Chapter 67
His audience fidgeted and whispered. Sonberg noticed that one of the policemen sported a black eye accompanied by an ugly greenish-grey bruise on his cheekbone. He knew how those injuries came around: that particular cop had tried to stop a fight which had erupted over the few cans of cat and dog food foolishly left on a self-service shelf by the store's owner.
Sonberg had called this meeting at the town hall because the food situation in town was becoming catastrophic. He had been getting more and more nasty glances from other people, partly because he was very fat, no doubt, a grave offense at a time when food was increasingly scarce. But quite independently of that, the mood in town was getting ugly, and there was a growing threat of unrest. Jokkmokk had received fifty thousand daily ration packs from a nearby army base, but that wasn't much for a town with over 10,000 inhabitants.
Stefan Sonberg was doing his best to find more food for his townsfolk. Jokkmokk had exactly eighteen working vehicles that were ancient enough not to have vehicle data transmitters installed. Sonberg ensured all eighteen were on the road night and day, trying to secure new supplies. They had very little success: everyone was h.o.a.rding food.
Sonberg knew that there were at least fifty big-scale h.o.a.rders in Jokkmokk. There was a law that allowed the authorities to requisition food from h.o.a.rders in times of crisis, such as war or a natural disaster of immense proportions. What had happened on the second day of January was clearly a natural disaster of immense proportions.
However, it was far from clear how to put the law into practice. Policemen balked at forcing their way into people's homes to conduct searches, and take away whatever excess food they had found. 'Excess' was defined as more than a month's supply.
Sonberg knew that several hundred households had already ran out of food. He'd seen them line up as early as six in the morning to collect their daily ration packs. Everyone without food was ent.i.tled to receive one ration pack every day.
The drone of Max Dahl's voice stopped suddenly, breaking Sonberg's reverie. He turned to look at his police chief. He expected Dahl to announce that he was done, and that mayor Stefan Sonberg would now make his closing remarks. But Dahl had a surprise up his sleeve.
"I would like to apologize to everyone in advance for keeping you here longer than was planned," he said. "Unfortunately, something big has come up. Big and urgent. So I would like to take this chance to discuss it right away."
He finally became aware of Sonberg's increasingly heavy stare, and glanced at the mayor. Sonberg said:
"If it's big and urgent... Please go on. The sooner we deal with it, the better."
"We have evidence that Sven Holm has established an illegal colony in the New World," Dahl said dramatically. "It has come to our knowledge that one of the cubes appeared on his farm. He has appropriated all of its contents, and he is using them to colonize the New World."
"And what do you propose, chief?" Sonberg said silkily. The town clerks in the audience flinched. They had all heard that tone in Sonberg's voice at one time or another. They knew what
Dahl didn't. He said:
"We must conduct a search of Holm's farm and confiscate anything related to the New World: implant kits and hiber beds along with whatever he's been receiving from over there. My sources tell me he's sending in food and goods from the New World."
"He's sending food?" Sonberg asked softly.
"Yes."
"I see. Let me ask you something: do you know how many people he's got staying at his farm?"
"Forty two," Max Dahl said confidently. "I know that it's a lot. I've checked, and in situations such as this I can request a.s.sistance from the military. I probably will. This will discourage Holm from resisting arrest."
"You're proposing to arrest Holm?" asked Sonberg.
"Of course."
"This is the biggest load of c.r.a.p I've heard in a long time," said Sonberg. He got up from his seat and barked at Dahl:
"Sit down. Sit down, d.a.m.n you!"
Dahl sat down, looking dazed. Sonbergh turned to the room and said:
"I want you all - our police chief included - to understand a few things. Vital things that, it seems, has escaped our well-meaning chief's attention."
"I - " started Dahl, rising from his seat.
"Sit down! Listen to me. Point one: Sven Holm is feeding over forty people on his farm. Point two: he's already importing food from the New World. Point three: he has registered a mint that actually promises to be a real operation. Point four: he will be here promptly on March first, purchasing at least a hundred colonial licenses."
"He told you that? And you believe him?" cried Dahl.
"Yes, he told me that. And I believe him. He wanted to reserve a thousand licenses. I told him it couldn't be done. The number of licenses I can issue cannot exceed the adult population within my jurisdiction. He practically got down on his knees when he was asking me for at least a hundred. He was ready to pay double the price, too."
"I'm still - "
"Good idea. Stay still and shut your mouth while you're at it. Holm has promised to supply the town with food, up to half the value of the coinage he mints concurrently. I forbid you to touch Sven Holm. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I do," Dahl said grimly. "Holm gets off scot-free, and on top of that he won't be paying tax on his mint."
Sonberg sighed and said:
"G.o.d give me strength."
He bent threateningly over Dahl, and added:
"You didn't get the most important part. He's going to be supplying the town with food."
At that very moment, not more than a couple of hundred paces from the town hall, Sven Holm was providing proof the mayor was right. He was handing a bag containing a couple of kilos of roast mutton to Oskar Blom, Jokkmokk's only jeweler.
"Thank you very, very much," Blom said, and meant it.
"Have you got the dies ready?"
"The hammer dies, yes. I haven't finished the casts, though. I need another week for these. You said they weren't a priority."
"I did nothing of the sort. I said the hammer dies were the top priority."
"And they are all ready for you. Won't you be just cutting and hammering the coins out for the first few weeks? You told me you haven't even built a proper smelter, yet."
"Look at me," Sven said heavily. "If I find out you're sneaking in other orders ahead of mine - "
"You won't! Making a hundred dies takes time! I'm working as fast as I can."
"How many have you got ready?"
""Around twenty."
"Let me see. Put them on the counter."
'They're in the safe."
"So go and get them."
While Blom was getting the dies, Sven examined the hammer dies he'd received. They resembled huge nails, with a cap for the hammer on one end and the coin die on the other. Each coin required two different dies, one for each of its sides. It was a very labor-intensive method of producing coinage, but it was the only method available to him at this time.
He needed to take a lot of money with him on his tour of the other Viking chapters. And he needed to leave some behind, too. He had already promised that everyone involved in his colonization effort would be paid both well and regularly. The official kickoff date was first of March, just a few days away. It looked as if he would be able to leave them no more than a couple of silver coins per head. Hopefully, given the terrible shortage of the new currency, those two silver coins would be enough to cover a month. After all, they were all getting food and board already.
Bloom came back with the dies he'd made for casting coins out of molten metal, and Sven discovered that the idiot had started with the ones meant for small denominations. There was only a single set of dies for casting ten-krona pieces! Sven felt compelled to say a couple of nasty things to the jeweler, and received the promise that all the remaining dies would be ready in five days' time instead of a week's.
"I'll be bringing a lamb leg," he told Oskar Blom. "If everything's ready, you get to eat it. If it isn't ready, I'll beat you to death with that leg. It's going to take a long time, and it will hurt. Got it?"
"All the dies will be ready. I promise," Blom said.
"Good. I might even bring a few eggs."
And with that Sven was gone, banging the door of the shop shut with unnecessary force. Oskar Blom watched him walk out. When he was sure Sven wasn't coming back, he allowed himself a chuckle.
"You're a smart man, Oskar," he said aloud.
He was right. He had all the dies ready. But had he given them all to Sven, he wouldn't be receiving a leg of lamb in five days' time.
And quite possibly, also a few eggs.
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