“And even enslaving the farmers, or trying to. I’m told it was not successful and not to ask for details.” The woman’s haunted, half-dead eyes had told Pete more than he wanted to know. “Now I’m really glad to be in a rural backwater, even if it is a long trip to ColLandPlat and the fashion shops.”
“Quoting your wife, are you?” Ann sat back down. “So, assuming we are not attacked by anyone from outside the atmosphere—because if we are, we’re toast—will the cities turn in or out? Will they cannibalize themselves, reach the bottom, and start rebuilding, or will people abandon them and try to take over those of us who were blessed enough to have the strange combination of resources we needed to survive?” Her tone told Pete what her answer was.
She continued, “As of this morning, according to the messenger system, there’s fighting going on around Donaupas and the river-run dam, and over the larger dam upstream. Not sure what’s going to happen there, but we should have word in a day or two if the couriers get here.” They’d set up a series of riding relays for news and small, valuable supplies. The farmers like the news and possibility of medicines reaching them, and the city kept ahead of some goings on. And riders could travel when the heliograph and messenger birds couldn’t.
“Well, that could be interesting, since the river’s rising.” After the cool spring, the thaw had begun slowly, then cut loose, or so the reports had it. “Which reminds me, I need to talk to Alex and Fritz about their flood evacuation plans.” He stopped, “Oh, what was the rumor?”
Ann’s eyes went cold. “That Raymond Young managed to get himself made head of a bunch of the sub-sett survivors from up north and west, and is claiming that, since he represents the Company, everyone must follow his dictates ‘for the duration of the emergency’ or whatever the old wording used to be.” She added, “and he still hates you.”
“Thanks.” I think. Pete considered the rumor and discarded it. Young had never struck Pete as the surviving type.
Pete’s chance to talk to Alex and Fritz came the next day at a water board meeting. Well, more of an “everyone along the right-of-way talk about general matters” board meeting. Alex Danilov, now officially head of the farmers and others living in the community on the west side of the city, had brought Fritz Gunter, the vet tech who escaped with his wife from the sub-sett after the first riot. Fritz served as unofficial liaison between those born to the Heritage community and the newcomers. Gerald and Don were there, and Uhuru Lonkori, along with Tom Kirkland, since he dealt with the run of the river.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” Pete began. “The spring rise is on the way. Observers west of Donaupas say the river’s already out of the banks and carrying a good load of debris. The Donatello’s also up, enough so that it washed out the bridge between Peilov’s place and Donatello Bend.”
“She’s late,” Tom observed. “Late means mean—lots of debris, some good logs.” The shipwright loved salvaging the “free” timber from the river, and had given his apprentices enough scares in the process to cure them of almost any sin you could think of.
Don McAllan shifted in his seat. “I’ve got the backflow valves ready to close once it starts rising here, but I’m concerned about that new weir someone built, the one on a line with the ridge.”
Pete and Gerald compared notes. “Not one of us,” Pete said. “How big is it?”
“It extends ten meters from the edge of the floodplain into the river, is made of stone and wood, and will be the base of a gristmill,” Alex informed everyone. “What’s the problem?”
Don doodled a quick sketch on the scrap pad. “This: if enough debris piles up on it, it will start a backflow into the old riverbed, turning the ridge and high road into islands. And if it gives way, the mass will rip out Gerald’s bridge downstream and flood the city.”
Gerald wagged one hand back and forth. “It might not. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve. You’ll see it once the forms come down, which should be in two days, Lord willing.”
Pete trusted Gerald’s judgment, and opted to continue to the next topic. “OK, so the problems we face are the usual spring overflow, plus debris, plus the weir backing up water into the old valley,” he read off. “From the depth reports I read in the last bird message, we need to start emptying the cellars in the low parts of town, and Tom, you need to pull stuff up as well.” Grumpy faces met his announcement. “At least we’ll still have clean drinking water.”
“Will we? Can’t the stuff get into the holding basins as the groundwater level rises and contaminate them?” Don asked.
“No. They are triple lined, and we’re going to put extra watchers on the pipes, checking quality and adjusting inflow if needed.”
Uhuru waved his hand. “Back up there, chief. You mentioned messenger birds?”
“Messenger birds. It seems those obnoxious, messy, disgusting avian rats have a use. They are not just ‘pigeons,’ but homing pigeons. When the heliograph system is up and running, we can use that, but for gray weather or short distances, and things we’d just as soon not have every Don, Kos, and Martin reading, the birds work pretty damn well, as long as you’re not trying to deliver Arturo’s new manual of arms.”
Uhuru spread his hands twenty centimeters apart and raised one eyebrow. Tom shook his head and spread his own hands shoulder width, then winked. “It was shorter until the professor-sergeant-sir corrected and improved it.”
“So, my sewers are safe,” Don read off, “we have some time to get ready for high water, we may have water where water used to be but isn’t right now, and the usual places will flood. And it’s a good time to clean the cellars. Anything else?”
Pete took a deep breath. Damn, I wish Ann, Arturo, or the mad professor were here. “Yes. There’s fighting going on at Donaupas, and at the high bridge upstream. Art’s gone to get more information, and Martin Starhemberg is getting the city protection people organized, while his wife, Helga, who must be a saint, is talking to Alex’s people about stockpiling food here, in this building, and other places in case they need to move in with us.”
“We can get the livestock up into the hills if we need to, but it’s easier if our families are safe,” Alex explained.
Fritz nodded, brown eyes grim. “And we’re going to keep one example of all our most complicated or valuable tools here, in the walls, in the library, so if, God forbid, the center burns down, we have models to work from.”
“You’re making a knowledge ark,” Tom Kirkland exclaimed. “Brilliant!”
Uhuru nodded, his face more animated then Pete had seen in years. “That’s a fantastic idea. We’re safe, neutral, can defend ourselves, are out of the way, and have room to store materials as well as texts and ideas. Once things settle down, if the Company hasn’t come back yet, we’ll have the knowledge of how to keep going and rebuild what’s missing.”
“Great thinking, Pete!”
“Well done. That’s going to make things easier.”
“Excellent work.”
Pete felt his face flushing a little. “Um, thank you. We, that is Cynthia, Sheila White, Father Jan Mou, and I thought starting with the old place of worship would be a good depository, and we can expand as the need arises.” It was Mou, Arturo’s and Cynthia’s idea, but this isn’t the time to be correcting people. I need all the credit I can get.
“Anything else we need to discuss?” Gerald asked once everyone settled down.
“What to do if we are attacked.” Pete’s words hushed the meeting. “The city’s easy enough to defend. The bridge and the Heritage Center will be a challenge, depending on the size of the attacking force, how organized they are, and how much notice we get.”
“The bridge keepers will take care of my bridge,” Gerald smiled, leaning back in his chair, arms folded, radiating an air of confidence that made Pete jealous. “It is a very traditional design, with some traditional defensive features built in.”
Alex and Fritz looked less confident. “We will not fight. It is against our beliefs. We wil
l flee, and we will help those in need, but we cannot take up arms.”
I hope you never need to, Alex, but I pray we can find a way to keep you safe and out of the way.
Fritz gave Pete a weak grin. “The plan is to move all the mules and some of those strange shahma throwbacks to the front gate. That should be enough to encourage anyone to leave us alone.”
Those familiar with the animals in question chuckled. “I admit,” Don said, “I’d never believed in a fighting shahma until I met, what are you calling him?”
“Cuddles. My daughter named him Cuddles.” Fritz sighed, the deep, heartfelt sigh of a father dreading the future. “I fear for my sanity by the time she turns ten.”
Someone muttered, “Wait until she turns sixteen,” and some looks of commiseration turned Fritz’s direction.
“On that note, there’s no other business that I have,” Pete said. “I apologize for calling you all in this morning, but I wanted to get the news and rumors out of the way, in case we get really busy before the usual monthly meeting.”
“I needed to come in and look at sheds and pens,” Alex said.
“And I claim salvage on any timber in the river,” Tom announced, slapping his hand onto the table.
“So long as you don’t mess with bodies or try and hook a h’wale or other giant sea monster, I’m fine.” Gerald said.
“Ditto,” Don agreed. “Fish upstream of the sewage outfall and I wish you well.”
Arturo came back the next morning, as soon as the city gate opened. “Fucking hell, Donaupas is a mess and we’re going to have an even bigger one coming our way if those fools actually manage what they’re trying.”
Pete and Cynthia looked at Ann and Arturo. “Pause and reset to the first datafile, please,” Cynthia said, shuffling files on the lap-screen until she found a map. “You got to Donaupas,” she prompted.
“We did, and noticed that everyone else was going the other way, mostly due south, fleeing from the river and into the rough forest. And carrying anything they could pack or haul. Forewarned, Thao Nguen and I left the horses with Ann and snuck as close as we could to the old scenic overlook. Someone put a guard there, but he’d found something really interesting to drink by the time we reached him.” Art frowned. “Unprofessional and stupid, but useful for us.
“I’d say, based on what I’ve read about the old ways of capturing a city, the attackers had broken in and were sacking Donaupas. Buildings burning, people running, people hauling wagons piled with stuff out the north gate, totally unorganized looting. And other things.”
Arturo gave Cynthia a look that made Pete want to go kill something. Cynthia blanched and almost dropped the lap screen. “Other things?”
“The old laws of war, very old, before the Petroleum Age, allowed the winners of a siege a day’s free run in the captured city if they took it by storm. Free looting, no person or property was considered protected.”
Cynthia gasped, “Dear God, we’ve sunk so low?”
Ann shook her head. “No, they did. We won’t. Because we won’t let them get siege machines up close to the walls. Thank the Lord for a moat on two sides.”
“Woah, wait,” Pete protested. “Siege machines? Like the big robodiggers and energy blasters?” There’s nothing that can stop those. Our municipal generator’s not enough to power a shield of any kind, even if we slaved all the smaller generators together and found a way to project the shield.
“Not anything modern, thanks be,” Art corrected. “They have a really, really primitive but effective trebuchet and an arrow-thrower—uh, ballista the Sar Major calls them. Use rocks for ammo, machine’s made of leather or rubber, wood, metal, all right out of my first history of warfare book back at the academy. Which may be where they got the ideas from, because I do mean right out of the textbook. Give me some time and I can probably find the exact illustration and file code.”
Ann spoke up again, “Which is why we need to get everyone’s old books and manuals and store them in a central location. We’re going to lose so much that we need to know. No more keeping copies in people’s houses.”
We’re doing both, Pete thought at her, but kept quiet. “So, Donaupas is looted and probably being abandoned. Anything else up that way?”
“Oh yeah,” Ann snorted. “That higher dam upstream? Someone’s attacked it. With rockets of some kind, judging by the pock marks and cracks.”
Pete’s blood went cold. “Cracks?” Rockets? No one’s supposed to have rockets; that’s a violation of Comp—. Damn damn damn.
“Bunch of small ones, up at the top of the dam, like someone tried to blow a hole in it for giggles and failed.”
“Was any water coming out of the long tubes in the front of the dam?” That would relieve pressure in a controlled fashion.
Ann and Arturo both shrugged. “Not that we saw. Just the normal side flow that’s been there for two years or so.”
The spillways and penstocks are closed. The top’s been cracked and there’s high water coming. If it gives way . . . God save Donaupas because no one else can.
“So bad guys are sacking the next largest city upstream, and the dam’s liable to give way. Either way we have our hands full,” Arturo concluded. Under the table, Pete took Cynthia’s hand and they both nodded.
Well, Peter Babenburg thought, two weeks later, studying the water system’s master plan for the umpteenth time, we’ve finally got enough labor. I just wish to hell it hadn’t happened like this. Dear Lord, how I wish it hadn’t happened like this. The last of the refugees from around Donaupas and the villages downstream had trickled in that morning with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. They looked behind them with almost every step, as if afraid the very hounds of hell were on their tracks. No, just two-footed hellhounds, Peter sighed, rubbing tired eyes.
A meaty hand gripped his shoulder. “Easy there, Peter,” Arturo Montoya said. “Worry about the water and organizing supplies for the city. Let Ann, Martin, and I worry about defending the farms and everything else.”
Peter rubbed his eyes again, then ran his hand through thinning brown hair. “I am. Worried that is. We need a miracle.”
The former space marine colonel grinned, white teeth shining against dark tanned skin. “We’ve had one already, Pete. We got five years to get ready. Now it’s our turn to show our gratitude by doing the next bit ourselves, as best we can.”
He’s got a point, Pete told himself. Water and tunnels are your thing. Fighting is his. And Martin’s. And if you don’t get some sleep, you’ll nap through the next meeting and find yourself officially elected mayor or something equally horrible. “OK, I surrender. You keep the bad guys out and I’ll keep the clean water in.”
“Deal. Because I’ve seen what happens when you try to shoot. No offense but I’d be safer standing right in front of you than anywhere else.”
“Uh huh.” Pete straightened up and folded his arms. “And who was it that didn’t believe me when I said don’t drink from that spring, hmm? And how long did it take you to recover?” But that potassium nitrate in the water will help make your saltpeter a lot more powerful.
The angry growl answered his question. Pete slapped Arturo on the shoulder and left.
That evening after supper, he looked at Cynthia, her attention distracted by a sound from Pete Junior’s room. For this I will fight. And fight hard. And maybe, just maybe, if God blesses us, the river will fight as well.
The next morning Pete went over the plans one more time. The rabble, well no, he reminded himself, not rabble. The army of thugs and conscripts Raymond Young had formed around Basileus moved slowly and were easy to keep track of. Which may have been Raymond’s point, as Pete and Art thought about things. Prof-Sergeant Starhemburg chewed on his pipe and wondered if anyone read books anymore. “Of course we can find him, sir. This way the fear will get here first. They’ve sacked the strongest, best-located city on the Donau Novi. Even their walls couldn’t save them, nor being in the middle of the river. S
o of course Vindobona will be easy pickings.” Starhemburg shifted his pipe. “That no one thought to guard the high point overlooking Donaupas so the bad guys could lob everything in from above, and no one had thought to guard the water gates, are, of course, superfluous details that need not be considered.”
“That and the traitor who opened the gate from inside,” Pete added. The refugees had sworn that someone had helped Young’s people come in, and Ann and Arturo had believed them.
“An ancient and dishonorable tradition,” the NCO affirmed.
Arturo raised his hands. “Enough. We can write the after-action-report after we survive the action.” That generated some chuckles. “We have at most four days before the first parts of the army get here, according to the last courier report. Tomorrow we’ll stop sending out couriers, because I don’t want to give them hostages or warnings of what we’ve got.”
“Agreed. And we need to get all the battle horses inside the walls, while the last Heritage people finish driving their livestock into the hills.” Pete had been aghast at how many animals now crowded into the city, while even more streamed west-southwest, up into the broken lands and hidden pockets of the hills. “Most of their people and valuables are already here.” There’d been enough empty housing to accommodate them, if they doubled up. The farmers brought food for at least two weeks with them, and the security people had stockpiled fodder. Sanitation could get to be a problem, notably the disposal of animal waste, but it could always be dumped into the storm-water outflows if need be, provided the flooding didn’t cause a backup. Yet another reason not to drink from any river, Pete mused.
“If they stray off the high road, they’re going to make slow progress,” Martin observed. “The mud is ankle deep at least already, so those siege machines will bog. And bog badly.”
“So will their carts and any wagons or rovers. And they can’t all camp on the high road, can they?” Pete didn’t think so.
“Nope. They’ll fight over the right to. And they’ll loot the heritage farms terribly, especially the gardens and any poultry or those lagom things, the rabbit-guinea pig chimera.”
Fountains of Mercy Page 16
