John blew out a breath and put down the gasket he was making. "Ours is not to reason why," he muttered, and followed Iron Horse to the edge of the valley where the lander crouched. "I don’t suppose you’d like to explain?" he asked, as they climbed inside.
"Look," said Danny, "I could do this myself, but I promise you it’ll be more fun if you help. Just suggest to Frans that this would be a very good time to have a nice little postprandial drink, okay?"
Frowning, John said, "But then he’ll tell Carlo—"
Danny grinned.
Lips compressed, John shook his head, but sat down in front of the console and raised the Giordano Bruno.
"Johnny!" Frans cried moments later, a shade too heartily. "How are things?"
"We, um, got your message, Frans," John said, not sure if Carlo was monitoring the conversation. "Sandoz is taking care of it." He coughed and looked up. Danny was making "Go on" motions. "Listen, Frans, have you tried any of that yasapa brandy yet?"
"How’d you find out about that?" Frans asked warily.
"Lucky guess. Had a taste yet?"
"No."
"Well, Danny Iron Horse thinks this might be a very good time to give it a try, okay?" John suggested. "Feel free to tell the boss what you think."
"Beauty," Danny said, when John signed off. "Now: wait ten minutes."
It took five.
"Nice to hear from you, Gianni," Carlo began affably. "I should like to speak to Iron Horse, if you please." John stood up and waved Danny into the console chair with a look that said, You’re on your own.
"Evening, Carlo," Danny said sociably, and waited.
"Business is business," Carlo said, by way of truncated explanation. "No hard feelings?"
"Hell, no. This is all going to shake out fine," Danny said confidently. "The question is, Do you want to discuss terms with me now? Or would you like to try your luck with Sofia Mendes again? I should mention that I’ve had a little talk with her, and she seems to feel you’ve misrepresented a few facts when you made that last deal with her. She sounded kind of pissed off." Countable seconds went by, marked by the gradual dawn of understanding that had begun to light up John Candotti’s face. "Or you could come on back down to Rakhat and deal directly with the Runa," Danny suggested helpfully, when Carlo failed to respond. "Just keep that anaphylaxis kit handy. Course, you’ll have to hope you can explain to some Runao how to use it, because we won’t be around to help you. Your call, ace."
The silence from the Bruno didn’t last long. "And your terms are?" Carlo asked with admirable dignity, given that he could probably hear the small, blissful noises John was making.
"You off-load all your trade goods here in the N’Jarr valley," Danny began, "and don’t try to bullshit me, because I’ve read the manifests. We keep the manned lander and all its fuel—"
"The lander cost a fortune!" Carlo protested.
"Yeah, but by the time you get back to Earth, that plane’ll be older than most second wives," Danny pointed out as John began to do a little victory dance featuring Italian gestures aimed at a position in the sky somewhere above the 32nd parallel. "Now, then," Danny continued, "our cut will be one hundred percent of the coffee trade, but we’ll broker the rest for you—"
"What guarantee do I have that you won’t keep the drone after I send the last shipment down?" Carlo asked suspiciously. "You could leave me with a half-empty hold."
"Which is exactly what you deserve, you miserable SOB," John sang joyously, wiping tears from his eyes.
"I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, ace," said Danny, stretching his long legs out luxuriously and settling in for what promised to be a very satisfying day’s work. "But if you think you can get a better deal from somebody else…"
Carlo didn’t, and negotiations began in earnest.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" EMILIO CRIED DAYS LATER, AS TIYAT AND KAJPIN shuffled off with Nico to find something to eat. "Danny, the reservations were a disaster for the Indians—"
"Sandoz, this is not the United States," the Canadian said firmly, "and we are not the BIA, and we have the benefit of hindsight—"
"And a reservation is better than extinction," Joseba pointed out with chilling accuracy. "I estimate that even an increase of ten additional deaths a year over present rates could kill the Jana’ata off in a couple of generations. If you have to choose between apartheid and genocide—"
"And Danny knows all the ways a reservation system can be awful," John started, "so he can—"
"Desperate measures for desperate times," Sean was saying. "And as much as I hate partition, it’s a way to stop the killin’. Gives people time to get over their grudges, or at least stop accumulating new ones—"
"Wait, wait, wait!" Emilio begged, his mind so fogged by fatigue that he found himself wishing they’d speak Spanish—a sure sign of exhaustion. Countless hours on a treadmill had prepared him to some extent for the month he had just spent on the road, but he was wrung out from seeing Sofia again, and hadn’t reckoned on being mobbed by men full of news and anxious for his approval the moment he came within sight. "All right," he said finally, deciding he could manage another few minutes of this. "Tell me again…?"
"I see this as politically independent territory," said Danny. "The Jana’ata are already isolated up here—it’s just a matter of getting the government in the south to formalize the situation! And Suukmel thinks this may be a workable solution. She’s convinced Shetri, and they’re off trying to get Athaansi’s faction on board."
Who the hell is Athaansi? Emilio wondered dully. He probably looked like shit, but then again, he always looked like shit, so nobody was attaching much significance to it. "Have you spoken to Sofia about this?"
"Of course!" said John, his happiness still barely containable. "We talked to her a few days ago. It’s not like we were sitting here sucking our thumbs while you were gone—"
"She said she’d float the idea," said Danny, "but it’ll be up to the Runa Parliament in Gayjur. It’s going to take time, but—"
"The problem right now," Joseba said, "is getting the word out so the VaN’Jarri know that the army’s turned back and it’s safe to come home. We should have set up some kind of signal for that, but nobody thought of it."
Nico arrived with two mess plates of food from the lander. "Don Emilio," he interjected quietly, "I think you should sit down. Are you hungry?" Sandoz shook his head at the question, but sat on a stool.
"— going to rebuild their numbers, they’ll need food," Joseba was saying, "and plenty of it, but that central plains region is a meat factory, and perhaps the Runa would be willing to provide game in exchange for coffee or something. Eventually we’ll find something new to domesticate." He didn’t even notice that he’d begun to think in terms of "we." "The Jana’ata think kha’ani could be bred to lay eggs all year round—"
"In the meantime," John said, "we go out and shoot something big every so often—"
"I can help with hunting," Nico offered, not fully understanding what was being discussed, but content to be of service to Don Emilio and the priests, now that Carlo was going to desert them.
"Ah, I’m sure y’could, Nico," Sean said, "but you and Sandoz’ll be goin’ home after all."
Nico’s mouth dropped open, and an expectant hush fell. Sandoz looked at Sean sharply, then stood and walked a few steps away. When he turned, his face was unreadable. "It’s a long walk back to Naples, Sean."
"Well, it would be, ace, but we already booked you passage home with Carlo," said Danny. "We got him to agree to wait a while before he goes back. You’ll be on the drone with the last shipment of trade goods from Rakhat."