by John F. Carr
Even the landed Marines weren’t causing any trouble! For one thing, he’d noticed, there were signs pointing them toward Harp’s Sergeant for food and drink, and for another, he’d also noticed that the remaining whores in the city had all taken to wearing bright red scarves as a badge of their profession, so the Marines had no trouble identifying them and no explosive mistakes were made. The women, however, were all independent operators and each kept her own crib. DeCastro had asked a few of the newer ones—since the older ones were likely to remember him, and not kindly—if they’d care to come work for him, and they’d all laughed in his face.
As for drugs, there was euph-leaf galore—sold mainly at Harp’s, but also by street peddlers—and it was cheap. For other amusements, someone had built a “Docktown Theater” that staged live shows and, on an imported big screen, played vids from everywhere along the route from Terrra to Haven. There was a small “Sports Palace” featuring boxers and wrestlers, none of whom—in DeCastro’s opinion—were much good, but the Marines liked them.
There was even a dance pavilion off to one side of the Harmonies’ walled enclave, where a not-too-bad local band played and sometimes choirs of, if you please, Harmonies got up and sang, and they were surprisingly good. At one point DeCastro saw a trio of drunken Marines parading down the street, singing some off-world song, and damned if the local Harmonies didn’t join in, scat-singing in harmony with them.
In short, Docktown had become downright tame. Its vices had become harmless, its factions happily reconciled, its poor settled into ready employment and its business booming. There was no conflict for CoDominium, or unsatisfied desires for DeCastro, to exploit. He was reduced to playing endless card games with the residents at the Starman’s Inn while waiting for a boat to take him back down river.
The only high points of his visit were the kegs of good brandy waiting in the warehouse for him to come pick up.
Consequently, he was infinitely relieved to hear that the River Dragon had been sighted out on the lake, and would shortly arrive at the dock. With a brief feeling of déjà vu, DeCastro hastened to pay his hotel bill, pack up his gear, send for his barrels and go wait by the dock.
As a couple of dockhands were rolling his kegs into place, he felt something less pleasing than déjà vu at seeing Van Damm come strolling down the dock behind them.
“Ah, Senor Van Damm,” DeCastro tried to sound enthusiastic. “You are traveling to Kenny-Camp, then. Does your business prosper?”
“It does that,” Van Damm said with a smile. He waved to a stevedore behind him who was pushing a hand-cart full of long crates. “And I see yours does, too. I recognize the mark on those barrels; that’s an excellent brandy. Congratulations.”
“Ah, si,” DeCastro smiled, trying to guess what was in those crates. “Good beer, even passable wine, I can get locally, but for proper strong drink one must come up here to Castell City. I’m astounded at how the city prospers, this long after the ship has gone.”
“Yes.” Van Damm heaved a vast sigh. “Peace and prosperity everywhere. No excitement whatever. If all one wishes is to get rich, this is surely the place.”
“Ah,” DeCastro sympathized, thinking he understood. “Yes, everything thrives in prosperous…Harmony. Have you heard there are plans to build a new dock?”
“So I’ve heard. At this rate, the city will have a labor shortage before the next ship comes.”
“Ah. I can only wonder: Whence comes the money for this new building project?”
“Didn’t you know?” Van Damm smiled briefly. “The Harmonies put it up. Old Man Castell has taken it into his head to become an investment banker. He’s behind most of the new construction hereabouts.”
DeCastro felt his jaw sagging, and hastily pulled it back up. “What in the world made him change his mind so radically?”
“Who knows?” Van Damm shrugged. “Simple greed and common sense, I guess. In any case, it paid off. The Church of Harmony now has the clean, prosperous, peaceful town they wanted—not to mention the increased goodies coming into the church.”
DeCastro turned to give the city a bleak look. No, Castell City would not be the source of any conflict sufficient to bring in CoDo rule. “Ah. So, for…excitement one must go down the river, eh?”
“Pretty much.” Van Damm gave him a sour smile that hinted much, but promised nothing.
DeCastro nodded absently, thinking of where this would lead. The explosive conflict CoDo wanted must take place in or near Kenny-Camp. He could imagine possibilities: Prospectors robbing the settlers and the settlers fighting back, a revolt of the indentured slaves, vandalism and then outright shooting between Kennicott and Reynolds… Yes, there was much that a CoDo agent like Van Damm could do. As for himself, he could profit from both sides of whatever trouble Van Damm started.
Just then the Dragon pulled up at the dock and cut its engines. She was loaded with sacks and crates, and towing a wooden raft loaded with crates and barrels, but there was room for DeCastro’s cargo too. The sight reminded him of his companions on the trip down here; he hadn’t seen them anywhere in Castell City. It was unlikely, though always possible, that some greedy thugs in Docktown had killed them for their shimmer stones. More likely, though, they’d holed up in the local lodgings and were keeping their heads down until the next ship arrived. He wondered if they’d ever managed to radio Reynolds and found that their news was no longer new.
Makhno and his bargeman, who looked more like a farmer than a sailor, made the River Dragon and its raft fast to the dock and climbed out. “Okay,” he called to the assembled men on the dock. “Load up and pay up. We’ve got to be on the water by dim.”
In the resulting scramble, DeCastro noted that Van Damm’s crates went onto the Dragon rather than the barge-raft. Of course there was no room left on the barge, but knowing Van Damm, there was most likely another reason. The loading was efficient, anyway, and the trimaran and its trailing raft were well out on the water by the time the light changed. Whatever engine powered the paddle wheel, it could make excellent speed.
Everyone had brought their own provisions and as Van Damm settled down to eat a sparse dinner from his basket, DeCastro took care to sit beside him. “Might I inquire,” he asked carefully, “What became of the poppy-garden, and its produce?”
“Sold most of it to the Harmonies, for their hospital.” Van Damm took a swig from a clay jug. “They got a local glass-blower to make a lens and some mirrors, and set them on the roof of a growing house. It concentrates light well enough that the plants are happy with it.”
“Ingenious,” DeCastro admitted. “And has their number increased?”
“Quite well. Another few turns, and they’ll need another grow-house. The lights in the basement room are holding up well enough for us, but we may need to build a grow-house of our own, soon.”
Well, that’s something, DeCastro thought, with a slight twinge of jealousy. In time, there might be a flourishing opium trade in the valley. He’d watch and see if he could insinuate himself into it.
It was during truenight that he noticed what looked like a meteor streaking over the sky to the north. Meteor? No, the Reynolds shuttle! he guessed. Reynolds had acted fast on his information. Now if the claim only proved to be as good as those fool prospectors had said, another Turn would see a good 20,000 CoDo creds deposited in his account with the Biederbilt Interstellar Bank. DeCastro wrapped himself up in his plastic blanket and lay down to sleep with an untroubled conscience.
There had been no difficulty finding crew for the newly dubbed Queen Grainne. Her shakedown trip around the Janesfort island had uncovered only a few minor problems with the steam engine, which Benny handily fixed. Other than that, her performance exceeded expectations. Himself ritually poured a glass of brandy over her bowsprit, and kissed her polished deck. At next full-light the ship set out on her first serious voyage: trading cargoes along the river shore on the way to Castell City—larger cargoes than the Black Bitch could ever have carr
ied. The settlers, forewarned by radio, brought their produce down the narrow roads through the forest and waited eagerly to see the new ship. Trade was brisk and eager, and Himself was gratified by the number of requests for more labor and more finished goods. Janesfort alone, as he remarked to Jacko, soon wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand.
“That’s where our little factories will come in handy,” he continued. “We’ll fill in the gap. Aye, me boy, I foresee a foine future for the lot of us.”
“But won’t we be runnin’ Jane out o’ business?” Jacko pondered. “And what of the trade growin’ up in Castell City?”
“All of it different, me lad,” Himself purred, filling his pipe with a light mix of euph-leaf and kinnikinnick. “The minerals an’ the wildlife vary along the river, and each bunch makes different goods of ’em. We’ll turn out large numbers o’ simple tools an’ large goods—picks an’ shovels, hammers an’ chisels—and, o’ course, ships like this. The boys in Castell City, now, they make high-tech stuff: radios an’ power-saws an’ such, not ta mention the good glass from the south lake shore sand. Think o’ lenses, me boy.”
“Much could be done wi’ them,” Jacko agreed.
“Jane’s a rare one,” Himself went on. “She an’ her mates’ll trade farm produce, an’ river-clay pottery, an’ everythin’ that can be made o’ the hemp—’scuse me, euph-leaf’ plant: cloth an’ cordage from the fiber, oil an’ flour from the seeds—”
“Say, I wonder if a good beer might be brewed from their sprouts?”
“Heh! I’ll suggest it ta her. But also—discountin’ the medicines that can be made from the resin, think o’ what she an’ her chemist ha’ done with the wood-pulp. Paper, me boy! Aye, an’ simple plastics. She an’ Benny an’ Falstaff: they also make foine prototypes that factories—such as we’ll have—can use ta turn out goodies in job-lots. Oh, aye, we’ll be gettin’ along splendidly, I do expect. All of us prosperin’ nicely, shimmer stones or no.”
“Planned economy?” Jacko sniggered.
“If so,” Himself glowered, “’Tis planned by us what does the dig-gin’ an’ cuttin’, plantin’ an’ harvestin’, weavin’ an’ millin’ ourselves—not by some king somewhere bellowin’ orders from afar off. Nay, an’ not by CoDo bureaucrats, eyther.”
“Amen,” laughed Jacko. “What would some politician know or care about th’ importance of riverjack-proof fishnets, anyway? By the by, did you know that steamed riverjack with yellowsour sauce makes mighty good eatin’? “
“Is that what we’re havin’ for dinner, then?”
“Right enough. But don’t tell anyone down river about eatin’ riverjack. Riverjacks have eaten enough people, as they know of, that they’d be a bit queasy about returnin’ the favor.”
When DeCastro got home, he found the Golden Parrot much changed. In the short time he’d been gone Inez and Ludmilla had—gods knew where—picked up a handmade book of recipes and begun putting them into practice. There were half a dozen fish dishes, all with various sorts of local fruits, an equal number of meat dishes from local land-creatures as well as goat and chicken and nearly a dozen variations on eggtree fruit. Besides the beer and ale, there were three kinds of fruit juice.
One of his guards was serving as doorman, wearing a clean suit and shirt yet, and the other two were busy in the kitchen. All the tables were full, for once, and nobody was pausing to make offers to the girls—all of whom were busy anyway with carrying dishes back and forth.
The Golden Parrot had changed from a moderately-successful whorehouse into quite a successful restaurant.
DeCastro gave orders for storing the brandy, limped off into his private office, sat down and rested his head on the desktop. Of all the changes he might have expected on Haven, this creeping respectability was the last of them. No conflict, no crisis, no CoDo was all he could think. The only conflict on the horizon was the inevitable clash between Kennicott and Reynolds-and-allies, and that might not come to a head for, well, years.
Cheer up, he told himself. In the meantime I’ll become very rich.
He wondered briefly how Van Damm was getting on.
As the Queen Grainne made her stately progress down the river, she met the River Dragon coming back up. The ships paused in mid-river and tossed on lines so their captains could meet and confer. They had to gather on Makhno’s ship, since the wing-decks of the Grainne were crowded with cargo—not that there was much room on the Dragon either.
“Well, me boy,” Himself grinned, “It does look as if the trade has been good for both of us. What’re ye carryin’, if I might ask?”
Makhno laughed. “Medical supplies, pots and housewares, and… some interesting chemicals, if you must know.”
“Eh, blastin’ powder, ye mean?” Himself winked.
“More like gunpowder,” said Makhno. “Ah, also some useful books. Someone down in Castell City has put together a simple printing-press and Jane’s paper was welcome. What’ve you got?”
“Produce an’ timber—and a few homemade shotguns.” Himself winked. “Also the ammunition for ’em. Your ’interestin’ chemicals’ will be welcome; Falstaff said he was nearly out of ’em.”
“Ah. I take it all the settlers within miles of Janesfort are well armed, now?”
“Now, how should I know that?” said Himself, piously. “All I know is how many peculiar boxes I swapped for food, timber, furs and…ah, produce o’ the euph-leaf plant.”
“Lots of fiber, I hope? There’s a cloth shortage in Castell City.”
“Oh, aye! Enough ta keep the looms o’ the Harmonies busy for a Turn or two. …And other things.”
“Seed?” Makhno asked quietly.
Himself nodded solemnly. “Jane wants hemp growin’ all over the valley by year’s end.”
“Spread too far for anyone to wipe out. Good idea, though it’ll cut into the fort’s profits.”
“I do believe the lady thinks wider and farther than o’ next year’s profits.”
“She does, at that.” Makhno handed over a small wooden box held shut with a crude wax seal. “This is for you, from someone who just called himself The First Organizer. He also asked if I could bring him a workable radio next trip.”
“I believe I could get one in Castell City,” murmured Himself, studying the box. “Thank ye kindly, me boy.”
“I also have a message from Vanny. He says: ‘everything’s in place’, that’s all.”
“Aye,” Himself said thoughtfully, stuffing the box into his shirt. “Now all we need do is keep on as we’ve been, an’ watch for his boss’s replacement.”
“We’ll also have to watch for incoming transportees. The one thing that could mess up our plans is CoDo dumping more beggars on us than the system can sustain.”
“There’s more, laddie. All this prosperity in Castell City depends on the continuin’ good will an’ good sense of Charles Castell, an’ he’s a man not known for eyther.”
“True,” Makhno frowned. “Also, watch out for river-trash.”
“Eh?”
“When the settlers and Harmonies threw the troublemakers out of Docktown, a lot of them took to the water. They’ve got small floating cities along the shore between Castell City and Kenny-Camp and they’re not above a bit of piracy. Keep your guns ready.”
Brodski returned from his Aikido class in the Harmony enclave happily tired and looking forward to dinner. As he strolled through the door of Harp’s Sergeant, though, Flora came hurrying toward him waving a scribbled wax-board. “Mr. Van Damm called on the new radio,” she announced, “And wants you to get back to him. Here’s the channel; I wrote it down.”
“No rest for the weary,” Brodski sighed, plodding into the back room. He sat down at the plank desk that contained the clunky new Docktownbuilt radio, started the whining generator and turned the dials.
Van Damm’s voice came across a background of static, but clear enough. “’Ski, the ship is coming. Expect it in another Turn. There’ll be more transportees
, of course, and Cole’s replacement. I mean to stay out of his reach as much as possible. Watch for him.”
“I think I’ll know what to look for,” Brodski replied. “Any idea when Reynolds will make its move?”
“It has already started.” Van Damm paused for a long moment. “Another ship landed last Turn, a much bigger one, out beyond the hills. The prospectors report they saw it unloading heavy equipment. All they lack is labor, and—as I said—the transport ship is coming soon.”
“I see. Everything’s ready on this end; how about you?”
“We’ve been in place for turns, since before Himself came back.”
“Ah. And the new ship?”
“She has a daughter almost ready to launch, already.”
“Heh! Those miners work fast!”
“Many of them are miners in name only, by now. I tell you, ’Ski, I am amazed at how fast everyone—the miners, the settlers, Jane’s people, even the Harmonies—have put this together.”
“Think of the donkey with the carrot in front and the stick behind,” Brodski smiled. “Everybody here wants to be prosperous, at least, and nobody wants CoDo to come in.”
“That is why I must keep away from my new boss, as much as possible.” Van Damm sighed. “Yet I know he’ll come here eventually. There’s nowhere else he can look.”
“Good luck then, Vanny.”
“Good allies are better than luck.”
The first sign was the landing of a quiet-running cargo-sized shuttle just outside of Castell City that certain Harmony goatherds saw and reported. The four men who got out of it and began walking down toward Docktown wore sturdy cold weather clothes of an off-world design, with pistol-sized versions of CoDo stunners hidden under their jackets. They also dragged a large fold-up luggage cart, which carried more folded carts. They took up positions at the foot of the old dock, and one of them took out and held up a sign saying: “Jobs Here”.