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think so."
"All right!" Lesueur turned to address the Ylesgaires, which had started to
break up and drift away. "
Get back here
!"
The lesser bloods congregated once again, submissive and shamefaced. They
regarded the pair of Lemyari with an expectant air, as eager for commands as
trained hounds.
"
We are the big fangs
!" reiterated Lesueur. "You do not act without our command! You go nowhere
unless we give you leave! You do not eat unless we allow it! If we say you
starve, you shall starve
!" Lemyari and Ylesgaire alike knew the words
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
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237
by rote: a catechism of dominance and submission that, though barely fifty
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years old, had all the weight and gravitas of a millennia-old ritual.
Delivered correctly, a Lemyari could make hundreds of lesser bloods abase
themselves. Both
Lesueur and Demanet had had ample opportunity to practice in recent months.
Demanet chimed in. "Your fangs are our fangs! You are our pack! Our hunting
dogs! Do our will and you shall feed!"
* * * *
For one of the most highly decorated officers in the
Louistranan army, General Jacob Colworth did not feel particularly powerful or
courageous. A deep depression had overtaken him since his conversation with
Captain Sinclair.
Anyone who did not know him well might accuse him of harboring apprehensions
of mortality, but really the opposite was true. He knew far fewer years lay
ahead than behind and had spent his entire adult life in the army. Colworth
and the reaper were old acquaintances.
What really had him rattled was the prospect of more soldiers being wasted;
killed before their time and there being nothing in the world he could do
about it. Sinclair had been quite blunt about that. Tactful, certainly;
respectful, undoubtedly: but all the same this firefight was for those already
at the scene; no-one else could make it, and
come on now, Jacob, admit it
it was a young man's game.
Ten years ago he might still have envied them; wanted the chance to give the
slurps a taste of hot lead and cold steel, but now especially now the old
adage that war was Hell
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
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238
accrued more truth every day. He limped around his darkened office; a few
moments of precious exercise, and some precious relief for his stiff back. The
hinges in his false leg squeaked disagreeably. Drumming his fingertips on the
sideboard, General Colworth realized that rotting away in his office, worrying
himself into a not-quite-so-early grave would accomplish little. Retrieving
his silver-headed cane, Colworth made his way out of his office, "Any news,
Wright?"
Wright, practically glued to the shortwave's headset, shook his head ruefully.
"Nothing yet, Sir." He noticed the cane.
"Should I lock up when I'm done here, Sir?"
Colworth sighed. "Might as well. Yes. I'm off to the Club."
The capital C was quite audible. It was an organization quite distinct from
the regular officer's club: senior ranks only, membership by invitation only,
and possessed of a prestige that far outshone mere rank.
"Righto, Sir. And you're asleep if Colonel Davenport asks after you?"
General Colworth chuckled bitterly. "Good man."
* * * *
Lieutenant Stuart gritted his teeth and repeated himself, speaking slowly and
enunciating as if he were talking to a half-wit.
"Look. I don't care what you say you've done. Yer goin'
nowhere until I get yer name, rank, and serial number."
His troops, still shell-shocked and battle-scarred, kept their rifles trained
on the new arrival. The scavenger remained
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
239
surly and contentious, refusing to grant the officer's request out of sheer
belligerence. The nature of his ordeal and his unexpected survival had given
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him a sense of invulnerability:
even a pistol-shot had merely bruised him. He wondered offhand how a volley of
automatic rifle fire at point-blank range might affect him.
"Have you gone deaf or somethin'?"
The scavenger sneered. "Nah. Just wondered if you'd finished. Who's in
charge?"
Stuart rallied. "As far as you're concerned, I'm in charge.
You got that?"
"Who's your C.O.?"
"Never you mind. Listen, sonny Jim, if you don't start co-
operatin'
pronto
, I'm gonna assume yer some kind o' slurp experiment and have ye shot."
"I just saved three of your men's lives. You ain't gonna give that order, and
your men ain't gonna obey it."
"Izzat right?"
"You wanna give it a go?"
"You tryin' ta prove somethin'?"
"Maybe. I don't carry leech heads around for fun. Get your boss. I'll talk to
him. I ain't talkin' to you."
"Oh, fer fuck's sake..." Stuart sighed. "I don't fuckin' need this right now."
Fishing out his walkie-talkie, he radioed
Captain Sinclair. "Captain Sinclair? No, we're not in position yet, Sir. Yes,
Sir, I know we're needed up there. It's just we have, eh, exceptional
circumstances that really need yer personal attention, Sir. Yes, Sir, I
understand. I'll do that now, Sir." Stuart scowled, his expression sour. He
thrust the
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240
walkie-talkie into the scavenger's hand. "Right. He wants to talk to you. You
take this and piss off, all right? If ye hadn't noticed, me an' my boys here
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