Gust Front

What was going to happen when the invasion finally came was another question. But that was a worry for another day. For today there was gutting a bumper haul of fish that would just put him more in the hole for gas.

He made the cut ahead of the tide race and finally saw something to smile about. John Samuels had made harbor, which was the first bright spot he'd seen in a month of Sundays.

They called Samuels «Honest John» as a joke. The free trader ran a sixty-foot sloop that carried small cargoes from Miami to Cuba and back. He stopped at all the islands, buying delicacies «on the left» and trading at prices lower than the «official» black marketers. He and the other traders were practically the only source of tobacco and alcohol in the islands.

The trader was sitting on the dock of the harbor office with Harry and the «visitor» from Fleet Strike. The little fireplug probably was an actual Fleet officer; his casual demonstration of Galactic technology the night before had been impressive. Before everything went south they had watched the video from Barwhon and Diess. Fighting the aliens was going to be hell. He didn't envy the frowning little bastard his job.

The visitor seemed to have mended his fences with Harry. As the boat took the final turn to the dock the sound of their laughter was clear over the quiet chugging of the diesel. He killed the engines and drifted into the dock; every bit of fuel was worth saving. As Harry and Honest John caught his tossed lines the visitor flicked the butt of a cigar into the waters. Unless Bob was mistaken it was one of John's prized Havana Panatellas. The Fleet guy was making friends fast.

«How's the fishing?» John asked, taking the boat captain's hand as he jumped ashore.

«Oh, it was a hell of a haul,» Bob answered bitterly. «For what it's go

«Smile, Bob,» Harry said with a grin of his own. «We just got a new set of buyers and suppliers.»

The fisherman looked from one gri

«FBI agents just performed raids on your suppliers' and buyers' offices along with the offices of the Miami Rationing Board and the Marine Fisheries Board,» the visitor answered for them.

«Why the hell would they do that?» he asked in surprise. «And how did we find out so fast?»

«Well,» answered the visitor, with a slight smile violating his habitual frown, «they are required to perform an investigation at the registered request of a Galactic Enforcement Officer. All Fleet officers are also law officers. A second request from the office of the Continental Army Commander just got them moving faster than you can say 'posse comitatus.' «

«That black thing around his wrist is a communicator,» Harry added with a laugh. «The FBI has already called him back. They said it was the best black market bust they've made since the start of the emergency. It's go

«Things are go

«Cooperate,» said the Fleet officer. «The assets of the companies have been seized. Ask the FBI to turn them over pending the completion of the investigation. They don't need the trucks to prosecute the perps. And you can probably get them permanently as the 'victims.' Get some materials and convert the old Piggly Wiggly to a warehouse so you don't have to base in Miami.»

«That takes electricity,» said Bob, with his own shake of a head. «Which is something we ain't got. We can't afford the diesel to run a generator that big. Even if we're in a co-op with the whole Keys.»

«Ah, well, as to that,» said the visitor, with a real grin while John and Harry just laughed.

«What?» asked the captain, as the crew started to unload. The four of them joined in as tub after tub of prime grouper and snapper were unloaded. He looked at Harry again, waiting for him to go on. «What's so fu

«Mike had a little present with him,» said Harry with a grin.

«It's not a present,» said the visitor, seriously. «It isn't even a loan. One of the things I was doing on my vacation was finding places to plant energy caches. We're seeding the coastal plains with power sources to recharge suit units that get caught behind the lines. When I was on Diess it was a pain in the ass trying to find power. So I came down with three antimatter generators. They've got a finite amount of power, but it's enough to run a small city for a year, so . . .» He shrugged and smiled again.

«Damn,» said the boat captain, tossing him another tub. «Thanks.»

«Well, the priority is any unit that needs it,» Mike said severely. «And, technically, you're not supposed to tie into it. But since you don't have a power grid, it's not like the whole Keys are going to be hooked up to it.» He shrugged again and frowned. «As screwed up as it is down here, it seems the least I could do for you. Just don't overuse it. It's like a really big battery and once it's gone, it's gone.»

«Well, thanks anyway,» said Harry, stacking the last tub on the dock. The three hands were already loading up dollies to carry the fish to the icehouse for cleaning. «This means we don't have to waste fuel for generation so the boats can stay out longer. Hell, we've got a satellite dish, so we can hook up a TV in the pub and even get real news.»

«Getting news again will be great,» said Bob, with a smile. «Hell, before you know it we might even have telephones again!» He laughed. «And then it's faxes . . .»

« . . . and cell phones . . .» laughed Harry. The electronic impedimentia they had all grown up with was as distant as buggy whips these days.

«Well, enjoy it as long as you can,» said Mike grimly. «The first serious invasion will hammer the satellites. And there goes your reception again.»

«Yeah,» said Bob, «that's true. But it's a hell of a long time since we got any news but radio. I got a question to ask on that, if you don't mind.»

«Shoot,» said Mike, but there was a hint of wariness.

«You said you were on Diess, right?»

«Right.»

«There was this guy that won the Medal. They said he got blown up in a nuclear explosion and lived. What really happened?»

* * *

Sharon squealed and spun around in the water as Herman goosed her.

Karen laughed in return and slapped the dolphin on the flank as it went by. «You have to watch that one. There's a reason we named him Herman Hesse.»

The three of them had been dragged off to a tidal pool by the dolphins. Here, on the Florida Bay side of the island, they had been swimming with the big cetaceans most of the day. Cally had stayed firmly attached to Shirlie, who at less than five hundred pounds was the lightest of the four. The other three were males: Herman, who had more or less attached himself to Sharon, Charlie Brown and Ted. Ted had left for a few hours in the midafternoon, but the others had stuck with them.

The day had not been for pure fun. The pool was home to a vast collection of the sorts of rare marine organisms that could be traded for luxury goods. Seven species of anemones, several more types of urchins, two types of lobster and various other items had been gathered. Sharon watched Cally as she rode the small dolphin to the bottom of the pool. There, in about fifteen feet of water, the eight-year-old let go and began plucking at the reef. A sponge, a spider crab and an anemone found their way into her mesh bag before she began to claw for the surface and air.