The Spartan Chronicles

[Rynn]

As the anesthesia coursed through his veins, Miles' last waking thought was "I've got to get word to Ann that the Hive are developing spaceflight and intercontinental missiles."

He'd seen the gantry at the aerospace center in Great Clustering, where he'd been flown to the bio enhancement center there. He recognized it immediately. It was almost identical to the one being built by the Spartans at Ironholm. That had been started by the University scientists in anticipation of their developing the rocketry technology, but had been nipped in the bud by the Spartan conquest. But this looked even more developed. He'd also heard his captors joking "So Santiago loves polishing her gun barrels, eh? Well let's se if she gags when she gets a PlanetBuster down her throat."

If it were within range of our needlejets , he thought, we should obliterate it, or else get one of these newfangled probe teams he'd heard were being developed to infiltrate and sabotage the construction. But how to get the message out?

Miles knew that his mind was going to be opened and investigated by the Hive surgeons. They'd even joked about it in his presence. "Like peeling the skin off an onion" they'd said. "Then we'll extract the rotten core and give you a wonderful new personality."

He clamped down on his analgesic receptor nerve and flooded his system. He'd heard speculation that this was an antidote to anesthesia, bus couldn't be certain. He retained consciousness, and heard the scientists discussing the incisions and implants in the background.

He tried desperately to induce the trance, conjuring up the image of Lisa, and banishing Julia to the recesses of his mind. He felt himself succeeding, and waited for the moment.

The helmet was placed over his head, and the connecting nodes linked.

He waited.

The chief surgeon delicately adjusted the control panel, and the filament thin probes were inserted.

He could feel them, sense them, probing to his synapses, reaching to the cortex core, and fought back the impulse to blink even. This was not yet the moment.

The assistant said "Ready?" and at the affirmative grunt of the chief scientist cranked up the psi meter.

The psi energy flowed into Miles, the intent of which was to excise preconditioning and preprogramming, like a disc being reformatted, being readied as a fresh receptor.

Miles experienced the energy coming into him as a wave. He concentrated, channeling it, husbanding it, and washing it over his receptors. He tamed it, condensed it, then sent it outwards, magnified, as an empath emission of incredible magnitude.

"HIVE SPACEFLIGHT DEVELOPED - PLANETBUSTERS - GREAT CLUSTERING"

He collapsed with the effort and let his mind go blank.

"Holy ****," the assistant said, as the psi control screen lit up with warning flashes then flatlined. "I think we've killed him."

The chief looked at the monitoring screens. "Still breathing," he said, "but brain flatlining. Never seen this before. Must be trancing of some kind. Interesting. Let's see what we have".

He reached for the scalpel, just as the commlink beeped.

"Yes", he said impatiently then stiffened. "Yes, Mr. Chairman."

The assistant could hear Yang's voice halfway across the operating room.

"You bloody idiots", he yelled, "Do you know what you've done? Obviously not, you morons. You've pumped that Spartan with enough psi energy that he transmitted empathetically across half the planet and told the world of our space and missile development. You'll answer for this you incompetent fools".

The commlink went dead.

The chief turned to his assistant, whitefaced.

"Well let's complete the job, at least. We'll give him his new personality before we get ours."

They performed the operation and made the implants.

[Hydro]

Near Ft. Superiority, 2nd Armor’s new division ‘Lightning Strike’

*****

And now there are eight.

Finally, the almost unnatural storm abated. The roads north of Ft. Superiority are wet and more than a little dangerous from the weeks of intense rainstorms. Most of the roads are simply terraformer-fused earth, which is a perfectly adequate surface in most circumstances. After large rainstorms every depressions turns into temporary lakes, since water can not infiltrate into the impermeable roads. As a result, the roads are clear of civilian traffic. This allows the newly reactivated, upgraded, or refitted eight rover brigades that now form the nucleus of ‘Lightning Strike’ to form up at Ft. Soup. Spartan rovers are designed to go anywhere, any time, and a little puddle or a little torrential rain will not bother them.

The command rover that has been Mel’s home for the last 14 years had originally been a Unity rover, and it was the oldest unit in the Spartan armed forces. Not much remained of the original 50 or so rovers that make up the brigade except the name: Blitzkrieg. It was reputed that Coronal Santiago herself named the unit during those early, lean years over 100 years ago. The crack crew was known as Mel’s Blitzers.

Mel activated a comm channel. “Captain Casaroni to Ft. Superiority HQ. Situation update. Blitzkrieg and the other five rover brigades in my division are heading south and are just north of Ft. Superiority. The last two rover brigades based out of Ft. Superiority, a newly refitted fusion garrison and a fusion chaos artillery, are en route and will rendezvous with us in several hours. Total strength of the ‘Lightning Strike’ division is eight brigades. We are at maximum speed and will be in position to assist the 47th Infantry in less than 14 hours. Our transmitters still can not break through local interference, so relay this message to the 47th to let them know we are coming. Captain Casaroni, out.”

Mel’s commission as commander of the brand spankin’ new 2nd Armor division ‘Lightning Strike’ had been something of a surprise. Mel was known for being unafraid of taking risks. The last risk had not turned out well, and had resulted in the unnecessary loss of over 1500 fine Spartan solders several years ago. Too young and experienced to be cashiered, Mel’s old command had been stripped and Captain Casaroni had been placed in what was known as Santiago’s Penalty Box. The Penalty Box was where officers that had taken inappropriate risks but who had promise where placed while they contemplated their transgressions. Officers judged to be incompetent did not go the Penalty Box, they were summarily executed. If you proved yourself you were given another chance, and were no longer persona non-gratis. Mel had heard through the grapevine that a certain Lieutenant Rynn had recently joined their august ranks in Santiago’s Penalty Box. Mel didn’t know her or much about her, but felt a certain camaraderie toward the wounded solder. They were members of the exclusive Penalty Box Club. Technically, Casaroni’s elevation to command of ‘Lighning Strike’ meant that Mel was out of Santiago’s Penalty Box. However, once in you never really left. Mel wished Lieutenant Rynn well. It was rumored she was going to be assigned to the 47th Infantry, so they might actually meet some day.

Mel removed the safety harnesses at her C and C station to go to the head. As she stood up, her tighly curled short greying red hair bounced as the rover plowed through a small lake.

Her bearing was striking and powerful - a perfect commander. And no one had called Mel ‘Melanie’ for years.

[Googlie]

Chiron
Year 2225, 8th month 12th day
Tape three (of four)


As we walked down the path beside the stream, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the setting. Our Spartan bases were pretty, in a functional sort of way, as we had adopted a green economy as a means to ally ourselves with planet, but we were still producers of minerals to fuel our development and growth, particularly of our war machine and weaponry.

Here however everything seemed to be allied with nature. There were no mines to be seen, no energy collectors or solar mirror arrays, but plenty of trees. And fungus. It almost seemed that the Gaians actually cultivated fungus, as it was laid out in broad swathes between forest patches. And farms.

As we approached, the layout could be seen clearly. Amidst the giant trees that housed their habitation discs were the farms, and around the perimeter was a fungus moat beyond which were the trees. I imagined that the fungus moat would be largely impenetrable to land forces as it would be a human killing ground for the Gaian mindworms.

We came to the base of one of the larger trees, which would have dwarfed even the old earth's pacific northwest giant firs and redwoods of the 1870's that I had seen photographs of as a child. An ascenseur shaft ran outside, up to a habitation disc about one hundred feet above the ground. We entered, and were whisked up to the disc.

As the elevator gate opened, there she was.

As beautiful as ever. That raven black hair, now greying slightly at the temples, those blue eyes, piercing deep into the soul. That gentle smile always playing at the corners of her mouth. Her bountiful figure, not hardened by the years, but aging gracefully, mostly hidden by a wrap around dress with a patterned hem, woven with the Gaian symbol.

Her smile was welcoming, genuine warmth after all those years.

"Welcome to our little piece of Paradise, Scotty," she said, arms outstretched. She had never known me as Googlie, as my cricketing prowess was achieved after my stint in the UN Peacekeeping forces in Pakistan, which was our last encounter prior to meeting in the Unity hydroponics module.

We embraced.

"Deirdre", I said huskily, "I didn't know you'd survived. I heard that Yang had exterminated almost your complete faction, and only a handful had escaped. I didn't know you were one of them."

"Yes", she said. "I'll tell you the story over dinner one evening if you like. But we need to let Corazon know you are safe. How is Attilla the Hen? Still caressing her gun barrels?"

I chuckled at the allusion to Corazon's militaristic views.

"About the same as usual" I replied. "Why don't you ask her yourself? She'll be delighted to know the old Tree Hugger is alive and kicking."

I pulled out my commlink and flipped it open.

Nothing. I punched in some more code. Still nothing.

"Give it to Stephen," she said. "He's a wiz with anything electronic. Now let's get you settled."

She led me to her guest quarters, a small alcove between two larger rooms, but adequate. It had a cot, a washstand, and a dresser, not that I had anything to unpack. A small window gave a view over the base, looking back to the monolith on the hill. That reminded me. I had so many questions to ask.

Dinner that evening was a communal affair, with about one third of the base's inhabitants turning out in my honor. A special treat was when a young man introduced himself to me, not that he needed any introduction.

"Stephen. Stephen Cartesius" I boomed. "How the hell are you. We left you for dead after your crash. This is great. You'll be able to go back with me to Sparta Command."

"Googlie, Sir," he said, hesitantly. "I won't be going back. I'm Gaian now. I was picked up after my Thrasher went down by the retreating Gaian remnants, and we escaped to here. I'm one of them now. I owe them my life."

"Hmmm." I said. "I suppose you have that choice, certainly as we left you for dead after a few days search of your last reported position. Deirdre says you have some electronics talent. See what you can do with this." I thrust the commlink into his hands and he went off to find a screwdriver.

"Dinner", said Deirdre, taking my hand and pulling me to the rustic table carved out of indigenous wood.

The meal was simple, yet adequate. Not the simulated steaks favored by the Morganites nor our flavored pastes and synthetics mixed with protein that we Spartans enjoyed, but rather a buffet of local produce from the farms and streams.

We had a thick vegetable soup followed by grilled fish that tasted somewhere between a trout and a salmon spiced with a ginger tasting herb that I inquired about.

"Oh, that's sundried fungus flower, ground and mixed with a smattering of ground nut from the cobnut tree over there" said Deirdre, pointing to a small tree growing in the shade.

"Hmmm," I said, "never tried to eat fungus before. Interesting ginger flavor."

"It has all sorts of uses", said Deirdre, smiling wickedly. Try this".

She poured a half glass of amber liquid and passed it to me.

I sipped. It tasted vaguely like a scotch and ginger, one of those heinous mixes beloved by Scottish youth that brought howls of protests from the purists who believed that the only thing that should be mixed with scotch was more scotch.

"Not bad", I admitted. "What is it."

"Fungal gin", she replied. "We harvest the fronds and soak them for a couple of days in stream water, then pulp them. Adding some ersatz sugar commences a fermentation process which we accelerate in our stills. This is about one part gin to four parts water. The undiluted spirit will knock your socks off, but we save that till after dinner."

Then she got serious.

"Scott, We've stayed largely hidden from the world since we escaped here - oh I know Stephen has been in contact with his sister…"

"He has?" I interjected. "First I've known of his, or your existence. I'll bet not many other people know either. We knew a handful had escaped, but no specifics."

"We preferred it that way," she said. "I don't know how Yang feels personally, but our disagreement goes way back to the Unity days. It's better he thinks me dead, that way he might leave the others to build a sanctuary here in peace."

"Not likely," I interjected, and proceeded to bring Deirdre up to date on Chiron politics, up to and including Yang's latest foray into Spartan territory.

Deirdre looked at me speculatively.

"Do you think Corazon would pay a ransom for you?" she asked.

I guffawed.

"A ransom? How much did you have in mind? Maybe she'd pay you to keep me here."

"I was thinking more of something of military value that would kick start our research efforts. The new Chaos weaponry you've described, or a copter, or maybe fusion power."

I hesitated. I couldn't see Santiago giving anything of military value that was leading edge, then I had an idea.

"Tell you what," I said "we have some fission needlejets that are being replaced by newer fusion powered models. I'm sure that you could wrangle one of them out of her in exchange for me, and you have a good pilot *** weapons engineer in Stephen. That at least would give you some flexibility if Yang comes calling. If you can get the specs book and manuals as well you should be able to produce them yourself - assuming of course that you have manufacturing capability. I didn't see any when we arrived - and I know it must be hard with only one base"

Deirdre took my hand and looked into my eyes.

"This is for your ears only, until you are back in Sparta Command. By this time next month we will have four bases up and running. We have divided our group into four. One stays here - and you are meeting most of them over this dinner. Two have gone north towards an isthmus that connects us to a larger continent that is heavily jungled, and the fourth is heading east. We will have the manufacturing capability. We have learned from our mistakes. Yang will not find us easy prey a second time. You met Alphonse - he is a demon boil, the oldest and most experienced of our mindworm army. We have captured and tamed, and reared ourselves more than forty like him. Get to know him. They are intelligent, with a collective sentience that makes them more powerful than they look."

I sat back and re-appraised Deirdre. She was a survivor. She was going to succeed. Perhaps a treaty of friendship would be good for both factions. Her planet intuition could be of help to the Spartans and our military preparedness could be of help to Deirdre. I decided to suggest that to Corazon on my return.

We resumed our dinner in pleasant companionship

[Googlie]

Chiron
Year 2225, 8th month 12th day
Tape four (of four)

The days passed pleasantly enough at Velvetgrass Point and Alphonse was surprisingly good company. Limited conversation, though.

I taught him to catch and throw a ball - or at least a rock wrapped in cloth and tied, that resembled a ball.

It all started one day when he was fooling around. I caught the sense of "me big…you puny' as he reared himself up off the ground. And he was big. About 20 meters in girth and around 80 meters from stem to stern when fully elongated. I picked up a rock and threw it at Alphonse in mock rage. The rock disappeared into the tangled mass of tendrils then ejected back towards me with incredible force. I had presence of mind to duck, and it flew for about two hundred meters before hitting the ground.

'Hmmmm,' I thought. 'He'd make a fabulous deep square leg or long leg in a cricket team. I wonder if he could move to catch.'

"Here Alphonse," I shouted. "Get this one."

I threw a rock about twenty meters to his left.

As my arm curled back for the throw he had already coiled and elongated to the left so that the rock took him amidships. His body pulsed and the rock came shooting back at me, at about one quarter the velocity as before. I caught it speculatively.

I sensed a kind of whimpering in my head, and looked over at Alphonse. A couple of tendril strands were lying on the ground where he'd leapt, obviously the rock had torn them.

By this time a small crowd of children had gathered, so I asked if any had a ball.

I was met by blank stares. Good grief, they didn't even know what a ball was. Obviously life in Velvetgrass Point was hard, with little time for games and relaxation.

I fashioned a crude ball with a smooth rock wrapped in some old cloth and tied with string.

Testing Alphonse's range I began throwing further and further away, but was impressed at his anticipation, beginning his leap even as the ball was leaving my hand.

Then it dawned on me. He was reading my mind. Knew implicitly where I was going to throw it before I even let go.

"You sly cheat,' I said. "You're not sticking to the rules."

In my head I heard the query:

"Rules?"

"I'll cook your goose" I muttered.

"Goose?" I heard inside my head.

"Yeah, Goose. Spread out kids. Let's toss this ball around each other and randomly throw in Alphonse's direction. See if he can catch it."

The kids scattered, giggling.

I sensed confusion on Alphonse's part, reaching me as muddled thought fragments. 'Goose…rules…cook.."

The first time one of the kids threw close, all Alphonse got out was a couple of tendrils, and the ball sailed harmlessly past.

Then a kid yelled "He's cheating again."

I watched. He seemed to coil and orient himself to each kid who had the ball, then relax as it was sent to another kid, and when finally it came close past him he reared up or out and snared it, unfailingly sending it whizzing in my direction wherever I stood in the circle of humans.

I marveled. Clearly Alphonse was mind reading about ten humans simultaneously, anticipating their throw from their intentions, and relaxing when he was satisfied that it was not going to be near him.

I felt a hand slip into mine.

Deirdre joined me.

"You'd never believe it if you didn't see it with your own eyes," she said.

"I know," I replied. "It's unbelievable how he keeps track of ten people at once."

"Oh I'm not talking of Alphonse alone," she said, "by the way did you like the name?"

"So it was you putting the thought into my mind" I said.

"Yes," she chuckled. "But it's the group sentience I'm talking about. All Alphonse's brothers are helping out, each one taking a kid and relaying the intent to Alphonse. Look over there."

I looked where she was pointing. A full dozen mindworms were bunched at the perimeter of their nesting area, some pulsing, some quiescent and interestingly the same one pulsed each time the same kid had the ball. Two were completely quiet.

"What are these two on the end?" I asked. "Umpires?"

"No," Deirdre replied. "Haven't you guessed? One's into your mind and one into mine. Watch".

She moved to join the circle of kids.

Immediately one of the quiet ones rustled and seemed almost to orient his body towards Deirdre.

She caught the ball. Made as if to throw it to another kid but flipped it backwards towards Alphonse's left.

Unerringly he shot out his body and snared it again, whistling it to me on the rebound. As I caught it I looked over at the other mindworm. He too had stirred, and was poised for action.

I threw the ball at one of the kids and left the circle, deep in thought. Deirdre joined me.

An army of mindworms. Able to communicate in a rudimentary fashion with humans, take orders, communicate instantaneously with each other, use the fungus to their advantage.

"How great is their range?" I asked.

Deirdre was open about their capabilities. "Indefinite," she said. "Planet takes their impulses and amplifies them and redistributes them so technically a mindworm could hear on opposite sides of Chiron."

Just then she stiffened, and clutched her head. "Oh God, poor thing" she groaned.

The mindworms had coiled into tight balls, and I heard in my mind anguished chitterings.

"What's happening?" I asked alarmed.

She turned to me, with such sorrow in her eyes that my heart lurched.

"That bastard Yang is torturing someone", she said heavily. "Didn't you sense the psionic blast? It was so loud and heart wrenching, a call for help I think. I couldn't make out everything but I did recognize the allusion to the Hive."

She laid a hand on my arm.

"Scott, we have to stop that maniac before he destroys us all. Will you help?"

I nodded. Just get me back to Spartan Air Command, and then we'll see whose goose is cooked.






[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 10, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Julia was packing her things when the blast hit her.

She knew immediately it was Miles, but her empath skills were insufficient to decipher the message he was sending. Just that he was under incredible stress and in pain.

She was not cold hearted enough to shrug, but realized that she couldn't deviate from her mission.

She resumed her packing.

The call had come in that evening, with the co-ordinates for the Gaian landing strip in the Monsoon Jungle.

She huddled with Alan, checking their maps and working out their route. It would be touch and go, at the extremity of the Thrasher's range. Joker, the mechanic had joined in. All sorts of goodies were being transported to Deirdre as gifts from Santiago, in addition to the tactical interceptor and its construction and maintenance manuals. She'd be flying solo, so a lot could be crammed into the crew compartment, but even then it as a tight fit. Julie's dufflebag was heavy, prompting Joker to say "Jules, you've enough for a month there. It's only three days' journey back. Typical woman - probably packed the kitchen sink as well."

Julia chuckled, and commented:

"Remember I had to pack for Googlie as well. He must stink to high heaven now with only one uniform to wear."

The remark was flippant, but Alan caught the nervous inflection in her voice.

'She can't be frightened, surely', he thought. 'Maybe anticipates a dressing down from Googlie for crashing the plane. But from what I've read of the report she filed it was his fault anyway.'

Lisa came over to give last minute handling instructions. It was Lisa's needlejet that was being gifted to the Gaians. The new Fusion Interceptor, one of the Indigo series, was sitting proudly at the dispersal area. It had been flown in as soon as the storm had abated, and Lisa was having fun learning its handling characteristics.

"Time to go time" said Joker, looking at his watch. You've a small window when the winds are favorable for a jungle landing so best get going."

She hugged Alan.

"Bye partner, find yourself a good one." Then Joker: "Take care kid. Don't let them tease you too much."

Julia turned to Lisa, and hugged her. "I've never mentioned it before, but you've got someone special in Miles Cavenagh. If he ever comes back, and is the same person, don't ever let him go."

Stifling a sob, she climbed into the pilot's seat and slammed the canopy shut.

Gunning the engine she wheeled the needlejet around and taxied to the runway's end, rolling to the takeoff strip in one fluid motion and accelerating into the distance.

They watched as the needlejet disappeared from view.

"What was that about?" asked Joker.

Alan was holding back tears. "She's not coming back," he said. "I opened her bag to put some scotch in for Googlie. There's nothing of his in there."

"What do you mean she's not coming back?" asked Lisa. "What are you saying, Alan?"

"She's defecting to the Gaians. She hates where her Aunt Corazon is taking this faction. Never said as much, but I can read between the lines. She's going to offer her services to Lady Deirdre Skye as the Gaian Airforce Commander. Things will get pretty unpleasant in the SAF for the next few weeks. Thank goodness Googlie is coming back."

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

Julia finally felt free. As she cruised at her optimum altitude of 13000 meters she reflected on what she was leaving behind.

Friends, certainly, especially her crew of Alan and Joker. But they were only a team since her recent graduation, so it's not as if they had been lifelong buddies.

Family. Well, she had none, except for her Aunt Corazon. And leaving her was no great hardship. Maybe she could change her name and not be known as 'That woman's neice'. But Googlie would know, and that meant that half of Velvetgrass Point would also know. He'd make a big fuss as any politician would of the significance of Santiago sending a family member - almost a daughter - to deliver the gift. What if Googlie pulled rank on her and ordered her back and Deirdre agreed?

She'd thought of that too. Her black market friends had procured a small nuclear device that she had wired into the explosives bay of the needlejet. If she had to leave, then everyone within 25 square kilometers would be leaving as well. Only she knew the remote sequence. But it wouldn't come to that. Once Googlie saw that she was serious he'd acquiesce.

She saw the beginning of the jungle below and rechecked her co-ordinates. Right on time.

She picked out the landing strip. God it was small. These idiots had obviously never flown a plane before.

The approach had not even been cleared of trees. This would be dicey. She'd be stranded here for a day or so while they cleared trees for the takeoff run.

She made a slow pass over to see how much room she had. Spotting figures on the ground she waggled her wings, and swung round to commence her landing sequence.

To her amazement, the line of trees that blocked her approach suddenly fell to one side revealing a cleared approach run of about a thousand meters.

'Well I'll be damned', she thought as she brought the needlejet in low, wheels almost touching the gravel and dirt before they made contact with the plastisteel mesh that formed the runway.

She braked hard, using all of the length to stop, then turned round and taxied to the end where the group had gathered.

As she dismounted a tanned blonde young man came up to her and stuck out his hand.

"Impressive landing under the circumstances", he said.

'Yeah, what would he know', she thought, extending her hand.

"Stephen Cartesius" he said, introducing himself.

Julie gawked. "The Stephen Cartesius?" she asked, "who was shot down and killed in the last Hive skirmishes? blushing as she realized just how stupid her question was.

"The same," he grinned cheerfully. "And thanks for bringing me my steed. Although my flying skills are rusty now, they were never good to begin with. That's why I was Ops Officer for Jeff Porter, who was Flying Officer. Unfortunately he didn't survive the crash. I'm going to crew you into Velvetgrass Point"

Julia beamed at him. A ready made crew. "I'm Julia Santiago, and pleased to meet you. I'm defecting to the Gaians after I've dropped off this exchange for Allardyce. I do hope we can be friends."

Stephen ran his eyes over the girl. "So do I', he said, "So do I."

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

The uranium pellets were refreshed, and the load redistributed to make room for Stephen. He was excited as he walked around the needlejet examining the improvements and enhancements since his early series plane. The chaos guns were particularly menacing.

"You'll have to explain these to me," he said. "If I'm going to be your weapons officer I'll need to know how to strip them and reassemble them in my sleep."

"They've only been installed for about two weeks," Julia replied. "We're going to have to strip and reassemble together." As she said the words she felt the blush rising to her cheeks. "That didn't quite come out right," she stammered.

Stephen flashed her that sly grin. "It came out just fine", he said.

She retreated to the cargo pods in confusion, under the pretext of tightening the release bolts.

They used all the runway to take off, and as they were climbing Julia saw that already the plastisteel mesh was being rolled up and small treed were being planted.

"You're not going to leave it as a staging post?" she asked.

"For whom? Yang? To bring his jets into range? Not bloody likely" was Stephen's reply.

Julia concentrated on her flying. As they got closer Stephen pointed out landmarks, finally identifying the monolith on the hillside above Velvetgrass Point. Then she saw the valley, lying peacefully in the evening suns' rays, running northwest by southeast. A landing strip had been laid down at one end, with a few prefabricated buildings erected at the middle.

As she made a low flypast it seemed that the whole base had turned out to watch. She would have loved to have done a barrel roll to impress them and delight the kids, but with all the weapons pylons being used and with loose luggage in the cabin it was unwise. As well, she picked out the figure of Googlie standing to one side holding hands with a Gaian woman.

'Harrumph', she thought, 'it didn't take him long to get fixed up with a floozie.'

Then she almost froze at the controls. To one side of the runway were about a dozen of the largest mindworms she had seen, and the kids were standing among them, one even petting one of the mindworms.

She asked Stephen:

"What gives with the mindworms?"

"Oh, they're ours, tame and friendly. They make great soldiers. You'll love them."

She wondered. They had certainly left her alone in the wild.

Julia brought the plane into a perfect landing, and taxied up to the waiting group.

As they climbed down she took off her helmet and shook out her hair. There was a gasp from some of the crowd as they took in that she was a woman pilot. She asked Stephen "Where would I find the Lady Deirdre Skye?"

"Oh, she's the one with Allardyce," he replied.

'Oops', Julia thought. 'Foot in mouth again, good job I didn't verbalize about the floozie bit.'

She walked over to the two figures. She saluted Deirdre, and handed her a rolled paper.

"Transfer of command, Ma'am. Title deeds to this Fission Class needlejet and all its ordnance in exchange for one Wing Commander Scott Allardyce."

Lady Deirdre smiled impishly at Julia.

"And this floozie hereby accepts" she said.

Julia's jaw dropped as she looked at Deirdre in consternation;

"But how…you couldn't…he didn't.."

"There are no secrets here, my dear, thanks to our mindworm friends, and I am honored to welcome you as our newest Gaian citizen."

Julia was dumfounded.

Googlie was confused. "Now just a minute, will someone tell me what's going on?"

Deirdre turned to him, smiling fondly.

"Always the last to know, eh, Scotty? Julia here is defecting to the Gaian faction. I don't know why, nor do I care. She is welcome here as a sister. I believe that she has the decommissioning papers for you to sign. Don't you dear?"

Julia remained dumfounded. How did this woman know so much? Weren't thoughts private?

She thrust the papers at Googlie.

"Sir. Requesting formal permission to be relieved of command and decommissioned from the Spartan Air Force, immediately, Sir."

Googlie read the papers, and his face grew dark and furious.

"Why you conniving insubordinate…."

Deirdre put her hand on his arm, and turned him to face her.

"There is no bomb on the plane, and Julia's motives are pure. We have mindswept her, as we did you when you arrived, as we did Stephen. She is tired of Spartan life and wants to walk with Planet, with us, as I wish you would too, Scott. But for you, I know, higher duty calls. You must return to your command, and I must fulfil my part of the bargain by getting you there. You must leave this evening. It's about a day's walk to the northern coast and then about three days sail on our Isle of the Deep to your Admiralty Base. Alphonse has agreed to accompany you. He will stay with you in exchange for Julia. He is agreeable. He can command your mindworm brigade when it is formed.

"Goodbye old friend, and don't let it be so long next time till you come knocking."

They embraced.

Googlie borrowed a quill and with a flourish signed Julia's release papers, then whistled. A huge mindworm detached itself from the huddle and skittered over to him. He took a proffered backpack from one of the aides, and put it on, then waved to everyone turned and walked off towards the coast. They made a strange sight - the 2 meter tall man and the loping mindworm rising to about half of its 80 meter height every fifth step of the man.

He never once looked back.

Deirdre turned to Julia with a sly grin and asked:

"Is there really a bomb on board?"


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 10, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Googlie sat in the officers' quarters at the Aerospace Center in Sparta Command having a beer with Slats and Bearcat. They were filling him in on the events of the past two weeks or so when he had been on the run and then cooped up at Velvetgrass Point.

They went over their inventory together.

Bomber command had four fusion powered Penetrator aircraft, with a fifth just completed and delivered from Sparta command and a sixth coming off production at Janissary Rock, where they had retooled their supply crawler production line to penetrators, using the old stampings from a previous build. They had been able to hurry build as well as per Santiago's suggestion, and now the big needlejet was in the process of having its fusion engines tested, then it would be ready for its test flight in a couple of days.

Two older fission powered penetrators that had been used for training purposes were being ferried to the Rolling Thunder base for their mechanics to reconfigure as close support. They would reach their destination by evening.

With the crash of Julia's interceptor, and the gift to the Gaians of Lisa's, there were now no fission powered interceptors or tacticals left in service. The two trainers had already been cannibalized either for spares or for close support duty. But Blast Rifle Crag had delivered one fusion interceptor and was well into the production of another, while Defiance Freehold had retooled from its former production to needlejets and was only weeks away from delivering a fusion interceptor.

So currently SAC had five penetrators and six interceptor needlejets, and ten crews, with an ops officer, Alan Watt, spare. Flight school would be producing four new pilots and crews in a few weeks, so the marriage between machine and crew should go smoothly as they came off the production line.

"Where are the hot spots?" Googlie asked.

"Still Fort Soup and south, and some action around Assasins Redoubt, although that's a bit inaccessible to us right now".

"Why the hell can't we build landing strips nearer the action for support and maintenance?" Googlie growled. "The Gaians put one up in two days for Julia's leg, and they know next to nothing about aircraft except what Stephen has told them."

"I'll have the XO look into it," Bearcat replied.

"I thought that you deployed three Pens to Fort Soup anyway," Googlie commented. "Why did you withdraw them?"

"The storm - there wasn't enough shelter for all down there, so I dispersed them for the duration."

They were interrupted by a yell from outside.

"Get that bloody thing tied up or I swear I'll kill it,"

"Uh oh, Alphonse is getting bored again," said Googlie, getting to his feet and going to the door.

Rudi Gertz, one of the interceptor pilots, and not a baseball player, was throwing a baseball at Alphonse who on the recoil was shooting it right back at Rudi. He either had to catch it or be stung by the hit of a faster-than-fastball fastball. There would be no end to the game as long as Rudi kept throwing it at Alphonse.

"Just walk away" yelled Googlie. "If you allow your teutonic temper to get the better of you you'll be here all night throwing. He never tires of it."

Rudi did just that, amid the jeers and catcalls of the other crews who had been watching with amusement.

"The men need action," observed Googlie. "Let's get them in the air and earning their keep. One interceptor here, and everyone else to either Fort Soup or Admiralty Base. That's where the main battle is going to be fought in the next few days.

"What's Sparta Command working on right now?"

"Well," Slats replied, "They've finished the Penetrator they were building and when I suggested to the Base Administrator that a couple more would be a nice morale boost from them he went all coy and muttered about alignment with their scientific research. Didn't know what that meant so didn't press."

Googlie looked at him speculatively. "It means space," he said. "Our scientists are close to solving the equations necessary to get us back into space, and Sparta Command sure as I'm a whisky drinking Scot is building either a launch vehicle or a satellite. Must be close, because the closer they are to completion the more they clam up on what's happening."

Brewster piped up "The Hive are rumored to be pretty close too, and from what I hear the Morgan guys aren't far behind, if at all. The space race is on again."

"All the more reason to get our air superiority established, so let's get cracking", said Googlie.

The ops officers were summoned to plot the various courses.

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 02, 1999).]

[Rynn]

Tape 29.11.spa.2225 © MorganLink 3DVision

"Hi, I'm Paula Forbes, reporting live from Sparta Command on this historic occasion of mankind's return to space. I'm standing on the rooftop of the SC Hilton situated about six kilometers from the launch pads at the Aerospace Center. It is a quiet night, the winds have abated somewhat from their bluster of late afternoon, and preparations are now underway for the launch of mankind's first spaceflight since the Landing over 125 years ago.

"Earlier today I interviewed Colonel Santiago, the leader of the Spartan Federation, and here are her thoughts on this eventful day":

INSERT CLIP 29.04.SPA.2225

"I have often been asked: if we have traveled between the stars, why can we not launch the simplest of orbital probes? These fools fail to understand the difficulty of finding the appropriate materials on this Planet, of developing adequate power supplies, and creating the infrastructure necessary to support such an
effort. In short, we have struggled under the limitations of a colonial society on a virgin planet. Until now."

END CLIP

"Indeed. Joining us live from Morgan Industries studio is our resident military expert, retired General Wilfred Hawkes. Good evening Freddy"

"Good evening Paula"

"Freddy, does this launch have any military implications in your opinion?"

"Well, Paula, one would be naïve to think it didn't. Certainly it is being billed as the launch into Chiron's orbit of a sky hydroponics laboratory. But I am sure that the satellite will be bristling with sensors and cameras, and that within a few days of flyovers the whole map of Chiron will be revealed to the Spartan military command."

"And what will this mean in terms of the current Hive-Spartan conflict, Freddy?"

"Paula, almost certainly it will alter the balance of power, if only for a short while. No longer will the Hive forces be able to conceal their movements outside of the range of the Spartan needlejet patrols, and hitherto unexplored territory will be exposed to the Spartan cartographers through their photographs from space."

"Freddy, I'm intrigued by your comment 'only for a short while.' Why would there be a time limit on any military advantage that might accrue?"

"Well, Paula, my sources tell me that a similar launch by the Human Hive is imminent, and we know that a Morgan Industries launch is only a few weeks away, if that. So any advantage will be short lived, but might prove decisive in this conflict."

"Freddy, one last question. Are we seeing tonight the beginnings of a war in space, do you think? Will factions develop the ability to seek and destroy each other's space facilities and hardware?"

"Good question, Paula. Almost certainly in my opinion. I'll wager even now all three spacefaring factions are selecting men and women and training them for space missions. We do not yet have the technology to blast satellites from space, but that will come. Meantime these space farms and orbital power satellites require crews to maintain them and thus are vulnerable. So to answer your question, Paula, yes. This is a new escalation in the race for primacy among the factions on Chiron."

"Thank you, Freddy, goodnight and enjoy these pictures of the launch that we will be bringing you live from Sparta Command."

"Good night, Paula."

"General Hawkes mentioned that this is a sky hydroponics laboratory that is being launched. What exactly is this?

"One technologist working on the project described it thus:

INSERT CLIP 29.05.SPA.2225

"Sky farms will be fantastically beautiful, with their kilometer long networks of glass framed in grids of metal, and the sunlight shining through jungles of vegetation inside. When one of them catches the light, you will be able to see the refracted beauty for miles; they will be life-giving stars on a desolate Planet ... gardens on the wing."

END CLIP

"You are now back live at the Sparta Command Hilton where the countdown has commenced. We can hear the roar of the fusion engines firing up. The noise even six kilometers away is deafening as the sound is reaching a crescendo. We can see the sky lighting up as if in daytime, and we can make out the rocket beginning its ascent into space, rising on a plume of fire to the stars. Truly an awesome sight and one which should make any Spartan proud. It is indeed a tribute to the industriousness of the Spartan Federation. They are the only one of the seven factions that split up almost over 125 years ago to have reclaimed mankind's birthright among the stars.

"We will leave you with the images of the spacecraft's ascent to the stars.

"This is Paula Forbes signing off"

Tape 29.11.2225, © MorganLink 3DVision

[Hydro]

Near the Monsoon Jungle, Gaian Territory

*****

"Jonry, come back here!" Kirsten ordered. She craned her neck and peered over the tops of the fungal stalks where they were camped in for the night. Jonry was nowhere in sight. Kirsten let out a heavy sigh. The rest of her charges, all 31 of them, were all bedded down for the night. All but Jonry. In a way, Jonry reminded Kirsten, painfully, of her own long gone son. This fleeting memory only made Kirsten more determined not to loose this one, too.

Night was falling, and the rest of the colony convoy was securing the equipment and people for the night. A couple of fires could be seen over the half kilometer over which the convoy vehicles were spread. The fires were small, since there was not a lot to burn and the low oxygen percentage in the Chiron atmosphere made keeping fires going difficult. Also, the fact that the encampment was so close to Monsoon Jungle didn't help. It rained a lot in the Monsoon Jungle. Imaging that.

Most importantly, fire attracted attention. The colony depended on stealth. It would be a unmitigated disaster if Yang or even Santiago found them. Secrecy was so important.

Kirsten gently close her eyes and opened her mind, focusing on one word: Fluffy. After five minutes the fungus south of the impromptu crèche rustled and a two-meter diameter mindworm came into view. Kirsten knew he had arrived, opened her eyes, and smiled. Even in the darkening day, with shadows lengthening within the fungal stalks, she knew her friend had arrived. Fluffy was all that remained of her family. Her husband was dead over a decade now, lost in the turbulent seas during the sorrowful evacuation of the colony attempt in the Great Fungal Wall. Setting up a colony there had been a wonderful, noble idea. Become one with Chiron, joint with the fungus, don't bother with any of the human techniques, which they didn't have the resources for, anyway. They had learned much. And, eventually, it had failed so miserably. All she could now clearly remember was hunger, and giving up little Markus.

'Fluffy, go find Jonry. I do not know where he is, but he cannot have gone far. He is alone and probably afraid. Use his fear to track him. Defend him in case one of the ferals of your kind comes upon him. When you find him, bring him here," Kirsten ordered.

Fluffy's bulk swayed back and forth, as if looking at the sleeping children. Then he formed a bulge where a human head would be and 'looked' at Kirsten. A feeling of concern and duty appeared in Kirsten's mind. Kirsten understood.

'The children will be fine. I will protect them. Now please go find Jonry,' Kirsten explained.

Fluffy paused for a moment, and then poured through the fungus. He moved amazingly fast when he wanted to.

'When did Fluffy start using human mannerisms?' Kirsten thought, 'He doesn't have a head, much less eyes. If worms are starting to act like humans, how long will it before some humans start acting like worms?' Kirsten chuckled softly. There were those among the unenlightened who would find the thought terrifying. To Kirsten it was both fascinating and enticing.

Kirsten pulled out her ancient datapad. It was a relic, a survivor of the mournful flight from Pholus Ridge, and it had been her mothers. When all things fell away or were abandoned, this was the one tool the family had kept. It represented knowledge, a feeling of continuity with the past and hope for the future. Now it was just a key to her past, since her family was gone. She had no real future.

Kirsten padded to two meters away from the children. She didn't want to wake them.

"Datapad on," she ordered, and the datapad came to life, a slight glow lighting up Kirsten's deeply tanned and weathered face. She looked much older than she was. "Data entry mode."

"Chiron biological notations subsection, topic: mindworms. Today my partner of 30 years, named Fluffy, started adopting human mannerisms. These were not simple reflexive copying that is commonly seen when a mindworm is linked to a human mind, but a reaction that was apparently spontaneous and appropriate for the circumstances. This leads one to the thought of what other human attributes will the mindworms pick up with continued exposure with humans? This is both exciting and alarming, since humans seem to be much more complex behaviorally and also seem to have a greater range for what I call 'evil'. Moreover, since these mindworms are extensions of Chiron itself, this means that, to some degree, that Chiron is being influence by humans. It would be truly sad if these otherwise pure creatures, and, by extension, Planet, were infected with what is the worst in humans. Data end."

Kirsten got up. No more time for biologist ramblings. She had willingly given up that career for the satisfying honor of teaching and raising other people's children. These vulnerable charges were her gift to the future, and she would willingly die for each and every one of them.

One by one the small fires along the horizon went out. Total darkness descended on the colony. A gentle rumble and wind washed over them. Right on time it began to rain.

[Rynn]

Googlie's commlink beeped.

He reached groggily for it.

"hrmppphhh…. Hello…. Whozzat?"

"Sir", said the voice on the other end, don't disconnect, please.

"I'm Sarah Dawson and I'm attached to the Empath Brigade, except we're in a bit of a shambles right now. Our commander has been sacked by Santiago, and her buddy - we're split up into pairs - has been captured by the Hive in that stupid attempt to rescue you, and my buddy has gone AWOL - just walked into the fungus.

"Our new commander is some Lord Atreus or other, but we've gotten no orders since Leutenant Rynn was relieved of her command, and our training has practically ceased. So you see, Sir, I had to call someone."

"Why me?", Googlie asked.

"Sir, I'm stationed at Sparta Command. Todd and me - Todd's my buddy who walked out about a week ago - we're the primary defense against mindworm attacks - we're neurally grafted to enhance our capabilities. Anyway, Sir, I've been communicating for the last few days with Alphonse, your mindworm sidekick, and I'd like to work with him, be buddies, if that can be arranged."

Googlie pondered. He certainly couldn't keep an eighty meter by ten meter mindworm constantly by his side in the SAC, and Alphonse was getting bored, that much was obvious (to the extent that a mindworm could get bored). This might be the very solution.

He made a snap decision.

"Sarah?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Report to SAC first thing in the morning. I'll attach you to my staff."

"What about Lord Atreus?"

"I'll process the necessary paperwork - we're old friends from way back. It'll be no problem."

Googlie snapped the commlink shut and went back to sleep.

Sarah could hardly contain her excitement. 'Alphonse, we're going to be buddies' she empathed to the mindworm across the compound.

'Buddies? Play catch and throw? Yes?' came the reply into her head.

"Yeah" she chuckled aloud. "Play catch and throw."

She went to sleep contented.

[Googlie]

"Sit down, Googlie," she said.

'So it was to be Googlie, was it,' I thought. 'Informal is in.'

"Why thank you, Corrie," I replied.

Only a handful of us had that privilege of using the diminutive - myself, Gavin, St James, Honshu - the old timers, the Landers who came down with her and who had spent the countless days over the years in the gene therapy tanks together, undergoing the longevity treatment.

"What's on your mind - why summon me?" I asked.

I feared I knew the answer. This was going to be the dressing down of dressing downs. My flight with Julia and the loss of a needlejet; the abortive rescue mission that resulted in the loss of a key empath trainee and the demotion of their commander; the pick up by Deirdre's forces that caused the barter of yet another needlejet and finally the defection of her niece to the Gaians. Yes Ma'am, this was going to be some dressing down. Maybe even loss of command. I steeled myself.

"Googlie," she began, "I'm going to tell you a story only one other person knows.

"22 years ago Lady Deirdre Skye visited us at Sparta Command at the height of the Hive Gaian war and our own Spartan-University war. We were pact sisters then, if you remember."

I nodded. I hadn't known that Deirdre had visited in person.

"Things were not going well for the Gaians, and they were concerned about their long term survival. She visited us because she wanted to set in motion some protective measures. She had a two year old child, a daughter, and she left her in my safekeeping and returned to be with her people. I reared her as family, giving her my name and calling her my niece.

"Googlie, don't feel betrayed by Julia, or that you have let her down. She is Deirdre's daughter."

I sagged back in the couch as the news sank in.

"Does she know?" I asked.

"Who, Deirdre or Julia?" Corazon said.

"Julia. Deirdre. Both" I stammered.

"Deirdre does, Julia doesn't, yet." said Santiago. "I wasn't surprised at her defection. She has made no secret of loathing what we stand for in Sparta. That's why i suggested to bearcat that she be the pilot of the barter needlejet. to see what life was like under the Gaians. I expect that Deirdre will let her make up her mind about life there before she tells her. In fact she may never tell her."

I nodded. "That would be in character. Be loved and respected for the leader she is rather than as the mother who wasn't. That's Deirdre for you."

I got up to leave. "If we've finished, Corrie…" I began.

She put out a restraining arm. "There's more," she said.

I sat back down.

"Before her visit with Julia, Deirdre paid us another visit. She was alone. She sensed that the war was not going well, and wanted to have a child by artificial insemination. Our sperm banks are the best on Planet, with the broadest cross section of old earth types. She wanted a particular type, soldier, educated, Scottish.

"Googlie, you are Julia's father."

I sagged in the chair. My first thought was 'Why artificial insemination. I'd gladly have done the deed in the flesh, so to speak.' Then I thought of how I'd treated Julia, and how much different it would have been if I'd been her acknowledged father. I stared at the floor lost in thought.

Santiago interrupted my reverie.

"You don't have to answer now, but I would like it soon. Would you consider retiring from service and taking on the role of ambassador to the Gaians? I need to make some dramatic move as the Junta are demanding changes, and the events of the past few weeks have been almost comic if they weren't so disastrous. You have an able replacement in Slats Miller - Bearcat would have been a good choice to succeed you as well except that he sullied his reputation with the rescue attempt. Not being promoted will be punishment enough for him. But after that fiasco I do need you to step down, Googlie, so think it over."

I sat still, mulling it over, and thought of the last few days. I had spent one of the happiest weeks in recent memory in Velvetgrass Point, and for sure the old magic was there with Deirdre. So she had picked me to be the father of her child. That was something. And Alphonse could go home too. He was unmistakably pining for his brethren. What of Sarah? The bonding between she and Alphonse had been immediate. Maybe she'd want to continue as my aide, to stay with Alphonse. Maybe she now had enough confidence to branch out on her own as a brood trainer - or whatever the Gaians called their mindworm handlers.

I made up my mind.

"I'll do it, Corrie," I said. "Make the announcement in the morning."

I stood up and kissed her on the cheek, and left her quarters with a bounce in my step.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 03, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 13, 1999).]

[Googlie]

To: Chiefs of Staff
From: Corazon Santiago, CiC

Effectively immediately Wing Commander Scott Allardyce is retiring from military service and has accepted the position as Spartan ambassador to Gaia's Stepdaughters. The importance with which we view relations with the newly emerging Gaian faction is recognized by the appointment of so senior an ambassador as Scott Allardyce.

Effective immediately Wing Commander Ben Miller will take command of the Spartan Air Command, reporting directly to me, and will have the rank of Air Marshall. Ben has for the last few years commanded the Interceptor wing and is one of the veterans of the University War.

Colonel Corazon Santiago
Commander in Chief
Spartan Federation Forces

[korn469]

469th Field HQ
15:37 hours SMT

It was still raining but the hurricane had passed. Menacing iron grey clouds hung low over the ground, but that was a good thing. The weather was still interferring with Hive air support. A soldier sloshed through the mud coming towards the makeshift command post. All around the command post there was a flurry of activity. The soldier gave a sharp salute to the general.

"Major." He returned the salute. "What was the final count?"

"Well, we sustained relatively light causulties. 189 men killed. But I'm including the men we lost to Hive air attacks in that number. We have 311 men wounded. Of that number, 192 are in satisfactory condition, 76 are in serious but stable condition and 43 are in critical condtion. I doubt all of the men in critical condtion will make it back to base. Most of the wounded will need a stay in a research hospital before they can return to active duty. In addition to the men we lost five drop rovers, two of those to Hive airstrikes."

"What about the Hive loses?"

"Total Sir." He paused and smiled. "We wiped them out. The Hive 12th Infantry Division doesn't exist any more. We took about three hundred prisoners, and under the Violent Insurection Act of 2142, we court martial them. All were found guilty and sententenced to an article nine." He paused again. When he began speaking, you could tell he was really excited. "There was one prisoner we didn't court martial sir."

"Why is that Major?"

"We captured General Xiao Li, sir. He was in command of the 12th. Lincowski has him in custody and is questioning him. I'm not sure how much intel we can get out of him but i'm sure Sparta Command will love it as a little present."

"Good work J.R., now go and get your battlion moving. You and Lincowski are going to be the rear guard. We're heading back to Assassin's Redoubt ASAP. We have to get out of here before the weather clears. Those Hive aircraft will be hell if they catch us out in the open. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" They saluted again, and Major J.R. Molina hurried off to his battalion. Lockhart nodded to the command staff and in a matter of minutes they had the command post packed and they were ready to move.

It was still raining and from time to time streaks of lighting raced across the sky. if only the weather cloud hold for a few more days.

General Lockhart looked at the ranks of his men marching through the mud into the wilds of the Great Fungal Wall. They were still moving with purpose, and he knew they were still ready to fight. But he didn't have orders to capture Plex Anthill, so it was time to fight another day. However, he was sure they'd encounter unfriendly mind worms in the Great Fungal Wall, and they did they would kill all of those damn worms. He grinned just a little. He couldn't decide what he hated more, the Hive or the mind worms.

He took one last glimpse out towards Plex Anthill. It was to far away to see the city, but he could see devistation everywhere. The smoking hulks of destroyed troop transports littered the ground, some were still buring. As far as he could see were dead bodies scattered across the mud. The bodies were all wearing the blue camo of the Hive Infantry. Without a second thought he turned around and caught up with the command staff.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited August 03, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

Colonel Eugene Levavassier finished his first speech as commanding officer of 1st Wing with a toast to Colonel Salvador "Gecko" St James.

"He left this box for you for exactly this occasion. It has one bottle missing, and that's the one he drank with close friends the night before the Unity launched. A toast. A toast to the Gecko."

All the crew present toasted the old colonel with their glass of Scotch, the Gecko's favourite, "tasting of sheep's **** and ocean gales - in that order" as he'd put it on several occasions. Well, countless occasions, really.

"Dismissed." the new Colonel said softly, and the crew dispersed slowly.

"Sheila, Hendrikus, Nyoman, Yanni, Driss, ops room please." he followed up, and turned and walked off.

* * *

"A couple of changes, people. As you know we're not going to get any replacements for lost craft, and we are not eligible for new units, either. It's the view of CinC and the boys that more people can be saved by having fighter planes around at the front than by holding them back for rescue missions. For your information, I am in agreement with that. We're in all-out war now, and it's rescuing civilians we should be looking at now, and not military. Therefore, our car park is limited to the unity scout, the missile chopper, two VTOL needles, and a couple of wrecks for spare parts. We have, however, gone fusion on the missile chopper and the two needles. We'll be concentrating on what the cabinet has so beautifully termed "quality rescue", meaning next time some Googlie Allardyce parks his butt in the fungus, we're not to make a hash of it again."

Levavassier paused, and looked at the five of them. They showed no expression at the mention of the muddle over Allardyce's disappearance. Good, he couldn't help thinking - they weren't making excuses.

"Next. Personnel. Sheila, you will find CinC quite sympathetic to a request from you for transfer to Velvetgrass Point. I suggest you think it over. Hendr..."

"No, sir. Sorry to interrupt, sir. I have no wish for a transfer. I'm happy to know that Stephen is alive and well, and even happier that he is on our side again. But I have no wish to leave Sparta or the Crew, sir."

"So noted, lieutenant. And lest I forget, you may find it of interest that you will receive a captain's commission as of the first of next month, regardless of your decision on the transfer."

"Thank you, sir." Sheila said levelly. But glowing inwardly.

"Hendrikus," Levavassier resumed, "Transfer affairs again. I'm afraid you do not have a choice in the matter. Hawk of Chiron has almost finished a Chaos Rotor unit, and you'll be flying one of them soon - with the 4th. Front duty, Hendrikus. You'll be frying Hive Noodlejets, soon."

The big Dutchman didn't bat an eyelid.

"Under 4th Wing command, sir?" he asked.

"Negative, Major. 1st Wing command, flying a 1st Wing taxi with a couple of extra trimmings. Like a nice fat chaos gun. You'll be taking orders from 4th Wing, but once this thing is over, it's back you go to the 1st. Fly like a demon, Major."

"Yes, sir."

"Nyoman, Yanni - I want the crew lists for the two needles tomorrow. Fight it out between you. Driss - you take over Hendrikus' chaos chopper."

That was all. Levavassier dismissed his people, and sat a long time by the window after they had gone, sinking into deep thought. Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio / A nation turns its lonely eyes on you... Salvador St James, MiA. MiA, my foot. Where are you, you bastard... Think this was a nice moment to walk off, did ya?

When at long last he got up again, the suns had set over Sparta, and the room was in pitch dark. He walked to his office, switched on the lamp on his desk, and looked again, for the umpteenth time, at the little scrap of paper with the Gecko's jaggedy handwriting on it.

A minor thought for you, XO... I know that religious trivia are not much of a popular occupation in Sparta right now, but think on this one a little, if you will: what is it that Santiago actually means? Perhaps it will help you to understand some things better.

Only last night had Levavassier pierced the bubble. Just like the Gecko, this little conundrum - more and more questions, the more you penetrated to the core of the puzzle...

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 03, 1999).]

[korn469]

Conference Chamber
U.N. Headquarters

"Ilya, I just recieved a donation from the URF, and you'd be suprised how much it is."

"Why is that Michael?"

"Because the amount of energy credits they donated to us is enormous. I have no idea how they could have gotten that many credits."

"Well, my friend, I for one do not want to know how they obtained it. As long as they help our cause I want to have as little to do with them as possible."

"Agreed. They are nothing more than terrorist. I fear that if we associate ourselves with them then they could tarnish our reputation."

"I have had that same fear, Michael. However, I feel that working with them for now will help us more than it will hurt us. I always identify the URF as it's own organization, obeying it's own rules. If only the Spartan's could destroy them..." Then Michael Hergowitz finished his sentance for him.

"...and if only they could destroy the Spartan's. We would certainly appreciate that." They both laughed at the joke.

"It is almost time."

"Do you think Pravin will listen?"

"Oh yes I think he will. Eventhough Lal and Santiago are bound by a pact, it is in Lal's best interest for the University to exist. If we could regain ou captured bases then he would have an ally. Moreover I think Santiago would be loath to fight a two front war, especially when that could risk pulling the Hive into the conflict."

"Yes Ilya you are right. Well, there is Lal's aide. It must be time."

"Yes it is." Without saying another word, the legitimate leader of the peacful resistance went to meet the leader of the free world.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited August 03, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Great Fungal Wall, ‘Rolling Thunder’ detachment

*****

Waiting. Insufferable waiting.

Everything is on passive, and our fusion drive is shut down. Minimal life support is operating on reserve battery. Gunnery, the CO, and the copilot are using old-fashioned electronic binoculars to search the fungus from the Chaos turret, while the comm officer listens for noise. I have to sit at the pilot’s console, bored out of my mind.

I just wish it were over. All I can see is the fungus we are hiding in. It is one enormous wall of pink. It is so monotonous since it all looks the same to me. I get paid to drive, not be a **** biologist!

The CO pads down the spiral staircase that goes up to the Chaos turret and down to the entrance and weapons bay. Finally! He goes over to comm, but comm is absorbed. He starts flicking his VR-gloved hand and his goggled head tilts sideways. He takes off his VR equipment and carefully puts them down and signs for us to look sharp! Now my copilot is coming down the stairs. Something is up!

Comm turns toward the engineering console to double check the quick start. I take the hint and check my console – everything is in order. It had better be, since I only had three days to check the bloody thing over, and over, and over…

My copilot seats herself and buckles in, as does the CO. Even I can hear an occasional crunch through the hull, and now the drone of a fission engine, and louder crashing. Multiple fission engines!

The fungus 50 meters in front of us starts to quiver, and the noses of a couple of Hive rovers pokes through.

“NOW” the CO screams. Engineering hits his ‘little red button’ to crash start the fusion drive, and a high, tortured whine fills the cabin. My console comes to full power within seconds, and I can hear the Chaos turret start its charge sequence. What?! He must have bypassed the safety buffers, the gun isn’t going to standby, but directly to full power! Those things explode if not properly warmed up! No time to ponder appropriate punishment now. But he will be punished!

Here they come! Four Hive rovers, almost a quarter of a brigade, pretty as you please, just burst through the fungal ridge! Beautiful targets!

#THUWOCK# #THUWOCK# #THUWOCK#

Direct hits! Those things are NOT armored! Ha! Look at ‘em go! Explosions are rippling through!

I jam the throttle and start evasive, as much as I can manage in fungus, anyway. In the distance I can hear chaos guns letting rip, echoing through the hills. The sound is almost defening!. It is starting to rain fungus! <…umph…> And rover chassis, like that chunk that almost hit us.

I hear a couple of missile impacts from the Hive rovers, can’t tell if they hit anything. We certainly didn’t get hit.

#THUWOCK# #THUWOCK# #THUWOCK#

Guns must have spotted some more Hive. Either that or his trigger finger is a little itchy. Or maybe finishing something off. I don’t hear any explosions, so he must have missed. I will make a point of reminding him of that later.

Plowing into the small swale. The fungus is a little deep here, have to gun it a little. <…uummmph…>

I turn 90o back into the fray as I charge up the hill, since guns are almost recharged. I can tell by the whine. I charge to the left side of the flamed Hive rovers to the crest of the ridge to give guns a better shot.

#THUWOCK# #THUWOCK# #THUWOCK#

A few more explosions, but I can’t tell if it is due to our guns fire through all this fungus. We’re about to break through!

<...pause...>

Well. This is a little anticlimactic. All I see are pillars of smoke from 40 or 50 Hive rovers, which is probably 3 or 4 brigades worth. We are nowhere near the few that are fleeing, looks like others get that honor. It was all a bloody turkey shoot.

All that waiting for this? I’d better get at metal.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 03, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 03, 1999).]

[Rynn]

"How long has she been like this" asked the MO, just arrived at the 47th field hospital from Sparta Command.

"For five days" the medic replied.

"tell me again what happened exactly?" asked the MO

"Well, Sir, Lieutenant Rynn has been in the penalty box for the last week or so since the Colonel took her off the Empath Squad and reassigned her to the 47th. She was doing routine vehicle maintenance while the brass tried to figure out what she was good at. Anyway, she was working on a recon rover when suddenly she screamed, clutched her head and collapsed. She's been in a coma ever since.

"We've tried everything, drugs, shock therapy, nothing works. We did a brain scan and she has some wierd implants. Was flatlining for long periods, but the funny thing was her eyes were open, but no pupil dilation and no signs of consciousness. then she'd sigh, close her eyes and the scan would pick up the waves again. Weird. that's when we summoned you."

The MO grunted. "Her file is restricted, too. Had to go right to CS herself for clearance. Rynn's an empath, neural grafting, the works. I spoke with Bonaventura before I left - he did the work on her. Gave me a tip or two. He reckons some immense Psi induced event put her into her empath trance and she can't find her way back. We'll work as a team, I'll handle the probes and psi-current, you be ready with the abort switch, but keep your ears and eyes peeled. OK?"

"OK" said the medic, dubiously.

They started.

The MO had crudely fashioned a skullcap for Ann based on Bonaventura's instructions. It didn't quite fit, but was good enough.

"Must have had her head shaved when the neurals were done", said the MO. "Let's see if this works without shaving her."

He carefully positioned the filament thin probes at the marked spots on the cap, and gingerly began the insertion procedure. Readouts constantly gave him the positioning parameters, and gradualy the probes penetrated to the cortex. He fiddled a little with the positioning as he sat with his eyes glued to the monitor.

Then cautiously increasing the psi current he pulled a small recorder from his pocket and held it to her ear, flicking it on to play the recording he'd coaxed out of their CiC.

The voice, though tinny, was unmistakeably that of Corazon Santiago.

"Lieutenant Rynn, this is your Commanding Officer, Colonel Santiago. Open your eyes if you recognize and acknowledge this."

Ann's eyes flickered open.

"Lieutenant Rynn, you have had a traumatic experience recently that has catapulted you into an empath trance. You are struggling to escape but are lost. This is unnacceptable. As your Commander in Chief I order you to exit this trance. NOW ."

The MO and the medic could see the struggle going on in Ann's mind. Her eyes blinked rapidly and her body twitched, then convulsed. Then she sank back with a blank stare.

The MO looked at the monitor.

She was flatlining.

"My God, we've killed her" he yelled to the medic.

He shook his head. "No, sir, her fingers are still twitching."

The MO heaved a sigh of relief. Well let's continue, with increased power.

He flicked the recorder back on, and turned up the psi-current further.

"Lieutenant Rynn", Santiago's voice continued, "we know that you have been separated from your empath buddy. Believe me, if we knew the whereabouts of Miles Cavenagh...."

At the name Ann's body went into violent convulsions, and her breathing labored. She rolled her head from side to side as a terrier would when trying to free a stick from a hand, then sat bolt upright, staring wildly ahead. The cranial probes flew from her skull and medic had to leap aside to avoid being impaled by the filament thin spears.

"Hive...Planetbuster...Great Clustering" then sank back to the couch.

Her eyes were open, and her breathing normal.

"Lieutenent Rynn, are you with us?" the MO asked gently.

She nodded. "Water," she croaked.

The medic gave her a drink.

She looked at the MO.

"I have to get word to the Junta. The Hive are developing spaceflight at their Great Clustering base and are building a Planetbuster there. Miles Cavenagh.." her body shuddered as she said the name.. "sent out a psi burst to warn us...I don't know how long ago. I think they killed him."

I'll deal with that", said the MO. "Right now you need to eat some solids. Medic, attend to that will you?"

"Yessir", said the medic and went off to prepare a meal.

"Rest for a bit, Ann, it's been traumatic for you. You'll be up and about in a few days."

He padded out to the corrider, and found a secure room.

He activated his commlink, and dialled up Santiago, Burge and Miller.

"Sirs, I have brought Lieutenant Rynn out of her trance. She was the recipient of a psi burst from her empath buddy that half of Chiron experienced but nobody understood. Apparently the Hive are developing a Planetbuster, whatever that is, at their Great Clustering base. Rynn believes that her empath buddy, Miles Cavenagh died in attempting the projection."

He dialled in another number, then activated his scrambler. Even at that he spoke in hushed tones.

"Get the message to Ilya that Yang is developing an intercontinental nuclear ballistic missile at Great Clustering."

He snapped the commlink shut and left the field hospital to return to Sparta Command.




[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited August 03, 1999).]

[Slats]

Scrambled Commlink burst to Chiefs of Staff:

Redeploying assets. Where do you need Penetrators? Interceptors?

Assembling a two pen wing for possible attack on Great Clustering. May need land support for airbase build and maintenance. Advice as to whereabouts of Great Clustering welcome as our satellite maps are spotty.

Airbase to provide transit access to Assassins Redoubt also needed to enable air support.

'Slats' Miller

[Slats]

I sat behind the desk and tried it for size. Googlie’s shoes would be hard to fill.

He had cleaned the small office out completely, leaving me just the old command structure chart, the operations map, the trainee roster and the commlink frequencies sheet.

I studied the old command structure chart.

What to do about Bearcat. He’d always been the flamboyant one, the heir apparent, while I’d been the loyal second in command, the perfect staff officer, never questioning orders, but demanding and getting the utmost respect and cooperation from the airmen and women that I commanded.

I’d need to give Bearcat a sop of some kind, maybe an honorific such as Senior Wing Commander. That was stupid. Maybe go to Santiago and ask if I could create an Air Vice Marshall position. But if I went to her it was maybe showing a weakness that I had – why just couldn’t I create the rank and fill the position?

What would the other Junta members think. Come to that was I a Junta member? Sure I reported to Corazon directly, but I wasn’t an insider as were Burge, Googlie and Gecko. I wasn’t particularly close to any of them, only to Googlie, and I didn’t want to go running to him for advice every day.

I need to create links with the other up and comers, especially those recently handed largish commands. Maybe I’ll ask ‘Trawler’ McMillan for some advice. I’d always found her friendly and receptive at the joint staff functions – and she was Chiron born and about my age too.

But back to Bearcat.

I’d just been appointed Commanding Officer of Spartan Air Command, with the Air Marshall rank – Sparta’s first ever. Old Googlie was content to remain Wing Commander even though both Brewster and I also held that rank. But he could get away with it, with the informality. I couldn’t. I was Chiron born, had cut my flying teeth in the dogfights of the University War and still loved to fly, but my opportunities would be limited now.

Could I give Bearcat responsibility for both Penetrators and Interceptors, a sort of Group Captain rank? But that didn’t make sense. Googlie had always nurtured the troika concept for decision making, even if he was the lone voice in the two out of three he always went with the majority decision.

That’s what I’d perpetuate.

So Bearcat would retain Bomber Command, the Penetrators, as a Wing Commander. Or maybe as Group Captain. We had so many new trainees graduating and new aircraft coming into service that maybe we should pair a rookie and a vet into two plane wings, with the vet being a Wing Commander. That would mean that three or four wings would form the Bomber or Interceptor Group.

So Group Captain Pat Brewster of the Penetrators it was then.

I’ll leave it to Brewster to recommend ranks for his group – he’ll like that.

Who to replace me at Fighter Command, the Interceptors.?

I ran down the list:

Jill Hughes, the most senior after me
Rudi Gertz and Pedro Martinez, both veterans
Lisa Maybery and Dexter Patterson, both rookies.

Did it have to be a flying officer? What about a senior Operations Officer. My own partner, Wilma Statham was the ranking vet, but she’d be ideal to team with a new trainee graduate. So would Alan Watt, now bereft of a pilot with Julia’s defection. That left Octavio Rodriguez, who was meshing excellently with young Lisa.

Jill it would be, then. Group captain Jill Hughes had a ring to it – maybe it would instill in her more of a sense of command and responsibility. Rudi and Pedro would become Wing Commanders with Lisa and Dexter as their wingmen until the new graduates arrived, then I’d reconsider their status.

I looked at the trainees list. At this stage they didn’t specialize in either Pens or Tacs – usually we took the better team players as the Pen crews and the more individualistic ones as the Tactical Interceptor crews. I had been the exception I thought glumly. Stolidity and dependability in an Interceptor. But it had kept me alive in the University War and I did have seven confirmed kills to my credit, more than any other Spartan aviator.

The hotshot pilots seemed to be Megan Bruce and Gunther Wallis. The dependables were Mario Benedetti, Sheila Stalker and Tyler Moore. There was one real flake, apparently, who was untouchable in the air but a handful to have around on the ground, Amanda Gerling. She sounded like a perfect fit for Wilma Statham, my old No 2.

I pulled the operations map over the desk. I wished the field commanders would get back to me so that I could make more sensible deployments than Googlie’s last one of piling everything into Fort Soup. Playing the hunch was not my style.

Then there was the matter of the Hive missile capability. That would have to be destroyed. And if not from the air, then by whom? A probe team? We don’t even know where Great Clustering is. And how reliable is that empath thing anyway? Maybe it’s a Hive hoax to have us divert materiel on a goose chase. Maybe the name of the place is Goats Mustering, (us) and not Great Clustering.

I sat behind the desk and let my thoughts ramble on…..

[Rynn]

Miles sat up and rubbed his head. He had a splitting headache. He stopped, puzzled, and felt around his head. The hair fuzz was gone from one side, and his fingers were rubbing over a metal plate, cool to the touch.

“Holy Zak,” he said aloud, “what have the bastards done?”

He looked around, as the soft breeze wafted the unmistakable scent of fungus to his nostrils.

He was sitting up in a small fungus patch just across from a rockface with a fissure running diagonally up to the top, creating a cave large enough for a man to hide in. It looked vaguely familiar.

He strained his memory, a thought gnawing at the back of his mind, that he couldn’t quite resurrect to the mainstream of his consciousness.

He shrugged.

As his gaze took in more details, he saw something glinting in the fungus. He raised himself to his feet and walked over, parting the tendrils to look more closely.

It was a shredder pistol, non standard issue, that had a flamer attachment hanging loose from the butt, and configured for fleschettes. He hefted it. Surprisingly light. Flicking the ‘on’ latch he saw that it was fully charged.

He felt for his weapons pouch, but couldn’t locate it on his belt. Taking stock of the situation he realized that he was largely unarmed, except for the shredder pistol conveniently left for him, he had no idea where he was, and he had no food. Apart from that, life ws a blast.

Reflexively he picked at his nose….

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

Bert let out a yip:

“Kurt, I can’t believe this, he’s actually dreaming he’s screwin’ her. It’s the blonde this time. Oh, and she’s gorgeous. She’s straddlin’ him, and they’re goin’ at it like two rabbits. Oh, wait till we get on the invasion force, I want her. Lisa’s her name. Oh, yeah, baby, do it to me”

Kurt looked over at his companion with distaste.

He hadn’t wanted this assignment, but for some reason he was stuck with it. He was one of the few Hive empaths, and had been removed from the mindworm assault team to babysit this gross experiment and monitor the emissions. Bert was Miles’ control and right now was having a difficult time controlling himself. He was like a voyeur, with his vidcom helmet on and the neural amplification nodes attached and the filament probes inserted.

Everything that Miles dreamed Bert saw, not as a dream, but rather as a first person vidshow. Kurt was aware of it too, but more as a dream in his subconscious. The empath bond was weaker over the distance and while he too had a helmet and visor that provided amplification he was content at this stage to take the emission faint.

They were sitting in the control room at Hole of Aspiration, surrounded by empath paraphernalia. There were skull caps, probes, filaments, even some nerve stapling equipment. Kurt shuddered. Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t defect. He hated this regimentation, this always being watched feeling. He felt freedom when on worm patrol. He’d even sensed mindworms trying to communicate with him, but when he’s told the Captain that she’d laughed at him, spat on the ground, and told him he was getting soft. But he liked the fungus jungle patrols.

This though was different. Bert and Miles had been brought in by a hive probe team, then the doctors had performed some ‘personality re-ordering’ on Miles. He’s had a few days in his and Bert’s company, and that had disgusted him. When Bert had the equipment on he could thought-control Miles to a certain extent – Kurt wasn’t really sure where that extent ended. He’d been retained to bond empathetically with Miles while Bert had him in control. Bert was a sadist, and the nicks and scars on Miles’ arms and body were proof that Bert could make Miles cut himself enough to bleed. He’d even supressed the neural analgesic dampers so that Miles would feel the pain, and Kurt could testify that great pain had indeed been inflicted, as he experienced it himself through the empath bond.

He’d also discovered the trance inducer, and frequently got Miles picking at his nose, but it didn’t work every time

Kurt looked over at Bert. He was moist with sweat, and panting heavily. Kurt reached over and hit the disconnect toggle.

“Now what the hell did you do that for?” he asked. “Things were just comin’ to a head, man.”

“We’ve got work to do,” Kurt said icily. “Now bring him out of that trance.” He retoggled the switch.

Bert sighed, and focused, his face screwed up in concentration.

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

Miles snapped out of the trance, and his headache was worse. He had this mental image of Lisa lingering in his mind, and it gave him resolve.

He had to rejoin his unit. He looked up at the evening sky, and from the position of the suns reckoned that he would need to head north to civilization.

He pocketed the shredder and commenced walking.


[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited August 03, 1999).]

[korn469]

Security Council Conference Chamber
U.N. Headquarters

"Ilya, you must understand my position. The Spartans are our allies. Diplomatic protests will fall on deaf ears. Santiago and the leaders of the Junta, have already told me to drop the issue. There is little I can do about this issue without provoking the Spartans." Lal was courtesy, yet stern. The situation looked desperate, but Koptev had one last card to play.

"Pravin, there is something you don't know. We have kept this quite till now because we do not have enough evidence to prove it. However, there is circumstanstial evidence that partially backs it up..." Lal cut him off.

"Ilya, I don't have time for games. What is this claim of yours?" Koptev took a deep breath, then he began.

"Near the end of war with the Spartans we had completed the first Chaos tank prototype at Lomonosov Park." Lal gave him a quizzical look. "I can tell by that look on your face you have never heard of Lomonosov Park. Well it was our test bed for new weapons. Our new tank was years ahead of anything they had. Their best tanks had gattling lasers and were powered by fission reactors. This had Chaos weapons and fusion powered. The base was completely classified, very few people knew about it. They had developed a new manufactoring process that allowed them to speed tank production, so far the Spartans haven't been able to duplicate it. The base was relatively small, it had a population of 40,000 and it was well defended. Perimeter defenses, sensors, everything. Our defenders were using weapons that were a generation ahead of anything the Spartans had. That base should have held against any Spartan attack. Well there was a sunflare that disrupted communications. Lomonosov Park was our last hope, we had lost University Base and only Lab Three was holding out. The war was almost over." He paused and took another breath.

"I flew out to see why we had lost communications with Lomonosov Park and when I arrived it was gone. There was nothing left. The base had been completely raised to the ground, there was nothing there except for smoking ruins. We found ashes, it looked like they burnt all the bodies to hide the evidence. From the evidence we can only hypothesize that they captured the base and put all of its citizens to death. We think they executed all fourty thousand of our people." He raised his voice in anger. "They butchered fourty thousand people Pravin!" Then Ilya regained his reserve.

"It appears like our Chaos tank brigade was heading towards the front when a messenger caught up with them and gave them the news about Lomonosov Park falling to the Spartans. From the evidence they turned arounded and headed to engage the Spartans and liberate Lomonosov Park. We'll we found where they engaged the Spartans, except it looks like a total slaughter. No real signs of combat except for our dead troops. There was another strage thing. There wasn't a single destroyed chaos tank on the battlefield. Only the dead tank crews. No extenal wounds were found on any of our dead soldiers. Yet, they were all dead. Lal, there is only one explanation. They nerve gased our troops. Our men never knew what hit them." One of Lal's aides interupted Koptev. It was Ewan Grayson, the Commander of UXFOR, the U.N. Expeditionary Force.

"These are very serious allegations. Ilya, to be frank I'm skecptical. You need our help, and there is nothing you wouldn't say or do to get it. Suddenly all these years after the war it turns out the Spartans broke the charter and nerve gased your forces, and then destroyed a city nobody has ever heard of. Is that what you are telling me?"

"Yes it is General Grayson. However I don't think that Santiago or the Junta authorized the use of nerve gas or the destruction of Lomonosov Park. After having my Spartan contacts research the event there was only one unit that was equipped with nerve gas at that time. It was the Spartan Advanced Combat Methods Test (SACMT) unit, commanded by Colonel Jack Bradberry. It's operations were totally independent of the war effort and it's location was unaccounted for. Bradberry's unit tested out many different methods of waging war, and that included chemical warfare. Bradberry was killed in a boating accident when he was on leave. He was in his small sailboat when an Isle of the deep surfaced and attacked his boat. We do not know who the other officers in his command were, that information is highly classifed. All we do know is that as a result of his unit's work, the Spartan Force Projection Test (SFPT) unit was formed. War games conducted by the SFPT resulted in the creation of th Spartan Drop Force, and the Spartan Aphibious Assault Corps. It is presumable that some of the officers under Bradberry are now memebers of the Spartan Drop Force, or Marine Corp. However this is speculation."

"So this rouge commander decided to test how effective chemical warefare is? Ilya it is hard to believe. You story is full of nonexistant units attacking nonexistant bases." Ewan stopped speaking because one of Ilya's aides entered with an urgent message for Ilya. He whispered something in his ear, and Ilya's entire demeanor changed. The aide left.

"Gentlemen, I have very bad news indeed. I just received a very disturbing message from one of my most trusted contacts. It appeard that Chairman Yang has developed the technology to produce intercontinental ballistic missles armed with a powerful nuclear warhead. It is powerful enough to vaporize an entire city. He has already started production of one of these missles. We also know that Santiago has the technology to produce nuclear missles too. It appears that a horrible arms race is about to begin." A somberness decended on the room. Lal and Koptev were both Landers and they both knew of the horror of nuclear war. Lal stood up and the rest of the people in the room stood with him. He walked over to Ilya.

"Ilya, we will continue this discusiion later. In the meantime I will investiagte these charges of yours. However, because of your news I must meet with my full cabinet and act as quickly as possible. Farewell, my friend." Lal shook Koptev's hand then they bowed to each other.

"Farewell Pravin. I hope when we see each other agin it will be under better circumstances."

"Yes I agree. When we meet again, I hope that we can have a pleasant conversation. I hate to have to talk of war, and occupation, and weapons of mass destruction. Lets hope reason and logic win the day." With that Ilya left and Lal went to convene an emergency session with his cabinet.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Kuruk]

Gunnery Sergeant Royce Armstrong sat on his track sled, sharpening his dagger. It was an utterly unnecessary action, as the silksteel alloy blade would never lose it's edge. It was, however, something to occupy his hands and mind. Around him, hundreds or so marines were trying to do the same, looking for anything to take their minds off of the tense wait. Some sharpened knives, others checked and re-checked equipment, and others simply paced back and forth. It was as if the entire transport bay had developed a mass case of Tourette's syndrome. Though it went unsaid, everyone knew that the order could come at any moment.

The 10th NCM Marine Company was awaiting the final go ahead for the assault on Huddling of the People. The artillery had been put ashore several days earlier, and had been relentlessly pummeling the base. The repetitive sound of the large chaos rounds was little more than background noise now. No one noticed it unless they actually stopped to listen for it. The probe team had gone ashore with the artillery, and was now working on brining down the perimeter defenses. For the most part, the grunts were glad to have them off the ship. The arrival of the soldier spies had been met with distrust. Most of the younger troops saw no need for the probe team. Their black boxes of electronic witchcraft took up valuable cargo space that could have been used for extra hardware or another platoon. Royce knew better though. He had been on enough amphibious assaults to know that the perimeter defense would mean the difference between life and death for many of these kids.

"So, these things really float, Sarge?" Royce turned to see Private Orlando Lopez. Lopez wore a strained grin. The kid's probably nervous as hell, and probably scared, too, thought Royce. He would do alright, though. Royce had personally chosen Lopez, along with Serena Reed, as the two smokers for the command squad.

"They've never sunk before, but there's a first time for everything," replied Royce. The amphibious track sleds looked like the ugly offspring between a foilcraft and the track sleds used by the regular infantry. They were about three meters long and two wide, with round airfoils at each corner. Their treads were narrower and lighter than those of their land based cousins, designed for quick dashes from the shore to the gates of a base, not for long marches through the fungus. At the front was a hydraulic monopod weapon mount, while the rear held a small power plant. The overall effect was almost comical. The assault vehicles looked more like cartoons than advanced military hardware.

"If we have to wait much longer, I might just swim there myself," Royce said.

"Keep busy," the sergeant advised, "You can always re-check your gear. I'd rather fight the Hive if they're asleep. Make sure those gas rounds are good to go."

Orlando grimaced, "I feel like I've been staring at ammo for the last week. It's time to fire some."

"Agreed," said Royce, nodding. He looked at the strange looking gas pod gun mounted on the front of Orlando's track sled.
"I couldn't go into battle with one of these. I wouldn't want a weapon where the rounds vaporize when they hit something."

"They're not so bad," said Orlando, "If this thing turns into a cakewalk I'll let you give it a try.

Royce braced his shoulder against the gun, testing it for feel. Then something caught his eye. There was a small, shiny lump on the magazine. It looked almost as though a single mindworm had burrowed into the metal. In fact, it almost looked like-.

Royce had seen military grade nanorobotics in action once before. During the war with the University, his patrol had come across a platoon of Spartan rovers, all stopped dead in their tracks. The hatches had been sealed shut, and there were no external markings, save for a few shiny bumps that looked much like the one Royce stared at now. When the hatches had finally been pried open, there was nothing left of the interiors. Metal, glass, and plastic had all been reduced to elements. There was little sign of the rover crews. Most of the carbon in the rovers had been burned as fuel for the nano. Royce and the other members of the patrol had been quietly told to forget what they had seen. The Spartan government refused to officially acknowledge that the University had ever held, or possibly still held, such a technological lead. The reports of advanced University tech had been quietly buried, along with rumors of atrocities and a chemical weapons brigade.

Chemical weapons. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Royce realized what was happening. If the nano could be programmed to take chemical compounds apart, it could also be programmed to rebuild them. The chemical rounds that would be used today were no longer benign knockout gas. Nadia Dimitriov was single handedly engineering an atrocity. And this one would not remain a rumor. It would be displayed for the world to see. It would be blared over Morgan NewsNets, spoken of in hushed tones over drinks at the officers club, sighed at by Peacekeeper relief workers. It would bring questions to the minds of allies, and hate to the souls of enemies. And it would change the Hive-Spartan conflict from a war into an eye-for-an-eye killing contest.

"Sarge?" asked Orlando, "What's up?"

"Listen Orlando, " said Royce, "I want you to round up everyone in the brigade that you can absolutely trust. Keep quiet. Tell them that when the time comes they are to follow my orders and my orders only."

"Sarge, what's going..."

"I don't have time to explain. Just do it. And keep your pistol where you can reach it."

[Tokek Belerang]

Levavassier eyed the crew lists with interest. Under the Gecko, the Crew hadn't crewed. The pilots picked whoever would be around for a mission, or flew solo like the Cyborg.

First, Captain Driss el Khaled, for the Chaos Chopper 'Meknes'. Still their prize possession - an evac crew cleaning up enemy bunkers before coming in for the rescue wasn't your everyday kettle of fish. Crewing for the Meknes, let's see... triage surgeons Jason Hewitt, Mikel Etxevarria, Kyalo Mwatu. Good.

Captain Ni Gusti Nyoman Wenten - was that her name? Nr 2 VTOL Needlejet 'Nyepi'. The needles were good for quick long-range roundups, but could take only about a dozen people on board. The one surgeon - hello. Arihclinn Ó Cathaoir - The Frog From The Bog. Now there was an unlikely combination.

Captain Giannis Seferis - nr 3 VTOL Needlejet 'Eleutheria' - bloody hell. Whatever, Yanni. Crewing, Massimiliana Giacomazzi. The admiral's daughter - interesting.

It would do. Things were getting tighter around the place, and that was good - back to business.

Levavassier looked at his task list for the day, and noticed an entry about getting in touch with Ben Miller. Same year as him in the academy, different base. But both Chironians. This was becoming a thing - the takeover of the junta by the Chironians. Dammit, he was part of the junta himself, now. Hey there - Ben also used to live in HQ. He walked to his comm terminal to put through a message. "Hello, Ben. Congratulations on your appointment. Care to exchange some CO thoughts? Seems like we have enough to talk about now 1st Wing is filling slots in the 4th. I sent Hendrikus on his way with the Rotor unit. And I'd like to hear everything about old Googlie dancing naked among the trees with Deirdre. Eugene out."

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 04, 1999).]

[korn469]

TOP SECRET/DESTROY AT ONCE:

TITLE: REVEIW OF THE SACMT TEST PROGRAM
CONCERNING: SACMT OPERATIONS
OVERVEIW: CHARGES OF VIOLATION OF THE SPARTAN CODE OF HONOR/RECOMMENDATION FOR THE ORDER OF SPARTA
STATUS: DESTROYED

DELETED/DESTROYED

ADDITION: 3/12/2224
RE: SACMT OPERATIONS
CONCERNING: SACMT OFFICERS

Colonel Jack T. Bradberry
Deceased: Boating accident* 2206
Lt. Colonel Quincy D. Abbot
Deceased: Suicide 2216
Major Ishmail F. Aru
Deceased: KIA 2203
Major Charles B. Garibaldi
Deceased: Boating accident* 2206
Major Roberto J. Vega
Deceased: Natural Causes (refused longevity treatment) 2221
Captain Juventus Apulto
Deceased: Boating accident* 2206
Captain Vlad N. Armasi
Deceased: Boating accident* 2206
Captain Marcus A. Brown
Retired: Retired 2208 as a Captain
Captain Aeri B. Folkes
Active Duty: Current rank is Colonel
Captain Leejay Lockhart
Active Duty: Current rank is Colonel
Captain Gregory C. Nestor
Decease: Boating accident* 2206
Captain Travis L. Stuadamyer
Deceased: KIA 2204
Capatin Andrew I. Vendetti
Deceased: Boating accident* 2206
Captain Jonathan P. Wells
Deceased: KIA 2213

*All were killed in the same boating accident in the year 2206. Apparently an Isle of the Deep attacked them off the coast of Centurion Cave.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

Ni Gusti Nyoman Wenten was of Balinese descent. Ksatria caste - warrior. Caste had not meant much on Bali in the last centuries of Earth, but there had been a resurgence in the very last few years. To that she owed her honorary title, Ni Gusti. Nyoman meant she was a third child, as Balinese children are named, be they boy or girl, in the order in which they are born - Wayan, Made, Nyoman, Ketut, and then Wayan again, and so on. Wenten was not a surname, it was just another name. She also had a Sanskrit name, but she rarely ever used that. And then every Balinese had a nickname, and she was Nyoman Jangkrik - the cricket.

Now the cricket was a captain in the Spartan army, flying rescue missions into enemy territory to get stranded soldiers home, or shuttling the wounded off the battlefield post-haste. She had been in the latter business so far, stroking the tips of the fungus with the belly of her jet as she flew into the carnage of war. Most of it had been before she'd even graduated from the two Academies - Air Force and Medicine - and by the time the graduation ceremony came around she'd seen more of the realities of war than many a veteran. They said eighty percent of war is preparation - it wasn't. Eighty percent was mopping up afterwards.

The Cyborg could fly in to pick up units at a time from the live action, but he'd rarely seen what the med units had - mostly dead people. Black magic indeed, and there were black magicians in Sparta, as well. She talked about it often with her Pedanda, her priest, and although his words could soothe her, the feeling would remain. On quite a couple of her sorties, she had come back empty, or with corpses only - nerve gas.

"Captain, M'am?"

"Yes, Jeremy. What is it?" she asked the young mechanic, one of Sheila Cartesius' Magic Monkeys.

"Something happened I think you should know about, sir. I mean M'am"

"Then by all means tell me."

"Yes M'am. Someone from Sparta Command was just here, sir. He asked if the new Rotor unit was still here. I told him, no, took off this morning. Then he asked if they had been fitted with the new auxiliaries already. I asked, what auxiliaries. You see, I didn't know of any auxiliaries and I would've known on account of me working on one all the time to get the Cyborg's chair in, I mean Mr. Cazemier's chair, sir. M'am."

The boy paused for breath. Nyoman let him.

"Well, when I'd asked him what auxiliaries, he sort of looked funny and said these things looked like, well, pods. Had I seen any of them. I said no, and started to explain how I would have known... But then he took off."

Nyoman had gone pale.

"Was this man in uniform, Jeremy?"

"Er, well, no. Just a fancy-looking suit."

"All right, Jeremy. Thank you for telling me. It's good that you told me. Are you ready on the Nyepi?"

"Yes M'am, fit as a fiddle."

"Good. Then take the evening off and tell the duty sergeant I okayed two holotheatre tickets for tonight's show for you."

"Gaian Exodus, M'am? Whew, thanks."

Nyoman, watched him jog to the mess hall, then paced out of the hangar and up to Levavassier's office.

"Eugene? Eugene, close that frigging commlink!" she yelled before even going in.

The new CO looked up from his commlink, then said into it: "I'll get back to you, darling. Something just came up."

Next, he leaned back in his chair, and practised his this-better-be-good look on Nyoman. All of her five foot two shook with rage as she blurted out what she'd come to say.

"Those bastards are fitting the Rotors with nerve pods, Eugene."

Eugene was all attention. He listened to Nyoman's story, his jaw setting harder and harder.

"Zakforsaken bastards. This has been coming all along. And I'll tell you right now who's behind this. CinC cabinet. The bloody bureaucrats. The exact same people who tried to get Googlie fried by our guys just to keep him out of Sand's hands. The bloody same creeps who grilled me and Cartesius just to get leverage on the Gecko. I need to talk to Ben Miller about this. Thanks, Nyoman, good work."

"Yes, sir." she said.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Assassin’s Redoubt

*****

Captain Rao was in a field hospital, finally allowing a medic to look him over.

“You have a torn ligament and a hairline fracture in your left wrist. You are to wear this wrap, which will assist in healing and partially immobilize the arm. Keep it on for at least a week. Understood?” the medic asked. She was so busy she did not notice she was talking to Captain Rao, commander of ‘Rolling Thunder’. Rao didn’t notice, since she was a civilian out of Assassin’s Redoubt. Even Spartan citizens didn’t always acknowledge military protocol.

The battlefield outside of Assassin’s Redoubt was finally secure. Now all that remained was the cleanup, and that was no small task. Most of the rovers from ‘Rolling Thunder’ that were damaged were easily repairable, given a little time. Some were destroyed. At this point his three brigades were at between 70% and 85% of full strength. All told they had 326 Hive prisoners, two of whom were command rank. Each of these had been immediately sedated to prevent them from committing suicide. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn’t. Very few Hive officers survived to be interrogated.

Rao walked out of the field pressure dome, cycling the lock. If it weren’t for the blasted landscape, full of seared and burned trees, rover debris, craters, and occasional body parts it would have been a beautiful day. Rao made directly to his command rover Lightning to check on its status.

On his way, an unknown aid appeared and handed him an official Spartan Command datapad. Rao looked at the aid, who was ramrod straight and saluted smartly. Rao reflexively saluted back. The aid didn’t meet Rao’s gaze, but looked over his left shoulder.

“What is this, private?” Rao asked curtly.

“Official communiqué from HQ, SIR!” the private yelled with unnecessary volume.

“Very well, dismissed,” Rao said as he started off.

“Excuse me, SIR! I am ordered to watch you read and acknowledge the communiqué, SIR!” the aid said.

Rao’s interest was piqued. ‘Well, this is unusual,’ thought Rao. ‘I have never received a message in this way.’ Rao activated the datapad, submitted to a retinal scan, and read the message.

* Urgent Communiqué to 2nd Armor ‘Rolling Thunder’ commander
* Date – M.Y. 2225 9.11:1023
* Ref ID – 29890-A-XXX
* Authorization – 2nd Armor Field Marshal Hui Wang
* R.E. – Refit of 2nd Armor

* You are ordered to submit rovers in your command for refit at Assassin’s Redoubt by 9.15.2225. Rovers are not to go to the Assassin’s Redoubt repair bay, but to the subcontractor Armasi Incorporated. During the refit rover crews are to be placed on leave. Any inquires are to be directed to me, personally.
* Field Marshal Wang


Rao return acknowledged the order and gave the datapad to the private, who saluted smartly again and marched away. Rao smiled, remembering that he was that green once upon a time.

‘Refit?’ Rao thought. ‘We were just refitted 2 months ago. Why would we need a refit? And not in the repair bay? Who is this contractor Armasi? That name does sounds familiar, I just can’t place it.’

‘The orders are clear enough,’ Rao thought. He had more to think about than refit orders. There was a battlefield to clean up.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

"Ben, I'm still unable to reach you, and I'm afraid the matter has become urgent. I code-blued this one because it's a live one. Ben, I have good reason to believe that someone is trying to force nerve gas pods on us. My one firm lead is to the Rotor unit that is coming to you from the Hawk right now. Apparently, some lines have gotten crossed but someone expected them to have been fitted with 'auxiliaries' while they were still here on the complex. I'd like to know your feelings on the subject, and I'll give you mine right away - if this is true, and someone is fitting MY Rotors with nerve gas, then I'm resigning my commission."

Levavassier checked himself.

"Okay. That's said. Now, my view on what's happened is this. This is about attack units. Pods are next to useless on medvac birds. So someone intended to have pods on my Rotors because they were going to the 4th and would be in attack position soon. Now I know this couldn't ever have been Googlie's idea, and I'm hoping to Zak it wasn't yours or the Cat's either. Leaves us with another source, and I say it's a typical CinC cabinet steamrolling job. Company paper, deliberate misinterpretation of standing orders, you name it. Next thing you know your mechanics have fitted the damn things and someone else pops up who says, well, of course we wouldn't have condoned this if we had known about it beforehand, but now that we have the option, and seeing how the Hive campaign is going, and what with the nuclear threat... We know exactly how it would go, we've done it ourselves dozens of times. Only not about something like this. And, by the way, nuclear threat my sweet backside. With all that talk at the CO meetings about an orbital defence capability, we could have had a score of them up by now, don't you think?"

Another pause.

"Okay, Ben, I guess I've made my feelings clear. But this isn't just about war anymore. This is about dignity. This is about Sparta. I hope we can do something about this. Eugene off."


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

[Hydro]

MicroTrade Incorporated Megaplex, Morgan Industries

*****

‘Father was, indeed, very pleased,’ Nwabudike Morgan, Jr. thought, still relishing the afterglow of his interview with Morgan Sr. His father was a hard man, and had readily given his son ‘direction’ but rarely praise. But his cunning deal with the Spartans at Assassin’s Redoubt had broken the records on profitability, so even the normally demanding Morgan Sr. had taken notice. And he had uttered the words that made Junior’s heart leap with joy: “You could have gotten 10% more out of them, but it is an acceptable level of profit.”

Moreover, Senior wanted his son to pursue additional trading ventures with the Spartans. Hive or no Hive, these were deals too good to pass up. Eventually Morgan Industries might be able to get a trade treaty with the Spartans. For now, the Spartan-Hive war sidelined those plans. Even so, it would be good to lay the groundwork. Senior even mentioned that additional ‘unofficial’ trading events would be acceptable, as long there was plausible deniability. The Hive was a little touchy right now.

“How shall I celebrate,” Junior mused aloud as he looked out his real-time holowindows in his executive suite. The view of his glorious metropolis of Morgan Industries was always so soothing. “First, a massage from my extraordinarily talented mistress Helga. Then a soak with Lani. No, not Lani. I’ll have one of the boys sent up from the stables. Those little ones can provide such unique pleasures…”

Junior’s infamous grin spread across his face - the grin of a predator.

A low, far-away rumble started and slowly built. Junior snapped out of his sensual reverie.

The images on his holowindows started to vibrate.

Alarms throughout the building started going off, and his comm console lit up.

The building started to shake. Junior braced himself against the wall, now thoroughly alarmed.

Movement caught his eye from the western holowindow. Something was changing.

As he watched, one of the gigantic thermal boreholes started to collapse. Great slabs of earth and rock broke off and, seemingly in slow motion, slid into the great fissure that was the borehole. The ground seemed to crack and blacken as earth and rock erupted through the carefully manicured and maintained machinery and farmland surrounding the borehole. Even at this distance, he could see long threads of metal curl, twist, snapp, and disappear into the black abyss.

Slowly, pink showed through these opened areas. It grew with terrifying speed, literally mushrooming from the ground, like a great a great flower unfurling. The fungus appeared in three, then a dozen, then hundreds of locations.

<….PAAAAAAAIIIIIIINNN…>

The Voice slammed into Junior’s mind. Reflexively, he screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears.

<… OOOOURRRSSSSAAAGGGGAAAIIIIIN…>

Tears of blood appeared in the corner of Junior’s eyes, and his breathing became labored. His mouth opened into an ‘O’ of pain and disbelief. A single rivulet of blood ran down from his left nostril, curled off his lip, and cascaded down onto his ample belly.

<…discontinuity…>

After what seemed like an eternity the Voice died away, and Junior could breath again. He sucked in the air greedily, and looked in alarm where the borehole had once existed. In its place was an enormous expanse of pink fungus, which visibly growing even at this distance.

Junior was transfixed by the horrible spectacle.

Then something caught his eye, and he finally panicked.

Nightmare! Worms were boiling out of the fungus.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Deleted. Double post.
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Slats]

I drummed my fingers on the desktop impatiently, wishing I were one of these empaths I’d been hearing about that could thought-force the technician to work faster.

My command console was down right now. It had only been able to send, not receive, and I was unaware of the fact until CS herself had commlinked me in high dudgeon to ask why she had seen no action on her request.

I had stammered that nothing had come in.

The Iron Lady had been implacable, and her words were still ringing in my ears:

“Miller, it was I who recommended your appointment to Googlie before his retirement. If you feel yourself incapable of running SAC tell me now.”

“N-no Ma’am” I’d stuttered.

“Well don’t give me crap about machines that don’t work. If yours can’t receive, get on one that can. Get back to me within the hour with a recommendation. Santiago out.”

The technician had been ten minutes on the job.

Finally he straightened up, keyed in a few commands, and said “Working now, guv. Your predecessor had a filter activated that screened all calls and sent identified ones through a Fort Soup loop. That had deactivated so they were all constipated there.”

‘Now why would he have done that?’ I wondered. ‘I must ask him about that.’

I thanked the technician, and swiveled the monitor round.

There they were, thank goodness.

Then my heart froze;

Incoming:

Corazon Santiago ………….deleted…………..
Eugene Levavassier……..Congratulations
Eugene Levavassier*………..deleted
Paula Forbes…………..Interview
Scott Allardyce………Drinks
Basil Hargreaves………deleted
Basil Hargreaves*………deleted

I gazed at the screen. The asterisked messages were Blue Coded, for my eyes only. No-one but me could delete them

Our security has been breached

[Paula Forbes]

My commlink beeped.

It was Carter, MorganNews’ CEO

I turned my wrist outwards. He was not going to see my shaggy hair or lack of makeup this early in the morning.

“Hi, JoJo”, I said sweetly, knowing that this would infuriate him. “What gives this early in the morning.”

“Paula, cut the crap.. We need you back at HQ ASAP. Some borehole’s gone and collapsed on us there and I need our best on the spot. You’re it. Get your ass in gear.’

“I can be out of here within the hour”, I said. I’m about 4 hours flight from Morgan Industries. Schedule my report for the 6 o’clock news.”

I flipped the commlink to my travel agent and made my transportation plans