Slim shouts advice from the safety of his slingchair. I sit an stare at the ground an think about what I’m gonna say. By the time Molly turns up with Nero an her leaf-free hair an Mercy, who she met on the path, they’ve managed to tangle the windcrank, the camel, the mule an all of them in a week’s worth of knots an then some.
It’s a moment’s fun. The day’s turned out fine. How I’d love to join them. Be carefree fer once. But my time’s runnin out. I got a tyrant to topple.
This is a joke, right? Creed’s ready smile ain’t nowhere to be seen today. From his sullen mouth to boots that positively twitch to kick at somethin, he bristles spiky discontent.
A joke? I says. Far from it. It’s the only way we can win.
Win? He looks around, with a half-smile that’s more like a frown. You hearin this, folks? he says. No guns, no bows, no blastpacks, no knives. We’re gonna fight the man with—what was that you called it? Oh yeah—bad manners.
Disobedience, I says.
We’re all stood or sat or sprawled in a kinda circle. Each accordin to their own state of mind. I’m on my feet, holdin fast to my ground. We’re still on the hilltop at Peg’s flyer field. She tends to her junkmetal love. Mutters an cackles as she untangles it from the mess of ropes an does things with spanners an bolts. Nero plays one of his favourite games. She puts somethin down, he nips in an steals it. She’s so busy, she don’t pay our talk the least bit of notice.
I says to them, It’s like I said. DeMalo’s built New Eden on fault lines. Lots of ’em an he don’t even know it. The main one is he’s broke families apart. That goes aginst nature. It goes aginst feelin an blood ties. He believes them things make fer weakness, but he’s wrong. They’re strong an they endure an we can use ’em to beat him. Mercy’s told you about the babyhouses—how the mothers are when their infants git took from ’em. That’s one fault line. Tonight I plan to make a little rumble there. If it works, if I’m right, that fault line will start to crack open. Then we’ll go to work crackin open the other fault lines. The slave gangs. An Edenhome. We’ll do it right unner their noses. They won’t notice what we’re up to till it’s too late. Once we got enough cracks, at the right moment we make a big gawdamnn rumble an the whole thing will break wide open. New Eden will crumble.
Silence. But what a clamour. Slim plucks at his whiskers. Ash works her boot heel into the dirt. Between the rest of ’em—Lugh an Tommo an Creed an Molly—there’s frowns an raised eyebrows an looks an so on. From her seat on a rock, Mercy gives me a tiny smile.
A big gawdamnn rumble, says Ash. What kinda rumble you talkin about?
I cain’t say yet, I tell her.
You don’t know, says Creed. You got no idea, do you?
A good leader responds an adapts, I says.
An that does make him smile. At last. You ain’t a good leader, he says.
It’s a lot to ask, I know, I says. This is a new idea. But don’t dismiss it outta hand.
Creed laughs. Why shouldn’t we? he says. We got a whole weapons dump ready an waitin. Hey, Slim, there’s plenty of ammo in that secret store of yers, right?
Plenty, he says.
Why wouldn’t we use it? Creed opens his arms to receive everybody’s agreement. We’re fighters, he says. It’s what we know, what we’re good at. We bin beatin the Tonton in straight fights all along. This ain’t no different.
Why fight if we don’t hafta? I says.
He says, That blast at the bridge must of done somethin to yer brain. It sure as hell rattled yer nerve. Ever since then, you bin all, thou shalt not kill. I tell you, that’s hard to swallow, comin from you. They didn’t call you the Angel of Death fer nuthin. Remind me. How many dead on yer dance card, dear?
Our eyes hold. He’s gone fer the wound. Anger raises its head in me. Growls low in its throat. I silence it with a twitch of my hand.
I’ll fight if needs must, I’ll kill if need be. But it ain’t smart to fight this fight with bows an guns an bombs. Fer three reasons, I says. Number one. Look at how many they are an how few we are. How few real fighters, I mean, not jest bodies—no offence to nobody.
Slim looks at Mercy an Molly. She means us, ladies, he says. The old, the lame an the slow.
Oh, I ain’t always slow, says Molly. She’s propped on her elbows, legs stretched out, studyin her bare feet with drowsy content. They’re small an shapely an, fer feet, they’re remarkably pretty. Creed eyes her like a hungry dog. Go on, Saba, she says. We don’t take no offence.
If we keep this a gun fight, I says, they’ll have the upper hand in no time an we’ll be dead. Reason two. Even if we could keep ’em on the run fer a while, the terrain of New Eden don’t favour guerilla action. Everythin’s too close an we ain’t got enough places to retreat to. Pretty soon they’ll know where all our foxholes are an we won’t have nowhere to hide.
I keep lookin at them, each one in turn. Tryin to read their faces, their eyes, as their thoughts turn an chase. Choosin my words with care. Slowin myself down when I start to talk too fast.
Reason three, I says. I bin learnin a lot about New Eden. From Mercy an other sources. Information has come my way about DeMalo. I cain’t tell you no more right now, but I can tell you this. Knowin what I do, the smartest an best way to beat him is without a shot bein fired. An I believe it can be done. That we can do it.
I don’t, says Creed. An I don’t believe you believe it neether. The first sign of trouble, you’ll be reachin fer yer gun or yer bow. It’s who you are. Yer brother here says you was born with a bow in yer hand. I only had to see you in action once to know that.
Ash says, Sorry, Saba. I stuck with you all the way so far, but I jest cain’t see how this would work. I mean, you even talk about bringin the Stewards onto our side … She shakes her head. It’s a nice thought, but yer dreamin.
I never heard of such a thing—a fight with no fightin—an I’m a thousand years old, says Slim. Sorry, sister, I’m with Ash on this one.
Me too, says Tommo.
What about the rest of yuz? Mercy? I says. Molly? Where do you stand? Lugh? How about you?
Lugh says, Sorry, but I’m with the doubters. Even if it did work, it ’ud take ages.
I ain’t so sure about that, I says. If we don’t try, we’ll never know. One chance to prove this can work. That’s what I want. Tonight at the babyhouse. An if it works, you’ll all support this. We’ll roll it out fast. Babyhouses, slaves, Edenhome, the lot. Come on, Lugh. One chance.
He looks at me a long moment. Then, All right, he says. One chance. Me an Em’ll support you that far. Right, Em?
My eyes tell him thanks. Emmi nods. She’s kept her distance since I got back. Now she’s usin Tracker as a shield between her an me. She coaxed him to sprawl over her lap. She hugs his neck, her face half-buried in his fur. She’s ashamed over Nero. After all her sworn vows to do better. But I ain’t gonna chew her out. I don’t even give her the hard eyeball. I’m jest gonna leave her an see what happens.
Creed looks a world full of scorn at Lugh. Yeah, well, you would go along with her, wouldn’t you? he says. Even if it was the most crackbrain notion ever. Which it is.
I wouldn’t be so sure. Molly sits up straight, suddenly brisk. If there’s somethin that runnin a hooch joint learns you, it’s that there’s more’n one way to settle a fight. So far, this one’s gone down the usual dismal road. Ike’s dead, Jack’s dead an Bram an Maev an yer other friends too. I ain’t ready to join ’em jest yet. She shrugs. We should try this. We’d be fools not to.
It’s a moment’s fun. The day’s turned out fine. How I’d love to join them. Be carefree fer once. But my time’s runnin out. I got a tyrant to topple.
This is a joke, right? Creed’s ready smile ain’t nowhere to be seen today. From his sullen mouth to boots that positively twitch to kick at somethin, he bristles spiky discontent.
A joke? I says. Far from it. It’s the only way we can win.
Win? He looks around, with a half-smile that’s more like a frown. You hearin this, folks? he says. No guns, no bows, no blastpacks, no knives. We’re gonna fight the man with—what was that you called it? Oh yeah—bad manners.
Disobedience, I says.
We’re all stood or sat or sprawled in a kinda circle. Each accordin to their own state of mind. I’m on my feet, holdin fast to my ground. We’re still on the hilltop at Peg’s flyer field. She tends to her junkmetal love. Mutters an cackles as she untangles it from the mess of ropes an does things with spanners an bolts. Nero plays one of his favourite games. She puts somethin down, he nips in an steals it. She’s so busy, she don’t pay our talk the least bit of notice.
I says to them, It’s like I said. DeMalo’s built New Eden on fault lines. Lots of ’em an he don’t even know it. The main one is he’s broke families apart. That goes aginst nature. It goes aginst feelin an blood ties. He believes them things make fer weakness, but he’s wrong. They’re strong an they endure an we can use ’em to beat him. Mercy’s told you about the babyhouses—how the mothers are when their infants git took from ’em. That’s one fault line. Tonight I plan to make a little rumble there. If it works, if I’m right, that fault line will start to crack open. Then we’ll go to work crackin open the other fault lines. The slave gangs. An Edenhome. We’ll do it right unner their noses. They won’t notice what we’re up to till it’s too late. Once we got enough cracks, at the right moment we make a big gawdamnn rumble an the whole thing will break wide open. New Eden will crumble.
Silence. But what a clamour. Slim plucks at his whiskers. Ash works her boot heel into the dirt. Between the rest of ’em—Lugh an Tommo an Creed an Molly—there’s frowns an raised eyebrows an looks an so on. From her seat on a rock, Mercy gives me a tiny smile.
A big gawdamnn rumble, says Ash. What kinda rumble you talkin about?
I cain’t say yet, I tell her.
You don’t know, says Creed. You got no idea, do you?
A good leader responds an adapts, I says.
An that does make him smile. At last. You ain’t a good leader, he says.
It’s a lot to ask, I know, I says. This is a new idea. But don’t dismiss it outta hand.
Creed laughs. Why shouldn’t we? he says. We got a whole weapons dump ready an waitin. Hey, Slim, there’s plenty of ammo in that secret store of yers, right?
Plenty, he says.
Why wouldn’t we use it? Creed opens his arms to receive everybody’s agreement. We’re fighters, he says. It’s what we know, what we’re good at. We bin beatin the Tonton in straight fights all along. This ain’t no different.
Why fight if we don’t hafta? I says.
He says, That blast at the bridge must of done somethin to yer brain. It sure as hell rattled yer nerve. Ever since then, you bin all, thou shalt not kill. I tell you, that’s hard to swallow, comin from you. They didn’t call you the Angel of Death fer nuthin. Remind me. How many dead on yer dance card, dear?
Our eyes hold. He’s gone fer the wound. Anger raises its head in me. Growls low in its throat. I silence it with a twitch of my hand.
I’ll fight if needs must, I’ll kill if need be. But it ain’t smart to fight this fight with bows an guns an bombs. Fer three reasons, I says. Number one. Look at how many they are an how few we are. How few real fighters, I mean, not jest bodies—no offence to nobody.
Slim looks at Mercy an Molly. She means us, ladies, he says. The old, the lame an the slow.
Oh, I ain’t always slow, says Molly. She’s propped on her elbows, legs stretched out, studyin her bare feet with drowsy content. They’re small an shapely an, fer feet, they’re remarkably pretty. Creed eyes her like a hungry dog. Go on, Saba, she says. We don’t take no offence.
If we keep this a gun fight, I says, they’ll have the upper hand in no time an we’ll be dead. Reason two. Even if we could keep ’em on the run fer a while, the terrain of New Eden don’t favour guerilla action. Everythin’s too close an we ain’t got enough places to retreat to. Pretty soon they’ll know where all our foxholes are an we won’t have nowhere to hide.
I keep lookin at them, each one in turn. Tryin to read their faces, their eyes, as their thoughts turn an chase. Choosin my words with care. Slowin myself down when I start to talk too fast.
Reason three, I says. I bin learnin a lot about New Eden. From Mercy an other sources. Information has come my way about DeMalo. I cain’t tell you no more right now, but I can tell you this. Knowin what I do, the smartest an best way to beat him is without a shot bein fired. An I believe it can be done. That we can do it.
I don’t, says Creed. An I don’t believe you believe it neether. The first sign of trouble, you’ll be reachin fer yer gun or yer bow. It’s who you are. Yer brother here says you was born with a bow in yer hand. I only had to see you in action once to know that.
Ash says, Sorry, Saba. I stuck with you all the way so far, but I jest cain’t see how this would work. I mean, you even talk about bringin the Stewards onto our side … She shakes her head. It’s a nice thought, but yer dreamin.
I never heard of such a thing—a fight with no fightin—an I’m a thousand years old, says Slim. Sorry, sister, I’m with Ash on this one.
Me too, says Tommo.
What about the rest of yuz? Mercy? I says. Molly? Where do you stand? Lugh? How about you?
Lugh says, Sorry, but I’m with the doubters. Even if it did work, it ’ud take ages.
I ain’t so sure about that, I says. If we don’t try, we’ll never know. One chance to prove this can work. That’s what I want. Tonight at the babyhouse. An if it works, you’ll all support this. We’ll roll it out fast. Babyhouses, slaves, Edenhome, the lot. Come on, Lugh. One chance.
He looks at me a long moment. Then, All right, he says. One chance. Me an Em’ll support you that far. Right, Em?
My eyes tell him thanks. Emmi nods. She’s kept her distance since I got back. Now she’s usin Tracker as a shield between her an me. She coaxed him to sprawl over her lap. She hugs his neck, her face half-buried in his fur. She’s ashamed over Nero. After all her sworn vows to do better. But I ain’t gonna chew her out. I don’t even give her the hard eyeball. I’m jest gonna leave her an see what happens.
Creed looks a world full of scorn at Lugh. Yeah, well, you would go along with her, wouldn’t you? he says. Even if it was the most crackbrain notion ever. Which it is.
I wouldn’t be so sure. Molly sits up straight, suddenly brisk. If there’s somethin that runnin a hooch joint learns you, it’s that there’s more’n one way to settle a fight. So far, this one’s gone down the usual dismal road. Ike’s dead, Jack’s dead an Bram an Maev an yer other friends too. I ain’t ready to join ’em jest yet. She shrugs. We should try this. We’d be fools not to.
