The Price of Peace (5 page)

After checking into the hotel, the three gathered at a table. Mr.
Seddik
and Pa represented the stations. Ruth was there because she'd gotten in the truck. Nobody but her husband could tell a married woman what to do. This was the first time Ruth had tested the freedom that
Mordy
had left to her. She was none too sure how she felt about it.

While they'd been unloading, Mr.
Seddik
had heard a rumor that a Navy ship was in orbit. "I think that was their shuttle we saw landing as we came in. That might give us a bit more leverage. City elders won't want us raising a stink while the Navy's around. They'll listen to us real well and real fast."

Pa wasn't so sure. "If these folks were going to help us, they would have. I
don"t
think they will, or can."

"Then we go to the Navy,"
Seddik
countered. "It's their job to knock heads, isn't it?"

Pa shrugged; everyone assumed" his time with the
LornaDo
army made him an expert on such things. He might be all the local expertise they had on military affairs, but he was the first to point out that wasn't much. "To make a rabbit stew, first you got to catch a rabbit. Five hundred Navy types, two hundred miles up, with laser cannons aren't exactly what you need to hunt a rabbit."

"So what do we do?" Ruth asked. She might not have a vote, but the least she could do was ask dumb questions to keep Pa and old man
Seddik
from talking around and around the obvious.

The old man sighed. "I'll see about the next meeting of the city elders. Why don't you try to find out something about the Navy? When you got two bunches that might lend you a hand, it's best to know as much as you can about both."

Ruth would rather have gone with Mr.
Seddik
. She'd seen all the spacers she needed to see for the rest of her life. But Pa took her elbow, so she went looking for spacers.

Izzy spent the afternoon entangled in details. It seemed a shame to visit a planet whose main product was fresh fruit and vegetables and not take on a full larder. The price for inspected and bug-free veggies would just have to be haggled, not something her supply officer was comfortable doing.
Izzy's
bigger problem was raised by the city manager.

"Uh, Captain, I don't know how long your folks have been in space, or what their idea of a good time is, but, while we got plenty of beer for the taking, our young women are not." "And your young men?" Izzy couldn't pass up the jab at old-fashioned attitudes.

The city manager had the good humor to laugh. "What I'm trying to get at is that our women are free to do what they want. Dance with anyone. Go for a walk with anyone. But when they say no, they mean it. Most of '
em
will say no twice if they think someone is hard of hearing, but if a girl screams for help, you better believe a dozen good folks will be right there in a second. And they'll make sure the guy who didn't understand 'no' gets to understanding its meaning."

Izzy wasn't so sure the Navy hadn't applied the same education to some of its own. Still, this was no topic to be confused on. "I will get my dumb spacer back in one piece?"

"Oh, yes. Just a bit the worse for wear—the first time."

"Mr.
Shezgo
, if you will make sure my 'worse for wear' crew member gets turned over to the shore patrol, I will make sure he, or she, spends the rest of our stay aboard ship. Dented heads I can handle. Dead ones will be another matter."

"Then I think we have an understanding. On Hurtford Corner, we teach people the right way the first time. We got too much open space to waste folks."

Izzy had the word passed to her division heads and on to the chiefs. "Anybody comes back from liberty with a black eye better not plan on going down again."

Trouble paused while a private from the trailing truck double-timed up to open the car door for him and the skipper. He, like the young marine, was in full dress red-and-blues, complete with choke collar, sword, and pistol. Izzy had made it clear that Trouble and his marines were responsible for the perimeter security at whatever gala the locals laid on. He'd gotten the word out to his troops that as soon as the dumb
swabbies
proved there were no land mines out there, he'd turn them loose for some fun. His marines provided smart-looking door guards, hall guards, and a couple of them were serving as waiters, making sure the officers' glasses were kept filled ... with water and soft drinks brought down from the ship. The skipper was one paranoid woman. Trouble liked that.

The party was quite a spectacle. The local women were turned out in everything from miniskirts with frilly
undies
that often flashed into view to floor-length dresses that could be tight sheaths or swirling skirts. Tight and loose, glitter and bows swirled next to each other on the dance floor. The men were somewhat more subdued in slacks and shirts with colorful needlework, although the city manager and several others wore something like tuxedos. Each different, the people had come for fun, and, to the tunes of several alternating
bands,they
had it.

Regularly, Trouble made the rounds of his own men. Even though their red-and-blues clashed with the soft pastels the community center was hung in, Trouble assured them he appreciated their decorative contribution to the gala night—and that they stood ready to switch from toy soldiers to real ones. The night stayed hot, so he switched the guard detail from an hour on and an hour off to one on, two off so he wouldn't lose any to heat prostration. That meant pulling the guards off the rear side of the center and covering that quarter of the perimeter with the roaming NCO, but it seemed a minor call. He did a quick touch-base with a tall blond from the local Office of Public Safety and made regular radio checks with the chief heading up the Shore Patrol. His teams were circulating, but had nothing to report but sailors and civilians having fun.

After two hours of this, Trouble was starting to relax as he rejoined the skipper. She was diplomatically declining a dance. The song being played could be quite sedate, or otherwise, depending on who was leading. To her raised eyebrow, he answered with a thumbs-up. She turned back to a small circle of people and their discussion as he moved up to cover her back. Mr.
Withwaterson
was in full sail.

"Your communications are narrow-band. I can give you ten times the bandwidth. Your solar power cells are twenty years behind, your storage cells at least fifty. I can update every part of your economy."

"Why?" asked an elderly man in a tux. "Why!" the businessman echoed in wonder.

"Yes, why?" A younger man in a nearly transparent lace shirt cut in. "They work fine. They get the job done. Why change what is doing the job for us?"

"But you can do it so much better, faster, cheaper with my equipment,"
Withwaterson
sputtered.

The young man shook his head. "But what we have is paid for. It's doing what we want. What off-planet exchange we've got needs to go for expansion where we see a need. We don't need a central fusion plant, or fancy doodads. The mines we've opened meet our needs. What you've got costs too much."

"If you'd quit stonewalling me and let my products onto the market, you'd find them indispensable. Whoever has been ripping them off from my warehouse already knows that." The glances exchanged around the circle didn't seem to agree, as to whether that related to the "indispensable" claim or the part about stolen goods, Trouble couldn't decide. "Lieutenant"—the city manager broke the silence before it ripped—"let me introduce some of the city elders to you." Mr. Donovan was the older man. Mr.
Poniatow
had to be in his twenties. Trouble tried to suppress any surprise, but it must have showed.

"I speak for the younger and less experienced," the young man said as he eyed the older. "Maybe less hidebound." The two locals shared a knowing smile. "Still, innovation for its own sake is not why my great-grandfather came to Hurtford Corner. We are quite content to be a bit slower than the rest of humanity so long as we are comfortable and enjoying ourselves." He turned to the band.

Four women had just finished backing up two others, one on sax, one singing a slow torch song. The couples on the dance floor had enjoyed the slow dance even if the sax had missed a few notes, and the singer's voice broke on the final high one.

"We see nothing wrong with the real and natural. Why give up so much to chase the perfect, the flawless, the plastic? Next time you come, Mr.
Withwaterson
, bring a catalogue of what you can deliver. Most of what's in your warehouse is just taking up space. I believe both your rent and restaurant tab are overdue. You should pay them."

"I can't pay until I sell something."

"Then sell it. We are not stopping you," said Mr. Donovan.

"For a tenth or a hundredth of what it's worth." The color was again rising up Mr.
Withwaterson's
neck.

"Which is what it is worth to us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've been promised several dances by a certain someone." With that, Mr.
Poniatow
bowed slightly and joined another man. They disappeared onto the swirling dance floor.

"You know, Mr.
Withwaterson
," Captain
Umboto
raised her glass in a mock salute, "that is just about what Earth said to the frontier worlds when they set the price for resources and finished goods before the war."

"I had expected more support from the Navy."

"I'll have supply go over what you have and see if we need any of it. That might at least allow you to pay your bills."

From the glare the businessman gave his skipper, Trouble seriously doubted the man appreciated the navy's help. Captain
Umboto
just shook her head as Mr.
Withwaterson
stomped away. "Someday, Trouble, when I'm old and got nothing better to do, I'm going to get myself a professorship at some big university and teach MBAs a course on the proper application of military intimidation to the negotiating process." "The way you applied six inches of laser to that pirate's butt," he grinned.

"No, Trouble. As my old boss used to say, killing them is the easy part. Persuading someone you're not allowed to kill—now, that's what separates the men from the boys." "Boys?" Trouble tried to raise his eyebrow a tad higher. It was about as high as he could get it and still keep it on his forehead. The skipper was not known for accepting put-downs, sexist or otherwise, placidly.

"Andy had given up on me ever growing into a mature female officer. Said I'd just have to make do with my girlish innocence."

They both laughed. "Well, skipper, with all this water you've been forcing on us, and despite this monkey suit's wool content, I must go where even you can't follow."

'Think you can handle it?"

"About the only thing I'm sure I can." He turned, still chuckling. The skipper was one tough broad. He pitied the poor SOB that got on her wrong side. The head was near the back of the building. He got in just ahead of someone with a cart that looked like he wanted to do maintenance. Trouble wondered how someone got stuck with the janitorial duties on a party night like this, but decided not to ask the dour-faced guy. He quickly did his duty and was washing his hands when the man next to him reached across him for the paper towels. "Pardon me," the guy in shirt and slacks said.

"No trouble." Trouble smiled, stepping out of the way. The man's hands followed him. For a brief second, the marine got a glance at a small cylinder, tiny needle sticking out. Then it was in his neck. "What the hell" and a weak swing was all he got out before his knees caved in. Stretched out on the floor, he got a view of the maintenance wagon rolling in, the door to a side compartment opening like the third pit of hell. Trouble figured he'd just about fit in there. Then his vision blacked out and he quit trying to figure out anything for a while.

Ruth didn't expect to have a problem finding spacers; she had found
Mordy
and his friends easily enough five years ago. They'd been decked out in outfits you could spot a mile away and acting as if they owned the planet. Pa ignored the first collection of spacers they stumbled upon that evening. They looked young and pretty forlorn in their pasty white uniforms. "Let's find someone with a bit of authority," he said.

"How will you tell?"

"Trust me, Ruthie, you'll have no doubt when you see one."

Ruth didn't have any doubt when they spotted two spacers. One wasn't all that different from the others, except for a hard hat and a black armband. The other looked like he owned all space, and had covered most of it. Pa sidled up to that one. "How's it going, Chief?"

"Nice night." The older spacer wore a cloth hat, different from the helmet of the youngster beside him and the others walking away. Ruth had seen anchors like the one that decorated his hat on boats on the lake. What was a spacer doing wearing it? The chief's eyes roved over the night sky, taking in the stars. "A nice night to get some fresh air." Ruth wondered how long they could talk about the weather, but then, if this fellow was a kind of chaperone, he wouldn't be interested in telling some stranger if he was having problems.
 
¦

Pa took another tack. "How would you like some fresh food, apples, pears, lettuce?"

"Now that would make you a man after my own heart. Mess could sure use some chow that hasn't been frozen for a year or nine. Understand the supply officer has set up shop somewhere around Twenty-third and Main, if you know where that is."