Struggle. Taste of power - Владимир Андерсон
And they wouldn't risk the group for such a waste.
No, that was not what the Kiwi was trying to portray. It was not for nothing that he had thought earlier that it would be bad for them if the inquisitors were here to try Ananhr. He had even prepared to do something about it himself. But he hadn't expected the chiwis to be so bold. And if they did, the stakes are even higher for them than they are for him. That means they're not going to give in to the Church of Ananhr. And if that's the case, they're perfectly capable of covering her on the surface right now. While he's covering all the approaches underground. It all looks pretty solid. But this Inquisitor Samoh, the one that the "church minister" warned about, is not a simple man, and he will not back down.
No, it was a good thing he'd thought of taking every precaution against infiltration into the mines of the Korsa sector back then. It was worth it, after all. And he picked the right people. People who would want to redeem themselves. So there was no doubt they could blow themselves up in an elevator. No hesitation. It's all about the guilt. That's what it's all about. Guilt makes their life impossible. They want to atone for it. And for more than it's worth. To cover everything. To wash it all away and not leave a trace… And the easiest way to wash it away is with blood. Especially their own. Which they were allowed to do… Still, there is no more important skill in leadership than the skill of selecting the right people for their roles.
Gora was now watching his men repair the tracks and knew full well that it would take them six hours. That was how long, because he had ordered it to be done in six hours. And they could have done it in three and a half hours without hurrying. But he said six.
And all around him stood guarded by his men. It was the first time he had ever stepped so openly away from the mine exit with an armed group of men under his command. It's an indescribable experience to know that you're not guarded by just anyone, but by those who are completely under your command. It's a whole other level of security. A level that you don't just own, but that you create for yourself… Even the air you breathe seems different. It's like you've created it for yourself…
And he, the prefect, was in charge of it now. Seeing orders carried out and making sure it was the right thing to do. All of that together is what it means to be in your place.
Was his son ever in his place? Was he in his place when he went after those canned goods? Or when he had his first and last gunfight in the plague cave? Was it his place, or did he find himself in the wrong role?
I'd like to think it was some awkward coincidence of fatal accidents. I really wanted to… But it wasn't. His son wanted to be like this. He didn't just want to pursue freedom for others. He wanted to give his life for that freedom. To give his life for others. And why?
There is a huge difference between him and those who are now on duty in the freight elevators with grenades, preparing to blow it up with them if necessary. And that difference is guilt. Raphael had no guilt. He was an exemplary miner and a great friend. He made you want to do something better. Something that would make the world and everyone better. And amazingly enough, that's exactly what happened in the end…
It turned out that not just one mine, but a whole group of mines began to live not just a normal life, but a decent one. And everyone around considered it a merit of Hora, but Hora himself knew very well that without Raphael's death none of this would have happened. Everyone would have died trying to fulfill the labor norm. And Raphael's death changed the very approach — Gora decided that it was necessary not to survive, but to win… To change something, one must win. First of all, you have to defeat yourself.
The men are in their places… Gora looked at the repairmen again, then at each of the guards in turn, at their weapons, at their loose gait along the perimeter. All in their places… And as sad as it was to admit, even Raphael was in his place. In his distant afterlife. Because if he had stayed alive, nothing would have changed. Sad as it is to say.
In the distance, the chiwi were showing off. They were covering the perimeter at a decent distance, and the fairly open area was now covered on all sides. Like ants. Workers and soldiers. They were scrambling about, not thinking about the value of their lives or what the next order would be.
I wonder if things work the same way for the chiwi. Some repair and build, and some fight? Or do almost all of them fight, and only a couple units of engineers build something, and that's just temporary, hastily? Somehow they organize their logistics and supplies, even if the plagues give them everything they need…Such archons are usually quite industrious guys when left alone. They must have their own stove and beds with comfortable mattresses. Though it is hard to imagine this when you see them with bundles of ammunition, grenades
