Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “With no calls to speak,” Loftus said, “we will proceed to the vote. Please vote in the affirmative to change this Conclave’s meetings to a five-year schedule, in the negative for it to remain annual.”

  Denholm frowned and eyed the buttons on his tablet, before making his decision. His lands weren’t so far from Landing, now Port Arthur, that it was a hardship to come each year, still surely with all of human history to pull from they’d had enough laws from the start?

  He glanced at Mylin and raised an eyebrow.

  Mylin raised his tablet so Denholm could see and mashed his thumb onto the “Aye” button forcefully.

  “There’s many in this lot who should tend to their own business and leave others’ alone,” he said, “this next bit’s a sign of that.”

  Denholm nodded. “We could have erased half the Charter at the start and simply said, ‘Neither hurt anyone nor steal his things.’”

  Mylin laughed. “Devil’s in the details, though.”

  “I suppose.”

  “With forty-one percent Ayes, fifty-nine percent Nays,” Loftus announced shortly, “the motion fails to carry.”

  Mylin shrugged. “Perhaps next year.”

  “Item number seventeen on the agenda,” Loftus called. “A proposal by Nelson Harting, seconded by Rashae Coalson. Amendments as to the Charter’s Articles of Inheritance. Speaking in favor will be Holder Harting, opposed Holder Bocook. Each will have fifteen minutes to speak.”

  “Bocook?” Denholm whispered to Mylin. “Whose choice was that?”

  “She’s been the most vocal against it.”

  They watched as the two Holders gained the stage and stood behind Loftus.

  “Is that best, do you think?”

  Mylin shrugged. “It’s done now.”

  On the stage Harting had moved to the podium.

  “I’m supposed to summarize the change,” he said. “Don’t know why that’s needed, when you can just read it, but … I’m proposing that we change the Charter to protect our lands and keep the inheritance straight. It’s not but a small change, but I think we’ve all seen how important it is. Way it reads is all the references there in the Charter’s Articles of Inheritance, where it says ‘eldest child’ gets changed to ‘eldest son’, see? Then there’s added this bit about if there are no sons, that things go to the oldest girl’s husband.” There were murmurs growing in the crowd, but Harting went on as though oblivious to them. “And if there’s none of him at the time of inheritance, then the shares and property go back to the colony and the rest of us can bid on them at the next Conclave.” He looked up. “See?”

  “Nelson Harting!” the woman on the stage shouted loud enough to be heard by all, as Harting had the podium’s microphone. “I’ve spent this last week behind a plow and you’re still the biggest horse’s ass I can remember seeing in all my days!”

  “Now, Lillee,” Loftus said, “you’ll have your chance to speak in opposition, just let Nelson finish, will you? We went over this!”

  The woman clenched her jaw and crossed her arms.

  “Silliness to be talking about it at all,” she said, but took a step back.

  Harting looked up, scanned the crowd, then back at his tablet. He seemed to not know what to say next, but a muted ping could be heard over the speakers. Harting frowned at his tablet, then leaned toward the microphone.

  “I’ve a wish to yield the rest of my time to Holder Coalson, if I may,” he said, looking up hopefully.

  Rashae Coalson was already stepping onto the stage as Loftus nodded assent. Harting bolted for the stage’s edge as though grateful to be out of the crowd’s view.

  Coalson straightened his shoulders and looked out over the crowd.

  “We all know how important inheritance is to the colony’s future,” Coalson went on. “We knew it when we drew up the Charter to keep all our lands together. The holders’ shares and land go to one heir, they can’t be split up. That protects us from the dilution we’ve seen in other colonies, where three thousand voting holders become ten thousand in a generation, and then more. Look around you. You know the men here — know which of them you can trust. Do you want to come here one day and find thousands of strangers?”

  Denholm looked around at the crowd. Most were shaking their heads now, but this was a settled issue, not part of the proposed amendment. The Charter already limited voting to shareholders and provided that the holdings could not be split amongst heirs. Coalson was simply going over what they’d already agreed to, getting the audience behind him and in the habit of agreeing. It was a tactic Denholm knew well, but there was little he could do to counter it from the crowd and he suspected Lillee Bocook wouldn’t have the patience for it.

  “And those colonies who’ve opened up the franchise to all? Do you want to see that here?” Coalson went on. There were more murmurs from the crowd, but this time of agreement. “An hundred thousand former indentures? Transported thieves, murderers, rapists, their indentured time done and free to vote? To make decisions for you and your families — do you wish to see that come to Dalthus?”

  Now people were muttering and some actually shouting “No!” in response to Coalson’s words.

  Mylin turned to Denholm. “What does that have to do with —”

  “Nothing.” Denholm shook his head as he listened. “Not a thing. But they’ll be fearful already when he speaks about these changes.”

  “Well we all voted on the Charter before we came here and agreed,” Coalson said. “We set it up to avoid those things. This is our world, bought and paid for with everything we’d earned in our lives. The indentures know what our laws are here — if they find it’s not to their liking, they’re free to leave and try their hand at another world. No one’s forced to stay on Dalthus, are they?”

  “And here it’ll come,” Denholm whispered. Coalson had the crowd with him now, they were listening to every word and responding as one, much as Coalson must have intended.

  “We didn’t know everything when we wrote the Charter, though. We didn’t know how hard this world would be, nor how much work there’d be for us on the lands or in our households, nor what changes those things would cause.

  “So what happens now, if my eldest son wishes to marry Harting’s eldest daughter, eh? With them both inheriting the lands?” Coalson waved a hand at Harting in the front row of the crowd. “And then their son inherits? Well, then he’s the vote of both our families’ shares, doesn’t he? Do you want to see that either? Families joining and taking on more and more power over you?”

  More mutters of “no” came from the crowd.

  “When we lived in the Core we were all successful. We could afford all the technology of the Core. It took minutes to get anywhere in the city, hours to anywhere on the planet. We had machines to do the cleaning and the shops to purchase anything we might need.”

  “Those are luxuries we’ve given up here, though. We all know the changes we’ve had to make. The segregation of work. The men’re in the fields and the women in the homes.” He held up a hand to forestall Bocook who’d begun to step forward. “I know, Lillee, you’ve worked your lands as hard as anyone since your Nelson passed, but if he was living it’d be him in the fields, do you deny it?”

  Bocook’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t speak.

  Still Coalson was speaking no more than the truth. It was a traditional division of labor that had happened on virtually every colony world, especially in the early generations. There’d even been a lecture on it put on by the survey company that had sold Dalthus to the colonists, though only a few had attended. They’d called it Colonial Regression Syndrome, and given all the reasons for it.

  “It’s no more than the truth,” Coalson went on, echoing Denholm’s thoughts, “and it only makes sense, doesn’t it? Until we’ve all those conveniences from back in the Core, while being sure of dinner means keeping a kitchen garden and plucking our own chickens, it’s simply how we live. And those are the skills our daughters lea
rn, because those are the skills they’ll use.”

  There was some murmuring at this, but not much, mostly from the few women who, like Lillee Bocook, had found themselves suddenly without the partners who’d come with them to Dalthus.

  Coalson went on, but Denholm couldn’t bring himself to listen any longer.

  “What’s your sense of this, will it pass?” he asked Mylin.

  “It’ll be close, but it will.” Mylin nodded. “Catherine Arthur’s had a hard time of it since Bailie and their sons were killed. And there’s what happened at the Welding holding still fresh in their minds. They see that little Amette in their daughters and it scares them.”

  Denholm sighed. Mention of the Weldings brought his own loss of Lynelle to mind.

  Freda Welding had passed much as Lynelle had, in sudden complications giving birth. Her husband, Elston, had seen her body washed and laid out for burial, then made his way to the barn and eased his pain with the taste of a flechette gun. Denholm could almost understand his act, but Elston Welding had left behind others who depended on him. Aside from his indentures, there were his five children.

  Amette had been the eldest, but a bare fourteen years old, and ill-suited for running the lands. She’d tried, though, thinking it was her duty and refusing help from neighbors, telling them that all was fine on the holding. It had helped her deception that the Weldings had settled so far from their nearest neighbor and that all the holder families were so busy with their own lands.

  The harvest went poorly but still the Welding children asked for no assistance until, at mid-Winter, the holding stopped responding at all.

  Neighbors came finally and found nothing but a looted farmstead and the bodies of the Welding children.

  The indentures, starving, in all likelihood and afraid they’d be blamed, had taken all that was left and run off into the wilderness of Dalthus.

  “Could just have easily been an eldest boy there,” Denholm said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mylin said. “They think this will stop it happening again, and all the other ills Coalson’s warning of. They don’t want to know about what’s right or fair, they want a solution to keep that from happening again.” He shrugged. “No matter that such a law wouldn’t have stopped it — folks want to feel like it would have, regardless.”

  “What’s Rashae’s point in this? He must see some benefit to himself.”

  Mylin shrugged. “Perhaps he’s just being a bitter bastard — it’s what he’s good at.”

  Denholm looked around at the crowd. He could tell by their faces and their response to Coalson, still speaking, how the vote would go.

  “No, there must be more to it than just that.”

  Mylin shrugged again. “They’re young, but the man does have more sons than he knows what to do with, come to that.”

  Denholm frowned.

  “Pass the law, then try to marry off his sons to those as have only daughters?” Mylin continued.

  “That’s a long game to play, and not at all certain.”

  “There’s more than one girl on planet who’d rather farm alone than marry a Coalson, perhaps he means to force the issue.”

  Denholm laughed.

  “No, he’s likely not behind it, I agree, but it’s not beyond him to think to use it so.”

  On the platform, Coalson had yielded to Bocook, who was haranguing the crowd over the stupidity of the proposal. Denholm felt her frustration, but knew it was the wrong tactic. If people liked an idea, telling them they were stupid for it rarely changed their mind.

  “You could ask to speak,” Mylin said. “There are many who’d listen to you.”

  “I don’t know, Sewall.” He looked around at the crowd. “Would they?”

  “You’re respected.” Mylin paused. “Lynelle was respected. She’d have some things to say about this, I think.”

  Denholm’s throat tightened, but his lips twitched. “My Lynelle would be on stage chiding Lillee Bocook for her excess of moderation.”

  “I do think you could sway them,” Mylin insisted.

  “Perhaps …” Denholm considered it. It was a silly, pointless change to make. He didn’t want to get more involved in the politics of the colony — didn’t want there to be politics of the colony, truth be told — but perhaps he should.

  He pulled out his tablet, preparing to query Bocook to allow him a bit of her time to speak — a few words surely wouldn’t go amiss — then stopped and frowned as he saw someone moving toward him.

  Rashae Coalson had left the platform and was working his way through the crowd, stopping here and there to shake hands and speak a word. Denholm was surprised to see the man headed in his direction and more so when Coalson caught his eye.

  Twenty-Five

  “Carew.”

  Denholm eyed Coalson warily. He was aware of Mylin taking a step away and to the side, hand on his belt near his knife. He doubted Coalson’s plan was to attack him here in the Conclave, but appreciated the support. He also noted that, despite Bocook’s ongoing speech from the platform, those in the crowd around him were paying more attention to him and Coalson.

  “Coalson.”

  “We’ve had our differences, but I wanted to offer my sentiments on the loss of your wife. There are few men I’d wish such a thing on,” Coalson said, his eyes intent. “Your son is well?”

  Mylin’s eyes narrowed and Denholm found the man’s phrasing odd, but given their differences and past he understood it might be hard for Coalson to offer condolences. His throat tightened, but he managed to keep his voice level.

  “Harlyn’s well — and your own sons?”

  “My eldest is a bit womanish, but the next, Daviel, is shaping up nicely.” Coalson shrugged. “The others are too young to tell.” He nodded toward the platform. “You have some thoughts on this proposal, I suppose?”

  “I do,” Denholm said. “Though they’re likely not yours.”

  Coalson grunted. “I thought you’d see the sense of supporting this — it only codifies what we all know to be true, after all.”

  Denholm raised an eyebrow.

  “The girls aren’t suited to the task of running a holding,” Coalson went on. He nodded toward the platform. “Oh, not those like Bocook — she does an adequate job, I suppose — but she’s an aberration. No, most are like that Welding girl — ill-suited to the hardships of running more than a household. It takes a firm hand to control the indentures, don’t you see that?”

  “I’ve found a bit of kindness and mutual respect works well enough with the hands,” Denholm said.

  “With yours, I suppose,” Coalson said, “but you’ve expanded more slowly, and picked and chose your hands. Some of us have harder men on our lands who understand other ways. There’s —”

  “We were warned about this nonsense before we came,” Mylin interrupted. “There’s a name for it, even.”

  Coalson waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, that ‘Colonial Regression Syndrome’ nonsense — and did you never wonder if there’s not a reason for it, rather than just naming it so? As if it’s some disease we all catch from being out here on the Fringe? Easy for them to look down on us in the Core, where they’ve manufacturies and hospitals aplenty, when we colonies revert to older ways, but why do we, then? Why is it so prevalent they have a name for the thing? Perhaps, just ask yourself, is it not because those old ways work best out here?”

  He turned to face Mylin, then back to Denholm. “Tell me, is it not so on your holding? And wasn’t it on yours, Carew, before your wife passed? Didn’t the work fall out naturally between you? Doesn’t it still with the indentures who have families? The men go out into the fields and forests and mines, while the women tend to the home.” He shook his head. “There’s no shame in it. I’m certainly not saying one’s of more worth than the other — lord knows I’d rather someone else pluck the chickens, to be sure — but when it happens so naturally, can you say it’s wrong?”

  Denholm wondered at Coalson’s apparent need t
o convince him. The man had strung more words together without damning Denholm’s eyes to hell than he’d ever experienced before.

  “Natural or not, it was our choice,” Denholm said, “and the choice of those on my lands who do so. I’d not see someone forced into what they don’t want or aren’t suited for, but neither will I see them denied it if they are.”

  That, he realized, was what was really wrong with the Charter as it stood. Not that the planet’s inheritance law needed to be restricted to the eldest son, but that ‘eldest’ business was a mistake as well.

  “The trouble with the Welding girl wasn’t that she was unsuited to running the lands as a girl, but that she was unsuited to running the lands. I remember the Welding children, and there was a younger daughter who had a good head on her shoulders. Given time and a bit of guidance she’d have grown into it.”

  Denholm could see Mylin pondering that as well.

  “Look you, Coalson,” he said, “I do agree with keeping the lands and shares together, but shouldn’t a man be able to choose which of his children will take it on after him? You just seemed to say yourself that your second son, Daviel, might be more suited to the task.”

  In truth, Coalson had called his first son “womanish”, a characterization Denholm found distasteful, but Coalson seemed to think it important.

  And this is why I don’t like politics. It’s too bloody easy to fall into preying on others’ prejudices in an effort to convince them.