"Our pleasure, I assure you," Vitali said. Then he gathered several of his officers around him and gave quick, low, confident orders. The men left to obey them.
Coffee and business finished, Zainal stood, ready to make delivery of the ingots, however much he may have wanted to hold such com-modities back to trade on Barevi. Kathy asked to bring John Wendell on board to look at the comm sat, which Zainal thought a good idea. "Fine-looking lads, Zainal. They yours?" Vitali asked, rising to his feet.
Zainal nodded and introduced his sons. Peran and Bazil made courteous bows and offered limp hands to the coord, who smiled be-nignly at them.
"Got one about the same age," Vitali said. "If you've got two on board for the trip, I've another I can lend you: my grandson. For the good of our relationship, of course."
"If we were returning directly to Botany, that would be a possi-bility, Coord Vitali, but we go on to Barevi, and that is not a place I would suggest a young Terran visit right now. My sons travel with us for tutoring there." Peran and Bazil regarded their father with such shock that Vitali grinned.
"I see." There was regret in Coord Vitali's voice but he concluded the visit with a firm handshake, and the two groups separated.
"A tutor, Father?" Peran began as they started back down the stairs to the ground level.
"A tutor, Peran," Zainal said so firmly that the boys bowed their heads in rueful acceptance.
"Oh, and Zainal, have no worries about your ship's safety while here on the ground," Vitali said, pausing in the doorway of the VIP suite. "We have an excellent perimeter security. Sleep well and soundly."
"We're obliged," Zainal said, winking at Chuck, who grinned back. There was no real chance that anyone could break into the KDM. She had good external security devices, too.
Chapter Eight
Once outside, a truck kept pace with them. As they neared the ship, Zainal opened the ship's comm unit to alert Gino of their return. The ramp was extended and Gino and the rest of the crew framed the open hatch as they watched the re turn of their crewmen. Kris noticed the pessimism on Zainal's face as he cycled the cargo holds to the one containing their metal ingots. He must have been wishing he hadn't said anything about having ores, but she felt paying for a convoy to safely acquire Eric's equipment was worth the swap. Botany did not produce much ore but the deposits were high quality. At least she thought the miners would object less to losing copper, zinc, tin, and lead even though in some instances those ores were far more useful than gold, silver, or platinum. Nevertheless, she could see how it pained Zainal to hand over the ingots and how eagerly Vitali's men received them.
Kris did not seek her bed yet. She was still absorbing the import of their interview with Vitali and other, less obvious information that she had gathered. Earth's victory was a hollow one, despite evidence of recovery. The rock squats had been worth their weight in any metal, and while they still had a few trays to spare, fresh bread might be useful to have on hand for goodwill and any unexpected "fees."
She hauled another sack of flour out of the supply locker and mixed up a triple batch of bread dough. It could rise overnight, have another quick rise as rolls, which would be easier to distribute than loaves, and be ready for their journey.
Kathy was still in heavy conference with John Wendell, who was almost drooling over the comm sat in the cargo hold. She was listen-ing avidly to his remarks, jotting down notes and looking all too bright-eyed, Kris thought, and not the least bit reserved.
Kris was grateful to fall asleep once she hit her bunk, and an-swered Zainal's sleepily muttered "Who's there?" with a kiss, which sent him back to sleep with a smile on his face. She hated to be roused by the alarm the next morning but rose and flicked it off before the noise woke him. It was fair. He often let her have an extra half hour. In the galley, she started the big oven and punched down the dough, deftly separating it into convenient rolls before she made the morn-ing's breakfast of boiled groats. She wondered if it would be hard to find cinnamon and maybe raisins somewhere in Manhattan. She had often longed for a Danish at breakfast.
It was the smell of baking bread that got folk out of their beds be-fore the official Klaxon sounded.
Everyone was dressed and ready when the security sensors beeped a proximity alert. Chuck greeted those who arrived in a battered pickup truck. He eyed the load bed but it looked long enough to hold Eric's equipment. He also tossed in a coil of rope on top of the two lift platforms, which he and Clime carefully loaded, ignoring ques-tions from the curious guards.
The truck had a wide front seat, which Zainal and Kris took. She was seated next to the driver, careful to keep her backpack full of rolls from being crushed against the battered dashboard. She was aware that the driver's pistol dug into her left hip and eased her buttocks slightly to the right. The smell of freshly baked bread vied with the smells of oil, diesel fuel, and unwashed bodies. As surreptitiously as possible, she held the pack closer to her nose. Then a final passenger wedging himself next to Zainal slammed her back into the driver's holster. The door was closed only because someone outside the truck gave it a good push.
"Sorry about the squeeze," the latecomer said, "but I'm Jelco, your official guide on this tour of New Manhattan." He nodded ami-ably at Zainal and Kris. "Driver's Murray. He don't talk much but he's a good driver. We were lucky to get him for this job. I believe he claims he knows every hole in every avenue and street in the city." Courteously Kris nodded to her left and was startled by a tooth-less grin. She wondered if he knew he was driving a dentist to his old office. She also wondered if he could enjoy the nice crunchy bread they had in their backpacks. Murray hadn't so much as glanced at the backpack she held in her lap but he must have smelled the bread because his nostrils flared every now and then and he had to lick his lips frequently. Salivating, possibly. The smell of fresh bread had its own magic.
"Dover and Wylee are our guards, case you wanted to know. Good men."
Which was what Kris hoped they would prove to be. "We'll have Kejas and Potts through the tunnel. They're actually the Midtown Coords men this week. They wear red bands." He pointed to the kelly green one on his upper arm. "We do a week on, a week off tunnel duty."
Zainal nodded.
There were very few people around as Murray drove slowly out of Newark Airport, its vast parking lots empty, except for a few burned-out autos. Then Murray pulled out onto a three-lane highway. Along the weedy verge of the highway, damaged bushes and trees were showing growth with new sprouts, and the occasional forsythia had some blooms. Shortly they turned again, off the turnpike onto the approach to the Lincoln Tunnel. Signs had been torn down but the wide highway, though pocked with gravel-filled holes, was empty ex-cept for their pickup and a cart full of what looked like potato sacks to Kris, laboriously drawn by two raggedly dressed men. The wheels were not pneumatic but wooden, rimmed by metal, and the axle squealed for lack of lubrication. Three small boys, walking behind the cart, eyed the truck. From the dirt on their faces, Kris wondered if they had dug the potatoes that were in the cart.
The New Jersey entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel had never been a prime residential area in its heyday and certainly looked wartorn now, the high sidewalls full of pockmarks. Other types of debris, probably from fighting to protect the tunnel approach, had been pushed to one side, leaving two lanes of the once six-lane approach clear, one on either side of the dividing parapet.
"Heavy fighting?" she asked, unnerved by the desolation, and needing to talk.