Ten minutes later he roared the crawler over the outer edge of the crater and onto the trail for camp. Damson and Linton were in back, weakly pressing on chests to try to restore breathing. Coughing and gasping filled the cabin behind him, horrible but reassuring.
At least some would survive. Now that they knew how treacherous the volcano could be, countermeasures would be easy. Perhaps they could work in breathing gear. That might even be comfortable, given Haven’s thin atmosphere. Maybe there was another, better, solution. He smiled into his mask and squinted into the slowly glowing dawn. The hard part was understanding the problem. What followed was merely engineering.
What followed was two hours of touch and go field medicine by Johnson and any of the surviving miners with any medical training at all. Fred Parker was dead, he had not survived his fall into the lake. George Rasmussen would forever be a little slow in comprehending even short sentences with short words. His family would need looking after.
The others survived with no immediately apparent after-effects, except for acute embarrassment whenever they looked at Johnson.
Frank Damson summed it up at the meeting next day. “We all thought you was just a loner, Jonnie. An’ we figured you was out to do all this for yourself as a way to get back to Earth. After you disappeared an’ Dit was found dead, we figured you had decided to grab off a shimmer stone an’ bribe your way back.”
He looked around at the nodding heads. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, we was wrong, an’ that came close to bustin’ up the company. Now we know better, an’ we think you oughta’ go back to running the whole show. Will you do it?”
Johnson stood up, stiff, still tired, and, for the first time in over a decade, happy.
“Well... friends... we might go bust. We might never find another shimmer stone. Or that volcano over there might wake up some night and decide to kill us all.” He smiled. “I think I’ll take that chance.”
13. Steppe Stone William F. Wu
2055 AD. Earth
A huge green tent had been set up on a mountain slope in Dongbei, the region that had once been called Manchuria and long before that had been part of the Mongol Empire. The tent stood high on a level ridge that overlooked the Northeast China Plain, where a mix of tilled farms and open grazing land lay calm in the distance. On a cold, clear morning, lines of miners and their families shuffled slowly into the tent.
Cholony Chuluun, whose name meant Chuluun, son of Cholon, drew his betrothed, Tuya, with him in a long line of fellow miners. They were ethnic Mongols whose ancestors had once lived and ruled here. Now, along with Manchu, Korean, and Hui peoples, they were a shrinking minority after the generations-long migration of Han Chinese from the south. Today, the huge Anaconda Mining corporation had declared a day off from working the mines, but required the miners and their loved ones to come into the tent to hear a company representative speak.
Now comprising three provinces of China, Dongbei had an extreme climate. In the short summer, the blazing heat and stifling humidity were almost tropical, while the long winter brought Arctic cold and relentless dry winds over the mountains from the north and northwest. With a terrain of fertile plains, rugged mountains and forests, Dongbei offered tremendous natural resources to be plundered. While the rich came to enjoy ski resorts and river cruises, the descendants of ancient nomadic tribes toiled in the factories and, especially, down in the mines to draw out rich mineral ore.
During the long, slow progression into the big tent, Chuluun kept looking out at the farms and grazing land in the distance. He breathed in the cold, thin air of the mountains and looked up at the blue sky above him. As always, he wished he could spend every day in the open air.
Inside the green canvas tent, Chuluun and Tuya sat along the left side, about halfway back from the dais. He had known for most of his young life that he had little future in the mines. Everyone who worked the mines knew what this presentation was about, though Chuluun had never heard the pitch before. Somewhere off-world, Anaconda had mines that needed working. Every so often, they made a pitch at different Anaconda locations around Earth.
Tuya, whose name meant “light,” as in a ray of light, shifted in her seat and smiled up at him. “At least it’s a day off work,” she said.
“Yes, it’s good.”
Truly, he thought, she was the only ray of light in his dreary life. Petite and pretty, she was also a tough-minded, hard-working miner herself. Like Chuluun, she was the offspring of miners who had died early from the heavy labor deep underground. Also like Chuluun, she understood that as Mongols, they belonged to a shrinking ethnic group historically feared and despised by both the Chinese and Russians, both of whom were now in the ascendant. She wore her long, black hair in two looped braids, which gave her an innocent, old-style appearance that belied her cynical awareness of their bleak future in the mines of Dongbei.
Chuluun barely listened to the beginning of the lecture. He did not care about the introductions of company representatives, or the way they complimented each other. If anything, he was glad to have a day when he could simply sit and rest, instead of work. As one speaker after another stepped up to the podium and droned on, his mind drifted to the re-enactments he enjoyed on the rare days of celebration.
Even in these hardscrabble mining towns, the glory days of the Mongolian people were remembered. They no longer lived a nomadic life, but some were still farmers and herders, down on the steppes. During holiday celebrations, young and old journeyed down to the grasslands of traditional Mongolia to dress in the clothes of the time of Genghis Khan. Freed from the darkness of the mines, they raced their horses and shot arrows from the saddle. They practiced swordplay, wrestled, and drank.
Chuluun, with a muscular, broad-shouldered frame and a true zest for his moments on horseback, had won many of the competitions. Tuya, too, was an excellent rider. Like the women of old, she had shot arrows from horseback, wrestled, and drank in the women’s competitions. In the contemporary competitions, she had shown her skill with a rifle from the saddle.
“We need people like you on the planet Haven,” said the speaker at the podium. “For a new life and a new chance!” The Anaconda representative was a forty-something man in a black suit. He was speaking in Mandarin Chinese, which everyone in Dongbei learned in school as the official language of China.
At the words “new life,” Chuluun glanced up for the first time. At home, he and Tuya and their friends all spoke Mongol. He had learned in his young life that Anaconda speakers, always talking in Mandarin, rarely offered anything to the ethnic minorities in Dongbei.
“I want you to understand why I’m here,” said the speaker. “Let me be blunt. Anaconda must have good, strong, healthy people to work in our mines. The Bureau of Relocation can always find ordinary people for ordinary work. But the planet Haven has rich mines in a climate similar to this one.” He paused for effect, looking out over the crowd. “You have already proven yourselves. You work in the high altitude in long, cold winters. You can do this work.”
Chuluun wondered about this place called Haven. He had heard about it, but he had never met anyone who had returned from Haven to Earth. While he knew better than to trust an Anaconda speaker, he saw little future in the life he had--and little future to offer Tuya.
“After this meeting ends, we will have individual recruiters ready to meet with you and answer questions. But this is the heart of the matter: Your transportation will be covered in advance. Your room and board will be supplied in barracks until you have the money to make your own arrangements in one of the towns near the mine to which you are assigned. In return, you will work off your debt in only two years of work in the mines.” The speaker paused and lowered his voice. “Many of you know that Haven is also the only source of shimmer stones. After you work off your debt, you will be free to prospect on your own, as many people do already.”
A low murmur ran through the crowd.
Chuluun’s heart pounded. Shimmer stones, harder tha
n diamonds, were the rarest gems anywhere. Even a small one would give him the chance to take Tuya out of the mines and live free in the open air. Two years to pay off his indenture, and hers, would be nothing compared to a lifetime in the Dongbei mines with no future. Then he could prospect on his own. No matter how many years it took, if he could find a good-sized shimmer stone, or just a few little ones, he could pay their way back to Earth and have a good life here--not as a miner, but perhaps as one of the idle rich, who cruised the rivers of Dongbei in summer and skied down the slopes in winter.
“Chuluun?” Tuya whispered.
He felt her clutch his upper arm. When he turned, he found her looking up at him, her eyes wide with hope.
2056AD. Haven
Cholony Chuluun saw the old man eyeing him almost from the moment the new transportees were herded into the Anaconda men’s barracks for new miners on Haven, near the town of Last Chance. The new bunch, all ethnic Mongols, Manchu, Korean, and Hui peoples, had indentured themselves for the journey from Earth and now lived in a camp named Redemption #4.
The other man had come on a much earlier ship and was very much an old-timer who lived in Redemption Town. Introducing himself as Timury Bataar, meaning Bataar, son of Timur, the old man had a short, stocky build and long white hair that matched a long, trailing white mustache and beard. He spoke to many other newcomers, but he gave most of his time to Chuluun, son of Cholon.
Each night, after the new workers dragged back from the mines, Bataar offered Chuluun, whose name meant “stone,” small bits of advice on life in his new home. Chuluun accepted the advice, found it useful, and thanked him politely, wondering what he wanted in return.
He got his answer one night in the mess hall over bowls of some gruel based on grains he could not identify, with fatty chunks of tough meat that no amount of stewing had softened.
Speaking Mongolian, Bataar sat on a low stool looking up at Chuluun. “I have been asking about you. You are a man of certain skills and the right look. Perhaps you are as strong and steady as your appearance suggests.”
Chuluun said nothing. He studied Bataar, whose name meant “hero.”
Around them, the other transportee newcomers ate, shouted, and jostled one another. In the tired yet boisterous crowd, no one cared about Chuluun and Bataar.
Chuluun had a favor to ask, but he had been waiting for the right moment. He watched the grizzled man and waited.
“So you are a horseman. A true Mongol.” Bataar grinned, his compliment apparently genuine. Despite his age, he had full, strong teeth, slightly crooked. He was stocky and broad-shouldered, and his movements showed he was still healthy and strong.
“I worked in the mines of Dongbei,” Chuluun said cautiously. “Most of us on the transport worked together. We knew we could mine here. In Dongbei, we worked in a cold climate in thin air.”
“Ah, but you rode in the celebrations. In the re-enactments.”
Chuluun fought down a smile, not wanting to admit this truth yet. He had not told Bataar about Tuya, his ray of light, either. They had been separated because they were not yet married. She was in the Anaconda barracks reserved for women.
They did not yet have the money for their own place in Redemption, which was crowded with prospectors, merchants, con artists, and ruffians.
“Do you know how many people find a shimmer stone?” Bataar leaned forward on the stool, looking into his eyes.
“Of course they’re very rare. But if you move enough of the right ore, your chances grow. I’m willing to move that ore.”
“You think well, my young friend. You can see a problem and a solution. But anything you find will belong to Anaconda.”
Chuluun said nothing. Every miner, and every straw boss and manager, knew stones could be hidden, smuggled, or stashed in some way. So each miner finished his shift with a personal search. Yet stones still slipped into the black market.
“I have a two-year contract with Anaconda,” Chuluun said finally. “Then I can prospect on my own.”
“Yes, yes.” Bataar nodded, as though he had heard it all before. He looked into Chuluun’s eyes. “You have been here a short time. Have you asked how many of these men have survived two full years in the mines? Or how many had to extend their contract to three years or five?”
“Extend their contracts? Why?”
“You were told about the company store.”
“Yes, for more food, or a small heater...clothes. We can buy little things. Why?”
“You want more than a blanket and this lousy food, then you will spend money faster than you earn it. And for those who die in the mines, Anaconda just replaces them. The company doesn’t have to pay them off. They just bring in more transportees.
Chuluun studied the old man. Everything he had just been told fit all the travails of life Chuluun had ever known. Yet he was still glad to be here. He could live without even simple luxuries. Still young and healthy, he believed he could handle the heavy labor. In Dongbei, he and his ray of light had no chance of a new life. He still believed, on this strange, cold planet, that he could find a shimmer stone.
“What if you didn’t have to wait for your freedom?”
Chuluun wondered if Bataar was a company spy. Their job was to find and report troublemakers. Then again, Chuluun’s ignorance cut both ways. If he could reduce that two-year wait, he would. Any exit from the mines would be welcome, and freeing Tuya from the mines would be a special gift to her.
“Was your father a miner in Dongbei?” Bataar asked.
“Yes, he was.”
“And he died in the mines?”
Chuluun looked away. “Lung disease.”
“You have seen what the mines can do. Many die in the mines and leave nothing for their loved ones. On Earth, Anaconda sells hope to the hopeless to bring in recruits. But Haven’s mines are worse than any you have ever seen.”
Chuluun had observed that already. Back home, he had seen men and women worn down by the mines. The more time he had spent in the rough, narrow tunnels, the more he had loved the freedom of riding a strong horse along the grasslands under an open sky. “People work the mines to survive.”
“Plainly spoken. Because I have talked with many people, I know you are no company spy. And because I know women who have spoken to Tuya.” He waited, knowing the shock effect this would have.
Chuluun straightened, his pulse pounding. “Is she all right?”
“My friends protect her. She misses you. I learned about you two by talking to others. You are both liked and respected.”
The favor Chuluun had intended to ask was for Bataar to learn something about Tuya. With their long daily hours, he had not been able to see her before lockdown in the flimsy wooden barracks each night. Bataar, in his way, had already given him this favor.
“You have been very kind,” Chuluun said respectfully. “I would like to know why.”
“If you had asked me this too soon, I would have talked in circles. But now I’m ready. So answer my question.”
Chuluun understood. He had not answered Bataar’s question about early freedom. “If I could leave Anaconda early, I could prospect on my own right away.”
“What if you lived by the old ways of our people?”
“Old ways?”
“Even before your ship left Earth, I heard it was coming. I’ve been making plans and deals ever since. And I’ve been looking for a leader. You are young and energetic. You have the skills. Now you must lead us to freedom.”
“Lead?” Chuluun demanded. “I just got here. Are you insane?”
“Insane? Yes, maybe. Or just old.” Bataar hunched forward. He pulled a steel box from his shirt, hanging on a heavy chain around his neck. It was big for something hanging around his neck; it more than filled his fist. He waved Chuluun even closer.
Chuluun bent down. When Bataar opened the steel box a tiny crack, he revealed a shimmer stone larger than a hen’s egg. Chuluun drew in a breath of amazement.
“Don’t a
sk,” Bataar whispered. “I have been here a long time. I know many people and I know how to barter favors. I first came to Haven as a CoDominium officer. That’s all you need to know.”
For Bataar to show the shimmer stone to Chuluun was an act of trust beyond comprehension. It made Bataar wealthy beyond belief, yet he just carried it around his neck. Chuluun knew many of the men here would kill them both right now for the stone. He himself was not such a man, and maybe Bataar had judged that for himself.
The stone seemed to pulse in its own rhythm, picking up hints of color and light. Only a real shimmer stone could pulse.
“Everything is ready,” Bataar whispered in his ear. “I’ve been looking only for the right person to lead. A few other Mongols have come here from time to time. Some work in town, not the mines. I have sought out all of them. I have spread the word among the new arrivals and many will go. But this is a rabble. We have different ethnicities here. In the mines, no one cares. On the steppes to the north, they will become one tribe, a new tribe, that will exist only on Haven.”
“A breakout?” Chuluun could barely speak. “Anaconda’s men will track us down. How could we escape? Where would we go?”
The stone seemed to swell and recede as it pulsed. For him, its hypnotic effect stopped time. He simply stared.
“I love our people,” whispered Bataar. “Yet how many of them labor all their lives for nothing? Life deserves the freedom of the steppe. Is this stone your dream? Many dream of it. Most will die without coming close. But you will lead our people to the steppes to the north, where each day they live in the open air will be a gem. Then this stone will be yours.”
Lead them, Chuluun thought, and the stone will be his.
“This rabble must rally around a man who cannot be a company spy. A man they already know. A young man who knows the old ways will lead. You will lead.”
War World: Discovery Page 40
