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Jomo sca
Hey now, what was that? It looked like a thin streak of smoke against the sky, the marker of a farmhouse's chimney. How handy that everybody on this cold planet kept at least one heating-fire going all the time; it gave him a dead-sure way to find prey.
Jomo snapped his fingers at the pilot, then pointed a languid hand toward the riverbank.
Feinberg, having grown used to Jomo's little ways after all these turns, sighed wordlessly and turned toward the shore.
Van Damm poked his binoculars a little further through the screen of eggtree fronds, studying details of the Simbas' equipment. He smiled sourly at the bell-mouthed stu
"Yeah, Jane." Brodski tapped the shotgun and the silenced rifle on Van Damm's back. "Now let's fade back and keep watching."
They slipped back quietly through the woodlot. Where the wood gave way to the narrow plot of cleared land they hurried around the lone field, back into the woods again on the field's far side, and flattened behind an ancient half-rotted log. "Hey Va
Van Damm froze for an instant, then rolled slowly to face Brodski. "What makes you say that?"
"I did some troop training at Camp Pendleton about six years ago," said Brodski, casually pointing his rifle in Van Damm's direction. "And we had a couple of spooks come through. I didn't have anything to do with them, but I remember one in particular. He was an Afrikaaner, and had a scar on his thumb-just like yours. I remember it because I watched his hands when he arm-wrestled with Bill Mason for the beers at the E.M. Club one night. He moved like you. That's a real hard thing to change, you know?"
"Ja, I forgot." Van Damm smiled thinly. "You know, that's how covers get blown."
"You working for the CoDo?" Brodski wasn't smiling.
"Yes, Fleet Intelligence." Again, Van Damm considered, the truth was the best defense. "But I'm thinking of settling down here. I'm getting to like the place. It grows on one."
"Van, I got on that ship one jump ahead of the cops and arranged my retirement on board. I'll only get twenty-five years instead of thirty, but what the hell, this place is a lot looser than Earth." His gun-muzzle lowered a little.
"I'll tell you one thing, Ski; I am not doing anything against Jane. In fact, I was sent here to do what I could to start trouble, give the CoDo its excuse . . . . Nobody knew about Jane back on Earth, but she has done a very good job on her own."
"How do y'mean? She hasn't hurt Castell or his claim."
"You don't understand." Van Damm shook his head in frustration. "CoDo wants Haven for-for, dammit, Ke
"Where does Janey come in?"
"Farming!" Van Damm almost wrung his hands. "Aside from the Harmonies, who farms? Squatters, trying to live off the land, barely surviving-how could they feed the numbers BuReloc wants to dump here, even with the synthetic food factories? People would starve. BuReloc or the CoDo wouldn't care . . . . Scheiss!"
"Why, Va
"Their training did not take that from me." Van Damm looked away, automatically checking the empty field. "Jane . . . She makes farming successful, even for squatters. Surplus of food, not to mention the cloth, oil, paper . . . She can make poor squatters rich, Brodski."
"More precisely, she's creating an independent middle class."
"If she succeeds . . . then many people will not starve, will even do well, who would starve otherwise. I have seen a famine, Brodski. I . . . do not wish to see it again."
"Okay, Owen, that's good enough for me." Brodski took position and shifted his gun-muzzle toward the field. "Let's get ready; here they come."
"Warn the others," said Van Damm, all business again.
"They're coming," Brodski whispered into the radio, seeing the first of the Simbas emerge, branch-slapped and dusty, from the trees near the river. "Any last-minute changes?"
"No," Jane's voice whispered back. "Lie low or thin them out. Up to you."
"Right. At our own discretion." Brodski switched the radio off and watched, feeling Van Damm shift restlessly beside him, while the Simbas leveled their stu
"Everything but the furniture." Van Damm squirmed as the Simbas kicked open the cabin door. "Idiots! We left it unlocked. They'll break the hinges . . . ."
They waited, watched, listened as Jomo's men piled into the cabin, leaving only two men outside. Van Damm winced at the sound of shelves and benches being slammed around.
"I count a dozen," Brodski whispered. "They must've left the rest to guard the boat. How many do you figure we can pick off?"
"These two now, the others later." Van Damm shrugged. "If we wait 'til they come out, we can get their head honcho."
"Then how many, total?"
"Given what we've seen of their training . . ." Van Damm scratched his chin. "Three, maybe four. Then they'll wait awhile, come out in a big rush and shoot up the trees wherever they think we are."
Brodski gri
"Deal," said Van Damm, casually drawing a bead on one of the outside men.
They waited until the cries and curses changed to the sound of furniture being smashed. Then the door opened again and the Simbas began filing out of the cabin. One of them snapped at the two outside men, pointed back toward the river and bellowed orders at the rest.
Bingo! thought Brodski. He shifted his rifle's aim, pulled the trigger, and dropped the boss Simba.
For an age-long second, the others stood in a rough circle and stared, drop-jawed, while their squad-leader jerked, folded and fell.
Then Van Damm took out two men together, one behind the other, with a single throat-shot.
"Not bad," Brodski whispered, aiming again.
At that point, the Simbas had the sense to either run back into the cabin or drop and pull up their stu
The survivors in the yard started crawling toward the cabin door, firing in all directions without concern for ammo expenditure. A few shots hit close to Brodski's and Van Damm's hidey-hole, and they ducked. The last survivor in the yard scrambled into the cabin, and the door slammed shut.
"Think they spotted us yet?"
"Maybe." Van Damm shrugged. "We got four kills, maybe three wounded."
"Good," said Brodski, slinging up his rifle. "Let's fade."
They backed a little deeper into the wood, then slipped laterally down the length of the cleared field, almost to its end, and took positions behind thick standing trees.
"More distance here," Van Damm grumbled. "Less visibility."
"Harder for them to pick us out, too." Brodski opened his pack and hauled out some homemade jerky. "We may as well relax until they get up nerve."
"Or they radio for help and the reinforcements come," Van Damm gloomed, accepting one of the meat-strips.