John Ringo - Council Wars 01 - There Will Be Dragons

by There Will Be Dragons(lit)

  "And are you telling me there are no assassination protocols in place?"

  "Timing Edmund, timing," she sighed. "The personal protection technologies came about when there were still physical threats, and secondary defenses. But in time things became so. safe, so placid that the other defenses were removed as unnecessary and even. uncomfortable. And there used to be checks and balances, governments and police forces that were independent of the Council and the Net who could overcome such a threat; if the Council ever tried to assert real and direct authority when, say, the IU was still around, it would get slapped down fast enough."

  "I sort of stopped paying attention to history when the last B-4 was decommissioned," Edmund said with a laugh. "It was the official end, wasn't it."

  "Well, we might be ready to restart it. But, I mean, we're all there is left of government. Most people don't realize how impossible that is, historically, but you do! God knows we've had enough rows about it."

  "I know," Edmund said, his jaw flexing. "A bunch of self-appointed dictators. I've never been happy with it. But I didn't realize that the margin of security was so thin. That's insane!"

  "No one has tried to. there have been no conflicts, Edmund," she sighed. "We're all so smug and happy and warm and cozy that there's no threat. Oh, yes, at a personal level there are still threats. People have fights. But that gets resolved with the fields. Or two people agree to drop them. But that sort of thing is for. children, either physically or mentally. We don't have physical fights at the level of the Council and have not since. well there used to be guards and. weapons and. things."

  "Christ," Edmund sighed. "So you think that Paul is going to try to, what, kill you? Then take your Key and give it to someone else to vote? He'll have to have people ready to take the Keys and vote them, right? He can't vote them himself."

  "One person, one vote, no influence," Sheida said. "Yes, Mother would know if they were being controlled and simply count it as a non-vote."

  "So is dropping the PPFs the only way that he could attack you? What about outside the Council area? What about. I don't know. assassinating you right now?"

  "We're. being careful," Sheida said. "Let's just say that Paul doesn't know where I am at any time, including right now."

  "There are ways, Sheida," Edmund said, gesturing around. "Even for a Council member. There's more than just the Net. And you know that even the Council doesn't have full control of it. Only Mother does."

  Sheida smiled and shrugged, chuckling. "Edmund, we're both old. And I hope, to an extent, wise. I have protectors."

  Edmund paused and raised an eyebrow, then shrugged in agreement. "Don't we all." He took a sip of his wine and swished it around, looking at the ceiling. "In a way I almost agree with Paul."

  "Surely not," Sheida said, eyeing him carefully.

  "Well, not the method," Talbot added with a grimace. "But we are lotus-eaters. And even waiting until the gene pool gets down to only women who are programmed to want babies won't help that. But I have to admit that his method truly sucks so many ways I don't think even you have worked it all out."

  "It's bad, but how bad?"

  "Well, damn," he thought about that for a moment composing his thoughts. "Okay, increasing population growth 'naturally' requires all sorts of factors. First of all, you have to have natural childbirth and no contraception."

  "Ugh," Sheida said, looking down. "I don't think so!"

  "Furthermore, you have to have women who are more or less 'owned' by males, otherwise after the first one or two children the majority of women decide they don't want to do that again!"

  "What about societal conditioning?" Sheida asked. "Taking the devil's advocate position."

  "Generally requires religion for widespread utility," Paul said, shrugging. "But the point is that the technological and economic conditions for population growth are contrary to technological development. There are occasional times in history where that has been violated, for a generation or so, but over the course of history, over the growth period that Paul is talking about, then you're talking about a society that has to be in preindustrial conditions. And that means that there can't be technological development."

  "Special groups?" Sheida asked.

  "Most real advancements grow from. an environment that supports development. If all you have is serfs and a few technology wizards then the technology wizards are working in a research vacuum. So Paul can have technological development or population growth. But in a postindustrial, postinformation society, you very rarely get both." He paused and looked thoughtful but then shook his head. "There has been exactly one society historically that has combined both over more than a generation. And it was an. enormously odd unlikelihood that would be impossible to recreate under these conditions."

  "Let me be clear about this," Sheida said carefully. "You are on my side."

  "Oh, yes," Edmund said. "If Paul's planning on creating a centralized planning situation and forcing people into molds, he has to be stopped. He has no idea what that means. Not really."

  "So what do we do?" she asked. "Edmund, you're just about the only real expert in warfare left on Earth."

  "Nah, just the only one you trust," the smith replied. "I don't know the conditions. Weapons?"

  "No, none, no blades anyway," she added thoughtfully. "No projectile weapons, explosives won't work under the protocols anyway."

  "If they're planning a physical attack on you at the Council meeting there has to be a way to hurt you," he pointed out. "Is Paul trained in hand-to-hand combat? Killing a person hand-to-hand is difficult."

  "No, and we have Ungphakorn and Cantor on our side," Sheida pointed out. "I'd take Cantor over Chansa in a fight any day."

  "Porting?"

  "The Council Chamber is sealed to entry for any but members, without permission. And no porting is permitted, in or out. They cannot call for reinforcements. But, nor can we."

  "Poison?"

  "Transmission method?" she asked. "They cannot bring projectors in, our own fields would soon detect contact or aerial poisons, and no harmful species are permitted in the room."

  "Poison is subtle," Edmund pointed out. "There are binary poisons; they could have taken an antidote."

  "Well, I won't drink anything if they ask," she said with a winsome smile.

  "You're sure of what you think?" the smith asked.

  "I've been reading people for a long time," Sheida said. "Paul is planning something. Something big. Something big enough that he thinks there won't be anything I can do about it. I can't imagine what it could be but seizing control of the Council and that would take seizing the Keys. My coalition is solid."

  "Well, I'll show you a few tricks and there are a few things that you can probably get in the Council Chambers that won't be considered threatening by Mother," he said. "Beyond that, there's not much I can do."

  "Thank you Edmund," Sheida said. "Just talking about it has helped. Cantor just gets. very 'bearish' and Ungphakorn gets cryptic. You just get logical."

  "I've had more practice," Talbot replied. "Both at thinking about violence and having people try to kill me. Comes of growing up wanting to be a hero," he added sadly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Herzer's mount shifted under him restlessly dancing a crow-hop to the side; clearly it was more avid for the battle than he.

  Herzer tapped it on the mane with his rein hand, shifting his lance in the other. "Ho, Calaban," he said absently. The north wind blew the smell of wood smoke and less savory scents from the orc encampment on the ridge above and he scanned its defenses from the cover of the woodline. It was an even bet that they had spotted him, but they weren't pouring out to attack. That meant either that there were few of them or that they were unusually well led, for orcs. The first of course would be wonderful, but the latter was much more likely. The force that had descended on the local towns was not small; there had been at least twenty in the group that attacked Shawton. Figuring a quarter of that for guards on the ca
mp, that meant at least twenty-five up there. And they hadn't left on a raid, not by day. That meant they were holing up.

  The main entrance was a narrow defile on the south side with a guarded gate at the top. On the west there was another gate, this one up a steep, tortuous switchback. That was quite impossible on a lone-hand raid. As was climbing to the cliffs above the encampment; Herzer didn't have the gear and if he got into a fight in the camp he'd need his armor to survive.

  The battle was both real and unreal. The area was "real," an unhabited area of eastern Norau not far from his house. The camp and palisades, as well as the cleared areas around it, had been constructed for him as part of the "enhanced reality" game that he was running. The horse, orcs and other defenders, if any, were constructs of nannites and powerfields. The horse that he sat was almost fully "real" but didn't have the individuality of real horses. It was as close to "reality" as he could get, though, given his limited power budget. It would have been much "cheaper" to build a palace on top of a mountain than to create this battlefield. But everyone had their priorities.

  He kept the primary objective-rescue the hostage-in mind, but the question was how. Realistically, if he could keep them moving around, he was a match for twenty orcs. They were strong and fast but relatively clumsy and poor fighters. Even in plate and mail he should be able to outmaneuver them. And his armor was proof against most of their weapons.

  He fingered the lance for a moment then put it in its boot, reaching behind him to unlash his pack. If the orcs killed him it would leave most of his worldly possessions for them to loot. But it the orcs killed him he wouldn't need any of them anyway. Climbing rope and lanterns were not turning out to be useful on this particular quest. Without the weight the pack represented, Calaban could carry him with relative ease, despite the weight of his armor, weapons and not inconsiderable body.

  He weighed weapons for a moment then kept his lance, axe and sword, dropping the bow with the pack. He had need for all three that he kept, cumbersome as it was to carry them. The sword and axe went onto his saddle as he lifted the lance back out of the boot.

  "All right, Calaban, let's give them what for," he said, nudging the horse with his knee as he hefted his kite shield.

  He trotted out into the meadow below the encampment and stopped just short of the shallow brook. Most of it was high banked and relatively deep, at least thigh deep. Not easy to cross on foot and impossible for the horse. But opposite the entrance the bank had been broken down at a narrow ford. The slopes to either side were still impossible, and movement would be restricted to one rider at a time. But it was where he had to cross.

  Now he could see orc heads popping up over the gate, but still none of them stepped forward. Very well.

  "Orcs! Orcs of the encampment! I have come to deliver your souls to hell!"

  "Go away! We have nothing you want and live in peace with humans!" a high voice screeched back.

  "You have raided the towns of Evard, Korln and Shawton. I know for I have tracked you back to your lair! And you have taken the daughter of the Earl of Shawton for ransom! Deliver her to me unharmed and I will spare you your lives!"

  There was derisive hooting from the far side of the wall but he was just as glad. That meant they might come out and fight him on the flats.

  "Go away horse-rider! You cannot defeat us for we are the Tribe of the Bloody Hand and we have never been defeated!"

  "Well, there's a first time for everything you misbegotten goblins. Is it true that you were made by mixing pigs and apes?"

  The screeching redoubled on the other side of the fence but they still didn't come out.

  "The orcs were the first peoples!" the voice screeched back. "They were before the elves and the humans! It is you who were begotten of pigs and apes you. you."

  "No, tell me true? Is it true that your mother was a waterfront whore who couldn't get anyone to pay for her because she was too ugly? So she did it with the creature from the black lagoon when he was drunk? And thus you were begotten, a black, dripping monstrosity that even your friends among the orcs, the only people who will have you, run shrieking from in horror?"

  "I. I. aaaaarrrrr!"

  The gate at the top of the defile opened outward and a swarm of orcs poured through, at their head a broad and tall troll.

  "Oh, shit," Herzer muttered, timing the moment to start his charge. The troll, fortunately, was outdistancing the orcs rapidly. Finally Herzer leaned forward and kicked the horse into movement. "Hi, Calaban! Forward!"

  He couched the lance and balanced the weight of it, aiming it to strike the troll broad on the chest. The fearsome creature seemed to pay no attention and seemed uninterested in blocking, intent on coming to grips with his tormentor. Thus Herzer was able to lean into the weapon at the last moment and drive it home fully. The impact drove him back onto the high rear cantle of his saddle and nearly stopped Calaban, but the troll was mortally wounded. The creature roared as the spear jutted out of his back in a welter of red blood, and grasped the shaft, swinging it from side to side as he thrashed.

  Herzer started to draw his sword but was struck, hard, on the upper arm just as the sword cleared the scabbard; the weapon clattered to ground as he was nearly unseated.

  After a moment he pulled his axe out instead and kneed Calaban in closer to the creature, which was maddened with pain. The horse stood a scoring across the flank as he maneuvered into position, then in a double-hand blow Herzer cut the head from the troll. The horse stepped back daintily as the giant beast fell to the ground.

  The orcs, who were just approaching the scene of the battle, let out a cry of fear at that but they didn't stop, charging forward in a mass. There were far more than twenty but Herzer felt sure he could prevail.

  He backed Calaban around to avoid the first rush of orcs, swinging the axe to strike down a few on the fringes as he did so. He really needed his sword or lance for this work; the axe was a short-hafted ground-fighting weapon.

  A group of orcs was trying to get around behind him, possibly to try to hamstring Calaban, but he didn't need to worry about that. As one of them rushed in, swinging its short-sword, the horse lashed backwards with both feet, killing the creature and tossing it into its fellows so as to bowl several of them to the ground.

  However, that short pause had been enough for others to gather around, swinging their black crusted swords and axes and trying to grab at reins or drag Herzer from the saddle.

  Herzer kicked the horse in the side again, swinging downward on either side to try to clear a path. Finally the team broke out of the mass of orcs, headed up along the streambed. He kicked Calaban again but felt her falter as a flight of crossbow bolts flew down from the hilltop.

  Realizing the horse could never face the battle in her wounded condition he rolled off to the side and slapped her on the flank. More bolts flew down towards him but he was able to deflect them with his shield as he trotted back towards the reduced mass of orcs.

  Again they charged him but there were a few low trees, willows and a few scrubby poplars, along the riverbank and he darted into them to break up the charge. It was a wild time for a moment in among the bushes as orcs charged in from either side and he hewed and slew with abandon. They got in a few licks of their own and he felt a distinct catch in his side where an orc champion had landed a telling blow with a battle-hammer. But the champion was at his feet in a welter of gore and not the other way around. So all was well.

  He finally broke contact across the brook, which he could negotiate better than the orcs could since it was only thigh deep on him here, and swung to the east, moving back to the original ford. The orcs paralleled him on the far bank and then tried to dart ahead to the ford, but he made it there first.

  In the narrow slot to the ford on "his" side of the river there was no way that more than one, or at most two, orcs could attack him. There he stood his ground, hammering on orc shields as they hammered right back. A few more of them had poured out of the encampment but
he was killing them faster than they could be reinforced, his relatively light axe crashing through their guards and shattering shoulders, arms and heads.

  The narrow ford soon became clogged with bodies and the following orcs had to clamber over the piles of the dead. Occasionally they fell towards him and he had to step backwards to avoid being pushed over, so he had slowly been backed towards the top of the bank. However, there were fewer than ten orcs left in the attacking force and, apparently realizing they could not defeat him in the meadow, they suddenly gave out a cry and ran back to the defile, then up through their gates, closing them firmly behind them.

  With the retreat of the foe the battle fury came off of him and the pain from his wounds flooded in to replace it. Besides the catch in his side, which felt very much like a broken rib, he now noticed a rather nasty gash on the back of his right leg. A few inches deeper and he would have lost all use of the leg. As it was, he didn't even recall getting it.