The Spartan Chronicles

[Tokek Belerang]

"Well, I'll be..."

Eugene Levavassier looked at his commlink in amazement.

Hello Eugene darling. It's been too long. What would you say to Champagne and lobster on me, at the Nessus Savoy? And by on me, I mean exactly what you think I mean...
Ta ta,
Jewel

"This time you've crossed the wrong bloke, chum." he said, as he dug up the blah screen for the message. Date blah, sender blah, jackpot. CBB - Code Blue Breach. Someone had been into the message, and hadn't been careful enough about it. A simple - okay, maybe not so simple - tripwire loop had been activated when the Code Blue message had been handled by someone other than the recipient, from somewhere else than the recipient's commlink. Just something the Gecko and he had cooked up on a lazy afternoon, and now it had worked.

"Okay, my lad, show us your baby blues, why don't ya..." Levavassier murmured, scrolling down.

"HQ. I knew it. Right up to HQ. The bloody thing was sucked straight through HQ, and they thought they'd get away with it. Numbers now, get me numbers, get me addresses..."

He found them. Or rather, he found the place where they should have been.

"So they noticed, after all... Must have been quick, though - this baby was long gone after they could have... An automatic. They used a counterprotection. But if it was automatic, and it hadn't entirely stopped the message, had just managed to stop its address signature from getting along... Think, damnit..."

He took a breath, and continued to think out loud.

"If it was an automatic counterprotection, and it didn't function one hundred percent, then it must have left traces. So I'm not looking for what there should have been, but for what was put in instead. So..."

His fingers hit the touchpads in rapid succession.

"Cross-reference with all known counterprotective measures. If nothing, search for known viral blockers... Holy Zak. Holy Zak on a bloody rocking horse."

The comm had flashed, and produced a few lines of text.

Near match: Hive probe counterprotection sequence alpha seven prime nine. Evolution patterns match. Likelihood: ninety-seven percent. Last known use of the sequence subgroup: operative Sand

Levavassier's thoughts raced. What could he do? The commlink was his first, overhwelming thought, but it was compromised. Unless he could get onto someone directly, but even that could be monitored. Wait, wait, wait. Outside lines. The outside lines were on a different circuit.

He knew exactly who to call. One thing this man doesn't like, the Gecko had said, and that's being out in the open, with everyone watching. Well, there was one way to make that happen.

"Hi, Peter. Good to see you. Listen, I need a favor. Something came up, and I need to speak to Paula directly. Can you do that for me?"

He couldn't. She was on her way somewhere important. Could he relay a message? Levavassier agreed, cursing inwardly.

"Here's the story, Paula. I think you'll agree it's a bombshell. This could land the Hive in economic sanctions for centuries, and spark a revolution right in their own territory if things get out of hand. What they are doing, is using their probe team operative Sand, who has infiltrated Sparta HQ right to CinC's cabinet, to get US to nerve gas THEIR people in Deep Clustering!"

And he explained the rest. Now what could possibly induce Morgan News not to run that story?

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

[Paula Forbes]

The Morgan Commuter shuttle flight from UN HQ to Morgan Industries touched down at UN Settlement Agency and Morgan Bank en route.

As I stretched my legs at the Agency I checked my mail using my commlink remote. I saw that Peter was desperately trying to reach me.

I dialed him up, and luckily caught him as he was heading out for lunch. He relayed Levavassier’s message but was unable to answer any of my questions. I debated whom to call just as the preboard announcements were being made. Only one person could help at this time, and that was my best friend, Jeneba. She was based at Morgan Pharmaceuticals.

I placed the call, and she agreed to meet me off the plane at Bank. The borehole collapse story would have to wait.

Somewhat flummoxed I reboarded and took my seat, and pondered the situation.

Peter received the call directly from Levavassier himself, so it was important enough for one of the Spartan brass to bypass their usual channels;

There was no proof of tampering, only one person’s word, so it might be a plant – perhaps even to poisen Hive – Morgan relations. Was I a pawn in a planetwide political game?;

If true, it was an atrocity far worse than nerve stapling your own citizens;

Nobody messed with Sand;

If true, it would knock the borehole story right off top billing;

Commercially, a story of this magnitude should be spun out to increase viewership, with some teasers and appropriate elisions;

It needed researching efforts more than I was capapble of singlehandedly achieving;

Joe Carter wouldn’t authorize a last minute change in material – if I went with this this evening, I go alone;

Jeneba will be good to talk to.

Jeneba was my best friend, a bright young scientist working for Professor Kai’s group at Pharma. She had told me the last time we met that she was going into training as a mindworm trainer – whatever that was – and that this was a significant promotion ordered by CEO Morgan himself. She was a logical thinker with a brilliant mind who seemed every now and again to go with intuition that always bore fruit. Nobody could beat her at poker at the University of Morgan Industries, and words soon spread around MIU not to engage in these types of games with her.

Some said she was an empath.

I looked forward to discussing my dilemma with her and getting her advice.

The shuttle droned on, crossing the ocean separating the PK territory from Morgan's

[Slats]

I commandeered a recon rover and drove at breakneck speed from the Aerospace Center where the SAC was headquartered downbase to the Citadel, Government House.

I was determined to get back to CS within the hour even if it was in person, with nothing to report. I couldn’t trust the commlinks, even blue coded.

I reached the Citadel, and jumped out, leaving the rover by the entrance. Immediately two garrison troops came over to intercept me, but backed off when they saw the scrambled eggs on my cap,

“Keep an eye on the Rover, boys,” I said. “Don’t let it be filched.”

“Sir, yes Sir” was their enthusiastic response, glad to have something other than ceremonial guard duties to perform.

Santiago’s aide met me in the hallway.

“Marshall Miller, have you an appointment?”

I brushed by.

“Later, Ayola, later. Do the paperwork afterwards. I’ve got to see CS now.”

“But she’s….”

I opened the door and entered Santiago’s quarters. She was composing something on her console. I moved over and hit the delete key.

She whirled on me.

“What the hell… Miller. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Colonel,” I said, “whatever you were about to send you can’t. Our security’s breached right up to Chief of Staff level. I never did receive your request – it was intercepted en route and deleted, as were several others. We only found out because Googlie’s password had to be changed to mine so the loop stuttered and couldn’t reroute. It deleted and sent instead. Someone’s been reading your war communiques”.

“And I bet I know who,” she spat. “Yang, that’s who.”

What did you want anyway?” I asked

“I want a full scale invasion and capture of Great Clustering”, she said. “Yang must not be allowed to build a nuclear missile capability. I want an invasion planned and executed, and either that facility destroyed or captured.

“Burge will lead it. You’ll provide air support. Get the Rolling Thunder involved and the 469th. And the navy too to provide some bombardment capability as well as clearing the area of any Hive ships – but that might take time to deploy them.”

“What about probes?” I asked.

“I don’t know how ready they are”, she replied. “I haven’t heard from Lord Atreus for a few days, I don’t know what he’s up to.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked somewhat plaintively.

“Get Burge. Tell him to plan the assault. Be his XO if necessary. But time is of the essence. I want a beachhead on Hive territory within the week and Great Clustering’s capture within ten days. That’s how long I think we’ve got until he unleashes that moster right at us.”

I shivered.

“I think Burge and the 47th are somewhere south of Fort Soup,” I said.

“Call him in.” she replied. I want this war cabinet filled with the chiefs of staff tomorrow evening at the latest. It’s time we gave Yang a kick he’ll remember.

“I’m counting on you, Miller. It’s your first test as a member of my team. Now get to it.”

‘How?’ I wondered as I snappily said “Yes, Ma’am” and saluted.

[Slats]

How indeed? How could I get word to the various commanders that the CiC wanted a war cabinet meeting ASAP?

The system was compromised.

But did that matter? All I’d be transmitting would be a simple burst that CS wanted to meet with us. Would that tip off the Hive operatives that something big was being planned.

I mulled these over as I drove at a more leisurely pace back to SAC headquarters at the Aerospace Center.

Then I had a brainwave.

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

Burst transmission

To: All Chiefs of Staff except retired Wing Commander Scott Allardyce
From: Corazon Santiago, Commander in Chief

Your presence is demanded at a reception tomorrow evening 1800 hours to roast the departure of Scott “Googlie” Allardyce to Velvergrass Point as our first Ambassador to Gaias Stepdaughters.

Due to the numbers expected and the significance of the event we will meet in the war cabinet room.

If you cannot attend in person it is mandatory that your designate attend.

Do not reply. Just attend, or be represented.

Corazon Santiago

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

That should do the trick, I thought.


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

[Hydro]

South of Ft. Superiority, 'Lightning Strike' Rover Division

*****

The command rover of the new Lightning Strike Division was heading south at breakneck speed. Time was of the essence.

"Sir, word from the 47th," Gerald said from comm., unusually serious, "They are severely outnumbered and are under heavy attack and have mostly retreated back to a monolith, which they're using as a bunker. They hold the ridgeline with some artillery and infantry near the road. I couldn't make it out, but they mentioned something about scorched earth. What should I tell them?" he asked plaintively.

"Tell them to hang on, and don't engage. We'll be there in 20 minutes." Captain Mel Cassaroni stated. "Just hang on…"

*****

The sound of missiles and artillery echoed through the small valley. To the north a Spartan infantry unit and artillery held a rocky ridgeline, which were the last garrisons on the road between the Hive forces and Ft. Superiority. The Spartan infantry brigades were clustered at a monolith, which was acting simultaneously as a bunker, repair facility, and hospital. Arrayed against them on the south side of the monolith were at least 8 Hive fission missile plasma brigades and a single fission missile rover brigade. The scorched remains of two other Hive brigades littered the open ground around the monolith. Hiding south of the Hive infantry was the crippled rover brigade, evidently licking its wounds after its last attack. Throughout it all the Spartan artillery used its elevation to inflict a punishing toll on the Hive, and prevent them from repairing or reorganizing.

All the Spartan units had taken a beating, and the Hive was arrayed for a final, decisive assault. Infantry ringed the monolith on three sides. Numbers were telling.

"Gavin, you there? We're coming over the ridge. Hold back if you can, we'll take the first hit," Mel shouted into the comm., making sure she was heard over the artillery and road noise.

Mel started issuing final orders. She had 8 rover brigades at her disposal, including one largely unarmed fusion garrison 'Ironclad' that she had appropriated from Ft. Superiority and one mobile fusion chaos artillery brigade 'Minuteman'. The rest were all fusion chaos rovers. All had excellent to crack crews.

"Ironclad, get down to the monolith and act as garrison to take the heat off. The 47th has been taking a pounding. Minuteman, station at the top of the hill on the road and give the strongest Hive brigade a good pasting. The rest of us will follow," Mel ordered.

Ironclad rovers took point and charged over the ridge and disappeared into the valley. The other six rover brigades followed. After they had past, Minuteman stopped, put down their recoil legs, and started firing. The combined artillery fire from the 47th and 2nd Armor made the ground around the Hive look like it was being hit with huge raindrops, except that these raindrops created craters 2 meters in diameter. The noise was deafening.

With the start of additional artillery, the Hive noticed 2nd Armor had arrived and started to reform. While their deployment was perfect for encircling and obliterating infantry, they were in the open and too spread out to support each other against fast moving rovers. The Hive infantry nearest the road started to pull back, which would require attacking rovers to significantly reduce their maneuverability by leaving the road.

"Comm, does the road go to the monolith?" Melanie asked.

Gerald tweaked his skyeye and responded, "No, Sir. The road passes to the west side of the monolith. It looks like the road south of the monolith is destroyed, sir. That must be what they meant by 'scorched earth'." Gerald paused. "Ironclad just formed up with the 47th. Some of them are pulling back. God, but they are beat to hell. Ironclad and one infantry brigades are holding at the monolith."

"Are we within range yet?" Mel asked, although she knew the answer.

"Negative," Gerald replied, absorbed in the spectacle in front of him.

Artillery fire now concentrated on the two nearest Hive infantry units, blasting holes in their line. Fission plasma armor is no match for fusion powered chaos guns.

The two closest Hive infantry, now significantly weakened, started firing on Ironclad. Missile after missile struck the armored rovers. The first volley inflicted significant damage. As the second Hive brigade let loose great plumes of smoke rose from damaged rovers. Several exploded from direct hits. Mud erupted in geysers as missiles missed, and blew rovers over from proximity detonations. Ironclad was taking a beating.

Expended, damaged, and largely immobile, the Hive infantry now was at the receiving end as the rovers entered range. Chaos energies tore apart the ground and the air, the blast of which tore man and machine apart. The two lead brigades, Patton and Rommel, made quick work of the infantry.

"Sir!" Gerald exclaimed, "Looks like they're retreating! They're heading into the fungus!!"

"Can we catch any?" Mel asked.

"We can get the rover brigade, easy. To get the infantry we'll have to come within range of their guns." Gerald looked up at Mel expectantly.

Mel thought for a moment. Chasing the infantry into the fungus would remove their one advantage: mobility. The 47th was shot to hell, and together we are the only defense between whatever is south of here and Ft. Superiority. The choice was easy.

Mel got on the comm. line. "'Genghis', take out that crippled rover group. The rest, fall back to the monolith," Mel ordered.

"Gerald, get Gavin on the line. We need to talk," Mel ordered.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 04, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 05, 1999).]

[Hydro]

MicroTrade Incorporated Megaplex, Morgan Industries

*****

Nwabudike Morgan, Junior's inner sanctum was anything but peaceful and serene. At least 15 of his most trusted advisors, functionaries, and operatives coursed through the room. The normally quiet cavernous office was filled with visual updates, news channels, microcam displays, skyeyes and holos, all of which were gathering information. Morgan Junior was desperately trying to find out what was going on.

While his aids scurried about, Junior looked out of his holowindow toward the west. A haze of acrid smoke obscured the evening sky. In some areas a raging fire lighted the smoke from below, creating an eerie blackish orange glow. It looked like a large portion of Delta Sector near the new fungal growth was dark and without power, an ominous sign. The skies were alive with aircraft that could only be emergency vehicles. In short, Junior's beautiful skyline was ruined.

And in the background, the fungus continued to grow.

Two aids silently approached junior, one on each side.

"Well," Junior prompted. He turned around to face his aids. Blood still stained his silk ruffled shirt.

"Our information is preliminary, and it was the best we could get on short notice…" the first hedged.

Morgan's eyes narrowed, his fury building. In an even, measured voice he said, "Tell me what you do know, and cease the equivocation."

"Uh, well," the first aid said, flustered, "we have confirmed that the borehole has been, uh, 'consumed', by a fungal growth, the likes of which we have never seen. There have been outbreaks of fungus before, but never anything this fast or complete. One commentator used the analogy of a scab forming over an open wound, probably one of those green crazies. Of course, it is a total loss, and will cost Morgan Mining a fortune, and Morgan Insurance a bigger fortune. Luckily, this disaster does not affect our holdings." The aid handed Morgan a datapad, which he immediately put aside for later perusal.

"As to the voices we all heard, the eco crazies are babbling about the revenge of the planet and an upcoming holocaust if we do not change our ways," the second aid said, mockingly. "The truth is more obscure - we just don't know. We could assign some of our researchers to it, or sponsor a Morgan University research program, it you like."

"That would be unproductive and wasteful. Continue," Junior replied.

The aids looked at each other. Finally, sensing Morgans growing wrath, the second aid hesitantly said, "There have been reports of widespread death and mindworm attacks throughout Delta Sector. Rumor has it that the city garrison tried to contain the mindworms that came from the fungus, but broke and ran. Sir, there are reports that mindworms were running rampant through the streets of Delta Sector. Civil order has broken down in as indentured workers flee. The City Manager hasn't released the figures yet, but it looks like," the aid swallowed hard, "over 10,000 people were killed by mindworms." The horror in his voice was palpable.

Junior met this announcement with stony silence. Neither aids uttered a word and were perfectly still.

Finally, Morgan Junior spoke, "Were any of our assets damaged or indentured workers killed?"

Both aids were dumbstruck for a moment. Finally, the second aid ventured, "Unknown at this time, sir."

"Find out. You may leave," Morgan said as he turned back toward the west-facing holowindow.

Both aids left, and took their entourage with them. As soon as they had departed all the vids, holos, and reports shut off. Silence descended on Morgan Junior's office.

Night had fallen. The lights of Morgan Industries lit up the skyline, except for the black blot that was Delta Sector. Fires continued to rage, and the pall of smoke still hung heavily on the city.

Slowly, a smile replaced the brooding frown and squinted eyes: a smile of anticipation.

"Yes, I believe there is advantage in this, great advantage" Morgan Junior said joyfully to himself.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Good thinking, Cory... Formal dress, I suppose." Levavassier murmured.

"And stop talking to yourself, Eugene." he added.

"Peter." he said to his commlink.

"Eugene. I'm sorry. We're not altogether sure as yet whether we should run this. We need corroboration, research. Facts. It's just your word."

Deep breaths.

"Try this one." he said, and flashed Corazón Santiago's message over the commlink.

"Yeah, and?" Peter said after a few seconds.

"What's that look like to you?"

"Farewell to the old fart? Off to the great velvetgrass wickets?"

"Yeah, and freebie senior flying lessons, as well. Who would be in the Spartan war cabinet, Peter?"

For a moment, eyes met questioningly. Then Peter sighed.

"I'll let you know. Thanks. I'm beginning to believe you. Nice country you got there, man. Whew."

"Oh, we have, Peter, we have. And we're not going to stand by and watch while some slime balls destroy it. Now go and be a goddamn journo."

"Yeah. I guess." Peter said, and terminated the link.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 05, 1999).]

[Timexwatch]

2200 hours
Somewhere near Great Collective

"Conn, Sonar, the contacts are entering the fungus. Mike 1, 2 and 3 are gone. Mike 4 is about to enter the fungus."

"Acknowledged." Commander Angeles said calmly.

She turned head toward the tall, somewhat lanky man in the sitting in the chair in the corner of the bridge. He was dressed in dark, specops camoflage and it was apparent that he had a sidearm in his sholder holster. His dark auburn hair clashed with the hint of gray around his temples and he seemed to have a slight facial tic on his left cheek, probably from what ever caused the scar on that same cheek. A dark, cynical air seemed to permeate the air about him. She wasn't told who he was exactly, or about his mission, but she figured him be an empath, or maybe part of some intel unit. Intel was more likely. He probably wasn't just the usual spy or intel ***** that swaggered across the gangplank every so often. He had something damn special in mind considering the amount of fireworks he brought on board. 5 blocks of dueterium explosives. 4 blocks of plasma napalm explosives (Nicknamed Bar-B-Q sticks by the old guys from back earth). 10 plasma gernades. 1 gauss pistol. 1 impact rifle. Several other firearms and electronic equipment. And for some reason, a knife with the inscription "Mi Corazon". Whatever was going to get hit, it would be hit hard.

Suddenly, in the midst of her glance, the operative looked up at her and gave a small smile. Ever since coming on board, she had seen him stealing small glances at her. But so did every other man on the boat. She was the only woman on the sub, and Captain, nonetheless. She demanded respect from every man. If a midshipman ever looked cross-eyed at her, she had her XO wring him out. She wouldn't do it herself, of course, it was naval tradition to love the captain and have the XO meat out punishment. And on a submarine there has to be unity. Or else you end up as just another bump on the ocean fool or piece of junk that washed up on the beach. Unfortunately that didn't happen always. Many of the sailors were the dregs, skilled, but rejected from the army, air force and even the regular navy. Morale was sometimes a problem.

A minute passed silently.

"Sonar, has Mike 4 entered the fungus?"

"Yessir"

"Excelent" she commented.

"Conn, take us out of the rest of the fungus. Engage the fungicidal sheath." she ordered.

"Yes, Captain. Sheath engaged. We are beginning to break up the fungus."

"Go to 1/3, go to periscope depth."

"Ayeaye captain."

The boat lurched slightly forward as the command was given to proceed to go to one-third. The lurch when exiting fungus was a habit of this ship. The original Spartan naval architects had a lot of trouble coping with sea fungus. It did everything from foul-up the screws to breaking off dive planes on the first subs. Ships such as the first sub, the Santiago, and the Thresher were lost at sea due to fungal accidents. She thought that it was ironic that the Thresher's namesake had suffered a similar fate several hundred years earlier. But as time wore on, "accidents" decreased somewhat. The hull was still weak compared to other naval ships-of-the-line. It was fragile. One or two good hits would sink her. The screws formerly seen on subs were slowly being replaced by ramjets or pumpjets which were fast, but tempermental and noisy at high speeds. A special system, called Calamari, was designed to spurt fungicide in the path of a sub. Also useful, but noisy. All these innovations and improvements had changed the dimension of undersea warfare.

Another long minute passed before the ship was clear of the barrier.

"Periscope depth, sir."

"Excellent, all stop."

The call of all stop echoed through the conn.

Angeles pulled down the periscope.

[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

The career of Gaian Exodus in the Hawk of Chiron hologram theatre had been a whopping success so far, and it did not look like it would be ending soon. People came in from other bases to be a part of it, and there was a packed audience night after night. Jeremy led Roxana through the rows of booths, and glowed at hearing her excited cries as it became clear to her that they would be part of Deirdre's entourage in the lead Isle. If you got your tickets through 1st Wing, you could be sure you would be seated 1st Class. Crushed velvet seats, complimentary drinks, and - oh heaven - the envious looks of everyone who knew you. They sat down, and after a few minutes of booming commercials for Exodus merchandise, they found themselves on a little hill in the fungus, part of a semicircle of people that faced the most regal lady they had ever seen. The wind tugged at her locks - never mind that you couldn't breathe anywhere on Planet outside a suit or a base - and made her clothes flap, and stick real close to her body. Roxana put a finger under Jeremy's chin, and nudged it upwards. Lady Deirdre began to speak in a sad voice, but Roxana was already looking around, and saw several of her friends standing at the foot of the hill, in the commoners' ranks. All Spartans were equal, yeah - but not in a Morganite production they weren't.

Standing by the entrance, a gentleman in a well-tailored suit had watched Jeremy and Roxana go into their booth. After checking a minute 'puter on his wrist, he left the complex, and entered a tubelift going up, then changed for another going to the Aerospace Complex.

Jeremy walked into Nr 1 hangar a little after seven. He checked the undercarriage of the Meknes, and whistled cheerfully. He walked toward the back of the hangar, went through a side door, and headed for the ops building. Once there, he faced the retinal ID for the obligatory two seconds and walked past the guard - exchanging jibes briefly - and went up to the CO's office. He found Levavassier working at his desk, his back to the door. So much the better. Soundlessly moving, he got right behind Levavassier and used his 'puter to squirt a pellet of nerve gas into the man's back. Levavassier slumped, and Jeremy reached over him to get at the CO's commlink. Time to erase some traces. He tapped quickly, found what he was looking for, and deleted. All done.

But just then he looked at Levavassier's corpse and noticed something odd. The hair, the ears… Quickly, he took the dead CO by the shoulders, and pulled him back and turned him around. He then stared into the lifeless face of chairman Sheng-Ji Yang.

"Guess what, bozo! You're on TV! Smile!" the commlink blurted.

The chairman disappeared under his hands. On the commlink, two conference screens flashed. Eugene Levavassier, Sparta Command Network Node, and… Peter Dooley, Morgan News.

"Yeah, that's right. Camera's right in front of you. And guess what's on the controller's computer log I have right here? Oh goody, it's all there. Nice job on the retinal ID, by the way. Too bad it also did a DNA scan, and you hadn't factored that in, had you? That's what triggered this little charade."

Levavassier stopped as he saw the Hive probe team operative slump over the desk. Suicide sequence activated. Tragic.

"We've forced this on them, Peter. We're after them, and they have to move too fast."

"Gotta go, Eugene." Peter said.

"Yeah, be my guest." Levavassier said cheerfully.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 05, 1999).]

[Rynn]

The plane – a converted penetrator, touched down smoothly and coasted to a taxiing speed and rolled to the terminal. It held 24 passengers in a crush, a dozen more generously with two seats per person. This morning’s load had been light, about seven of us.

Jeneba met me when I stepped through the immigration control scan. If she hadn’t yelled my name, I’d never have recognized her. I supposed she was used to the weird looks people gave her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her face.

The complete left half her head was missing, replaced by an assortment of node implants and grafts. A metal plate ran from the crown of her head through her orbital and terminating at her chin, and was bristling with connectors and exposed wiring. Her left eye had been replaced with a prosthetic visual unit which enabled full spectrum vision when vision activated or full sensory perception when sensor activated.

I stared.

She did a twirl.

“Like the new me?” she asked, a tinge of bitterness mixed in with some obvious pride. “I’m the mindworm broodtrainer mark I”

As she turned, I gawked. From the right, she was completely normal, and beautiful – the Jeneba I remembered from our days at the University. From the left she appeared as a cyborg right off a holovid set.

She took my arm and hustled me to her PTV.

The Personal Transportation Vehicle hummed to life as Jeneba eased it out of the civilion sector of the Bank Aerospace Complex.

“So what’s so hush hush that you had to drag me 100 clicks from Pharma to meet you here?” she asked as soon as we were underway.

I told her, finishing up with my confusion and plea for help:

“So you see I don’t know if Levavassier’s sources are planting a story, or if there really is a story there.

“If it’s true, that Hive agents have planted nerve gas on Spartan troops planning to invade a Hive base, then that will be an excuse, backed by every other faction, to use their new doomsday weapon, the Planetbuster, on the Spartans.

“On the other hand, if it’s not true, but a plant, and we run it, it would create such drone riots in every Hive base that they might have to resort to nervestapling to subdue them. That would render them easy prey for a Spartan probe team.

“So I don’t know what to do. I feel that this has more political implications than usual.”

“Hmmmmm,” she said. “Let me think a minute.”

I waited. She suddenly punched in a code to the PTV’s console, and the little vehicle accelerated then veered left down a side lane.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“”To somewhere you must swear you’ve never seen and don’t know about.” She said. “If you can’t do that, then you’re on your own.”

I gulped. “Okay,” I said.

She turned into an unmarked gateway to a large, nondescript building that looked like a deserted warehouse.

The PTV petered to a stop at a vehicle entrance port, and Jeneba turned her PVU to the scanner. It read the prosthetic visual unit coding satisfactorily, and the port door lifted silently upwards. The PTV entered what seemed to be a large elevator, which indded it was.

Machinery hummed, as the portal closed, and we seemed to descend forever.

As it stopped, and as the portal opened, I gaped in astonishment. The PTV shunted to a stall nearby, and I took in the magnitude of the place. We were at one corner of a room that seemed to be hundreds of feet long and hundreds wide, teeming with white lab coated figures hurrying hither and yon.

“Where are we?” I blurted to Jeneba.

Her reply floored me.

“This is the research site for a special project we are working on. It is codenamed ‘the Hunter Seeker Algorithm’, and it is almost completed. I’ve commandeered a noderoom to use, and we’ll see what we can find.”

An attendant spotted her, and led us to a small office on one wing. He left us there.

Jeneba settled into the chair, while I lounged against a wall. She explained what she was doing, for my benefit, as I watched.

Pulling a visor and headpiece attachment away from a wall, she swiveled it in front of her. She carefully reached up to her left eye, and opening her eyelid wide inserted the probe into the prosthetic. With a quiet whirrrrr the unit engaged. Next she put the adapted visor over her ramaining eye, and took the headpiece attachment and fitted it to the visor. I saw filament probes snake out and attach themselves to sensors embedded on her neural plate.

She explained :

“I’m connecting the Cranial Interface Unit now. This CIU will bypass some of the sensovisory channels and enable me to connect directly into the network node both in Morgan Industries and Planetwide. We don’t have full Planetary datalinks yet, but this is a good approximation.

“I’m tracing the call you made to Peter. Ah, got it. Locked on. Now I’m accessing Levavassier’s to Peter. Hmmm. Unsecured. Hmmm, this is interesting. There’s an earlier vidcom attempt from Levavassier to a new Spartan general – no, Air Marshall – that side looped inexplicably to their Fort Superiority…ah, got it…locked on….Wow, its crosslinked to a source at the Hive’s People Teeming..wait…..got it. Now that’s interesting..there’s a branch back to Sparta Command…..WOW, right into Santiago herself…..uh oh, I’m being traced……exiting……..I’m following the other branch……..OH, that’s interesting, it leads into Thera, Lord Atrius, place – uh oh, I’m blocked. Can’t get any further in...backing out....back at Santiago's.....ah hah..line from here ...right to The Hive itself....going in,.....oops..I'm on a secure line.unscrambling...this one's tough.....oh hell, it's the Ashaandi Circle...can't get any further...****, that hurt ...I'm getting neural blocks...they're on to me......can’t get back….hang on………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jeneba’s body slumped over, her head thudding against the desk, pulling nodes from their sensors. The visor shattered, sending small shards of plastisteel into her face. Small drops of blood appeared.

I stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

I opened the door.

“HELP..HELP” I yelled.

Nobody came.

[Kuruk]

Nadia Dimitriov made her way slowly to the small, open area at the rear of the transport bay. She turned, slowly, and paused before speaking, as if to savor the moment.

"I have just received word from the probe team," she began, "The perimeter defense has been breached. We will begin the assault in thirty minutes." She paused again before continuing, "This will be a glorious day for Sparta, one that will live in history."

She looked out across the sea of faces.

"You have thirty minutes to prepare. I suggest you do so."

"Belay that order!" Came Royce Armstrong's booming voice.

Royce stood at the other end of the transport bay, near the large cargo doors. Behind him was a platoon sized contingent that Orlando Lopez had managed to gather. The cargo doors could be opened one of two ways: Through the control room, or with the emergency override. The latter was now jealously guarded by Royce and his platoon.

Nadia's eyes met Royce's, and there was a tense silence. Nadia spoke first.

"Sergeant, stand down. I order you and your men to disarm and turn yourselves in to security at once."

Royce did not acknowledge his superior. He spoke instead to the absolutely silent marine company, his deep voice echoing through the cargo bay.

"Captain Dimitriov is attempting to commit an atrocity. The gas munitions have been altered, and are now nerve gas. If this assault goes forward, it Hive will respond in kind. This conflict will escalate from a war of defense into a war of extermination."

Nadia spoke to the company as well.

"Destroy these traitors."

The deathly still silence hung in the air for a fraction of a second before the transport bay erupted.

It was impossible to say who fired first. All anyone could remember was that the firefight began with an exchange between Royce's platoon and a small contingent near Captain Dimitriov. It spread quickly. Most of the marines did not choose a side. The simply reacted as they had been trained, and returned fire from wherever it came.

Nadia bolted from the cargo bay, heading toward the control room. Though he knew he was more valuable defending the emergency override switch, Royce pursued her. Something inside of him made him follow, telling him that he was the only one that could ensure that justice would be served. He crawled on his hands and knees between the track sleds, making his way to the rear of the transport bay. He heard a hissing sound above his head, and knew immediately that it was a gas round. Still crawling, Royce grabbed his gas mask.

A white cloud was quickly obscuring the transport bay. The fog eddied and swirled around Royce, occasionally bursting forth in gusts as chaos rounds exploded. Still, Royce crawled on.

He reached the rear of the bay and stood, sprinting down the corridor to the control room. As he rounded the corner to the control room, his mind seemed to process events much faster than his eyes saw them happen. Everything appeared in strobelike slow motion.

He saw Nadia reach the ship's security team guarding the control room.

He saw Nadia drop to her knees.

He saw Nadia place the barrel of her flechette pistol in her mouth.

Without hesitation, Royce raised his pistol and fired. Nadia's gun, and the hand that held it, disappeared in a cloud of blood. The security team moved in quickly, attaching neural restraints to Nadia's neck.

Royce's knees gave out and he fell back against the wall as the reality of what the marines had almost done finally sunk in.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Salvador?"
"Si, Señora?"
"What would they be doing in Sparta right now?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Nah... Just being rhetorical."
The tall woman smiled a mischievous smile. Her wild blonde hair flashed in the sunsshine. She was dipping a slender foot in the water, and she had a glass of cold, richly colored rosé grenache in her hand. She and the man next to her were both dressed in shorts and T-shirts. The expensive Morgan Primes - ubiquitous in this place - stuck nonchalantly on their heads.
"I guess XO is having a ball." the man said.
"Yeah, him and Teresia."
"You mean, together."
She giggled.
"I should think not. How that woman ever begat a child, I'll never know. Ugly as a dog, and with a worse bedside manner."
"Now, now."
"Think they will have the shrimp again tonight?"
He smiled. So good not to have to worry about anything but shrimp, rice wine, another book to read.
"If not... who cares?"
"Hmmmmmmm... yeah."
An outrigger canoe drifted by, the fisherman waving cheerfully.
Staying here cost a bundle. But it was an excellent hideout.
"Doesn't it ever bother you that the war is still on?"
"Bother? No. I sort of knew it might be."
"That's not what I mean."
"It's still my answer. I had a role to play in that war, and I played it. But it was not a role that could bring the end of that war about. I may have put others in positions from which to do that. Or attempt it, anyway. But I woke up one day, surprised at the conclusion that I was in the happy circumstances that I could take myself out of that war. And then I decided I would. I have done my part for Sparta. Lifetimes over."
"What made you join the Spartans?"
"The feeling that Santiago was right."
"In what way?"
"That a man, a woman, should be the master of their fate. Should be free. And see, now I am free."
"Won't you ever go back?"
"In some capacity or other, I may."
"Would it be because of Honshu?"
"Honshu is an intellectual adolescent. Simplicity turned inside out. He doesn't understand the power of compromise, the synergy of mitigation. He is a dangerous, dangerous man, and he attracts foolish people, and revels in that. Corazón, for all her shortcomings, cares more about her people than about herself. It is not that way with Honshu."
"The way you see her reminds me of Deirdre."
He turned his head towards her, and ran a tender finger over her freckled face.
"They are not at all unalike. But I am not an expert on Deirdre. That's Googlie's department. I always preferred blonde."
She harumphed.
"And thanks." she said with mock derision.
"I'd like not being pushed into the water now." he said.
"Oh?"
But she desisted.
"Don't you miss Googlie? And Gavin?"
"Oh yeah. Sure I do. But we've always each made our own choices. This is no different."
"Aren't you bothered they stopped looking for you so soon?"
"Well, they found the 'jet. What little was left of it. With plenty of traces of my DNA in the debris."
"The news said it wasn't conclusive."
He shrugged.
"So. When will you go back?" she asked.
He laughed out loud. This was her way - scattered questions, then the big one.
"I don't know..." he said, and then said what had suddenly come into his head, "I don't know that I even will."

They looked at each other. A waiter in flipflops walked up and brought them a bucket of ice water with a new wine bottle in it.

"That will do." she said, first looking at the bottle, then at him.


------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Hydro]

The Hive

*****

Chairman Sheng-ju Yang is seated in his stark office. It is a fairly small room, measuring barely four meters square. The walls are a dull white, seeming to blend together with the indirect lighting from an indistinct source. Yang’s desk is little more than a table supported by improbably thin legs, giving the impression that the surface is floating in the air. Embedded in the surface of the desk is a control console, which at a wave of the hand becomes an opaque white to blend with the desk surface. Yang’s desk faces the entrance. To the left and right of the entrance are small panels that activate hard benches that slide silently from the wall. These utilitarian ‘chairs’ are for his infrequent visitors.

In this room there is no color, no texture, no feature to draw the eye from Yang, who seems to be the center of the universe. In this room, Yang is the center of the universe.

The walls have no decoration besides the following unattributed quotations, which are directly above Yang in 2 centimeter grey lettering. Strangely, they do not detract from Yang as the center. Yang carefully chose these to ensure that any visitor or functionary understood his necessity.

* There is nothing in the universe that I fear but that I shall not know all my duty, or shall fail to do it

* Work helps to preserve us from three great evils – weariness, vice, and want

His one-piece utility jumper adheres to his fit form perfectly, without a single crease. Yang is sitting ramrod straight, and has miniature VR goggles and gloves on. Occasionally his fingers tap at the air, moving precisely and quickly.

The view through Yang’s VR shows a three-dimensional landscape depicting symbols representing governmental and societal functions, and the links between them. Yang taps symbol he sees as the Hive government. The symbol unfolds to show symbols representing city status, production, research, economy, and intelligence. Yang taps the intelligence icon.

A linked menu unfolds in Yang’s mind, presenting him with data options.

Intelligence Report for 9.21.2225. Select Faction:

 Spartan Federation
 Morgan Industries
 Peacekeepers
 Gaia’s Stepchildren
 The Hive

Yang taps Spartan Federation, and then selects the executive summary.

Status: Three operatives Dragon, Wind, and Yin active. Operative Circle compromised and self terminated. Microthermal scrambler activated by Circle, 99.4% percent probable non-recoverable thermal destruction of all higher brain functions. Sand is currently directing the efforts by Wind and Yin. Deep operative Dragon advised of current initiatives, but per order of Yang 3.5.2184 has remained independent. Operative Yin reports that several co-opted Spartan loyalists have been discovered or captured. Details not available. Cells operating Spartan loyalists have a 67% chance of remaining undiscovered and a 98% chance of self-termination if link identified.

Satisfied, Yang closes his eyes and removed the VR goggles, and then removes his gloves. His internal chronometer, he has not required a mechanical timepiece in 140 years, tells him he has 7 minutes until his meeting with the applied scientists and engineers who are responsible for constructing his brainchild: the planetbuster.

As Yang left his office he mused: Given the correct circumstances and environment, any amount of force is appropriate and will be welcomed. The key is to create the environment and nurture the circumstances.

The door silently closes behind Yang as he strides to his meeting.

[Paula Forbes]

“Just who the hell are you?” the bearded white coated figure shouted as he approached. He had an ID clipped to his lapel with the word Director prominently displayed. Jackpot.

“Paula Forbes, anchor, MorganNews” I replied, “Here to interview you on the Hunter-Seekor Algorithm project” I said, pointing my stylus at him as if it were a micromike.

He stopped cold in his tracks and visibly blanched, all bluster gone.

“B.b.b..ut how did you find out” he stammered.

“Never mind”, I said, taking his arm. “I’m not really interviewing. I just needed to get someone’s attention. I have a sick friend in here who needs attention.”

I led him into the room.

“Jeneba, sweetheart” he exclaimed, rushing to her side. He turned to me “This is my daughter.”

‘Funny’, I thought. ‘In all the years I’d known her she’d never talked about her father. “Something in the government” she’d always said.’

He seemed to know what to do.

I watched as he carefully disengaged the PVU attachment and released the clamps, and disconnected the remaining probes from their sensor nodes. I handed him some tissues to wipe the blood smears from her face.

He cradled her head in his arms. “What was she doing?” he asked.

I pondered how much to tell him, then decided, everything. I spilled the story. I had recorded Jeneba’s running commentary of her wild ride down the network nodes.

“This is deep”, he said. “Morgan needs to know. Santiago’ll believe him. If her staff has been infiltrated she won’t know who to trust.

“Atreus as well, eh? Means that a Spartan empath would automatically be under suspicion. Would the CEO authorize a loan of our best?”

“Who’s that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Why Jeneba, of course. Who else”.

“Paula”, he said, turning to face me. “How well do you know Googlie Allardyce?”

The question caught me of guard. I blushed crimson, and stammered:

“A..bb.bb.bb..a..quite well, really.”

He snorted. “That well, eh? Good.

“Gatecrash his Roast and take Jeneba with you. Make up some plausible reason for that – her Gaian training perhaps – that’ll pique Googlie’s interest. But get her in there where she can do an empath sweep of the junta and their staffs. She’ll identify any rogues. Work out a code of some sort between you so that you can “paint’ them. Can your Levavassier be trusted?”

“I’m pretty sure”, I said. “If he is a plant, then I think it’s a dupe plant. Peter, my sidekick swears by him.”

Jeneba was coming round.

“Dad,” she said. “Paula. What happened.”

I replayed the recording for her. That apparently brought clarity back for her.

“The Circle of Ashaandi detected me. They neural bombed me’, she said. “Dad, are my links ok?”

His hands examined her implant nodes, the neural plate, the receptors.

“All in working order as far as I can tell,” he said. “How’s the PVU?”

“A bit tender,” she replied. “Must have twisted a little when I thunked my head on the desk. That’s the trouble with prosthetic visual units – they are delicate instruments.

“What now”, she asked, looking up at me.

“We’re going to a party” I said, “at Sparta Command.”

[Googlie]

Santiago’s cover was blown.

I looked at the saved file on my commlink:

“Googlie, Corrie here. We need to meet before you go to Velvetgrass Point to give you an in depth briefing on my expectations of The Lady Deirdre Skye. 6.00 tomorrow evening. My office is being debugged, so let’s use the War Room. If it’s not secure then nothing is.”

I had taken that at face value – a briefing.

Then had come Paula’s. I looked at it:

“Googlie, darling, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I need a huge favor. Your retirement bash tomorrow, I need an invite – with a friend – you’ll like her – she’s Gaian trained and can give you all sort of gossip on what you’ll face in your new job. Oh, say you will invite me, please? I’ll find a way of repaying you somehow, I promise.”

‘Hmmm. Indeed, you will’, I thought as I commlinked an invite to her to be my date tomorrow.

So it wasn’t going to be an in depth briefing on SC’s expectations of me in my new role. It was going to be a surprise retirement party.

I hated these kind of parties. Probably be a roast. Gavin would dig up some dirt on me – Gecko too. They’d make me squirm. Wonder if Atreus would be there. Well, at least I’d get to talk to Paula’s friend. Wonder what she meant “Gaian trained” – trained in what?’

Idly, I let my thoughts roam.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Dcole78]

I love you baldwin and I love you Co-

the ear splitting drone of the subs sirens woke Fleet Commander Baldwin. "What now" he thought. "First Santiago allows Morgan News to run that interview, and now this". Climbing out of his cot he activated the com pannel. "There had better be a good reason for this Private"

"It's Mark sir, came" the hesitent reply. Instantly Baldwin felt the pit of his stomach drop away from him, Mark had been with him almost from the begining. "What's happend" he asked trying, but failing, to keep the concern out of his voice. "he's gone crazey sir..he's running around the shipe..Davis and John tried to restrain him but he knocked them senseless...
"I'm on my why" said Baldwin and terminated the link. "sub-sickness" he thought as he removed his shreeder pistol from the wall.

As soon as the first subs had been commisined sub-sickness had begun to appear. The spartan goverment denided it's existence, claiming that the suffers were mentally weak. At first Baldwin had believed them, but he had seen to many good men go totally insane to believe them any longer. Perhaps it was radiation from the fission generators, or maybe it was only the close confines of the sub, only one thing was certain something was causing his men to go insane and the spartan goverment refused to even look into it.

Ducking, he stepped out of his cabin and into the subs main hallway to find Mark banging his head on the wall. "no..no..no.." Mark repeated the phrase over and over his usually handsome face contourted into a mask of pain and angony. Catching sight of the Captian he stopped.

"The voices Captain I can't stop the Voices" "They want....they want me to kill you" he said as he raised a shreeder pistol and pointed at Baldwin's chest.

"Mark, you know you don't want to do that, now lower that pistol and we can talk"

Mark slowly lowered the pistol "but the voices captian....can you stop the voices" He said pleading plantivley like a child to his mother. "yes I can" replided Baldwin sadly, as he rasied his pistol and fierd.

Several crewmen came running at the sound of the shot, led by the private Baldwin had spoken to earlier. Seeing Mark, dead, on the floor of the sub and the shaking hands of his captian he said about the only thing that he could. "You did the right thing sir" "If we had reported it, they would have put him in a funny farm, and his family would have become second class citizens" "I've actually been inside one of those places captain" said a second "and they are little better than prizons, no one goes there to get well, only to die" "I know" replided Baldwin "but that doesn't make it any easier" "order the sub brought to the surface and tell the men to assemble top side" "Yes sir" replided one of the seamen as he ran off.
"Is there anything else to report" Baldwin asked the other two privates?
"well, yes sir" "we recieved this on genearl burst a few hours ago"

Burst transmission

To: All Chiefs of Staff except retired Wing Commander Scott Allardyce
From: Corazon Santiago, Commander in Chief

Your presence is demanded at a reception tomorrow evening 1800 hours to roast the departure of Scott “Googlie” Allardyce to Velvergrass Point as our first Ambassador to Gaias Stepdaughters.

Due to the numbers expected and the significance of the event we will meet in the war cabinet room.

If you cannot attend in person it is mandatory that your designate attend.

Do not reply. Just attend, or be represented.

Corazon Santiago

Odd, thought baldwin, a little forceful for a simple party, but I have some things to take up with santiago.

"Thank you private" he replided as he walked down the corrider to the bridge. Yes, he thought, I have some things to take up with santiago, but now I have a burial to attend and some reports to fudge.

[Googlie]

I nursed my fungal gin as I pondered the events of the last few decades. Lazily swirling the amber liquid around in the glass I was struck by how easily mankind had adapted to life on Chiron.

Yes, in the beginning it had been hard, some might say excessively difficult. The early years, when we were cut off from the other Unity factions, had been hard. We had eked out a meager existence, talking fondly of the old times on earth while we wrestled with the realities of living on a nitrogen rich planet with hostile native lifeforms. And not just the mindworms.

Some early deaths had warned us of the incompatibility of the human digestive system and native fungal growths, even cooked. With a few minor exceptions, indigenous plants and fruits were inedible to the point of being poisonous. We had striven to adapt to the climate, with its afternoon furious winds, the rain, the unhealthy atmosphere and the poor food until our seedlings hatched and bore fruit.

Strangely the only native contribution to our diet was the gin. Scientists had worked out – goodness knows how – that boiling fungus stalks to a pulp, straining the liquid, then distilling it, produced a potent spirit with a taste akin to a gingery brandy. Although nothing like gin, we had adopted that as the name, or, to be more exact, fungal gin. It was best drunk diluted with gazified water, but was also very palatable taken neat, as I was now.

But after the collective wisdom had been pooled, and those among us more able to make sense of it all been identified, the knowledge leaps had been tremendous, with significant new researches coming on stream every 20 or so years. One of the most significant had been the development of synthetic fossil fuels, that had allowed the development of missile technology and our budding aerospace efforts.

We Spartans were not as adept at mineral extraction from the ground as were the Morganites or the Hive, preferring as we did the exploitation of a renewable resource such as forests, which better aligned itself to our Green economic principles. This did place some limitations on our production capacity, but we believed we compensated by developing better armed and armored troops with superior morale. I could certainly attest to that as regards the Spartan Air Command – we had proved ourselves almost invincible in the war against the University.

But I must admit that I was looking forward to what promised to be a quieter lifestyle among the Gaians. Since my wife had died in the tragic recycling tanks accident a few years ago I had retreated more to contemplation than action, and with Ian apparently carving a career for himself under Gavin’s command I had no ties to Sparta.

Sarah had surprised me, opting to stay in Sparta Command as part of the Mindworm Brigade, but even more surprising had been Alphonse’s decision. I still heard in my mind his comment:

“Stay I, earthgooglie. Much friends have become we and earthsarah. Muchlearn from each.”

So they were a team. Sarah had plans to go recruiting for more mindworms, she and Alphonse, that could be tamed and trained to be a viable fighting unit. Trouble was, there was a command void at he moment with Ann Rynn’s demotion/transfer that left no-one knowing whose orders they followed in that division. I’d promised to have a word with Santiago at the do the next evening on her behalf.

Then there was this business with Paula Forbes. Why did she need to be there? Oh, it would be great to see her again, and maybe even she would give me a “retiring present” that I’d remember for the rest of my days, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Anyway, she’d promised to introduce me to a friend who was “Gaian trained”. That intrigued me.

Pat Brewster worried me. He’d taken Slats’ appointment badly. He felt that he was being made the scapegoat for a ruinous mission that had only been put in place because other units hadn’t shown much urgency in getting a rescue going. He was sullen, and outspoken in his criticism of Santiago. I wondered if he’d be at the party – probably, as he was one of my few friends.

I refilled my glass.

Then there was Julia. It was going to be awkward, particularly if Deirdre hadn’t told her about her natural mother and in-vitro father. I’d have to quiz Deirdre on that.

Ah Deirdre……… my thoughts wandered……..

[Rynn]

Kurt wandered down an alley towards his sleeping cubicle in the eastern sector of Hole of Aspiration. His tour of duty was over for the evening, and it had been fairly uneventful.

He'd worn the enhancer today, as the distance was becoming greater, and Miles signal fainter. Bert of course had the enhancer apparatus working flat out. Miles had made his way to the outskirts of Fort Superiority, and had easily passed any interrogations that came his way from citizenry or garrison troops. The last time he'd been seen there was when he'd boarded Brewster's converted pen with the Rover, for the drop, but his face was not familiar, so no-one had recognized him.

Kurt and Bert had discussed, and disagreed, on how to play the return. The hero, escaped, returning to a hero's welcome, or the failed fugitive, slinking back into the city. They didn't know if Ann Rynn, Miles' buddy, was there or if she had returned to Sparta Command. They didn't know if she'd been assigned a new buddy. Bert wanted the splash return, the red carpet, the fuss, as he thought that would be the fastest way to the brass but Kurt wasn't so sure.

'He needs more practice' Kurt thought. He still waits too long before implanting the thought - it's like a cheap vidcom. The character's holo moves and the action commences about a second before the sound comes. Poor synchronization. Often drew guffaws from the audience.

Kurt had won the first battle. The entrance to Fort Superiority had been uneventful. No-one seemed to know where the Empath Squad were garrisoned, and even the regular garrison troops were unaware of its existence, let alone its location.

"Try Sparta Command" they'd said.

So now Miles was on a commuter shuttle to Sparta Command, and would be dozing for the next couple of hours.

Kurt paused by a grocer's. He ought to get something for supper. He was examining the mangoes and apples when he overheard: "…tonight at seven, the rec. commons - we're a bridge club today. We were crossword puzzle enthusiasts last week." The speaker - talking to the stallkeeper, then drew a symbol in the sand in a box that had contained potatoes - it was like the infinity loop with one end squared off. Kurt remembered his father drawing such a sign on the doorpost one day, before he was taken to prison.

After he left, Kurt went up to the stallkeeper, who was erasing the symbol. He triggered his empath senses to their maximum.

"That symbol you just erased. What is it?" he asked, senses flaring.

Fear. Guilt. Questioning. Fellowship…quieting of the mind.

"What is it to you?" the stallkeeper asked.

"My father. He drew one on our porch door the night before he was taken by the police and executed. I was six at the time. They took me the next day to military school, then the academy, and I'd forgotten about that symbol until I saw it just now."

Suspicion. Fear again. Resolution

The stallkeeper squared his shoulders.

"Oh, it's just one of the ways that some oldtimers communicate to each other - just so that we recognize that we're together. You know, bridge club members."

"Rubbish," said Kurt. "I remember now. It's the old Believers' sign. You're part of that old faction, still meeting clandestinely. I'd like to attend. Just to see if there's anything in my past that can be brought out."

"I don't know about that…" began the stallkeeper.

"Oh, I'm no threat,' said Kurt. "I'll lay my cards on the table. I'm part empath. I've always thought that it was my ability to somewhat read other peoples' minds - or at least their motives - that gave me a profound sense of disatisfaction here. But it may be deeper. It may have been my early upbringing. I'd like to explore that. As you know, if I wanted to turn you in, I'd just appear at the rec. commons with some garrison troopers. But I won't. I'll come alone, and sit quietly and absorb, if you and your friends will let me."

"Do you know anything about bridge?" asked the stallkeeper.

"Not a thing".

"Good. Then you'll be the reason we're meeting. Bridge School. Seven o'clock sharp. Harry's the name."

He stuck out his hand. Kurt shook it.

"I'm Kurt."

Obviously no second names were used.

[Paula Forbes]

I saw a white coated lab attendant come by.

Grabbing him by the arm I said “I need help. There’s an unconscious empath in that room…”

He shrugged me off.

“Not my department,” he said. “You need the Director.” And hurried away.

I looked around. How to find – or even recognize – the Director.

A group was coming by.

“Excuse me…” I began.

As one, they looked at me.

I sensed a mild confusion in my head, like thoughts trying to break to the surface of my consciousness. I inwardly exulted. These were surely empaths reading my mind.

One spoke.

“Are you declared?” she asked.

“Huh?” I queried.

They shrugged as one and moved on.

I realized that I was going to have to do what needed to be done, alone.

First things first.

I activated my commlink and called Peter.

“Paula,” he said excitedly. “Where the hell are you. The shuttle landed at MI and you weren’t on it. Guess what. Remember that piece you did about a year ago on the Spartan subs? Well Santiago cleared its airing about an hour ago. And I’ve got some corroboration on the nervegas issue that Levavassier spoke about.”

“Great,” I said. “I’ve some problems of my own here. I’m at bank, with an unconscious empath on my hands in a top secret facility where no-one will talk to me. I've got proof that Spartan security has been breached right up to Santiago's office, but can’t find my way out. Certainly won’t get to the borehole to do a report on that.

“ Tell you what. Be a darling and run the sub story at the six slot – do a simulcritude of me leading in and exiting, and run the old tape. You’ve got enough of me on file that you can do that, don’t you?”

“Yeah…..I suppose so. What do I tell Carter?”

“Leave JoJo to me. Just tell him I overrode your objections – that I’m working on something for the 9.00 news that’ll blow his sox off.”

“OK - I’ll do it for you.” he said.

“Great – I owe you one” I replied.

“Just run the nervegas piece, then”, he said.

“I’m working on it, Paula out.” Was my laconic reply as I snapped the commlink shut.

[Paula Forbes]

Tape 2225.17.11.37.spa.mil6 © MorganNews

“Good evening, viewers, this is Paula Forbes with a MorganNews special, courtesy of Morgan Pharmaceuticals, ‘Your Wealth is your Health’.

“Tonight, on the eve of an escalation of the war between The Human Hive and The Spartan Federation, we are bringing you this MorganNews special in full MorganLink 3DVision. This interview, one in our series on Spartan Military Preparedness, was conducted over a year ago, but we are excited to have only just received permission, this afternoon, from Colonel Corazon Santiago, to air it in its entirety.

“The interview you are about to see was taken at the launch site of the Spartan Federation’s first submarine, and is with her Skipper, Fleet Commander Baldwin.

RUN TAPE 2224.04.44.spa.sub/11.22

“Hi, Fleet Commander Baldwin, I’m Paula Forbes of MorganNews. Thank you for consenting to this interview on Spartan Military Preparedness.

“This must be an exciting time for you, the launch of the first Spartan submarine. I didn’t catch the name – what is she called? Submarines are female, right?”

“Well, Ms. Forbes…”

“Oh, call me Paula”

“Well, Paula, officially it is named after our leader, The SS Corazon Santiago, but I like to call it ‘The Black Panther.”

“Commander, it seems a stupid question, but obviously without a submarine fleet neither you nor your men will have had any experience aboard subs. What are your expectations re crew quarters. I suppose you can’t be claustrophobic in a sub?”

“Ha ha – that’s a good one Paula. Remember that a sub is a weapon of war not a cruise ship. Quarters will probably be adequate nothing fancy, I would expect them to be - excuse the pun - spartan.

“On the other note, yes: claustrophobia could be a problem. Subs are designed to be undetectable and to move quickly so everything is designed as small as possible. Even with the latest miniaturization techniques however, engines and sensory equipment still require a lot of space so living and working space is limited.”

“May I ask what led you to take up this calling – I must admit in preparation for this interview I read some of the old terran novels on submarine warfare, and all seem to concede that it is a calling, a way of life that few take but those that do love. What led you to this command?”

“That’s not…. easy. Just let me say that,… well,… commanding has always been something I've enjoyed, and…ummm..umm commanding a stealth unit such as this comes with more…uh.. freedom, shall we say, than other commands”

“And I suppose, Commander, that you have hand picked your men for this elite unit?

“Yeah right. No. Santiago decides all troop assignments”

“Now that’s interesting. Does the Colonel get involved in all personnel decisions? Would she have hand picked your crew?”

"She is an active commander in chief. All decisions, especially those of a military nature, require her seal of approval. Though it would be silly to think she has the time to personally choose troop assignments, she has to sign off on every one of them before they take effect."

“How do you think a submarine force will impact future naval warfare on Chiron?”

“Well that’s it, you see, Paula. You’ve read the old books. It will revolutionize navel warfare just as it did back on earth. The strongest cruiser or destroyer can be seen coming: but a sub can hit you and escape before you even know it is there.”

“That’s scary. I understand that she is fission powered – nuclear that is. What is her effective range, and how long can you stay submerged between surfacings? And I will understand, Commander, if you can’t answer some of these due to security reasons.”

“We do have to surface yes but not often.”

“What is her maximum speed? Her cruising speed?”

“She is fast, one of the fastest units on Chiron, I’m delighted to say.”

“What kind of armaments is she fitted with? How many torpedoes? I can see a deck gun emplacement but can’t make out the type of weaponry. Is it a missile launcher?”

“Now, Paula, is this an interview or an interrogation? Yang’s boys could take some lessons from you. Ha ha, just kidding. Seriously, you have good eyes for military hardware. The gun emplacement is indeed a missile launcher.”

“What’s the crew complement?”

“Ideally each sub would operate with a crew of eight”

“And now some personal questions Commander Baldwin. Are you married? Girl in every port? Children?”

“No, not now.”

“Now that’s an interesting response, Commander. It implies that you once had that proverbial girl in every port. But I’ll leave that well alone. What were you doing in the Spartan navy prior to this command?”

“Mmmmmm…well…I was an advisor…of sorts…to Colonel Santiago”

“You mentioned that each sub would have a crew of eight. How many more submarines are in production, Commander? In other words, what will be the size of the fleet you command?”

“More subs are in production, yes; the size of the fleet however has yet to be completely determined,”

“Finally, Commander Baldwin. Where will your home port be?”

“Ha ha, you are a persistent one, Paula. You’ll understand, I’m sure, that I can’t divulge that.”

“Touche. Thank you Commander Baldwin for your time and patience, and good luck in your new command.”

END TAPE

“Hi, this is Paula Forbes live once more. That was a recording of an interview over one year ago with Fleet Commander Baldwin at the launch of the first submarine to be commissioned into the Spartan Navy. Only today did we receive permission from the Spartan Federation to release this for your viewing pleasure.

“This presentation has been brought to you by Morgan Pharmaceuticals. Remember, Your Wealth is your Health.

“This is Paula Forbes saying goodnight.”

END TAPE
CUT TO COMMERCIAL 107 Pharma/suns/03.61

Cue forecast.

[This message has been edited by Paula Forbes (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Julia sat sipping fruit juice with Stephen outside a tent at the end of the runway. They were the Gaian Air Force. A Former mechanic had been assigned to them, and he was tinkering with the Thrasher sitting nearby.

It had been disassembled by the eager mechanics and science officers, and then reassembled, and the experience had proven beneficial. Now Velvetgrass Point was only a few short days away from rolling out it's first aircraft produced indigenously. It would be Stephen's to command. Two young recruits were sitting nearby, hanging on every word. They were going to be the Ops Officers of the two needlejets, and although their actual flying time in the Thrasher had been minimal, they had immersed themselves in the instruction manuals and if truth be known were probably more knowledgeable than Julia and Peter put together. Julia because she had trained as a flying officer, and ops were somewhat of a mystery to her, and Stephen as his ops experience was somewhat dated, with an earlier technology than now extant in the Thrasher.

They were discussing tactics when they were interrupted by an old hydrogen combustion-engined cart driving towards them. It was open topped, obviously cobbled together from the chassis of an old recon rover. Sitting as a passenger, with a scarf tied round her head and billowing behind in the slipstream, was none other than Lady Deirdre Skye herself.

All leapt to their feet stiffly to attention as the car came to a halt and she got out.

"Sit down, sit down", she said. "It's only me" and flashed that heartmelting smile at them.

They sat down.

"May I join you," she asked sweetly.

Stephen leapt to his feet again, somewhat red-faced.

"My apologies, Lady" he proffered, holding out his chair gallantly for her.

She sat down. Stephen returned from the tent with another and sat down beside Julia.

"I've good news" Deirdre began. "We had a small surplus of energy credits available so I persuaded the engineers to push forward with the completion of the new needlejet. It rolled out of the factory and is even now being transported here for your test flights."

"That's great news", said Stephen, all boyish enthusiasm. "Finally, my own plane."

Julia looked at him.

"I'll be test piloting it" she announced bluntly.

"No you won't", said Stephen. "It's for me. You've got your own Thrasher."

"And I've also got about 500 more hours piloting experience than you," she replied. "That means I'll be able to spot any flaws in her handling or performance in a tenth the time it would take you. I'm right, aren't I?" she asked, turning to Deirdre.

"It does make sense," Stephen admitted. "But don't crash it for me, will you?"

Lady Deirdre looked wistful. Julia immediately sensed the mild depression.

"What's troubling you", she asked.

"Oh, just the slow pace of scientific research we have here", she responded. "We've far too few really qualified people, and with our meager resources being split up to search for and find good spots for other bases, it seems that things move at a snail's pace. If only………….." she let her voice tail off.

Her somber mood was broken by the hum of a motor straining to pull a laden trailer to the airbase perimeter.

"Oh, look," said Julia, spotting it first. "It's the new needlejet."

And indeed it was. It brought everyone to their feet excitedly, even Deirdre, as they craned their necks to see the advancing convoy.

The fuselage was on one trailer, and the wings were on a second, to be assembled at the airbase. The Gaian symbol was proudly painted on each wing, and on the tailfin, and the fuselage bore the simple legend GAFI 1. Julia intuited immediately. "Gaian Air Force Interceptor 1" she said - that makes me #2. We'll see about that." She blurted, glaring at Stephen.

Deirdre chuckled. "Now Captains…yes, I said Captains - that's your new rank as of today - stop this squabbling. Julia dear, your call sign is GAFT 1 - Gaian Air Force Tactical 1. Your Thrasher is a Tactical needlejet, is it not? Isn't that why it has the Thrasher callsign, and not Indigo?"

Julia was flabbergasted at Deirdre's intimate knowledge of Spartan military protocols.

Then she remembered.

Deirdre had spent six days in the company of old blabbermouth Googlie. There was no Spartan secret she wouldn't know.

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 07, 1999).]

[Slats]

"Scramble Pinwheels one and four. I repeat, scramble Pinwheels one and four. Go. Go. Go"

The squawk came loud and clear over the needlejets idling engines. Together, Bearcat Brewster and Dusty Rhodes gunned their throttles and the two lumbering Penetrators, in echelon formation, lumbered into their takeoff run. They picked up speed as they rolled down the runway until they reached that "no man's land" between ground and air. Lifting their nose wheels, they effortlessly shook off the gravitational pull and soared into the air. Undercarriage stowing, they accelerated into the evening sky and headed south from Fort Soup.

"Wing one away. Wing two take position and hold"

Control's voice reached Ranjit Sing and Bert Evans as they taxied to their hold position at the runway's edge.

"Indigo six, scramble, I say again, indigo six scramble"

Dexter Patterson rolled the little Interceptor needlejet from his hold position and smoothly transitioned into his take off run. Before he had covered half the runway's length he was airborne, undercarriage upp and heading like an arrow in the direction taken by the two Pens. In a few minutes he would overtake them and gain altitude to fly CAP on their mission.

The mission was simple.

Carpetbomb the Hive forces pinning down the 47th, giving Burge's men a chance to break out. It was going to be a round the clock mission, with a return and rearm phase during which Pinwheels two and three would take their turn on the bombing run, with Lisa flying CAP. To this end, the command tower squawked again:

"Thrasher seven, take your holding position."

Lisa gunned her engines a little and taxied to the end of the runway and peeled to the staging area across from the Penetrators.

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

Dexter arrived over the target area ahead of the pens. Trish was active at her monitors aligning the coordinates with those of the satellite from its most recent flyby when it had trained its infrared sensors on the ground below. A hydroponics farm satellite it might be, but it was bristling with observation equipment and sensors.

Satisfied, Trish gave a grunt and Dexter just knew that the transmission burst had gone to the Pens.

Below and behind them, Pete Morris and Ralph Mandell picked up the busrt, and adjusted their co-ordinates accordingly.

"Over to you, Katy", said Pete, and Katy went through her weapons arm routine. These were HE fragmentation cluster bombs that were being used. In truth, old supplies, but useful in this situation with a tightly massed enemy. Every tenth was a napalm variant, an incendiary cluster that typically set the surrounding vegetation afire and often drove the ground troops our of their armored vehicles for fear of being incinerated alive - into the mayhem being caused by the cluster explosives.

They were approaching the target area at about 15,000 meters. If the troops below were aware of anything, it would be only contrail wisps being caught in the rays of the two setting suns.

"Ordnance gone" was Alfredo Lopez' laconic grunt to Bearcat.

"Roger that" said Katy.

The big Penetrators wheeled for home.

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

"Scramble Pinwheels two and three. I repeat, scramble Pinwheels two and three. Go. Go. Go"

The process repeated.

That night the pens made four bombing runs each, four planes, dropping a combined 320,000 kilos of explosives on the defenseless Hive forces.

By morning the crews were exhausted, both aircrews and ground crews.

Only one last task remained.

"Indigo Three, prepare for takeoff"

Rudi Gertz taxied his Interceptor to the runway's end, turned, and rolled into takeoff. He had swiveling HAC's mounted on two weapons pods, the other two being used for missile pods. The High Altitude Cameras would supplement the information obtained from the next satellite flypast, and would give a clearer picture of the task that awaited the 47th .

[Rynn]

Ann sat bolt upright in bed.

He was here. She knew.

The room was pitched black, with no window to the outside, and no light seeping under the closed door.

She felt the panic rise in her throat, the preparation for a scream.

The presence was stifling her.

She sat up in bed, and tried to force her pounding heart to still. No-one would hear her if she screamed. Oh, yes, she was being monitored, but only through the sensor nodes attached to her graft.

She wondered if her watchers could sense him.

Fear rose up in her mind again.

She had been moved to Sparta Command from the field hospital while they ran the tests and conducted the observations to see if she had been permanently damaged by the psychic scream. Hence the soundproof room. Once or twice she had relived that scream, and it had brought her own, much to the disturbance of the other 'guests'.

She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rise, and her scalp tingled, as she sensed the presence in her mind.

"Ann, its Miles."

She shivered, and drew her knees up to her chin. She sat on the bed with her arms around her knees, gently rocking back and forth.

"You're dead..dead…dead…dead" she mouthed silently

"No, Ann. I'm not dead. I'm here in Sparta Command. I need you. You are my buddy. I don't want to fight the mindworms alone."

Ann shuddered. The sense of panic was getting stronger.

She reached out with her mind, reaching, searching, back along the neural channel that had produced Miles presence.

She shivered. She hadn't tried this for weeks, it seemed.

"Miles" she empathed. Then drew back instantly, confused.

She had a mental image of Miles, but not Miles. Not his face. A fleeting image - a sense - of a leer, a faint presence in the background as though someone else was also probing. Then a third, in his mind, questing.

What's happening, she thought to herself.

The presence intensified.

"Ann", it said to her mind. "I've just entered the base. I'm coming for you. Be ready."

"Noooo" she wailed. "I'm not ready." She pulled the flimsy sheet over her head.

The implacable presence in the room, in her mind, paid no heed.

[Rynn]

Sarah woke up trembling.

She had felt the insidious presence, searching, questing. She'd gotten up and wandered over to the mindworm pen, thinking it was their unrest that had awakened her.

Alphonse skittered over, chittering excitedly.

"No, no, were not going hunting yet," Sarah said. "I just couldn't sleep. I sense something is reaching out to me, but I just don't know what."

She reached out to pet the tangled tendrils of the demon boil.

When her hand made contact, she suddenly stiffened. It was as if the physical contact with the mindworm had amplified her neural capability, strengthening her empath sense.

"It's Miles," she said aloud. "He's here. Looking for something. And something's not right. He seems unnatural. Help me Alphonse".

Help we EarthSarah. What need

"I need amplification. I need help to project, and help to resist if needed."

Help we can

Sarah reached out with her mind. At the edges she was aware of Ann, with Miles probing of her. Then suddenly she was there. Miles. Right through Miles. Another mind. Open, receptive. She went in, Alphonse right with her.

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

A continent away, Bert screamed, and tore the visor from his face, pulling out several probe filaments as he did so, and tearing the sensor pads from his temples.

"Holy ****", he said. "That hurt". Obviously he was in some pain.

"What hurt?" said Kurt. "You've lost him, and it's too far for me to hold him."

"Bloody huge mindworm, that's what." Said Bert. I was directing his probe to find out where this Lieutenant Rynn was billeted, then suddenly he's being probed by someone - I opened up to see who, and suddenly I've a friggin huge mindworm in my head."

"Get him back" was all Kurt said.

Bert reattached the nodes and the visor.

"Ain't gettin' nothin' ", he said. "Must have damaged the visor somehow when I yanked it off. You try with yours."

Kurt reached for his visor. He hated wearing it. It was hard to focus on one individual. So many voices in his head, so hard to trace to their sources. Oh, he could narrow the field somewhat through concentration, but there were thousands of channels to be explored. It was easy with Bert's visor - that was programmed for miles' thought patterns. But his was a general purpose one, manufactured at Morgan Industries to mesh with his brain patterns alone, and designed for pure magnification, not narrow beam focus.

Resignedly he put it on, and his face distorted with the usual repugnance he felt when he was invading so many minds on a broad sweep basis.

He searched, expanding his consciousness in broad swathes, like a radar, ignoring all but the signal that he had homed in on Miles.

Then he heard the voice in his head.

Welcome EarthKurt. Waiting we.

"Who's we?" he asked.

"Huh?" said Bert. Whaddaya talkin' about?"

Kurt was confused.

He focused his mind and senses from where he imagined the Voice to come from.

Then he heard the music.

Eerie.

Unearthly.

Haunting.

Wonderful.

EarthKurt. Belong you we. You us. Joy much we/you

The music swept him along.

Kurt my boy, you look good

"Dad…what's happening…here"

with mother and Beartrice….Planet and human as one….everlasting….Miriam was wrong….this is eternity…..you must leave…. Must stop this madness…..Planet will be destroyed…..cycle will never repeat…..this is the last chance….don't let them screw it up….get allies…empaths…in every faction….need to unite……only chance….

The music petered out.

Kurt pulled the visor from his head and looked at Bert through eyes that were brimming with tears.

"You're on your own, now, Bert" he said to the stolid uncomprehending brutish face of Bert, his buddy whom he hated with a passion. "Find him yourself."

He stood up and left the room.

Bert gazed stupidly after him.

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

Miles stopped suddenly, and shook his head to clear it. He realized that he had no idea why he was walking down an alley at Sparta Command base in the middle of the night.

He stood for a moment to collect his bearings, then turned back and crossed in front of the big recycling tank complex, only a few years old after the disastrous fire that had generated the explosion that killed over 300 people. It was rumored that the Hive operative, Sand, had had something to do with it.

He crossed behind the rec. commons and reached the empath squad barracks.

"I'm home", he thought, and whistling an off key tune he pushed open the perimeter gate.

Only to be attacked by the largest mindworm he had ever seen in his life.

[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited August 07, 1999).]

[Kuruk]

Ambassador Akeem looked through the glass into the chamber in front of him. The room was narrow and long, three meters across and fifteen deep. At the near end, directly in front of the glass, stood a rack with three rifles, ancient projectile weapons brought over from Earth on the Unity. At the far end of the room was a metal grating, deep crimson in color.

Reflected in the glass were the hard eyes of the men and women around him. He had served as the Peacekeeper's ambassador to Sparta for thirty years, but the brutality and lack of compassion in these people never ceased to amaze him. The Peacekeepers had done away with capital punishment long ago.

The court martial had been swift. Nadia Dimitriov had been convicted of Conspiracy to Commit Crimes Against Humanity, a violation of the U.N. Charter, and numerous violations of the Spartan Code of Honor, the most significant of which was Disobedience of a Direct Order. The Spartan Federation had kept news of the near atrocity out of the Morgan News nets, and it was doubtful that the Hive even knew what had almost happened. The Peacekeeper sources were better than Yang's or Morgan's though. Lal had ordered Akeem to personally witness the execution, to ensure that it was carried out. The commissioner still held the U.N. charter as sacred. Akeem wondered how Lal would feel if he was standing here, about to watch a fellow human be executed.

The door at the near end of the chamber opened, and three soldiers stepped in. The raised fist insignias on their uniforms marked them as Spartan Internal Security Forces. Each selected a rifle from the rack. Two of the rifles contained live rounds, while one fired a blank. No one would know for sure whether they had fired one of the deadly shots. The custom was a holdover from traditional military justice on Earth. The SISF soldiers would feel no guilt for what was about to happen.

At the other end of the chamber, another door opened, and a young woman in dress uniform stepped in. Akeem could not be sure, but it looked as though she had a satisfied smile on her face.

There would be no blindfold, no cigarette, no restraints. Spartans were expected to meet death with stoicism and discipline.

The three soldiers saluted the woman at the other end of the chamber. For another few seconds, she was still their superior officer.

The woman at the other end of the chamber returned the salute. The first soldier shouted out the orders.

"Ready ... Aim .... Fire!"

Captain Nadia Dimitriov was knocked back against the wall as the bullets hit her chest, and then fell forward onto the iron grating.

[Googlie]

(A joint effort - Googlie and Rynn)
___________________________________

“This meeting will now come to order.”

Santiago was stern looking as she looked around the room.

All were present except Googlie. She frowned. While his presence was not necessary for the task at hand, it was strange that he wouldn’t be early for his supposed briefing on the Gaian Ambassador’s duties. Unless he had gotten wind that it was supposed to be for a Roast for his retirement – she knew he hated those kind of do’s.

But that was only a subterfuge to get the generals together. Maybe his nose for intrigue had taken him down that path as well, or he had personal infiltration of their links and deduced what this meeting was about, and decided that as he was retired, he’d stay away.

No matter.

All were in attendance.

Gavin Burge, of the 47th was at her left. Next to him was Salvador St. James Arrayed further round was ‘Trawler’ Mcmillan, sitting next to General Wang. On the other side was ‘Slats’ Miller, flanked by General Lockhart and Eugene Levavassier. Lord Atreus was represented by Captain Paul Mitchell, a deputy in the Psi Ops command.

“Order of Business,” began Santiago. "Burge has the Chair."

Gavin Burge began to speak.

“First – An all out attack on Great Clustering. I’ll co-ordinate this. All units subordinate. I want the Base captured, the Planetbuster production capability destroyed and we’ll build it up as a major beachhead for an allout invasion of the Human Hive.

“Next – Plex Anthill. Lockart. Invade and secure. Immediately if possible. We need a staging area for the successful attack on Great Clustering. Build a land bridge if necessary. You’ll have authority to commandeer every former that I don’t commandeer.

“Third – there’s a Hive invasion force massing according to Morgan sources. Slats, I need that destroyed. Co-ordinate with Baldwin’s sub team. This should be just up their alley.

“Fourth – The issue of Nervegas. Levavassier has some comments."

Colonel Levavassier took to the floor

“I’m pleased to say that the Circle of Ashaandi’s efforts in this regard have failed, and as far as we can tell their operatives have been withdraw…”

The door burst open.

Miles Cavenagh came into the room throwing aside the lifeless body of Ann Rynn.

He mouthed one word.

“Kamikazi”

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

At the other end of the base, Paula and Jeneba watched in horror as the nuclear fireball engulfed the Command Center. They averted their ayes almost a moment too late, although the blast was obscured by intervening buildings.

It had been a small tactical nuke, sufficient to destroy utterly a sizeable building and smaller ones surrounding it. It’s footprint was about the size of four old earth football fields clustered together. The mushroom cloud rose as the shockwave hit them, flattening them to the street.

“Good God” Paula said. The whole Spartan War Cabinet”

Jeneba wore a puzzled frown.

Fleet Commander Baldwin looked at her. They’d intercepted him on the way to the Cabinet meeting, and Paula had recognized him. Jeneba’s insistent warning had convinced him to stay away.

“What’s up now? He asked.

“I’m getting something”, she said.

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


In the underground room away from the Base, Ayola watched in satisfaction. The monitor control surveillance of the proceedings had dissolved to black, and the small supernova in the sky bore witness to the success of the operation.

She turned to her prisoner, held under electronic restraints. Immobilized except for vision and voice.

“We’ve done it”, Ayola said with glee. The Hive think they've got the whole War Cabinet, in one fell swoop - except for Allardyce – and he doesn’t signify. And Artreus, but he’ll be no match for Sand, in Sand's opinion." She gloated.

Her captive just smiled that infuriating smile.

“Think again, sweetheart. The words mandatory and be represented were code words that signified a Virtual Meeting, via hologram.

“All they've destroyed is some holoprojector equipment with some bricks and mortar. The Junta is intact. Why would they even negotiate?"

The two Hive agents monitoring the electronic defenses were oblivious to this exchange made for their benefit.

Corazon Santiago chuckled, at least as much as her electronic restraints allowed.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 09, 1999).]

[Slats]

Slats jerked back in the chair he’d been sitting in, putting him out of the lensfield of the holoprojector.

“Shoot”, he said to his aide. "Was the Colonel there live?"

“Negative, Sir” she replied. “I detected waver fields and even discontinuities in her persona that makes me believe that she was not only a holo , but a simulcrae at that.”

“What on Planet does that mean?” Slats asked. “What’s a simulcrae?”

“Oh, sir, it’s a preprogrammed manufactured hologram. A true holo would show her behind her desk wherever she was during that Virtual Meeting, blinking, moving, looking at speakers, that sort of thing. A simulcrae is a cobbled together holo of her previously, in a number of poses, that has been coded to run as real – so her standing up and sitting down was not actually happening real time – it is like watching a 3D vidcom being holographically projected. The appearance, though, is a lot more stilted, more artificial.”

“Oh, I see,” said Slats, not really, but understanding enough to realize that Santiago had not been there in person.

“Why would she have done that?” he asked.

“Perhaps she wanted to be somewhere else at the time, doing something else” his aide suggested. “It’s a technique perfected by the criminal element – appear to be somewhere holographically – it’s an accepted alibi – while you are actually committing the crime elsewhere.”

“Hmmm. I wonder where she is, then” Slats pondered.

But he had work to do.

He commlinked to Bearcat. ‘I need to get these recon patrols up and running to look for the Hive fleet. And co-ordinate with Burge for any attack on Plex Anthill or eventually Great Clustering.'

But Pat Brewster was not responding.

[This message has been edited by Slats (edited August 07, 1999).]

[Rynn]

Bert Rose exultantly from the chair and stretched his cramped muscles.

“We did it,” he said, looking over at Kurt.

“You killed over 100 people.” Kurt said, with obvious distaste. “With a Nuke, at that.”

“Yeah,” Bert said. “Isn’t it great. I’ll get a huge promo out of this. Might even make Sarge. Let’s see if the newspiece has run yet.

He flicked on the Telereceptor in the control room, and changed the channel to MorganNews.

[Paula Forbes]

The young technician held the tape, and waited for the right moment. The senior technician turned momentarily away, and with a deft move the tape was switched. He hit the override button. He hadn’t seen the full tape yet but he was extremely impressed at the simulcrae quality.

OVERRIDE PROGRAMS******OVERRIDE PROGRAMS

MORGAN NEWSFLASH*****MORGAN NEWSFLASH*****MORGAN NEWSFLASH

We interupt our normal programming to bring you this newsflash

“Hi, this is Paula Forbes reporting live from…..from Sparta Command where just moments ago a tactical nuclear weapon was detonated at the Command Center. It is believed that the entire War Cabinet of Colonel Santiago has been destroyed, including the Colonel herself. The attack has been ascribed to an operative in the Empath Squad under the command of Lord Atreus, who was not present at the meeting.

“There were no survivors.

“This is Paula Forbes signing off from…from Sparta Command”

PROGRAM RESUME

“What the hell……” the senior technician looked across the room. The young assistant was nowhere to be seen.

[Rynn]

Sarah was sobbing hysterically.

“I’ve killed them all” she wailed, rocking back and forth with her arms around her knees, sitting on the damp ground by the perimeter fence. “I’ve killed them all.”

Even Alphonse was no comfort.

He was nonplussed.

EarthSarah - much grief. Understanding not. Help

“Oh, Alphonse” she wailed. “I gave him my pass to the meeting and now he’s gone and killed them all – I’ve killed them all.” She resumed her keening.

‘All’ understand not we. Four Planet join. EarthMiles, EarthRynn, EarthSmithers,EarthCarson. Who is ‘All’

“Smithers? Carson? Who are they” Sarah asked aloud. “What about Googlie, Burge, St James? The rest?”

Alphonse paused.

EarthGooglie here. EarthBurge with we commune – EarthSarah name Monolith. EarthStJames here.

“You mean they’re alive?” she sniffed.

Alive..not join we. Killed – with we one earthhuman… Planet. Alive EarthSarah. Alive EarthGooglie. Alive EarthAll. Killed say we yes…four Planetjoin

Sarah grabbed a handful of tendrils and hugged them.

“Thank you Alphonse. I don’t understand what’s happened but I don’t believe I’ve killed them after all.”

She got up to go and report to somebody, anybody, just to see some action.