Princess Rescue Inc (48 page)

He
sighed and shook his head. After a moment to think about what she had said he
followed.

That
went over well, Sue thought, brushing at her smock. Damn, she thought, shaking
her head. This little soap opera of theirs was going to get interesting.

“So
we're waiting on shipments of the creatures the knights ride for them to go
active?” Perry asked, sounding tired but exasperated. One of the
branacks
came in with a rider. The rider was sitting up straight in the saddle, when he
got to the loading platform a stable hand grabbed the reins so he could get off
and stretch. He stretched for a moment, smiling as his mount danced in place.

The
beast gave a stuttering caw, and then warbled up and down the keys. The rider
reached over and rubbed at its jaw and neck and then patted its flank. The
beast nudged him. A pair of stable hands came over and wrapped over-sized
jogging muffins around each rear calf, and then they turned to rub the
creature.

“Yes,”
the general's aide bobbed his head. “Is impossible to fight on foot in armor.”
He waved to indicate the knights training nearby outside. They were in a mix of
different armor styles. They were in the mail stables, one of three stables in
the keep. The other two were for general riding mounts and war mounts.

The
capital had stables situated all around, both civilian and government. The
royal stables were quite large, on par with some of the largest stables and
wooden buildings on Earth. Grand central station made out of brick, cement, and
the native wood and plywood. Another set of buildings outside the city walls
were for the draft animals that pulled the giant caravan wagons or the plows
and other machinery the smiths were now churning out.

He'd
really thought the draft animals were the war beasts. They were certainly big
enough, titanic six legged elephant like creatures. But apparently they were
slow moving and balked at the smell of blood. Over the thousands of years the
natives had found other more terrifying war beasts to ride.

“Especially
when your enemy has mounts and you don't. Okay got that,” Perry nodded.
“They're coming from the royal farms?” he asked. He'd just heard about them and
was a little annoyed. Apparently there had been a disconnect, an assumption
that he knew that simple fact. The royal farms were great reserves that
supported the war beasts and animals for the royal stables. A few were close
but most were further afield. You really didn't want one of the
rhinotrikes
running around apparently.

“Yes
and the nearby lords as well,” the aide said nodding as a messenger handed him
a packet. The aide looked a lot like the general, wearing Roman style clothing
topped by a blue tunic. He had chain mail instead of loricated plate armor in
his quarters though.

“What
about using them?” Perry pointed to the messenger's steed. It was a local beast
called a
branack
, nearly two meters tall at the shoulder and covered
with spikes.

The
creature munched on a bale of hay while its rider stripped off the royal saddle
and saddle bags. The creature had the typical six legs, but the front two had
atrophied to look like a pair of T-Rex clawed forearms. The animals stood on
their rear legs, even ran as a biped. But when feeding they dropped to their
rear four legs.

This
one had three horns for a crest, great long spikes that bent back toward the
spine. Along the back were four rows of spines, some covering the shoulder
joints. Scales were interwoven with the spikes, covering the top of the critter
from nose to tail.

Another
of the creatures was led by. It was missing its spikes; it looked almost plain
in comparison. The first snorted and then cawed a throaty challenge. The second
seemed to shy away from its paddock; its two handlers had to slap it back under
control.

The
second lifted its head up to give a throaty caw and its handler smacked it on
the snout. It turned, gave him a look with six beady eyes, and then went back
to feeding with its beak.

“No
they... not eat meat.”

“That's
not exactly a requirement, Terran horses don't,” Perry pointed to a horse in a
nearby stall. He was actually surprised the natives kept the all the different
species under one roof.

“They
also flighty, fast but tire easy.”

“Ah.
Sprinters,” the lieutenant said nodding as he watched the horned creature
fidget and twitch, then scratch at an itch. Its handler used a rake to scratch
the itch. It gave a whistle of delight and then sighed, closing some of its
eyes.

“Why
does that one have horns and the other doesn't?” Ryans asked coming up behind
them. They turned to nod politely.

“Ah,
hot...” The aide picked up a stick then touched it to his skin and made a
sizzling sound.

“Debudding,”
Perry nodded.

“Right,”
the aide said nodding but not understanding. “Is so animal lighter, faster.” He
waved to the one with horns. “This one from distant fields where predators
attack. Must leave horns to protect... or so they say,” he shrugged.

“Ah.
So they are too flighty for line fighting... I wonder if they could make good
cavalry units? With bows or better yet rifles?” Perry asked musing. He rubbed
his chin.

“I
doubt it,” the aide said shaking his head. “Is...” He pantomimed fright.

“Fraidy
cat? Drills and conditioning would fix that.”

“Is
not just that,” the aide made a motion with his hand then toppled the hand
over.

“It
faints?” Ryans asked, blinking in surprise and then he turned to the big thing.
“I heard about it in goats, but that's kind of hard to believe in something
that big. That would make it a liability when being chased by a predator.”

There
was a distant explosion. Some of the people ducked in fright, each of the
branacks
rolled its eyes and stiffened... and then fell over twitching, legs
outstretched.

“Oh...
yeah, that'd be a show stopper,” Perry said snorting. “So much for that idea,”
He shook his head. He touched his throat mike. “This is Five, report.”

“This
is three, test fire of gunpowder.”

“Next
time send an alert beforehand. You might have caused an accident. I take it
things went well?” Perry asked.

“Yes
sir, we'll give a full report when the chemists are done.”

“Roger.
Five clear.”

“Okay,
so, we can't use them for that...” He grunted then turned to a young man
tugging on his elbow. “What is it son?”

The
young man dressed in royal colors looked a little nervous but determined. He
took off a leather helmet and tucked it under one arm. “Is it true that you are
going to do away with us?”

Perry's
brows knit. Ryans did as well. “Where'd you hear that?” Perry asked as Ryans
opened his mouth.

The
young man pointed to his radio. “Some say you make those for lords.”

“Ah,”
Ryans nodded. “Not today, and not for some time. And no, they won't leave you
out of a job.” He pulled out his radio. “See these have a short range and
limited bandwidth. That means we can't talk with someone very far away and we
can't have a lot of people talking.”

Perry
nodded. “We've got telephones though, and broadband internet.” He gave a look
to Ryans then shrugged. “But not for at least a decade kid.”

“What
he means is that messages can be sent easily with those tools, but packages
still need to be carried by you,” Ryans explained pointing to the boy and the
others that had quietly come up behind them. “Low priority messages or ones
that need total security will still be carried by you folks. That won't change
overnight. Eventually though machines will be phased in to make things faster
and easier,” he smiled. “That is if we stay a long time.”

“They
don't exactly look reassured,” Perry murmured.

“Would
you be?” Ryans snorted. “We'll need people to operate those machines when they
come into service. Also people to keep them running. I'll make sure you folks
get the first pick of the jobs when they are phased in.”

The
men and women nodded. Perry noted that none were over four feet five inches
tall. Most where greyhound thin. “Jockeys,” he said nodding.

“I
know you have to watch your weight and height right?” he asked. Some of the
jockeys nodded.

“Those
in the races have to. Our elite and long distance runners as well,” the aide
said proudly nodding.

“Yeah,
I saw the tracks. Sometime I'll have to check a race out,” Perry smiled. “Bet
it's something else.” He chuckled.

“Betting
is done yes,” the aide said nodding.

“Yeah...”
Perry said smiling. “The good thing about the machines is you don't have to
watch your weight to ride them, and they can go as long as you fuel them and
fix them when they need it. They don't get tired and they don't sleep. I'll put
a word in with Max. Maybe he can build you folks a moped or motorcycle or even
bicycles so you can deliver stuff.”

“Bicycle?”
Ryans asked amused.

“For
local delivery,” Perry said waving his hands then turning back to the crowd.
“Bikes are machines that are human powered. You can ride along the streets and
deliver packages and mail door to door very fast. They are small and light so
it is easy to get in and out of tight places and crowds.” He indicated the
animals still trying to right themselves, “easier than these fellows.”

Some
of the riders nodded and smiled at this.

“But
don't worry; we've got years before things get moving. And right now we've got
a war to win right?” Ryans asked, pitching that last part as more of a
challenge than a question.

Perry
and the aide nodded firmly. “Right!” the crowd answered after a moment.

“Then
let's get to it. Break is over; let's go get ready to kick some Duluth ass!”
Ryans said slapping his hands together. The
branack
nearest to them
fainted. “Oops,” he winced, hunching his shoulders as Perry chuckled. The crowd
left muttering to itself.

<==={}------------>

Art’ur
was concerned about the lack of supplies and the news from home. He reacted
badly when the latest supply train arrived. It was a bare days worth of
supplies for his army, far too little to sustain it. He snarled, watching the
men unload the meager supplies through his open tent flap.

“They
dare? That's all?” he growled shifting about on his makeshift throne. He'd had
it made since the siege had gone on far longer than he had thought. The fact
that the older lords and his own general had counseled and warned him this
would happen hadn't sat well with him. He'd thought that with proper
persistence and force it could be done. Why! Why did they not obey his simple
commands? Why did Emroy still resist? Why didn't he surrender?

“It
is all they have my lord. The larders are bare and the hunting...” Uuôden
sighed and shook his head.

The
elderly and younglings couldn't hunt. They had done little to plow and sow the
fields. If this didn't work, if it didn't develop into something many would die
of starvation come winter. “Lazy! That's what they are!” Art’ur shouted,
throwing the sheaf of papers into the fire before any of his lords could read
it for themselves.

Uuôden
frowned. The lesser lords were chafing at being held to the siege. Young Art’ur
was now finding out what it truly meant to fight a war, the horrible waiting.
It took a level of patience that youth was not well known for.

Art’ur
was finding that not everything went as you planned. That your great schemes
could be undone by the simplest of things, a spring storm, or a stubborn lord
under siege. His grand idea of conquest was being threatened from within as
well as without and he didn't like it.

“Do
you wish to pass on orders my liege?” Uuôden asked. Art’ur said nothing,
staring at nothing as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. He didn't even have a
man's full beard yet, Uuôden thought. Far too young to be King.

“Eh?
No, there's nothing I can do from here,” Art’ur finally admitted. He felt unease
over this development. If his lords got wind of it they would begin to urge to
pull back, to see to their neglected lands and abandoned people. They couldn't
see the bigger picture but he could!

The
lazy fools back home should have done more. Of course he had taken every draft
animal for his army so they couldn't do much. He rubbed his brow, thinking
hard. No, he could rant on paper but dared not. He dared not leave a written
record for others to see and use against him. He considered sending back trains
of slaves and some of his wounded or even a score of men to whip the lazy louts
into doubling their efforts but then discarded the idea. His people were not
happy and chafed at being held to the siege but he needed all of them here.
Those that were wounded could still serve or would die of their wounds. He'd
already ordered the dead to be fed to the titans.

He
frowned. His men were restive. He turned. “Have a few deserters publicly put to
death to shut the whiners,” he ordered. “Use the stakes. When they're dead they
can be fed to the titans,” he growled.