Dark Age - Patriot's Stand Part 9

"Three months. Could be a year. Depends on ship traffic."

When Grace got back to the car and settled in, she quickly brought the guys up to date on their new problem. "Santorini?" Chato asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe just new rules we didn't know about."

"My bet's on Santorini," Jobe said.

Grace sighed. "But we need money."

"You have anything else to sell?" Niki piped up.

Grace pulled a loose diamond from her pocket. "Some gems."

"Then you need a jeweler," the girl said. "And I know just the guy. You'll love him." Ten minutes later Grace was ushered into a small shop with solid steel shutters on its front windows.

"Abe Goldman, Grace and her off-world friends are staying at Auntie's," Niki said by way of introduction.

"Always glad to be of service to travelers," a small man with wisps of gray hair and long delicate fingers said, with a smile that might or might not have any value.

Grace pulled the diamond from her pocket. The man produced a jeweler's eyepiece and studied it.

"Lovely, fine color, well cut. I wish you had brought this to me a few years ago," he said, handing it back to Grace.

"A few years ago?"

"The collapse of the HPG has not been kind to markets. With taxes up, fewer people are buying jewelry. When we jewelers could talk to one another, we might invest on one hard-hit planet and sell on another more prosperous. Now such investments are more a gamble. If you need the money, I could probably afford to buy a few fine diamonds such as these from you, but I could not give you anywhere near the price they deserve."

Grace reflected a moment. Was this just an opening gambit? Certainly the jeweler's observations were supported by recent events. She signaled to Jobe. He opened his pack and carefully held up a golden pendant to the light, letting the diamonds on it sparkle. Then he set it on the table before the jeweler.

Next he produced a silver bracelet banded in turquoise. The old man's eyes grew wide, and his nostrils flared. If Abe had been forcing a poker face before, his control slipped as he reached almost reverently first for the silver item, then the gold. Each was examined in a silence broken only by sudden small intakes of breath.

"My word. You see these so rarely. The art of old Terra has been lost. What pa.s.ses for it is all machine made. This is real," he said, glancing up at Jobe, then at Chato. "Hand-worked silver and turquoise, made the way the natives of North America did it. Gold and diamonds made the way only the native Africans worked them. You have kept to the ancient ways," he finished.

"Our grandmothers still teach their granddaughters," Chato said, "and the young bucks still listen to their uncles."

"You have more," Abe said, gesturing at the pack.

"Yes."

The old man frowned and gazed at the ceiling, his eyes lost elsewhere. Then he shook his head and handed back the pieces. "I could not afford to buy one-tenth of what you carry. Another day and I would have mortgaged my inventory-my soul-to make them mine. Now?" He shrugged. "s.p.a.ce on JumpShips is commandeered without warning. Shipments go missing in transit, and you do not find out about it for months. I could not accept the risk."

"Might others share it with you?" Grace asked.

"There are some, but few would value the treasure they held in their hands. I could arrange a meeting between you and three, maybe four of us. Still, I doubt we could afford to take half of what you carry."

Grace considered the situation for a long moment. If they kept carrying it around, sooner or later a big enough bunch of muggers would catch them, and a crazy Cat and a Highlander might not be around.

"Would you please inventory our jewelry, Mr. Goldman? If it would not be too much trouble, we would like to leave it in your care. You can keep it safer than we can carrying it around, and it would help you to find a market for it."

"Yes, it would," the man agreed, and produced a scanner. As Jobe withdrew each item from the pack, the jeweler scanned it, made a picture, and estimated a value. Grace excused herself to the rest room, unst.i.tched about half the diamonds in her clothing, and added them to the inventory.

When Chato produced the loose jade, turquoise and emeralds, the jeweler sighed. "Your gem cutters are exquisite in their fashioning. Why did these never come on the market before?"

"They are family possessions, pa.s.sed down for generations. Now our lives depend upon them. Stones and minerals can easily be replaced. The life of a daughter or son cannot."

The jeweler nodded his agreement.

It was past noon when he handed each of them a certified copy of the inventory in his care. Niki had watched the business with wide eyes. Grace glanced at her two friends, got nods, and turned back to the jeweler. "We need to change the inventory slightly. Niki, would you like to pick something?"

"Would I, but my granny would whap me something fierce."

"Not if I tell her it's a gift."

"Well, she'd still whap me if I took one of those diamond ones. But that one," she said, pointing at a silver necklace with turquoise teardrops, "she might not mind that one."

The jeweler smiled softly. "She has chosen one of the most valuable pieces here."

"It is hers," Grace said, helping Niki put it on. "Now, Mr. Goldman, choose a gift for your wife."

The jeweler chuckled, then ran a hand through the few strands of gray on his head. "You have my appraisal. You know what I consider the most valuable items in your holdings," he said, and chose a lesser one. "My wife died several years ago. My daughter-in-law will appreciate the gift. Let this be the beginning of a long and profitable relationship."

Niki got them to the Twenty-first Centauri Lancers well after lunch. To nonprofessionals, the regiment appeared to be a fine one, several battalions strong. The Major who showed them around invited them to afternoon tea at 1500 hours and a live-fire demonstration afterward. But the regiment was not at all willing to take on a contract to teach militia how to defend their own. "No, not done-bad show all around." The task force the Major proposed was identical to the Roughriders', the Lancers' prices only a bit lower.

The Eridani Light Horse the next day were no more willing, though they were a bit cheaper. After hearing their moans about cost for two days running, Niki took them to the Ronin. Grace found out where the tall man with the long sword at the port belonged. The Ronin were operating on a tight budget, no frills at all. They even seemed to be rationing their words. Still, teaching a collection of part-time soldiers was beneath them. And their prices were not that much less than the rest.

Niki drove them back into Galaport. "You folks look like you could use a drink. Let me take you to a place I like."

"Aren't there any mercs that don't cost you the whole planet?" Grace asked no one in particular as Niki settled them into a corner of Just a Wee One. A girl in shorts and not much of a top, who didn't look much older than Niki, showed up immediately.

"What're you drinking?"

"Whiskey for me, Kelly," Niki said.

"Grape juice for her, Kelly," Grace said. "A dark ale for me if you have it on tap."

"My grandma-" Niki started.

"Isn't here," Grace finished.

"Nice try, twerp." The barmaid grinned at Niki, took a beer order from Jobe, a tea from Chato, and left.

Across the room, Grace spotted Danny O'Bannon about the same time he spotted her, and raised a mug in salute. Ben was across the booth from him, head resting against its stone back, eyes closed.

Grace opened her mouth to shout something, but Chato rested a hand on her elbow.

"Do not disturb one whose spirit wanders," he whispered.

Grace closed her mouth and watched. The albino did not move the entire time she waited for her order.

As the drinks arrived, the Scotsman silently worked his way out of his booth and ambled over to kneel beside Grace. "Not much company when he gets that way, but usually a lot of fun comes of it. I'm not a man to mind a bit of enforced solitude, but not if I can avoid it. How's your search coming for a bunch of schoolteachers?"

"Not well at all, at all," she said, finding her own brogue deepening around the man. "As you say, no real soldier wants to be nursemaid to a bunch of fumbling amateurs. Two, three hundred years ago, our great-granddams could fight their own battles. Is it that we're made of weaker stuff, or has the battlefield gotten to be a rougher place?"

"Much rougher place. I've heard retired sergeants mumbling tales of doing things in battle that would get your hind end waxed but good if you tried them with the weapons and kit even a second-rate batch of mercs take to war. It's just no place for the temp employee. You use many temps in your mines?"

"No, though I hear the corporation mines do. Doesn't help their safety record none," Jobe said.

"There you got it."

"Doesn't the fact we're standing between our homes and those killing b.a.s.t.a.r.ds count for anything?

We're fighting for friends, parents, husbands, wives . . . ?" Grace let the long list run down.

Now Ben was out of his booth and walking their way. "No one interested in taking your contract?" Ben said.

"No one," Grace answered.

"You want to fight for your hearths and homes," he said, as if still half in a dream. "Not mercs fulfilling a contract, but patriots standing between war's fire and their homes, land, loved ones. That is not something we have seen a lot of lately."

"Might count for somethin'," Danny said.

"It should," Grace said.

The exNova Cat blinked and slowly glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time in a long time. "It is not as if we would be pa.s.sing up a grand contract, now, is it, laddie?"

"I joined the Highland Regiment 'cause they were lads who enjoyed a battle or two and a good sc.r.a.p in between. But no part o' me is enjoying this police work we've been surviving on of late."

Ben nodded, looked around, spotted a long table and waved the group over to it. "Even you, short stuff," he said to Niki. They settled down at the table, looked at one another, found nothing to say and just sat, occasionally sipping their drinks.

Jobe shuffled his chair after a long five minutes. "What's supposed to be happening?"

Ben turned from staring at the door, put a finger to his lips, and said nothing.

Ten minutes later, by the clock above the bar, and the door opened. A tall woman wearing a tartan skirt, carrying herself ramrod straight, came in with a shorter, sandy-haired lad in plaid britches.

"Oh no, not Biddy and the boy wonder." Danny sighed and took a long pull on his drink.

"What are you drinking?" Ben called to them.

"It seems to be about lunchtime," the woman answered. "I thought I'd have a bite to eat. Sean, being of an age, was hungry, too. I didn't expect to see you up this early, Ben. Daniel, I didn't think anything could get you out of bed before three."

"Maybe you'd like to have me in your own?" Danny shot back.

"You would need a hospital bed first, you drunken Lowlander," the woman shot back, but she and the boy came to the table and sat beside Ben. "Who are your friends?"

"Their planet, Alkalurops, got tapped in a little smash-and-grab affair. They had some luck defending themselves and came looking for a mercenary unit that might contract for a detachment to teach their militia how to put up a better fight next time."

The woman snorted. "n.o.body is that hard up. Any takers?"

"None," Grace said, tired of having people tell her she was dreaming to think a militia could stand a chance.

"Good luck to you and yours," the woman said, and waved to the barmaid. "Kelly, the usual for me and him."

The young man at her side leaned forward to make eye contact with Grace. "Y-You've set a h-h-hard task for yourself. I-I studied for five years b-b-before I could even s-start practicing in a BattleMech."

"I was driving a MiningMech before I was Niki's age," Grace said. "I've kept Pirate upright when half a hill was sliding out from underneath me."

"But what do you know of preparing a battlefield?" the woman shot back.

"We dug pits, fighting holes and sapper traps, and covered over a draw to capture a hovertank intact,"

Chato said.

Ben cracked a tiny smile. "Captured a hovertank. Is it working? Have you hooked a plow to it and put it to work?"

"Yes and no," Grace snapped. "One of Chato's boys got it working. He was studying the sensor suite when last we saw him. Might have copies of it by now."

"So the farmers can learn," the woman said, raising an arched eyebrow to Ben. He nodded.

"Someone say something about a tank?" Coming through the door was a small man in patched gray uniform pants and shirt, polished black boots and a hat. "Kelly, you got a brew and some more of that stew Victoria is so daintily eating?"

"On its way," Kelly said from behind the bar.

"What's this I hear of tanks?" the man repeated, taking a seat beside Danny. Before Grace could open her mouth, Ben quickly filled him in on Alkalurops in MechWarrior fashion.

The newcomer snorted. "One captured tank does not an army make."

"We know that," Grace said. "The raiders didn't get all our 'Mechs. We can strengthen armor. We were working on rockets and Gatling guns." That got raised eyebrows from the others, but the short man in gray shook his head.

' 'MechWarriors, MechWarriors, MechWarriors-that's all you hear. But let those big walkers try to tramp across the battlefield without tanks and infantry to cover their flanks, or take down a temporarily disabled 'Mech or tank and you fancy-steppers will be in a world of hurt. Give me some solid treads on the ground and I'll show you a thing or two."

"We have hovertrucks and all-terrain tread layers," Grace said. "We have 4x4s that can take some armor and guns. We have the start of an army. What we need is someone to show us what to do with it.

How to use it. Won't anyone give us a fighting chance?" she ended, looking around the table.

No one met her eyes. But this time no one told her to forget her dream.

The short man extended a hand to Grace. "I'm George Stillwell. I fight tanks. Would you mind showing me what this planet of yours looks like-the terrain? Is it good ground?"

Being a miner, Grace had a good chunk of the topography around Falkirk in her 'puter. She set it to PROJECT , and a good representation of the Gleann Mor Valley appeared, running down the table.

Victoria and the boy moved their bowls aside and studied the map. "Raiders came up from the south,"

she said, "the hovertank in the lead, a short 'Mech that I think was aKoshi next, then a taller one with small wings and lasers."

"Probably aSpider, " Sean said. Others nodded.