among the nighttime strollers, staring out across the water toward the distant lights of the Strandside bridge. “I can’t imagine it,” Tawna said. “You mean they just try to keep on accumulating more and more, like the Winteys?” She searched for an analogy. “That would be like eating all day. Obviously, you need to have enough to keep you going. But once that’s satisfied, other things in life become more important. You make it sound as if how much people own is the only measure of what they’re worth…. Why, that would be as ridiculous as everybody being judged solely by weight and competing to be the heaviest!”
Financial obesity, Duggan thought to himself. Not a bad way to put it. It was hardly the first time in history for such an observation to be made; but the trouble with giving handouts to the ones inevitably left behind in the race had always been that it produced more and more free riders who eventually brought down the system. Somehow the Tharleans seemed to have solved the problem of restraining excess without perpetrating injustices or undermining initiative. How, then, did it work with power?
“So who makes judgments and decisions?” he asked. “You have to have disputes, the same as anyone else. Who has the final say when nobody involved can agree?”
“It’s true. Somebody has to do it.” Tawna made it sound like cleaning the sewers or defusing bombs. “They have a kind of lottery, and the losers get appointed. It’s only for a year—and people are sympathetic, so they try to be supportive.”
“You mean it’s a lousy job. Nobody wants it?”
“Well, of course. Why would anyone…” Tawna stopped as she registered the astonishment in Duggan’s voice. “You mean that on Earth…”
He nodded. “Having power over people is considered a big thing. They fight each other for it. Okay, now go ahead and tell me: you thought maybe it would be something like that.”
Then he realized that she was giving him a long, contemplative look that held little real interest in such things just at the moment. He forgot about the subject and held her eye quizzically. “You’re different from Lukki,” she said. “He was like a child, never questioning anything. You do. You see things, and you think about them. It makes you… interesting.” She slid closer along the rail of the parapet. Her fingertip traced over his arm. Duggan turned toward her. Her hair and skin shone softly golden in the light from the embankment lamps…
Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…
Duggan cursed under his breath and tugged the compak from his shirt pocket. The caller was Brose’s assistant aloft in
Four flights of assault shuttles made synchronized landings at key points and deployed with alacrity to seize and secure the prime means of access and communications. Two task forces sealed the main highway and rail links north and south, another commandeered the airport, while the last took the Strandside bridge and sent a column into Ferrydock to occupy the broadcasting stations and news bureaus. Meanwhile, special details sped through the town to install military administrators and technicians in the offices responsible for transportation, power generation and distribution, and communications. By midday the operation was completed as per the timetable. At noon precisely, General Rhinde went on the air to inform the inhabitants of Ferrydock that their town was now under Terran military jurisdiction and subject to the laws of its governing council. Communications and public services were under control of a colonial administration reporting to an appointed governor, and regulations concerning the conduct of business and finance would be announced shortly.
The townspeople seemed to think it was a great idea. An enthusiastic crowd in the central square greeted the news, relayed through their personal phones or from loudspeakers set up for the occasion, and by early afternoon representatives from the sanitation, harbor facilities, and water supply services were appearing at the governor’s downtown headquarters offering their organizations for takeover too. Meanwhile, the management at places the Terrans had declared themselves to be in control of were resigning or taking a holiday to disappear to the beaches at Strandside, visit with grandchildren, or spend time on their hobbies. By next morning, the town was in chaos. Half the communications were down, the airport was barely functioning, and services languished as employees took breaks to line up enthusiastically in hundreds to be issued newly introduced permits and licenses. In the end, Rhinde’s officers were forced to send out squads to track down essential professionals and bring them back at gunpoint to carry out tasks which until yesterday they had performed readily and willingly. That was when Duggan began getting his first strong intuition that this wasn’t going to work out in the way that had been envisaged.
When all-out war failed to materialize, the restrictions confining non-occupation personnel to base were eased. Duggan was standing on a street corner with Tawna, watching two troopers shouldering assault rifles and clad in riot gear, posted to protect the Municipal Services Building from a gaggle of curious onlookers, when Zeebron Stell called from the office suite he’d rented as a trading base. He sounded agitated.
“Dug, where are you?”
“A few blocks away from you on Johannes Street. You know, Zeeb, I think Gilbert and Sullivan could have done a lot with this.”
“Is Tawna with you?”
“Yes, she is. What’s up?”
“I’ve got problems. People here don’t seem to understand that I’m running a business, not a thrift store. Can you get over? Maybe she’d be able to do a better job of getting the message across.”
“It’s Zeeb, from his emporium,” Duggan murmured to Tawna. “He’s having some kind of trouble with the locals. Wants us over there to see if you can maybe talk to them. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
“We’re on our way, Zeeb.”
A miscellany of vehicles was parked outside the building in which Stell had his premises, including a beat-up truck. Inside, they found him remonstrating with a dowdily dressed woman who seemed interested in some toilet preparations that he had amassed a stack of in one of the rooms. Elsewhere, a couple with two small children were examining a shelf of electronics appliances, while a small, bespectacled, bearded man, wearing a tweed jacket with deerstalker-like hat and waving a list of some kind, hopped about, trying to get Stell’s attention. “
“There’s some kind of victimization conspiracy,” he told them. “With each other, they’re real generous. I know. I watched ’em. But when they come here, they try and rip me off with pennies and buttons. It’s almost like they think
Tawna nodded. “Of course. These are people who really do
“But they’re talking about helpingme!” Stell protested.
“Well, yes… that too.” Tawna obviously still couldn’t see anything strange.
“How do they figure that?” Stell demanded.
“Well…” Tawna hesitated in the way of somebody reluctant to spell out what should have been clear. “To enjoy pride and self-esteem, the way everyone wants to,” she said. “The more wealth and material things you acquire, the more you can make things easier for those going through hard times. Once you’re reasonably comfortable yourself, it starts to mean more, right?” She glanced at Duggan. “It’s like what we were saying the other day about eating all day. Beyond a certain point, any more doesn’t make sense.”
Stell’s eyes bulged. “You mean they’ll hassle me like this forever here?”
“Oh, no. Only until you learn to judge for yourself what share to put back in, like everyone else. Since you don’t know how it works yet, they’re probably just trying to help. It might take a little time.”
