The Marcher Lord (Over Guard) by Glenn Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

entirely different market was coming alive the further on they walked, being directed far less toward material needs as toward material wants. More and more groups that talked with the lilting tones of disposable incomes appeared, including those Bevish regulars that were of the off-duty persuasion.
    I ncreasingly more sources of interest were also appearing and doing their best to hail them. Ian was indifferent to most of these, though the amount of briefly entertaining vendors increased substantially. For a shilling or two, a person could be treated to a complex display of light juggling. The entertainer used either electric gloves to manipulate patterns of light or the more difficult job of using energy balls to cast changing colors that interacted with the lights that the other balls were projecting as they passed. For a ranging variety of pence, someone could buy demonstrations of the impossible from a street magician, optical illusions, and slights of hand. The music was also more prominent than it had been during the day, its conflicting movements running in harmony with the activity rather than trying to interrupt it as it had earlier. There was something of a riskier selection as the musicians pulled from different styles from various planets and sensibilities in their ongoing jockeying for attention and street space.
    None of this impacted their pace much, but Ian was able to enjoy brief tastes of what other people were paying for as they passed. The sound of it all was indescribable, and Ian closed his eyes for a moment, trying to take it all in and categorize it, break it down into definable pieces. He of course couldn’t, and this was all just Carciti, an incomprehensible convulsion of incredible happenings and opportunities, all performing a delicate dance of what could be and what actually happened. And even visibly tinged as it was by things that Ian didn’t want to think about, it was wonderful.
    “It’ll take a lot,” Ian suddenly said, “quite a lot to make this place work, but it’ll be worth it.”
    Corporal Wesshire glanced at him. “You mean aside from the silks and fines.”
    Ian swallowed. T alk about the fines also accompanied conversations about Orinoco, fines being the rare resources the planet offered that were desirable in many markets. They were greatly sought after as one of the purest substances that could be used to make calosos natrium, the principal firing element in modern firearms, along with a host of other minor products.
    “I mean all of it,” Ian said. “The people, the government, all of it. It’s good that it won’t have to be mismanaged under Dervish rule any longer.”
    “What do you believe has to be done?” Corporal Wesshire asked, his eyes sweeping the crowds around and occasionally behind them as well.
    “T he administrative bodies all need to be nearly redone,” Ian said. “It seems like the Dervish had set them up with differing aims. Most of the officials should be immediately removed, most of them are Dervish anyway, and new ones should be put in. If the current ones are good enough, then that’s fine, but incentives should be used to encourage qualified Bevish people from other places to come, to encourage moving out of the various local corruptions and toward better impartiality. A total redrawing of local standards as well, based after a real version of the Dervish code civil.”
    “Indeed?” the corporal said. He looked the closest to being surprised that Ian had managed yet. “There aren’t many Bevish who are fond of the Haspian Code.”
    “I do think that Haspial was right,” Ian shrugged. “While it is Dervish, it is very practical, and it’s only to Bevish advantage if we can accomplish it. The rangers are a perfect example of the logic in rewarding genuine ability instead of social position.”
    Corporal Arran Wesshire’s mouth moved in a way that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s all very ambitious. It would seem to be difficult,