The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Chapter Seventeen: Shadows

Darhel Embassy

London, United Kingdom

20 December 2004
The Darhel Tir knew that he didn’t truly understand humans. As a lower-ranking functionary, it was his job to be as familiar with humanity as possible – no Indowy or Himmit intelligence aides for him – but he knew that humanity was a curiously perverse race. The concept of treason was not, of course, unknown to the Darhel, but the concept of betraying one’s country – one’s planet – for such abstract causes as the ‘good of the environment’ and ‘the defence of civil liberties’ was alien to them.
The Tir smiled, showing his teeth. It was safe to do so; there were no humans nearby to wonder why the Darhel – who were strictly vegetarians – had predator teeth. Human teeth, the teeth of a race that had annihilated many other races on their own world, were flat and lumpy compared to the Darhel teeth. The Darhel rarely smiled; it upset people and upset people were people who wondered about things the Darhel would have preferred they didn’t think about.
Ecologically unsound. Environmentally unsafe. Polluting…filthy. Aesthetically unappealing. Heretical. Upsets me at my vegetarian breakfast. Forces me to contemplate that which must be denied.
They’re crazy, the Darhel thought, as it studied the feed of information from Margent Hammond, though his loyal servant Griffin. It understood bribery and blackmail, both of which had been used on humans ever since they were first encountered, and it knew that they were reliable. The sheer…concept of betraying one’s entire people for strange abstract ideals made no sense to it at all.
“Still, the old ways are still the best,” the Darhel said aloud. “AID?”
“The information has been integrated into packages designed to be dumped directly into the Posleen net,” the AID said.
The Darhel nodded again. It did not suit the Darhel for the Posleen to overrun all of the Federation, or even for the best-case situation – the collapse of the Posleen-controlled space – within the next hundred years. The Posleen, by their very nature, would present a problem for any Darhel hoping to ‘tame’ them; the first Darhel to try had never returned to claim their rewards.
In fact, the Posleen race should be…
NO! Don’t even think about that, the Darhel thought, reminding himself of the dangers of becoming too immersed in thoughts of blood and slaughter. The Darhel could not – dared not – fight; to fight was to lose their minds and go mad. Every few years, one of the Darhel would go mad and wreck havoc, worse now that the Posleen were coming, bearing down on the main Federation worlds.
The Darhel focused, reciting a calming mantra, even as he considered the best way to hobble the human defence forces in Britain. It would not do for the Federation to win the war against the Posleen if the humans destroyed the Darhel control, now and forever. The Darhel inability to fight would doom them; the humans would destroy them…if they ever found out what the Darhel had done. For the Darhel to be safe, Earth had to be ruined…and the core population of humans on Indowy worlds trained to take their places within the Galactic Federation.
“Analysis the positioning of the human forces,” the Darhel ordered the AID. Shorn of its master’s crippling hatred of violence, the AID could calculate tactical positions without the threat of madness. “Calculate…the best locations for the Posleen to land and…move out over the land.”
The Darhel shuddered. Speaking in such roundabout terms was the only way to avoid madness. The mere thought of what the Posleen would do, when they spread out, was too much for him to contemplate.
“Working, done,” the AID said. He had never bothered to help it develop a personality. “Information compressed into Posleen-class packages.”
“Transmit the information into the main net interface unit,” the Darhel ordered, and scowled. A human writer had once warned of the dangers of trusting fanatics; the Tir in Germany had only fanatics to work though. While the fanatics were more than willing to betray their nations – they believed in the myth of ‘star-brothers’ – they were unpredictable by definition. Hammond, on the other hand, was predicable; she had taken the Darhel’s money and now she would work for the Darhel.
The Darhel smiled again, nastier this time. The Darhel would triumph, eventually. By the time humanity arose again, the Darhel would control them and their energies would be directed towards the ends of the Darhel.

Ten Downing Street

London, United Kingdom

20^thth December 2004
The Prime Minister nodded politely to Sir Robert Darter and Daniel Morgan as they entered his office, watching as the guards sealed the office against all intrusion. This was one of the few places they were certain had no Darhel listening devices; no Darhel had ever visited Downing Street. That didn’t rule out a Darhel agent, but the Darhel seemed content to work through Hammond, and everything she did was supervised by MI5.
“I trust that you have reviewed the situation?” The Prime Minister asked Morgan, as soon as the room was sealed. He wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted the replacement Home Secretary, but he would be needed if the worst happened. “You understand what the Darhel are trying to do?”
Morgan’s face contorted. “You are allowing one of them to live in London, perhaps more than one,” he burst out, finally. “They’re working to weaken us and you’re allowing them free reign?”
“We cannot tip our hand too soon,” the Prime Minister said. “The recent developments, however, are disturbing; did you see the information the Darhel were demanding?”
Sir Robert nodded grimly. “It would gladden my heart to see a Posleen army marching to London according to the maps we supplied them,” he said. “Still, the Darhel have other ways to collect information, and we are far too vulnerable to such manipulations.”
Morgan nodded. “Why not take it up with the rest of the world?” He asked. “They could be doing it everywhere.”
“They are,” the Prime Minister said. “It’s hard to be certain – the elves are very good at covering their tracks – but it seems certain that they’re active in Germany, as well as America and France.”
“They might have been the ones behind the SS,” Morgan said. “It might have been their idea all along.”
“Perhaps,” the Prime Minister said. “Now that the Irish have finally decided to accept our help, we’ll be sending them weapons” – he held up a hand to forestall comment – “and some advice on deploying them. Daniel, do you understand your position?”
Morgan nodded. “Sir, is this really necessary?”
“I have to remain in London,” the Prime Minister said. “If the Darhel tell the Posleen that London is our centre of operations, they’ll come for London.”
“Assuming that they think the same way we do,” Sir Robert said. “There’s enough evidence to suggest that they don’t think anything like the way we do.”
The Prime Minister shrugged. “Immaterial,” he said. “Morgan, if something happens to me, you will be Prime Minister. After Christmas, you are going to head to the base in Scotland, along with the shadow parliament. This will probably be the last chance we’ll have to talk in person.”
“I understand,” Morgan said. “I won’t let you down.”
“I hope not,” the Prime Minister said. “Now, I think that we’ll have to keep feeding the Darhel semi-accurate information, at least until the landings begin.”
“Because the Darhel themselves are non-violent,” Morgan said. “They won’t be able to take advantage of our positions themselves.”
“Exactly,” Sir Robert said. “Now, if we allow them to continue building their fake network, then we can ensure that we send them the right, or rather the wrong information, at the important time.” He smiled. “The Darhel seem prepared to work through agents, this scumbag Griffin, for example. We haven’t been able to identify him properly; I suspect computer tampering.”
“And the Darhel are masters at that,” Morgan said grimly. Sir Robert nodded. “Then their attempts to assist us to improve the Internet are a Trojan horse.”
“Exactly,” Sir Robert said again. The Prime Minister smiled; it seemed to have become Sir Robert’s favourite word. “We can expect them to deploy spyware-like programs within the servers, if not programs designed to manipulate financial information and share-trading.”
“To gain more control over us,” Morgan said. “That’s why GalTech has been busy buying up property, now that the economy is on the mend.”
“Here, Europe, America, the Darhel have been busy,” Sir Robert agreed. “They’re gaining more and more control over properties, working through an entire series of cut-outs. It’s so hazy that we’re not certain that it’s even real.”
“I think I preferred being in the Guards,” Morgan muttered wryly. “What’s the point? The industries in Silicon Valley and the Rhineland, to name but two, are going to be firmly trounced by the Posleen.” He scowled. “Why the hell are they buying them?”
“A very good question,” Sir Robert said. “War compensation, perhaps; the American government has already agreed to pay compensation to the owners, who may not know whom they’re really working for, once the invasion is over. The Darhel would have plenty of time to design the system in their own manner.”
“Crafty bastards,” Morgan commented. “Will we let them do that?”
“That might be up to you,” the Prime Minister said wryly.
“Christ, you’re gloomy today,” Morgan snapped. “You’re not dead yet!”
The Prime Minister laughed. “I suppose I’m not,” he said. “Sir Robert, please keep both myself and Daniel informed of developments.”
“Of course,” Sir Robert said. “Prime Minister, Hammond wants to meet with you again.”
The Prime Minister blinked. “Please, send her in,” he said.
***

Margent Hammond hadn’t set foot in Downing Street for several years, not since the Darhel had contacted her and made her one of their agents. Her role as a double agent only made it harder for her to talk to the Prime Minister, even when she was supposed to be talking to him. Who knew what could arouse an alien’s suspicions?

“It’s good to see you again,” the Prime Minister said. She thought that he was sincere. “You’ve done good service for this country.”
“I want it to end,” Hammond said, and disgraced herself by bursting into tears. The Prime Minister reached out and gently patted her on the back. “I can’t take this any more.”
“You’ve done so well, so far,” the Prime Minister said sadly. “Do you really want the Darhel to win?”
Hammond shook her head. Her occasional meetings with the Tir had convinced her that the Darhel were dangerous. “I can’t take this life any more,” she said. “I have to lie to people who think I’m going to help them. I have to give money to people who I then betray. I have to rail against the defence of Earth and people are listening to me…”
She broke down, sobbing. The Prime Minister passed her a handkerchief. “I know what you mean,” he said. It wasn’t enough. “I do understand your situation, Margent, but it is a role that only you can play.”
Hammond looked up at him, at the famous face that was becoming lined with worry. “I should have gone into a respectable tradition, like prostitution,” she said. “If I’d known that trying to help would have this effect…”
“I know how you feel,” the Prime Minister said, seriously. She felt him passing her another handkerchief. “Don’t you know how much good you’ve done?”
“The Germans are doing something that only benefits the aliens,” Hammond said. She’d never met the German Gunter, the Green and Socialist, but he was clearly working for the Darhel. “The French are too wrapped up in their own nationalism to care about the elves. There’s just me…”
The Prime Minister nodded. “You’re the last person who speaks for the left with any authority,” he said. “Once the Posleen are beaten off, you will be in a position to make your own bid to become Prime Minister, should you want to try.”
“Like Harriet Jones,” Hammond said wryly. She sat up and sipped gratefully at a cup of tea the Prime Minister passed her. “After the Darhel, how many people would trust us?”
“A good point,” the Prime Minister admitted. “Still, the aliens are not unbeatable, are they?” Hammond lifted an eyebrow. “They came to you, didn’t they?”