They'll come back when the weather's cold, but they'll spit on you inside their own jails. They came to the edge worlds to ditch the houses behind them, thinking that the citizens who were crawling over themselves to to get out of the path of the bulldozer were the warmongers, not the victims. They saw crime and and murder and a shortened belt as an act against them, not a step taken so all might live. Temporary liberty of a few over that of a few million. They'll see any kindness you do them as appeasement, or trying to pull the weak out of them; and then they'll turn on their own. Because nobody's a greater fanaticist than the person who thinks they're on the side of the egalitarian sundown.
Cities turned to glass. There's shadows burnt into the concrete in Leeds. But keep off my lawn. Keep out of my way. I'd kill you before I bandaged you. That's the heart of it. Dead compassion in a dead Sirius.
Vox Populi, Vox Dei, eh?
I'm coming. My bank is open. Any militants take a crack at the Bretonians and I'll be ready to show them the earth they'd salt trying to cleanse. Let's keep it principled - I won't work for free, but by God, Ma'am, I'd like to.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)