"Yes."
"The first Constitution of the United States of America, the Second Amendment. Whatever you write, if you wantmy support for it you'll have something similar or stronger."
She smiled at him and nodded. "Will do."
"Is there a way that you can take Harry with you?" he asked, suddenly.
"Perhaps," she said. "Why?"
"The cut that I did to his leg is never going to heal right short of nannite rebuilding," Edmund said with a shrug. "In this society he's practically a cripple. That's not good, but the other side to it is that he's got a good basis in preindustrial war and government. If he could be someplace where he's not seeing how crippled he is, or that he could get repaired, he could still contribute. But as it is, he's not doing himself or anyone else much good."
"I'll see if I can gather the power for a teleport," she said after a moment's thought. "We're working on some lower powered methods, but until then we're stuck."
"Well, if you can do it, you can do it. If not, we'll find something for him. He can train in sword-playjust by shouting if it comes to that."
"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 morepowerful than we are, Edmund," she said, sighing and lowering her face into her hands. "I don't knowwhere 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 verywell, but we have to use everyerg 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 andChanging them against their will."
"Not surprising," Edmund nodded gravely. "If he's got the power."
"He does but he's mostly drawing itfrom their own bodies . He's using humans as apower 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 notPaul'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 shelikes monsters. Monsters arecool ."
"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 greatunter 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 frombefore 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 isold, Sheida. Older than either of us. Old as some of the elves."
"You think he planned this?" she asked. "All ofthis ? Evenhe 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.
"Hi," Herzer said, ducking his head in greeting. Then he picked up his spoon and basically inhaledthe food.
"You have to be careful with that," Courtney said with a snort. "I did that the first night and then threw it up all over the table."
"I think I'll be okay," Herzer said. There was a slight queasiness, but Tom had had some rations left so he hadn't been starving the last day or so. He mopped up the bowl with the small piece of bread and then ate that. "That's it, right?"
"Right," Mike said gruffly. "New here?"
"Just got in," Herzer said then paused. The details of his journey didn't make for very good storytelling.
"We're on our second day," Courtney explained. "You know you get three days?"
"Yes. And they said someone would be around to find me then. I'd wondered about that; how do they keep track?"
"Some people skate out," Courtney nodded towards the tent. "But on the third day they stop giving you meal chits if you're not otherwise employed. They're talking about some sort of apprenticeship program. We're hoping to get into that."
"What else is there to do? I saw a couple of guards."
"They're not much," Mike said. He had a tight, short manner of speaking that was blunt enough to be right on the edge of rudeness. But Herzer sensed it was just the way he was rather than anything intentional. "There's talk that Talbot's going to set up a professional guard and police force. But there's been too much going on with the farm battles."
"Farm battles?" Herzer asked. "We're having wars already?"
"No, not that," Courtney interjected. "It's just the arguments about how to get the farms running."
She gave him a fairly concise description of the various positions, then shrugged. "Mike and I, well . . ." she looked over at him and shrugged again.
"I want a farm," Mike said. "I want my own farm, mine and Courtney's. I don't want to farm somebody else's and I don't want to share it with a bunch of people. I know I can make it run if I don't have to worry about sharing it with a bunch of losers." He gestured at the various people still sitting at the tables.
"I suppose that makes sense," Herzer said. "I'd never thought about being a farmer myself . . ."
"Farming is what makes an economy like this run," Courtney interjected enthusiastically. "It's hard work, maybe the hardest there is. But it's rewarding, too, if you get good land and do a good job at it.
We'll succeed," she reached across and took Mike's hand. "I know we will."
"But you're going to do the apprenticeship program anyway?" Herzer asked. He noticed that Mike seemed uncomfortable with the touch and disengaged as quickly as possible.
"I want to see what else there is," Mike said. "And there's more to farming than just putting seeds in the ground. Knowing a little bit about coopering and carpentry and smithing will be useful."
"There's supposed to be a week or two of combat training, too," Courtney noted.
"Well, I guess I'll see about this apprenticeship program," Herzer said. The sun was setting in the west and he suddenly realized he was bone weary. "Where do people sleep?"
"There's separate bunkhouses for the men and women," Mike said. "I usually walk Courtney over to hers and then find a place to sleep."
"You can come with us if you want," Courtney said.
"Uhm . . ." he looked at Mike who shrugged disinterest in whether he did or not and then nodded.
"Okay, if you don't mind."
They walked through the crowds in the gathering darkness to one of the many log-frame huts. Up close they were much less sturdy than they appeared at a distance, and the walls were filled with cracks where the logs didn't meet. The roofs were made from wooden "shakes," slightly mounded pieces of wood about two decimeters long, a decimeter wide and a couple of centimeters thick. He suspected thatthey leaked like a sieve in the rain.
He waited as Courtney kissed Mike good night, on the cheek, then followed the young man across the encampment. Mike seemed to find his way in the dark remarkably well for having been there only a day.
"I think you see better at night than I do," Herzer said as he stumbled on one of the innumerable potholes. The area had been a forest up until a few days before and while the stumps had been rooted out and the holes filled, the rains had caused the soil within to slump.
"A couple of generations back on my mother's side is a cat Change," he said. "Ido see well at night."
"Do you know why there are so few Changed here?" Herzer asked, the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind coming to the fore again.
"Not really, but Courtney and I were discussing it. She thinks it's a matter of adaptability. Most of the Changed take more energy, either food or externally derived, than unChanged humans. So, naturally, they were going to be at a disadvantage when the Fall came. Think about a werebear, for example. They needa lot of food,every day."
"Yeah."
"Or, think about a guy with wings. He's got wings, but he can only fly with external power. And the wings weigh thirty, forty kilos. Take away power, make him have to walk for days to get to shelter . . ."
"Yeah."
"Makes me glad I never Changed. You ever think of Changing?" The question was hard edged, almost accusatory but, again, Herzer put it down to personality.
"Not really," Herzer answered honestly. "A little bigger, a little beefier . . ." He flashed back to the scene at the bridge. Bigger wouldn't have helped unless he was the size of a giant.
"You're pretty big already," Mike said with a questioning tone.
"That's mostly natural genetics," Herzer replied. "I . . . the muscle is sculpted but I worked for it. I was sick most of my life and I couldn't bulk up no matter how hard I tried. So when I got fixed . . ."
"Yeah, whatever," Mike said. "Here we are."
Mike pushed open the flap-which appeared to be made of rough-cured deerskin-and led the way into the interior. Already the room was filled with the sound of snores.
"There's a spot over here," he said, pointing down the middle of the room.
To Herzer the interior was as black as pitch and quite cold. "Are there any blankets?"
"Not unless you brought one, but it warms up after a while," Mike replied. He led the way down the center aisle to a spot between two of the sleeping bodies.
"Keep your boots on and double knot the laces," his guide said. "I had somebody try to steal mine the first night."
"Okay," Herzer said, sitting on the floor. It was dirt and both moist and cool, and the air in the room was damp and filled with odors. He was suddenly glad that the problem of human body odor had been solved generations before, otherwise the room would have been truly foul.
He fell asleep on that happy note.