During rest stops, there were some mishaps as newcomers learned the dangers of plants like firegrass and pricklebushes. One of the guards bagged a cliff lion as it stalked the outskirts of their camp, and a few smaller animals were shot and found to be edible. There were a few fights, and arguments over assigned chores, but Miller noticed that the same spirit that had animated the group during their departure continued to dominate their moods. And he never would have thought he would enjoy sleeping on the ground, but found it a vast improvement over sleeping on the raft.
It was also a pleasure to get out and walk about. Haven was not a pretty planet, but here on the riverbanks, surrounded by trees and vegetation, it was almost pleasant, and Miller imagined the towns that might grow near these convenient landing spots in the coming years.
Twelve T-days out from Castell City, Miller was aboard Captain Doyle’s boat, lashed to the bow of Raft One. Suddenly, the steamboat that was scouting the river ahead of them started blowing its steam whistle over and over.
“Get those lines off,” barked Doyle. “Stoke her and get her as hot as you can.” He threw a lever forward, and the water behind the steamboat began to churn, the propeller cavitating, momentarily spinning too fast to be effective. Before long, they were moving quickly ahead.
The boat ahead of them began to list. “Must’ve hit a rock,” Doyle said to no one in particular.
The damaged steamboat began to settle in the water, and the screaming began. Because of the heavy iron boiler, it went down fast. The razor fish were obviously plentiful in these waters, and by the time the solemn boat crew was alongside the site of the incident, there were only stains of blood and soot in the water to mark its passing. The river had claimed four more victims.
It was exactly twenty T-days after their departure from Castell City when the rafts passed the Kennicott camp, and Deacon Miller and the others found their presence greeted by sullen stares from guards posted along the river. The occupants of the rude structures of the camp looked curiously at the passersby. Miller wondered how much information about this new venture that Kennicott had shared with their workers.
A half mile further down, a log palisade marked the CoDominium Marine detachment, its eagle, hammer and sickle flag flapping over a guard tower. There, the rafts got a wave and a sardonic salute from the corporal who climbed into the tower after being called by the sentry.
A freshly constructed dock was their first sign of the new town, and cheers broke out on the rafts. The remains of the ice boats were on the bank above the dock, and their bright sails had been converted into flags to greet the newcomers. For two dozen men, the advance party made a lot of noise, and they were answered by the roar of over a thousand in reply.
Before long, they had tied off, and the crowds eagerly left the rafts and flooded the shore with people. Mayor Naha climbed up on top of a crate, and made a speech, thanking any and everyone for their hard work. A work party piled other boxes around him, and he cried out so that all could hear. “As my first act in our new home, I am authorizing the issue to each man of two bottles. These will be used to store and carry water and other liquid refreshment. Don’t break them, because you’ll not get a replacement. Before we left, I made sure that each bottle was filled appropriately, with beer from Harp’s Pub, we kept them busy for weeks with the brewing. Slainte!”
This was greeted by a huge cheer, and a great party broke out. Music and song rang out from every corner of the camp. The party was conducted among the stringing of tents and the digging of latrines, and the only food was protein paste, but it was a party nonetheless. That beer trick had taken quite a commitment of resources, and a lot of deception and secrecy was required to ensure the beer would survive the trip. But if Mayor Naha could keep engineering pleasant surprises like this, his popularity could carry him through years in office.
Back in Castell City, Erica continued her liaison with Martin Peltz. The man offered her financial support for the information he wanted from her, and from their discussions, she began to see his intentions toward the new town. At this point, there wasn’t much he could do to stop the venture, so his aim was to harass their efforts, and do what he could to limit the impact they would have on the mining operation and their profit margin.
Their sexual relationship continued, and that she found extremely satisfying, to say the least. They both had a taste for rough sex, and took turns in the dominant role. After years of only enjoying playing the top, she found herself craving the bottom role, trembling and eager to please him. Although she did draw the line, and refuse to play the bottom whenever members of her staff were also part of the fun. She had an image to maintain, and didn’t want to undermine her authority.
Ineed to be careful with this relationship, she thought. Over time, I might forget
the boundaries between fun and business.
Two days after their arrival, Deacon Miller watched as a small group approached from the Kennicott camp. Miller recognized two of them, an older American woman named Marian, and a Latino woman named Lucinda. They were with three other men. One was a hunched and crippled man who walked painfully with a cane, who was introduced as Jack. The other two were introduced as Rocky and Kim, and helped Jack as he navigated the path. The two women brightened when they saw Miller, pleased to see someone they knew among the strangers.
The visitors were ushered into a tent with the planning committee, and were briefed on the new town, its purpose, and its goals.
“We thought that was what was going on,” Marian answered, “although Kennicott has done their level best to confuse things for us. And you say that new Marine contingent is here for us, not just to keep us in line? Will wonders never cease.”
“How have things been since I left?” Miller asked.
“Rough,” she said. “They’ve used everything except whips to keep us working hard, and every penny you make goes right back into the company store if you want to keep from starving and keep decent clothes on your back. We haven’t been able to organize, can’t have spokesmen, can’t gather in any groups at all except at the work sites. We do what we can to keep a cell structure going to pass the word, and cooperate where we can to make our lives easier.”
She paused for a minute, her voice catching. “Oh my God, we’re so glad you are here.”
The older man, Jack, began to weep quietly.
Marian went on. “You didn’t meet Jack last time you were here, did you Deacon Miller? He’s the union man, Jack Bronstein, who organized the strike that the Marines broke. The Company men tried to convince us to blame him for the strike, but Lucinda and I pulled him away from the mob and hid him from the Company. And I will never forget how Yolanda stood over him and fought off the others--no one better piss off Big Momma!”
Deacon Miller put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “In that case,” he said, “I guess we need to welcome him to Minerstown. May you find the harmony here that has eluded you in the past.”
“Harmony, eh?” replied Jack. “Used to think that life was all about conflict between folks that had nothing in common. But seeing where that has led me, I may give some thought to this Harmony stuff.”
Harry was excited to get the hell out of the barracks, and back to Castell City. The leaders had decided to bring six of the Deputies back in the steamboats, so they could enforce rules aboard the rafts. In addition to keeping order on the rafts, the extra weapons could help in protecting the emigrants during stops ashore.
Harry was sick of being crowded in with the other men and their body odors. He couldn’t admit it to the others, but the first few days after his whiskey had run out had been agonizing. He craved a drink so bad he could taste it. Those two beers when the rafts had arrived had only whetted his appetite, and reminded him of what he was missing.
And he craved women. It was all he dreamed of. He fantasized about screwing his way through every woman at Erica’s, saving her for dessert. He wondered how many women she would allow him when he returned. He had certai
nly given her what she had asked for and then some. He could see how valuable his presence in the town government would be for her and her enterprises in the future.
But most of all, he found himself having doubts and fears about what Erica thought of him, and what his place was in her life. He would have to have been a fool to miss the connection she had developed with Peltz. Harry hated to admit it, but it was clear that he needed her more than she needed him, and that rankled
him. He needed to see her to be sure she still cared about him.
When the time came for the steamboats to leave for Castell City, Mayor Naha and Jonnie Johnson stayed behind to lead the construction efforts, while Deacon Miller and Preacher Jackson boarded the steamboats for the trip back. They traveled with Captain Doyle, and it proved to be a delightful journey, with Doyle’s fiddle and Jackson’s voice to entertain them. A couple of deputies, Davis and Fischer also rode back with them. Miller learned more than a few new songs, many of them about redemption, and more than a few about rivers, which seemed to be a recurring image in both Jackson’s singing and preaching.
During one dimday, as the tree-lined riverbanks slid past them to either side, Miller was approached by one of the deputies, Harry Davis.
“So,” the man asked, “what got you transported to this hell-hole?” he asked.
“I didn’t get transported,” answered Deacon Miller, “I came with the New Harmony Church, as a voluntary emigrant.”
Harry looked at him in surprise. “Sorry if this question pisses you off, but just what do you see in that outfit? You seem like a pretty practical guy, and with all their mooning about, and strange songs, they seem like a pretty odd bunch.”
Miller seemed thoughtful, hesitant to answer, but he did. “I was abused as a child, and spent more time than I should have on my own, out on the street. A Harmony preacher took me in, got me out of the weather, gave me a life, and a purpose. They may not seem too worldly, but that’s the worlds problem, not theirs. It’s sad that the people who believe in peace, and love, and harmony are the ones that look like oddballs, and have to keep themselves walled up away from the world.”
With an edge in his voice, Miller continued. “And it’s a crime that those who believe in hatred, and cruelty, and wallow in vices, are the ones that walk the streets. But you know that. I saw your resume, I know you spent years as a cop back on Earth. Deacons and Beadles in the Harmony Church may have religious titles, but our duties have more than a little of the cop in them. Our business is not too different.”
Harry nodded. He thought about the street kids he had dealt with during his years on the force, and how so many of them gave into a life of vice and crime. He thought about the drive of those few he had met who climbed their way off the streets. The story explained the young Deacon’s intensity, and despite his practical nature, his devotion to the Church.
Harry thought back to the reasons he had become a cop. Then he thought about how far he had fallen from those ideals, and for a moment, he felt ashamed of what he had become. The Deacon had crawled out of a hole, while Harry had willingly crawled into one.
Davis wasn’t the only one who approached Miller for conversation. The Deacon and Preacher Jackson had more than a few theological discussions, with Jackson warning him that the Harmonies were growing a bit too comfortable with political power and CoDominium backing.
“The Creator,” Jackson said, “is no friend to tyranny, and those religions that traffic with power turn their backs on the people. I’m not criticizing your religion, heck, the Creator is so huge that none of us really has a corner on defining Him and his wishes. But in my mind, you’re not heading in the right direction in your methods, no matter how noble your goals are.”
These talks gave Miller much to think about. One day, he asked Jackson why he planned to stay in Minerstown among all the riff raff and sinners. “Where better to spread the word of the Lord,” the man replied, “than among those who ignore him?”
Miller remembered the Harmony Compound in Castell City, and wondered how long it had been since Charles Castell had left it. Surrounded by his acolytes and favorites, Miller wondered how much he really understood about the situation on Haven. Oh well, he thought, at least I’m doing something to make it better.
Erica met Harry with great enthusiasm when they returned. She plied him with whiskey, took him to her bed, and then set him up in a room with girl after girl, until he pleaded with them to stop coming. His time in Castell City went by in a happy haze of booze and lust. He began to regain confidence in his relationship with Erica, who seemed truly happy to see him, and eager for the time when both of them would end their journeys in the new town.
The night before he left, she pulled out a knapsack.
“This can’t go through inspection on the raft,” she said. “So since you won’t be searched, I need you to bring it aboard.” She gave him instructions on delivering it to one of the farmers when he arrived in Minerstown.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Better that you don’t know, my love,” she replied.
And because of all the attention she had given him, he was willing to trust that. She took him to bed, and when they were done, gave him a kiss goodbye. He picked up the bag and left.
Those poppy seeds, she thought, and the opium they produce, are going to create a major new revenue stream when we arrive down south.
The second trip, from a navigational standpoint, went even better than the first. The steamboat crews had begun to get the hang of pushing the ungainly rafts in the right direction. They brought back some outdoorsmen to teach the emigrants the ways of the wild, which kept more of them out of trouble during shore-side rest stops.
But this group was a more diverse group, with more townspeople, less miners, and more of the folks that chafed under Harmony rules, and who naturally rebelled against the regimentation required to spend time on a raft in cramped quarters. The two deputies per raft helped, but were nowhere near enough of a presence to maintain order. While the same spirit of excitable chaos permeated the group as it did on the first trip, chaos was still chaos.
Miller and Jackson found that much of their time was spent soothing hurt feelings and resolving arguments. The 100-person shop concept, which had proven effective for the first rafts, often broke down, and protests went to the highest level.
On the second day of the trip, Deacon Miller was summoned to a crying woman. The young man beside her was saying, “Why didn’t you tell me? You know you shouldn’t have come on this trip.”
“But I needed to get away from momma, I couldn’t let her know.”
It turned out she was pregnant, not showing too much, but eight months along, and whether anyone liked it or not, it was time. Up until now she had kept that pregnancy a secret, although Miller thought the boyfriend must be pretty dim not to have seen the signs. There was no doctor on the trip, none could be lured from Castell City, so they summoned the nurse practitioner who provided medical care.
Six brutal hours later, it was over. The girl’s cries had died down to a dull moaning. There was no cry from the baby--like so many on Haven, it was stillborn. Since the youngsters were Christian, Preacher Jackson offered them comfort, and presided over the burial the next time they pulled alongshore.
Deacon Miller found himself deeply troubled. Would the first generation on Haven also be the last? With so few children being born, how could a normal society be built? Was this a sign that their presence on Haven disturbed creation’s harmony, and was the planet itself trying to restore the balance? He hoped that someone would be able to solve the problem--this world was filled with too much pain, and this was the ultimate loss.
A few days later, Miller found himself called to a crying mother and daughter, and a sullen man held between a group of other men. To his horror, he soon realized that he was dealing with a case of molestation, that the man had attempted to rape the little girl while she and her mother lay sleeping.
Soon, he found
himself surrounded by an angry crowd, which was starting to get ugly. At some point, however, he was joined by Preacher Jackson, who worked with the crowd, and Captain Doyle, wearing a pistol and accompanied by Deputy Davis and two armed crewmembers. Doyle listened to the statements of the mother, the suspect, and then the little girl. He turned to Miller and said, “I’ve got this one,” and climbed up on a wooden box.
“As you know, as Captain of this vessel, I have the power to enforce discipline, and keep the peace. This man,” and here he pointed at the suspect, “has disturbed that peace, and while I don’t have the power to impose punishment, I do have the authority to remove him from this vessel, and put him ashore.”
Deacon Miller gasped. They were hundreds of kilometers away from the nearest civilization. This was virtually a death sentence. But then he thought about it some more. He had been a victim of some pretty vile treatment when he was young, and the scars of that treatment had followed him throughout his life. This was not the Harmony way, but it felt right. So he kept his mouth shut, and limited his involvement in the situation to ensuring the man left with a box of matches, a kitchen knife, and a blanket in addition to his other possessions.
The man did not go gracefully. He cried for mercy, and when there was none, howled with anger. He tried playing the victim, he tried logic, he tried threats--but to no avail. Doyle loaded him onto his steamboat, and drove him to shore. The man fought Deputy Davis and the crewmember when they dragged him ashore, and wrestled with them when they removed his bonds. Deacon Miller hardened his heart to the screams that slowly faded behind them.
When Doyle returned, he took Miller aside. “Someone had to play the heavy there, that was nothing to fool around with. If he had been around much longer, he would have been a victim to mob justice. And once that cat is out of the bag, there is no putting it back again. You Harmonies have trouble playing the heavy, even when it’s required.”
War World: Discovery Page 24
