War World Discovery

by John F. Carr

  But all that was behind him now. Spring was in the air, and soon he would be seeing Erica again.

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  After all the preparations, the trip down the river was finally underway. Deacon Miller had never spent any time on the water, so this was all new to him. On good days, being on the water was a glorious experience, watching the banks of the river slide by, the air crisp and clear. But in bad weather, the days were miserable in ways that put a bad day on shore to shame. They couldn’t raise awnings, as the sail effect played havoc with navigation, so the cold spring rains were miserable. The proximity to the water kept everything damp for hours and even days. Stack gas from the steamboats often blew across the rafts, bringing coughs and watering eyes.

  This got worse as they progressed down river, and started burning green wood gathered off the banks. But the trip would have been impossible without that green wood, and fuel turned out to be an area where they lucked out. Only once, when they were passing through a stretch of grasslands, did they have to borrow wood from the rafts to keep going.

  The food was primarily protein paste, and even with boards across the massive egg tree logs, the rafts were uncomfortable places to sleep. Water was collected at the bow of the first raft, and passed back as needed. The heads were located on the stern of the rafts, and consisted of rude shelters that hung over the end of the raft, which many men ignored, although they soon learned the full import of the old sailor’s term “pissing to windward.”

  Toward the end of the first day out, they had their first casualty. A miner was trying to get around some others, walking on the last log on the edge of the raft. He slipped and tumbled into the water. Before anyone could even reach out to him, he began to scream, the water filled with blood, and within a minute he was gone. Captain Doyle later explained that in many spots along the river, there were schools of what he called ‘razor fish,’ nasty creatures that threatened anyone who entered the water. The occupants of the rafts moved toward the center after that, and treated the river with more respect.

  Miller found the steamboats fascinating. Jonnie Johnson did also, and spent hours explaining to the Deacon how they were constructed, and how they worked. The boats were of local manufacture, a standard design about twelve meters long and four broad. One of the few successful bureaucratic initiatives of the Bureau of Relocation was the Indigenous Manufacture Program, or IMP, which had sent designs to the outworlds for simple machinery and devices. Printed on plasticized paper, and accompanied by books on basic trades and manufacture, these guides had been a great boon to progress on worlds too poor to import Earth technology on a continuing basis. The steamboats were among the many successful IMP designs, and had already begun to support a vigorous trade on the rivers of the Shangri-La Valley.

  As handy as they were, however, the steamboats were not designed for tug work. They sometimes had difficulty changing the course of the rafts, and it seemed like much of their effort was expended pushing the bows to either direction to keep them on track. The bows of the open steamboats had been reinforced for this purpose with heavy rope cushions and extra bracing.

  On occasion, a raft would catch up on a bar, the others would be anchored, and all six steamboats would be used to remove the passengers to lighten the raft, and then to pull it clear. Fortunately for the travelers, the Xanadu was much broader and more forgiving than the Jordan River that stretched east of Castell City. A trip of this scale, moving upstream on the narrow and often rocky Jordan, would have been impossible.

  Miller had some rather disgusted reports from Raft Three, where all the livestock was carried, in an area floored by lumber and surrounded by a sturdy fence. This naturally made the raft the least desirable one to be aboard, and there was much rude teasing of those who traveled with the beastly cargo. One farmer had wanted to save the manure the livestock produced for the fields at their destination, but he was soon overruled. The manure was shoveled ashore during rest stops, and mounded with seeds from BuReloc terraforming stocks. Weeds that would push out the Haven wildlife, and make this planet more hospitable for the spread of colonists.

  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.

&nbs
p; *

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  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.

  I need to be careful with this relationship, she thought. Over time, I might forget the boundaries between fun and business.

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  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.”

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  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 certainly 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.

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  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 world’s 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 rig
ht 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.

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  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.