But, truth was, young Jorff had missed the excitement, perceived glamor, and the adrenaline kick that came with the riskiness of the life he’d known in those years. Compared to the images that memory furnished him with—and who was he to say what kind of selection and editing might be at work, even if he’d thought about it?—Kronian life seemed dull and stultifying. He saw a lot of hyping of abilities he didn’t have, recognition of people he didn’t particularly want to be like, and heard endless talk about how all the trouble with Earth had stemmed from the upside-down way of apportioning the rewards among makers, traders, and takers. Somehow the assumption seemed to be that the providers had a moral superiority that entitled them to make the rules for everyone else, and anyone who thought differently just needed some friendly tutoring to see the error of their ways.
The problem was, Jorff had seen the tedium, thanklessness, and plain hard work that came with the socially responsible life style, and he didn’t find anything particularly redeeming about it at all. To him, it all came across very much like the sheep solemnly agreeing to observe vegeterianism and deploring the aberrance of any other taste. But in his experience, it had been the takers who drove the big cars, wore the stylish clothes, and pulled the sexiest chicks. It was too bad that the Kronian boss had to go and get himself shot, but as Jorff’s uncle Siggi, who ran the “heavy” side of the family business used to say, “You have to let people know who’s in charge.” There was nothing he could see to find any error in or feel remorse about. He liked being a wolf.
The flyer they had arrived in was parked a short distance above the huts, guarded by two natives with spears that Rakki had posted, more to keep inquisitive children away than from any serious risk of interference. Rakki’s people took notice of his orders. Between some boulders to one side, Sims was directing a group, mainly women, who were building an armory from rocks and mud for the weapons and ammunition to be stored in. Sims had some firearms background too. Jorff was toying with the idea of training him to be the Tribe’s resident instructor and quartermaster, but hadn’t decided yet about some of his personal qualities. He reminded Jorff of too many types he’d known in Jakarta who would squeal to either side for another hundred dollars.
He found Leisha with Yobu in the porch extension to Rakki’s hut, working to make cleaned-up copies of the maps. Nobody went through to the two inner rooms, which were Rakki’s personal space. Rakki’s woman, Calina, with the strange, light-colored eyes, was sitting on a rug of skins at the rear, tending to her baby. Jorff cast an approving eye over Leisha as he stepped up under the reed roof. Nicely built, with the kind of cute face and come-on eyes that would have made her a natural as a hostess or dancer in the bars. With all the tension back at Serengeti, it wouldn’t have been very smart to try anything that might have provoked Zeigler’s displeasure just at the present time. But there could be some good chances out here, away from all that, where he was in charge, he told himself.
The sounds came of another series of shots commencing outside. “Working hard out there,” Leisha commented. “You’ve been at it all morning.”
“That’s the only way it’s going to get done.”
“How are they shaping up?”
“They’re doing okay. Enka’s cutting a good figure as sergeant.” Jorff came over to the folding table where they were working, which was from the items brought with the flyer. “You’re right. We’re working too hard. If we’re going to be here for days, there needs to be some relaxation to break it up. You want to schedule some free time later?”
Leisha gave him the kind of look that was calculated to keep men guessing. “Let’s see how it goes,” she replied.
Jorff looked over the papers strewn on the table. An imaged version of the main map was showing on the extended screen of the compad on one side. “So how is it going?” he asked.