“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.
Ross 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 sort of treatment, pretty much immune to infra-red 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, Swodrath.”
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-pupiled 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. 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 sybillant 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 traveller, 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.”