apparently
one of Rollie's least successful jokes on account of Grampa finding
out about it -- and for that matter, for taking such an interest in
his attempts to talk to the twins hanging around the small farm
market near the inner tollbooth to Ira Gabriel's blocks that
Rollie'd made it a threesome, leaving Yulie out of the mix entire,
claiming of course that he'd been misunderstood. And once he'd
made
that
connection . . .
Yah, that's how it was, often enough, Rollie
doing what he wanted and when, and now this, right out of Grampa's
dreams, traders coming here, big traders. Ships coming, lots of
ships. That was the change he'd been told, that the new big Boss,
Boss Conrad, was building the port up in part so he could bring in
the trade. And Rollie, he'd missed this good thing, pushing too
hard too soon. The road was open, now. Not so much of tariff at
each tollbooth, not so much hassle.
Yulie shivered again and heard a distant
complaint. It was likely the gray one. Some cats told time better
than he did. Yes, he was late, and some people around here kept
schedules, even if he didn't.
But he should. The strangers might be back
tomorrow, and besides, he needed to walk down to Melina Sherton's
and see if somebody would talk to him, assuming he could get that
far. He had tubers and late greens and cabbages that needed to go
to market, some way, and the folks down at the Boss Sherton's
stands understood that sometimes it took him awhile to get a
conversation going.
* * *
The news wasn't good, and it didn't come
until he was at Prime. Pat Rin was unfond of the Terran habits
which broke meals, though often as not here on Surebleak, necessity
was Necessity.
Cheever's nod pre-spoke a problem, and
though he needed no permission to sit at the evening's communal
table he seemed unsure…and then decisive, making his way directly
to the Boss.
Low voice, a touch of hand-talk -- a glance
to make sure his large person was between the room and his
words.
"The plot's tended, and the door's locked.
We called, but it was getting late, and Sherton's people were a
little unsure, on account of the guy's some strange, they say. Like
you figured, Sherton wants the thing cured proper beforehand, and
so does Boss Ira.
No use spooking him or annoying a good
neighbor. The road itself -- the thing is, I don't know how stuff
is going to fit together there, but it looks like a straight shot
from the tollbooth to the ditch. Road goes right there."
Pat Rin looked away, not angered, but
frustrated. On his left Natesa asked, "The door locked? How locked
-- could they have been inside?"
The big man shrugged, palms up.
"Wouldn't think so, catwise. Couple or three
right there, wanting us to let 'em in, kinda sleek. Some out cats
was around while we searched -- pretty much ignored us, but the
ones at the door, I'd say they were wanting someone to let 'em to
supper." He shrugged again, looked to the Boss.
"Should I have forced the door? Didn't seem
neighborly."
Pat Rin waved the hand-talk
Negative Negative
Negative
with a touch of impatience.
"Surely not, Mr. McFarland. I may already
have an aggrieved party on my hands; it clearly wouldn't do to give
him any other advantages in negotiation."
"My take, too." Cheever glanced meaningfully
toward his place at the table . . .
"Tomorrow, it should be done, even if it means I go out
myself.
The Passage
is in orbit and soon enough the logistics of the
landings will be organized. If need be, you can fly surveillance
for us."
Cheever cleared his throat, hard.
"There's more?"
"Boss, if you go, take somebody with you.
He's supposed to be a real fine rifle shot. Real fine. Boss Ira
says that, anyhow. Boss Melina says he's doing better now. Hasn't
fired on people for a couple, four years, far as anyone knows."
Pat Rin nodded.
"Would I could say the same, Pilot. Thank
you for your information."
* * *
Farming was like that, day comes after the night, sometimes
it rains and sometimes it don't. This time
one of Rollie's least successful jokes on account of Grampa finding
out about it -- and for that matter, for taking such an interest in
his attempts to talk to the twins hanging around the small farm
market near the inner tollbooth to Ira Gabriel's blocks that
Rollie'd made it a threesome, leaving Yulie out of the mix entire,
claiming of course that he'd been misunderstood. And once he'd
made
that
connection . . .
Yah, that's how it was, often enough, Rollie
doing what he wanted and when, and now this, right out of Grampa's
dreams, traders coming here, big traders. Ships coming, lots of
ships. That was the change he'd been told, that the new big Boss,
Boss Conrad, was building the port up in part so he could bring in
the trade. And Rollie, he'd missed this good thing, pushing too
hard too soon. The road was open, now. Not so much of tariff at
each tollbooth, not so much hassle.
Yulie shivered again and heard a distant
complaint. It was likely the gray one. Some cats told time better
than he did. Yes, he was late, and some people around here kept
schedules, even if he didn't.
But he should. The strangers might be back
tomorrow, and besides, he needed to walk down to Melina Sherton's
and see if somebody would talk to him, assuming he could get that
far. He had tubers and late greens and cabbages that needed to go
to market, some way, and the folks down at the Boss Sherton's
stands understood that sometimes it took him awhile to get a
conversation going.
* * *
The news wasn't good, and it didn't come
until he was at Prime. Pat Rin was unfond of the Terran habits
which broke meals, though often as not here on Surebleak, necessity
was Necessity.
Cheever's nod pre-spoke a problem, and
though he needed no permission to sit at the evening's communal
table he seemed unsure…and then decisive, making his way directly
to the Boss.
Low voice, a touch of hand-talk -- a glance
to make sure his large person was between the room and his
words.
"The plot's tended, and the door's locked.
We called, but it was getting late, and Sherton's people were a
little unsure, on account of the guy's some strange, they say. Like
you figured, Sherton wants the thing cured proper beforehand, and
so does Boss Ira.
No use spooking him or annoying a good
neighbor. The road itself -- the thing is, I don't know how stuff
is going to fit together there, but it looks like a straight shot
from the tollbooth to the ditch. Road goes right there."
Pat Rin looked away, not angered, but
frustrated. On his left Natesa asked, "The door locked? How locked
-- could they have been inside?"
The big man shrugged, palms up.
"Wouldn't think so, catwise. Couple or three
right there, wanting us to let 'em in, kinda sleek. Some out cats
was around while we searched -- pretty much ignored us, but the
ones at the door, I'd say they were wanting someone to let 'em to
supper." He shrugged again, looked to the Boss.
"Should I have forced the door? Didn't seem
neighborly."
Pat Rin waved the hand-talk
Negative Negative
Negative
with a touch of impatience.
"Surely not, Mr. McFarland. I may already
have an aggrieved party on my hands; it clearly wouldn't do to give
him any other advantages in negotiation."
"My take, too." Cheever glanced meaningfully
toward his place at the table . . .
"Tomorrow, it should be done, even if it means I go out
myself.
The Passage
is in orbit and soon enough the logistics of the
landings will be organized. If need be, you can fly surveillance
for us."
Cheever cleared his throat, hard.
"There's more?"
"Boss, if you go, take somebody with you.
He's supposed to be a real fine rifle shot. Real fine. Boss Ira
says that, anyhow. Boss Melina says he's doing better now. Hasn't
fired on people for a couple, four years, far as anyone knows."
Pat Rin nodded.
"Would I could say the same, Pilot. Thank
you for your information."
* * *
Farming was like that, day comes after the night, sometimes
it rains and sometimes it don't. This time
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