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"It can be impressive to look at," Donovan admitted. "I don't think I'll ever
get used to them even after all the ones I've built."
"How many have you built?" Mildred asked.
"This is my ninth year as construction chief. Worked on the ones before, as
well.
Saw a lot of bad things happen. Personally I'd rather be out during the months
it takes to construct the dam, but I've got a knack for building the things."
Scanning up the dam, Ryan admitted that Donovan was speaking the truth. Even
though it was dammed, the stream leaked water between the timbers, spilling
twisting and lunging strings and sprays of water that splattered against the
flat surface of the cistern pool below.
"Still a couple weeks from having it full," Donovan said. "But we're getting
there."
"Pirates not come here?" Jak asked.
"No. This year they've come farther upriver than I'd ever expected. Area where
you found me gets real danger-ous. Lot of tributaries feed into the Jefferson,
bringing all kinds of scavenging material. Trouble is, the river's so forceful
at times in that area that it can send something through a boat. And you get a
lot of chop. The small watercraft the pirates use would break up when the
water's really rough."
"They've never been here?" Ryan asked.
"No. But they've never all been working with Barbarossa."
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"Who's Barbarossa?"
"Leader of the pirates," Donovan answered. "Until this spring, I'd never seen
so many pirates working together. I saw him today, though, and there was no
doubt
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"What changed things?"
"For the pirates? Barbarossa went after the pocket groups, started with a few
groups last spring from what I heard. Took them over, then proved it was worth
their time to stay with him. Evidently he's gotten even more aggres-sive about
consolidating the other water scavengers around here. Didn't expect what I ran
into today."
"He's got all those gasoline-powered craft," Ryan said. "Where's he getting
the fuel?"
"This is Montana territory," Donovan replied. "Got a lot of mineral resources
around here. You know where to look, you can find places where gasoline's been
stockpiled. A few other places manufacture their own. There's coal mines in
operation, too, and slavers operate those. This is a rough land."
"And the Chosen live here, too?"
"Some of them."
A SHANTYTOWN OF TENTS and semipermanent lean-tos crowded the narrow ledge on
the south side of the cistern. Few plants and trees grew along the stony soil
where the campsite was, and even fewer sprouted from the steep in-cline
leading to the mountains above.
Morse bawled out orders and cut the sails, aiming both boats into the pier
that extended out into the cistern.
"How deep's the water here?" Morse asked.
"Forty, fifty feet," Donovan replied. "There's been groups in here before,
drawn by the freshwater fish. They dredged the cistern during the hot season
when it sank low. Unfortunately they killed the fish they were here to live
off."
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"Wrecked the ecology," Mildred said.
"Yeah. Took years for the fish to come back, but they're here."
"Hot pipe, Dad," Dean shouted in obvious delight. "Come look at this." He
stood near the railing in
Junie's prow, looking down into the water.
Ryan joined him, peering down through the startlingly clear liquid. He
recognized the schools of trout, whitefish and grayling as they cut through
the water beneath the sail-boat.
"There's no shortage of game here," Donovan said. "Besides the fishing,
there's also moose, goat, elk, deer, bighorn sheep and antelope. You want
bird? You got your choice between pheasant, duck and grouse. One thing about
this cistern it attracts wildlife. A man doesn't go hungry unless he's too
lazy to go hunt it down or fish for it."
"How many people do you have here?"
"Probably about sixty. We lost seven men when the pi-rates boarded
Calypso
."
RYAN SAT ON an empty wooden barrel on the cistern ledge. The barrel had once
held nails but now only showed the signs of long use as a seat. He gazed out
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at the piers. Be-sides
Calypso
, there was one other sailcraft only a little larger than
Junie
. Then there were nearly a dozen outboard boats.
"We use the small boats for exploration and supply craft," Donovan explained.
"Carry gasoline for them on
Calypso and
Ariel
."
Ryan glanced at the top of the mountains ringing the canyon. The sun was
dipping below the western horizon. Outside the cistern, some of the light was
still visible, but in the bowl all light was gone and total darkness had
de-scended. Lighted torches ringed the area, creating bubbles of illumination
for the group.
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The dam workers had distanced themselves from Morse and the companions, but
Elmore circulated freely within them, telling all he knew.
Jak and Dean were down at the water's edge with their poles in hand. Despite
the tension of the situation, they'd been drawn to the fishing with the other
dam workers. Their efforts hadn't gone unrewarded.
"What a wonderful ambrosia!" Doc exclaimed, ap-proaching their group.
"You talking about the fish stew, Doc?" Donovan asked. Each one of the
campfires was festooned by a large stainless-steel pot hanging over the
flames.
"Yes, indeed."
Donovan snorted. "Not so wonderful after you've been eating it for months."
"Well, sir, I have not been given that opportunity. Nor, of late, for the
pan-fried bread I see in ample supply."
Grinning, Donovan said, "Feel free to help yourself. There's plenty here, and
the crew doesn't mind sharing."
Doc touched his hat. "Ryan, if I'm not needed here, I think I will sample what
there is to be had, in order to fill that growing hollow pit leaching at my
backbone. I shall, of course, be ever ready to stand at your side."
"Enjoy," Ryan said.
"I'm going to get Millie a plate myself," J.B. said. "Mebbe sit with Krysty
awhile to spell her."
Ryan nodded, waiting until J.B. stepped away. He'd been with the Armorer for
years, and J.B. knew how to make himself scarce, giving Ryan time to talk to
Donovan on his own.
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"Time for us to get down to the nut cutting," the one-eyed man stated. "What's
it going to take for you to help us with Krysty?"
"That's simple." Donovan spread his hands. "I want you to help me get that
chunk of
Shostakovich's Anvil back from the pirates."
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