John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“Okay,” Sheida said with a nod. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime. And, really, do get some rest.”

“I can sleep in the grave.”

“Which is where you’ll be if you don’t get straight,” Edmund said.

“It’s… there’s so much. They’re just more powerful than we are, Edmund,” she said, sighing and lowering her face into her hands. “I don’t know where they’re getting all their power. We’ve actually got two more plants than they do and we’re drawing on the Stone Lands power source. But they’ve got two or three times our power. They’re not using it very well, but we have to use every erg to defend against it. And in the meantime it leaves them free to do…” She stopped and shuddered. “I can hardly believe some of the things they’re doing.”

“I probably can,” Edmund said, thinly. “But I’m a firm believer in the concept of original sin and the basic corruptness of the human soul.”

“Well, I’m getting that way,” Sheida said. “Paul’s got enough power to make it nearly impossible to send an avatar into most of the areas that he has assimilated but we’ve slipped in a few long-range aerial scouts and it’s horrible. He’s rounding up all the refugees and Changing them against their will.”

“Not surprising,” Edmund nodded gravely. “If he’s got the power.”

“He does but he’s mostly drawing it from their own bodies . He’s using humans as a power source . Sometimes it kills them. And what it leaves behind!”

“Let me guess. Low intelligence, brutish in appearance, a few rudimentary skills and… hmmm… aggressive. Stupidly aggressive, right?”

“You’ve heard.”

“Oh, I’ve heard the rumors. But more than that, I know the people involved. That’s not Paul’s game they’re playing there, it’s Chansa and Celine and to an extent the Demon.”

“Why?” Sheida said seriously.

“Well, Celine has been bitching for a hundred and fifty years about the medical and bioengineering locks that the Web imposes. She wants to make monsters. Why? Because she likes monsters. Monsters are cool .”

“The wasps that attacked us were probably Celine’s doing,” Sheida said.

“Yes, and so are these… things. These Changed. As to Chansa, have you ever wondered why he would make himself so huge? That’s pure lack of confidence. What he has always wanted was control, over himself, over the people around him. I don’t know what made him that way and don’t really think it matters; maybe somebody beat him up as a kid. Whatever, he wants to subordinate those around him. He wants subordinates, not equals. Celine creates this great unter race for him lord it over and they both pitch it to Paul as ‘for the good of the people.’ ”

“Do you have a spy in the New Destiny Council?” Sheida asked seriously. “Because that’s exactly the story that I got.”

“No, but it’s pretty damned obvious if you know the players.”

“What about the Demon?”

“Convenient, isn’t it, how he just showed up right when things went south,” Edmund said sourly. “You really think that’s coincidence?”

“You think he was in on it from the beginning?”

“I think he was in on it from before the beginning. It’s a little late to search out now, but it might be worthwhile to look at how Celine, who was a nut-job from the word go, and Chansa got on the Council in the first place. The Demon is old, Sheida. Older than either of us. Old as some of the elves.”

“You think he planned this?” she asked. “All of this ? Even he isn’t that insane, is he?”

“The Demon? Yes, he is, Sheida.”

She sighed and nodded her head tiredly. “I suppose you’re right. But where does that leave us?”

“In one hell of a hole,” Edmund admitted. “But that’s what shovels are for. Go home, Sheida. Let everything go to hell for one night. Pull in all the avatars and get some damned rest.”

“Okay,” she said smiling impishly. “I wish I was here; I’d get some rest with you.”

“Not tonight,” Edmund said. “I’m going to be doing nightmare watch.”

“True,” Sheida said shaking her head. “If you find him…”

“I’m going to nail his gonads to the first tree,” Edmund said. “You see, deep down inside, I don’t give a shit about laws.”

Herzer had accepted a meal chit and headed for the shelters before his brain really kicked in. He was in Raven’s Mill, the rain had stopped and for the first time in weeks he was going to be able to eat and sleep under shelter. Not much food, he’d been warned, and not very good shelter. But it was food and shelter and that was a good thing.

There were already lines forming for food and he got at the end. He was annoyed when some people came up and cut the line, evidently slipping in in front of friends. But there didn’t seem to be anyone around to prevent it.

The people collected in the line were a sorry sight. All of them were obviously travel worn and clearly not used to it. Many of them just appeared… beaten, as if they were never going to get any better than this, for the rest of their lives. Others, though, were different. They were chatting amiably with others and looking up and around. There didn’t seem to be any difference, any way to spot which was which or any way to guess who would be looking up and who would be looking down. Some of the apparently weakest of the group were the most active and some of the most rugged looking seemed to have just fallen apart.

Beyond that the group was odd in another way; there were very few Changed. Herzer was used to any similar group being at least a quarter Change, from winged men to cat girls. There was one of the latter, a really cute reddish blond tabby, and what looked like it might be a werebear or werepig near the front of the line. But that was it for Change. He didn’t think the town was excluding them, but there had to be a reason they were so few and far between.

The line led into a large open shed that looked almost like a warehouse. At the entrance a bored looking woman was accepting chits from people. She turned one person away who didn’t have a chit, without any explanation offered or given. Inside there were some trestle tables, obviously rough hewn from logs — there was still sap exposed on most of them — with crudely carved wooden bowls and spoons piled up. Following the example of the person in front of him he took one of each and then accepted a small piece of cornbread from one of the servers. At the kettle the bowl was filled with some sort of stew, it looked to be mostly beans, and that was it.

At the far end of the warehouse were more rough tables with benches, most of them filled. He walked almost to the far end before he saw an open space next to a young man about his own age. He walked up and gestured to the spot.

“Do you mind…?”

“Not at all,” the young man said after a quick glance at the girl across the table from him.

“Thank you,” Herzer said, sitting down. “Herzer Herrick,” he continued, sticking out his hand.

“Mike Boehlke,” the young man said, and gestured across the table. “That’s Courtney, Courtney Deadwiler.” Mike was blond with short hair, stocky and about a meter and a half high. He was medium good looking for the period but his muscles had the indefinable look of someone who had worked on them, not just had them sculpted. The one odd thing about him, not quite Change but something close, was his eyebrows. They pointed sharply upward at the end. And his brow had a distinctly strange cast.

Courtney had red hair and was… buxom was the only term that came to mind looking at her. She had bright green eyes with a lively intelligence that did a quick appraisal of Herzer and then seemed to accept his company without any show of other interest.