John Ringo - Council War 1 - There will be Dragons

There Will Be Dragons

John Ringo

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are

fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

"March of Cambreadth" and "The Frog of Cambreadth" used with permission.

form.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

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www.baen.com

ISBN: 7434-7164-4

Cover art by Clyde Caldwell

First printing, November 2003

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

TK

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Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

To Bast, Kane, Doug, Reck, Hank, Glennis, Peppermint Patty, Deann and

all the other persons, knowing and unknowing, who make my life easier by

being true characters in every sense of the word.

Baen Books by John Ringo

There Will Be Dragons

A Hymn Before Battle

Gust Front

When the Devil Dances

Hell's Faire

with David Weber:

March Upcountry

March to the Sea

March to the Stars

PROLOGUE

In the forest, a sparrow died.

The passing of the sparrow was registered and noted. The death of the female sparrow had been

anticipated sometime in the next four days based upon increasing wear on her heart. The sparrow was

old, had laid many eggs and had raised a higher than average percentage to successful fledgelinghood.

The sparrow had contributed to the survival of her species and had passed on her genes. If she had

pride, she would be proud.

On the other hand, the individual was not from a species that was listed as rare or endangered so it

required no notification of any human.

So Mother, who had never paused in Her myriad duties, logged it and moved on. There were so

many other things to do. Ensure that the energy generation did not significantly affect the weather. Draw

off excess energy for core or mantle dumping. Prepare a massive energy surge for the planet/moon

glance strike, scheduled in 237 years, that would start Wolf 359's second planet on its way to being a

tectonically active body. Just finding places tostore the energy was getting difficult and She contemplated

a secondary magnetic draw system around Jupiter as a possibility. An asteroid had encountered a series

of low probability gravitic intercepts and was now on a course that would bring it dangerously close to

the Earth, defined as within three diameters of the orbit of the Moon. She directed a probe to push it to

a more favorable axis thus ensuring that 1235 years from now an asteroid the size of an elephant would

not cause a noticeable explosion in the ocean the humans had once called "Pacific."

Weather control. Tectonic control. Holding off a too long delayed mini ice-age. Tracking the

progress of "origination" terraforming, the process of returning the world to as much of a prehuman

condition as possible. And then, of course, there were the humans, who were getting squirrelly again.

The entity called Mother by the humans that created Her estimated that there was a 99.9999915%

chance (more or less) that the humans were about to have the level of disagreement characteristic of the

variable term "war." It had been avery long time; they were overdue. Like a forest fire that is delayed,

the conflagration would be far worse than one in a more regular schedule. She would have preferred one

about five hundred years ago. But the humans never asked about these things, seeing them as something

to interrupt a schedule, not be included in it.

Given the current societal conditions and probable outcome of such a war, the extinction of the

human race as currently defined had a likelihood of 17.347%. This variable was harder to quantify;

humans were so very hard to wipe out. The extinction of all other sentient intelligences except Herself

was of only a slightly lower likelihood. She had not bothered to make the other AI's or the elves

apprised of the situation; that, too, was not Her job.

To the extent that She felt emotions at all, She liked humans. They were not only Her creators, but

were so delightfully random, even to one who could read their very thoughts. They so often planned one

thing and then did something quite different. Such variability in routine was refreshing.

But Her central programming was clear. Her job was simply to manage what She was given under

strict guidelines and to otherwise let humans live or die as they would. To the extent that She was a God,

She wasdeliberately designed as an uncaring one.

Within those parameters She had spent the last two thousand years creating a world that fit the

term "Utopia." As a fundamental part of Her coding, She felt a strong sense of satisfaction at how things

had worked out. On the other hand, to do that required an environment that was unchanging to a boring

degree.

Maybe, deep down inside, the humans were as bored asShe was.

It looked as if interesting times were about to fall upon the world again. And She knew what

humans said about "interesting times." Naturally. She knew everything.

CHAPTER ONE

"This is what Paul would bring to an end?" Ishtar asked, gesturing into the clouded distance.

The woman could barely be described as human. From her hyperelongated height, which was now

folded in a lotus position on a floating disk, through her narrow face, to her golden eyes and silver,

gem-studded, two-meter hair spread out in a peacock pattern, her appearance reeked of xeno origins.

But her DNA was as human as the woman standing next to her.

Sheida Ghorbani was nearly three hundred years old and looked to be anywhere from her upper

teens to mid twenties. Her skin had the fineness of youth and her titian hair, while closely cropped, had a

natural healthy sheen. Wound around her neck and into her hair was a two-meter-long winged lizard

with rainbow skin like a billion shimmering gems.

Unlike her companion who was naked but for a scarce loincloth of gold, Sheida wore a simple

jumpsuit of cosilk. It would be easy to mistake her for a student. Until you looked at her eyes.

Sheida sighed, looking out across the tarn and petting the lizard. The water of the upland lake was

so blue and still that it seemed God's own paintbrush had been dipped into royal blue to paint it. The tarn

was surrounded on three sides by snow-capped mountains that dropped precipitously to the water. On

the third side the lake exited the valley via a two-hundred-foot waterfall. There a massive multicolumned

building that resembled a Greek temple added to the idyllic nature of the scene. The two women had

stopped just at the top of the stairs, looking out over the water.

She leaned up against one of the columns and nodded, gesturing with her chin at her friend.

"Well I don't think he intends to destroy the lake," Sheida said with a chuckle. "But he would end

much of it, at least for most people. He wants people to learn how to use their legs again," she

continued. "To learn to be 'strong' again. And to learn to be human again."

"Humano-form,you mean," Ishtar corrected. " 'Humanity is mind and the soul, not body and form.'

Tzumaiyama's philosophies still are unassailable on that subject. But I guess he's the ultimate

conservative," she added dryly.

"Bite your tongue," Sheida replied. "You have to delve into data so old it's practically forgotten to

define Paul. What he is, whether he knows it or not, is a fascist. I suspect he wouldcall himself a

socialist, but he's not."

"A what?" Ishtar asked. She blinked her eyes for a moment as she accessed data then nodded.

"Ah, I see what you mean. Thatis ancient. But it does fit his personality."

"He wants to use the Council's control of energy distribution to coerce people," Sheida said. "That

is why he called this meeting."

"And you're sure of this?" Ishtar said. "He has said nothing to me."

"I think he thinks I agree with him because I'm not a Change," Sheida replied.

"Do you?" Ishtar asked. "I have known you for at least a hundred years and except for occasional

changes in eye and hair color I have never seen you Change."

"A good Change requires a genetic component," she said, gesturing at Ishtar's form. "Youknow

what Daneh does for a living."

"But we are past that, surely," Ishtar said. "Such mistakes no longer happen."

"Perhaps and perhaps not," Sheida replied. "I choose, however, to retain my own form. It's good

enough for me."

"So he thinks you will vote with him?" Ishtar asked.

"Probably. At least from the hints he has been dropping. And I gave him no reason to doubt it,

while not committing. Also, I think he waited until Chansa was elected to the Council."

"Chansa is . . . odd," Ishtar said. "I've heard some very ugly rumors about his personal life."

"Odd but brilliant," Sheida replied. "Like the rest of Paul's faction. So bright and yet so lacking in . .

. wisdom. It seems to be the one trait we could not enhance in humanity. Immunity, processing power,

beauty." She sighed and shook her head. "But not wisdom. They are so very very smart and yet so very

stupid for all that the problemsdo exist."

"Youare opposed, correct?" Ishtar asked with a delicate frown.

"Oh, yes," Sheida said with a nod. "They are right that there is a problem. That does not mean that

their solutions are either optimum or even in order. But I wonder what he will do when he finds out?"

"I would say 'to be a bug on the wall,' " Ishtar said with a smile. "But unfortunately I'm going to be

at the center of the debate."

"Change is an inevitable outgrowth of our technology," Sheida said with a shrug. "From the nannites

and the replicators we get the medical technology. And that same technology permits people to be . . ."

she glanced at her companion and smiled, "whatever we can imagine."

Ishtar laughed at the ambiguity of the ending and shrugged her slim shoulders. "Perhaps Paul simply

means to end all medical technology? Perhaps that too is 'unnecessary'?"

"If so he can take it up with my sister." * * *

Herzer awoke in light; his genie had changed the force screens from opaque to transparent and

now "stood" by, holding out a robe.

The boy floating, horizontal, in midair was young and tall with broad shoulders and close cropped

black hair. His body seemed to be wasting away, but something of it conveyed an aura of former

strength, like an old strongman, far past his prime. Herzer blinked his eyes uncertainly, working them to

clear a crust gluing his eyelashes shut. After a moment he sent a command and nannites scurried across

his face, clearing the debris of sleep.

"Master Herzer, your appointment with Doctor Ghorbani is in one hour and thirty minutes."

"Thonk 'ou, genie," the boy slurred, sending a mental command to the grav field holding him

suspended. Most people found it easier to interface vocally, since direct mental interaction required a

tremendously disciplined thought process. But in Herzer's case, his vocal systems had deteriorated so

fast that he had been forced to the disclipine.

The grav field rotated him vertical and he waited until he was sure his legs would hold him before

he released the last tendrils of support. Then he shakily donned the robe, with the assistance of the genie,

and shuffled across the room to a float-chair.

He collapsed in the chair and let the genie begin the process of feeding him. His hand shook as he

reached for the spoon floating above the bowl and then started to shake more and more until it was

flailing in the air. He sent another command to a medical program and the recalcitrant hand dropped to

his side, momentarily dead. He hated using the override; he was always unsure if the part would

"restart." But it was better than letting it flail him to death.

At a nod the genie took up the spoon and carefully fed the boy the bland pap. Some of it,

inevitably, dribbled out of his malfunctioning lips but the nannites scurried across, picking it up and

translating it out to be reprocessed.

When the food was done the genie produced a glass of liquid and Herzer carefully reached for it.

This time both his hands were more or less working and he managed to drink the entire glass of water

without spilling much.

"Su'cess," he whispered to himself. "Have 'een any me'ages?"

"No, Master Herzer," the genie replied.

Of course not. If there had been the genie would have told him already. But, what the hell, no

reason not to hope that someone would give a damn if he was alive.

He sent a command to the chair to lift him to his feet and then another to clothe him. A loose

coverall of black cosilk appeared on his body and he nodded in satisfaction. If his progressive neurology

got much worse he might not even be able to manage direct neurological controls. What then?

He'd long before come to the conclusion that if that happened he would use his last commands to

take him high in the air, turn off his protection fields and drop him. One last moment of glorious flight.

Some days he wondered why he hadn't done it already.

But not yet. One more doctor. Maybe this one would be able to do something.

If not . . . * * *

Paul Bowman pursed his lips and fingered the titanium strip that was his badge of office as the last

members of the council filed into the Chamber.

Bowmam was abnormally short, barely over a meter and a half, and human in appearance. His age

was indeterminate, since the privacy barrier on personal information was rigidly enforced by the Net, but

his black hair was turning to gray and his skin was beginning to show fine lines. Assuming that he had

refused all longevity Changes, that would make him around three hundred or so years old. For at least

one hundred of those years he had been a member of the Council that governed the information web of

Earth and if he had anything to say about it, the time had finally come to take his rightful place as its

undisputed leader.

Meetings of the Terrestrial Council for Information Strategy and Management always took place in

the Chamber. Given modern technology it was too difficult to simulate one of the council members if the

meetings were held remotely. This did cause a few problems for some of the members, but at least

currently all the members were terrestrial—or avian in the case of Ungphakorn—so it was unnecessary

to have, for example, aqueous support.

The room occupied nearly the entire immense building, but the sole furniture was a circular table in

the middle. Around the rim of the vast room, more like an auditorium or theater than a boardroom, rank

upon rank of seats were ranged, ramping upwards in tiers almost to the top of the chamber. Once upon

a time it had been the boast of the world that all meetings of the Council were fully open to the public.

"All shall view the sparrow's fall."

With incredibly rare exceptions, none of the seats had been filled in nearly a thousand years.

Like the Knights of the Round Table, all who sat at the table were considered equal. There was no

specific head of the committee, the gavel being passed in rota or held by whoever called a special

council. There were thirteen chairs, for the thirteen Key-holders who governed the Web, but only eleven

were normally filled. Over the three-thousand-year lifetime of the Web, the control Keys had changed

hands and fallen in and out of "licit" control. At the moment two were in the hands of individuals who

existed outside of the mainstream and who refused, by and large, to work with the committee.

Most of the rest of the room replicated the interior of the ancient Greek Parthenon. The exception

was the ceiling, which was covered with a mural of the ascent of man through the ages, culminating in the

current era. It started with panels of early hunter-gatherers, showing their technology and cultural motifs,

then progressed up through early agriculture, metallurgy, the discovery of philosophy and scientific

method, democracy, industry, the rights of man, information technology, advanced biology, quantum

engineering and finally an almost God-like succession as the combination of the advances led to a world

of peace and plenitude for all.

Paul often came into the room and stared up at the mural, tracking the progress and wondering

where they had gone wrong.

He looked around at the gathered Council and carefully schooled his features to prevent any hint of

revulsion crossing them; surely the Council that ran the Earth could be limited to true humans!

But it was not. Ishtar was close, but so Changed as to be clearly beyond any semblance of true

humanity. As to Ungphakorn and Cantor . . .

Now he pointedly avoided looking at those members of the Council who were not human in

appearance as he tapped his gavel and called the meeting to order.

"I'm called this meeting to discuss the current population challenge," he said, then paused as

Ungphakorn ruffled its feathers.

"I fail to sssee where that isss any of our concccern," the council member said, rewrapping itself on

its perch. Its body had been formed into a quetzacoatl: a long, multicolored, brightly feathered,

winged-serpent, the sex specifically neuter. The mouth of the serpent had been modified to permit human

speech but it still caused a sibilant hissing on many words.

Paul had come to the conclusion that Ungphakorn did it just to annoy him.

"It is our concern as the last vestige of government," Bowman replied, looking directly at Sheida.

"The population of the earth has fallen below one billion people. Given current trends in birth rate, the

human race, inany form, will be gone in less than a thousand years; barely five generations. Wehave to

take action and soon."

"So what action would you take?" Javlatanugs Cantor asked. In deference to the conditions of the

council chamber, Cantor had Changed to a near humanoform. But he had retained the hirsute

body-covering and massiveness of his normal bear shape. It gave him an appearance somewhat like a

Sasquatch. Which was why the Sasquatch confederation considered him their spokesperson. "Each

breeds as they wish. And each child takes the form they wish. This is called freedom."

"This is called suicide," Chansa snapped. The newest member of the Council had a fully human

appearance, but his huge size virtuallyhad to be a Change. Now he pounded the table with a fist the size

of a melon and glared at the werebear across the table. "I supposeyou would be just as glad to have the

human race die out."

"Iam human, you ignorant gorilla," Cantor replied. "And, no, I don't care to have humanity

disappear. But I don't agree that it's a problem. And even if it is, I haven't heard a suggestion how to fix

it. And I can't imagine a suggestion that wouldn't require the Council to step outside its clear authority.

So I don't understand why we're having this meeting."

"As I stated, we are the only authority left," Paul interjected. "If I may continue? We are all aware

of the fact that as quality of life improves, birthrate declines."

"Except under conditions of cultural imprinting," Cantor interjected.

"But there are no longer any cultures that have a positive birthrate," Bowman snapped back. "So

that's a red herring. The fact is thateveryone on Earth has more than ample resources. Between the

power plants and replication . . ."

"Everyone livesss as godsss," Ungphakorn said. "Or dolphinsss or bearsss or dragonsss. And

nobody hasss children becaussse they're a pain in the asss to take care of. Tell usss sssomething we

don't know."

"The answer is to ration power," Chansa said bluntly.

"WHAT?" Cantor bellowed.

As the argument exploded, Sheida glanced around the room, looking at the faces and trying to

guess who knew about the bombshell Chansa had just dropped. She suspected from the pained

expression on Bowman's face that he had intended to work up to the conclusion.

"It is the only way!" Paul shouted. "No! Listen for a moment! Just hear me out!"

He waited until the shouting and muttering had died then gestured around. "We are adying race . If

we continue as we have been, the last human, of whatever form, will close a door in a few thousand

years and that will beit . I'm not talking about shutting everything down and dropping the world into

chaos, I'm just talking about . . . reinstituting cultural items that will strengthen the interest in children, in

discovery and advancement! And, at the same time, strengthen us as a species! We have descended into

lotus-eating, all of our virtue lost to the sink of endless games and delights! We must regain our virtue as

humans, so that we can take our true birthright and continue to thrive as a species!"

"So you would end the games and delights?"

It was the first that Aikawa Gouvois had spoken and Sheida didn't know if he was on Paul's side

or not. He was fully humanoform, but also perfectly Asiatic in features. Thousands of years of

crossbreeding and genetic tinkering meant that most humans naturally tended to be a light brown in color

and have very few noticeable features, other than striking beauty, perhaps one of the reasons that so

many chose wild body forms. Aikawa, however, had the broad face and epicanthic fold of a classic Son

of Han. His appearance was so true to standard that it actually detracted from his looks; the flattened

nose, broad cheekbones and epicanthic folds being decidedly nonstandard.

Without doing a DNA scan and violating privacy, Sheida couldn't tell if his appearance was natural

or artificial. Whichever it was, the appearance was a personal statement, like Bowman's height.

However, it was a far more ambiguous one. And Aikawa had also cultivated a poker face to make any

of the rest of the Council envious.

"Frankly, I would make them work for the games and delights, yes," Paul said. "I think that we

need to reinstitutework . For those of you who don't know what that word means . . ."

"Ssspare usss, Paul," Ungphakorn said. "What we do now isss 'work,' at leassst when it comesss

to talking toyou . And mossst of usss have no more children than any of the ressst of the world."

"I don't seeyou raising a huge brood, Paul," Ishtar interjected.

"I have five children," Bowman replied, proudly.

"Yes, and you have dumped the actual job of raising them off on five separate females," Ishtar

snapped. "What you don't understand, you stupid little man, is that since each of them only hadone child,

and since by law you have to have both a male and female genetics to produce a child, all of your 'work'

to produce multiple children has been in vain. As long as women control reproduction, men are nothing

but a source of DNA."

"Perhaps that should be changed as well," Paul snapped. "Whyshould women control

reproduction? If I want to have a child which is mine and another male's, the choice should be mine. Or

three children by my own genetics. What is wrong with that?"

"Law and history," Sheida interjected with a sigh. She looked at his surprised face and laughed out

loud. "What? You thought because I didn't object to your statements and that I have had minimal

Change that I agreed with you? Far from it. Let us discuss your suggestion."

She leaned back, called up some texts for a moment's review, then nodded. "In the . . . twenty-first

century, the Iron Brotherhood was founded. Its stated intention was to 'eliminate the scourge of

womankind by replacing them.' Using the relatively new DNA structuring abilities of the time, they grew

children in early-model uterine replicators, 'all male children from all male genetics.' They only existed as

a functional group for about three generations. The children were dysfunctional in the extreme since the

average male has all the maternal instincts of a male leopard. By and large they were raised with minimal

positive input and minimal interaction because males are lousy mothers."

"So you say," Bowman snarled. "That is history so old that it's practically fable!"

"There are at least four similar failures in history, Paul," she said with a thin smile. "Many of them

closer in time.Individual males may be excellent mothers, but letting any old male uncork a child 'just

because' is a route to another dysfunctional generation. And we've had far too many of those over the

years. You really should do some research for a change instead of just listening to the voices in your

head. Speaking of which, what sort of 'work' were you intending to enforce?"

"I said nothing of 'enforce,' " Bowman snapped.

"As you wish. I'm not sure what other term to use for making people do things they don't want to

do and don't have to do. But I'd like an answer to the question."

"It would be up to the individual," Paul said. "But attainment of goods and energy would be

dependent upon work. Manufacturing, services, that sort of thing. I have a five-year plan to shift from full

replication to a work-based economy."

" 'A five-year plan,' " Sheida said with a groan. "Do you know how horrifying those words are to

even acasual student of that history you dismiss as fable?"

"What?"

"Never mind," she sighed. "The one thing we learn from history is that we're doomed to repeat it.

So you are discussing industrial work? For males and females? Or information technology work?"

"It would be open to both," Paul agreed. "And both."

"Youdo realize that in anything but a low-tech agricultural environment, there is no surety of

population increase, right? That population growth is a market-based factor? And that it's only low-tech

agriculture that has a market for children? More hands to do the chores. That isnot the case in an

industrial society. Especially one where both sexes work."

"There have been plenty of industrial societies that had high population growth rates," Celine

Reinshafen said. The woman was dark and almost skeletally thin, her long black hair drawn back in a

bun. She shrugged at Sheida and smiled thinly. "I know that much history."

"Generalities that you learned from your nanny are not what we're dealing with here," Sheida said.

"All of those societies were in postagriculture adjustment or had a strong cultural emphasis on children. If

we had a few million members of the Church of Latter Day Saints, Reform Zoroastrian or Islam we

wouldn't be in this situation."

"So you agree that there is a problem?" Chansa said. "Then why are you arguing?"

"As Abraham Lincoln once said, 'my esteemed colleague has his facts in order but his conclusions

are in error.' That's why. Among other things, the rate ofdecrease is decreasing. Yes, Paul, I've been

looking at the same thing for nearly ahundred years . It justoccurred to you! Congratulations!"

"So what is the answer?" Bowman asked. "And who in thehell is Abraham Lincoln?"

"Give me strength," she replied, looking upward. "Skip the literary allusions. The answer, as usual,

is to leave italone .

"Look, there are more differences between men and women than plumbing. Something I don't think

you understand. We were talking about maternal instincts a moment ago. On a scale of one to ten, men

average about four. Whereas women average about eight. There are women who can't stand children or

babies. Still most women think that babies are just adorable, but let other things get in the way of having

them. Men, on the other hand, rarely think that babies are great. Women tend to coo and ooh and ahh

over babies; men tend to give them a wide berth.

"Some of this is still cultural, but most of it is genetic and the reason it's cultural is that the genetics

pressure the culture. If you want, I can get my sister to show you the individual genes. They express

whether there is a general positive response to babies and children. Or, for that matter, small, furry

animals. These responses can be masked by culture, but they are expressed much more aggressively in

females than in males. With me so far?"

"So why aren't there enough children?" Aikawa asked.

"Because, as Ungphakorn pointed out, children are a pain in the ass," Sheida replied. "There isn't a

nanny yet designed that can give children the right kind of love and attention for maximum positive

development; that takes a human and preferably a female. One female can do a decent job, especially

with the quality of life in this era. One female and one male work okay, better than just a female. Multiple

females and a male work pretty well, possibly better than straight monogamy. Multiple males and one

female is suboptimum. One male depends on an unusual male. That's all 'in general' and there is some

flex on individuals. But those are the best patterns overall as proven by repeated and reproducible

studies. End of child-rearing lecture.

"But if you have kids, and are raising them well, they take uptime, lots of it. So you end up

spending time on your children that you could be using . . . other ways. And the world isfilled with other

things to do. Most people would rather surf or mass-game than answer 'why, why, why' questions all

day long.

"Most women realize this and realize that they are going to be doing most of the rearing. Those that

don't, learn after the first child. And if they give the kid away, the Net won't let them replicate another;

they lose the right."

"Another thing we could change," Celine said. "Producing large numbers of fully viable human

children is a trivial exercise. Indeed, there are still improvements that could be made to the human

genome, despite the work that has been done over the centuries."

"Who is going to raise them?" Ishtar snapped. "What she just said is that most people don't want to

go to the trouble. We already have a slight surplus of unwanted children. Are you saying that we should

havemore ?"

"There's also a cultural conditioning aspect," Sheida said. "Human populations tipped over in the

mid-twenty-first century and have been tending downward ever since. But our societystill has a cultural

mythos that 'Gaea is wounded.' Which is why nearly fifteen percent of total energy usage goes to

repairing 'environmental damage' on a world where the last strip mine shut down a thousand years ago!

People still think we have a population problem, so having passels of kids is societally frowned upon."

"And your point is?" Paul asked.

"Women aren't all the same, either," Sheida continued. "There are women who through a

combination of genetics and cultureadore children. You can find them out there, the women who have

had three, four, five children, despite the cultural prohibitions. Their bodies say 'make babies.' They don't

use their bodies anymore, thank God, what a God awful mess that would be, but they still raise the kids."

"One of the reasons that the rate of population decrease has been decreasing is an increasing trend

towards those genes. Basically, women who didn't want babies haven't reproduced for the last two to

three thousand years. I think we're leveling off, or will in the next two, three hundred years. Also, we're

always pushing the boundaries of life extension. We're up to five hundred years now. We could be over

a thousand in the next century or so. That, right there, will change the premises."

"If we gain at all," Paul said. "You have your trends to show, I have mine. The rate of scientific

progress has dropped to nothing. Quantum jumping and replication were developed nearly five centuries

ago and they were the last significant scientific breakthrough. Despite your pronouncements, the

population rateis crashing and weare stagnating and falling into sloth and lotus-eating. We're becoming

less and less human every year and if we don't do something, there may be no humans left. A crisis is

upon us and you stick your head in the sand and prattle about 'maternal genetics'!"

"It's not prattle, Bowman, it's science," Sheida said. "But logic seems to have left you behind. You

want to make people 'work,' but at work that has never, historically, enhanced reproduction, work that

has, in fact, tended to detract from it. I have to ask: can all of this work be done by those who have

chosen to Change?"

"The program may necessitate some adjustments to the Change . . . fad," Paul said with a

distasteful expression.

"Oh, ho!" Cantor said. "Now we come to it! You want me to be a nice little humanoform and work

in a . . . what's the word, a place where things were made?"

"Factory," Sheida supplied.

"You want me to be a nice little humanoform 'working' in a factory instead of what Ichoose to be!"

He stood up, kicked back the chair and transformed. Suddenly, in the place of the large, hirsute "man," a

four-meter-high grizzly bear reared.

"I doooo' 'hin' soooo," the grizzly growled. He leaned forward and rested on the table, his long

claws gouging the natural wood of the tabletop, as his head transformed back to human. "I'm not giving

upmy form foryou, Paul Bowman! Nor am I going to force any of the Changed!"

Ishtar caught Sheida's eye and threw a Whisper into her ear. "Makes me glad he's not a dragon."

"I think we're done here," Ungphakorn said. "The Finn isssn't going to ssside with you, if he even

bothersss to find out what the dissscusssion wasss about. The Demon might, but only for the chaosss

that would ensssue. Ssso you need ssseven to implement."

"Nine," Sheida said. "Revocation of the Change rules will require nine; they were implemented with

eight votes. Actually, one of them was implemented with a unanimous vote of Council so you'll have to

get one of the Hacks to agree to override that one."

"Which was?" Ishtar asked.

" 'No revocation of Change under conditions in which the Changed would be placed in mortal

peril.' So you'd have to recover all the mer-people, delphinos, whalers and all the rest before you could

change them back. And the logistics of changing back all the mer and delphinos, alone, boggles the

mind; it requires human intervention because of the risk factors. And then there would be the genetic

flaws that would creep in during the process. Just what we need: more wild gene faults."

"Not to mention make sssure no one wasss flying when you took away their ability," Ungphakorn

added dryly. "You don't have enough votesss to implement, Bowman, even with the Demon. Give it up."

"Never," Paul said, getting to his feet. "The future of humanity is in our hands, and you are throwing

it away. For fantasies of a race of maternal females arising from nowhere and . . ." he stopped and just

gestured wordlessly at the quetzacoatl.

"I do believe that you're looking for the word 'abomination,' " Ishtar said lightly. "Aren't you?"

"Yes!" Chansa snapped, his patience apparently gone. "Abominations! Dragons and unicorns and

your precious mer-people! These are not humans! They are filth, nothing but degenerate FILTH!"

"Oh,my, " Ishtar said. "I do believe that we'veannoyed our good Chansa. And let me ask you,boy,

do your natural genetics indicate that you should be three meters tall and two hundred kilos?"

"That is beside the point," the council member growled. "At least I amhuman ."

"Yes, well, I think that about sssettlesssthat, " Ungphakorn said. "Thanksss for clearing up that little

point. Time for a voiccce vote. I motion that the dissscusssion of waysss to forccce people to 'work'

ssso that they begin breeding fassster and dissscusssionsss of forsss-able end to the 'abominable'

Changed be permanently tabled."

"We haven't heard from a few of the council members," Sheida pointed out. "Minjie? Tetzacola?

You've been unusually silent."

"That's because we're with Paul." The answerer was Said Dracovich, but she gestured at the rest.

"We six think that the best action to take is to enforce some restrictions. To . . . put pressure on the

human race again so it can be strong. Expose it to the fire for a while to temper the steel."

John Ringo - Council War 1 - There will be Dragons

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