Chapter 118: Diogo

"Explain," I demand, for about the fifth time since requesting the historian's presence in my home.
"Diogo," Taran says warningly, turning a sunny smile on the other man. "Christian is trying to help. Let's keep the growling to a minimum or the man will think you aren't appreciative."
I reach out, snagging Taran's wrist as she passes, fussing with her tea set, a gift from Emery. It's chipped, cracked, and well used, but the damn thing means the world to my wife. "Sit," I order. She turns her serene expression down toward me, but I can see the glint of teasing mischief shining through.
She turns and sits on me. I pull her back against my chest and rest a chin on her shoulder, inhaling the mouth-watering scent of her hair. She calms me. I no longer feel the need to rip the historian to pieces and walk away. Most people have learned to check their arrogance around the Warlord. Clearly this man doesn't understand what's best for his health.
He clears his throat and continues to explain, his approach slightly more humble than a few minutes ago when he tried explaining as if I was a particularly dense child. "If we take the power plant completely offline it's more likely to meltdown than if we leave it online and shut the reactor down. That's why I left it online."
"And you didn't think this was something I should know before we went out into the desert?" I point out the error in his thinking.
"I believed my Warlord understood what was needed to shut down a power plant." He speaks in a dull monotone.
I growl in response.
Taran turns to the other man impatiently and cuts right through his crap. "If the Warlord understood the nuances of nuclear energy, he wouldn't be asking you. You are lucky to be summoned to his presence, his way of trying to decide if you're valuable enough to advise him. Keep your ego to yourself and describe in detail what your Commander is asking for."
I don't stop or correct her. There was a time where I would not have allowed a woman to speak for me. But Taran has a way with the citizens of our city. She is both soft and smart, able to use the sharp edge of her tongue and then sooth the ruffled feathers when she's finished. She's made my job easier by recognizing talent and pursuing opportunities that will help our city with sustainability.
Christian nods and drops his gaze, a flush staining his cheeks. "My apologies, Commander."
"Tell me what I need to know," I ask again.
He proceeds to give us the rundown on nuclear energy and how he managed to safely shutdown our plant. By the time he's finished explaining I feel more confident that the Primitives won't find a way around his safeguards.
"I'll need you to prepare concise, but detailed instructions on how you shut down that plant. Then we'll call out to the other Sanctuaries with the solution. Hopefully we'll be able to stave off a potential mass slaughter if the Primitives decide to move onto other territory and try their trick with less protected plants."
He nods, paling a little. "Th-that's assuming they've evolved to the point where they're able to reason and plan," he says. "While I do think they exhibit some pack behaviour, I doubt they're capable of that sort of planning."
"You're supposed to be the most intelligent man in this city," I point out. "You tell me, if they aren't capable of this level of planning then why do we have a city full of refugees banging at our gates with hordes of hungry Primitives behind them?"
He looks like he wants to speak but is afraid of his Warlord. Taran shifts on my lap about to speak to him again, most likely on my behalf. Tell the man what a pussy cat I've become. I tighten my arm around her waist and interject before she can. "You may speak without fear. I won't harm a hair on your body." I pause and then add, "Today." There's no point in letting the man think he gets a pass to be rude.
He takes my words at face value and tells me what's on his mind. "Evolution, simple as that." He doesn't explain. Not that he needs to, I understand what he means. He thinks the Primitives have evolved into pack behaviour.
"I don't agree," I say simply.
He gives me a look somewhere between scathing and pity. It makes me want to pull out my knife and show him why I should be respected. I now understand why Taran chose her seat on top of me. She doesn't want blood stains in our brand-new living room.
Before the historian can say anything guaranteed to set my temper off, I ask him, "What evidence do you have that the Primitives have evolved this so-called pack behaviour?"
"Well... well, they have apparently gone from not even being able to turn doorknobs or display any kind of reasoning behaviour to organizing themselves enough to cause nuclear meltdowns across the continent." He scoffs as he speaks, as though the answer should be obvious, and perhaps it is. But it also seems obvious that there is a deeper more complex explanation.
"Don't be stupid, man. Wild animals can't open doors, but they will exhibit pack behaviour. I didn't ask what Primitives can and can't do." I lean forward my chin grazing Taran's shoulder as she leans back to give me room. "I'm telling you, these creatures are capable of higher reasoning than we give them credit for. I don't believe they have evolved this way, not over the course of fifty years. That's not how evolution works."
The man looks offended that I'm suggesting he might not have a proper understanding of evolution. "Well, a different kind of evolving then," he defends. "More rapid, like the spread of the disease they carry."
"No, I think they were always this way. Talk to anyone who's had prolonged combat experience with these creatures. Talk to any of my men, the pack behaviour isn't new. Humans are too blinded by their fear of Primitives, and too many of our good minds have fallen for us to be able to look deeper into their behaviours. Something I'd like to remedy. I'm hoping the more we look at our enemy with an intellectual instead of survival-based thinking, the more likely we are to take the next step toward eradicating them."
He nods slowly. "Not a bad idea."
I grunt my less than polite response. Taran pats my shoulder and turns to the other man, shifting on my lap. "It's all we have," she says softly.
His sharp eyes examine her until I'm ready to tell him to take his fucking gaze off my wife. Doesn't matter that he's older than dirt, his mind should be on nuclear power plants and Primitives, not Taran. Then he says, "Maybe not the only way."
Taran opens her mouth to reply, but I cut her off. "Explain." When he hesitates, my voice drops a few degrees cooler. "Explain now, historian."
He clears his throat again. "I'm only suggesting..." his eyes drift to Taran's neck, covered by a high collar, and I know exactly what he's suggesting. Someone has been loose with their tongue. "... a cure."
Taran doesn't even blink. She smiles benignly. "Well, until a cure presents itself, do you not think that studying the enemy will have some excellent benefits and give us a fighting chance toward understanding what we're up against?"
"Of course, Mrs. Fuentes." Then he seems to realize exactly why he's been summoned into the Warlord's presence. His demeanour changes from relaxed arrogance to fear. "How close would a person have to get to study them?"
Taran barely contains a laugh at his fearful inquiry. "Very close," she says cheerfully. "And we're hoping with your background and expertise you'll be the right person for the job."
"Well, I don't really think..." he protests.
"I'm not asking," I tell him bluntly. "You'll be paired with Bossman, one of my best men, for your protection. You can work out of Doctor Bishop's office since you two will undoubtedly be consulting. You can report to me at military headquarters once a week with your findings."
He tries again to protest his new appointment. "I'm an old man, Commander. Hardly capable of..."
"All those within Sanctuary must contribute, historian. You are no different. You will contribute your knowledge and skill or you will leave."
His mouth hangs open for a moment and then he nods and says, "I understand."
"Dismissed."
He stands stiffly and leaves. Taran attempts to rise, to show him to the door, like a polite hostess. I hang on to her. The old man can find his own way out. She sat on my lap, now she can pay the toll for such a bold action. I slide my arms around her and force her to face me. Her mouth is tight and disapproving but her eyes are sparkling with laughter.
"Do you have to be so short and gruff to all the people around you?" she scolds. "He might be arrogant, but I think he genuinely wants to help. You could try being a little more understanding. Ask instead of demand. You know, honey attracts more flies than vinegar."
"What you fail to understand, my sweet, is that the only creatures on this planet I care about are you and the baby. Nothing else matters. I will sacrifice the historian and anyone else that gets in my way if it means protecting you."
She smiles wanly and curves an arm around my shoulder. "I know how you think. You think you have to protect me and the baby. Well, I know what I think. And it's that I can use the Warlord's preoccupation to my advantage."
I squeeze her tight to my chest, careful not to put pressure on her midsection. "You think so?" I say, a dark edge to my voice. "That sounds very close to manipulation, my love."
"Exactly," she laughs. "Is it working?"
"Depends on what you're looking for."
She raises an eyebrow. "How about a kiss?"
"Done."
I tip her back in my arms, revelling in the way she moves with me, trusting me to hold her up and catch her if she falls. I touch my lips to hers, soft at first, exploring. Just savouring and breathing her in. She moans and tightens her arms around my neck, breaking through the dam of my patience. I devour her mouth, sweeping my tongue against and past hers, touching every part of her and lighting us both up with need.
I pull back just enough to say, "You can manipulate me any time you want, baby." Then I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom where I roll her underneath me and set to work making her body sing.