The Guns of Old John Brown

The meetings with Brown were no longer small, one-on-one things. The very nature of the organization had changed. He was still a leader, especially when it came to military matters, and was heavily involved in recruitment. But over time the center of gravity had shifted, new structures had come into being, and strategies transformed. It might have bothered him, except this new organization was still just as dedicated to Brown's cause and had immense respect for the man himself.

And so he agreed to the meeting, and he and a half-dozen figures met in the upper levels of his farmhouse, their throats wetted by mugs of tea. The conversation meandered for some time, from the expected harvest come the fall to the new products being made in the tiny dyeworks attached to the factory.

But gradually, business began to become the main topic. Before anything more could be said Brown rose to his feet. "Before anything else is said, I would like to thank you all. You left your homes, your lives, your struggles, behind to aid your ancestors, those who had abandoned you to a life of horrors I cannot comprehend and a history full of the dead and damned. You had no certainty of success and yet you plunged forth with admirable courage. I cannot praise you all enough, nor can I offer enough gratitude for the immense aid you have given me and mine. When the time comes, nearly a thousand men will march under our banners, and thousands more will flock to our side. You have provided us with medicine, food, and allies.

And I do not aim for any of this to be wasted. The earlier we strike, the more time we will have to defeat the slave power before winter comes, the more we shall save from the yoke of bondage and the slaver's whip. So I will ask: at the beginning of August, will you march with me to Harper's Ferry?"

There were cheers and shouts of acclamation, fists pounding on desks and chairs, men and women rising from their seats.

And then people had to get into the gritty details of planning, of preparing their limited cavalry forces, gathering reports from Appalachian contacts...

And after several hours, everyone forgot what they had originally come to talk about. A few days later, another meeting was called, another proposal laid before Brown, about the establishment of a governing council. He approved of the notion easily, and of the idea of uptimers and downtimers having representation on it. He even extended the idea to different groups, such as the factory workers and ex-slaves, having their own special representation. But given the numeric disparities involved, he was vigorously against the notion of uptime and downtime having equal weight on the council.

"Again, I cannot overstate my gratitude to you all, but our liberation must come at our own hands as much as possible. Your advice is welcome, your assistance more so, and even without formal position the knowledge and resources you control will ensure your voices are heard. But it would violate my principle, and your own, to give you disproportionate weight beyond that."

[] Provide an argument against this.

[] Accept his reasoning.

And after that argument, there had to be a third meeting, but this time the topic of liberation theology was breached with Brown and a few preachers. Historical examples were brought up, including the methods Quakers used of organizing their churches, theological arguments were deployed like heavy artillery, and explanations of the rampant horror and vile corruption of megachurches and other such institutions.

In the end, no solid agreement was reached on the spiritual side. Two centuries of divergence separated the viewpoints, a gap that proved difficult to overcome. But material progress had been made, and interest sparked. It would hopefully be enough.


Not all the indigenous uptimers went into the American Great Plains. Some went further north, into land most nations thought was owned by Russia and Great Britain. Some went south, to the lands the Spanish and Portugal despoiled and built blood-soaked empires on. And some went not to far away, to tribes still hoping for self-determination and justice. They brought with them small gifts of useful tools, of deadly weapons, and promises from strange white men who spoke with passion about injustices done. Tentative agreements were reached, promises of future meetings made, and hope was kindled in many hearts on both sides of the divide.

Meanwhile Rebecca slaved away in the chemistry workshop, accompanied by several assistants of varying levels of competence. The dye could be made in small batches, and it stayed vivid even after days in the sun and rain. Just that was valuable, but to really make money off this they would need to be able to scale up the process.

That was what she was trying to do, ideally without causing any explosions.

"Keep an eye on the temperature!" she called to one of her assistants, as she investigated a hastily-made pressure gauge and the necessary reactions bubbled away.

The scars of previous attempts littered the shack, but everything seemed to be holding.

Finally, the bubbling stopped and the reaction completed. Another assistant called the time.

"We could probably get it faster...but the tolerances..." she said, and sucked her lips.

Then, to the relief of quite a few, she shook her head. "Good enough for now."

Some of those so relieved included a number of socialists and anarchists of various specific bents who were enjoying not having their arguments/debates/lessons with the factory workers and each other (and even some new individuals, curious about all the strange things they were hearing). Alex managed the sessions carefully, trying to keep people from blowing up at each other.

Perhaps inevitably, he was not entirely successful, but as it turns out, there's nothing quite like a friendly bar brawl where no one gets seriously injured for resolving differences, or at least burying them under the mutual pain of bruised ribs and bloodied knuckles.

Alex carefully did not pay attention to any gambling on the side that occurred.

Small towns and homesteads throughout Appalachia saw new faces once more. Merchants and peddlers, all of them, but ones who gave fair bargains and told tales that people appreciated, and were willing to listen to people's complaints, and even offer possible solutions. And when they said that some friends might be coming by soon, with more goods, including some wonders they only gave samples of, like a liquid that kept wounds safe from infection, interest grew sharply.

When people learned these friends had serious objections with the behavior of lowland planters, interest grew even more...as did opposition. But such things would be settled amongst themselves, with words or worse.

And the merchants went on their merry way.

Meanwhile, Holley appreciated learning about steelmaking from those he could respect, from good solid engineers with heads on their shoulders and immense knowledge, despite some odd ideas. And frankly, everything he noticed about the facilities of this peculiar group was odd. If he were a different man, he would be speaking to a reverend or a sheriff. But the prospects of what he could learn, and what he could build, were enough to keep him in place, like a fish being tempted by a juicy worm.

And the hook might already be in his mouth, but he didn't bother continuing the simile. He could leave whenever he wanted.

Meanwhile, Malcolm was finding himself massively overworked. He was a soldier, and a good one, but that did not mean he was capable of effectively training the number of people involved on the various weapon systems they were working with. So he attempted to train only a few of them and have them act as assistants. The process was still slow and haphazard, and people began complaining about the noise of gunfire, but the training began.

The weapons were to be distributed, but held in trusted hands. Rifles should only be used against priority targets such as officers or leadership, mortars only in major battles. The nature of the coming war required a degree of discretion being given to the comrades, the limitations on ammunition meant that many wanted the discretion to be limited, at least until alternatives could be established.

The contradiction gave Malcolm many headaches as he worked with Kagi and Tubman to try and find a balance.

Meanwhile, Floyd did what he did best - kept people at ease in a confusing situation. He assured uptimers that change would be coming, promised downtimers they would not be run roughshod over, and met with leaders among both communities scattered around upstate New York to settle problems. He had failed at earlier efforts, but this was his element, and with trust and honesty and social mirroring, accommodations were made.