The Brave New World - 140 Freedom's Gate

Sven wasn’t in a great hurry to get back home, even though there were very many things awaiting his input and involvement. He had to admit it: he wasn’t eager to get back precisely because there were so many things awaiting his input and involvement.

Besides, he needed to calm down after his talk with Sonberg, and the suggestion made by the asshole waiting in the town hall lineup. He needed to change into the cool, dispassionate Sven before facing the people assembled at his farm. There were fifty one people living there, fifty two counting himself. Ulla needed three assistants in the kitchen just to keep everyone fed. Over two-thirds of his colonial population was busy producing food! He needed them to make tools, he needed them to make weapons, he needed them to mine iron, copper, and precious metals, and they were all busy with fucking food.

And it was about to get worse because of his promise to pay tax on his mint with food. There already was a substantial amount of tax to be paid. His mint had been operational for four days. Twenty people were busy hammering out coins using Blom’s dies. They were working under a hastily erected roof well away from the farm buildings – otherwise, the noise would have driven everyone insane.

The mint workers were upset when they found out they’d have to work out in the open, without any protection from the wind.

“Your job involves a hot fire going at all times,” Sven told them. “Hot enough to melt metal. Besides, you’re supposed to be working, not jerking off. You’ll be warm enough if you keep moving. Complaining about the cold means you’re fucking around instead of working. And if I find anyone fucking around, they’re out. Right away. Out of here, and out of the New World. Good luck finding another job, and something to eat.”

No one complained about the cold after that. They worked their asses off. It was a little tricky to start with – when Sven saw the first coins, he wanted to weep – but they quickly got the hang of things after a couple of days.

The previous day, Sven’s mint produced over a thousand coins. There were sixty two golden ten-krona pieces, each worth a thousand old crowns. There were also nearly two hundred silver krona coins, and another two hundred of half and quarter krona pieces with varying proportions of silver and copper. The remaining coins were all copper alloys, in three denominations: 10, 5, and 1 ore.

“We’ll need half and quarter-ore coins too,” Olaf Berg had told Sven.

“For what?”

“Well, people need to make change. And a single ore is going to be worth an old krona.”

“Olaf,” said Sven, “Did I ever talk to you about opening a supermarket?”

Berg was completely taken aback. He frowned, trying to remember if Sven had ever mentioned opening a market, while Sven marveled how someone as intelligent as Berg – he was an absolute organizational genius! – could be so stupid at the same time.

“You remember right. I never said anything about it. We’re not running a store, Olaf; we’re making fucking money. I’m not going to waste anyone’s time on tiny coinage when they could be turning out gold and silver coins.”

Halfway on his walk home, Sven stopped. He closed his eyes and bent back his head and relished the touch of snowflakes falling on his upturned face. He reflected that it was probably the last snowfall that year. The previous year, snow stopped falling at the end of February; the year before that, even earlier. Was it a sign that the overheated planet was finally beginning to cool down?

He stood like that for quite a while, and when he resumed walking he was completely calm and collected once again.

His newfound composure was tested by Berg the moment he got back. He’d hardly had the time to take his sheepskin coat off and sit down before Berg attacked with twenty problems requiring twenty decisions.

The people were complaining about being squeezed like sardines in the barn together with the sheep. The lake on whose shores Svenborg had been founded in the New World was showing signs of being overfished. The inhabitants of Svenborg, Sellberg, and three other newly founded New World settlements were fucking like crazy and female colonists kept getting pregnant. This resulted in significant drops in production.

“We must do something about it, Sven,” Berg said. “We can’t have half our workforce fucking around with babies. Babies are doubly unproductive. They eat but they don’t work and prevent their mothers from working, too. I mean I got them all doing stuff at home, making clothes and rope and string and shit like that, but I need people out in the field. And if you don’t want to run out of metal for the mint, you’ll need to appoint at least ten extra miners.”

“You’re asking me to stop people from fucking?” said Sven. “You know it can’t be done. Lots of people have tried, some very hard indeed, and it just cannot be done.”

“I’m asking you to tell them to use common sense,” said Berg. “They need to leave a safe, wide time window for the ovulation period. They can fuck for a week following menstruation and of course during menstruation too if they’re desperate. But no more than that.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh? Women aren’t fertile for more than ten days every cycle, and that’s with a big margin for error.”

“No, it’s not harsh,” said Berg. “Chicks are getting pregnant the moment someone looks at them, I swear. It’s incredible. I mean, I should know.”

“You certainly should,” said Sven. “By the way, how is your son getting along?”

“He’s amazing. He is just over a year old and he’s already trying to stand up.”

“Good to hear,” said Sven. “Okay. Is that all? Come on, I can tell you’re holding back something heavy.”

“Well yes, there’s something potentially serious. Our scouts have discovered a settlement down the river. And it’s not the usual two men and a sheep business. It’s quite large, maybe twenty people. Must have been started about the time we founded Sellberg, at the very least.”

“How far is it?”

“Two days downstream.”

“A hundred and fifty kilometers?”

“Henrik puts it at around one twenty. He was leading the scouts, and he’s good at calculating distances.”

“Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s just woken up.”

“Ask him to see me in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. What about the miners? The mint boys say they’ll run out of metal day after tomorrow.”

“Later. Let me talk to Henrik, first.”

“Okay.”

Left alone, Sven closed the door to his bedroom and washed down a hit of speed with aquavit from his desk. The mixture was just starting to work when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” shouted Sven, full of fresh energy.

It was Henrik. He looked exhausted, the deep shadows under his eyes contrasting with his pale, drawn face.

Sven was a good leader, and he immediately treated Henrik to a pill and a cup of aquavit. He also permitted Henrik to smoke a cigarette, although he loathed the smell of tobacco smoke in his bedroom. He brushed aside a couple of Henrik’s tentative questions about Sven’s visit to the town hall.

“Never mind all that,” he said. “Olaf has told me you discovered a settlement down the river. I want to know everything from the very beginning.”

“Well, after we escorted the guys you sent to start our first settlement on the river, we went a bit downstream, to check things out like you told us to. We built a raft and went far the first day but then we came to some rapids and had to proceed on foot. Just for a single day, you understand, I was planning to turn back the next morning. I had a sort of feeling there was something interesting waiting for us down the river. Tell me, Sven, did you notice that in the New World, your intuition kind of works overtime? You get these hunches all the time, and most of the time they’re right.”

“I noticed,” said Sven. “Go on with your story.”

“We came across this place at the end of the day, we were actually looking for a good spot to set up camp for the night. The wind changed, it was blowing upstream and we smelled smoke and went to investigate. We came to a spot where the river widens into a small lake and saw a hamlet right on the shore. Half a dozen good-sized huts and a couple of sheds and they even built a rickety pier twenty steps long. The big thing is they’ve got a blacksmith, we could hear his hammer. We tried to get closer for a better look but it was getting dark and we had to get going back home the next day, we didn’t have a lot of food left. So I basically watched the place for maybe an hour before it got too dark, and next morning we started back on our way to Frihetsgrind.”

“Frihetsgrind? Freedom gate? What the fuck do you mean?”

“That’s what the people there decided they’ll call it. Because that settlement is our first step on our way to the sea.”

Sven resented that. He was the one that gave settlements their names. But like every great leader, he remained focused on what truly mattered. He said:

“So you watched them for an hour. Conclusions?”

“There are about twenty of them,” said Henrik, “Give or take a couple. That’s assuming I saw maybe half of the people that live there. All the chimneys were smoking, so presumably there was someone inside each house to mind the fire. Yes, I think the total would be twenty people. Give or take a couple.”

“Any weapons?”

“None that I could see. But I couldn’t see much at that distance.”

“If they’ve got a blacksmith, they’ve got weapons,” said Sven. He was silent for a while, nodding when Henrik asked if he could light a second cigarette.

A hundred and twenty kilometers downriver. Perfect location for a second settlement on their march to the sea. Everything ready and built, including a blacksmith. There was only one way to proceed.

“Listen carefully, Henrik,” said Sven. “Two things. First, eat something – tell Ulla I’ve entitled you to double rations – and have some more sleep. When you wake up, I’ll need you to help me assemble a war party. A dozen people, ten fighting men and a couple of porters. Ten men – eleven with me – should be more than enough to take over that settlement you’ve found.”

“We’re taking it over?”

“Of course we’re taking it over. Strict discipline, I want to capture everything intact.”

“There’s bound to be a few people killed.”

“I was talking about the buildings. The people? It will be safest just to kill them all.”

“Maybe some would want to join us. We could use the extra labor.”

“No,” said Sven. “Because their controllers will inform everyone here that a bunch of guys has taken over their New World village. They’ll point fingers, provide descriptions and maybe even a few names. I want everyone dead, dead before they even know what is going on.”

“I understand,” Henrik said, and he did.

“Good. Now go eat and get some rest because both of us are going to have a very busy time. I want you to help me select the men for the job.”

“I want to take Lasse,” Henrik said right away. “He’s got a new bow that he says is much better.”

“What about the crossbows?”

“We’ve got five or six that are good, but we only have enough bolts for a couple.”

“I’ll tell Olaf to sort that out,” said Sven. “Now go and get some rest.”

He got dressed again and left the house to check on the mint. The farmyard was a quagmire of melting snow and mud and sheep shit. He forced himself to answer a couple of greetings without looking at his greeters – they tended to dart forward and pester him about something the moment they caught his eye.

It was bullshit about the bolts, he wouldn’t bother Olaf with that. Extra ammo would let him take along an extra crossbow or two, but it wasn’t worth it. They’d be fighting at most a dozen people, the rest would be too scared to resist. Hand to hand combat! A quick charge, naturally preceded by careful reconnaissance. That was the answer.

He would lead that charge himself. There was nothing as good as leading by example.

His mouth set, Sven walked fast toward the thudding and clanging that came from a small spinney growing next to his farm.

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