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The People's Watchmen had possessed weapons that had been made openly and legally on Marduk for trade to the Neobarbarian planets and then clandestinely diverted to secret People's Welfare arsenals. Some of the police had gone over to Makann; the rest had been terrorized into inaction. The election had been a farce of bribery and intimidation.
"You think we don't have plenty of Neobarbarian material here on Gram?" Trask demanded. "If you do, take a look around." Glaspyth, somebody said. "That collection of over-ripe gallows-fruit Andray Dunnan's recruited," Rathmore mentioned. Alex Gorram was grumbling that his shipyard was full of them; agitators stirring up trouble, trying to organize a strike to get rid of the robots.
That was practically sizzling hot. Well, something like that had to happen, sooner or later. The Space Viking was asking him if he knew what sort of a place Tetragrammaton was. Neobarbarian, trying to recivilize in a crude way. Small population, concentrated on one continent; farming and fisheries. A little heavy industry, in a small way, at a couple of towns.
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