Security & Firearms

Within minutes I had caught up with Luce, found him standing by the driver's-side door of the now-stopped truck, talking to the driver. My eyes shifted focus, zooming in on the driver's face, and I felt the corners of my hard mouth curving down in anger. You bloody idiot. . . . I backed my wings, braking hard, my form already beginning to twist and flow. A tiny, complex pattern etched into one of my scales flared briefly before following my scales into nothingness, and winter battle-dress far colder than the bitter mountain weather settled around me as my feet, now clad in insulated combat boots, slammed into the powdery snow. Scarcely slowing, I strode forward, nudged a surprised Luce aside as I yanked the truck's door open and climbed right up into the driver's startled face. "Deebs, do you just happen to remember how our security is supposed to work?" I hissed.

Deebs blinked, obviously taken aback by my abrupt appearance. "Well, um, I . . . where the heck did you come from?" Suddenly realizing I was on the verge of shifting, Deebs put up both hands and made little patting motions. "Whoa, Max! Whoa! Hey, I'm sorry, man; I tried to call, but I couldn't get through! So, I just came on ahead." The irrepressible Texan suddenly grinned. "Not like anyone's gonna mistake my ugly mug for anyone but me," he finished cheerfully.

I stared at him for a moment, then glanced back at Lucifer. "Find out," I stated tersely, then went back to studying Deebs with narrowed eyes, momentarily wishing I still had my talons. "Deebs, do you have any idea whatsoever of just how many house-sized carnivores you drove past on the way here, every one of which very probably couldn't tell one human from the next if their lives depended on it? Do you have any idea--"

"Oh, those guys?" Deebs made a little flicking motion with one hand, weirdly reminiscent of a gesture Dithra sometimes made. "Yeah, I saw them; they tried to play the Boojum Snark with me, but I just waved at 'em and they let me pass."

I blinked, realized my jaw was hanging slightly agape, closed it. Again I looked at Luce. He was busy with his radio, but he gave me a wry smile and a shrug. Well, what do you expect from amateurs? I turned back to stare at Deebs. A vision of him motoring past a group of confused, multi-ton apex predators with nothing more than a friendly wave and a cheery hey, how're y'all doin'? came to mind. I put a gloved hand to my forehead, a heartfelt groan escaping from me. "Luce, I think we need to strengthen our perimeter," I said at last.

"Yeah; I think so, too," Deebs replied, nodding vigorously. "Them folks out there didn't seem too clear on how to go about things, that's for sure. In fact--" easing me out of the way, he quickly scooted out of the truck's cab and headed for the rear, leaving both myself and Luce to trail along behind "--that's one of the reasons I decided to go shopping. Remember that little fracas awhile back? Those G3s of ours weren't much better than spit-balls against that critter in the warehouse, so I started lookin' for somethin' better to fill the bill."

Producing a key from a jacket pocket, Deebs undid the padlock on the truck's rear door and slid it upwards, revealing a large heap of crates of various sizes as he scrambled inside. Dragging a particular crate out of the pile, he wrenched the top open, reached inside, and lifted out something that was either a miniature howitzer or the rifle from hell. Both Luce and I stared at the thing in Deebs' arms, and he grinned at the expressions on our faces as he set it down before us. "Like it? It's a Barrett M82A1A fifty-cal. The Marines use it as a sniper rifle. You can reach out and touch someone from a mile-off with this baby; pretty good idea when you're fightin' somethin' that can fly, don't'cha think? And this--" he kicked open the lid of another, more compact crate, pulled out an ammo tin "--is what we're gonna feed it." Our armorer yanked back the lid on the ammo tin, retrieved a large, weird-looking green and silver-striped cartridge from inside. "Looks kinda funny, doesn't it? It's Mk-211 Raufoss. It's one of the new multi-purpose Special Operations rounds that've been showing up of late. It's got the punch of a pint-sized HEAT round, and it'll blow right through the side of a BMP without even slowing down, then chop everything inside into hamburger. Now, put these into this," he patted the M82 affectionately "and you have something that I guarantee will kick some scaly ass." Pause. "Um, no offense meant, Max."

I made an impatient gesture, eyeing the M82 intently. "None taken. How many of these do you have?"

Deebs looked slightly embarrassed at the question. "Uh, only one for right now, but I got people lookin' for more. Hopefully I'll have enough to outfit everyone in a couple weeks." He suddenly grinned savagely. "Y'know, them folks we did business with the last time, they've turned out to be a downright useful bunch of people, now that we understand each other."

The one thing a predator will respect is a bigger, meaner predator. I returned the Texan's grin, then chuckled. "All right; head on up to the house, and we'll--"

Deebs waved me down before I went any further, a sly smile decorating his face. "Ain't finished yet. C'mon; hop up in here. I want to show you something special."

Reluctantly I did so, and Deebs brought me over to where a massive crate sat against the forward wall, then leaned against it, grinning. "Y'know, I felt kinda bad, you in that warehouse with nothin' to defend yourself with except that piddlin' little flame-thrower of yours. So, I did a little thinkin', then a little lookin' around, and this is what I found, just for you."

The crazy Texan (redundant phrase, perhaps?) heaved back the lid with a theatrical flourish, and I stared, stunned, at what lay within. It took several long moments for me to get my voice to work. "Deebs," I began weakly, "how in the hell did you--!?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Deebs waved an admonishing finger at me playfully. "Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. Just take it for granted that when you have someone like your Lady Dithra bankrolling you, there ain't all-that much in this world you can't get," he chuckled. "Got an initial load-out of ammo for the thing in that big box over there. In addition, I was thinkin' that there was a fair-to-middlin' chance there might come a time you might need a little more punch than even this thing can offer. So, I went and got you the contents of that box right over there. Go ahead; open it."

I gave Deebs a suspicious glance, then pried back the wooden lid of the crate he'd indicated. Inside there was yet another container, this time made of sleek, extruded aluminum, painted olive-drab and marked with an alarmingly familiar series of letters and numbers. Still, I didn't really believe what I had sitting before me, not until the hermetically-sealed container equalized pressure with an evil hiss, I swung back the cover, and gazed down at the container's contents.

"Merry Christmas, Max."

We rummaged through a few more crates, then I sent Deebs off to grab some help to offload his goodies into one of the ranch's outbuildings. Afterwards I talked a bit with Luce, then shifted and flitted back to the house, where I found Wolfman testing the HF equipment we used to talk to the outside world. He eventually gave up without finding anything wrong, but shortwave can be flaky even in the best of times, so that wasn't unusual. I hated to use the cranky gear, most especially because no crypto equipment that we could get hold of would interface with it. But the ranch had no phone service, the MILSATCOM we all remembered so fondly was of course out of the question, and nothing else could work its way out of the rugged terrain surrounding us.

Later that evening that self-same equipment hissed and spat and a voice came on with near-perfect clarity, spoke a handful of code words, then went silent. Fields handled the call this time, acknowledging the transmission, then turning to nod to me. I silently returned the gesture, already knowing what the code words meant; one of Dithra's people were coming to visit, probably Kaa'saht. After his ordeal in Ahnkar's camp, Dithra had pulled him in from the field. Now he acted as trusted courier between us and Dithra as she traveled about, cementing one political agreement after another.

Sure enough, right around the time we were lighting lanterns and Wolfman was out back running our little tactical generator to recharge the radio batteries for the night, there was a thump from outside. A few moments later Kaa'saht came in, once again in his human guise. He looked quite worn; evidently Dithra was keeping him more than a little busy.

I looked up from where I had coiled myself next to my children's nest. "Kaa'saht," I greeted warmly "it's good to see you again. How are things with Lady Dithra?"

The young dragon looked at me with tired eyes, gave me a weak smile. "Well, my Lord; quite well. Her efforts are proceeding even more swiftly than we had dared to hope." His smile broadened a bit. "And, if I may be so bold as to say so, she seems to be enjoying herself immensely in the process."

I chuckled. "Yeah; she would," I replied. "What brings you out here on a night like this?"

Kaa'saht made a small gesture I hadn't learned yet. "My Lady sends her regards, Lord Hasai, and requests you attend a meeting between herself and a representative from the Sstahn clan at my Lady's dwelling tomorrow morning."

I sighed quietly, ran talons thru my unruly mane. Doubtless it was yet another ambassador from some obscure clan trying to maneuver itself onto the winning side. "Very well," I rumbled at last. "Will you be staying the night?" I looked out the window again, out into wintry chaos, and felt a twinge of worry for Luce until I realized how ludicrous it was. "I would recommend it; the weather's getting pretty nasty out there."

Kaa'saht hesitated, glanced at the nest for some reason, then bowed. "I would be both honored, and . . ." he glanced out the window himself, his expression growing wry ". . . quite grateful, my Lord. Unfortunately, my Lady has other plans for me this evening." He paused at that point, his expression growing puzzled. "My Lord, if I may ask. . . ."

He trailed off with a meaningful glance outside, and I chuckled. "To answer your question, yes; I suppose I could, but it would take a huge amount of effort, and there's really no point," I explained. "If I dispersed the storm, all the moisture and energy in it would still be out there, to cause even worse trouble later." I rippled both sets of shoulders in an elaborate shrug. "So, unless I have a very good reason to do otherwise, I leave the weather alone to do whatever it wants to do."

Stefan had drifted into the room during my explanation, and he and Kaa'saht exchanged gestures of respect before turning their attention back to me. "I thank you for the explanation, my Lord," Kaa'saht responded, markedly more formal, now that Stefan was there. I felt a twinge of pity for him; the young dragon quite obviously wanted to ask me a thousand questions, but Stefan's quelling presence had immediately shut him down. There was a moment of nervous silence on his part while everybody waited for someone else to speak, then finally he asked to be excused.

Once poor Kaa'saht had not-quite hurried from the room, I gave Stefan a wry smile. "You scare the crap out of that kid, you know that?" I chuckled.

The ex-Stasi agent shook his head, smiling slightly as he found himself a seat near my son and myself. Ashadh promptly padded over to sniff at his leg, then rubbed his head against it, crooning quietly. Stefan's normally reserved facade cracked for a moment as he gazed fondly down at the dragonet, then looked back to me. "As long as they are competent in their work, my people have nothing to fear from me, my Lord, and Kaa'saht is quite competent, I assure you." He gave me a very human shrug. "If he indeed fears me, my Lord, I have given him no reason for it."

I looked at him for the moment it took me to mentally catalog all the reasons why any sane creature should fear Dithra's agent, nodded, then once again looked out the window. "Foresee any problems tonight?"

Stefan grew pensive as he too looked out the window, pretending that he hadn't already calculated the evening's odds. "Doubtful, my Lord," he said at last. "This area is largely uninhabited, even in the gentlest of seasons, and so far the clans are honoring their agreements to protect this place. It will be difficult for the Council to move forces into the area without attracting the attentions of either our agents or those of the clans, unless they take great pains to remain concealed, and that takes time. Time the Council has not yet had, and quite possibly never will, if Lady Dithra's activities continue to go as well as they have."

I nodded, then sighed, my thoughts wandering once again. We did not attain Sun-Tzu's acme; we did not win the conflict without firing a shot, but I was beginning to hope, down deep, that just maybe we had managed to prevent a wider, far deadlier war. How's that for an epitaph, Mink? We will not forget, and we'll make damned sure the dragons never do, either. . . .

My mane jangled quietly as I gave my head a little shake, then turned to look at the small wind-up alarm clock we had sitting on the communications desk. I grimaced. "Looks like I'm going to have to get going, if I'm to make Lady Dithra's meeting in the morning."

Stefan's own face stiffened at that, and after a moment's internal struggle on his part I saw that while we'd argued the point more than once before, he was going to try yet again. "My Lord, please reconsider," he began. "Your children are here, and they need both you and your guidance. Surely they are more important than maintaining your human facade? Your duty--"

"My duty is not only to them, but to all who call themselves dragon, Stefan. My duty is to those whom I've come to respect among the humans as well, if not to this entire planet. My duty--" I bit back the snarl, tamped down on the flare of temper born of both incessant pressure from Stefan and Lady Dithra, and my own rising exhaustion. Ashadh had flinched at the anger in my voice, and now crouched nearby, belly low and eyes wide. Sorrow and regret touched me as I saw his fear, and I turned upon Dithra's agent a look that had him flinching back as well. "I am quite aware of my duties, thank you, Stefan," I continued, more quietly, but in a voice tinged with ice, my eyes locked with his. "However, I have a feeling that, some time in the future, my human guise is going to be far more important to our survival than you could ever imagine. No; I can't explain it, not until I gather more information. Just trust me on this, Stefan."