"Chickens all gone?" she asked, trying to put him at ease. "Ages ago. Don't even think there are any eggs anywhere."
"Well, we've been farming rock squats awhile now so a supply of them is guaranteed."
"What's Botany like, huh?"
"Well, I suppose it's like this continent was before the White Man came. We got a coupla bad things-night crawlers." Even the thought of them made Kris's spine shiver. "And an avian beast about the size of a dive-bomber. But they've been quiet awhile. We got six-legged critters we call loo-cows, good eating, too, but they don't give milk. Say, anywhere we could trade for cinnamon or raisins?"
Jelco chuckled, raising his eyebrows like "you gotta be kidding?" before he shook his head. "Long gone. We could trade for spices if any were coming in. And if any were coming in, they'd be landed at New York." He gave a helpless little shrug. "We'd get some from the Waterfront Coord but we ain't had any. Raisins? Grapes come in the autumn, don't they? I remember my gran making grape jelly."
"A peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich," Kris sighed with nostalgia. "Now and then we get some peanuts up from the south, but we don't waste time making butter out of them."
She sighed again and then the truck pulled in front of the termi-nal and stopped.
Jelco got out and beckoned for Zainal and Kris to come with him, then issued a few low words to Murray to take the truck around to the BASS-1 to unload. Kris asked Eric for the last of the rock squats and any leftover rolls. Zainal hooked the straps of the depleted back-pack over his arm while Kris took the last flat of rock squats.
"Would the coord have had lunch already?" she asked as she bal-anced the flat carefully. Wouldn't do to tip good food into the dirt and debris on the once well-swept sidewalk.
There was a bit of a delay while the door guards vetted them, and since the female assigned to frisk her pinched her, Kris was not of a mood to reward her clumsiness with a roll.
"You get to go in the front way this rime," Jelco said and led them down a wide corridor.
She was surprised that most of the glass sides of the promenade were still intact, though several showed that the airport had not en- tirely escaped attack. There were a few bullet holes with cracks radi-ating out from the hit and some windows had been patched with duct tape. That was one item she had many requests for. How the world had run prior to its invention she didn't know. Not that she thought they should trade gold for it, but she might get an argument out of Herbie Bayes or Pete Snyder on that score. She smiled, and then they were swinging into the plush-carpeted executive area. This was well kept with even a few potted plants-of a high survival type-set about to give it a "decorated" look.
There was a busy inner office, with cell phones burping and buzzing, several PC stations and everyone busy. But not too busy to glance up and react to the sight of a Catteni being formally ushered in. Almost as if Zainal had taken a hint from her previous regal pose, he nodded to workers on either side of the walkway as they passed. A plaque on the door said VICE-PRESIDENT and below that a roughly printed sign read, DANIEL X. VITALI, COORDINATOR, NEWARK AIRPORT HQ. She took a firmer grip on the flat as Jelco tapped on the door. One of the secretaries, busy at her keyboard, looked up and jerked her head to indicate they should go right in.
The divine smell of coffeereal coffee, ground and dripped-as-sailed them as they entered. Dan Vitali, coordinator, looking no more rested than he had the previous evening, was pouring himself a cup. He greeted them genially, waving at the guests to help themselves at the coffee station.
"Real coffee," he said. "In your honor." He raised his cup in a toast. "Real food to go with it," Kris said, knowing how to make a drama out of this fortuitous entrance. "And bread."
"More of the stuff you passed out last night?" The green coordi-nator smiled with considerable pleasure, seating himself at the big desk amid a stack of paperwork and clipboards. Kris served him first, 'Eric passed around the pack of rolls, and Vitali's expression was in-credulous. "Real bread?"
"Fresh this morning," she said and served them to the half-dozen people in the room working at desks or waiting to present papers and letters to their commander.
"We eat, kids," Dan Vitali said, pushing his chair away from the desk and leaning back as he took his first bite of the roll, Kris was pleased to see him enjoy it.
"Oooh, that goes down easily, Kris Bjornsen, very easily. jelco says everything went well?"
"He's right and we can't thank you enough for setting everything up for us," Chuck said, pulling up a stool and sitting down. He found a blank piece of paper, carefully folded it into quarters, then placed his coffee cup on a corner of the desk.
"I hope you take it black," jelco was saying as he poured coffee into enough mugs to go around. "We ain't had creamer in ages." "We take it black," Kris said. "Unless you have some sugar?" "Packet?" jelco said, holding up several of the packets that used to be served in restaurants.
"One'll do me fine."
When she caught his eye going to the sagging backpack, she ges-tured for him to take another roll. He did and once he had served everyone coffee, he leaned against a map-filled table at one side of Vi-tali's desk.
Vitali was busy with his impromptu snack. He, too, licked his fin-gers, drying them on a towel that he took from a lower desk drawer and wiping his mouth as well.
"That was an unexpected dividend," he said, burping once. He looked up and suddenly everyone in the room save jelco found busi-ness that took them from the office. "Now," and he gestured to a sack on one end of his desk-a sack that bore the logo of a well-known pharmaceutical company, "I gotta deal pending I'm hoping you can help me with-since I know what humanitarians you are." His grin was devious. "You ain't got any restrictions on you about where you fly while you're in Earth's atmosphere, have you?"
"I don't believe so," Chuck said. "Though I might need a reason if I'm asked."
"Good! I didn't know if you had only an in-and-out license or not."
"I set it up to be able to get the stuff we need to trade with," Chuck said.
"Great! Now, that package is drugs, badly needed in Kenya." Chuck hmmmed diplomatically and glanced at Zainal to see if he understood. Zainal gave a quick nod.
"We don't have enough gasoline in any of our planes to make such a flight. How's your fuel situation?"
"Where do we have to go?"
"Like I said, Kenya. Outside Nairobi. If that ship of yours can do another short flight, it would help immensely if you could make a small detour to the west, to the Kiambu Ridge area-near the Great Rift Valley, to give you a landmark few could miss."
Kris's eyes went wide. Chuck knew what that place meant and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to listen more intently.
"It also happens to be one of the big coffee-producing areas of Africa. They do the robustas, if you know the difference. Kiambu Ridge coffees are the creme of the creme for full flavor. Use 'em to give more taste to lesser beans. I gotta deal going with the local coord that if I can get those medicines to him, he'll see I can fill my plane"-and now there was a decidedly wicked twinkle in the coord's eyes-"full of coffee beans. Roasted beans. Oh, we got a facility in Newark that roasts but they'd want their cut, too."
"Wow!" Kris said. Since Catteni had become addicted to coffee during their stay on Earth, to be able to trade roasted beans would mean they'd have a surefire commodity few Catteni would pass up. Maybe they could even set up a coffee bar to serve those dealing with Zainal and the others for more important items, like spare comm sat parts, tires, batteries, and what was the other thing so desperately needed? Spark plugs, she thought, but they wouldn't be at the top of the list.