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Colonel Jolla came up to the rig and looked at the latest communications. Everyone was talking about the worm riders quitting on us.
"Well, sir, he didn't say much. Just stared-didn't seem to be reading the communiques at all. Colonel Bloom arrived with a report about some civilian bodies we found. She was just telling him that they were trying to bring us food. Oh, Colonel Jolla wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying. He just sort of nodded. Looked like his mind was elsewhere, like he was having a phone conversation or something."
Tiddle looked miserable, the White Rabbit stilled for once. Valentine saw a bagged bundle resting in the back of the truck.
"Well, then we heard some artillery fire in the distance, the usual calling cards from the Moondaggers to let us know they're back there, and Colonel Jolla just sort of went white. He reached for his service pistol and started to bring it up to his head. Bloom grabbed for it and they started wrestling. She said, for God's sake, help me,' and then we heard the shot. We were moving toward Colonel Jolla but he was too fast for us. He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Awful mess, sir-" Tiddle pointed at the front fender of the jeep, and Valentine saw caked blood in the crevices.
"How's Colonel Boom?" Valentine asked, calming Red Dog and himself by flapping the dog's ears.
"Shaken up. She's in command now."
Valentine sought out Bloom. The usually quick and decisive Bloom seemed suddenly doubtful, but it might be the flecks of blood still on her cuff and shoulder. Red Dog approached her cautiously, sniffing.
"We could try taking a crack at the Moondaggers, sir," Valentine suggested. "We might get the confidence of the worm clans back if we prove ourselves against them."
For a moment her eyes flared.
"Hmmmm. I don't know, Valentine. Southern Command doesn't want another Kansas on their hands, you know. I'm under orders to keep the brigade intact."
They'd continue the retreat.
* * * *
Two days later Brother Mark returned from the Kentucky Alliance camp.
"They're quitting on us," he said. "That Last Chance arranged a secret meeting with some of their leadership. Wildcats are packing up. Some of the Gunslingers are leaving, going to start a new clan. Even the Bulletproof and Mammoth are hedging their bets, sending some riders back to reinforce their main camp. All we have left are the attenuated what's left of those two and the Coonskins."
He reached into his battered courier bag, brought up a black-labeled bottle. "They gave me a farewell gift. Were it were hemlock."
"You've done your best," Valentine said, waving the others off. He sat Brother Mark down in the chair farthest from the communications desk, and the rest of the headquarters officers gave them a wide berth. Being the CO's chief of staff offered a few privileges.
Brother Mark looked thoughtful, took a pull at the bourbon.
"They always start you off easy. After I took my first vows, they put me in a little schoolhouse, helping the Youth Vanguard with their reading, writing, and 'rithmatic. Cozy.
And they had a full priest there for all the tough questions. If someone asked where their grandfather went, all I'd have to say is 'Let's go talk to our guide.' Then sit quietly while the full priest talked about sacrifice for the greater good.
"Then they moved me to the hospital. I'd just taken my second set of vows. Passed all my examinations with flying colors, by the way. Dead-even emotional resonance when presented with disturbing imagery."
Valentine didn't know what that was but didn't want to change the old churchman's loquacious mood. He'd only seen the church from the outside.
"Did hospital service change your opinions?"
"No, it took me a long time to wake up. Nightmares shouldn't be allowed to pose as dreams."
"I ran into one of those about a year ago," Valentine said. He still felt conflicted about the course he'd chosen in the Cascades. Valentine was not a believer in the revolutionary's morality, where the result justified the means. Could he have come up with a better way to get rid of Adler's bloody direction of Pacific Command?
Brother Mark broke in on his thoughts. "Again, they made it so easy. At the hospital I had a nice little office, and each patient went through a rubric while their medical needs were being evaluated. Took into account age, physical condition, skill set, community activism, and responsibility ... and of course how involved the treatment might be and prognosis for recovery to full useful life. Above a certain score and they were treated. Below a certain score and they found themselves on the drop list.
He whispered the last two words, as though they were something shameful.
"Drop list," he continued. "Sounds innocuous, right? It meant they crossed over into the hands of the Reapers, of course. In a lot of cases the really sick people stayed at home or had quacks treat them, so we always talked to the school-agers about reporting any adults they knew who were sick. Spread of contagion and so on.
"There were scores in between the drop list and treatment. In those cases I consulted higher authority. I'd call the local senior guide and we'd talk it over. Sometimes I'd visit them.
Later I found out my guide would phone the family and ask them to come into his office for a consultation. He'd tell their families that serious decisions had to be made about a loved one, and by the way, the residential hall is practically falling apart on the east side and everyone knows clergy aren't paid salaries . . .
"After a year there my senior guide started having me make decisions myself and then explaining them to him. I must have been good at it. He only overruled me once, in the case of a nephew of a brass ring who had cerebral palsy. They'd found some sinecure for him, and I suspect old Rusty had a big bag of money drop between his ankles under the table. With practice it got easier. I was able to tell myself it was for the good of the species, all the usual Guidon false analogies and circular arguments when it's not engaging in outright devil's advocacy. You wouldn't believe-or maybe you would. But I was destined for greater things."
