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"I didn't know warrior Grogs listened to females."
"They do. Bee's at a respectable age, where she becomes-the human word would be 'Auntie.' That is an important title."
"Auntie Bee?" Valentine said. His head was swimming. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"You don't speak much of your family. I am not sure. My David, did you intend for Gray Ones to come to Kentucky as well?"
"No, only your people."
"Well, I don't think Bee fully understands your plans. She is talking up the place in the manner of a-what is that title?-real estate salesman."
Yips and hoots broke out among the Grogs.
"What excites them?"
"She's talking about how many legworms there are, and that the humans are friendly and welcoming to Grogs."
Valentine looked at the Gray Ones. They were spellbound. Or perhaps still under the influence of the Kurian aphrodisiacs. Bee had them riveted as she spoke to the ring, turning every moment or two on one vast forearm to face a different part of the audience.
The hundreds of Grogs broke out of their circle, forming groups, calling, pushing, pulling, and cajoling. Others loped off in a four-legged run to acquire friends and relatives for the scrum.
"I think a new Grog tribe is being formed, my David."
"Would your people mind having them along, or does it mean interspecies warfare?"
"We look on the Gray Ones as rustics. Some we find charming and congenial, others-not so. As long as they are not high-handed. Some of the habits of the Gray Baron's army will have to be changed."
The camp was in chaos. Gray Ones were chasing the few available females. "Chuckles" was missing. Valentine hoped for her sake she'd made it out unmolested. But Gray Ones had been known to make do with human females and other livestock, when desperate ...
They'd patched up Valentine as best they could without a surgeon. He'd heal, if he could just eat and drink enough. He still felt light-headed, but he had to help bring order to the camp. The Golden Ones were freed, by Valentine's word as new Stronghold Chieftain, and he'd promised Danger Close that once everyone who wanted to leave did, the headquarters would be his.
But first, he wanted to give the Baron the same chance he'd been given. Now it was his turn to feel the weight of shackles and uncertainty about the future.
"Okay, what happened?" the Baron asked. "How did you turn my army into a Spring Break party?"
Bee had told him that the threat to Snake Arms had also motivated them. She was strong juju, in charge of the spirits who'd died in the Baron's service.
"The Root Beer," Valentine said. "We dumped a case of Kurian aphrodisiacs in it. We weren't sure of the pharmacological effects. By the books, by my beliefs, you're my enemy. I don't feel it in my guts, however. My gut tells me you're a friend."
"A friend?" the Gray Baron said. "Give me a knife, and I'll spill your guts and have a look, see what the problem is."
"I've taken a bullet from you. I wouldn't want to return the experience."
"One thing I know about the Kurians. They're not a forgive-and-forget race. They'll suck the life out of their own mother as soon as she reverts back to being a father, if the parent's dumb enough to let them. I've sent as many of your forces in the field as I can get in touch with off to the west. It's full spring now, and the Grogs in the Missouri Valley will be feeling their oats. How soon before they head north to make a warrior's name for themselves?"
"The way I see it, you have three options. First, I can leave you behind to explain things as best as you can to the Iowans. Second, I can take you prisoner and drop you off with Southern Command. I'll assume they have nothing on you, other than you being a high-ranking Quisling, which will probably mean you'll get a few more appeals before they shoot you. Third, you can come with me."
"Ha!"
"You told me once you liked the taste of real freedom. I don't think you know the meaning of the word. I'm part of a sort of experimental formation that gives Quislings a second chance, if they want it. You choose a new name, swear under it, and serve six years. You can serve more if you want a chance at a pension or a land grant, later. You're a good leader. You'd probably even still be in command of some of your same Grogs. We sure could use a man like you."
"I'm no turncoat. So there's honor involved. You talk about land allotments? Like some patch of Texas scrub can compare with what the Kurians give?"
"What do they give, really?"
"Eternal life. Not some mystical Jesus hoo-ha, either. Life you can see and touch. The churchmen said that if I can pacify Missouri, they'll get me a brass ring and the power to extend my life as long as I like."
"Feeding on your fellow men?"
