The Spartan Chronicles - Continued

[Rynn]

Kurt was sleeping when the psi-visitor arrived.

Sand had reached out with his mind, and exploratory tendrils of thought had penetrated Kurt’s thin defenses. He spoke gently, insinuating thoughts as if Kurt were dreaming, but deep within his subconscious Kurt knew that he was being visited.

“Let me tell you about the Circle of Ashaandi,” the voice said in his head, “and let me show you how changed life in The Human Hive will be if we are successful.”

Kurt dreamed.

He was back in The Leaders Horde, and it was different. Still a bustling seaport and naval repair facility, it had lost all the drabness that was a Hive trademark. Instead of underground warrens barely poking their superstructures above ground level, it was a glowing city of spires and minarets, solid above ground squat buildings and towering skyscrapers.

There was hustle and bustle with people rushing to and fro about their business, all with happy smiles on their faces. They were gaudily dressed, and engaged in animated conversation. The police were supervising traffic instead of keeping tabs on people, and there were thousands of lights burning brightly in the evening sky.

He was sitting on a couch in a small apartment with a view over the harbor mouth. His arm was around Shauna as they watched a vidshow on a giant screen on the wall, and at their feet two young childen played merrily.

He had a sense of contentment that he had never known before.

“This is how it could be,” said the voice in his head. “This is how it could be. Watch further.”

It was a worship day. Kurt and Shauna with children in tow were walking into the Leader’s Cathedral. A couple of thousand of worshippers were already there, and it was rapidly filling to its capacity of seven thousand. The choir was singing as they entered, setting the mood of the congregation for this thanksgiving service.

The joy was palpable, and Kurt felt real pain as he was wrenched back from the dream.

“I am showing this to Shauna as to you,” the voice said. “The Circle needs recruits to help it in its mission of overthrowing the godless dictator. Even now Ashaandi is plotting his demise. Won’t you join us, Kurt, and help this dream come true? “

Kurt woke up sweating. Had he dreamed this, or imagined this? In his heart he knew that Sand had indeed visited him in his sleep.

He rolled over to look at Shauna.

How peaceful she looked, lying in a light sleep with her hair strewn over the pillow, her eyelids fluttering and a soft smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Instinctively he knew. Knew that she was reliving and savoring the dream. He knew she was hooked.

He didn’t dare try to probe her mind, but from her beatific expression he read her like a book.

The Believer religion reinstated at The Leaders Horde.

The population emerging from underground to build again the graceful spires reaching to the heavens, monuments to the God they believed in.

He didn’t want to be left out, even although he was maybe not a 100% convert.

He stretched his mind across the boat, seeking the below deck cabin that housed the Circle’s operative.

The mind was open, waiting.

“What do we have to de?” he asked. “If you are monitoring Shauna as I know you are, you know you have captivated her.”

“Come to my quarters after breakfast and I will initiate you both,” the reply came unbidden into his mind.

“Welcome to the Circle of Ashaandi.”

Kurt shuddered. It had such an air of finality.

He hoped and prayed that he was doing the right thing, for his sake and for Shauna's.

[Googlie]

Julia was remonstrating with Deirdre.

“But she must be somewhere!”

“Julia, dear, it’s none of your business. I knw that after we’ve talked you have come to see Corrie in a new light, but you are a Gaian citizen now, and your place is here. I’m sure that the Junta are doing everything possible to locate the Colonel.”

“But Mother, they don’t even know that she’s not real,” Julia almost shouted. “Don’t you feel any kind of debt of gratitude to her after all those years?”

“Julia,” said Deirdre, “we don’t even know if she’s disappeared on purpose.”

“Hmmph. We know that’s not likely. You heard Alexis. The Yoop resistance captured Corrie, and then she escaped. Googlie hired Alexis to play the role of the Colonel to legitimize his and Burge’s takeover, and now Marlo hired her to force peace on the junta, and now, in turnabout fashion Burge has got her backing renewed war against the Hive. What would the real Colonel think and do?”

“As I said, Julia, it’s not our concern. We don’t know for a fact that Googlie was paying her for his own ends – maybe he was acting on Corrie’s instructions. Maybe she had to disappear for a month – perhaps into the rejuvenation tanks, and saw this as a way to test the loyalty of her generals with little risk since the chameleon actress could always appear as her.

“Maybe the Yoop resistance executed her, and are just saying she escaped.

“Maybe the Hive have her and Yang is torturing her as we speak.

“As I say, it’s really none of our concern.”

Julia seethed, wondering just how to get her point of view across to her bone-headed mother.

Just then Deirdre’s commlink chirped.

She flicked it on, projecting to the wall screen.

Gavin Burge’s face filled the room.

“Lady Deirdre. It’s been a long time. You are looking well, and hello Julia.”

“Hello Gavin,” said Deirdre. Julia kept silent.

“Deirdre, if you have been following the events of the past few hours you’ll be aware that the Colonel has given an unconditional guarantee of the Gaian’s safety from any Hive or other faction’s attempts to interfere with your objectives.”

“I have, and that is most noble of the Colonel,” said Deirdre. Julia harrumphed quietly in the background.

“Nobility has its own demands,” said the Field Marshall, and our Colonel is no exception. We would like you to assign your budding airforce to assist us in the expected struggle. I understand you have two fission Interceptors and two penetrators? We would of course not expose them to the front line, but rather to the defense of our bases in Spartan territory.”

“I see,” replied Deirdre, looking over at Julia who was giving an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“I may be able to comply. Would I be required to declare vendetta against The Hive in the event that hostilities broke out anew?”

“Only if our bases were threatened, then we would want you to declare before rising to our defense.”

“Would my pilots and ground crews be exposed to dealings with the Morganites? Memories run deep, you know.”

“We know, and no, the answer is that they need not if they so wish."

“My price would be the upgrading at your expense of our four needlejets to fusion power, and the transmission to our scientists of the secrets to fusion power. If you can confirm that, you will have the Gaian wing under the command of Wing Commander Julia Santiago.”

There was a pause.

“That will be acceptable,” came Burge’s reply. “When can I expect them?”

“They will leave within two hours. Where are they staging to?”

“Sparta Command itself. We’ll upgrade their engines and deploy them from there.”

“Splendid. Deirdre out.”

She snapped the commlink connection shut, and looked over at Julia.

“Well, you have your wish. I guess in your downtime you can lead the search for your aunt.”

Julia was hardly listening.

“Wing Commander?” she asked.

“Absolutely. And Stephen is a Squadron Leader. We may be small, but we pack clout. Can’t having you being outranked by your former peers, can we.”

“Oh, Mother, thank you,” said Julia giving her a huge hug. “I’ll go pack right away.”

As she left Deirdre sighed. ‘Oh the exhuberance of youth.’

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****

Although well lit, the interview room seems so drab. The walls aren’t quite white, but they aren’t dirty either. It just looks like they have been scrubbed with a brush soaked in murky water too often. I can’t complain about the spartan furniture, either. They are functional chairs and tables, but that’s about it.

There is nothing to evoke the mind in this place, nothing to excite the senses. All through there is a utilitarian sameness, a monotony that is both comfortable and reassuring.

Just like Yang intended, I suspect.

A pretty young oriental woman, Luong, has been assigned to help me by Rao. The poor thing is still recovering from a nasty skirmish or something from about a week ago. An inflatable sling still largely immobilizes her left arm, and there are some burns that have almost healed. She doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to press. When she arrived I could tell, even without reading her, that she was a little nervous about being around me, but that went away after the first couple of hours. Routine and familiarity will do that.

And I only have 300 more in the Brigade to scan.

God, I’m tired.

*****

A trickle of nervous sweat streaks down a middle-aged man’s face. He is looking through me, evidently at the wall. No one told him to, but he is standing ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

Even without reading him his fear is palpable.

“What is your name, private,” Luong asks.

“Brent Gregs, Delta Sector, Thirteenth Level, Fifth Manufacturing Warren,” he responds automatically, then adds, “of the Spartan Plex Anthill Brigade, SIR.”

I just continue to look directly at him, without scanning. Besides being nervous he doesn’t appear otherwise evasive or hesitant. Sometimes body language can tell more than a surface sweep. They don’t tell you that in Empath School.

“Why did you want to become a Spartan Citizen and a member of the Brigade,” Luong asks for the umpteenth time. She asks almost the same questions each time, in agreement with me. It is useful to have a baseline for comparison.

“Because I love freedom, Sirs! And I love Sparta!” he replied.

I give him a light scan. He is clearly lying. I turn my head toward Luong, frown, and shake my head theatrically. It is our little routine.

“Try again, solder,” Luong states rather harshly.

Boy, he is really sweating now! He looks at me, and then Luong, as if he were a caged animal.

“Ah, I crossed our Production Leader. He got even by labeling me a Political. I was scheduled for mindwipe. I swear, I’ll be a good Spartan!” Brent says desperately. “Don’t send me back! Take me with you! Please!”

All his tension drained away. I scan him a little deeper, and he is telling the truth now. I turn to Luong and nod. I don’t have the energy for much else.

“Brent, all we ask is that you tell us the truth. Captain Dawson can tell when you lie. Your crimes against Yang are totally irrelevant to us. You are approved. Step forward for a retinal scan and DNA typing. When done, report to the Delta Sector Nutrient Center for muster. Dismissed!”

A huge grin appears on Brent’s face. He was actually afraid that some personality conflict with a Hivean bureaucrat would make him ineligible to be a Spartan? Amazing!

The man steps forward and submits to the scan and the swipe. He turns and leaves the room, and gives out a whoop as soon as he is out the door. The door closes behind him.

“Luong, how many have we done?” I ask.

I had long ago lost count, and was now at the stage where I really didn’t care. It was like endless low-grade exercise, where you have to keep rowing and rowing, past where your muscles burn,telling you to stop, past the cramping, and way past fatigue.

“Only 93. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I lied.

Luong looked at me with pity, accepting my lie for what it was. For the first time, she reached out and actually touched me, grasping my shoulder in support. I smile weakly in return.

There is nothing worse than being fully awake and conscious, but mentally fatigued beyond words.

*****

An old man just left the room, and it has left me shaken. He had simple speech and manner, and moved carefully and slowly, as only the very old do. But he wasn’t that old. I could tell. He answered all Luong’s questions and I could see no trace of deception in his face.

Then I touched his mind, and a jumble of voice tore at me. The first spoke in the same measured tones as the old man. His words were of obedience and duty, work and the need to please. He was a simple and earnest soul, with a grandfatherlyness that was strangely moving.

The second voice screamed in rage, when the first voice would let him. He was incoherent, violent, and yelled about Demons. All that he wanted was to Kill the Demons, which were everywhere, yet nowhere.

The third soul spoke in fragments, and used words I did not understand. These were not the words of incoherence used by the second voice, but of reason and learning. But each was a piece shorn of its whole. The third voice struggled and yearned to be whole, but just as a thought would form it would drift away or be destroyed. But the voice didn’t rage.

When I broke my scan I found tears streaming down my cheeks. I understood his voices, and their plea, but it was a plea that I could not answer, could not grant. It was a plea to be whole again.

Luong handed me the datapad and I examined it: Gareg Sahrel. Raised in the Great Clustering, taught Chiron Genetics at the Hive University. Convicted of being a Political for inappropriate religious infractions and mind wiped in 2211. Relapse and insanity, re-mind wiped in 2212. Reeducated as a laborer after a chemical lobotomy.

As he left I gave him the only gift I could give: I helped his third voice stay together for several seconds. Then the third voice was fragmented again by the second voice, which raged against the Demon Yang.

*****

Sarah? Is that you?

I start and the mental intrusion: I recognize that thought pattern.

Miles? Is that you?

Yes, Sarah. You are broadcasting so loud that every Level 7 empath on this side of Chiron can probably detect you. Is something wrong?

But Miles, you’re supposed to be dead! You died with the tactical nuke at Sparta! How can you be here! Where are you?

Sarah, it’s a very long story. I’m pretty far from you, though. You are getting much more powerful to broadcast this far. Suffice to say that a clone died, not me. I can tell you about that later. Right now you need to get your defensive shields up. You are leaking all over the place. Are you OK?

I’m fine, just completely exhausted. I’m putting up my shield now. Is that better?

That’s fine Sarah. They seem a little tattered, though. What are you doing that is taking so much out of you? You were always one of the strongest Empaths, stronger than me. What’s going on?

I’m doing a security scan on a brigade, plus dependants. It’s over 350 people.

Whoa, Sarah, listen to me. What you are trying to do is dangerous. If you come across a hostile or an enemy empath you won’t be able to defend yourself. You’ll be too tired, to slow. Who asked you to do this, anyway, and why did you agree?

That is a long story too, Miles. There really isn’t a Psi Corps anymore. Lord Atreus, our new commander, hasn’t been heard from in weeks, maybe months. Something must have happened to him. Ann Rynn, our old commander, was fired by Santiago for that botched attempt to save Googlie, and then she died with the nuke at Sparta Command. They didn’t know what to do with me, so Googlie assigned me to this nasty, ambitious woman Kirsten Alfredsson to ‘control the drones’. She wants me to Mind Rip them, Miles! I, I just can’t do that! I got lucky and the Governor of Assassin’s Redoubt got me assigned her for a while. I need to succeed here or they’ll put me back with Kirsten! I have to do this!

Sarah, slow down! You mean to tell me that you have had NO mentoring since I saw you last? And you’re all alone? Sarah, that’s criminal! Tell you what: I can help you. I may not be as powerful as you, but I’ve become pretty good at long-range projection. I can even teach that to you, if you like! I’ve learned a couple of other tricks, too. If you have to do this, how about if I act as your defensive shield while you do the probing? That should conserve your energy. I’d feel a lot better if I could help. What do you say?

Miles, thank you! You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to talk to another Empath! I’d actually forgotten how personal it could be! How long can you stay?

As long as you need me, Sarah! As long as you need me!

*****

The interviews continued as before, with my old friend Miles in the back of my mind. When I started slipping, he would be there with a gentle prod or joke. The important thing was that he was there. He is always there for me. Miles – the strong, silent type!

*****

Luong led another proto-Spartan into the room, walked over, and sat down. She toggled her datapad and called up her file. The woman in front of me was a little past middle aged, although it was a little hard to tell because of her demeanor. It wasn’t that she looked old or unkempt, it is just that she was so plain. She almost looked purposefully plain. In contrast to most of the candidates, she appeared cool and calm, almost icy. Instead of fear on her face I could see determination.

“Myong H. Sung, Why did you want to become a Spartan Citizen and a member of the Brigade?” Luong asked.

“I wish to become a Spartan Citizen,” she replied simply, keeping motionless.

I touched her mind, and instantly recoiled: I saw blackness! Boiling, churning blackness and death! Swirling around this was a deep-seated hatred of all things…Spartan!

I was stunned. Before I could recover, much less move, Myong reached for the seam of her light and bulky coat. I knew she was reaching for a weapon, but couldn’t react! It was like everything was happening in slow motion. All this happened so fast that Luong was just beginning to understand what was going on.

Then Myong took on a glazed expression on her face, and her head lolled to the side. She fell to her knees with a thump, and then she lost her balance and fell face-forward to the floor. She landed with a loud thud and lay perfectly still.

Both Luong and I were stunned. The whole event had taken less than a second.

Miles! I didn’t do that! What did you do?

Ms. Myong just suffered an unfortunate and massive cerebral hemorrhage, Sarah.

A hemorrhage? I don’t understand! How…

I inflicted the hemorrhage on her, Sarah. I burst three critical blood vessels in her cerebral cortex and also her carotid artery. She was dead before she hit the floor.

Miles!

Sarah, she was a low-grade assassin and was going to kill you. I acted for you in self-defense.

But Miles! That requires telekinesis! Very, very few Empaths have more than the most rudimentary power to move objects!

You don’t have to move much to rupture a thin blood vestals wall. All it takes is a small tweak, and knowing where to do it.

How could you do that Miles! She was a human being!

She was a human being who would have found great joy in blowing your head off, Sarah. While I agree that each of us, and especially Empaths, must have a firmly held set of moral and personal ethics, you also need to understand that others do not limit themselves in such a fashion. You are forced to operate on their level, or die. It only takes one to make war. I’m afraid that that is the lesson that I have painfully learned, Sarah. Grab on and hold fast to your inner self and what you hold dear, but be careful and do what you have to.

Miles, I don’t know what to say.

I know what you should say, Sarah. Say you will be careful and think about this. The next time I might not be there to help. Now, let’s put this unpleasant incident behind us.

OK Miles.

Already the emergency team was arriving. Luong was looking at me with a combination of awe and horror. She had seen her death in the assassin’s eyes, and then seen the woman literally drop dead in front of hear.

Luong’s efficiency never wavered, but her budding friendliness died and didn’t return.

*****

Luong lead a pair of medics into the room, and they were guiding a portable med unit. In the med unit was the most ghastly man I have ever seen. He was covered in multiple layers of synthskin and healing stimulators. That was not the ghastly part, though. The man’s face was seared away, almost melted looking. This was clearly an old scar, for it was completely healed and the skin, where it wasn’t bandaged or reinforced with synthskin, was healthy.

“Captain Dawson, this man was the leader of the Plex Brigade,” Luong informed me. “His name is recorded only as Spartacus, and he apparently has no history in the Plex datalinks. He needs to be scanned to verify his identity before he can be taken to Assassin’s Redoubt for further treatment. I should say that the men and women of the Brigade would, and did, die for this man. He is a Non-Person Political. I’m not quite sure what that means, but it must be pretty serious.”

I approached the mysterious man to get a better look. I brushed his mind and confirmed he was in a coma. The neural activity of his brain confirmed that.

Miles, are you there?

Of course, Sarah. Pretty strange. I’ve heard only a little about the punishment of Hive Politicals. Most of the time they are mind wiped or killed. Do you want me to go Defensive for you again? You may have to probe pretty deep, especially if he has been conditioned.

That would be great Miles. Are you up to it?

Sure. I am getting tired though.

I reach out to touch a portion of his hand that wasn’t bandaged. Touching really isn’t necessary for an intermediate or deep probe, it simply acts as a focus. I’m not experienced at deep probing. Very few Empaths are, and those that are usually end up in Intelligence, not the Psi Corps.

Slowly, I focus on Spartacus. My vision appears to narrow into a cone, with peripheral vision gone. Then I induce an Empathic Trance, with a low hum as my neural feedback trigger. A barely audible hum indicates my trance has begun. One by one I eliminate all others, even Miles, from my consciousness.

As the trance takes hold I seem to warp and flow toward Spartacus. The morphing is slow enough that my ‘vision’ does not appreciatively change. Gradually my perception of Spartacus starts to change as his form becomes indistinct and starts to morph toward me.

The humm is low, but is growing stronger.

Finally, after an eternity, our morphed forms touch and we flow into one another. My normal ‘vision’ is extinguished and is replaced by the blackness of Empath Sight. In the distance I perceive a light and move toward it. Dark shapes flit by at the periphery of my Empath Sight. I ignored these, recognizing them for recent or false memories sent as a defense mechanism of the brain.

The humm crescendos to a buzz.

The light grows stronger, finally filling my field of view.

In Empath Sight everything is in symbols, and these symbols speak volumes, even to my untutored eyes. They can be tricky, though, since what a symbol means is always a matter of perception and experience. I need to tread carefully.

I remember a key holotext “Our Secret War” our class experienced while at psi training. The manual was by Lady Deirdre Skye, who, apparently, is something of an empath herself. It was never clear just what kind of empath, though. One quote always stood out in my mind, and I remember it clearly:

Symbols are the key to telepathy. The mind wraps its secrets in symbols; when we discover the symbols that shape our enemy’s thought, we can penetrate the vault of his mind.

These symbols I should be able to figure out. In front of me is a dark and forbidding corridor, which is been sealed. To my left is a gate that is locked. To my right is a very small room, in which there is nothing. All I need to do is discern what these symbols mean, and act accordingly. This man has been conditioned, symbolized by the locked gate, and Psi blocked, signified by the dark and walled corridor. The small room represents what Spartacus knows about himself, and his life after his conditioning. It must be pretty bleak.

The conditioning I can deal with. I walk up to the gate and grasp the padlock and pull down. With a loud ‘clank’ the old-fashioned padlock opens and the heavy black iron chain comes loose. Simple conditioning is no match for an Empath, any Empath. The chain is cold and, touching it, if feel a strong sense of hesitation. Should I unlock this gate? What does it mean that it is cold? That is very subjective. However, I have to proceed forward. I grab on end of the chain and unwrap it from the wrought iron bars. The gate is now unlocked, and I push it open. A flood of memories washes over me, but they don’t overwhelm my senses. These are personal memories of family and friends. Most are happy, some are sad. Now I know what the cold signifies: it is Spartacus’ deep remorse and pain at having to kill his own family, even though understanding that not killing them would doom them to decades in Yang’s torture chamber.

God, but Yang is a monster.

I drop both the lock and the chain to the vaguely grey ground. Spartacus now has access to all his memories, although I suspect he might wish he hadn’t.

Next I turn to the barren room. It is not barred in any way, so I tentatively walk in. As I do I get a claustrophobic feeling. It is small and getting smaller, and it contains nothing. Shivering, I understand this is his life and that my initial impression is correct. Even as I stand the wall seem to close in, and a general sense of panic and unease well up within me. There is nothing to learn here, except to understand the emptiness and unease in Spartacus’ life.

I pace over to the walled off corridor: now here is a challenge. I can best it IF I have superior skill and power than the Empath that placed the psi block, and correctly understand its symbol or symbols. The fact that it might potentially have more than one symbol is the tricky part. I place my hands on the block just to feel it. I feel nothing – it is completely blank to me. I give it a little psi push. There is no effect, almost as if there is resistance from BEHIND the wall that is pushing back! The wall should give a little in response to my probe – I’m not that weak!

I ponder this for a moment. What in this symbol would cause a blank and generally door-shaped barrier in a corridor to push back? It seems to absorb my psi energy, which is what the Empath who placed it intended. And why door-shaped? Is it a portal? Most are.

Wait a minute! The only thing that can psi push is an Empath! Even a barrier like this can’t mount such an active defense. Excited, I brush my fingers lightly and with no force over the grey wall. As I do a shimmering line appears at its edge. It IS a door!

So, how do I open a door with no handle or purchase? Gingerly I approach the psi block again and place my hands flat against it. I then consciously will it toward me, tapping my neural enhancements. I also feel the gentle addition of strength, which must be from Miles.

The door begins to change. Its texture becomes metallic, and it is very cold. Hinges appear at the side and an anachronistic pull ring where a datapad handle would be. Without removing my hands from contact with the door I move them to the handle. Slowly. Surely. I grasp the handle.

Do I want to pull? What could be behind such a crafted psi block that an Empath would want to block? What does the cold feeling mean this time?

Summoning my courage I take a metaphoric breath.

Then I pull.

*****

I open my eyes to see an anxious crowd above me. I am obviously on the floor.

At that moment pain lances through my forehead and I give out a gasp. I have to get my barriers up! Where is Miles! The voices!

I’m here Sarah.

Miles! What happened?

I don’t know. You broke the connection. I couldn’t sense what you were doing, just that your psi energy was dropping very fast. I tried to help. Just after I did you flung me away. What did you see?

Miles, look into my memory, so you can see it too.

Very strange, Sarah. I don’t know what to make of that psi block. It was designed to keep someone from getting in, not from getting out. That is the opposite of what you’d think a Hive empath would do. Have you read him since you came out?

I didn’t come out, Miles. And I just woke up.

Sarah, I don’t like this. Someone had to help you out or you could be empathicly damaged – the change is just too abrupt. You’ve been out for 20 minutes. Do you feel OK?

Yes. Actually, I feel totally fine. I’m not tired at all! Isn’t that strange?

I’m going to scan him for you.

No, wait Miles! I, I don’t think you should do that.

Why?!!

I…think he’s still with me.

Hello Sarah and Miles. Thank you for releasing me. You can call me Merlin

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

*****

Shannon walked into the reception hall of the Morgan Governmental Palace after a brief respite at her room at the MorganRitz to freshen up and get a bite to eat. She was still in a state of mental overload with how much had changed in the last couple of days. First, Morgan subverts four of Yang’s cities and declared de facto war. Then Sparta then declares a truce with Yang, dashing the hopes of the Morganites, Shannon was sure. Serves him right, the treacherous bastard! But most importantly, from Shannon’s point of view, Gaia’s Landing/Worker’s Nest and Nessus Shining /Hole of Aspiration had been liberated from Yang’s iron rule. Granted, they were now in the loving hands of Morgan, but that was marginally better than Yang.

As always, the shocking opulence of Morgan architecture overwhelmed and galled Shannon. This was particularly true after her last sojourn with Ehm in the hybrid forest. How could a people that could research and build such a wonderful ecological paradise then build this gaudy showplace to waste and excess? The energy that this one building took could run all of Velvetgrass point.

Not for the first time Shannon fantasized about what Gaia’s landing would look like by this point if Morgan and Yang hadn’t destroyed all the Gaian’s dreams. She imagined tall and graceful brownish green towers, with balconies that seemed to defy gravity, and crystalline domes that housed lovingly tended Earth and Chiron species. There would be beautiful parks and expansive water gardens. The city itself would be almost an extension of the land. Of course, the city would have to have a hybrid forest. It would be beautiful, with the city rising out of forest of pink and green!

But that was fantasy. The reality was that Velvetgrass Point was beautiful only in a utilitarian way. The Gaians would not have the technology or resources to build a hybrid forest for many decades. The war had seen to that. Such was the sad fate of the vanquished.

As she approached the baroque Rotunda a young man in a crisp blue suit approached.

“Gaian Ambassador Lindly? I am an aid to President Nwabudike Morgan, Senior. The president requests an audience at your convenience. He has instructed me to tell you that he will clear his schedule immediately, if that meets with your pleasure, since matters are quite pressing.”

I bet they are. Morgan is in over his head, and he is grasping at straws. If he thinks he can get anything out of the Gaians he is sorely mistaken, Shannon thought to herself. Still, I have orders from Deirdre herself. No use putting off the unpleasant.

“I am ready now. Lead on,” Shannon replied.

*****

The aid opened the eight-meter tall beaten bronze double doors for Shannon as she entered Morgan’s Presidential Office, and closed them behind her. Morgan had a pile of datapads on his desk and, upon seeing her enter, turned off the holo and stood.

Shannon was perplexed. Morgan looked positively radiant! He was at war the Yang the Butcher, and likely to meet the same fate as the Gaians. He had no cause to smile!

Morgan walked around his desk and walked to Shannon. He approached with a huge smile and an almost too friendly demeanor.

“Well met again, my dear Ambassador Lindly! I heard you were enjoying the hybrid forest with your little Ehm! I don’t get out to the forest much due to the affairs of state, but perhaps I could make time when this current unpleasantness dies down. Please! Will you not sit down? I have some fresh papaya juice, if you are interested.”

“Good day, President Morgan,” Shannon replied in a formal and neutral voice, “I’ll pass on the juice, but thank you for your offer.”

Shannon moved toward the chair that Morgan indicated, then Morgan pulled its mate to the side so he could face Shannon without the big, imposing desk separating them.

He is being so informal, and breaking all sorts of formal rules of protocol. Morgan is normally such a stickler for rules and protocol. He is also trying so hard to ingratiate himself to me. I wonder what he wants?

After both were seated Morgan started. “There are events that you are not aware of, but should be.”

Lindly cut in. “Yes, I know about your new war with the Hive, and the Spartan’s neutrality.”

Morgan continued with out a pause, not noticing, or choosing not to notice, her rude interruption.

“Actually, those events are not those to which I refer. I have recently spoken with Coronal Santiago, and I have delightful news! The Spartans have agreed to Pact with we Morganites, and have also issued an ultimatum to the Hive! If Yang refuses, he will face the combined weight of Morgan and Spartan force of arms. There are some portions of the Ultimatum that you will be interested in, I believe.”

Morgan replayed his holo of Santiago, and her ultimatum.

No wonder Morgan is so happy. Shannon thought. He has all that he wants! And either way the ultimatum goes, he wins! Still, it is reassuring that Santiago is offering formal guarantees to the Gaians. She has always been at least a tacit friend, even though the Gaians and Spartans have such different societies. Somehow Deirdre and Corazon have always had an understanding.

“This is an interesting turn of events, that is certain. But what does that have to do with the Gaians and Morganites? Santiago’s ultimatum deals with their relationship with the Gaians, Hive, and Morganites separately.”

“Ah, you have identified the crucial issue! To date we have operated separately. I would like to make the Gaians a proposal: I will return Worker’s Nest, which was Gaia’s Landing, to the Gaians immediately and will pay for its state-of-the-art defensive forces as a gesture of good will. I know that the Morganites and Gaians have had ample cause for distrust, and hopefully this will demonstrate my earnestness. What I ask in return is that the Gaians Pact with we Morganites and provide for some defense of Gaia’s Landing and Nessus Shining, known by the Hive name Hole of Aspiration. Your mindworm forces are formidable, especially against Yang’s plentiful but poorly trained troops. Moreover, I will pledge to return Hole of Aspiration after events with the Hive have stabilized.”

Lindly was silent. In her mind she reviewed the orders she had received from Deirdre: demand the return of Gaia’s Landing and Nessus Shingin to Gaian control. Of course, they had no way of enforcing this demand.

But, to have a real chance of getting back Gaia’s Landing! That had been the dream of all Gaians for almost 25 years! To be reunited with all the loved ones who had stayed behind, and had suffered so much at the hands of Yang. Reports of Yang’s use of punishment spheres and nerve clips on the native Gaians had reached Velvetgrass Point long ago, and all had grieved. Technically, the Hive and the Gaians were still at a state of war. There had been no truce. The Hive had thought the Gaians destroyed, and Lady Skye wanted it to stay that way.

Shannon could almost taste the joy of attaining the impossible. Still, it would require Pacting with Morgan. How could she justify that? Was Gaia’s Landing and the promise of Nessus Shining worth trusting Morgan? Could the Gaians trust this Morgan, or any Morgan? Especially one who had just betrayed his former Pact Brother Yang? There would have to be guarantees. Spartan guarantees.

“Your offer is extremely intriguing, President Morgan. Of course, I will have to consult with Lady Skye before making such a momentous decision.”

Morgan nodded his head, still smiling. “I understand. And please tell Lady Skye that I would enjoy a personal conversation with her one day. Oh, and kindly tell her one more thing for me. If she agrees to this Pact then I will issue a formal apology for the now ancient wrongs I have committed against the Gaians. Keep in mind that that was long ago, and both Morgan and Gaians committed acts of butchery. Most of the Gaian blood is on Yang’s hands. I believe that should be our combined focus.”

Shannon stood up, and Morgan courteously followed her lead. She walked to the door and Morgan opened it for her, still smiling.

As she left she thought, Is he smiling out of genuine warmth, or like a Cheshire Cat? Or like a spider about to consume a juicy fly? Luckily, that is not my decision. Lady Deirdre Skye will get to make that call.

Shannon Lindly’s footsteps echoed down the cavernous hall.

She was dreaming of Gaia’s Landing.

[Hydro]

Ft. Superiority

*****

Andre stared at his datapad in numbed shock.

Solid smoke! That could kill thousands! Tens of thousands! What do I do? I…can’t think. I can’t allow this!

Andre felt an unaccustomed lethargy of indecision.

No, it’s not what do I do. It’s who do I trust, and who among those can do something about this.

Over the last 50 years I’ve met and become close to a large number of colleagues. Most of these were fellow researchers, and of those most were former UoP. The Spartans that were part of the research projects are generally worthless project managers, who could shuffle numbers but who had no real understanding of the projects they were charged with managing. I don’t associate with these types unless politically necessary.

Maybe a UoPer? No, these types were never connected to the reigns of power in such a way that would help. How about the assistant Ft. Superiority base administrator, Gayle Storm? I’ve known her for almost 10 years now since she was a junior council representative. But I just don’t know her well, as we have done little more than exchange pleasantries, and she would have no reason to believe me. My only evidence, the data crystal, is a chunk of fused quartz. Even if she did, what would she do? How about the military attaché Jason Onian? He worked with me during work on the Cyborg Factory project as my liaison. No, actually, he was my Spartan handler, and was here to ensure I would ‘play nice’. And I only knew him for 6 months and haven’t heard from him since my consultant contract expired.

No, there is one Spartan that I had a long-term positive relationship with. She is retired military, politically astute, and hard as nails. She will know what to do!

Some of Andre’s energy returned, and he darted over to his holopad and dialed.

He waited, fidgeting nervously.

Finally the familiar face of Assassin Redoubt’s Military Governor Helen Tobias appeared.

“Andre. I’m glad to hear from you. I’m extraordinarily busy here with the Plex Anthill evacuation, but I saw you marked the holo ‘priority one’ flag. Is something wrong?”

Helen looked at Andre’s holo. He was white as a sheet and his left hand was trembling. His strangely appealing assertiveness and confidence was no where to be seen.

“Helen, I have a problem….

[Slats]

MORGAN PROCESSING AIRFIELD
MILITARY AVIATION HANGAR

Alex ' Dusty ' Rhodes stepped off the last rug of the crew ladder of his Penetrator and dropped to the plascrete apron of Morgan Processing. Behind him, Indigo 6, the last aircraft down, howled to a stop.

The first thing that struck him was how pristine the entire airfield looked. Neat or tidy didn't do it justice. Even the edges of the grassy verge had been trimmed perfectly. The ground markings were fresh, with no streaks of dirt or rubber on the surfacing. The buildings themselves looked functional yet asthetically pleasing to the eye. About half a dozen light civilian aircraft lay tidily ordered near the general aviation terminal while a jetliner sat connected to one the docking arms that branched from the main terminal building. The sun was bright and a light, airy breeze blew from the west. Perfect, thought Dusty began striding over towards the cavernous hangar they had been directed to, the rest of his crews close behind.

Once inside the hangar manager introduced himself, a beefy but good natured man who immediately disappeared with the flight's mechanics to sort out supplies, usage of tools, work teams and a dozen other activities.
The hangar itself was also very tidy. The modern, clean looking machinery lay stacked neatly along the walls or in big red storage racks. Dusty was grinning as he climbed the metal staircase alongside the managers office and opened the heavy, sound proofed door at the top.
The crew room, set into the side of the hangar, approximately covered some three hundred square metres in total. Nearest the door were the gear lockers and shower rooms while further back was a well equipped briefing room with a gigantic holo tank in place. Sleeping quarters were located off to the left and best of all, a big lounge with soft seating, beverage machines and numerous vast holo screens for leisure viewing.
Dusty turned to see that everyone else had followed him up the stairs. They all stood gawking at the lavish surroundings. Dusty sank into a nearby chair and looked about once more to make sure this wasn't a dream. Oh yes, he thought, I could get used to this.......

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

SPARTA COMMAND
BEN MILLER'S APARTMENT

Slats was just about to shovel another spoonful of breakfast cereal into his mouth when he stopped dead. He'd been informed of the new pact with the Gaians late last night woken by the urgent beeping of his commlink as the night staff at the SAC operations centre warned him of the breaking news. In a generally happy mood he'd been paging through his latest messages on his datapad while munching his breakfast when a memo appeared from Burge.
Three items of the memo erupted out of the screen at him. Gaian aircraft. Fusion upgrades. Cooperation with SAC forces.
Slats continued to munch his breakfast although chewing more thoughtfully. The commander of the Gaian airforce was registered as one Wing Commander Julia Santiago. Good. That meant there should be few problems with an ex-Spartan in command. Any operations would run smoothly also. That only left the upgrades. This was a bit more difficult. A swift check of the inventory showed only two Fusion reactors currently at Sparta Command. Two more would have to be dredged up from somewhere. Hadn't there been some spares from some oddball project from one of the ex-UoP bases? He'd have to check up on that. Slats also made a note to alert the fitters at the Aerospace Complex about the refurbishment. And to have Indigo 2 fly out from Janissary Rock to meet the Gaian flight. Some kind of welcome party would have to be sent.

It was going to be an eventful day.
[This message has been edited by Slats (edited September 30, 1999).]

[Googlie]

My first need was to get clothes that fit me. And that meant getting out of the hospital area and into a retail complex - I couldn't just dial up my old tailor, as my size had changed dramatically with the rejuvenation.

And it might be dangerous to go about, although the danger of getting recognized was slight.

Then I had an idea.

"Anastasia," I said. "Take off your drone smock.

She blushed a deep crimson.

"I…I.. don't think that now's the time…I mean, shouldn't we…"

I realized her confusion.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "I keep forgetting that I'm thinking and talking like a sixty year old but you're hearing and seeing it from a thirty year old.

"What I mean is, you change back into your things and I'll wear the smock and be a drone until we reach my tailors."

"Oh," she said. "I thought you meant…." And she blushed again.

"I know, and I'm sorry for not being clearer," I said. "Now will you change back into your things and pass me the smock?"

She looked around for somewhere to change.

"I won't look," I said, averting my gaze.

But of course I did. And the sight of Anastasia stripping to her bra and panties while she wrestled the synthsilk blouse over her head reminded me that I had a thirty year old body again. As I admired the swell of her breasts I knew I was going to enjoy being young again.

She passed me the smock, which was a tight fit, but adequate. Cinched around my waist, with Anastasia's belt, it hung just above my knees. It could be a new dress code for male drones, I thought. I felt like an extra in the old earth flick, Cleopatra, that I'd seen when I was a kid.

It was draughty. I chuckled inwardly as I thought of the old Scottish joke:

Mary, to Jock:

"Jock, is anything worn under the kilt?

"Och no, lass. It's as guid as ever it was."

Anastasia looked at me queerly as I hobbled to the door, chuckling to myself.

"I'll need your broom to lean on," I said. "My muscles are still not fully developed."

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

We left the hospital area and walked down toward the retail sector. Shops were just beginning to open, but for the most part passers by just ignored the beautiful young woman with the drone following her.

We reached my outfitter's. He was open.

"How may I help you?" Andre asked Anastasia, completely ignoring me.

She was nonplussed.

I coughed.

Andre looked at me with annoyance.

"Andre, old friend. Have I changed that much?"

He peered at me.

"Mon Dieu," he exclaimed. "Monsieur Allardyce. I did not recognize you. Here, let me se you."

He stepped back with a hand on my shoulder, and said:

"Very good. You need some muscle tone, but very good. An improvement, if I may say so, on your 50 year old look that you have been favoring. For the benefit of this young lady?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

It was my turn to be discomfited, much to Anastasia's amusement, who watched for my reply.

"Hrmmmph," I said. "Not really." But not wishing to be ungallant, I continued. "At least not planned, but now you mention it, kit me out as a young officer should be these days."

After an hour or so, I was resplendent in a new uniform, complete with what I imagined an Air Marshall would look like as regards decorations and scrambled egg on the hat brim.

I sneaked a peek at Anastasia who I was gratified to see was regarding me with total approbation.

"To my office," I said grandly, sweeping her out of the outfitters'.

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

I had my hat under my arm as I bounded up the steps to the SAC, Anastasia in tow.

A military guard stopped me:

"And where the hell do you think you are going?"

"To my office," I replied.

"And who might you be?" he inquired. "I've not seen you around here before."

I realized that this was true. I put on my hat and saluted.

"Federation Governor Scott Allardyce reporting for duty."

He looked at me queerly.

"And I'm Prokhor Zakharov," he said. "Now buzz off."

I couldn't say "Young man" to him, which was the first thing that came into my head - he was ten years older than my seeming thirty years. I would just have to endure and batter my way in.

"But I assure you, I am he," I said.

I reached past him to the door control and put my thumb to the recess.

"Scott Allardyce," I said.

I moved to the retina scan and put my eye to the soft laser.

"Confirmed," the synthetic voice said.

The trooper looked on in astonishment as he stood aside for me to pass.

"Rejuvenation tanks" Anastasia said as she breezed airily past him.

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

Santiago was in the office when I entered. I was totally taken aback. No one had brought me up to date. So the Colonel had returned. So I was no longer Federation Governor. Nor was I the Air Marshall commanding the SAC.

In fact, I was the Ambassador in waiting to the Gaians. At thirty. Now that was a laugh.

Her head was down, peering at her console. She was pecking at a keyboard with two fingers.

I coughed, and she looked up.

"Corrie, we need to talk," I said.

She looked at me.

"You are?" she said. "I don't think I know you. There have been so many changes since I've been away."

I stopped in my tracks.

Of one thing I was certain. Corazon Santiago had almost total recall, and we had spent years together when I was in my thirties, on Earth. She would remember me, and would make a joke about my appearance too.

Then it hit me. Of course. I myself had set this in motion. Either someone had found out and was playing an end game, or she was playing a deep game of her own.

"Alexis," I said softly.

Her eyes widened, and she looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlamps.

"Googlie," I said. "Googlie Allardyce."

She looked at me with stupifaction, then burst into tears.

[korn469]

U.N. Foward Air Defence Head Quarters
U.N. Amnesty Town

"Colonel, Doctor Wang is here to see you,” the aid said into the commlink.

"Send him in." Without any acknowledgement, the aid gently touched a button and the large door slid open. The Doctor walked into Colonel Blair's comfortable office, the door sliding shut and locking behind him.

Jerome Blair stood up and walked over to Henry Wang shaking his hand. The Colonel had a strong grip, a little too strong for Henry's liking. Captain Masato Sukegawa was also in the Colonel's office, and he stood up to greet the doctor.

"Doctor, you know my Chief of Security Captain Sukegawa." They shook hands and all three sat down. "So what did the autopsy of the prisoner reveal?" Both the Colonel and the Captain listened intently to Doctor Wang.

"Well, I confirmed that the prisoner did die of a self inflicted wound to his right carotid artery. Apparently, he concealed the weapon he used under a layer of synthetic skin in his left calf muscle. There was only one other major finding in the autopsy, and that was the prisoner had a neural graft removed from his left temple in the past month. However, the grafting procedure used is one I am unfamiliar with. Other than that, he was in perfect health, and I verified his apparent age, of early thirties, as his correct age of thirty-two. Besides the removed neural grafting, he had no other surgical enhancements, and he was in great shape for his age. One last thing, his genetic markers are clean, we had no record of him." Both men took in the information, and the Colonel nodded, then spoke.

"I see, well the Captain informs me that although this man had access to our data-net there is no sign of sabotage. Doctor, you say that he had his neural grafting removed recently. Why would he have done that?"

"Well, most likely it would have identified him as a member of an intelligence organization, and we could have tracked him back to his faction. Although it is very unlikely, he could have started having problems with the graft and it could just be a co-incidence. The unusual nature of the graft could support either argument, though my gut instinct is that it was removed so he couldn't be identified."

"Thank you Doctor, and look into the graft. Contact Professor Khuri at U.N. Headquarters I'm sure he can help you with this. Now Masato, there was no sign of sabotage at all? Why would he kill himself if he didn't do anything?"

"That is correct, Sir. We have detected no signs of sabotage, but to do a full sweep of the system would require shutting the entire system down for eight hours. We are checking the entire system without shutting it down, but it will take us 80 hours to check everything this way. Checking the system while it is on means that there is a one percent chance sabotage might go undetected. So if anything is there we will find it, it'll just take some time."

"Captain if you had to make a guess who would you say was behind this, and what was the mission objective?"

"Well Sir, in my professional opinion the only faction that would have something to gain from disabling our western sensor grid is the Spartan Federation. They are the only faction with bombers ready to attack U.N. Amnesty Town. I'm not an intelligence officer but the Spartan Federation is the obvious choice."

"Thank you Captain, I'll take that into consideration when I make my report to the General. Thank you too Doctor. Dismissed." They stood and saluted Colonel Blair, and left his office. He then started writing the formal report.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited October 01, 1999).]

[Slats]

To: Col. Corazon Santiago and all current Junta members

From: Micheal Forster, Head of Spartan Space Defense

Subject: Urgent matter!!

Text body:

Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently recieved news from the S.S.D's research and development team which could effect not only all of you, but every faction on the face of the planet.

During recent astrometric mapping of the Alpha Centauri system by ground based telescopes and deep space radars an anomaly was detected just inside Alpha Centauri A's outer perimeter orbit. At first we suspected it to be a large asteroid. This has now been discounted due to it's extremely high radar return suggesting that it has a high if not total metallic composition. It's regular shape gave us futher cause for concern.

Removing one of our best telescopes from it's regular duties and crosschecking it's findings with old recognition databases we have observed what we believe to be the now derelict U.N.S Unity.

Yes, while our best historical information lead us to believe the Unity was a runaway vessel, battered drive wrecked and broken - unable to deacclerate any further, now on course for some far flung star, we cannot deny the readings our instruments give us. At best we guess that the drive malfunctioned and shut down, causing the Unity to be dragged back into the twin gravity gravity wells of Alpha Centauri. It is possible, though not recorded, that a member of the bridge crew ordered the onboard navigation systems to assume such a course. This is unlikely due to the Unity's irregular orbit.

So, I hear you ask, how does this affect our current situation if at all?

Some days after the discovery, a young scientist on our research team made an astonishing discovery. He was in the process of calculating the power of the Unity's engines in order to back up our gravity well theory when he came across the schematics for the Unity's fusion power core. Out of curiosity he calculated that the core elements and storage batteries should contain some 3500 energy units. The young man addressed his team leader who, in turn, had the foresight to inform me of the discovery.

I write not only to inform you of this historic discovery of our heritage but of the treasure trove which lies just beyond our grasp.

My team and I lie ready at your disposal.

I leave this matter in your hands.

[Googlie]

"Anastasia, go help the Colonel," I said, and while she did I sat down at the control panel.

I half remembered being awakened by Marlo while I was in the tanks, and giving her my password. The knowledge she gained from using it had gotten her killed. It was a vidflick from Burge, I vaguely recalled.

"Console, activate," I said.

The far wall console lit up. 'Good, I thought. At least no-one has programmed me out of existence,'

"Display Gavin Burge," I said.

"Do you wish the most recent or previous?" the console asked.

"Most recent," I replied.

"Password"

"Jinty."

Suddenly I was in the chamber with Burge, watching him in his fight, and hearing his warning, and exhortation to work with Ashaandi.

The camera kept rolling until the massive explosion extinguished life within the chamber and its surrounds.

'Hmmm,' I thought.

'So Burge is Ashaandi. And I'll wager that's who is Alexis' controller now.'

Alexis was coming round, her head supported in Anastasia's arms. She blinked once or twice.

"Ashaandi, isn't it?" I asked.

She nodded weakly.

"Ashaandi, can you read me? If you are mind controlling Alexis then you can read me.."

"No," she interrupted. "He can't."

"Of course he can," I said. "He's an empath. He can thought control you and mind read you, so he knows you and I are talking, and what we are saying - if he is awake, that is."

"No," she repeated. "I am an empath too, and I can and am blocking him out. It is the only way I can play a convincing Santiago. He is giving me instructions telepathically, but at agreed times, and this is not one of them."

"Well you don't need to take orders from him anymore. I'm back, and I'll go meet him to sort things out. While you were reviving I played the real Gavin Burge's last message to me, and his advice was to be wary, but work with Ashaandi. Our interests do converge. Where is he now?"

"Over at the almost complete new Command Center, on Airport Road. What do you want me to do now?"

"Continue being Santiago for the time being. I need to find out where the real Corazon is, plus a few other people. So stay put and govern as Ashaandi instructed. I'll be back soon.

"Come on Anastasia," I said. "Let's get going."

I would need to find a shorter name - I wondered if she would resent being called Anna?

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

I was ready for the challenges this time, and gave my molecular and retinal I.D. scans as soona s asked. Of course I passed.

I found Burge/Ashaandi in the newly refurbished warroom in the Command center, and he was testing some of the brand new holo projection equipment. He looked up as I entered, Anastasia in tow. I held my hat under my arm, and with my free hand I saluted smartly.

"Gavin," I said, "good to see you again old friend."

He looked at me quizically.

"Ah," I said. "Then I have changed in the tanks. Googlie. Have the events of the past few days so scrambled your mind that you don't recognize me thirty years younger? Think, Gavin. That would be about the time you and I had the scuffle with sand, the agent of that man, what was his name? Ah, yes. Ashaandi." As I said the name I looked him straight in the eye.

"We need to talk," I said. "Privately."

He nodded.

Turning to his aides, he said:

"Leave us for a while. Googlie and I have much catching up to do. Go and show Googlie's aide where his and her offices will be."

They left us alone.

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

"Ashaandi," I began. "What game are you playing? And was Gavin's death necessary?"

In front of me, Gavin Burge morphed into Ashaandi. I had seen this transformation only with Alexis. i found it intriguing.

"Regrettable," he answered. "But he went the way of the warrior.

"But as to my 'game' as you put it, this is no game. Yang must be stopped, and removed from power His dreams of Planet domination threaten not only you and your people, but all the other peoples on Chiron. He will stop at nothing less than being elected Supreme Leader, and the entire economy of The Hive is geared toward that purpose. My intent is to overthrow him, and Spartan forces are the only ones that can do so. That is my 'game'."

"And after he is overthrown, and you are in power, Ashaandi, what are your dreams? Planet domination under your banner? Ashaandi as Supreme Leader?"

"On the contrary, dear Googlie, my dreams are of a more peaceful nature. As you are aware from the orbital satellite photographs, more than half of Planet is undeveloped. I would propose zones of control, whole continents if you will, that would be the territory of the various factions to expand in.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I still believe in security and control. But not through coercion or manipulation, but rather by the informed will of the people responding to the guidance to follow the pathway laid out by enlightened leadership. The goal is the same, and the journey will follow the same path, but the methods we take to reach that goal or follow the path will be different. That is my dream."

"So you need the chameleon actress playing Santiago to rattle the sabers and give unrealistic ultimatums to yang that he cannot possibly accept?" I asked.

"Exactly. The Spartan reputation is pure, and the ultimatum is in keeping with the Burge personality I have adopted, while showing the steely strength and single-mindedness of purpose that would be typical Santiago."

"What do you expect Yang to do?" I asked.

"Realistically? I expect him to reject the ultimatum outright, and launch a massive attack on Morgan bases. They will be easier pickings than trying to recapture Plex Anthill or the four seceded bases, and the energy credits he can deflect to his own coffers will be huge. If he can enslave Morgan in the process….."

"And Sparta will…..?"

"Sparta will pact with Morgan to deny Yang any inroads. We will garrison troops in each of his bases. We will mount a massive invasion of Yang's territory, and we shall remove him from power. After victory, I shall arrange an unfortunate 'accident' to befall Burge that will result in his death and resume my own identity and rule The Hive."

"What if there is no Hive left to rule?" I asked softly.

"What do you mean? Of course there will be a Hive. My last act as Burge will be to cede all captured Hive bases to me as Ashaandi."

"And if you do not have that power?" I queried. "If the Junta do not go along with Santiago and Burge."

"Phhhttt. They have no say in it. The Colonel has returned as far as they are aware. They know not of the existence of the chameleon actress Alexis."

"You forget one thing, Ashaandi," I said. "Santiago is a leader by sufferance. Military commanders and Spartan Base Governors and Administrators have sworn an oath of loyalty to Burge as military commander and to me as Civilian Federation Governor. That oath has not been rescinded. You need my consent to transfer the bases back to your control."

"Googlie, Googlie, you are so naïve at times. Why, I could have you killed, or I could mind control you, or I could just arrange for your capture and court-marshal for many of your recent misdeeds. Tell my why I should not?"

I held out my hat. "The vidcam has been recording everything, and sending a shortwave burst feed to Anastasia, who is encoding and relaying it to my trusted Junta colleagues. The time for vacillation is over, Ashaandi. Here's what we will do:

"We will allow the continuation of your role playing, but the battle plans and the vigorous prosecution of any war against Yang will be managed by our own generals;

"You can have the Hive throne after his toppling, but you will be subservient to Sparta. We will direct your research and you will co-operate with us in all matters;

"The three ex-Gaian seceded bases will not be returned to Hive control;

"Plex Anthill will not be returned to Hive control;

"Communal Nexus citizens will be given the choice of returning to Hive administration, remaining as a Morgan Base, or electing to be governed by the Gaians, Sparta or the PeaceKeepers;

"You will be ceded the empty continent to the west of current Hive territory for future expansion. The continent containing the landmark we refer to as Nessus Canyon.

"These are the terms under which Sparta will assist you. If you find them acceptable we will work with you for a combined victory against Yang, whom we will oust.

"If you find them unacceptable, then I will give you 18 hours to leave our controlled landmass and bases, and we will deal with Yang ourselves. What do you say?"

Ashaandi began the morphing process back into the Burge persona. When completed, he turned to me and said:

"Why my dear Googlie. I never was one to make rash decisions. You of all people know that. I'll give you my answer within nine hours. Meantime I have a war to prepare."

His wave of the hand dismissed me.

"Ashaandi," I said softly as I was leaving.

He turned from the desk back to me:

"Yes?"

Our generals," I said, and left the room.


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

[Rynn]

Kurt and Shauna went below to find the cabin that housed Sand.

They had discussed ad nauseam the offer made to them to join the Circle, and decided to go for it. The belief system that they had counted some adherents in The Leaders' Horde and Great Clustering, but they and any contacts they had made there had not heard of any adherents in other factions. So there was no guarantee of a welcome or of freedom of religion with any other faction.

Accordingly the offer made by Sand held substantial appeal.

They were challenged by a guard as they neared the cabin, but Sand was expecting them so they were admitted to the room.

Sand was propped up on a bunk, with the severe bandaging that they had seen when he was led aboard largely removed. Synthskin patches covered the worst of the burns, and medpacks were attached to both his hands.

He looked pleased to see them and invited them to sit.

"Let me tell you about the Circle of Ashaandi.

"We were started many years ago, by Haarand Ashaandi, who was a close friend of Chairman Yang. Haarand was the iron fist to yang's velvet glove, and was the scourge of enemies of the Hive. He specialized in assassinations, as did we all in the early days.

"He is an empath of extraordinary power, and a chameleon to boot. The strongest of us all. We were drawn to him originally by the sheer brilliance of his mind, and the clarity of his vision.

"But we have evolved since those early days. We have split with Yang, as we have grown tired of his megalomania. He is intent on dominating planet and its factions. The Circle has vowed to remove him from power and replace him with Haarand Ashaandi himself.

"The agenda we follow is to remain dedicated to security and control, but with a human face. The rights of the individual will be respected - the right to worship, which I know appeals to you both; the right to live life to the fullest, marry the one you love, and raise your children in an atmosphere of tolerance and forbearance.

"There are elements in our society who need to be controlled. We have an abnormal number of drones relative to other factions, and they need prodding from time to time to understand and follow the vision mapped out for them. There are unruly elements too. The society Yang has fostered leaves unrest just below the surface, witness the secession to the Morganites recently of four Hive bases.

"That is why we need empaths in the Circle. And you are two of the best. Ashaandi is aware of you and has been watching you. We have been protecting you, in the background.

"Now you are ready to join this elite Circle. And you have expressed the desire to do so. This is correct?"

Kurt and Shauna both nodded their assent.

"Then swear after me:

"I pledge my life to Haarand Ashaandi and the Circle of Ashaandi. I undertake to uphold the tenets of the Circle and without reservation pledge my allegiance to the Circle. I will never close my mind to members of the Circle, and at all times I will put the interests of the Circle before any other interests, including my own life. This I do solemnly swear."

Kurt repeated the oath, then looked over to Shauna.

Tears filled her eyes.

"I can't swear that oath," she said.

Sand's brow darkened, and Kurt looked at her with a hurt expression.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I have pledged my life to Our Blessed Redeemer," she said. "I cannot pledge to another. I am excited about the direction the Circle wants to take the Hive, but I cannot swear that oath. I'm sorry, Kurt."

She hung her head as the tears flowed.

Sand's voice was icy:

"Go, then. If you have not the heart nor the stomach for the fight that lies ahead, we do not want you contaminating us."

Shauna looked over at Kurt, who sat expressionless, immobile as a stone. She blinked back her tears, and opened the cabin door. With one anguished backward look at Kurt, she left.

"Was that necessary?" Kurt asked. Could you not keep her in the Circle without the oath?"

"And have us doubt her commitment to the cause? When your life is endangered, do you not want the secure knowledge that your colleague is one of us?"

"I guess so," said Kurt. "But I love that girl."

The pain in Kurt's mind was instantaneous and excruciating. He looked glassy eyed at Sand, dimly aware that this was the source, and clumsily tried to erect neural barriers to stave off the waves of psi-energy that were washing over him.

Through his pain he heard Sand's voice, as if in a whisper over the roaring of an ocean's waves:

"The Circle of Ashaandi does not allow love, Kurt. Love is a weakness, a distraction from your duty. You are now a member of one of the most elite organizations on planet. You can take her anytime you want. There are no repercussions for a member of the Circle of Ashaandi. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I guess so," he said again.

The pain eased.

"Good," said Sand.

"Now I will give you your first order as a new member. Are you ready? Do you remember your oath?"

"Yes," said Kurt, now all eagerness. An assignment that would further the vision of Haarand Ashaandi, and hasten the demise of the vile Yang. "I'm ready."

"Go to your woman. Enjoy yourself one last time with her, and say your goodbyes."

Kurt nodded. "I see the need for that."

"And kill her."

[Googlie]

I left Burge/Ashaandi at the new Command center and walked back with Anastasia to the Spartan Air Command Headquarters. I needed to spend some time with Alexis to prep her for her next few days. And I also wanted to spend time with Alfredo.

Alexis/Santiago was flipping through some messages on her commlink.

"Alexis, we need to talk," I said.

She powered down the commlink and turned to me, listening.

"Alexis, I have told Ashaandi that Sparta will co-operate with him under certain circumstances. We will work together to effect the downfall of Yang. He will, as you know, take over the reins of government in the Hive. I have set certain conditions under which Sparta will find that acceptable.

"You are now, again, my responsibility, and will act as my mouthpiece, giving legitimacy, as Santiago, to my commands. Ashaandi/Burge will remain in nominal command of the armed forces, but the first thing you need to do is to rescind the Civil Liberties Limitation decree of a few weeks ago and restore democracy to our people. You will release your junta members and Governors and Administrators from their personal oath. I'll write you a short speech to that effect.

"You will also announce that you are taking a more constitutional position as Head of State, and that civilian government will be headed by me, as your Prime Minister. I'll write that for you too. Of course, we will announce elections to be held at a suitable time in the future when the threat from Yang has diminished.

"Once the new Command Center has been furnished, we will move the government there. Ashaandi/Burge will also be there, but there are some modifications to the building that I will institute. He will be on a different floor from you and me.

"And, of course, we will bend every effort to locate the real Santiago without alarming too many of our people.

"Now can you bring me up-to-date on what's happening diplomatically?"

Alexis flicked back on the commlink video feed, and the console at the end of the table came to life.

"One thing you should see," she said, activating Michael Forster's message.

"Hmmm," I said. "Salvaging the Unity fusion core. That's more than we can handle ourselves. It'd need support from Morgan and Lal, if not Yang as well to make it happen. Alexis, we need to call a Planetary Council meeting.

"It's a good time to do it, because technically we're in a truce with Yang right now. There'll be two agenda items:

New elections for Planetary Governor, and
Salvage the Unity Fusion core.

"Lal will run against you for Governor, but will only muster his own 176 votes and perhaps Yang's 103, giving him 279.

"We need to garner the rest - our own 180, Morgan's 92 votes and Deirdre's 9, giving us 281.

"We couldn't have done it before the Hive secessions - Lal and Yang together then would have tallied 308 versus our 248.

"You contact CEO Morgan and I'll call Deirdre immediately to secure their votes, then we'll convene Council."

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

"Scotty, how dashing you look. The Tanks have really given you a makeover. If I didn't know better I'd think it was Ian I was talking to."

That brought me up short. I hadn't considered that - not that I had had much choice in the early emergence from the tanks, but now I had an age and appearance only a handful of years older than my own son. Weird science indeed.

"Dee - or should I say Lady Skye?" I jokingly asked of the mature woman who had once been my lover these many years ago on old Earth.

"Enough," she retorted. "Get on with it."

"Dee, we need your vote at an upcoming Council meeting on two issues."

"What about?"

"Electing Planetary Governor."

"I see, and how would you like me to vote?" she asked playfully.

"For Santiago," I replied.

"But Santiago is AWOL," she said. "For Alexis, you mean. And that means for you. Am I right?"

"Put that way, yes. For Sparta, then."

"And if I refuse?"

"Well we'll just have to withdraw our Gaian Guarantee from the table, then, and leave you to the mercy of Yang or Morgan," I replied.

We both knew that this was a ritual dance; that she would vote for Sparta and that we would no more lift our guarantee as attack Velvetgrass Point ourselves.

"Why my dear Scotty, of course I will cast my vote for the Colonel. Now what was the other issue?"

"Our space scientists believe that they have detected the hulk of the Unity, and that it's fusion drive core contains significant energy reserves, in the order of magnitude of 3500 energy credits in total. We are going to propose mounting a mission to salvage that core, but the immensity and enormity of the task is greater than our resources alone can handle. We are going to propose a joint venture among our five factions. We would ask a commitment from each, perhaps relative to each faction's Council votes, with a distribution of the energy credits on the same basis."

"Scott, if we are to be part of this venture, then we will demand an equal share in the gain."

"Well, Dee, you must also be prepared to assume an equal share of the investment - credits, materiel and manpower."

"You know we are neither as technologically advanced as you four, nor as populous. But I accept that condition. We will fund our share, and we will commence the conditioning of some of our mindworm core for space duties."

I wondered just how much a 200 foot long mindworm weighed, and how astronauts would feel having one or two along.

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

CEO Morgan's commlink beeped.

"Morgan here."

His aide's face looked at him from the screen.

"I have Colonel Santiago wishing to speak to you again, Sir.'

"Then put her on, put her on, we can't keep a pactsister waiting can we?"

"Colonel, how pleasant to talk with again so soon. What can I do for you? Has the Chairman given you any response yet?"

"No, none as yet. I imagine he is cloistered with his advisors at this moment. But that is not why I called, CEO Morgan."

"Then pray tell me why," he purred, his mind going into overdrive as he readied himself to see how he could derive a negotiated edge from the about to be divulged reason for the call.

"CEO, I need your vote at an upcoming Council meeting."

"What about?"

"Electing Planetary Governor."

"I see, and how would you like me to vote?" he inquired. "The two candidates will be Lal and yourself, I imagine."

"For me," she replied.

"And if I refuse - if I abstain or vote for Lal?"

"Then I shall denounce this Pact of Brotherhood null and void. If I cannot depend on the support of a Pact Brother in so important an issue, then on what can I depend? And remember, Yang has not replied to my ultimatum. It can still be taken off the table."

Morgan flinched. Alone against Yang? That was unthinkable.

"Why my dear Colonel, of course you have my support. I was simply doing what I always do - exploring the alternatives. There is no question but that we will support our Pact Sister."

"Thank you, CEO Morgan. I knew that our plans would converge," Santiago said sweetly. "I will convene the Planetary Council within the hour."

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

"Splendid," I said, sitting in the shadows out of sight of the commlink vidcam. "We have it by two votes whatever Yang does. Let's get ready for the Council meeting. You'll need some preliminary numbers for the unity project. We should ask for a contribution of 50 credits from each faction to seed the project. I'll get Anastasia to liaise with Forster.

We sat down to do some serious planning.

[Googlie]

Within the hour of the conversations with CEO Morgan and the Lady Deirdre Skye the, new boardroom at the Command Center had been prepared by Octavio and Anastasia. There were two hours left on Ashaandi's timelimit to get back to Googlie with his answer, and four hours to go on the ultimatum to Yang.

Octavio himself was manning the console controls, and Santiago was sitting at the head of the table, her face and shoulders captured by the vidcam for the networked commlinks.

One by one the other faction leaders were brought on line, and their faces appeared side by side spanning the breadth of the vidscreen taking up one wall of the boardroom. Yang was impassive, and it would be hard to tell that there was any animosity at all between he and the Colonel.

They looked expectantly at Santiago. Her hair was arranged to obscure a tiny earpiece that fit her left ear. I had a throatmike attached so that I could prompt her without being heard or without the others being aware that Alexis was being coached.

"I have called this meeting of the Planetary Council to vote for the position of Planetary Governor. According to the informal rules we agreed to at the unity's dying moments, and as I see it, thewre are two candidates for this position.

"As of this afternoon, I command 180 council votes, and you, Dr. Lal, command 176 votes. We are the two candidates for election. Do you all concur?"

All four heads on the screen nodded their agreement.

"I will start the voting. I nominate myself as Planetary Governor, and I so vote.

"How do you vote, Commissioner Lal?"

"I, of course, nominate myself as Planetary Governor, and I so vote."

The graphics illuminated, with the picture of the two faction leaders, and their tallies:

Santiago….180: Lal….176.

"Lady Dierdre, how do you vote?" asked the Colonel.

"I cast my votes for Colonel Santiago," was her response.

The graphics moved:

Santiago….189: Lal….176.

"Chairman Yang, how do you vote?"

"Surely my dear Colonel Santiago you could have just entered the tally without asking? You know I would sooner be dead than see you as Planetary Governor."

"We can arrange that," Santiago murmured, just loud enough for the faction leaders to hear. One or two sported broad grins.

"I cast my votes for Commissioner Lal."

The graphics moved.

Santiago….189: Lal….279

"CEO Morgan, how do you vote?"

All waited expectantly. Most knew that the break up of the pact between the Hive and the Morganites was recent, and that Yang was squirming under an ultimatum from Sparta. But many expected Morgan to vote with Yang, for Lal, or at least to abstain.

"I cast my votes for Colonel Santiago."

The graphics changed again:

Santiago….281: Lal….279.

Winner Santiago:::Winner Santiago:::Winner Santiago

The banner headlines rushed over the screen superimposed over the graphics.

"I declare the vote over, and that I am duly elected Planetary Governor in the year 2225. The next vote cannot be held until the year 2245. Octavio, my aide, will be in touch with each of your offices to arrange for the necessary transmittal of documents and records for the governship."

There was a shuffling from three of the four other faction leaders as they prepared to exit the Council meeting. Lady Deirdre Skye sat content in her lounge at Velvetgrass Point.

"One other issue," said the colonel. The shuffling ceased and they looked expectantly at Santiago.

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

"Analysts in our space division have reported an anomaly on the outer periphery of our orbit of Alpha Prime. Upon further investigation they have confirmed that it is the derelict space vessel Unity, now orbiting our own sun. They have made some calculations and have deduced that the energy banks on the Unity contain the equivalent of 3,500 energy credits.

"I propose a motion that collectively we mount an expedition to salvage the fusion core of the Unity. Preliminary estimates are that we would need to expend between 250 and 500 credits to accomplish this, not accounting for the necessary technical knowledge and launch and support systems. This leads us to believe that it is outwith the ability of any one faction to accomplish it.

"Accordingly I propose Planet's first co-operative venture - one that links us to our past and yet holds out promise of richness for our future. The crew will be multifactional, the launch site guaranteed as an open city by the faction supplying the facility, and the rewards will be commensurate to our investment.

"I propose that we fund the project with initial seed credits of 250, with each of our five factions contributing an equal share, and all sharing equally in the rewards obtained from salvaging the fusion core.

"Do I have a second, and how do you vote?"

There was a moment's pause, then Chairman Yang spoke:

"Much as it grieves me personally to side with you in anything, my dear Colonel, I find myself agreeing with this proposal, as it makes so much sense. I second this proposal and the Hive will suppl the launch site for the venture."

Lady Deirdre Skye spoke next:

"I too support the venture. Although we are poor in credits, we are rich in the possession of an adventuring spirit. We will supply what we are asked for, but I will commit two of my ablest mindworms to accompany the crew to space as a defense against any hostile alien lifeforms that may be there and that may employ psi-weaponry."

Commissioner Lal spoke up:

"I too support the venture, particularly if the Unity itself can be brought into Chiron's orbit. The ideals of the United nations have foundered on this lonely planet, and we all need a reminder of our lofty goals these many years ago, and what better reminder than the Unity that was launched in so much hope. Besides, the energy should not go to waste."

"We have a majority," said the Colonel. "CEO Morgan, do you wish to make it unanimous?"

"Colonel Santiago, you are extremely devious, and dangerous too, might I add.

"No, I do not support this venture. We have together worked extremely hard to develop a planetary economic model that is working well, based on trade between our bases and on the extraction and utilization of minerals, energy and nutrients from this planet. To introduce at this time, in this fashion, a random element of 700 credits to each faction will disrupt planetary economics for years to come. I am vehemently opposed."

"Your opposition is noted, CEO Morgan, but the motion is passed. For the other faction leaders, our investment will be higher than we anticipated, absent CEO Morgan, but of course the reward will be commensurately greater."

"Now just hold your horses, Colonel. I said I was vehemently opposed, but if the mission is proceeding anyway, then I am in. You cannot cut me out of this windfall so easily."

"Then let it be recorded that the vote was unanimous," said Santiago.

"Michael Forster, who heads our Spartan Space Program, will lead this mission. Will each of you please second a senior representative to the mission? It needs repeating that this co-operative project supersedes any and all pacts, treaties and vendettas, and that the team, its facilities and support and supplies are to be treated as inviolate. Do we all agree?"

All nodded their agreement.

"Then I declare this Council meeting over."

The screens went dead.

Googlie rose to his feet, and went up to Alexis, and gave her a celebratory hug.

"You did well," he said to the talented chameleon actress. Now we just have Yang to face down. We need to turn up the screws on him. And we can't let the mission operate out of one of his bases. Unless it's Communal Nexus, the one that seceded to Morgan. That'll stop him from attacking it. Let's build that into our plans."

"You are devious," Alexis said.

"I know," replied Googlie. "I love it."

[Rynn]

Kurt wandered the ship for what seemed like hours, putting off the inevitable.

It was about half way on its journey from Great Clustering to Ruby Ridge Memorial, and the seas were calm in the channel between the two landmasses.

But he could delay no longer, and he returned to the cabin he shared with Shauna for the journey.

She had been weeping, but the tears had abated, and she had found solace in the Conclave Bible she now had full access to through her commlink uplink.

She looked up as he entered.

"Oh, Kurt, what have we done?" she asked.

"Ssshh," he replied. "Let's not talk about it."

He sat down on the cot beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and drew her to him.

Shauna partially resisted, then yielded, and let herself be drawn to him.

He muzzled his face in her hair.

"Shauna, I love you. You know that," he said huskily.

"I know," she sighed. "It's so hard at times."

"So, you won't be a member of the Circle, and I will. That's not too difficult a concept, is it?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

"It's primarily a political movement, and its goals are ones that I subscribe to - and you," he continued. "Except you have pledged your soul to another, and I haven't. I am a believer by conviction that this is a way of life I want to follow. You are a believer through faith that this is the way of salvation. We're not so different."

"Oh, Kurt, I wish it were that easy," Shauna said.

"It is," he said, bringing her face round to his, so that their lips met.

Shauna lay on her back on the cot as Kurt undressed her, releasing the tiny clasps that held her synthcotton blouse on and slowly removing it, savoring her body. He ran his hands over the swell of her breasts as she arched her back to seek out his lips again with hers.

Deep down, she knew that this was going to be the last time that they made love. Their paths would separate and they would go their different ways, serving oh so different masters. She was determined to make it memorable.

She pulled his sweater over his head, then reached round to unfasten her bra.

His lips hungrily moved down her neck to seek out her nipples, exciting her, and bringing them erect as his tongue flicked round them.

They made love slowly, sensuously, and they climaxed together the first time.

Then she gave him that special treat that he craved so often and made love to him with her mouth, bringing him to the brink, then mounting him and finally collapsing, spent, on his chest.

He rolled her gently on to her back, and said "You do trust me, Shauna?"

She looked up at him with such love in her eyes that his misted over.

"I'd do anything for you, Kurt. What do you want?"

He reached down and brought up two lengths of twine, and raised her hands above her head and tied them to a bracket holding a shelf above the cot. Shauna squirmed sensuously underneath him.

"Oooh," she said, looking at him with adoration in her eyes.

Kurt was anguished.

He knew what he had to do to prove himself to the Circle, but this was the woman he loved.

But he had given them his oath.

His eyes misted over again, and misinterpreting it Shauna said, "Oh, Kurt, I love you too. I love you so much."

His eyes filled with tears as he reached down and picked up the synthsteel knife.

"I love you, too, Shauna," he said through his tears.

She looked at him with such faith, such adoration, hungrily taking him in as if she wanted to remember every second of their last lovemaking before they went their separate ways.

Through his tears her face was a blur, but he brought the knife up to her throat and as she looked so trustingly yet questioningly at him and mouthing the word "Kurt?' he commenced the stroke of the blade across her throat.

And his arm and hand were paralyzed, and the screaming in his mind was so intense that he screamed with pain.

"What is it Kurt? What are you doing?" Shauna asked, growing hysterical as she saw the knife poised at her throat.

The voice was in his head:

"You have passed the test, my Kurt. The Circle welcomes you as a full member. You have shown your devotion to us.

You need not kill Shauna. Ashaandi has need of her, although she will not join us. And she is carrying your child. She needs to be protected.

Put down the knife and comfort her, as she is confused and terrified."

The pain and the screaming in his head subsided, and he put the knife down and untied Shauna, and collapsed into her arms.

"Oh, sweetheart, they wanted me to kill you, as a test of my loyalty to them. But Sand stopped me just as I was about to. Said I had proved my loyalty by being prepared to go through with it." He was weeping uncontrollably.

Shauna held him tight.

"Just like Abraham and Isaac," she whispered.

"Huh?" he asked through his tears.

"SShhh, never mind. It's a long story," she replied.

He raised himself on to his elbows.

"And Sand said you are pregnant," he said, looking down on her with love and compassion.

"Yes," she replied. "You are going to be a father."

That set off even more sobs, but this time of joy, and Shauna joined in.

[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited October 04, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

Ashaandi paced and brooded. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. He shook visibly as he walked, and his concentration wavered, causing him to morph uncontrollably. His features flitting almost at random over the countless people he had impersonated over the years. An Empath scanning him would read only seething chaos and madness. No coherent thought patterns at all.

It was actually a dangerous thing to do, to tempt the chaos, but he saw it as a good way to test himself. A good way to stay sharp. Besides, was it any surprise if life had left him somewhat jaded? Different people coped with that in different ways, but it had turned him into an adrenaline junkie. Tempting fate and pushing the envelope was….exciting. It always left him a little rattled afterwards, though. So he could only do it in relative privacy. This was one of those times.

He smiled, savoring the chaos for a several moments, and then finally, almost reluctantly, letting it pass.

When he did, his features settled on a completely bald man with serene eyes. A monk. He used to remember the man’s name. Had remembered it, on the day he killed him.

He wanted to laugh. Now, he could recall neither the man’s name nor why he had died. A pity.

Then suddenly, reveling in his morphing and chameleon talents, he was Burge again. Crusty old warhorse…..not a bad fellow, but he certainly had a knack for getting in the way.

Ashaandi smirked.

Not that he’d have that particular problem in the future.

Control.

That was what was required here.

Exquisite control. For just a little while longer.

Hit Yang fast and hard with the combined forces of the Morganites, Spartans, and Gaians. Rid the planet of him once and for all, and then implement his new order over the remains. Rebuild it. Make it as dark and wonderful and beautiful as his senses could stand.

Oh yes. There would be freedoms for those inside the inner circle. Wild, lavish, orgies of sensory assault that could last for days. As much (or as little) as a man or woman could imagine.

And for the common man, those further removed from Ashaandi’s Inner Circle, there would be an unusual degree of freedom as well, at least by the standards the drones were used to. Yang was a paranoid fool. He did not realize the power of a small taste of freedom. He feared it, because he feared his ability to control it, but Ashaandi knew. He knew very well, and that was why he had been so effective as Yang’s invisible second. His gauntleted fist.

There were no citizens alive in Hive lands that did not fear the Black Squadrons. Men under Ashaandi’s direct command who stole quietly into districts where dissenters lived spirited entire families away to secret locations without a word of explanation. And the Squadrons would continue their efforts when he was in power. They would cement his position.

He smiled.

Dissenters and those who would challenge his rule would be dealt with and dealt with decisively. They would be made an example of.

And yes, much as it chaffed him, he would abide by Governor Allardyce’s “conditions,” though they bordered on the criminal.

When he was in power….when he “suggested” passing his continental zoning initiative…..then he would deal with the arrogant Spartans.

Ashaandi had lived a long, long time. He had been playing the most dangerous of games for far longer than 80% of Chiron’s population had been alive. He knew ways of killing and torturing that people only dreamed, and these visions soothed him. They kept his anger in check.

Control.

He sat at Burge’s desk and tapped a few keys on the Comm-Pad.

Googlie was out, but that was well enough. A simple message would do.

“Googlie, you old cuss, it’s Burge….I accept.”

He clicked off, satisfied, and then let his mind turn once again to the future. Specifically, to what the future held for any who might try and defy him.

The unfaithful.

For them, there would be only…..pain. In quantities and ways that staggered the imagination. He closed his eyes and imagined the sounds of their screaming. So beautiful. A chorus of voices announcing his mastery over them.

That imagined sound ringing in his ears, a slight trace of a smile on his lips, Harrand Ashaandi napped.

And plotted.

[Slats]

SPARTA COMMAND
S.S.D LAUNCH PREPARATION HANGAR

Forster walked past the armoured bulkhead of the hangar doorway having submitted to half a dozen security checks already, including retinal scans, fingerprint match and DNA checks. Access into a place like this was restricted to only to a necessary few.

The vast subterrainean hangar stretched for several hundred metres yet still seemed cluttered due the tonnes of hardware packed inside. Forster walked on past satellites, probes, flight trainers, cargo aircraft, several heavily modified needlejets and there, in one clear and secluded corner, lay the object of his concern.
Whereas around the hangar technicians worked on various machines and equipment, no-one was anywhere near the sleek white shape. It was shaped like a jet liner, yet no windows marred it's side. Big delta wings swept out from a rotund cylinder-like body approximately 25 metres long. A pair of bulges under the wing roots marked the location of two huge jet turbines. Back from the rounded nose were a pair of maneovering canards for added agility. Two small tail fins stuck out at opposing 45 degree angles from atop the fuselage near the rear of the craft. The rear end of the fuselage, which was streamlined backwards was adorned with a trio of rocket thrusters. The end result was a white, double ended pencil with wings sitting on stubby tricycle landing gear.

Forster stepped forward to a hatch in the side of the vehicle forward of the wings. He punched in a binary code on a small keypad, clamps clunked as they released and the circular airlock rotated open. Forster moved inside and walked along round, padded corridors up to the command deck. It was clear this craft would never fly again without major help. Entire consoles were missing, equipment removed, cables dangling, panels gaping. With several vital organs missing, the machine lay stranded and helpless.
Some 60% of the S.S.D's budget last year was spent on the spaceplane Atlas, an experimental prototype meant to bring quick and cheap spacetravel to Sparta. The money hadn't been enough. It lay mostly finished, scavenged as a 'hangar queen', donating parts to needy services.

Yet no longer. Forster returned to the hatch just in time to see a large group of about 20 techs coming this way. Dragging equipment and tools on transport sleds, they were headed right this way. Soon the Atlas would get the destiny she deserved. Forster smiled a wry cracked grin. The mission was a go.

[Hydro]

Somewhere Near Parade Grounds

*****

I open my eyes. Something has jolted me awake.

Where am I?

It is dark and all I hear is a low pulse of sound, more of a steady throb, actually. I have a soft thermoblanket over me and am toasty warm.

This is SO comfy. I just want to close my eyes to go back to sleep.

Unbidden, thoughts start streaming through my head: Where is Miles? Is he still with me? Is Merlin still there? Where am I, and how did I get here?

I sigh heavily. Whether I like it or not, my sleep is shattered.

I sit up, and the top of the themoblanket falls to my lap. I can discern rows of seats in the very dim light.

“Lights.”

The space is instantly, and almost blindingly, illuminated, showing the interior of the fission jet. I am the only passenger.

Squinting as my eyes adjust, I stretch luxuriously and yawn.

What do I remember? Everything seems so rushed these days.

I remember finishing the scans of the new Spartan citizens of Plex Brigade. There were no significant problems after my little incident with Merlin, but by that time I was done I was dead on my feet again. Miles was a great help, but in the end he was exhausted too. I vaguely remember Rao thanking me profusely, and telling me I had another message from that nice woman Helen Tobias of Assassin’s Redoubt. He handed me a datapad and I quickly read through it. Helen’s message said something about a suspected terrorist attack at one of the old Yooper towns, and something about an old researcher. Helen said to meet ‘her people’ at Parade Grounds, where I would meet this old University guy, too.

It really didn’t make any sense, and I was too tired to care. Rao escorted me to the jet Helen’s sent and got some blankets and pillows for me. What a sweet man! Not at all like most officers I have known, who are prickly, aloof, and interested in killing. Luckily, most aren’t like that nasty Kirsten. Now wait a minute: I am an officer! Hopefully I won’t be like that one day!

Looking around, I see my small pack of belongings by my reclined seat. Stuck in one of the outside pockets is the datapad. I’d better read through the message again, since I don’t understand what is going on. Hopefully I’ll be better able to understand. I reach down to get the datapad.

Hmmmmm. I didn’t miss anything, although Andre’s story that Helen included does help a bit. Still, there’s no evidence. What is this ‘solid smoke’? How can it kill so many people, and leave no evidence or bodies? How did the Peacekeepers get a hold of the solid smoke from the UoP, and why did they wait for 25 years to use it? Killing unarmed civilians does not sound like something Commissioner Lal would do. Sounds a little fishy. I think the first thing I should do is scan the researcher Andre to see if this is just an elaborate misunderstanding, a UoP hoax, or really a Peacekeeper plot.

I wonder where Miles is? Or Merlin?

Miles? Merlin? Are you there?

Good evening, Sarah. Miles is resting, I think. You’ve been out only a couple of hours. How do you feel?

Well, a little tired. Now, Merlin, you have some explaining to do. You said that you didn’t want to interrupt or distract me from my work at Plex. Well, now I’m not working. What are you? And where are you!?

heheheh. A little irritable, are we? Still, those are valid questions, and I owe you a lot, including some answers. As to what I am, I am a human being, just like you. In fact, I am also a telepath, although I am not nearly as powerful as you are. As to where I am, well, I am actually in your head. I don’t know if you know this, but you created a ‘bridge’ between us when you blasted down my psi block. Do you know what a bridge is?

Merlin, you’re being evasive. You know what I meant when I said ‘what are you’! No, I don’t know what a bridge is. And what do you mean ‘your’ psi block?

More questions? Well, one at a time. As to the psi block, I was ordered to put it up myself. Once the block was effected, my psi powers were nullified and I would appear as a normal. Only a fairly skilled telepath could detect and then remove my block. In fact, they would have to overcome me to do so.

To answer your unasked question: a bridge is the highest level of connection and is only possible between telepaths. It is like a linking, and it is much more difficult to achieve than mere projection or reading of thoughts. It is also more subtle than altering memory in an unshielded telepath or a normal. A bridge allows the actuating telepath complete access, after study, to the linked individual’s memory. That isn’t so special, since a deep scan can do that. What is amazing about a bridge is that the actuator can actually take the linked individual, and then use his or her abilities. An actuator with enough skill can edit and prune the linked individual. A linked person with an intact persona is a Personality, whereas one that has their personality removed but abilities intact is merely a Face.

Merlin! That’s horrible! You’re talking about a telepathic slave! And empathic torture! I don’t want a slave! I’ll put you back!

You could do that, if you had physical contact with my body. My body, however, is terribly mangled, in a coma, and probably in Assassin’s Redoubt by now. So, for a while you are stuck with me. But I promise to be good.

I didn’t know telepaths could do this. I was never taught about ‘bridging’.

That isn’t surprising, since so few telepaths have the power and finesse to do it. Of those, almost none are trained to do it, or finds out how by accident, like you have. I only know one telepath who can bridge: Ashaandi.

Ashaandi! He is an evil person, even if only half of the stories about him are true!

Sarah, be careful when you use labels like ‘evil’. He is certainly amoral and ruthless, and he may be evil. Some people would consider you evil because of what you can do and have done. It depends on your frame of reference. He may consider himself to be working for the good of mankind, and the fact that he profits enormously is simply a side benefit. Personally, I don’t think he cares too much about the good of mankind, normals, or even other telepaths. They are simply tools.

Merlin, you seem to know a lot about Ashaandi. How do you know?

Haven’t you figured it out yet? I was of the Circle of Ashaandi.

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

[korn469]

Pointa Sur

Pointa Sur was easily the most beautiful city in the Spartan Federation. Many of the most creative artistic minds of the Spartan Federation congregated on it peaceful beaches. Pointa Sur was the only city in the Spartan Federation that waived the minimum five-year military service pledge for four years of community service. Very few people from Pointa Sur ever joined the Spartan military, it was a place that inspired poets, not soldiers.

After years of clashing with Pointa Sur's original governor, Rice Aguilera, the Spartan Military finally gave up on the idea of conscripting Pointa Sur's children right out of the creche like they did in the rest of the federation. Instead, Pointa Sur became the destination of troops on leave. Unlike the nonstop debauchery of Morgan Metagenics, all you could find was the quite beauty of Chiron. Soldiers came back from leave realizing what they were fighting for.

The day was warm and sunny, autumn would set in soon and it wouldn't be this warm for a while. All the people who could be, were outdoors enjoying themselves. Looking around, Dez regretted volunteering for this. His view from the top of the recycling tanks was amazing. The city looked gorgeous. With a sigh he continued. He took out a small square black object that was just slightly thicker than security pass. He then opened the large square package he had just received from his compatriots. It was extremely light and looked like the same tinted material they made the lens to sunglasses with.

"Death to Santiago, long live Zakorhov." He whispered to himself. Then he placed the black activation card on top of the cube and hit the enter button. A LCD display on the activation card showed a green line slowly creep from left to right. Then the line disappeared and the block started sublimating like a block of dry ice would do. Hidden in the wisps of gray smoke coming off the transparent block was activated nanocytes, programmed to spread out and permeated the city then attack it's population all at once.

It the block was becoming an aerosol faster than what Dez expected, in an hour, maybe two everyone including Dez would be dead. He sat there and waited, just watching, from his excellent vantagepoint, the unsuspecting people going about their business. It took less than five minutes for the block to go from a solid state to an aerosol. The vapor rapidly mixing with the air and losing its grayish tint. He kept on waiting, his palms beginning to sweat profusely. Knowing he was going to die soon didn't seem possible.

He picked up his commlink and set it to a broad-spectrum transmission. Then he calmly sent a message for the whole world to hear.

"Carpe Diem Lal!"

Exactly seventy-eight minutes later Dez, and the rest of Pointa Sur were dead.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited October 21, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Somewhere Near Parade Grounds

*****

Ashaandi! No one leaves the Circle of Ashaandi, except dead!

Technically, I haven't really left. You see, I was too valuable to lose and too politically damaged to keep, so Ashaandi decided to put me in storage. Think of it as a deep cover - the ultimate mole. At a time of his liking and convenience Ashaandi would return and remove my psi block. When done, he would have an instant mid-level operative.

What do you mean 'politically damaged'?

I had the misfortune of crossing the wrong person, and get caught. There was no proof, but it didn't matter. The accusation was that I gave certain interested parties in the Spartan Federation the whereabouts of a hated Circle operative. This Cirle operative has many enemies in the Circle, the Hive, and all over Chiron. The Spartan officers tried, and failed, to assassinate him, much to my loss. I was one of the casualties in the purge that followed. This aggrieved operative insisted that my family be put to death. Ashaandi himself saved me from death. In retrospect, Ashaandi probably enjoyed every minute of my pain, and savored the moment when he would release me so I could relive the pain all over again. His punishment was much worse.

I, I'm not sure I want to know all this. It all seems so cold. You seem so cold! How can you be so calm? There isn't any emotion in your thoughts!

Sarah, you did ask, remember? As to being 'cold', that is one of the first things that Ashaandi teaches his initiates after he seduces them into the Circle. I was easy to seduce, as he gave me the woman I had always wanted. He knew then, and I later learned, that this would be his ultimate bargaining chip and my weakness.

Stop it! I don't want to know!

You need to learn that a Personality, like I now am, will almost always answer questions. This is especially true when they are motivated. Sarah, I am VERY motivated. I have lost everything I hold dear and long only for two things. In return for your efforts to obtain my goals I will teach you all I know, and willingly become your tool. My old body is broken and probably useless. You have an amazing, if untempered, talent, Sarah. My goals will be much more easily achieved through you. You may not realize this, but with my training and assistance you may be as powerful as Ashaandi.

The first desire is oblivion. I wish you to turn me into a Face, and use me as you see fit. That is the only way for my pain to go away.

Merlin, I don't think I want to know the second. I think I already know.

Very perceptive, Sarah. You are learning fast if you can see that within my ensconced and linked mind. The second thing I wish is simple: REVENGE.

I want to see the instrument of my destruction's head on a pike.

I want Sand dead.

*****

…Now, Sarah, when you form a empathic shield, what symbol to you visualize?

Merlin, that is a strange question. I think of a shield, of course.

An effective symbol, to be sure. But what do you do if your attacker doesn't think in two dimensions? What if his telepathic attack is not a frontal assault? Perhaps it comes from all directions? Or from two sides? What do you do then? Remember, the SYMBOL is the key!

I'm not sure.

Think! What symbol protects from all sides? Visualize your shield.

Ok.

Now, wrap it around you. Stretch it! Meld its ends together! What do you have?

It's a sphere!

Very good, Sarah! You've mastered the Circle's Second Tier. Shall we continue?

*****

"Pilot Ingrid Halvasaal to Captain Sarah Dawson. We will be landing in 5 minutes, so please secure yourself. I have been asked to inform you that your party is waiting in Terminal 3B."

Pushing Merlin down into my subconscious, I can concentrate on the view. Parade Grounds still looks like a University city, with clusters grayish cylindrical towers capped with multicolored domes. The city itself is very impressive, and beautiful in its own way. Slowly, though, the Spartan influence has been growing. More and more buildings have the unaesthetic squat and angular dun-hued complexes common throughout Sparta. Fully half of the buildings in Parade Ground are Spartan now, though the most impressive ones remain those from the University days.

The jet comes in for final approach and makes a flawless computer-slaved landing. Looking out my window I see a delegation of at least a dozen people approaching. Even before the plane stops they are almost running toward us.

What's going on?

Finally, the plane stops and the gangway unfolds to the tarmac. Moments later a bevy of men and women from Spartan Intelligence and some other military types enter the aircraft. In tow is the obviously bewildered and distraught academic Andre. I recognize him from the holo.

The pilots exit the cockpit with a questioning look on their faces. One of the army officers turns toward them.

"Pilots Halvasaal and Grieves, this plane is being commandeered by the Spartan Military. You will turn it over to our two Air Force pilots who will be arriving shortly."

The two pilots don't hesitate. "Yes Sir! Can we be of assistance?"

"Yes. Work with the maintenance crew to see that the plane is properly provisioned and fueled. We will leave as soon as the pilots arrive."

The two civilian pilots depart in a hurry.

The Army office then approaches me.

"Captain Dawson, I am Coronal Dale Markay. You have been assigned to this investigation task force for the duration of the emergency. Here are your orders. We're glad to have you aboard."

I take the data crystal. No doubt it is in order.

"Sir, what emergency?" I ask.

He looks at me as if I had been hiding under a rock. "I guess you haven't heard the APBs. There has been a genetic attack on Pointa Sur. Initial reports indicate that Pointa Sur has been completely destroyed."

Oh, my god! Solid Smoke wasn't a bluff, or a hoax!

Miles! Merlin!

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

[Googlie]

Darlene and Valerie were playing on the beach just to the southeast of Morgan Pharmaceuticals. The park was lovely, with the trees coming down the hill almost to the water’s edge. A sandy beach had been cleared and it was their favorite spot to go to in an evening.

Up the hill to the northeast of them the forest was profuse, completely hiding the huge mineral borehole that delivered the raw materials for the manufacturing industry.

Just up the hill to the northwest could be seen the towers of the base itself, rimmed on either side by the massive solar panels and mirrors that drew the energy from Chiron’s twin suns.

Out in the bay, as far north as Morgan Metagenics, could be seen the massive tidal harnesses that, like the solar energy collectors, fueled the economy of the base.

It was from the tidal harnesses that the noise came, causing them to look up.

Rising over the bulk of the floating superstructures and roaring overhead towards the base they came, a solid wave of needlejets.

“Oh,” Darlene said. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“Yeah, pretty noisy,” agreed Valerie.

As they disappeared over the base, they heard the KABOOM…KABOOM…KABOOM of multiple explosions.

“Fireworks?” Valerie asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Darlene replied. “I’ve never heard them that loud.”

They wondered what was happening.

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

Patrice was squatting to talk to a child who was holding the hand of his mother who was asking directions from Amber, Patrice’s fellow guard.

They were at the gates to the garrison building on a very relaxed guard duty.

The child pointed to the wall of the armory adjacent to the barracks and said “Pretty,” and as Patrice turned to look he heard the sound in the distance, coming from the bay.

On the wall of the armory was a brilliant red square, about six centimeters in diameter, and as Patrice was wondering what was causing it he saw out of the corner of his eye the penetrator coming in low over the rooftops.

“Shit,” he said, suddenly aware of what he was looking at. He threw the child to the ground and covered him with his body.

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

“Locked on,” said Chuli.

“Steady, steady…..fire one.” Pang, the weapons officer, released one of the two laser guided missiles as Chuli opened the afterburners to take the Penetrator out of any possible enemy fire.

“Shove that up your ultimatum,” Pang muttered as the Pen cleared the base and came in for its second run.

The missile unerringly found its way to the target, and as the armory exploded, taking the entire barracks with it Patrice tried to protect as much of the child’s body with his as possible before the falling debris from the building knocked his life from him.

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

“Man the guns,” yelled Jepson as he heard the first explosions.

The crew of the Morgan cruiser ‘Voracious’ raced to their stations as the penetrators came into view.

Frantically they fired up their target acquisition radar, but with no guidance from the shore based station they were slow in tracking. Also, they were not AAA units, but with the penetrators coming in low over the ocean they might present targets to the crews.

The first salvo splattered on the docks beside them, blowing a gantry over the afterdeck and sending the rear gunnery crew scattering.

“Power up,” shouted Captain Adams. “Let’s get away from the dockside. We’re a sitting duck here and will be restricted in our defense efforts.”

The second penetrator came in over the water, low and fast, suddenly appearing above a tidal harness superstructure. One minute they were looking at the kelp farm buildings atop the harness, and the next there was a huge penetrator bearing down.

“Manual” screamed Jepson as he feverishly swung the missile launchers towards the aircraft.

Too late, he saw the flashes on the wing pylons as the high explosive air to surface missiles fired and seconds later the ‘Voracious’ erupted as its forward magazine exploded.

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

In his office on the top floor of the Energy Bank Tower, Pharma’s tallest, Base Manager Barry Foster looked out over the base in anguish and dismay.

From his vantage point he could clearly see the explosions all over the base as the Hive penetrators were unmolested as they systematically took out the base defenses.

Frantically he dialed up his commlink, on a wide band broadcast on the Morgan network.

“Pharma under attack. Massive airstrike by Hive penetrators. Garrison, barracks and armory destroyed. ‘Voracious’ destroyed in harbor. We are defenseless.”

He looked out of his panoramic window and realized that he was actually looking down on the aircraft marauding his beautiful base, wantonly destroying the efforts of thousands of his people in building over the years.

As his eyes swept seawards, his heart fell.

Appearing from behind the harnesses in the bay he could see three transports nearing the beach, and from their bows, already open to the waves, he could make out the landing craft being launched, each packed to the gunnels with Hive amphibious marines.

He picked up his commlink again, and froze in horror as he saw the muzzle flashes of a penetrator using its chaos cannon to strafe the building.

The shells arced inwards, shattering the glass of the window and spewing their destruction across the room.

The commlink dropped from Barry’s lifeless fingers as his body crumpled to the floor.

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

the landing craft were racing over the surf, their marines ready to leap into action as soon as their feet hit hard ground. One squad, with three craft and about 180 marines, was heading right for the docks. Their mission was clearly to secure the piers for the transports to berth with the remainder of the troops.

Squad two was approaching the base from the southeast, tracking for the beach. The landing craft roared over the final few meters of spray to the beach. Seng Hsui was standing ready to leap into the shallow water as soon as the command was given. Over the bow he saw two Morganites standing transfixed on the beach watching their arrival.

He raised his missile launcher to his shoulder, above the bow, and loosed a salvo.

His aim was unerring. Valerie and Darlene didn’t even know what hit them.

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

Chuli had swung the penetrator round, and was approaching the hillside above Pharma, just beyond the solar collectors. She picked out the major road to Morgan Bank and gave a thumbs up to Pang.

He selected his ordnance carefully.

“Altitude,” he said to Chuli.

This was the dangerous part.

If any Morgan aircraft had scrambled, they would be sitting ducks for a few moments, as they climbed.

But the attack had gone perfectly so far, with an element of absolute surprise.

Chuli leveled out at five thousand meters, then commenced the attack.

Pang had selected the new ‘Tunneler’ missile from his stores that morning. It penetrated into the earth’s crust before detonating, and created a cave into which everything on the surface collapsed. Perfect for road interdiction. The angle was fairly crucial, though.

But there was no resistance, and the missile performed as advertised, neatly cratering the road from Pharma to Bank.

“Secondary destroyed,” said Chuli into her commlink.

Almost simultaneously she heard the “Secondary destroyed” from her colleague some kilometers away as the road from Pharma to Metagenics was cut.

“Let’s hitail it and refuel,” she said, and rocketed over the devastated base to head for great Clustering.

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

The marines had secured the dockside and the transports were disgorging their loads of troops as the beachead fanned out.

The resistance was minimal as the bulk of the garrison troops had been taken out in the first wave of the penetrator attacks. Sporadic firing still came from buildings and chokepoints, but the marines kept relentlessly on, leaving the mopping up for the infantry to do behind them.

The second wave of pens was overhead now, supported this time by interceptors to give them air cover. They concentrated on the surrounding infrastructure to the base, ensuring that any reinforcements sent in by Morgan or his allies would either have to come by sea, run the gauntlet of his pens, or literally drop in by air.

Bravo squad reached their destination – Energy Bank Tower. The drones were milling about, unsure of what to do, and the marines just shoved them aside and stormed to the base administration level.

Barry Foster’s body was still lying on the floor amidst the shards of glass and furniture.

Captain Cyrus Peake, Bravo squad commander, went unerringly to the console at the end of the room, thankfully still intact, and reached out. With a flick of his finger he power up the general broadcast interrupt. This overrode any Morgan News broadcast that might be on the air at the moment in the base.

“Good evening. I am Captain Peake of the Hive Expiditionary Force. Your Base Manager has just surrendered Morgan Pharmaceuticals to the Hive in an effort to save further bloodshed and loss of life, and we have accepted that surrender. Co-operate with our occupying forces and no harm will come to you. Thank you for your diligence in this regard,”

He flicked the link closed.

“Well, it might save a few lives,” he said.

The whole operation had taken just 75 minutes.

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

Chairman Yang sat in his command room, completely alone, waiting for the call.

When it came, he let the commlink chirrup for a few seconds, relishing the moment.

“Yes?”

“It is ours.”

“As was to be expected. Our spies told us it was lightly defended. You have done well.”

He closed the link.

Vindicated again.

Air Marshall Lew had argued that honor had demanded he respond to the ultimatum before attacking, and he had lectured and harangued them for several minutes as to the meaning of honor.

“Was there honor in the Spartan attack on Plex Anthill? Was there honor in the destruction of the borehole at Laborer’s Throng – where even your own son, my dear Marshall, gave his life for the cause? Was there honor in the backstabbing Morgan subverting four of our bases from under our feet?

“Do not talk to me of honor.

“Is there honor in the demeaning ultimatum that the Crazy Colonel has given us – givien us knowing that we could never accept such humiliating terms?

“No, this is my answer. And will continue to be.

“So do not talk to me of honor.”

He picked up his commlink, and punched in Santiago’s secure number.

He got Scott Allardyce’s face instead. ‘Strange’, he thought.

“That is what I think of your ultimatum,” he rasped.

[Googlie]

CEO Morgan was furious.

His generals were in the boardroom at Morgan Industries, a place they rarely visited. And the CEO could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

"How could this have happened?" he stormed.

"General Peterson. Please explain."

Philip Peterson quailed before the implacable gaze of the CEO. He had faced down armed drone rioters, Gaian commandos and mindworms, and had survived. But this was different.

"We…we miscalculated," he offered.

"MISCALCULATED?" shouted the CEO, walking round the table to where the general sat, and swiveling his chair round to look him in the eye. He leaned down until his face was just inches from the other man's.

"And just how did we miscalculate pray tell me?"

"We assumed that Yang would attempt to regain one of his old bases. We denuded our mainland garrisons to staff up in Plex Anthill and the four seceded bases. I guess we assumed that the Spartans would provide a defensive umbrella for us out of Morgan Processing. I left a scout garrison at Pharma."

"You guessed? You assumed?" railed CEO Morgan. "Have you any conception of what this means?"

Peterson hated these rhetorical questions. Whatever answer he gave would infuriate Morgan even more.

"No, I have no idea," he finally said, more to break the pregnant silence as for any other reason.

"No, of course you don't," snapped the CEO. "You are too busy playing soldiers and moving your garrisons around because you guessed or assumed that you have little idea what is happening in the real world."

"Well I know it was one of our better mineral producing bases," the general offered. "That would be a loss."

"You fool," stormed Morgan. "You stupid fool. Wake up Peterson. I'm not concerned about the loss of minerals - well, of course I am, but that pales into insignificance.

"I'm concerned about the Hive gaining Fusion technology. We'd just gotten the technology from Sparta scant weeks ago and had just finished downloading it to each of our bases. Yang will have seized that.

"That's partly why I am so concerned. We're now pacted with Santiago and she'll never trust us with another scientific or military secret if we can't keep them."

"Oh, I see," said Peterson.

"No, you idiot," harangued Morgan. "You don't see. And you don't see because you go through life with your eyes closed. Do you know why I am so furious?"

'Oh, another of these rhetorical questions,' thought Peterson, getting angry at the humiliation.

"No, CEO, I'm not a mind reader," he said.

"No, general, that you are most definitely not. I'm furious because we have handed Yang the Hunter Seeker Algorithm on a platter."

"But….I thought that was being constructed at Bank?" the general stammered.

"With their puny mineral production?" sneered Morgan. "Open your eyes, man. After Industries, Metagenics and Pharma are our two most prolific mineral producers. We switched production of the Secret project to Pharma.

"And now your guessing and assumptions have given them right into Yang's hands.

"Now what are you going to do to get it back?"

General Peterson had no idea.

[Googlie]

The commlink chirped.

CEO Morgan flicked on the wall console. “Yes?” he inquired.

It was Cornell Lumumba, his garrison chief at Morgan Industries.

“Sir, we have a problem at the borehole.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Sir, it’s difficult to explain. I’ll feed the link through.”

All heads in the boardroom looked on in horror and fascination as the vidcams picked up the scene.

There appeared to be a new island just offshore in the bay by the borehole. The camera picked up the movement of hordes of mindworms swarming from the island to the hole and entering it, filling it with heir mass. About a third of them moved directly from the isle to the forested area and road leading from the base to the borehole, taking up position just at the base perimeter.

“Good God, there must be a dozen or fifteen of these suckers,” CEO Morgan said.

“Seventeen, Sir,” said Lumumba. We reran the vid in slomo and counted.”

“What are they doing now?”

“We think they are massing for attack,” he replied.

“What happened to the miners and admin staff?” Morgan asked.

“We hate to speculate, but in my estimation we think they’re gonners,” he replied.

“And there’s another thing,” he added.

“Yes?” said the CEO.

“It looks like they are organized. Watch a replay of the feed I sent, and look at how the first one out seems to marshal and direct the others pouring into the hole and into the forest. Seems to be in some sort of command.”

“Thanks, Cornell,” said Morgan. “Hold tight, we’ll get the airforce at them. And with the other stuff happening with yang we’d better ask Sparta for whatever help they can give us.”

He flicked the console off, and swiveled his chair back round to face his generals.

“You all know what this means?”

Peterson sighed. Not another of those damned rhetorical questions the CEO was so fond of throwing at them. They waited.

“If they are controlled, there is only one faction that has the capability. The Gaians.

“I need to talk to the Lady herself.”

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

Alphonse lay in the protection of the forest just outside Morgan Industries.

He sensed the satisfaction of his squad as they feasted on the engineers and miners at the borehole, laying their larvae and re-establishing Planet’s dominance over the alien species that was so despoiling it. He held back, having no need to, as he already was a demon boil.

He also sensed Planet’s approbation. Washing over his espersense like a soothing tide lapping up on a sandy beach.

You have done well the voice said. But this is only the beginning. There is still much to do

The “call” from Planet had come just after he had left Sarah and turned himself “free”. He had sensed the pull of Planet, that insidious presence in his fledgling consciousness, that there had to be a fightback against the alien’s depredations of planet.

Accordingly he had traveled to the bay to the west of Sparta Command, and under cover of darkness had summoned an Isle of the Deep.

They had crossed the ocean to the Ruins, by the Great Northern desert, and there he had commenced his recruiting campaign. He had subdued the first two or three mindworms, then taught them to subdue others.

They had boarded the Isle again and traversed to the west coast of the Emerald Isle, where his budding brigade had enlisted more recruits. He was aiming for twenty.

Then Planet had summoned.

Alphonse. It is time. Events are unfolding. You must act now.

The Isle had taken them past Morgan Hydro, weaving through the lines of tidal harnessers, until it deposited them at their destination.

He had been intrigued by the Isle. A sentient being, like himself, strong psi powers, it was a collection of nautical mindworms that had adapted to load carrying. In the center of its mass were a number of hollowed out tendrils that moved the Isle on an impellor system. Drawing in water at the front, and through a series of coordinated muscle contractions and pulses, moved the flow of water through a set of ever constricting organic pipes to the rear where it was ejected with enough force to propel the Isle at a respectable speed. It could outrun most surface vessels, and with its strong psi-power was a match for most in combat, unless empathically enhanced.

Having deposited them, the Isle had moved back into the ocean awaiting Alphonse’s further instructions.

He himself waited, letting his troops advance through a life cycle as they savored the one-sided combat with the poorly armed engineers and miners and administrative personnel.

He waited for Planet’s signal to proceed.

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

[Googlie]

They came in from the southwest with their Spartan escort, the four Gaian needlejets resplendent in their mottled green and russet camouflage. The two Thrashers had each taken up position slightly above and behind the larger Penetrators on the starboard side. The sleek silvered Fusion Indigo that Slats had sent up to welcome them when they entered Spartan airspace led the way to the base, then waggled his wings in salutation and veered off for the front.

Julia let Stephen in his Penetrator lead Justin Fairbanks in the accompanying Thrasher in to the landing strip on which they touched down almost simultaneously, the smaller interceptor just behind and to the right of the pen.

"Let's go and have a perfect synchronized touchdown," she said to Sharon Fox who was piloting the other penetrator as they commenced their final approach.

"Well that's up to you," Sharon replied. I lead the orchestra in this, you just follow along."

She held position right to wheels on, which they did achieve within milliseconds of each other.

"Wow, it's like simultaneous orgasm," said Stephen as he and Justin watched the two needlejets touch down and roll on to the taxiway. "Great when it happens and frustrating when it doesn't."

"Just means that you need more practice," grunted Cathy, his W.O.

The four needlejets parked neatly to one side of the plascrete apron, and the crews descended.

Slats had sent Jill as the official welcoming committee representing the SAC and Googlie himself had come down to the reception hall to represent the Spartan government.

Jill and Julia hugged each other.

"Welcome back," said Jill. "We've missed you."

"And I've missed you guys," she replied.

She turned to Googlie, having no idea who he was. The last time she had seen him he had been pushing sixty, with a mane of silver hair. Now she was being greeted by this dashing young officer representing the government.

She stuck out her hand:

"I don't believe we have had the pleasure…."

Googlie took her hand in both his:

"Julia, am I so much different?"

She looked at him closely, and asked:

"Have we met before?"

"Look," he replied, releasing her hand, and reaching into his pocket. "I still have the batteries. I didn't need to shatter the beacon."

She looked at him, then her face lit up as if the dawning suns had illuminated it.

"Googlie," she said, "You've been in the rejuv tanks."

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, and whispered "Hi, Dad"

To his manifest confusion, Googlie blushed.

Jill was amused although she hadn't heard the exchange between them. All of Googlie's former subordinates had gone through the same disbelief. Was this young officer - in some cases younger than they themselves were - really the same head on young shoulders? Was this the man whom they had revered when they joined the SAC?

Defusing the moment Googlie said:

"I think Slats wants to have you report as soon as you've freshened up, so, officially, Wing Commander Santiago, welcome to the Spartan Federation. The contribution of the Stepdaughters of Gaia is valued, the more so as earlier today the Hive launched a blitzkreig attack on Morgan Pharmaceutical, and rapidly overran the base. So our work is cut out for us.

"So off you and your colleagues go, and I'll look forward to spending some time with you in the days ahead."

She saluted them smartly, and then she and her fellow crew members went with Jill into the building.

Googlie looked at her retreating figure. 'Mmmm,' he thought. 'In other times in different circumstances I'd make a pass at her.' Then he pulled himself up. 'Good grief, man. She's your own daughter.'

[Velociryx]

“They were so beautiful in their agony.” He whispered that phrase over and over again in his sleep, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “So beautiful…..”

Dark visions danced before his eyes. Shadow-laden corridors, bodies chained and writhing in pain as his Black Squadrons brought the unfaithful to heel. Torture was such an exquisite, delicious process….

And then some primitive sense grabbed him. Something animal and dangerous inside him snapped to attention, which caused his jaw to harden in his sleep.

He was being watched.

He forced his eyes open, one hand reaching for the monofilament whip he kept at his belt. It could decapitate a man in the hands of someone who knew how to wield it.

Ashaandi knew how to wield it very well indeed.

Burge’s office was empty, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Someone had been watching him.

“And you say you’re less paranoid than Yang.” A deep, rich voice said contemptuously.

Ashaandi sneered. “More toys, Mister Stone? And where are you this time? You know, I have killed much greater men for much lesser things than the stunt you just pulled….you play a dangerous game.”

A faint laughter. “Frankly, Commander, I’m not intimidated.”

It was an old game.

Ron Stone. Keeper of the children.

Ashaandi shook his head as the HHD (Hovering Holodisc….actually more a child’s toy than anything) appeared at the window and Ron’s face appeared floating, projected just inside the office. It was, as usual, faintly pinched, a troubled look on the big man’s brow. No doubt about it, Ron Stone did not enjoy talking to Harrand Ashaandi, even though, over the years, the two men had developed what might even be called a guarded and grudging….friendship? No. Certainly not that….but something. Definitely something.

Maybe that was part of what kept him alive.

Ron Stone was a walking enigma.

He had no powers whatsoever. No morphing or empathing. No training as a soldier, terrorist, or assassin….in fact, he was a school teacher. The Creche Master at the Great Clustering, and former Gaian citizen.

He had no important friends to protect him.

He had no political aspirations.

And yet…..

The assassin had never been able to place it, exactly. There was something solid and good and right about the man. Yes, it was true, he was annoying, sometimes self-righteous, often arrogant in classic Gaian form, and it was clear that he knew all sorts of sordid details about Ashaandi’s past. He was a threat, and he should be eliminated, but he could never quite bring himself to do it.

Sentimental? Perhaps. But, the fact was, he had two things in common with the man. First, like him, Ron was the very best at what he did, and the children needed someone to care for them. And second was the children themselves. So innocent. Pure. Too young to fully appreciate the broad range of sensory indulgence that awaited them in adulthood. Pleasure….Pain….two sides of the same coin…..and either, when induced with sufficient intensity, produced screaming.

He smiled again at that thought, and Ron scowled at him as though reading his thoughts.

“’They were so beautiful in their agony.’” He snorted. “That’s what you said while you were sleeping…..you’re a twisted bastard, you know that?”

“And you are on thin ice…..I have known you for many years, Mister Stone….and you have known me….take care not to push too far.”

“An old debate....you know where I stand, and you always know where you can find me. If you want me dead, send your little black-clad minions if you don’t mind a few of them getting hurt before they get lucky and get me….or have the courage to come here and do it yourself…..if you’re just gonna talk about it….well, you know what I think of talk.”

Ashaandi couldn’t help but smile. Ron was so good for him sometimes. “Why have you sought me out, and who told you where to find me?”

“I badgered all the right people until I got an answer….I think your lackeys just don’t like dealing with me….” He smiled. “But don’t worry……I scanned the room to make sure you were alone before I activated the holo….didn’t want to disrupt your plans or your ‘mission,’ whatever it might be……but the fact is, The Creche is badly in need of more funding….”

The assassin blinked. He could hardly believe it. He was deep in enemy territory and everybody seemed to know that he was an imposter…..worse, he was attempting to carve out an entire empire for himself, redefine the course of world history, change the global landscape…..and in comes Ron Stone, hand out, looking for a few measley energy credits for his Creche. Incredible.

Ashaandi kept his face impassive and nodded. “What do you need?”

“About 80 energy credits should do the trick…..we’ve only had limited access to the base's emergency power-grid since the explosion of the reactor core, and I’ve been hand carrying water here for the children. I’ve called in about all the favors I could to raise some money for repairs, but it’s not enough….and of course, the government is foot-dragging and not willing to part with a damned thing….what do you say?”

“I think you’re skimming off the top.”

Ron Stone looked genuinely hurt. “You know I wouldn’t do that. I can send you the written estimate if you need proof….besides….why would I do that…..steal from the ‘great’ assassin.”

Ashaandi let the barb go, vaguely realizing that had anybody else made such a dig, he would have killed them almost reflexively. Instead, he found himself saying: “I’ll wire the money into the Creche account.”

Ron nodded curtly. “Thank you.” He was about to go, Ashaandi knew, as the disc became fainter and harder to see, but then it surged back to full radiance, and Ron’s face actually softened slightly. “Oh, and by the way, Kira asked about you again.”

“She did?” His voice lilted higher, and suddenly he sounded like a young, excited father. He wasn’t, of course, but the sound was certainly there. And something else, too. Something that lurched and fluttered inside his stomach. A feeling he was unaccustomed to.

Ron nodded. “I told her you would be back to see her and the others again as soon as you were back from ‘vacation.’”

Suddenly, Ashaandi found it difficult to speak. His throat felt thick and constricted. A jumble of thoughts scrambling about in his head….a thousand words he wanted to say, but suddenly, he couldn’t put them into any kind of order that made sense. Finally, he settled on a simple, “Thank you…..and if you think….I mean….if….”

Ron’s features seemed to soften further, and he actually smiled. It was a good smile. Genuine. Honest. “Don’t see why not….and it’s not like I could stop you.”

Silence for a moment.

“Anyway, I thought you might want to know.”

Before Ashaandi could respond, the disc faded away to nothingness, leaving him with his thoughts.

Only a handful of the people closest to him knew of his strange…..interest? Hobby? He wasn’t quite sure what to call it. And many people would consider it strange, that a heartless, cold-blooded assassin would have a soft spot in his heart for children, and Ashaandi himself could not really explain it, but it was there nonetheless.

Many small-minded people would worry that it was some kind of perversion. That he lusted after the children or something similar. Nothing could be further from the truth. He protected them. Quietly looked after them. Secretly funded Ron Stone’s efforts to ensure that the children had the little extras which were so important.

He cared for all of them, but Kira Tolliver was his favorite.

It had never been his intention for any of the children to ever see him. He had been content to watch them from the shadows. But Fate, or Destiny, or perhaps just happenstance brought him to the Crèche one afternoon to help deal with a minor emergency. A fire had broken out in the warrens, and Ron had to evacuate the children. There were some minor injuries, and, rather than have to file the paperwork and deal with the bureaucrats, Ashaandi had appeared like some dark guardian angel and greased the wheels for them. He had been worried about the children seeing him, but could not really put a name on exactly why, and in any caes, that anxiety had passed quickly enough when he immersed himself in the situation.

Kira had only been five then. She had dark, slightly curled hair which ran about a third of the way down her back. Eyes wide and curious, and a lovely shade of deep brown.

She had soot on her cheeks from the fire when he first saw her, and there were tears shining in her eyes. Not from fear, but from the stinging smoke.

That was the most remarkable thing about the little girl. No fear. Not of the fire, and not of the assassin (not that she knew who he was, of course). He remembered that first meeting with her like it was yesterday.

“Are you the fireman?” She asked him, wiping away the tears which threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“In a manner of speaking, yes I am, young lady, but not….”

“You don’t look like a fireman to me.” She told him. “You don’t even have a hat.”

Ah, the beautiful directness of children. And what to say in response to that? He couldn’t think of a thing. So, he caressed her cheek, patted her head, and picked her up, then followed Ron Stone as he led the children to the medical facility. A brief wait, and they were all seen privately, cleaned up, and given the green light to go home.

Many of their parents would be working for hours yet (no time off in the Hive for trivial things such as fires), and Ron’s Hab-Cell was too small and cramped to hold them all, so Ashaandi paid for a room in one of the few hotels in the Clustering, and they stayed there for the rest of the day. Ice cream was a rare and expensive luxury on Chiron in general, and especially rare in HiveLands, but he scared some up from someplace, and gave the children a special treat indeed.

Two days later, he received a card, mailed to him at his government office (Officially, he was listed as the Assistant to the Minister of Finance). It had been drawn by the hand of the little five year old girl and depicted he and Ron Stone leading the children away from a burning building. The picture was much more dramatic than the actual event had been, but perhaps not from a child’s perspective.

It was the first time he could remember anyone ever giving anything to him, and it affected him in a strange and deeply profound way. He tried not to think about it much, for fear of what he might discover about himself. For fear that it might unravel him in some way, but it was there, and every time Ron told him that the little girl mentioned him or asked about him, it put a lump in his throat.

She would be turning eight soon.

He smiled at that. Eight years old, with Chiron as the only world she had ever known. Innocent and pure….a clean slate.

Much to his surprise, he found himself wondering what he might get her for her birthday. Maybe he would ask Ron's advice. That would be a good thing for two reasons. First, it would show Ron that he really did value his opinion, and second, it would all but guanantee a delightful gift for the little girl....Ron had excellent taste, and a great sense for what kids liked.

For a brief time at least, his grand plans and subtle schemes were put on hold, and in their place was the thought of making a little girl smile on her birthday.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited October 06, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

He looked at himself in the mirror appraisingly, and frowned. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he decided that he looked uncannily like a giant, barrel chested raccoon. On top of that, he really needed to shave. He flexed the muscles in his arms and chest, noting the pleasant ache in them. That had been a small price indeed, considering what had been gained. Mr. And Mrs. Lee, three doors down, now had a brand new water purifier built and installed, and not a moment too soon, either. The pH levels in their drinking water had gotten dangerously high, and of course, the government had been unwilling to do anything about it. Cheaper to let them drink unsafe water and simply die….and besides, then a Hab-cell would be free. But the Lees were good neighbors, and Ron thought he knew enough to cobble something together for them.

It had been a heavy, ungainly piece of equipment, and he and Mr. Lee had been working on it over at the machine shop after hours for three months, but they finally had it finished, lugged it to their hab-cell, then ripped up the flooring in the tiny kitchen to install it. They’d had to stay up two hours past curfew to finish, but they finally got it done….still, tomorrow stood to be a busy day, he’d finally gotten approval to take the children on a tour of the People’s Science Labs to show them the “Fungal Garden” that had been constructed to study it in a controlled environment. He was getting too old to stay up half the night working and then have enough energy to keep up with the little ones.

He smiled sleepily. Definitely needed to get more sleep, but it had all been worth it, so he drew in a deep breath, sighed heavily and shrugged it off as best he could, then shambled into what he jokingly referred to as his “living room,” which amounted to a three or four foot square area at the foot of his bed with two folding chairs for any company he might have, a barstool between them to serve as a table, and a wall-mounted shelf which held his vid-unit, which he had long ago learned to ignore.

It ran 24 hours a day, as it did every Hive Hab-Cell. In fact, there was no way to turn it off. Sensors inside the unit detected the powerflow, and if it failed for any reason, a service technician showed up in short order to repair or replace the unit. It was a key element in the good Chairman’s endless propaganda machine.

He glanced up long enough to take in the current story. Apparently, the Hive had found yet another reason to go to war….and today, it seemed the enemy of choice was the Morganites. Ron grimaced as the body count began scrolling across the screen. He knew it was inflated, but still….the Hive was reporting the Morganic death toll to be over 30,000…..he fought off a shiver. Even if it was only half that number….or a third, it would still be too many.

His mind wandered back to when he was younger….watching the swarms of Hivean soldiers approach Gaia’s Landing. The administrator frantically calling for volunteers to help the regular militia units stand against them….someone thrusting an Impact Rifle into his hands…..He closed his eyes, and remembered.

The main battle had been short and decisive. The Gaian defenders were hopelessly outgunned, outnumbered, and outclassed. The attack had come out of nowhere, and there had been little time to prepare. Still, there were pockets of resistance which managed to hold out for more than three days.

Ronald H. Stone had fallen somewhere in between those two extremes.

He hadn’t had the slightest idea what to do with the rifle that had been forced into his unwilling hands, but he gripped it tightly and followed the man in front of him, who seemed to know where he was headed. Then there was an explosion somewhere, and he felt a wave of pressure wash over him and lift him completely off the ground.

When he could convince his legs to work again, he stood, and wiped a liberal amount of blood from his face. He wasn’t sure how much was his and how much was not.

The man he had been following was nowhere to be seen.

Someone shouted at him then, and all the blood seemed to drain out of his upper body. It was the Hive. The enemy. They were all around him and getting closer.

That’s when his body had simply started acting on its own. Some primitive survival instinct had taken over, and his finger began massaging the trigger of the Impact Rifle with a smooth, steady rhythm. Formal training or not, his body seemed to know what to do.

He could almost imagine the look on his face as he ran from one burned out building to another, slinking through the debris and cutting down anything wearing burnished blue battle armor that moved. A ‘whirlwind of destruction’, they had dubbed him later.

To this day, he could not explain it. Didn’t want to. Didn’t even want to think about it.

He had no idea how many men he killed that day. In truth, he had tried a good many times to block it out of his mind, and more than once had considered submitting himself for a mindwipe to get rid of the grisly images he still held with him. The children were the only thing that stopped him from going through with it.

Yes….the children. And people like Mr. And Mrs. Lee. They needed him. They were proof positive that he was making a difference. Painfully slowly as his progress might be, he was making a difference, one person at a time.

For a moment, that thought brought a smile to his face, but then the memories of the fall of Gaia’s Landing came flooding back into the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, he was captured, and the original plan had been to lobotomize him and use him as a shock trooper. He certainly had the right build for it.

But, as it stood, the troopers took to looting, and did quite a lot of damage, both to the infrastructure of the base, and to the outlying farmland, and his skills as a botanist were needed to help salvage at least something of the harvest.

After that, they kept him moving around a good bit, settling on Sea Outpost as his home for a while, working on a mining platform. It had been back breaking work and endless hours, but he’d endured it in his own, quiet way.

At some point (and truthfully, he didn’t really remember when), someone discovered that he had a natural gift when it came to dealing with children, and his position as Crèche Master had been cemented. He was moved to the Great Clustering, given a small budget, and turned more or less loose. Closely monitored, to be sure, but still given slightly more freedoms than the average Hivean, which was, as he found out later, done intentionally to drive a wedge of resentment between him and anyone who might be inclined to befriend him. Despite popular opinion to the contrary, Mind Control, Hive-Style could be a very subtle, dangerous thing.

It had been slow going, but he had finally overcome much of that resentment and actually started making some friends, and the kids were great, as always. They really were the thing that kept him going. Well, them and his secret ‘crusade.’

He looked at the clock. Almost midnight (and now dangerously past curfew). Nearly time to begin again.

He shuffled tiredly over to the tiny nightstand beside his narrow bed and almost reverently lifted his pair of Celtic ‘Wisdom Bracelets,’ sliding them on carefully. He had seen pictures of them in the datalink files, and been quite taken with their design. It had been painstaking work, because he was by no means an artist, but after more than two months of trying, he finally managed to make a worthy replica. In the process, he wound up learning a great deal about the Celts of ancient Earth. An amazing people, but despite their wisdom and many advances, one thing they never got around to designing was the clasp. Somehow, the thought made him smile as he tightened the imitation leather straps (actually thin strips of cured Fungal Vine) and secured the bracelets to his wrists.

The symbolism was important to him, and the moment he put them on, he felt some of the weariness draining away from him. He shut his eyes for a long moment, drew in a deep breath, and let that feeling swell and grow.

Finally, he was ready.

Gone was Ronald H. Stone, and in his place was Silvermane, his on-air name.

The transmitting equipment was outdated, and had been cobbled together from various black market sources over the years. It had good range though, and a top-quality security routine, which basically boosted the signal strength and bounced it off of signal towers in a random pattern all over the Hive until it became impossible to trace the point of origin….and a good thing too. If he was ever discovered, it would mean his death, and likely by a most unpleasant means.

He put that thought out of his mind and picked the microphone up.

He began his “show” the same way every evening: “It’s the witching hour once again, and this is Silvermane, broadcasting live from somewhere deep inside the Belly of the Beast…..welcome to Pirate Radio….flying in the face of the Hive’s oppression….”

As he spoke the words that had become so familiar to him over the last few years, he wondered if anybody out there was listening, or if he was taking the risk for nothing.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited October 07, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited October 07, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Near Pointa Sur

After the jet took off I reviewed my orders. As I suspected, everything was in order. I have been assigned to this Investigation Commission, and the orders had been issued a whole 2 hours ago. Someone was working fast. I suspect that Helen is better connected that I thought. She does have a military bearing to her. That isn’t saying much, since all Spartans are required to serve a period of at least 4-years in the military. Many of the best and the brightest elect to stay in the military. Though retired, Helen is obviously was one of these.

No one seems to be paying any particular attention to me. That’s generally fine, but I need to know what is going on. I approach Coronal Markay.

“Coronal, can you give me a rundown of what we know?”

He turns from his fellow officers, but doesn’t seem to be annoyed at my question.

“Captain, we really don’t know much more than I have told you. Besides a few survivors, we will be the first team on the scene. We will be expected to find out, and issue a confidential report ASAP. Obviously, the area is under a strict quarantine. You could assist us, though. I know you are an empath. We have questioned Dr. Zahrenov, but a follow up questioning by you would be very useful. Do you understand?”

I certainly do. You want me to deep scan him, I thought to myself.

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

Coronal Markay nods once, and I recognize it for a dismissal.

The jet, though small, is surprisingly quiet and steady. Must be of Morgan manufacture. I make my way back to the rear of the plane where Andre is surrounded by a pair of gruff-looking infantry types. They aren’t talking to him, and Andre looks miserable and pathetic. His face is ashen grey, and looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Considering events, he probably hasn’t.

His guards eye me suspiciously as I approach, and look like they would eagerly beat me senseless if I so much as breath wrong. Andre is just staring at the back of the seat in front of him.

“Privates, Coronal Markay has asked that I question Andre.”

The guard nearest the isle subvocalizes into what I assume is a microcom, then vacates his seat. He moves over to the seat across the isle and continues to eye me appraisingly.

Moving slowly and deliberately I sit down next to Andre and look over at him.

“Andre, my name is Sarah Dawson. I’ve been asked to ask you some questions.”

He looks over to me. There is a look of profound sadness in his eyes. “I’ve already told everything I know. It was supposed to be a tool for healing. It could have ushered in an age of virtual immortality for everyone, not just the elite few. Instead, it was used for killing. I don’t understand. I am somehow responsible.”

“Andre, pretend you haven’t told anyone anything. I am an empath, and am going to scan you. You should know that. Please, start from the beginning. We have time.”

“Scan as deep as you like, young lady. I’m not lying.”

He launched into his tale of idealistic researchers 30 years ago, grand hopes, and the steady loss in the UoP’s war with the barbaric and backward Spartans. Concurrent with the war effort came Solid Smoke, whose nanocytes can either repair or rip your cells apart. Then there was the destruction of all data on Solid Smoke and the subsequent death of the lead researcher Dr. Konstantin, who committed suicide to prevent its secrets from falling into Spartan hands. He recalled the chaos after the UoP’s defeat by the Spartans. And then of his surprise receipt of the crystal from a UoP resistance leader 25 long years later from someone named Kali.

One thing was clear. He was not lying, or at least he implicitly believes what he was telling me. The second is that his guilt driving him to the verge to suicide.

He is a good man. I will have to help him through this, if I can.

*****

Coronal Markay startes passing out full bio suits. The frenzied and panicked transmissions from the few survivors indicates the danger may have passed, but with this virulent an agent it was not worth taking chances. Andre indicates that the nanocytes have a very limited ‘life’, typically ranging from nanoseconds to days. It was unclear how these were programmed, but after almost 8 hours it was unlikely the nanocytes were still active.

However, ‘unlikely’ isn’t good enough.

The Coronal orderes that the plane take a few side sweeps over the city of Pointa Sur. It is strangely quiet, with no moving vehicles and no one on the streets. As Andre predicted, there are also no bodies we could discern at this height, even when we flew 30 meters above street level. Everyone is glued to the plastiwindows, with the horror of the quiet city permeating the entire cabin.

Finally, the Coronal orderes our Army MDs to prepare their equipment, and that we are going to land. He also orderes our pilots to contact the few survivors on a secure band, and order them to meet us at the ferrocrete tarmac and small terminal that passed for an aerospace center.

We make our approach.

*****

Eyes wide with shock - that is what I will remember about the survivors. I will also remember the piles clothes and greyish-white dust in the vague forms of bodies, which was all that remained after the nanocytes completed their cellular destruction. Less than 2 kilos of elemental components remained of each human, primarily carbon and calcium. Our MDs report that water and gasses were volatilized and quickly dissipated into the atmosphere. With that, the nanocytes ‘died’.

The small piles of dust are quickly blowing away, too, from the steady winds from sea. In a short time it would be as if they never existed.

There are more survivors than expected. Fully 300 frightened individuals rush to tell their story. Inevitably, none had been in the city during the attack. Most had at some other locale and had returned into the silent horror of Pointa Sur. Moreover, many of the mechfarms had farm families and small satellite communities that were still intact, but those people made it clear that they would not go into the city under any circumstances. I don’t blame them one bit. By plotting the kill zone it was clear the nanocytes were airborne and had been blown inland in a roughly 10-kilometer diameter teardrop shape, and away from small outlying communities. It looks like the strong sea breezes of Pointa Sur had saved some of its population. In total, a little more than a thousand survivors were identified. Pointa Sur would continue as a city, but would be a shadow of its former self.

Instead of a city of poets and beauty it would be a city marked with the curse of invisible and horrible death.

*****

“Marlo, Harrison, stay here and interview the survivors on holo. The rest of us, to the Police Station. We have to download and review their surveillance recordings,” Coronal Markay ordered.

Dutifully, we followed him two blocks down the street to the police complex. Like all Spartan cities, it was integrated into the Command Centers and was a vital part of the security establishment. Police constantly monitored all vital portions of the city’s operations, especially now that the Junta has declared martial law.

Like the rest of the city, the Police and Command Centers were quiet. Still in our biosuits, we entered and found a series of uniforms and the ubiquitous grey ash - not that we expected any different.

The coronal’s techs quickly entered the overrides into the Pointa Sur police datalinks. After finishing they looked up at the Coronal.

“Call up the vids for the station approximately 8 hours ago. Do a queue search to ID any anomalous activities,”

The techs immediately got to work.

It didn’t find them long to find the files.

*****

“We have a A-23 down at Markies again. We should shut them down. This is the third time this week that fights have broken out there, even after our warnings. I think we could make a case for disturbing the peace.”

“Sarel, give it a rest. All that is going on is a couple of tourists, or Spartan solders on leave, are letting off some steam. We don’t have to shut them down. All we have to do is threaten to revoke their fungalgin and liquor license and suggest they water the firewater down a little. They’ll get the message.”

“Sarg, you have to take this seriously! Have you ever been to Ft. Superiority? Now THERE is order! When I was there for training last month I saw the police stop three disorderlies and stun them to the ground! On the spot! Ft. Soup is nice and neat, clean as you please. And it was an old Yooper town, with lots of dissident types. And we can’t even control a bar!”

“Officer Sarel, you may not realize this, but martial law will not last for ever. After it is gone we have to live here! We are a small town, and everyone is our neighbor. Believe me, son, when I say don’t get carried away. People have long memories, and you don’t want to get a reputation for brutality. That sort of thing can get you fired. Got it?”

“But how will we ever make a name for ourselves? We have to show we aren’t just a little backwater!”

“Sarel, do you know how many request I have for transfers to here from big cities like Ft. Superiority? Hundreds! Son, this is probably the most coveted police job there is. We have low crime and a beautiful town. Do you want to be like Ft. Superiority? I don’t think so. Just count your blessings.”

“I suppose so. Still, we should keep an eye on Markies.”

“Sarel, that is a good idea. You do that, and if they get farther out of line, report it to me.”

“Yes Sir! I’ll tell them about the…Sarg – I feel kind of dizzy. Sarg? SARGE!”

Sarel ran over to his sergeant, who abruptly leaned against his desk. The left side of his body started to become indistinct and he emitted a low gurgling moan of pain.

Sarel watched as the left side of his sergeant’s face melted and sloughed away. His blue-green uniform ballooned out from his abdomen and popped, emitting a wet and red fan-like spray as he crumpled to the floor.

The spray caught the stunned Sarel, and he watched his sergeant melt and outgas. After several minutes Sarel started to look around nervously and he backed away. Abruptly, he put his hand to his right thigh.

“No! Noooooo!”

Saral collapsed to the floor as his leg dissolved. He cries of agony and dismay became wet, and after a moment he arched his back and a small gyser of red gas and water vapor erupted from his chest.

His now glassy eyes stared directly into the surveillance camera until they, too, dissolved into liquid, then to dust.

*****

“Sarah, please come with me,” Coronal Markay ordered.

I joined him in a commandeered vehicle. There were many of these lying about. Many had crashed as their owners were torn apart and dissolved. Still, there were plenty to go around. He took me out to the beach, one of the most beautiful I have seen. It was expansive and white, made up of pure fine quartz sand. Just inland were the green flora of Earth, who prospered in the agreeable warm climate and abundant moisture. In any other instance this would be paradise.

We got out of the car, and we started walking out onto the beach. The sand was warm and soft, and the stiff sea breeze was refreshing. It was eerie that there was no one here, with all the blankets and picnic baskets, and personal datapads, that littered the beach.

“We recorded a broadcast on all bands from this beach: “Carpe Diem Lal”. Using GPS and satellite telemetry, we narrowed it down to a 10-meter square area. Normally we could get it to millimeters or centimeters, but the signal was too short. We found a small transmitter, of Peacekeeper manufacture,” Coronal Markay explained as we walked across the beach.

As we reached a huddled group of techs he drew in front of me. He asked for the transmitter, and the tech gave it to him. It was preserved in a synthcover, sealing it as evidence from all contamination.

“Can you read this?” he asked.

I took the transmitter. “Coronal, sometimes an empath can get a reading from inanimate objects. It is like an imprint, and it is very subjective and only conveys strong emotion of the former user, if it conveys anything. I can try, but there is no guarantee of success, and I would have to touch the object.”

Clearly, Markay was not too interested in me contaminating his primary piece of evidence, besides a nondescript pile of human carbon and clothes.

But, he made a quick decision.

“Captain, do your best. But try the cloths first. If you need to, examine the transmitter. You may be the only hope we have of solving this.”

With that he walked away and ordered his investigators to continue holodocumenting the entire beach, radiating out from this area. He also ordered them to identify all the datapads found, since some may have been used to record family outings. They may have inadvertently recorded the event.

Even I recognized it for a long shot.

*****

Merlin? Miles? I need your help.

Well, Sarah. You know, you don’t have to push me down like that. Just ask me to leave. My feelings aren’t hurt, of course, but it is a little disconcerting to be unceremoniously cast down like that.

Sarah, this is Miles. I’ve been kind of spying on you. Hope you don’t mind.

Miles, not at all. I don’t mind. And Merlin, I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I’m kind of new at this ‘Personality’ thing.

Sarah, what are you talking about? ‘Personality’?

Miles, here is a squirt that will fill you in. I’ve erected an empathic scrambler to keep it secure.

Forgive me for being stupid, Sarah, but what the hell is an ‘empathic scrambler’?

It’s a little trick Merlin taught me. It prevents most eavesdropping telepaths from figuring out what we are telling each other. Here, this is how you do it.

Extraordinary! Merlin, I’m impressed. That’ll take some practice, though.

Why, thank you Miles! Most kind! Now Sarah, have you ever read an object before?

No. I’ve only heard about it. Have you?

Yes, but my readings were more immediate. You many not get much from these things, since they have been out for so long. You have to have a strategy before you start. What visualization will you use?

Is this another lesson, Merlin? A test? Well, I don’t want to superimpose my emotions onto the device, so it will have to be something neutral. I will visualize the beach and the crashing surf. Will that do?

Your reasoning is fine. That’s what I was checking. However, beyond that but your guess is as good as mine. Miles?

Don’t look at me!! I’m just an interested observer here.

OK. Here we go. I’ll try the light jacket first.

*****

####################dfd#########fackth############ ###########

##################glacktht dria##ckny iconti##yerate cu##rrytityh#######################

####################do you wa#nt any pamthe##iu fritz with that#############

########What do# youn meann#k myth cr#rrate will co$st extra!!!#############

########that little girl loo#ks like my cousin## she is a Spartan and de#serves to die########

###########what a beautiful beach!################

##############HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE#### ###

#########Death To Santiago! Long Live Zakharov!######################

################Green! Activated!#############

##############SO SOON? THE PAIN!############

*****

I walk up to the group of four huddled investigators. The rest are fanned out over the beach, and are making fast progress with their holorecording.

Seeing my approach, Coronal Markay stops his conversation with Dr. Lingstron and turns toward me. I hand him the clothing and transmitter.

“Captain? Aren’t you going to try? You’ve only been gone 10 minutes.”

“Coronal, I’ve already read the items. The earlier empathic impressions are pretty garbled, but the later ones were surprisingly clear. Whoever set off this device had a deep and profound hatred of Sparta, and that was almost burned into his possessions, even after almost 10 hours. I can’t tell you where he came from or who he was, and it was a ‘he’ by the way, but I can tell you some of his thoughts in the last 10 minutes or so of his life. Most significant was the following: ‘Death to Santiago! Long Live Zakharov!'.

Coronal Markays eyes narrowed dangerously.

“The University Liberation Front! Those bastards! We’ll hunt them down, every one!”

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited October 08, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Double Post Deleted By URF! Long Live Zakharov!!! Death To Santiago!


[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited October 08, 1999).]

[Slats]

AIRBORNE ABOARD PINWHEEL 4
VICINITY OF MORGAN PHARMACEUTICALS

Dusty swore for the umpteenth time that day and smashed his fist into a side panel. The entire situation was unbelievable!!! Morgan Pharmaceuticals snatched from under their noses! His flight was supposed to be providing protection for the Morgan bases!

The Morgan Processing flight had scrambled just after Pharma had fallen, far too late to provide support or supress the invaders. Now that the Hive troops were in amongst the buildings any air strikes would be impossible without heavy civilian casualties.

The Hive aircraft had come from nowhere. Or so said the Morgan radar operators. More likely they had used their knowledge of the local area to fly nap of the earth all the way in, right below the radar net. And the strike had been in between satellite footprint tracking sweeps. Dusty had to admit the whole show had been a smooth operation.

Yet the Hive flyers hadn't got away unscathed. Two of the rearmost Hive penetrators had been a little slow in leaving their area of operations. The Spartans had caught them from abeam, hitting both penetrators with some thirty chaos cannon rounds each. All the shots had been targeted to the cockpit. Dusty's flight were in mood to leave prisoners and none of the Hive crews had gotten clear of their shattered craft. A trio of Hive interceptors had swung to engauge them but fled when they saw that the attackers were NOT fleeing and were actually rushing forth to battle.

Prowling like wounded wolves all four Spartan aircraft trawled the area around Pharma hoping to catch stragglers, eager for their missing blood. No such luck. The comm panel beside Pete Morris, Pinwheel 4's operations officer, pinged the arrival of a priority message. Pete gave a groan and then forwarded the message to Dusty up front.

Dusty just shook his head. He hated mindworms.........

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

According to Dusty's Book Of Tactics and General Guide To The World mindworms must be dealt with using the utmost care. The first rule when attacking worms from the air is to make only one pass. Make this pass low and fast. Therefore the wrigglys cannot gain a psi lock on your mind because you are quite literally, in and out.

The second rule was to use every weapon at your disposal. The theory being that even mindworms are affected by high explosive, energy and chemical fire in copious amounts.

So it was that above Morgan Industries the two Interceptors and then the two Penetrators wheeled into attack. The interceptors would make strafing runs with their chaos cannon and then following them, the two penetrators with the heavy ordanance.

"Rolling in to engauge", crackled Dexter Patterson's voice from ahead.

Indigos 6 and 7 screamed around the side of several of Morgan Industries skyscrapers, high over the central business district. They levelled off and then acclerated towards the infested borehole. Ignoring the worms in the forest the aircraft opened fire with hideous accuracy on the swarms occupying the upper terraces of the borehole. They must have somehow sensed the danger as they began to propel themselves towards cover. Energy mixed with flesh and tore apart. Flying metal debris sliced horrific wounds over the glistening sides of the worms. Most of the borehole workings lay tattered under the intense bombardment. The Indigos stood on their tails and roared for the clouds.

Exactly seventeen seconds later Pinwheels 1 and 4 lumbered into sight and coasted down the road towards the borehole. Each aircraft released a flurry of missiles at the remaining worms now just emerging from the borehole perimeter. They held their fire until they were directly above the worms in the forest then each dropped a half dozen containers from wing racks. A moment of silence then the whole plantation tore apart as hundreds of fist sized explosives detonated in the forest canopy. Wood splinters and fragments caused an impossible number of decapitations and lacerations.

For good measure Dusty gave the wormies The Finger as Pinwheel 4 banked away.

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

The exodus from Morgan Industries had begun.

The crown jewel of the Morgan Empire, festooned with gaudy and glittering lights and towers that arrogantly stretch to grasp the sky, was in panic.

Competing waves coursed through the streets. One wave was human, as all tried to flee by land or air. No one considered escaping by sea, not with the terror that waited there. The other wave was the empathic assault from the borehole mindworms, and it raked the city's inhabitants with alternating pulses of despair, hatred, and death.

Then needlejets bore down on the city from the east, and hope was lost. All said that Yang was going to take Morgan Industries like he took Pharma, but this time with Planet's evil minions at his side. Some gave up and started weeping, others charged forward, heedless of who was crushed under their feet or tires.

But then, a miracle! The needlejets turned to attack the mindworms! They had the markings of the Spartans! The Spartans will save us!

Chaos flame burst through the air and smote the mindworms! Part of the empathic attack was tattered, and then it weakened and failed. Sympathetic explosions rippled through the borehole as the attack struck home.

Cheers broke out throughout Morgan Industries. We're Saved!

The needlejets, now expended, banked away.

Then the empathic assault began again, and although it was somewhat lessened it was no less horrible.

There was no escape. The people of Morgan Industries awaited death.

*****

Ehm! Ehm! Come! Shannon Lindly thought frantically from the edge of the hybrid forest. It would take hours, at least, to hike back to Ehm's Cathedral, and there was no time. Already the worms were invading the city, and curls of greasy black smoke had started to envelope Delta Sector. The psychic waves spreading from the mindworm borehole caused so much pain they were almost visible.

Her cab had long since deserted the 'crazy lady' and was fleeting. She was alone.

Earthlindly. I am here.

Ehm! We have to go to the borehole! The humans are under attack by feral mindworms! We may be able to help!

How we help?

We…we may have to attack the mindworms! We have to save all these people!

Why, Earthlindly? Natural life cycle.

Ehm, this is NOT natural! I have never heard of this many mindworms congregating! Feel the empathic waves, Ehm. What do you feel?

Hatred. Not feeding. Earthlindly, you are right.

Ehm, you can't just go in. Crawl into my jacket!

Shannon stooped down and Ehm morphed up her arm and crawled into the spaces and pockets inside her jacket and shirt. Shannon was acutely uncomfortable with all of the small, dry tickles under he blouse, but she pushed that aside as she turned to run back toward the city.

Earthlindly? Who is Alphonse?

He was a mindworm I trained a long time ago. Why? Do you know him? But, how could you?

I hear this Alphonse. Don't you hear him, Earthlindly?

Shannon stopped running and paused. She was slightly winded, and tried to take deep, slow breaths. And she opened her mind. With her deliberate awareness the attacks struck deeper, and Shannon flinched in pain

There it was, amid the chorus. This voice was more than raw emotion: it spoke, and directed. It was clear, with signature clarity. It WAS Alphonse!

Shannon steeled herself. She could feel both the terror inflicted by the mindworms, and those of the hapless humans of Morgan Industries. She tried to find Alphonse's voice again and opened her mind.

Everything poured in. Her thoughts lost clarity and started to dissolve into white as she was overwhelmed. Reflexively, her hands covered her ears and she let out low sob. Her sob degenerated into a whimper and she sank to her knees.

Grief and hopelessness overwhelmed Shannon. Tears ran down her cheeks and her breathing came in gasps. Slowly she sank to the ground and started to curl into the fetal position

The individual worms that made up Ehm crawled out from Shannon's prostrate form. They morphed together and formed a 'head' and 'looked' at Shannon, who was now almost unconscious. Her eyes fluttered open and closed. Ehm put out a tentative tendril of thought and touched Shannon's mind.

He tasted pain, true agony. Visceral despair. It was filling her open mind, and she had no hope of shutting it out.

Ehm's form wavered back and forth in indecision. He knew how humans reacted to pain like this. The Lab Men had shown him.

Ehm reached out another tendril and tried to stop the pain. But it swirled like a voracious whirlpool, clutching at him and threatening to draw him in. Ehm withdrew his tendril in calm frustration.

What to do?

He 'looked' at Shannon again. Then he looked north toward where the borehole was.

Stop the source.

Alphonse. You are hurting Earthlindly. Stop hurting Earthlindly. Earthlindly needs help.

….

….

Earthlindly? Earthlindly is here?

Gradually the psychic attack lessened. The rigid terror on Shannon's face eased as the attack waned, then almost completely abated.

Ehm stood guard on top of Shannon. He 'looked' down at her and she was breathing much easier now. He turned his tendrils toward Shannon to ease her remaining pain and to ensure her well being.

After several minutes Ehm notices something was different. There was a tension in the air. He withdrew a tendril from Shannon to 'look' around.

Coming over the hybrid forest field from the north were three enormous mindworms. Or at least Ehm assumed they were mindworms, never having seen one before. They were at least 10 meters across and were pink, just like him. They moved with marvelous speed through the forest. In moments they surrounded him. He turned to 'look' at the biggest one.

Are you Alphonse?

Yes, little one. You must be Ehm. Thank you for guarding Earthlindly.

No more pain for Earthlindly?

No more pain.

Ehm turned his 'head' toward the other two hulking mindworms.

Who are these?

Ehm, these are ferals and they heed Planet's call.

They are not friends of Earthlindly?

No. But they will be.

[Slats]

SPARTA COMMAND
S.S.D LAUNCH PREPARATION HANGAR

The rock-covered doors which shielded the hangar were usually kept shut as much as possible, opening only when something passed in or out. Not today. The giant hatchways lay open, the apron outside bustling with activity.

Three large whale-like transports sat silently, loading ramps lowered. A cargo crawler would roll up and would immediatly be unloaded by antlike workers and forklift trucks. The equipments and material would be hauled into the waiting aircraft were loadmasters took charge and packed the gear away in a method to their own satisfaction. Beside the transports, a jetliner also took on the some 100-odd personnel that would be needed to commence operations at Communal Nexus. This did not include the extra fifty crack Spartan Internal Security Force troops that would provide protection for the staff at the launch site.

Yet Micheal Forster saw none of this even though he planned most of it. Instead he was deep inside the facility being sealed into a pressure suit by finicky techs who insisted on checking every catch and system six or seven times. The suit was one of the pinnacles of the S.S.D's engineering. Not only installed with some of the world's finest hardened military electronics but interwoven with silksteel fibres. Made to withstand massive impacts the suit should have moved like a suit of armor but in fact felt feather light due to the engrained high powered servo motors. Coloured a dull white with the black Spartan hexagon and arrow emblem stamped on the chest and helmet it was an impressive sight indeed.

After a final check Micheal was allowed to stand and looked around the sterile room trying to locate his pilot. Chris Kelso rose from his own seat and gave a thumbs up and then keyed his chin mike.

"Ready to go boss??" he chirped cheerfully.

"Ready as I'll ever be...." said Forster with a grin and with that turned to the crew hatchway.

The two stomped to the door and once outside in a sealed tunnel were joined by a quartet of Spartan armed troopers. The group moved down to the hangar and once there moved quickly over to the spaceplane Atlas. The Atlas's ground crew stood and watched with unhidden admiration. Once inside the two men turned and waved farewell as the heavy airlock cycled shut. Turning and looking at each other they each gave a nervous grin and made their way to the command deck.

The craft was already preflighted but like any good pilot, Kelso gave the cockpit his own check before announcing to hangar control that they were good to go. Forster, now strapped into the commanders seat, began checking onboard automation as well as their flightpath through the datalink patched through from the operations center at S.S.D HQ.

Outside a push tug attached itself to the nose undercarriage and begin pulling the plane up the ramp. All activity stopped on the apron as everyone turned to look at the white behemoth emerging from the darkness. The tug hauled the Atlas onto the runway and positioned it, before unhooking and racing back onto the apron were it stopped and it's crew scrambled onto the tug's roof to watch.

The Atlas sat for nearly a minute before it's turbines wound up and the craft began to roll. And roll. And roll. The Atlas's groundspeed was rising but the the plane still didn't leave the runway. On the command deck Forster watched the end marker lights rushing towards them. With less than twenty metres to spare Kelso coaxed the Atlas off the ground. Airborne.


[This message has been edited by Slats (edited October 10, 1999).]