Edmund trotted across the courtyard, the weight of his armor virtually unnoticed, and entered a side door of the house. Down a corridor in a long-unopened storeroom he pulled open a locker and rummaged to the bottom. There he found a pack and dragged it out. A quick check of the contents sufficed and he ran back to where the injured fighter was lying.
"I didn't know you knew any AI's," Harry said when he entered. The injured fighter's color was, if anything, a tad better.
"It wasn't supposed to be general knowledge," Carb said. "But, all things considered . . ."
Edmund unbuckled Harry's armor and started stripping off the pants.
"Edmund, I never knew you cared," Harry joked, helping with the heavy steel. "It would be easier if I stood up."
"It would be harder if you passed out," Edmund replied, pulling the armor away from the wound.
The cosilk padding was quickly cut with a belt-knife, then he opened up the green backpack and started rummaging through packages.
"What's all that?" Harry asked with a tone of deep interest.
"Very old fashioned medical gear," Edmund replied, withdrawing a bottle of antiseptic and some small, clear packages.
"This is gonna hurt," he said in an offhand manner as he poured much of the contents of the bottle of brown liquid into the wound and onto his hands.
"JESUS ON A CRUTCH!" Harry yelled, practically sitting up. But he didn't bat the bottle away.
"Whatwas that?"
"Something called 'betadyne' that they used to use back in the ooold days," Edmund replied. "It's okay, next we're talkingreally medieval medicine," he continued, pulling a curved needle out of one package and a long piece of string out of the other.
"Is that what Ithink it is?" Harry asked.
"Would you prefer some boiling pitch?" Edmund asked. He pulled some clamps out of the bag and shut the wound, then began applying the suturing needle. "I mean, that would bereally period. Nothing like a nice cauterization to start the day."
"No," Harry replied, gasping as Edmund tied off the first suture. "Stitching is just fine. Antique, but fine."
"Hell of a lot of damage to the quad, here, buddy," Edmund said, putting in another stitch. "Sorry about that."
"No way you could have known," Harry said with another gasp.
"Tying them off is the hardest part," Edmund commented. "We're going to be calling you Gimpy for a while."
"Edmund, can I ask a question?" Harry said, as the third suture went in.
"Sure."
"Whydo you have an old-fashioned medical kit?"
Edmund hesitated for a moment then tightened the last suture. "In case I'm someplace the nannites don't do all the repairs."
"But the only place like that is . . ."
"Edmund Talbot?"
Edmund spun in place on the floor and pointed the sword he hadn't even realized he'd carried in at the apparition, which turned out to be an avatar of Sheida Ghorbani."Edmund, Paul attempted his coup," the avatar said. "I need every person who has any training in .
. . well in war, here with me. He has already attacked power plants and I need them secured. I can port you now."
"No," Edmund replied, lifting Harry to a sitting position.
"Edmund, I know you would not side with Paul. He represents . . ."
"I know what he represents," Edmund replied. "I'm not siding with Paul. But I'm also not leaving here. Make sure that you tell Sheida that and that she's thinking tactically instead of strategically. Tell her that."
"She wishes you to become a Council member," the avatar said.
"What does that mean?" Edmund asked.
"They seized two Keys in the fight in the Council Chamber. She wishes you to vote one."
"Holy shit," Harry whistled. "Council member."
"No," Edmund said after a moment's thought. "Tell her that this is my place. We have to rebuild before we can do anything. Sheneeds me here. Tell her, strategic not tactical."
"I shall," the avatar said, winking out.
"What in the hell did that mean?" Harry asked, leaning into the older fighter. "Bloody hell that hurts."
"Well, let's go get you some anesthetic," Edmund said. "Fortunately, I just put up some corn liquor; it should be about mellowed out."
"Sounds good to me."
They limped into the house and into the kitchen, where Edmund dumped Harry in one of the chairs and began opening cabinets.
"Thefirst thing you need is a fluid replenisher," Edmund said, sliding a bottle across the table.
"Then, the moonshine."
"This is just great," Harry said, taking a deep chug of the blue liquid. "Everything'sgone ?"
"It sounds like it," Edmund said.
"I can't go home," Harry said, taking another drink.
"Not unless you can walk to London. Robert has been building period ships, not Middle Ages period but sloops and barkentines, that sort of thing. He might be able to get you home."
"Daneh? Rachel?"
"No communications," Edmund replied, taking a sip of the moonshine. "No way to know. I suppose if I'd taken Sheida up on her offer . . ."
"That's . . ."
"It's happening all over the world, everywhere," Edmund said, coldly. "Not justmy family.
Everyone's family. Think about how bad it must be out there. We're in a room that isdesigned to survive without power. Think about Fukyama in his damned floating castle!"
"Ouch, good point. And you're staying here?"
"First of all, can you imagine anywhere better to be?" Edmund asked, waving around at the fixtures.
The hams hanging from the rafters, the garlands of onions. "Where should I go?"
"The south road to find Daneh and Rachel?" Harry suggested.
"Perhaps," he sighed. "But . . . people know where this placeis . Do you know howrare that is; that someone can find a location on a map? People will come here. The term's so old it's like 'slave' and 'villeigne' but we'll get 'refugees' coming here, on the roads that remain."
" 'All roads lead to Faire,' " Harry said.
"Damned near all that are left. So, do you want to leaveMyron in charge? OrTarmac ?"
"No," Harry said.
"That's what I meant by Sheida thinking tactically. Unless one side wins right away, this . . . thiswar, speaking of another old term, is going to drag on. And if it does, somebody has to be down on theground, picking up the pieces. I think my place is there, not standing guard over some damned fusion plant."
"And ifPaul wins?"
"In that case, my place is vengeance."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
"I suppose I deserved it," Rachel sighed and moved her wyvern.
The three-dimensional chessboard was a large hologram of ascending platforms. Different pieces could move in different ways and all pieces were not equal. Stronger pieces, by and large, could move only horizontally, crossing to higher or lower grids at specific points. Flying pieces, though, like the ascending levels of dragons, could move up or down however many places were available by their movement. However, they could not destroy all "land" pieces. This time, however, her wyvern had stooped upon one of Marguerite's pawns that was in a strategic spot, and a wyverncould kill a pawn.
There was a brief flurry of battle and then the pawn fell in battle and reappeared on Rachel's side of the board.
"That's stupid," Marguerite replied, reaching out one ephemeral hand and directing her mother dragon in counter. "You're practically a grown up! You should be able to control your own body. Body control is where all controlstarts . If you don't have control over your own body you don't have anything. Look at me."
"But your parentsapproved changing you into nannites. Mom doesn't approve ofany modification.
I mean, she's really into 'natural' you know?" Rachel's castle moved up a space, leaving it a straight shot to put Marguerite's fortress in check. The pawn had been in the way before.
"What an old fogie," Marguerite said, looking at the board. "I think I'm going to have to start using a program to play you. You're getting ready to beat me again."
"I'm sorry, Marguerite," Rachel said. "But, well, you're so much better at physical stuff than I am it's only fair that I be better at chess."
"I suppose," the nannite girl sighed. "Frankly . . . this being nannites isn't all its cracked up to be. I mean . . . there's a lot different you know? Can't go some of the places I used to be able to. Not really .
. . feeling the same. The emotions just feel . . . unnatural, you know?"
"Well, no I don't," Rachel said looking up at her friend. "But . . ."
"Rach . . ." Marguerite said, her face tightening. "Rach . . . some-thing's happening . . ." Marguerite reached out her hand to her friend as it started to fade. "Rach . . . help . . . me . . . please . . ."
Rachel reached for her friend's hand as Marguerite faded, wondering what could have gone wrong.
But before she could get across the oversized board Marguerite had faded fully. In a moment all that was left was a mound of bluish dust.
"Marguerite!Marguerite?! MOM!"
Donna Forsceen found herself going nearly forty kilometers per hour in a flat dive through the air as the power-ski under her failed. Not expecting to actually hit the water, she was knocked half unconscious by the impact. On flailing back to the surface she looked around at the vast expanse of water and screamed.
"Genie!" she yelled, paddling around in circles. She had never been a particularly good swimmer; it wasn't necessary if you used power properly, but at the moment nothing seemed to be working.
"Genie!" she yelled again, lying flat in the swells and willing a power-up to drive her towards Hawaii a hundred miles to the north. Still nothing happened.
"Genie?" she said more quietly, looking around. A wave came up and slapped her in the face. She sank again and then clawed her way to the surface looking around in desperation. "Anybody? Help," she said quietly.* * *
It was happening throughout the world as in an instant power was diverted wherever possible into the battle between the two factions of the Council. And, as it was, every being that did not have a specific coded quantity of power and that was power dependent found itself in critical danger.
Researchers in the photosphere of the sun disappeared before they knew anything had failed, as did others working in magma chambers. Swimmers in the deeps of the oceans, dependent upon the personal protection fields for their survival, persons flying wingless under power, thousands across the globe suddenly found themselves in situations in which without power there was no chance to survive.
For others, the Fall would take longer.
"What happened to her?" Rachel asked.
Daneh looked at the pile of powder and shrugged. "There's been some sort of power failure. All the force doors are open, the holograms are gone and genie's not replying. I can't even send a message.
There's just . . . nothing. I think that's what happened to her. She's nannites. No power means . . . no Marguerite."
"She's . . . dead?" Rachel asked. She'd gotten over the tears but they welled up again at that question.
"Dead's one of those things that's pretty hard to define when you start talking about nannite creatures, honey. Was she alive? Did she 'die' when she was Changed? If you're talking about her soul, you'll have to ask a priest."
"I'm talking about the part that is my friend, Mother," Rachel replied astringently. "If we can find power for her can we . . . bring her back?"
"Ah, that." Daneh's brow creased in thought. "It depends on the design of the nannites. I think her parents probably didn't stint so they probably have a fixed memory system. Likely if she gets power again she'll just come right back to the moment she lost it with no knowledge of the intervening conditions." The mother shrugged as she looked at her daughter. "It depends why the power went off. I can't imagine what could have happened to cause this. It'simpossible . I can't even get ahold of Sheida."
"What are we going to do?" Rachel asked, looking around as if finally realizing that something terrible had occurredbesidesher friend crumbling before her eyes. "Without power . . ."
"Where's the food going to come from?" Daneh said with a nod. "Good question. I suppose we could try to train Azure to hunt for us. But it's surely going to come back on . . ."
"People of the world . . ."