John Ringo - Against the Tide

Over time she had experimented with it judiciously, slowly increasing the dosage until she began to feel unpleasant effects. Each time she was “with” Paul, she was careful to take the herbal infusion every few days for at least a week afterwards. So far, no pregnancy, which was fine by her.

She washed the bitter oils down with a glass of lemon water and picked up a few bottles of perfume for the girls.

Her effect was clear in the main gathering area of the harem. Where there had been bare stone walls and a few cushions thrown around a stone floor, there were now carpets, bright wall-hangings and low tables. There were even five cats, ranging from standard-sized tabbies up to a puma-sized “house lion.” The tables and pillows had been moved out of the way for the afternoon exercise program and the girls were well into a serious aerobics workout. The cats had had the sense to clear the area.

She was mostly exempt from the “mandatory” workouts since she tended to keep herself in shape. But she often joined in and after stretching a bit she took a place at the back of the group and started jogging with them.

As she did she scanned the girls, wondering what they would think if she ever managed to bring her plans to fruition. The harem was a boring place, but as safe and well-supplied as was possible post-Fall. When she killed Paul, all the safety and security would go away in that moment. Most of them had known enough of the post-Fall life to be frightened of leaving the harem. It was something that she kept in mind. Along with the fact that if any of them stayed, they were, effectively, doomed. She also worried about the women who had been taken away pregnant. She had no idea where the “confinement” quarters were. And any scenario that she envisioned, post-Paul, meant being on the very ragged edge of disaster. Timing would be everything. Trying to find the girls, to convince them to leave, might mean coming to blows with other council members. Not to mention that she wasn’t sure she could gain full control of Paul’s power immediately. Many of the programs that had been universally available pre-Fall had been locked under passwords.

There were thirteen women in the seraglio, including two new ones that Paul had “recovered” in the last year. There were seven, somewhere, either awaiting birth or with their children.

What she should do was take the women from the seraglio and run like hell.

But she didn’t know if she could do that.

“Shar,” Edmund said, taking the general’s hand as he slid off the dragon.

“Admiral Talbot,” Shar said then grinned. “Coming up in the world?”

“I think more like… sideways,” Edmund replied. “Joanna, you look like hell.”

The dragon did look exhausted but she grinned nonetheless.

“If memory serves, you owe me a couple of barbequed cows,” Joanna said.

Edmund gestured to the rear of a building where smoke could be seen ascending into the air.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Where there is fire, there is barbeque.”

“I’m outta here,” the dragon said, stretching her legs and then stumping towards the fire.

“I wish you could have brought Evan,” Talbot said, gesturing towards the nearby temporary headquarters.

“Joanna was on the ragged edge of ability.” Shar shrugged. “Evan’s not that big of a guy, but I didn’t even bring a change of clothes. But I’ve brought some ideas of his we need to talk about.”

“The clothes we can get fixed,” the duke said, looking at Van Krief.

“Clothes for the general,” Van Krief said, noting it in her book.

“Aides?” Shar asked with a grin. “Where’s Herzer?”

“Putting the fear of Edmund into some supply personnel.”

“Captain, we’re working on it,” the major said, looking over his desk at Herzer. “I realize that the admiral isn’t aware of all the logistical aspects of this base, but…”

“I think the admiral is well aware of the ‘logistical aspects’ of this base, Major,” Herzer replied, smiling. “Which is why you are going to draw the supplies requested and you are going to prepare, as ordered, for the arrival of the Fleet.”

“Captain, the admiral can order all he would like,” the major said, smiling faintly and leaning back in his chair. “But the materials he has requested are administered by Navy Logistics Command, not by the local fleet commander or by the base commander. They are for resupply of the Fleet and not for any frivolous ‘welcome home’ party your general seems to think is a good idea. Your general does not have the authority to order their release. Certainly not for a nonoperational function.”

“Are there sufficient excess supplies for what the general has ordered?” Herzer asked, calmly.

“Whether there are or not is beside the point,” the major said. “And don’t think that the ‘admiral’ can simply order me around. I don’t work for him, I work for Naval Logistics.”

“Is that your final answer?” Herzer asked, grinning.

“Yes, it is,” the major frowned.

“Okay, what we have here is a clear case of separation of operational and logistic function,” Herzer said, slipping into instructor mode. “There have been repeated instances in historical record where this has occurred, always to the detriment of the operational side. Given that fact, you leave me no recourse but to ensure you spend the rest of your military career as a stevedore on the docks.”

“You don’t have the authority for that,” the major smiled, thinly. “So you might as well take your threats out of my office.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Herzer replied, laying a sheet of paper on the table. “This is my authority, signed by Admiral Houser, releasing all stores in this vicinity, and all logistics personnel, to the control of the base commander. And item one in my report is that you’re a shit for brains that can’t get his lard butt out of his office.”

“Let me see that,” the major said, snatching up the paper.

“I’ll note that this is a copy of the original. The distribution list on the original included your office. So you’re clearly such a lard ass you didn’t even bother to read your mail. Now get your ass up and get out of the chair.”

“I don’t have to take that from you, Captain ,” the major snarled, throwing the sheet of paper on the desk and pointing to his collar. “I’m a major . You’re a captain . And you don’t talk to me that way!”

“I’m a captain sent by your commander passing on an order that you failed to obey,” Herzer said, still smiling with a certain amount of strain. “I think you’d better wonder how many more minutes you’re going to be a major. Or, you know, you could get your ass in gear and start preparing for the arrival of the Fleet. Your choice.”

“We’ll see about this,” the major said. “There are channels for the ‘admiral’ to forward a request such as that. And the use of that material for nonoperational purposes is still against regulations. You can tell the ‘admiral’ that for me. Now get out of my office, Captain. You can consider yourself on report for insubordination.”

“What? Again?” Herzer said. “Have a nice day.”

Herzer strolled out of the office and through the headquarters beyond. Despite the fact that the fleet was limping back to port, just about out of rations and with heavy damage, the logistics headquarters for the base was not what he would call a sea of activity. In fact the well-manned office was filled mostly with clerks who were clearly trying to figure out something to do. Each of them had a desk, which was more than could be said for the temporary headquarters, and each of them had a pile of paperwork that they were supposedly working on. But the vast majority were chatting or obviously working so slowly they were just trying to pass the time.