All in Good Time

by Mackey Chandler

  “Oh, I hadn’t realized you might offer her that,” Eileen said.

  “There’s an entire mountain out there with gold. We’d never find all of it if we worked at it our whole lives,” Vic said. “I don’t think she’s the sort to kill us in our sleep for our gold after she saved us, but after spending the winter snowed in together we’ll be even more certain of her character. For that matter, she’ll be a half year older in the spring and your judgment and ability advances really quickly at her age. There will be that much less of a chance she could reveal our mining by a childish slip of the tongue.”

  “The only opportunity for that would be at the Spring Festival. We can be really careful to coach her and watch her closely,” Eileen decided.

  “The Festival is early. We could wait to mine until after if we have any doubts,” Vic said.

  “Agreed, I’ll stop worrying about it until then,” Eileen promised.

  * * *

  Old Man Larkin did April a favor and gave her a ride on a freight run from Central to Home. He waived any fee, amused she would offer, and pointed out she’d have to ride the right seat and be available to assist his pilot on-demand since he wasn’t about to mount a seat in the freight hold for her. He allowed that he should pay her as copilot if you wanted to talk about who owed who.

  When the pilot asked clearance from Central Traffic Control he recited his license number and claimed command of the armed merchant Water Bearer. A copilot wasn’t mandatory on a freight flight but it was so customary, and the norm for Larkin’s Line, that his mentioning his command status made the controller ask: “Flying solo?”

  Her pilot Arthur LaHalle looked stricken, unsure he should answer. He’d been told April was riding along as a security measure so he was reluctant to reveal her.

  Rather than talk about it and create an obvious delay April just keyed her mic and responded. “April Lewis, Master. ID number 737-62-4002, assisting.”

  “Well damn, Old Man Larkin must be paying pretty good,” the controller replied, amused. “You are cleared to lift per your filed flight profile for the next five minutes. Be careful out there.”

  “Lifting on the next minute tick,” Arthur said, stabbing a button. “Now everybody knows you’re aboard,” Arthur pointed out once his mic was muted. “Traffic control is in the clear and public. That kind of negates the whole secrecy and security aspect of it.”

  “Nah…” April disagreed. “First of all, I doubt anybody meaning to do me harm would think to monitor traffic control, expecting me to actively fly anything. Secondly, if they did intend to harm me we are already loaded and it’s too late to ship a bomb on the flight. I refuse to lie to traffic control and falsify a flight plan. That means somebody would have to intercept us to take advantage of the information. That would be pretty hard wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, having a high boost ship sitting waiting to pursue somebody is even less likely than listening to all the traffic coms,” Arthur admitted.

  “Do you feel I’m painting a target on your back?” April asked.

  “No, or I would have stood down the count and asked Larkin for hazard pay,” he said.

  Not refuse to fly, April noted. It made her smile.

  Chapter 13

  “Hello, the house!” Was heard as clear as could be, even with the doors and windows all shut tight for the cooler weather.

  Vic checked, standing well back from a window and then went out on the porch. There was a man on a fine-looking horse with a less impressive packhorse behind him led by two younger men without any mounts. They stood back some distance to be less threatening.

  “Check for anybody behind the house and pull the kitchen shutters closed,” Eileen told Alice. She took Vic’s good rifle and watched over her until Alice was safely back inside and the door locked. Then, with no light behind her to silhouette her, Eileen took a stance well back from the front door Vic had left wide open to the cool day.

  Vic took his time walking down to the rider. He only carried his pistol.

  “Mr. Foy?” the rider asked, squinting although Vic was close now.

  “Vic will do just fine.”

  “I’m Dennis Locke and those are my boys with me. Mr. Mast suggested I come to arrange a trade with you. He indicated you’d trade for storable food and that he is holding salt and .22 cartridges for you. He said you might offer some other things you are holding yourself.”

  “I have a bit of salvaged hardware from outbuildings, window glass, and canning jars. That’s all I have I consider trade goods. If there’s anything else we have around the house you might want, we’d consider how valuable it is to us,” Vic offered. “What are you selling?”

  “I have a traditionally cured and smoked ham, two big coffee cans of lard, and two twenty kilo bags of dent corn. The bigger deal is that we raise pigs. If you can sell me enough salt you can get two hams reserved for you at the spring festival. We need to slaughter in the next month and we’re short of salt. We don’t have commercial curing salt so they won’t look as nicely pink like as folks expect, but they will keep and taste fine.”

  “You didn’t get salt from the Tehama county people at the festival?” Vic wondered.

  Locke grimaced. “We didn’t have stuff they wanted in trade, and running around near the end, trying to trade for stuff they did want, we only got five kilos from them. We got some rock salt promised from other people, but that will be a one-time thing.”

  That was probably road salt, Vic figured. It amused him people couldn’t figure out how to purify it and crush it for table salt.

  “If you have celery seed for planting, not for seasoning, we’ll buy that. Celery powder works near like pink salt for curing. We’re not experienced gardeners, and it’s hard raising it because most of it doesn’t go to seed the first year. It’s horrible to keep the bugs off of it too. We’re working on it, but it takes up a lot of our time and resources. Maybe in two years we’ll have enough because you can save the bottom and roots to grow it again from that instead of seed.”

  Vic thought on it and Locke didn’t rush him, gripping his saddle horn and waiting for him patiently. He leaned forward and Vic noticed him squinting again.

  “I believe we can help each other more than you anticipated,” Vic said. “I can offer you a hundred kilo of salt. Will that take care of you this year?”

  “Yes, and some leftover towards next year.” Locke looked relieved.

  “We can talk about help next year if you can’t get enough salt again. The trade I really want to arrange is for a year from now,” Vic said. “I’m pretty sure I can get either sodium nitrite or nitrate to mix your own curing salts for a year from now. That will carry you until you get the celery growing well enough. But I’m going to want four hams and some sides of bacon for arranging that to be brought in from Nevada. Do you have enough seed corn to double up on the corn to us for next fall too?”

  “We have the seed and enough land, but the extra work to plant and tend it is going to be rough. Both of my sons’ wives are pregnant and I’m not sure how much they are going to be able to help for planting and weeding,” Locke said. “We have the celery to tend and the same gardening most folks are doing to eat. We could really use a greenhouse but that’s an impossible dream.”

  “If I could send a young man to help with planting can you board him for a couple of weeks?” Vic asked.

  “Yeah, if he isn’t too proud to sleep in the barn,” Locke said, and smiled.

  “I’ll try to arrange it,” Vic promised. “Do you listen in on the radio net?”

  Locke just gave a nod yes at Vic.

  “If I can arrange it then I’ll have them tell in the end announcements that the farmer has his hayseed coming, or not. Does all that sound agreeable to you?”

  “Maybe. How many sides of bacon were you expecting? They are easier to cure but folks find them easier to cook so they trade better than the hams.”

  “At least two,” Vic said. “If you have a good year and can spar
e more or you get into sausage making or can spare more lard… You take care of me and I’ll take care of you. We both need to be flexible. That’s how I do business. I’m not the sort who imagines he’s a sharp trader if he sends people away feeling badly used.”

  “Fair enough,” Locke agreed. “Write me a note to Mast to release the salt and we’ll put the stuff on your porch and be on our way.”

  “Can you make it home before dark? You can sleepover in the barn if you’re not too proud,” Vic teased, repeating the man’s own comment.

  “I thank you,” Locke said, “but your neighbor Arnold and I know each other from before The Day. We already stopped at his place on the way in long enough to arrange to stay there tonight. It’ll give us a chance to visit and catch up. I never expected you to take in three strange men you don’t know really well. The offer of the barn is appreciated though.”

  “Did you see a young man, Tommy, at their place?” Vic asked.

  “No, but we just stopped out front and I never got off my horse,” Locke explained.

  “If he isn’t there when you go back tell Arnold I want to see him, would you?”

  “Sure, is this Tommy a hired hand?” Locke wondered.

  “I believe he is a possible son-in-law,” Vic said cautiously. “One more thing, if you don’t mind me prying a bit. I see you squinting at me hard. Are you having problems seeing?”

  “I lost my glasses leaning over to clean his hooves and the stupid horse stepped on them. Busted both lenses so I couldn’t even try to jerry-rig a frame,” Locke said.

  “If you have your prescription there is a pilot who brings stuff in from Nevada. He might be able to get you glasses next spring,” Vic suggested.

  “We’ve got no way to pay for them,” Locke said with a dismissive wave. “We owed more on our credit cards than we had in the bank when the computers went down. I had about fifty bucks in cash and spent that with the few folks at the festival who would still take dollars. I’ll just be happy when we get phones and gas again if nobody comes looking for me claiming I owe them a pile of interest on unpaid debt.”

  “I still have a live bank account in Nevada,” Vic revealed. “If you have a copy of your prescription we can have them made and flown in. I’ll trade for that service and goods just like anything else.”

  “It would be nice to see past ten meters again without everything being a blur. I’ll check with my wife and see if she has my prescription in our papers.”

  “Come up to the porch and unload,” Vic invited. “I’ll write you a release for Mr. Mast and a note to Arnold too.

  “Much obliged,” Locke said, and tipped his hat. “I’ll tell my boys.” He wheeled his horse around and went back to them, letting Vic get ahead of him walking back to the house and tell his people what was going on.

  * * *

  Gunny met April at the north dock. Lurking behind him was Burt Caldwell, a recent addition to Jon’s crew. April’s network of informants already had him pegged as one of those quiet types who answered with one-word replies and occasionally just a grunt.

  Burt had a Loonie armored garment over his arm and thrust it at her. She might have argued more with Gunny because he was her man, but Burt doing it said it was from Jon. Besides, they both had the same sort of jackets on and adjusted halfway to their knees like a tunic. At least they didn’t scold her for not being armored up already. There was no hiding what they were to anyone they passed in the corridor and neither was at all apologetic about it. Indeed Gunny had an over vest in addition to the regular armor. What did he expect anybody to be shooting that Loonie armor wouldn’t stop?

  “It stops laser and maser,” Gunny said, seeing her eyes checking it out.

  “You think someone from Home is gunning for me?” April asked.

  “The Earthies are getting some much better energy weapons deployed,” he told her.

  “You could have brought my old one,” April said.

  “These are better and still fairly comfortable. I’ve been waiting for it for a couple of months. It’s a company owned item, so it’s just a loaner. I can order you one if you want,” Gunny offered. “It would probably only be a couple of weeks wait now and the new ones are going to have cape shoulders that protect the upper arm. The material is too stiff for full sleeves. But you move easily with it draped. I’ll upgrade to that soon.”

  “Sure, go ahead and get me one,” April agreed. “Let’s go get some breakfast. It’s so early I assume you haven’t eaten?”

  Gunny and Burt exchanged frowns.

  “Why don’t you just go home and have a courier bring breakfast?” Burt suggested.

  “I am not going to hide like some kind of fugitive,” April said. “I have several business meetings I’ll be attending and if I wanted to attend them on com I could have stayed on the Moon. Nobody should be expecting me to show up here anyway.”

  “Jeff and you have both been ambushed in the cafeteria,” Gunny pointed out. “It’s one of the places you are known to show up from time to time.”

  “Along with the dock area here, and the elevators. You might as well stake out my front door too. If anybody wants to find me they can. Of all the places I can get waylaid the cafeteria is the stupidest one to chose. There is always a mob of dangerous old men drinking coffee and gossiping. Remember what happened to the Chinese guy who was supposed to assassinate me?” April asked.

  “You may have a point,” Gunny allowed.

  “That was before my time. What happened to him?” Burt asked.

  “He sat his food tray down and stood back to draw on her. He was barely able to clear leather before he got a lethal Air Taser blast in the head from your associate Margaret. One of the writers in that group she was talking about, threw a mug of hot coffee in his face and was closing to engage him. The cafeteria supervisor Ruby body-slammed him from behind and stabbed him through a kidney, putting the old Istanbul twist on it,” Gunny said, illustrating with a wrist wrenching motion. “I put three rounds in his chest but it’s kind of hard to say who killed him. That didn’t keep Ruby from kicking the stuffing out of him, even though he was dead before he hit the floor.”

  Burt just blinked a few times, trying to picture that level of mayhem.

  “We put him in a rescue ball and set it adrift outside the ISSII so they’d find him,” Gunny remembered. “We didn’t wipe the coffee off or pull the knife out.”

  “Sending a message?” Burt asked.

  “Yeah, for all the good it did,” Gunny said.

  “It’s a wonder they haven’t banned me from the cafeteria,” April admitted.

  The cafeteria was fairly busy. April wasn’t sure if her guards regarded that as good or bad. Gunny went through the line behind her and Burt sat and waited until they were seated to go get his own breakfast.

  “Who is the dude with the magnificent mustache?” Burt asked Gunny when he returned to join them.

  “I sent his picture to your boss, Jon. He gave a name that doesn’t ring any alarm bells when searched and he’s from Texas. I wonder how he came up because there aren’t any shuttles lifting directly from Texas. There’s supposed to be another Texan aboard too.”

  “He looked at each of us in turn, harder than I like,” Burt said. “Then he’s never looked at us again.

  “He’s wearing spex,” Gunny pointed out. “He could have recorded us and not need to look at us again.”

  “The Texans should be happy with me,” April reminded them.

  “If he’s a real Texan and not a North American agent,” Burt said.

  “Jon can’t verify that?” April asked.

  “No, he can’t get anything on him at all,” Gunny said, unhappy. “There are three North Americans in the cafeteria. I’m sending their face specs to your spex. One is a long term resident and two seem to have legitimate business here.”

  “Well, I’m well into breakfast and they’ve all had plenty of opportunities to come shoot me dead,” April quipped. “I think we’re clear today.�
�

  “Whatever. Not much opportunity with both of us watching,” Burt argued. “And Jon says stay with you until you go back to the Moon.”

  “Fine,” April said, giving up. “Are you asking to come back to my place? Gunny lives with me you know.”

  “Yeah, but he has to sleep too doesn’t he?” Burt asked.

  April saw no point in arguing.

  * * *

  “I have no clue what to do with this,” Eileen said, examining the dried corn.

  “It’s just field corn, dent corn they call it,” Vic assured her picking a kernel to show her. “See? It gets a little dent in the kernel when it dries out. We can grind it for cornmeal. I’m pretty sure there is a hand grinder among the things in the attic. I have slaked lime out in the barn. We can soak it in lime water and make masa for tortillas.”

  “Fine, if you show me how,” Eileen agreed.

  “I want to try to save a few pounds back to plant too,” Vic said. “It may be a different variety than the little bit we got in Nevada. A little genetic diversity is a good thing. It helps you breed a variety tailored to your microclimate over time.

  “The potatoes we have are adapted that way. My dad bred them over the years to our land and weather. I didn’t keep a garden for some years, but they never all got harvested. There were loads of them gone wild in the field, especially along the edges, to start propagating them again.

  “I started working the potato yield back up, like a lot of other things, the spring after The Day. I’d let it all go fallow when there was a grocery store convenient to visit.”

  “Just because everything was so uncertain?” Eileen asked.

  Not exactly,” Vic said, carefully. “I knew right then I wasn’t going to stay single. It made sense before The Day but not after. I was going to find somebody, I just didn’t know who yet. If you hadn’t come along I’d have made do, but as things worked ended up, I lucked out.”

  “Nice try to sweet talk me. You might have ended up with that little cow who was chatting with me when we met.”Eileen teased him.