Marching Through Georgia by S.M. Stirling Page A
Authors: S.M. Stirling
Tags: Science-Fiction, Military
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garment , eh, Masta Dreiser, suh?"
He flushed, slightly ashamed, feeling a stirring of liking despite himself, nodded. Well, you always knew people were complicated , he chided himself.
The Draka returned. Rahksan bounced up to hand them towels and began drying Johanna's back.
"Well," Eric said, pulling on a robe in deference to the guest's sensibilities. "You'll be glad enough to get where you can put the war back into the correspondent, eh?"
Dreiser nodded. "Although I've gotten some interesting background material here," he said.
"Yes," Johanna chimed in, muffled through the towel. "And even more interesting, the way you slanted it. Gives me a good idea of what the particular phobias of the Yankees are: nasty-minded lot, I must say."
"And I've been working up some stuff on the domestic angle,"
he said, indicating the interior with a nod. "How the Draka live at home." Some of which won't see the light of day until after the war , he added silently.
The two young Draka stared at him. "I hope," Johanna said carefully, "you aren't under the impression that most citizens live this way." She waved a hand, indicating the Great House. "Or maybe you do? I've read some American novels about the Domination that are real howlers."
"Well, most Draka are quite affluent," he replied. "And I did get the impression that most citizen families were serfholders.
"Oh, yes," Eric said. "You have to be an alcoholic or a retard to be really poor, and then they just put you in a comfortable institution, sterilize you and encourage life-shortening vices."
Dreiser blinked. Eric was a decent enough sort, but half the time he just didn't seem to hear the things he said.
"Yes; well over ninety percent hold some serfs," Johanna said, propping a foot on the plinth of a statue. It was an onyx leopard, with ivory fangs and claws.
"But… hmmm, last census, three-quarters held ten or less.
Half five or less. Look, you know how our economy's set up?"
"Vaguely. 'Feudal Socialism'—that's the official term, isn't it?"
the American said.
Eric sighed. "Carlyle popularized the phrase, back over a century ago. Actually, it just sort of grew. To simplify… big industries are owned by the State, by the free-employee guilds, or by the Landholder's League."
"That's sort of like a cooperative for plantation owners, isn't it?" Dreiser said.
"Plantation holders . We don't have private ownership of land, strictly speaking. That's what the League started out as, yes.
Branched out into shipping, transport, processing, then banking.
Nowadays, hmmm, take the Ferrous Metals Combine. Iron and coal mining, steel, heavy engineering. Ten percent of the shares are owned by the War Directorate; used to be more, they started in with cannon-foundries. Thirty percent are owned by the Ferric Guild. The rest are shared by the State and the Landholder's League. The same is true in varying proportions with the others: Capricorn Textiles Combine, Naysmith Machine Tools, Trevithick Autosteam, Dos Santos Dirigibles…
"So instead of industry exploiting agriculture, the way it is with you Americans—well, the von Shraken-bergs get a third of their income from the League, apart from what four thousand hectares brings in."
Johanna stretched and yawned. "So these days, most citizens are city-dwellers—technicians, engineers, overseers, bureaucrats, police agents, artists, schoolteachers… The salatariat not the proletariat ."
Eric snorted. "Feeble wit, sister dear. Actually, it's more complicated than that. There's a, hmmm, 'private sector'—small business, luxury goods, mostly. And, for example, guess who lobbies for a higher standard of living for the factory-serfs?"
"Nobody?" Dreiser said coolly.
The Draka laughed. "Actually, the League," Eric said.
"Plantation agriculture means farming for sale; 91 percent of the population are serfs, after all. The better the Combines feed and clothe their workers, the more we sell. In the old days we sold abroad, but that's
He flushed, slightly ashamed, feeling a stirring of liking despite himself, nodded. Well, you always knew people were complicated , he chided himself.
The Draka returned. Rahksan bounced up to hand them towels and began drying Johanna's back.
"Well," Eric said, pulling on a robe in deference to the guest's sensibilities. "You'll be glad enough to get where you can put the war back into the correspondent, eh?"
Dreiser nodded. "Although I've gotten some interesting background material here," he said.
"Yes," Johanna chimed in, muffled through the towel. "And even more interesting, the way you slanted it. Gives me a good idea of what the particular phobias of the Yankees are: nasty-minded lot, I must say."
"And I've been working up some stuff on the domestic angle,"
he said, indicating the interior with a nod. "How the Draka live at home." Some of which won't see the light of day until after the war , he added silently.
The two young Draka stared at him. "I hope," Johanna said carefully, "you aren't under the impression that most citizens live this way." She waved a hand, indicating the Great House. "Or maybe you do? I've read some American novels about the Domination that are real howlers."
"Well, most Draka are quite affluent," he replied. "And I did get the impression that most citizen families were serfholders.
"Oh, yes," Eric said. "You have to be an alcoholic or a retard to be really poor, and then they just put you in a comfortable institution, sterilize you and encourage life-shortening vices."
Dreiser blinked. Eric was a decent enough sort, but half the time he just didn't seem to hear the things he said.
"Yes; well over ninety percent hold some serfs," Johanna said, propping a foot on the plinth of a statue. It was an onyx leopard, with ivory fangs and claws.
"But… hmmm, last census, three-quarters held ten or less.
Half five or less. Look, you know how our economy's set up?"
"Vaguely. 'Feudal Socialism'—that's the official term, isn't it?"
the American said.
Eric sighed. "Carlyle popularized the phrase, back over a century ago. Actually, it just sort of grew. To simplify… big industries are owned by the State, by the free-employee guilds, or by the Landholder's League."
"That's sort of like a cooperative for plantation owners, isn't it?" Dreiser said.
"Plantation holders . We don't have private ownership of land, strictly speaking. That's what the League started out as, yes.
Branched out into shipping, transport, processing, then banking.
Nowadays, hmmm, take the Ferrous Metals Combine. Iron and coal mining, steel, heavy engineering. Ten percent of the shares are owned by the War Directorate; used to be more, they started in with cannon-foundries. Thirty percent are owned by the Ferric Guild. The rest are shared by the State and the Landholder's League. The same is true in varying proportions with the others: Capricorn Textiles Combine, Naysmith Machine Tools, Trevithick Autosteam, Dos Santos Dirigibles…
"So instead of industry exploiting agriculture, the way it is with you Americans—well, the von Shraken-bergs get a third of their income from the League, apart from what four thousand hectares brings in."
Johanna stretched and yawned. "So these days, most citizens are city-dwellers—technicians, engineers, overseers, bureaucrats, police agents, artists, schoolteachers… The salatariat not the proletariat ."
Eric snorted. "Feeble wit, sister dear. Actually, it's more complicated than that. There's a, hmmm, 'private sector'—small business, luxury goods, mostly. And, for example, guess who lobbies for a higher standard of living for the factory-serfs?"
"Nobody?" Dreiser said coolly.
The Draka laughed. "Actually, the League," Eric said.
"Plantation agriculture means farming for sale; 91 percent of the population are serfs, after all. The better the Combines feed and clothe their workers, the more we sell. In the old days we sold abroad, but that's
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