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  Stephanie leaned sideways in the pool and supported herself on one elbow, arching her back slightly towards the instructor.

  "In pretty good . . . shape then, eh?" she asked, tossing her head so her hair swung back and forth.

  The instructor just looked at her for a moment, then nodded sharply.

  "Pretty good, yeah."

  Stephanie languorously slid back to her place and took a deep breath as she smiled up at him.

  "I'm so glad to have such big strong men guarding us!"

  Herzer gripped the bridge of his nose to keep from laughing, hiding his face behind his hand. He looked sideways and saw that Shilan was just staring at the woman, her mouth open. She closed it after a moment with a clop.

  "Whatever were we talking about?" Stephanie asked.

  "I dunno," Herzer said with a laugh. "Economics comes to mind for some reason."

  "Why economics?" Stephanie asked, clearly puzzled.

  "Because it's the most boring subject I can imagine," Herzer answered, laughing.

  "Oh, I dunno," Stephanie replied, pushing her hair back with both hands behind her ears and then posing with them out to the side as she thrust her chest forward. "Derivatives can be fascinating."

  Herzer laughed again and shook his head at her incredible forwardness.

  "So, I kill people and break things," he said, looking for any subject that wouldn't get another rise out of her. "What do you do?"

  "I work at the bank," she said, flatly, frowning. "Let's not talk about work."

  "Bank?" Herzer said. "What bank?"

  "Raven Federal," Stephanie replied.

  "Used to be Tom Sloan's Loan Shark and Credit Destroyer," Shilan said with a grin. "They've come up in the world."

  "Huh," Herzer said. "Tom handles all my accounts. I've got to see him tomorrow."

  "Accounts?" Stephanie said, raising an eyebrow. "Plural."

  "Plural," Herzer said flatly. "What are you doing Shilan?"

  "I'm still a textile designer," Shilan said. "That's where I met David. He's in sales at the plant."

  "Which is a losing cause," David said unhappily. "We used to be the only mill in the area. But these days Hotrum's Ferry has three, and transportation costs are making us unprofitable out of the immediate region."

  "Well, this is just fascinating but I've got a date with a bottle of wine," Stephanie said, standing up. "Herzer, pleasure to meet you," she added, holding out her hand.

  "Same here," he replied, shaking it. She turned immediately and climbed out of the pool.

  "Okay, what just happened?" he asked.

  "Social butterfly," the instructor said, sliding into the pool. "She got exactly what she wanted out of the conversation, then went off to find one where she could get more."

  "Whatever," Herzer replied. "I'm sorry, I cannot for the life of me recall your name."

  "Mike Fraser," the instructor replied, holding out his hand. "I'm in second phase at the Academy."

  "I was supposed to be coming back for an instructor's gig at the O course," Herzer said, shrugging.

  "What are you doing instead?" Shilan asked.

  "I just got told," Herzer admitted. "But I'm not sure I should talk about it."

  "Open secret," Fraser said. "You're going to the Southern Isles with Duke Edmund."

  "So much for military security," Herzer grumbled.

  "Like I said, open secret," Fraser shrugged. "You can't organize something like that without it getting out. And there are no secrets in the baths."

  "None at all," Shilan said. "Worst gossip spot in the town. Even including the 'ladies get-togethers' that resulted from counseling classes. Although those are more catty. I knew that Edmund was going to the Isles, but not that you were going."

  "Daneh and Rachel took it as a surprise," Herzer said.

  "They don't come in here much," Shilan shrugged. "Rachel rarely and I've never seen Daneh in here."

  "I can imagine why," Herzer said.

  "It's not that," Shilan replied. "I think she's about as over her rape as it's possible to be. If not she certainly controls it well. I think she's just very body-modest. Rachel, too, to a lesser extent. And, of course, they have their own baths at the house. Daneh probably would have picked it up at one of the meetings but she's been missing those the last couple of weeks. I only heard about it . . . two nights ago."

  "I don't care how hard it is to keep a secret in the baths," Herzer said. "This is still a problem."

  "Yup, sure is," Fraser nodded. "I'm not sure what can be done about it, though."

  "Education comes to mind," Herzer replied. "I don't know what the security classification is on this mission, but I don't really care. It shouldn't be talked about in public, period. That's basic OPSEC, sir."

  "No rank in the baths, either," Fraser noted. "But I get your meaning. You're probably right about the education aspect, but we're all still feeling our way. A couple of years ago, none of us were soldiers."

  "Not my problem," Herzer shrugged. "It just bugs me."

  "Speaking of feeling our way . . " Shilan said, then blushed. "That didn't come out right."

  "It's okay," Herzer chuckled. "It would take a very dirty mind to find anything wrong with that comment. Admittedly, I have a dirty mind . . ."

  "Speaking of trying to figure out stuff about this life," Shilan said, clearing her throat. "Why is he a captain and you're a lieutenant?"

  "A very good question." Fraser nodded. "The answer is that I came to the Academy as a lieutenant and have gotten promoted since. I think you were enlisted, Herzer?"

  "Yeah," Herzer said. "I just got my commission before going to Harzburg. That was another one of their gripes. I basically got the commission for the mission and that was pretty obvious."

  "But you got them to see the error of their ways?" Fraser asked.

  "It took a while," Herzer admitted. "The town is run by guilds and they took to their prerogatives, post-Fall, really damned quick. It was more feudal than it sounds. They didn't want some no-class low-life newly promoted lieutenant telling them how they were supposed to run their militia. For one thing, the militia was only open to those they thought 'acceptable.' Which meant those they could trust with a weapon at their back."

  "Under the constitution all voters are supposed to be armed," David interjected. "I mean required."

  "Yeah, and that has holes you can run an elephant through," Herzer said. "They were using the 'bondage labor' provisions to exclude most of the people in the town, not just the refugees but others they didn't like and had squeezed out of power. You had to be a full guild member to be a member of the militia."

  "About a fifth their available bodies at a guess," Fraser mused.

  "About that," Herzer said. "And all too busy to bother actually training. I mean, most of them were honestly busy, you know how it is. They had real jobs, hard ones. And the labor pool guys, who were mostly sitting around hoping for work, were restricted from training. I'd been railing about it, quietly, for quite a while. There was also a real split between the farms, who were the ones getting hit, and the town, where they thought nobody would attack. Well, shortly after my little encounter at the farm Tarson did hit the town. Things were pretty screwed up but we managed to stop them after they'd burned the tanneries."

  "We?" Fraser interjected.

  "I'd . . . been training some of the bond labor on the side," Herzer admitted. "And that was item one in the meeting after the attack. But it was me and a few of them that drove the attackers off."

  "Blood Lord tactics?" Fraser asked.

  "Modified," Herzer admitted. "More of a phalanx approach. Really, I just had them make long spears and learn to march in formation with them. And, yeah, that was tough to arrange. But we got our tools together and drove the Tarsons off. Then the shit hit the fan. There was a pretty . . . intense meeting. But they had a few unpalatable choices. They could throw me out and try to get something else from the Federals. Pretty damned unlikely. Or they could actually train
their 'organized' militia. Equally unlikely. Or they could trust the scum with weapons."

  "The scum?" Shilan said, angrily.

  "That's how they felt about the labor pool guys," Herzer said. "And some of them were scum; Harzburg had a hell of a crime problem for that matter. They started off the meeting wanting to kill me. 'Violation of local ordinances' was the crime I was accused of. I more or less told them 'You and what army?' By the end of the meeting they'd given me approval to recruit among the laborers. And I made a tiddly little company out of them if I do say so myself." He looked up at the rafters again and shrugged. "Maybe I'll have a command again, someday."

  "Count on it," Fraser sighed.

  "So when the Tarsons attacked again we routed them and drove them back to their town. Took the town, burned the ringleaders in their 'stronghold' and I put a few of the better of the laborers in charge in Tarson. The people of the town were mostly glad as hell to be liberated. The guild guys tried to make like it was their town but we told them where to stuff it. I worked out a charter for Tarson, got their application in to the UFS, waited until the election—which was as cold and stacked as I could make it—was over and just afterwards got the word to head home. Mission accomplished."

  "In spades," Fraser said. "What are you getting for this one?"

  "Another mission," Herzer laughed.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Herrick," a soft voice said from over his shoulder.

  He looked around and was faced by a tiny tuft of pubic hair. Looking farther up he was stunned by the vision. If the girl standing over him wasn't absolutely perfect in every way she could see it on a clear day. Brunette, about a meter and a half, perfectly rounded breasts, high and incredibly firm, flat belly, rounded mons. He realized he was staring.

  "Yes?" he asked, his voice ending in a squeak.

  The girl slid into the water to his left and smiled at him.

  "My name's Sheena. I don't think you know me."

  "I don't think so either," Herzer replied, all charm out the window. Three hundred fifty-seven times four . . . down boy!

  "Back before the attack on the town, you went out with a cavalry patrol," she said in a soft little-girl voice that practically drove arithmetic out of his brain.

  "Yes?" Carry the two . . .

  "My brother was one of the guys on the patrol," she said, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. "I want to talk to you, but I'll be right back."

  "Okay," he croaked, then turned back to the group in the bath, all of whom were smiling and trying not to laugh.

  "How old do you think she is?" Fraser asked, trying not to be smug.

  "Seventeen?" Herzer said.

  "Try twelve," David replied.

  "No fisking way!"

  "Way," Shilan replied. "Way, way, way."

  "What the hell is she doing naked in the public baths!" Accosting perfect strangers and ruining their whole day.

  "They're public baths," Shilan replied with a shrug. "I guess her parents decided she was old enough."

  "They need to have their heads examined!"

  Sheena suddenly slid back into the water next to him and laid her hand on his arm.

  "I'm really glad to finally meet you," she said, huskily.

  Down, down, down, down, DOWN! Twelve! TWELVE!

  "Me, too," Herzer replied. "So are you going to school now?"

  "Oh, yeah." Sheena frowned. "I didn't have much before the Fall, you know? So I'm in the little kid classes . . ."

  Okay, I'm clearly not going to get laid tonight, thank God . . .

  CHAPTER SIX

  Herzer fell out the next morning at first call in PT gear. It felt good to have nothing in front of him but some simple physical training. He ran the Hill once, then picked up a pack and rucked it four more times, each at increasing speed. He was out of shape and knew it, but he did a credible imitation of Blood Lord speeds on the Hill. After that he moved over to the salle area for the permanent party. None of his class was present but he found someone who was a close match and got in a solid two hours of sword and shield work. He might be light on wind but he hadn't lost his touch with sword and shield and his opponent damned well knew he had been kissed, even through the padded armor.

  "Very nice, Herzer. I never figured you for beating up on the babies."

  He turned around and slapped Bue Pedersen on the arm.

  "Bue! Damn, where the hell have you been?"

  "We're forming a legion in Washan," Bue said. "I've been 'assisting' in that endeavor."

  "Wish I had been," Herzer said. "Spar?"

  "If you think you're up to it." Bue grinned. They had both been in the first Blood Lord class, and at the defense of Raven's Mill. But their careers had seldom crossed paths since. Bue was a triari sergeant while Herzer had been "promoted" to lieutenant. The Blood Lord had few formed units; they tended to be the cadre for other forces and the first class had found itself scattered up and down the eastern seaboard. Herzer had picked up that some were even as far away as the central plains.

  Bue donned padded armor and found a practice sword to his liking. The Blood Lord technique was not precisely suited to one-on-one dueling, but both of them were trained in individual fighting as well.

  The rules of the game were that they could not move to either side, but had to act as if they were in a unit, moving forward or backwards only slightly. Herzer centered himself and started the battle with an attempted shield bash which Bue turned to the side deftly and then they began hammering.

  With no ability to move around it was just that, the swords licking out to jab and chop relentlessly. The shields stayed in front of the body and could be moved up and down, or, slightly, to either side. And they did move, fast, the two fighters wielding the heavy shields as if they were made of balsa wood instead of oak and iron. Blows slipped past repeatedly, though, slamming into shoulders and arms, but none of them would have been disabling so the fighters drove on, each attempting to either get in a crippling blow or force the other to give up from sheer fatigue.

  Herzer noticed that most of the other fighting had died down as the two continued to hammer at each other. He had already had a good solid two hours of mock combat and his wind was not what it had been before the Harzburg mission. Bue, on the other hand, seemed to be made of iron. No matter what he tried he couldn't get in a crippling blow nor did the NCO seem to be tiring.

  "You're getting soft, Herzer." Bue grinned.

  "All that easy living up in Harzburg," Herzer admitted, gritting his teeth. He knew one blow that might work, but it was chancy and right on the edge of illegal in competition. When he realized he was about to die or drop he hooked Bue's shield with his and lifted both of them, an almost impossible maneuver. Then he dropped to one knee and drove his practice sword upward into the NCO's unprotected stomach, doubling him over retching.

  "I'm still . . . better than . . . you . . ." Herzer gasped, bending over and panting.

  "Cristo, I'm unmanned," Bue said, clutching at his stomach.

  "And now you see why we keep Class One as far apart as possible," Gunny said to a background of applause.

  Herzer didn't know how long the NCO had been watching but he managed to struggle to his feet.

  "And I thought it was because we were the best of the best," Herzer said, grinning despite his fatigue.

  "You're pretty good," Gunny admitted grudgingly. "But you want to try that maneuver on me?"

  "Not in a long lifetime," Herzer admitted. He walked over to the armor rack and hung up his shield, helmet and sword, then stripped out of the sweat-soaked armor. "You okay, Bue?"

  "I'll be okay," the NCO admitted, walking over to rack his own gear. "Where in hell did you learn that little trick?"

  "Tarson," Herzer said. "Desperation is the best teacher."

  * * *

  After showering off, he had breakfast with Bue and Gunny. The mess hall was neutral ground and Blood Lords did not maintain strict separation between enlisted and officers so several other officers
were having breakfast with the "troops." They caught up on what had been happening and talked about the "old times," just a couple of years before, when the Blood Lords were being formed.

  After breakfast Gunny and Bue went off to their duties and Herzer headed downtown. He thought, again, that while Gunny was still sharp as a tack, he seemed to be losing the edge just a hair. He'd picked up that Gunny no longer ran the basic entry test for the Blood Lord trainees; the first ruck run up the Hill. He just couldn't make the time anymore. It had only been two years, but two years of running class after class had clearly taken it out of the old NCO.

  Retiring him was out; he'd either be one of those guys who just hung around all the time or he'd die or commit suicide. All he had known before Fall was living what he had researched as the life of a senior noncommissioned officer. Something was going to have to be done, but offhand Herzer couldn't think what.

  Herzer wondered, not for the first time but the first time clearly, what Gunny had been like when he was a youngster. Or Duke Edmund, for that matter. He had looked at both of them, when he first started out, as the near order of gods. And now there were people who looked at him the same way. Had they been screw-ups? What was the force that drove them to be who they were? You had to have something seriously odd in your background to live the lives that they had lived before the Fall, not to mention what they had done after it.

  Who were they really? People looked at him as if he was something special. Even as he walked downtown, people would come up to him and nod and whisper as he passed. Herzer, the victor of the Line. Herzer the Undefeatable. He knew he wasn't any of those things. But he wore the mask, wore it so well sometimes it felt as if he was becoming their belief. But he knew, inside, that he was the same screwed-up kid who had run away from Daneh's rape. Who had needed to be hammered on the anvil of the Blood Lords, and of life, to attain any sort of competence. Who still screwed up from time to time.