Until Aradan 5.

Tulo’stenaloor had been there, when the host had met its first defeat. It had been a nightmare. Each time they thought they had the humans defeated something had hit them from a different direction. It was necessary to dig the humans out like abat or grat and they stung worse. The host had taken fantastic damage before a unit of these demons-be-damned metal threshkreen had arisen from the ocean of the world and destroyed his first oolt’ondai. He still remembered the unholy destruction visited upon his fine collection of genetic specialists, ripped to shreds in bare seconds. Other threshkreen, who had at first fled before the host, had stopped and formed a wall of fire that seemed unbreakable. Faced with an implacable foe to the side and an impossible foe to the front, the host had fled. He had barely escaped with his life, limping off planet in a simple in-system ship, and it had taken him years to recover from that debacle.

“It is led by a human named ‘Michael O’Neal’ who is one of their Kessanalt. The term the humans use is a ‘hero’ or ‘elite.’ And this is their finest group of metal threshkreen.”

Generally other species, and Posleen that had become too injured or old to be of use, were referred to simply as “thresh” or “food.” Threshkreen was “food that stung.” All humans should be called threshkreen; even their nestlings fought.

“Do we know their plan?” Tulo’stenaloor said. “We need to push as many oolt’os through the pass as we can; we cannot afford to be trapped here.”

“They intend to open up the area with nuclear bombardment…” the S-2 answered.

“What?” Tulo’stenaloor snapped, his crest rising. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The area they will be able to cover is limited,” the intelligence officer pointed out, bringing up a map.