The Spartan Chronicles

[Rynn]

Miles sagged back in his chair.

He had waited for this moment, schemed for it, and agonizingly reprogrammed himself for it, but it hadn’t turned out as he’s anticipated.

Bert nervestapled? And by Kurt. Who’d ha thunk it?

And Kurt. Turned, and in a Hive resistance movement yet. Got himself a cutie, too.

Well, he didn’t regret the mental wound he’d inflicted. Kurt had stood by when the operations were done on miles, without acting. So he’d found religion now. Bully for him.

Miles visit into Kurt’s mind had shown his conversion to be genuine, and not just a ploy to get into Shauna’s pants, but Miles found it hard to forgive and forget.

He remembered the agony he’d gone through. The operation to try and reverse the programs he’s been fitted with by Bonaventura. The incision of the surgeon’s laser into his brain, the removal of organ and skin tissue and the expiriments with his vocal chords to give the clone the requisite appearance and sound.

Miles they’d even called the clone. They force grew it in about a week.

And he’d been sent back with the clone. As its watcher. He was controlled by Kurt, while Bert operated the clone, which was more of an automaton.

After the tactical nuclear explosion he’d lain low. Todd, one of his empath school trainees had deserted, and that had led Sarah to mooch around and finally disappear on a mission of Googlie’s.

Miles had assumed Tod’s persona. Not like a Chameleon actor, but by use of his empath projecting skills. He simply had anyone who saw him see Todd.

Meanwhile he’d been working on himself to reverse the Hive implants, in some instances just gritting his teeth and simply excising the node, in others carefully programming before the filament insertion and then letting the program run.

He’d pretty much finished and was testing his memory of the trance when Kurt and Shauna had come calling.

Vague flashes of another girl had periodically appeared, growing more frequent as he removed the Hive traces, and he’d thought that it was Shauna when she’d first appeared.

But it wasn’t. Shauna held a desk job in the Hive. This other girl did something vaguely exciting that caused adrenaline rushes. Not Shauna.

He was also aware of the invasion plans – not in detail, but in a more general sense.

He’d felt called to Fort Superiority, his trance inducer seemed to be stationed there – so he’d insinuated a transfer thought into the garrison commander’s mind, and when he showed up at the gate with Todd’s transfer orders it was easy persuading the guards that he was Todd.

Around Fort Soup all the military minds were full of invasion thoughts, and he found it relatively simple to piece together the puzzle.

He knew that if he could do it, so could Hive probes and empaths, and knew that he needed to go directly to the authorities to warn them. But that risked interrogation, possible operations, skepticism that he could have rid himself through self operations of the Hive traces, and he didn’t have the heart for more surgeons.

So now he was recruiting for his private war. Controlling his former controller.

That was a switch

[Googlie]

I sat dozing in the Pen transport that was carrying me to Fleet Anchorage. It was actually going to deposit me in Fort Soup and I would take a copter shuttle out to the sea base for the ceremony tomorrow.

I had preprogrammed my commlink, and I awoke with a start when it beeped.

“Hullo” I said, activating it.

Paula Forbes was looking up at me from the wrist screen.

“Hang on,” I said.

I attached the throat mike and earpiece and mouthed “Going off visual. Activate Two to tango.”

Paula nodded as the screen went blank.

My ear buzzed.

We’re secure, Googlie?

Yes.

What do you want of me?

Paula, I need your help. You can say ‘no’, but you owe me big time for that injection in the neck the other day.

I saved your life – you were blundering into a trap.

I know. That doesn’t make this any easier though. This could cost you your job – maybe your life.

Hah. My job. I all but resigned after that last stunt Carter pulled. Overrode me right off the air. I was divulging state secrets. So nothing you ask me to do would cost me my job – and if it did, I wouldn’t care. So out with it.

OK. Paula I need you to sew some disinformation. You might want to refer to ‘contacts’ in our command structure, then get your retired General whatsisname ..

Freddy Hawkes

…Yeah – that’s him. Anyway if you get him he’ll certainly give it authenticity. Will you do it?

Silence. We went back a long way, and I’d never called in an IOU like this. But if Gavin thought it important enough, then I’d pull one in. And he did.

My earpiece cackled.

I’ll do it. What do you want me to do?

Got notepaper or a scribepad handy?

Yup

Okay. Here’s the scoop.

I fed her the line.

When do you want it to run?

Tonight would be good.

That soon. It’s imminent then?

I didn’t say that. I’m ribbon cutting tomorrow and Burge the day after.

Oh, anything exciting? Should I be there.

Not tomorrow. But if you happened to be in Fort Soup the day after…

I’ll be there. Haven’t talked to Gavin in ages. He’s an important man now.

Yeah. You might want to do a profile on him.

I’d like that. I’ll set it up.

You’ll need to work through Marlo Hollis. She’s the Junta’s new PR Director.

Oh, I’d like that too. She’s fun. Is she still bi?

You won’t reveal your source?

Promise.

Ask Gavin that. He and Marlo used to be a hot item.

Go on….Gavin?….and Marlo…No.

Ask Gavin. Now you do owe me big time. Seeya

Bye sweetheart.

I disconnected the throatmike and earpiece.

‘What’ll she do with that news,’ I wondered. ‘Go after Gavin, or Marlo?’

[Paula Forbes]

Tape 2225/2.34/112/spa.hiv © MorganLink 3DVision

"Good evening.

"This is Paula Forbes with the evening news courtesy of Morgan Fashion Corp. To be well dressed on Ciron means to be in Morgan Fashion.

"Tonight our headline story is the imminent resumption of full scale warfare between The Human Hive and The Spartan Federation.

"Usually reliable sources in Federation bases have indicated that invasion plans are underway and that indeed an invasion of Hive territory is only days, if not hours away.

"We are joined by retired General Wilfred Hawkes, who is the military advisor to MorganNews.

"General Hawkes, welcome."

"Good evening, Paula."

"General, our sources tell us that there are massive troop build ups at Fleet Anchorage and Fort Superiority, and indded I just learned this evening that Federation Governor Scott Allardyce is expected in Fleet Anchorage tomorrow and Supreme Commander Gavin Burge in Fort Superiority the next day. What does that tell us?"

"Well, Paula, it certainly reinforces the importance of these two bases in the invasion plans if the two junta leaders are planning the preparations personally."

"Our sources say that the targets are Laborers Throng and Workers Nest, and that the two invasion fleets will bypass totally the Hive sea base of Deep Community. Does that make sense?"

"Indeed it does, Paula. It is a given that well defended sea bases are the hardest to capture, so bypassing it for clean up at a later date makes sense. The Spartan Northern Fleet will be supporting the assault on Laborers Throng - by amphibious troops I'd imagine, probably softened up by Penetrators flown out of the recently captured Plex Anthill. The Southern Fleet almost certainly will be responsible for softening up Workers Nest preparatory to drop units taking that base. Both the Hive bases are well within range of Spartan Penetrators flying out of Assassins Redoubt or Plex Anthill."

"Freddy, candidly, what are their chances of success?"

"Actually, Paula, pretty good. The Hive's usual advantage - numbers - won't play a big part here, as they need to start moving their reserves almost as we speak to get them in positions in time. And don't forget, they have several divisions on maneuvers here in our territory. I'd say that with the Spartan's superior weaponry and higher morale, and with the numbers evening out - it'd be a bit of a cakewalk. Unless, as I say, if the Hive can quickly mobilize their forces - tonight even - and reinforce these weak points."

"Thank you Freddy.

"That was retired General Wilfred Hawkes giving his views on the reportedly imminent invasion of Laborers Throng and Workers Nest by Spartan forces.

"And now on to our other news.

"Tonight, in Morgan Bank, it was reported………"

"Excuse me……"

"Link 012, bring feed in….go live in 20 and counting"

"Viewers, I apologize for this interruption to our evening news.

"In an unprecedented action I have live on the line the leader of the Human Hive, Chairman Sheng-Ji-Yang. We are instituting live feed now.

"Chairman Yang, good evening. It is an honor for MorganNews to be bringing you live to our viewers."

"Yes, Madame NewsAnchor, it is.

"I am taking this unprecedented step of calling you live as I know that many of my people will be watching your newscasts as part of their self improvement exercises.

"I want to emphasize to every citizen of The Human Hive that soldiers of The Spartan Federation will never set foot on Hive soil. Yes, we lost our outpost Plex Anthill to their drop troops, but we have demanded its return on pain of dire consequences, and even now I am negotiating directly with Spartan military leaders for its return to our community.

"And rest assured, citizens of Laborers Throng and Workers Nest. Even as I speak a massive mobilization and redeployment of our forces to your defense is taking place. Our air forces are being deployed to these bases as well as to Deep Community. If the Spartans are so foolish as to attack, they will find us more than well prepared. Be diligent, all of you, and we will prevail.

"Thank you, Madame NewsAnchor, for this opportunity to talk directly to my people and to warn the Spartans - do not trifle with us. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Mister Chairman.

"And this is Paula Forbes returning you to our regular programming."

::Endtape::

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

In his hostelry room in Fort Superiority, where he was overnighting before his morning shuttle to Fleet Anchorage, Googlie switched off the vidnews.

"Bingo" he said.

[Tokek Belerang]

Admiral Giacomazzi and Commander Lewis watched the MorganNews live vidcast from a terminal on the bridge of the Star of the North. When it was over and faded to give way to the customary barrage of commercials, the two looked at each other.

Lewis thought of saying something, but the stormcloud expression on the Admiral's face made him think twice.

"We're a bloody shambles, Shiloh." she said.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"When was the latest communication from our esteemed governor as to battle orders?"

"To my knowledge, we never received one, sir."

"Exactly, Commander. We never did. Our command structure is falling apart, and we're about to conduct the most important attack in Spartan history. And what do I know? I don't know ****. I know as much as Yang does, probably less. All I get is the same disinformation ****, which doesn't tell me anything, because I don't know what is fiction and what could be fact after all."

Commander Lewis refrained from commenting.

"Time General Honshu stepped in and showed those two fossils what it means to conduct a modern war campaign. Those two relics are centuries past their sell-by date."

Silence reigned supreme on the Star's bridge after the Admiral had finished her tirade, and retreated to her cabin.

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

[Googlie]

I woke up in the morning feeling smug.

On balance, the planted newsstory had worked better than expected. Paula wouldn't lose her job, as if pushed we could say that Gavin changed invasion plans even as the fleet was underway to avoid the heavily reinforced two bases. It was perfect.

I caught my shuttle copter and made the short crossing to Fleet Anchorage.

The civic dignitaries met me at the helopad.

As I descended from the copter, the Base Administrator came anxiously forward. I greeted her.

"Sophie. Have you developed cloaking devices and not told me?"

She looked confused.

"The invasion fleet. I cannot see it. It is either well hidden, well camouflaged, or invisible to the naked eye with cloaking devices. Which is it to be?"

"Governor, I don't understand what you are getting at."

"Didn't you see MorganNews last evening?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. Don't you see? If I fly over and see no preparations, no ships, no activity, then if the Hive fly over, or have their agents report, will they see activity and ships? I think they should, don't you?"

Sophie was now flustered.

"I understand, Sir. I'll get to it right away."

"Well, let's have the demonstration first. In fact, let's put out that this is more a test of sea base invasion techniques than of civil defense. Have you your commlink?"

Sophie handed me her commlink. I dialed.

"Marlo," I said. I hope I didn't interrupt something?"

"No, Sir. I'm just briefing Field Marshall Burge on what to expect tomorrow. What can I do for you?"

"Two things, Marlo.

"Firstly, if anyone queries my whereabouts, let it slip that I'm overseeing some new tactics on the invasion and capture of sea bases.

"Secondly, Paula Forbes is on her way to Fort Soup to interview Gavin. Be nice to her, Marlo, and I mean really nice. Give her what she wants."

"Oh, I will, Sir. Rest assured I will."

I clicked the commlink shut.

'I've no doubt you will', I thought, turning back to Sophie.

"Lead on" I said.

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

I sat in the observation deck just above the helipad, from where the view over the base's Delta section was unparalleled. That had been chosen for the demonstration. Sophie sat with me, somewhat nervous.

The claxon wailed and below us scenes of apparent confusion reigned. Shopkeepers rushed out to put synthmetal shutters on their windows, and pedestrians hurried inside their buildings. There were a series of short sharp whistle blasts, and some young men and women could be seen donning colored armbands - some red, some blue, green and six or seven different colors. They took positions at various crucial rally points, intersections, the main roadway leading from the docking area and other choke points

The old fission chopper came in low, actually underneath us, and we saw the flare and felt the whoosh as it fired its stinger missile at the building.

The explosion rocked the base temporarily deafening us. The building collapsed in a heap of rubble and plasteel. As the dust cloud settled the two landing craft could be seen disgorging their troops who were fanning out around the dockside area.

Down the roadway towards the dock area came an old Unity rover, wheezing and whining. One of the hostile marines put a projectile launcher to his shoulder, and with a whump it targeted the rover which slewed across the road and toppled, spilling out four men and scattering its load across the street.

Immediately from the shadows came about six of the local citizens, wearing orange armbands, and carrying an assortment of weaponry. As they sprinted for cover behind the overturned rover, some of the hostiles opened fire but hastily ducked as from the height of the surrounding buildings came an assortment of small arms fire. One or two of the locals had been pained in the exchange so they lay on the road by the overturned rover.

The troopers hunkered down, then at a signal from their commanding officer, fanned out, worming on their bellies between crates and the odd parked vehicle.

A succession of armband toting kids scurried to and fro, linking the various sector leaders and carrying communications. One got painted by a red laser beam, and at the crack of the shredder she fell down and lay motionless.

Behind the overturned rover, further up the road, a small army of civilians were completing and locking into place a fairly formidable looking barricade that crossed the entire street and sidewalks. Looking around, I noted that while the hostiles were largely pinned down for the moment, in their period of inactivity similar barricades had been deployed and erected at every egress point from their secured landing zone.

A series of sharp whistles pierced the air. Simultaneously a barrage of fire erupted from the buildings on either side of the street as the six forward partisans retreated to the shelter of the barricade, pulling their wounded colleagues behind them. During this exchange one citizen let out an excited yell as he painted a trooper who was temporarily exposed.

Almost immediately after the evacuation, the rover erupted in a ball of flame.

The barricades now effectively hemmed in the invaders.

Down the main street came the noise they'd been buying time for. Into view came units of the plasma garrison, running from doorway to doorway until they reached the barricades. All over I could see the same sight. From their central barracks they fanned out to each of the barricades to add their firepower and more importantly their defensive prowess to the struggle.

I looked at my timepiece.

The holding exercise by the citizenry had taken about 45 minutes, during which time the garrison had been deployed. Numbers of professional troops were now about even, and in this situation the odds favored the defenders. Crucial to the containment was a good discipline to obey the clarion klaxon and the various whistles; to form up with the correct color coded units, as each individual clearly had a role to play; the pre built barricades, and their ease of deployment, and the spoke runners - the kids of the base. It was like an old bicycle wheel, I thought. The barricades and the citizens are the rim, the garrison is the hub, fanning out to where the hotspots are, and the spokes are the kids, instantly bringing information as to weak links, gaps, enemy movement, etc. and running supplies and ammunition where needed. Everyone was involved.

The situation was now stalemate. It would remain so until either reinforcements were brought up by the invaders, or until airpower or naval vessels could be deployed by the defenders.

As a blueprint I considered it highly effective. If the barricades were semi permanent, woven into the infrastructure of the base itself, it would be extremely effective.

I ordered the klaxon blown, signaling the end of the exercise.

I turned to Sophie.

"I'd like you to come back to Sparta Command with me and go over the concept and needs requirements with Alfredo, the Base Administrator there. And work with him to build a holo trainer for all the other Administrators. This is highly effective.

"And who was the girl who was painted?"

"That's Denise, my little sister," said Sophie.

"Tell her to cheat next time," I said. "Make the trooper who thinks he painted her claim the kill. For all she knows it could have been an errant laser from her own citizens.

"But well done. You are a credit to Sparta. Now go pack some overnight stuff and join me back here at the helopad."

Sophie beamed, and scurried away, well pleased with herself.

'It's easier with a sea base,' I thought. 'But the principles are the same. And land bases will have more permanent barricades. I'll put Sophie in charge of their deployment in every base, starting in Sparta Command. But first I'll send her to Plex Anthill to see how the Hive. Construct theirs.'

Sophie arrived back with her bag, so we boarded the copter and left for Fort Superiority.

[korn469]

Hive Information Ministry Official Comunique:

A Hive naval fleet of undisclosed strength, sailing from a classified location has moments ago as of 0500 local time landed a force of Marines to liberate Plex Anthill. The fleet sailed immediately when Plex Anthill came under attack. Originally planned to reinforce their valorous comrades in arms, they now have the task of liberating the enslaved Hive citizens of Plex Anthill from the brutal Spartan Federation. The Hive Air Force has launched numerous sorties to provide full air superiority and intense close air support for the Hive Liberation Force. Losses may be heavy but Chairman Yang has dedicated all resources possible for the liberation effort and today we will have victory.Everything for the front, everything for victory!

End of Communique

PFC Myra Thacker's stomach contracted and her skin turned cold. She gently, yet forcefully hit the commlink for duty officer Lieutenant Charles Alderson. She mustered up the strength to stay calm, and her voice stayed low and monotone as she spoke.

"Sir, we have incoming aircraft." It was eerie just how calm she sounded.

"How many aircraft and where are they coming from?"

"All of them." She said with absolute calm. "We have multiple signals coming from Communal Nexus, Labor's Throng, and Deep Community. It is appears to be four Hive Fighter units, and four Hive bomber units or every Hive air unit in range of Plex Anthill." She was about to drone in on about the signals from Hive naval ships but the air raid klaxon had already started and she saw Lt. Alderson go running out of his office. So she closed the link. Within minutes she guessed that the Plex Anthill field HQ would be full of officers franctically running about yelling orders. However, she vowed to keep herself completely calm.

Then even though she was a proud member of the Spartan Federation, she said a little prayer. "God, if you're there, please if you keep me alive through this I promise i'll start reading the conclave bible and keeping the commandments. I promise if you don't let me die or let the Hive capture and tortue me, I'll do anything you want. Please god listen to me and keep me safe." The situation was just that bad.

On the bridge of the Hive Shriek Class Battle Cruiser P.R.H. Shroud

Admiral Robert Thane nodded to Captain Minter.

"Captain proceed with the bombardment."

"Aye-aye, sir. Commander Yhu, signal Captain Ressier to fire on the sensor array. Signal Captain Niemczyk to concentrate his fire on Beta Sector. Concentrate our on Aplha Sector." The bridge broke out into activity. Orders were relayed to the various departments of the ship. Signal men on the Shroud relayed orders to the rest of the fleet.

The Shroud's escorts began firing their guns at Plex Anthill and the sensor array on it's shores. A shell hit it directly and destroyed it. It was nothing more than twisted burning metel now, it wouldn't help the defenders of Plex Anthill anymore.

On the Shroud, the missle coverings opened revealing vast racks of missles. Suddenly the darkness of the early morning lit up with rockets streaking into the sky, like demons bolting from hell. Below deck, red vested members of the ammunition crew loaded new missles from the Battle Cruiser's magazine, onto a mechanical rack that would carry the missles to the main launching tubes.

*ffffewww* *ffffewww* *ffffewww* Missle after missle streaked away from the Shroud and pounded Plex Anthill.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited August 21, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

(author’s note: everybody, please refer to the original battle discussion as far as force assignments)

General order # 13511-b : Operation Couter Strike
Coded Message: Most Secret

To: All Base Governors and Field Commanders
From: Gavin Burge

The forces of Plex Anthill are under heavy fire from Chairman Yang, here’s what needs to happen (and quickly) if we are to rescue our belegured brothers in arms.

Plex Anthill: Focus your efforts on getting all units upgraded to better armor. Strip whatever you have to from the existing infrastructure, just get it done. You’ll be on your own for a little while, and I want you to drop to the defensive until we get forces there to relieve you. Focus on armor first, and AAA second. All units with synth armor get upgrades to plasma. Then do AAA upgrades. Then upgrade all non-armored units to synthmetal or better. You have priority. Hold until relieved, and know that help is on its way.

Mainland base commanders: I count 13 units of old Impact Rovers left over from the UoP conflict sitting around in bases guarding our infrastructure. These will be upgraded to drop capability with all speed, and sent to Plex Anthill to support them. Once there, they will be further upgraded by the Base Governor as needed. We’ll train new scout garrison units to cover their absense, but we need those veterans on the front where they’ll do us the most good.

The diversionary force we had planned for Operation Overlord will now proceed directly to Plex Anthill to support our efforts there.

Southern Fleet: As soon as you are available, move to support Plex Anthill.

All Operation Overlord Operatives: The modifications to our “transports” are complete. Release the hounds. Mission Critical. Rally at Sea Outpost for our final destination.

***End of Coded Transmission***


Gavin sighed. So much to do....and it was all happening so quickly now. The last thing he wanted to do was to go to some Godforsaken ribbon cutting, but....the political thing again. He hated it.

And then there was Marlo. Ugh. And Elizabeth, who was none-too-happy about Marlo’s presence.

And, and, and.....the list seemed to go on forever.

God how he wanted retirement.

Or a stiff drink.

Or something.

He tapped the comm link and called Honshu. Just what he needed. A conversation with an old war horse.

The cagy General nodded. Saying nothing.

“I feel like I’m in over my head, Honshu.”

The General smiled. “I have known that feeling from time to time.” He said quietly.

“Yang’s forces are gonna bust our boys in Plex Anthill hard.”

“They will.”

Gavin shook his head. “I’ve ordered what upgrades we could make, but Yang’s got us by the short hairs out there.....we’re in a tight spot....I wish we weren’t even there, really, but it was already in progress when I got promoted.”

“Then there is nothing you can do about that.”

The two men were silent for a long moment.

“Why have you called me, Commander Burge?”

“I’m not sure. But you’re the best of the best....probably the best there ever was. I’m just hoping that some of that will rub off, I guess. I need a little inspiration.”

“It seems you have done everything you could do. Now, it is all....waiting.”

Gavin nodded.

“Be wily, Commander Burge. Be unexpected and unconventional. And most of all, be very, very fast. You taught me that, actually, and I thank you.”

He smiled a genuine smile. “I taught *you* something? Now there’s an unexpected turn of events.”

“No one ever stops learning, Commander. And no one can do it all, all of the time. You worry too much.”

“You’re damned right I worry too much. I don’t want those boys dying out there.”

“Nor do I, but the plans are set. Just see to it they are carried out efficiently and do not fret so over them. Your job is finished.”

“I know, I know....and you’re not telling me anything I didn’t know already, but I guess maybe I did need to hear it.”

The General smiled fleetingly.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

“Good. Take care, Honshu, and thank you.”

The screen went blank, and Gavin sighed again.

So much to do, and the hounds were baying close at hand.

If Plex Anthill held, it would be almost as great a victory as taking the Clustering. A significant portion of Yang’s forces would be out of commission, and the attack on the Clustering would very nearly break their backs. That was good. That was all very, very good.

Reluctantly, he got up to go get ready for his flight to be at the ribbon cutting.
***

The Cyborg Factory was a massive place. Even from the air, during the fly-over it was impressive, but on the ground, staring up at the huge hanger bay doors which led into the guts of the place, it was....awe-inspiring.

There was a podium out front with a PA system rigged up, and the assembled crowed stood and applauded when he stepped onto the landing strip.

Maybe politics wasn’t so bad after all. He smiled faintly. It *did* have its perks.

He saw Paula Forbes in the crowd, and she waved. *No avoiding that one* he thought with a grin. He'd have to arrange to talk to her later. Perhaps tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. Right now, there was the speech, and then the tour.

He was nervous, yes, but it wasn’t so bad. Gave a little speech commending the efforts of all the people who had worked so tirelessly to see the project through to completion. Got a roaring round of applause (more for the factory, than for him, he realized, but that was okay too), and then, the tour itself. The part he'd been looking forward to most of all.

Easily large enough to house twenty needlejets, it was filled with conveyer belts which ran off in a dizzying multitude of directions, robotic assembly lines, and banks of whirring computers. It was dazzling. Marvelous. Wonderous.

Somehow the word impressive just seemed....pale. Flat.

No, this place went far beyond impressive. It was sleek almost to the point of being sensual, and it seemed very nearly alive. Humming and throbbing with power.

Gavin felt like a kid in a candy store. Smiling at the wonders of the place. From this one, gigantic facility, sufficient numbers of of bio-enhancement chips and prosthetics could be manufactured to equip the entire Spartan Military apparatus.

The benefits would be staggering, and so far-reaching that it boggled the mind.

He dodged the reporters after the tour and made his way to Paula. Gave her his room number and asked her if she'd mind stopping by in the morning. Ten-ish? She smiled and accepted the invitation.

Easy as pie.

It was good to be in charge.

And after that, he toured the base itself, got lots of nods of respect from the officials, and lots of cheers from the crowd. It was growing on him, this whole political game. He was enjoying it. Reluctantly at first, but more and more now.

Later, as he sat at his desk in the rooms they had prepared for him, he tried to recall specifics about the place to write something in his journal, but the immensity of it was overwhelming. Mostly, he remembered just that. The sheer size of the place.

“I can’t believe I’m one of the men running the show....and that the people under me built something like this.” He whispered in awe.

Something clicked behind him.

It was soft, and he almost ignored it, but the old warrior in him flinched.

Someone....

An impact to the base of his skull. Heavy.

He tried to stand but felt groggy. Woozy.

Vaguely aware of some blood trickling down his back.

*At least I sent the go ahead order.* He thought weakly as the world started to fade.
***

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited August 21, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

The Admiral was the first to see the message.

As soon as you are available, move to support Plex Anthill.

She stared at the comm for a couple of seconds. Perhaps somebody, some day, would typefy it as "stunning in its simplicity" or "characteristic of the Burgean sobriety". She hoped to all defunct deities that they would. They would be talking out of their arses, but at least they would be there to talk about it.

After a moment's reflection she closed her tunic collar and moved to the elevator.

"Captain on the bridge." an ensign snapped the moment she appeared. Discipline was tightening up, at last.

Admiral Giacomazzi conferred briefly with Commander Lewis, her (by now) trusted First Mate on the Star of the North.

"Open a channel to the Glory, ensign." she said after that.

"Channel is open, sir."

"People - I regret to inform you that no orders have as yet reached us from Central Command, despite repeated requests. As we are now in a position to take an active part in the Hive conflict - as our recent scuffle has illustrated - I feel it is time we relied on our own initiative. The situation is as follows."

She paused, and surveyed the bridges of the Glory of K'el (by comm screen) and her own Star. Faces were intent, but confident. She felt herself warming more and more to what she was about to embark upon.

"The capture of Plex Anthill, previously a turning point in the war on The Hive, has become liable to re-seizure by the enemy. Central Command has ordered South Fleet to assist in the defence of Plex Anthill."

She paused again, this time for dramatic effect only.

"The Combined Northern Fleets have no orders as yet." she resumed.

The crack at the size of what was officially termed North Fleet jarred, as usual. Every single person on the Glory and the Star knew that those two boats were all there was to the Combined Northern Fleets, not counting the transport Lycurgus.

"Nevertheless, we will move. It is my conviction that The Hive will feint attacks to Spartan bases other than Plex Anthill. I say 'conviction', but in fact this is an A, B, C, people. Guerrillero units will try to land on the Spartan homelands, to draw as much shield- and firepower as possible away from Plex Anthill. We have, however, one crucial advantage due to the capture of Plex Anthill - air support is not an option for the good chairman."

Another little silence.

"Or, I should say, does not appear to be. If I were in Yang's shoes, I'd get a sea colony out there as soon as possible, rush an aerospace complex, and thus double my options. This means that we will deviate from normal procedure, and establish our zone of operations just inside the reach of Hive interceptors. Normally, we would be waiting just outside, and try to pick off enemy vessels from there. Not this time - we're going into the Penbrella of Deep Community."

Silence. Not just from the Admiral, but all round.

"If this seems foolish to you..."

She looked at the various faces. No changes of expression.

"... then you are absolutely right. But this commanding officer thanks you for your support. However - due to the fact that we are no longer rushing to Plex Anthill, we have bought ourselves a little time to perform some essential upgrading. AAA modules are on board our ships, and we will be fitting them forthwith."

This time, there was a marked change in attitude. Shoulders relaxed, faces turned, ensigns whispered.

"We're on full maintenance duty as of right now, people. Let's get our babies ready for the show. Captain Ibrahim, Commander Lewis - we will have a conference on board the Glory in one hour. To you and all others - thank you for your efforts so far, people. You've turned this unit around. We were pretty near green before, but discipline has been strictly adhered to of late - I'd say we're ready for another bite of Hive pie."

Shiloh Lewis cleared his throat.

"Count on us, skipper. We're with you."

Captain Ibrahim was seen to signal to an ensign, and presently a channel opened to the Star.

"Same here, Admiral. We'll show everyone what it means to cross North Fleet."

"Let's get to work, then." the Admiral said, wondering who 'everyone' might well include.

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

[Slats]

PLEX ANTHILL AIRFIELD

Amanda Gerling slid her needlejet out of the hanger into a world of fire and sound. Emerging from the reinforced aircraft shelter at Plex Anthill airfield, the missile-armed Tactical jet seemed to pause to sniff the air for a moment and then dashed for the runway amid the blooming explosions of impacting Hive missiles which sprouted like mad mushrooms everywhere. The plane's airframe rocked with every near miss.

Since this was a major emergency scramble Amanda didn't even bother calling for clearance, no doubt there was no one in the control tower anyway, since it seemed to be a target for the Hive naval bombardment as a lot of shell rounds were landing nearby.

Amanda pushed the throttle as high as she dared on the ground and raced onto the runway itself, the canopy being pattered by flying dirt and shrapnel. Not stopping, she lined up and then maxed the throttle, set the flaps for maximum lift and kicked in the afterburners. Feeling like a kick from the Almighty Himself Thrasher 8 bounded forward and after a short roll, lifted into the sky.

Climbing away from the airfield Amanda contacted her ops officer who sat hunched over her instruments.

" Wilma, you got anything on the scope? ".

" Affirmative, we've got what looks like four bomber profiles lined up on the 'Hill itself at 189 degrees, Angels 8, quite low, must be hoping to sneak in and another four contacts on the same bearing at Angels 14, which have to be fighters. Range to targets, 35 kilometres and closing, fast. Also some big, fat contacts out at sea, lots of search radar out there, both SAM and AAA, real nasty stuff ".

" We've got nothing that'll hurt those tin tubs. Begin running a targeting solution for the AMRAAM's ( mid-range missles ) on the bombers and push in the ECM breakers to give us some cover, 'cause those fighters are going to be coming down like a ton of bricks, heavy and real hard ".

" Roger, starting the music ".

" Hold on, we're going to scrape the deck, I hope they lose us in the ground clutter ".

Amanda nosed the jet over till it skimmed mere feet above the fungus. She latched the autopilot to ON and engauged the terrain following mode while staring at the range indicator. 30 klicks, 28, 25, 22, 20. Amanda looked up and studied the sky for a moment. There. Four black dots, low in blueness with, ah yes, a further four dots quite high up and slightly off to the side. 15 klicks to targets.

" Here we go " she warned Wilma.

" Pylons 4 - 10 warmed up and target's are painted " Wilma said nervously.

Amanda toggled the autopilot off and began a slight climb towards the oncoming hostiles.

" Missiles away " she called.

As six missiles roared away from the jet's waist racks and raced onwards, Thrasher Eight's Threat Warning panel exploded into life. Multiple enemy targeting emissions. Above, Amanda could see the Hive fighters begin to fall downwards towards her little craft. Even though she began evasion tactics, Amanda had a sick feeling in the pit of her belly that told her it just wasn't enough.

Then over the Spartan inter-aircraft frequency came an odd call, booming in a male vioce :

" TALLY HO!!! ".

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

*****

'Today is potentially an auspicious day,' Nwabudike Morgan Senior thought to himself, 'One must be properly attired.'

Morgan walked out of his morning shower and steam and felt invigorated, even if it was 4:00 am Chiron time. As he exited his foggy domain his Gentleman's Gentleman approached, as out of thin air, and wrapped Morgan in a luxuriant towel. Morgan neither acknowledged his presence nor paused, but walked straight toward his cedar wardrobe, with his Gentleman following discretely behind.

The bedchamber of Morgan Senior was austere by Morganite CEO standards. It encompassed only 120 square meters, and included the sleeping chamber and attached private bath complex and wardrobe. His office was elsewhere, of course, as were the chambers of his wives and consorts. Morgan's personal style leaned toward richly colored and veined granite, accented with hardwood panels. The rooms were decorated tastefully with old-Earth masters reproductions of statuary, paintings, and ceramics. Sadly, all of these priceless artistic treasures were lost with the presumed dead Earth, but their memory would live on in this domicile, at least. 'Let the ignorant and uninformed have their 'Chiron Art', and the critic puffery that goes with it,' Morgan Senior had been quoted as saying in a recent MoganVid interview by Paula Forbes. 'I, for one, will not put aside such masterpieces for random splatters of paint or vague chunks of rock or plasmasteel that passes for art in these days.'

As the pair approached is wardrobe, his Gentleman stepped in front of his master and opened the double doors to the wardrobe. The smell of cedar wafted out of the room, inviting them in. Inside the room were banks of freshly tailored suits of a bewildering number of styles on automated racks to the right, and shoes, ties, jewelry vaults, and a MorganLinks panel to the left.

"Harnon, I have an important interview today. Select for me a traditional suit that is conservative in both color and cut. The style is to convey reverence and esteem."

"Very good, Sir," Harnon replied. He walked in a stately manner to the MorganLinks console, keyed it on by voice, and tapped a few commands. The suit racks in back of him soundlessly began to move. Harnon turned toward the moving rack just as the rack slowed and then stopped. He pulled a traditional western navy blue silk suit of early 21st century design off the rack and inspected it briefly. Satisfied, he turned and pulled a straight-neck white linen shirt, freshly pressed, from the adjoining rack. Then he turned to the left side of the wardrobe to select a gold and black onyx cuff link set, with matching throat pin and small white silk handkerchief for the breast pocket. He paused, thinking for a moment, and then selected two gold diamond rings, from his first and second wives, and a small Unity Memorial pendant. Harnon balance all these items with almost magical skill, turned, and presented the ensemble to Morgan.

Morgan examined the assembled suit, and nodded appreciatively. "Excellent selection, Harnon, as usual. This ensemble is both understated and elegant. I approve. Kindly assist me."

"At once, Sir," Harnon replied, with a slight bow at the waist in acknowledgement.

*****

Morgan Senior sat at his expansive desk, the top of which was cleared except for a recently placed picture of the now long deceased Unity Captain Garland and a small model of Unity, placed 'reverently' in the upper right corner. Without hesitating, he keyed a long unused comm link. Then he waited.

Fifteen minutes later a holo of Pravin Lal appeared, looking rather haggard and tired. Morgan recalled that Pravin always looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His image was full sized and he was evidently at his desk at UN Headquarters. Pravin and Nwabudike's images faced each other.

"Mr. Morgan, I am surprised to hear from you. It has been a long time," Lal said.

"Please, call me Nwbudake, as you did in happier times. Yes, I'm afraid it has been too long. Time and coincidence have conspired to put us at odds. There was a time in the not too distant past when we had much to discuss, and fairly frequently, I might add."

"Well, yes that is true," Lal said.

"Moreover, it seems we have been drawn into a conflict of neither of our devising. Our allies have taken a path that is increasingly antithetical to my interests, and perhaps to yours, too. I have chaffed under Yang 'excesses', and his seemingly paranoid insistence of police authority. Your ally, the Spartans, although less brutal, have slipped down this path, too. Both of us seem to understand that true strength comes from the free expression of our peoples." Morgan put on a subtle expression of concern, mixed with a hint of hurt and loss.

Lal straightened, and he nodded unconsciously. Morgan had hit his 'button'.

"Yes, that is quite true. I have become increasingly displeased with the Spartans. I had hoped that after their unfortunate conflict with the University that they would learn from their new charges, and that being in association with us they would become more enlightened. They have, as you have said, taken a path that is not in keeping with the interest of human rights, and the UN charter."

Morgan smiled warmly. "You can not imaging how delighted I am to hear you state such. I have been feeling rather isolated on a hostile Planet. Perhaps our peoples might expand our connections? I would welcome the initiation of formal friendly relations, and a trade treaty that would benefit us both."

Lal thought just a moment, and then smiled in return. "Agreed. I will send my ambassador, Mr. Johnson, to the Morgan Governmental Palace to work out the details."

"Excellent!" Morgan replied, genuinely delighted. "I will look forward to receiving him myself. This is not the time for delay or misunderstanding that might occur through a lower functionary. I will also send an ambassador to UN Headquarters to ensure proper decorum is maintained. Additionally, I have one other topic, which is of a rather delicate nature. You may know that the Human Hive is very close to attaining outright military supremacy on Planet. The Spartans, for all their superior training and technology, are being out produced by a margin of over 2:1 due to the forced labor of the Hive. My position is becoming increasingly untenable, and Yang's demands wax toward the unreasonable. Morganite research has focused on pure science and production, not aggression. In order to ensure the defense of my people I would like to obtain Synthetic Fossil Fuel technology from the you." Morgan paused and leaned forward.

"Synthetic Fossil Fuels? That gives you missile technology. I don't know, " Lal said uncertainly.

"I understand that this would be a significant concession on your part, and am prepared to trade, quid pro quo, for Morgan technology, or a reasonable amount of energy," Morgan explained. "For instance, I would gladly trade my Planetary Economics data, which would allow you to build Earth-Chiron hybrid forests. These installations would significantly improve your cities economy and decrease environmental pollution. An added benefit is that the installations are heart breakingly beautiful, increasing the population's morale. It is more advanced than Synthetic Fuels, but I feel it would be a equitable trade."

"Nwabudike, you are as persuasive as ever," Pravin commented. "You are the only faction with these hybrid forests, and I have heard of their beauty and utility. You are also correct. That is more than a fair trade. The PNP delegation will probably howl when they find out I have 'given away' military technology, but I have always been able to keep my right-wing associates in check."

Pravin sighed wearily, "I'm afraid I have a series of meetings to attend Nwadudike, so I must leave. Affairs of state are so critical, but they weigh on the soul. Still, I'm glad you called. Please don't hesitate to contact me. We mustn't allow this lapse to occur again." Pravin's smile temporarily erased the brooding look on his face.

"I have likewise enjoyed this conversation, Pravin. Morgan out."

The holo image of President Pravin Lal winked out, leaving the room silent.

"Stage two complete," Morgan said happily to himself.

[Hydro]

Assassin's Redoubt

*****

"What's next on the agenda. These meetings get longer all the time, especially with all the police 'incidents.' We must be almost done." Governor Helen Tobias asked impatiently. She was hunched over her datapad, and surrounded by her implacable Senior Aid Coronal Hessain Massane her new civilian liaison Carmine Swenfurth. Her former liaison, Andre Zahrenov, had been given his send off and must be back in Ft. Superiority by now.

Carmine looked over at Hessain, who remained perfectly still, as usual. He specifically did not making eye contact.

'I don't care whether he agrees or not,' Carmine thought, bucking up her courage.

"Governor, there is one other item," she ventured. Helen looked at her.

"And…" Helen prompted.

"Yes, we got a transfer request from the commander of our 2nd Armor garrison, Rolling Thunder Captain Rao Kosarau. It was presented by Mr. Markus Aurelius, a resident of Assassin's Redoubt, and co-sponsored by Mary Belfontaine," Carmine started nervously.

'I'm messing it up!' she thought. 'Slow down, and talk it through.'

Helen waited indulgently for two seconds, "I don't understand. Who is to be transferred? From where? To where? These are generally routine matters, and now are generally denied due to police and movement restrictions."

"Yes, but this is a special case. There is a young girl in Plex Anthill, who was brutalized before she was rescued. Mr. Aurelius would like the girl to come and live with his parents in the Ponderosa Tree Farm," Carmine explained.

"A refuge? Very sad, I'm sure, but the last thing I need is a Hiver to stir up trouble. We have been very lucky here in Assassin's Redoubt so far, with no unrest. I do not want a repeat of 6 years ago. And I'm sure you agree," Helen said in a dismissive tone.

'OK. The direct approach didn't work. Now plan B,' Carmine thought.

"Governor, this is a opportunity to help the war effort! Especially now that the Hive is trying to take Plex Anthill back! We have all seen some of the clips released by SpartaNews after the liberation of Plex Anthill. Everyone who sees them is horrified, and very glad to be a Spartan and not a nameless drone in the Hive. I propose that we could pull together these clips, and perhaps get Captain Kosarau to supply some more, and use this girl to help everyone understand why we must be united against the Hive! We have seen the pictures, but the pictures don't have a face. This girl could be that face," Carmine spilled out breathlessly.

Helen sat and thought for a moment.

"This will all be academic if we lose Plex Anthill, of course. We will have much bigger problems then. Still, pull together your ideas, including some holos of this girl. You got me thinking of an ancient and very effective effort to unify the pre-Christian States of America, the United States of America, on old Earth during one of the 20th Century world wars. They had to overcome pacifism and hostile internal elements to mobilize, just like we do now. We could do the same," Helen mused

"It just came to me. The name of the documentary was: Why We Fight."

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****



The dull thud from the naval missile bombardment echoed even down in the Delta 23 manufacturing warren. A crew of Hive manufacturing workers had been pulled off their shift to strip available plasmasteel off everything that didn't move, or if it didn't move fast enough.

Mary fumed in frustration. "No, I want you to cut one meter square panels from the assembly bots."

"If I damage equipment I will be punished," the Brigade Leader stated. His crew nodded in agreement. All the drones stood still in a defiant phalanx.

"Look, I am the Authority and I order you to cut that 10 centimeter thick plasmasteel into one meter square sheets. Then you are to place those sheets on this pallet, and then transport them to the East Cargo Bay!" Mary yelled.

Several members of the work brigade moved a little to comply, then their comrades eyed them back into line.

Mary became positively belligerent. She advanced on the 2-meter tall worker, who was a good head taller than her.

"What is your name," she demanded of the Delta 23 leader. Little flecks of saliva impacted his neck.

"Marnin Senos, Delta 23 Sector 23, Quartile 4" he replied automatically.

"What is the penalty for disobedience?"

Marnin stiffened, "Censure."

"What is the penalty for disobedience after three Censures?" she asked with an evil grimace.

Silence.

"Are your refusing to answer my question?" Mary asked.

"No, Ma'am, I …" he began hurriedly.

Mary interrupted him, "Are you familiar with the Scream Room."

Marnin paled, "Yes, Ma'am, but not personally."

"By my count, you have disobeyed my direct order to process the plasmasteel three times. Are you disobeying me again?" Mary asked.

"No, Ma'am," he replied, cowed. "Brigade, activate your arc-lasers, and cut the plasmasteel into one meter squares." His brigade immediately broke and hurried into action.

"I will return in one hour, and you had better be done. Do you understand?" Mary stated.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. A trickle of sweat rolled down his face and onto his neck, where it mingled with Mary's siliva.

Mary left the Manufacturing Warren, and she was livid.

'Everyone better get out of my way.'

*****

A trickle of dust and rock fell from the ceiling of the Plex Anthill east cargo bay with each Hive missile impact. Occasionally a fist-sized piece of granite would dislodge and fall to the ground. There had been reports of the near-surface warrens collapsing in Alpha Sector. Most of the vulnerable surface structures had been destroyed in the Spartan assault, but they were not critical anyway. So far the naval bombardment hadn't penetrated far into the rocky fastness of Plex Anthill's natural perimeter defense, but it was just a matter of time.

Markus and Lou from the rover brigade Lighting ordered the incoming supplies and sent it to the engineering crews. Pilots and weapons officers were notoriously useless during such upgrades, so they made themselves useful where they could. So far 15 pallets of plasmasteel had arrived in the bay. That would be enough to upgrade 3 of the 4 rover brigades to plasmasteel, which is all that remained of 2nd Armor Rolling Thunder Division after the assault on Plex Anthill. The remaining rover brigade would have to make due with the synthmetal it had unless more plasmasteel could be found.

Lou stopped abruptly, and Mark almost ran into him.

"Hey Mark, I've got an idea!" Lou said suddenly.

"Uh oh. I almost never like your ideas," Markus replied dubiously.

Lou grinned. "I think you'll like this one. I was thinking. There is all that old Hive missile ammo we can't use, and that won't fit into our Aardvark fission needlejet. I bet that if we can scrounge an old Hive guidance system, hook it into our rover computer, we could rig an anti aircraft system!"

"Lou, I hate to mention this, but you are the guy that shoots the guns, not an engineer." Markus said a little sarcastically.

Lou didn't notice the sarcasm. "No, no, you don't understand. We had to learn field repairs on all systems, and that included anti aircraft. I think we can do it!" Lou said excitedly. He then abandoned Mark, and made a B-line toward Rao, who was directing the armor upgrades on the rovers.

Rao was directing his rover captains and engineers. One rover brigade was almost done. It was far from elegant, being sheets of plasmasteel simply arc-lasered over the steel or synthmetal base. There was no time to integrate the plasmasteel into the frame, install the diagnostics, or make it airtight. The plasmasteel was from all different sources, and was a wild assortment of colors, thicknesses, and grades. No two rovers within a brigade looked alike, being a jumbled assortment of reds, blues, purples, or polished metal. The most humorous was a rover that got all the plasmasteel that had the Hive Morale Slogans on it:

· Work Makes You Free
· Obedience is Next To Goddlessness
· Big Brother Is Watching You
· One Good Turn In Deserves Another

Lou finally reached Rao, and got his attention by standing immediately in front of him. Distracted, Rao looked up from his datapad.

"Hey Rao, I've got an idea! We can rig up an AA system by using old Hive control systems and missile launcher, link 'em in, reconfigure our fire resolution, tie in a series of sky-eyes and BOOM, there we are!"

Rao blinked twice, having lost his train of thought.

"An AA system? We don't have any control modules to hook into the missile control," Rao said immediately.

"We can slave the comm system! It tracks the sky eyes, so it can track big ol' needlejets, too." Lou explained.

"OK. I'm busy here. If you can scrounge you parts we'll look at it again. If it works you'll be a hero. We can't afford for it to fail," Rao said as he hurried over to a crew starting on the rovers from the second Rolling Thunder brigade.

Lou charged off, happy to have a project more important than inventory. He stopped and turned toward Markus, "Ah, can you handle the incoming parts and stuff?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle it," Mark said dryly.

Mark wandered over to receiving as a large series of impacts occurred, causing a rumble from the secondary access to Plex Anthill from the cargo bay. Dust billowed out, obscuring the vision in an eighth of the bay. Hive drones moving the supplies around on autoforklifts responded as they were trained in Hive Disaster Training and formed damage control crews.

"Hey, not you. Get your crew back to work and bring the plasmasteel over to Area 23, got it?" Markus ordered a detail that had started to go into Disaster Mode. The formed up and resumed their job.

Markus finished walking around the main entrance and tallied the plasma steel. They still weren't going to have enough for Knife Strike Brigade to be retrofitted.

"Hey, Mark," came testy voice from behind him.

Markus turned to see Mary. She was really pumped up over something.

"What's eating you?" Mark asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just had a run in with some drones with a very bad attitude. They should be up with at least 3 more pallets of plasmasteel within 20 minites or so. If not, I know one Hive Bridge leader who I will personally show the pleasures of the Scream Room. Or at least my approximation of it," she said sourly.

"Rao will be happy to hear that. We should have enough for the complete refit! By the way, Rao could use your help. Us non-engineer types are pretty useless, but once again, your brilliance and can-do attitude will save the day!" Mark said, laying it on thick.

Mary cracked a smile. "OK. I'll show Rao how it's done. Are you sure you can handle your challenging job? I mean, this inventory isn't too much for you? We could assign a drone to help with the counting, or something."

"I'll be fine. Rao's waiting," Mark commented, nodding toward Rao, who had notice Mary's entrance and was waving her over. Mary jogged over to him.

'Well, back to my fun,' Markus though.

There were another sharp cracks, not the muffled thuds like before. Another portion of the secondary entrance collapsed, sending the drones running in all directions. The hits were starting to get through.

"Markus, give me a hand!" Lou shouted from the main entrance. He had a low friction sled, with the front chassis of an infantry missile siege gun mounted on it. He and a couple of Hive workers were trying to direct it into the bay.

"Hold on, I'll be right there," Markus intoned. He made the last couple of entries in his log, and then turned toward Lou.

'Looks like I won't be board after all', Markus through as the siege gun made its grand entrance.

[Hydro]

Double post. Deleted


[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 22, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

The Southern Cross was a monster. Chaos-gunned, Plasma-steeled, AAA-moduled, and Trance-rigged. A cruiser like its northern counterpart The Star of the North, but rather more up to date with the latest weapons technology.

It was also pretty late to arrive on the scene at the battle of the Plex, but that was because of some unusual maneuvring by the Cross's captain, Vice-Admiral Karnjariya Sukrung. Hovering just inside the edge of the fungus she had waited, and registered the rhythm of the Hive air force runs on the Plex. At just the right time, she had ordered the Cross and its companion, the Impact Foil Verax, to sneak across into a patch of fungus further down, and push on deeper in to the fungus.

Now the two vessels were, therefore, west of the Hive-Plex fly routes, and this is where she assumed the Hive transports to be. She had consciously and willingly avoided confrontations with the Hive navy. This had left the Plex wide open, of course, but she assumed she would still be in time for the final showdown at the Plex - the garrison there was, reputedly, quite impressive.

The one thing she worried about were subs. Supposedly, the Hive did not have the technology, but there was a rumor that a Spartan sub had recently been captured by a Hive probe foil. What better lure for a lurking sub than a nice fat transport? She'd have to rely on her Plasma coat; the crew of the Cross wasn't exactly battle-scarred, having been in overhaul docks more than out there, having it out with the Hive. The Verax was slightly more experienced, but mostly from fighting Isles - and those were rare in the Chironian Med these days.

She had dreamed last night, a disturbing dream. She had given a party, and everyone who had been invited, had come. She had woken up in a sweat, as she knew what such a dream foretold. She was about to die.

The comm bipped, and she shook her head to clear it.

"Yes?" she said.

"Bogey ahead. Transport, low down, apparently stuck in the fungus."

"On my way to the bridge."

A sitting duck. Sukrung felt cold.

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

[Tokek Belerang]

"How in blazes are we going to get all of them on board?

Eugene Levavassier shrugged.

The bo'sun of the Lycurgus peered over Levavassier's shoulder at the source of the hubbub on Admiralty Base's Santiago Quay.

"How did they get here?" the bo'sun asked.

"Bits and pieces." Levavassier said, a verbal shrug.

"How many of them are there?"

"There's about one unit's worth. Look, I assumed a transport unit could take on three regular units. Seeing as you're one of three…"

"Yeah, yeah… The figures get a bit different when you're not en groupe as a transport, that's all. But man, what ARE they?"

"Marines, drops, a rover unit sans rover, some police garrisons. Some pilots."

The bo'sun looked at him shrewdly.

"Where from?"

"The Bunker."

"Not the Bunker 118 Military Penitentiary Facility, by any chance?"

"'Fraid so."

"Whee hee. Well, welcome on board. None of these ladies and gentlemen would be sorely missed back in the slammer, then?"

"Conditional parole." Levavassier said, looking unhappier by the moment.

"Commanding officer?"

Levavassier looked the bo'sun in the eye.

"Whew." the bo'sun said. "Welcome on board then, mate."

"Thanks." Levavassier said, and beckoned to the unit behind him to proceed to the personnel hold.

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

[Tokek Belerang]

In Sparta, it was not every citizen's duty to go into the tanks. The service for Captain H.J. Cazemier took place at the Hawk of Chiron military burial ground, and was attended by a gathering of well over a hundred people. Friends and comrades had carried the coffin. Salvador St James, Sheila Cartesius, young Jeremy, Driss El-Khaled, Yanni Seferis, and, of course, Ni Gusti Nyoman Wenten.

The diminutive figure of the girl pallbearer, whose ancestry hailed from Bali and the rebuilt palaces and temples of the district of Gianyar, bore the pole upon her head, and flagged nor wavered for a second. Her expression was intent but peaceful.

In the translucent dome that stood in the center of the grounds, Salvador St James ascended the pedestal and addressed the crowd.

"In Hendrikus Cazemier, we have lost a loved one, a friend, a companion, a soldier, a Spartan. Each of us here has his or her own memories of him. I would beg of you to cherish those memories. They will give you Hendrikus, as he was taken away, and keep him in yourselves. We have many tragedies to bear in our day, and each of them will test our resolve, our resilience, and our faith. I can only hope we will be able to stand true to ourselves. If we do, then the memories such as those of Hendrikus Cazemier today and in all days to come will remain, and our hearts will be strong. I would have you, all here today, allow your hearts to go out to Hendrikus, together with that of his beloved Nyoman. I realise few may have known as yet, but Nyoman has asked me to let it be known that she and Hendrikus had planned to celebrate their marriage on the 36th of next month. I wish her strength, all the strength in her heart. Thank you."

Faces turned to Nyoman, who remained unaffected under their gazes, her face firmly upward, and her dark eyes shining.

Next on the pedestal was Captain Alan 'Gung Ho' Wells of XForce.

"Out in the battlefield south of Fort Superiority, not long ago, a group of Spartan forces under my command had been caught out by the Hive expeditionary force. We were stuck, and only the efforts of 4th Wing kept the Hive forces from rolling over us. My troops questioned me about the availability of the Cab Crew, and I could give them no answer. The Hive had caught us cold, and there was no telling where everyone was in Sparta. But in the middle of the night, Captain Cazemier popped out of the ground with his rundown Unity Chopper, and bailed us out. Later, transcripts of Hive communications were obtained from captured materiel. I quote one telling sentence: 'Only the devil could have got them out of there, Colonel.'"

Wells paused.

"I flew in the ****pit with Captain Cazemier. So did several others of my unit, as this chopper was packed to the limit with soldiers. That time, I witnessed how the devil would have flown a chopper. Afterwards, I am not sure what scared me more - Hive fire from three sides, or the ground-level flying of Captain Cazemier. But I survived, and because of Captain Cazemier, many more people are alive today than would have been - if he had not been there. Today we say our last farewells to a man who made a difference. I thank him for having been who he was. And I thank you for listening to me. Thank you."

Rifles were pointed up into the air, and a last salute sent Hendrikus Cazemier on his way.

After that, there was silence, and the gathering broke up.

A lone figure remained on the site of the grave. Not Ni Gusti Nyoman Wenten, who did not believe in the presence of a spirit in the grave of one deceased.

The figure, cowled like a monk, remained on the burial ground for a while, and could be seen passing the many recent graves. In the end, as she left the ground, the lone visitor passed the waiting figure of Salvador St James. With no words exchanged, they fell into step, and walked to a waiting PTU.

"I'll drive." said the visitor, and anyone listening would immediately have recognized the voice of the old leader of Sparta, Colonel Corazón Santiago.

The PTU accelerated sharply, and spun round the bend to an outbound ramp. After a short visit to the heavily guarded monolith outside the base, the PTU returned to the Hawk. Only Salvador St James was on board, and he proceeded quickly to the civilian airport to catch the afternoon flight to Morgan Industries.

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

[Paula Forbes]

I sat in the bar at the Fort Superiority Metropole Hotel waiting for my date, and thought of the past few hours and of the likely next few.

Gavin Burge. Undoubtedly one of the most powerful persons on Chiron right now. Supreme Commander of the Spartan Federation, about to launch an invasion of the strongest military power (at least in terms of numbers). I’m about to do a background on him on the morning of what may be his career defining moment. At the ribbon cutting ceremony he’d confirmed the interview at his hotel suite at 10.00 a.m. local time.

Marlo Hollis. Now there was a piece. Stunningly beautiful, and knows it. Eternally young, keeping her appearance around the 30ish level. Good cosmetician works with her, almost as good as mine. Had the pectoral muscle implants as I did, just recently. For women on Chiron the heavier gravity was murder on Landers such as Marlo, as it rapidly produced sagging breasts. The counter was to implant muscle boosters to the pectorals to lift and support the breasts naturally, as opposed to using struts and stays in the fabric, or microfilm synthsteel woven into a molded jumpsuit.

And Marlo’s cosmetic technician had done a masterful job. The first time I had met Marlo I was a rookie reporter with MorganNews and she was the Head of the Spartan News Network. It was seven years ago, and I remembered it as if it were yesterday.

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

No one had warned me that Marlo was a switch hitter – or maybe they didn’t know. But I found it difficult to believe that Joe Carter wouldn’t have known. He was so tuned into everything that was happening on Chiron, the events, the personalities, and Marlo Hollis certainly was a personality in those days.

We’d met at the reception beforehand, to inaugurate MorganNews opening of their Sparta Command bureau. I remembered Marlo as being the center of attention in that room. Tall, tanned, about half way between treatments so was projecting an earth age of around 35, athletic, slim waisted which accentuated her 92cm. breasts. Every man was hanging around her either to ogle or to whisper invitations to her, both of which she haughtily ignored.

Then I had walked into the room with Carter. In those days I was a redhead, slim and of medium height, not so full figured as Marlo – smaller breasts, at 86 cms. – that my men friends described as pert. I was a real 26 in earth years, a cub reporter on my first overseas mission with MorganNews.

Marlo noticed my arrival across the crowded room. Her eyes sought mine, and as they met, hers visibly smoldered. Putting down her glass she made her way regally across the room to me. She was wearing a military uniform, rather casually undone at the throat and neck, and with the trademark Spartan tear above the left breast. On some women it would be sloppy, but on Marlo it unerringly brought the focus to her breasts as if it were a fashion statement from the latest designer.

For my part I was wearing the latest Morgan Fashioncorp creation – a synthsilk sheath dress that molded to my body perfectly. As she approached, I sensed Marlo’s eyes undressing me. A strange feeling, subtly different than when men afforded me the same scrutiny. I shivered slightly, even though it wasn’t cold.

“And you must be Paula,” she purred. As she leaned forward to peck me on the cheek she whispered:

“And I just love your nipples.”

And she did.

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

Now the tables were turned. I was a mature 33 year old, powerful, the second most important personage at MorganNews (if I counted Joe, which I rarely did these days) and Marlo was just a year out of the regeneration treatment facility, looking a youngish 26 herself.

All during the flight over I’d wondered how our meeting would go, what our first words would be. We’d had a tempestuous affair on and off for three years, then it had cooled after my promotion to news Anchor – that kept me almost continually in Morgan Industries. Then had come her move to Sparta Command when she was elected Governor and contact had virtually ceased.

Until this morning.

I’d landed and taken a rovcab downtown, and checked into the hotel. There had been a note from Marlo waiting for me, not curt, not cold, but not particularly inviting either.

“Paula,” it said. “You’re welcome to call on me at the government building where I have a small office. Maybe around noon.”

I’d called on her, and amidst the hustle and bustle of preparations for the ceremony had time only for confirmation of the next morning’s interview with Gavin and the date for drinks and dinner tonight.

I took the lead.

In one of the few moments when she was not surrounded by people wanting a piece of Gavin I said:

“Plans tonight, Marlo?”

“No”, she said. “Should I?”

“Of course,” I replied. “It’s been too long. Drinks at eight at the Met, then dinner. And bring something to wear tomorrow.”

Her eyes signaled her assent.

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

Marlo nudged me awake.

I opened one eye. She was dressed in her best military outfit, freshly pressed and starched. God, she looked stunning.

“I have to get to work – I’ve an 8.00 interview with one of the UN newspaper men who wants all our military secrets. Ugh.” She made such a face that I laughed.

I stretched luxuriously, conscious of Marlo’s hungry eyes devouring me.

“Are you here tonight?” she asked anxiously.

I reveled in it – Marlo, the predator, almost begging me to stay. That was a switch.

“I could be” I replied. “Want to get together again?”

“Sure’, she said. “Let’s take in a show. I’ll twist some arms for good tickets, then leave it to chance what happens after. Six o’clock?”

I nodded as she took one last hungry look at me sprawled on the bed, and left.

I dallied in my shower, and carefully selected what I’d wear for the Burge interview. Something provocative, I thought. Not that I intended to seduce him, but experience had taught me he’d be a better interview if he were teased a little than if I appeared in widow’s black.

Looking at my watch I saw that it was almost time.

I gave myself one last glance at the mirror, and satisfied, left my room to go the eight floors up to Gavin’s penthouse suite.

The guard at the door stood to attention.

“Morning, Ms. Forbes” he said. “We were warned to expect you. Go right in.”

I opened the door to the suite and went in.

Through the connecting doors I could see the lounge, where we’d conduct the interview, and further in what would be the bedroom.

“Gavin”, I called.

There was no answer.

Probably in the washroom, I thought, and idly glanced around.

I noticed a slight trace of blood on the carpet by the door from the foyer to the lounge. Curious I went in to the lounge. There was a smear of blood on the carpet there too.

Concerned, I opened the door to the bedroom.

Gavin was nowhere to be seen.

I looked around, and then I stopped in horror and disbelief.

The bed sheets were smeared with blood, and there was a tuft of hair just below the pillow.

I pulled back the sheets.

And found a gold button torn off someone’s tunic.

I went to alert the guard, and to find Marlo.

[This message has been edited by Paula Forbes (edited August 23, 1999).]

[Googlie]

I sat in the bar at the Fort Superiority Metropole Hotel idly swirling the fungal gin round in the glass, feeling somewhat melancholy.

I’d seen Paula Forbes at the bar when I arrived, and had been on the point of joining her and asking her for dinner when I stopped in my tracks. Marlo Hollis had materialized and they both hugged then linked arms and went through to the dining room.

So I retreated to my barstool and ordered my fungal gin.

Gavin had rejected my invite to dinner – “Got to catch up on some deployments,” he’d said, retreating to his room.

Even Sophie had turned down my invitation. We’d canceled the plans for her to go to Plex Anthill after the fighting had erupted there – even although it would have been useful for her to have noted how the perimeter defense aided the forces there. Instead we’d agreed that she should immediately begin her tour and she was on the early military shuttle for Sparta Command the next morning. I’d have enjoyed dinner with her, even though she was young enough to be my daughter – if I had a daughter that is.

But of course I have a daughter, I thought, even if I never knew her as a daughter, nor her me as a father. Nor did I even get to enjoy the act of fathering, I thought whimsically. I wondered what Julia was doing now.

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

“Don’t you remember anything?” Julia was shouting at Santiago.

They had set up their consulate in the hastily erected building abutting the Temple ruins. True to his word, Hector had allocated to them his best commlink console and control units, and they now had the small solar generator up and running.

Julia was trying to get Corazon to update the command structure so that they could devise the appropriate loyalty measures they would use, but she was proving an unwilling commander.

“The Navy, come on Colonel, the navy. It can’t be that hard. You’ve only a handful of ships. What are their names and who’s commanding them?”

Her fingers were poised over the console, waiting.

Santiago shrugged. “I don’t know. I never did pay much attention when the Admiral gave the rollcall reports.”

“That’d be Admiral Cunningham, I suppose?” asked Julia.

“Right. He’s the one,”

“Colonel, you have no Admiral Cunningham in the Federation. Doesn’t exist. I just made up the name,” Julia shouted at her. “This is hopeless.”

Santiago looked almost as if she was ready to cry.

“It’s difficult,” was all she said.

Julia pondered.

The Colonel was under a lot of stress, that was for sure. The assassination attempt, the abduction, the escape, the wandering through the monolith chambers, the temple. But still, she must just be blocking the names for some reason.

She had an idea.

“Let’s give the military a rest for now, then,” she said. “Let’s inventory the bases, their Governors and their production.”

“I don’t know”, said Santiago querulously. “That’s just as hard. I think they’ve all been changed anyway.”

Blocking again, Julia thought. This was going nowhere fast.

“Okay, let’s just relax,” she said.

Santiago sank back in the chair with obvious relief.

Julia went to make some herbal tea, and when she returned, the Colonel was dozing.

Julia sat down at the desk and pondered.

‘I shouldn’t do it, but I must get to the bottom of this’, she thought.

She reached out with her mind, tenuously, experimentally, the way she and Miles Cavenaugh had done it so many weeks before.

She played around the edges of Santiago’s mind, extending a tendril of thought and awareness, then withdrawing almost immediately. Growing bolder, repeating, and lingering just a little longer each time.

Then she was in, surfing gently down the thought waves, exploring, searching, expanding her own consciousness until she was aware of Santiago’s.

She searched for the history, trying to locate the memories of the appointmentsa of the naval commanders.

Drawing a blank, she gently prized open the memories with a slight tendril of awareness, a neural questionmark that interrogated the cortex.

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

The applause was deafening. I’m standing on the stage, taking a bow as the third curtain call is given.

I’m holding hands with a man on my left and a girl on my right. They are bowing too.

The audience is throwing flowers, small tokens of their approbation, on to the stage.

I am suffused with joy, with elation. I am the best there is on Planet.

The curtain finally fell for the last time.

I turned to my companions.

“Well done,” I said. “We can relax now.”

I felt the muscles on my face relax, and sag, and my body subtly changed as the muscles released their tension.

Looking at my companions, I saw it happening to them too.

The girl’s face assumed a rubbery shape as it contorted and fleshed out and her small torso expanded into that of a fully grown woman.

Across from me the man, too, was changing. The fullness disappeared, revealing the gauntness underneath. He turned to me.

“Alexis,” he said. You were wonderful. That was your best Deirdre yet.”

I glowed with pride.

Deirdre?

Dissonance.

Temporal discontinuity.

Alarm

Recognition

Awareness.

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

Julia retreated rapidly.

She looked at Santiago.

The Colonel was looking at her questioningly.

“Alexis, I know,” said Julia. “I’m an empath.”

“Oh, God. I didn’t know. They didn’t tell me.”

Before her eyes, Julia saw the same scene she’d just witnessed in the dream, but this time In full, stark reality.

The face of Corazon became rubbery, changing subtly, eyebrows rearranging themselves, the nose slightly reducing its prominence. The slim military figure rearranged itself into a taller, fuller woman, with warmer features and a less regal air.

“Where’s the Colonel?” was Julia’s first question as the apparition settled into its natural state.

“I don’t know,” Alexis said. “I don’t think anyone does except her abductors – and even then Scott Allardyce isn’t sure.”

“Is that who you are working for?” Julia asked.

“Yes. He’s paying me, and he gave me enough background to be plausible. Even telling me the truth about you being Deirdre’s and his daughter.”

“What”, Julia spluttered. “Say that again.”

“Oh, you didn’t know? You’re not Corazon’s niece at all. You’re Deirdre’s daughter left with the Colonel for safekeeping years ago when it appeared that Yang would kill your mother.”

“And Googlie? Where does he fit in?” Julia asked.

“He’s your father – sort of. Artificial Insemination. He’s the donor. But didn’t know it until a couple of weeks ago. Thought all those years that you were Santiago’s niece.”

“So why this charade?” Julia asked.

“No idea. I’m being paid well to be here, act as Santiago, contact the generals when I get the signal form Allardyce, and generally behave as an Empress in Waiting. The line about sussing out the loyal and disloyal military commanders is genuine. That’s part of Allardyce and Burge’s plan.”

‘And are Allardyce and Burge themselves loyal?’ Julia wondered. ‘Or do they have deeper plans for themselves?’

“What now?” she asked Alexis.

“Well I’ll continue on until I get the signal to make a public appearance. But you are free to go back to Velvetgrass if you wish. I’m sure Hector can find me a young aide to work with. You can always use the excuse that you wanted to let Deirdre know she was your mother – you need to sort that out for yourself.”

“I think I will,” said Julia. “You realize that I’ll have to tell Deirdre who you really are, don’t you?”

“She might already know,” said Alexis. “Planet seems to tell her everything.”

“Aye, it does that,” said Julia. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning. And your secret’s safe with us. We’ve no desire to meddle further in Spartan politics.”

“Thanks,” Alexis said.

Julia left the consulate to check on her needlejet.

'Just where the hell is Santiago?' she thought. 'What's she up to?'

[Tokek Belerang]

Teresia Giacomazzi speedwelded the last joint on the Star's AAA module lasertight personally, and got up to loud cheers from the crew.

"Let's go inside, people."

In the mess hall, everybody took off their breather masks - little nothings that mixed the Chironian air to a more palatable concoction for humans, and quite the sliced-bread invention for outdoor activities. Limited duration only, but quite useful.

No speeches this time - the convoy got under way. Star of the North, Glory of K'el, Lycurgus. AAA plasma the lot of them.

From the panorama carrousel above the bridge, the Admiral looked over at the Lycurgus. The bizarre cargo of the Lycurgus, she thought. Not for the first time. She smiled at the image of Colonel Levavassier's haunted expression as they had discussed strategies together. The jailbird crew of this weirdest of units had been his idea, but its command was beginning to leave its marks on the poor Colonel.

Technically (as well as ironically), it was a police garrison unit. The Admiral knew little of the Spartan underworld, but a few of the names on the crew list had been awfully familiar, and had in fact turned her disbelief around. Or had, at least, suspended it for a while. Anatoli Bondarenko - protection racketeer. DeVaughn Molina (and entourage) - illegal weapons sales (and use). Fungrunner Paatelainen - mercenary / smuggler. Dolores Torma - all-round war criminal (UoP). Naawal Jones - hired assassin. Tunggul "Tree Trunk" Nasution - hi-jacker (Morganite). Vinnie Mo and the Cultmen - datajacks.

The list went on. Two hundred in all, together good for seven thousand years in jail.

* * * * *

On board the Lycurgus, everything was quiet. Some slept, some listened to music, some even read books. Colonel Levavassier had joined a group in one corner of the hold, and had spread out a map on the floor. On the map were Laborer's Throng , Deep Community, and Admiralty Base, but most of the discussion was about Laborer's Throng.

"So what do we reckon? Will they expect us, or not?" boomed the low, bossy voice of jewel-bedecked DeVaughn Molina.

"They will." Levavassier said. "But they don't know where."

"So where do we land?" Molina asked.

"Fungrunner?" Levavassier asked.

Paatelainen placed a delicate white finger on the map. There was a brief silence, and then Molina's laugh echoed through the hold.

"I like it, man. I like it already."

"But first, we pay a visit to some sea bases." Levavassier said, and folded up the map.

Molina and Paatelainen nodded.

"Just you go easy on that suicide pill you got for us, soldier. One nasty thought outta you and we've croaked."

This was Naawal Jones, her long, bony body stretched out on a mattress against the wall.

"All the more reason to make me love you." Levavassier said.

"Dream on, soldier." Jones sang.

But there wasn't a single person in that group that hadn't been told that the little neural graft that they all had could short out their entire neural net in one instant. They would be killed the moment Levavassier let go of the restrainer he had in his own graft.

The Colonel had made a point of it to make sure they knew that.

* * * * *

"Admiral, we have a bogey." the ensign at the main console said.

"What? Cruiser, foil?"

"Negative, sir. Penetrator, sir, coming in on the Lycurgus."

The Admiral realized her error of judgment instantly. The base was already up. Yang had already built his out-post. And those pens had been set loose on Admiralty Base.

No, wait.

Think.

This was a scout run. If it had been for real, we would have encountered ships. Most likely, these were rookie pilots, as well.

"On the Lycurgus, Commander Lewis. They're serving our pie." she said confidently.

The Star of the North and the Lycurgus converged quickly, so that their AAA modules could track together. The Glory of K'el remained at her relative position to the Lycurgus, and would be the first to get the pens in range. The ensign at the main console began a continuous report.

"Missile pens, sir. Three, four of them. One full unit. Attempting to bypass identification blockers… normal sequences failed… compensating for evolution patterns… failed. Attempting unverified intelligence… succeeded. Identification blockers bypassed… communication channels tapped… We have the "Badger" unit, from the Throng, build year… this year, Throng has no Aeroplex. Glory has opened fire, I repeat, Glory has opened fire."

"Gunnery, take your cue from the Lycurgus." Giacomazzi snapped.

"Aye, sir." replied the officer at the gunnery console.

"Comm channels are blurred, sir, comm tap has failed. Pens are commencing attack pattern… looks like a standard cloverleaf, not very tight. Missiles fired. Targeting… Lycurgus, but shots are short. Glory has a hit, I repeat, Glory has a hit. Lead pen is hit. Wavering… Attack pattern aborted. Two pens are running. The third is hit, and the lead pen is coming in range of the Lycurgus. It seems to have lost part of its rudder control."

"Commencing tracking. Lycurgus has connected. Opening fire." said the gunnery officer.

"Lead pen hit. Going down. Down. Second pen overshot, is attempting to run wide."

"He'll never make it. No way." Shiloh Lewis said excitedly.

Over their other bow, the lead pen crashed into the ocean and exploded into a gray cloud of smoke, with orange veins where the heat of the explosion shone through.

"Second pen is running for home."

"It must be close, then. After it. Follow that plane. If it's making for home base, then we've got their location." Giacomazzi said levelly.

* * * * *

The damage to the Lycurgus was minimal. A stray salvo, scratches on the plasma and a minor repair job on the aft superstructure.

The atmosphere on board the Star was pretty elated. In the early evening the listener on the comm scan added to the optimism.

"I think I have base traffic. Someone is opening up a channel out there, and they're not scrambling. It's runway control, sir. I think we have them."

"Show the position on the comm screen, ensign."

"Aye, sir."

Not thirty clicks west of the estimated position from the Pen's flightpath, a sloppy air traffic controller had pin-pointed the location of the latest Hive sea base on the Star's comm screen.

"Hive pens coming out. I repeat, Hive pens coming out. Missile cruiser. We have a Hive missile cruiser."

"Battle stations." The Admiral announced.

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

[Tokek Belerang]

double - deleted.
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 23, 1999).]

[korn469]

1537 hours SMT
Spartan Field Training Facility

The large transport needlejet made a perfect landing, it taxied off the run-way and came to a complete stop. They had picked up their cargo in Plex Anthill and flew to here, stopping only for refueling. As the plane came to a complete stop, the cagro bay doors opened and Sargent Henry Keller supervised his crew in unloading an unusually large fission reactor. On it's sides were a Hive designation. HFR-112k CLEAN. Once they unloaded it, a group of technicians took over and started moving it towards a nearby hanger. Waiting for him at the bottom of the planes were two men, one from the looks of it was an older looking former UoP scientist. The other man was a tall, thin man, he had carefully watched the Sargent Keller's crew throught the entire unloading process. Much to Keller's disgust though, the man had on the jet black uniform of a SISF officer. Keller hid his contempt and walked over to them, and saluted the SISF officer.

"Here you go Major. Sign right here and the transfer is complete." Without saying a word, he took the stylus and quickly scrawled his signature. He saluted and Keller hurried up the ramp. The loading bay doors closed and the transport began preparing for take off. This place always gave Keller the creeps. They had brought in all kinds of weird things, and this place was always crawling with SISF, and former yoopers. Keller didn't like it one bit. Thankfully though they were already begining to take off.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited August 23, 1999).]

[Rynn]

I wandered into the Metropole Hotel, and made my way to the bar. It was easily the tallest building in Fort Superiority - had been a research hospital before the Spartans had captured the base from the university. The building had taken a lot of damage during the fighting but the shell had stayed intact. Morgan Hotelcorp had bought it and refurbished it as a luxury hotel. Officially it was the Morgan Metropolitan but somehow everyone just called it the Metropole.

The bar was noisy, with flashing strobe lights and patrons milling around the little dance floor. Two women were dancing in the center, the other dancers making room for them. They were good. Good rhythm and great togetherness.

Then I gawked. I recognized Paula Forbes, the MorganNews anchor lady. With a start I recognized her companion. Marlo Hollis, the Sparta Command Governor. I was mildly shocked. Although samesex couples were fairly common, it was rare to see two from different factions being so obvious about a relationship. And they were leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that there was a relationship.

I looked over at the bar.

Scott Allardyce was there, drinking alone.

'Pity', I thought. 'I'd have preferred Burge. I don't quite trust Allardyce. But he'll have to do - if he's sober enough.'

I went over.

"Mind if I sit down?" I asked.

He looked at me.

"Don't I know you?" he slurred.

"It depends" I replied, then found myself looking right into the barrel of a small airforce issue fleschette pistol.

"Talk, Cavenaugh, and quickly" he said, ice in his voice. Completely sober now.

"Here? I asked.

"Where better?"

"OK."

I told him everything.

To his credit, he didn't interrupt, but rather heard me out, with an occasional "Hrmmph" or "is that so?"

After I finished, he steepled his fingers to his chin and said:

"This gives us tremendous possibilities. Let me think.

"You've jumped, haven't you? Yes, of course you have. The abortive rescue. Here's what we'll do.

"Get in touch with your resistance friends. Have them go to Laborers Throng, and create mayhem there. Get Hive troops fighting each other, maybe even subvert a Hive battalion or two. Or can they do it long distance from where they are just now - The Leaders Horde?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'll ask them."
"If they can, let them stay where they are", he replied. "But we'll drop you there tomorrow. Watch out for our own empaths - Lord Atreus' boys. They're going into the city. Warn your two. And as for you, if you could take out their borehole, that'd be awesome. In fact, come to think of it, work with your two contacts and make that your priority."

I nodded. I had some work to do.

Googlie was watching the dancers. I followed his gaze. The music was reaching a crescendo, the bass notes thumping out their hypnotic rhythm. The whole room seemed to reverberate to the beat. On the dance floor the dancers were losing what little inhibitions they had left.

The band was called "The Wormheads", and the number they were playing was being aired for the first time - it was called "The Planetary Thunda."

The beat grew more insistent, until every nerve ending pulsed in rhythm to the base rumble. Almost everyone was on the floor now, swaying and stomping. Googlie and I were about the only two remaining seated.

Still in the center of the milling crowd, Marlo and Paula had joined the rest of the dancers in shedding their tops and whirling them around their heads, the energy of their gyrations sending little rivulets of sweat coursing down their bare breasts, hilighted by the strobe lighting as it pulsed around them.

Googlie muttered "And to think I could have either one tonight, for the asking. Both, even"

"Sir?" I queried.

He turned to look at me.

"Just an old man's fantasy, Miles," he replied. "I wouldn't know what to do if invited to join them - and I don't mean on the dance floor. I'm 200 years old tomorrow, Miles, and I feel every one of them. Well, maybe not the 40 in cryosleep, but all the rest.

"Marry young, Miles, and cherish her. Lisa Mayberry I'm talking about."

I was flabbergasted. Then I remembered - he had been her commanding officer, so probably knew all their secrets.

"And stay away from Julia. She's not meant for you. She's my daughter, you know."

I didn't.

[Tokek Belerang]

Salvador St James looked out of the porthole window of the MorganLiner, and felt his mind go in random directions.

Why make the window look like a porthole? There was no need for it, and all it did was make your neck hurt.

He picked at his bag of assorted nuts. No, smoked almonds. That was another thing - why were those still there? The little bag would still rip in an unwanted direction, causing the nuts to scatter all over that silly little folding board. Which was automatic now, and autobalanced, but still.

Santiago. What earthly reason? Or what Chironian one?

The person he had met at the Cyborg's funeral had not been Corazón Santiago. For one thing, Corazón Santiago drove like a goat. This person had been a skilled driver. Now there was an earthly reason - she had taken a sabbatical to brush up on her driving skills. But there had been other things. She hadn't reacted when he had, unintentionally, referred to Fort Superiority as Fort Soup. Santiago hated that nickname, considered it a personal insult (she used to baptize all new bases herself). Other things, little things. Confusing things.

Had the person he had met in the monolith the first time been Santiago, then? Perhaps not. He had seen what he had wanted to see. He had wanted her to know the answer to his secret question. They had thought it up together, ages ago, the night before they boarded the Unity, when he had made his final decision to join the secret Spartan faction. It was then that he had assumed the name of Salvador St James, and back then only he and Santiago had known about it.

But she could well have told others about it.

Secrets were romantic notions, anyway.

The plane banked, and the captain droned about the mirror arrays in Morgana. There you had it, get us a normal view and you don't need to do silly maneuvres.

Earthly reasons. Know thine enemy. Who was it that she was afraid of? Gavin? Googlie? St James? Nah.

The plane was made to wait in the stack outside Morgan Industries, and began to turn a lazy upward spiral. You'd think they would have realized there was a plane coming in, he thought.

Honshu. The usual suspect.

Nah. Not really. Repressive tolerance had blunted the edge of the rogue general's subversive mindset. The major bases had come down hard on anything that looked even remotely like a paramilitary branch of Honshu's. A threat, perhaps, but not one that Santiago would treat with circumspection.

Chironian reasons. Planet reasons. The Planet visionaries tended to regard Planet as slightly too anthropomorphic an entity. Planet was not an outspoken force. It was conscious, of that he was convinced, but to St James's taste it seemed to need a tad too much gullibility on the part of its human receptacles. Could it, then, have arranged the disappearance of Santiago?

He thought hard, pushing cynicism aside.

No. Still just not convincing. Cavemen looking up at the thundering skies postulated an angry god. Earthlings staring into the face of a sentient planet did likewise. It was a religion of a quite feeble kind.

Santiago.

He tried to focus on the problem he had formulated.

Santiago.

The problem turned upon itself, and then a clearer notion appeared, and hesitatingly took on revelation-like proportions.

Lately, ever since the longevity treatment he had received before his little vanishing act, he had felt tired.

Others, too.

Googlie, losing his flying skills. More importantly, losing the devil-may-care seat-of-the-pants bravado that had earned him his laurels in his flying days.

Googlie, out to grass in Gaia. Conversations with Deirdre. Conversations? They used to be at each other's throat, hammer and tongs.

Gavin. Resolve incarnate, but a doubter now, a thinker. Nice.

Gavin Burge had become a nice man.

Salvador St James. Dunroamin', duncarin', dunlivin'.

Nah. Not that bad. But he was tired.

The fact that man had learnt how to refill the bottles of life, apparently hadn't changed the bottles.

St James looked out the window again. They were still in an upward spiral. He thought of William Butler Yeats, and the falcon spiraling away from the falconer. Things are falling apart / The centre cannot hold.

Santiago.

Longevity.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 24, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

Darkness.

He opened his eyes and tried to look around. Tried to get his bearings, but the darkness remained. The only thing he remembered was the explosive pain in the back of his skull and then….nothing.

He tried to move his arms to feel for the wound.

Couldn’t.

Disorientation.

Confusion.

Where was he?

Prone. He knew that much. Lying down on something hard, and vaguely cold, perhaps a synthsteel slab? And bound. Tightly enough that he could feel the fungal rope digging into his flesh. Tightly enough to draw blood if he struggled.

He closed his eyes.

Didn’t do any good to have them open anyway, and he needed to focus.

Drew in a deep breath and listened. His old Warrior’s senses slowly rumbling back to life from their decades-long slumber.

Someone was in the room with him.

Behind him.

Close. Less than five feet away.

“I don’t suppose you’d favor me with a little information.” It was not a question, but it had the desired effect. He heard the slight gasp of surprise. He’d managed to surprise them. With so many of the cards stacked against him, that was important. He grabbed onto it.

A woman’s voice purred back to him. The embodiment of sensuality. “Good evening Gavin….you surprise me with your strength. You’re up much earlier than expected.”

He said nothing in response, and she stood to move toward him. He felt long, soft hair tickling his face as she bent over him. Smelled her perfume.

It was all so…..Familiar.

The moment of realization hit him at the precise moment the new voice boomed out.

“Angel, enough! Leave the prisoner be.”

Angel.

One of the Circle of Ashaandi.

Bad news indeed.

And the new voice. Cultured. Refined. He had never heard it, but he thought he recognized it anyway.

Harrand Ashaandi himself.

“Leave us.” He commanded Angel, and she silently, obediently left the room.

The man stepped closer, and Gavin could almost feel him smiling. And then a light. Small hand lamp, held by Ashaandi.

He had a handsome, almost chiseled face. Sharp, pointed features. Piercing, clear blue eyes. Stunning eyes, actually. Lustrous dark hair, so black it was almost blue. “Gavin Burge….you’ve given us quite the little fit.” He said pleasantly.

Gavin smiled weakly. “Why do I get the impression you didn’t bring me all the way here to tell me that?”

Ashaandi nodded. Conceding the point.

Gavin waited.

Ashaandi sighed. “One of my cryptologists intercepted a coded message outlining your planned attack on the Great Clustering….a good plan. Well-conceived. You are a credit to the Spartan Federation.”

Gavin groaned inwardly. They knew. The element of surprise was critical to the success of….

“Oh, not to worry….I killed the man who de-coded the message. The only Hivean alive who knows of the attack is me, and I’m none-too-inclined to tell anyone. In fact, I want to help you make sure it succeeds.”

Now Gavin was really confused. “I don’t dance with the Devil, Ashaandi….and I’m not about to start now. We don’t need your brand of help.”

The assassin smiled. “Ahhh, but my dear Gavin, you have no choice. You forget that it is you who are bound to a table in the darkness, and I who hold the power of life and death, freedom or slavery.”

*Good point*, Gavin thought sourly.

“So what do you want from me?”

“From you? I want nothing at all from you. You were merely in my way. You see, it’s not enough for the Spartans to win the battle against Yang….*I* must win the battle against Yang.”

“You? Oh I get it, you’re just gonna walk into Sparta Command and ask to get into the War-Room.”

Ashaandi smiled, and as he did, his features began to….blur slightly. Contort.

Change.

Gavin watched, fascinated.

Horrified.

In less than a minute, he was staring at himself. A perfect match.

“Yes, something like that.” Ashaandi said cheerfully. “And even if your Empaths think to probe me, which they’d have no reason to, I have more than enough power to cloak my own mind.” He pulled out a syringe almost casually and rolled up Gavin’s sleeve. “Of course, I’ll need to borrow your memories….don’t worry, this won’t hurt much at all.”

Gavin winced anyway.

Steal his memories, put a body double in charge of the invasion….and then what? He couldn’t see what else they’d need him for, which meant….

Ashaandi read his thoughts and smiled. “You’re right of course….and you’ve seen my face. I can’t very well let you live.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t matter to you if I told you I don’t care what you look like….that all I really want to do is retire?”

Ashaandi smiled and shook his head. “No….a fine sentiment, but you’re right again. It would make no difference. You will die, Gavin Burge. You will die to placate others of my Order.”

And that could only mean one thing.

Sand.

Again, the Master Assassin read his thoughts. “You’re “batting a thousand” as the prase went back on Earth, Gavin Burge. And yes, Sand is most anxious to re-make your acquaintence. He and Angel have been restless for a new plaything, and you are the lucky winner.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Gavin said dryly, his mind racing frantically, trying to figure out what his best chances for survival were.

Bound.

Weakened.

Old.

Facing a pair of assassins.

Not even sure where he was.

*Come on, you old Bastard….think! Improvise. That’s what you’re good at, and if you want to live, then you’d better damned well start!*

The needle slid into his arm, and Ashaandi touched his temple. “Sleep.” He whispered.

And Gavin did.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Captain? M'am?"

Karnjariya Sukrung turned to her First Mate, Claudinei Da Silva.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Your orders, m'am?"

"Suggestions?"

Da Silva looked at the comm screen. In full view, a Hive transport. Synthmetal armor. Low in the water, so probably full of troops, plus hardware. Either that, or the Hive ferried ground lava to the Plex to throw at the defending forces.

"I suggest we open fire, m'am. The Hive transport seems immobilized, and we have no indication of other Hive troops in the area. It seems prudent to sink this transport before Hive reinforcements arrive."

Sukrung swallowed a question about the possibility of a Hive submarine trap.

"Proceed as suggested, Commander." she said.

The bridge was utterly silent while the Southern Cross's chaos guns pounded the Hive transport to scrap metal. At the end of it, there was nothing left but a boiling sea and scattered pieces of debris.

"Report." Commander Da Silva said.

"Transport destroyed. Probable payload: marine units, sir."

"Thank you, ensign. Take us to our next waypoint, and keep scanning the long range."

"Yes, sir."

Da Silva looked at Sukrung. She seemed not to have noticed his exchange with the ensign. Da Silva cleared his throat, and Sukrung looked up.

Her expression was vacant.

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

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****

<..thowok, thowok..> <..thowok..>

The last Hive missile impact coincided with a low throaty rumble that filled the dank hallways of Alpha Sector. Lights flickered, went off, then grudgingly glowed to life again, at half power. After the rumble did had died away somewhat, it was replaced by a multitude of muffled cries, screams, and male and female voices yelling, trying desperately to be heard through the bedlam. The cries increased as the sound of rushing water started slowly, and then increased to a torrent.

An old Cleanliness Worker dashed into the Alpha Sector’s Authority management warren. She was covered with dust and her threadbare grey jumper was wet to the knees. Her thin grey hair hung damply against her skull. She knew that entering the Commandant’s office without permission was a transgression punishment by Censure, but she didn’t care. Need over came fear.

“Commandant! There is water in 42, 2nd quartile! WATER!” she said breathlessly.

The Commandant, with his two aids, stopped all activity. He closed his eyes.

“Yang help us!” he intoned. Water was what all Hive citizens feared. Their warrens were all below ground, and water and groundwater management was always a serious problem. If the pumps failed or seals breached, the uncontrolled inflow could kill them all. Second only to suffocation, a water breach was the most feared natural catastrophe to a Hive citizen.

“Are the Damage Brigades activated and in operation?” he asked, turning back to his task on his HiveLink terminal.

“Yes, Commandant. But two of the water discharge surface ports are non-functional. We can’t evacuate the water fast enough. At least 5 groundwater seals have breached. The brigades just can’t keep up,” she said, worry etched on her face.

As she finished, a rivulet of water crept up the floor from behind her, touching her foot. The water was grey with dust and had an iridescent sheen on it.

Looking down, she gasped. , “Commandant! It’s here! We have to leave!” she said desperately, plaintively. She knew that without orders all Hive citizens would drown in place. She didn’t want to die.

“Our Spartan overlords better be able to deal with this,” the Commandant said as he turned from his HiveLinks.

Without hesitation the Commandant turned to his desk, activated a panel, and passed the ID chip embedded in his right arm across the sensor. A second panel slid away, revealing a red button. He pressed it.

WHHHOOPPP, WHHHOPPP, WHHOOOOP

Evacuation claxons sounded in Alpha Sector.

*****

“Sir, part of Alpha Sector is being abandoned. Hive bombardment broke through, destroying a critical portion of the water ducts and damaging the power grid. We can’t spare the…”

<..thowok, thowak..>

“manpower to fix it, even if we knew how. The lower 4 levels are filling with water,” Markus informed Rao. Since completing the inventory he had taken over as comm officer, which was becoming increasingly critical.

“Thanks, Mark. We can’t do anything about it now. The best thing we could do is finish here so we can defend against the aircraft. And we have to get those battleships silenced!” he said in frustration. Without naval or air support they were helpless to stop the punishing bombardment.

“What is the status of our jets,” Rao asked as he pored over engineering specks with Mary and two other engineers.

“The hanger over in Beta is still intact, but the runway is taking a pounding. It’s been several hours since anyone has risked going up to look at it. The 469th is holed up in the corridors of Gamma waiting for orders. They didn’t have to take the time to complete all the armor refits we did. That’s about it, sir. Now word on comm. It’s silent, except for local traffic. There is one more thing,” Mark commented.

“Yes?” Rao said, putting his finger on a reference point he didn’t want to miss.

“The Hive are demanding our surrender, with threats on war crimes trials and the like. Just thought you should know.”

Rao snorted.

“Mark, squirt a message to HQ. Encrypted. Make SURE they know what is happening. Give them the minimum in case it is intercepted. MOVE!” Rao ordered.

Mark retreated to the makeshift C&C station they had erected down in the Delta Sector Nutrient Center. Six hours ago the East Cargo Bay had been compromised and all available equipment had been evacuated. The rovers of 2nd Armor were now housed in the access hallways from the bay.

In the meantime, the plasmasteel refit of the 4 rover brigades was complete. One special refit remained: Lou’s ‘antiaircraft’ gun.

“So, do you think we can do it,” Rao asked, looking at Mary.

“Yes, I think so. What we will have is one of the strangest, immobile missile AA rovers ever known. We will have to remove the chaos gun since the tracking systems are not compatible, and the gun just can’t get the range. I say go for it!” Mary replied.

“OK. Let’s do it. We’ll put it on our best brigade - Blue Death. They are our elites, and should be able to make due, if anyone can.”

“I’ll tell Lou! Mary said excitedly as she paced off.

Lou was in the background, watching every movement. His missile launcher stood partially disassembled, with the unnecessary bulk cut away. A semi-ordered pile of electronics and components stood in a pile all around.

He stood like an expectant father, waiting for the news.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 24, 1999).]

[Kuruk]

The air was thick with tension in the Peacekeeper Capitol. Special sessions of the Governor’s Council, though not entirely unheard of, were rare. Protocol demanded that base governors attend such meetings in person, rather than via holo. It was murder on tightly scheduled campaign trips, and Lal’s summons the day before had sent a small army of publicists and travel secretaries scrambling to send apologies and reschedule flights.

A flock of journalists hovered outside the main chamber, hungrily searching for any hint at the nature of the meeting. It was generally common courtesy to hold a press conference before special sessions, but there had been no leaks this time around. The meeting had been on such short notice that many members of the press corp had barely made it to the Capitol in time for the meeting. The governors stopped for thirty second sound bites before entering the main chamber, but as a whole they seemed as clueless as the press.

Inside, the governors took their places. The entered at the top of the chamber and filled down the various levels to their assigned desks. The seats were arranged in tiered semi-circles, mimicking the design of the UN back on Earth. Small desks lined the wall at the top of the chamber, near the doors. It was here that the real power brokers sat.

Steven and Traci sat at one of these, Traci idly watching the politicians enter as Steven scrolled through the messages on his datapad.

At exactly two p.m., the doors were shut. The only cameras that would be allowed inside the main chamber were government ones.

At the front of the chamber, a door slid open and the spindly figure of Commissioner Lal entered. Looking tired and haggard as ever, Steven thought. Lal had been in for longevity treatments only weeks before, and already the black in his salt and pepper hair was being rapidly replaced with gray.

Lal reached the sythwood podium, his head and upper chest visible over a blue and white UN emblem. His eyes surveyed the crowd, and he began:

“Fellow citizens,” he said, “We have worked together to bring democracy to humanity. We have carried the torch of the vision of equal rights and justice for all from Earth to the new cradle of civilization.”

“I know that many of you have shared in my dream, that one day the human race will be united under fair and just leaders, and that one day all people will speak with an equal voice.”

“Today, friends, we are one step closer to achieving that dream.”

“I have spoken with Nabwudike Morgan, Sr., and we have agreed to begin normalizing Peacekeeper-Morgan relations. We have pledged to each other a Treaty of Friendship.”

The Capitol chamber erupted.

Jennifer Davis, the young PNP politician who had taken Governor Johnson’s place at UN Disaster Relief, jumped up, her voice clear above the noise.

“This is an outrage! The Morgnites are allies with Yang! This will unite Planet under a police state!”

“Shut her up!” Steven hissed to Traci.

Traci tapped her comm and spoke quietly. Steven watched as Jennifer trailed off and sheepishly sat down.

After thirty seconds had passed, Lal banged his ceremonial gavel for quiet.

“When faced with a choice such as this, we must ask ourselves…”

Lal droned on, speaking mostly for the cameras now. Steven hurriedly scrolled back through his messages to the brief letter that he had received from his wife. He scanned over the small talk to until he found the paragraph he was after.

“Same ‘ol same ‘ol here. Had some Morganite scientists in the other day, wandering around the fuels and energy division. Apparently they had clearance. I’m sure it was nothing, probably just the fuels team trying to scrounge some extra funding. At the worst, expect private transit prices to go up- good old Morgan monopolies. Biologicals had a breakthrough. They’ve been working on combining Planet and Earth ecosystems, and it looks like the hybrid forests they’ve been working on are going to happen. Meanwhile, things are slow as ever here in Cybernetics. : (“

The message has set off mild alarm bells when he had read it, but now the picture was clear.

Lal was dealing with the devil.

[Slats]

AIRBORNE NEAR PLEX ANTHILL

The four silver hawks that were Hive missle armed needlejets dived downwards towards Spartan needlejet Thrasher 8, crewed by Amanda Gerling and Wilma Stratham, who awaited their fate which fell like an executioner's blade.
But it seemed fate would be delayed a while longer as the attackers suddenly became the attacked. Several things suddenly happened at once. Thrasher 8's missile salvo exploded two of the four Hive bombers about to make their final turn on their attack run, the four Hive fighters switched their attack radars on to gain a better targeting lock on Thrasher 8, a odd, old WWII battle cry echoed across the Spartan frequency's and Fusion Interceptor Indigo 4 manned by Petro Martinez and Paul Stergeon opened fire from high in the clouds above the melee with their forward firing Chaos cannon. A stream of 9mm field disruptor rounds tore through the open sky and slammed into the rearmost Hive fighter. The burst of fire tore off the fighter's tail section and port wing like mere paper. The now eviscerated aircraft tumbled earthwards like a broken bird, after a couple of seconds the canopy of the jet jettisoned away and two ejector seats blew free. Their occupants quickly deployed their parachutes. The remaining Hive interceptors sensing this new, more lethal threat, immediatly broke off their attack on Thrasher 8 and pulled up quickly. Sensing more blood, Indigo 4 inverted onto it's back and went into a full power dive, hunting for more kills.
Below Amanda and Wilma burst into cheers as they watched the Hive aircraft scatter.

" Thrasher 8, this is Indigo 4 go for the bombers, we'll handle this lot " commed Indigo 4's ops officer, Pedro, the pilot, was obviously very busy.

" Indigo 4, this is Thrasher 8, thanks for the save big brother, much appreicated! ".

In response Indigo 4 waggled it's wings in the distance as it raced away in hot pursuit.

" Wilma, where are our two friends now? "

" I have them..... , boy, they sure are persistant. Still on course for the 'Hill, bearing 23 degrees and now at 9 kilometres, Angels 6. "

Amanda cursed loudly. With all of Thrasher 8's medium range weapons used up and the enemy aircraft being under the minimum range for the two big longe range missiles contained in the planes belly she'd be pushed to catch up and use their little IR missiles or their 20mm cannon located in the nose. Amanda pushed the throttle to full military thrust, glancing at the fuel level indicators showing now one third empty, these low level constant thrust changes were eating up fuel like no one's business.

" Get ready, 6 klicks and closing, arm missiles and cannon just in.......... "

A loud and very close explosion cut her off as the plane was thrown hard to one side. Warning alarms began howling and red lights flashed all over control panel.
Unknown to the crew of Thrasher 8, one of the Hive fighters had chanced a missile launch from the dogfight behind while still being chased by Indigo 4. The missile had been in passive mode, seeking in on the aircraft's heat emissions, with no active sensors to alert the systems aboard Thrasher 8. This missile had detonated close under the left wing, it's onboard computer judging that this was the closest piont at which it would pass next to the jet on it's current trajectory.
Amanda's head connected sharply with the canopy edge just under her helmet rim. Head now gashed open, blood streamed down her face into her eyes and nose. Coughing she sat upright and looking forward into the HUD, could see the two Hive bombers just ahead, coasting along, weapons bays beginning to yawn open. Through her misty red vision she saw the c0ckpit ' weapons armed ' light glowing merrily. Amanda instinctively stabbed the gun trigger and a deep thrumming rattled the plane as the nose cannon pumped shells into the one of the bombers ahead. Some struck home, metal tore and thick black smoke streamed from the plane, which began to lose height and the crew decided the better part of valour and bailed out. Amanda couldn't keep her concentration any longer and turned her aircraft for the airfield ignoring the other Hive jet. She needn't have worried, a barrage of fire from the Rolling Thunder guard detail positions winged the aircraft and made it abort it's attack.

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

Amanda felt drowsy and light headed, most likely from blood loss she thought with a strange smile. No word from Wilma in the back seat yet, she thought and I'm just too tired to turn my head. Ah there's the airfield........ Here we go.

The commlink crackled to life:

" Thrasher 8, this is Indigo 4, we've driven off all three fighters but they'll probably be back so I think we should........ , by Santiago herself !!!", Pedro had just caught sight of the damaged jet, " How are you? What's your status? ".

" Not good, Pedro........... " replied Amanda, it was all she could think of saying.

Someone was saying something but she couldn't quite hear it, like it was far away. Old lessons began to emerge from her memory, spuring her into action. Amanda dazely flipped the electronic master power switch to off, to minimise the chance of a fire, and eased back the throttle while keeping the nose just above the horizon. She rotated the landing gear selector to DOWN and frowned when the panel registered HYDRAULIC MALFUCTION. Staring at the panel required a lot of hard work she thought, as she drifted off to sleep...........

Both of Thrasher 8's crew were unconscious when the plane flopped heavily onto the battered and cracked plascrete runway, slid and then bumped onto the grassy verge were it came to a peaceful stop. An almost perfect gear-up emergency landing.

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

FORT SUPERIORITY AIRFIELD, SAME DAY

The once packed Fort Superiority airfield hangers were now empty, filled only with the ghosts of their former owners. Outside on the apron, there was a buzz of activity. First off was a Fusion Interceptor which howled into the sky and turned south westerly, to begin the hop to Plex Anthill. A further two Interceptors accompanying two Fusion Penetrators peeled away from the ground and the larger formation began the longer flight to Sea Base.

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

ADMIRALTY BASE, SAME DAY

Pinwheel 5 hadn't been at Admiralty Base long and already there was action brewing. The word was that the fleet unit dispatched just a short time ago had commited to battle and SAC wanted to give some air support to the Spartan vessels in the area. Fine my me, thought Mario as he checked the long range deuterium fuel FLASH packs fixed under the wings and belly of the Penetrator. All this gear brought them close to their maximum takeoff weight but he reckoned they could manage it.

Nine mintues later he and his crew were in the air once more.

[Harold the Bastard]

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

[Harold the Bastard]

delete this one too.
Evil Knevil tells me that he will resume as soon as his ban is lifted.
[This message has been edited by Harold the Bastard (edited August 24, 1999).]