Team 14 did not like finding strange things on patrol. It was rather ironic, because that's what they had been doing for the past few months. It was late summer, what they had decided was early September, and it seemed like all the monsters were moving through Turnstone pass for some unknown reason. Already that fall they had captured thirty goblins trying to enter the city, 12 minotaurs attacking the outer homesteads and three small dragons attacking precious herds. Their success in this had the unfortunate side effect of a nickname given to them by the rest of the teams on regular patrol: The Pokemon Trainers. The members of Team 14 grimaced whenever someone made a reference to "Gotta Ketchum All!" Especially since the team leader was Lieutenant Jane Ketchum. She would just throw a look and smirk as she walked away.
However, the jibes conveyed a respect well earned. Team 14 had the best capture record of any of the teams and the lowest number of injuries. They had been so successful there was talk of promotion for the Lt. and a pay grade increase for the rest of the team. That didn't translate into much in the new Sunnydale economy, but anything was better than what they had. Specialist Parks was hoping to build a house next summer for her and her friend (a golden retriever/German Sheppard mix that was the size of a Newfoundland). The others had similar dreams of finally living off base. If all went well over the winter, their dreams might be realized. So when ten stone giants walked up on a brisk September morning, they were prepared and wisely refrained from shooting first and asking questions later.
"I am Haran-si, the mother of Gara. You will take me to Doctor Chung," the giantess said gruffly through the translation magic. She and the others were dressed in simple tunics made of some animal hair that seemed to be spun like wool. Glancing beyond them, the military team realized they had dragged a number of the Bantha looking creatures spotted on the first week Sunnydale made the transition.
"Yes, please wait here," Lt. Ketchum said as she reached for her radio. "This is Team 14 to Base."
"This is Base, need a pick up Team 14?"
"Not this time," She replied. "Stone Giants arrived looking to talk and trade from what I can see. They want to see Dr. Chung."
"No advanced warning?"
"They weren't spotted until five minutes ago," Lt. Ketchum answered. "Looks like magic to me. They appear non-hostile at the moment. Their leader claims to be the mother of Gara."
"I claim to be nothing. I AM the mother of Gara," the elder stone giant said, crossing her arms angrily. Lt. Ketchum winced, realizing the translation magic was still in effect.
"Correction, she is the mother of Gara," Lt. Ketchum said apologetically.
"Please have them wait there," the base replied. "The doctor and a diplomatic team will be out to meet you soon."
"Mr. Mayor? The diplomatic contingent from Cormyr has arrived and a group of Stone Giants from Ms. Gara's clan have arrived to the north," Mr. Finch announced, poking his head in during the meeting with the Mayor's new Head of Special Projects. The man was someone Finch had never met before, but the Deputy Mayor suspected the man was one of those "special" individuals the Mayor sometimes hired. This one was new and looked human, but Finch knew better. It wasn't a vampire, but they weren't the only creature that could mimic human form. There had been that mantis woman, the Slayer had taken care of her first year in town and others, so this one could be anything. He spoke with a strange accent, almost South African mixed with Russian, but his English was clear and well spoken, but he still made some mistakes with local idiomatic expressions suggesting he was freshly taught. A local perhaps? Finch kept his face smooth as he awaited the Mayor's response.
"Thank you Mr. Finch," The Mayor said with his usual smile, only this time genuine. Finch wanted to shiver every time he saw that smile. "I will just be a moment with Mr. Vhok and I will be in to meet them. Why don't you start the proceedings and I will take over in a moment. Perhaps Dr. Chung would like to meet the stone giants? She has had the most dealings with Gara."
"Of course sir," Finch replied perfunctorily. "I'll ask her. Is there anything else you would like to know?"
"No, Mr. Finch, that will be all," Wilkins said, waving the younger man away. Finch closed the door behind him and walked down to the conference room where the Cormyr diplomatic contingent awaited the Mayor's arrival. There were only five of them. The concept of a diplomat as an occupation was still new in this world. It was just one of many things the people of Sunnydale found strange. Most countries still considered diplomats little more than glorified hostages or a target when the news was bad. "Don't kill the messenger" had yet to catch on in the Forgotten Realms.
With this in mind, foreign diplomats were still surprised at the lack of fanfare or ostentatious display that Sunnydale shared for their leader. The leader of the budding nation neither wore a crown or other symbol of rank nor did he practice noblesse oblige or any other sort of feudal claptrap. He wore a simple suit that was cleaned frequently and showed no sign of his rank. Finch mimicked the style in his slightly darker gray suit and a conservative manner.
Before opening the door he made sure the translation amulet was around his neck. It was troublesome at times to have to remember to use it. He had to admit that he missed the days when only the Mayor dealt with people and creatures with strange languages. Thankfully these did not appear to be ready to kill him for a between meal snack.
He was greeted by the sight of humans in plate armor. Highly stylized plate armor that seemed like it belonged as a display not as a working model. Each wore a sword at their belt that seemed to signify some kind of order. All weapons were peace bonded with heavy wire. 'These must be the Purple Dragon Knights the locals spoke of,' Finch thought to himself.
"Greetings Gentlemen and Lady, I am Allan Finch, deputy Mayor of Sunnydale," the man said, holding his hand out to the foremost of the trio. The other two (obviously guards) stood on either side of the room with their visors down and a hand on their sword's pommel at all times. 'Poor fools. If someone wished them dead they would be.'
The man in charge made no move to take his hand. "We did not come here to speak to a vassal; we came to present ourselves to the Lord and Ruler of this land."
"Unfortunately, Mayor Wilkins," Finch stressed the word, but kept his tone as polite as possible, "is not available as he is in another meeting. I am fully capable of taking care of any issues you may have."
"I demand that you take us to your master lackey!" the man said, obviously used to being obeyed.
"He will be here when the meeting is out," Finch replied with a polite tone. "Until then, I will answer your questions and discussions."
Finch looked at the knight. Finch was not a tall man and the knight was over two meters tall. Mr. Finch had faced down worse for several years now; a sword wielding feudalist was nothing compared to a family of fyarl demons or even a perturbed vampire. He had a boss that sacrificed orcs and/or babies on a weekly basis, for crying out loud. As a result, Finch stared at him unblinking. They stared at each other for a long moment. The other knights seemed to tense as the contest of resolve bounced back and forth between the two men.
In a huff, the paladin kicked a chair and practically threw himself into it. His disgust was clear, but Allan Finch had won and everyone in the room knew it. Finch broke the silence by tapping his papers on the desk as he sat down at the head of the table. "Now, perhaps we can finally begin. We of Sunnydale wish to have a positive relationship with the local nations and we appreciate your coming all this way to meet with the Mayor."
"Why do you refer to your sovereign this way? A mayor is the leader of a small village, not a metropolis such as this," asked one of the younger paladins, one of the women. Finch noticed that the lead paladin flinched ever so slightly at the words. He was not pleased that the younger one had spoken out of turn. Finch glanced at the younger woman and noticed the different pattern to her breastplate. She must have been of a different order.
"Sunnydale is only a city by your standards," Finch said, looking at her directly, something he suspected was an insult to the man in charge. "By the standards of the world we left we are not much more than a village."
He watched their reaction. The head paladin tensed and squinted. He felt threatened by the news. The younger paladin was simply surprised as were the others. Forty Thousand was a huge number in this primitive-er-feudal world. Finch still had to catch himself on occasion. "Primitive" was a dirty word with the more politically correct members of the city, including some of the Mayor's cabinet. It was "local" not "native"; "feudal" not "primitive"; "from a different culture" not "bat shit crazy." Finch didn't use the last phrase ever, but that had little effect on other Sunnydalers.
"So you are from Cormyr, which is to the south east of us," Finch said, getting the discussion back on topic. It was dangerous when straying into other areas of conversation; some people did not react well to the information and some were a little too interested in weapons and nothing else. Sunnydale was not interested in their interest.
"We have heard of your nation from several sources and heard of your involvement with demons and orcs," the head paladin announced gruffly. "We need to ascertain your true involvement."
It was Finch's turn to be surprised.
"WHAT?" He was caught off guard by the accusation in the man's tone. Finch still managed to keep the discussion polite, even if he was getting slightly perturbed. "You come here, under the pretense of trade and good relations. Instead you throw accusations around?"
"I have not accused you of anything," the holy knight said in an accusatory tone. "Are you feeling defensive?"
"Aaand this meeting is over," Finch said, standing up. He walked quickly to the door and knocked twice. "The guards will escort you out and back to your lodgings. Please, next time, your government should send diplomats in good faith."
He walked out and four MPs walked in with their arms at the ready.
"My faith is strong! Is yours?" the head paladin yelled after the bureaucrat. "I have a Holy Duty! Tyr will punish the wicked and grind evil beneath his heel!"
Finch never looked back.
"So, Amy, how are you doing today," the doctor asked. He was a regular Doogie Houser, so baby faced Xander looked more mature. And he was cute.
She had been in the hospital for a week and then went back for check ups. A head wound was not something one could ignore. This doctor, she was told, was known as a Fellow, which was some kind doctor term for more than a doctor, but less than a specialist, or at least that was her opinion. And he was cute. Did she mention that he was cute?
"The head's all better," she said, tapping her head where the brick hit her. She was keeping up a good face, but she was still a little scared. Housecraft was still preaching against magic and witchcraft. A couple of his followers had been arrested, but the few who assaulted her had yet to be found. Housecraft himself kept clear of the law, claiming that he could not be responsible for the actions of his congregation. He was charming, he was charismatic and he was powerful. They were the conservatives, mostly fundamentalists and born-again Christians. The Catholics stayed out of the discussion surprisingly. Amy suspected that the Father was a good man and knew what went on in the town before it was sent to this new world. Buffy got her holy water there, after all.
The young doctor poked and prodded her head again. Then he started checking her neck. "Any neck pain?"
"No, just like last week," she said with a grin. He really was looking for something to write his paper on and this was not working for him.
"So I guess you're free to go," he said it like the world was ending.
Amy got up, gave her information to the desk and walked into the hall, almost running into Larry who was finally walking on his own after months of physical therapy. "Larry! What are you doing here? Isn't PT on the third floor?"
"I heard you were here. Thought I'd see how you were doing," he said as he slowly walked beside her. She slowed down to match him. He seemed to be mostly healed, but the recovery time had given his muscle mass a hit. The former football player resembled a potato with tooth picks for legs. It was a funny concept.
"'How are you?' 'Are you feeling better?' That seems like all I hear from people these days," she said, exasperated, throwing her arms up in the air. "I'm fine!"
"Yeah, you take one axe to the kidney and people think you can't even feed yourself," he replied with a knowing smirk. "Mom's been like that since I got out of the hospital. Now I can hold a desk job and she wants me to stay at home."
"I wish my mom cared about me that way," Amy said with a sad sigh. "But my dad is here now, so I'm feeling better about it."
"What happened to her? My mom said she just vanished sophomore year," Larry said as they walked to the elevator.
"Yeah, well, mother turns out to be an evil witch, mom pulls a body switching routine and mom tries to live my life for me because I was 'wasting' it on science and good books," the budding witch answers, trying to put light to the situation, "And then Willow and her friends save me. Mom tried to kill them with a spell and Buffy reflected it back at her."
"You know, after Halloween, I had an idea about what went on around here, but I never knew it was this bad until the Shift," Larry said, poking the button to go down.
"I knew. My Dad knew. Willow, Buffy and Xander knew. Hell, the school librarian what's-his-name knew," Amy said. "And we didn't say anything. We just kept quiet so people wouldn't think we were crazy." She touched her head where the brick hit her. "To a degree, we were right. People weren't ready for this."
"I don't care what people think anymore," Larry said. "I'm gay. I can admit it now. The same group who hates you hates me too."
"You still gonna play football?"
"Who is there to play against?" Larry said. "Even if they let me back on the team, there isn't a point of the team unless we can get people to play against."
"Same with the cheerleaders I guess," Amy grinned. Larry grinned back. "So, has the press been harassing you?"
"Yeah, it's all 'Buffy, Buffy, Buffy' I barely know the girl," Larry admitted. "You?"
"Same," Amy said. "Although they were scared off by Ms. Summers' threats."
"We should all write a tell-all book when we graduate?"
"Really?"
"Naw, no one would buy it."
"It's not like book sales are going to be high. Everything we've got left over are being saved and copied," Amy said. "Its only a matter of time before we start publishing our own books."
"You going to write one?"
"Naw. I'm gonna be a witch, but not like Mom," Amy said. The doors opened and a few others walked in. "How about you? What are you going to be when you grow up?"
"I'm thinking about military," Larry said. "Dad was Navy, but I don't think that's the way I'm going to go; especially since we don't have a coast. I've got some know how from last Halloween that might help. I never thought pirate memories would help. I can tie a knot like you wouldn't believe and I think I could fire a cannon. I've been building flintlocks in my spare time. Useless skill normally, but here? You never know what we might need."
"What about don't-ask-don't-tell?"
"They won't ask and I won't tell. Eventually that kind of thing has to change," Larry said. "Especially with such a small population like ours."
"Maybe the mayor could do something about that?"
"So, Allan, how did the meeting go?" Richard Wilkins was back behind his desk, cleaning his hands.
"It didn't. They weren't looking for trade, they were looking for a holy war," Finch said. "The head knight was a follower of Tyr. These are the files we could find on the deity. It gives further evidence of connection between here and Earth. On Earth, Tyr was the Norse god of valor and law. Legend has it, he kept his hand in Fenris' mouth as a sign of good faith. When the other Norse gods broke their promise, the wolf god bit off Tyr's hand. He was used when invoking oaths. We don't know the exact correlation here, but he seems to have a similar presence. He is reported to be part of something called the Triad, three gods who keep similar beliefs. They directly oppose the Dead Three, another three deities of bones, death and undeath."
"So you didn't even placate him?" The mayor looked concerned.
"Sir, I'm not here to placate people on a witch hunt," Finch replied honestly. "He was clearly not interested in trade. He was demanding, he was rude and he called me a lackey."
"Hurt your pride did he?"
"Yes, he did."
"Well, gosh darn it, I can't have that happen," The mayor said with a brilliant smile. "I guess I'll have to talk to them."
"I really think they didn't understand that I am the next in line," admitted Finch. "I'm not your son, so they assumed I was a vassal of some kind."
"We'll have to correct that assumption," said the grinning politician. "Where are they now?"
"I had the guards take them back to the mansion," Finch said. "They have been causing problems with the other ambassadors. The ambassadors from both Zhentil Keep and Citadel Adbar are complaining about harassment from the Cormyr contingent."
"Gee wiz! Now we can't have that! We're getting important metals and food from them," he said, frowning slightly. "I'm headed to the Mansion, why don't you go see what Walsh has for me. She keeps talking to me about some guy named Mears. Tell me what you find out."
"I'll do that, sir," Finch said. He hesitated a moment before continuing. "But sir, how are you planning on dealing with the Cormyr ambassador?"
"I'll just have to be stern with him and inform him that kind of behavior is not acceptable," Wilkins said, putting his overcoat back on. "We'll meet up at three to talk things over. We still need to deal with the Housecraft situation."
"I have some ideas about that," Finch replied. Richard Wilkins III nodded in agreement.
"At three then."
Finch walked rather than drove or road over to the University. From what Walsh's reports said, this kid was an engineering genius. His friends had some talent for magic as well. Warren was supposed to be combining magic and technology in ways most other people didn't think of. He called it magitech or something stupid like that. Basically, they used little magics to create an effect that mimicked something of technology or improved technology by using magic. He had already developed a constantly renewing battery by creating a magical electric pulse around a battery shaped piece of metal. The charge was strong enough to run radios or something similar, but weren't powerful enough to charge something like an Initiative Blaster. That would take more power than a magical battery could create, but that didn't mean they were giving up. Especially if the Blaster worked.
Finch arrived at the engineering building (a converted warehouse that was a street over from the campus proper) just as a gout of flame flew out the windows. People in white lab coats ran around with pails of water and fire extinguishers. A team of four people (who all looked like teenagers) came running out of the building holding a strange contraption.
"Damnit Jonathan! How'd you screw up again?" a taller dark haired teen yelled at a shorter boy.
"Hey! This isn't my fault, Warren! It was fine with the magical designs I already put in place. Who was it who said we needed a bigger crystal? Hmmm…?" the shorter on, Jonathan said, pointing his finger right in the taller man's face. "Oh yeah, that was Andrew!" Three heads turned towards the medium blond kid.
"Tucker! Help me! Don't let them blame me for this! Gygax warns that-"
"Oh, god Andrew," the other three moaned.
"No more about the Holy Gygax thing. It's just a goddamn game," Warren said. "If you're just going to mess around, get out of the way. This is the third time you've caused a fire in the lab."
"HEY! You would have never figured out how to summon and control that fire demon for the laser if it hadn't been for me," Andrew said. "We wouldn't be half as far if I hadn't had him on retainer!"
"You? Hell, Tucker could have done that in half the time it took you, right Tucker?"
"I'm staying out of this and going back to my job. At least there all I need to deal with there is Cordelia," said the second blond man who started running off. "Oh, hi Mr. Finch."
Finch still wasn't sure how to deal with everyone in town knowing him by face. He waved to the young man and turned back to the Trio. "So you are Warren, Jonathan and Andrew, nice to meet you." He shook their hands one by one. "Is Dr. Walsh around? She wanted to have someone look over what you have accomplished."
"She's on the other side working on combining my android tech with something called a Moloch," Warren said. "We'll give you a quick tour."
They started walking through the corrugated metal building. Right off he could see what looked like a hole melted through several metal walls. "What did that?"
"Oh, that was our latest attempt at building laser weapons that someone had to screw up again," as Jonathan finished the sentence he turned to glare at Andrew, who refused to acknowledge him. "Someone changed the focusing crystal so we couldn't adjust the blade length."
"You're building laser weapons? Is this some kind of joke?" Finch was starting to think someone was just messing with him.
"Yeah," Warren affirmed. "The reason we didn't have them on earth was an issue of energy usage and cost. Using the Initiative tazer/blaster thingies, I had a starting point. After that it's just a matter of finding a power source reasonable for our current technology. I couldn't find one, so I tried making one with magic."
"You tried? How about I came up with the idea, you stole it and then had me make it?" Jonathan said indignantly. Having to deal with his friends on a professional level had forced the kid to grow a spine. That and years of playing fighters in D&D.
"Oh, shut up about that Jono," Warren said, rolling his eyes.
"So it worked, you made a laser?" Finch asked, perhaps a little too eagerly. He might be a Deputy Mayor now, but he was a sci-fi fan growing up. The Trio shared some squeamish looks between each other.
"…Not really…"
"They made an uncontrolled stream of concentrated energy that should act like a laser, but extra emphasis on the uncontrolled part," Dr. Walsh said, shaking the dust and ash off her lab coat from the recent explosion…er…test. "You three go back to cleaning up and then rebuild what you destroyed. Hello, Mr. Finch."
"Hello, Dr. Walsh," he said, extending his hand. "What was it you wanted to show me?"
"As I said in my report, we have had some success with a couple of our new designs," she pulled off her white gloves as they walked and tossed them in a bin of dirty cloths. "You heard of our efforts in building an air pressure engine, we seem to have succeeded in creating one that works in all our present trials."
"Oh, so you could start converting cars to the new system?"
"That would be an impractical and useless endeavor," she replied sternly. "We could use some of the metal, but today's cars have far too much mass to utilize our new technology properly. What we need is Aluminum and in great quantities if we want to make this conversion. It will be much easier to smelt down the older vehicles and replace them with the new cars. This requires manufacturing, which we don't have, even considering the strides we have made so far."
"What about military vehicles? Don't they have to be heavy?" Finch asked, jotting down notes as he walked.
"We might have a solution to that in a while," Walsh said. Finch could tell she was still displeased with being forced to report to someone higher. It was different before. If your superiors were on the other side of the continent, you did not need to worry about their constant approval. Things were different here. Finch forced himself to listen to her suggestions. "Aluminum is stronger per pound than steel; this is of course because of its lower density. The locals seem to refer to it as 'mithril' like the fictional metal in the Tolkien mythos. Unlike earth, however, it seems to occur naturally in veins like silver and gold. Citadel Adbar has a whole industry dedicated towards mining it. If we trade some of our metallurgy techniques with them, we might be able to get them to manufacture more."
"I don't understand? They are already better miners than we are, with the added benefit of the train they have doubled production already," Finch said curious.
"On earth, Aluminum occurs almost exclusively in molecules with other elements; it stands to reason that similar instances could have occurred here. Here they mine it and might well be missing the greater amount of ore due to a simply lack of chemical understanding. Their refuse piles could have a wealth of minerals they have simply not been looking for," Walsh said like explained everything.
"I could certainly bring it up at the town meeting this weekend," Finch said. People were displeased with the current situation with the mayor and near fascist society. The bi-weekly Town Meeting was developed to assuage some of that displeasure.
"That could work," Walsh said. "I have also heard rumors of some advanced chemistry in certain subsections of the locals' society. If we could discover this we might be able to find similar sources for what we are looking for. They might well use the same chemicals we need, but simply refer to them with a different name."
"I'll ask the ambassadors about it," he said, jotting down a note to remind himself. "Is there anything else?"
"Just the specs on the new car," Walsh said. "We have some other substances we will need soon. Rubber is one of them, and we need it sooner rather than later. We can use old tires from the junk yards for a while, but eventually we will need a new source."
"What about house plants?"
"Ah, yes, Ficus elastica," she said. "We simply won't have enough mature trees in a greenhouse complex by the time we need it. It comes down to the fact that we will not be able to produce enough on our own for what we will need. There is also the added problem of importation because we are so far inland. We have the river, but there are too many places where locks would be needed to get it moved up. Until SunnyRail is finished connecting the North we won't have access to what we need."
"What about outsourcing?"
"What do you mean?"
"We don't produce the rubber ourselves, we give the plants to other countries nearby to grow it," Finch suggested.
"Would not work. Ficus elastica is a tropical plant naturally," Walsh said, shaking her head, "and requires the fig wasp to spread naturally. We can't risk sending plants out to people who don't know how to grow from cuttings."
"What about other plants that produce rubber?"
"There are a few that live in this climate. Dandelions and lettuce both have latex, but that would be in competition of our food supply," Walsh said.
"You can eat dandelions?"
"Never mind. The fact remains that we can't continue living with the same lifestyles now," Walsh said. "We use rubber in everything we do from children's spoons to surgical equipment to clothing to tires. Eventually we will need more unless we drastically change our lifestyles."
"People are not going to be pleased with fewer options or more changes," Finch said, flinching at the memories of the last time he had to tell people they ran out of something.
"We have to change or we will die," Walsh said. "All creatures adapt to survive. Those that do not adapt enough go extinct."
"I don't like that option," Finch said firmly.
"Nor do I," Walsh said, "which is why I am making a team to go investigate local plant life to find substitutions for our needs. If we can find replacements in nature, we could selectively breed them for our needs."
"Have someone send over the reports to City Hall, we'll send out a team as their protection," Finch said. "Exploration is just as important as everything else."
They talked for a while more about the logistics of their needs before shaking hands again and going on their separate ways. Finch looked at his schedule again and sighed. Borrowing one of the communal bicycles from a rack, he started off towards the Base.
"Mr. Finch, a pleasure," General Hennessey said, reaching out with his huge hand.
"Likewise General," Finch replied, suppressing the wince from the man's strength. "Shall we be off?"
"Yes, and I hope this works well," Hennessey said. At the council meetings with the mayor, the general had voiced his criticisms of this choice, but it had gotten to the point where this was the only choice anyone moral would entertain. "The orcs have been restless lately."
"From what the anthropologists tell me, this is from some imbalance in their society due to the male/female ratio," Finch said. "They are used to having more females than males, but not this severely. There is a clear division of labor between the two groups, with the males going out to raid and hunt for food and supplies with the females gathering foods, while guarding and controlling the local populace at home. Only a few of them have been allowed into the settlement so we don't have a real ethnography about it."
"What about Mr. Harris' involvement?"
"You are referring to the copy that came out this summer?"
"Yes, he's been splitting his time between the two orc groups with the village and the island prison doing 'humanitarian aid'," the general explained.
"He might actually help what we are trying to do," Finch said. "We need food. They need food. The best solution is to get them to raise it for us."
"Turning warriors into farmers has never been very successful in the past," the general cautioned. "This group is very disorganized. They don't even have the tactics for 'stand in a line and shoot' yet. They really are like cavemen. If they didn't steal their weapons they would be using flint."
"I don't intend to turn warriors into farmers, I intend to turn them into warrior-farmers," Finch said. "We could use the additional manpower in guarding the perimeter as well."
"Don't I know it. We just had a group of giants show up to the perimeter and we never knew about it until they walked directly to a team," Hennessey said, clearly displeased by the news. "We should get going."
The entourage was made up of five humvees that rumbled down the gravel road they had built that summer leading to the orc settlement. Truth be told, it was barely a settlement. There were no permanent structures; the forest was blown down so there was no natural protection from the elements; and there was a distinct lack of game in the area. The orcs were subsisting on what Sunnydale was feeding them. If the psych profile was correct, the remainder would be more likely to attack and take rather than grow their own simply because of their culture. He had to convince them that it was in their best interest to cooperate with the city.
As they arrived at the village, the local leader, a shaman of their god Ilneval of strategies, was standing on the outskirts to greet them. He was an old warrior with a hunched back and countless scars, but not nearly as many as followers of Grumsh or Bahgtru. He had become the default negotiator between the two peoples. He was known to be cunning and dangerous, especially because of his age. With all other male leaders captured or dead he was the one the orcs turned to for better or worse.
"Have you brought food?" the shaman asked, as he usually did. "It had better not contain the white poison."
It was discovered early on that orcs are very, very allergic to lactose. Subsequent aid packages were carefully checked to make sure there weren't any milk products in the food.
"No white poison," assured Finch.
"Your people are terrifying indeed to consume that," the shaman said, sitting down at the table set up for discussions.
"We drink it for breakfast," Finch said with a toothless grin. Bare teeth were seen as a challenge in orcish society. Anthropologists suggested it was a trait similar to chimp interaction. However, bragging about drinking poison and living was seen as a show of strength, something well respected in the tribe.
"We have a deal we would like to make," Allan Finch said after they had eaten. "We want to join our strength together."
"Why would we do this? We are the children of Grumsh! We are strong!" this he said in a roar that was echoed by the crowd that grew behind him. Showing your backing was also and important show of strength. Your crowd represented your strength because only those with strength deserved to be followed. Finch just had ten soldiers and General Hennessey behind him with a Lt. Both were in dress blues showing their medals.
In their early interactions, the orcs had wondered about the gems place on soldier's chests. When explained they represented conquests, honors and battles the orcs began dressing up in their equivalent of Sunday best: fancy hides, wearing golden torcs, stolen jewels and the like. The final effect was like going to a Mr. T look-alike contest.
"Together we can be stronger than we are apart," Finch said. He saw the glimmer of intelligence behind the orc's eyes. Half of his actions were posturing to keep the support of the tribe; the other half was cold calculation. Unlike many of the younger orcs, this orc knew he was at a disadvantage
"We have seen the strength of your women," by this he meant Buffy. Though they wouldn't admit it, the orc tribe was terrified by her. One girl, a good foot and a half shorter than the average orc, had killed fifty of them by herself. "But we have yet to see the strength of your men."
"You have seen our strength," Finch said. "You see it every day as we build, as we work. Our strength together could be so much more."
"What would you have us do? Would we become slaves? NO!" There was a great roar at this. Orcs stamped their feet and chanted Grumsh's name.
"I would have us be strong together! Together we could be more than we are apart!" Finch said, his voice rising in volume. He was not good at public speaking and he had been forced to do that a lot in his time as Deputy Mayor. He just hoped that the lines he memorized would have the desired effect. "Does a hilt alone smite your enemies? No! Can you kill with just a blade? Yes, but you cut yourself just as much. You must have hilt and blade to make a sword. Apart they are useless; together they are strength!"
"You would have us become the Foe Smiter itself?" the shaman asked in a loud tone. There was something like a suggestion in that statement. It implied he should agree. God, he wished he knew more about their culture. For all he knew "foe smiter" could be a religious anathema.
"Yes, with the hilt we as the hilt and you as the blade, together we can become the Foe Smiter," Finch said through gritted teeth. The orc shaman looked at him for a long silent moment. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and turned to face the tribe.
"How say you? Will we stay here? Or shall we bind our blade to their hilt? Shall we become the Foe Smiter?" The tribe was quiet at first, but a low chant sprang up and started spreading through the collected orcs. Soon, Finch could make out the word: Ilneval, the shaman's patron god. Finch had won.
The Deputy Mayor turned to look at General Hennessey. "They're all yours James."