William Dietz - The Seeds of Man

As Voss rode, the people on the road ahead of him hurried to pull over, merchants touched their hats, and overseers waved, all of which was to be expected. What wasn’t to be expected was the large group of slaves sitting around outside the cannery where they should have been hard at work.

A distraught overseer hurried out to meet him. Her name was Carnaby, and as Voss got down off his horse, she was already telling him about her problems. Voss listened as Carnaby led him inside the sprawling one-story structure. In truth it should have been called something other than a cannery, since canneries require cans, and nobody made them anymore. Or, if they did, it was in some other part of the country.

So glass jars were filled with beans, carrots, beets, asparagus, peas, onions, and the other vegetables his farms produced. Once the food was placed in the jars, they had to be immersed in boiling water, for up to ninety minutes in some cases. The problem was that rather than the electric power used in the past, Carnaby had been forced to rely on coal to boil the water. And coal was more difficult to work with.

So even though Voss would have preferred to be elsewhere dealing with matters of equal or even greater importance, he was forced to spend the next three hours working with Carnaby’s staff to get a recalcitrant boiler up and working again. By the time Voss mounted Odin for the ride home, he was tired and frustrated. The loss of electric power from the south was causing a multiplicity of problems, and they would have to be addressed. Soon.

A young man named Jonathan Appleby was waiting for Voss as he arrived home and entered his study. Appleby was tall, skinny, and dressed in what Voss thought of as city clothes. He had met the youth on previous occasions and knew him to be his mother’s administrative assistant. “Mrs. Voss said you might need some help,” Appleby said tactfully. “If so, I am to remain here for as long as you want me.”

Voss was anything but surprised, because even if his mother had surrendered day-to-day control of the family business to him, she had eyes and ears everywhere. Chances were that word of Trenton’s death had arrived at her house within an hour of the execution. So Appleby had been dispatched to fill the gap. Could Voss use him as one of the two assistants he planned to train? Possibly—realizing that Appleby was and would forever be linked to Voss’s mother. And that, come to think of it, could be her way of retaining some control. Regardless, Appleby would be a great help in the short run and Voss was happy to have him. “Excellent. Have a seat… I’ll try to bring you up to speed.”

“Thank you, sir,” the young man said politely. “But I took the liberty of moving into Trenton’s office. And thanks to the fact that he kept excellent records, I’m cognizant of what is going on.”

Voss smiled indulgently. Appleby was conceited, pompous, and ambitious. Someone to use but keep on a short chain. “Good. I’m all ears.”

It was a direct challenge and Appleby was ready. “I have three things to report, sir. First there is the matter of the city tax. I’m pleased to say that the mayor of Afton delivered twenty-five thousand rounds of mixed ammo today. It has been sorted, spot checked, and added to your reserves in the basement storage area.”

Voss lit a cigar. “Excellent. Would you like a smoke?”

Appleby wrinkled his nose. “No, thank you.”

“So,” Voss said lazily. “What’s the second item?”

“As you know, a man named Jeremy Kimble used to run a garbage mine over in Idaho Falls.”

“ Used to?”

“Yes, sir. It seems that Trenton had a spy inside Kimble’s operation, and when bandits attacked, he managed to escape. Mr. Kimble’s fate is unknown.”

Voss blew a stream of blue smoke out toward the middle of the room. “What, if anything, do we know about the bandits?”

“According to Trenton’s spy, they were led by a man who calls himself the Crow. And they were well armed. That’s about it.”

“ Crow! You’re sure?”

Appleby looked quizzical. “Yes, sir. That’s what the spy said.”

Voss nodded. It seemed that Sara’s brother was moving up in the world. Somehow, after botching the raid on the eastbound caravan, he had taken possession of a garbage mine. That would provide the bandit with a power base if he chose to take advantage of it. And one that was only a two- or three-day ride from Afton. Suddenly Voss had reason to celebrate his decision to keep Sara alive. She might be just the thing to keep Crow at bay while Voss dealt with more pressing issues. Like the need to send food convoys to eastern markets before winter set in. “All right,” Voss said. “That’s good to know. Very good indeed. And the final item?”

“I’m told you had a slave named Lora Larsy thrown into the hole. She’s been there for days now. If she’s still alive, what should we do with her?“

The truth was that Voss had been so consumed by the Trenton situation that Larsy had slipped his mind. What else had he forgotten? The possibility scared him. Focus, Voss told himself. Think about the seed vault. If such a place really exists, it would be very valuable indeed. Not just the seeds, but the nuclear power plant and the people who know how to run it. Can they duplicate the reactor? And construct one in Afton? That’s the real prize. But it wouldn’t do to reveal his plans to Appleton. Not yet anyway. “Oh, her ,” Voss said dismissively. “Yes, she’s been in the hole long enough. Have someone check on her. If she’s alive, let me know.”

Appleby said, “Yes, sir,” and left. Voss felt a growing sense of suspense while the young man was gone and pretended to read a crop report as Appleby reentered the room. “She’s alive, sir. But hungry, not to mention filthy.”

“All right,” Voss said as he put the report on his desk. “Have someone feed and hose her down. I will speak with her shortly. In the meantime, send for Mrs. Winters.”

A good fifteen minutes passed before Voss heard a knock on the door. He said, “Come,” and watched Winters waddle into the room. The overseer was one of the most repugnant creatures he had ever seen. It wasn’t her size so much as the doughy face, the piggy eyes, and the excessively servile manner. She curtsied in front of his desk. “You sent for me, lord?”

Voss forced a smile. “Yes, I did… You may recall that I had a member of your staff thrown into the hole.”

“That would be the Larsy bitch,” Winters said caustically. “If anyone deserved it, she did.”

“Exactly,” Voss agreed smoothly. “But as it happens, she may be in possession of some important information. I’ll be speaking with her soon, and if she proves to be recalcitrant, I would like to have some leverage.”

“Recal— what, sir?”

“Difficult. If she’s difficult.”

“Yes, sir. I take your meaning. Clara, sir. She likes Clara.”

“Clara the maid?”

“Not anymore, sir. She’s a seamstress now.”

“Okay, fine. Have Clara brought to Mr. Appleby’s office. She can wait there.”

Such was Winters’s knowledge of current events that she didn’t ask who Appleby was. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“And Mrs. Winters…”

“Sir?”

“Keep up the good work.”

The look of pleasure on Winters’s face was plain to see as she backed out of the room. She would, Voss felt certain, continue to be an asset.

It was nearly dark outside by the time the mercs brought Lora Larsy into the study. She was clean and dressed in fresh clothes but looked emaciated, not surprising after days without food. But Voss could see something else in her face too—something he didn’t like. And that was a look of grim determination. She’s a strong one, Voss thought. But I have the means to break her. Appleton followed the mercs into the room. “Slave Larsy, sir. Per your request.”