The Price of Peace (7 page)

"Ship them up to the
Patton
. I'll have my people check '
em
. What else?"

"I've messaged every trucking firm," Risa continued. "Asked each one to make sure no driver had picked up someone in a gaudy red-and-blue outfit. Nothing."

"And I've been catching grief all morning for that violation of privacy, not to mention that of your wayward officer.'" The city manager cut in. "Around here, we let people do what they want. Best way to get a bloody nose is to interfere in someone else's business."

Izzy rubbed her eyes, going slowly over the torrent of words the people had dumped on her. Maybe if she took them one at a time, they'd mean something. "Nobody has reported seeing someone in a marine dress uniform leaving town."

"No one in my area of responsibility.'"
Shezgo
corrected.

"Farmers come in from the stations all the time," Zylon pointed out. "Most likely, some farmer's daughter drove the rig your man left town in."

"That would be none of our concern." The city manager clearly was happy at the thought.

Izzy wasn't. "Mr.
Shezgo
, that was a pretty fancy party you threw for me and my officers. How many were farmer's daughters out on the dance floor last night?"

The city manager leaned back in his chair, a frown slowly replacing the invincible confidence he'd worn since Izzy marched into his office at ten hundred hours sharp. "None," he muttered after a long minute.

"Did any of your city's citizens see a very gaudily dressed marine officer leave by himself, or with one of their best friends on his elbow?"

"None that any of my people have talked to. And I've mailed everyone who was at that party a query."

"Anyone find a pair of blue pants or fancy red shirt?"

Risa handled that question. "I warned the trash collection crews to be on the lookout for them when they started this morning. And no, I've heard nothing about the clothes either."

"Then for now, I'm going to assume that my officer is still wearing them, and he should be as out of place here as a drunk at a Baptist church picnic. You keep hunting for him. And I'll start. How do I get in touch with the farm stations?"

Shezgo
shrugged. "They guard some emergency channels, and I wouldn't recommend tying them up. Those folks can get very testy where safety is concerned. They have their own nets for business. They do what they want, and as long as they don't create interference on our city nets, I don't bother them."

Izzy had a hard time swallowing that line. "You mean the two of you don't even talk?"
Shezgo's
shrug got deeper. "When Unity was causing trouble, the farms didn't want to hear what was going on around here, and didn't want them listening in on what they were saying." Izzy could see she had her work cut out for her. and nothing more would come from this meeting. With an about-face, she headed for the door. Impatient, she had her XO on the
comm
unit as her car pulled away from city hall. Stan cut her off. "Skipper, the chief in charge of the Shore Patrol last night had a few words with some civilians. Farm types. They've had people disappear, too. Said they'd like to talk to us. Probably at last night's collection point. Supply wants to know if he's supposed to set up a purchasing station there this afternoon."

"Yes, send Supply down with a large team and an armed escort," she answered. "Driver, head for Twenty-third and Main. Somebody may be waiting to meet us. Sergeant, load your weapon and get a pistol for me." Then she returned to the XO. "Stan, have
Comm
do a full scan of all communication nets in use. Townies claim they don't talk to the farmers and vice versa. I somehow doubt that. Don't send any messages out before I get back. I want to make this a personal call. Can't believe how allergic these folks are to anything smelling of central organization. For now, let's do it their way. I want this place mapped, scanned, and analyzed to the thirteenth decimal place. We got people down here in this haystack. Find them."

"Will do. When should I expect you?"

"Not for a while. I'll stake out the collection point, see if anyone wants to talk to me. You get Supply moving. As soon as he's here, I'll go back topside." "Yes, ma'am."

Izzy spent a long two hours waiting for Supply to show up. She hadn't been parked five minutes when a grandmother type stopped to tell her how much she'd enjoyed the dance last night, how nice it was to see someone from Earth, and how a ship's captain shouldn't mind if a few of her people decided to stay on Hurtford Corner. "We like to share with visitors who stay." That was just how it was.

Soon an old man joined the woman, giving Izzy a replay of the same views. Two teenagers showed up. a girl looking enough like
Franny
to cause Izzy to swallow a lump of grief, and a boy hanging on her, both wondering what Earth was like and wanting to talk about maybe joining up. "Anything has to be easier than working for her old man."

It went downhill from there. If Izzy hadn't feared missing whoever it was that was losing people, she would have had the driver gun his way out of the growing crowd. Instead, she stayed to learn how much people loved their planet, hated Unity, and really wondered what Earth was like. When Lieutenant
Pollux
arrived with a dozen storekeepers and as many guards, he'd already been briefed to keep an eye out for a contact. Without a backward glance, she had the driver head for the gig. Somewhere on this planet were five of her people. She wanted them back. Joe
Edris
drove the truck, Seth
Seddik
hunched silently beside him. In Joe's pocket, the note burned.

If you want to see your woman alive, go back where you belong. Get mixed up in what you don't know, and you'll get her back in pieces. Then we'll come looking for the rest of your family.

Joe had been ready to go straight to the Navy. They were missing people, and whoever had their people had Ruth. Seth had backed away from Joe's anger, shaking his head. "You have no right to make the decision for all of us. Not for my family, not even for Ruth. She's a married woman. We must lay this before the elders. Whatever we do will affect everyone. Everyone has to have a say."

"And while we're talking, what's happening to Ruth? Damn it, Seth, we got to do something now. Not next Thursday."

"Joe, you were not raised on Hurtford, so I know it's hard on you. But you saw how we handled the Unity problem. We'll handle this one our way, too." Seth paused, studying Joe out of the corner of his eye. "Unless you and your family are ready to leave the stations. Go out on your own."

Joe knew how long he'd last without the community when he and his needed more than the hands they had. He had no answer for that. Seth and he did not exchange another word. It was a long, silent drive back to the stations.

As a kid, Ruth loved trips to the forest to gather fungus. The family was smaller then, and Ma and Pa had time for her. The drug company money from fungus helped make the payments on the station in those early years. Today was horribly different.

The boss set a fast pace. Comfortably mounted on a sure-footed mule, he paid no price for hills and gullies, brambles and jutting roots that dragged, tore, and ripped at the walkers. Ruth was a big sister again, helping those who couldn't keep up. Lots of folks had worn dancing shoes last night... wrong gear for today. Others just were not up to the effort. Ruth did what she could, giving one an arm to lean on, finding a stick for someone else, carrying coats and sweaters a few people were ready to toss away in the heat of the day; they would want them tonight. Helping made her rub elbows with the spacers. The lieutenant, Trouble, told them to help, and they did what he said without question. Of course, he was helping, too. He spent as much time at the tail end of the column as Ruth did. Clem and three
uglies
like him rode mules back there, laughing at the half-crippled stragglers, offering to shoot them if they fell farther behind.

Trouble saw to it that his spacers took breaks, balancing caring for others with caring for themselves. His break time usually was spent near the head of the column, eyeing the boss when the boss wasn't looking. He'd said the Navy looked after its own. Did he really think help was coming? After the fiasco at the
Abdoes
place, Ruth didn't expect anything from her own people. The slim chance that the marine knew what he was talking about kept hopelessness from eating her alive.

At the crest of a hill, the boss rested his mule. Turning in the saddle, he smiled at the four big fellows who had kept up with him, then shook his head dolefully at the rest trailing far behind. He pulled the red box from his belt, raised it into view, and pushed the button. Ruth's belt went from generating gnawing discomfort to shooting pains. Around her, women and men screamed. Even the marine doubled over. Up ahead, the same reaction came from those who had kept up.

"Boss's leadership style needs improvement," the lieutenant observed dryly through gritted teeth. "Stinging those doing what he wants along with the rest of us is no way to get promoted in my Navy." Two of the spacers laughed; a grin escaped even Ruth. What kind of people laughed at times like this?

That didn't keep Ruth's anger from surfacing. "You have four legs moving you along," she called. "We have just two. And some of these folks
ain't
used to using either one of them. You have to slow down."

"I got a schedule to keep. You just got to keep up. If that means walking all day and all night, I guess you'll just do it. Me, I'd like to get some sleep tonight." "Some of us could use some chow,"
Jagowski
pointed out.

"You'll eat when you reach tonight's camp, and not before. So, folks, you've had your rest. Let's get a move on." He kicked his mule into movement. As he dropped over the ridge, the pain in Ruth's gut grew. They plodded on.

But now Ruth and the spacers weren't the only ones helping. The better off pitched in to help the worse. But that did little to ease the misery as the day grew hot and humid. Now parched lips gnawed more than empty bellies. She followed Trouble's lead as he edged his spacers upstream at water crossings. That way, she drank less mud. Balancing the need to move with growing exhaustion and the inevitable pain in the gut from being behind left the buzzing insects unnoticed . .. until angry welts splotched exposed faces, arms, and legs.

"Damn death march,"
Jagowski
muttered.

Ruth eyed the sun, which was finally dropping low in the sky. "Night's
gonna
be as cold as the day was hot. Better collect some dry wood for fires." People who could hardly hobble were soon clutching two or three sticks.

The boss called a halt as they entered a small clearing under a stand of tall, spreading oaks. "Take the rest of the night off," he announced. "You stay to that half of the clearing. I get this half." His half was marked by the remains of a fire; their half wasn't. Scattered over the clearing were trash, buzzing insects, and proof that no care had been taken about sanitation. Pa would never leave a camp like this. "What do we do?" Ruth asked in the same breath
Jagowski
did. The marine officer rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he opened his mouth, Clem interrupted.

"I bet you're hungry," got everyone's attention. Clem's mouth moved as he counted the hungry faces gathering around him. Then he pawed in the pack of the mule he'd been leading and came up with, by Ruth's quick count, exactly half the ration boxes they needed. Clem pitched them out like one might toss dry bones to hungry dogs. Then the thug produced an extra ration. "Any of you girlies want to make friendly with me tonight, I got some extra grub for you." His gap-toothed grin made Ruth want to knock a few more teeth out. She turned to the marine.

He was eyeing the four burly types who had kept up with the boss; toughs who probably wanted Clem's job. That thug had made sure a good chunk of the rations landed near them. The biggest had grabbed three boxes, smirked, and turned away. The marine shook his head, his lips getting thin. "Hate to get the boss's attention again today," he muttered, then stepped forward.

"We got to share our food rations." The lieutenant's voice came out low, but rock-hard in command. Several folks around Ruth started pairing up, though none in actual possession of food boxes seemed overly committed at the moment. The four kept walking away. "Excuse me, gents, but I need those rations you're carrying," the marine repeated.

The one with three turned, a vicious grin on his face. "I'm hungry. When I'm hungry, I eat." "Lots of folks are hungry."

"Tin soldier, you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit." The tough enjoyed the laugh that remark brought from his associates. Behind Ruth, Clem bayed like a donkey. The marine eyed the boss. He'd spread his bedroll; his interest centered on the mattress as it filled with air. The goings-on around him apparently were no concern of his. Trouble stepped toward the tough. "I want those rations."

"Come and get '
em
." The twisted smile was evil, delighted.

The marine took another step forward, but didn't go into a fighting stance. The thug couldn't pass that up. Dropping his ration boxes, he charged Trouble, arms flailing.

The officer ducked, sidestepped, and sent the big guy on his way with a push. The thug went down, sliding to a halt, his nose buried in some particularly messy residue from previous campers. He came up bellowing, blood bubbling from his nose. "You shouldn't have done that, pretty boy. I'm
gonna
sleep real warm tonight in your red coat. You're
gonna
be cold and dead."