build up a solid, independent, local society with its own government and economy—”
“And army, y’mean?”
“That too. A society too strong for CoDo to squash and rule, no matter how many transportees they dump on us, or how many Marines they land. Do you understand now?”
Himself nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said. “Indeed I do.”
DeCastro’s coded message had received its reply within twenty minutes. Dickering over his fee, in exchange for those precious coordinates, had taken another hour. By the time the arrangements were finished, DeCastro was tired and hungry. A quick visit to his old establishment showed that it had been converted into a repair shop and he knew better than to try for Harp’s Sergeant. That meant strolling around Docktown for awhile, looking for a safe hostelry.
The town had changed remarkably in the past quarter-year and he had no idea where to search. The old waterfront had been cleaned up, was patrolled by a dismaying number of Harmony beadles, and there were no brawls or drunks on the streets. There were productive shops everywhere he looked. There were new warehouses, busy and well-filled, with an astonishing number of Harmony brethren delivering, buying and dickering, in peaceful equality with the settlers. There was a new building called the Starman’s Inn that was clearly a hotel, with restaurant, currently hosting what appeared to be nothing but local merchants and planet-sided marines.
DeCastro rented a room for the night and got a meal in the restaurant, but found the place too well-lit, quiet and clean to attract the sort of clientele who would be useful to him. For a lawless town, Castell City had become shockingly respectable. He couldn’t understand it.
What the hell has happened here? he wondered, while putting away a good-sized dinner of well-cooked lake fish, tasty vegetables and excellent beer. Perhaps I should go explore in the morning ….
One thing he knew for certain; there would be no clash between Docktown and the Church, not the sort that CoDo wanted. Castell and his minions had somehow made a—feh! Harmonious—working in peace with the settlers.
Disgusting!
Brodski put an end to the discussion by getting up and announcing that he had a bar to run. Himself and his bodyguard remembered that they had a ship to unload and departed with Makhno in tow. Van Damm likewise got up and strolled into the main room, ordered a beer at the bar and then—as soon as Himself had gone—slipped into a table in a back corner. After serving the next round of customers, Brodski came over and joined him.
“No fool, that Irishman,” Brodski said quietly. “I do wonder, though, where he gets all his information. The cargoes we’ve been getting from Hell’s-A-Comin’ are, well, surprising.”
“…As if he had access to all the original survey records, constantly updated,” Van Damm agreed. “He must have his own radio and possibly a computer. I have heard things from the other colonies about well-equipped labor organizers there and someone did organize the miners here ten years ago, so Haven is not unknown to them.”
“If so, it’s a guard-with-life secret.” Brodski shrugged. “Let him keep it, then. We’re getting along well enough with what we’ve got here.”
“My friend Heinrick has been recruiting among the landed Fleet-men, and the settlers, who can actually build radios.” Van Damm lifted his glass in appreciation. “It’s amazing what a glass-blower can do, given the right knowledge.”
“I could make a comment about the advantages of ‘Harmony’,” Brodski grinned.
“And I could comment about your silver-tongued ability to make Castell and his cronies see reason,” Van Damm acknowledged. “I would never have thought to see such unity between the miners, settlers and Harmonies. Jane’s plans bear fruit with astounding speed.”
“Uh-huh.” Brodski gave him a keen look. “So, what’s gonna happen to you, Vanny, when
“And army, y’mean?”
“That too. A society too strong for CoDo to squash and rule, no matter how many transportees they dump on us, or how many Marines they land. Do you understand now?”
Himself nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said. “Indeed I do.”
DeCastro’s coded message had received its reply within twenty minutes. Dickering over his fee, in exchange for those precious coordinates, had taken another hour. By the time the arrangements were finished, DeCastro was tired and hungry. A quick visit to his old establishment showed that it had been converted into a repair shop and he knew better than to try for Harp’s Sergeant. That meant strolling around Docktown for awhile, looking for a safe hostelry.
The town had changed remarkably in the past quarter-year and he had no idea where to search. The old waterfront had been cleaned up, was patrolled by a dismaying number of Harmony beadles, and there were no brawls or drunks on the streets. There were productive shops everywhere he looked. There were new warehouses, busy and well-filled, with an astonishing number of Harmony brethren delivering, buying and dickering, in peaceful equality with the settlers. There was a new building called the Starman’s Inn that was clearly a hotel, with restaurant, currently hosting what appeared to be nothing but local merchants and planet-sided marines.
DeCastro rented a room for the night and got a meal in the restaurant, but found the place too well-lit, quiet and clean to attract the sort of clientele who would be useful to him. For a lawless town, Castell City had become shockingly respectable. He couldn’t understand it.
What the hell has happened here? he wondered, while putting away a good-sized dinner of well-cooked lake fish, tasty vegetables and excellent beer. Perhaps I should go explore in the morning ….
One thing he knew for certain; there would be no clash between Docktown and the Church, not the sort that CoDo wanted. Castell and his minions had somehow made a—feh! Harmonious—working in peace with the settlers.
Disgusting!
Brodski put an end to the discussion by getting up and announcing that he had a bar to run. Himself and his bodyguard remembered that they had a ship to unload and departed with Makhno in tow. Van Damm likewise got up and strolled into the main room, ordered a beer at the bar and then—as soon as Himself had gone—slipped into a table in a back corner. After serving the next round of customers, Brodski came over and joined him.
“No fool, that Irishman,” Brodski said quietly. “I do wonder, though, where he gets all his information. The cargoes we’ve been getting from Hell’s-A-Comin’ are, well, surprising.”
“…As if he had access to all the original survey records, constantly updated,” Van Damm agreed. “He must have his own radio and possibly a computer. I have heard things from the other colonies about well-equipped labor organizers there and someone did organize the miners here ten years ago, so Haven is not unknown to them.”
“If so, it’s a guard-with-life secret.” Brodski shrugged. “Let him keep it, then. We’re getting along well enough with what we’ve got here.”
“My friend Heinrick has been recruiting among the landed Fleet-men, and the settlers, who can actually build radios.” Van Damm lifted his glass in appreciation. “It’s amazing what a glass-blower can do, given the right knowledge.”
“I could make a comment about the advantages of ‘Harmony’,” Brodski grinned.
“And I could comment about your silver-tongued ability to make Castell and his cronies see reason,” Van Damm acknowledged. “I would never have thought to see such unity between the miners, settlers and Harmonies. Jane’s plans bear fruit with astounding speed.”
“Uh-huh.” Brodski gave him a keen look. “So, what’s gonna happen to you, Vanny, when
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