There is an odd contradiction in our mythology of leadership - that our best leaders should be praised as human, while our best leadership is praised as impartial. It is an odd juxtaposition, and counterexamples of inhuman or biased leaders receive more attention than those who manage to straddle that divide.
Why should our best leaders be made better by setting themselves aside? If they are, as we claim, noble and decent human beings, then surely their decisions would all be best-guided by that sa nobility and decency. Yet it is not so; frequently these n are asked to set aside those traits we laud them for and make harsh decisions for which they are praised all the more.
I believe the answer lies in sacrifice. No man sets himself aside entirely, and where his wants and desires coincide with the demands of leadership he may exert himself fully to the good of whatever cause he has chosen. But when the needs of the man diverge from the needs of his station, one must be sacrificed.
We see, therefore, our best leaders turning aside from their own ambition where temperance must serve, relinquishing love when decisions must be impartial. Greed dies to generosity, and these n are praised for what is ultimately a suppression of their natural, human drives.
Better leaders result, but perhaps not better humans. The silent prison of state removes one from the reality of life, and must be abandoned on occasion so that n may walk on grass, exult under the sky and rember why they are alive to begin with.
- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 685.
rcifully, the departing soldiers left without serious incident. They piled into the two trucks Zabala had set aside for them and trundled away, though from the quality of their driving Michael guessed that they would arrive at their eventual destination on foot.
The one truck they intended to take was fueled and loaded in short order, though a bit more care was necessary to fit all of their gear while still leaving space for the n. Michael moved to jump into the cab with Zabala, only to have Sobriquet step in front of him.
Im navigating, she said. You go sit in the back.
Michael frowned. But you can navigate from anywhere, he said. You dont need to be in front for that.
Youd make ride in a truck full of strange n? she asked. You go sit with them, Ill keep Zabala awake.
After a bemused mont, Michael shrugged and turned back towards the rear. The n were mostly loaded in, save for Lars and a few stragglers; Michael found himself sitting near the rear of the right bench. The low murmur of conversation had died away when he entered the truck.
There was an unavoidable sense of focus pressing down on him. Save for Unai, every man in the truck had their eye on Michael. Even Charles and Lars watched him, though the forr seed mostly amused at Michaels discomfort.
A bit less room back here, lordling, Charles said. And less padding on the seats. Maybe we can find you a pillow at the next town.
Michael gave him a look. Always touching to see one ass concerned for another, he said. I think Ill survive even so.
Charles grinned back at him, leaning against the trucks sideboard. Oh, youll be fine, he said. Im a bit less sure about these Ardans, though. The way they clenched up when you boarded, Im not sure theyre going to make it through a full day of driving.
The trucks engine rumbled to life, gear and n shifting as Zabala guided the heavy vehicle back onto the road. Lars leaned forward, raising his voice. Id wager well make it through in good order, he said. Dont worry about these n, by this point weve been dragged through the worst the War had to offer. Were scarcely going to fall out now that its over.
Unai raised an eyebrow. Peace is often more trying than war, he noted. At least in war things are clearly-defined. Problems tend to fall into two classifications - those you can resolve by shooting soone, and those which you can put off until after the war.
You just have to be quieter in peaceti. Stab them, dont shoot them. He crossed his arms, turning to look at Lars. Or slice them up from a distance. That was a neat trick you pulled, most Swordsn strive for raw power over detail work.
Lars shrugged. Yes, well - when one is denied access to raw power, one makes do. My soul was never the most potent of the scalptors, but I like to think that I make up for it in finesse. He leaned forward to peer down the row of n who were studiously avoiding involvent in the conversation. Im not sure I could put a scratch on Leo, much less Lord Baumgart here.
Michael followed Larss gaze; a man with recruiting-poster looks shifted uncomfortably. Hes a potens? he asked.
Lars waved his hand. Mild potens, he said. But still better than so. Weve got Leo here, then Stenger is a durens. Ulf is - wait, no, Ulf left. He was a conterens anyway, not much use. Lars frowned. I feel like Im missing soone.
Richters a Dex! one of the n said. He can make cow shit taste good in the cookpot!
Am not, thats all skill, another man, presumably Richter, shot back. Voss is our other soul.
Voss, my good man, Lars said. You never ntioned!
A bleary-looking man raised his head. Just a Freezer, he mumbled. Not much use, especially not going into winter.
Freezers are good in combat, Charles noted. The light can dazzle soone, and frozen balls will take most n out of the fight. He grinned. Ever made a set of snowballs, Ardan?
Never even fired my rifle, Voss retorted. They stuck all of us with the kitchens, making ice. Ive been on tour two years. If I never see another icebox my whole life, Ill be happy.
A chorus of groans answered the complaint. Shut up, Voss, one man replied. At least nobodys shooting at you in the kitchen.
And no mud! called another.
Clearly you had a different ss, mud was all they served in ours.
Michael felt their focus slide away from him amid the bickering, settling into sothing more comfortable. There was still a sense of wariness, of course; the n were always conscious of outsiders in their midst. But for the ti being they were not fearful of Michael, and that was enough.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sideboard, letting his sight drift up, up, until all he could see was the far curve of hills pressing against the sky.
Reviews
All reviews (0)