“The Spartans,” interrupted Bill Mason excitedly. “Ever since they defeated those Viking raiders last year, they’ve been looking for new worlds to conquer.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Bowie. “I watched them in action. They’re tough, disciplined fighters who know
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how to fight as a unit. Precisely the type of men we want.”
“And anxious for adventure,” said Socrates. “Let me talk to Lysander of Sparta tomorrow. He was the admiral of their fleet and knows the finest sailors. Though I suspect that insufferable bore will insist we take him along as well.”
“What about a ship?” asked Crockett. “Or you got that all planned too.”
“Maybe,” said Bowie, smiling. “Just maybe I do.”
The next morning, Bowie, Crockett, and Mason walked down-River a mile to the next grailstone. “That’s where Thorberg Scafhogg lives,” said Bowie, as they strolled along the beach. “We sometimes get together for a few drinks.”
Seeing the disapproving look that crossed Crockett’s face, Bowie raised his hands in protest. “I know what you’re thinking, and it ain’t like that. No more drunken binges for me. I learned my lesson at the Alamo. Damned near broke all my ribs when I fell off the ramparts. Ended doin’ more damage to myself than the Mexicans.”
Bowie’s face grew solemn. “Besides, in those days I didn’t care much if I lived or died. Not after the cholera took my wife and baby girl. Liquor helped me forget. All that’s changed since the resurrection. Life’s different knowing that Maria is alive somewhere out there. I’ve mended my ways.” The Texan smiled. “Maybe I should think about joining the Church of the Second Chance.”
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“Yeah,” said Crockett, arching his eyebrows. “What do you think of those preacher folks? Hold much to their theory of us being re-created so we can all strive toward sainthood?” Davy laughed. “Hard to imagine old Andy Jackson, the devil himself, with a halo.”
“Having a second chance at life strikes me as a fine idea,” said Bowie. “Not to mention a third, fourth, and who knows how many more tries. But, people is people. No matter how many times they’re reborn, they ain’t gonna change much. At least, that’s the way I see it.”
“Who’s this Thorberg you mentioned?” asked Crockett, changing the subject. “And what’s he to us?”
“Around twelve months ago,” replied Bill Mason, “a fleet of six Viking ships came sailing down the River. Commanded by Olaf Tryggvason, a Norwegian king from the tenth century, they were looking to establish an empire in this territory. The raiders had conquered two other valleys, and they figured we’d be no more trouble. None of them counted on the Spartans.”
“Must have been about a thousand Norsemen looking for plunder on those boats,” said Bowie, continuing the tale. “They never encountered any organized opposition before. Stormed ashore, not expecting any resistance. Three thousand Greeks, combat-hardened veterans of years of intercity warfare, met them on the beaches. The sands ran red with blood.”
“The Vikings fought heroically,” said Mason, “but without much discipline. They battled as individuals. The Spartans, raised and trained in groups, worked in unison. Individually, they didn’t match up against their opponents. But collectively they overwhelmed them.
“By the time King Olaf fell, most of his followers were dead. The remaining few, mostly artisans and
craftsmen who kept the ships in good condition, surrendered. Lysander of Sparta offered them a choice. Join our community, freely sharing their knowledge of science and engineering, or perish by the sword. In a world where death means nothing, mercy no longer exists. The Norwegians, to a man, chose to live. Thorberg Scafhogg was one of that bunch.”
“Their boats?” asked Crockett.
“Burned during the battle,” replied Mason. “Fortunately, afterward, we were able to save most of the rivets and bolts.”
On Riverworld, where minerals were almost nonexistent, iron was more valued than gold. Without it, modern technology could not exist. Wars were fought for metal.
“Where’d they get the ore?” asked Crockett. “Can’t dig for it. Grass is too darned tough.”
“You know those firestarters that sometimes appear in the grails? Rumor has it that an American named Edison tried all sorts of experiments to discover their secrets. Got killed a couple of times, but he kept on trying. Never did find out how they worked. But what he did learn was equally important.