"There's open rebellion against the Alliance on a score of worlds," Lucius continued. "I'm a delegate from Quelhagen to the parliament of free planets forming on Hestia. The Quelhagen Committee of Governance sent me here first, though, because you on Greenwood know me. Join us and other free peoples and help throw the Alliance out of our lives!"
"Maybe you lot want to get your heads shot off!" shouted a woman Mark didn't know. "I don't see how that makes it our fight here!"
"That's the question you all should be wondering," Lucius agreed, using the PA system to override the arguments that immediately broke out below. "And the answer is, if Earth crushes Quelhagen and the rest of the worlds that are protesting the closure of ports and factories to aid Earth manufactures, then the Alliance will try to prevent a recurrence by shipping millions of Earth citizens onto every settled world."
He pointed to the front of the crowd. "You all remember the city they would have built on Dagmar Wately's land! There'll be a dozen cities here and hundreds on planets like Quelhagen, swamping the present citizens. The Alliance government knows the forced exiles won't get along with real settlers-and they'll make sure they don't by sequestering the best land on each planet for these modular cities. The new arrivals will have to support the Alliance or lose everything a second time to the real owners of the land!"
Lucius gained strength with every word. Yerby had moved aside and stood arms akimbo, smiling and nodding at each point.
"Look," Magnus Newsome said, "I'm not calling you a liar like I do the fellow from Zenith-you I don't know, Maxwell. But it don't make sense to me that Earth's going to send soldiers and what-all here if we don't get their backs up to start with. Sounds like they've got plenty on their plates already."
"Mr. Maxwell," Dagmar Wately added through another of the microphones in the crowd, "you're a smart man and you've helped us a lot, I don't deny. If Earth sends soldiers here to fight us the way they sent soldiers to Zenith-well, they can look for a fight with me. Everybody who knows me knows that I'll hold up my end."
The stocky woman turned to face the crowd as if daring anyone to doubt her word. In the pause, Yerby leaned to the mike on the platform and said, "All right, Dagmar, we all know you chew steel plates and spit out nails. Make your point!"
"I'll make my point, Yerby Bannock!" Dagmar retorted. "I don't go looking for fights. I don't go gallivanting off to some mudhole to steal guns that somebody else needs for a fight that's none of mine. And I'm not going to change!"
At least quarter the crowd sounded agreement, though there were a number of people trying to shout the sentiments down as well. Mark's father stepped back so that Yerby could take the microphone unhindered.
When the initial reaction had bled away, the frontiersman said, "What a lot of pussies! And what a lot of fools with their heads in the sand!"
The response was a near riot. Yerby raised his hands and bent his head to look at his boot toes rather than the crowd. Despite the PA system, it was almost two minutes before he could be heard again. "All right, all right," he resumed in apparent concession. "I don't figure I'd ever be willing to live with an Alliance soldier's boot on my neck, but I guess there's some of you that would. That's your business, I reckon."
He cocked his head back and grinned in challenge at the assembly. "My business is simple. I figure to go to Dittersdorf and pick up hardware for some friends of mine. And I'll bet there's a hundred or two fellows on Greenwood who've got the guts to go with me! Is that true?"
The shout of agreement wasn't general, but it was certainly the hundreds Yerby had asked for. Burly men and not a few women started to push forward to join him.
"Yerby Bannock, you got no right to commit the whole blame planet!" Magnus Newsome said, his amplified voice barely audible over the crowd noise. "I-"
Mark wasn't sure what Newsome meant to say next. Desiree Bannock stepped to the man's side and decked him with one punch as Amy recorded the scene.
Democracy in action, Mark supposed. He was shivering with adrenaline, but he wasn't sure whether fear or excitement was the cause.
Sometimes a man squatted by himself in the night with only his bedroll and a bottle. More often ten or a dozen folk sat in a circle around a lamp or a fire, passing a bottle. At a number of campsites, a couple shared their bottle in front of a small tent.
It bothered Mark that booze was the only social constant he'd found on Greenwood. He knew that life was hard here and that liquor was as much a painkiller as it was recreation, but he knew also that being drunk worsened the problems while it masked them.
But that was none of Mark Maxwell's business. Like Yerby's relationship with Desiree, Mark had both his opinions and the sense to keep them to himself.
"Hey, Yerby!" said one of six men around a fire of oil burning in a tub of sand. "Have a sip of this!"
"Don't mind if I do, Jace," Yerby said as he took the bottle. "Wanted to introduce my friends the Maxwells, Lucius and Mark. We'd be in a right pickle now without the two of them helping us mind our step. And that's my sister Amy with the camera."
The firelight made the settlers' faces even ruddier than the liquor had. To Mark they looked sweaty and cheerful, though mud was spilling from all four sides of the groundsheet on which they sat.
Mud seemed to be the universal fact of Greenwood. When Mark flew over the forest in the daytime, it was a green carpet, and even tonight Tertia's light turned the ground at a distance into a plate of beaten silver, but close up there was always mud.
"Honored, sirs," Jace said. "This is my Uncle Jerry Burns, my cousin Chris, and Bob, Ben and Obed, my brothers."
"Have a drink!" Jerry said brightly, holding out a bottle of his own. "Tell me if this ain't better stuff than the eyewash Jace brews!"
Lucius took the bottle and lifted it to his lips without first wiping the glass with his palm. "Whoo-ee!" he said, handing the liquor to Mark. "Guess I'll let you know what I think about the flavor after I get some feeling back in my mouth. You know how to run your batch strong, friend!"
Mark tilted the bottle upward, blocking the opening with his tongue. This was the twentieth campsite they'd paused at as Yerby led them through the gathering. Even Yerby wasn't taking more than a mouthful from each bottle that came by.
"Be sure to stick around tomorrow," Yerby said to the men around the fire. "We'll be choosing delegates to send to Hestia. If there's going to be a federation of free planets, we can't afford for Greenwood to be left out. Lucius here'll explain it all tomorrow."
"You want some of this, miss?" Jace said, offering Amy the bottle Yerby had returned. "It's a mite strong for a girl like you, I guess."
"Don't mind if I do!" Amy said sharply. She lifted the bottle and, to Mark's horror, really took a swig. He saw the bubble rise through the fire-reddened liquor.
"Heck, Yerby," another of the seated men said. "You pick who you want. That's good enough for me!"
"Hey, but look," Jace said, patting the ground beside him. "You know Chink Ericsson, don't you? Set for a minute and let me tell you about the problem we're having with him. Can you do that?"
Yerby glanced back. Lucius nodded minusculely. Yerby squatted in the circle of settlers, listening intently as they talked. Lucius, Mark, and Amy moved a few steps back into shadow.
"It feels as if I washed my mouth out with full-strength lye," Amy said in a tiny voice.
"My tongue's numb," Lucius said. "I hope you didn't think I was really drinking, Amy. Nor Mark either, since he's still standing and he wouldn't be if he'd been swallowing what he pretended to be."