The Spartan Chronicles - Page 10

Harold the Bastard · August 24, 1999, 20:12

delete this post
[This message has been edited by Harold the Bastard (edited August 24, 1999).]

Harold the Bastard · August 24, 1999, 20:14

"Com 2......green light" the Cosmonaut barked.
"Valve grip control?"
" Valve control is go"
"Ok Peter we are ready, 1 minute until Launch"
" Ok, I'm ready, the reactor is okay. Clear to remove moderators."
" Moderators are lifted. Watch the temperature"

Peter was afraid. He was strapped to a 70m untested rocket. They were using a technology that they had never put into rockets before.
Despite the size of the rocket, his capsule was only about 2 metres wide. The conical capsule was tight and claustrophobic. The single window directly in front of him showed him nothing, except blue sky and a distant horizon.
Looking at the data on the archaic computer and corelating it with the input from his Implant, he considered the events that had led him to this place.

Yesterday morning they had recieved a broadcast from the triumphant Hive news networks. Luckly the victory was shortlived. The Hive had almost managed to get a man in space, but the 5th stage did not seperate, and the rocket pulmetted back down to the ground. This was on MorganNet Live!

The shock had propelled the Spartan Space Agency into authorising the experimental Sagan rocket.
The problem was that the escape velocity of Chiron was 25% faster than that of Earth . This caused many many problems for ordinary rocket designs. Some requiring 6 stages or more. The only type of rocket that could lob a person into space, in one stage was the fission rocket. It had a Isp of at least 3 times the fastest rocket. The boffins just hoped that the rocket didn't explode, and scatter radioactive debris over Sparta Command.

The electrodes in his suit were itching. His hands were strapped in, so that he could not scratch. He looked again at the picture of the team, scanning for Charlotte. This woman had become an almost secret obsession for him. He barely spoke to her, but he yearned for her. If he made it back alive, he would certainly ask her out. His mind turned again to the job at hand. Especially since the MMI was clouding his thoughts.

"Peter we are clear, countdown"
"10"
"9"
"8"
" Reactor Temperature is hot, maybe abort"
" Negative, you are clear"
"3"
"2"
"1"
" Releasing Hydrogen"
"GO! "
The rocket strained upwards, the umblical cord pulled away, as the rocket began to ascend.

Hydro · August 25, 1999, 00:50

MicroTrade Megaplex, Morgan Industries

*****

Morgan Junior sat impatiently drumming his fingers. These board meeting dragged on interminably.

The VP of Marketing waved at his holo presentation with a flourish, the lilts in his voice rising to a crescendo. “So, let me recap again. It is in our best interests to reposition our network position by embracing our mission and vision statements. This will increase our quarterly performance through synergy, and will produce a positive spin in the PR department!”

Other VPs nodded approvingly, a small sea of heads bobbing up and down, each making small comments to their neighbor on the speeches’ brilliance and clarity. A low buzz filled the air.

Morgan placed his hands on the table and slowly stood up. The murmuring subsided and all eyes focused on Junior expectantly.

“Malcolm, I have not heard a presentation like that in some time,” Morgan stated in a neutral voice. Agreeable murmurs filled the cavernous MicroTrade conference room.

“That presentation was, with little doubt, the finest agglomeration of meaningless clichés I have heard in months. You took 25 minutes to say, basically, that we need to have more meetings. Meetings do not lead to increased energy, particularly if when they are a gross waste of time. This meeting was a gross waste of time,” Junior finished.

Stunned silence.

“I have no use for your well-polished incompetence. How this did not come to my attention in the past I can not imagine. The immediate solution is clear: you are fired.”

“This meeting is adjourned.”

Malcolm was white as a sheet. No one moved. Junior drew himself up and left the room. Security would ensure that Malcolm found his way to the lobby, and out of the MicroTrade Megaplex.

The beaten bronze doors closed silently behind Junior. As it closed he could hear the exclamations of surprise and dismay, and some of outrage. Morgan smiled as he walked alone to his private office, his heels clicking on the Chiron marble floors and echoing through the10 meter tall hallway. Of course he knew Malcolm had risen far beyond his station. The point is that the recently promoted and now dismissed VP of Marketing had served a purpose: to ensure that no one indulged is such unproductive rhetoric, and to ensure all knew who was in charge. That was now abundantly clear.

After five minutes Junior was once again in his inner sanctum, surrounded on all sides by the beautiful panoramic Morgan Industries skyline. He walked deliberately over to his desk.

“Comm center, activate,” he ordered

“Good Morning Mr. Morgan,” the computer responded, “You have 239 new voice, vid, and holo messages that have arrived since yesterday evening. Awaiting instruction.”

“Are there any messages from Salvador St. James?” Junior inquired expectantly.

“Negative.”

“Damn. My three inquiries have all been ignored. I do not like being ignored,” he fumed. “This ‘unofficial Spartan liaison’ task Father assigned me is not proceeding as I had hoped. I may have to approach other venues.”

“Comm, segregate the personal, government, and MicroTrade messages. Delegate all personal to my administrative assistants, route governmental to me, and flag coded MicroTrade to me immediately,” Morgan ordered.

It was time to get to work.

Tokek Belerang · August 25, 1999, 03:56

"Round-up, ensign De la Hoya." the Admiral said.

It flashed through Juanita de la Hoya's head that she had just lost an expensive wager. She had staked her holoroom privileges on Admiral Giacomazzi not knowing her name. She nevertheless concentrated right away on the task at hand and began calling out the status of North Fleet. As she did so, however, she could have sworn that out of the corner of her eye she caught a little curl of a smile on the Admiral's lips. The woman never smiled!

"Hive attack jets approaching from direction two five seven. Three, possible four. No lock on identity, signals are jammed. Presumable first contact twenty-seven seconds. Hive missile cruiser is coming into range, falling away to the north. Lycurgus has dropped behind us and is heading for a fungal dive. Glory is to port and ahead, equidistant from the Hive cruiser."

"Thank you, ensign. Defensive patterns, people. Let's see what they can do."

Shiloh Lewis raised an eyebrow. Defensive patterns?

"Hive cruiser is in range. Hive jets are in range. I have an identity. Unit "Buttercup", from The Hive. Definite three, not four. Commencing defensive pattern November. Glory has engaged the missile cruiser."

"Weapons?" Giacomazzi asked.

"Tracking has commenced. Bogeys are low. Bogeys have fired."

"Glory has taken a hit. Twenty percent damaged. Guns intact."

This looked more serious than before. Buttercup was an elite unit, the best The Hive had to offer. The low approach foretold as much, as the aim was horrible from that altitude. If the Glory went under to the missile cruiser, then the prospects for the outcome were not good at all.

"No impact from pen fire. We weren't hit."

"They fired too early! They missed!" Shiloh Lewis exclaimed.

"Move to active defense pattern, ensign De la Hoya." the Admiral said.

"Aye, sir. Pattern X-Ray One engaged. Hive pens have pulled up and out, regrouping. Man, they're sloppy. Glory has a hit on the cruiser. Cruiser has a hit on the Glory. Damage fifty percent. Guns affected. Pens coming back in, clover leaf."

"And where have we seen that before." Giacomazzi said.

De la Hoya looked up.

"Verifying identification patterns. I'll be damned!"

"I hope not." Giacomazzi said.

"Attack patterns are within the deviation margin for the Badger attack pattern. They're the same morons as before!"

Shiloh Lewis spoke up.

"Incoming transmission, sir. Secure channel."

"Well? What does it say?"

Shiloh looked nonplussed.

"On your screen, sir."

The Admiral looked at her comm.

"The cavalry has arrived, people." she said. "All engines hold. We sit and take it. Let's get those jets."

"Engines hold. Jets are coming in."

"Tracking. Got them. Firing. Hits on lead and second jet. Hit on lead jet. Lead jet is running. Pilot is out! I repeat, pilot is out."

The Admiral walked away from her comm to face the big screen. One of the ensigns at the weapons console peeked over.

"Tally ho." the Admiral's comm read.

At that moment, the overhead speakers hissed into life.

"Gooooooood morning, North Fleet! Want me to get that nasty cruiser for ya?"

"Morning, Pinwheel Five. Be our guest." the Admiral said.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 25, 1999).]

Slats · August 25, 1999, 13:32

PLEX ANTHILL

" WATER? ", shouted Bert Evans, " IN HERE? "

The ex-Hive messenger nodded sheepishly. Bert slapped his hand to his head in dismay.

" How long till it rises up here? "

" I don't know sir, we are only slightly underground but........ " murmered the runner.

" Thank you, that'll be all ", half whispered Bert, The young man scurried off.

Bert turned on his heel and walked tiredly back into the auxiliary hanger of Delta sector, they'd had to give up the main hangar when the roof had half collapsed. A Spartan armed guard at the door saluted him as he passed throught the archway. The large cavern which greeted him was brightly lit and was packed closed to capacity. Two Fusion Penetrators and a Fusion Interceptor huddled in the space, wingtips nearly touching.
As the most senior pilot here, he thought of himself as the leader of this Spartan Airforce detachment. This was essentially correct and everyone else had no problem with it. It was agreed that Bert was a good stick.

The remaining crews lounged about on or under their aircraft, as per orders, awaiting any scramble alert that may come. Pedro and his ops officer were painting a Hive fighter symbol under their Interceptor's canopy as credit to their last kill. Thrasher 8's crew were now in the field hospital set up by the Spartan forces after their belly flop onto the runway. Both were unconsicous but not seriously hurt. Thrasher 8 itself had been towed around to Beta hanger via tunnel as a donation for the Rolling Thunder Aardvark squadron.

The aircraft mechanics had previously been amusing themselves by fiddling with Hive hanger equipment and supplies. Bert had put a stop to touching non-essential equipment due to a minor incident involving an old, battered 500lb bomb which had dropped off the weapons rack of Pinwheel 2 after the mechanics had tried to fit it as extra muntions. The good news was it had been found that the hangar could be evacuted in 8 seconds flat. Bert knew everyone was itching for some more action. The Rolling Thunder were up to something he decided, he'd seen large quantities of armour disappearing into their parking bays as well as some anti-aircraft missiles he'd been hoping to snaffle for his plane, most odd....... He settled down into in his 'pit next to a snoring Ken, his weapons officer, to wait for either the water to come or the Hive fleet to pack up and ship out. The Penetrators dared not chance a dash outside with Hive naval guns hungrily awaiting any sign of life.

Either way it was going to be a long wait.

Kuruk · August 25, 1999, 20:02

Steven Chan strode down the hall toward Lal’s office. He had calmed somewhat since the meeting of the Governor’s Council, enough so to smile and field questions from the press. Inside, though, he was fuming.

Steven had been in politics many years, and no longer clung to his ideals as tightly as he had in his youth. Still, he did have them. The treaty with Morgan would reduce the Peacekeepers dependence on Sparta, and would offer his party chances to increase its power. But he could not help but be infuriated at Lal’s insistence on bargaining away any edge the Peacekeepers had.

He reached Lal’s door, and, after the requisite security check, the guard let him in.

Lal sat in his chair, his back to the door, looking out at the expansive view of UN Headquarters. He had vanished after the Council meeting, letting his press secretaries and the United Nations Party governors handle the press. His holoprojector sat, turned off, on the desk.

“Steven,” he said, “I’ve been expecting you. What are the governors saying?”

“Your party, of course, supports the treaty. The PRP and PDP do as well, since they are staunch free marketers. The Citizens Collective of Chiron is objecting vocally, but they hold only one base, and haven’t completely recovered from the allegations that they accepted campaign contributions from Hive sources. The Green Party objects, but they also hold only one base.”

“I see,” Lal said. He paused, “And your party?”

“The PNP supports the treaty, as it reduces our dependence on the Spartan military. I cannot support your other dealings, though,” Steven tried to keep his voice under control.

Lal turned in his chair to face Steven. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his jaw drooped. Every muscle on his wiry frame seemed to sag. Lal always appeared to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, but from his appearance the world was especially heavy lately.

“I knew that the technology trade would most likely be a part of the treaty. What Morgan offered in return was more than fair. We need allies Steven.”

“But you have armed potential enemies. Morgan is still more Yang’s ally than ours. Do you think that he will really try to fight Yang if he is backed into a corner?” Steven asked.

“What else could I do, Steven?” Lal looked as though he had asked himself the same question many times.

“Let the United Nations stand on it’s own two feet, Commissioner” Steven replied quietly.

Lal was silent. He turned to look back out the window.

“That is something I still mean to do, Steven. How is your side operation proceeding?”

“Well underway,” Steven said.

“Good. Keep me informed.”

Lal fell silent again. Steven turned and left the office, as angry as when he entered.

Rynn · August 25, 1999, 20:38

Kurt was moaning and whimpering again.

Shauna leant over and took his head in her arms, cradling it against her breasts. He stirred, and his mouth searched for and found her nipple. Gently she pushed his head away;

"Not tonight, Honey. We have to sort some things out. We can't play baby tonight."

It had been like this for three days now, ever since the Miles incident, and now things had escalated.

At first, Kurt had been helpless, like an infant. She had patched up his torn scalp as best she could, where the nodes had torn from him when she pulled off the headpiece. He had stayed that night with her, both of them cramped in her tiny foldout bed. He had regained a semiconscious state, and she had fed him some milk substitute. Then they had gone to bed. The whimpering had started almost immediately he'd gone to sleep, and she'd tried to comfort him, not knowing what mental agony he was still suffering.

They had made love that first night - like tonight, she thought. It had started when she crooned to him with his head on her breast. His lips had found her nipples then, and soon they hardened with desire. She found him easy to arouse, and had taken him, but it had been terribly unsatisfactory. She had been expecting an empath bond during their coupling, but when she tried, she found an almost infantile consciousness that she'd retreated from in confusion.

She hadn't wanted sex since then, not until she knew what was happening to Kurt.

Next morning Shauna had called in sick, then the next day too, while she fed and tended Kurt. But he was locked in that private hell he'd entered and showed no signs of progression.

Than had come the call.

Shauna was dozing, enjoying some quietness as Kurt was engrossed in watching a vidshow called 'Wesley, the Naughty Mindworm.' He was chuckling with delight, but she dozed through it.

Then she felt the presence.

It entered her consciousness, and pulled her out of her dreamy state and into full alertness.

Shauna, it's Miles.

Miles, what do you want?

I need you and Kurt to stir up some action for me. I can't get to him - something's funny. I sent the Lisa code but neither you nor Kurt are receiving. What's happening?

Miles, you've crippled him mentally. He's like a small boy again, and I can't get him to snap out of it.

Oh dear. That's never happened before, but I guess I came across too strong. Shauna, you must go into his mind and explore. You'll have to re-establish some connections where there are dead ends or blocks - you'll need the headset on him for that. And you'll need to get into his memories - he's retreating behind them. Is he sleeping ok?

No. Constant moaning and whimpering. Why?

The memories are unpleasant. You need to move him from them and replace with more recent ones. I can't help you - you're on your own. Just search and explore and experiment. I'r vital that you get him back functioning. We need his knowledge. I don't think you and I can do it alone.

Do What?

We're going to try and take out the borehole at Laborers Throng. Tell me, can you reach there from The Leaders Horde?

I can't. Kurt can. Maybe I can with the headset. But it's not fitted for me.

Better we get Kurt up and running. I'll know if you're successful because he can reach me. Good luck.

Now it was time for Shauna to try and repair Kurt's mind.

She cradled his head on her breasts and reached out with her mind.

Not barging in, but gently, tenderly, lovingly.

Kurt Darling, I know we agreed to only enter each other if invited, but I need to come in and poke around a bit. You've been hurt, and I'm going to help.

She went deeper, past the innocent "uh?" of a response she got mentally, past the childish enthusiasm and excitement around Wesley's latest caper, deeper into the recesses of his mind.

She came up against a barrier.

Please, don't go there - it hurts.

Sorry, love, I must

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++

I was in the creche, bending over a desk, with my pants around my ankles.

The crechemistress was wielding a short correctional whip, and whacked me once on the buttocks.

"Kurt, you're a naughty boy. You know you mustn't cheat."

"But I wasn't cheating" I wailed.

THWACK

"Don't lie. It only makes matters worse."

"But mistress, I wasn't cheating. I knew the answers as soon as you gave the question. I read the answer in your mind."

"I said, don't lie."

THWACK

"Mistress you're hurting me."

I bit my lower lip to stop the tears from flowing.

"I know you like hurting me - I can read it in your head. You're enjoying this. But please stop. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Why you little sodding bugger. For an eight year old you've got some bloody nerve."

THWACK………THWACK

"Mistress, if you don't stop I'm going to have to hurt you back."

"The cheek of you"…..THWACK….."you think you can talk back to me…..THWACK

The welts were raising blood now on my backside.

I knew another blow was coming, so I prepared.

THWACK

I took the visceral pain that I felt and channeled it through my mind, enhancing it with all the latent power my 8 year old mind could produce.

With a scream the crechemistress dropped the whip and fell to the floor clutching her head and writhing in convoluted contortions on the floor of the creche.

I hitched up my pants; the rest of the creche kids backed away from me in horror.

The door flew open and two guards burst in, grabbing me from both sides.

The whimpering form on the floor pointed weakly at me and said:

"Sedate the little monster."

I felt the cold metal of the syringe bulb against my neck and the faint puff of cold moist air as the guard sedated me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Phew, thought Shauna. Heavy. Where to begin.

Gingerly she reached out and did as she had seen Kurt do before, pinching the flap of skin at his temple and pulling it back to reveal the neural plate. Then she reached over and picked up the headset and placed it over Kurt's head. Plugging it in and turning on the power, she watched in fascination as the filaments snaked out seeking the nodes and unerringly made the connections.

Then she went back in.

She went deeper than she'd ever been in someone's mind. She knew what she was searching for, and loked eagerly for the signal. Wisps of it came and went, but they were just prior experiences and memories - she needed to be more recent, but not so recent as to trigger the memory of Miles' attack.

Then she saw it. The harbor below, the farms on the hillsides opposite, her sitting by his side, lying back on the grass as dusk settled. Looking up at the stars as it grew dark, picking out Sol, their pointing to it and saying "This is where we all began."

She superimposed that memory over the creche memory, whose signature in his mind was still like a beacon.

All night she worked on him, drawing up recent memories that the trauma had submerged and consigning the early ones to antiquity. She experimented with the thought patterns, coming against dead ends much as Miles had prophesied. When these happened she looked for tendrils to bridge gaps, or to break through the barriers, and each time the link was made and the neural energy flowed. The headset helped, giving power and strength that she didn't have alone.

And Kurt helped too. He found the vidshow childish and opened his mind to her interrogatively. She explained what she was doing and he seemed to understand. He suggested avenues and procedures which she followed, aided by the boost given from the headset.

Finally she was up to date. This was the defining moment.

Kurt darling, I want to invite someone to join us.

Ok. I trust you Shauna. Who is it?

Brace yourself sweetheart. It's Miles Cavenaugh.

Kurt shuddered. In his mind, Shauna felt him recoil, sensed the neural scream 'nooooooooooooo' but before he got that far she interjected:

Darling, he didn't know. Didn't know you were trying to start a resistance movement. Didn't know about Bert . He's the one that helped me get you back again. He wants to work with us, to help us, and we him.

All right. What do I have to do?

Reach out to him. You can, with the enhancement. I can't. he's waiting.

Kurt reached out, sending his thought wave patterns out in a broad sweep towards The Spartan Federation. Past all the clamoring thoughts of Hive troopers and wives and children and bureaucrats, reaching.

Surprised, he found him closer than he thought - in Hive territory.

Contact.

Miles, you bastard. I owe you one big time.

Hey man, I'm sorry - I didn't know. I know that doesn't cut it, but I really am sorry.

What do you need from us?

Here's what we're going to do.

Hydro · August 25, 1999, 21:05

Morgan Industries, Governmental Palace

*****

"Would Madam enjoy a massage?" the solicitous attendant inquired.

"Ah, no. Maybe later. Tempting, though," Shannon Lindly responded. She cupped her hand, took a palm full of the luxuriant bath water she was soaking in, raised her hand above the frothy bubbles and slowly let in tinkle through her fingers. As the water impacted it released a faint but immensely pleasurable rose fragrance.

How do they do that? Shannon thought to herself. More importantly, why do they do that? Regardless, it's wonderful.

Shannon looked around her private bath. Are those real gold fixtures? Why would anyone want a crystal chandelier in a bathroom, even if it does accent the pink granite? This bathtub could fit 10 people - why so big? Maybe I don't want to know!

She glanced at her attendant, who was a strapping young man who looked 25, well built, dark, and devilishly handsome. Since my arrival 12 hours ago he has attended to my every need. I wonder if he is full service, too? she thought to herself in wry amusement.

"Marlin, I believe I am done. Could you please get me a towel?" she asked.

"I would be delighted to serve you in any way you may desire," he responded. Then he turned to get her towel.

Well, that answers that question, Shannon thought. She looked him over as he left. He has a tight butt, too.

Morgan has more than lived up to his offer of accommodations at his expense here at the Governmental Palace. It is mid morning, and I'm ready to meet my benefactor, she thought.

Marlin returned with three towels, each a pink that matched the granite of the bath. Shannon languidly rose from the bath, water cascading off her lithe form. Marlin gently and delicately toweled the bubbles and water from her body, used the second towel as a wrap that he secured around her breasts, and expertly wrapped the third around Shannon's hair.

I could really get to like this, Shannon thought to herself.

*****

"Good morning, Ms. Lindly! I'm delighted you could come!" Morgan Senior stated as he rose from his desk when Shannon entered his office. He was dressed in a simple but elegant flowing green robe from his native Nigeria, which seemed to shimmer slightly as he walked.

Morgan extended his hand in greeting. Shannon extended hers in return, which Morgan took and shook warmly. His smile was pearly white, contrasting with his ebony skin.

"Please, please, be seated!" he said, directing her to an inviting chair to the side of his desk. They walked over to the seat. "Can I get you a refreshment? I have my own stock of freshly squeezed mango juice. It is one of my favorites due to its rich flavor. Would a glass please you?"

"Yes, that would be nice," Shannon replied, sitting on her divan.

Morgan turned to the wall cabinet in back of his desk, pushed a panel aside to reveal a refrigerator. He took a crystal decanter of reddish juice from the shelf and placed it on the marble shelf in the center of the cabinet and withdrew two chilled crystal goblets. He poured the juice into each, picked them up, and turned toward Lindly. He held out a glass, which she took.

She sipped the mango juice, as did Morgan. It was delicious, full and not too sweet.

"Hmmm, wonderful. I have to compliment you on the accommodations you have provided, Mr. Morgan. I haven't felt so pampered in a very long time."

"I am happy you have enjoyed them," Morgan said, and then took another appreciative sip of the mango juice. "I'm afraid that the Morganite and Gaians have a long history of bad blood, and I wanted it to be clear that I am interested in making amends. Our two wars, the last one so disastrous for you twenty years ago, were, I think, the result of poor communication. I want to assure you that I am interested in cultivating a mutually beneficial relationship with the Gaians."

Morgan paused. Shannon let the pause continue as she took another sip of mango juice and thought out her reply. There was advantage to be gained here, but also, Shannon thought, a more than a hint of danger. Morgan waited patiently.

"To be honest, I did not expect such a reception. Our previous relations have always been cool to hostile. May I ask why you are so interested in cultivating a relationship with us Gaians? The last war, which you pursued with so much vigor, resulted in the marshaling Yang's army. That army then systematically attacked all of our holdings, and drove us into the wilderness. You funded him quite generously. Moreover, it resulted in Yang' rise and then his eclipsing of you in power, if I recall correctly. Have I missed something?" Shannon's tone was somewhat clipped, but not aggressive. Although asked as a question, the question was clearly stated as a fact.

Morgan Senior thought for a moment.

"No. Sadly, you are correct. I am largely responsible for the rise of Yang. Before his association with me he was busy in his dirty little war with the Believers, who he largely exterminated a hundred years ago. Even after exterminating or enslaving them he was fairly inconsequential, and he then did nothing for over 30 years. My 'donations', as Yang has called them, have since more than funded his military. The extra has gone into his infrastructure. Now I find myself increasingly concerned about the monster I have created." Morgan paused again, and sat down at his desk.

Morgan is a master at manipulation, Shannon thought warily, but this too close to the truth. It strikes me that he is bearing his soul. How extraordinary!

"So, you see my dilemma? I have made my bed, and now must sleep in it. That bed is getting smaller by the day, and more prone to collapse. What I am trying to do is to repair that bed, or better, unmake it or get a new one. I can no longer do that on my own; I require new friends.

"That said, I still have very significant resources, make no mistake," Morgan said brightly, shaking off his unintended moroseness. "Our energy production is at an all time high and our laboratories are the most advanced on Chiron. It will only be several years, all things going well, when we will be the preeminent technological power on Chiron. Still, we are vulnerable to the likes of Yang. I believe that it is possible to form a mutually beneficial relationship. I desire the friendship, and forgiveness, of the Gaians."

"Mr. Morgan, there is a tale told to all of our children called 'Trail of Tears.' It chronicles our persecution, and the death, horror, and destruction that followed in the wake of our last war: a war that you facilitated and led. Yang's forces were merciless, and you were no better. It will take a long time for us to use the word 'forgiveness' and 'Morgan' in the same sentence," Shannon explained.

Morgan deflated a little. "I see." Morgan paused. "Then we have nothing to discuss?"

"No, I didn't say that. Our trust must be earned though your good deeds," Shannon continued. "I am hopeful in that we are even having this discussion. The Gaians are, frankly, much weaker than you are. You are still allied with the bloody-handed and utterly ruthless Yang, and that in and of itself is dangerous. You must understand our position, too."

"I am coming to appreciate it more and more as time continues," Morgan commented, almost to himself. "Very well. I propose that the Gaian-Morgan relationship begin as tabula rasa. We must begin again. I suggest that you, as my personal guest, begin to know our people and society. I would be honored if you would allow a Morganite ambassador to set up a consulate in Velvetgrass point. If we can't have friendship, then let us work toward it."

"Agreed," Shannon answered.

"In the meantime I have a suggestion, actually a favor to ask of you. We have recently constructed a technological and biological marvel - a synthesis of Earth and Chiron life, which lives symbiotically in the lands surrounding Morgan Industries and most of our other cities. We call this wonder a hybrid forest. An associate of mine has been waiting for your arrival. Would you consent to letting him give you his unique tour of the facility?" Morgan asked. He had an impish smile on his face.

"I don't see the harm in that!" Shannon replied, "In fact, I was hoping to see the wonder myself, and a guide would be welcomed. Especially since you will 'owe' me then!"

"I will indeed! I would then like to introduce you to your guide. Ehm, would you kindly come say hello to Ms. Lindly?" Morgan asked the air around him.

Shannon looked around her. There was no one around. Is this a joke? she thought

hello earthlindly a voice said in her mind.

Shannon looked at Morgan, who was grinning from ear to ear.

Movement and sound caught Lindly's attention. From a side entrance in the back of Morgan' office the smallest mindworm Shannon had ever seen skittered across the carpet toward her. It was barely 30 centimeters across.

"Ah," Shannon replied, surprised beyond words, "hello Ehm."

"He speaks to you?" Morgan inquired. "In all these many years I have never heard Ehm's or Planet's voice. Well, that is not quite true. I heard Planet very clearly during our recent borehole disaster! But I have never been able to understand Ehm," he said somewhat wistfully. "Maybe one day. In the meantime I hope you two will get along."

Ehm put out a tiny tendril and touched Shannon's foot. Shannon smiled, and knelt down and extended her hand. Then the tendril gingerly touched her outstretched finger, as if 'tasting' her. He didn't recoil.

I must 'taste' good! Shannon thought to herself.

"Don't be afraid, Ehm! I've been around dozens of Gaian mindworms, and they are great company! Do you want to hop on?" she asked.

yes, earthlindly.

Ehm flowed onto Lindly's outstretched hand. He molded himself around her hand and forearm. Lindly stood and brought her hand to her chest.

Shannon looked at Morgan. "How on Planet did you come into the possession of a mindworm?" she asked incredulously. She was absently running her fingers through the mass of worms, petting him.

"We created him over 20 years ago at the end of our unfortunate 'incident'. I'm afraid that Ehm has been something of an outcast, with few to talk to. Do you know that not one in 10,000 Morganites can even bring themselves to touch Ehm?" Morgan commented. "The best we could do is let him run free in the fungus or, now, in the hybrid forest. We were afraid to do anything more. He has never complained, but our few empaths have told me that has commented that he is lonely."

"It seems you get along splendidly," Morgan said approvingly. "I fear that he would do better with the Gaians than in our keeping. Could you take Ehm into your care? I would consider it a personal favor."

"Why, I'd be honored," Shannon replied seriously. Taking a mindworm into your care is a rare honor in Gaian society. Only the best were even considered for even the smallest hatchling.

Morgan smiled broadly, "Then it is done! I hope this can be the first step toward friendship between the Gaian and Morganite peoples!"

i like earthlindly. pretty thoughts

"I like you, too, Ehm," Shannon said happily.

would you like to see my home?

"I sure would!" she replied enthusiastically.

Morgan only heard Shannon's voice, but knew the gist of what was being said by the context. "I guess you two have a lot to talk about. When you are ready feel free to visit again. Anytime."

Shannon looked up at Morgan. Has he changed? He looked different somehow. Fatherly? Shannon thought.

"I will be back soon. Ehm and I have some exploring to do!"

"Yes, I suppose you do! I hope you enjoy your visit," Morgan said as he showed Shannon the door. He opened it for her.

He was amused that she didn't even seem to know he was there. She was staring with a beatific smile at little Ehm. They must be 'talking'.

"Good day, Ms. Lindly," Morgan said as she exited the door.

After she had passed through, Morgan stepped back and the door closed by itself.

Morgan turned back toward his desk, sat down, and finished his mango juice. He put the decanter back into the refrigerator and put Shannon's half-finished glass in the autowasher.

Well, stage three is complete, Morgan through. Not what I had expected, but hopeful. Now back to work.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 25, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 25, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 25, 1999).]

Googlie · August 25, 1999, 22:36

'Happy Birthday to me' I thought as I chug-a-lugged a glass of synthjuice - mixed orange and grapefruit flavor. '200 today'.

I had just showered and packed ready for the trip to the aerospace center for the flight to Sparta Command. I'd meant to take the early flight with Sophie but had been rather hungover in the morning. Now it was just after 10.15 a.m.

There was an insistent rapping at the door.

Opening it, I saw Marlo and Paula there, somewhat agitated.

My first thought - unworthy in hindsight - was that they had come to ask me to officiate at a samesex marriage ceremony for them. But their words sent a chill through my very being.

"It's Gavin - he's disappeared."

"What do you mean disappeared?" I asked. "Most likely he's down at the command center."

"No, no. You don't realize. Disappeared as in blood all over his room, a tuft of his hair on the bed and this." Paula stuck out her hand.

A gilt tunic button rested in her palm.

"Found it on the bed. Probably torn off during a struggle" she said.

I took it from her and examined it.

Nothing that I recognized immediately. Nothing I remembered anyone at the ribboncutting ceremony wearing.

My flight to Sparta command seemed unimportant in light of Gavin's disappearance.

"Whom have you told?" I asked Paula.

"Only Marlo" she replied. "Oh, and the guard. But I told him to keep to his post and let no-one in until either you or Marlo returned to his rooms."

I thought rapidly.

First Santiago, then Burge. This had Hive written all over it. Or Honshu. Or maybe even Paula Forbes. She was in SC when Santiago disappeared, and now she was here in Fort Soup when Burge disappears.

This was one investigation that I would head up personally.

"You've done well, Paula," I said. "Now you must leave us to work out what to do. The fewer people who know about this the better, so promise you'll keep mum and I won't put you under armed guard."

"I promise", she said.

"Come with us to the command center, give a statement to the holorecorder in the interview room there, and then leave. Get the next flight out to Morgan Industries or to UN Headquarters. Leave the investigation to Marlo and me."

She nodded, and we trekked down to the command center where she made her deposition. She gave me a quick hug, and Marlo a longer one. Just before she left I said:

"Oh, Paula. Get your bureau here to send me the complete recordings of yesterday's ceremony - every shot, not just the ones they aired, every holocamera as well as any 2d's. She nodded and left.

I turned to Marlo.

"What do you make of this?" I asked.

"Bring everyone in for questioning" she said. "Start with Elizabeth. I'll do the interrogating - you just observe and be intimidating in your silence. Make sure you also pull in all the known Yoopers, too."

We began the tedious task of interviewing.

Rynn · August 25, 1999, 23:42

Laborers Throng
============

"Sir, yes Sir!"

The lieutenant snapped a salute to Captain Chang.

"May I ask the captain a question, Sir?"

"Go ahead, Lieutenant" said Chang.

"Sir, in situations like these we normally receive written orders, Sir!"

Captain Chang's eyes grew icy.

"Do you doubt my orders, lieutenant?" he asked, his voice steely.

"Sir, no Sir!"

"Then carry them out. Dismissed."

Lieutenant Vincent Chow of the 4th sapper battalion snapped another salute, swiveled on his heels, and exited.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"But that just doesn't make sense" said Cpl. Stephen Lew to the Lieutenant.

"Tell me," said Vincent. "There was no reasoning with him. Threatened me even."

They were drawing explosives, detonators and caps from stores and loading them into the flatbed rover.

"We're not even under any kind of threat - neither from the air nor from the ocean. Why would he want to rig the borehole?"

"Beats me," said Vincent. "Said they were the Chairman's orders personally. 'Scorched earth' was the phrase he used. No idea what that means."

Chow signed off the requisition sheets and they drove back to their barracks.

Sergeant Ng was waiting with the squad, ready to move. He wheeled his transportation rover in behind Chow's and they set off for the borehole.

It was huge.

Its footprint was almost as large as the base itself, some 100 square kilometers in area, about 10 x 10. It terraced from the surface, narrowing as it got deeper, until it penetrated Planet's crust itself to tap into the magma core. Giant pressure equalizers were installed in serried ranks, and the mineral extraction conveyors and energy containment pipes intertwined to the surface where they met and disgorged their loads in a giant holding complex. It by and of itself was huge, the equivalent of five or six habitation complexes stacked on top of each other.

They parked their vehicles and went to the site managers office.

Chow spoke first.

"Esteemed manager, I fear that this is somewhat unusual in that I have no written orders, but I and my team are here to wire the borehole for destruction should the Spartan forces land on our continental soil."

The manager's reply floored him.

Puffing up his chest in pride he said:

"My dear lieutenant, I have been expecting you. Chairman Yang himself notified me that you and your team would be coming. You are most welcome. I can assure you that you will receive every co-operation from me and my staff."

"Splendid" said Chow. "Then let's begin."

It took a couple of hours for the sapper team to lay the cabling and plant the explosives for maximum effect. The detonators were installed and connected, and finally the line ran to the deadman switch which was being installed in the managers office.

"Isn't this suicide?" asked the manager.

"Of course" Chow replied. "Would you want to survive the loss of your life's work?"

The manager didn't answer. Any answer would be wrong, he was sure.

Chow was on his commlink to the sergeant down below, in the bowels of the borehole.

"Everything in place?" he asked.

"Ready as we'll ever be" replied Ng.

"Contact" said Chow, and made the connection. The manager stared at him in horror.

From deep within the heart of the borehole could be heard the explosions, then they themselves were swamped by the sound of an angry god erupting.

The explosion was heard for a hundred kilometers around, from the streets of Laborers Throng to the alleys of Manufacturing Warrens and Hole of Aspiration. Citizens stopped in their tracks and pointed to the source. In the distance could be seen, not the mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion, but the ruptured magma shooting skyward as the earth trembled and the man-made volcano rumbled on throughout the day.

The base of Laborers throng was spared, but barely, the molten lava coursing for kilometers through the ruins and impinging on the nearby farms.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Miles sagged back as the explosions rent the air, and released his hold on the plant manager just scant seconds before the blast incinerated him. He watched from his lair in the nearby fungus patch as the unexpected mini volcano erupted.

In The Leaders Horde, Shauna sank back on the bed, exhausted as she released their hold on Captain Chang.

Beside her, Kurt sagged, as the effort of helping Shauna in the background while taking over Lieutenant Chow's mind at the crucial moment drained him. He almost wasn't in time in releasing the hold. He shuddered to think what he would have felt if he had still been in chow's mind when the shock wave hit.

"We did it" Kurt exulted.

Indeed you did. This is the first of many blows you will strike against the oppressor came the thought in their minds, from Miles.

Soon you will be able to throw the tyrant out of The Leaders Horde and reclaim it for your beloved believers.

Kurt and Shauna looked at each other in wonder. Were they really that powerful?

Googlie · August 26, 1999, 02:24

Julia sat with her knees pulled up to her chin.

"It's not fair," she said petulantly. "I don't even know what to call you."

'Call me anything you want," Lady Deirdre replied. "Deirdre even. Mother would be as hard for you as it would be for me."

"But why?" Julia persisted. "Why did you leave me with that woman?"

"Your Aunt Corazon? Is that who you mean by 'that woman'"

"She's not my Aunt, and never will be. I hate her. I hate her militaristic ways and her warped society. I hate her power hungry methods too. I bet this kaffuffle over her disappearance is all her doing as well."

"Julia, dear. Don't be bitter. She may not be your Aunt, but she looked after you as a mother would have, as a favor to an old friend who feared for her life."

"But there was no need," Julia whined. "I could have lived with you as a family, and escaped with you and known you as a mother in my growing up years."

"Now we don't know that for a fact. I may have acted differently had I had a small daughter running around. I may even have opted for slavery to save your life. We just will never know."

"Tell me again about Gaia's Landing and the early years."

Deirdre's eyes misted over, and she began.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +

"It was a hard time to begin with, after the landing. Our pod deposited us at the eastern end of a peninsula, shaped something like a diamond, but with the south west lateral comprising a river and some swampland into which the river delta flowed. We established the base right at the northern apex, but just inland from the coast. On the horizon to the northwest we could see a small island, and on a clear day, looking due west, we could see what we thought was another island but that turned out to be a continuation of the north shoreline of the continent we were on.

"The base was built on a slope rising to the south, about 500 meters in height. At the summit we planted a pine that I had brought from old earth, and in the years that followed we rejoiced to see it take root an flourish - a beautiful sight in those days. From just nearby a small stream started life, flowing west and growing in size until it turned south and created the fertile delta just south of Gaia's Landing.

"As we prospered - and who wouldn't, given the abundance of nutrients we found and cultivated there, we expanded south. At the mouth of the delta we founded our second base and named it "The Flowers Preach."

"In retrospect it was too close to Gaia's landing, but we were neophytes then, and in hindsight it didn't really matter.

"We moved west for our third base, encountering some uranium deposits that ultimately proved our undoing. The third base we named Nessus Shining from the strange hue that the surrounding countryside had in Chiron's moonlight.

"It was then that we first encountered Yang.

"He was pushing east from his first base on the shores of a great inland sea, and he bumped into us just after he had settled Paradise Swarming. We agreed on a shaky peace, dividing the uranium deposits between us, but clearly any further expansion west on our part was out of the question."

Julia interrupted: "But that would mean that we were just on the eastern tip of the Hive lands."

"Yes, Julia," Deirdre continued. " Our great and beautiful city of Gaia's Landing is now Workers Nest. Nessus Shining is now Hole of Aspiration, and The Flowers Preach is no more.

"We turned our attention to the north of Nessus Shining and founded Razorbeak Wood on the coast at the apex of the next point of land due west of Gaia's Landing.

"We flourished as a small group dedicated to preventing the same ecological mistakes that had plagued old earth. We planted forests, and learned how to tame the fungus and the mindworm. But over the years we were becoming somewhat crowded, and as we couldn't expand west due to the Hive, nor in any other direction due to the ocean, we sent some colonists exploring in a couple of our recently built transport ships.

"They sailed between the island and the mainland on a northwesterly course, and as luck would have it they made landfall on what they thought was an island but in fact was a finger of land from out own continent that jutted northeast. They founded a base at the join of this finger to the mainland - Greenhouse Gate, we called it. We should have continued north to the great island. But we didn't.

"Within months, Morgan's own expansion plans brought him south to that same peninsula. To my endless regret we fought. Oh yes, we were ideologically at opposite ends of the spectrum, so maybe a war was inevitable between us. But Greenhouse Gate was destroyed.

"In its place was built a Morgan base, Morgan Distribution. We sent a task force and destroyed it in retaliation. We reached an uneasy peace.

"Although our resources had been somewhat depleted by the battle, we still needed to expand, although this time we turned further north. We sailed out colony transports past the point and between the Morgan territories and the Emerald Isle - quite a misnomer really for 90% of it is a fungus jungle. But the northern part of this island is breathtakingly beautiful. There is a small mountain lake in the northwest, from whence flows a river, gathering strength as it tumbles down the hillside, flowing east to enter the ocean over 2000 kilometers from its source at the lake. We built our base by the lake, and called it Dreams of Green. When I heard of its beauty I wanted to relocate our seat of government there, but was talked out of it by our council.

"Their distance from us made communications difficult, and I'll never forget the day that my commlink crackled and I heard the dreaded words "We are under attack - don't think we can hold out".

"I dispatched a reconnaissance vessel, and when the expeditionary force reached the site of the ruined settlement, Morgan's signature was all over it.

"The hotheads in our council pushed me to declare vendetta, but I confronted him instead, and he had the gall to deny any involvement. I pushed him, and his taunting words were too much. I remember them still:

" Is that a threat, my dear Lady Deirdre? I suggest that you pronounce Vendetta and have done with it, for I am scarcely intimidated.

"I declared Vendetta, and all hell broke loose.

"Within days Yang's troops were on the march.

"They rolled through Nessus Shining within days and split their battle groups to the north and south. We fared better against the smaller forces, but in time Razorbeak Wood fell, and then all his forces were concentrating on The Flowers Preach. I could see the end. With Morgan's wealth and Yang's military might we had no hope where we were. So I took my infant daughter to Santiago and begged her to bring you up as her own. I went back to my people.

"The Flowers Preach fell, and then the siege of Gaia's Landing was underway.

"As he pounded away at us in Gaia's Landing, he systematically starved the populations of Razorbeak Wood and The Flowers Preach to nothing. A few emaciated survivors broke through the lines to join us but it was futile.

"My heart grieved at the punishment we took. Every shell that landed destroyed a memory. The explosions that tore apart the recycling tanks, the recreation commons, the biology lab one by one tore a little of the fight out of me. Better to surrender and save our citizens' lives than to continue our futile struggle against destiny. I cried with anguish as I saw his troops cut down the splendid solitary pine on the hillside above us. It was like an omen. I assembled the council, and told them that we must flee. At that time we were about 40,000 in population. About one quarter wanted to leave, the rest shrugged and said that life couldn't be too bad under the Hive - they had some interchanges with Hive bases and obviously did not see Yang as the monster I did.

"So we assembled our ragtag armada and set sail one dusk, heading due east. Once we were out of sight of land I commlinked to the base governor who had elected to stay and he hoisted the 'open city' flag. The base was occupied and renamed the very next day.

"We shepherded our ragtag armada the 2000 kilometers across the eastern ocean and made landfall at the joining of the Monsoon Jungle with Pholus Ridge. We headed south, skirting the coast, which seemed to be solid fungus, for months, until we hit what we believed was a large island to the south. We followed its western shore south and then east, suddenly coming to a natural bay which was fed by a river at its western edge. We followed the river upstream until we came to its watershed, with a river flowing north, and the one we were following flowing south.

"Underneath some majestic waterfalls, just south of the watershed, we founded Velvetgrass Point. Only half of our original number survived the journey. Some died, some had their small boats blown from the main fleet in the storms, some gave up and turned back.

"I doubt if I would have carried on - or even attempted the journey - if you'd been with me. Leaving you safe with Corazon was the best thing I ever did, although it broke my heart to do it.

"The rest you know."

Julia sat in contemplative silence. It was not at all like the stylized "Gaian Exodus" of the holovids.

On impulse she got up and went to Deirdre and hugged her.

"Mother," was all she said between sobs.

Tokek Belerang · August 26, 1999, 02:39

Overhead, the scream of Penetrator engine rent the skies.

"Ours?" DeVaughn Molina asked dubiously.

"4th Wing. That's Slats Miller's bunch." Levavassier said.

"Fung. So we're gonna win this?"

"Looks like it. I'm worried about the Glory, though."

Molina peered at the comm screen, then pointed at it.

"That's them?"

A big signature had just popped up. Levavassier stared at it.

"Hell, no. That's an Isle! Captain!" he exclaimed, and punched the comm where it should be tapped. A touchpanel snapped off, but the Captain came on.

"Better hold on, Colonel. We're about to do some testing on our trance rig, I'm afraid. Red alert."

"Everyone!" Levavassier shouted. "Isle attack!"

"So?" Naawal Jones asked lazily.

"Keep your eyes open! Keep realizing where you are!"

She was grabbing her head only an instant later. Levavassier crouched, kept his eyes wide open, and felt the tangled web of raw emotions trying to take over his mind. He had ample experience of mindworms from his days in the Expansion Taskforce, breaking ground in uncharted territory for the settlement of new bases.

And this wasn't as bad.

"Red alert is lifted." came the voice of the Captain of the Lycurgus over the comm.

Levavassier looked around. His eyes flashed from one recovering person to the next, and to his amazement none of them seemed badly affected.

"Long live the trance rig, Bad Bunch. It was a boil Isle of the Deep, and it spent itself in exactly three seconds. We sustained minor damage only." said the Captain's voice over the comm.

Levavassier nodded, and was about to answer when his eyes sought out a tiny movement in the corner of his eye, and found Fungrunner Paatelainen. The old mercenary looked remarkably untouched by the Isle's attack. And, in his right hand he held a tiny Derringer fleschette gun.

"You may want to reconsider." Levavassier warned, his eyes shooting fire at Paatelainen.

"I have done so already, Colonel. The moment I felt this flash of a thought go through me, coming from your lily-white conscience while that Isle was making such a lovely jumble of our minds. If I recall correctly, what it said was 'Good thing I don't really have a graft, or it would have been busted right now'. Now could you have been clearer than that?"

"Well, I'll be damned." Naawal Lewis said, and shot upright.

Paatelainen restrained her with an outstretched arm.

"Easy. We have need of the good Colonel for a while. At least until the Captain delivers us to Hive territory. After that - the Circle may have a use for him."

DeVaughn Molina stepped up next to Paatelainen.

"Right." he said. "Looks like we are under a new command."

Levavassier breathed in deep.

"Did you get that, Captain?" he asked.

"Yes, Colonel. What do you want us to do?"

"Turn off the air supply, I would think." Levavassier said levelly.

"Negative, Colonel!" came a voice from the corner of the hold. "Systems control is now administered from the personnel hold, I'm afraid."

It was Vinnie Mo. The group of datajackers crouched triumphantly over a comm screen, grinning silly grins.

"He's right, Colonel." said the Captain.

"Set a course for Deep Community, Vinnie. And let them know we are coming." Paatelainen said. "Sign it 'Moonshine'."

Levavassier and Paatelainen exchanged stares. Molina was smiling.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 26, 1999).]

Tokek Belerang · August 27, 1999, 05:56

The same dream. A party, and everyone came. As Sukrung looked at the smiling faces, she realized she was in a dream, but at the same time could not detach herself from it. All she knew was that she felt much more at ease than in the previous one, and that she was taking part in the festivities and chatting to all kinds of people.

Slowly, it dawned on her that she was not the one giving this party. I'm not going to die! she thought. Excitedly, she rambled about her fears at breakneck speed to Prokhor Zakharov, who for some reason was one of the minor guests at the party.

"It's the fruit. You shouldn't have tasted the fruit." the Academician told her shyly, and drifted off into the distance as if moving backwards through a tunnel.

"Who's giving the party, you think? Who's going to die? Do you think they'll hang him? Aren't you glad it wasn't your party after all? You must be so relieved you're not going to die? Don't you want to know who's giving the party?"

This was her hairdresser from back in Bunker 118, and a guilty shock raced through her. She should have invited the hairdresser. She should have got him an invitation. What if they found her out? She whirled round, and ran into the next room, and through into the garden. She had to get him an invite. Panicking, she made for a remote shaded spot in the garden, under a large apple tree. Sitting among the apples on the ground was a lonely figure, and she jumped up and down in front of him and pleaded in a childish voice that she needed tickets for the hairdresser, or else he'd be turned away from the party.

"Easy, child." her Grandfather said. "You shouldn't be so excited. This is Field Marshal Burge's party. Why don't you go and greet him? It will be all right."

She ran away, but turned half way back to the house to shout to Grandpa that he shouldn't eat the fruit. It was bad! She ran on, into the house, out the front again, into the street. She went round corners, avoided cars and PTUs alike, trying to find the Field Marshal's office. She found the building where it was supposed to be, but as she was about to run inside, she fell down.

The falling sensation continued out of the dream and into waking, but her bed was there as it always was, and she did not really fall. With the adrenaline still rushing through her veins, though, she sat up and allowed reality some time to find its way back into her system.

She looked at the clock on her comm. Midnight. They were about to arrive on their next waypoint, she realized. She got up, ran through the MorganShower, and hoisted herself into her uniform. She was not expected on the bridge for a couple of hours more, but she felt energetic as perhaps never before.

* * * * *

She arrived on the bridge with a spring to her step, and quickly put herself abreast of the situation.

"Hive fleet is pounding the Plex, ma'am. Plex is continuously sending out position updates. Two missile cruisers just outside sensor range, it seems." the watch officer said.

"Verax?" Sukrung asked.

"Ready and waiting, ma'am."

"Get ready to send out a message over one of the secure channels. Make sure it's one that we're not supposed to use anymore."

"Ma'am?"

"Do it. Message reads: Emergency. South Fleet attacked by mature boil and great boil Isles of the Deep. Verax fifty percent damaged, Southern Cross sixty percent. Casualty situation serious. Coming into shore four hundred clicks west of the Plex. Please send 1st Wing relief. Cannot come in for repairs due to Hive presence. Will attempt to regroup with North Fleet at present position."

"Aye, ma'am."

As the ensign began sending the message, she felt her elation subside a little. For a fleeting moment, she thought of Field Marshal Burge.

Nah, she thought. Dreams were nonsense, anyway.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 27, 1999).]

Hydro · August 27, 1999, 21:24

Morgan Industries, Governmental Palace

*****

"This is most irregular," City Manager Cecil Kranzenstein of Morgan Processing stated in a concerned voice. His small, dark eyes darted around to see whether anyone else agreed. He visibly relaxed when he noticed that at least four other City Manager's mouths were set in a straight line and had their arms crossed across their chests. Cecil immediately did the same, assuming the posture of passive defiance.

Morgan Senior smiled indulgently, as a father might smile at a son who had asked an incredibly stupid question.

"Would you like me to explain my rationale again? Were you not in attendance at the Council meeting? Do you not understand the unprecedented threats we face today?" Morgan asked in a congenial voice, looking Cecil straight in the eyes. Cecil squirmed a little under Morgan's gaze.

"No, no. I understand. It's just so… unsettling," Cecil replied, verbally retreating. His arms, however, remained crossed across his chest.

"Change is always unsettling, Manager Kranzenstein. I see that I shall have to elucidate to ensure that all of you," Morgan turned to look each of his 9 City Managers in the eyes, "have a full understanding of my proposal, and the ramifications."

Morgan turned from his assembled group, who were seated in the synthwalnut-paneled Manager's Chamber, and walked to the front of the semi-circular meeting table. As he turned a series of neutral holo spheres winked into existence.

"The first phase necessitates shifting our societal focus," Morgan started. The first holo resolved itself into a representation of the magnificent Graeco-Roman styled edifice of University of Morgan in Morgan Industries. "We must place greater emphasis on our institutions of higher learning, and focus our society to give them greater deference and importance. This will require us to downplay our traditional glorification of wealth, but the rewards are manifest! Our scientific advancement will increase by at least 20% with a minimal decline in the overall standard of living. Moreover, with the security of the newly enacted Hunter-Seeker Algorithm, an almost sentient entity that protects our society from covert activities, the significant decline in security that is typically associated with this effort is no longer an issue. The propaganda campaign would start immediately, as would an increase in governmental funding for desired research goals."

As Morgan finished, the second blank holo sphere focused onto a grid representing current energy outlays, and the proposed outlays adjacent to it. The differences caused most of the Managers to react, murmuring to each other. Morgan waited for them to quiet slightly.

"The second portion is more controversial, since it entails a radical change in our energy budget. At the cost of significant inefficiency, we have biased our outlays to favor raw capital in the form of energy. This has served us well in the past, since we have had the surplus to undertake significant projects or otherwise advance our goals. However, it is time to rethink this strategy, since our surplus is likely to be stolen by the likes of Yang."

Morgan paused for effect, and he was not disappointed. News of the 'thievery' by Yang had spread like wildfire through the governmental circles, souring many administrators on Yang and their relationship with the Hive.

"I suggest we decrease social outlays by 50% percent, decrease capital outlays by 50%, and increase our investment in science be 300%! Even at these modified levels we will easily have the most profitable economic system on Planet. Moreover, our research rate will increase by a factor of 4, all totaled! Within a few short years we will be the technological power, especially now that the Spartans are crippled by their police state economy and the Peacekeepers and faced with their daunting system-wide inefficiency due to their reprehensible planned economy! The Hive is another matter that we will have to watch closely. It does us no good to save our hard-earned energy or invest it in research only to have Yang demand it under pain of death."

The final holosphere resolved itself, showing a trio of state-of-the-art infantry, naval, and airforce military brigades. In the background was a vague image of Yang with suggestions of hordes of infantry and airforce. Once again, the City Managers sobered and focused on Morgan.

"This leads me to my final point. We are in desperate need of upgrading our military. I propose to allocate out of government coffers enough energy to finish most current city projects, and then take the unprecedented step of building Command Centers at approximately half of our critical cities! A select few will have Naval Centers or Aerospace Complexes, building defensive interceptors. Moreover, all of our new units will be fully trained, with the most up to date abilities. We will focus on defensive technology initially, of course, and will consider expeditionary forces at a future date. Our current military are relics of our wars with the Gaians during 2153-2164 and 2176-2192. Gentleman, they are almost 30 years old. It is time to refit these venerable units and supplement them to ensure our security."

"Are there any questions?" Morgan asked.

"Yes, I have a question. It would take an investment of hundreds of energy credits to complete the hybrid forest currently under construction in Morgan Transport. This will be the focal point of our society, massively increasing our productivity. To be perfectly clear, do you intend that this energy would come out of the government treasury, and that this will happen within, say, the next six months?" Li Zhou, Morgan Transport City Manager asked.

"Indeed I do, Manager Zhou! I contend that this, and the other infrastructure improvements currently under construction at all Morgan cities, will benefit our society through their immediate completion." Morgan chuckled, "They will almost pay for themselves when totaling the benefits we will receive!"

"Then I fully support your position! This will benefit my constituents, and will ensure my re-election!" she said happily. There were several murmurs of agreement.

"President Morgan, exactly where will these new command facilities be built? Will all cities build them?" the elderly Barbara Vang asked. She was Manager Morgan Bank, renown for its production of energy and research, but with little effective industrial power.

"Some specialist cities, such as yours, will continue with your infrastructure investiment schedule. Unless you object?" Morgan added needlessly. He knew Barbara had thrown him this softball, as she was a lander and they had been close colleagues for over a century.

"No, no objection. I just want the discussion to be clear, and free of potential misinformation," she replied.

"Are there any additional questions?" Morgan asked of the group. He scanned the room, noticing that three of his Managers were actually beaming they were so happy. Several had more hooded expressions. Only one looked reluctant: Manager Cecil Kranzenstein. He still had a stiff expression on his face and his arms crossed over his ample chest.

Morgan decided a subtle prod was in order.

"Manager Kranzenstein, do you have any concerns?"

Cecil looked around the room and finally noticed that no one else was openly skeptical: he was alone. He quickly uncrossed his hands and put them self-consciously in his lap.

"Ah, no, no." he said, flustered. Cecil straightened up in his wingback chair and decided to jump on the worm, "I fully support your proposals, President Morgan! And let me say that I think they show notable vision! With your foresight we will ride forth in victory upon the arms of tanks and needlejets…"

"Tanks and needlejets, Mr. Kranzenstein? 'ride forth to victory' " Morgan smoothly interrupted. "Although I appreciate your new-found enthusiasm, I hardly think we will be in a position to wage such a war in the immediate future."

"Ah, yes. You're right." Cecil finished lamely. He tried to shrink back into his chair.

"I have entered my proposals into your datapads, and I'd like to call for a second," Morgan said, dismissing Cecil.

Barbara Vang immediately spoke up, "Second."

"Then, I call for a vote of hands. All in favor?" Morgan Senior asked.

All raised their hands. Most were enthusiastic, some where not.

"Very well then! Motion passes! Congratulations on helping Morganite Society progress into a new age! Any other business?" Morgan asked.

Evidently not, since they are already gathering their datapads and starting to leave , Morgan thought.

"Meeting adjourned," he said unnecessarily.

The managers chatted among themselves. Morgan stood silently in front of the conference tables as the City Managers rose, formed small groups, and then ambled to the exit.

Only one remained: the venerable Barbara Vang. She stood and walked slowly over toward Morgan. It seemed to Morgan that she was having a difficult time, but knew better than to interfere. She would be irritated at his 'meddling'. For the life of him Morgan did not understand how such an acute mind could choose to decline longevity treatments, when offered.

Soon I'll lose another old friend and colleague, Morgan through to himself as she made her way.

"Well done, Nwubudike! Well done! You played them like a violin! Especially that weasel Cecil. Do you think any of them perceive what you are really doing?" Barbara asked knowingly.

Morgan was silent for a moment as he looked toward the door through which the Managers had exited.

"No. No I do not think many of that lot understand what they have committed to. What do you think we have committed to?" he asked and he faced her with a smile.

"There are two paths we can take, and both paths will be dangerous. We had been taking the easy path, but that is long behind us now. Will we regret our decision in the times to come?" Barbara asked rhetorically.

"The easy course, as you call it, had only one outcome: death by degrees, until all is irrevocably lost. At least, that is how I see it," Morgan said.

"That future even I could see," Barbara agreed.

"You know what must now be done?" Barbara asked. She looked up at her friend, concerned. "We haven't had such a test since our last 16 years of war with the Gaians over 30 years ago."

"Never fear, Barb. The wheels are already in motion," Morgan told her.

A brief silence filled the Manager's Chamber.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, old friend?" Morgan asked, suddenly feeling some of his vaunted need for isolation melt away.

"Sure. But none of that nasty spicy stuff you usually try to foist off on me. Never liked it," she replied with false gruffness. " Now, of course, I can blame my delicate constitution."

"I will even allow you to choose the entire meal, just for the favor of your company," Morgan stated.

"I will get to choose the meal? The entire meal? For a connoisseur like you? What if I choose a nice, ripened fungigruel?" she asked playfully.

"With enough Tabasco sauce I wouldn't notice the taste or the smell," Morgan replied

"Hmph. Tabasco - figures. Well, I can do better than that. Come on Newby, I'm kind of hungry," Barbara said.

She crooked her right arm, extended it, and offered to him. Smiling, he took her arm, and together they walked toward the beaten bronze doors.

Googlie · August 30, 1999, 21:15

Hargreaves found him first thing in the morning, slumped over the desk.

He took one look and went to get Marlo.

"It's Googlie," he said. "I think he's dead. Heart attack."

Marlo said "Get a medic" and went to Googlie's office.

Allardyce was slumped over his desk, just as Basil had said.

Marlo went up to him, and felt for his pulse on the neck - but found nothing.

She reached down for his wrist and as she raised it, the gilt tunic button fell from his fingers.

She felt just a suggestion of a pulse, a slight tremor, but it gave her hope.

Activating her commlink she snapped "Dr. Kendra Ossenton - the SAC Boardroom. Code red."

Then she turned her attention to Googlie's desk.

His terminal was active and his vidshow player was on, but paused.

She leaned over him to see, and focussed on a face in a crowd. It was that of a youngish woman dressed in fashionable black, taken at the ribbon cutting ceremony two days before. She didn't recognize the woman. She dressed well though. Then she saw them. Golden buttons on the tunic. The same as the one found by Burge's bed.

Swiveling round to look at the console, she read the simple text:

Known only by codename Angel . Member of Circle of Ashaandi. Specialty is interrogation by torture. Sadist. Cross reference Diamond Gloves .

Scanning upwards, she saw a picture of the same woman, just slightly younger.

Her heart sank.

She bookmarked the reference then deactivated the two units and pocketed the button.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dr Ossenton arrived before the medics, and took complete charge.

She slapped a medvac pack on his chest, connecting the terminals with little fuss or preparation. Marlo guessed that speed was of the essence before atrophy set in. She heard the hum of the ancillary heart kicking in and saw a slight f;licker of Googlie's eyelashes.

Next Kendra put a Neural scan unit over Allardyce's head, and connected nodes to his temples, then switched on. As the filaments snaked to their contact points and penetrated, she turned the dials on her vid monitor and waited.

"What are you doing?" Marlo asked, fascinated.

"Science has come a long way in these past few years," she said in reply. "The neural scanner is penetrating the cortex to the individual cell level, searching for the most recent memories. The brain as regards memory is like a giant databank. If you know the codes, you can penetrate and find out almost exactly what caused the heart attack."

"Like mind reading?" Marlo asked.

"Exactly", said Kendra. "Once we've found exactly where the cutoff came, we can go in with the slave scanner and read what he was experiencing right up to the moment when the overload caused the heart attack. And I think we've found it."

She twiddled the controls, and the monitor line showed steady.

Ossenton put over her head a replica of that on Allardyce. Marlo winced as she saw the filament thin elements snake out seeking an entry point in Kendra's skull.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said. "I've been modified. You have to be to be a surgeon today. Aha. I'll give you a running commentary.

"Ok, Im in the office, scanning the vidshow looking for…clues. Anything out of the ordinary. I see a face…woman dressed in black…..looking at clothes…zooming in….something important about the buttons…zooming to face….activating digital copy scan…scanning…transferring file to command console and activating search.

"Search running and am pondering significance.

"Match made, bringing up file. Reading… Angel triggers neuro response. Hang on, let me look"

She reached forward and activated a control in the medvac pack.

"Aha, it looks like there was a preprogrammed condition that when he mentally imaged "Angel" there was a morphic release causing metastasis, cued to the neural wave signal of "Angel" which brought about the attack. Been dormant for years by the look of it, as it was intended to kill. Who is she anyway?"

Marlo said simply "Ashaandi".

Kendra gulped. "Then we're - he's lucky. I understand that they rarely fail. I warned him a couple of weeks ago - the last ten year treatment in the rejuvenation tanks was tampered with - for him, Burge and St James. They must have introduced this metastatic virus at the same time. I'd better warn Burge."

"I can take care of that," said Marlo. "What of Allardyce?"

When the medics get here, we'll take him straight for rejuvenation. He was scheduled for major organ work anyway - and we've been growing a heart for some weeks now. He'll just be out of commission for a month or so, then back up and running the Federation, unless we get our Colonel back in the meantime."

'Yes, unless' Marlo thought glumly. 'Santiago gone, Burge missing and now Googlie incapacitated. Who is running the country? Only thing I know is that they don't need a PR Director. I'm resuming my position of Sparta Command Governor'

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 30, 1999).]

Hydro · August 30, 1999, 22:13

Worker's Nest

*****

Mont Ferris stood on the hot tarmac, resolute in his official Trade Delegation suit. The bright sun from the cloudless blue sky made his grey clothing seem lighter than it really was, making Mont seem like a kind-of white monolith. His frame was spare, as was only fitting, since excess consumption of nutrients was wasteful. His two aids, in similar attire, stood to each side. All three looked vaguely off into the horizon toward the west-northwest.

Starting at the edge of the former-fused tarmac the rich and productive farm fields of Worker's Nest were tended by a limited number of mechs and a large contingent of Hive Agricultural Workers. The Worker's River flowed slowly through the extraordinarily fertile shallow river valley. Languid and placid, the river brought increased moisture and humidity to the hot climate surrounding Worker's Nest. In short, it was a perfect agricultural community, and it had been for over 30 years.

North of the manicured and pruned fields of primarily Earth grains and vegetables lay the abundant forests, which were heavily harvested and tended by the Forest Workers. The trees were husbanded as a resource, but were used as was seen fit by the cabal that lead Worker's Nest. Few of the broad and expansive native live oaks or formerly common white pines now remained, as they had been long since replaced by fast growing and more efficient monoculture scrub pines and bioengineered cedar.

The trio began to sweat, first at the temples where beads of sweat formed inside and outside of their breathmasks. After 30 minutes the quickly rising temperatures of the late morning near Chiron's equator during midyear began to tell, and their clothes darkened along the torso and back. Both of the aids finally broke down and started to fan themselves as best they could, as they became increasingly uncomfortable. Mont stood still to set the example, as was his duty.

Finally, a miniscule silver spec appeared on the horizon. It grew rapidly and after several minutes the modulated throb of the fission drive could be clearly heard. As it approached there were a series of sonic booms as the aircraft decreased in speed, and finally one last boom as the plane decelerated below the sound barrier. The pilot banked north then south again to approach the landing strip. As it approached, the plane's nose edged up and the landing gear descended from the fuselage. It made a perfect landing, coasted and slowly edged over toward the waiting Hive representatives.

By anyone's estimation, the fission jet was sleek. Although all aircraft had to conform to the laws of aerodynamics, this one did so with a certain flair that was not evident in other makes. MorganAir Corporation prided itself on making the best and most luxurious, and most aesthetically pleasing, aircraft on Chiron, and this chartered corporate jet was no exception. As the jet pulled up the name Morgan Industries, in bright yellow on a field of white, could be seen emblazoned on the side in large italicized letters.

The jet slowed, then stopped. After approximately 5 minutes a tube formed around the front hatch, extended to the ground, and then seemingly inflated. Within 30 seconds a full set of solid-looking stairs with handrails had formed. A black line defining the oval hatch darkened, then the hatch apparently slid to the side, revealing the darkened interior of the plane.

Excited chatter from within the plane exited before any passengers. A large man with ebony skin in a conservative navy blue suit lead the way down the stairway, followed by men and women dressed in an array of colors and styles. The man in front was over 2 meters tall and massed easily 100 kilograms, and had had to duck low to exit the plane. He practically bounded down the stairs onto the tarmac. As he got to the bottom he grinned broadly and approached the Hive delegation.

The Morgan representative extended his hand as he approached. "Hello! I am Paul Andreas, Paul Milton Andreas, at your service! I am the trade representative of Morgan Industries! I presume you are the honorable Mont Ferris?" Paul boomed.

Mont took Paul's hand for the requisite handshake. Paul had a crushing grip and pumped his arm furiously, and Mont returned the favor as best he could. Mont was feeling like his hand would be pulverized when Paul, mercifully, disengaged.

Mont looked over the horde of Morganic representatives exiting the plane with increasing alarm.

Mont looked at Paul. "I was informed that Morgan delegation would consist of 3 negotiators and 2 inspectors. I see 16 people, with more coming down the ramp from your aircraft. This is most…irregular. I am afraid that we are not prepared to accommodate this many individuals, since the proper authorizations have not been acquired, nor are 'guides' available to be assigned to the Morgan representatives. And we have no accommodations that are…suitable… for your associates. I'm regret to inform you that we will have to decline the presence of the unnecessary staff.," Mont explained succinctly.

"Now, now, what are a few more people? Surely you can understand that…" Paul started.

"I'm regret to inform you that we will have to decline the presence unnecessary staff," Mont reiterated forcefully.

"Well then," Paul continued, suddenly becoming less boisterous, "then I will have to point out that according to the Hive-Morgan Master Agricultural Agreement that periodic inspections of proffered trade goods are authorized without prior notification according to Title 17, Chapter 2, Section 2.3-2.65 revision 2 of 2119. Moreover, expansion of trade relations may be initiated at any time and validated at a future date according to Title 19, Amendment 23 of Chapter 235, Sections 293 and 9858.2-8."

Mont was silent, thinking quickly.

Paul didn't give him the chance. He pulled his data pad and hit a few keys. "Since you may have missed the nuances of the Morgan contract, I have pulled them up for you. You are free to inspect them at your leisure, or call them up on your own datalinks. I will assume you are not suggesting an abrogation of our trade treaty? It was negotiated by the directly by the representatives of Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang, himself."

Cross Yang! Mont thought to himself. I will have to improvise.

"Very well. I concede the point. There will, however, be a significant delay while the appropriate preparations are made," Mont Ferris stated.

"I understand," Paul replied beneficently, "until proper clearances are acquired some of us will base ourselves out of our jet. It is quite comfortable, I assure you." Paul chuckled to himself.

Mont tried to reassert control. "I will have a security detail guard it at all times, to ensure your safety. In the meantime, I suggest that you and the other four authorized representatives follow me to the east entrance of the Tao warren of Worker's Nest. Have the non-essential elements of your delegation reboard your aircraft and my two aids will ensure their safety."

Mont Ferris' two aids exchanged pained glances: they now had 7 hours of merciless sun to look forward to.

"Agreed," Paul stated with a smile. He turned toward his group, who were watching with great interest from the base of the airplane stairway. "Miona, Steve, Li Chen, and Shawna, follow me. The rest, please reboard and await instructions."

A small and inappropriate cheer broke out from among those slated to go back onto the plane.

"Now, none of that! I'll call when I find out. You've got a lot of work, so get to it," he remonstrated them.

Paul turned back toward Mont. "Well, let's get on with it! We have a lot of work, too! I would not have gotten the authorization for the extra staff if I weren't pleased with the quality Worker's Nest products, particularly your fine produce. A favorite of mine are the Chiron pineapples! It was my hope to expand our trade."

Mont perked up at that. Yes, that would be of benefit.

"Then let us go toward the Tao East Entrance. I am sure you would like to escape the heat for the cool fastness of our warrens," Mont suggested.

"Oh, no need! You see, I am perfectly comfortable, as are all my people. Our apparel is fully climate controlled and will maintain a temperature of 25 degrees Celsius," Paul responded.

Mont looked him over. Not a trace of sweat. Amazing decadence .

"This way," he said simply as he turned 180 degrees to exit the tarmac. Mont's two aids stayed in place and Paul's four associated immediately followed.

As the made their way on the ferrocrete walkway Paul looked around to examine his surroundings. This was an almost tropical area, lush and green. The farmland they had passed over was far superior to anything that existed in Morgan territory. Yang was very fortunate on that count. Also, the impressive system of array solar collectors and hydropower plants on the river must produce an impressive amount of energy. This is a productive city.

Surveying the city itself he could not help be feel profound disappointment. He had been to numerous Hive cities and the all were pretty much similar at the surface and below ground. All had an almost modular grid like pattern, made for efficient expansion. And also made for easy compartmentalization in the case of disaster or invasion. This made them extremely difficult to breach - a natural defense system. The result is that the surface was unimpressive, or even ugly. He frowned as he surveyed the few features that were of notice.

First, there was a cluster of strange and oddly brown rounded towers in the center of the complex. Very un-Hivelike. Immediately next to them was a large, low dome of dark brown ferrocrete, which contrasted in a negative way with the towers. Besides that there were several low ferrocrete cargo and transport bays and a couple of hab entrances. A couple of sensors pocked the ground in a grid-like pattern, as did a former-built road system. Everything looked well maintained, but dull and lifeless.

Paul couldn't suppress his curiosity any longer. "Mr. Ferris, what is that building over there?" He pointed to the south.

Mont looked where his was pointing. "That is our Morale Enforcement Center," he replied simply.

"Really? That big tower?" Paul asked.

"No, the Morale Enforcement Center is the dome," Mort explained. "The towers are all that remains of the decadent Gaian society that the Hive generously took guardianship of when they were abandoned by their faithless leader. Since then we have worked hard to help the deluded followers of that failed faction to understand the true beauty of Hive society. The Morale Enforcement Center assists us in this task, and it has done so for the last 30 years."

Interesting response Paul thought to himself. He watched with interest as a tracked bus approached the dome. It stopped and a phalanx of Hive solders created a human hallway between the door from the bus and the entrance to the dome. The door on the bus opened and workers in jumpers filthy with dirt ran from the bus to the dome, holding the hands over their mouths. They ran single file, and fast. Not one had a breath mask on.

"None of those people has a breathmask?" Paul commented to Mont.

"Not having one improves efficiency by eliminating an unnecessary action and by enhancing the necessity of entering the Morale Enforcement Center. The degradation of their health is acceptable," he stated, unconcerned.

As Paul watched the drama a figure, apparently an older woman, fell heavily on one of the solders. The citizen in back of her also fell. The solders then took their rifles, Paul couldn't tell what kind, and used their butts to pummel the two who fell. Paul stopped walking and stared in partially horrified fascination.

A hole opened up in the solder's line as more assisted in the beating. A smaller figure at the door of the bus hesitated, the dashed through the hole in the line toward Paul's group. Three soldiers broke off in pursuit.

Paul automatically started to move toward the fleeing citizen, but a hand restrained him. It was Mont's hand. Paul looked toward Mont.

"The soldiers have the errant citizen well in hand. You need not assist," he told Paul, completely misunderstanding his intent.

Paul stopped. The Hive citizen got within 5 meters of Paul's group before the soldiers got a hold on the drone's jumper and yanked him off balance and toward the ground. He fell, rolling further toward Paul, whose group backed up as the soldiers bore down on them. The young man tried to get up, but was tackled by one of the police. He tried to twist free, but by then another soldier had piled on. Still he fought.

Suddenly, as if by unspoken command, the three soldiers got off and formed a ring around the now dazed young man. Paul could see that his head was partially shaved, and that there were curious scars the size of a peach pit in a ring around his temples and at the base of his neck.

Oh my god Paul thought to himself.

The soldiers reached into their belts and took out a short staff. By now the young man had recovered and he backed away from the two soldiers in front of him, right into the one in back. His eyes were wide with panic, and he had a look of abject terror in his face. That soldier jammed the stick into his torso with full force.

The boys' body immediately arched upward, his legs curled, as did his arms and fingers. His head was thrown back and his mouth opened in a silent scream as the electricity coursed though his body. The soldier in back pulled the stick away and the boy stopped convulsing, and the second stepped forward and repeated the treatment. Then the third. Finally the boy lapsed into unconsciousness even though his body continued to involuntarily contort as muscles were forced to contract unnaturally. Paul heard a bone snap, then another.

Satisfied, the soldiers grabbed the boy by the tunic and dragged him back to the quickly emptying bus.

Sick to his stomach, Paul recognized those scars. Only one device created skin damage in a pattern like that, and made people risk such a dire punishment.

A punishment sphere.

Timexwatch · August 31, 1999, 14:27

2145 Hours
Great Dunes
Subterranean Outpost Sandspider

The young private leaned back in his chair. Yet another day of listening duty. He sighed. It was slow going in the southern tier of the Great Dunes and it was approaching summer in his neck of the woods. It was always unbearably hot, no matter what the time of the day it was.

Behind him a door eased open. The captain stepped out of his quarters holding a mug of black coffee. The strong smell wafted into the control room. The private turned around and nodded. There were no need for formalities; the whole crew of six were all friends, so they dispensed with the formalities. The captain sat in the chair adjacent and called up the status reports for the day. It was the usual stuff, ground sonar readings, weather readings, radar scans, etc.

Private Ryan turned slowly toward his screens again. The faint glow of the panels illuminated his soft features. He was relatively fresh out of the academy, specializing in communications and electronics. He imagined himself in some mobile brigade or command unit. Not stuck in a backwater listening post near the border of a faction that would crap their pants handling a bread knife. He leaned back to yawn, but out of the corner of his eye he saw that the sonic sensors were beginning to pick up vibrations from a tracked vehicle, bearing west. After several seconds, the computer calculated the contact's speed at about 20 miles an hour. The private tapped the captain, pressed a button on his console and then switched on the comm system...

Tokek Belerang · August 31, 1999, 18:26

Dear Salvador,

My long-time friend and mentor! Listen, if you will, to a striking tale. Remember that fateful night, before the Unity launched? We had a brief but animated talk in the corridors of the Control Center, and it was at that time that you pledged your fidelity to the Spartan cause, and agreed to enter our plan to take over the Unity.

Many more talks, that night! In one of them, I was not convincing enough. As a result, someone who knew of our plans refused to join our struggle. I was at that point unable to take drastic measures, as you may understand, and I was deadly afraid that our plans might be thwarted by this misfortune.

As it happened, this man did not turn us in, or give away the plot in any other way. He kept the information to himself, and put it to good use when the Unity was thrown into havoc as we stirred into action. Putting information to good use has stayed his hallmark, and he has become quite successful. You met him in the Bunker, I believe, where he hinted as to my whereabouts.

We are talking about Sand, of course, the mystery among mysteries in the Circle of Ashaandi. I struck a deal, Salvador, and he has honored his part of it so far. I am safe, and in a position to return to Sparta if I should so desire. The other part, my part, is to support the Circle's takeover of the Human Hive in the planetary council.

Why? I preferred the Circle, and still do, to Sheng-Ji Yang, who is a megalomaniac and a despot. He cares not for people. Sparta will be better off, Planet will be better off without the likes of him ruling any of us. Our relations with peace-loving neighbors like the Gaians, the Morganites and the Peacekeepers are threatened by the Hive's expansionism and unfettered meddling.

I am not saying we should be peace-loving forever ourselves - we must defend ourselves against any who would deny us our right to be Spartan, and to live as we see fit. But for now, I feel we can gain most by striking a peace, and developing our society. There is a large gaping wound in the center of Spartan territory, and it is begging to be inhabited. We should turn our attention once more to settling, to the frontier of civilization.

It is in that latter area that I see my own greatest value to Sparta as well. Should I be in a position to return to the leadership of Sparta - and that would take more than your vote only, as you know - I would make colonization my main policy issue. I envisage a different command structure, one in which the nominal leader - I, perhaps - would be a Head of State, but not an autocrat like before. That was suitable to the frontier state, when we were striking out to new paths, new opportunities, new societies. The person of Corazón Santiago, also, was suitable to the frontier state.

I propose that I be reinstated as leader of Sparta, but in a primus inter pares role, who will represent the Junta in the Planetary Council, but will not be in any way above the Junta. I would, in fact, take on Scott's role now, as Civilian Governor of Sparta, and as member of the Junta qualitate qua. The Junta would decide affairs military, and I, with my base governors, would decide affairs civilian. We would also reinstate democracy, but would still elect our highest leaders by proxy - indirectly, by the military and the elected representatives jointly.

This will require, for now, the votes of Gavin, Scott, you, and Honshu. I would ask you to trust Gavin unconditionally in the near future - you will see him again in a very short while. I feel that we should retain our newly won Hive possessions in any peace negotiations - tell him that for me, please.

As to a proof for the authenticity of this document - there isn't any, I'm afraid - but none, elegantly enough, will be needed. Consider it a foretelling of things to come - things may soon develop as I have described just now. Use that knowledge to your advantage, Salvador - and be a friend to Gavin as you are to me. You are one of the ablest politicians I know - please let that be an asset for Sparta for a while longer.

Yours as ever,

Corazón Santiago

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri

Kuruk · August 31, 1999, 19:44

General Torkel Erikson stared down the field, clutching his shredder rifle. Next to him, Andrea “Locust” Shaw, the chopper pilot, did the same. Both pairs of eyes were fixed on a patch of fungus 50 meters down the slope.

Without warning, a blue-clad figure stood and raised an impact rifle. Andrea and Torkel opened fire, and two bursts of shredder pellets caught the Hive infantryman in the head. As he was falling, two more figures emerged from behind the fungus, sprinting for the cover of the trees nearby. The two Peacekeepers turned and opened fire, Andrea on the lead soldier and Torkel on the rear. With their final shredder rounds, they dropped the two Hive troopers.

Torkel and Andrea stood as the image dissolved. The Chironian landscape dissipated to leave a bare room with metal walls. Woody Edwards, one of the probe teams techies, sat at a node console. Natalie Rovero, the team’s other techie, Travis Richards, the munitions specialist, and Mike Sanchez, the team’s psychologist, leaned against a wall, waiting for their turn on the range.

“Not bad, sir. Ninety-one out of one hundred hits, eighty lethals, sixty-nine headshots. You’re getting better,” Woody said. The general’s marksmanship had improved greatly since the probe team had joined his division. He was still now where near any of the team members, even the “non-shooters” assembled here. The other team members were practicing a takedown exercise in the other holo room, moving through a simulated laboratory in a mock assassination. Torkel hoped to Planet that wasn’t the team’s mission.

“Yeah, it’s nice to get some practice again,” the general said. “I’m going to miss it when you guy’s leave. Any idea how much longer you’re joining us grunts?”

“Couldn’t tell you even if we did know, sir,” replied Mike, a not so subtle reminder that the probe team was not officially heading toward Spartan territory, and for that matter did not officially exist.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Torkel. “How can you guys stand that, anyway? All this short-notice stuff?”

“You get used to it,” replied Travis. He and Natalie stood to take their turn at the shooting sim.

“Where ever it is, I hope they have a chopper,” said Andrea, “I’m going to get groundsick.” The team had no copter of it’s own for support reasons, but Andrea was an expert on the UN’s Unity chopper, and had more time in Spartan aircraft than many Spartan pilots.

“Well, like I said, I’ll miss having you guys around,” said Torkel.

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Woody, firing up the holo. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Paula Forbes · August 31, 1999, 20:14

Peter was waiting for me as I descended the ramp from the plane.

"Got your mail and your change of clothes, you're leaving again," he said.

I sighed.

"Where to this time? And for how long?"

"Velvetgrass Point," he said. "And I'm coming with you, plus a holocam crew. For a month. Docugram on the revitalized Gaians. CEO himself appointed you. Said it was in his grand plan."

"I hope you've got more than a change of clothes," I said.

"Yup, two suitcases full, plus a slew of new purchases - safari gear, beachwear, I used my imagination as to size and style," he leered at me winking.

"When do we leave?" I asked.

"Next half hour. We've got one of the new Morgan Industries corporate needlejets at our disposal, and the camera crew are loading our stuff now. Gate 4."

'Well, it is different,' I thought. 'Almost as good as a vacation.'

"Let's go then," I said resignedly.

[This message has been edited by Paula Forbes (edited August 31, 1999).]

Rynn · August 31, 1999, 20:36

They were atching MorganNews in Shauna's living quarters when they both felt Miles presence in their minds.

Great work on the borehole. Utter confusion around the base. I'm going to just lay low for a bit and try to contact our Spartan empaths.

I suggest that you two do the same - lay low. Be as normal as possible. Kurt - might mean that you need to get a job. I expect that it's a strugle for Shauna to feed you on her allowance.

Don't overuse your empath powers to bamboozle people - it may tempt the base authorities to bring in an empath if queer things are happening continually.

I'll be in touch

The sense of presence faded.

Shauna looked at Kurt.

"Smart advice. We need to concoct a background for you, though, to get you a job here."

They worked on their story line.

Tokek Belerang · September 1, 1999, 07:03

Santiago's letter was hand-written. St. James had recognized the spidery, masculine hand immediately, and had at the same time felt a nagging suspicion. He had run all kinds of tests on the document, and they were all positive - Santiago's DNA in skin traces, Santiago's handwriting down to the pressure points in the individual letters, all of it Santiago.

And yet.

One thing, though, was true. It did not matter whether it was real. It outlined exactly what he would have done anyway. Trust Gavin. Trust Santiago. Trust Sand. He sighed, realized with a pang that he appreciated the little compliment about his political skills, and had a déjá-vu flashing by. The Unity. The Control Center. Santiago's little smile, and then his promise, which she turned into an oath. Same thing exactly.

It could be true. It should be true.

He mailed the letter to Burge, Allardyce, and Honshu, through all possible channels. Never mind if this got out. It would be a good test of faith.

He walked out of his hotel and got into a waiting PTU that would take him directly to his private Morganite physician. Dr Budiman would be screening him for possible longevity tampering, and he would be out of the running for an indeterminate time.

St. James looked at the Morganite splendor rolling by, and felt impatient again for the first time in a long while. He would be away for quite a stretch.

Well - trust Gavin, then.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited September 01, 1999).]

Velociryx · September 1, 1999, 11:26

“Halt!” The guard at the north gate of Fort Superiority shouted in a harsh, commanding voice.

The shadowy, slightly hunched figure stopped. Wavered slightly, as though unsteady on his feet.

The guard took half a step forward, Impact Rifle glistening in the moonlight. “State your name and business.”

The man tried to speak, but what escaped him was a low moan.

He looked up imploringly, revealing his face to the guard for the first time.

“Sweet Jesus.” The man whispered, quickly crossing himself. And then, “Johnny, Drake, I think you guys had better get down here.”

That was how it began.

The return.

The figure in the darkness was rushed to a hospital. Examined closely, and under extremely heavy guard. It seemed that the leadership of the Junta had been under all sorts of attacks these days, and the security forces were taking no chances. They even brought in a fledgling empath to scan him, just to make sure he was who he looked like.

Harrand Ashaandi had no trouble at all in fooling the young Empath. It was actually rather enjoyable, and he knew as he lay in the bed, letting them tend to his numerous wounds (including the shallow-but-nasty gash across his throat delivered by Angel and her greatly feared gloves), that he would enjoy being Gavin Burge.

He closed his eyes, and mentally counted his wounds. No one but a fellow assassin could understand the artistry behind an impersonation such as this. The lengths that had to be gone to. The pain and suffering to be endured in order to pull of the most masterful of impersonations.

He mentally counted his wounds.

Three broken ribs. Several lacerations on his chest and throat, courtesy of Angel’s dreaded gloves, skinned knees and elbows, bruises on most of his body….indeed, Sand and Angel had prepared him well. It looked like he’d travelled through Hell itself, and somehow emerged on the other side.

He smiled sleepily as he watched the doctors scurry around him. Even if they notced the smile, they’d just think it was the effects of the painkillers they were pumping into him. It all blended together, this wonderful fabric of deception….

He slept.

Gavin was dreaming.

Dreaming of retirement on Velvetgrass point. Of kelp-farming with his old friend Allardyce.

In his sleep, he smiled, but the smile faded quickly, for in the dream, the sky filled up with dark and angry clouds, and those clouds began to mold themselves into specific shapes.

Faces, actually.

Sand and Angel.

He woke up then, and would have sat up on the slab they had him on, if not for the restraints.

“Nightmare?” A seductive female voice purred, ans she uncoiled her lithe body from the chair she had been lounging in and glided across the room toward him.

He nodded slightly. Didn’t really matter if they knew it was getting to him or not….it wouldn’t change their plans for him.

**No!** His mind screamed! **You can’t start thinking like that! You’ve got to….find a way! Find some way to get yourself out of this. Get back to Sparta Command and warn everyone!**

Slowly, sluggishly, his mind began churning in that direction, fighting the fear that was slowly grinding away at him, and the drugs they’d been feeding him in liberal amounts.

So sluggish. So tired. And so hard to think….it was disorienting, being flat on his back in a mostly darkened room.

A face appeared over him, almost seeming to float.

Angel. Had she crossed the room so quickly?

He flinched, and tried to sink into the synthsteel slab, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

“Shhhh….there now, my sweet, gentle old man…..” She whispered almost lovingly to him as she gently kissed his neck. “You won’t be afraid for long….I promise you that….” And her gloved hands lightly caressed his chest, opening up the flesh there and spilling his blood.

He closed his eyes and a tear rolled down one of his cheeks. He fought against a whimper of terror and pain, but it came out anyway. She was just so…..seductive and evil in the same breath, and those gloves! Perhaps the diamond shards had been dipped in some kind of slow acting poison or something, because it was an almost breathtaking pain. Sharp and all but unbearable, each time she caressed him.

**I’m dying.** He thought weakly, as Angel smiled almost sweetly down at him, her hands poised to touch and caress again.

He braced himself as best he could.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited September 01, 1999).]

Hydro · September 1, 1999, 13:59

The Hive

*****

Sheng-Ji Yang strode into his spartan office. After he entered the door closed silently behind him, shutting out almost all noise to his inner sanctum. He stood still for a moment, looking at his desk. A brief flicker of emotion, a combination of rage and dispair, washed across his implacable face. It quickly passed as Yang reasserted control.

Disharmony.

Dissidence.

This news is unsettling, he thought. I must renew my center.

Yang paced to the left side of his desk, gracefully lowered himself to the floor, and effortlessly assumed the lotus position. He placed his hands palm down on his knees, took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.

Focus

His breathing slowed.

on the core

Yang sequentially shut off all exterior sensations: first the vestiges of light and signals his optic nerves sent his brain, then the soft sigh of the air exchanger, then the touch of the cool floor and even the touch of his hands on his knees.

Focus on the core

Finally, the slow breathing and the beating of his heart were quieted, then screened out. Then nothing remained.

Except the light. Yang focused on the light, willed it, and it came. The light twisted under Yang’s guidance, forming an imperfect sphere. Satisfied, Yang metaphysically stepped inside his Center.

Inside all Yang could sense were his meticulously ordered thoughts and experiences. All was in order, awaiting his inspection, everything except one piece. Yang willed that piece to him, examining it, dissecting it, understanding it, destroying it. There was joy in understanding. Hope in destroying.

Order was restored. The Center was sound.

Yang willed the light to contract, and it did so. As the light diminished and finally disappeared Yang’s senses returned: first awareness of his rhythmic heartbeat and breathing, then the cool caress of the air on his skin, then the low pulse of the air exchanger, then the dark reddish vision through his closed eyes.

At last Yang was at peace, and his Center returned.

The one piece that had cause disharmony had been subsumed.

Yang opened his eyes, unfolded his legs, and rose. He turned toward his desk, pulled back the chair and seated himself.

The path was now clear. Order must be maintained, and chaos eliminated. Those who disobeyed represented the forces of entropy and chaos.

Sand has disobeyed my summons twice, Yang thought serenely, The day will soon come when his usefulness will be at an end.

Tokek Belerang · September 1, 1999, 15:30

The empath sat down on the quay by the Lycurgus. A small group of officials looked on, and behind them were rows upon rows of security forces. Guns were trained on the Lycurgus from every possible corner. All of Deep Community was looking at one thing only, and that was the battered-looking transport docked in its harbor.

The empath got up.

"These people are who they say they are." he said.

"Are you absolutely sure?" one of the officials asked.

"Yes. On board is a Spartan colonel, a regular transport crew, and a contingent of former prisoners. With the exception of the colonel, there are no people on board who constitute a security risk. My psi scan was quite conclusive. The evidence was overwhelming."

"I see." the official said, and looked at his colleagues.

Dubious expressions all around.

"Well, governor?" asked a stern voice.

The person who had spoken was a military man - rank rather than file, by the looks of him.

The official cleared his throat.

"I'd say we have an opportunity, Colonel."

The colonel eyed him appreciatively.

"I agree." he said with a slight nod.

The governor turned around.

"The group's leader may leave the vessel with two aides, as requested. The Spartan colonel may then be turned over to base miltary authorities, along with the vessel's original crew." he announced.

Presently Fungrunner Paatelainen stepped through the iris doors, and in his wake were the impressive DeVaughn Molina and the diminutive Vinnie Mo.

"Gentlemen. Welcome to Deep Community."

Fungrunner and the governor shook hands.

"Erkki Paatelainen." Fungrunner said.

"Better known as Fungrunner, or The Moonshine Man. Not a stranger to the Human Hive, or so I hear."

Fungrunner smiled faintly.

"My aides, DeVaughn Molina and Vincent Meaux."

"Delighted, I'm sure." the governor said, eyeing Molina with suspicion.

The little group moved away to the port's exit gates. Behind them, Eugene Levavassier and the Lycurgus's crew were marched off to an uncertain future.

* * * * *

Deep in the belly of Deep Community sea base, watertight doors were slamming shut. Emergency lighting came on. Or rather, came off, as for some reason the lights were running at one tenth power. Commlinks crashed. Commlinks crashed? Morgansoft C-link software never crashed! But it did at Deep Community. Massively.

Communications, in short, came to a standstill.

"What's happening?" the governor asked in a panicky voice.

"Nothing much." his assistant muttered while peering at the insides of his commlink.

"Get me Colonel Santos." the governor said.

The assistant looked up.

"Commlinks", he said slowly, as if talking to a petulant child, "are down."

And he added the kind of look that could say 'I could no more get you Colonel Santos than I could summon a herd of prime Libyan camel mares out of thin air right now. Get it, Smarts?' without actually saying it.

"I'm sorry about this..." the governor began to say to Fungrunner, but then he eyed him a bit uncertainly.

"I'm sure it will all be resolved." Fungrunner said, and took a sip of his drink.

Fungigruel root beer. Blechhh...

The governor looked about him.

Impotence. What was happening?!?

A commlink bleebleeped, and the governor looked up happily.

"I think that's mine." mr Meaux said.

"Yours? But..."

"Meet the new governor of Deep Community, governor." Fungrunner said.

The governor stared into the smiling face of DeVaughn Molina, all perfect white teeth and one tiny, glittering diamond.

"I think I'll call it Zanzibar. I've always loved that name." Molina said dreamily.

* * * * *

Using the clothing of Levavassier, Paatelainen, Molina and Vinnie Mo as transmitters, the datajackers on board the Lycurgus had taken over base defenses, much as they had done to the Lycurgus before.

Now, Levavassier faced Santos in the same room as the governor and the three representatives had been in before.

"The empath?" Santos inquired.

"Some of it was real. The crew didn't know, and some of the crooks are real crooks. Myself and the others, we are well-versed in psi combat. On the receiving end, mind you. Experience does a lot against psi. Our elites are hardly affected."

"And you are elites." Santos said.

It was insult nor compliment.

"In a way, yes." Levavassier said.

"What do you intend to do? You cannot expect to hold onto this base with the forces you have."

"Correct. But I expect to hold out long enough for North Fleet to arrive. In any case, we'll be out of here before any of that. A base can run itself for a while, especially with a little help."

Levavassier looked at Vinnie Mo, who was up to his ears in commlink wiring.

* * * * *

The Lycurgus took its leave of Deep Community not much later. The first remote-controlled base in Planet history, it lay waiting for either the Hive to relieve it, or North Fleet to definitely claim it for Sparta.

He looked round at his crew, now a few less due to a little clean-up to get rid of the decoys they had needed for the hoax - Naawal Jones and her ilk.

"Guerrilla time, huh." Molina called over from his corner.

"You got it, chief." Levavassier said.

The Lycurgus bounced on, riding the swell, to the Hive coast, and who knew what exploits.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri

Velociryx · September 1, 1999, 17:07

Gavin looked out the hospital window and reveled at the sight and feel of the sunlight. It was going to be a very good day.

His ribs still ached vaguely, but the medical advances the Spartans had made since planetfall had actually been quite remarkable, and their accelerated healing techniques had him feeling nearly as good as new inside of 72 hours. Now, he was getting restless. There was much to do.

An important victory to win.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking at the door.

“Yes….come in.” He said in Burge’s deep, gravelly voice. It made him smile.

Elizabeth opened the door and stepped in, almost shyly.

He held out his hands to her, and she took them, her smile growing. “I got word you’d made it back last night…..it took me forever to get here….”

He shook his head and favored her with one of his rare smiles. “I’m glad you made it….and I’m feeling better already. In fact….”

He was cut off in mid-sentence by a familiar-but-not-familiar voice, and he had to do a quick scan of Burge’s memory cells to scare up the name. Only took three nanoseconds though, not even noticable.

“So, the old man still has a bit of fight in him after all, eh?” Sparks Wheeler said as he bound into the room. “And good God man, you’re looking well! Already out of bed and everything!”

Gavin nodded. “I am….and you know, I’m actually feeling like a million bucks, as the old Earth phrase goes. I’m ready to get this invasion on track and send Yang packing. C’mon you two…let’s get out of here.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “But the doctors said you should….”

Gavin shrugged elaborately. “Am I, or am I not pretty much running the country these days? I don’t think the doctors will try and stop me.”

Without waiting for a response from either of them, he guided them out in the hall and past the open-mouthed doctor, silencing him with a stern look.

Once they’d passed the doctor near his door and the trio of bewildered guards that had been assigned to guard his room, he chuckled and slapped Wheeler on the shoulder, slipping his other arm around Elizabeth’s waist. “David, you arrange transport for us, will you? I’d like to be in Sparta Command before the suns set today.”

David nodded, and then stopped walking abruptly. Turned and saluted him. “I just wanted to say, sir….it….it’s good to have you back.”

Gavin smiled. “And it’s good to be back, I’ll tell you that. There’s a lot to do, and we don’t have much time…..but we’ll make it….you know how I love to improvise.”

Wheeler beamed and nodded, then turned to go. “I’ll contact you as soon as it’s arranged.” He called back over his shoulder.

Of course he would.

He turned his attention to Elizabeth….pretty girl, really, and favored her with another smile. “And you, my dear….you look famished. Shall we get something to eat before we depart?”

Elizabeth returned his smile and nodded.

They walked out of the hospital together.

@@@

Dinner itself was wonderful, and they never actually ordered any food. A dimly lit café, table in the back, and a bottle of Fungal Gin between them.

Elizabeth was utterly captivated. She had always hoped secretly that maybe he would notice her, but he just seemed so….

And a lot of her friends would laugh at her for being so attracted to a man so much older, but there was something about the way he….

She couldn’t finish a single thought in her head when he watched her with those eyes. Ancient eyes. The eyes of a hunter, and they penetrated her. Utterly shattered all her defenses, and oh God, now his hands were caressing her cheeks, reaching across the table to pull her face closer to his….

Their lips met and she trembled. Something inside her wrenched horribly and she blinked back unexpected tears.

**Tears? Where the Hell did….**

Gavin was looking at her strangely.

She tried on a tentive smile, but suddenly, she found herself afraid.

“What is it?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

No.

It was not Gavin.

Only someone who had harbored a secret crush on him for years could have known. It was not something even the Empaths could have picked up on, but she could see it now. It was a mask. A lie. And the fear in her grew.

Whoever he was, he had fooled them all. The doctors, the soldiers, the Empaths, and even Wheeler, but he could not fool Elizabeth.

It was the little differences, really. The nuances. Things like smiling slightly more often than Gavin would have. Or actually mentioning his skill of improvising (a thing he made a point to almost never talk about). Or putting his arm around her waist at the hospital. Kissing her.
Even if Gavin ever wanted to, he never would. It was his way. He was too in-control of his emotions to ever do such a thing. He could not be tempted, which was one of the things that made him a good soldier.

“Elizabeth, what is it? What’s wrong?” The-thing-that-looked-like-Gavin asked again, rising slightly from his chair.

She had to think quickly. Had to recover. And then get away.

She shook her head. “N…it’s nothing Gavin….I just….I don’t know….the smoke in this place must be getting to me….I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded, concern still etched on his face, and she hurried to the ladies room.

She did not look back

Did not see the scowl crossing Gavin’s features, nor the dark glitter in his eyes.

@@@

He rose fluidly, almost languidly, and followed her.

She knew.

Somehow, despite how careful he’d been, she knew.

He smiled.

Not for long though.

She was heading to the ladies room. Thinking of course, that she would be safe there. (And he smiled a thin, fierce smile at that. Why was it that ladies thought they could hide and be safe in there? It was sad and amusing, actually). Maybe crawl out the window and go tell someone. As if anyone would believe her. Still, it would complicate things. No….better to just be done with the problem now.

He morphed his features subtly as he walked, and by the time he reached the door of the ladies room, he was an attractive woman. Thanks to the poor lighting and haze, no one noticed his transformation.

Confidently he opened the door and did a quick scan. They were alone.

She was splashing water on her face and rubbing her eyes when Ashaandi entered. She gave him/her a fleeting glance, but nothing more.

Never even looked up again until he was right behind her with a hand on her throat.

The whimper was choked off almost before it began when his forearm locked down across her windpipe. He stayed in his feminine form, but allowed his voice to change back to Gavin’s.

“I’m sorry my sweet….you and I could have had such fun together this evening….but, since you’ve discovered me, of course I cannot allow you to live.”

He locked eyes with her in the mirror, and saw the unbridled terror on her face.

Beautiful.

Simply beautiful.

Before she could even think to respond, he wrenched her neck savagely to one side, listening with a satisfied smile to the distinct cracking noise, and then pulling her close to him, and beginning to morph again…..

@@@

Nobody paid any attention at all when the tall, 300 pound plus woman waddled awkwardly out of the ladies room and shuffled outside….

@@@

He buried her in the fungus south of the base, and made it back a full forty minutes before Wheeler called to say he’d arranged transportation.

He was clearly disappointed that Elizabeth had not made it back from her shopping trip, and was apparently ignoring their calls to her comm-band, but duty called, and they had to depart, so he and David went on without her. Still, it was most unlike her. He’d have to have a long talk with her when she finally did turn up.

Ashaandi smiled wanly as the needlejet soared off toward Sparta Command.

Sometimes he amused himself.

@@@

“Are your hands still made of stone, old man?” Sand asked him with a sneer. Angel had to leave abruptly, and Sand picked up right where she had left off. There was to be no rest for him. None. They would take turns tormenting him until it was fatal.

He nodded feebly. “Why don’t you sober me up, untie me, and find out, you rotting bas….”

Sand shook his head. “Temper, temper, my old friend….and I think I will not risk that. You’re a wiley one.”

Sand drew closer, then spit in Gavin’s face. “And believe me, old man….I have never forgotten all the scars you and Allardyce left me with.” He drew a long, wickedly curved knife out, which gleamed and glittered before him. “And I intend to get revenge for every last one of them.”

Gavin nodded again. “I know….how hard it must be for you…”

Sand cocked his head to one side, eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

**Oh I’ve got you pegged.** Gavin thought darkly. **I know more about your psyche than you do, you blithering idiot.** Drugs or no, he was at least coherent enough to know that.

“You must have….slipped far.”

Sand shook his head. “No….my skills are sharper now than they ever were…..you’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

Gavin coughed weakly, reinforcing the image that he was utterly helpless. “Ashaandi must not…think so…not if you’re….reduced to torturing a he….helpless old man….”

Sand froze, and then his entire face twitched.

“You think I can’t take you? Even if I untied you? Is that what you want, old man? To die on your feet?” His face was so contorted with barely controlled rage that it almost made him look comical.

It was a fine line to walk. And only he or Allardyce could have pulled it off. Only they had that kind of connection to him.

Of course he would not untie him. That was too obvious. But if his temper got the better of him….

“What do you take me for, you out-dated relic!? Do you really think you can goad me into untying you?"

Sand threw up his hands in disgust and stormed out of the room, cursing loudly the whole time, and Gavin smiled.

“Gotcha.” He said weakly, and began struggling like mad against the ropes. He knew he didn’t have much time.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited September 01, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited September 01, 1999).]

Hydro · September 2, 1999, 17:32

Plex Anthill

*****

“Get that below, NOW,” Rao bellowed through his breathmask, pointing at a Thrasher needlejet that Slats had just given into Rolling Thunder’s care. Now Rolling Thunder had three of the obsolete fission missile jets, although it would be two again if it weren’t taken deeper into the bowels of Plex Anthill. The East Cargo Bay was a mess, with half of the ceiling caved in due to the unending Hive naval missile barrage. Granite and ferrocrete debris littered the floor, which now ranged from rough to impassible. Six hours ago the atmospheric integrity of the bay had been compromised, and two hours later the ferrocrete supports over the secondary passage had given way. The hazy blue sky, now obscured by dust, debris and smoke, could only barely be seen through the ruptured roof. What remained of the ceiling did not look like it would stay in place much longer.

<…thowack, thowack…>

A cascade of body-sized granite boulders were jarred free of the ceiling and wall, and crashed into the floor by the now choked secondary entrance. A crew of ‘Ants’, as the Spartans now called the Plex Anthill citizens, quickly moved over to the Thrasher with a hoist to get it below. A few Spartans from Rolling Thunder supervised them to make sure they didn’t do anything ‘unfortunate’. Sabotage, or a simple lack of direction resulting in mistakes, had been on the rise lately.

“Forward, get that rover out into the open where it can do some good,” Rao continued. Three of the rovers that were part of the Blue Death rover brigade appeared out of the corridor from Delta warren into the East Cargo Bay of Plex Anthill. They were towing the rover that had been refitted with the missile battery. It was almost comical with the infantry missile siege gun mounted where the chaos turret normally would be. At times, as the towing rover advanced trough the rubble-strewn cargo bay, it looked like the top-heavy contraption might fall over onto its side. Somehow it seemed to stay upright, but the crew still held their breath when the rover’s huge tires lurched over a particularly large chunk of debris.

The towing and the towed reached the main bay doors. Rao signaled for them to open.

The doors shuddered but remained shut, although the high-pitched whine of hydraulic lifts increased as time passed. Then there was a sharp crack, and the whine abruptly stopped.

Rao cursed under his breath. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered.

He called up the lead rover in the tow group. “Kat, I want you to blast the doors, wide dispersal, lowest setting. We have to get those doors out of the way!” Rao said in frustration.

“Roger that, stand by,” Kat responded. Shortly, the low humm of the chaos gun capacitor warming up was heard. After a few minutes the humm reached a crescendo and then died away.

“Ready, sir,” Kat informed Rao.

“OK people. Take cover. This may or may not work, but it will probably bring part of the ceiling down,” Rao said as he made for an alcove. The rest of his crew followed him, and the Ants that were dragging the Thrasher below.

Rao looked around the bay, and all was clear. “Fire at will, Kat.”

Almost as he finished, the chaos gun fired and the air around the door seemed to explode, as did the sythsteel of the door. The cascading chaos spread from this focus into a sphere, which touched the floor and extended 8 meters to the top of the cargo bay door. Portions of the door at the center of the chaos sphere appeared to warp and melt from the energies unleashed, and the shock wave from the air’s energy front finished the job. The doors literally blew apart in all directions, taking part of the floor and a small section of the ceiling door housing with it.

After the flying synthmetal, rock and ferrocrete debris settled down, Rao cautiously looked out from his alcove. The ceiling wasn’t affected. Apparently, the chaos gun of one rover, which was 1/10 the firepower of a rover brigade, didn’t come near the destructive power of the Hive naval artillery.

Rao looked outside of the bay for the first time in days. It was clear that what the Spartan’s chaos guns hadn’t done, the Hive’s needlejets and naval artillery were finishing. Outside was a maelstrom of smoke and craters.

“Move it out,” Rao said without looking back.

******

“We’re done sir,” Lou said proudly. He stood beside the 10 rovers of the elite Blue Death brigade, nine of which were slaved to the rover with the anti aircraft rig.

“Are the crews ready?” Rao asked.

“Yah, ready to go. The best RT gunners are in their turrets, each tracking and assessing targets. The spyeyes are up, and we are linked to tracking at HQ. Do we have a go?” Lou responded.

“Yes, go,” Rao said, and Lou turned to the anti aircraft rig. All had agreed that Lou should have the honor gunning My Baby, as he called it affectionately. Especially since he was one of the best gunners in Thunder.

Good luck, Lou, Rao commented to himself..

“Everyone else, back to the bay. And have an advance team ready for evac, should we need it,” Rao said as he made his way back to the bay. Behind him the rovers powered up, and started active scans of the area.

After activating fire control they will be the brightest things the Hive sees, on the ground or in the sky, Rao thought as he entered the remains of the East Cargo Bay. This had better work.

*****

“Two, no three bogies coming in from the south. Looks like their making a B-line for the rovers. Slat’s boys are busy repairing – they are pretty beat up after fighting 3:1 odds for the last week,” Mary stated, relaying word from C&C.

“Can you put it on holo?” Rao asked.

“Yah, I think so,” Mary said, altering the comm settings to accept the direct feeds of the backup skyeyes.

An image winked into view in the cabin of Rao’s command rover. I showed the stationary rovers as sitting ducks, with three birds of prey swooping in for the kill. In the background, in the Central Chiron Sea, sat a Hive cruiser and destroyer, who had temporarily stopped the artillery bombardment for their bombers.

Rao looked closely as the three Hive missile jets approached. They came in flying north over the base, did a hook, and then came in a full speed. Even to Rao’s inexperienced eye the formation was far from perfect. The three planes visibly changed position with respect to one another, which is potentially dangerous when flying in tight formation. These pilots were probably either green or just past green. They were not using the terrain to their advantage, or what was left of the terrain after the bombardment of the last week or so.

The rovers just sat there until after the jets had committed. Then the missile turret swiveled around and upward, but didn’t fire.

Everyone in the room, Rao, Markus, Mary and three other commanders held their breath. Why wasn’t Lou firing? Was there a malfunction? they thought with alarm.

The lead missile needlejet opened it’s bay and a series of missiles cruised out from their housings, and they flew straight toward the ‘defenseless’ rovers. After unleashing his payload he pulled up, his belly exposed to the non-responsive rovers.

Then the missiles launched from the rover, first at the now vulnerable jet and then at its munitions. Fusion powered-missiles were much faster and deadlier than those of the jet, and they easily took out almost the entire incoming salvo. A couple of near misses damaged three of the support rovers. The Hive pilot must have noticed that the missiles had acquired him for he took evasive action and retreated out to sea. But the missiles were gaining fast.

Seeing the return fire, the remaining two needlejets coordinated their missile strikes, fired, then pulled off in opposite directions. Lou’s missile gun erupted in fire even more furious than before. Lou targeted most of his missiles on the retreating planes, and only one third against the incoming Hive missiles. The ineffectual chaos turrets from the rovers supplemented defensive fire.

Lou’s missiles arced up and away, tracking and gaining on the two retreating Hive jets. The spread of Hive missile entered the kill zone. Some were intercepted or were vaporized by defensive missiles or the coursing energies of the chaos guns. Most, however, got through, and exploded just before impact or after penetrating the ground. Energy erupted in crimson white flashes, washing over the rovers, which were thrown down from the airbursts then up from the ground shots. A couple of secondary explosions rippled through the sheets of dirt and rock, indicated some of the armored rovers had succumbed to the onslaught.

The skyeyes tracking the retreating aircraft noticed a small yellow burst of light over the ocean, which streaked toward the ocean in a parabolic arc. This was followed by a similar burst to the east and west of Plex Anthill.

“Targets a confirmed kill, sir,” Mary said simply. Already the response team was on the way. The dirt, stone, and finally the dust settled and showed the wreckage of 8 rovers. Two rovers had vanished entirely.

There was no cheering as the flamed Hive jets impacted into the ocean.

*****

“Rao, there’s a vid for you,” Mary said from the comm center in Rolling Thunder’s temporary HQ in the Delta Sector Nutrient Center.

Rao waved her to patch it though. Slats appeared on in a miniature holo. “I just heard your boys splashed three Hivers. Good job. That will give my interceptors a chance to repair before going up again. It was getting to be a near thing. You have probably saved their lives.” He paused, “I heard it was pretty rough on the crews. How are they?”

“Of the 50 crew on the 10 rovers, 17 are dead and 18 are seriously injured. Everyone else is in the infirmary and still pretty badly hurt. I’ve never seen rovers thrown into the air like that,” Rao finished somberly.

“Is there anything I can do?” Slats asked.

“Yes, there is. Take out the rest of those jets, and TELL HQ TO TAKE OUT THOSE DAMNED CRUISERS!” Rao yelled, seriously losing his cool.

Slats was a little taken aback, “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied stiffly.

Rao signed, “I’m sorry, Slats. I shouldn’t have flamed at you. I know you and yours are doing all you can. It just seems that no one is listening upstairs.”

Slats hard expression softened a little. “You’re not alone on that. There is a lot going on. Did you hear that Deep Community was captured?” Slats said, trying to lighten things up.

“No. We’ve been a bit busy. It is good news, though. I didn’t think amphib or our navy was nearby. How did that happen?” Rao asked, his curiosity piqued.

“No one will say. The new governor, someone named Molina, proclaimed it in a general broadcast, renaming the city Zanzibar, of all things. Very mysterious. I was wondering if you could send on of your Aardvarks over there to help the garrison? Yang must be having kittens by now. You can bet Yang isn’t going to take that lying down,” Slats said.

“Good idea. I’ll bet HQ hasn’t thought of that yet,” Rao stated acidicly. “I’ll send one right away. In fact, I’ll send the Thrasher you just gave to Rolling Thunder. Against the Hive aegis cruisers that are pounding the crap out of us they are totally useless.”

“Sounds good. Stay in touch,” Slats said as he signed off.

*****

Mary was sitting on the floor at the base of Lou’s low-slung cot. Although he was off the critical list, he was still badly hurt and had been comatose ever since he had be extricated with his crew from the overturned and mauled rover.

Mary reached out to brush a stray lock of his non-regulation blond hair off his face. She was careful not to touch his face, which was a mass of ugly purple and black bruises. Part of the left side of his body was wrapped in an expanding sythskin, which was biogengineered to regrow the seared and blasted skin and musculature. All things going well it should be regrown within a week. The laceration to his liver and one of his kidneys and the punctured lung would take longer to heal, however.

Lou’s eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath. As soon as he did his face bunched up in pain.

“Take it easy, Lou,” Mary said soothingly. “You have a half dozen cracked ribs. Just breathe normally and you’ll be fine.”

Lou nodded weakly as he screwed he eyes shut. After the wave of pain passed he opened his eyes again and looked toward Mary. His eyes questioned her.

“You did it Lou! You’re a hero! Your hair hair-brained idea actually worked! Three, THREE, jets were splashed!” Mary said happily.

Lou managed a pale smile. Mary reached out and held his good right hand, and he grabbed back.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Markus or I will be here when we can,” Mary said.

Lou nodded sleepily and his grip eased.

Mary got up to look for more friends that were hurt. She saw Markus ministering to Luong. She was not too badly hurt. They were having a good laugh over something, probably over the fact that Luong had been Markus’ medic after the mindworm attack and that she had stripped him naked. It was all very professional, of course. Mary had the incongruous and jealous thought of Markus volunteering to strip Luong naked. She quickly looked away and saw Marlo moving a little on a nearby cot.

Looks like Marlo is waking up, Mary thought as she walked over. So many hurt friends, so little time.

Hydro · September 3, 1999, 16:03

Ft. Superiority

*****

Old and dilapidated Unity rover brigades and garrisons began arriving at Ft. Superiority for upgrade. All were given the latest chaos fusion weaponry. A few of the elite units were given anti-aircraft, surface-to-air, or amphibious ability and training. In the weeks following the assault and capture of Plex Anthill Ft. Superiority was a madhouse, with well over 20 infantry and armor brigades, the number rising every day. That did not even count the aircraft of the 4th Wing under Slat's Command.

One by one the infantry and armor at Ft. Superiority received 'orders' or went on 'patrol'. All they were told is to meet a contact at a specific coordinates outside of Ft. Superiority. Since it was not unusual for commanders to be circumspect in their orders, it was not thought to be unusual and it certainly was not questioned. It happened so gradually that no one thought much of it.

But after a week, Ft. Superiority was almost deserted.

Where had everybody gone?

Hydro · September 3, 1999, 16:06

Assassin's Redoubt

*****

The slim military air transport crossed the Emerald Isle Straight and flew toward Assassin's Redoubt. Of Spartan manufacture, it was functional but unlikely to win any awards for its technology, innovation, or aesthetics. These small passenger jets were preferred by the Spartan Military since they were of local manufacture, they were reliable, and they cost less than half of the Morgan Industries equivalent to purchase and maintain. The exterior was painted in a dull grey with some black accents. On the tail was emblazoned the Spartan symbol: a black hexagon with a downward-pointing arrow in the center on a field of white.

Making an easy circle, it accepted the guidance of Assassin's Redoubt's flight control and edged town toward the landing pad. It touched down with pinpoint precision, its fission engines barely straining to counteract the kinetic energy of the craft. As it pulled to the terminal and stopped, three figures emerged to greet the passengers. Simultaneously the oval shaped door opened and a mechanical set of stairs unfolded from the plane's fuselage. Two figures emerged from the plane and descended on the runway.

"Ms. Kirsten Alfredsson?" Military Governor Helen Tobias of Assassin's Redoubt asked. "Welcome to Assassin's Redoubt. Sorry about your diversion to Assassin's Redoubt, but Plex Anthill is a little to hot for civi aircraft right now. Allow me to introduce my two aids: Coronal Hessain Massane and my civilian advisor Carmine Swenfurth."

Helen turned to acknowledge her two aids.

"I'm pleased to meet all of you. My assistant is Captain Sarah Dawson, who will be instrumental in instilling a little order at Plex Anthill, once we can make it there. Isn't that right Sarah?" Kirsten asked.

Sarah looked distinctly uncomfortable, and not due to the air temperature. She smiled and, specifically not looking at Kirsten, replied, "Yes, that's right."

"We met on the plane ride, and I have been telling Sarah here what I expect her to do. I don't expect our drone problems to last very long," Kirsten commented confidently.

Helen immediately noticed the tension between the two, and quickly changed the subject. "Well, in the meantime, both of you are our guests. Why don't we get out of this hot sun, shall we?"

Before they could respond she turned and the led the entourage back to the terminal.

"Have either of you had lunch? I don't have any city functions this afternoon so I would be delighted to have the chance to get to know my new Governor and neighbor to the south. You have your work cut out for you at Plex Anthill. We've all seen the vids and are keeping up on what news is coming about the Hive counterattack. Even after the Hive is forced out it should be a challenge with all those brainwashed Hive citizens. We had our unrest and problems here at Assassin's Redoubt a number of years ago, but that is all behin…" Helen started.

Kirsten jumped right in. "Yes, we must have an iron hand, don't we? Citizens respect a strong leader. If they don't, then fear will do. With my little empath here at my side I think that I will be able to persuade nearly anyone of anything. Isn't that right, Sarah?"

"Ah, sure," Sarah replied.

Carmine looked alarmed, and glanced briefly but penetratingly at Sarah, but quickly looked away. She also edged away from Sarah.

As the group filed into the small terminal Helen looked unflappable, Kirsten supremely confident, Hessain inscrutable, Carmine slightly afraid, and Sarah miserable.

Hydro · September 3, 1999, 16:59

Flight to Zanzibar

*****

"Zanzibar to unidentified aircraft, identify yourself! Immediately!" Vinnie Mo stated over the comm. The situation had been pretty dicey since the Fungrunner and Molina had left with Levavassier on the transport Lycurgus, with only Naawal Jones and a couple of flunkies to help. Even with absolute control of the comm systems and the computer control systems they were barely getting by.

The initial euphoria of the takeover of Deep Community had quickly given way to the unpleasant practicalities of administering, and defending, a somewhat hostile city. Sea bases are, by definition, compartmentalized, so Vinnie and his cadre of impromptu administrators had been able to 'convince' those on the fence or who didn't care to cooperate and then segregated the unruly Hive citizens in secure areas. Their control of the electronic and computer systems was key in this. They had even convinced the minimal garrison to switch sides through a combination of threats, intimidation, and raw bribery. Moreover, they had used the appropriated energy they had 'found' in various Hive businesses and governmental agencies to create and additional garrison. It seems that the Hive 're-education centers' were full of Hive dissidents that were none too eager to return to the tender embraces of their Hive tormentors. This was especially true since those tormentors now occupied the cells and persuasion centers that they had once administered with so much zeal. There were lots of volunteers to be the new guards. Vinnie looked the other way when 'incidents' and 'accidents' occurred to the former Hive guards and administrators. Considering his background, Vinnie could empathize and secretly supported them.

"Zanzibar, this is Nans Andersen in Aardvark 3 from Plex Anthill. As it seems that I have a little free time, how would you like some help? My orders are a little vague, so maybe we can work something out. I am transmitting my authorization and orders now," Lars said.

Vinnie examined the authorization, and it seemed to be authentic. Vinnie really didn't know, not being regular military. He decided to take a chance.

"Permission granted, pilot Andersen. Welcome aboard. Please report to me after all is secure," Vinnie responded.

Well, things are looking up he thought.

*****

"We're glad to have you, Nans," Vinnie said with a big smile, extending his hand.

Nans was almost a half-meter taller than the diminutive Vinnie. He took his hand and shook it warmly, returning the smile.

"I have to say, I'm dying to hear how you 'acquired' this base all by yourself, assuming you'll tell me," Nans suggested.

"Why, that wouldn't do at all! I prefer my associates to be a little in awe of me, preferably thinking I have super-human powers," he joked. "Let's just say that I had a little chat with the central computer and that we have an understanding."

Nans liked him already. "So I can stay?"

"By all means. In fact, I have a job for you…"