Eye of the Storm

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“You know, I’m gonna have to nail you feet to de floor,” Mike said as Michelle apparated in his office. “Where’ve you been all week? Recovering still?”

Michelle gave a rare giggle before answering. It had been a long time, but she still remembered, watching The Little Mermaid on her daddy’s lap.

“I have been attempting to convince a very hide-bound group of Indowy that if they didn’t fight for their beliefs they were going to end up learning to act like the Hedren,” Michelle said, rubbing her temples. “It was not easy.”

“And did they eventually agree?” Mike asked.

“Some did, some didn’t,” Michelle admitted. “The consensus was to let those who wished to help do so. It looks as if we’re getting about three hundred Masters and an unknown number of students. The Masters and their senior students will be arriving over the course of the next couple of weeks. The others are going to have to take ships. We’re going to have to find somewhere to house them.”

“AID, find a nice resort in the middle of no-where and tell them they’ve been commandeered,” Mike said. “Open up a budget item for sohon Master support. Masters get assimilated grade starting at O-7 and ranging up, pay to same spec. Apprentices range down. Michelle, you’re going to have to set up the command structure for them and figure out their assimilated grades.”

“Even with the pay, they’re not going to be able to keep up their debt payments,” Michelle noted. “I’m about to go into default myself.”

“AID, send a message to the Tir telling him to arrange debt suspension for all the mentats that are coming in to help, and their students, even if still in transit. Michelle, we’re going to need a list. And, AID, start paying them as of when you get it.”

“Done,” Michelle said. “Your AID already has it.”

“AID, ensure that the resort maintains support. Get a unit over there to provide security and start integrating with the mentats. Try to find someone with background with mentats.”

“You look like the lead singer of a Goth band.”

Mosovich lifted his combat goggles up and shook his head. The goggles, which looked like a pair of welding goggles, were the best thing the new War Board had been able to produce in quantity to overcome the Hedren cloaking system. Since the forces below were all using the new cloaking uniforms, he had to wear them to see his own troops.

“With your name I’d be careful who you go around joking about,” he replied, looking over at Twiddlebright.

The combat exercise was over the former members of DAG, now the core of the Strategic Reconnaissance Section, gathering up to get debriefed and tell war stories.

Greenville had been their training base before DAG went rogue and the survivors were back again, using the demolished buildings of the city as a gigantic live-fire exercise zone. The individual team members, via the support of the Bane Sidhe and their base in the wilderness of Venezuela, had maintained most of their skills. What they were working on, now, was team integration and notional methods of fighting the Hedren. Everyone knew, though, that when they met the foe things were going to crop up that hadn’t been anticipated. Every enemy was different. But they’d adjust.

“You know the good news and bad news routine?” Twiddlebright asked.

“The good news is the mission is scrubbed,” Mosovich replied. “There is no bad news.”

“The good news is the mission is changed,” the colonel said. “And you’re going to be spending some time in a five star resort.”

“The bad news must really suck, then,” Mueller muttered.

“It’s pretty bad,” the colonel admitted. “You’re going to be pulling security for some super secret group. You are also to learn to ‘integrate’ said group. Since I don’t even know what group we’re talking about, you’re going to have to run this pretty much on your own.”

“All of us are going?” Mosovich asked.

“Yep,” Twiddlebright replied. “SRS is now in the baby-sitting business.”

“We’ve been commandeered for the war effort,” Rudolf Van Dorn said, looking at the email.

“What? Again?”

Greenbriar Resort in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia had been one of the pre-eminent resorts for the high and mighty since the Revolutionary War days. Located conveniently close to Washington, DC, it had been a ‘congressional retreat’ in the Cold War.

However, the resort had an even longer history with the US government. During WWII it had been used as a rest and refit post for servicemen, primarily escaped POWs. It had also been used by the OSS as a training facility. During the Cold War, bunkers were installed underneath to take in members of Congress in the event of a nuclear war. During the Posleen War it had been a high-level ‘rest and refit’ hospital for colonels and above who had just seen too much.

The resort had been refurbished after the Posleen War, raising it back to its preeminent position. It had enjoyed fifty years of plying its trade in relative peace. Now it looked as if that was going to change. Again.

“The first arrivals will be a special operations group that is going to maintain security,” Rudolf continued, smoothing the lapel of his dark gray suit. The manager of Greenbriar was a rotund man with a slight, and entirely fake, German accent. He had been born with the name Rudi Cherry. He’d worked as a bellman and just about every other position possible in one hotel chain or another. Managing Greenbriar was the apex of his career. And now he was going to be hosting soldiers. It could make you cry. The only good news was that soldiers tended to be pretty.

“Get with their designated liaison to figure out how they’re to be roomed. I think that the military calls it ‘quartering.’ The rest are supposed to turn up over the course of the next week. We’ll have to send out cancellation notices to our incoming guests. Usual apologies. Due to an emergency we have to undergo renovations. Apology, apology, abject, groveling, ‘mea culpa’… ”

“I can handle it,” Rolando Prevatt said, smiling slightly. Rolando was at least fifty years Van Dorn’s elder. Being in the hotel business was his third major career since getting out of the Marines although he tried to keep the fact that he was a juv quiet. He respected Van Dorn for his knowledge and experience in the inn business but always found the fussy little manager just too much of a good thing. He’d caught him once, pretty drunk, talking in a thick New Yorker accent.

“I know you can Rolando, you’re such a dear,” Van Dorn said, smoothing his collar again. “But… soldiers.” The manager sighed.

“I’ll handle that side, sir,” the assistant manager said, sighing as if in agreement. “Leave it to me.”

“Fuck,” Mueller said. “It’s got a golf course!”

Golf had become a game only for the very rich or the very settled. Golf courses, by their very nature, created an inviting area for Posleen to target. They were spread out and tended to have plenty of cover. Just as keeping deer off of one was nearly impossible, so was keeping ferals away.

Therefore, the only remaining golf courses were normally in areas which were so settled there were no ferals for miles and miles. That meant, of course, that land values were extraordinarily high. Greens prices were equally high.

“And one big-ass electric fence to keep the ferals out,” Mosovich noted. “This was never Injun country but with all the woods around here there’s got to be some.”

An LZ for the DAG shuttles had been laid out actually on the golf course, a large Y sprayed into the grass. Mosovich hoped that some advance party dude hadn’t made the decision. The landing jacks of the shuttles were bound to tear up the grass and he didn’t want to start off the mission with a pissed off management.

As the shuttles hit, the DAG members unassed, carrying their personal gear and a broad assortment of weapons. Since they didn’t know the security level of the resort, Mosovich had made the decision to go in mildly hot. He wasn’t going to lose a troop to a wandering feral. He made the decision knowing that it might throw off the locals. He hated playing politics so this mission was probably going to be a major pain in the ass.

On the first tee there was a group of bellmen waiting as well as a guy in a very nice suit. Mosovich trotted over, his MP-7 slung barrel down.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mosovich,” he said, walking over to the guy in the suit. “I’m the commander of the SRSDAG.”

“Strategic Reconnaissance something or another Direct Action Group,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Rolando Prevatt, assistant manager. Welcome to Greenbriar, Colonel.”

“Thank you,” Mosovich said, shaking the guy’s hand. He’d spotted him as a juv immediately. “Do I have you to thank for the LZ?”

“Indeed,” Prevatt replied. “I’ve got quarters set up for you. With the anticipated influx, we’re going to be stuffing you in every corner. Sorry about that. The porters are here to lead the way.”

“We’ll deal,” Mosovich said. “Mueller! Fall into teams and follow the porters! Officers on me!”

“So, what’s your deal?” Mosovich asked as the group was led into a conference room. “You’re a juv.”

“Marine,” Prevatt said. “First Recon Battalion. Spent some time after the War in the electronics industry. Got a divorce, got out, took a long vacation. Went back into finance. Got married. Got divorced. Took a long vacation. Now I’m working my way up in the hospitality industry and trying to avoid getting married.”

“Gotcha,” Mosovich said, chuckling. “Right,” he said, sitting down. “We’ve gotten more information on this group we’re going to be babysitting. It’s all TS shit and that but it’s not like we’re going to be able to keep it secret from you guys.”

“On that matter,” Prevatt said, shrugging eloquently. “Greenbriar has a reputation for keeping secrets. We have all sorts visit us, at least all sorts with money. Some of them have various reasons that they don’t want people prying into their personal life. CEOs with their mistresses, actresses recovering from bad plastic surgery, you get the picture. I’m not going to guarantee we’re entirely secure. But I’d be very surprised if anything got out.”

“Well the group we’re going to be hosting is sohon mentats,” Mosovich said. “Know what they are?”

“Sohon’s what the Indowy use in manufacturing,” Prevatt said, his brow furrowing. “I’m not sure what a mentat is.”

“They’re the top level sohon practicioners,” Major Frederick Kelly said. The XO of DAG was pale, a trait he’d gotten from his maternal grandmother, dark-haired and massive, two traits of his fraternal grandfather. “It’s best to just think of them as wizards and be done with it.”

“Oh,” Prevatt said, nonplussed. “So we’re hosting a wizard convention?”

“Close enough,” Mosovich said. “And what they’re doing here I’m actually hoping to keep really secure. But we’re going to need some facilities for that. Preferably ones that are robust. Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Prevatt said, standing up. “In that case, you may just be in luck. Care to take a walk?”

“What the hell is this place?” Mosovich asked, looking down the concrete tunnel.

The elevator to the underground bunker was concealed in a locked supply closet. And it was a big elevator, capable of holding the whole command group and staff. The concrete corridor, though, was a bit of a surprise.

“During the Cold War, Greenbriar’s management agreed that in the event of a nuclear war, they would house the Congress,” Prevatt said, walking into the corridor. “There are quarters for the Congressmen and their families, meeting rooms, a kitchen which is, admittedly, not hooked up, etc. It’s quite an extensive facility. If you need to do anything truly secure, I’d suggest using this area. We’ll quarter everyone up top, of course.”

“Damn,” Captain Jarrett King said, opening a door. The XO of Alpha team was medium height with dark auburn hair and a mottled face from major acne problems as a teenager. His nickname, Aquaman, had less to do with his abilities in the water than the opposite. He’d inherited a very heavy musculature from his fraternal grandfather if not the Redman addiction. The room beyond looked to be a guard room but it was musty with disuse and the floor was covered in grime. “This place is going to be perfect as soon as we get it cleaned up.”

“We can take care of much of that,” Michelle said, walking out of one of the rooms. “Hello, Colonel Mosovich.”

“Hey, Michelle,” Jake said, offhand. “Think this will do?” If he was surprised by the mentat showing up out of nowhere it wasn’t evident.

“The quarters are acceptable,” Michelle said. “The area is very soothing which will help. These facilities are quite perfect. I had assumed we’d have to make something of the sort. As you know, the energies we are going to be generating may be severe.”

“Yeah,” Mosovich said. “Let’s hold off discussing that until we’re more secure. Rolando Prevatt, Michelle O’Neal, daughter of Michael O’Neal and one of the main wizards you’re going to be hosting. Michelle, Rolando. He’s the assistant manager. Former Marine. Up on who’s visiting, not on what’s going on.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Michelle said. “When you determine quartering for the incoming sohon practicioners, keep in mind that Indowy prefer crowding. We may need to rearrange your furniture, or bring in new. Indowy tend to bunk in triple level and often together even then. This includes the highest level mentats. You were informed that most of the new arrivals will be Indowy, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the former Marine said. “We’re laying on stocks of Indowy food and we’re looking for Indowy cooks.”

“I can get that expedited,” Mosovich said.

“Better yet,” Michelle said. “We will bring in Aelool’s clan. They are, of course, very closed mouth. But, better, they are used to dealing with humans and even accept the concept of violence. The actions that are going to be going on here might disturb most Indowy. I think Aelool’s people will find it… interesting at least.”

“I know how to contact them,” Mosovich said, looking over at his S-1. “Handle it.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said, making a note.

“I think this may work out,” Michelle said, nodding. “This may work out well indeed. Complicated, but what is worth doing that is not?”

“Indowy Karthe, I see you,” Michelle said as the mentat and another Indowy appeared in the underground chamber.

“Human O’Neal, I see you,” Karthe replied, nodding.

“You made good time,” Michelle said, leading the way out of the room.

“Time is of the essence,” Karthe said. “I admit to some fatigue.”

“Rooms have been prepared,” Michelle replied. “You should rest before we begin exploring these new disciplines.”

Exploring an undiscovered country, Karthe transmitted. To prevent other sohon from affecting reality will be difficult.

It is like any game, Michelle said, placidly. One uses one’s strengths against the enemy’s weakness. We must discover both within ourselves.

This is all new.

Michelle and Karthe sat opposite each other, a small electric motor spinning away between them. Arrayed around the periphery of the room were fifth and sixth level sohons, human and Indowy, who were there to prevent any of the energies escaping from the chamber. In an adjacent room, Thomas Coates, Chang Kan and a few of the newly arrived Indowy volunteers observed the training exercise.

I have never attempted to stop another sohon from performing a function, Karthe continued.

I will show you what I intend to do, Michelle thought, the motor suddenly grinding to a halt. I simply prevented the flow of electrons. Through this section of wiring, the reality is that metal is a resistor rather than a conductor.

I reset reality, Karthe thought, opening up the flow of eletrons.

Could you sense my actions? Michell asked.

I could see the reality changing, Karthe replied.

This time, stop me as I attempt to change the reality, Michelle thought. We begin.

The machine stuttered for a moment, winding down then spinning back up.

It is easier to maintain reality than to change it, Karthe thought.

The polyverse resists, as always, Michelle replied. This is to the benefit of the defender. The benefit to the attacker is that they choose the point of attack.

The machine stopped.

That was a different attack, Karthe thought with a touch of annoyance as the machine started back up.

As is this, Michelle replied when the machine stopped again. Now we battle.

“Wow,” Prevatt said. “All powerful wizards. They’re making an electric motor start and stop. I can do the same thing with a remote.”

“They’re starting on easy stuff,” Mosovich said, keeping an eye on the video from the training room. He had to admit it was about as interesting as watching paint dry. But. “I once saw Michelle rip apart a concrete loading dock like it was cardboard. You don’t want these guys to get angry at each other.”

As he said that, the electric motor exploded.

I fear we placed too much pressure on the structures of reality, Karthe thought.

And I win, Michelle thought, smugly. A destroyed motor is a non-functioning motor. The requirements on your part were to keep it functioning.

Only for a moment, Karthe thought as the scattered parts, down to the molecules of gaseous copper, sprang back together.

“O-kay,” Prevatt said, his eyes wide. “That was impressive.”

“Told ya.”

I am blocked, Michelle thought.

Karthe had shifted tactics. He had been responding to Michelle’s individual attacks. Finally, he determined that all he had to do was maintain a shell of utter reality around the motor. The polyverse actually fed him, wanting to maintain normal reality, causing him to have to expend far less energy than Michelle in holding the zone.

I win, Karthe thought, trying not to feel smug. The Indowy did not participate in competitive games. All of their games, to the extent they played them, emphasized cooperation. This was a new world to him, but he found it unusually intoxicating.

But can you maintain such a shell over an entire ship? Michelle asked. A fleet?

I could over a ship, Karthe said. Even a superdreadnought. But that is not the interesting question. Maugo?

Yes, Mentat? The fifth level sohon was a recent arrival by ship, a student of a master who had chosen to reject defense as an option. The fifth level had chosen otherwise and was still unassigned to a new Master. Since all the students who had accompanied the apparating masters were sixth level or above, he was the weakest adept in the room.

You have seen what I have done?

Yes, Master.

Maintain it, Karthe said. Against the Michon.

This was not war, it was training. Michelle knew the adage of her human father, that you fight as you train, but this was very easy training. Learning on all sides. It was not time to fight as you train. She, therefore, let the lower level mentat gather his thoughts, create the same zone as the Master. She gave him time to adjust. And to start to worry.

Then she attacked.

“I got about a billion things I should be doing,” Prevatt said, still not leaving the monitor. “Is it just me, or is Karthe sort of not looking like he’s doing anything?”

“He’s not,” Mosovich said. “But check out the third Indowy from the left against the wall.”

“Whoa,” Prevatt said. “What the hell is causing that?”

Indowy do not sweat. Instead, to radiate excess heat the photosynthetic cilia that coat their body — the thin, hair-like green ‘fur’ that make them look like teddy-bears — begins to move. It vibrates in waves, cascading up and down their body, blowing away the heat in much the same way that leaves rustle in a gentle wind.

Maugo looked like he’d been caught in a hurricane.

I think that is enough, Michelle said, terminating her attack. I’m not sure that Maugo could have held out indefinitely against my attack, but there are many fifth levels. In a similar situation, they could rotate to maintain the field. However, I have another attack I would try. One… less pleasant. Would you have your student defend or do so yourself?

He is not accepted as my student, Karthe pointed out.

Michelle glanced at the younger Indowy, who looked as if he’d just run a marathon.

Oh, I think you’ve accepted him, she thought.

Karthe flicked his ears, an Indowy indicator of mild humor.

Agreed, the mentat replied. But I think I would have you try the attack on me. Begin.

Michelle began probing at the engine, trying to find a hole through the protection field then shifted her attack. The generator stopped.

You affected my MIND!

The sohon telepathy bellow was slightly painful in and of itself. Michelle filed that as useful information.

Do you think the Hedren will hesitate to do so? she asked.

She had never seen an Indowy angry. She’d seen annoyance from time to time and often frustration. But never real anger.

She was seeing it now. Karthe was full wrath-of-God angry. Facing it, even if not for the first time, in a sohon adept of at least her own level was not happy-making.

Distantly she could sense the watching mentats bringing up their powers. It was the sort of rolling up of sleeves you’d see in a bar when two groups are preparing to separate a couple of individuals that are right on the edge of a brawl.

We do not attack individuals! Karthe replied, hotly.

I apologize, Michelle thought. But I do not agree. I apologize because I should have obtained your permission before using that attack. I disagree because we must learn to defend against just such attacks. The Hedren and their sohon-using slaves can and will use them.

If I might interrupt, Mentat Gonau thought from the adjoining room. Where did you learn that? It was not manipulation of brain chemistry.

From the device Erick Winchon had been studying, Michelle said. The device’s method of attack is really quite elegant.

You told your sister you were not going to study the device’s techniques, Karthe thought, just how they were generated.

I lied. Shall we continue training?