The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(66)

Florence looked back to the window, to the endless sprawl of mines. She tried to imagine what the land might have looked like before the Harvesters carved into it. “Can it run out?”

“Some mines have already been abandoned as barren.”

“Then what?”

“Then we blast and dig until we find a new place to blast and dig farther.”

“So the problem is solved.”

Powell chuckled. “What happens when there are no more places to blast and dig?”

“There will always be…”

“This world is finite, Florence.” He motioned to the records and tables. “What you see before you is all we have. The Dragons saved us from ourselves. Magic vastly reduced the consumption of resources. The Ravens now make trains that run purely on it.”

“Magic travel, magic moving anything, still requires gold,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but the steel only needs to be tempered into gold once. Then it can be used for an eternity,” he countered. “The Dragons’ existence helped, but the King’s oversight of our resources was what pushed the Harvesters’ Guild to not just take from the world, but truly try to understand it. We began to pay attention to mines drying up. How fast we’d run out of this or that and how much deeper or farther we’d have to dig to find more. How these scars we’ve made upon our earth will never heal.”

“The Dragon King made new scars.” Florence scowled.

“You’re bitter about the tests.”

“Are you sure you’re not a Master?” She checked his cheek for a circle. His mannerisms reminded her far too much of a certain Rivet Master she knew.

“Not yet. My name sits with the Vicar Harvester right now on recommendation, however. It’s why I returned to the guild from Ter.4.5.”

“Oh…” Florence was immediately humbled. That was one thing the Dragon King had not changed. Mastership could not be tested; it was earned in the eyes of peers. Only a Master could award another Master’s circle, and the approval to do so came directly from the Vicar.

“In any event,” he said, “when the Dragons introduced the idea of families...” The concept made Powell as uncomfortable as every other Fenthri she’d ever met. “Which, I grant you, is an odd one. Free and unlimited access to reproduction and fertility chemicals widened our talent pools. But we could not sustain that demand on our resources.”

“So the pools needed to be culled.” She was one such person who was not talented enough to earn her life.

“They do.” There was an appropriately sympathetic note to his tone. “The first culling happens before the children grow enough to be any real drain. The second ensures a known population. We know exactly how many people we need to supply at all the guilds. Exactly how much food to produce, how many resources to dig up.”

Florence was silent. She was trying to see if she could reconcile herself to a system that would have her killed for not being a good enough Raven—despite being a damn good Revolver. But under the same logic, the Revolvers had their own quota. She didn’t have a place there either.

It made her want to scream.

She settled on a scowl instead.

“I understand, I believe, your turmoil on the matter.” Powell motioned to the windows and room. “But I want you to comprehend the logic woven behind the madness.”

“People should still be able to choose their guild. A finite pool, perhaps, but… The Ter.0 system of learning was better. Divide the finite pools from there. Let all test for all and then separate. It should—”

He rested his palm on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I don’t disagree with you.” The words were a balm to the fervor that had been brewing in her gut. “There are better ways to execute this system. There are alternatives that would have been more in line with our culture, our way of life. Something the Dragons have yet to fully understand.”

At least he admitted that much.

“But we were a runaway train, headed for a half-finished bridge. In such a situation, you do not worry foremost about what wrong turn you took to get there. You reach for the brake and pull with all your might. Then you find the right way. But if we didn’t reach for that brake, Florence, and make the sacrifices we made, we would have run ourselves off that proverbial ledge and into extinction.”

She wanted to point out that she didn’t appreciate a very Raven analogy, because he was no doubt assuming it would resonate with her for the mark on her cheek. But Florence held her tongue. She felt bitter and suddenly very, deeply tired.

“This is a lot,” she confessed with a mumble.

“We may talk on it more, if you’re interested in learning.”

Florence considered it for a long moment. She’d learned from the Ravens, the Revolvers, and a Rivet. She’d always been so focused on completely transforming herself from one thing into another, it wasn’t until the endwig attack and the weeks that followed on the train that she’d discovered the true strength of combining all parts. Why not see what a Harvester could teach her? Who knew when it would come in handy?

“I am.”

“Very well.” Powell motioned for the stairs where they’d entered. “Let me show you to a guest room, for now. I am tired from the train and ready to wash and rest.”