Revolt on War World

III

After a dozen Earth-months on Haven, I could go in shirtsleeves, and my body had filled out until I was bigger than Reverend Castell himself.

Walking between the rows of plastic-covered furrows, I crossed one of the fields north of town. The trick of covering the plants to create mini-greenhouse effects had increased our second crop yield by seventy percent, so I watched my feet, remembering clumsier days.

In my left hand I carried three small animals, all dead. They'd been discovered by three of our outlying farmers and I was taking them to the doctors for analysis. One looked like a salamander, green with red spots along its flanks, but it had a soft membrane across its forehead, and its eyes were multiplex, like a bee's.

Another of the animals I'd seen alive. It had a furlike covering that scraped off like moss, four legs, and twin tails with bristles at the end. Those bristles were more like tiny barbs, and caused swelling. I knew because I'd kicked one once, at the edge of a corn-crop.

Coming down the hill, I had a good view of the lake. Its beauty inspired me with pride at our world. Boats bobbed near the shore I approached, while our wharfs, now numbering three, showed much activity as nets were repaired and boats were sealed.

We used resin from the pinelike trees for a natural sealant, even inside our houses. It dried to resemble a plastic. Those trees, whose sap ran outside their trunk, added layer after layer in a seasonal cycle we had yet to parse. Resin could be harvested in liquid form, and kept pliant by heating, or it could be peeled in sheets.

I waved, but the small figures could not have seen such a gesture, if they saw me at all.

That's when thunder sounded, a rare sound on Haven. It was rarer still from a clear sky showing only sparse, high cirrus clouds, so I squinted upward, perhaps subconsciously recognizing the sound.

A glint became a glitter, and then the spot swelled and I drew in a sharp breath. My pace increased, and soon I was running.

No one on the shore or in the boats seemed to notice, and I wondered if the sound had been baffled from their hearing by the very hills on which I now ran. My gestures and shouts did not carry far enough.

The spot had grown now. Blunt at the snout and wide in the beam, it was obviously a shuttle. Even as I glanced upward again the wings extended farther, to let it achieve subsonic speeds without tumbling.

I had to skirt a stand of oaklike trees, then cut through some more of the pines before I got another clear view of the lake. Some of the boats were making their way to shore. Others bobbed in apparent ignorance.

Increasing my pace, I grew light-headed. Thin air duelled with highland lungs, for I'd been raised in the Rockies, but my speed and rhythm suffered. The splashship was now big in the sky, and falling fast. It banked and I saw stains and signs of neglect. "Earthers," I shouted, my anger surging.

And then the last few boats began moving, their occupants rowing frantically, but it was too late.

I stopped running on the crest of the final rise. The animal specimens lay behind me, flung in frustration. All I could do was watch, squeezing my fists until my knuckles crackled.

The shadow covered three of the boats, but the splashship only struck one, driving it under almost gently. The old PanAmerican shuttle plowed a wake, and our other two boats swamped, but I saw swimmers. That first boat, however, showed no signs of surfacing again, and in fact, we never even found the body.

Looking left, I saw people running from town, and made out the tall, long-haired, bearded figure of Reverend Castell. He did not run. He did not even walk quickly. His pace was an angry, robotic stomp.

Looking right, I saw a few other boats coming down River East. River South showed no signs of activity, but my elevation and squint were insufficient for clear sight.

"It was slaughter," I said, wiping tears I hadn't noticed before. Drawing a deep but shaky breath, I started trotting down to the lake, vectoring to intersect Castell's stiff-jointed stalk.

When I came to walk beside and a little behind the reverend, I heard him muttering. His eyes seemed calm, but he was grinding his teeth. With each step he took and let out a breath, as if it were some meditation. We reached the old wharf and stood on the worn planks as the splashship lowered propellers and maneuvered toward us. A few people stood in an open cargo hatch on one side, and they waved. None of the Chosen returned the gesture.

Reverend Castell stood staring. His breath came in ragged gasps through his nose, while his lips writhed as if wrestling. When a light breeze rippled a fold of his robe, he swatted at the moving garment as if meaning to tear it.

The draft of a standard splashship is five meters absolute minimum, and a PanAmerican old-style shuttle requires more. The only wharf whose frontage had been dredged to accommodate such displacements was the old one, the one left by a CD geological Survey Team, the one we now stood upon. So it was that the newcomers came directly to us.

Behind Reverend Castell and me the other acolytes formed up. We were big now, and stood in a semicircle. None of us hummed or made any other harmonious sound. As for me, I avoided inner questions and simply looked to Reverend Castell for guidance.

The splashship's shadow covered us, conjuring chill, and then the ship itself slammed into the pilings and demolished a short dock we'd constructed. I steadied myself by taking a step, but Reverend Castell never moved. He gazed at the quintet of ship's officers standing in the hatch, his face utterly calm now, his hands hanging limp.

"Ahoy," one of the ship's ground officers called. "Would you be Charles Castell?" He jumped down onto the planks and tugged down the bottom of his tunic before extending his hand. I saw that his ranks echoed Marine ranks, not Naval ranks, which theoretically meant he was trained in all sorts of ground-side deviltry, perhaps even by CD Marines.

Reverend Castell, ignoring the hand, said "Peace is ours to offer." It was a formal greeting from the Writings, but his voice as he said it was strained and rough, as if he'd been crying.

Dropping his hand, the officer said, "I'm Major Lassitre, and-"

"Have you brought more of the Chosen, Major?" Castell asked. "More supplies, perhaps?" He enunciated every syllable with over-precise clarity, as if the sense of the words escaped him. It was more a phonetic mimicry of speech than true communication.

Major Lassitre smiled. His hair, combed back all around and graying at the temples, glistened as he nodded slightly. "Sir, my orders are to set up air traffic control for a field splashdown zone."

Reverend Castell swayed backward a little, but caught his balance before I could move. "You killed one of the Chosen."

The major met Castell's gaze. "I've killed none of your flock, Reverend; they committed suicide if they rowed under us, and I'm not authorized to stand around chatting in any case. We have shuttles coming down in four hours, and I've got work to do."

Turning on his heel, Major Lassitre waved to the other military people at the hatch, and they formed a chain and began handing down packs and field communication units.

Reverend Castell stepped toward the major and touched his arm. "Major Lassitre, may I direct your attention to that island?" He pointed to the big, wooded island situated somewhat west of the lake's center.

"What of it, Reverend? This wharf, if my briefing was correct, is CoDominium built and owned."

Castell swallowed and blinked once, slowly. "The island features prominences at all four quarters, and would serve as an excellent control spot for directing splashdowns."

"Sergeant," the major called to one of the men, who at once stood straight and said, "Sir." "Take a zodiac and reconnoiter that island; it may be a more functional control point."

"Aye, sir." The sergeant saluted, detailed three men to accompany him, and opened a panel on the shuttle's side. From it he took a heavy package which, when he pulled a cord, inflated into a keeled boat almost as large as our wooden ones. One of the sergeant's men attached an outboard motor, and they zipped away with much noise and too many fumes.

Throughout these proceedings Reverend Castell stood mute, but as the zodiac dwindled in the distance he said, "Major, what is going on?"

At once I dismissed the faintest hint of pleading in his voice as a trick of my hearing.

"At ease," the major told his remaining soldier, who at once actually took out and smoked a cigar. To Reverend Castell, Lassitre said, "Haven's about to get quite a population boost, sir. We've got three thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three more Harmonies for you, sir, and another eight thousand and five miners, merchants, and the like."

"What?" I blurted, unable to assimilate the numbers he'd mentioned, let alone grasp their situation.

Glancing up at me, the major grinned and looked me up and down more carefully. "Big one, huh? You've the makings of a fine marine, young man."

"I'm at peace," came the rote reply, but I noticed how he made himself sound as if he were a real CD Marine, and not just a transport company officer.

"Of course," he said, tone neutral. "If you call it that."

During this exchange, Reverend Castell simply continued to stare at the major, as if neither he nor I had said anything.

Redirecting his attention to Castell, Lassitre tossed a thumb toward the sky, to indicate a transport in orbit. It would be over us again in a little under four hours, I knew, remembering our own few orbits. "I forgot how isolated you are here, you had no warning, did you?"

"Haven belongs to the Church of New Universal Harmony. My father purchased settlement rights just before he died." His hand went to his chest for a moment, then dropped. "My people have sacrificed everything Earthly to come here. Reverend Castell spoke quietly, as if reciting from the Writings. "We've no further need of Earthly things. The Harmonies are welcome, but the others-"

"There are families aboard, sir. Men, women, and children. Your church didn't have the funds for a second expedition, so shares were sold. We can't expect you to like it, but it's completely legal. And besides, isn't charity part of your pacifist creed? Or at least basic hospitality?"

Castell took a step back from Major Lassitre. His eyes widened. He took a deep breath, and I winced, expecting a loud sermon to begin. How dare this infidel remind our leader of his own creed's duties? Instead, though, Reverend Castell let his breath out slowly and said, in a conversational tone, "Was the trip hard on them?"

At once Major Lassitre's body language relaxed, and he smiled. "Some died, I won't lie to you. You've been in the transport ships, even converted liners; you know how it can be."

"Squalid," Castell said. He, too, smiled, but with no relief there, no shared referents.

For myself, I could not understand our leader's attitude, his sudden relaxing. Had he conceded the CoDo's right to usurp his authority on Haven? Had he acceded to their right to rescind all those costly permissions?

Was he faltering?

"You understand, of course," Castell told the major, "that we have neither the resources nor the desire to take care of anyone other than our own."

The major laughed. "They may take care of you, sir. They've brought virtually no supplies and precious little know-how, if I'm any judge." When no one joined in his laughter, he coughed and said, "Yes, well. Fact is, Reverend, there's nothing we can do. Ours is but to do or die, eh? Although your chain of command's a bit shorter than mine, huh?"

And as he laughed again, the zodiac returned and the sergeant reported, with a note of surprise, that the reverend hadn't lied, the island was indeed a better place to set up a control point.

The shuttle sloshed back from the wharf and surged to the island, but it was long before the reverend moved or stopped staring.

Behind us the entire settlement had erupted in a cacophony of discussion and disbelief. Almost four thousand more Harmonies; what news would they bring of Earth? Old friends and new would arrive within a few hours. Excitement roiled among us, while we acolytes attempted no calming, feeling only upset ourselves.

"You had not the slightest appreciation of the difficulty in what you asked of me," Reverend Castell said at last, under his breath. He turned and glared at me a moment, as if angry that I'd eavesdropped.

With a blush I lowered my gaze, but my mind, always the independent part of me, wondered if the reverend had been subvocalizing a conversation with his dead father. It seemed to me futile to argue with ghosts that haunt only memory.

When Reverend Castell strode away I did not follow as closely as usual. His glare had sent sour notes through me, clashing with our normal attunement.

Later, the other acolytes began asking me what we must do as our numbers swelled fourfold. "Strive for harmony," I said.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was uncertain exactly what that phrase might mean.