Revolt on War World

VI

Reverend Castell thrust out his hand, in which was a crumpled ball of paper. His face, bare since the fire-pit a few months back, contorted in frustration and impotent rage. "We've been on Haven barely two Earth standard years, Key. There is constant discord over living space, provisions, supplies, equipment, and even over the simplest elements of doctrine, since the four thousand arrived."

I looked at the paper in his hand. Paper was a fairly rare item. I owned none myself, other than my copy of the Writings. Only a few standard months earlier, one of our artisans had produced the first new paper on Haven, using rice and ancient Japanese methods his grandfather had taught him. To crumple such a precious commodity was almost blasphemous because it tempted waste to begin a melody all its own.

These were to have been the expansions to our town," the reverend said. "Improvements, such as birthing pits dug deep to increase the air pressure, even as mine-shafts in South Africa did on Earth. I drew up the plans myself." He grimaced. "No doubt the miners can help with this."

"Shall we strike a chord of harmony?" I asked, seeking a solution as well as trying to console him.

He appraised me with mockery in his gaze. "You can't mean that we're lucky, even as Anders said." He shook his head. "No, Key, Kennicott is not harmonious, they are cacophony." He stood and began pacing. The crumpled papers he tossed into the fire. My careful plans, ruined in a mob-shout of BuReloc stupidity and Kennicott greed." He kicked the altar in the corner, tumbling a candle, which went out.

Hanging my head, I waited for his storm to pass. His rantings lasted longer these days, I noticed. They produced less determination, cleared less mental air, too.

Reverend Castell had been raging ever since Major Lassitre, who had stayed on Haven, brought word from Splashdown Island that Kennicott Mining Company, in cooperation with the Bureau of Relocation, intended to set up a mining enterprise on Haven. Even as we spoke a shipload of immigrants got closer to shuttle-down.

My place as head acolyte had grown until I was Reverend Castell's confidant. He confided doubts, dislikes, and discords to my ears more often than he talked to his wife, whom he saw only during sleeps. Now and then he thought aloud about creating for me a post of Deacon, but nothing had come of that yet.

Burdens stacked on me kept my brow furrowed most hours of my day, and I'd begun losing weight as worry affected appetites.

As the Chosen harmonized as best they could with the newcomers, my forays into outlying farmland became erratic, hasty jaunts, rather than regular journeys. In town, now called Castell City by jest and general usage, I circulated as best I could. At households where once I found welcome, I'd lately begun finding suspicion. Some called me Castell's spy to my face. Others hinted that I'd been bought by Kennicott, or some other commercial enterprise.

"We must organize church services again," Reverend Castell said. "Secret meetings of the truly faithful." Bitterness warped that latter phrase into a self-condemnation, so I said nothing. In my mind I railed against the CoDominium. The thousands on their way would be mostly from the United States, and many professed to be Harmonies, as well. Lassitre's communications shack even caught some cross-talk between BuReloc officials and CoDo representatives aboard the immigrant ship, and from it he brought us word that we would receive a small food plant, to convert raw molecules into edibles, reminiscent of Earthly shortages. It seemed they were serious enough to try helping us slightly.

Reverend Castell said, "Have you nothing to tell me of how our songs are being sung?"

I sipped some Hecate tea and savored its piney aromatics. "Our sons are quiet but strong," I said.

He chuckled. You've been around me too long, perhaps, if you're learning the arts of such speech."

With a smile I denied that I could ever be too long with him, then said, "My wish is only to hold my own counsel until I know more details. I've heard many disturbing things, and I'm sure, my ears are among the last to receive such grace notes."

A nod cast a shadow as sap flared in the fire. "If it's about the mineral assays done by Byers' crew when Haven was first discovered, I've dreaded the findings for years."

"Only part of what I hear echoes Kennicott Mining Company, but I'm sure they've a use for Haven or they'd never have paid the freight for the North Americans who wanted to come here."

He looked at me hard again, as if seeking confirmation of a new trait, one not necessarily pleasing to him. "Politics is a shame in one so young.

"Forewarned is forearmed," I said, at once blushing. I was aghast at the militaristic quotation and doubly aghast that it should fly so readily from my lips.

Anger darkened his visage as he stood over me. "We seek harmony in all things, and in all ways. Peace is ours to offer only because we hold it so carefully, preserve it so carefully."

Bowing my head, I recited with him a short drone. A sharp pain stabbed me in the gut, from within, and I belched and tasted bile at the base of my tongue. Still, I made sure to fold my left hand over my right as I prayed, to cover the skinned knuckles and teeth marks I'd gotten by punching my way out of a debate.

The newcomers found more than enough work to do, making places to live, and trying to scrabble out more food. They went about the business of settling in, many contructing houses for themselves with our help, others moving in with Chosen families, still others fanning out across the Shangr? — La Valley. A few who had been miners took their families to outlying farms, but scratching in the dirt differed too greatly from digging in the dirt to suit most of them, and I found on my long circuit walks that many of these became prospectors.

The few consumer products brought by merchants stirred up more greed than they pacified. Earthers used to buying things disliked making them, but there were too few manufactured goods to go around, and, until the Kennicott operation got properly started, virtually no chance of more being imported. And without factories and refineries, neither of which were planned so far as anyone knew, importing would be the only way to get such things during their probably shortened life span on Haven.

Handmade, utilitarian, and harmonious items just weren't as bright and shiny as manufactured consumer goods could be on Earth. Haven's quaintness wore off. Tourism became torture when the newcomers and their families truly understood that they couldn't leave. Enthusiasms for collecting the charming handmade items evaporated when everyone used the things every day. And with more settlers on the way, even the hint of future scarcity was enough to push haggling into hassles and fights.

Theft and nuisance sabotage became, if not commonplace, then at least frequent enough to be considered ignorable. Each time I or other acolytes received such complaints, we promised to carry them to Castell, but I also advised, on my own initiative, increased security on the farms and in the shops. Prevention lessened temptation, I reminded them. We acolytes eventually learned some methods of keeping things safer, and taught those with whom we visited each stroll-period.

One evening Castell turned to me at a communal meal and said, "Our peaceful ways are chafing to those whose tastes run toward depravity."

Anger swelled in me, because I knew he referred to an incident I'd reported to him. While walking past the palisade's town square gate between my home and Castell's house, I had encountered a Chosen woman and a child. Both were crying.

"He touched her, she says," the woman told me, stroking the little girl's head as she hugged it. "Is there nothing to be done? Tell me how to find the harmony in such a vile act." And she ran from me before I could even ask her who had done such a thing.

When Castell heard, he was livid for an instant, then dropped into sudden, disconcerting calm. "The child must visit friends or relatives in the out-farms," he said. "And Chosen children must be in groups of three or more and accompanied by Chosen when inside the fort."

Outrage still roiled in me, but his words held such convincing harmony that I had bowed and crawled out to spread his words on the matter.

It was only the next night that a drunken man slapped an arm around my shoulder in the town square and asked me, with volatile breath and a leer, where he could find the brothel about which he'd heard such exciting things. Earthly corruptions flourished in Haven's miserly environment.

"Keeping our peace separate from their discord does nothing," I told Reverend Castell. "If anything, it weakens our song. Harmony cannot play counterpoint to cacophony and chaos."

Reverend Castell spun towards me and pointed at my face. "How dare you quote Writings to me, who helped my father compose them. How dare you interpret to me what my father and I wrestled into words."

"But you've got to realize that our settlement's fraying at the edges. Reverend, our children are beginning to mock the ethics of their parents, because they see such mockery every day around them."

"Yes, the secular always makes intrusions-"

"Incursions, more like," I said, so frustrated that I wasn't even aware that I'd interrupted him. "The Shangri-La Valley may soon be a bowl of blood."

"Your terms of war begin to try me," Castell said.

"Then I'll speak them no more." And I turned to go.

Having to drop to one's knees to leave a room makes melodramatic exits difficult at best. This was no exception, and before I got my head past his curtains he'd made me laugh by saying, "Oh, get up, for harmony's sake, I can't be expected to sing to your posterior."

Despite my anger, I laughed, and then I returned to my place beside him, and he said, "We must institute town meetings and community votes. Church membership shall be a requirement for voting privileges, but those lone voices who pledge to learn the ways of Harmony will be eligible to serve our cause, and can eventually qualify to join our chorus. Let each of the Chosen choose someone to indoctrinate, and distribute Writings to all who require them.

"And as for you and the acolytes, we must increase their numbers, as well. I charge you, Kev Malcolm, to be Deacon, along with the best two acolytes under your tutelage. For every acolyte choose two Beadles, from the newcomers, young people like yourself." Here his voice lowered and he leaned close to me. "Your new role is protector of the Harmonies. Deacons may decide upon strategies, ensuring their harmony with the Writings, and Beadles shall deploy tactics, to ensure compliance with Writings among the Chosen and the Pledged."

Swallowing hard, I nodded. My palms sweated and itched. My knuckles throbbed, too, and I wondered how much he knew of my many scuffles with disrespectful, resentful Earthers. I dared ask, "Does this mean we must set aside our pacifism?"

"Our church needs a buffer, and the Deacons and Beadles shall provide it," he answered. Then he scowled. "Our pacifism remains, but absolution for necessary lapses among those not yet full church members may be granted; we must always seek harmony, but we may adjust the strength of our voice to compete with the cacophony roaring around us." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm asking you to manage a group partly outside our beliefs and convictions, to ensure that we can thrive. In return, you'll be doing a service vital to the survival of the Church of New Universal Harmony."

Part of my mind thought it was a deal with the devil, but my bruises and sore hands argued otherwise, calling it a practical compromise in the face of uncompromising difficulties.