". . . . ?"
Chuckle. "Good morning, Kaa'saht."
". . . . My Lord?" Confused pause. "I don't . . . . My Lord, why have I not-- Why am I not dead?"
Another quiet laugh. "I told you once before, Kaa'saht; I am not that merciful. Rest now, and regain your strength. This place is warded. You will be safe here, and I will return shortly with something for you to eat."
"I . . . ." A pause, then a quiet sigh. "Yes, my Lord."
Snap.
================================================================
"Got any more of that coffee?"
Deebs jumped slightly, then glanced back at me. "Um, yeah." He set his own mug down and fished another out of the kitchen cabinet, filled it from the pot sitting on the wood-fired stove. He handed it to me. "Here you go, and just where the hell have you been? Again?"
I smiled tiredly at Deebs, took a grateful sip out of the steaming mug. "Preparing fallback positions," I answered at last.
The Texan squinted hard at me, his face growing pensive. Finally he nodded. "All right; that makes sense. You gonna let us know what they are?"
"When they're ready, yes."
"O-kay. I'm gettin' the distinct feelin' I'm not gonna get any more out of you on that, so let's talk about the gear a bit." Picking his mug back up, Deebs stepped out of the tiny kitchen and out the front door, heading for the barn. "C'mon out to the workshop and take a look at what we have so far," he tossed over his shoulder. I paused for a moment, but then followed.
Inside the barn, held off the ground by an array of hastily-built sawhorses, was a bizarre assembly of metal odds and ends that looked vaguely like a leftover prop from the set of a Mad Max movie. I stared at it, a slightly dizzy feeling stealing over me. "Good grief," I said at last.
"It's nowhere near finished yet," Deebs said quickly, doubtlessly reading my expression. "In fact, me and Grease are running low on supplies, and we were thinkin' that, since we're short on time, you and that funny ball of yours could, well, you know."
I looked at my Logistics expert for several long seconds. "You want me to play pack mule for you."
Deebs winced slightly. "Well, kind-of. Look; the only reason I'm askin' is otherwise I don't think there's any way we're gonna get this finished in time. Yeah, yeah, I know I told you otherwise the other day, but I screwed-up, okay?" He gestured past me vaguely. "That crazy ball of yours is the only thing that'll get the stuff here fast enough. Man, I'll tell you, if there's anything that's gonna win this fight, it'll be that ball. Just think about it for a moment, man! Instantaneous transportation! Perfect logistics! Have you any idea what DARPA would give to get their hands on that thing?"
I felt my lips compressing into a thin, straight line, but in the end I nodded. "All right, lay-off with the soft soap. What do you need?"
"Hang on. . . ." The Texan hurried over to where some planks and a pair of sawhorses made a makeshift desk, pulled several sheets of slightly grimy paper out from under their screwdriver paperweight. "Here y'go."
I glanced at some of the items on the top sheet of paper, then did a double-take as some of the nomenclatures sunk in. "Deebs, are you crazy? What in the hell makes you think we'd need something like--"
"Lemme see," Deebs interrupted, peering over the top of the sheet. "Oh, that. Hey; that's just a little something I'm doing a little brainstorming with. Stefan said something interestin' the other day, and it's given me an idea I'd like to try out."
"But . . . isn't this thing classified?"
"Um, well, just a little," Deebs hedged outrageously "but it's just the on-board data that's touchy, and I don't want that. Really; there's a few unclassified External Sales units floatin' around, and my people down south think they can get their hands on one."
I gave Deebs a long, hard look, then sighed. "All right, I'll trust you on that. . . ." I trailed off, leafing through the remainder of the pages, my eyes narrowing at a few entries, but reluctantly nodding at last. "One last thing, though." I walked over to the desk, used one of Deebs' well-chewed writing implements to pencil-in an additional entry. He read it over my shoulder, and this time it was his turn to yelp. "What? What the hell do you want those for? They'll never penetrate--"
"Precisely."
"Look; I am not gonna let you go out there and get your ass shot-off because--"
"Deebs, I think you need to realize something," I interrupted, then turned to look the Texan in the eye. "These will be the leaders, Deebs, the decision-makers. It won't be the usual bunch of poor, dumb, teenaged ground-pounders that have to keep coming at you until you kill them because some jack-booted monster will butcher their families if they don't. Get it? These will be the politicians."
Deebs blinked at that. I smiled grimly. "Yeah, that's right; we finally get a crack at those bastards, old buddy, and you want to know why? Because they can't hide behind their age. For dragons, age empowers rather than enfeebles, and for them to hide behind hatchlings? Well, what would you do to a soldier who used an infant as a shield? You'd kill him on sight, wouldn't you? The same goes for dragons, and compared to an elder, buddy, everyone is an infant!"
The graying NCO blinked again, a look of wonder slowly dawning on his face. "They'll be up-front," he mumbled almost to himself. "We'll be able to get at them."
"Right. And get this: they can stop. They can throw up their hands and say 'Okay, that's it. This isn't any fun anymore.' There's no pistol against the backs of their heads. They can turn and walk away. Dithra tells me that there's some that are already trying to find an honorable way out of this mess." I jabbed a finger at Deeb's grimy coveralls for emphasis. "All we have to do is slap-around the rest of them until they decide they don't want to play anymore. But we gotta keep the body-count down. If a clan's Eldest gets killed, who do you think will replace him? Think it'll be someone younger? Think it'll be some slogan-spouting firebrand screaming for revenge? I tell you man, I guarantee it! Minimum body-count, Deebs!"
Deebs stared at me with a slightly dazed expression, an almost-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Finally he sucked in a lungful of air, let it out in a gust. "Wow. Talk about strippin' your gears, man. Wow," he repeated, then dropped his gaze to the barn's dirt floor, thinking hard. "Okay," he said at last "we'll get them silly things for you, but . . . ." He scowled at the ground. "Look: some damned fool isn't gonna fold. You know that, so let me toss you a counter-offer. We mount both loads, one on each side. You pick which one you want to use. Hell, it'll even solve a balance problem for me. Sound good?"
I thought about it for a moment. "You'll mark them clearly?"
Deebs looked up, his expression scandalized. "Well, hell yes!"
I nodded. "Deal," I replied, glancing down at the shopping list once again. "Where do I go, and who do I contact?"