Part 28 (1/2)
”Can't help that,” Ray said. ”I want a wooden fence four to six feet high above the dirt wall. Something to protect our guards from thrown rocks.”
”I can get some woodcutters on that,” the priest offered.
”Good, you and the mayor, supervise if you will.” The priest's only answer was a nod. Mary drove on, circling the perimeter. All of it was marked, with digging rapidly expanding from several points.
Ray went with Mary to check on the kids that evening. Doc Isaacs frowned at Ray's sudden interest but still showed them off like a proud father. Their headaches were gone. They looked like healthy, dirty urchins despite the clouds. Ray got drafted into reading them their bedtime story, read two, and then did his best to slip away. Doc blocked the hallway outside the room.
”What are you up to?” Jerry demanded.
”I don't know,” Ray sighed. ”I really don't know.”
”You're not going to use these kids to fight that thing.”
”I don't know,” Ray defended himself. ”They weren't hurt when the Gardener died.”
”You are going to.” Isaacs accused Ray like a wrathful G.o.d.
”Maybe. If it looks like it will do some good. If you got a better idea on how to fight a million-year-old machine, I'm all ears.” Isaacs said nothing. ”Right now, the d.a.m.n computer won't even talk to me.” And it didn't that night, either.
It was only as Ray came awake the next morning that he found himself surrounded by a dozen computer images. Three or four of them wore partial body armor, shabby and worn. Two carried a.s.sault rifles, though none too sure how. One looked ridiculous in hockey shoulder pads, knee protectors, and a cooking pot perched on his head. He carried a baseball bat but had pliers and a screwdriver in his breast pocket. That one left Ray really wondering what his mind was trying to tell him.
”As you can see,” the Dean said, a battle vest thrown over his tweeds, ”the war has started, and we are losing.”
”Why didn't you call me?” Ray asked. ”I've had some recent experience losing wars.”
”What we want,” the one in the cooking pot cut in, ”is some suggestions on how we kick their a.s.ses.”
”I've won a few, too,” Ray drawled. ”What's going on?”
”The President and the Provost are mainly fighting themselves. The Provost wants to exterminate you. The President only to-I guess you would say-enslave you. We”-the image indicated the others with an open palm-”would like to join you.”
”a.s.suming you're worth joining,” grumbled Pothead.
Ray eyed them for a moment, then asked, ”Where is their center of gravity, their axis of attack?”
”Their what?” Pothead countered.
”What do you know of military strategy, tactics, and logistics? What's your combat training?” All the computer images looked uncomfortably at the floor. Ray glanced down at himself; he was in his pajamas. He adjusted his dress to full battle kit. The room wavered and came back as the inside of his battle van. The images glanced around their new surroundings; two s.h.i.+fted from battle dress to civilian clothes.
”Ray, we know nothing of war. It's a word in the lexicon of the Three, but one marked obsolete. They taught us nothing about it because they wanted us to teach nothing of it to their young.”
”An admirable ideal,” Ray said, ”but you still don't know why the Three vanished.”
”No. As you pointed out, and continue to, we do not know everything.” The Dean glanced at his a.s.sociates. They nodded, looking for all the world like a dozen kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, only to discover there were no cookies.
Ray conjured up his battle board. He used a wide view, showing not only the southern continent but also the northern. ”Where are the President and Provost concentrated?”
The Dean frowned, glanced at the board, and rubbed the back of his neck. ”It's not that easy. We all started moving south together. We're kind of all over the place together.”
”And being pushed around everywhere,” Pothead threw in.
”Concentration of force is basic,” Ray advised.
”Right, and now you're gonna teach us,” Pothead spat.
”I've got too d.a.m.n much experience of war. What have you got? You want to learn, you come to the expert or you don't learn. What's it gonna be?” The twelve looked at each other. Ray wondered how fast they communicated among themselves. Then he reminded himself they were none too experienced with being individuals.
”What do we need to do?” the Dean finally asked.
”Concentrate your forces is a start. The question is: Where? Where are the President and Provost strongest?”
A pink hue covered the center of North Continent and stretched south to form a large lobe in Convenanters' territory. ”That's the President. Provost is a bit west of there.” A blue tinge marked the map from north to south. In the south it formed a large lobe along the border of Covenant/Richland.
”And you are?” Ray offered. The twelve looked shyly at each other. ”Unaware of where each other are,” he finished.
The Dean made golden a small section of the board in Covenanters' territory on the southeastern edge of the pink. ”I've been evicted from my network to the north,” he whispered.
”You, too!” Pothead exclaimed. ”Me, too.” A string of brown lines spun and twisted around South Continent. ”I get around, though. Even into your net.” He grinned at Ray. ”Yeah, that was me. Your guards didn't come close to twitching to me.”
”Why'd you turn off our weather alarms?”
”Weather Proctor dared me to. Said I couldn't understand a net as primitive as yours. I showed him.”
”You were on the Weather Proctor's side?” Ray encouraged him to gab on. Did he really want this ally?
”n.o.body's on WP's side, except WP. He cut his own deal with the Pres and Prov. Pres wants you down a few notches. Proc want's you out of here. Either way, WP wins. That one is sly.”
”But you're not with him anymore,” Ray said.
”Nope. WP s.n.a.t.c.hed my net up North while I was working you guys. Booted me right out. Is that any way to treat a friend?”
”Not the way I would, anyway. I take it all of you are bereft of attachments to North Continent.” They nodded. ”May I suggest you concentrate around this base? I'm ma.s.sing my human strength here. We can protect your physical selves as well. It will keep you out of the line of fire when we open up on them.”
”You can't touch them,” Pothead sneered.
”I drained the Gardener. That was an accident. Next time won't be. Dean, you noticed when we took samples up north. If we took enough, could we disrupt the P and P?”
The Dean rubbed his chin. ”You'd have to take a lot.”
”The vanis.h.i.+ng box could take a lot in a hurry.”
Heads jerked, several took a step away from Ray. That got their attention. ”Who do you trust?” Ray tapped the pink and blue on his map. ”They've booted you out of the North. Think they'll save anything down here for you? I promise to take you to the stars with me. First we got to survive. And they've got to...what? Be taken down a peg or ten? Be destroyed? You tell me. You can't win a war if you don't know your objectives.”
The images of the twelve got thin. For a second, Ray feared he'd lost them. ”You go away now, will there be anything left of you to talk to me by tonight? You're losing. Give up and die, or join me and fight. What will it be?”
The Dean thickened up. ”I don't want to die. I like the idea of going to the stars with the humans. I say fight.”
”But can we trust him?” Pothead whined.
”You trusted the Weather Proctor. What did it get you?” the Dean asked.