John Ringo: Kildar

“Unusual,” Vadim said, nodding. “They’re the Keldara, the people the region is named for. Georgia is a collection of many different peoples that have survived for thousands of years, protected by the mountains. Bits and pieces of dozens of cultures that were conquerors or driven out by the people that conquered the plains. There’s no such thing as a Georgian, just many odd tribes like the Keldara. Did you see any of the women?”

“Yes,” Mike admitted. “Spectacular.”

“Very,” Vadim said, grinning. “And they make the best beer in the world. You had some last night.”

“I’d wondered where that came from,” Mike said. “It was incredible.”

“Secret recipes of the Keldara women,” Vadim said, shrugging.

“How long until the roads clear?” Mike asked, looking out the windows. The sky had cleared, slightly, and the snow had stopped falling.

“A week or more,” Vadim said, frowning. “There is another storm predicted for a day or two from now. If it clears for a time after that you might be able to get out. Until then I’m afraid you’re stuck. Unless you can call in a helicopter.”

“I could afford a helicopter,” Mike said, looking back at the cop. “I’m not exactly without funds. But I’m not someone who can, for example, call Washington and get a helicopter sent in.” Okay, a little white lie. He probably could do exactly that if there was a reason. “So what is there to do in Alerrso besides watch the snow fall?”

“Very little,” Vadim said with a sigh. “There is a small brothel down the street and if you need money the bank can get it wired in. They are the only ones that have an internet connection, alas. They use a satellite, you understand? The phone lines and electric are spotty otherwise. There is no library. I have some books you could read but they are in Georgian and Russian mostly. A few military books in English that you might like. I don’t know if you’re a student of history or not.”

“I was a student of history,” Mike said. “I dropped out of university to form a company. The company was successful, especially after the war started. I sold out and now I travel.”

“You have the military look,” Vadim noted, dryly. “A soldier, yes?”

“Bite your tongue,” Mike said, grinning. “I was a SEAL. But that was a long time ago. These days I’m a retired widget maker.”

“You’re young to retire,” the cop pointed out. “And what is a ‘widget’?”

“It’s not anything, really,” Mike said. “Well, there is something called a widget, a kind of box cutter. But it’s really a term for any unspecified device. I made a communications widget for the military, for special operations units. I had the idea for it and got some guys who were smarter than me to design it. Then we got some capital and started a company making them. It was very small until the war, then there was big demand for them. There was a buyout offer from a major defense firm I couldn’t resist. So now I’m retired. I used to do contracting work for the government on the same sorts of things. But I got tired of that. Sometimes I think the main reason I travel is so my former clients can’t call me back.”

“Or so you won’t be recalled to the SEALs?” Vadim asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No chance of that,” Mike said, darkly. “They don’t want me back and I don’t want to go back.” He noted the look and shrugged. “I was an instructor for a long time. When I tried to go back to the teams there were problems. I got kicked off my team. After that I got out.”

“And went into making widgets,” Vadim said. “The money was better, yes?”

“Yes,” Mike said, looking out the window, his face working. “But there are times I’d rather be back on the teams.”

“Well, for now you are here,” Vadim said. “Would you care to take a look around my town?”

“Your town?” Mike said, dropping a ruble on the table. “And I don’t want to take up your time.”

“There is no what you would call mayor,” the cop said, shrugging again. “I am the police and also the administrative head. So, yes, my town. As to taking up my time, there is not much to do in winter. Few move through the mountains during this season and when the Chechens aren’t making problems we are a very quiet area.”

Mike got his coat and followed the cop out of the tavern, getting his first clear look at Alerrso. The first thing he noticed was that the snowfall the night before was even heavier than he’d thought; the Mercedes was covered in a couple of feet of snow and the road was thoroughly packed.

The town didn’t have more than a dozen or so buildings in it, all clustered in a small valley. The mountainsides were cloaked with heavy timber; most of it looked like oak and maple.

There was a solid ridgeline to the west rising to at least five thousand feet above his current elevation, but to the east the hills leveled off not much higher than the valley and he could see clearly along the slope of the western mountains. Right at the head of the valley, by the switchbacks he’d ascended, was an old fort of some sort occupying a ridge of land that jutted out from the mountains. It had a low curtain wall and a large building in the middle that looked halfway between a castle and a house. The area inside the curtain wall was extensive, which argued for gardens or something out of sight.

“The old caravanserai,” Vadim said, noting his examination. “Nobody is sure when it was first built. This used to be a branch of the Silk Road so it dates back at least that far.”

“The Silk Road was in use in the Roman times,” Mike pointed out.

“Oh, it’s not that old,” Vadim said. “Probably to the time of the Mongols or the Ottomans.”

“Is it occupied?” Mike asked, examining the sandstone walls. They looked in decent repair. Certainly there were no breaches.

“Not right now,” Vadim said, sighing. “It’s a long story and it’s cold. Shall we walk?”

Mike nodded and they headed up the street, walking down the center of the road, which had been sketchily plowed.

“Georgian history is thousands of years old,” Vadim continued. “This was the kingdom of Medea and, like Jason, one group after another has come here for riches or because we are a crossroads. The Greeks, the Byzantines, the Arabs, the Turks, the Mongols, the Russians, they’ve all invaded us and left their mark. In the bone the ‘true’ Georgian is a Medean, but we’ve so many little remnants, deciding who is ‘true’ Georgian is a full-time job.

“Of course the tsars conquered Georgia back in 1801,” Vadim said. “It was more or less to keep us from being invaded by the Turks, again, but they took over against the treaty of friendship we had at the time. When they did, the tsar installed a local lord, a Cossack, and he took over the caravanserai for his home. At that time there was still some trade through here and he collected tolls for the tsars. That had been the pattern of the caravanserai as long as anyone could remember; that a foreigner from some distant king was installed in the caravanserai to control the area. There’s even a name for the position: the Kildar. Then the Soviets took over and tried to make all their changes and installed a commissar in it to keep order. He had a small group of soldiers to enforce Soviet law but, really, it had little impact. During Stalin’s time Georgia was much ignored and the various purges and pogroms mostly missed this little area. Then, with independence, there was the question of what to do with it. Eventually, it was sold to the Bank of Tbilisi along with a number of other parcels as part of ‘privatization.’ I actually lived there, briefly, when it was held by the government, then moved out when it was privatized.”