Marching Through Georgia by S.M. Stirling Page B
Authors: S.M. Stirling
Tags: Science-Fiction, Military
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out of the question nowadays—we're just too big ."
Johanna nodded and tossed her robe over one shoulder.
"Adieu, Bill, Eric; see you at dinner." Rahksan rose to follow her.
"You two discuss the whichness of wherefore; time enough for work when the leave-pass is up."
Dreiser watched her go. Colored light reflected off marble and fresco to pattern her skin, which rippled smoothly as she swayed across the floor. He indicated the block, with its knives, and the exercise floor. "That sort of thing is impressive as hell, especially the chucking-each-other-about part," he said, as the women left.
"Oh, you mean the pankration ? Actually, we got most of that from the Asians, oddly enough. Despite the Greek name. Back in the 1880's, when we imported a lot of coolies. The overseer tried to touch up a lot of Okinawans with his sjambok and found out they had ways of personal mayhem… bought their contracts, learned it all, and set up a salle d'armes ."
"Ah," Dreiser said again, making a mental note. "Surprising how well your sister stands up to you, considering the advantages."
Eric ran fingers through his short, damp hair. "Size and reach, or gender?" he said. "Incidentally, watch what you say on that subject when we get back to the field. Lot of women are still pretty sensitive about that sort of thing; there was a long controversy about it when I was a toddler and you still find the occasional shellback conservative. You might be able to get away with turning down a duel, being a foreigner, but there are some who'd… react."
"React how?" the American asked.
"They'd break your bones."
"You re serious? Yes, I see you are. Thanks, Eric." The Draka shrugged. "You'll understand it better when we're in the field,"
he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Both love and hatred can be frustrating emotions, when their object is not present My father had sent me away. Not that I missed him overmuch; it was not he who had raised me, after all. But he had sent me away from the only home I had ever known, from those who had loved and cared for me. How could I not hate him? But I was a precocious child, and of an age to begin thinking. In Philadelphia I was a stranger, and lonely, but I was free. Schooling, books, later university and the play of minds; all these he had given me. at the risk of his own life; there was nothing for me in the Domination. And he was my father; how could I not love him?
And he was not there; I could not scream my anger at him.
or embrace him and say the words of love. And so I created a father in my head, as other children had imaginary playmates: daydreams of things we would do together—trips to the zoo or Atlantic City, conversations, arguments…an inner life that helped to train the growth of my being, as a vine is shaped by its trellis. Good training for a novelist A poor substitute for a home .
Daughter to Darkness: A Life
by Anna von Shrakenberg
Houghton & Stewart New York, 1964
OAKENWALD PLANTATION OCTOBER 1941
Arch-Strategos Karl von Shrakenberg sipped carefully from the snifter, cradling it in his hands and looking down from the study window, southwest across the gardens and the valley, green fields and poplars and the golden hue of sandstone from the hills…
One more , he thought, turning and pouring a careful half-ounce into the wide-mouthed goblet. One more, and another when Eric came; he had to be careful with brandy, as with any drug that could numb the pain of his leg. The surgeons had done their best, but that had been 1917, and technique was less advanced; also, they were busy. More cutting might lessen the pain, but it would also chance losing more control of the muscle, and that he would not risk.
He leaned weight on the windowsill and sighed; sun rippled through the branches of the tree outside, with a cool wind that hinted of the night's chill. He would be glad of a fire.
Ach, well, life is a wounding , he thought. An accumulation of pains and mannings and grief. We heal as we can, bear
Johanna nodded and tossed her robe over one shoulder.
"Adieu, Bill, Eric; see you at dinner." Rahksan rose to follow her.
"You two discuss the whichness of wherefore; time enough for work when the leave-pass is up."
Dreiser watched her go. Colored light reflected off marble and fresco to pattern her skin, which rippled smoothly as she swayed across the floor. He indicated the block, with its knives, and the exercise floor. "That sort of thing is impressive as hell, especially the chucking-each-other-about part," he said, as the women left.
"Oh, you mean the pankration ? Actually, we got most of that from the Asians, oddly enough. Despite the Greek name. Back in the 1880's, when we imported a lot of coolies. The overseer tried to touch up a lot of Okinawans with his sjambok and found out they had ways of personal mayhem… bought their contracts, learned it all, and set up a salle d'armes ."
"Ah," Dreiser said again, making a mental note. "Surprising how well your sister stands up to you, considering the advantages."
Eric ran fingers through his short, damp hair. "Size and reach, or gender?" he said. "Incidentally, watch what you say on that subject when we get back to the field. Lot of women are still pretty sensitive about that sort of thing; there was a long controversy about it when I was a toddler and you still find the occasional shellback conservative. You might be able to get away with turning down a duel, being a foreigner, but there are some who'd… react."
"React how?" the American asked.
"They'd break your bones."
"You re serious? Yes, I see you are. Thanks, Eric." The Draka shrugged. "You'll understand it better when we're in the field,"
he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Both love and hatred can be frustrating emotions, when their object is not present My father had sent me away. Not that I missed him overmuch; it was not he who had raised me, after all. But he had sent me away from the only home I had ever known, from those who had loved and cared for me. How could I not hate him? But I was a precocious child, and of an age to begin thinking. In Philadelphia I was a stranger, and lonely, but I was free. Schooling, books, later university and the play of minds; all these he had given me. at the risk of his own life; there was nothing for me in the Domination. And he was my father; how could I not love him?
And he was not there; I could not scream my anger at him.
or embrace him and say the words of love. And so I created a father in my head, as other children had imaginary playmates: daydreams of things we would do together—trips to the zoo or Atlantic City, conversations, arguments…an inner life that helped to train the growth of my being, as a vine is shaped by its trellis. Good training for a novelist A poor substitute for a home .
Daughter to Darkness: A Life
by Anna von Shrakenberg
Houghton & Stewart New York, 1964
OAKENWALD PLANTATION OCTOBER 1941
Arch-Strategos Karl von Shrakenberg sipped carefully from the snifter, cradling it in his hands and looking down from the study window, southwest across the gardens and the valley, green fields and poplars and the golden hue of sandstone from the hills…
One more , he thought, turning and pouring a careful half-ounce into the wide-mouthed goblet. One more, and another when Eric came; he had to be careful with brandy, as with any drug that could numb the pain of his leg. The surgeons had done their best, but that had been 1917, and technique was less advanced; also, they were busy. More cutting might lessen the pain, but it would also chance losing more control of the muscle, and that he would not risk.
He leaned weight on the windowsill and sighed; sun rippled through the branches of the tree outside, with a cool wind that hinted of the night's chill. He would be glad of a fire.
Ach, well, life is a wounding , he thought. An accumulation of pains and mannings and grief. We heal as we can, bear
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