The Spartan Chronicles - Continued

[Velociryx]

-=Vel=-
[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited October 21, 1999).]

[korn469]

Spartan Federation Capital Building
Sparta Command
17:28 hours SMT

Googlie walked in with Maria and Major Javed flanking him. There was a murmur coming from the stand, each Junta member had was allowed two aides by Burge, and a few soldiers milled around. Googlie looked around and saw many familiar faces, some smiled at him, other waved, Honshu stared at him gravely. It was almost time for the trial to begin, and Field Marshal Gavin Burge strode to the podium. He looked around, took a sip of water and started.

"Friends, members of the Junta, citizens of Sparta today a crisis has forced me to take drastic measures to save the Federation." He was about to continue when a loud murmur ran through the cavernous room. All eyes focused on the entrance behind him, and he reflexively turned to see what the commotion was about. Standing there in the doorway was an ancient looking old man. Slung around his waist was a portable respirator and some other medical device. His eyes were shut and most likely he was blind. His skin was wrinkled and covered with liver spots. He was hunched over and could barely walk but his presence electrified the room. Although it looked like he was going to fall, he gathered strength and made his way to the podium. Ashaandi without realizing why took a step back and let the man step up to the podium. He had no idea who this horrid looking man was but he did have an aura about him. The room had suddenly grown loud with whispering. He leaned forward to speak, and the room immediately became silent.

"If you are not a member of the Junta leave us. This is a matter for the Junta to decide on." There was more mumuring and some confusion. Then he spoke again, louder this time, his voice oozing with authority. "If you are not a member of the Junta, leave us. This is business for the Junta to decide on. Everyone leave now. Lock the doors until we tell you to open them. The Junta is in session." He picked up the old ceremonial terran sword and banged the hilt on the podium in the prescribed mannor. It was the first time the Junta had been in session in nearly fifty years. The aides and soldiers looked around then slowly filed out of the room. Major Javed looked at Googlie, then shook his hand, barely whispering the words 'good luck' then he left, with guards from the outside sealing the door shut.

"Gather around me, I have problems hearing." He commanded. Slowly the entire Junta formed a semi-circle around the ancient man. When they were all close around him, he spoke again. "Where is Santiago?"

"Dead." Burge immediately answered.

"Who is this man?" he demanded. "He is not one of us." he said his voice full of contempt.

"I am Gavin Burge," said Ashaandi indignantly, taking offense to this relic's accusations. The question was who was he? "don't you recognize me?"

"No. I do not know you. Gavin Burge was not a telepath." He said it with finality. Ashaandi reached out to mentally attack this feeble old man when he encounter some of the strongest mental defenses he had ever came across. Now he knew this man. It was Xavier Bisset. Yet how could that be? Ashaandi had heard this man had died many years ago.

_____________________________________________

Out of the fourteen thousand Spartan colonists that landed on planet fifty-one of them, including Colonel Santiago, came together to form a ruling body that later became known simply as the Junta. Now all these years later the Junta was a shadow of its former size. Not counting Burge, there were seventeen Junta members. Five of them were missing. Colonel Santiago, Salvador St. James, Lord Atrieus, Rice Aguilera, and Hiro Mitsugawa.

The first four years had been the hardest years. The alien atmosphere and pathogens native to Chiron claimed many lives including members of the Junta. Until those early colonists gained a better understanding of Chiron's complicated ecosystem there were food shortages, and this caused many drone riots. At Sparta's second base, Centurion Cave, those drone riot's lead to a revolt in which for a short time insurgents gained control of the city and they executed Charles Bauer, the first member of the Junta to die by violence.

In the Spartan Federation’s early years, many members of the Junta personally lead the troops. However, as most of them died heroically in combat the other members for the most part soon became staff officers and commanded their troops from a safe distance. Then age started to catch up with them. Many of the elder members of the Junta died off, subcoming to medical complications, but the Federation was growing at a rapid pace.

From the start Xavier Bisset, though the third youngest member of the Junta, was a natural leader. All of the members of the Junta were leaders, but Bisset excelled, highly decorated in combat, a great organizer, and somebody that the other Junta members looked up to. He was second only to Santiago, she was the visionary, the soul of the Spartan Federation; he was a natural leader and she tapped him as her heir apparent. As the younger members of the Junta grew old, doctors soon became adept at fending off time's ravages until they could slow the aging process to a stand still.

Yet, with Xavier the treatments didn't work. The official term for it was, he was 'unresponsive to therapy' and he aged. This was the dark secret in rejuvenation therapy, a small percentage of people didn't respond to therapy, and they aged at a normal rate. The official line was that rejuvenation was one hundred percent effective. Nearing the end of his life, this hero of Sparta and respected comrade amongst the Junta was put into cyro statis in a salvaged cyrotube from a unity pod. The doctors hoped that in time they with better medical procedures they could bring him out of his cyrofreeze and then rejuvenate him. The rest of the Junta went on, and then medical advances not only stopped the aging process, but it reversed it.

Without the fear of dying from natural causes the Junta then became the most exclusive organization in the Spartan Federation, talk of including new members died out. As the Junta grew smaller the Federation grew larger, eventually it became too unwieldy for the Junta to effectively manage, and they turned power over to various organs of the state. All still held high positions in the government, and Santiago was still the undisputed ruler of the Federation, but some new blood came in.

The Spartan Federation had an unspoken form of discrimination, if an equally qualified lander and a native (or indig as some of the landers called them) came up for a position the lander would always get it. There was a ceiling on just how far a nonlander could raise in the chain of command. Many times a less qualified lander would get the promotion, or retain their position even if a native would do a better job. This boiled over into rage and finally the Junta gave into the people's urging for freedom. The Spartan Federation became a democracy, yet all of the Junta members received lifelong seats in the senate. After all of those years they still held great power, and the new regime didn't force out any of the landers in military power, it just created a huge beurocracy to manage it.

The members of the Junta were the best the Spartan Federation had to offer. Over the years most accumulated a number of positions, and Junta members unlike other officials could hold more than one position. Harel Alibek was the most blatant of these accumulating various positions in various departments; he had so many positions that he actually had to report to himself on the record at times. Others became reckless, and even requested frontline combat duty. Still others, took sabbaticals and leaves of absences that had lasted for decades.

In all of the years, only two members of the Junta lost their position as on the Junta. Rice Aguilera was still considered a Junta member, once a Junta member you were always a Junta member, but she was no longer an active participant in the Junta. She was the first and only member ever to resign. She did so after becoming a strict pacifist and she went on to found her own vision of Sparta in Pointa Sur, before retiring. She had not been heard of since the attack an on Pointa Sur. Most likely she was dead.

Amos Cornell also lost his position in the Junta for conspiring to overthrow Colonel Santiago. He led an assault on the original Sparta Federation Command Bunker seizing it and then declaring himself ruler of the Spartan Federation. For eighteen hours he ruled the Spartan Federation. Colonel Santiago personally led the assault on the bunker and crushed his short-lived rebellion. However, she almost died from a wound in that battle, and to this day she had a exit wound scar from an impact rifle slug in the middle of her back. After crushing his rebellion the Junta posthumously charged him with treason, and tried him. The aging Xavier Bisset was the presiding magistrate of the Junta and found him guilty.

Now all of these years later they brought him out of his cyrosleep to oversee another treason trial amongst his comrades.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited October 21, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

“It’s the witching hour again, and I want to start off this broadcast by saying that this might be my last night with you….”

Silvermane drew in a deep breath and clutched the microphone more tightly. “It’s not that I want to give this up….I don’t….but they’re on to me. I have it on good authority that, even now, they are in the process of tracing this signal to it’s point of origin, and when they do that, they will send men for me….I will keep transmitting as long as I can….I wish I could tell you how long this broadcast will be, and I wish like Hell that you guys could call me….let me know you’re out there listening….knowing that there were at least a few of you would make all this a lot easier…..as it stands….I might be putting my head in the hangman’s noose for nothing…..”

He sighed heavily. It was true. He had no way to be sure if anyone but the authorities were hearing him at all. There was no doubt that they were listening. He believed Ashaandi. They would be coming, and it would not take them long.

He would have been a fool not to be afraid. Yang took a dim view of dissension, and independent thought, for that matter.

No, when they found him, it would not go well.

Might as well enjoy this one last broadcast then.

He actually managed a smile, and did just that.

&&&

“We got him sir!” The young tech was bubbling with excitement. "The Hunter-Seeker zeroed in on him!"

“Excellent.” Liu said emptily. “Transmit the coordinates directly to Chairman Yang, per his request.”

“Sir, yes sir!” The tech nearly shouted.

Liu sighed. If it was so “excellent,” then why didn’t it feel that way?

&&&

It took them the better part of an hour to arrive, and he heard their approach long before he saw them.

In the distance, there was gunfire. Some unruly drone must have gotten too close to one of the troopers assigned to haul him away.

Shoot first, ask questions later. How typically Hivean.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe the end is near. I have just heard gunfire not far from my location and….”

There was a pounding at his flimsy door.

He ignored it.

“Yes….no doubt about it. They’re here…..at least they had the good manners to knock first, but I don’t think….”

More pounding.

“Seems they’re getting impatient. Not that I intend to get up and invite the bastards in….if they want me they’ll have to blast their way in.”

Less than three seconds later, they did just that.

A muffled blast followed by a concussive wave which tossed him from his chair and collapsed the table his transmitting equipment was sitting on.

Amazingly, the radio still worked. He was live.

He shook his head to clear it and reached for the microphone again, even as the first of the four troopers entered his Hab-Cell.

“They’re here, folks, and I….”

“Silvermane. Ronald Stone. By order of Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang of the Hive, I command you to cease this seditious transmission and come with us for questioning.”

“Questioning?” Silvermane said into the microphone. “You mean torture, don’t you? Isn’t that what you good little Nazi’s do to anybody who doesn’t agree with you’re Master’s policies and….”

The transmission ended abruptly with the chatter of gunfire, and Silvermane’s show went off the air.

&&&

Some distance away, Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang smiled.

&&&

Ashaandi punched in the alert code and waited.

Once more, Draekin, master of efficiency, did not keep him waiting long.

“My Master.” He said simply.

“I need to be in two places at once….the trial is in recess just now, but I certainly don’t have the time to fly back home to do some dirty work for the Chairman. Drop your Psi-Defenses.”

There was a momentary flicker of hesitation from the other man.

“That was not a request, Draekin. And do not think for a moment that I could not melt every neural connection in your brain with only half my essence.”

“As you wish, My Master.”

Draekin’s psi-defenses fell away.

“Forgive me, my loyal Lieutenant…..I do not do this lightly….but you are the only other member of the Circle who can morph.”

He said nothing more before releasing a portion of his essence across the void. It took only a fraction of a second for him to find the waiting host body of Draekin, and then the span of several heartbeats to make the intricate neural connections necessary….then, he, Haraand Ashaandi was in two places at once.

It felt mildly disorienting, to be receiving sensory inputs from two bodies at the same time, but he was able to block and separate for the most part.

If he did it for any length of time, he supposed it would drive him insane, but in the short term, about all he’d suffer for his efforts was a splitting headache, and that was a small price indeed.

“Thank you, Draekin. You’re loyalty will not be forgotten….and I shall return your body to its natural state when I am finished with it.

He morphed Draekin’s body into his own likeness, and then killed the comm-connection with himself and dialed another number.

In moments, the face of Chairman Yang was staring back at him.

“I knew you would not fail to bring the rebellious Silvermane to heel, so I took it upon myself to wrap up my affairs early and get back here. I just arrived.”

Yang smiled, satisfied. “And you are just in time. The prisoner will be in custody shortly.”

“Will he be brought here?”

“No….you will go to the Great Clustering to deal with him there.”

Ashaandi nodded. God how he hated the man he was staring at. Still, he painted on a smile. “I trust we have time to begin another chess game before I depart.”

Yang beamed. “We do indeed. Meet me in my chamber as soon as possible.”

Ashaandi bowed, and Yang ended the transmission.

The moment the image faded, the assassin scowled. “Bastard. Arrogant, wiry little bastard.” He muttered. “One day, you will realize that our games of chess are symbols for something else entirely…..and by then, it will be too late.”

&&&

Ron Stone looked at the trooper in disgust. “You shot up my radio…..I can’t believe you shot up my radio.”

“Be silent! The prisoner will come with us.”

Ron studied them for a lingering moment, weighing his options. Four of them. Plasma Armor and Gatling Rifles. Stout.

He sighed and nodded. “Take me to your leader.” He muttered.

The guards surrounded him and escorted him from his Hab-Cell, then stopped abruptly.

Mr. Lee from three doors down was standing before them, blocking their way.

“One side, citizen. This is not your concern.” The lead trooper said with authority.

That’s when the chanting started, and the troopers looked around.

Mr. Lee wasn’t alone.

In fact, it seemed like nearly everyone in the district was out, in clear violation of curfew. And not all, but many, were chanting the same word.
Softly at first, but it was slowly growing louder.

“Silvermane…..Silvermane…..Silvermane…..”

Ron was stunned by the chorus of voices, and he looked at Mr. Lee with questioning eyes. The full weight of what he was seeing hit home and he realized that he did indeed have an audience. It made him happier and more proud than anything else he'd accomplished in his life. There were simply no words, and he found himself blinking back tears.

What he saw next surprised him further and spurred him into action. There was no time to dwell on his newfound discovery.

Mr. Lee, his skinny, aging neighbor, brought one of his hands up. It wasn’t even a particularly quick motion, and he seemed to lightly touch the lead soldier’s armored breastplate.

The man was knocked back toward Ron (who at least had the good sense and reflexes to dance to one side) and wound up sprawled out on the walk. What’s more, as the man was stumbling backward, Mr. Lee’s other hand snaked out and his fingers coiled around the stock of the Gatling Rifle. In the blink of an eye he was casually covering the three troopers.

“I fear I don’t know much about these rifles, but at this range, I assume they would make a mess of you….armor or no.”

Ron took advantage of the half second the soldiers spent gaping open-mouthed at Mr. Lee. He brought his left elbow back into the face of the trooper behind him. Hard.

The satisfying crunch and gurgling noise as the man tried to cry out told him all he needed to know, and he spun around, savagely ripping the rifle from the man’s hands, and then clubbing him with the business end of it.

The trooper fell over his companion, and Ron took three steps to the side, flanking his would-be captors and glancing over at Mr. Lee, who nodded reassuringly at him, and then winked.

“Your guns…..on the ground. Now.” Ron said unsteadily.

The troopers weighed their options for a moment, and then set the rifles down.

Mr. Lee opened fire, spitting death from the Gatling Rifle.

“No!” Ron shouted. But it was already too late, and when Mr. Lee’s gun fell silent, none of the four moved.

Images from the past assaulted Ron. Images of death and dying. He felt sick. Tormented. It didn't have to be this way. They were going to surrender. They....

“Mr. Lee, I told them to drop their weapons. I was going to…..why did you…..”

The older man looked at him with compassion. “You are a good man, Mister Ronald Stone…..Silvermane….but you must know that for our disobediance, these soldiers would have returned with more soldiers, and they would have rounded us all up like cattle. They could not be allowed to live.”

“When the soldiers don’t come back, they’ll come for you anyway.”

Mr. Lee shook his head. “No. They will come for you.”

He was right, Ron realized. Sick as it made him feel....it was the only way. And when more troopers came, they would be hunting him....and that was as it should be.

He bowed his head, mind turning furiously trying to come up with a plan, and finally settling on the idea to just go with it....make it up as he went along.

“Come on…..I’ll help you hide the bodies…..and keep three of the rifles. I’ll take one with me, but you will probably need the other three before this is all over.”

“Let us take them to the recycling tanks.” Lee said as he stepped toward one of the fallen soldiers.

“Good a place as any.” Ron said wearily, as he stooped to help.


[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited October 22, 1999).]

[korn469]

The Spartan Federation Capital Building
Sparta Command
00:18 hours SMT

"Xavier if he is not Burge, then who is he?" Honshu asked cautiously.

Googlie looked at Ashaandi and almost smiled, his little game had gotten out of his hand, but now that he was cornered, would he do something desperate?

"I do not know who he is exactly, all I know is that he is a powerful telepath." Bisset slowly pulled out an old ceremonial model two laser pistol. It was a first generation weapon. In fact it was the second weapon design the Spartan created after they had landed. The first was the model one laser assault rifle. Though some garrison units stilled used laser rifles and pistols, nobody used the model one or model two anymore. There was only one model one laser rifle known to exist and it was on display at the Federation Lander's memorial. The laser pistol Bisset had was one of four model two's that existed. Santiago had one in her office she would wear for special ceremonies, and two more were on display at the Lander's memorial. Bisset now had the last one pointed at Ashaandi.

"What are you talking about Bisset? I am Gavin Burge!" Ashaandi tried one last time to deny what was obviously now clear to everyone in the Junta. He considered trying to overwhelm Bisset's mental defenses or maybe just charging and breaking the old man's neck. Yet, he wasn't sure if he could kill Bisset before Bisset could get a chance to kill him. Especially not with his concentration divided. The laser pistol he held was old, it might not even work, but Ashaandi didn't want to find out.

"He is Ashaandi." Googlie said simply.

"How do you know that?" Questioned Harel Alibek.

"Because he made a deal with me." Ashaandi seeing that his charade was up stopped mimicking Burge and returned to his natural self. That was a shocked silence and then the other member's of the Junta exploded with question and accusations. Ashaandi sat down and began to concentrate on his other task at hand.

"Silence!" Bisset's voice cut through the noise and the room fell silent. "We will speak one at a time." Maria then spoke up.

"So is Scott free to go? Is the trial over?" It was exactly what many others were thinking.

"No, it is not over. I for one want to find out what is going on, but first things first. Somebody tell the unit holding Sparta Command to stand down. Then I want you to tell me what's going on here Googlie."

_____________________________________________

The first news came from the closed session of the Junta. The 469th was to free all the soldiers it had interned, and they were to restore control of Sparta Command to its proper authorities. The curfew and communications lockdown were canceled. All roads, ports, and the Aerospace Center were to be immediately reopened. As quickly as they had seized control of Sparta Command, the 469th was just as quick in turning over control. Roadblocks and barricades started coming down, all the regular defenders of Sparta Command who had been under house arrest in their barracks were free to go, and the communication channeled opened. The flood of incoming messages soon had nearly overwhelmed the network.

_____________________________________________

Setting on the runway at the Centurion Cave Aerospace center was a small passenger plane. The pilot was watching the Morgan Financial Net, when the control tower abruptly came on interrupting his thought.

"November Alpha Charlie twelve, this is Centurion Control, you have authorization to proceed to Sparta Command, follow your flight plan, and be alert of possible heavy air traffic on your final approach to Sparta Command." said the monotone air traffic controller.

"Copy that Centurion Command." and the pilot began the take off procedure. He flipped open the comm, "Ian wake up! We finally have authorization to proceed to Sparta Command."

Ian Allardyce sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes, this was the first time he had slept since he heard about his father being arrested. As the plane took off, he looked forward to seeing his father for the first time in months, and he hoped that everything would be alright when they landed.
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited October 22, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

They had no shortage of helpers with the project, and in less than half an hour, the bodies had been disposed of, and the blood and gore hosed from the streets. Someone had even replaced the door to Ron’s Hab-Cell and cleaned the place up.

Save for the ruined radio equipment (which was set up on a new table), no trace of the violence remained.

He looked around.

Scores and hundreds of faces peered back at him. Anxious. Waiting.

His audience. And how many more were there, in other districts and in other bases? How far had his signal actually reached?

There was no way to know, but as the enormity of it hit him, he suddenly had no idea what to say.

But that wasn’t true. As he had done from the start, he spoke from the heart.

“The bravery you have all shown here will not be forgotten. You did not have to help me tonight. You could have stayed in your beds and been good, loyal citizens….but you didn’t do that, did you?…..You choose to risk yourselves…..your friends and families, to come out and stand with an outsider….me.” There were tears in his eyes. “I do not think I am worthy of such consideration, but….thank you.” He blinked back still more tears and made eye contact with as many of them as he could. There were so many. It was almost numbing.

His listeners.

“And do not give up hope….chances are good that I will be caught…..if I am caught, you all know what will happen to me….but do not let that frighten you off…..Yang has to be made to see that we will not sit by and watch our children used to advance his twisted agenda, and we will not bow down to any government based on terror…..we will be free!” He raised his arms over his head, fists held high and defiant as he said the last, and the horde gathered around him broke out into wild cheering.

Despite the death and danger, it was the best, most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced.

&&&

“I’ve changed my mind.” Silvermane said softly, handing the Gatling Rifle over to Mr. Lee. “You keep this one as well…..I will not stoop to their level.”

“We may need to, before this is all over.” Mr. Lee told him gravely.

“No. You and the others may need to….that is not my lot. You know what mine is.”

“You will let them make a Martyr of you?”

“If I have to, yes. Gladly. If it will be the catalyst for open rebellion.”

“I cannot decide if you are very brave or very stupid, my friend.”

Ron laughed, and clapped Mr. Lee on the shoulder. “Neither can I….don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to die. But if, in dying, I can spawn a grass roots movement against Yang and his oppression…..bet your ass I’d do it.”

“Ron Stone….you have been a good neighbor….Mrs. Lee and I will miss you.”

The big man nodded. “I’ll miss you too, Mr. Lee…..Mrs. Lee….you be safe….don’t take any unnecessary chances, but don’t ever let them walk over you again.”

“I believe we have turned that corner already.” Mr. Lee told him.

And he was not wrong.

One final look at them, and Ron turned and ran off to the shadows. It would be a long night.

&&&

In fact, he did not sleep at all.

Kept moving and avoiding the night patrols, slowly making his way to the Creche.

They would come for him sooner or later, of course, but they might not stake it out right away, thinking that he would no better than to even try to go there.

Hiding in plain sight.

He smiled as he let himself in.

Sat down at his desk without turning on the light.

And waited.

&&&

His assistant Veronica did not show up. Nor did she call.

Ron took that as a bad sign indeed, but everything was already in motion, and had gained its own inertia. There was little to be done but see what the day would bring.

The parents began bringing their children in at 5:30 in the morning, just like always. But there was a different feel to it this morning.

Many of the parents made it a point to catch his eye and give him a knowing nod. Some even offered up a tentative smile, two things which were rare indeed in The Hive.

They knew.

Not all of them, but a great many.

Apparently, his message had reached out to more people than he had thought.

Kira Tolliver arrived at about ten minutes after six, and by the time she got there, the room was beginning to get full.

“Kira. You lead the children into the recreation area, and watch over them….I will be along shortly. Just want to put a holo up to let the parents know just to bring the children on back.”

“Where is Ms. Veronica?”

Ron shook his head, and put his hand on hers. “I don’t know, little lady….wish I did….I’m worried about her.”

“I think she listened to you on the radio last night.” Kira said gravely, meeting his eye. “I listened to you too….with my mom and dad….just like we do every night.”

Ron blinked at her. “You….”

“My mom says you’re the voice of hope, and that we’re lucky you’re here.”

For a moment, he completely forgot that he was speaking to a child. She certainly didn’t seem it right then. Those eyes….so mature….so wise and knowing. And even her voice had seemed deeper.

And then she smiled at him and bounced off to gather the other children and take them back.

He shook it off.

Surely it had just been his imagination.

Surely.

&&&

Ron set up the holo explaining that his assistant was out, and if any more parents came in, just to bring them on back, then he went to join his charges.

Not as many as usual, he noted, and it was not unreasonable to assume that some of the parents had elected to keep their children away….especially considering that so much of the base knew….

It still amazed him, and all morning as he watched over the children, his mind kept wandering back over that. So many people…..

He lost himself in thought for a while, aware of his surroundings, but not consciously aware of the passage of time.

At least, not until he heard movement in the front of the Creche.

His time was up.

He knew it before he even saw who it was.

The door opened.

Ashaandi, and six of his black clad minions.

Kira saw him immediately, and squealed delightedly. “You came back! I knew you would!” She said between her laughter as she ran toward him.

Ron locked eyes with the assassin and nodded knowingly, recognizing the torment on Ashaandi’s face. That alone, was worth all they would soon do to him.

[Velociryx]

“Hello Kira.” Ashaandi said softly and with a sad smile. “I’m afraid I cannot stay long….I have some business with Mister Stone.” He patted the little girl’s head and straightened. “Mister Stone….to the front office, if you please.”

Ron shook his head and stood. Began walking almost leisurely toward the seven black clad figures hovering just inside the doorway. “You mean you don’t want to say what you’ve got to say in front of the children? Awwww, but why not? If I didn’t know you so well I’d take that as a sign of weakness.” He chided. A dangerous game, he knew. One of Ashaandi’s Black-Clad cronies was already visibly shivering in rage.

“And you didn’t have the stomach to come alone.” He added darkly. “What does that say?”


That was enough for at least one of Ashaandi’s henchmen. The man who had been shaking in his rage took two quick steps forward and back handed Ron Stone with a leather-gloved hand. The blow was hard enough to break the skin, but it did not phase Ron in the least. Didn’t even make him flinch.

Kira cried out when Ron was struck and Ashaandi hissed in rage, pulling his Monofilament whip from his belt. “Not in front of the children!” He said in a deadly tone.

His henchman backed down, head bowed.

Kira took two steps away from Ashaandi, eyes wide. Bottom lip trembling.

He looked at her imploringly, and then at Ron Stone, who was still staring at him, eyes burning fiercely.

“Kira.” The assassin said softly. “Mister Stone has many secrets….and it is my job to make sure he does not pose a threat to the security of the Hive. I do not want to hurt him….I like him too….but I must speak with him…..do you understand?”

Kira shook her head vigorously, and took another two steps back, now quite close to the other children. “You’re a liar…..and you’re not a fireman like you said you were….” She glanced left and wrapped a protective arm around a little boy next to her. He was frail and shy looking…..no older than four or five. “Those men dressed all in black came to take Paul’s mom away one night…..I know about them…..I know about you.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, but she would not look away from him.

“Kira.” Ron whispered softly. “Kira listen to me….I want you to take over for a little while….okay? You watch the children….I’ll arrange for an adult to come back here just as quick as I can, but I really do have to go with these men….okay?”

“If you go with them, you’ll never come back.” She said in a deflated tone, her eyes never leaving the Assassin’s.

His were likewise locked on her, and if Ron Stone didn’t know any better, he would have sworn they were engaged in psi-combat.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can…..I promise.”

“No….he won’t let you….he can’t let you….because of the….you know.”

“Yes….and so does he….it’s okay.”

For the first time, she looked at him. “He really knows about the radio?”

Ron nodded. “That’s why he had to come….and that’s why I have to go with him.”

He walked toward her, and picked her up. “Now….you’re going to have to be brave and strong, okay? Stronger than anybody ever asked you to be before.”

“Will you be all right?” She asked, trying hard not to cry, but unable to keep her voice completely steady.

He nodded. “I’ll be okay, but don’t get worried if you don’t hear me on the radio anymore.”

She nodded, and Ron gave her a fierce, lingering hug, then whispered in her ear.

“And one day, you must find it in yourself to forgive Ashaandi.”

She looked into his eyes and nodded in understanding. It was the first time she had ever heard his name, but she knew exactly who he was talking about.

He set her down gently and turned to face Ashaandi and his henchmen. “The front office.” He said grimly.

&&&

The moment the door was shut, Ashaandi turned on him like a tiger, his hand wrapping around Ron Stone’s throat and squeezing hard.

“You planned this!” He hissed. “You knew something like this would happen, and used Kira to try to hurt me!”

“Ashaandi….” Ron Stone said in an even voice. “Take your hand off me right now….or I’ll break your arm.”

Ashaandi squeezed tighter.

Ron’s arm arose.

Two of Ashaandi’s henchmen took a step forward, and the Assassin waved them off.

As Ron’s arm locked around Ashaandi’s wrist, the Assassin hit him with a bolt of Psi-energy, only to see it deflected harmlessly away.

He was mystified, and tried again.

Again, no effect at all. He was both puzzled and concerned, but there was no time to consider how or why.....only the contest itself remained, and it was all important....

Ron’s grip tightened around Ashaandi’s wrist and began pulling it away from his throat. Ashaandi was strong, there was no doubting it, but he was losing.

He felt his grip weakening.

Put more effort into maintaining his hold, his face screwing up in the effort to hold on.

But Ron broke through, and finally the vice-like grip was removed from his throat, and Ashaandi’s hand was lowered.

“Since you called your dogs off, I spared your arm.” Ron Stone said grimly. “But if you or they touch me again….”

Ashaandi laughed. “You think because you have won a contest of physical strength against me that it demeans me in some way? Mister Stone….I am disappointed in you. And although you did a good turn by ‘sparing’ me a broken arm, it does little to make up for what you did to me with Kira…..for that, I cannot forgive you.”

He motioned for his henchmen, and took a step back as they closed in.

Ron smiled as he watched the advance. “Typical…..you coward.” Ron muttered as he dropped into stance. “Don’t have the balls to fight me yourself.”

He studied his opponents as they drew closer. From the way they moved, it was clear they were trained, but equally clear that they had never fought together before. They kept threatening to get in each other’s way.

He decided to see if maybe he could make that work to his advantage, so he did nothing as they drew closer.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Three of the six moved in at the same time. One of them actually came within a hair’s bredth of stepping on another’s toes. Their momentum faltered for a fraction of a second, and Ron Stone struck.

Fast and hard.

Like the hurricane of destruction they had named him so many years ago.

And the intervening years did not have a softening effect. Rather, all the time spent working on the Mining Platform, all the days and nights spend working out and keeping himself in shape….it all paid off in that moment.

The first two blows put two of Ashaandi’s henchmen down for the count, one breaking the man’s jaw and sending him spinning to the floor, and the other to the sternum, hard enough to crack several ribs. The man tried to cry out, but didn’t have the breath for it.

The third man got in a kidney punch and then backed away when he saw that he was all alone.

Ashaandi looked disgusted and muttered, “By twos….again.”

Two more men crouched and made their way forward.

Ron smiled. He’d spooked them.

“Boo!” He said loudly, making them both jump.

He kicked one of the men in the face for being so easily duped and startled. The man fell and did not move.

The other man recovered quickly, however, and produced a short-bladed knife, which he embedded in Ron’s outstretched leg.

Ron grunted in pain and brought his leg back down….gently testing his weight on it. It would support him….at least for now, but it ruled escape out as an option.

He turned to face the man, and Ashaandi motioned another man forward as well.

Still two on one….I hate these odds Ron thought darkly.

This time, when the attack came, it was well-coordinated, and Ron found himself very definitely on the defensive. He kept having to turn his injured leg away from the fight, which limited his options, and the two men seemd more comfortable together, often striking together, but from fundamentally different directions.

Ron could fend one of them off, but never both, and some blows landed.

They were getting through. Wearing him down.

It would only be a matter of time.

Gotta change the odds somehow, he thought desperately as he looked around the room for an edge. An angle. Anything at all.

Then it ocurred to him.

The Holo he’d made earlier.

If he could activate it, it might provide a few second’s distraction.

But the button was on his desk, on the other side of the room.

He measured the distance with his eyes.

Yes.

It was possible.

Maybe.

If he got lucky.

The two men were creeping in closer again, and Ron crouched and got ready.

He feinted right to get his attackers off balance and then sprang to the left and shot around them, clotheslining the man nearest him as he passed and sending him sprawling to the floor.

He pressed the button and the Holo sprang to life in the center of the room, mere inches from where one of the other guards was standing.

The man gasped in surprise and took a step back, but Ron Stone was already moving. His body on auto-pilot, as it had been so many years before.

It knew what needed to be done.

He crossed the space between he and the black-clad henchman in a matter of seconds, and wrapped his forearm around the man’s throat, curling his fingers around the man’s ear and twisting savagely.

The cracking noise that followed told him everything he needed to know, and he turned around again to take stock…..

Ashaandi flicked his hand slightly and pain exploded down the length of Ron Stone’s good leg. Suddenly, he could not keep his feet.

“Do you know what this is?” The Assassin asked, holding the pommel nonchalantly.

Ron nodded, and spoke through gritted teeth. “Monofilament whip.” He chanced a glance down. A long, graceful mark of red snaked its way down half the length of his leg. Cutting through muscle, bone….anything it encountered.

“Good. Then you know I could have killed you already.”

Ron stood. It was difficult, but he did it. “Do it…..don’t talk about it…..just do it….I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Their eyes met again, and Haraand Ashaandi, leader of the most feared Circle of Assassins on all of Chiron, found himself suddenly at a crossroads.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited October 22, 1999).]

[Slats]

LOW CHIRON ORBIT
VICINTY OF SKY HYDROPONICS LAB SKYEBLAZER 1

Michael Forster floated in freefall, tightly snug in a EVA suit. Before him the panoramic sight of Chiron, viewed from space. Brown earth, russet fungus and blue sea swirled beneath him, blended with fluffy white clouds and grey thunderheads. Truly, the glory of nature, the new cradle of humanity.

A yellow and red warning sign popped up suddenly into his suit HUD, just before his eyes, informing him that one third of the suits power supply remained. Time to be getting on with the things he thought and with one last glance, operated his suit wrist controls. Small puffs of propellent squirted from his suit and he span through 180 degrees on his vertical axis to face the object of his concern.

The glittering prisms of the hydroponics lab shone like diamonds in the harsh sunlight. Nuzzling beside the lab was the spaceplane Atlas, docked to transfer more equipment and personnel to the lab habitation section. From the Atlas’ cargo bay a manipulator arm held aloft a Morgan Propulsion Systems fusion reactor. Forster smiled, only the best quality for this expedition.

And this expedition was going along well. The new vessel’s construction was progressing well. Currently it consisted of a long scaffold like spine with a squat drum-like cylinder topping one end and a quartet of big ovoid pulse engines at the other. Attached to the middle of the spine were utility modules holding batteries, equipment storage lockers and secondary systems as well as spherical fuel and coolant tanks. And there was still more to be added before the ship was complete. At least a dozen suited construction crew worked on the vessel, attaching, connecting and sealing.

Forster sighed. Everything was going according to plan. All the factions had donated the equipment asked of them. Probably because there was energy credits involved, he thought wryly. For some time the Atlas had been shipping people and material into orbit from Communal Nexus where they were deposited at the lab which was currently being used as a temporary shipyard. The crews who lived on the lab worked in shifts around the clock to finish the ship.

Forster regarded all this with slight grimness, this was his last time in orbit before the launch. No more chance of avoiding the matter. He had to meet his new crew.

[Hydro]

Near Pointa Sur

we welcome you, earthdawson. long has our song been sung, but few there are that hear our ancient voice. earthskye and earthishmael, and now earthdawson, among the earthhuman children heed our call. to earthother we are but a whisper, a wisp, a fragment. to earthblind PlanetMind is mute, and not a whisper touches them.

your voice is young and strong, earthdawson, and you can perceive us and our forms. before you is the land-denizen. touch them. they will call to you

Sarah stood in wonder among the blooming fungus as the lingering caress of PlanetVoice faded. No, it had not really faded. It was still there, but was not fully attuned to her. The Voice filled her with joy - it was the sense of belonging and acceptance she had felt. It was like being part of a greater whole.

All around her the fungus grew and bloomed at a furious rate. Already the farm field and the low rocky wall had been overtaken and consumed by the explosive growth of the fungus. The air rang with the PlanetSong, with each stalk coursing in sympathetic vibration like a great chord of sound. Sarah's hair rose with the Planetsong, swaying back and forth in a yellow pirouette. Sarah looked around in wonder, and her senses drank their fill.

Sarah looked down. A pink tuft of fungus formed a meter away. Its crenellated cotton candy form unfolded from the ground like a flower, and from its center a pencil thin stalk rose. It wavered and swayed with the Planetsong, growing 10 centimeters in a moment as she watched. Then the stalk thickened and branched, its base measurably growing and the now multi pronged tubule stretched upward. The base became bulbous even as Sarah watched, and it sprouted little tendrils from the enlarged base. In minutes the fungus bloom was Sarah's height, its base and trunk thickening, arms branching and intertwining.

Then the fungalstalk seemed to pause, but stilled it quivered with the pulses of PlanetSong. Each of the dozen fungal arms of the stalk bulged at the end, as it did when the stalk first sprouted. The bulge end flattened and small indentations appeared. Below the flat and flared end the bulge enlarged.

Sarah sensed the bulge, and reached out to touch and sense it. It quivered with new life. As before, the fungus was smooth, but this fungus bulge was not firm and slightly yielding but soft and pliant.

The bulge also quivered. Already it started churning and its surface rippled. It became warm to Sarah's touch, and with the increase in temperature the bulge gently swelled again. The rippling and churning took on a desperate ferocity and they started to pulse from the base of the bulge toward the flared end. Gradually the entire branch of the fungalstalk stiffened and quivered from base to end, as if in great effort. The flared end ballooned and the indentations widened as it expanded. Each indentation became deep red, and started oozing deep red and viscous ichors, which dripped from the frond to the intertwined pink mat now covering the rock.

Sarah stepped back as the flow of the ichors grew. She looked up at the other branches and all were seeping the same ichors. As the bulges at the end of the fungal arms diminished the flared ends puckered, contracted and folded in on themselves. Even as Sarah watched they were assuming the normal rounded shape of xenofungus.

Meanwhile at Sarah's feet a miracle was occurring.

Sarah knelt down, for in the 20-centimeter tall mounds of red ichors there emerged small hullw, all of them cracked. And wormlets! Hundreds of small wormlets!

Sarah smiled, for she could detect amid the chorus of PlanetSong their empathic need, their longing.

Here, little ones. I am Sarah. I will help you.

From the red mounds, the little wormlets trembled in anticipation and the ichors started to gently churn with their feeble motion.

Sarah lovingly cupped the red ichors with the wormlets in her hands and placed it at the base of the fungal stalk. The waving tendrils at the base waited, and tenderly grasped and guided the wormlets to the small orifices at the base. More and more of the infant mindworms were guided to the teat and entered headfirst until only their tail remained. Each began immediately to gorge, sending simple and contented psi waves to their sisters. Sarah felt these psi waves as they melded to the PlanetSong.

Quickly, Sarah helped the remaining wormlets, delicately picking up them up to the last one. These last wormlets she helped to the teat herself. The base of the fungal stalks now looked like a half-meter diameter bulb that was covered with a ring of busy waving tendrils and rear sections of hundreds of animated centimeter long worms.

Sarah could feel them growing strong as they drank of the xenofungus. She experienced their rapture as the PlanetVoice welcomed them, as she had so recently been welcomed. Planet told them their voice would enrich Planet, and would continue the eternal cycle.

The sky darkened and then lightened again as Sarah kept her vigil. Vaguely, Sarah recognized this as the passing of days, but she felt detached in a timeless way. Her focus was the new life, the growing consciousness, of the newly hatched mindworms. She could feel them as they drank, and as they bonded with one another. Sarah felt them as they linked. Slowly the web of links was being made between the wormlet individuals, forming a group mind that was greater than its parts: a mindworm. With each link the mind grew more complex. It was a connection, like she had felt at the beginning of PlanetSong. Belonging. Soon embryonic thoughts formed.

More days passed, and the worms grew. Finally they searched and reached out to touch those around them. Sarah opened her mind, and the infant mindworm touched her.

we … are

Yes, you are, my child. Welcome to Planet! What is your name?

name? we …are

I will teach you! We will grow together!

together…

I can feel you are ready. Come into Planet, little one!

together… we are

Planet is beautiful! And wondrous!

wondrous… together we are

Sarah watched as the worms wriggled free of the teats. One after another they dropped to the ground, and started to crawl together. As they congregated they established their link, and started to form a mindworm ball. Sarah could feel them interact and learn as they writhed. Gradually the mindworm boil expanded as the worms learned and practiced the limited telekinesis that kept them suspended around each other. They experimented and learned to roll, fitfully at first.

The little boil rolled haltingly over to Sarah and enmeshed itself around her foot.

Sarah…together we are

Sarah could feel their need to join with her, and their frustration and lack of comprehension as she could not join them in their new skill - the telekinetic dance.

Little one, I can speak to you, but I cannot join with you. I wish I could. I can feel you, touch you, and help you, but I cannot join with you.

Sarah reached down and brushed her hand over the hatchling boil. The little worms reached to her touch, and the boil deflated a little as the dance was interrupted. It quickly reformed around Sarah's hand. As the worms passed they brushed her hand, making contact and learning Sarah's touch.

To Sarah, the feeling was electric. She could feel the slight and barely resistible telekinetic force the mindworms were generating. The fine hair on her hand stood up as the wisps of force played across her skin. It tickled a little, and Sarah smiled.

together we are?

Yes, little one. We are now together. But I cannot stay with you all the time. My form is different from yours.

different?

I am an Earthhuman. You are a Planetdenizen. We are linked but separate.

together we are linked?

Yes!

Sarah sensed a satisfaction and an understanding in the little mindworm.

She also sensed its energies flag, and the cohesiveness of its telekinetic dance lessened. With her hands and will, she urged the little boil back to the fungalstalk, where they dis -incorporated and embedded themselves into the teats. Even as the little worms moved into position and partially disappeared into the base of the stalk she could feel their connection remain intact, and even expand. However, the little mindworm withdrew from Sarah's mind as it concentrated its energy on the task of understanding each other. The wormlet's inter linking strengthened, and its power grew.

Suddenly, Sarah felt tired, as if a coaxing hand were passing over her face and shutting her eyes, gently but irresistively. Trustingly, Sarah sat down and then lay on the pliant fungal mat between the swaying fungalstalk bases. She curled up on her side and gave herself to the dreamless sleep.

The shade from the stalks increased as they grew. As if by design, they formed an arch above Sarah, with the bulbous mindworm fungalstalk at its center with Sarah. Inside it wasn't dark, but was lit by a twilight of shimmering motes of light that passed between the thickly woven fungal stalks. These motes seemed to coalesce preferentially on the bulbous fungal stalk.

The bulbous fungal stalk shuddered again as it resumed growing. But this time the growth was not up but out. From its base some of the tendrils thickened and lengthened, reaching and crawling along the fungal mat.

They crawled toward the recumbent Sarah.

They touched her, and then affixed themselves.

In the meantime, Sarah slept.

[Hydro]

Zanzibar

The weather turned dark and grey, with a little chop in the seas. Newly refit with fusion engines and energized plasma armor and anti aircraft guns, the Star of the North of the Spartan North Fleet cuts through the low swells at a speed only dreamed of by smaller foils. The dun colored hull is resplendent, and the polished plasmasteel trim gleams. Star of the North is one of the prides of the Spartan fleet.

Star left Zanzibar with a heading due southwest six hours ago. Seemingly alone, the crew is at high alert for she is deep within and driving deeper into Hive territorial waters.

But appearances can be deceiving, as Captain Victor Torrez knows so well. For Star shepherds two shadows which hold almost an eighth of the Spartan army: the newly commissioned submarine cruiser transports Safe Harbor and Atlas. The two transports have their own lethal cargo. Inside Atlas is the entire Lightning Strike Division of the Spartan 2nd Armor: 8 rover brigades. Aboard Safe Harbor are the three elite brigades of the Spartan Amphibious Corps: 2 infantry and 1 rover brigade. Also aboard Safe Harbor is a Spartan Special Operations team, who had recently returned from observing the Hive city of Great Clustering.

So far there has been no intrusion of hostile aircraft, foils, or cruisers. Captain Torrez was not worried about the old Hive fission missile penetrators, unless they were to arrive en mass. Their new anti aircraft guns and fusion-energized plasma armor would protect them. Against the reported fusion chaos needles the Hive could have it would be a tough fight, and they would have to depend on their superior training that the Spartan Federation was known for. A fusion chaos foil or cruiser would be a problem, too. Luckily, the Hive had only acquired this technology from Morgan. The Captain cursed Morgan for his incompetence in letting Morgan Pharmaceuticals fall to Yang’s troops, granting him access fusion technology. To this day no one knew how he had gotten a hold of chaos weapon technology. He wasn’t researching it, according to Spartan intelligence, so he must have stolen it from the Spartans.

Victor cursed again, silently, of course. It wouldn’t do to rattle his officers on the bridge.

When Yang got this technology up it would truly be a tough fight. Superior training can only stand so long against superior production.

Now was the time to press the advantage. While it lasted.

*****

Bright glints and flashes of light shown on the horizon, approaching fast to overtake Star. They could only be needlejets. Moreover, they were fusion needlejets penetrators based on their speed.

No one, however, was concerned. In fact, a spontaneous cheer rose up from some on the bridge. These needlejets were coming from Admiralty Base via Zanzibar, and were making a b-line to the south west, roughly parallel to Star’s course…

The first wave in the air attack against Laborer’s Throng was on its way!

A wave of relief passed through Captain Torrez. He knew these able pilots of the Spartan 4th Wing, commanded by the Ben ‘Slats’ Miller, would sweep the ocean clean of enemy ships and planes. He’d been worried when the redoubtable Googlie had retired months ago and had promoted his junior officer Ben to succeed him. In retrospect, he knew he should have trusted Googlie – he knew and understood people, and Slats had done a great job.

*****

“Battle reports coming in, Captain. We’re picking up the secured radio signals from Slat’s flyers,” Comm officer Jerries said. There was a hit of excitement to in her voice.

“Ensign, pipe it through,” Victor ordered.

Silence descended on the bridge of Star as the crew listened carefully to the choppy comm traffic of the battle. Gradually the staccato verbal coordination banter between the bomber pilots gave way to an occasional muffled explosion as the bombs struck home, and whoops and exclamations of delight as the pilots pulled out and headed back to Zanzibar. Finally, there was a brief report that the mission had been a success, with no losses and minimal damage.

Victor smiled, “Well, it looks like our good friends in the 4th Wing have done our job for us. Send a Beta-encrypted message to Atlas and Safe Harbor. They need to know.”

“Right away, Sir!”

*****

“Ops, send up a spyeye and send it toward Laborer’s Throng. Our vids from 4th Wing are a couple of hours old and we need new tactical information.”

“Yes, Sir, Captain,” Ensign Jerries replied.

The bridge crew of Star watched as the flyeye took off and rocketed toward Laborer’s Throng. It was at least as fast as a needlejet, and also had hover ability. In short, it was a perfect surveillance vehicle. It was one of the side benefits of Orbital Spaceflight technology.

In short order the flyeye approached Throng. As in most Hive cities, there wasn’t much to see at the surface. Most, if not all, of the significant buildings and installations were below ground. Throng has a minimal harbor, which now was partially blocked by sunken remains of an old foil, evidently taken out by the needlejets as a secondary target. Luckily, the remaining harbor was easily large enough to accommodate Star, Atlas, and Safe Harbor.

Just inland of the ferrocrete dock the destruction was more evident. A 30-meter wide crater of blasted rock was all that remained of the dock garrison. The chaos and fusion assisted missiles from the Pinwheels had surely done their job. There was no collateral damage, either. That was one of the hallmarks of needlejets – their destruction was neat and tidy.

Just outside of the beleaguered city were patrolling flights of the Aardvark needlejets, who were making sure that no reinforcements arrived. All land access was blocked.

“Ensign, send word to our charges: all’s clear.”

*****

Like rising ghosts, the dark grey transports slowly surfaced, one on each side of Star. Around them the muddy waters rippled, creating small whitecaps as these wakes merged with those of Star of the North. Each of the transports was almost as big as Star. The main difference was that each was streamlined for movement under water, and that they had none of the big chaos guns that made Star so lethal.

All appeared quiet, and there was no movement on the surface of Laborer’s Throng. It was like the entire city was holding its breath.

The two transports slowed to a crawl as they pulled up nose-first to the dock. Even before they had moored the great armored cargo bay doors opened at the bow. These unfolded to the dock, creating a ramp on to the land.

With surprising speed, the infantry of the Amphib raced out. Limbering their guns, the blasted down the nearest cargo bay doors in the rock and plasticrete exterior of Laborer’s Throng and raced inside. Quickly following were the rovers in the amphib rover brigade. They chose a different cargo bay door and similarly blasted through.

Slower, the offensive and garrison rovers of Lightning Strike came streaming across and onto the dock. They followed the elites in and down into the depths of Laborer’s Throng.

There was no resistance.

*****

Mel, commander of Lightning Strike, stood in the Delta Sector Administrative Complex of Laborer’s Throng. The situation was well under control and was issuing a report to 2nd Armor Field Marshal Wang:

“We have had some last-minute sabotage of significant installations during our occupation. The tree farm and energy bank installations here are intact. However, loyal Hive drones managed to destroy the crèche, recycling tanks, and rec commons before we could lock down the city.

Otherwise we have had no problems. The Hive drones are surprisingly compliant, especially when they are looking down the barrel of a chaos rifle after lockdown. It seems they are used to it.

On the plus side, Slat’s flyers were nice enough to leave us the sensor suite at the surface, so we can see a counter attack coming.

Also, we have four interceptors, Indigos 1-3 and 5, arriving within the hour. They aren’t quite as fast as the pens, but weren’t intended for the main strike anyway. These should deter the counter air attack for a while.

Mel.”

Mel examined the holo map to see if she had missed anything. The land all around
Throng had been swept clean of hostiles, and the shipping lanes were clear. Most of the Spartan armor and a good fraction of its airforce was here. They had a perimeter defense and an experienced Ops team, just in case. Moreover, the city was producing a prestigious amount of raw materials, mainly form the nearby borehole, and would quickly build a local garrison.

In short, it was a Spartan’s military officer’s dream: superior weapons, training, position, numbers, maneuver, and concentration of firepower.

What could go wrong?

[Hydro]

The Hive

“Honored Chairman, I regret to report that Laborer’s Throng has fallen. No one escaped, and the city is secured by at least 10 Spartan brigades and it is supported by both interceptors and penetrators,” a junior aid reported to Yang. His voice quivered ever so slightly. While cold and efficient, Yang was known for not tolerating failure.

Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang was strangely calm, even though he had every right to be raging against the forces arrayed against him: The Spartan Federation, The Morgan Federation, and the Stepdaughters of Gaia. In short, everyone that mattered. Of course, Yang dismissed Commissioner Pravin Lal, who was a weakling, even worse than Morgan. All he did was obsess about his precious UN Charter, and prattle on about human rights. At least Morgan acted, even if it was dishonorable and treacherous. Strangely, Yang respected Morgan more for his act of courage. He never thought he had it in him, and thought he would forever be his vassal.

Still, with two of the strongest forces on Planet arrayed against him, and with the help of the Gaians, Yang knew his vaunted Human Hive could only face a slow, grinding defeat unless the situation changed.

Yang thought of Lal’s prattling, and suddenly it all became clear. The solution was at hand, and it would, if effectively managed, tip the balance in his favor. Moreover, he had absolutely nothing to lose.

“Comrade, inform my new People’s Army Marshal Barklow to report to my office in 15 minutes,” Yang said curtly to the sweating aid.

Gratefully, the aid bowed at the waist and left.

Yang turned toward his bare office.

His calm was restored, and his center regained.

All would be well.

*****

The door to Yang’s office opened and in walked a ram-rod straight elderly man. Without preamble he paced to the front of Yang’s desk and waited to be addressed.

After a couple of minutes Yang finished his mental computations and addressed his Field Marshal. His eyes were still closed in partial meditation.

“Marshal, your predecessor failed to anticipate the loss of four Hive bases to Morgan. You have proven your worth in the capture of Morgan Pharmaceuticals, and its great prize the Hunter Seeker Algorithm. I am distressed that your vision seems to have faltered: Laborer’s Throng has fallen to the Spartans, and they are within striking distance of Manufacturing Warrens and The Drone Mound. The next city that will be within their grasp will then be The Hive. Is this assessment correct?”

“Yes, Chairman.”

“Do we currently have the necessary force to repel the Spartans?”

Field Marshal Barklow paused to consider his answer.

“No Chairman, we do not. Most of our weaponry has not been outfitted with fusion and chaos technology. Almost 70% of our reserves have been committed to the defense of Morgan Pharmaceuticals, and the upcoming subjugation of the Morgan Empire. Production of new weaponry has been allocated, must most are not on line at this time.”

Yang turned to face his Field Marshal. His deep brown eyes sparked dangerously, even if absolutely no emotion played across his face.

“That answer is unacceptable, Field Marshal. What do you suggest?”

Barklow paused again. With Yang, lying would get you killed much faster than the truth. Even the truth could get you killed. He had to consider his answer carefully.

“We will refit our 4 available penetrators with our new technology, along with the 3 old impact rovers we have in reserve. This should…”

Yang slammed the palm of his hand onto his desk with blinding speed, creating a crack that was similar to a sonic boom.

Silence descended in Yang’s office.

“Marshal, do not attempt to insult my intelligence. Your ‘plan’ will fail. I believe stronger measures are in order.”

The Field Marshal blanched.

“You wish me to call up those reserves,” he stated to Yang in a dead voice. It was not a question, but a clarification.

“Yes. And I give you authorization to spend almost all our remaining 150 in energy reserves to refit our available attack rovers and aircraft into a like configuration. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Honored Chairman, I understand. It will be done.”

“Dismissed. And do not fail me again.”

Field Marshal Barklow turned on his heel and quickly exited Yang’s office. His stomach was tied up in knots and pangs of doubt raced through his mind.

Pangs of doubt, and foreboding.

Orders of the Honored Chairman not withstanding, crimes against humanity were serious indeed.

The final die was about to be cast.

[Slats]

COMMUNAL NEXUS
SPARTAN SPACE DEFENSE COMPOUND

Michael rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. If a block like this could be called a bed. The hard horizontal platform that protruded from the wall, even with a foam sleeping bag liner covering it, was virtually impossible to get a goodnight’s sleep on. Forster sighed and hopped out of bed, threw a jump suit on and headed down the corridor to the communal shower room.

Twenty minutes later Michael was washed and freshly dressed in his loose black and crimson S.S.D uniform. He looked at his watch, still thirty minutes till his first new crewmember was due to arrive, time for some breakfast. Forster eyed the iron ration packets on the table and instead decided to hike down to the Spartan canteen, rigged in a cargo bay over near the airstrip.

After a good breakfast with some of the support staff, Forster stood near the main hangar door, escorted by three armed SISF soldiers and waited for the daily shuttle to arrive carrying his new science officer. Michael called up her profile on his wrist comp. Hmm… Lindly Shannon, Gaian, with a list of science skills longer than his arm. Also with “some psionic experience”. Forster grunted at that. Interesting. The shuttle passenger list read “+1” beside Lindly’s name. He wondered what the plus one was.

Technically Lindly wasn’t the first crewmember to arrive. The two Morgan crewmen had arrived some days ago with the Morgan aerospace engineering team. Both were skilled in such construction and it had seemed foolish not to have them on the project from the start. Forster had met with them shortly after they had arrived.

Ahmed Mohiuddin was a leading theoretical aircraft designer from Morgan Transport Inc. He seemed good natured, easy to talk to and very outgoing. Forster had liked him from the start. On the other hand Del Dusek of the rival corporation MorganAir Inc., an engineer of advanced aircraft materials, was more quiet, keeping to himself but still talkative enough. The two men regarded each other with respect for their various works but with a sense of rivalry. Neither needed to be told that more than company status was at stake.

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

A faint howl introduced the arrival of the small, thirty person Spartan passenger hopper. The slim craft coasted out of the sky, touched down with a sight squeal of tyres and taxied over towards the hangar. The plane rolled to a stop and a folding stairway deployed automatically. Two…no, three passengers hurried quickly out of the hatchway and into the hangar towards a security check in. Then a most unusual and startling sight emerged from the aircraft.

The sound of weapons being primed and readied were accompanied by shouts of “MINDWORM!!!” as the trio of security personnel behind shouldered their weapons. Two more troopers came hurrying from the hangar entrance.

Forster raised his hand in a signal to hold fire while grinning at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Admittedly she had a small mindworm cluster peeking out from behind her but that only put a slight dampening on the scene…

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

After eagerly making sure Lindly was settled in her new quarters and knew the location of various facilities Forster prepared to meet his new computer specialist, kindly provided by the Peacekeepers.

Alexandria Hanschot, a brilliant young woman, her Spartan Intelligence check up had confirmed she could handle any computer system in existence. Rated as a leading mind in her field she was still apparently quite withdrawn from the world.

Forster’s meeting after her arrival by PK transport had supported this. Hanschot was pleasant enough, answering all his questions although she gave few in return and that faraway look in her eyes gave the impression she had something else more important than social etiquette on her mind… Forster escorted Hanschot to her room carrying some memory storage blocks and other computer paraphernalia for her and said goodnight. After this he retired to his small office above the temporary local HQ and awaited his next crewmember.

Just after nightfall, a call came from the main gate guard, a lone man had emerged mysteriously from the roadside and claimed to be a guest of the S.S.D. Forster ordered the troops at the gate to let the stranger in and escort him to his office. For some reason, Michael wasn’t the least bit surprised.

A few minutes later a tall dark, good-looking man with sharp features arrived at the door to the office. Forster knew that the man would have already been swept for weapons. Forster motioned to a seat before him, nearby a double of best fungal gin awaited.

“I’m Shawn McKenny” started the stranger, “Hive Army, special operations, tactician”.

“Michael Forster, director of SSD, although you already knew that…”

Shawn smiled and without hesitation of drugging slugged back the gin and nodded his appreciation.

“I’d like to ask, why request a soldier from your worst enemy?” he ventured.

Forster gave his own smile, “Well, your fraction has provided us with enough solid state boosters to get most of our construction mass into orbit. If I’ve got to have a Hive representative along, I’d like it to be someone who can look after all of us while we’re up there. I got you. More at the briefing tomorrow.”

Shawn’s smile grew wider as he stood up to leave, “I think we’ll get along just fine, sir…”

Forster rose to shake Shawn’s hand. McKenny’s grip was firm but not overly strong or painful. He reached the door and opened it.

“Shawn”, called Forster before the Hive man walked out. McKenny turned around to look at the SSD chief.

Forster’s voice dropped almost to a murmur, “I’d like to be friends with you Shawn, I really would, understand that. But if I find in any way you try to compromise this mission I will do my damnedest to make sure you don’t set foot on this plant again. Do I make myself clear?”

McKenny bobbed his head in mute understanding and left the room in silence.

[korn469]

The Spartan Federation Capital Building
Sparta Command
03:12 hours SMT

after telling telling the story (with some imput from ashaandi to the rest of the Junta) they had some debate then recessed because the ancient Bisset needed rest..googlie was a free man...he was to recieve some sort of censure, but he emerged relitively unharmed, and his punishment would not be too severe he certainly would not receive a trip to the punishment sphere...but he would not be helping the Junta decide what their course of action would be for ashaandi...the upcoming day debate was what to do with ashaandi...the general mood was that ashaandi should not go on impersonating Burge, but how exactly could they have Burge die? the real gavin burge was a hero, not an usurper, and somehow he would have to come out of this looking like a hero...also they had to decide if they supported ashaandi as their replacemnt for yang in the hive, or if they should execute him as the devious Hive assassin he was...for the time being he was nder heavy watch...and what was going on with santiago? the reports said she had went to morgan, but at that time he was an ally of the hive and he would have surely sold santiago out to Yang...Corizon was not someone to foolishly risk herself like that...what was really going on?

_____________________________________________

googlie emerged from the Junta's closed quarters and Ian was waiting there for him...they had alot of catching up to do

_____________________________________________

general lockhart and the 469th had completely transfered control of sparta command and they were ready to jump to the front

note: this is a place holder post i will edit it to describe the events as soon as i can

[Googlie]

I sat in the small furnished ante-room to the Council Chambers where the Junta were meeting.

Standing discretely to one side was the garrison guard, no longer a paratrooper of the 469th but one of Honshu’s Militia.

I pondered the events of the last few days.

Bisset

Now that was interesting.

There must be a faction within a faction in the Junta that activated his awakening from cryosleep. I had thought only a handful of the senior Junta members knew of his continued existence, yet my belief was obviously mistaken.

And to what purpose?

He had been out of things for forty years. Knew nothing of the Spartan war with the University, Morgan’s virtual annihilation of the Gaians, Yang’s rise to prominence, or any of the events of the last few months. Heck, he probably didn’t even know what a needlejet or Planetbuster was.

Yet someone had briefed him in a relatively short time frame and had brought him up to speed very quickly.

But who? And what was their agenda?

Santiago

Why had Corazon chosen this particular time to go into the regeneration tanks? I genuinely believed that she had been taken hostage by the Yoop resistance, but somehow had been spirited away. And Gavin and I had used her absence judiciously. But how had she been abducted from the Yoops, and why Morgan rejuvenation treatment. Although it was recognized to be the best on Planet.

Was her rejuvenation even voluntary?

Or were some subtle changes made to her personality while under the Morgan operatives’ care?

And what did her return portend.

Anastasia had gotten the message to me that the Gaian Air Force had deployed to Morgan Industries, and also that the GAF had spirited Santiago with them for “safekeeping” from Ashaandi. So at least she was alive and well.

But is she the Corazon Santiago that we used to know?

Ashaandi

I was not so presumptuous as to believe that only I held the secret top a deal with Ashaandi, but realistically what did the Junta generals, and Bisset in particular, know of the subtleties of the necessary politicking to get the Ashaandi/Burge character successful in the battle against Yang, install Ashaandi as the power in the Hive, and manufacture an honorable “death” for Burge.

When Bisset was active fifty years ago Ashaandi was a shadowy figure, a feared assassin, a terrorist. Now he was a politician with a vision for his people.

But they would attempt to incarcerate him and be burned for their efforts. You don’t keep a chameleon empath in check for very long.

Marlo

Her death was puzzling me.

It was too clumsy an attempt to frame the Morganites, yet yang had nothing to gain from her assassination. She was a wager of peace, and peace favored the Hive. Deirdre’s hand was not in it, so it left only two possibilities, both of whom had a vested interest in the war between Sparta and the Hive continuing:

 Ashaandi
 The Yoop resistance

The former I ruled out, as subsequently we learned that Ashaandi knew of the ersatz Santiago, and was using her as his vehicle. His power was greater against Marlo, so there was no need to risk disruption and a possible adverse outcome by removing her.

The Yoop was a distinct possibility, but that wasn’t their style.

But it had to be them, as there was no other credible alternative.

Unless…unless… Lal.

What other faction stood to gain the most by a prolonged war between the two strongest factions on Planet?

Why, the Peacekeepers, of course. As we fought, he could concentrate on building his infrastructure, increasing his territorial claims and conducting his unfettered research.

That bore looking into.

Googlie

Ah, there was the crux. What did I see of myself, for the future.

I had no doubt the junta would find me innocent of treason, but I had given them enough rope to enable them to strip me of any office or even expel me from the Spartan Federation.

 I had conspired, with Burge, to keep the news of Santiago’s disappearance hidden from the people, even from the Junta;
 I had knowingly employed a chameleon actress to play the role of Santiago, to dupe the people;
 I had knowingly withheld the news of Burge’s death from the Junta;
 I had conspired with Ashaandi, an enemy operative, to allow him to maintain control of the Spartan forces
 I had broken my rejuvenation pattern of coming out 50 going in 60 to emerge as a 30 year old – with a 30 year expectation before undergoing treatment again.

In short, it looked mightily like I was indeed planning, or had already undertaken, a coup, with Ashaandi’s assistance.

The only saving grace was Ashaandi’s having me arrested in his power play.

But what were the Junta’s alternatives?

Would they invite Santiago back?

Dare they discipline me, and invite her back, knowing that I was one of her “henchmen”?

Would they banish me to civilian life, maybe as Governor of some obscure base?

Would I be free to take up my appointment as the Ambassador to Gaia’s Stepdaughters?

Would I be sent into exile, to a farm somewhere?

What did I want to do?

That was the question.

I could fight for a full re-instatement of my position and my rights, and demand the return of the Colonel – or her continued banishment – or I could buckle under and meekly accept the Junta’s decision.

Or I could choose my own destiny, and start life afresh, perhaps with Anastasia, if she would have me.

I had youth on my side, allied with unmatched experience. I was not without skills.

I had been, from recent to past, a politician, an Administrator, a famed needlejet ace, a military officer, the Assistant Astrogator on the Unity, under the famed Ulrik Svensgaard (I wondered what he was up to now – the last I heard he’d thrown his lot in with Lal) and before that, on old Earth, a career officer in the Free Scottish peacekeeping regiment, where I had met Lal and Deirdre.

So I had choices, if Sparta rejected me.

[Googlie]

deleted by hive probe team
[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited October 31, 1999).]

[Rynn]

Somewhere in Ruby Ridge Memorial

Shauna felt cheapened.

She had pulled the same stunt three times now, and had finally accumulated enough credits to afford a hotel room. Giving the storekeeper a ten bit disc and using her empath projection to convince him that he was receiving a transfer of 100. Oh, the electronic register was recording ten, but he was reading one hundred as he had counted out the cash. She’d asked for change rather than credit. In port cities, no questions were asked.

The bright neon sign of the Morgan Processing Hilton still blazed, although what used to be Morgan Processing was now under Spartan control and called Ruby Ridge Memorial. She was sure that Sand wouldn’t think of looking for her there.

She had seen Sand once more, at the sympathizer’s safe house, where he and his two attendants and Kurt were staying.

“We are sorry you could not choose us unreservedly,” he had said to Shauna. “Nevertheless, we understand your choice and why you made it. However, you are important to us, not least for the safety of the child you are carrying. So Haraan Ashaandi has pulled some strings, and effected some alterations in the records, and you will return to The Leader’s Horde and resume your former employment at the Ministry of Zeal there.”

“Do I have any choice in the matter?” she asked.

“There is a diplomatic courier flight leaving here in three hours for Communal Nexus. They are part of the co-operative space venture. You have accreditation to be on that flight. You will connect to another internal flight to The Leaders’ Horde, where your old job awaits you.”

“And if I say No?” she asked.

“Then you will be turned loose in this city to fend for yourself,” Sand replied.

Shauna looked over to Kurt beseechingly. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, busying himself with a piece of equipment he was working on.

Her eyes filled with tears, yet steadfastly she refused to cry.

‘So this is how it is to be,’ she thought. ‘I’m on my own with a baby inside me that the Circle is intensely interested in. They’ll look after me to ensure that I come to no harm, but only because of the child. So if I’m that important, they’ll not let anything happen to me.’

She made her decision. “OK, I’ll pack my few things and be ready for the trip to the airport in 30 minutes.”

She went into the small room that she and Kurt had been sharing and locked the door behind her.


She’d packed her few things in her grip, and cautiously opened the small window to let herself out into the alley at the back of the building. Her plan had been hastily hatched, and had more to do with escaping from Sand as it had with running somewhere.

Consequently, she was momentarily at a loss as she stood in the alleyway, a stranger in a strange city.

Then the realization dawned on her. Of course, she wasn’t lost. She was an empath. The collective consciousness of every citizen was hers to tap. She would know the city better than any single inhabitant. She just had to know where to look.

And she had to count on Kurt’s warped sense of honor. She was relying on his adhering to their lover’s bargain of never “eavesdropping” uninvited into each others thoughts.

Sand was a different matter entirely. She had spent some time on the boat building her neural defenses, and was fairly confident that she could block him out, even while sleeping. Unless he still had some tricks he hadn’t shown her.

But she was holding all the aces. He couldn’t risk any kind of neural attack on her for fear of damaging her unborn daughter. All he could do was watch and try to keep her from outward harm.

So she began to “explore” the city.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

She remembered the many hours of training she had gone through with Kurt, and focussed her mind to a sharp beam. She sent it out, a weak tendril of a probe, insufficient even to be recognized as such by other than an empath. She flicked it around the myriad of consciousnesses she encountered until she found one that was useful. A baker’s delivery boy.

She entered the mind.

He was idly watching the vidnews when he suddenly found himself thinking of his route from the shop to the various homes served by his employer. For fun, he imagined different routes through the city, taking the back alleys instead of the thoroughfares. Then he thought what fun it would be to hide, to escape detection from imaginary chasers.

He thought of the hotels in the city. The little family run ones to the huge Hilton. He imagined himself entering by the huge stairway rather than the delivery entrance he was used to. What he would say to the receptionist, and how he would haughtily give the bellhop his bag.

Then he found himself thinking about the various small shopkeepers he knew and what they sold, taking inventory in his mind of clothes shops, hairdressers, pharmacies, cafes and the like.

His mind wandered. Where were the garrison barracks...the police stations…the magistrates offices…the various government buildings.

He sighed. He really ought to pay attention to the vidnews. His boss, the master baker, was always on his case about getting a good education and often quizzed him the next day on the previous day’s news. How could he let his mind wander like that?

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

She found her way to one of the quieter feeder streets to the center, and made her way to the clothes store.

It was in one of the less fashionable areas, but still posted prices that made her wince. She had a ten-bit disc with her that she had hidden since they left The Leader’s Horde. It was about a month’s wages in The Hive but here wouldn’t even buy a simple scarf.

That’s when she pulled her trick.

Selecting a classic synthsilk jumpsuit with a hood that could cover her give-away hair represented six months wages, but she sweetly handed over her disk with an impish grin and said “I’ll take the change in cash, please.”

The shopkeeper rang in the disk, and although the message displaying was insufficient funds she pulled out four similar ten bit disks and handed them to Shauna, deactivating the register as she did so.

Shauna pocketed them, and left the store, releasing the storekeeper from the mind-hold as she walked out of the door.

She repeated the process twice more, stocking up with some accessories and a synthleather travel bag, and with some supplies from the pharmacy that would address her appearance and hair coloring.

Then she went to the hotel.

The Intercontinental was at one end of the main street, Processing Avenue, with the huge processing plant and headquarters building from whence the base had derived its name at the other end. A canal ran down the center, effectively dividing the Avenue into two, and the westbank was lined with the towers of the richer residences and corporate offices while the eastbank was the commerce and hotel section of the city.

The Intercontinental dwarfed the immediate neighbors, and vied with Processing Corp. itself for the bragging rights for the tallest building. Even under the Spartan regime, the city hadn’t lost its pace or its verve. The restaurants were full, and the nightlife was beginning to pick up.

Shauna walked down the rows of shops and stores, looking wistfully at the goods on display. Although she herself had written copy for the publications emanating from the Ministry of Zeal berating the excesses of Morgan’s ostentatious wealth, she was envious of the beautiful clothes and jewelry on display.

Which led her to her next decision. She needed somewhere to change into her clothes to be less conspicuous.

She chose a small café with internal washrooms, and as she had learned to do gave it a swift neural scan before entering. Ordering a juice and a muffin bought her the time to relax and then visit the restroom to change into a more elegant outfit.

She emerged feeling quite the sophisticate.

The walk to the Hilton was uneventful. She had time on her side, with nowhere to and no firm plans, so she took her time in the strange city, rubbernecking a little. She had never been in a large city with such huge buildings above ground. The few remaining old Believer buildings in The Leader’s Horde were only a dozen or so floors high, but the Hilton was well over 75 and the Processing Tower just under that in height.

As she approached the Hilton she paused. There were Spartan garrison troops at either side of the great doorway, looking very businesslike with their shredder rifles unslung. Were they looking, waiting for her, she wondered.

She swept them imperceptibly with her thought probe, and relaxed. They weren’t waiting for her, but for the Base Governor, Hargreaves, who was due to arrive at any moment.

Seizing her chance to find the reception clerk somewhat harried, she swept past the guards and up the stairway through the doors and into the opulent foyer of the Hilton, her mind open as she swept the premises for any sign of danger.

And screamed in pain as the neural bolt hit her, blasting through her slow defenses, and knocking her unconscious to the floor.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

She came to, lying in a bed with synthsilk sheets, bathed by the soft light of the Morgan glowlamps. Her face was being bathed solicitously with a soft cloth dampened with hot water, by a figure just hovering in the shadows, just out of her sight.

She turned her head to thank her benefactor, and froze in shock.

She was looking into the eyes of Sand.

“So, my pretty Shauna. Thought you could escape and hide out from us, Eh?” he said, with a slight grin.
“You forget you are matching wits with one who makes a living at this business.”

Shauna glowered at him.

He continued: “But we can’t go through life for the next ten years escaping from each other and capturing you every time, can we?

“But I think that we have found the perfect carrot. Look over to the vidscreen.”

Shauna looked over at the wallside console as Sand flicked on the commlink tape.

Shauna. We haven’t met but let me introduce myself. I am Haraand Ashaandi, the leader of the so-called Circle. You are important to us in ways that you can not even imagine, Shauna, not the least for the child you are carrying. Your daughter, Shauna, is destined to be the greatest empath that Planet has known, and she represents the future of The Hive. A future, Shauna, that we both agree has no place in it for Sheng-Ji Yang.

But how can we persuade you to stay the course, to be part of this future?

Ah, Shauna, we have found something to tug at your heart; to give you a reason along with your faith, to stay with us and include the Circle in your future.

For we have found your father. Yes, Shauna, your father. The man you haven’t seen for twenty years, whom your mother banished from your home when he could not embrace her faith. But he has never forgotten you, and has made a career of caring for children – for the children he never had the joy of watching grow up,

The view changed to include Ashaandi and another figure. Ashaandi went on:

He is waiting to be the grandfather for your daughter, if you let him. If you reject him, he will be executed. For he is a dissident, and even I cannot save him from The Chairman’s “justice” unless the full weight of the Circle is brought to bear. You see, Shauna, your father is none other than the voice of the people, ‘Silvermane’. So his fate is in your hands. What is your decision?

Shauna looked over to Sand as the screen went dark.

“You bastards,” she said. You sure do know how to use blackmail, don’t you? I don’t think he’ll be any better than Yang.”

“Details, details,” said Sand. “What’s your decision?”

“Take me to my father,” she replied.

[Paula Forbes]

(A joint posting by Paula Forbes and Googlie)


Tape 22/08.spa.2225 © MorganLink 3DVision

Good evening.

This is Paula Forbes bringing you this interview with the leader of the Spartan Federation, Colonel Corazon Santiago, live from our Corporate Headquarters studios here at Morgan Industries.

"Good evening, Colonel. If I may say so, you are looking well."

"Thank you, Paula. I feel fine. I must commend the fine facilities you have here at Morgan Industries - your rejuvenation tanks are among the finest on Planet."

"Thank you. Colonel. And that segues neatly into my first question, one that has been engaging the minds and imaginations of our viewers these last five weeks. What happened to you around the time of the nuclear attack on Sparta Command's Command Center. We heard news that you had been kidnapped?"

"Well, it's a long story, but it bears telling."

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

It started about a couple of days before the Junta meeting to discuss the prosecution of the war against the Hive. I was sitting in my office at the Command Center with my aide, Ayala, nearby fussing with the holorecording equipment getting ready for the conference.

She stopped what she was doing, sniffed, and came over to me, tears welling in her eyes.

"What is it Ayola?" I asked her.

"Colonel, I have something to tell you," she said somewhat hesitantly.

"Go on," I said, now intrigued.

"It's a long story, Colonel, but I'd better start at the beginning.

"There's still an active UoP resistance movement among the old captured bases, and some of the more violent elements have been conspiring with the Hive. They are going to mount a joint attack here during the conference and dispose as many of the Junta as they can, and spirit you away to the Hive.

"The UoP resistance will demand as their price for peace from civil war the return of the five captured bases to UoP elected control, and the Hive will demand concessions from the younger officers to effect your return."

"How do you know this, Ayola?" I asked her softly.

Her lip quivered: "I am one of them," she said.

"My role is to abduct you and take you to a pick-up spot where their agent, Sand, will collect you.

"You?" I asked, astonished.

"Yes, I'm of University descent. One of twins, actually descended from Prokhor Zakharov himself."

"Why are you telling me this, Ayola. You know I will just have you arrested and move the conference site. Or hold it holographically."

"Because I have come to respect you Colonel. And some of us don't believe in violence as a means to solving our problems. It was never my grandfather's way. And I fear from what I hear that you have some Junta members who are sympathetic to the Hive as well as to the University cause."

I pondered that. If true, then the malaise was deeper than even I had suspected. There were hotheads among the junta who thought I was growing soft as we matured. That I had deviated from the ideal that had pulled us together those many years ago. Such minds would find comfort in The Hive, I was sure.

I needed to root them out. But first to identify them.

"Ayola, how were you going to abduct me?

"I have been given an electronic restraint system that will incapacitate you when activated. You will be under my control via electronic prods as if under mind control."

"So what do you suggest we do, Ayola?"

"I have a plan, Colonel, that I think might just work. We have an old talent, a chameleon actress. We could hire her and have her play your role. I'll abduct her and take her to the pick-up point, and you can go to safety with another of our operatives until the scare blows over."

I mulled over that. This offered a way to go into hiding for a spell, and observe my junta in action. See who came to the fore, and who shrunk into the background. Who the future leaders might be.

"Let's do it, Ayola. We'll set up the junta conference as a holomeeting, I'll go with your colleague, and hire the actress to impersonate me.

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

"So this was essentially the idea of your aide, Colonel? She and you concocted this deception?"

"Exactly, Paula.

"The Junta had grown to a somewhat unwieldy size as we added fresh blood, but didn't retire the older members. And of course, with rejuvenation there really didn't need to be any old people."

"Well, we know the deception worked, Colonel. I myself covered the aftermath of the explosion and personally was involved in the rescue of "the Colonel". But what happened afterwards. Why did you not just reappear to claim your position?

"You have obviously undergone rejuvenation treatment. What led you to this?"

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

Ayola went off with the chameleon actress, and I went with Natasha, another of the young UoP resistance operatives.
We drove out of Sparta Command in a converted rover, and made our way to a monolith outside the Base. I was made quite comfortable inside, with a commlink having restricted coverage, and a supply of food and water. There was a satellite link Vidunit as well to pick up Morgannews.

A couple of days passed and I followed the happenings on the news.

I made the broadcast to the people that you ran on the tape that Anastasia supplied.

Then a strange thing happened.

I was sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, when suddenly the monolith came to life. Oh, I'm not talking of the opening and closing of the entrance - somehow the University technology had managed to get that up and running. No, what I'm talking about is that it seemed to be alive, sort of pulsing with energy.

The wall I was facing, seemingly an orange-reddish monofilament substance suddenly started to glow, and I could detect a faint hum. The wall began to shimmer, then out of it stepped two men, dressed entirely in black, hooded, just walking out of the wall. Behind them it coalesced back into its monofilament form.

I was taken aback. An assassination squad, perhaps.

They pulled their hoods from their faces, and I gasped in recognition.

Haraan Ashaandi and Jerome Sand.

I knew them, of course, from the early days.

Ashaandi spoke.

"Colonel. You have been duped. You are now the subject of a ransom demand by the Yoop terrorists demanding the ceding of Fort Superiority back to their control in return for your safekeeping and release."

"And why is this of concern to you," I asked them.

"We have no desire to see Sparta weakened by internal strife," Ashaandi replied.

I stood dumfounded.

"And why would not Sparta's greatest enemy not want to see us weakened?" I asked.

"Our mission is to remove Sheng-Ji Yang from power and restore The Hive to its original mission. The Chairman has grown fat and corrupt in his dotage. We need a strong Sparta to help us achieve our ends. We are here to take you to safety. To the safety of our allies in Morgan Industries."

"And if I refuse your offer?"

"You have no choice in the matter," Ashaandi said. "I can compel you."

I found myself standing, and walking over to Sand. I fought every step of the way, but Ashaandi's will in my mind was stronger than mine. I stood in front of sand, and reached up and tenderly drew a finger down those scars on his face, the scorch marks from the flamer that Allardyce had turned on him so many years ago. He refused to have them synthfleshed, preferring to wear them as a mark of honor and courage.

I cupped my hand behind his head, and pulled it down to mine. Moistening my lips I kissed him, opening my mouth slightly and letting my tongue play with his, teasing, exploring, exciting.

I couldn't control myself. The revulsion I felt was masked by the will of Ashaandi in me, commanding me, playing me like a puppet.

He released his hold.

I sprang back, spitting to the ground.

Sand smiled wickedly, wiping his lips with the backs of his fingers.

"Thanks," he said to Ashaandi. "I owe you one."

"So you see," Ashaandi said. "I can compel you. But that will be uncomfortable for us both. I suggest that you put this on and accompany us."

He threw me a black hooded jumpsuit similar to those that he and Sand wore.

As I put it on, I felt my flesh tingle, as if an electric current was passing through me. I was aware of the hairs on the nape of my neck standing up with the static charge.

I pulled the hood tightly over my head and put on the glasses Sand gave me.

Ashaandi walked up to the wall and extended a hand. As his fingers touched the surface, it shimmered and the texture of the monofilament surface dissipated. He walked through and disappeared from view.

"Now you," Sand said.

I too reached out and touched the wall. My hand disappeared through it and I followed, the wall parting and folding itself around me as I passed through. It solidified behind me, then Sand came through.

I stood transfixed. Behind me was the monolith, yet I was standing in a field of fungus as far as the eye could see. Immediately ahead was the beach of an ocean that I didn't recognize, but a small foil was tied up just offshore, and we walked through the fungus to the shore and waded out.

We traveled that night across a straight from the landmass I discovered later was The Emerald Isle and sailed into Morgan Aerospace. I was met there by another of Ashaandi's minions, and escorted to Morgan Industries.

We sat in a room in one of the downtown hotels; Ashaandi, Sand, Melissa (Ashaandi's agent) and me.

Ashaandi said:

"Colonel, I have a proposition. There is some nasty work needs to be done to clear up Planet and I suggest that you will be the stronger for not being around when it is being done.

"Your key Junta members, St Salvador and Allardyce are already in the regeneration tanks and will be there for weeks. Burge has been warned of a virus, and needs to enter the tanks as well. I suggest that you do, here, at Morgan Industries. When you emerge, the war will have been won, and I will be installed as the legitimate authority in The Hive. We can do business. We understand each other, my dear Colonel."

"But who will wage the war?" I asked.

"Why Field Marshall Burge," he replied.

Before me I saw Ashaandi's face shimmer, as had the walls of the monolith. The skin stretched and puffed, distorting then settling, and within a few seconds I was looking at Gavin Burge.

"Corrie, my dear. Where the hell have you been?" he boomed. Not quite perfect, but if you were expecting to see Burge then you would believe that was he.

"I'll wage the battle, together with the SAC, the navy and the 469th. Honshu can pull garrison duty while the elite troops are in the field. You'll be in the regeneration tanks and when you emerge, the world will be cleaner."

"And you can force me to?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

So I entered the tanks.

And emerged two days ago. The rest is history.

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

"Fascinating, Colonel," I said. "And did the world pan out as expected?"

"Not quite, Paula. I didn't anticipate so many deaths. Gavin. Now Ashaandi will pay for that. And Marlo, my dear friend Marlo. We went back right to old earth, you know."

"I know, Colonel. We were friends too.

"What are your plans now, colonel?"

"Well Paula, I seem to have thrown my lot in with Deirdre's forces for the time being. I don't know what's happening over at Sparta Command, with Allardyce's arrest. I heard that Bisset had resurfaced. He'll steer through the minefield if anyone can.

"I'm going back over. Julia will fly me there and then they are going to deploy to their old Hive bases that CEO Morgan has agreed to return to their control.

"My place is with my generals and with my people."

"Colonel Santiago, thank you for this interview. Good luck on your return.

"This is Paula Forbes saying goodnight."

Endtape


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

[Tokek Belerang]

"How have you been?" the swarthy man asked.
"Quite well, thank you." the smaller of the two replied, lifting a glass of fungibrew to his lips.
The 118 Bar took not a scrap of notice of the two. Which suited them fine.
"You look it."
"Thank you. How was Hiveland?"
"You did not read the report?"
"I did."
The swarthy man laughed briefly.
"Pretty dismal." he said. "Most of the time I didn't know who to fear most, the Hive or my own bunch."
"My friend, that's not what I want to hear about."
"What, then?"
"Did you meet our associate?"
"Yes."
"Did he tell you anything about the Hunter Program?"
"The Hunter-Seeker Algorithm?"
"No. The Hunter Program."
A waitress stepped up to their table.
"Anyone of you called Staffan?" she asked.
"Yes." the smaller man replied, looking up.
"Lady at the bar sends you this."
She tossed a note on the table. The swarthy man looked around at the bar. No ladies there. He looked back in alarm at the man called Staffan.
"Relax." Staffan said. "It doesn't mean anything."
He looked at the note.
"I see you've been approved of. Do you think you could tell me more about the Hunter Program if I called it Program Fratricide?"
The swarthy man visibly relaxed.
"Yes. I suppose so."
"Good. Let's wait for our friend, shall we?"
"No need to wait, gentlemen. I am here already."
A chair was pulled up, a mug of fungibrew was set down on the stained formica tabletop.
"Peacekeepers." the newcomer announced. "Peacekeepers, and your pathetic Spartan probe intelligence setup. Shall we get to business? I am expected elsewhere."
"We have time." Staffan says, and looks into the newcomer's face.
Still the horrible disfigurement. Hidden from view by a cowl, but quite visible in the light of the single bulb above the table. Must consider it an ornament. A trophy, a totem. Scary.
Staffan's quiet remark unsettled Sand - for it was he, out on an indistinct warpath that has led him to the outreaches of Spartan territory, to the seedy part of the Bunker, in a pow-wow with the impassive Staffan and his rather more uncertain associate.
"And you, of the great Circle of Ashaandi, against whom are you seeking assistance among the humble Spartans?" Staffan asked.
"Damn you, St James." Sand hisses.
Staffan tut-tuts into his beer, grinning discreetly to himself.
Or perhaps not quite so discreetly.

[Hydro]

The Hive

Even after these many months his sumptuous UN office never fail to irritate Sheng-Ji Yang, whose proclivities are more aesthetic in nature. One simply does not need a highback leather chairs, antique hand-carved cherry desk, and plush organiweave self-cleaning carpet to efficiently complete one’s work. They are but useless trappings and are distractions, especially to those who are weak of mind.

Yang runs a finger over the least used portion of the desktop. It never collects dust, because this expensive antique has been fitted with an electromagnetic field that repels dust.

Yang’s eyes narrow to slits, and his lips form an unconscious grimace.

Waste!

This rampant materialism encourages unnecessary individualism and inhibits structure and order. Structure and order are all that prevent society from descending into chaos!

Once again, Yang stifles these unbecoming emotions with the ancient Art of Chen ‘Shin. Closing his eyes to descend into his inner self:

Learn to overcome the crass demands of flesh and bone, for they warp the matrix through which we perceive the world. Extend your awareness outward, beyond the self of body, to embrace the self of group and the self of humanity. The goals of the group and the greater race are transcendent, and to embrace them is to achieve enlightenment.

The 32nd Stricture! As always the right Stricture comes to mind, to guide him where so many others fall to the side or are led astray. If only others could understand this Truth.

Putting this thought aside, Security Head Yang puts on his miniaturized optireader to start his daily assessment of geopolitical and environmental events. The optireader is the latest technology, meant for CEOs and Presidents. Being Head of Security of the great United Nations Project Starship Unity does have its irritations and distractions, but also it has useful privileges.

*****

Yang reaches up to his temples and takes off the microfilament and transponder that makes up the optireader and puts it down on his desk As always, the news is distressing, amazing, and a little disconcerting. Quickly filtering the data, Yang classifies and analyzes the likely impact of the most significant events to his Unity project:

 Eruption of the 9th Indian-Pakistani war, with over 30 millions dead in an exchange of tactical nuclear weapons. Assessment: irrelevant, since this region has been embroiled in conflict for over 100 years. And all those who have died, and will continue to die as the spasm continues, are conscripts and peasants – excess population. The only significant event is the slagging of over 70% of New Deli, and that is minor.

 Further collapse of the North Sea fishery due to severe over fishing and an unprecedented 5th year of widespread red tide in near-shore nursery fisheries. Assessment: it will lead to increased food costs and shortages in Europe and North America. Overall no impact, except to cause increased starvation in Sub-Saharan Africa and portions of Asia due to higher food commodity prices.

 Election of a solid majority to the Great Temple in the Christian States of America. Assessment: significant. The Neo-Righteous Party of America ran on a biblical platform of ideological reformation and a return to old-line values. They threatened ‘extreme measures’ against the humanistic and humanitarian states, such as Canada and secessionist west coast, and vowed to withhold support from all United Nations projects that did not have their explicit approval. Although weakened economically and scientifically since the dismantlement of the old United States of America, they still hold diminished but considerable financial resources. And they are a very potent nuclear threat.

 Continued economic collapse in the Third Russian Republic, possibly leading to a third depression in 75 years. Assessment: minimal impact. Most Russian financial support was withdrawn during the last depression 10 years ago. One possible negative effect might be the withdrawal of Provost Zakharov to the Third Russian Republic . He has been instrumental in shaping scientific strategy for the Unity project, and leading the collection of the best applied and theoretical scientists for the mission. This potential Russian collapse also threatens the revival of the Chinese economy that faltered during their last experiment with democracy, and by extension the worldwide economic hegemony of the South East Asian Economic Association.

Yang pondered for a moment. There were other news issues, but they were of regional or local concern and there therefore not a direct threat to Unity. Some of the smaller brush fires that might threaten his project were typically political in nature. Yang’s network of agents, such as his loyal long-time associates from his China days Ashaandi and Sand, take care of these situations with a well-placed assassination, persuasion, or ‘accident’. Of course, the UN authorities would be horrified if they found out, but political expediency overcomes political niceties. That is how Yang got this position: innuendo, dissemination of unpleasant information to interested parties, coercion, and raw merit and talent. Of course, some within the UN must suspect. Clearly they didn’t want to know. Yang knew that is why he was granted the honor of Chief of Security for this project. Plus, with Yang there was complete deniability – a supreme asset to any politician who wanted a nasty job assessed and executed.

Today’s news simply reinforced the correctness of his decision to leave the behind-the-scenes reigns of power in China for the UN. China’s leaders had experimented twice with democracy, and it had failed. Miserably. The forces of chaos always consumed democracy’s material benefits, which were always a fleeting chimera. Democratic experiments in Russia, and even America, had failed catastrophically, and their societies convulsed, producing a petty despotism in the former and a theocracy in the latter.

The problem was endemic, and cyclic. Clearly, the only hope was to leave Earth and start anew. Humanity’s salvation was in the stars.

Guiding and whispering into Captain Garland’s ear will produce a society oriented toward the good of all. It will be productive and focused. There will be order. The needs of society will be met, and the whole of humanity will be expanded by it, Yang thought contemplatively.

Yang’s internal chronometer told him is 20 minutes of daily news digestion was at an end, and that his duties as Security Chief were to take precedence.

Order must be maintained.

*****

A tall, statuesque woman enters Yang’s office. She has a tight, muscular form and moves with catlike grace and purpose. Her black hair is shoulder length, but is pulled efficiently into a ponytail in the back. Accenting her hair is a bronzed and ever so slightly weather-beaten skin, demonstrating she is at home outside and is no stranger to the elements, or hard work. Her face is narrow with an aquiline nose.

As she enters she seems to look down at Chief Yang with an arrogant disdain. A slight smile curls at the corners of her mouth.

She has been looking forward to this encounter, and waits patiently as Chief Yang makes her wait.

Finally, Chief Yang acknowledges his visitor and swivels around. He briefly glances up at her with his deep brown eyes, not truly looking her in the face. It is a veiled insult that she is not even worth is full consideration. Then he glanced back down at the datapad in front of him. According to protocol, this disposition had to be exact and correct.

“Coronal Corazon Santiago, in accordance with UN regulations I am required to inform you of my assessment of your application to the Security Detachment for the UN project Unity.

Your application is denied. Although you are physically fit and meet the minimal demands of mental acuity, your disposition is not inclined toward the mental discipline that the Unity project requires. You have a documented reputation for insubordination and lack of respect for authority. The Testing and Assessment Board, as required by the UN Employment Procedures Act of 2045, uniformly gave you an unsatisfactory rating in Social Integration and Obedience, as well as Protocol Knowledge. Moreover, your background as a ‘freedom fighter’ makes you uniquely unqualified for this or any other position aboard this or any other UN project.

You will be granted application pay, as per your contract.”

Yang looked up from his datapad and looked directly into Santiago’s eyes.

“You are dismissed,” Yang said.

Although his face registered no emotion, his eyes revealed a sense of triumph at a potential foe summarily vanquished. Another in the forces of chaos defeated.

That is the sweetest victory.

If Santiago was disappointed, her cool bearing didn’t show it. The bare curl of a smile at the corners of her mouth turned into a full-fledged grin.

“Chief Yang,” she replied in a clipped voice, “I appreciate your, shall we say, candor in your assessment. Some of it may even be true.” Santiago emphasized the last phrase to increase its acidity.

“However, you are mistaken on several points. First, you neglected to mention my performance on all other categories, including Tactics, Small Arms, Security Measures, and a host of others, which were at least in the top 10% of the candidates. Second, and most important, is that not everyone on the Testing and Assessment Board found that my performance to be, on the whole, unsatisfactory. One very significant person deemed it exemplary: Captain Garland.”

With a flourish, Santiago produced a data crystal and handed it toward Yang.

Yang looked at the crystal for a moment, then reached out and took it. He inserted it into his datapad and read the results.

Yang stopped his measured breathing as he read the display, and his eyes narrowed. He tested the crystal’s authenticity: it was genuine.

Looking up at Santiago, Yang read in a perfectly deadpan voice, “By order of Captain Garland of the UN Starship Unity, Coronal Corazon Santiago is hereby made Vice Chief of Security due to her excellent performance on the UN Skills Assessment and her unmatched leadership ability . She is to report to Security Chief Sheng-Ji Yang for immediate assignment in the Unity Security Force.

Signed: Captain Garland”

After Yang finished there was a pause.

Santiago relished every second.

“The orders are clear. Vice Chief Santiago, report for detail at 0800 tomorrow morning. Dismissed,” Yang orders.

“Yes, Sir,” Santiago exclaimed with exaggerated exuberance. Then she saluted, gracefully turned on her heal, and exited the room. She purposefully sways her back end at him as she left to emphasize her victory – a subtle insult.

Yang watched her leave with glittering rage in his eyes.

*****

Focus on the center.

Subsume it, the chaos.

The center must hold.

There is hope in destroying. Joy in understanding.

Slowly, Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang’s senses return. First the sound of his heart, then sensation of the air circulating against his sensitive skin, then the sound of a compressor behind the bulkhead.

Finally light shows as red through the lids of his closed eyes.

Awareness of the physical world returns and the stored and categorized memories of the past recede. It is a vexing past – one that has defied understanding. Even now, over 130 years since the event, this element of chaos remains.

And this chaos grows.

Santiago!

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited November 01, 1999).]

[Slats]

COMMUNAL NEXUS
MOBILE S.S.D HQ

Everyone was here.

The last crewmember, the ship’s pilot, had arrived yesterday. Pat ‘Bearcat’ Brewster, an ex-SAC Group Captain would be helmsman in the event of any manual manoeuvring needed. Brewster had a good service record until just after the beginning of hostilities with the Hive. He had commanded a rescue attempt to retrieve Governor Allardyce when he’d been shot down by Hive AAA performing a reconnaissance flight.

The operation had failed miserably and Brewster had then been passed over for promotion to head of SAC. He’d gone AWOL and after a time been struck from SAC records, thought lost for good. Forster had found him a week later, propping up a bar in Hommels Citadel. A long bout of SSD flight training had cleaned him up and he had been earmarked for a mission into the asteroid belt before the Unity had been discovered.

Now Forster looked around the now almost deserted HQ at his new crew. They sat around, perched on chairs and consoles chatting amongst themselves. The two Morgan engineers talked with Brewster about aircraft wing design and Lindly Shannon with Hanschot and McKenny. The mindworm ‘Ehm’ lay curled on a terminal, looking asleep. Forster wondered if mindworms slept. He called them all to order:

“Everyone, we all know why we are here. Our mission, for the good of humanity is to retrieve what energy and data we can from the derelict U.N.S Unity, which is currently heading insystem. You are all here for a purpose. I will now outline that purpose.”

“Mr Brewster, our new pilot, will ensure our safe journey to and from the Unity. Miss Hanschot will interface with the Unity computer, gain access into the ship itself and operate any systems we will need once onboard. Engineers’ Mohiuddin and Dusek will rig our transfer equipment upon our arrival and along with Miss Shannon, our scientist, examine any remaining equipment left over that can be salvaged. Mr McKenny, along with our mascot Ehm, will provide on-site security though we anticipate no problems. I am commander of this mission. Does anyone have a problem with any part of this arrangement? If so, speak up now…”

No one spoke.

“Excellent. Now Ladies and Gentlemen, we leave in two days, enough time to complete your training. We will then be deposited by spaceplane to our new vessel. The United Nations Ship Redemption.

[Googlie]

The word was brought to me by General Honshu himself, in his usual curt manner.

“Googlie. You’re exonerated. Your complicity with Ashaandi rules you out of any decision-making re his future. Go take a week’s vacation and report back to the Junta a week from now.”

He turned on his heels and went back into the chambers.

I stood up.

Vacation? I’d just had a four week 'vacation’ in the rejuvenation tanks.

Report? I wasn’t some junior officer being invited to join the Junta and being told to keep my nose clean and my ear to the ground.

I was the Federation Governor until Colonel Santiago relieved me of that title.

Of course, lack of a power base really hurt. An air force general backed by loyal pilots and befriended by the field marshal commanding the bulk of the standing army had certainly more clout than a pathetic civilian who was known to have colluded with a sworn enemy.

So maybe the lie low vacation wasn’t a bad idea.

I left the anteroom and went down the stairs to the reception area.

I recognized him, although, of course, he didn’t know what to look for so didn’t immediately recognize me. He was sitting chatting with Anastasia who looked up when I came down the stairs.

“Ian,” I boomed.

“Dad?” he asked, hesitantly, wondering perhaps if this were some practical joke.

“The same,” I said, giving him a bear hug.

Anastasia stood shyly by, and finally asked:

“You’re free to go, then?”

I released Ian, and turned to her, extending my arms.

“Come here,” I said.

She melted into my embrace.

“Free, Stazi, and with time on my hands. Ordered by the Junta to take a vacation. And you’re coming with me.”

“How do you know my Yoop nickname?” she asked me.

“Ashaandi’s stupid at times. Had me arrested, but didn’t know how to revoke my privileges. So while I was awaiting their verdict I just sat at the terminal, punched in, and wandered through the files. You’re on the most wanted list, you know? Your Stazi name is there on your file.”

“Most wanted?” she asked. “For what?”

“Can’t you guess?” I replied. “And we’ll have a week together doing it.”

She had the grace to blush. Ian just roared with laughter.

“I can see my time was wasted trying to make a pass at you,” he said to Anastasia. “My old man here looks too like my older brother for me to stand a chance. And he’s got 175 years experience on me.”

I punched him in the ribs.

“Come on, let’s go grab some dinner. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

We linked arms and left the Command Center.


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

[Googlie]

“Sparta Command, this is Gaian Air Force One requesting permission to approach and land. Accompanied by GAF Interceptor wing.”

“GAF One we’ve been tracking you three for some minutes now, you may come in, the coast is clear of traffic. Do you need ground crew or refuelling?”

“Our ground crew is with us, a bit cramped. Refuelling would be acceptable. Is Slats around?”

“Indeed he is. Off duty right now, but we’ll schedule a meeting in the morning. Have you accommodation arranged?”

“If our recently vacated rooms are still free we’ll kip out there. Any news on Googlie?”

“Just heard, he’s been cleared. Told to vacate himself for a week, though.”

“Has he?”

“Don’t know. He hasn’t passed through here, that’s for sure. Why are you interested?”

“I’m ferrying in an old friend of his – just wanted to know if his apartment is available.”

“Well, it’s big enough. He’s got a couple of guest rooms from what I hear. He’s being using the Governor’s Mansion in any event until his arrest. You know the codes for his place?”

“His friend does. We’ll just let ourselves in.”

"GAF One, I have you on visual now. Commence your approach.”

“Roger,” said Julia. She was coming in from the west, with the setting suns behind her.

The Penetrator and its two Interceptor escorts made flawless touchdowns and taxied to the dispersal apron.

Julia turned to the passenger occupying the cramped jump seat.

“Home again,” she said to Colonel Corazon Santiago.

“Indeed,” the young fresh-faced Colonel replied. “I wonder what kind of reception they’ll give me?”

“When are you going to face them,” Julia asked.

“Right away,” Corazon replied. “Might as well get it over with. The Junta is still in session, I understand. I’d like to have some input into Ashaandi’s fate.”

They exited the aircraft, Santiago keeping her flying helmet on with the visor down although it was now evening.

She was met at the terminal building as she had arranged, by Poitier, General Honshu’s aide.

‘We’ll be about ten minutes crossing the base, Colonel,” he said deferentially. “They’re still in debate. Honshu’s going to filibuster if needed until you arrive. No-one else knows you’re here.”

“Good, then let’s go.”

With that, Santiago climbed into the waiting rover and they sped off to the Command Center.

[Hydro]

Laborer's Throng

Darkness and quiet filled the room.

From down the hall the sharp retort of footsteps on the hard, polished stone floor could be heard advancing. The door to the People's Chamber of Laborer's Throng snapped open at their approach, and light flooded the empty meeting chamber from the hallway and the diffuse lighting in the Hive meeting room. To the Hive administrators it was elegant. To Laborer's Throng's Spartan conquerors it was downright dowdy, being similar to that of a second rate hotel conference room.

Twelve commanders of the Spartan Armor and Amphibious forces brigades that currently occupied Throng walked in and formed up around the oval table. An older woman with graying and tightly curled red hair that was cut to the shoulder took the head of the table. She placed a holo imager next to her on the tabletop, and then a suitcase sized imager in the center of the table.

None of the men and women in the room looked in any way battle weary. In fact, the occupation of Laborer's Throng had been distressingly easy after the elimination of all defenders by Slat's air force. The general consensus is that the 'liberation' had been too easy, and that Yang had some really nasty surprise waiting for them.

Tension filled the room.

Captain Melanie 'Mel' Cassaroni of Lightning Strike, a Division of the Spartan 2nd Armor Corps, activated the small holo imager next to her on the table.

An image formed - that of Captain Ben 'Slats' Miller, commander of the Spartan 4th Wing.

Mel turned to face Slat's image, which turned to look at her.

"Captain Miller, I'm glad you could join us. First, let me thank you and your flyers for the great work they did. Throng is clean as a whistle since you exterminated all of Yang's rats - you made our job easy. I'd say it was a holo book operation!"

"Any time, any time. And please, call me Slats. Your coded message said you needed me to attend a strategic and tactical ops session. Is this line secure? You are in Hive territory."

"Secured by our best, Slats. Field Marshal Wang guarantees it to be the latest in encryption technology. And call me Mel. I'd like to introduce the commanders of the brigades that will be leading our offensives. First, from Lightning Strike there are our attack rover commanders Lieutenant Thomas Laha, 2nd Lieutenant Domenick D'Alessandro, Lieutenant Jodi Wagner, Lieutenant Juana Martinez, Commander Shui-Ting Ho, and Lieutenant Jas Garret. In support there is Commander Larson Maric in artillery and Lieutenant Marki Garland on rover garrison."

Mel turned and indicated the three commanders of the Spartan Amphib Corps, who stood slightly apart from the rover brigades. They all stood a little straighter than their counterparts - they were the elites, after all.

"Our Amphib Corps is represented by infantry brigade commanders Captains Darlin Miles and Mark Prudhomme, and Captain Fergi Macy in attack rover brigade.

Not in attendance are Slat's interceptor pilots, who are currently on alert to defend against a Hive counter air attack, and the Aardvark Penetrators, who are refueling.

Also not represented here is agent Walker of our Ops Team. It seems he is too busy and can't make our meeting. Their loss.

Now, to business."

Mel reached over and activated the suitcase-sized holo imager. As she straightened, a strategic map showing the northeastern portion of Yang's continent formed and covered the table. The Middle Chiron Sea formed the edges of the map to the north and east. In the northeastern-most corner were the recently liberated cities of Worker's Nest and Hole of Aspiration, which were known at one time as Gaia's Landing and Nessus Shining. Southwest of these two cities was the Morgan-controlled Hive city of Paradise Swarming. Along the north-central coast was Laborer's Throng, now under Spartan control. Southeast of Throng was Drone Mound. Between Throng and Paradise Swarming was Manufacturing Warrens. Just south of Warrens was Deep Passage. And sitting like a beacon just southwest of Warrens by an inland sea was The Hive itself.

"As you know, we are in Laborer's Throng, and have the support of the 8 rovers of Lightning Strike, two infantry and one rover brigade of the Amphib Corps, and the five Aardvark needlejets assigned to 2nd Armor in addition to three of Slat's Indigos. Our allied forces are in Worker's Nest, Hole of Aspiration, and Paradise Swarming. These forces, however, are generally garrisons and non-mobile. There are a couple of exceptions. First, there is a Gaian needlejet recently ceded to the Gaians from Morgan that resides in Hole of Aspiration. It is of old fission missile technology, and will not be directly used in the assault. Lady Skye has graciously agreed to advance it to Paradise Swarming to act as a mobile reserve, if needed. Also available to us are three Morgan Ops Teams in Swarming. Most interesting are the dozen Gaian mindworms, recently in from Morgan territory. These will follow us after combat to secure our holding. They may even help in the assault, if we are VERY nice to them! Considering Gaian history, it might be payback time for the mindworms! They should do a nice job keeping the Hive drones in line!

First, on a strategic note, let me say that we momentarily have Yang off balance. This will change quickly as he converts and constructs his new forces with fusion and chaos weaponry. Moreover, he may withdraw some or all of his forces from the captured city of Morgan Pharmaceuticals. Our tacticians consider this unlikely, due to the importance of the Hunter Seeker infrastructure there, and the grave threat these forces pose to the Morgan Federation.

Our intelligence from the savants at the Empath Guild indicate the following:

Manufacturing Warrens is defended by one fusion and one fission garrison and one old fission needlejet. Moreover, it is protected by 3 sensor suites and 2 proximate bunkers. These we can use this bunker to our advantage.

Drone Mound is defended by two fusion garrisons and a fission interceptor. Three old missile rovers were recently there, but they are no longer accounted for. Protecting it are two sensor suits and three bunkers.

The only other Hive aircraft in this theatre of operations are two old missile pens at The Hive."

Mel paused to get everyone's attention.

"Within weeks our intelligence sources say that Yang will be fielding a new force chaos rovers, infantry, interceptors, and penetrators. They will be poorly trained, but their rising force of numbers will quickly eliminate our numerical advantage. Yang can afford to lose two or three to one and still come out even.

We must keep him off balance. We can only do this by hitting him hard and fast, and in multiple locations. In this war we Spartans have resource we have never had before: attack rovers in quantity and a devastatingly effective air force.

We have borrowed and old Earth term for this style of warfare: Blitzkrieg. We will attack with the Pens or armor to eliminate ground defenders, occupy the city, and then secure it with interceptors and Ops Teams.

We will occupy Drone Mound and Manufacturing Warrens in two days. This will cut the northern portion of the Hive off from land support, and secure Throng from ground attack, and link our new territory to that of our Gaian and Morgan allies.

Within a week we will continue south to occupy Deep Passage.

All going well, we will occupy The Hive in two weeks."

Stunned silence once again filled the room.

All eyes looked at the holo map toward The Hive. It was the symbol of oppression for some, and a veiled or naked threat to others. Mothers told stories to their children about the Big Bad Yang, who was heartless and cruel. He was the Boogieman. He had used a tactical nuke on Sparta Command, and threatened to wipe it off the face of the earth.

There was no mercy or feelings of pity in any of the assembled faces. There was only the look of excitement!

It could be real!

To occupy The Hive!

It was heady stuff!

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

[Rynn]

Deirdre had finished the details of her trip.

It would take her away from her beloved Velvetgrass Point for a few weeks, but she was never one to underestimate the impact of symbolism.

Two old Gaian bases had been returned to Gaian control, and an early visit to meet the administrators and talk to her people was necessary. And to talk to the Hive civilians who perhaps were leery of their position on the new democracy.

The mindworm brigade was split into two groups, one group having been transferred to each base. Alphonse headed up one brigade at Workers Nest and Bambi the other at Hole of Aspiration. The remaining penetrator not with Julia was Stephen’s and she had assigned it to operate out of Hole of Aspiration. The other Penetrator ceded by CEO Morgan from Paradise Swarming had been transferred to Workers Nest.

One of the first things she decided needed doing was to hold a plebiscite at each base to see if they wanted to return to their old names.

She pulled out her commlink and punched up the databank details. The screen on her wall came to life, and she read the manifest:

Workers Nest (ex Gaia’s Landing)

Population: 70,401
Production:
Nutrients slight annual surplus
Minerals extracting 20 per annum
Energy surplus of 13 credits per year

Base facilities:

Childrens Creche
Recycling Tanks
Perimeter Defense
Recreation Commons
Energy Bank
Hologram Theater
Tree Farm
Hab Complex

Hole of Aspiration (ex Nessus Shining)

Same population
Same list of base facilities
No nutrient surplus, 2 less minerals, but 3 more energy per year.

This more than doubled the Gaian population.

Velvetgrass Point had just under 42,000, Chiron Preserve had just passed the 30,000 mark and Song of Planet had just topped 20,000. The two new bases of Garden of Paradise and Temple of Chiron were both just around the 10,000 level as regards population,

So from being a somewhat insignificant faction with a population base of around 100,000 and a small army and neophyte air force just two weeks ago, the population was now almost a quarter of a million and there was an army of mindworms that would be almost invincible.

How things had changed.

She also made another decision.

A low priority for Velvetgrass Point had been rujevenation tanks. There was always some other more needy claimant for the building materials and energy credits. As a result the attention to getting new organs and regenerating muscles and tissue was done manually, via operations. Deirdre hated this, and as a result had let herself go a little longer than prudent. She was now looking like the 65 year old she was. Workers Nest would be sure to have facilities, and she promised herself a few weeks to regenerate to the early thirties she felt most comfortable as (“old enough to know the difference, but young enough not to care,” she thought, smiling to herself.) Yes, it would be good to go in the tanks for a few weeks’ makeover.


And she had never given up on her hope of one day re-establishing the colony at Dreams of Green. She could still recall her excitement and wonder when the holovids had been transmitted. She activated the 3d map on the screen – her holovid was in the council chambers and she couldn’t be bothered getting up and going through – and zeroed in on the coordinates 41/55.

She looked at the representation on her screen. The fir clad mountain immediately to the south, cresting at just over 2400 meters. The head of the lake to the west being fed by the waterfalls from the 1800 meter hills to the west. The watrefalls in turn draining the lake to the east and forming the river that would meander the 2000 kilometers to the ocean north of Assassins Redoubt. Yes, she wanted to reestablish a Gaian base there. And Workers Nest or Hole of Aspiration might just give that opportunity.

Deirdre switched off the map and sat back, contented. Things had a way of coming full circle, she thought. She’d really enjoyed sticking it to Morgan after all those years – threatening him with the loss of his beloved Morgan Industries to her mindworm corps. But now he was a Pact Brother.

Maybe she should show she trusted him by signing into a Morgan rejuv center. They would certainly have the latest and best of equipment. And the CEO would be flattered at her trust. Why he might even offer the treatment for free, thus saving some of the valuable Gaian credits. That appealed to her Scottish heritage.

She drifted off to sleep savoring the thought.

[Hydro]

Near Laborer’s Throng

“Comm check. Stratus?”

“Laha here. Stratus brigade, check. All 10 rovers up.”

“Cumulous?”

“2nd Lieutenant Domenick D’Alessandro. Affirmative Cumulous. Brigade operational.”

“Ironclad?”

“Marki Garland here. Armor garrison Ironclad, check.”

“Acknowledged Stratus, Cumulous, and Ironclad. This is Sirius Brigade Commander Jodi Wagner of Lightning Strike detachment reporting as operational. Intermediate objective bunker ETA in 23 minutes. ETA to Drone Mound 7 hours 54 minutes. Lieutenant Wagner, Out.”

Jodi toggled off the comm to her command and leaned back in her chair. So far the attack run toward the primary Hive target Drone Mound was uneventful. Radar, EM, and satellite surveillance had shown no hostiles, as had the sensor suite that had been acquired with the Spartan takeover of Laborer’s Throng. In fact, the countryside was devoid of all movement. Normally the highly developed agricultural land and solar fields would be teaming with Hive drones and overseers. But there were none. It was a little eerie.

Even the ride was easy. The Hive former-fused roads were almost perfectly straight with almost all grades below 1%. Spartan military rovers were designed to go anywhere, anytime. These roads were a pushover for even the most delicate civilian vehicle, and it was more than a little meticulous and unnecessary from a Spartan point of view. It conveyed Yang’s Human Hive’s devotion to uniformity and conformity: efficiency was not as important as was production and adherence to orders.

“Commander, we’re coming up on the roadway bunker. We just picked up an EM reading approaching from Mound. It looks like a non-mech infantry, and fission based to boot. I estimate it as a single fission plasma garrison, with a couple of hundred men running to the bunker on double time.”

Jodi turned toward her comm officer.

“Thanks Sven. Will they get to the bunker before we do?”

“Yes, sir. Just barely.”

“Right,” Commander Wagner commented. She reactivated her comm channel to Cumulous.

“Domenick, there is a Hive garrison in the bunker. Take ‘em out.”

“No problem, Sir.”

Jodi looked out the front window of her rover. The ten rovers that formed the Cumulous chaos brigade accelerated in front of the rest of the rovers in the detachment, making a b-line toward the bunker. A slow pulse filled the air as the chaos turrets energized, and she could see the gunners start target acquisition.

It wouldn’t be long now.

*****

The thirty rovers that made up rover brigades Sirius, Stratus and Ironclad slowed as they lurched over the remains of the bunker’s ferrocrete portal, which was incongruously blasted outward. The bunker was truly a massive structure, which stood over 10 meters above ground surface and extended at least 20 below ground. It was over 300 meters in diameter and formed a rough dome. Inside it could house a truly enormous number of troops and provisions. The road toward Mound passed right through it, an example of sound tactical judgement and Yang’s far-reaching paranoia. Who else would build a bunker so far into his own territory? It could form a useful redoubt to hold off attackers.

But not today. The advantage of fusion chaos was just too strong, even with the ferrocrete walls of the bunker. Cumulous’ chaos pulses had made quick work of the Hive infantry. Indeed, the very nature of the chaos weapon itself ensured the destruction of the Hive garrison. Chaos was an energy projection system, not a beam or ray as some thought. Somehow it transmuted the energy from the power source, in this case the fusion engines of the rover, and reformed it at a specified target. In a method only understood by theoretical physicists, the incandescent energy radiated outward from its focus, blasting all before it. The combined heat, shock wave, and raw disruptive force could easily sunder any armor currently known. Indeed, that was the fate of the Hive garrison: they were blasted by a massive energy transfer that was projected into the bunker, which then blasted outward. Pulse after pulse from the rovers had systematically torn the garrison to shreds. It had also blasted the doors outward.

“Commander, bunker secure. Ah, and I think we should stay inside our rovers, Sir. It’s Hive infantry patee’ in here. Will Cumulous be joining us?”

“Negative. They are busy recharging and are largely immobile right now. We’ll have to hold by ourselves. We’ll take this opportunity to recharge our capacitors, too.”

One by one the 30 rovers entered the bunker.

As they entered Jodi’s stomach lurched. Gore was everywhere. As the rovers passed, the 3-meter diameter wheels of the rovers threw up rooster tails of pulverized and partially cooked flesh and bone.

God, but chaos weapons were messy.

*****

“Sir, I’ve remote linked to our sensor suite from Throng. They just sent us a burst relay, and it looks like we have 2 Hive rover brigades advancing on our position. They must be the rovers Captain Mel said were around here somewhere.”

“Well, it looks like we flushed them out. Keep an eye open, Sven. Will we be recharged before they arrive?”

“No, sir. Excuse me sir, but why do we care? Sensors indicate they are old missile rovers. They can’t really hurt us, not in the bunker and with sensor protection.”

“Thinking like that can get you killed fast, Ensign. Open a comm channel to the brigades.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sven, seated in back of the pilot and co-pilot seats in the front of the rover, eye-coded the secure comm channel. When he was done, he nodded to the commander, who was at co-pilot.

“Ironclad and Stratus, this is Commander Wagner. We have 2 rovers incoming. Ironclad, take point inside the south bay doors that open toward Mound. We are linking you now to the sensor input. The hostiles should be here in less than an hour. Ironclad, keep us advised.”

*****

Jodi watched the two Hive rover brigades advance on the bunker. They were advancing in a rather sloppy modified double ‘V’ formation, which wasn’t appropriate for attacking a fortified installation like a bunker. They must be fairly green, or have orders. Long ago Jodi had given up trying to figure out Hive military objective rationale and formations. Sometimes it was brilliant, but most of the time it was simply the application of brute force to overwhelm the opposition. This was exactly the opposite of Spartan battle philosophy that used superior tactics, weapons, and position.

The first Hive brigade was speeding up, while the back brigade was slowing down. Though the resolution on the sensor suite wasn’t as good as a flyeye, it was good enough to see the missile turrets limbering up and swiveling as they went target positive.

While stating the obvious was redundant, Commander Wagner did it anyway.

“Ironclad, we have incoming. Repeat: we have incoming. Hull down and button up. Out.”

Already there were a series of white puffs from the Hive rover turrets, and incredibly fast shapes were arcing parabolically upward almost faster than the eye can see. But the sensors were keyed for this, and followed it even if to the unaided eye it was a blur.

Then something strange happened, and Jodi leaned closer to the holo display. The first missile seemed to break apart in flight. Jodi miled – defective Hive technology strikes again.

The smile disappeared as two, then six, then all of the missiles seemed to disintegrate in flight.

A cold chill ran up Jodi’s spine.

It was a mirv. And only one weapon mirved like that.

Jodi hastily picked activated his emergency comm link to all rovers.

“Incoming chemical weapons! Nerve gas! Repeat! Incoming chemical weapons! Hull down! Seal! Activate emergency hull integrity fields! Suit up! NOW!”

The tiny missiles arced downward, but did not impact the ground. Instead they went into cruise mode and shed most of their kinetic energy. They flew straight at the bunker door, which might have stopped some of them if it hadn’t been blasted down and outward by the Spartan assault.

Still, it wouldn’t have mattered. The minute missiles homed in on the white-hot energy emissions of the rovers.

One after another they impacted on the 10 rovers that formed the Ironclad brigade. Soon they were peppered, emitting little, harmless white flashes as they extinguished themselves.

That was enough, and the garrison limbered up their defensive weapons against the Hive rovers, which were now rushing toward the bunker portal. Grouping up, they tried to dive in and were an easy mark for the Ironclad brigade. The Hive rovers were unarmored, and succumbed quickly. One by one they erupted into flame or smoke as engines or critical mechanical linkages were disabled.

Inside the bunker, strange wisps of vapor rose and curled around the 10 rovers of Ironclad brigade. The hulls lost their smooth sheen black dots appeared, which deepened into pits.

Panicked and incomprehensible sounds and exclamations erupted over the comm system from the Ironclad rovers, and their defensive fire quickly waned.

“Seal that breach! It’s a microburst! Tim’s suit is torn! Oh, God, he’s dead! Seal up! Seal up!”

“To the livquarters! Command untenable! Reatre.. grg…a.”

“Flanchettes! They’re in, and flying around!”

“Seal, suit. Seal! I’m not going numb! I’m not going to die! I’m not! Oh, please.”

“Turret! Go to auto! NOW! Evac down the spiral stair to the lower weapons locker at the iris valve! EVAC NOW NOW NOW!”

“They’re all dead! The suits won’t seal! I can’t get out!”

“My face plate is etched! I can’t see! I smell something burning in my suit!”

“No, not Marki! Lieutenant! Wake up! It was only a little tear!”

“We’re in! Rover 10! Seal the upper hull! Close the iris valve! Where’s Shin?”

“Commander Wagner! This is Rover 10! We’re sealed into the lower access bay, but the corrosives are disrupting the seals! We have 3 survivors here! Send a chem squad! We’re changing suits, as our old ones are corroded.”

“Ahh…”

“N…N……”

“Sssseal! No! It’s dissolving! Oh, God!”

Two of the rovers kept firing, but with reduced effect. They appeared to be on automatic.
The gunners in Ironclad auto directed the last area-of-affect fire toward the entrance, and it had its effect. As the Hive rovers got closer they became easier marks, and the last were blasted away as they took superstructure hits.

Even though the last Hive rovers from the first waver were destroyed or inoperable the hastily automated systems of the Spartan defensive rovers of Ironclad kept firing.

Then the wave of missiles from the second Hive rover brigade flocked in and found their mark. Little bright motes peppered the hull again, and the pits in the hull deepened and spread like a cancer. The rovers seemed to sag, even if the damage appeared trivial.

Their defensive fire sputtered, and then stopped.

Outside, the expended Hive rovers pulled a high-speed U-turn, throwing up dust as they left the former-fused road, as they bid a hasty and chaotic retreat back toward Drone’s Mound.

[Slats]

VICINITY OF DRONE MOUND
AIRBORNE ABOARD INTERCEPTOR INDIGO 2

Jill Hughes heard the chemical warning over the local ground command frequency. Banking her aircraft over onto one wing she watched the defensive fire from the captured bunker slowly taper off and the comm channel fall quiet.

“My God”, said Sandra Keen, Indigo 2’s ops officer, “They didn’t stand a chance”.

Jill nodded solemnly and wondered how many rover crews had just died… Until she saw the second Hive brigade speeding away, disengaging. Vengeful anger filled her mind. She stabbed the comm button on her flight stick.

“Aardvark flight, this is Indigo 2, please verify that Hive vehicles just used chemical based weapons systems, over”.

The five newly arrived ground support aircraft were just behind Indigo 2 at a lower altitude and for a moment there was no response.

“Indigo 2, this is Aardvark Lead, we saw it.”

Pause.

“Indigo 2, Aardvark flight is engaging fleeing enemy rovers, breaking flight profile now”.

It took Jill all of two seconds to decide her course of action. She noted her ops officer was already arming the interceptor’s weapons.

“Aardvark Lead, Indigo 2, we’ll follow you down, over”.

Jill pushed her yoke forward and sent the aircraft into a shallow dive after the Varks, now spread out in line abreast formation, sweeping up to the Hive rovers from behind. The older missile needlejets leveled off and then each released 3 three missiles, smoky white contrails marking their path. The Varks pulled up and began to climb skywards. Below HESH (High Explosive Squash Head) warheads quickly caught up with their targets.

Casings shed, soft, malleable plastic explosive missile payloads squashed onto rover hulls. The detonator rods positioned inside the waist of the missile, contacted with the metal hulls, broke and ignited the explosive. Eight rovers disappeared in a maelstrom of whirling metal and fire, blackened, debris littered craters marking their passing.

The last two rovers, those who had been in the lead of the formation, continued down the road at an even higher speed, desperation apparent. Jill and Sandra both gave a twisted smile as Indigo 2’s chaos cannon whined and discharged.

The leading rover, plus a large portion of surrounding road, simply disappeared as a chaos field swallowed the hapless vehicle whole. The second rover, slightly astern of the first was caught by the compression wave of the ‘popped’ chaos bubble and was crushed like a tin can, external features wielding into the hull by the heat and force. It bounced like a brick off the road and rolled to a standstill.

Jill eased her flight controls back and climbed away from the scene, back up towards Aardvark flight, her charges for the mission. An aft facing belly camera recorded a Spartan rover tenuously approaching the Hive wreck. Jill didn’t care what happened to the surviving Hive crew.

[Hydro]

Bunker near Drone's Mound

"They're getting away, sir!" Sven almost yelled, seething with outrage. "Nerve gas! Civilized people, even insane lunatics like Yang, don't use nerve gas!"

Jodi paused and looked uselessly at the sensor holo that showed the retreating rover brigade, which were already disappearing into the distance.

"Calm down, Sven. I know. We have to other duties right now. We have to report back to Captain Cassaroni, first. She and Sparta Command have to know! And we have to look for survivors. It is our duty. Plus, we aren't fully recharged yet."

"Yes, sir. You're right. Should I flash an encrypted message to the Captain?"

"Yes, and be sure to include all sensor and vid data. And see if you can get any vid pickups from the rovers of Ironclad. They may still be partially functional, although they will be contaminated forever. This will all be documentation for Yang's trial for war crimes," Jodi stated seriously.

"Right away," Sven replied as he turned to his work. He quickly attached is hologoggles and gloves and started integrating and linking the data, his hands apparently pecking at the air.

In the meantime, Commander Wagner stepped back to the copilot seat in the front of the cabin, sat down, and activated the link to Stratus.

"Laha, form a detail ASAP in full chem protocol to check for survivors in Ironclad. Have we gotten any transmissions from rover 10 since the last attack?"

"I'm way ahead of you. Detail formed. We haven't heard a peep since the last mirvs hit. We'll go there first, though."

"Sounds good. Keep a constant vid link, and at the slightest sign of trouble bug out. They are using a hull penetrator, burst, and fly system that I haven't seen before. Not that any of us has much experience with nerve gas. Have one of the weapons jocks work on that."

"10-4. Out."

Jodi sat back in her chair. 'Outside' she could see the part of the dark, multi-roomed cavern that made up the bunker. The dead rovers of Ironclad were in the southern portion of the bunker, which was divided by enormous ferrocrete bulkheads into sections. At this distance they were hopefully safe from the lingering effects of the nerve gas. A vague wave of uncertainty that bordered on fear washed over her. As a solder, it was expected that you might die in the line of duty. Sometimes that death was horrible, but it was honorable

Death by nerve gas was something else entirely. There was no honor in such a death.

*****

"Evac 1 team reporting. We are outside the south bay entrance the bunker, and approaching the rovers of Ironclad. Are you receiving vid and chem sensor feedback?"

"Affirmative Evac 1. All green. Swing your holocams toward the rovers for a better shot."

"Roger. In general the rovers look intact. Zooming in. We're getting trace levels of hydroxi-fluoric acid from our sensors. Nasty stuff. There are a long-chain organics in the air, too. Must be the residue of the hull burn system. What do you make of it, Ops?"

"I think you're right. The mass spec can't resolve the organics. It is way too complicated for this gear - probably some strange composite. I'll have to defer to a science tech. How is your suit integrity doing?"

"No effect yet, although the acid mist does seem to be etching my faceplate a little. These full chem suits are three classes better than what Ironclad had. We're well within margins."

"Make sure it stays that way, Derek. No heroics. If you find someone, suit 'em up and scram. Go it?"

"Yes, sir!"

*****

"Passing Ironclad rover 3. Sensors detect no power emissions, and the fusion engines are cooling. Must have gone into emergency shutdown. Rover 10 just ahead. No energy emissions from rover 10, either.

There are deep, black pits all over the hull. From here I can see the right front tire, which has deflated. I didn't think that anything but a direct missile hit could deflate those! It's strange to see a flat 2-meter diameter rover tire! Working toward the iris valve entrance between the right front and rear tires. Last report had them holed up in the first level entrance near the weapons locker. Did they seal the valve at the top of the spiral staircase to the main level above them? Can you see it on vid before power failure?"

"All we got before power failure was a verbal, Evac 1. We weren't able to link to the internal circuits. Even the backup is out."

"OK. We're at the valve now. Trying the opening sequence. No joy on that. Opening manually.

"Inner airlock secure. There is only room for two of us and the reserve bio suits. OK. We're in. Sealing outer valve. Seal appears positive. Opening inner valve.

It's dark, so I'm illuminating the space. We see 3 forms in atmospheric suits. There is no movement. And sir, they're huddled together with their face plates toward each other. They're holding hands, sir!

Checking. It's Kidi, Jas, and Shin.

They're all dead. Their suits are pitted.

Flashing vid to you.

Make sure HQ gets this! Yang has got to pay!"

*****

A general gloom pervaded the three remaining rover brigades of the Lightning Strike detachment. Everyone in the rovers was very dead. Moreover, they hadn't died easily. This nerve gas first made some of your extremities numb, but from recovered vids it actually cooked your vital organs as the electrochemical systems went haywire. It was not a painless way to die. It must have been pure agony.

The gloom was quickly turning to focused anger.

Sven, at the communications station that was directly behind pilot and copilot in the front and tactical to his side, suddenly became very intent as he was monitoring transmissions.

"Commander! It's the 4th Wing! And the Aardies! They took out the Hive rovers! And they're flying directly toward Mound!"

A general whoop erupted from the 30 rovers, and the last tatters of gloom lifted.

"All right! Commander Wagner to all rovers! Fire up and follow the needles in!

It's payback time!"

[Googlie]

As the small passenger needlejet took off from the commercial airport of Sparta Command, Anastasia held my hand tightly. I smiled fondly at her.

“What’s up Stazi – you afraid of flying?”

She looked at me with those heart-melting soulful eyes of hers, and admitted shyly:

“Wolfie…I…I’ve never flown before.”

I was flabbergasted. Flying had been second nature to me ever since my late teens when I’d signed up as one of the first recruits to the Free Scottish military. And here was a sophisticate in her mid twenties in the 23rd century who had never been off the ground before.

And why ‘Wolfie?’

I’d quizzed her about that pet name she used on me now, and each time I got a different answer, none of which I found particularly appealing:

 The low, appreciative wolf whistle I gave back there at the rejuvenation tanks when she’d stripped out of her drone smock;
 Amidst all my protestations to the contrary re my pacifist bent I really was a wolf in sheep’s clothing;
 Her favorite old earth novel from the extensive library of the University when she was an early teenager had been “The People of the Wolf” and I reminded her of the old Shaman in that tale.

Whatever its origin and however it could currently be interpreted, it was now her name for me. She said – and I acknowledged – that Googlie was inappropriate. That had connotations of the 55 – 60 year old who was a retired Air Force Commander. Scotty or Scottie was too Corazon-ish or Dierdre-ish for her liking, so Wolfie it was.

Secretly I was flattered.

So I put my arm around her and drew her to me, leaning closer to the window to observe the scenery passing below as we climbed to our cruising altitude. “We’re really pretty safe, sweetheart,” I murmured. “There hasn’t been a needlejet crash that I can recall these past thirty years except for Stephen Cartesius’ over the Pholus Ridge, and even now we suspect foul play of some sort – sabotage more than likely. That’s what started this latest skirmish off with the Hive – they wanted to get to the crash site to dismantle the new fusion engine, and Boomer Wells was rushing to get there to remove some new experimental weaponry that had been installed.”

Stazi wasn’t in the least mollified, and still clung tightly to me.

She relaxed somewhat as we passed over the hydroponics farm and giant mineworks of Janissary Rock, then headed out over the Great Dunes.

Eventually she dozed off, and I gently extricated my arm which was now totally numb. She stirred a little, but then cozied up to sleep with her head on my shoulder. Her auburn hair spilled over my shoulder and I bent my head to nuzzle her hair and inhaled her scent.

There was no doubt – I was in love, again. After 15 years as a widower, dedicating myself to the build up of the SAC, immersing myself in the politics of the Junta, here I was, like a lovestruck teenager, going “on leave” at age 30.

We crossed the eastern coastline about half way between Sea Outpost and UN Amnesty Town and I was intrigued to see a bustle of activity below. The Peacekeepers were in the act of establishing a new coastal base there just north-east of a small bay. It was pretty far advanced from the looks of it from the air, about half tents and half solid structures. I made a mental note to alert SAC to do some satellite flybys to get more information.

Once over the straits dividing the continent we shared with the Peacekeepers from the big island that was the mainstay of their territory I began to pick out in the distance the steeples and minarets and spires of U.N. Headquarters. I nudged Anastasia awake.

“You must see this,” I said. Cities from the air are spectacular, especially when approaching from the ocean.”

She watched spellbound as more and more detail came into view.

The neatly arranged agricultural and farming allotments and the cultivated forests to the west of the city proved to be a hive of activity as we came in on our final approach over the bay that separated U.N. Headquarters from U.N. Haven City.

The touchdown was smooth and the passenger needlejet rolled to a stop at the small external terminal that housed Peacekeeper Customs and Immigration.

I realized that this too was a first for me – I’d never set foot on Peacekeeper soil before.

“Come on Stazi.” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s go and get this over with.”

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

They were waiting for us – I guessed that the plane’s manifest had been squirted ahead, so the head of Peacekeeper security herself had come to interrogate me and my companion.

She looked nonplussed when we made our way to her desk.

“We were expecting your father,” she said, at which Anastasia giggled.

I dug her in the ribs, and gave her ‘the look’. That set her off even more.

“That’d be difficult,” I said. “He’s buried in a small cemetary in Ayrshire, in Scotland.”

“But…but..” she sputtered.

I decided to put her out of her misery.

“I am Googlie,” I said. “Fresh out of the rejuvenation tanks, and on my way for three weeks enforced vacation to Temple of Sol. I understand that it is beautiful this time of year.”

“Ah, I see,” she said, regaining her composure. “Will you be calling on Commissioner Lal, then, as you are passing through?”

“I hadn’t intended to,” I replied. “I’m not here in any official capacity – really just as a private citizen enjoying a break with my fiancee.”

She looked over at Anastasia, eyeing her passport.

“Anastasia Ramamurthy. Unusual name for a Spartan,” she said suspiciously.

“Oh, come on,” I said. You’re too young to remember, but let me tell you, as a Lander, there was so much confusion in the escape from the Unity that every faction was cross-populated by people who rightly belong to another. It’s no more unusual a name in Sparta than your own Air Force General Sergio Jimenez is to the Peacekeepers.”

She laughed at that. “You’re right. But let me say how strange it is hearing someone so apparently young as you claiming Lander status. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were having me on.”

She stamped our passports and ushered us through to the domestic terminal where our interior shuttle would be departing in under an hour for Temple of Sol.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

The shuttle was crowded.

The flight was significantly longer than it should have been as the commercial routes took the needlejets far south of the Avishnu Testing Area.

We skirted U.N Planetary Trust, then veered towards U.N. Great Refuge, then we followed the line of the road to Temple of Sol.

By now Anastasia had lost her apprehension for flying and had her face pressed to the window drinking in the sights below.

As we passed just to the west of the city en route to the air terminal she suddenly “ooohed” and grabbed my hand and pointed. I looked past her out the window, and was tremendously impressed. Temple was built on the coast under the shadow of a 2600 meter mountain whose flanks and summit were covered in fungus. From it flowed a river that gained in size as it plummeted over a series of waterfalls to the suburbs of Temple itself, where it broadened and gathered itself more sedately as it coursed through the city to its junction with the ocean to the east. The city was almost surrounded by cultivated forests, with only the wide swathe of the river preventing complete encirclement.

The resort that we had our reservations at was on the beach just south-east of the city center, on the banks of the river.

“We must go on a hike up to the waterfalls,” said Anastasia excitedly. Although Sparta Command itself was just north of some of the tallest peaks on Planet, at 3500 meters, they were largely forested, so that hiking trails were through trees with little water to break the splendid monotony.

I acquiesced, which set her off with other hairbrained ideas.

“If we get up to the fungus, maybe we can capture a mindworm.”

I harrumphed at that. Apart from Alphonse, most of my mindworm encounters had been of the less than friendly variety. But I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.

“Maybe,” was all I admitted.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

We made our way out of the small terminal and were met by a converted rover that took us and a few other passengers to the resort. It was one of Morgan’s early expansions on Planet, and according to the holovids had a reputation for unabashed luxury. I felt like luxuriating.

Anastasia was quiet on the journey and I assumed that she was tired, but she held my hand tightly throughout.

We reached the turn-off for the resort, and I was amazed to see genuine palms lining the driveway to Morgan Temple Resort. I had read that the Peacekeepers had altered the rainfall pattern considerably with their giant condensor project recently completed outside High Commission, but I hadn’t realized that it had produced a tropical desert type terrain in parts of temple, depending on the wind patterns gusting through the mountains.

The uniformed bellhop took our luggage and as we checked in, giving thumb and retinal scans, he led us to our suite, overlooking the crashing surf just below our deck.

I tipped him, and he left.

I stood by the balcony doors, with a magnificane vista behind me over the ocean. The weird shaped island, like a W on its end, could just be seen on the horizon.

I held out my arms.

“Stazi, Darling, come here. You’re awfully quiet. Second thoughts about this?”

She came into my arms.

“Oh, Wolfie, its not that. Of course I want to be here with you. It’s not that. I’m just scared.”

“Of what?” I asked.

“She’s here.”

“Who. What are you talking about?”

“The woman who tried to kill you in the tanks. She’s here. She was on our flight and she’s in the Resort. Oh, Wolfie, I’m scared.”

[Googlie]

Deirdre sat enthralled as the little needlejet approached the spit of land that had marked the southeast boundary, by the ocean, of the land that had once been Gaia’s Landing.

The needlejet came in on almost the same trajectory as had the Unity escape pod 125 years ago, and the memory of the mixture of excitement and dread she had felt then brought the bile to her throat.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^

”We’re losing them,” Ma’am, said Ensign Rawlings as the buffeting began as the pod brushed against the heavier atmosphere of the Planet Chiron.

The atmospheric conditions pulled patchy lines across the vidlink with the other pods.

Ulrik Svensgaard, as usual, was Mr. Unflappability.

The Chief Astrogator for the unity was piloting Lal’s pod – if piloting was the right term for a controlled crash – and his quiet, calm voice could still be heard, inspiring faith among all the Landers that they might just pull this off:

“You’ll experience far more turbulence than on an Earth shuttle – the atmosphere is heavier and the pod is far larger. Keep the penetration angle as close as you can to 19%. Fight like crazy to avoid going over 21 or under 16. Don’t trust the computer once you’ve entered.”

Deirdre looked over at Rawlings. His knuckles were white against his hands as he gripped the manual override yoke so tightly that Deirdre thought he was going to snap it off in his hands. Fighting her restraints she reached over and brushed his hand with hers:

“We’ll be all right, Kevin. I know. Just relax. Planet has told me we’ll land safely.”

Kevin visible relaxed. The last few hours had been eerie in the extreme, with the fighting amongst the ship’s officers, the deaths of a few of his colleagues, and Lady Skye claiming that Planet had “talked” to her.

Another face spottily lit up the vidlink – it was that of Scott Allardyce, the Assistant Astrogator. He’d thrown his lot in with the breakaway security group led by Lieutenant Santiago, one of Sheng-Ji Yang’s young officers in the security detachment. ‘Weird, that,’ thought Kevin. ‘I’d have given a month’s pay that he’d have joined with Deirdre.’ Rumors among the crew were that they’d been lovers for a while back on Earth. Kevin was a navigation officer in Allardyce’s group on the Unity.

“Rawlings, how’s it going?” his voice said.

“Fine, Sir. How close will we be when we land?”

“Oh, I imagine we’ll be scattered all over Planet,” was his less than reassuring reply. “We’ve no hope of getting the same angle for all eight pods, so we’ll be widely dispersed. Is Dee there?”

“Sir.” Kevin swiveled the vidcam slightly so that Lady Deirdre Skye’s face was in Allardyce’s view.

“Take care, Dee. Keep a bottle of Highland malt until we meet again.”

“You too, Scotty. I’d have liked you to be with us, but don’t do anything stupid with that young lieutenant.”

The picture began cracking up, as did Allardyce’s reply:

“………now styling herself…..Colonel……..shame….Pria. Pravin………now to ……entering atmosphere….WOW – what the he…………….”

As he was speaking, Deirdre’s Unity escape pod began bouncing in the upper layers of the atmospheric belt, skipping a little as Rawlings fought the controls.

From the viewport, Deirdre saw a huge fireball erupt.

“Kevin…”

“Someone’s bought it, Ma’am. Went in too steep and neither the heat shields nor the energy bleeders could cope.”

“Scott?”

“No. Ma’am. He was on link to us and saw it too, from his reaction. One of the others.”

Deirdre sat back in palpable relief.

‘Hmmm,’ thought Kevin. ‘She still cares for him.’

As they emerged, trailing their own fireball across planet’s atmosphere as they bled energy and heat, Kevin spoke over the intercom to the passengers:

“Wow, that was some ride, eh? We’re about to fire our retros, so brace yourself for the deceleration g-forces.”

With that he engaged, and the small fission thrusters reversed themselves draining momentum from the pod.

As they neared the surface, the parasail deployed, giving Kevin a small measure of control over their final destination. Deirdre gazed anxiously out of the viewport.

She saw a small finger of land jutting northeast from a continent, and a small island just offshore. They were heading right for the island.

“Kevin – can you see that island we’re heading for?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Can you veer left and get us on that small hill on the mainland?”

“Do my best, Ma’am.”

He did his best, and it was good enough.

As the pod glided into its bumpy landing, dragging itself for a few meters along the crest of the hill before settling, Deirdre thought to herself ‘I’m going to name this place “Gaia’s Landing”. It’s an appropriate name for a new beginning.’

As the pod finally settled, she activated the intercom to the settlers:

“Welcome to Gaia’s Landing.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

She was pleased to see that some of the old Gaian architecture still survived. The familiar habitation discs around the trunks of the huge tree analogues were still there, and being occupied, although they were now interspersed with the flattened mounds with ferroconcrete and plasteel roofs that characterized Hivean buildings.

Deirdre shuddered.

What kind of a mentality chose to live underground?

The tiny executive needlejet came in over the forest towards the landing strip and Deirdre glanced at the old familiar spot where the giant pine had stood for so many years. Wantonly cut down by the Hive troopers as a symbol of their superiority.

Well, they would get their come-uppance now. The whole world had turned against Yang and his weird experiments and inhuman ways. It was only a matter of time.

greetings earthdeirdre. we are awaiting with pleasure your arrival

Alphonse, old friend. I too am awaiting with pleasure to touch tendrils with you. We have much to discuss.

we await earthdierdre.

They touched down at the tiny airbase to the north of the base, and the reception committee was there to greet them.

Governor Spottiswoode, newly appointed after the drone riots, led the delegation. He had been the administrator of the Energy Bank, one of the original Gaians who had retained a position under the Hive. The Creche had been given the day off so that the children could assemble at the terminal to greet Deirdre as she landed. Most clutched small flags with the Gaian logo on it. Some crudely hand drawn, some looking like they had been professionally produced.

A small huddle of sullen looking youths stood to one side, refusing to be part of the celebrations, resentful at having been obliged to appear.

Deirdre reached out to them with her mind, and found crude neural barriers, hastily erected to ward off some imperceptible external psi-threat.

Alphonse? she projected accusingly.

earthdeirdre, they are – forgive if wrong earthdeirdre word – recidivists. their parents were officials under the previous government and now they are in prison. some of their parents have even been killed. so they hate Gaia. we are ensuring that no harm comes to earthdeirdre while our guest.

Release them, Alphonse.

but earthdeirdre, your safety..

Now!

One of the youths started visibly.

“Bloody Hell. The monster’s let go,” he said to his friends.

There was a perceptible shuffling of feet, squaring of shoulders and renewing of the defiant looks in Deirdre’s direction.

She began to walk over to them, but Spottiswoode jumped in front of her.

“Lady, I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” he said, wringing his hands unctuously. "They are nothing but troublemakers. They ought to be in prison with their parents, but they are too young. Just troublemakers. If I were you I’d give them a wide berth.”

“You keep repeating yourself,” Deirdre said dismissively. “You are not me, and I will go over and talk to them. Are they not too citizens of the Stepdaughters of Gaia?”

“w…w…well, yes..I suppose,” said the deflated Governor.

“Well I suppose they might like to talk to their Head of Faction, then,” she replied.

She sauntered over to the surly group, and confronted them.

“Well, boys. What do you have to say for yourselves? You don’t seem very pleased to be newly appointed Stepsons of Gaia.”

They glowered angrily at her.

“You,” she said, indicating Ming, the first one who had been aware of Alphonse’s release. "What’s your concern or complaint?”

He stepped forward, all defiant.

“My beef? Let me tell you my beef, old woman. We was fightin’ a war, we was, agin the Spartans and winnin’ it an then these Morganites come to our base an, like, they start stirrin’ up trouble ‘n things an before you know it the drones are revoltin’ an hangin’ Morgan flags from their windows an me dad who was the garrison commander gets killed by the mob an me mum gets put in prison for, like, conplainin’ to yon fat ass an then next think we’re told that we’re daughters of Gaia or some such rubbish and then they’re lordin’ it over us an changin’ street names an such an even sayin’ that the base name’ll be changed to gaia’s landing or some such then we’re told that the great founder is comin’ an to look nice an say nice an still me dad is dead an me mum’s in prison. So I reckon its you that needs to explain an no me.”

He spat defiantly on the ground and stepped back to his buddies.

Deirdre turned to Spottiswoode.

“Is what he says true?” she asked.

“Well, not exactly…more or less..in the main..but as to details….”

“Give me a yes or a no,” Deirdre asked exasperatedly.

"Well, yes.” Spottiswoode affirmed.

“Release the woman immediately. And any others of their parents in prison. I will meet with this group of boys, and their parents – as many of whom are still alive, that is – in....” she looked at her chronometer..”two hours. After that I’ll address the populace in the base square.”

She nodded to the group of youths, not now quite so sullen or rebellious, and returned to the introduction line.

Spottiswoode looked at her retreating back, and turned to Ming and said:

“I’ll get you for this you little troublemaker. You see if I don’t. Playing the village urchin to the Lady. You have a University education.”

“Yeah? Up yours too, Woody. I give you two more hours as Governor – max. Then you’ll see democracy in action. Silvermane is right. Repression comes in many guises. You are as bad as Yang.”


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 11, 1999).]

[Rynn]

I had seen her at the terminal at U.N. Headquarters, lurking in the shadow of a pillar, observing us. My University resistance training had given me an awareness of when others were watching as well as an ability to observe without being in turn observed.

So I had watched, surreptitiously, as the woman had unobtrusively followed us to the check in desk and purchased a ticket to Temple.

My fears rose when she also boarded the transfer rover to the Morgan Temple Resort, and were confirmed when I stood at Wolfie’s side as he made the check-in arrangements and quietly overheard her make reservations on the spot. I had acute hearing, but this was augmented with a tiny embedded chip that was the pinnacle of University ingenuity. I memorized her every word.

Now Wolfie held me in his arms as I expressed my fear that this idyllic vacation opportunity would be compromised by the usual intrigue and power struggles that recently had marked Planetary politics.

“Wolfie, I’m scared,” I’d said, and while it was true, it wasn’t physical danger that I was afraid of, even although the woman in question seemed to be a trained assassin. No, it was the political danger. If she represented any faction in the Peacekeeping scheme of things, then Wolfie, as a key Spartan junta member, was in danger from the politicos.

“Stazi, you fret too much,” he murmured into my ear. “We can look after ourselves, you and I. And you’ve already dealt with her, back at Sparta Command – severed an arm if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh, Wolfie. For someone so experienced you can be pretty thick at times,” I said. “Of course I’m not afraid of physical danger. I can take care of myself, and you if it comes to that, with an arsenal of weaponry you Landers can only dream about. I’m worried about the other implications. The whole political scene is in delicate balance, and the last thing we need is any kind of incident, real or manufactured, that will affect Spartan – Peacekeeper relations. And what better than something involving their erstwhile Federation Governor?”

“Then we’ll just have to be extra careful, then, won’t we, my little Stazi?”

God I hated when ho took that condescending tone. Little indeed. He might be 6 feet three inches, but I was five ten and solid.

“I’ll ‘little Stazi’ you,” I said, taking him completely by surprise and flipping him easily on to his back on the floor. In one movement I was astride him, with a forefinger pressed against his nervecenter on his neck, paralyzing him momentarily. He looked at me in shock, slack-jawed, unable to move a facial muscle to form the words he wanted to speak.

I released my hold, and asked sweetly, “you were saying, Wolfie?”

“Bloody hell, where did you learn that move,” he sputtered, rubbing his neck at the nerve ganglia.

“Oh, there’s a lot you’ve yet to learn about me, Wolfie,” I said impishly, leaning forward and letting my hair fall onto his face, tickling it. I leaned down to kiss him.

Suddenly I was scared. The play acting was over. This moment was going to define me for the rest of my life. Was it what I really wanted? Was I ready for this type of relationship? No matter what the final decision of the Junta regarding Wolfie was, he was a public figure and at his rejuvenated age would for many years continue to play a prominent role in Spartan, if not Planetary, politics. Was I ready for a commitment to be by his side for that role?

Or was this just going to be a shorter term fling to help us both forget the perilous state of the factions as they fought interminably?

I poised above him, and saw a look of puzzlement cross his features. Fear of rejection, maybe? I took the plunge.

I leaned down and held his head in my hands, and brushed his lips with mine, moving quickly past the tip of his nose to flicker a kiss on both his eyelids, then returned to his mouth.

He was ready for me this time, and pulled me to closely to him.

“Oh, Stazi,” he said. “I’ve longed for this moment ever since I came out of the tanks.”

“Shhh, Wolfie,” I replied. “Quit talking.

“Make love to me, Wolfie.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I lay on the bed in the crook of his arm.

With the hand that I had trapped beneath me, he was idly teasing my nipple, sending sharp sensations of pleasure coursing through my being. But I could sense the almost absent-mindedness in his touch – his mind was elsewhere, and not on pleasuring me again.

I snuggled into him.

“Wolfie, if you want to do it again, then lets, but don’t tease me with a promise you can’t deliver on.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking.” He turned to kiss me again. I pushed him away.

“No, there’ll be plenty more times,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was thinking about that woman. I suspected Lal’s hand in Marlo’s assassination, and again in the attempt on my life. He was the only one to gain from removing the peaceniks from the scene – so long as all the other factions were engaged in fighting among themselves, the Peacekeepers could pursue their goals of population growth and research unfettered by any security considerations.

“But she is only a pawn in the game, acting under orders. I’d like to know who gave those orders, and how close Pravin Lal is to them. I wonder if I could get her to talk?”

“Wolfie,” I said, my voice now icy cold so that I grabbed his attention. He looked at me quizzically.

“She’ll talk.”

“How are you so sure?” he asked me.

My reply, I’m sure, made his blood run cold:

“That’s what I’m trained to do. And don’t ask me how.”

[Googlie]

One of Honshu’s Militia was watching me as I walked from the rover up the stairs to the new Command Center. I recognized him. Sergeant Faulkner. His father had been one of my staunchest supporters in new Los Angeles.

“Brian,” I said as I approached. “How long have they been in there arguing now?”

“Colonel,” he gushed. “Ma’am, you look smashing if I may say so. Just like in Dad’s old vidshows. They’ve been at it almost two days solid now – no-one’s come out.”

“I’m going in, then,” I said. “And Brian, you know the ropes. Don’t do anything stupid or provoke my Guard. You know how testy they can be.”

He looked up and whistled softly.

“Wow, they are impressive.”

From the shadows around the Command Center, from behind the neighboring buildings they had silently taken up their positions. My Guard. My Spartan Elites. Founded by Brian’s father those many years ago, and each man and woman hand picked and fiercely loyal to me alone. 400 strong, every single one with the latest weaponry and armor, no expense spared. Their skills were uniquely blended as the teams were structured, and certain of them had been genetically developed to fulfil a particular role for their team.

Their bitterest defeat had been my spiriting away by the University resistance movement. The duty team that evening had committed suicide en masse, watched by their comrades, stony faced and silently approving. Each secretly glad that they had not been on duty that fateful evening, but burning with a collective shame.

I had gotten word to their commander, Brigadier Kennedy, just before going into the tanks, and ordering a stand-down, and giving the reactivation codeword. So during Alexis and Googlie’s interregnum they had known that that Santiago was an imposter as they awaited the call.

I had given it a few hours ago.

The Command Center was surrounded.

In the air, the prototype Chaos copter hovered, sensors scanning and crew with their trigger fingers at the ready.

Gerald Kennedy gave an approving look around. Every member of the Elites was out, every team with its full interlocking complement, every piece of vital equipment deployed. Even the probes attached to a few of the teams seemed unusually alert.

“Satisfied, Gerry?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Let’s go then.”

We climbed the steps to the vast doors of the Center.

Kennedy unslung his sawn off chaos rifle and rapped on the door;

“Open, in the name of the Colonel Santiago” he bellowed.

A hollow voice responded:

“Orders of the Junta. No-one to be allowed in or out until deliberations are completed.”

“I have the Colonel here,” bellowed Kennedy.

“Right,” came the reply. “If so, use the override. But it’ll burn your eyeball right out, so don’t even try.”

“Of course,” I said. I’d approved the plans myself for the new security system even before the old Command Center had been nuked.

I walked up to the panel at eye level to one side of the door.

“Override,” I said.

The panel slid open to reveal a thumprint recess and an optical scanner.

I took off my glove and presented my thumb and gasped as the tiny pinprick took the blood sample.

As the DNA match was being processed I put my eye to the scanner and said in a firm voice “Corazon Santiago.”

Acknowledged said a synthetic voice from the panel.

DNA match confirmed. Retinal Scan confirmed. Authorization confirmed.

The doors swung open.

The surprised guard was even more surprised when I entered. I supposed he was expecting the old Santiago, not me in my present configuration – a youngish looking thirty year-old. And hard on my heels were Gerry and two Elite teams, one of which had the empath probe who had the trooper in mindlock almost from the moment the doors opened. He had fallen to his knees clutching his temples in mute agony, looking beseechingly at his tormentor.

“Madison, enough,” came Gerry’s voice, and the girl released her mental hold. The trooper thankfully sank back on his heels.

I heard sarcastic applause.

“Quite the entrance, my dear Colonel. We meet again under quite different circumstances.”

I looked over the foyer to the voice I recognized.

“Haraan Ashaandi,” I said. “I thought that you’d be in the Council chambers arguing your case.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, I think that they have forgotten all about me,” he said. “They’ve been spending the last several hours debating whether to use tactical nukes on Yang. Seems Bisset is quite a pacifist – and he does have a bigger gun.”

“And just how do you know this?” I asked. “From out here? Is your hearing that acute that you can listen through walls as well as walk through them?”

“You forget, my dear Colonel Santiago. I am an empath. I can read the minds in there as though I were watching a vidshow. They may have me under electronic restraints guarded by a moron with a mind as blank as a mindworm hatchling, but they can’t bottle up my empath powers.”

I looked over more closely. Barely detectable, and evident only by the hairs standing out on the nape of his neck, the electronic restraint force-field effectively constrained the captive from all but the most basic movement. I understood now what an effort it must have been for Ashaandi to applaud. I wondered idly if it were the same equipment that Ayola had been instructed to use against me in my abduction.

“Cover him,” I said to the ‘B’ team, and proceeded to the Council room.

Two of Honshu’s Militia were standing guard at the council doors themselves.

“Move,” I ordered menacingly.

They took one look and moved.

I opened the door and stood quietly observing.

Bisset was sitting at the head of the council table with an old percussion projectile revolver close to hand, seemingly dozing, but fully alert.

General Wang was in full flight, arguing vociferously against the use of nuclear weapons against Yang, even though he had been the first to resort to atrocity weapons.

He was aware of eyes turning toward the door, and his voice trailed off in mid sentence.

Bisset, alert to the discontinuity, looked up to see what had caused the interruption, and his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Hello, Xavier,” I said simply. “I’m back.”


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 11, 1999).]