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They did not shake hands on parting.
Jomo mused on how much easier this would make the takeover of Docktown, the outlying farms, eventually Castell City and the rest of the planet. Jomo considered himself a man of great plans.
Owen Van Damm was watching quietly while his immediate boss Maxwell Cole hung up his off-ship over-clothes and readied himself for the briefing. He felt that he was like that, layer on layer, persona under persona, and at the center? I don't know anymore. I know that I am unhappy with Earth, and the government. The Fleet is a home, but I know too much to go back to being a Fleet Officer.
"Here's the situation, Owen . . . . Jomo has the weapons and appears willing to use them . . . . He didn't press too much on where they came from and was willing to pay cash . . . . I imagine that we have the majority of hard cash on the planet. That means a serious retreat into barter, as Charles Castell doesn't seem to want money of any kind here. He might be a hell of a leader, but his knowledge of economics is primitive.
"With the breakdown of the economy it shouldn't be hard to nudge Jomo into a full takeover . . . . I'm afraid that the religious gambit is out . . . . They are still pacifists. Ke
Van Damm considered the options. "You mean put a bunch of farmers and religious nuts in a position to be slaughtered?"
"Exactly. You handle this one well, and I'll recommend you for a job on Luna in charge of the Haven desk . . . . It will be small, but will require a man with on-planet experience.
"Especially in light of the pla
"It will mean a promotion for you."
"So this whole thing is a setup for making a planetary prison mine for BuReloc and the mining companies?"
"Yes, and you have ninety days to pull it off. The captain of this ship can hold only that long, no longer. Ke
Owen took that as a dismissal, and started to leave. Another thought made him pause in mid-step.
"Mister Cole? What if I don't pull it off?"
"If I don't get a report on the start of an uprising inside of ninety days, then you will stay here until you do it. Good luck."
"Thank you, Mister Cole"
Owen Van Damm considered that there was no choice here. In fact, field agent on Haven could be a better deal than assistant to some bureaucrat on Luna.
Ke
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 ru
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 gri
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 Be
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. Gra
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.