“Thank you, Marie. Well done. Let me have a few minutes and I’ll send a message to Mr. Peilov to see if he wants to meet and talk about matters.”
“Yes, sir, and Terry says he thinks Peilov and his family are Jewish.”
That Pete already knew, but he just nodded. “Thank you. Good to know.” I’d better ask Fr. Mou about what that means.
Pete Babenburg’s note made Basil Peilov frown. “Is he with the Company?” she asked after she, Tildie, and Kos had retired to their rooms.
“No, he’s the head of Vindobona’s city government and runs the water system here. He’s an engineer of some kind,” Kos assured her. “That trader that came through just before the weather turned told David, Itzak, and I about him. He’s trustworthy.” He petted her hand. “I think all three of us will meet with them tomorrow, after Tildie finishes her shopping and we look at some more horses. I don’t want draft horses for us, but something more all-around.”
Basil nodded emphatically as she brushed out her hair. “Oh mercy no. Those eat so much! They’re great for some things, but you can’t ride them, or use them for pack animals, and I don’t think anyone shorter than I am could harness and groom them.”
“Not without needing a ladder,” Kos chuckled. “And there’s some shahmas I’d like you to check. They look woolier than ours, if that makes sense.”
She smiled. “Maybe they’re just cleaned and brushed for show.” She’d had no idea how much dirt and sticks a sheep or shahma could carry around until the first time she’d helped with shearing. Ugh! Too bad it’s against Torah to sell unwashed fleeces by the pound. They’d have made their fortune and then some.
Kos took her hand again and drew her closer. “Speaking of cleaned and brushed, you look very nice this evening.”
She smiled in turn and embraced him. Tildie didn’t want Kos’s attentions, since she didn’t care to get pregnant this month, and had all but shoved Basil into Kos’s arms when Basil had asked if the older woman minded having a room to herself. Basil began unbuttoning her husband’s vest and he got the hint.
The next morning Tildie went marketing. Karina had sent them with a long list, about half of which Tildie, Kos, and Basil had decided against on the way to the city. Now, Tildie set out with the remaining list, loaded for bear. Kos and Basil inspected general workhorses and shahma, along with some sheep that Basil liked, until their owner explained, “And of course you’ll keep them in a covered pen or barn. And you need to use nothing but electric clippers on them.” He’d pushed the thick, soft fleece apart and shown the animals’ wrinkly, loose skin. “Hand clippers just tear them up.”
Basil suspected it had more to do with incompetent shearers, but she couldn’t imagine buying animals that needed to be kept indoors all their lives. Maybe rent one of the rams and cross breed, she thought, but not a flock of the purebred beasts, unless they’re not really as fragile as the man thinks. Kos agreed, and told the man that they’d have to think about it, but that they might buy a ram from him. The shahma looked much better than the ones they had at Crownpoint, and Kos bought two males and five females, to collect at a half-way point later in spring. The man grazed his flocks on city land in the western end of the hills, so it wouldn’t be a hard trip, and Kos could find him easily. They recorded the transaction with the beast market master, so they could have a neutral judge if something went wrong later on.
They met Tildie an hour after noon. Tired but triumphant, she announced, “I found everything but one, and that one I have instructions on how to make ourselves. The turner had sold out of his last pair of knitting needles, but he has instructions and I bought a set. He also has plans for a spinning wheel, and a list of materials, along with plans for a big loom.”
Kos nodded. “And you got the leather?”
“Some. They didn’t have the top quality, but what I found will serve.”
“Good. Let’s go meet with this Babenburg fellow and see what he wants,” Kos announced, taking Tildie’s arm and leading the way. Basil followed, watching people and shops both. Her first impression hadn’t been quite correct, she decided. There was more to buy, but not that much more than on Peilov’s lands and Donatello Bend. The shops did sell more tech-made goods and heavy things like cooking pots and big clay things. Basil lusted after the metal-toothed brushes she saw in one window, to use as carding combs, and decided to ask Kos if she could get a few after they finished meeting with Babenburg. I wonder what he wants? Unless it is news and information about the roads and crops—that would make sense.
The administrative building gave her the shivers, sparking too many memories of dealing with Company personnel and their threats. At the summer solstice, just after the last computer link with ColLandPlat failed completely, she, Kos, Karina, and Tildie had built a bonfire and had burned Basil’s indenture papers. She’d been scared at first, then had danced with wild joy, drunk on the idea of freedom from the Company. It was her own personal Passover and Purim rolled into one. The administrative building brought back her fear of the Company, even though she knew Colonial Plantation LTD no longer had any say in who managed Vindobona. A man in a dark blue coat waved them through a gate and pointed to a doorway. “Through there, Mr. Peilov, and a young lady in blue will show you to the meeting room.”
Tildie whispered something to her husband, and their guide showed them the restrooms first, so they could freshen up. “I wonder if they have electric laundry machines,” Basil mused as she washed her hands.
“Probably, but for how much longer?” Tildie asked, echoing Basil’s earlier thoughts.
The rejoined Kos and their guide. The young woman led the trio to a set of pale-colored double doors, knocked, and opened one side. “Mr. Babenburg,” she explained. Basil followed Kos and Tildie into a large room with a big table in the middle. The pale blue walls and white trim contrasted with the dark wood, and Basil stopped to admire the painting of the hills west of the city. She’d never seen a real painting before. She turned around when she heard, “Good afternoon. I’m Pete Babenburg, the mayor of Vindobona.”
“Kos Peilov,” Kos said, shaking the extended hand. “My wife Matilda and my wife Susannah.” Basil nodded when her name was called.
“I’m Cynthia Babenburg, Pete’s wife,” a middle-aged woman replied.
“My better half,” Pete said with a smile. Basil felt better about things. “The broad gentleman lurking in the corner is Arturo Montoya. He and his wife Ann are in charge of security. Gerald White over there,” and Basil noted the drably-dressed, greying man with a bandaged hand, “is in charge of municipal utilities with Don McInich, who is currently up to his elbows in a technical difficulty.” Pete pointed to another woman, with very dark eyes and skin. “Andrea Okofor, our personnel specialist. You’ve met Terry, who handles commerce and the non-criminal courts.”
“My wife sends her regrets,” Gerald White told Tildie. “She’s trying to bring order to the school plan without grossly offending anyone or throwing any other committee members into the river.”
Cynthia smiled, laughing a little. “Why not? It might get some sense into them.”
“That’s the problem,” Gerald explained with a nod to Kos. “Apprenticeships are too sensible. They want computer courses and holo teachers. And no more learning animal husbandry.”
Basil and Kos laughed a little. “Sorry,” he explained. “Family joke.”
“Please, sit if you would like,” Pete invited. Kos, Basil, and Tildie did, and Cynthia and Ann settled next to the other women. “I’ll try to be brief, Mr. Peilov. You are the closest thing to a government west of the hills. We—that is, the city—is the closest thing to a functioning government east of them. I’d like to stay friendly and to work out some kind of mutual recognition and possible mutual assistance agreement, if possible. Not now,” Pete assured Kos, “but over the next year or so.”
Art Montoya and his wife nodded their agreement. “We’ve withstood an army of rabble, but now that people from the edge of the
hills and the other side of the river are looking to the city for leadership and assistance, we thought we’d better get on good terms with our neighbors.”
Kos tipped his head to the side, considering the men’s words. “I am all for being friendly, and for keeping trade and exchange open between my family’s properties and Donatello Bend area, and here. But beyond that I’m not inclined to rush into anything. We don’t need much from you at the moment.”
Pete nodded. He wasn’t surprised, although he was a little disappointed. “If you have enough surplus goods to be able to trade, then I don’t think you’d be eager to rush into anything. But as things stabilize, assuming they do, it would be good to have some communication channels and connections in place, should you need us or we need you.”
“Our tech advantage won’t last forever,” Gerald said. “Not all of it,” he corrected after Pete glared at him.
“But you, and we,” Art added, pointing to Pete, “have established pockets of stability. If we can connect those pockets and reinforce each other, should more trouble come, God forbid, then a lot of people will be better off. And the stronger we are, the less likely other people are to act stupidly.”
“That I can agree with,” Kos said. “We’ve fought off raiders twice already. I assume that means the cities are as bad as rumor had it.”
“If you mean the cities have collapsed completely and in some cases the survivors are fighting each other for the scraps, yes. One of our goals is to expand settlement out, like you have, and like is going on south of here at Starheart. That way we can start filling in the gaps, so it’s harder to sneak an army of any kind, rabble or otherwise, into the area.” Art rubbed his nose.
Ann added, “We’re not worrying about extraterrestrial attacks any more. The Gormies can’t find us, and without space traffic and transmissions, we’re a lot less tempting to anyone else. And there’s not a hell of a lot we could do to fight them off, when it comes down to it. It’s the local hostiles we need to worry about.”
Pete noticed Kos’s younger wife biting her lip. Bad memories?
She spoke. “Are . . . are you going to settle the areas with indentured workers?”
“Oh hell no,” Cynthia snapped. “Pardon my language, but no more indentures. Apprenticeships yes, and mutual obligation contracts, but no more damned indentures. Half of them weren’t any better than slave labor. And no more sub-setts, either.” She declared, “We can’t afford it, and it’s not fair to anyone. Everyone has a skill or a way to help, and if you want to improve yourself, then more power to you—and the city won’t stand in your way. Unless you want to do it by liberating your neighbor’s property, that is.”
Kos gave Pete a sympathetic look. “I hope your wife doesn’t meet my senior wife,” he half-whispered. “They’d take over the planet.”
“Or kill each other,” Matilda Peilov muttered under her breath. Susannah Peilov tried to cover a smile with one hand and failed.
An hour later, after a light meal of vegetables, eggs, and other non-meat things, the Peilovs departed. Pete leaned back in his chair. “I never want to play cribbage against him,” he stated.
“And I won’t let my wife play him. They’d end up owning the entire city.” Gerald rolled his shoulders and neck. “He keeps his cards close.”
“Don’t blame him.” Art folded his arms and sat back, rotating the chair left and right. “He’s pretty well set and he doesn’t know us well enough to trust us yet. And vice versa. We’ll make good allies, but if I were him, I wouldn’t want to go any farther than that for now.”
“And I want to learn more about Matilda’s cooking. She and the others divided the entire place up. Karina, the senior wife, does general administration of the household, Matilda handles food, and Susannah looks after the animals and makes thread and cloth and so on.” Cynthia shook her head. “I’m not sure it would work for everyone, but they manage. Oh, and Susannah’s a former indenture, from Deepak’s Planet. She’s a veterinary technician and agro-engineer as well as everything else.”
Pete felt his eyes bulging and Art whistled. “Damn. No wonder Kos was so interested in the livestock.”
“And in the water supply,” Cynthia added. “They fortified a year and a bit ago, after the first attack. Half of his people won’t fight. They’re Mennonites.” Art and Ann groaned, but quietly. Pete didn’t blink, just nodded.
“So we have an unofficial agreement with the leader of the next largest community for mutual recognition and free trade,” Pete announced. “I’ll call that a win.”
Gerald smiled, showing all his teeth. “You realize you’ve become a diplomat, don’t you?”
The door opened and Prof. Starhemberg limped in. He looked around. “Aw, fug. Did I miss them?”
“Yes, but we negotiated a treaty of mutual recognition without any great difficulties,” Pete repeated.
Martin sat in one of the now-empty chairs. “Drat. I wanted to be where I could see history, not just teach it.”
Art growled, “We’ve been living through quite enough history as it is, thank you, Sar Major.”
“Funny, that’s what Helga said this morning,” Martin replied, undeterred. “That woman has no sense of adventure.”
Pete studied the men and women in the room. Three former Space Marines, one of them an academic as well, and probably touched in the head. One civil engineer with delusions of managerial skill, one civil engineer who has taken on the Sisters as a project, and one woman who still loves me despite everything. What a strange way to start a government.
“Speaking of women with sense,” Art leaned forward. “Have the Sisters settled in?”
Gerald nodded. “Wolfgang could tell you more, since he’s been working with Fr. Mou to help them organize everything, but yes. They are helping with the new church, maintenance and hospitality and such, as well as nursing and looking after orphans and foundlings. A few stormed off and set up a craftwork shop to support themselves, and two have gotten married, but some widows joined the group. They are a bit like the old Catholic nuns, except they don’t have a pope to pledge obedience to. They really fill a niche as far as social work, with a lot more common sense than the old Company people had.”
Cynthia and Ann both grew sober. “Now is not the time to discuss it, but we need to be thinking about children and families. We barely have enough people to keep things running as it is,” Ann sighed.
Cynthia wagged her finger. “And multiple wives is not the answer, Peter Thomas Babenburg!”
Pete tried to look innocent. Martin saved him. “You know, in some cultures, situational polygamy did help boost populations as well as providing basic social stability until the short-term crisis passed,” he began, sounding as if he were about to lecture. “Polyandry also has some advantages, although not necessarily in this situation, given the social constraints at play and the basic limitations of human reproduction.” He paused to inhale and Ann interrupted him.
“Oh no you don’t,” she growled, Cynthia nodding in firm agreement. “No lectures, and we’ll tell Helga if you start advocating for second and third wives.”
Pete, Art, and Gerald all eased away from the women. You started it, Martin, you deal with it. Female of the species and all that. I’m not a genius, but even I know when to run.
Martin had his hands up and a befuddled look on his face when the other men abandoned him to his fate. “Ladies, I assure you that I have no intention of recommending polygamy as public policy,” they heard as the door closed silently behind them.
Gerald nudged Art. “I though Marines never abandoned their own.”
“We also try to avoid lost causes, especially self-inflicted ones,” Art reminded him.
Four years later, as the spring rise receded, Pete watched Art and Ann as they finished packing. “I admire your determination, but I question your sanity.”
Ann wiped a little sweat and nodded. “If it weren’t for the youngsters, I’d question our sanity as well. But they need a few m
ature role models.”
“So why are you taking Art along?” Pete ducked as Art tossed a wadded-up cleaning rag at his head.
Pete knew the answer, as did Ann. Women needed men with them and not just for company and pleasure. The years since the Great Fires, as some people had started calling the aurora outbursts, had shown the truth of that. In a world where survival depended more and more on human and animal muscle, men had an advantage. Especially a man with a good wife, as Pete well knew.
“You know that Peilov’s daughter and her family are settling near the fort?”
“Are they? I’d heard they weren’t going to stay in town, but I didn’t know where they wanted to go.” Pete admired their ambition. He wondered if the connections between Peilovna, as people has started calling the western settlement, and Vindobona would be getting even closer, since they had so many children of similar ages. He certainly wasn’t going to push anything, but he wouldn’t stand in the way, even if Kos Peilov was a little strange. Well, he’s strange in ways that are useful and even beneficial, and he’s not shoving his ideas at anyone. Which is better than some. Fr. Mou had gone a little odd over the past year, taking up the idea that overdependence on technology could endanger the state of one’s soul and writing an ever-lengthening theological treatise about the auroras. He’d also gone into honorable retirement, cared for by the Sisters, and could be safely ignored.
“So, I notice you waited until the buildings were finished before you made you move official,” Pete half-asked Arturo.
Now grey haired, Art nodded. “I’m lazy. And old. Let the youngsters do the hard stuff—that’s what they’re for. And that boy Don and Wolfgang sponsored, Martin? He’s got an eye for fortifications and military geography. We decided to let him give it a shot, and he’s bloomed. I want to encourage that sort of talent.”
Fountains of Mercy Page 19
