Kennicott, Reynolds and BuReloc. . and probably a couple of big politicians behind it all.
There were greater dreams than Jomo's out among the stars.
Captain Makhno steered the Black Bitch back to the waiting shuttle, considered what he'd seen, and kept his own counsel. There was much to see here, and much to think about.
He eyed the last passenger he took ashore with the same sharp eye he'd turned on all the others. This one had the stamp of toughness about him, but not the sort Makhno was used to seeing: not the obvious bluster of the bully or the cold disinterest of the cop, but more the quiet confidence of someone who could use violence quite competently when needed. There had been another like that on the last ship, six months ago, but that one had been older, and talkative. He walked with a cane and was now in Castell City somewhere.
That one, unlike most of the voluntary settlers, was full of questions about the planet, the town, what kind of work there was to be found and where, the availability of lodgings, and the rest.
This one was silent. He was in his thirties perhaps, and he stood about 170 cm. tall, shaven of jaw and head with gray eyes and a scar on his left cheek. He was well muscled and seemed fit. He had a familiarity with small craft, and helped casting off from the shuttle and the docking.
The duffel bag he carried had an insignia freshly painted over, but looked to be that of the CoDo Marines.
Interesting, Makhno thought to himself. . Not in uniform. . Maybe a wounded retiree. . Perhaps senior enlisted. . Not the usual sort at all. Janey would be interested.
He had a lot of news this trip, and not all of it good. The sudden change of ownership at Harp's Place, for instance: how had Jomo managed that? What had become of Old Harp? Where was Harp's family, and how were they doing?
And just what was Jomo going to do with those loads of mining equipment? Jomo wasn't the sort to be interested in hard work of the legal variety, and running a mining operation took long hours and a lot of sweat. Maybe he got it cheap, and was going to sell it to the highest bidder; but that didn't fit either. Cole hadn't acted like a machinery dealer. The military type was another interesting factor.
Makhno's fees for hauling passengers and cargo in from the shuttle should be enough to fund a lot of pub-crawling, greasing a few palms, collecting all the news he could. Something had gone seriously wrong in Docktown while he'd been away.
Jane Wozejeskovich strolled through the upper field of South Central Island, examining her current crop and grinning in joy at the sight of the tall stalks, huge palmate leaves and already-forming flowers.
Of all the seeds she'd brought with her from Earth, this Illinois-bred hemp had adapted best. Something about the light/dark cycle and climate pattern had stimulated the plant growth to the point that she was getting a full, harvestable crop every other full cycle of Haven around Cat's Eye. She knew-who would know better than an organic gardener? — all the practical uses of marijuana, but the accelerated growth was a bonus she hadn't expected.
Gods, yes: a very good crop, and a very good year.
Well, so much for the main crop: now on to the latest project. Jane strode out of the field and up the guided course of the island's sole reliable creek. Long before she reached the new mill-pond and dam, she could hear Benny Donate arguing high and loud with Big Latoya. Jane grinned again. She'd bet a bushel of medicinal-quality "euph-leaf" that Latoya was sweet on Benny, was trying to get him housebroken to suit her before she made any moves, that Benny had some idea what was going on and wasn't exactly running away.
Benito Donato-volunteer settler, master machinist complete with a Multimate machine shop-had been a prize catch for her settlement, but he did need an occasional kick into line.
With his pal, Jeff Falstaff, he'd come to the island with a head full of delusions about being the only man among a co-op of eight women. The reality-that he was one of three men, counting Makhno, and would have to work his butt off like everyone else-had left him a bit miffed. Well, he'd get over it.
Falstaff had caught on, and settled in, a lot quicker. His little brewery was already producing a good enough beer that the miners downriver were trading rough copper and zinc for it. He had been a general science teacher Earthside, until caught teaching things not required by the curriculum of the Greater Los Angeles School System and the requirements of the CoDo-such as original thought and Scientific Method. .
Her course took her through the main hall/dining room and the kitchen beyond, where Maria-Dolores and her mother tended the ever-burning fire and the still-kettle set into the wall behind it. Granny calmly stirred the stewpot on the fire while Maria-Dee fussed with her baby in the crib and watched the temperature gauge on the brew-kettle.
Falstaff was in his laboratory down the passage. So were the kids: Latoya's big-eyed toddlers, Muda's gawky ten-year-old boy, the teenagers Nona and Headier-all of them staring in fascination at the current demonstration by Mister Wizard. Jane wondered if he'd ever had such devoted students back on Earth.
Falstaff-tall, bald, dark and reedy-looking nothing like his Shakespearean namesake, had designed and made a "caseless" ammunition to replace the dwindling supply Jane had brought with her from Earth. Right now he was busy showing the kids how to package the stuff. Even the toddlers were fascinated.
Hopefully, Donato would start teaching them gun-smithing next. He had modified her "coach gun" to use a piezo-electric igniter for the new shells, which were better than the ammo she had brought with her. The pair of them were a treasure beyond belief out here on Haven.
A quick stroll through the rest of the house showed little Muda and Lou fussing over the hemp-cloth loom, arguing over how much fiber they'd need to keep the settlement in clothes with the children growing so fast. The treasured cat that Headier had brought from Earth lay curled in her basket, buzzing contentedly as she nursed her new litter of kittens; the previous litter had sold for incredible prices in Castell City.
Jane paced up the stairs to her bedroom, her one indulgence, a semi-tower room whose glassless window looked out on the cultivated land, most of the island and part of the river beyond. She never tired of the view. There was the house and the home-acre, the outbuildings and kitchen-garden, the pens of rabbuck and pigs and cattle, the hemp-fields beyond, the trimmed and cultivated forest of nut, fruit, resin and timber trees beyond that, divided by ditches and greenthorn hedges, then wild forest down to the waterline. All her doing: her dream, her seeds, her labor. .
Hold on, there. Never forget the labor of the others: they'd been in it from the start. Those seven women she'd recruited at the landing had worked harder and longer hours than she had asked; even the children had worked too, as best they could. The men had provided needed skills the women didn't have.
And don't forget the help of the neighbors, all the squat-farmers on the river-little settlements hidden behind thick forest along the riverbank proper-living in dugouts, scratching bare existence out of the forest, hardly surviving before she came with her offers of seed and tools. They'd prospered too, repaying her in shares of their hemp or useful plants and animals discovered in the forest. Oh, yes, one needed to have good neighbors here.
Of course, what she offered them was worth the work: land of their own on her homestead, but who could have guessed they'd all do so well? Let the stupid CoDo bureaucracy sneer at "welfare bums," not that she would ever tell the CoDo about it; she knew better.
She wished the Earth-normal corn was doing as well, but her people wouldn't starve. The pigs she had traded from the Harmonies were thriving on local flora, as were the two heifers. One had taken to insemination, and she hoped the calf would be a bull.