2003-09-06 19:51:03 UTC
Dave Cozart welcomed the boat that sailed in from Nantucket. There had
been some hostile feelings over the departure of Cozart and his pals
from Nantucket some years earlier, when Steve Stirling had been a City
Councilman and derided Cozart and anyone else who had sympathy for the
Original Americans. The Draka -- as Sterling and his supporters were
scornfully known-- had gone to Europe to build empires and the successor
regime, run by Carlos Yu, was considerably more friendly than Sterling
Coyu was busy enough keeping less than eight thousand people alive
through the equivalent of a depression so bad that electricity had
ceased to function. And there was nowhere to buy modern services and
items. The Nantuckers might survive, but their descendents would, at
best, be Iron Age tribesmen with literacy.
The skipper of the ship waved at Cozart as his ship slipped into its
"Speer has found his swimming giant sloth," the skipper announced,
turning over to Cozart a pile of newspapers and journals. "It is rare
and only twelve feet long, but he did find it in Argentina, which he
named New Nebraska."
"That is the big news?"
"Well, you and Speer were obviously right. Stirling's "breathe on a
native and kill them" theory is crap. There are at least 75,000
Amerinds in New England and they are all healthy. Mike Stone is an
ancient day Dr Livingston, going from tribe to tribe and spreading to
them the gospel that he knows."
"Whatever floats his boat," commented Cozart.
"Life as a hardscrabble farmer or fisherman is horribly hard work with
few surpluses and few comforts. Stirling was also wrong about his crap
on women wanting to be baby machines only they realize there is a
continent of wilderness to tame."
"What wasn't that retard wrong on?" asked Cozart. "He had absolutely no
historical data on the Olmec, but wrote them off as stereotype cannibal
savages. He went to Britain and took sides in a war, assuming that one
side were good matriachal guys and the other were baddies. Remember that
poor Coast Guard Captain? He convinced her to make lesbo advances to a
tribal princess and got the woman executed."
Cozart shuddered. Stirling had decided that he and his fellow "20th
centurions" were going to run the world of 1250 AD. But having read of
Napoleon and Caesar does not make you Napoleon or Caesar, and Stirling
had lead his followers to massacre. Cozart wondered whatever became of
Tiber River Valley, October 1248 BC
From a good distance, well away from the stench, Prio watched his slave,
Steve, labor, carting buckets of pig poop to fertilize the gardens.
Steve was hard to understand (not all that great a linguist) and
clumsily described things he could not make himself, like a wheelbarrow.
Prio had told the slave that he would take the fertilizer to the garden
manually: Prio was not going to waste his slave's time by letting him
mess with drawings and saws and wood.
Prio was not a cruel man, but he suspected his slave had been while
Steve was a free man. Prio had bought Steve from a Tartessian slave
dealer who had said: "This slave was a king, or at least he lead a
warband against the horse folk in the North Island. He lead his people
into an ambush and the tribe that had followed him declined to ransom
him back and he was sold to me."
Steve had kept on spewing his waste matter in a thick, comical accent.
He spoke of huge refineries of molten iron, and could not recognize iron
ore when he saw it. He spoke of military organization in the thousands,
and could not even manage a three man hunting party. He talked much, and
could do very little.