Free War World X: Takeover by John F. Carr Page A

miners in name only, by now. I tell you, ’Ski, I am amazed at how fast everyone—the miners, the settlers, Jane’s people, even the Harmonies—have put this together.”
    “Think of the donkey with the carrot in front and the stick behind,” Brodski smiled. “Everybody here wants to be prosperous, at least, and nobody wants CoDo to come in.”
    “That is why I must keep away from my new boss, as much as possible.” Van Damm sighed. “Yet I know he’ll come here eventually. There’s nowhere else he can look.”
    “Good luck then, Vanny.”
    “Good allies are better than luck.”

     
    The first sign was the landing of a quiet-running cargo-sized shuttle just outside of Castell City that certain Harmony goatherds saw and reported. The four men who got out of it and began walking down toward Docktown wore sturdy cold weather clothes of an off-world design, with pistol-sized versions of CoDo stunners hidden under their jackets. They also dragged a large fold-up luggage cart, which carried more folded carts. They took up positions at the foot of the old dock, and one of them took out and held up a sign saying: “Jobs Here”.
    Brodski, watching them with his binoculars from Harp’s Sergeant, muttered: “Now it begins,” and picked up his old portable radio.
    Leo Makhno, waiting at the dock, revved up the engine of the River Dragon the moment the shuttle appeared over the lake. By the time it had settled on Splashdown Island and opened its hatch, his trimaran was waiting at the shore. Sure enough, the first people out were ragged transportees. Makhno took as many as the ship could carry in the first load, hauled them back to the new dock and let them off. He noted that the man holding the “Jobs Here” sign stepped forward, smiling.
    As Makhno turned the Dragon around and headed back to the shuttle for the next load, he picked up his radio and reported what he’d seen.
    Little Wilgar, carrying a tray of euph-leaf packets, trotted close enough to the transportees to peddle his goods—and, incidentally, hear all of the sign-holder’s sales pitches.
    It took hours to finish the unloading, and as Makhno brought the last of the cargo to the dock he saw that most of the transportees—hundreds of them—had signed up with the sign-holder. The other men with him had unfolded the carts, and the transportees were stuffing their luggage on them.
    “Who are they, and where are they going?” asked his last passenger, a middle-aged man wearing a better grade of cold weather gear than the sign-holder and his friends.
    “Recruiters from Reynolds mining,” Makhno dutifully replied. He had to bite his lip to keep from asking: How well do you know Max Cole?
    “Mmm,” said the man. “Tell me, where is the communications center for the city?”
    “Oh, that’d be Sam Kilroy’s place.” Makhno pointed, as he surreptitiously signaled to whomever was watching from inside Harp’s Sergeant. “He’s got the only radio that can transmit reliably all over the valley when the atmospheric conditions are just right.”
    “Ah. And the center of whatever government this place has?”
    “That’s Old Man Castell’s office, in the Harmony enclave, inside that palisade.” Makhno obligingly pointed—and signaled—again.
    “Hmm. And where’s the best hotel?”
    “That’d be the Starman’s Inn.” Makhno wasn’t about to steer the CoDo man to Harp’s, or anywhere near it. “Down that street there.”
    “Thank you, uh, Captain.” The man handed him a 5-cred CoDo bill as a tip, picked up his briefcase and strolled away in the indicated direction.
    Makhno watched him walk away in one direction and the gang of freshly recruited laborers in the other, pulled up his radio and called Brodski.

     
    Word filtered in steadily to the Jane’s Alliance radio network. Max Cole’s replacement had signed in at the Starman’s Inn under the name of Vince Sanchez. After questioning the waitress extensively about the menu, he’d