, tell me how many tanks you have left?”

“Ten. My mechanics think they can cannibalize the rest and come up with two more working tanks. The armored cars are in pretty good shape, though. They make smaller targets, can go faster and use less fuel.”

“That means you’ve got durasteel to burn, I suppose.”

“You could say that,” Cummings said, who felt like a traveler who’s already waded halfway across a swamp and knows he won’t get any muckier if he goes the rest of the way.

“The machine shops and software survived the raid, or so I’ve heard.”

“You heard correctly,” Cummings replied. “We can make almost anything you want. So—what is it you need?”

The Baron told him.

For a moment Cummings wondered if the metaphorical swamp had just turned into quicksand. Then he laughed. “My first thought was, you’d slipped a cog. But now I’m not so sure; you may be crazy like a fox. Okay, I’ll deal. Let’s talk prices and delivery dates.”

They haggled for twenty minutes or so before coming to an agreement that they could both shake hands on. To commemorate the deal, the
Baron poured two large tumblers of Covenant single-malt Scotch.

“That goes down smooth,” Cummings noted, as he filled his pipe barrel with tobacco.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of these,” the Baron asked holding up two cigars.

The Brigadier shook his head. “I’m a dedicated piper, at least until we run out of good leaf.”

“Don’t worry about that. One of my tenants has a nice tobacco patch; his family’s been growing since CoDominium days. Old Edwin I made him a good deal; free land in exchange for half his crop. We’ve all done well by it.”

Cummings nodded. “You have a sweet operation here, I have to admit. Maybe our deal will insure you can keep it.”

“I plan to,” the Baron said, his eyes pressed hard. “The Hamiltons have owned this land for almost five hundred years. And I mean to see that we keep it for another ten generations.”

“How’s John doing?” Cummings asked. John Hamilton was the heir who didn’t want the responsibility; he was a playboy first and a wheeler-dealer second. All of the Baron’s plans could come to naught if the boy—young man, that is—wasn’t brought to heel.

“He’s starting to shape up. It’s been hard for him, being the youngest and always second-best in everything to Raymond. Not that Edward was the greatest father, either. Then after Raymond left to join the Imperial Navy, there was the accident…”

The Baron paused. The car crash that had killed his son and daughter-in-law was a memory that still stung unless kept at arm’s length. “John’s always been a bit wild, but never mean-spirited. These last few months he’s really helped the Estate with his black-market currency dealings. It’s not a skill I’d ever expected any heir of mine would need, but in these times…well, I don’t have to tell you.”

Now I’ve said it
, the Baron thought.
I’ve called John my “heir.”

What else was John? Win or lose, his grandson Raymond wouldn’t be returning to Haven. The Empire had too much work to do and too
few men to do it. Raymond would be trying to live up to that Imperial Cluster he wore so proudly, the same way he’d always responded to any honor or praise. His luck would run out on him long before the Empire ran out of work.

When he had control over his vocal cords again, he added, “John’s growing up, too. He helped keep a friend out of Steele’s grasp the other day. I was damned proud of him!”

“Loot, Pillage and Steele! He went up against David Steele?!”

“Of course. Did you expect him to crawl in bed with that contemptible opportunist who’s been making a fortune off of everyone else’s misfortune?”

“No, no. But Steele’s a dangerous man to cross.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the Baron replied.

“Did you know that he has ambitions for the Planetary Governorship?”

“You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was, Al. Steele’s got more connections than the Provo Party and more money than the First Imperial Bank. He also has a short temper and a long memory for insults. Frankly, I’m beginning to think he has more ambitions than the Governorship.”

“You’re—no, it sounds like you aren’t joking.”

Cummings nodded. “Bad times can be good times for scoundrels with lots of ambition and no scruples. Steele has both in spades. I suggest that from now on you don’t let John go into Castell again without a couple of the toughest bodyguards you can find. If you can, keep him here at Whitehall.”

“If I can…Maybe my plan isn’t so crazy after all.”

“Crazy? It may turn out to be the best idea I’ve heard since the Imperial Marines left. If it wasn’t up to me to keep the militia together for a couple more years, I’d throw in with you.”

“Think it over, Gary. You’re always welcome; you’re family, too. The girls will be safe here.”

Cummings winced. He couldn’t imagine his wife moving here to
what she called “the sticks.” Nor would his two daughters be happy about leaving ‘civilization’ and their friends, especially Ingrid, their surprise child who was still only ten standard years old.
Still, if things get bad enough, I may take him up on it.
“We’ll see how things go. With some hard currency I can beef up the Volunteers and maybe, just maybe, we can hold the tide back.”

“Good luck. It’s not just the barbarians outside the walls you have to watch, Gary, it’s the ones inside—like this Steele fellow—that you have to worry about.”

He nodded, “I know.”

“Remember, you and the family are always welcome at Whitehall.”

“Thanks,” Cummings replied. He stood up, draining the last of his Scotch and shook hands with the Baron. “I’d better be going. I want to get back to Fort Fornova in time for the evening briefing. I’ll get the machinists and techs working on our project right away. Expect the first shipment in about two months.”

It was the first time they’d dined in the Great Hall since Raymond’s farewell at the end of his last leave over seven years ago. The chamber seemed even emptier than it had then. The walls were hung with family banners and tapestries, with a huge Imperial flag at the head. The six-meter long redwood slab table (brought from Earth by old Edwin) seemed lost in the middle of the huge flagstone floor. The three Hamiltons sat at one end, the Baron at the head.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” the Baron said at dinner’s end. He raised a cut crystal glass of Dayan Chardonnay. “To Castle Whitehall: see her victorious, happy and strong; long may she reign!”

Today the masons had finished the new east outer wall, securing the outer perimeter. A month ago, John Hamilton wouldn’t have thought the accomplishment would be something to brag about, but that was before his last visit to Castell City and the narrow escape he’d had during the food riots.

After that experience, John took the whole idea of self-defense much more seriously. He still doubted that the Castell mobs would ever travel far enough to test the gates of Whitehall; however, life on Haven was clearly growing coarser and meaner and would probably get a lot worse before it got any better—which it probably wouldn’t in his lifetime. Empires didn’t concern themselves with backward frontier outposts, not when the barbarians were fighting their way into the palace.

“Sitting in this great hall by ourselves is depressing,” Matilda said. “Couldn’t we have friends over the next time we dine in here?”

“Not a bad idea,” the Baron replied. “It’s just that today’s timing was bad. Most of our neighbors are either following our lead, fortifying their manors, or have left the area. The Klimoffs tried their hand at farming, gave up and moved back to the city, while the Chandlers have moved their estate to the Shannon Valley where it’s less populated and safer.”

Matilda chortled. “It doesn’t get much quieter than here.”

“If the city mobs find us, it won’t be quiet for long,” John told his sister.

“I suspect the Klimoffs will be back before long,” the Baron said, ignoring their outburst. “It appears that the authorities have lost control of the city. Half the police force has quit because they can’t feed their families on their pay. The other half barters their off-duty hours for food and goods, or rob the very shops they’re supposed to protect.”

“When is all this chaos going to come to an end,” she asked.

John and his grandfather exchanged looks. Mattie had a lot of her mother in her and not much of her grandmother; there was always a question as to how many unpleasant truths she could face without a breakdown.

“I expect we’ll have seen the worst of it when winter’s through,” began the Baron as the butler walked in.

“My lord, we have a visitor. Captain Mazurin of the Colonial Militia.”

“Send him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain entered, wearing a travel-stained cloak and field-gray uniform. He bowed to the Baron, then took the offered chair. The butler bowed and left the chamber.

“We have your first shipment, sir,” the Captain announced.

“Very good, Captain. Shall I give you the first chest now or later?”

“After we’ve unloaded the truck will be fine.”

“Excellent. If you and your men would like to spend the night, I’ll have the stewards prepare some rooms.”

The Captain nodded. “That would be most appreciated, Your Lordship. We could use the rest; it took us over a standard week to make the journey.”

The Baron frowned. At worst, the journey from Fort Fornova, which was just outside Castell City, shouldn’t have taken any longer than four Earth standard days by motor vehicle. “What took so long?”

The Captain sighed wearily. “The roads aren’t safe anymore—”

“Not even for armed men?!” John interrupted.

The Captain shook his head. “No. In many places the roads have fallen into ruin, or there are barricades to stop travelers. We had to fight off a bandit attack today.”

Matilda gasped.

The Captain grew more animated, now that he realized an attractive woman about his own age was interested. He told of an early morning ambush that had ended badly for the outlaws when they discovered that this isolated military convoy had an escort of three platoons made up of the Haven Volunteers.

“Hunting rifles and pistols aren’t much good when they’re up against assault rifles and rocket launchers. I might even have felt sorry for the—for the bandits, if we hadn’t discovered forty-odd women in the camp. Turns out they’d been kidnapping the wives and daughters of the small farmers they’d killed. Excuse me, ma’am,” he finished, nodding to Matilda.

“You can speak plainly, Captain,” she replied. “I’ve heard worse; it’s these times.”

“What did you do with these women?” the Baron asked.

“Some of them were determined to return to whatever was left of their homes, but we brought most of them with us. Couldn’t leave them unprotected—“

“I understand,” the Baron interrupted. From the exasperated look on his face, the Baron could see that the Captain was at his wit’s end over the women. It was certainly a dilemma that would have taxed even an older and more experienced commander.

The Baron smiled. “We’ll be happy to take in any of them who would like to stay here at Whitehall. If not, we can arrange transportation to any surviving relatives. Since we have an abundance of single men on the barony, I suspect the ones who stay will find themselves welcome.”

“Thank you, sir. I feel—well, responsible for them. But I wasn’t certain that I could answer for my men’s behavior all the way back to Fort Fornova—excuse me again, ma’am.”

“I think it’s time we menfolk excused ourselves for a bit of fresh air,” the Baron said, nodding to his granddaughter.

John followed the Captain and his grandfather out to the courtyard—what his grandfather liked to call the bailey. He wanted to know what the militia was delivering to Whitehall; the Baron had been very hush-hush over the matter. He certainly wasn’t going to waste his breath asking before his grandfather was ready to answer.