Eye of the Storm

by John Ringo

  She stopped struggling, then struck the armored suit one more time in frustration. Her right arm was either broken or badly bruised and now her left hand felt the same.

  "Streunten take your souls!"

  "Shelly, you making anything of this gabble?" Mike asked. The prisoners were now examining them sullenly but they had been speaking. Mike wasn't sure how good AIDs were at translating alien languages. It had never come up. There were the Galactics and there were Posleen. Humans or pseudo-humans speaking alien babel had never come up.

  "Yes," the AID replied.

  "Can you translate it?" Mike asked.

  "Yes."

  When AIDs got monosyllabic it was bad. Mike was well aware that AIDs had lots of secrets they wouldn't or couldn't share with humans. When they got monosyllabic you were getting close to one of them.

  He'd have to think on that. But given that there were humans on a planet a long way away from Earth, one of them looked like a Darhel but wasn't, the local Darhel had gone into lintatai and his AID was getting less helpful . . . Things were starting to add up in an "oh, shit" way.

  Mike was not stupid. There was more than one reason he'd stayed as far away from central command as he could possibly arrange. Once upon a time he'd had a very good friend and commander named Taylor. General Taylor had been commander of all U.S. defenses on Earth. One day he turned up dead after asking too many questions about an incident where the AID net had been, apparently, hacked. Shortly after that a bunch of Darhel had either gone into lintatai or ended up quite spectacularly dead. And a previous special operations unit, the Cyberpunks, had gone rogue.

  Mike had heard the rumors, including some that he put more credence on than others. The Darhel weren't entirely friendly to humans. They had, quite clearly, hamstrung human operations during the war. And they continued to manipulate governments and the military. Push too hard at Darhel secrets and you didn't last long.

  Unfortunately, it looked as if Mike had ended up square in the middle of one or his middle name wasn't Leonidas.

  "Well, Shelly, why don't you go ahead and translate for me."

  "Cometh all friends," the smallest of the suits said. It had a monstrous form painted on its suit, a creature out of nightmare. All the other suits were bare of all but the most minor symbols. Urnhat wasn't sure if that meant a more senior one or not. The voice seemed male, though, and speaking in an archaic dialect that was hard to understand.

  "Then let us go so we can tend to our leader," Whiet replied.

  "Very well," the suit boomed. Almost instantly all three of the hunters were released.

  Urnhat ran to Swodrath and knelt by his side, feeling at his chest for the beat of a heart. It was strong, thank Skelight.

  "He is fine," the suit said. "I pulled my punch."

  "Pulled it?" Urnhat said, standing up and rounding on the being. "He was thrown a yur!"

  The suit, which had no visor and no way for her to see its eyes, appeared nonetheless to contemplate her for a moment, then turned. One fist flashed out and all the way through the young bole of a tonser tree. The being then ripped the tree from its rather deep roots and tossed it down the slope.

  "Pulled it," the being said, reaching up and lifting off the helmet.

  Urnhat gasped in surprise as a human head was revealed, its scalp covered in a strange ripple of silver.

  "Lieutenant General Michael O'Neal name is. Truth. We come in peace."

  "This is impossible," Admiral Suntoro said. "There cannot be humans on this planet. You are mistaken."

  "Well, Admiral, I might be," Mike said. From the admiral's image he was about to have a stroke. "But science don't lie. These are humans down to the ninety-ninth decimal. DNA matches up exactly. The local tribe is called the Nor. They control the upper third or so of this valley. There's one farther down south that's called the Charan. Apparently the Posleen arrived within the memory of some of their middle-aged types and started their usual slaughter. But the humans managed to hold them from taking all this range. Some of them held part of the valley for a while but they managed to kill them off. Since then the mountain tribes send fighters down to the lower reaches and to this valley and the Posleen send some of their fighters up and it got to be almost stylized from the sound of it. Probably the reason this planet never entered orna'adar. The Posleen had somewhere to bleed off the excess that couldn't be sent to space."

  "So what are they doing here?" Suntoro asked. "How did they get here? They couldn't have walked."

  "Yeah, that's the rub," Mike said, rubbing his head as if in response. He pulled out a pinch of dip and stuck it between his cheek and gum, contemplating the Skoal can balefully. "Admiral, figure it's time to say some of this in front of an AID. You're not stupid. We both know the Darhel ain't what I'd call fully open and honest."

  "The Darhel are our supporters," the admiral said stoutly. "They saved us from the Posleen through their aid and support."

  "Yeah, except for, you know, most of the world," Mike said. "And they've managed to keep us pretty much under the yoke since. And we both know that there are things they don't want us to know about that."

  "I will hear no disrespect spoken of the Darhel," the admiral snapped. "That is treason."

  "Nah, just honesty," Mike said, sighing again. He suspected that under Galactic law it just might be treason. "Problem is, this is one of those things I'm wondering if they ever wanted anyone to find out. And trust me, I wouldn't have poked if I knew about it. But here we are. The term 'fucked' comes to mind."

  "What are we going to do?" the admiral asked, rubbing his hands nervously. "Perhaps we should meet. In person."

  "Too late for that," Mike pointed out. "The AID network knows about it. Not much we can cover up at this point. And no Darhel to bring it to and try to discuss it logically. I think that you can give up blaming me for his lintatai, by the way. If we could look at his secret communciations, I suspect we'd find out he had some orders he couldn't carry out. Like 'don't let the humans go to R-1496 Delta, whatever you do.' Information lag. Nobody knew we were headed this way until the reports got back to the core worlds. And now we're here."

  "What are you going to do?" the admiral asked.

  "I'm trying to arrange a meet with their leaders. For the time being I'm going to stay on mission. Set up a rest and refit base down here. I figure we're going to be getting orders pretty soon to come back to Earth. At that point, we'll need to figure something out."

  "What do you mean?" the admiral said.

  "Well, what do you think the likelihood of us getting back is?"

  "Here they come," Colonel Ashland said.

  Bobby Ashland was tall and slim, making an interesting contrast with his commander. The Corps G-2 also had a lightning quick mind. Mike hadn't discussed their current predicament with him but he had to be thinking the same thoughts. He had spent too much time deep in Fleet Strike intel not to have some inkling of how ruthless the Darhel could be when they felt the need.

  "Any idea from where?" Mike asked as the party hove into view. The Nor used a leather cloak covered in strips of cloth in much the way that recon specialists used a ghillie suit. It had the added benefit of being, perhaps from some sort of treatment, pretty much immune to infrared radiation. Thus the lack of thermal signature.

  They weren't hiding this time, though. They were just walking up the hill in the open.

  "Recon pod has them exiting a tunnel about a klick west," Ashland replied. "This area is high in limestone. No telling how far back the tunnel stretches."

  "Greetings, Swodrath," Mike said, bowing his head to the Huntmaster. "How's the jaw?"

  "A Gamra recovers swiftly," the Nor said. "The Mistress has agreed to meet you. Only you."

  "Very well," Mike said, donning his helmet. "Lead on."

  "Sir . . ." Colonel Ashland said.

  "Just deal, Colonel," Mike replied. "I'll be fine. And if I'm not, tell Brigadier General Corval he's got a whole corps available to come find me. Lead on, Swo
drath."

  The initial entrance was a cleverly concealed cave opening. A slide in the cave had been cleared at some point, not recently from the looks of it, opening into a deeper area.

  The course, lit by smoky but long-lasting torches, was complex. On the other hand, the inertial tracker in the suit was getting feedback from external sub-space location sensors. Mike could follow the trace more or less as if he was on the surface.

  The route they took was about two klicks in straight distance and about six following the twists of the caves. In places sections had been mined out, opening up sections of the cave that hadn't previously been connected. The marks of chisels were clear and most of those portions were particularly low.

  Finally, though, they entered an area that was more interesting. The limestone in the area overlay granite and when they reached that portion they entered what was clearly a mine. However, the cuttings were anything but primitive. The walls had the flat, glassy look of Indowy or Posleen borers. Curiouser and curiouser.

  The mine tunnels debouched into a pretty fair-sized canyon. The vast room was home to at least three hundred people by the looks of the tents that occupied the floor. Where they got their food was what interested Mike.

  Most of the inhabitants were either hiding or out somewhere. But a few of the elderly were huddling around fires, someone brought in firewood, and children were playing in the area. The children were clearly curious but they stayed back from the party instead of tagging along as most kids on Earth would.

  They crossed to the east side of the cavern and entered a smaller tunnel, which debouched into a room about fifty feet on a side. Arrayed by the entrance were guards, more of the "Gamra" by the looks of them. There were also some male and female humans in the room, gathered around as if at an audience. But what caught Mike's eye was the female on the fur-covered chair that was clearly a throne.

  Tall was his first impression. At least six foot four at a guess since she was sitting down. Pretty was the second impression. Make that beautiful. But her looks were thrown off by her long silver hair, true silver not the "silver" of age, and when he approached he could see she had cat-pupilled eyes that were pure purple. Not just the iris, all purple.

  Her face was also strange. Pretty but alien, she looked more like a Darhel than even the Gamra did. Her face was long and elegant but he couldn't get the impression of a fox out of his head. Or, maybe, an elf.

  "Duendtor Lerskel," Swodrath said, bowing. "The leader of the visitors, Lieutenant General Michael O'Neal."

  Mike took off his helmet and nodded at the woman.

  "Greetings, Lord O'Neal," the Duendtor said. Her voice was high and sibilant with an undertone that made Mike shiver. It was a very primitive reaction. His immediate desire was to worship her. He managed to suppress it, though. The Darhel had the same sort of voices and he'd gotten over any desire to "worship" them fast. "My lieges tell me that it is through your efforts that the scourge of the Pokree has been suppressed."

  "Well, me and about twenty thousand shooters," Mike said, looking up into those purple eyes. "And a bunch of kinetic energy strikes. But, yeah. You're welcome."

  "You are a sky traveler, I presume," Lerskel said.

  "Glad you're taking this so well," Mike replied. "Yes, we're from the sky."

  "We must speak," Lerskel said, raising a hand. "Privately."

  If there were any protests at the audience being broken up so quickly they weren't vocalized. The crowd just filed out as a seat was brought over for O'Neal.

  He looked at the spindly stool and shrugged.

  "I think I'd better stand," he said. "No offense intended. But I'd break that."

  "Stand or sit as you wish," Lerskel said, waving off the stool. "Many of the niceties have had to be foregone since the coming of the Pokree."

  "Were you around for that?" Mike asked curiously.

  "I was," Lerskel said. "Their sky fire could be seen from afar. I was the governor of this province of Hodoro. When first the Pokree landed we feared they were the Dareel. But it quickly became evident that they were not. Instead they were much worse. From where do you hail?"

  "A planet called Earth," Mike said.

  "I suspect this is Are," Lerskel said. "The cold planet, the planet of ice. Home."

  "Probably not," Mike said. "I mean, we've got polar ice caps but it's not exactly Hoth."

  "Our people left Are long ago," Lerskel said. "What do you know of the history of your planet?"

  "Uh . . ." Mike said, then paused. "Wait. How long ago?"

  "The exact duration has been lost," Lerskel said, pulling out a massive tome. "This, however, is the Book of Becoming. In its secret chapters are estimates by scholars. We came to this planet at least twenty thousand of our years ago."

  "Shelly?" Mike asked.

  "Thirty thousand years," the AID replied. "The Earth was in an ice age at that time. The Wurm Glaciation."

  "I said that you should sit," the woman said, laughing sibilantly.

  "The Dareel," Mike said, looking at the picture in the book. Given a bit of hyperbole it looked like the Darhel. Sort of an evil Darhel on steroids but . . . Okay, it looked more like a Darhel than Darhel looked like Darhel. The inner truth, if you will.

  "And the Innow," Lerskel said, turning to another page. "The makers and builders."

  "Indowy," Mike said, nodding. The page wasn't in color but, again, with a bit of squinting it was pretty clear that the scary figures on the paper were Indowy. "I'm amazed you managed to keep this information for so long. So what happened to the Darhel and the rest?"

  "Our people were all once as you and the commons," Lerskel said. "The first coming of the Dareel to our people is not recorded. But from the very first there were those who did not believe they were gods. The first portions of the Book are from tales told of the first coming. Then there are the Records which we have kept as accurately as we can. The Dareel gathered peoples from among the best and trained them. Some were trained in the ways of war, others in controlling the warriors. Those, who became the Duendtor, were the face of the People to the Dareel. The Dareel changed us to make us more palatable to their sight and to better control the Commons. They also created the methods for creating the Gamra.

  "But always the Book of Becoming was kept. There were, among the Innow, those who opposed the Dareel. They found humans who felt the same, even among the Duendtor. But there was little we could do. The warriors, the Gamra especially, were fast in their belief that the Dareel were Gods.

  "Many of the people that the Dareel gathered were brought here, to Ackia, the land of Exile. There was something in the mountains that the Dareel wanted and the animals of this place were very dangerous. They used the People to protect the Innow as they labored.

  "This went on for many years until the Dareel made a mistake. How they managed to break the worship of a Gamra was unclear, but a great rebellion broke out on Are. This was led by not just a Gamra but something greater and more fell. So fell that in time the Dareel fled Are. Word was sent of the rebellion on Are to here and we, in turn, revolted. It was hard to sway the warriors, and especially the Gamra, but enough were brought to the side of the People that we threw off the Dareel.

  "The Dareel went away and left us to this world, our world of exile. We survived. The records of that time showed it was very hard. The magical weapons failed as soon as the Dareel left and we had to learn other ways of survival.

  "There were wars fought between the peoples, assuredly. But we retained the Book against the day that the Dareel might return. We will have no more sky gods."

  "Oh, hell," Mike said, when she was finished. "The Darhel are going to flip their lids when this comes out. People are going to go nuts."

  "There is more," the woman said, flipping through the book. "There were no trainers of fighters among the Dareel. They could not fight."

  "Still the same," Mike said, bitterly. "But damn can they manipulate."

  "And they trained we Duendtor in the same," L
erskel said, turning the book around. "But these were our trainers of fighters. Which was why when the first Pokree came, we greeted them as friends."

  The depiction was better in its way than that of either the Darhel or the Indowy. Clearly in the book a Posleen was training two humans in sword fighting.

  "Oh, bloody hell."

  "Okay, so thirty thousand years ago or so, the Darhel gathered a bunch of cavemen as guards," Mike said, his head in his hands.

  The meeting was decidedly AID free. Like it or not, the boxes were not going to be in on this conference.

  "And they were in contact with the Posleen," General Corval said. The corps chief of staff was medium height and nearly as pumped as his boss. "That's the part that's really got me furious. How much actual warning did they have of the Posleen invasion?"