"Take them in? We don't have enough for ourselves!"
As if by pre-formed agreement, the permanent residents of Raven's Mill had made their way to the pub, despite the sudden and unexpected thunderstorm. The temperature outside was dropping and the wind rattled the solid doors and shutters of the inn. What it was like inside was well-nigh indescribable.
"OYEZ!" Edmund yelled after a few minutes of shouted debate. John Glass and Tom Raeburn looked like they were about to start beating on each other. "This is out of control. We're going to have order here or I'll start cracking heads."
"And I'll help," Myron said. "I've got food in my storehouses. I'll not be selling it in penny packets to madmen so we've that. The planting season is nearly here. As long as the weather clears we'll be fine."
"But not if we start taking in every person who comes here!" Glass shouted.
"ORDER! We will have order here!"
"I nominate Edmund as Speaker, hell, mayor," Tom Raeburn said. Myron's bullnecked son had his jaw set hard, but he was managing to keep his temper. "We haven't needed one before but we do now."
"Second," Myron snapped. "There's going to have to be decisions made."
"Mayor, okay," Glass said. "But not lord. We're to have a say. And I say that, whatever Sheida says, we're to turn away refugees. We've problems enough of our own!"
"The vote at hand is whether to elect Edmund mayor," Bethan Raeburn said, standing up. "We should keep this simple and straightforward for now. Any other nominations?"
"Me, I'll nominate myself," Glass said. "I like Edmund, but I don't think that he'll have the interests of Raven's Mill in mind."
"And what are the interests of Raven's Mill?" Edmund asked. "I'm not sure I want to be mayor, or earl or lord or any other damned thing. But you'd best understand what I think are the interests of Raven's Mill. We're not some damn island. There are about a billion people on this earth. Maybe, maybe a couple of thousand outside of Anarchia have any ability to survive without technology. We are going to have refugees. And we're going to have to integrate them into the society. We're going to have to expand. And in case you didn't understand the messages we got from the Council, there's a war on. I was already asked to come to Sheida's headquarters to help them. I refused because I'm thinking about the world. We're going to have to rebuild it. And Raven's Mill is going to be a part, perhaps a large part, of that rebuilding.
"We're going to have to take those refugees in and teach them how to not only survive but prosper. Teach them the skills that we know. Myron farming, John glassmaking, coopering, smithing, all the things you have to have if you don't have replicators or even factories. The first of them will be trickling in maybe as soon as tomorrow. We're going to have to prepare for that. That is what I think, where I stand. And one more thing." He paused and looked around the room at the sea of now thoughtful faces.
"There's a war going on. I side with Sheida. I understand, in a way that I don't think that even Bowman does, what his program would mean. Maybe, maybe, simply letting him take over would be for the best. But that's only because the downside of a war in our situation is the death of up to ninety percent of the remaining population world-wide."
"What?" Charlie Raeburn was the first to speak. "How many?"
"There's no food. And right now there's no way to get what food there is distributed. Where will food come from? The farms in the central plains supply the world. There's no way to move it. The weather that just broke is probably because the weather controls broke down. What is the true weather of the world? Will we even be able to plant this year?"
"We'll be able to get something done," Myron interjected. "Even with weather like this. Won't be easy, but the seeds we've got these days aren't bulgur wheat. It'll grow in a hurricane. And the output on it. well let's just say that even with rotten farmers we shouldn't be facing starvation after the first harvest."
"So we can plant and grow some. But if the only people left alive are in Raven's Mill, what good does that do the world? And as I said, I side with Sheida. The way things look, that might mean we have to fight. Hell, probably we will have to fight if no other group than bandits that want our food. This is not going to be easy.
"But I'm not going to throw a wall around the town and say 'no, go away and starve.' Now, the people coming in are going to think we owe them a handout. That's not true either. But I want you all to understand that I'm committed to saving every human being that we can. For our species, for the world, for the cause of freedom that Sheida represents. And if you don't want that than, well, I think you should vote for John. Although if everyone's dead, I don't know who he's going to sell his little glass figurines to."
"Edmund, can we do that?" Lisbet McGregor asked. The wife of the innkeeper looked troubled. "It's hard enough supplying the Faire with everyone wanting period foods. I. we've got Elsie to worry about. Maybe other children in time. I'm willing to. to try to help out others. But not at the expense of our own children."
"I don't know," Edmund admitted. "If we threw a wall up around the town, difficult with it just being us, mind, and turned everyone away and if we didn't have our crops burned by the bandits that produced and if the refugees didn't decide to just overrun us and take all our food and goods, then we might be able to survive. And it might be easier than trying to save people. But. I'd have to live with that for the rest of my life.
"Again," he added. "The refugees coming to us will have to be shown the reality of life now. Nobody gives you anything but a smidgen of charity. After that you're on your own. They're going to have to learn to work. And in a way, so will we. When we tire of a project or a hobby, we go on to something different. Well, you're not going to be pulling food from the Net either. Right now, the most powerful man in this town is Myron. He's got all the food." Edmund looked over and saw the shocked look on Myron's face. "Hah! Hadn't thought of that, had you? But if you want your thresher fixed, you'd best be willing to give some up to me. And I need a half dozen barrels and you need even more, so Donald's sitting pretty. I don't think any of us wants the tavern to go away so McGregor has a job. Hmmm." He looked over at Robert and Maria McGibbon and frowned.
"Falcons hunt food," Robert said. "Which we'll need. And I haven't done bowyery in sixty or so years, but that's because I got bored when there wasn't anything else to learn. Call me Huntsman Bob."
"Game," Edmund said. "The hell with sending one fellow out with a bow; the woods are teaming with game. Deer, bison, turkey, feral cattle, goats, horses and sheep. Send a hundred refugees out as beaters and drive the damned things off a cliff. This is about gathering food, not sport."
"Save the domestics," Myron interjected. "We can redomesticate them. The big cattle bulls we can deball and use as oxen. We're going to need draft animals. There's wild horses and even donkeys as well. And the horseflesh on some of them is first rate. Emu, bison, wapiti, all of them can be adequately domesticated. We can rebuild stocks out of the ferals."
"There's not much leather around," Donald Healey said. The cooper used it in various ways and tended to go through a lot. "We're going to need the skins."
"Meat's not all you get," McGibbon interjected. "Bone, horn, hair, all of it is useful."
"We can do this," Lisbet said. "You're right."
"Won't be easy," Edmund replied. "Easy just ended. But we can do it and we will do it, so help me God."
"Okay, okay," Glass said, raising his hands. "I see which way this is going and I'll even say I agree."
"We need a vote," Myron said. "Any other nominations? Edmund, do you accept?"
The smith looked at the ground and to the others. A weight appeared to settle on his shoulders and something old and hard seemed to be in his countenance. But when he looked up his face was clear.
"I do."
"Any other nominations? No. All in favor say aye."
"Aye!"
"Opposed?" There was silence. "Passed by acclamation, Mayor Edmund."
"But no handouts!"
/> "Well, a bit," Edmund said, stroking his beard in deep thought. "The refugees that come in are going to be in shock. We can probably last one season with them still in shock but we have to get fields planted, material made. They'll need to get on their feet and learn skills. But which skills and how? Say we. hmmm."
"Yah," McGibbon said. "A training program?"
"But, they don't have any idea, most of them, how much work all of this is," Bethan said in exasperation. "And most of them have never worked a day in their lives! It's hard running a farm, from either side of the kitchen! I mean, just the washing!"
"And we'll need tools, seed," Myron shook his head. "We'll need farmers, Edmund, lots of farmers. And that's not just sticking seed in the ground."
"We'll handle it," Edmund said definitely. "In this room is probably a thousand years of accumulated experience in how to live in preindustrial conditions. There are people in this room who know things about their skill areas that masters of any other age wouldn't have dreamed about learning. We'll feed the new people and teach them until they're more or less ready to go out on their own."
"Training program, hmmm." Tarmac said. The innkeeper looked around in thought. "Break them down in groups, run them through a few days to a week of each of the things that we've got skilled craftsmen to teach."
"Yeah," Myron replied after a moment. "Have them do the stuff that apprentices would do. Give them a taste of the job."
"Work them hard but slowly," Tom Raeburn said. "Build them up to it."
"And, remember, many of the refugees who come here are going to be Faire goers," Edmund said with a nod. "Yeah, most of them don't know a whipple tree from an apple-tree, but they've got some experience of living rough. And there are others, guys like Geral Thorson and Suwisa, makers and dealers mostly, who have really useable skills. I don't know who is going to make it, I don't know where anyone on Earth was when the power turned off. But some of them are bound to make it. And when they do, we'll be as ready for them as possible."
Edmund glanced up as a figure glistened into visibility by his shoulder.
"Edmund, I need some time," Sheida said, looking around at the crowd. "Myron, Bethan," she said, nodding.
"Sheida, what's going on?!" Maria McGibbon shouted.
"Please," the avatar said, raising her hands. "Please, I don't have time. I'm. even now we're fighting and it's. it's like fencing mind to mind. They think of a way to attack us, we think of a way to attack them. They're dropping. rocks, satellites, things like that on Eagle Home at the moment. We're deflecting them but that's taking power and that means we can't attack back."
"When is the power going to come back?" Myron asked.
"I. I don't know," Sheida answered. "Not soon. Edmund, we have to talk."
"Folks, what I want you to do is break up. Tarmac, you and Lisbet are in charge of figuring out what we need for minimal rations for refugees and where and how to serve them. Get a couple of other people together with you. Robert, you're in charge of preparing to do large-scale hunting and gathering ferals. Get with Charlie on how to keep them and setting up a mass slaughter program. You've run the Faire the last couple. Get to work, people, we don't have much time. Myron, you're with me."
CHAPTER NINE
Edmund led Sheida in to the back room of the pub as the conversation exploded behind him. But he could tell from the sound that they were working, not panicking, not spinning their wheels. They were all smart, and experienced and self-starters. All they had needed was a touch of self confidence and a direction to point. With that he could more or less let it run and just make sure it didn't run out of control.
"You done good, Edmund," Sheida's avatar said.
"Thanks," he replied then looked around. "Are you an avatar or a projection?"
"I'm. I'm an autonomous projection," Sheida replied.
"That's proscribed!" Myron snapped.
"So is dropping rocks on my home," the avatar said with a sigh. "I can only handle about fifteen of these but they can give orders and gather real information while I handle things that only I can do, like give code commands to the Net. Right now, both sides are fighting for controls. We discovered that we could lock out programs and sub-programs and we've been doing that as fast as we can. Unfortunately, they noticed and now they're at it. And it requires direct orders of a council member. So creating full avatars was the only way to get anything else done. Every hour or so I take a break and upload all the data I've gained and make any corrections I have to. It's working. We know that because we're still alive."
"Is it that close?" Edmund asked.
"Every few minutes I think they're going to finally kill me," she answered with a sigh. "And then sometimes I think we've finally come up with the one true thing that is going to wipe the floor with them. And it never does."
"Bitchin'," Edmund said with a snort. "You need to back up. This kind of battle never gets won thinking purely tactical. Back up and take a look around for a deep strike."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sheida asked.
"I don't know. I don't understand the nature of the battlefield. But winning a war is not about killing your opponent, it's about making them give up. To do that you place them in a situation where they believe, whether it is true or not, that they've already lost. In the best of all possible worlds, your enemy creates those conditions for you. But that takes an idiot on the other side. I take it that Paul hasn't shown any signs of tactical idiocy. Let's hope he's less capable at strategy. And that is what you should be thinking about."
Sheida thought about that for a moment then shook her head. "I don't see anything off the top of my head. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Later, maybe. But not right now."
The room had a table where during the Faire Tarmac would sometimes retreat to play chess. But the rest was filled with barrels. After rummaging for a bit Talbot came up with a cup and poured some liquid out of an unmarked barrel. He took a sip and wrinkled his face but didn't pour it out.
"So, talk," Edmund said.
"Why didn't you come here when I asked?" Sheida said. "The answer didn't make any sense."
"You, we, have huge problems," Edmund said.
"So far I'm keeping up," Sheida said dryly. "Maybe you should go slower, though."
"Glad to see you're keeping your sense of humor," Talbot replied. "But I'm not just talking about the 'war.' I'm talking about the famine."
"Yesss." Sheida sighed. "So, any answers?"
"Why do you think I brought Myron," Edmund said with another chuckle.
"Right now our greatest problem is farming," Myron replied. "Or rather, lack of it and where it does exist it's of no use. We're going to have to have food, and soon. We still have some supplies but we're going to burn through them fast. And other places don't have anything."
"We're getting started on that," Edmund noted. "We'll be putting the refugees we get to work."
"Well, Edmund, you know farming is an art more than a science, especially at this level," Myron contradicted with a shake of his head. "Every farm, every patch of soil, is different. And it's not as if we can run up a soil analysis. Chemistry, conditions, weather. It all comes down to knowing what you're doing with your farm. Learning that. well. I've been studying it a lifetime and there's still things I don't know."
"So you're saying that everyone is going to die of starvation," Sheida said, shaking her head. "Maybe we should just give up."
Edmund frowned at her angrily and shook his head. "War. you know, Paul knows, nothing about war. It is said that war is the most evil thing ever invented by man. That statement is fatuous and downright ignorant. Man has created much worse things than war. More people have been killed by totalitarian regimes, during times of peace, than in all the wars in the world combined."
"But."
"This war will be. awful. Worse, I think, than the AI wars. The lack of industry, transportation methods other than teleportation and the explosives proscriptions mean that we're goin
g to be forced to a preindustrial or at least pregunpowder lifestyle."
"I. hadn't thought it out that far," Sheida admitted.
"Many people are going to die in the first two years."
"Two years?" Sheida asked. "We. I was hoping that. Well wars don't have to take that long!"
"Are you winning? Right now? Decisively?" Edmund asked.
"No, I told you that. If anything, we're losing."
"If you don't lose in the next three months, and I pray you don't, then it's going to be a long war. And until the Council stops sucking up all the power, we're not going to be able to recover."
"What about more plants?" Myron interjected. "I mean. why can't you just build more? I know it will be a race who can build them the quickest."
Sheida sighed in exasperation and shook her head. "More proscriptions. I didn't realize how many we worked under until this. Power usage peaked shortly after the AI wars during the regrowth period. Usage eventually got so high that it was affecting the biosphere; the heat from all the energy usage was melting the ice caps and to prevent flooding Mother was having to divert more energy into various ways of preventing it. So the Council of the time, and it was a very controlling period in Council history, when the explosive prohibitions and several others were introduced, placed a cap on construction, requirement for Council approval for new construction and roll-back targets. We were well under the roll-back targets, and still had an abundance of power, before the Fall. But now, if we lose a power plant it's gone. We can't get it back. And power distribution, under the Council. severance proscriptions means having physical control of the plants."
John Ringo - Council Wars 01 - There Will Be Dragons Page 15