by John Ringo
“It’s all in the heart, boss,” Gunny said after a long pause. “It’s all in the soul. We have to come up with something that will give these boys the intestinal fortitude to stick it out when the shit hits the fan. Until the Fall, they never cared about nothing in life except nanadrugs, women and going to parties. They’ll need something to keep them going when everyone is dying around them. So that they will give their lives, carefully, precisely and creating the maximum possible honor guard, but so that they will not turn and run from anything. That comes down to leadership, yeah, but it also comes down to tradition. Keeping true to your comrades and true to your salt. And we ain’t got no tradition.
“With a little polishing they’ll make decent legionnaires on the surface. But the legions fought for the people and the Senate of Rome. And anything that we wave at them will have exactly the same gut message as saying that they’re fighting for Rome. They need something, something… special. And special just ain’t my meteor.”
“I think I have an idea,” Edmund said after a few moment’s musing. “At least, something that will help. We’re going to need good troops, Gunny. The best. Better than ever. This is going to be a long, big war. We need Rome built in a day.”
“The difficult we do immediately…” Gunny said with a grimace.
“The impossible takes a little longer. I’ll give you six months.”
“Aye, aye,” the NCO said, moving his shoulders as if settling a weight. “We’ll just do that little thing, my lord.”
* * *
The world seemed to swirl around her as Sheida studied the energy flow diagram. She had finally taken Edmund’s advice and started thinking strategically, letting her sentient avatars drift out to handle the moment-to-moment crises that were cropping up everywhere.
But here was the crux of the Freedom Coalition’s problem; there wasn’t enough energy. Each side had about the same “base” energy due to their seizure of power plants. But the New Destiny Alliance was finding more from somewhere.
Since they hadn’t been able to even determine where the “somewhere” was, thus making it impossible to attack, the Coalition had to find some way of either raising more power or hobbling their enemy’s use. Ishtar and Ungphakorn were working on the issue of finding new sources, she and Aikawa were working on ways of hobbling the enemy. There didn’t seem to be much chance directly. Paul was using the energy flows from his plants efficiently and they were mainly going to hold down the Coalition’s power use. The “extra” seemed to be coming from nowhere and it was that he was using, abusing in her opinion, for all his other attacks and… uses.
More information had come, this time through refugees, about the changes that Paul was making and she had to admit that if those were his worldwide plans, this was the ultimate “just” war.
She considered the “improvements” that had been made and thought, not for the first time but perhaps for the first time in a concentrated fashion, how they had been made. The obvious answer was “Change protocols” but that begged the question, what went into a Change protocol.
Becoming a council member meant far more than just being able to split your personality and survive. The first requirement of a member is that they have some fundamental understanding of the Net and she kicked herself for forgetting that simple piece of information residing entirely within herself. She had been studying the politics of the Council and information and power management for so long, she had forgotten that it all rested on the back of a series of programs and protocols. Change was the Net, upon a simple command “change thus” bringing up various resources and managing the Change. She called up a theoretical Change program similar to what Celine was apparently doing and then had the full process open up its detailed list of subprograms and requirements. Frankly, it was not as power intensive as she would have thought, especially if you drew spare power from the human body itself. That program was buried in the mix, a medical program for reducing epileptic side effects from botched Change. There hadn’t been such in a thousand years, but the program was still out there, hanging around.
She studied the detail of the process for more than thirty minutes and then smiled, sending a mental message out to her allied council members and summoning avatars for a meeting.
“I think I have a way to put a stick in Paul’s wheels,” she said with a smile.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Celine looked up in annoyance as Chansa entered her lab without permission.
“I’m working on a very delicate experiment,” she said, irritably, her hands continuing to shape the form before her. “Couldn’t this have waited?”
Chansa glanced at the humanoid figure in the hologram and grimaced; it was all hair and fangs with odd, floppy, patches of skin in places. “No, not if you want to be able to actually make a monster like that. All of the Change stations are reporting that the Changes have failed.”
“What?” she asked, waving at the design program to halt. As she did it flickered and then died. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she muttered, waving at the spot where the hologram had stood. “Genie, reactivate design program.”
“Unable to comply,” the genie said, forming. “Program unavailable.”
“What in the…”
“That’s what’s going on at the Change stations as well,” Chansa said, smiling at her discomfiture.
“Genie, diagnostic, design program,” she said then watched as the box unfolded. Four of the subroutines of the programmed were in red, indicating unavailability. As she watched, another turned red. “Genie, override lockouts.”
“Authorization required.”
“I’m a council member! I’m all the authorization you need!”
“Override, Celine Reinshafen. Set password. Minimum fifteen characters. Password required for each lockout. Authorization council members only unless further authorizations distributed.”
“Genie, this is stupid. Full override.”
“Unable to comply. Security implemented by five member Council vote.”
“Damn them!” Celine shouted. “Those…”
“What’s happening?” Chansa asked.
* * *
Paul looked thin and worn as the meeting members appeared, but for the first time in days his eyes were alive; the challenge presented seemed to have woken him up from whatever dark place his mind had been traveling.
“So the rebels are locking out subroutines,” he mused. “Two can play at that game.”
“They can’t touch teleportation or communications,” Celine said, fury in her voice. “But they’re locking out everything else. And they can’t lock out groups, they’re having to go through routine after routine. But they’re shutting down my research!”
“You can override,” the Demon rumbled.
“Yes, but it’s a pain. I have to… chant damned passwords over and over again!”
“Can we override the overrides?” Chansa asked.
“We have six Keys,” Celine said. “We can override them all, if we have a vote to pass authorization for that from all our Keys and get the Finn to side with us.”
“I’m not comfortable with passing authorization,” Ragspurr said.
Celine looked at Paul but he simply looked at Ragspurr then nodded. “Who would have this… extraordinary override?”
“Whoever is running down the lockouts,” Celine said. “Someone, some human has to do it. Not an avatar or a nannoform.”
“And the person could not be externally controlled in any way,” the Demon said. “I, too, would be uncomfortable with such an override. They could apply lockouts as well as remove them.”
“Well, I don’t want to take up all my time doing it, but I will if I have to,” Celine said, looking around at her fellow council members.
“The Finn has, thus far, sided with the Coalition,” Paul pointed out. “His day is coming, but in the meantime I think that it is unlikely he would support us.”
“This is restriction on the use of the Net,” Celine argued
mulishly. “He will surely find that unacceptable!”
“You would also need my authorization,” the Demon said. “Passed to a third party. I do not so authorize and would certainly not pass it to anyone else.”
“Are you mad?” Celine snapped. “This is going to hamper us more than them!”
“No, it will hamper you,” the Demon said, a note of malicious delight in his voice. “It will hamper me not a bit.”
“Pretty soon you won’t be able to summon a cup of blood to drink without chanting some damned password!” Celine snarled.
“Unlike some, I already use passwords,” the Demon replied. There was no way to read face or body language through the black armor, but if anything could be read from his tone, he found her suggestion amusing.
“This will not stand in the way of our ultimate triumph,” Paul said, standing up. “Ours is the side of right, and no one can stand before the right and triumph. We will deal with this as we have dealt with all the other actions of those who stand against the progress of the human race! We will defeat them, drive them down and bury them in the mists of history!”
Celine looked at him in surprise then shook her head. “And that’s your final word.”
“We will deal with this as we have all the other slights,” Paul said, leaning forward on the table. “They send their spies against us, their sneaking creatures in the night. Well, we shall send against them. If it is war that they want, then war they will get, they who have killed millions! Celine, we will not be able to overcome this directly, but we shall in the end. You must make greater strides in your research. If they will not come to their senses, then we must ensure that they understand the consequences! Prepare your monsters, for we will send upon them horror! We must win this war for the good of all mankind and if we fail, all mankind will fail!”
“Oh, that’s easy,” she smiled brightly then looked over at Chansa. He was leaning back in his chair, a blank expression on his face, looking at the Demon.
“Easy,” she repeated, happily. Getting the programs functioning would be a pain in the ass, but compared to free rein to open up some of her projects that had been put “on hold,” that was nothing.
“Very well,” Paul said, smiling in triumph. “We will win! For all of mankind! Meeting adjourned.”
* * *
Daneh stood in the doorway of the house looking out at the encampment and then set her shoulders and stepped out. She walked steadily down the hill and into the crowds, occasionally nodding at people she recognized, until she reached the newer buildings near the town hall. Edmund had told her that somewhere in this mess Lisbet McGregor was running the logistic end of things. And Daneh was damned if she was just going to hide in the house.
She stepped through the first door she came to and then froze as a man spoke to her from a shadowy corner.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” the man said.
“I’m looking for Lisbet,” she replied evenly, trying to control the surge of adrenaline. She knew that her voice was shaky, but that was just a bit out of her control.
“She’s in the next shed over,” the man said. As her eyes adjusted she saw that he was bent over some paperwork and the shed had a musty smell of poorly washed cloth.
“I’m sorry,” she replied, as evenly as she could. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I snapped,” the man said; there was a flash of a grin in the dimness. “It’s just that people are always coming around asking for something. There’s only so much to go around.”
“I understand,” Daneh said with a nod then stepped back out the door.
She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. As she was fighting off the incipient panic attack she was bumped from behind and practically screamed. She turned around but whoever it was had already faded into the crowd. She backed up against the wall and fought to regain her breath. For just a moment she wondered if she was going insane. She closed her eyes and raised her hands to her face, trying to hold back the tears.
“Mistress Daneh,” a gravelly voice said, kindly.
She pulled her hands down and looked to the side. A tall, older man was standing at least double arm’s length from her. He was wearing armor and had a very hard look. But for some reason, maybe that he knew her if not the other way around, she wasn’t frightened of him. Every other male in sight, yes. But not this one. And there was something vaguely familiar about him.
“Yes, I am,” she replied. “Can I help you?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” the man replied, not stepping any closer. “You appear to be distressed. Would you like me to get Sir Edmund?”
“No, I would not,” she said, sharply. Then she sighed and shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just a little… out of sorts.”
“You are more than out of sorts, mistress,” the man replied. “Can I ask why you came down here today? I understood that you were to be resting.”
“Is what happened to me common knowledge in the whole town?!” she said, angrily.
“No,” he replied. “As far as I know it is not. But I just arrived. Edmund told me as part of my briefing. We are old friends; as a matter of fact I was at your wedding, but I doubt you remember me.”
“Now I do,” she replied, looking at him carefully. “Gunny…? Is that what they call you?”
“Yes, ma’am. And Sir Edmund only told me because he’s putting me in charge of the defense force. It was not idle gossiping.”
She looked at him for a long moment and then nodded understanding. “I suppose it wasn’t. Where were you headed?”
“I suspect the same place you were, to see Lisbet McGregor.” He gestured courteously for her to precede him and then paused. “Or… would you prefer that I go first?”
She thought about it for a moment then squared her shoulders again. “I’m fine,” she said. She took a deep breath and turned her back to him, stepping over to the door.
This time she knocked and the wooden door was practically snatched open.
“Go away,” the man on the other side said. “Unless you’re authorized to come in here, this is not where you are supposed to be!”
Daneh initially recoiled but then her innate temper got the best of her. “How in the hell do you know if I’m supposed to be here or not?” she snapped. “You don’t even know who I am!”
“But I do,” Lisbet said, stepping forward. “It’s okay, Sidikou, this is Daneh Talbot.”
“Ghorbani,” Daneh correctly automatically. “Hello, Lisbet.”
The shed was as dim as the previous one but larger, and the far end was piled with sacks and bundles. Lisbet was bent over a list trying read it in the dim light.
“You’ll ruin your eyes that way,” Daneh said. “Oh, Lisbet, this is Gunny…”
“Heya, Guns,” Lisbet said brightly. “Now we know the place is going to wrack and ruin; Gunny has turned up.”
“Oh, it gets worse,” Daneh said lightly. “Bast came wandering in last night. Now she’s dragged my daughter off to who knows where.”
“Oh, dear,” Lisbet said with a laugh. “I hate to think what mischief they are getting into. Bast should have been named Puck.”
“Wrong gender,” Gunny said, grimly. “Otherwise accurate. She is not a well-disciplined person.”
“Nobody, is well disciplined compared to you, Gunny,” Lisbet said with a smile. “We don’t all prefer to wear hair shirts.”
“I don’t wear hair shirts,” Rutherford replied. “It’s an unnecessary form of punishment. There are better ways to induce pain.”
“Speaking of pain,” Daneh said, with a questioning glance at Gunny, “Edmund said something about me setting up as a doctor. But to do that I need somewhere besides the front parlor to practice my trade. Not to mention bandages, splints, materials for sutures, medicines. Is there anything available?”
“Not much for right now,” Lisbet said with a shrug. “Just what we’re able to glean off the woods or had in storage.”
“
Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t even know exactly what I need,” Daneh admitted. “I’ve never set up a period hospital.”
“A period infirmary should be set up in an area away from latrines and middens,” Gunny said. “Preferably in an elevated area to let prevailing winds act upon it. It should have windows that are screened to prevent the intrusion of insects. If metal or plastic screens are unavailable, cheese cloth can be substituted. The windows should have shutters to prevent intrusion of draughts during the winter. Fire-pits, places or stoves should be scattered through the infirmary to ensure the comfort of the patients during convalescence. The infirmary should be separated into three broad areas: a triage wing, a surgery wing and a recovery and convalescence wing. The wings can be in separate buildings but walkways should be covered or, better, enclosed.”
“Where did you pick this up?” Daneh asked, startled.
“Gunny is a font of information about the military,” Lisbet said with a smile. “Jerry!”
“Yo?” The man who entered the shed from the back was obviously another long term reenactor dressed in early Scots-Gaelic period clothing. But instead of a claymore he carried a case from which poked a roll of paper.
“Gunny, Daneh, this is Jerry Merchant, who manages, and I use that term advisedly, our construction program. Jerry, Mistress Daneh is setting up an infirmary. She and Gunny are going to be looking for an appropriate spot. If there’s not an appropriate building available, we’ll have to build it to spec.”
“What’s the priority?” the man said. “I’ve got five projects running right now, including the bathhouse and the new dam?”
“I’d put it ahead of the bathhouse,” Lisbet said after a minute’s thought. “I’d rather have a hospital than segregated bathing.”
“What’s Edmund going to say?” Jerry asked, uneasily.
“He’s going to say ‘yes, dear,’ ” Daneh answered with a laugh.
“So is that it?” Lisbet asked.
“No, Gunny has something as well.”