To Do or Die (A Jump Universe Novel) Page 14

  Ruth looked from Becky to Mary and found only a wall of determination. Ruth threw herself back into her chair and scowled at the wall for a moment.

  Then she smiled. “You’re missing two points. These kids are street-smart on this side of town. You’re talking about sending them all the way to the other side. To you it may look like just a couple of kilometers, but to them, it might as well be on another planet. And even if that wasn’t the deal breaker I see, you got to get around Major Barbara. No way will she let us put her kids in harm’s way.”

  To Ruth’s great joy, the FSO blinked several times, then nodded. “I guess we will have to get this ‘Major’ Barbara’s permission.”

  “You’ll never get it,” Ruth said bluntly.

  “She runs that orphanage on a shoestring,” the FSO said. “She never knows where her kids’ next meals are coming from. And from what I heard on yesterday’s tapes, the handheld you gave Alice is helping a few kids get some sort of education.”

  “I think I can get a collection from my Marines to support an orphanage,” Mary said. “Most of them, the lucky ones, got to spend time in one or three growing up. And I think several of my crew would like to buy themselves new computers. They could donate the old ones to the kids.”

  Ruth was back up on her feet. “You . . . you . . . rats!” she finally settled for. “You’d bribe that woman to get her to offer up her kids!”

  Now Mary was on her feet. “No! I’m not bribing anyone. I’m giving them a chance to make a better Savannah for everyone, and I’m offering them a chance to grab a handhold on it. You’ve seen those kids. They got no life. No hope for a future. I say give them a fighting chance! I know at their age, I would have jumped at what we’re offering them.”

  Ruth and Mary locked eyes. One, a woman with a mother’s fears for her children. The other, just as much a woman but with a different set of hopes and dreams to share with the kids.

  It was the third woman who stepped between them. “Ruth, you say this Major Barbara is the only one looking out for these kids. Let’s give her a say in what we do. From what you said, if she down-checks Mary’s idea, it’s dead on arrival anyway.”

  Next morning’s drive started very silently. About the only talking was when Mary assured Ruth the car was bug-free.

  The Bear and his cab was parked across from the embassy, but he made no effort to give chase as they left. Mary took them on a twisting and turning route, but no tail developed.

  So they went to the river park and enjoyed the view as Mary drove down one side, then crossed at a busy bridge and drove up the river on the other side.

  “They’re leaving us alone this morning,” the Marine finally said.

  “They’ve likely got the Farm staked out real good and don’t care where I go otherwise.”

  “Seems like it. You want to call the Major?”

  “She’s not a real major. She’s in the Salvation Army.”

  “I know of ’em, ma’am, and if you want my opinion, their captains and major are often a damn sight better than some I’ve met in the Corps.”

  Ruth had to chuckle. “Present company and my husband excluded, right?”

  “I’m none too sure about Trouble, and I’m never sure about me.”

  “Spoken like an honest woman. Okay, Mary, why’d you come up with this hairbrain idea to put my kids’ heads in the lion’s mouth?”

  “Ruth, I said what I meant. We need to bust this open before those Earth senators get here. You can’t. I can’t. If anybody can, it’s the kids. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Which left Ruth scowling at herself in the window’s reflection. “I can’t say you’re wrong. I just can’t be sure you’re right.”

  “As I’ve learned, ma’am, there ain’t no guarantees in life. You pays your money, and you takes your chances.”

  “But these are kids we’re asking to take those chances, Mary.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but it’s these kids’ world we’re trying to save. It’s their future. From where I’m standing, it don’t look like much of a future’s been dealt them.”

  Ruth couldn’t argue with that. Digging around the ugly underbelly of this planet, she’d found few who had much of a future, and most of those who did didn’t deserve it.

  “I’ll call the Major and set up a meeting.”

  A half hour later, they were in a small coffee shop a few blocks from the orphanage. It catered to the Moslem coffee drinkers. It had a large section in back where men sat, smoked from strange contraptions, and chatted as they drank. Behind a thick grill was a small area for women.

  In front, there was space for those not of their faith.

  Mary ordered coffee for three. What arrived was thick and sweet and served in tiny cups. The waiter left a metal pitcher with a long thin spout for them to refill their cups and departed with a shallow bow.

  Major Barbara was not long in arriving. They did not exchange pleasantries for long. Barbara was in a hurry, she said. Mary offered that her Marines were looking for something good to do locally. They’d taken up a collection and had a thousand dinars to give to a good cause and were willing to spend a weekend painting a well-deserving place.

  Ruth had suggested Major Barbara’s place.

  The Major was properly, if a bit tiredly, grateful.

  Then Mary raised the prospects of some handheld commlinks for the kids.

  And the Major’s eyes narrowed.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she snapped.

  Mary paid and followed Ruth and the Major out of the shop. They walked for several blocks before they turned into a vacant lot that showed evidence of the building that had burned down not too long ago.

  “Okay, what are you two up to?” Barbara demanded sharply. “I told you before that you will not sell my kids into white slavery. You said you weren’t in that trade. Have you changed your mind?”

  “Don’t talk to me,” Ruth said. “This is all her idea,” and tossed the ball to Mary.

  The Marine quickly introduced herself and her problem. “We know nothing about that drug-research farm. Your kids hang around factories, shops, this town, and learn things. Could they start hanging around the neighborhood with that Farm and learn stuff? I don’t know what stuff. Just stuff that might let us break this thing. We need to break it fast, and if we do, we might, just might, break Milassi. I hate to say it, but your kids are our only hope.”

  Ruth was surprised. The Major didn’t snap something like “go to hell,” or “you’ve got your heads up your asses,” or even something more Christian like “that’s a lot of bullshit.”

  Instead, she led them back to the street. Briskly, they walked on for two more blocks before she finally said, “When you offered me that bribe, I almost walked out on you. Now that I know what you’re up to, I don’t know what to think.”

  “We’re not up to it,” Ruth said. “She is.”

  “And why aren’t you behind this?” the Salvation Army woman asked, turning on Ruth.

  “I don’t think it’s safe for the kids,” Ruth stammered.

  Major Barbara stomped on. “Nothing is safe for my kids,” she muttered to no one. “They can starve to death, and no one will notice. They get sick and die, and no one notices. Some crusher has a bad day and beats them up and leaves them to die in some alley, and nobody notices. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but Petrograd is no safe city for kids without a home. Or for those with homes.”

  “She knows that,” Mary said, surprising Ruth by coming to her defense. “She’s just not sure that sending them across town into a strange neighborhood isn’t taking on more risk than they can handle.”

  The Major nodded. “That may be a problem. Maybe not. I know a shelter that could take them in at night. Scott has some kids that he maybe could add to your effort. How much money are you willing to fork over?”

  “How much can I get away with before somebody notices?” the Marine asked.

  “You’re not going to paint my place. That would be a dead givea
way. Scott and I might be able to slip a couple of hundred dinars into our budget for a few months without anyone the wiser. How long is this going to take?”

  “We can’t tell you,” Ruth said.

  “A secret?” Barbara asked.

  “If someone beats you up in a dark alley some night, the less you know, the less they can beat out of you,” the Marine said.

  Major Barbara frowned. “I guess that’s smart. Scott and I will need at least a dozen commlinks. That should let us get our kids connected. The kids will use them at night for school, maybe even during the day if they think they can get away with it. Some of our kids are real smart and hungry to learn. It’s a crying shame they have nothing ahead of them but brothels for the girls and day-labor gigs for the boys.”

  “Is it that bad?” Mary said.

  “It’s that bad,” the Salvation Army woman said. “I’m sorry, Ruth, if you think less of me for putting my kids into this dangerous game you’re playing, but right now, they have no life ahead of them. This idea of yours stinks to high heaven, but if it leads to anything, it might give the kids a chance they’ll never get anywhere else on this planet.”

  “Major,” Mary said, coming almost to Marine attention, “I work for a guy by the name of Ray Longknife. He married into some money. I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to see that he uses some of it to help your kids get the education they need and the opportunity to make something of themselves.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” the woman of God said. “And we have to see what the kids can get you, first. Okay.”

  On that, they parted company. The Salvation Army woman headed back to the hungry of her orphanage. Ruth and Mary returned to the safety of the embassy.

  TWENTY-THREE

  RAY LONGKNIFE LEARNED from Becky Graven what promises his security chief had made for him to keep. He smiled at how free his former enemy was with his checkbook.

  Still, when Captain Mary Rodrigo brought the hat around for a donation for “her and Ruth’s kids,” he dropped several large Wardhaven bills in the kitty. He also sprang for new commlinks for all of Mary’s Marine detachment.

  He told Mary it was only a down payment on more to come.

  There was more to the commlink handoff than just giving the old castoffs to the kids.

  The old commlinks disappeared into Becky’s secret basement war center for overhaul, update, and modification. Now each had a sensor that picked up the hum of bugs and spy devices. Now the commlinks had their own special channel that not only encrypted the message but allowed it to be squirted line of sight to a like device or transmitted to one and only one station.

  The basement.

  Oh, and each handheld got its own access to the educational channels. Not only the free ones, but several of the paid channels.

  That was Becky’s idea. For a hard-hearted FSO, there seemed to be a soft chewy center in there somewhere.

  Ray had his own meetings to attend. Those with the Milassi government were a pain, but he showed up. He smiled. Milassi and his henchmen smiled. They all smiled . . . and after each meeting, Ray checked his back to see if there was a knife in it.

  His meetings with the local military commanders were even worse. None of them had fought off planet during the Unity War. Their fighting had been domestic, breaking strikes at the factories when the long hours and low pay drove the workers into the streets.

  Now, of course, they were all only too happy to wine and dine the “Man Who Killed President Urm.” Ray smiled even as his stomach churned.

  However, the meetings with the masters of industry and finance left Ray of several minds.

  Many factories were run by leftovers from the Unity regime. Somehow, Unity thugs had managed to confiscate a good third of Savannah’s industrial base. There were lawsuits now working their way through the courts by the previous owners to get them back, but for now, the thugs and party sycophants still ran the businesses.

  Most of their talking ran to what women they were sleeping with or how they’d made money under the table on this deal or that.

  Ray ignored them as best he could . . . and washed his hands anytime he had to shake one of theirs.

  The other managers fell into two categories. Some were managers of plants owned by major interplanetary corporations. They’d been sent to Savannah to straighten up factories that were operating in the red. They gave Ray some of his more interesting conversations.

  Quite a few recognized him as his wife’s husband. “You married into the Nuu Enterprises business, didn’t you? How does the old man get rim-world workers to work?” did not go over well with Ray.

  His initial reply was to snap, “He treats them like human beings.” That ended the first two conversations rather abruptly. After that, he limited himself to asking why they were asking. That at least had the virtue of leading to longer talks.

  “My work crew don’t do anything more than the minimum,” one manager said.

  Ray offered that the workforce on Wardhaven was much more motivated.

  Yet another manager mentioned that during a walk around his plant, he’d come across several of his shop-floor supervisors out behind the main building beating up one of his workers. When he stopped the fight and demanded an explanation, the foremen slunk off leaving him to call the nurse to care for the worker.

  “He didn’t have anything to say either,” the offworlder said, shaking his head. “It might be because his jaw was broken, but even after it healed, he refused to talk. He just went back to his job on the floor.”

  “What did you do with the supervisors?” Ray asked.

  “I tried to fire them.”

  “Tried?” Ray echoed.

  “Yes. It seems I can fire any worker for any reason, but not foremen and midlevel managers. They have an association with a contract that the courts won’t break. I can’t even think of firing one.”

  Ray could only raise an eyebrow at that and make a note to find out what was behind it.

  The third group Ray felt most at home with. They were owners, many of them the great-grandsons of the men who had started the companies long ago. Unlike their fathers and grandfathers, they were college trained, with ideas of how to run a good company. Most knew the business from the mail room to the plant floor to the front office.

  And most were stumped by the structures they inherited of workers harshly split along bitter lines of religion or cultural divisions going back to ancient times on Earth!

  “I tried to get committees together to review our work processes. I figured if I included representatives from all the work units, they could come up with ideas they’d have ownership of. At least that was what I learned in my MBA program back on New Eden.”

  Ray nodded along wisely, wondering how this would end.

  “Half my committees only met once. They ended in brawls. Fistfights, for God’s sake! I can’t even get my people to talk to each other, much less solve problems. How am I going to get anything to change if I can’t even get them to talk?”

  Neither Ray nor any of those listening had any suggestions.

  Clearly, the problems of Savannah went deep, and they were not going to go away with some minor change like driving Milassi off the planet.

  Ray did ask Becky about the problem of firing the foremen and middle managers. She found that interesting and said she’d get back to him. It took her two days to do that.

  “You remember that middle-manager-firing problem?” she asked Ray over breakfast in the embassy cafeteria.

  “Yes,” Ray admitted.

  “It seems there is a Fraternal Order of Foremen and Managers on Savannah. No one has to join, but everyone that can does. It costs them ten percent of their pay right off the top, but they get to have this Employment Security Agreement with their business that can’t seem to be broken.”

  “It must be very well written,” Ray said.

  “And very well defended in court,” the FSO quickly added. “All of the mon
ey the FOFM raises goes to political activities. Taxes are amazingly low here. Few judges could afford the mansions they live in, but their political action committees are allowed to raise money for their election as well as for their other needs.”

  “That sounds very corrupt.”

  “On Savannah, it’s not corruption, it’s the way life is,” the diplomat said.

  “I understand there are families that want to take back the businesses that were confiscated during the Unity rule. How are they making out in court?”

  “It depends on how well they can pay the judges. And since the leftover Unity types have the businesses and can tap them for donations to the judges’ reelection campaigns, you can guess the outcome.”

  “This place really needs a housecleaning,” Ray said.

  “And Milassi is doing his level best to see that it won’t happen.”

  “That FOFM group. Are they also buying off Milassi?”

  “Half of what they raise goes directly into his bank account.”

  “Is that enough to pay his bills without the drug money?”

  Becky shook her head. “He’s got thugs and the Army to pay. It doesn’t even come close.”

  “What other sources of income have you tracked?”

  “Have any of your business buddies complained about the cost of their raw materials?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of so far.”

  “Well, most of the mining, oil, and gas holdings ended up under Unity control. The mines and oil refineries were one of the few places that imported skilled workers. And those workers brought their unions with them. They were the best-paid workers on the planet.”

  “Were,” Ray said, arching an eyebrow.

  “That’s right, were. Unity offered to break the unions if the mine owners made certain contributions. They did, then cut pay and lengthened the workweek. After all, there was a war on, and under Unity, there was always a war on somewhere. The workers went out on strike. The Army marched in and gunned down anyone who wasn’t smart enough to get back to work fast.”