Janella and I were able to slip away to a beach on the Baja coast for two days. It was supposed to be three, but we returned early, recharged and sunburned, to dive back in. I also spent an afternoon with Victor, helping him tend to the roses growing in the small courtyard off his lodgings. This turned out to be fortunate because Andrea asked if she could see the roses and I got to give her a brief tour. Victor, as gracious as ever, praised my help with the flowers, which confused Andrea and did little to quell suspicions.

Toward the end of that month the pressure just kept building. With each and every report, the clouds gathering on the horizon became thicker and darker. There was no denying that a nasty storm was coming and a lot of lightning would be cast around.

“‘The fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword.”’ Victor’s voice sank to a cold tone. “There is a theory that suggests mankind cannot resist war because we forget pain so easily. It’s a survival trait. What woman who endured hours of labor would agree to bear another child if she could remember every moment of pain? What person would risk being trampled or stuck through with horns to bring down a buffalo if he’d survived that sort of wounding before?”

I waved bandaged fingers. “What gardener would tend roses?”

Victor smiled at my jest, but from the other end of the table, Nessa gestured at him with her fork. “That theory dismisses the fact that we’re thinking creatures. We can weigh the risks of pain and injury against gain. We can also empathize with others and feel their pain. This is the basis of altruism and even heroic sacrifice in emergencies and war.”

The old man nodded. “There is no denying that, Nessa, but two factors in that serve to reinforce the theory. The first is that because we forget pain, it is never weighed heavily enough when being slotted into that risk/gain equation. This is especially true when it might be someone else’s pain. I would go so far as to say that those who empathize with the injuries of others disregard risk/gain equations, and almost fly in the face of overwhelming odds precisely because they believe that behavior is required of them.”

Nessa nodded, lowering her fork to spear some lettuce. “We could argue some of that, but I’d end up agreeing. What was your second point?”

“I would challenge your assertion that we are really thinking creatures.”

That brought my head up. “Okay, my not using gloves to help with the roses is probably not going to work in my favor when I defend mankind’s sapience, but all of us here, at this table, in this place, we’re thinking in high gear.”

“Your hands aside, Mason, you are slipping past my point. Yes, those of us gathered here are thinking, and thinking hard and long about events, but we have the luxury of being able to do that. We also have the basis of experience that allows us to do that. While we can hope we are wise, most of mankind is barely sentient. When you look at Maslow’s Hierarchy of Human Needs, it is concerned mostly with food, shelter and reproduction. These are all the biological urges and while some abstraction might occur—like having to work a job to secure food and shelter—they really don’t rise much above the levels of creatures who are just out satisfying those basic, biological needs.”

Janella arched an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to say that humans are cattle, are you, my lord?”

“Not at all. Sheep is a preferable comparison because it allows for the existence of shepherds and wolves.” Resting his elbows on the table, Victor pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. I could see the delight dancing in his gray eyes, just like the reflected light from the candles on the table. “When you think about it, experience almost divides humanity along species lines. Just the four of us here at the table, we have traveled to how many worlds. Hundreds? Thousands? We’ve traveled further in light-years over a single year than some people will travel in kilometers in their entire lives. Some worlds are fabled places to people, and I’ve shed blood on those worlds. We have, by dint of our experience, a perspective on events that far too few people possess.”

Nessa nodded. “This is why we are the shepherds.”

Her grandfather frowned. “But why are we not the wolves? Those out there who will take advantage of the chaos have the same experience we do. Why aren’t they making the same decisions we are? Why would they risk war with each other while we have a threat hovering out there?”

“Perhaps they have made the same decision.” Janella toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “Those we call wolves probably see themselves as shepherds. They define their flock as different than we do, and they are gathering their forces to protect their constituency. Perhaps they see their rivals as the wolves behind the grid’s collapse. They view our inaction and warnings of a foe unseen as our folly, and they move to secure things for their people.”

“A very good point, my lady.” Victor gave her a half-smile. “Several, in fact, which just makes everything that much more complicated.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe someone like Jacob Bannson would ever think of himself as a shepherd. He sees himself as a wolf, as the Big, Bad Wolf, and he’s out for sheep and piggies and any shepherds that get in his way.”

My comment came out a little more vehemently than I might have liked, and the surprise on Victor’s face made this quite apparent. “It would seem, Mason, you have taken a specific dislike to Mr. Bannson.”

“Yes, my lord.” I raised my napkin to my lips and wiped my mouth. “The more I read, well, I can understand the motivations of the jackals out there—wolves in the current analogy. Take Katana Tormark, for example. She’s steeped in the Combine’s warrior tradition, and her sense of tradition is urging her to do what she’s doing.”

“To the best of your knowledge, Mason.” Nessa jabbed a hunk of romaine with her fork. “We don’t truly know what she is thinking or dreaming.”

“Sure, that’s true, and I might not be looking deeply enough in her case, but with Bannson, there’s no looking deep. He’s as shallow as a pie plate to my mind. Greed is driving him, pure and simple. He likes money, he wants more, and he also wants to punish The Republic for not praising what a great human being he is.”

Janella kept her voice soft. “I doubt making him a Knight would convert him to the cause.”

“No, it wouldn’t, not at all, because he’d want to be a Paladin, and then the Exarch. Bannson wants to be at the top of the food chain, not because that’s the top, but because he can then start nibbling away at the links below him.” I frowned. “Look, I can understand greed, but he’s so open about it. If greed is what’s motivating Tormark, or Aaron Sandoval or anyone else, fine, but at least they dress it up in tradition.”

Nessa smiled. “Bannson would say he’s a traditionalist, too. He’s not out for greed, but for prosperity. You even said, Mason, that plenty of folks see him as a champion for the little guy, and someone who wants them to succeed. Perhaps you’ve misread him.”

I shook my head. “Okay, score one for the Devil’s advocate, but we can be realistic about this, too. Bannson is only out for himself and while I think it’s great that those who run in his pack will get eaten up by him, I fear for all the little-guy sheep they’ll tear apart while on their rampage.”

Victor pushed his salad plate away from the edge of the table. “I don’t disagree with your fears, Mason, but I wonder what we can do about it. There are too few shepherds.”

“But we can make more shepherds. Looking over the reports, there are folks out there who really are pleading for peace and reason. We have to use our resources to help promote them and their ideas. If we protect the peacemakers, if we hold them up as examples, we will get others to think along those lines. If people equate peace with stability, we kill two birds with one stone.”