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thanks to the neck chain that linked them together, nearly took Sool with her.
Her name was Martha, and she had pneumonia. Sool caught her, murmured some
words of encouragement, and managed to get her going again. Some of the guards
relished any opportunity to use the whip and would gladly lay into her.
Martha coughed up a big glob of yellow-green sputum and spit on the white
line.
Sool looked ahead. They were close, very close, and maybe, just maybe the
Saurons had established a medical facility of some sort. Martha would die
otherwise, like so many others.
Thanks to the fact that the wind was blowing from the west, in off Puget
Sound, Sool could smell the camp long before she saw it. The stink, which she
would later learn was derived from untreated sewage, rotting garbage, and
decaying flesh, was worse than anything she had experienced before. It filled
her nostrils, caught at the back of her throat, and triggered her gag reflex.
Sool s spirits sank even lower. She didn t even have to enter the enclosure
to know that there were no medical services ahead, that Martha was slated for
death, and that her own worst fears were about to be realized.
The ferals rounded a bend, passed an immaculate Texaco station, and got their
first look at the slave camp.
A wall constructed of telephone poles interspersed with tree trunks had been
erected to keep the slaves in and the raiders out. It ran north and south for
as far as the eye could see. Kan warriors, their chitin constantly shifting
between the gray sky and the tan wall, patrolled the top. They were heavily
armed and looked invincible. Houses, strip malls, and everything else had been
leveled to create a free-fire zone.
Later, after she knew more, Sool would learn that the camp was little more
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than a receiving area and that thereal center of activity lay about five miles
to the south.
Still, the fact that a group calling itself the  Free Taggers had
spray-painted graffiti onto the wall below them served as mute testimony to
the fact that at least some humans remained stubbornly, and in this case
stupidly, free.
The gates, which stood a good twenty-five feet high, were closed at the
moment. To keep slaves in? Or to keep others out? It was impossible to know.
They were guarded by a detachment of Kan who pulled the slabs of wood open and
watched impassively as the ferals marched through. Two prefab buildings formed
a passageway of sorts. There had been plenty of rain, and the dirt between
them had been churned into ankle-deep muck. It sucked at the soles of Sool s
shoes.
Someone shouted,  Make way! Make way! A horse-drawn cart appeared in front
of them. Though once a flatbed truck, its engine had been removed to reduce
weight, and a makeshift seat had been mounted in its place. It was occupied by
a scabrous-looking man of indeterminate ethnicity. He slapped the team with
his reins. His voice was high and querulous.  Get a move on, you worthless,
four-footed shit throwers we ain t got all day.
Above the man, ensconced in the cab, a Fon rode in dignified silence.
Sool, forced to the side along with the others, turned to watch the wagon
pass. The back was piled high with dead bodies. It was a horrible sight, so
she turned away. A hand flapped as if waving at her. A sign caught her eye. It
had been nailed to a post. The lettering was large but crude:  Welcome to
hell.
The fires, which were almost certainly detectable from space, leaped high. A
log crumbled, sparks spiraled upward, and Smith prayed that the Saurons had
bigger fish to fry.
No, the fires weren t absolutely necessary from a physical perspective, but
the psychological value was considerable. How many raids, attacks, and
full-scale wars had human beings plotted while crouched around a fire s
reassuring warmth? Backs to the darkness, faces lit by the flames? Thousands?
Millions?
Yes, Smith decided, given the full run of human history, the number could be
in the millions. First as families, then as clans, tribes, peoples, religions,
and nations. Now, for the first time ever, humans were gathering as aspecies,
regardless of their membership in other groups, to consider an attack on
another species. Were other, similar meetings taking place around the globe?
Smith hoped so and wished them luck.
Slowly, conscious of the way his middle-aged body ached, the ex-Ranger stood
and made his way out into the space between the fires. The reenactors formed a
rough-and-ready circle. There were clusters of friends, and loners who liked a
bit of personal space, but every eye was upon him. There was no point to a lot
of preliminary talk, so Smith took the plunge.  Okay, you ve had time to
think, and the issue is clear. Do we sit back and let the bugs take our
planet? Or do we kick their butts back into space? I believe in option two.
Who s with me?
There was silence for a moment as heads turned and people looked to their
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friends. Smith, his heart in his throat, feared the worst.
Then a tall man, his body draped in a facsimile of a Hudson Bay trading
blanket, got to his feet. He had dark skin, white teeth, and a square chin. A [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]