The Spartan Chronicles - Continued

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command

"Mr. Bradford," began the judge with a stern look on her face. The trial had only lasted the better part of a day, brief for most legal cases. However, too many dangers faced Sparta to waste time on minor issues. The possibility that a Spartan citizen had been collaborating with the Hive was enough to warrant a proper, if brief, investigation.

"From the evidence presented here I see no signs that you have in any way tried to compromise Sparta's position in the war. However, we cannot permit our youths to run around the countryside, consorting with the enemy."

William stood stiffly at attention, his Youth Corps. uniform immaculate. He knew all eyes were on him and that the judge was going to be far more lenient than many of them would have been. The war has gone on so long, the thought of Hive citizens being real people seemed a distant memory to many.

"Because of your actions, I feel it poses a security threat to Sparta to allow you any where near enemy lines. Therefore I'm placing you on probation and restricting your movements to within the perimeter of Sparta Command." A grumble of approval came from some people in the stands, who came to view the trial. William resisted the urge to turn around, and maintained strict attention.

"However, due to your exemplary record with the Youth Corps, I have decided not to strip you of all responsibilities. You will maintain your rank of Youth Corps Lt. and take on a new assignment at the Aerospace Complex. You will be assigned to the care and maintenance of a fleet of needlejets, stationed there."

At this a grumble of disapproval from his condemners in the audience, but they were quickly silenced by a stern look from the judge.

"You will report to your commanding officer at the complex, at 06:00h tomorrow. Case dismissed." At this the judge rose regally, and made her exit to her antechamber at the back of the courtroom. William remained at attention as the people behind him began to filter out, and only moved when so escorted by the bailiff.

------------------------------------

Srgt. Jenson led William into a small, dilapidated hanger on the outskirts of the Sparta Command Aerospace Complex. The hanger looked as though it hadn't been used since the before the war with the Hive began. But sure enough, inside William could make out the shapes of six needlejets, although he couldn't see them clearly enough to identify them specifically.

"These are your charges." the Srgt announced, as he activated the lights from the command console just inside the hanger door. As the lights flickered too life, William stared in disbelief.

The six fighters looked as rundown as the hanger they were housed in. The weaponry appeared to be some sort of archaic laser weapon, and many of the planes weren't even entirely intact.

"You've got to be kidding me. These things look like they haven't been flown in years."

"They haven't. They probably should have been scrapped at some point, but with the war you never know. You might find yourself in a situation where you need any plane you can get." replied the clearly amused Srgt.

"But, you couldn't get these things off the ground if your life depended on it." replied William in disbelief.

"I don't have too. You do. The Captain wants these things flight ready by the end of the month." Srgt. Jenson allowed a smile to spread across his face as he said this.

"Your crew will be here in another hour so that you could get started. You'll have to get your supplies from me, and I can tell you now you won't be getting a lot. Best of luck to you." With this Srgt. Jenson turned on his heels and marched out of the hanger.

The judge hadn't been so lenient after all.

closure, 1.0

The earth, for lack of a better term, was scorched here. Devoid of life. It was a few hours before dawn at the moment, and the constellations watched Tau Ceti with some amusement.

"wow. that never happened before," said one, who, to the original inhabitants of manifold five, was a god of healing. "such a pity, too... it was quite beatiful, when it was backlit by one of Q'varvek's nebulas."

Q'varvek blushed. She was once a goddess of innocence, and was quite good at it. Not adding to the conversation, she continued to blush.

On the planet, it was eluding to dawn. "oh well..." said a teacup. It was, in fact quite resentful that a great civilization would make gods into constellations, and then, had a few stars left over, thus 'teacup' was born. "just you wait... i'll be bigger and an badder than all you gods, one of these days." he reached to scratch an itch. Another hour later, a fair sized starcruiser emerged from a nebula, and headed towards the planet.

Daylight bloomed on the shattered planet, but the only one who was around to witness this was teacup. He had always hated dawn, and seeing that civilization that cursed him as it were. It gave him great satisfaction that they'd been utterly destroyed, it would sereve them for having a teacup amongst gods. However, as he veiwed the landscape, he bagan to sing a different tune. There would be no more civilizations on Tau Ceti. He began to whimper.

Q'varvek reached out and patted him on the handle and smiled at him. Perhaps being a teacup wasn't so bad after all.

------------------
i've had the poison leak into my skin
and it corroded my heart away

[Argonaut]

The Hive

The soldier marched into the office of the base commander. Simplistic in design and decor, the private office showed no sign of privilege or prestige. This was the way of the Hive.

"The survivors from the battle at Socialism Tunnel have begun to filter in. A team has also brought in a group of prisoners who are suspected of collaborating with the Rebel movement. What would you have me do with them?" asked the soldier.

"Free Drone Sympathisers? What is happening to our society?" The base commander was clearly troubled by the continuing expansion of the Free Drone Faction. It was in direct opposition of everything he believed in, and was should have been so to any Hive citizen.

"Put them on the next armoured transport to Sea Hive," the commander instructed. "The Chairman will want to see that they are reprogrammed so that their will not be a repetition of their betrayal. If any of them resist, kill them."

The solider accepted his orders, and marched back out of the room.

********************************************

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex

The rest of William’s team mates had begun to arrive. There were three Y.C. Privates who had arrived already, apparently fresh out of the Academy. While Y.C. ranks held no value other than Cadet in the real Spartan military, with the Y.C. William was a high ranking officer. This put him in charge of the team, a fact that clearly frustrated him.

William didn’t want another assignment, he didn’t care about the stupid war anymore. All he cared about was finding Sharra. And now he was stuck with a bunch of needlejets that were ready to be scraped, and a team of three sixteen year olds who he had already managed to alienate.

The three privates stood several feet apart, discussing in low tones amongst themselves. There were two guys, Private Hardy and Private Vestor, and a girl, Private Sali. Private Hardy was actually a Gaian who had joined the Youth Corps since there was no similar organisation within her faction.

"Willie!" a familiar voice called out to William from across the hanger. William looked up to see Brad crossing the hanger floor with a huge grin plastered on his face. "Guess who just joined your team?"

"What did you do to deserve that?" questioned William.

"I asked to be transferred here," he replied as he reached his friend. "What you didn’t think you’d get rid of me so easily, did you?"

"Look, if I were you, I’d get out of here as soon as you can." As William said this a startling young woman entered the hanger and crossed the space between them.

"You must be Lt. Bradford," the newcomer said extending her hand. "Lt. Kingswell reporting for duty."

"Lt., huh? What did you do to deserve this post?" William asked in all seriousness.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" she replied with a smile on her lips as she walked over to introduce herself to the others.

closure, 1.1

The starcuriser emerged from the constellation Eminix and headed for the fifth manifold. The ship had a gracefull, yet biological appearance to it. It was well over a kilometer long, with a sloped prow taking up a good third or so of the ship. It had long silky sails, and looked more like a fish, rather than a spaceship. Its mottled grey hull glinted in the light, pulsating with anxiety.

"we are too late," c'Tan resonated. The Usurpers have beaten us to the fifth manifold. He raised his fist in anger and brought it down on the tray resting to his right. A teacup flew through the air defiantly, nearly hitting the Communications Officer in the head. It ended its short journey with a satisfied crash against the commscreen.

"What will we do now?" the Second Officer resonated.

"Look at the veiw screen. See how quicky the shockwaves are dissapating? Can you feel the urgency of the resonance? This happened a cycle ago, If that. Send out a scouting patrol." c'Tan resonated.

"Yes, sir. We have fifteen scoutships available, each with twenty gnats, and ten ogres." the Security Officer H'minnee resonated.

"Good. Send a ship to each of the nearest stars."

"Sir?" the Comm Officer resonated, still jumpy from the teacup incident, "look at this." There was a definite pull out of the still expanding clouds over Manifold Five. "looks like a scoutship had made considerable haste leaving."

"What trajectory?"

The Comm Officer resonated uncertainty, mixed with horror: "Centauri, sir." The bridge fell silent.

After a moment, c'Tan gathered himself. "Officer H'minnee, Take the d'Kantus to Centauri, and send the other scoutships to the nearest stars. This might be a usurper trick." he resonated with apprehension.

"yes, sir," H'minnee resonated.

------------------
i've had the poison leak into my skin
and it corroded my heart away

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

Yang sat down in a low stool in an austere and brightly lit room. In his hand he had an archaic paper book, which was obviously much used, as evidenced by its dog-eared edges. He placed his book on his lap, where its worn vaguely yellow binding contrasted glaringly with Yang's simple medium blue utility jumper. The book itself was slim with a duraplastic cover and spine. In total it was probably two centimeters in thickness.

With deliberate slowness Yang placed his right hand on the right edge of the cover. Doing so, he paused and took several deep breaths and read the cover for perhaps the thousandth time: Dynamics of the Mind, by Sheng-ji Yang. Satisfied, he carefully opened his small tome. After opening his book he started turned the pages one by one as if savoring the experience. While doing so he would occasionally pause and read a favorite passage, but in no one area did he pause more than several moments.

Finally he reached the page he was looking for. He looked up at his guest with his deep, brown eyes and broke the silence.

"Did you know that back on Earth that I taught Contemporary Confucian Thought at Beijing University? I was very young then and it was very long ago, and literally a world away. I now have so little time and my duties are multifold, but my guests deserve special consideration," Yang asked in his soft but penetrating voice. Although almost whispered the words boomed through the room, and then ceased just as suddenly and startlingly.

Receiving no answer, and expecting none, Yang looked back to his book again. Still looking down he continued.

"I have had few students over the years and I share this wisdom with you as a gift. Perhaps you will be more attentive to their lessons then they were. All of us have an incentive to learn, but some of us have more incentive than others."

Yang's student stared down at him with unbelieving eyes as Yang droned on about his obscure and tortuous philosophy: the individual does not exist outside his society, duality and opposition are necessary for spiritual attainment, control and subjugation of emotion and personal desire is the first step in the quest for perfection and enlightenment.

As usual Yang did not notice, or chose not to notice, his student's incredulous gaze. He started to read aloud, intoning each word with a certain inflection as if to add a dynamic power and meaning to the words. These words, his own words, obviously had a deep-set meaning to Yang and he was taking great care to ensure that they were properly communicated.

Standing in front of Yang, Morgan Junior was naked, spread eagled in this punishment sphere listening as his 'teacher' gave him his second of what promised to be an eternity of lessons.

Junior closed his eyes. He didn't know what was worse: the wracking pain that lanced his body every several minutes or Yang's insane philosophy.

After a moment Junior decided he would take the pain any day.

[Hydro]

Assassin's Redoubt

Mary wandered into the small kitchen, paused, and took an appreciative sniff of the air. Dinner was cooking! Markus was standing at the autochef tapping in some last minute changes to his favorite recipes from the databanks. Every now and then he would set the data entry to voice recognition when he had to look to his skillets and boilers on the autochef range. Even though most people choose prepared food, humanity had never gotten over what was almost a need to prepare their own sustenance since meals were a social event. It didn't matter that the autochef, delivered prepared food, and instant food were cheaper and better - some people enjoy cooking or thought of it as a hobby. Markus was one of those, when he had time.

A smile started as Mary noticed Markus was totally absorbed in his 'work'. Mary reflected that Men in general, and Markus in particular, had the strange ability to focus and tune everything out when completing a task. Mary knew she could never be focused in that way, even if she had any significant interest in cooking, and she didn't. Markus' 'ability' was fun to play with, through, and Mary's smile grew as she snuck up on an unsuspecting Markus.

Getting within 10 centimeters of Markus, Mary stood up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. He was stirring some onions he was sautéing and manually adding some spices. Mary didn't know what they were but really didn't care since it smelled wonderful.

Time to have her fun.

"What 'cha doing?" she asked, speaking almost directly into Markus' right ear.

Markus started with an exclamation, dropping his wooden spoon, which hit the top of the autochef range and clattered to the floor. A thin arc of minced onions and olive oil flew in a parabolic arc, impacting both Markus' "Kiss Me I'm The Chef" apron and the floor.

"Mary!!" almost yelled, more startled than mad. He tried, belatedly, to catch the spoon, which more than eluded his grasp. In doing so he lurched backward, bumping into Mary. She responded to the impact by grabbing the nearest object she could, which was Markus.

"Don't do that!" he said, making a feeble effort to pry her arms away from his midsection as he tried to bend down to get his stirring spoon. Mary just held on tighter and finally he just gave up. He found it very hard to stay even annoyed with Mary, especially since they had been married a whole 8 days. They had gotten married at the last minute before shipping out to the Peacekeeper front, but then their orders were cancelled when peace was declared with the Peacekeepers due to the alien threat. While the higher ups decided what to do about Yang and the aliens, most in the Spartan military were on alert but were pulling normal hours. To Markus and Mary this was a boon from heaven. It wasn't like a honeymoon, but the extra time together and with family was always welcome. In a way they thanked these enigmatic aliens.

"Do you want me to stop?" Mary cooed, snuggling in a little.

"Well, no," Markus admitted, "but at least let me finish cooking! I don't want anything to burn. I have it on manual, you know."

"OK," Mary relented. She let go and stepped back a little, then picked up the spoon and handed it to Markus. Mark took the spoon.

"I have to get a clean one. But thanks," he said as he put the spoon on the counter and took another from his small collection of kitchen utensils.

"When will dinner be done? The Special Report on Morgan Holovid is about to start. Rao said we should all watch it, since Sparta Command has been pretty tight with the information on the aliens. He did advise us to be a bit skeptical, though, since the Morgans are just as likely to hype a story for ratings than worry too much about the truth."

"Yah, I remember," Markus kind of responded, slipping into his 'focus' mind again.

Mary noticed and poked him gently in the ribs.

"OK! I heard you! Dinner will be ready in a moment or two. Have Mom and Dad arrive yet?"

Relieved at finally getting Markus' undivided attention, Mary filled him in: "Your Dad called and said he had just gotten off the job at the tree farm, and that your Mom is bringing a blackberry tort. I could hear Mara in the background yelling 'hello', so I assume she will be coming too. I wish I had half her energy! They should be here in about 10 minutes."

"Perfect. Is the living room configured for full holo reception?"

Mary's pursed her lips. "What do you think I've been doing for the last 20 minutes? Your holo rig is not even close to state-of-the-art, so I had to so some rigging to get it to full holo. You should be very glad you married an electronics engineer!"

"I thank the gods every day!" Markus responded with a smile and a hint of exaggeration. Then he bent forward and gave her a quick peck.

"Which gods? The gods of lust and passion, or love and devotion?" Mary quipped back.

"I'm not telling. Now go away so I can finish," Markus said, going into 'focus' mode again.

Mary left the kitchen to activate and do a final check of the holo rig. It should be pretty good, if it worked. The five of them should feel like they were in the live audience of the Morganvid Special Report Aliens: Fact and Fiction.

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

Mary, Markus, his parents, and dark-haired Mara felt like they were seated in the plush audience hall of the Morganvid Auditorium at Morgan Industries. They could feel the plush seats and see the throngs of people all around them, all while knowing they were at home at Assassins' Redoubt. There were only occasional flaws, where one of the simulated audience members would rez out for a second as the dataflow overloaded Markus' old equipment. However, the main event on the central stage was perfect. The stage held the MC and a panel of experts in xenobiology, philosophy, military, and a host of other professions. Considering it was a virtual event it was amazingly well done - it was as perfect as a Morganvid always was.

The MC, in a brilliant yellow and blue suit with an almost gaudy Morganvid logo on the lapel, stood and walked to the translucent podium. He was of indeterminate age, like all Morganvid representatives, was smooth in his gate and he radiated a commanding presence. On cue the audience murmur hushed as reached his dias and he was backlit with almost brilliant light that almost gave him a halo.

"Welcome to the first Morganvid Special Report: Aliens - Fact or Fiction. We have all been thrilled, alarmed, and intrigued by the arrival of the first aliens humanity has ever encountered. They arrived with startling suddenness, and announced their presence by destruction of the Spartan and Morgan orbital hydrolabs. There have been rumors of a vast fleet of alien spaceships in orbit around Chiron, and even tales of aliens cities near Nessus Canyon. We have all heard many rumors, but what do we know? What does it all mean? Is it a threat, or an opportunity? Is this the glorious first contact humanity has dreamed of for centuries, or something much darker and forbidding?"

The MC paused for effect as he built up the tension. In the virtual seats, the Auralius family was rapt, as were all in the audience. The MC, Martin Sing, knew his job.

"First, what do we know. I will turn now to Spartan Field Marshal Wang, senior commander of the Spartan fast response forces and a senior member of the Spartan command structure. He has been authorized by the Spartan government to illuminate us as to the critical events in the last week or so. Field Marshal?"

The brilliant light now focused on the image of Field Marshal Wang, who stood and approached the podium as the MC backed away. He was shorter than average with a stout frame and steel grey hair and wore his full dress Spartan uniform, which was decked with metals and commendations.

At the podium he looked out to his virtual audience and seemed to look each person in the eye.

"Ladies and gentlemen, nine days ago a fleet of approximately 90 alien warships appeared through what can only be a wormhole into orbit around Chiron. These warships then proceeded to destroy first the Spartan hydroponics lab, then shortly thereafter the Morgan hydroponics lab. Significantly, the Hive hydroponics lab has been left intact. The only direct communication we have received has been translated as: You are in violation of the Tau Ceti accords. Prepare for death."

If Martin Sing had enraptured his audience, Wang stunned them. He was direct and clear.

"Since and during this time a launch was detected from Hive space, and this launch was observed going into high orbit toward the alien spacecraft. It was not destroyed, and appeared to dock with this spacecraft. Additional craft were observed going into orbit and from orbit toward the area known as Nessus Canyon, which is an area claimed by the Hive. The trajectories of these atmospheric re-entries and launches have been plotted and all focus on four areas. Survey data from the now destroyed Spartan and Morgan hydrolabs have been reviewed to focus on these four areas and I will present to you, for the first time, our findings."

The lights surrounding Wang dimmed, and a holo appeared above him. It showed the rather bleak landscape around Nessus Canyon with an icon around the four areas plotted by the launches are re-entries. These views zoomed in separately, showing wide expanses of fungus and some bare earth.

"These are the areas of the launches to and from the space fleet and also from the Hive. Analysis of historic data has found some anomalies, indicating that all is not as it appeared. For instance, there are significant metallic and energy anomalies in these four areas. A cross comparison with multiple views of survey data show a prolonged distortion."

Zooming in further the distortion could be seen. It looked like a mirage, similar to what might be present from rising heat from the desert heat. The background of each area seemed to shimmer slightly. The holo representation shifted from an aerial to an oblique view, and the terrain in back of the target areas seemed to shift and jump slightly.

"Analysis by Spartan and Morgan data analysis has confirmed that what you are seeing, which has been released to you by both the Spartan and Morgan governments for the first time, is actually the side effects of an advanced distortion 'resonance' field. In more common usage, it might be called a cloaking device. These four sites are, ladies and gentlemen, four alien colonies that have been present for some time. This distortion field is why they were not previously identified by our satellites - they simply didn't know what to look for."

Wang let that bombshell sink in. As they watched, the holo resolved itself as the effects of the resonance field were stripped away. At each of the four locations there was a collection of tall, tan colored towers that reached upward. The towers were perched on interconnected struts that kept them above the ground and almost seemed to defy gravity. The architecture was striking, and all-together alien. The cities were also huge.

"Based on comparisons to human cities, we estimate these four cities could contain between 70,000 and 100,000 aliens each. This puts them in the league with the largest human settlements on Chiron."

After a brief pause, Wang continued.

"In breaking news, I have been authorized to tell you that there have been a mass of orbital re-entries. At first we suspected these to be orbital bombardment or missile attacks, but most of the 20 or so re-entries were centered on the alien bases. At least two landed in Hive territory. We did get some recon on these devices and this is what we saw."

Below the holos of the bases a new image appeared. It was a mechanical device with an ovoid torso and four multipronged legs. As it was entering the atmosphere its ablative heat shield was burning away, then discarded. It deployed a massive parasail and retrorockets to controll its reentry into the thick Chiron atmosphere.

The device itself was something out a nightmare. As the resolution improved it looked like something right out of the berserker vids of the last hundreds of years of science fiction. The torso was fairly small, but had multiple projections, depressions, tubes, weapon barrels, and small arms. Radiating from the torso were four huge legs with multipronged ends and wickedly sharp projections. Rough dimensions appeared over the image as resolution improved - it was at least 20 meters tall and 20 meters wide. It was clearly a machine of war.

"Surprisingly, we know what this is: it is what was dubbed a 'battle ogre'. Searching Gaian records, one of their mindworm patrols in the early 2150s found a smaller version of this type of device while exploring the Great Fungal Wall by Assassin's Redoubt. The device was emitting a strong electromagnetic signature, just like the Unity Pods did. The patrol team found the device encased in a protective mesh of fungus, which was in itself noteworthy since the fungus almost always destroys the metallic and man-made objects it encroaches on or blooms under. The Gaian team freed the object, and it turned itself on. It then communicated with the mindworm in their care. When it tried to communicate via the mindworm to the human controllers one human went mad, one went catatonic, and the third remained sane enough to give it orders. They tried to send it back to Assassin's Redoubt. Unfortunately, it never made it there. It was reportedly destroyed by a native mindworm horde that originated out of the famous Monolith Ring. No piece of it was ever recovered, and the story was put down to the insane ramblings of a dysfunctional team in the Gaian Mindworm Corps.

"The salient point is that it is of alien manufacture, so we can assume that these are the same aliens in orbit around Chiron are the ones that at least lived or visited Chiron in the past. We do not know if these are the same aliens that created the Monoliths, or even the very peculiar Chrion ecology, as some have speculated. From a military point of view, the 20 battle ogres that now exist on the surface of Chiron are formidable fighting machines. The rough estimates of the abilities of the Gaian battle ogre indicate that it was better than a missile infantry brigade. These units are much larger than the Gaian battle ogre, and we can only assume they are much more powerful.

"In conclusion, we know nothing of the aliens' physiography, origin, or motives, beyond the cryptic reference to Tau Ceti, which may be a star system. We do know this: the aliens possess technology far superior to humans, they have been to Chiron before, they can harness wormholes for space travel, something human theoretical physicists can only dream about, and they possess a strong military capability both on the ground and in space. Most importantly, they have seemingly allied with The Human Hive and are hostile to the rest of humanity on Chiron."

Wang paused again and the holos winked out, and the bright light illuminated Wang again. His face was serious, deadly serious.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this may be the greatest threat to humanity in our history. We must first determine the nature of the threat, and then, if necessary, destroy it."

With that, Field Marshal Wang turned and walked away from the podium. As he did holos that showed the four alien bases, the destruction of the hydroponic satellites, and the aerial reentry of the battle ogres sprang back into existence.

The audience watched with stunned silence,

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaape

T'rng paused in her slow passage through the hallway. Her left talon was giving her trouble again. She extended her left claws and placed them on the undulatory wall and gently leaned against it, taking her weight off the troublesome digit. Raising her foot slightly she inspected it for the thousandth time: it was an unhealthy pink, and was bent backward and atrophied. It wouldn't be long now before it lost all blood circulation and fell off.

Her hardened gill slits clicked shut at the thought. She reached down to touch the talon and tried to push it back into place, feeling a very slight nausea as she stressed the diseased flesh.

T'rng resonated discordantly. The only way to fix her talon was to have a new one grown, and that wasn't likely to happen any time soon, or ever. She knew she would simply have to live with the discomfort and stigma. Those that are triaged never receive any medical care, by the order of Conquer Marr.

Still, one has to prove your worth even if triaged, T'rng resonated to herself. The alternative is the tanks.

She put her taloned foot gently on the floor again and put some weight on it.

Yes, the pain is bearable, she resonated, and I will take much upon my discolored carapace, for I must.

T'rng's mandibles glided over each other sideways in contentment, adding a forth harmonic to her soft resonance. Placing one foot after the other she once again carefully made her way to the task assigned to her. It was a task that was shunned by all warriors, but one that she relished. Even after all she had been through, and all that she had seen in her long life, even she found it odd that she relished her task.

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaape

The sound of her discomfort was absorbed by the hallway's walls as T'rng slowly and methodically made her way to the gestation chamber.

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

A low reddish hued light filled the cramped by cavernous room. Bank upon bank of electronics, probes, medical arms, and head-high cabinets filled the room, with barely enough space to wheel a service card through. The cabinets were by far the most prominent feature of the room simply because of the number of them - there were thousands. To each cabinet a wide and brightly colored series of tubes and conduits ran, and in front of each cabinet there was a control panel.

T'rng looked up and ambled over to the storage locker and fluted a trill at it. It beeped twice in response, and she placed the edge of her talon pad against the ID sensor. It beeped again and the doors slid open, showing shelves full of datapads, midpacks of diagnostic equipment, and exploratory probes. Swiveling her best eye socket around she spied what she was looking for. She reached out and picked out her datapad and waistbelt.

Placing the datapad in the waistbelt, she clicked it into at cleft in her outer chitin, the blue layer. Normally it wasn't blue, of course, but a deep mottled green. It had been blue so long T'rng didn't even notice anymore.

Prepared, she grasped the side of the open locker for support as she turned around.

So much to do, she thought happily, mandibles clicking in anticipation. A thin line of drool slipped from her maw.

She paced over to the first cabinet and trilled a chord at it. A pneumatic pop sounded as the seal was broken, and the doors slid open sideways. The red light from the room slowly filled the shallow cabinet, revealing melon-sized spheres inside. A dank, moist odor or rotting grass filled T'rng's tongue. Reaching over to her waistbelt she took out a probe and pointed it toward the base of the cabinet, which appeared to be filled with a dark gelatinous substance. It was quivering slightly, and it quivered more as the probe activated. Ripples spread across the surface as the harmonics of the probe activated the nanites. Rivulets of gelatin formed up and flowed up the base that cradled each of the spheres, which started undulating at its touch.

Eggs in Tr:34 are at stage two, T'ring resonated into her datapad, gestation estimated in 30 cycles. Schedule cabinet upgrade for RNA treatment.

Assessment done, T'rng used her tongue to smell the lovely smell again. If she did this a centum of times she knew she would never tire of it.

She trilled again, and the doors closed, shutting the neutral red light away from the activated nanoprobes. Soon the little Progenitors, each enhanced according the wishes of Conquer Marr, would be ready for hatching, and then their gray matter enhancement. Some rumored that these clones were primarily of Marr himself, since he was the epitome of what a Progenitor could be. T'rng didn't care, especially since such idle thoughts were enough cause for ritual evisceration.

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

Finally! T'rng thought to herself, gestation chamber Tr:98!

Her gill slits were wide open, her hardened flaps flared to take in as much oxygen as possible.

She trilled and the door opened with a pop, as usual. Inside were another bank of eggs and the same semi-inert gelatinous mass at the base of the cabinet. This time, instead of activating it with her probe she placed her probe back in her waistbelt.

Her eyes swiveled each way to detect one of the other attendants that rarely visited this gestation chamber, or the movement of a mechanized server. T'rng knew this area was outside of the watchful eye of the watch sensors. It had had an accident a while ago and was slightly realigned. Not enough to cause a malfunction indicator, but enough to place the activities at this chamber just off its field of view.

Almost reverently T'rng leaned forward and extended both clawed paws. She brushed them lightly over one egg, her favorite egg. It was wholly and unmistakably beautiful. She could tell that inside was a Special. She could feel its resonance, even now.

Gingerly, gently she grasped the egg from its stand, feeling its warmth and the life pulsing within. Its surface was leathery and somewhat pliant and was identical to all the others. But still, T'rng knew this egg was Special.

Both eyes swiveled to view this wonder in front of her, and she unconsciously started the Linking Resonance. Her song folded over her beloved egg, washing it in age-old Progenitor tradition, a tradition specifically banned by Conquer Marr. With a snap T'rng felt the link harden, and it altered back!

Ecstasy!!

T'rng poured herself into her song! Never before had the Special altered back! She could feel the link, and felt it grow as the harmonics built. Two fold! Three fold harmonic!

Slowly T'rng brought the Special up to her mandibles, and she washed and cleaned the egg instinctively. Her saliva and slight rasps of her mandibles against the egg's surface allowed her RNA to permeate, softening the egg's surface ever so slightly. The egg grew sticky as she worked over the surface. She could feel the skin of her own paws and talons respond, losing rigidity and gaining resiliency. Finally the egg seemed bonded to her skin and she knew it was The Time.

The pain was worth it. She willed her aged carapace to open, exposing her naked flesh to the cruel, cold, and dry air. She placed the egg in her thorax, as the Caretakers said to do. Lodging her egg into place, her carapace closed.

T'rng started resonating, and the pulses echoed through her body and the egg within. New connections were being forged. T'rng knew it.

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

T'rng's head crenulations almost drooped from exhaustion. They had long ago lost their bright coloring, and they no longer carried the dangles to catch the eye of roving conquerors when she was in season. That had been so very long ago.

The egg was now safely in its cabinet.

T'rng was satisfied. Even if she were called to the tanks tomorrow she knew she had done her duty. She had given The Special all that she could give. Her Link would enable this Progenitor to see more than what Marr programmed him to see. Most of the eggs would be come warriors for Marr's army, a cloned army that would wash over Manifold 6.

But not her Special. She had given him the Caretaker's gift.

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

A Conqueror approached T'rng. By his bearing and sash she knew he was at least a lieutenant and she quickly assumed a submissive posture and edged to the side of the eating chamber. She and the rest of the old ones were queued up for their evening meal. As the Conqueror got near she noticed that he was looking over all that were in the line. Everyone tried to look both submissive and straight at the same time, sometimes with comical effect. One old male tried to stand so straight that his rear leg joint popped out of place, causing him and those around him to fall in a heap. This elicited peals of laughter from the seated Conquerors, who were busy eating from the best of the first bin. The old ones were lucky to get the scraps or, if they were unlucky or the Conquerors unusually hungry, food from the second bin.

T'rng knew she was the sorriest of the lot but did her best to look hale anyway. All of her old friends had long ago gone to the tanks. It was a duty to society and a gift to future generations, Marr said. Still, T'rng didn't want to go. Not just yet.

The hulking shape neared, then stopped by T'rng.

"Old one," the Conqueror resonated, "you have one more task in your service to Marr. You are to report to the tanks."

T'rng could feel the relief in those around her. Usually they only selected one for the tanks, and today it was her turn. She resonated a wordless reply of submission and assent. The big Conqueror took out a small device from his outer chitin and scanned her to get her ID, then downloaded to the Spires: Ascendant data repository.

The hulking form left, his selection done.

T'rng knew standing in line was wasteful. She now had no place to sleep and could not draw food from the bins. She had but one duty left.

A talon bushed lightly on her rear carapace, followed by a sympathetic resonance from those around her. She accepted the homage from her fellow old ones. Many times she, too, had offered similar sympathy to those chosen.

A feeling of peace washed over T'rng. My life has been good, and I have seen much, she resonated to herself.

Drawing up her strength T'rng turned from the line and walked toward the door, leaving the cacophony of noise and life as a Progenitor behind.

No one watched her go.

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

T'rng stood by the shuttle observation window, looking once again at the airless void and her habitation as it receded behind her. The outer surfaces of the multifaceted domes and rising spires glittered like jewels in the waste light from the quantum drive.

It looks like sunlight sparkling on water! T'rng thought to herself in wonder. She had always wanted to travel into space and never thought she would have the chance. But then, she had been called. Now she was on the shuttle!

She had little latitude to move, strapped in as she was. She had just been lucky enough to have a glorious view out one of the portside windows. The entire shuttle was filled with excited Progenitors, each identically strapped in carapace to carapace aboard the transport.

Why did they select me? T'rng thought for the thousandth time. At first she had felt threatened by the thought of leaving the only home she had ever known. Then the thrill of discovery just around the corner hit and she couldn't wait! To be selected by Conquer Marr for an important mission! One that would cause the silly Caretakers to admit defeat and prove the Usurpers correct, once and for all!

Glory to Marr!

Finally the glittering faded and her habitation asteroid became a disk, then a point of light, then a mote lost among the stars.

A low resonance began to build, and T'rng craned her eyesockets to see. The Progenitors in the front of the shuttle were trilling excitedly.

The grand starship approached! Planetary Scoutship 427_s!

T'rng could barely contain her excitement. She thought, Soon I will leave Tau Ceti forever!

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

"Up! Up!" a voice resonated at her, not waiting for her to alter back.

Arms grabbed her semi-inert form. T'rng felt groggy from hypersleep, or maybe it was the aftereffects of the wormhole. Regardless of the cause, the floor seemed to move, and what little that was in her crop threatened to explode on to the hull of the ship.

This was NOT how she expected to be awakened from hypersleep.

Slowly her senses refocused and she noticed that the floor was indeed moving! And, it seemed to be changing!

That is not supposed to happen either!

Crowds of Progenitors were running and carrying inert forms that had not been fully wakened from hypersleep, and they were all running in one direction: toward the life pods.

The realization hit T'rng like a bolt of lightning. For some reason the ship was evacuating. A low rumble strengthened her sense of urgency and she followed the crowd to where she vaguely remembered the life pods were.

A young Progenitor in front of her was struggling with a huge form. The little male was trilling unhappily, sending out resonances of aimless distress. No one was helping, and the inert form must be his master. Without thinking T'rng grasped the other paw of the inert form to help the youngling drag the Conqueror toward the waiting life pods.

Or, at least T'rng hoped they were waiting.

The halls were getting crowded now, and the rumbling grew more insistent and the emergency lighting switched on. Loud booms echoed through the metallic halls as bulkheads sealed.

There must be a breach, T'rng through unhappily. Having been born and raised in a space habitat she knew this was the worst kind of disaster. All that separated their fragile Progenitor flesh from the cold, cruel airless space were thin layers of composites, metals, and force fields. If these failed, then life would fail.

And for some reason, Planetary Scoutship 427_s was failing.

The crowds were thinning now, and bay after bay of life pods were empty, having ejected their contents safely away from the apparently stricken ship. Worse, the Conqueror they were dragging was getting very heavy, especially considering she was still recovering from the effects of hypersleep. Her breath became labored, and her gill flaps fluted to gain more air.

All around her the air seemed to get misty, and T'rng saw her exhaled warm, moist air condense with each breath. The air around her was cooling rapidly. Life support has failed, she though miserably. Like all Progenitors, she liked it warm and moist, but she could function in cold even if she didn't like it one bit. Of course, she had an incentive.

Rounding a bend she saw a cluster of shivering Progenitors crowding into a life pod. With one last heave she and her youngling pulled the Conqueror through the hatch. She could feel at least carapace joints pull loose, and it hurt.

A harried Conqueror was ordering sluggish Progenitors into crash couches.

"You," he resonated at T'rng, "Secure the Conqueror, then the youngling, then yourself! Bay U:21 to 23!"

T'rng did as she was ordered. Pushing the inert form into the couch, it formed to fit him and sealed automatically. The youngling threw himself into the bay adjacent to his master, as was his duty, and the protective force field descended on him, too.

A few more stragglers came in, almost catatonic form the cold.

While ordering these frigid refugees to their places, T'rng assisted those around her. While doing so she heard the Conqueror resonate fiercely about 'Caretaker Treachery' and 'Singularity Mines'.

T'rng didn't have time to muse on the subject because the ship jolted violently, throwing the few still standing to the side. T'rng clawed her way to her crash couch as the floor pitch increased to 10, then 15 and then 30 degrees. The commanding Conqueror threw himself at his couch like an acrobat and secured himself, just as T'rng did so, too. Then he hit the launch sequence.

As they left she heard a rippling explosion, which was cut short as the craft detached from the stricken ship. The last of the artificial gravity failed, and the few that weren't in their couches now flailed helplessly in zero gravity.

T'rng closed her eyes, not wanting to see their fate.

The descent was terrifying - full of light, heat, noise, and screams of death.

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

T'rng watched the singularity resonators and nanos build yet another building and clear more fungus from this inhospitable world. It was not nearly as warm a moist as she would like, and the atmosphere had far too little nitrogen. It was like breathing air from a high mountain all the time!

Still, it was more like her home than what she could have hoped. The fungus was both familiar and alien. Its general form and color were reassuring, but the shapes and extent were nothing like what was 'normal'. This fungus was wild, and not in the service of the Progenitors. This planet, Manifold 6, was one of the Progenitor's grandest experiments, but an experiment gone sadly and madly wrong. This planet fought the Progenitors, and its avatars the mindworms were relentless. No matter how the vaunted scientists worked they could not understand fully this almost alien ecology. How many Conquerors had died in the fungus? Hundreds? Thousands?

Still, in only 5 turnings the Progenitors had expanded nicely, creating four cities out of the barren and freckles wastes. Nanos recreated what the singularities destroyed and reshaped, literally taking the stuff of Manifold 6, tearing it apart, and reforming it as desired.

There was battle with the mindworm vectors and constant building, but there was something more. There were rumors: rumors of aliens, true aliens. Conqueror Marr insisted that an elaborate resonance field be erected, and its only purpose could be secrecy. Such fields were used to hide small space habitats from the deprecations of the evil Caretakers. Were the Caretakers on Manifold 6? Were there aliens?

'No time for musings', T'rng thought to herself. 'I've already been punished twice this cycle for not attending to my duties, and I do not enjoy Marr's punishments.'

Her claw unconsciously reached up to a missing portion of her chitin on her head, where her mating dangles used to be. 'Yes, punishment can wound more than it hurts,' she thought unhappily.

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

"I choose you," the young Conqueror resonated at T'rng. He tasted her pheromones, and looked with pleasure at her. She was in season and ripe. He knew he was a Conqueror and she couldn't refuse him, even if she wanted to.

T'rng, in turn, responded to his ritual advance with a deep biological longing. This Conqueror was strong, able, and he tasted right. She could taste his pheromones and they made her blood race, and the glands on her back enlarged and expanded, causing her carapace to 'pop' as the glands engorged. It was a heady rush.

With lessening caution the male advanced, and T'rng lowered herself so that her ruptured carapace faced him. Finally, he could stand it no longer and rushed at her, embedding his abdomen on her bright purple flesh.

T'rng felt the moment, and extended her proboscis and took the male, entering his body and feeling for what she needed. He didn't resist as her probe grabbed his gamate, then retracted. She repeated this twice more until she was sure she had it all, every last one. With each lance the male lurched, his eye sockets yellow from her purple narcotic.

Sated, T'rng withdrew, leaving the expended male on the ground bleeding from his small wound.

"It will heal," T'rng through as she happily as she walked down the hall.

Now I would clutch!

Glory to Marr!

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

"You shall turn you clutch over to Marr," the Fertility Director demanded, resonating a sixth harmonic that said he would accept no altering. "The Grand Conqueror Marr has decreed that all clutches shall be tested and raised according to his wishes."

T'rng was stunned. Turn over her clutch? How could he ask that!

Two Conquerors stepped to either side of her to reinforce the point.

The first stirrings of hatred rose in T'rng. They lead her to the medical table, where they flipped her over and placed her on the table. She felt helpless and alone, and she was. A medical arm whirred twice and clamped over her abdomen, securing it against all movement. From the ceiling a long, translucent tube came down, and it attached itself to her abdomen.

There was no pain, but here was a feeling of heart wrenching loss as T'rng saw her eggs, her clutch, flow into the translucent tube and away into the ceiling.

She eye sockets swiveled closed and her gill slits worked furiously, trying to understand. But there was nothing to understand.

Her contribution to the Progenitor race had been removed and she would never clutch again.

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

How many turning had it been? 40? 50? In that time T'rng had come to understand much. Even if her duties were menial, she could sometimes sense the Voice. It resonated like a far off echo, out of focus and far too faint to understand, but it was there. The Voice came at all times of the day and none. As best as T'rng could tell it was always there, part of the Grand Experiment of Manifold 6.

Why didn't the Marr's great scientists understand this? If the grand Marr could be so wrong about this, what else is he wrong about? Could the Caretakers have been right all along?

T'rng tried to remember all she had been taught, and taught to hate, about the Caretakers. Marr wanted to use Manifold 6 as a weapon, as a tool. The Caretakers preached that the Grand Experiment was flawed, and that the Manifolds were sentient beings and that the Progenitors, their creators, should walk with and try to understand them.

Who was right?

T'rng knew she didn't know, but she resolved to find out.

She would listen to the Voice, if it would talk to her.

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

A crowd of youngling Conquerors waits impatiently, testing the strength and wits of their Master. They teem around him, trilling and resonating for the right to fight, for those that fought and fought well eat from the first bin. Those that just fought get to eat, but from the second bin. For those just hatched and not fully-grown life consists of eating, fighting, and sleeping, with daily RNA treatments to ensure that cognitive ability equals or exceeds than their super-enhanced growth rate. Of course, growing up this fast requires prestigious amount of food, and gaining food is a daily battle for a young Conquerors.

Today is a special day, and all the younglings know it. It was the day of battle, a real battle, and a true test for glory of Conqueror Marr!

A door opens, and a figure slowly walks out. The younglings turn and face their combatant, faces locked in a hard stare and mandibles working furiously. Not one moves, not until given the order from their Master. To disobey brings punishment, from denial of eating to much worse.

T'rng looks at the brood facing her. In the front she sees her Special. He has indeed grown big and strong!

In a flicker he recognizes her, and resonates a query.

"Yes, it is I. You know what to do," she resonates to him in her Song, reassuring him. She knows none of the others can understand Planetvoice, for it is alien to them. Usurpers do not understand Planet, and never will.

Her Special trills unhappily.

Then the Master resonates sharply to the younglings: "This is your meat! Kill!"

Like a horde, the younglings descend upon T'rng. Her Special hesitates for a moment, and then he joins his broodmates. It is his duty, and his Mother gave him permission. He understands her sacrifice, and he does what he must.

She tastes good.

closure, 1.2

...

darkness.

wet.

warmth.

Archon opened his eye and attempted to move. It was only now that the sensation of being buried by mindworms was apparent. Strangely, he didn't feel the usual terror that is associated with mindworms, and other planet flora. He attempted to activate his locater.

you are safe boomed a voice in his head.

Archon's eye began to adjust to the light. His lens had been knocked out in the journey over to... where ever he was. He was laying on the floor (or wall, it was difficult for him to decide this), just off-center in an enormous room. The walls were teeming with activity... they appeared to be moving in random directions, but when studied closer, it formed a pattern. It reminded him of when he first saw the inner workings of alpha prime. The LED flashes were seemingly randonm at first, but they formed a visualization of the basic cognitive algorithm of the consciousness.

It was more or less the same here, only this algorithmic loop was much, MUCH older than anything that archon had ever seen, let alone be alive to see. A feeling of great sadness began to wash over him.

...was all he heard. It was more than a moan, or a sound. It seemed to fill up his very being, this wail. Archon went rigid.

A planet appeared in his mind's eye. Rich with life and intelligence. It appeared to be much like Chiron. Although the actual shape of the continents and such were different, the fungal patterns were similar. The fungus appeared to glisten from orbit. It also appeared to have a strinkingly similar pattern to a very old cognitive feedback loop.

The planetside approached nighttime. A few large cities could been seen, imbetween the almost phosphorescent blue flashes. Slowly the flashes became more often, and in a darker green color. Soon, much of the fungus was illuminated with green with spots of orange. The lights were dancing, a very complicated dance at that. But, the pattern was still there. The pattern changed , and planet bathed in a mottled orange-red light. Archon felt a joy, mixed with apprehension, Like an expectant father. The lights went out for a split second, then flared violet. Archon's mind flailed in agony. The light got brighter, and a greater wave of sadness rushed over him. The planet went dark, and clouds of gasses rushed off the planet's surface. A small spaceship caught his eye as it sped just ahead of the rising gas, pulling it along behind it...

The sadness strenghtened a hundredfold, and a low hum became apparent. Archon screamed and lashed out with greif...

*********

near Pholus Ridge

The ground heaved and birthed a mindworm boil the likes of which Planet had never seen. All the anger, hate, and sorrow, Feuled the boil, as it headed towards the nearest settlement.

------------------
i've had the poison leak into my skin
and it corroded my heart away

[Googlie]

“We’re ready for launch, Conqueror,” resonated Sk’aard. “I suggest we send one first, and upon successful entry we’ll dispatch the rest.”

Marr caught the resonance, and pondered, subtly adjusting his flaps and rolling it around, catching on a flank, passing to an elbow, and reingesting its tone.

Sk’aard watched the contemplative process, secure in the knowledge that what he had resonated made sense, and after all, the Gnats were almost as close as broodmates to him. To Marr, however, they were just weapons.

Finally Marr altered “Let it be done as you suggest.”

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

‘Ypruss resonated in anguish “But it should be Tonc and I. You don’t comprehend the importance to the Gnats that Tonc, their undisputed leader, should be the first to planetside.”

“I comprehend,” altered Sk’aard. “But Tonc is too valuable to risk losing if our calculations are wrong. So Pilot Broc and Officer Ps’saat will go, with ‘Yelle who has undergone the modifications.”

‘Ypruss inclined her neck in submission. “Your resonances will be obeyed,” she altered weakly and left.

Broc shuffled forward, with his weapons officer, Ps’saat. “We are ready, Distinguished Commander, as is our Gnat,” he resonated to his commanding officer.

“Here are your co-ordinates on Planet,” altered Sk’aard, giving them the co-ordinates for Courage : To Question, Marr’s headquarters base. “We have computed your trajectory and flight path from launch to insertion to landing. The strip will be primitive, but the reinforced skids should suffice until an undercarriage can be fitted at the base. Discard what’s left of the heatshield after entry, as ‘Yelle will have one organically added at the base. M ost of the temporary growth will burn up anyway, we calculate. Emit resonance pulse every five hundredths so that we can track from here and from Planetside. Your launch is imminent.”

Broc inclined his head in assent, and went to the hanger to rendezvous with the craft.

As they made their way, Ps’saat was resonating excitedly, almost incoherent. “Will we need to fight our way down? If the aliens have spaceflight ability they must have heavier than air machines capable of flying in Planet’s atmosphere. What kind of weapons will they have? Did you get any reports from Marr’s people – I didn’t.”

As they entered the hanger, ‘Yelle picked up the resonating emanations of excitement.

Mission? To Planet? Testing my new skin?

Yes, you lucky Gnat. You will be the envy of your broodmates. The first to Planet, Broc empathed to his craft.

He examined the changes that had been made to her structure, some elements grafted on and others of a more temporary nature. Musclature had been enhanced with bio implants, and the skeletal structure had been strengthened through grafts. The most notable addition was the secondary growth that had been induced in ‘Yelle to build a heat shield that would burn off and be discarded on atmospheric entry.

The debate had centered around whether the cloaking could be adapted to a heat dissipation shield, but the consensus was that a bio shield would be preferable.

‘Yelle peeled open her crew pod, and Broc and Ps’saat climbed aboard.

The pre-flight systems checks were complete, and the order given to launch.

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

Exhilaration…..freedom…..I will wait for you broodmates on Planetside…..I soar…I see the mothership as a spec of reflected light against the backdrop of the blackness of space…..till we meet on Chiron.

I sense the heat building up as I swoop to the mottled red and blue and white of planet….not uncomfortable, but disconcerting…..as my skin encounters the thin upper atmosphere I feel the friction build up, and the outer layer begins to blacken as the planned molecular changes accelerate under the heat caused by the friction.

Then we are through, and my receptors analyze the nitrogen rich atmosphere as my surface cools and the flaked, blackened outer skin peels off in the slipstream….I sense Bronc’s command even as he empaths it, and I gingerly extend my wings from where they have been lying sleek against my fuselage. I feel them bite the atmosphere and exult in the sensation of Planet’s thin air rushing over my mottled skin.

…To fly…to soar and swoop…to command the air and defy gravity….I sing.

And then I heard the echo.

……fly……soar

And the music….a thousand notes…in harmony…

And the Voice, insistent, persuasive, filling my being with longing to touch, to share…to experience…

…Welcome…we have been waiting…..

I sensed them first, then they came, attaching themselves to my skin and entering into my consciousness, singly at first, then as they coalesced, with a growing collective sentience of their own.

…teach we song…we fly…we soar…

who are you? I query……are you like me, biologically and bionically grown for flight and warfare?

we fly…..one with planet…..and you?…

I was flummoxed

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

“Caretakers breath, I can’t see a thing” resonated Broc. “These darned locusts are all over the skin – they’re congealing the sensors and covering the canopy. You getting anything on the res-radar?”

“They’re jamming that as well,” altered Ps’saat. “Too darned many of them. My screens are all white res.”

“We’ll need to give ‘Yelle her head,” Broc altered in return. “But she’ll need to get rid of these pests.”

’Yelle. get rid of these parasites – we’re flying blind up here – follow the co-ordinates you have to the Base

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

…friends…you must go your own way…may accompany us, but must fly separately…come…I will teach you the song…

The locusts, en masse, disengaged, and to the crew’s surprise had no trouble keeping up with ‘Yelle as she cavorted across the Chiron sky.

‘Yelle accelerated, and the swarm kept pace, even taking the appearance of the sweptwing craft.

Then ‘Yelle flexed her wings, producing enormous drag, and decelerating almost to a hover, before swooping upwards again.

The locusts followed the maneuver to the letter.

Suddenly Ps’saat disturbed the fun they were having.

“Targets,” he breathed, as he picked up the resonance signatures of two craft on his instruments. “On an intercept course from one of Planet’s bases.”

They readied for battle.

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

“They’re closing in now,” said Rajhas, eyeing the command consoles at UN Health Authority.

They’d picked up the orbital insertion a few minutes earlier and scrambled two of their four needlejets at the base.

“Who’s up?” asked Tamra, his superior.

“Sharriff and Nathoo – callsigns Eagle One and Two. I’ll patch them in.” He flicked the toggles on the master commlink. The Pilots voices filled the command room.

“Cover me Tad, I’m going in – she’s slowing for some reason.”

“Careful One, she seems to be breaking up….the outer skin is peeling…Holy Prophet, she’s …what..she’s cloning herself?”

“Discharging something more likely – some form of defense? Tad, you take the diversion, I’ll go after the alien craft.”

“K”

“Arming Shard missiles. What the… Threat alert is lit – I’m painted.

“Tad, Tad, come in Tad. TAD…Control, Eagle Two is acting strange…TAD you’re targeting me…you shithead, Tad, you’ve launched…..….Ejecting…”

Tamra stared in disbelief over Rajhas shoulder at the monitors as the grim picture played out. Eagle Two had detoured to take out whatever it was that the alien craft had jettisoned, had approached, then had inexplicable turned on his own leader and fired his chaos weaponry. Now the tiny blip of Sharriff’s escape pod could be tracked as it parachuted to Planet’s surface.

Then they watched in dismay as the alien craft closed in on Eagle Two.

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

“You felt it too?” Broc asked his crewmate.

“Assuredly,” altered Ps’saat. “I think though that ‘Yelle protected us somewhat.”

…affirmative…the psionic strength of the locusts was immense – but dispersed – they are immature and cannot yet harness and focus their power…I cradled it and redirected it to the attacker as I have experienced you do with the resonance waves – it succeeded, but some leaked through….now we will hunt the survivor and destroy it?…

“Yes,” resonated Broc. “Our space tactics may not work in this atmosphere, so improvise.”

The Peacekeeper needlejet could be seen turning back towards the locusts as a moth to a flame.

Bronc brought ‘Yelle alsmost to a hover, as she extended her wings and like a bird inclined them against the airflow to produce immense drag, bleeding speed but offering a stable firing platform.

Ps’saat was targeting, and acquired the resonance signature of the needlejet easily. He toggled the string disrupter cannon, and altered to Bronc “At your command.”

“Fire”

‘Yelle’s hull rippled as the cannon discharged.

Ahead of them the needlejet shimmered as the pulse washed over it, loosening and dismantling the molecular structure of the synthsteel skin of the aircraft and reducing the biomass of its crewman to its constituent elements before man and machine blinked out of existence in an explosion of pure energy.

“Let’s go,” resonated Broc, as he resumed control of ‘Yelle and they plotted their course for Courage, to Question down by Nessus Canyon, now clearly visible to the eye.

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

Shauna sat on the sofa on the porch nursing Ruth, with Ron standing beside her, hand on her shoulder.

“Would you look at that,” he said, as they watched the huge mottled green Gnat pass slowly overhead on its approach to the Progenitor base. “It’s as alien a craft as I’ve ever seen, almost bird-like in the way it uses its wings for control.”

Ruth was suckling contentedly at Shauna’s breast, eyes blissfully closed.

Suddenly both Ron and Shauna were aware of her in their minds, as she empathed to them:

’Yelle. Her name is ‘Yelle, and she is alive, like us. She is a bird, of sorts, bred for flight and fighting. She has nine brothers/sisters, and all will be coming to Planet. There are over 100 like her in the mothership, just outside our star system.

She wants to be my friend.

Ron looked down at Shauna.

“We’re doomed,” he said. “Mankind is doomed if the aliens have weaponry like this. They’re so far more advanced than we are. In a way I wish we were with the Axis, and not attached to Yang and his off-world friends, but we’re stuck here so we must do what we can to look after Ruth.”

You want to escape from here?

Yes sweetie. We are virtual prisoners, kept like caged animals, and with no means to get away.

I can arrange for us to escape.

How?

Take me to the Alien’s base, Courage - to Question

Shauna looked up at Ron.

“You got that too?”

He nodded.

“What do you think?”

“She’s never been wrong before.”

He looked down at the infant in his daughter’s arms, so young, so innocent, so aware. Could she get them out of this trap they were in?

“Let’s go tomorrow,” he said on impulse. “I’ll think up an excuse for Kyella to explain our journey – maybe a breakthrough on the communications equipment, or something. Pack unobtrusively, and we’ll leave at first light.

Shauna nodded.

Ruth slept contentedly.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited March 13, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Annika came to fetch us for the interview with Commissioner Lal.

“How is he?” I asked her, his aide of some twenty years.

“Excited, like a kid with a new toy,” she replied. “A lot hangs on how you and Patel get on, though. Do you know him well?”

“Served under him back on the old sod,” I replied. “I don’t foresee any problems.”

Stazi gripped my hand reassuringly.

Annika ushered into the boardroom attached to the Commisioner’s quarters.

Lal rose graciously to his feet at the head of the table and came round to greet me, reaching his arms out and gathering me into an embrace within his slight frame.

“Scott, good to see you again. And you haven’t changed a bit – just as I remember in New Delhi in ’48. Good God, has it really been almost 200 years?”

I laughed. “I’m afraid so, Pravin.”

He released me, and turned his charm on Anastasia.

“Aha, The resemblance is there, but only slight. You are Prokhor’s granddaughter. And talent you must have to tame Googlie like you have.” He brought Stazi’s fingers to his lips as she extended her hand for a handshake. She giggled.

“Oh, Commissioner, I’m not sure who’s taming who,” she added impishly.

Lal smiled, then became somber again.

“I was sorry to hear about your sister,” he said.

The mirth left Anastasia’s face. She nodded.

“We were close,” was all she said.

She looked shrewdly at Lal. Of course, he would know all there was to know about the Yoop resistance – the PeaceKeepers financed a large part of it.

He turned back to me, encompassing the others round the table with a sweep of his arm.

“Let me introduce you to my cabinet – some you know, some I guess will be strangers to you, but you will get to know them.”

He started with his deputy, Tazeem Chandrasekhar. I knew her vaguely by repute, and had been present holographically at a couple of meetings where she was represented.

I bowed to the lady.

“In my absence Tazeem will fulfil the civilian administration functions of government, and the Interior Mministry, Production and Health and Education will report through her. Anything our allies need from a logistics nature will be Tazeem’s responsibility.

“Patel you know, I believe,” Lal went on, indicating the General sitting at Tazeem’s left. He rose and extended his hand to me:

“Googlie, welcome. I look forward to working with you to rid Chiron of the alien menace and in corralling Yang once and for all. “

I grasped his hand and nodded in reply:

“Sweep, I too look forward to our working together.”

General Patel Gupta was well known to me, at least in our Terran days. A smallish, dapper man, he and I had battled magnificently in the 42/43 Test series Scotland against India. he was their prime batsman, coming in at the number four position, usually about the time that our skipper was tossing me the ball to try and mesmerize the middle and late order batsmen with my wrist spinners. Honors were about even between us. I had been the victim of his double century in the second test where his patented sweep shot – hence the nickname – had ruined my test averages. I’d had me revenge in the third and fourth tests, though, claiming him as a victim in three of his four at bats before he got going.

We had maintained an infrequent correspondence, even after Planetfall, and had co-operated on some Spartan-PK initiatives.

Appearances were everything, however. Clearly Patel was overdue a visit to the rejuv tanks – he looked very much like a sixty year-old General about to retire. I on the other hand was full of youthful vigor and enthusiasm. How would he take my command/co-ordination role, I wondered, as I released his hand and followed Lal’s introductions.

“Mitsu Kakani, our Chief Science Officer, and her assistant, Sarita, who commands our mindworm corps.”

I shook hands with both, trying not to stare too much at Sarita’s disfigured face. Once obviously beautiful, one half of her face now was almost repulsive as it was mottled with lesions where small mindworm tentacles were sprouting from the nodes and receptors that had been implanted to aid in communication and understanding of their ways.

“And finally, a relative newcomer to our council, Mats Sorenstam, who heads our internal security division – I believe you knew his predecessor, Jacques Cartier?”

Lal looked at me expectantly, assessing perhaps.

I kept my face impassive.

“Our paths did cross from time to time. I must confess I didn’t take to him much.”

Stazi, for her part, was staring straight ahead, her face betraying no emotion, disinterest almost.

Sorenstam was standing before me, his hand outstretched. I took it in mine.

“You were visiting with us on some R & R around the time of my predecessor’s death,’ he said. “And you disappeared rather abruptly from us and from planetary life for a time thereafter as best as we can determine.”

His eyes bored into mine.

“Ah yes,” I said gazing implacably back at him. “My honeymoon. Had an accident on a mountain climb. Had to be medivaced out. Don’t remember much of it, I’m afraid.”

I released his hand and turned back to Lal.

“You must be excited, Pravin. Mwabudike’s offer is very generous, and after all those years, to be reunited with Pria…” I let my voice trail off.

His eyes misted over.

“Indeed, Googlie, indeed. It will be wonderful.

“And the sooner this is formalized, the sooner I can go. Please sit down.”

He indicated a place to his right. I sat down.

“Council is called to order,” Lal said formally for the record.

The roll was taken of the cabinet.

Lal spoke:

“In recognition of the accord we have signed with The Spartan Federation, Morgan Industries, The Stepdaughters of Gaia and the Free Drones, whereby we recognize the Planetary leadership of Colonel Corazon Santiago, I welcome her envoy, Scott Allardyce, to UN Headquarters as Planetary Governor, Peacekeeper Territories.

“I pass the gavel and seal, symbol of the chairmanship of this cabinet, to you, Scott Allardyce, and in my absence for the six weeks or so for my treatment you may use the honorific ‘Commissioner’ as chair of this cabinet.”

He pushed the gavel and seal across the table to me.

“Thank you,” I said simply. “I would not be so bold as to use the title ‘Commissioner’. There is only one Commissioner in Planet’s history, and that should be reserved for you. Likewise there is only one Chairman, the vile Yang, and I would not like that association to be made. And Governor seems so pompous.

“No, I am here as the Colonel’s representative, and that is the title I shall assume. The minutes can refer to me as Representative Allardyce.”

I was pleased to see all round the table nodding in approval.

We were off to a good start.

[Argonaut]

(Off the Spartan Coast)

"Sir, technicians report that the weapon is ready for launch. We are prepared to commence with the test." The Hive officer waited patiently for the captain’s decision. The situation was dangerous, and the quicker they got away from Spartan territory, the better.

"Let’s get this over with and then get out of here," replied the Captain. "While we are here, we might as well have fun with this. Target Sparta Command’s Aerospace Complex. We shall not only test the Chairman’s new idea, but we shall test their air defences as well.

"Yes sir," replied the Hive officer and saw to it that the telemetry was properly adjusted.

*********************************************

(Sparta Command Aerospace Complex)

"Sergeant! I’m picking up a bogey coming in from the Northwest," reported the shocked radar operator. Unidentified aircraft were rare in the heart of Spartan territory, but this one was particularly unusual. It was literally coming from the middle of nowhere!

"That’s impossible!" retorted Sergeant Jenson. "Have you got an ID on it yet?"

"Contact confirmed as a missile with unknown warhead," replied the now worried radar operator. This was not what she was used too.

"A missile! Where the hell did that come from?" bellowed the angry Sergeant. "Where are the needlejet patrols? I want that missile shot down and shot down five minutes ago!"

"Sir, Yellow Squadron and Night Squadron are moving in, but at the speed that missile is travelling..." The radar operator gulped. "Sir, they’re not going to make it."

"Sir, I’ve got six unidentified aircraft moving onto runway three," reported the air-traffic controller.

"What do you mean unidentified aircraft! You’re telling me we have enemy aircraft on the ground!" questioned a shocked Sergeant. What the hell was happening?

"Unknown, sir. They appear to be Spartan but they’re not broadcasting any ID code," replied the nervous air traffic controller.

"Sir," interrupted the radar officer this time. "The unidentifieds are moving in to intercept the missile. They’ve got a direct angle of approach. Sir, they can take it out."

"I don’t trust it," replied the Sergeant. "I want all non-essential personnel evacuated immediately. Get as many people out of the base as possible. We still don’t know if this missile has planet busting warheads on it. I want the Colonel out of here now. "

"Sir, the Colonel’s chopper is taking off as we speak," replied the air-traffic controller.

"Sir, the unidentifieds are in range. They’re firing, but their not Shard equipped sir," reported the radar operator.

"Christ, that looks like Chaos weapons fire. Where the hell would such outdated..." suddenly the light when on in Sergeant Jenson’s head. "Bradford..." he said half under his breath as he watched the missile safely explode in a ball of fire.

*********************************************

(Off the Spartan Coast)

"Sir, the test was successful, however the missile was intercepted before it could reach its target," reported the Hive officer.

"Pity," replied the Hive Captain as his ship sped away from Spartan waters and began the long trip back to Hive territory.

"Nevertheless, the Chairman shall indeed be pleased that his idea has proven successful. We now know it is possible to launch missiles from onboard ships, greatly expanding our range. With a little tinkering, we may soon be able to launch full scale air raids on Sparta Command." The Captain turned to his fellow officers.

"Wouldn’t that be fun?"

[Argonaut]

(Spartan Punishment Sphere)

Everyday seemed like an eternity. Prokhor Zakharov and been trapped inside the Spartan Punishment Sphere for so long, that his entire life before capture was becoming nothing more than a faded memory. His years on Earth, the ill-fated voyage aboard the Unity, even his years as the leader of the University all began to blur until he was unsure what was real and what was imagined.

His life was nothing more than a continuous cycle of pain and torture. But one image remained firmly in his mind and it was his only motivation to survive, and to one day be free. The Spartans kept him alive physically, removing Zakharov from the sphere temporarily, to allow his nerves the chance to recuperate. But this one image was all that kept him alive spiritually, giving him the strength to endure the endless torture.

It was the image of a beautiful young woman, his granddaughter Anastasia. She was the only thing left to Zakharov that seemed real and the only thing he had left to live for.

Suddenly the pain stopped, and Zakharov’s body relaxed from the tense position it had become accustomed too. The intense pain of the punishment sphere was gone, but the terrible ache it left behind was ever present. The door opened and light flooded the room, hurting Zakharov’s unadjusted eyes. The Spartans had come to give him his daily nutrient injection to keep him alive.

Zakharov watched the guard approach but the light behind her revealed only her silhouette. Even with only that to guide him, he new something was out of the ordinary. She seemed hurried, anxious, unlike the other Spartan guards who normally took their time and boosted their egos by tormenting him.

"Provost," spoke the guard quietly. Zakharov was startled. It had been so long since he had heard that title, to hear it from one of his Spartan captors was shocking.

"Provost, I’ve come to set you free." The guard began to release the bonds that held him, and Zakharov could barely control the tears of joy that began to well up in his eyes. He was afraid that at any moment the guard would turn and laugh and tell him it had all been a cruel joke.

Still Zakharov could make out the face of his saviour. She succeeded in releasing him, and gently put his arm around her shoulder, leaning his old and tired frame up against her. She was young and strong, but tender in his care for him. She began to quickly lead him toward the exit, leading his protesting body away from this place of torture.

"Anastasia," Zakharov’s voice cracked and the word came out as a barely audible whisper. "Is that you?"

"The name’s Roze. Don’t worry, I’m a friend. And I’m taking you home."

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex

As William began to disembark, he could see the rover speeding toward him, no doubt carrying his next prosecutor. It had been a stupid move, but it was better than letting another enemy missile destroy more Spartan lives. He and the others were the only hope Sparta Command had to stop a potential Planet Buster attack. However, their rank did not give them permission to operate the needlejets that they had spent some much time repairing.

As the rover came to a stop just outside the hanger, William joined Brad and the others, preparing to face the storm they new was coming. Sarah put her hand on Will’s shoulder letting him now that she was willing to take her share of the blame as well. She would probably face expulsion from the Youth Corps, but her equal rank made her equally responsible for the teams actions.

Sergeant Jenson disembarked and was joined by an assistant as they made their way over to the group of expectant youths. It was clear that he was not impressed.

"I don’t know what the hell you kids think you were doing," bellowed the Sergeant, "but you are, under no circumstances, authorised to fly those planes. You are Youth Corps volunteers. Your job was to fix those planes not fly them."

"Sir they are fixed," Will offered.

"Then next time you have something to report, you tell me directly. Do not show me by doing a fly-by on an intercept course for a potentially lethal hostile," the Sergeant retorted. He took a breath, and composed himself again. Will was sure that he was about to announce that Will would be facing his second court appearance.

"You did good up there." The entire team was so shocked at the Sergeant’s sudden change, they could barely believe their ears. "For what you did I should throw you kids into a punishment sphere for a week. But you did save Sparta Command where our defences failed."

"Now, I’ve run this by the Colonel," he continued, "and she has agreed to grant you all field promotion to the rank of Private." The team was taken aback. "You are no longer Youth Corps volunteers, but full fledged Spartan troops. Congratulations, you just enlisted."

"But sir," spoke up Sarah quickly. The Sergeant gave her a stern look.

"Private Kingswell, here in Sparta we obey military protocol. You do not speak until you are given permission to speak. Is that understood."

"Sir, yes sir," she replied firmly. "Permission to speak sir."

"Granted Private."

"Sir, we’re not of age yet. It’s required that we be at least twenty-"

"I’m well aware of the requirements Private," he interrupted. "The Colonel has agreed to wave the restriction in lieu of the war-time situation, and you actions today. Now, if you’re not interested in the promotion..."

"Sir, we are interested sir," William replied promptly.

"Good. Lieutenant Sako here will be your trainer. Before you even think about going getting back in those planes, he is going to teach you everything you should know about flying a Spartan needlejet. Based on your flying today, that shouldn’t take long."

"Where did you learn to fly like that?" queried the Lieutenant.

"Flight simulators at the Rec. Centre sir" replied Sarah.

"Great," responded Sergeant Jenson gruffly. "The people who saved Sparta Command learned how from Morganite video games. The Colonel’s going to love that."

[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited April 20, 2000).]

[Dcole78]

Baldwin sat down at his desk in his office and qued up his log. Every govenor and every millitary official above the rank of Private kept a log of his thoughts and explanations of his actions this way he was protected if they turned out to be incredibly stupid later. That at least was the theory...

So much had happened since Baldwin had last been able to make an entry into his log. He almost laughed upon reading his last entry. "To think that I actually thought I would be able to save Santiago, even with the help of that mind worm" he shuddered as he remembered Alphonso. "I wonder what he is doing now he thought" Baldwin began to type in his log entry, so much has happened he thought, Santiago has returned (or has she..could be another one of those dang actors he thought) the aliens had landed, the collective human government had quickly formed in response, he had been given this base to command (either as a reward for his actions in the field or to insure that he wouldn't interfere with Googlie's plans he wasn't sure which) entering all this into his log he got to more recent events. After he had left the submarine fleet it had taken him awhile to get used to commanding a base but he had eventually gotten into the swing of things and was finding it to actually be quite enjoyable. Pausing for a moment Baldwin then shut down his log. "That's all I really need to put in there Commander Svensgaard is just blowing some steam" When Baldwin had left a fleet Svensgaard had become the new fleet commandar. Baldwin didn't know much about him, since he had joined the fleet after Santiago's "rescue". Latley he had been complaining to Baldwin about the treatment he and his fleet had been recieving. Baldwin shook his head as he remembered how bad it had been before Svensgaard had joined up. "Naa he's just blowing some steam and making idle threats..surley he wouldn't ever consider actual revolt" Thought Baldwin to himself as he left his office and went to meet with his cabinet.

[Captain Kirk]

Sparta Command

Miriam stood below a palm tree. The cool evening breeze swept over her like a relaxing mist. Birds chattered and lovers trysted beneath the lush foilage. Miriam sighed and turned toward Santiago who was watching her intently. Miriam frowned and moved toward the Colonel who quickly glanced away. Miriam spoke.

"Colonel is there something you want to say?" asked Miriam. Santiago edged to the right. She swept her gaze over the Spartan capital and replied.

"Sister how are you enjoying things here in Sparta Command?" asked Santiago. Miriam was momentarily taken aback. She looked around her again. The beautifal parks, impressive buildings, and cordial people made for a very inviting place. So Miriam spoke her mind.

"I think it's a lovely city Colonel. The people are kind, your buildings are impressive, and the parks and gardens are lovely. I'm enjoying my time here" Miriam paused, than continued" But that's not what you really want to know is it?" asked Miriam. Santiago nodded. She sighed and spoke slowly.

"Sister as you probably know is that we are at war with the Hive. Yang's forces are on their last legs too. He has lost over three fourths of his bases. He should be at our mercy. However what you don't know is that there is a new player in this little "game" of ours. A race of hostile aliens have landed on Planet. We're not sure how long they've been here. But reinforcements have destroyed ours and the Moganic hydroponic satellites. One of their factions called the Usurpers have allied with the Hive. We have strong evidence pointing to technological superiority. With the Usurpers on their side the Hive could become unstoppable" said Santiago. Miriam gasped. A race of aliens. Allied with that demon Yang. How could this be?

"How do I fit in?" asked Miriam. Santiago pursed her lips before answering.

"We need Believer support in this war. If you were to cast your lot with us and help the Coalition we would reward you with the Hive bases of Great Clustering and The Leader's Horde" finished Santiago. Miriam turned away from Santiago. Thoughts were flying through her mind miles a minute. Finally she answered.

"Colonel I need to think and pray before I can give you a defenite answer" said Miriam. Santiago nodded and both women turned and walked into the growing dusk.

[Hydro]

Somewhere in Morgan Industries

Paul Andreas checked his throat clasp to see that it was in place, and found that it was skewed slightly to the left. Only mildly annoyed, he looked in the reflective burnished bronze of CEO Morgan's office door to straighten it. While he was at it, he turned his head from side to side to see if everything else was in order. Yes, his hair was plated into place and his aqua marine suit hung on him just right. As a finishing thought he took out his kerchief and buffed the beryl on his throat clasp to make sure it shone as brilliantly as possible. Actually, Paul was rather proud of this accent. The beryl was a deep blue and stood out magnificently against its gold filigree. And the blue contrasted perfectly with his suit color. Semi precious and precious stones had been 'out' of fashion for the last 75 years at Morgan Industries, ever since they could manufactured cheaply and flawlessly. 'If everyone could have one, then why have them at all?' was the idiom in the fad-fastidious Morgonite society. Still, Paul knew he was never one to play by the rules. The much beloved, respected, and feared CEO Morgan, Sr., made it plain that those that myopically played by the rules were mere technicians in his estimation. Rules were simply guidelines, and 'to get things done one must venture outside the realm of conventional thought', as the CEO was known to say.

Paul straightened, pressed his palm against the door for a DNA check and submitted to a retinal scan. This was the third and last checkpoint to the CEO's office, and this office complex had what was perhaps the most elaborate security on Planet. The location of the office itself was a closely guarded secret, and there were at least 15 faux and real offices for CEO Morgan in Morgan Industries and nearby cities, each one fully functional (at least on the surface) and staffed.

"Greetings Paul Andreas. CEO Morgan is expecting you. Please enter," the door said in a sweet contralto, the voice of CEO Morgan's second consort.

On its own accord the door swung open. The door itself was over 7 meters tall and apparently made of solid bronze. But looks can be deceiving. Paul knew the door, and the office itself, was much more than bronze and synthsteel, and it could probably withstand everything short of a nuclear blast.

Paul purposefully walked into the modest (by Morganite standards) office and saw Nwabudike standing at the far end facing away from Paul. He was watching a series of animated holos, which Paul recognized as security reports he had submitted four days ago for the CEO's inspection. Occasionally Morgan would reach up and tap the air, activating a zoom or detail on a portion of the document that he desired more information on. At the moment two major holos and three sub holo detail reports were running. It was apparent to Paul as he neared that Morgan was paying primary attention to the holo on the left: the report on the liberation of Morgan Bank.

Paul stopped 3 meters behind the CEO and waited to be recognized. He knew his reports oh so well, but keyed in on what the CEO was activating detail reports on since that was what had caught Morgan's attention. As the main holo cycled through Morgan activated detail reports on all battle damage and destruction wrought by Hive forces during their nerve gas attack, subjugation, occupation, and sabotage as they left. Morgan was paying particular attention to the casualty figures.

"My god, Paul," Morgan said at last in a strained voice. His eyes were riveted on the unfolding tale.

Paul knew that was a rhetorical comment and waited for him to continue.

"40,000 dead in the most horrific manner. Almost all facilities except for the recreation commons destroyed. Mass graves among the solar panels and echelon collectors to the north and south of town. The Hive administrators did not even see fit to give the dead a proper and honorable funeral. Most of the remaining population stunned and traumatized, their world destroyed in the cruelest manner. Our beautiful, shining research city has been raped, Paul. Violated."

Paul detected a note of profound sadness in Nwabudike's voice he very rarely heard. Normally Morgan would abstract such events into profit and loss equations, and he usually did not dwell on the gruesome details. Yet, here he was, poring over all the frightful gore and destruction.

The CEO had suffered losses before in the Gaian wars. Three Morgan cities had been razed in mindworm attacks, but those cities had been small with less than 30,000 citizens. Nwabudike had been able to write those off as casualties of war. And of course he had had his revenge against Deirdre. Morgan forces destroyed two of her cities directly, and funded the Hive's near extermination of the Gaian's on their own homeland.

Morgan continued to cycle through the images and data. The silence continued for 15 minutes more.

"Yang has to pay, Paul. He has hurt my people,' Morgan said with a lilt of fury in his voice.

Morgan turned around to face Paul, his security chief. Paul noticed with surprise, and a little alarm, and Nwabudike's face was damp. Had the vaunted CEO been weeping? Paul was incredulous, but did not let it show that he had seen anything. It would be…unseemly…to notice.

"And he has hurt me," Morgan continued in a softer voice.

Suddenly Paul understood. Morgan was grieving for his son, who now languished in a Yang punishment sphere. Yang had sent a transmit-only message to mock Morgan and inform him of his new 'student': Nwabudike Morgan, Junior, captured at Morgan Bank during the occupation. Paul knew Yang wasn't being cruel, for that wasn't in Yang's nature. He did it for a specific effect, which was to throw his adversaries off balance, and let them know his position in the grand race for Planet had just gotten stronger.

Paul knew Morgan understood this intellectually. But still, Junior was his only son, and, in fact, was his only child. The old phrase 'you don't know what you have until it is gone' is very true.

"What is our status, and what are our resources?" Morgan asked.

"Our home island is secure once again, and we still control Communal Nexus on the Hive mainland," Paul started. "The Spartans, true to their word, returned Morgan Processing to us when we relinquished Plex Anthill back to them. The Spartans also turned over Morgan Pharmaceuticals to us after they liberated it from the Hive. So, we now control the Hunter Seeker Algorithm and the Weather Paradigm once again. We have a highly trained air force of 8 clean chaos and shard intercepters, but no bombers. Our small navy was devastated by the Hive attack on Pharma and it hasn't recovered. We have one transport and one missile foil. We have 4 clean chaos attack rovers equipped with nerve gas, and 6 clean chaos infantry equipped with nerve gas. Overall, our forces are almost as experience as the Spartans due to training and command, but we have nowhere near as many forces at our disposal."

Morgan nodded knowingly. This was not new information.

"What about our operatives?" Morgan asked with a pique in his voice.

'Ah, this is what he really wanted to know. The other question was just a preamble,' Paul thought.

Paul's face grew serious. "The loss of Manufacturing Warrens to the Drones took a big hit on our remaining Ops teams. We lost two elite teams there. We have three teams at Communal Nexus, and have 3 defensive teams on the mainland. Our strength is less than half of what it was when hostilities erupted with the Hive."

Inwardly Paul was smiling, since his teams had pulled off a plan of breathtaking proportions against Yang in the first days of the Hive-Morgan war. In a coordinated attack, his teams took out the few Hive defensive teams, incited rebellion, and marshaled the Hive resistance to opt for Morgan in the revolt of four Hive cities. The coup, however, was the acquisition of the Hive planetbuster. That alone was worth the enormous cost in energy and manpower. Since then, two cities had been given back to the Gaians and one co-opted by the Drones. Only Communal Nexus remained firmly in Morganite control since it was safely behind Spartan lines, had three operative teams defending, and since restive former Hive citizens were well placated with Morgan Industries luxuries.

Morgan paused for a moment. "Instruct our production centers to start production of airdrop probe teams, and a foil-base probe team when the production slot becomes available. The Hive navy is almost gone thanks to the Spartans, as is their air force, so there won't be much of a threat. Refit our rovers for airdrop ability where you can."

"Sir," Paul interjected, "our energy reserves are at a historic low due to upgrades and diversions by the Hive when they captured Pharma and Bank. Morgan Bank was our premier energy producer, but not any more. What do we…"

"I intend on punishing Yang," Morgan interrupted. "What we can not have we will destroy. Our teams will sabotage everything they can, and divert as much energy as possible. And," Morgan said with a feral gleam in his dark eyes, "a little genetic warfare is in order, I believe."

Paul nodded. 'So, that's his angle," Paul thought. 'Ops teams lead dangerous lives, and they are firmly in the gray area of right and wrong. Even so, genetic warfare is a dirty business. The Spartans use more direct means to their ends, and use their operatives defensively. Not so we Morganites.'

"Holo off," Morgan commanded as he abruptly turned and started walking toward his desk, and the two reports winked off.

"Do you have anything else on this Conquer Marr for me?" Morgan asked, all business once again. The switch had been immediate, but not startling. Paul knew that once a plan of action was resolved that Morgan would be able to focus again.

"Nothing you haven't already heard."

"Very well. Thank you, Paul."

Paul recognized his dismissal. He'd worked with Nwabudike for almost 170 years now and they had developed a fine understanding of each other.

Paul turned to leave, already formulating the details of the orders he would be issuing within the hour. It wouldn't be easy, and the CEO was a demanding person. Senior Security Administrator Paul Andreas was one of the CEO's right-hand-men - a go-to guy, a doer, and a capable administrator. The CEO held the strings, and was very good at plucking Paul's when the need arose. Still, Paul knew he wouldn't trade jobs the CEO Nwabudike Morgan, Senior for all the energy on Planet.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited March 26, 2000).]

[Dcole78]

The sub silently speed underneath the water moving closer to it's unspecting quarry with every second. Captain Svensgaard smiled as he thought of what Baldwin's face would look like as he learned the purpose of his little "visit" "periscope depth" he yelled and the sub slowly roze until it was only a few feet under the water. Looking through the periscope he searched for any signs of resistance. There were none. Smiling he thought to himself "of course there aren't who would attack a spartan fleet in spartan waters. Turning the periscope he looked around at the rest of his fleet. Three subs rode on the top of the water surrounding Svensgaard's prise a sailing ship designed like the pirate ships of old earth. Many improvements had been made however the "wood" was really the most advanced probablity sheath armor and the "cannons" shot glowing balls of choas energy rather than balls of steel. Then there was Svensgaard true pride and joy, locked in the bottom of the ship was an exact replica of an old earth pirate flag, the skull and crossbones. Svensgaard smiled as he thought of it and the other replica he had in his bunk.

"We are within range of the base captain" The piolits voice cut in on Svensgaard reverie. Slowly a smile spread across his face, his dream was about to become a reality. Order the other subs to emerge and the Fafnir to raise it's flag and open fire. Also move us to periscope depth. "Right away captain, said the piolit and the orders were passed on. As he looked out of his periscope Svensgaard saw the other subs silently slip into the water and then his heart skipped a beat as he saw the Fafnir raise it's flag and caught a glimpse of the skull and crossbones flapping in the wind.

*********************************************
Baldwin sat in his office reading over his latest economic reports when the buzzer of his comm system caught his attention. Looking up from his work he answered the call, a concerned and somewhat confused face filled the screen. "Baldwin, sir I am sorry to bother you but something is approaching us that I thought you should have a look at truthfully sir I am not sure what it is" "Show it to me said Baldwin, his economic reports immeaditly forgotten. A large ship filled the viewscreen and Baldwin was immeaditly taken aback. Being a lander he recognized it from his history books but he had never thought to see one sailing the waters of Chiron. Before him rode an exact replica of an old eighteenth century warship complete with cannons. Then his heart fell as he was meet with another sight that he had hopped he would never see. Atop the ship on a field of black was an exact replica of a human skull and underneath two crossed arm bones. Piracy had been born again on chiron.
Quickly he leaned forward to talk into the screen. "What was his name, he thought as the beads of sweet began to form on his forhead, "Robert that's it" Baldwin almost screemed into the communicator as his emotions got the best of him, "Robert contact immeaditly the commandors of our two destroyers we are about to be attacked" "Sir?" came the questioning voice from the screen as Roberts face, now even more confused, replaced the image of the ship. "Just do it replied Baldwin, I do not have time to explain" Just as Robert turned to execute the order Baldwin heard the sound of exploding choas fire.

[Argonaut]

Sea Hive

Chairman Yang walked into the antechamber of one of his many conference rooms. He walked towards the conference room door and was startled by the sound of a woman clearing her throat behind him. He turned to see an extremely attractive woman with dark skin and long dark hair, lounging on one of the antechamber sofas.

"Chairman," she began in soft voice with it’s unique accent. Her years on Earth caused her to speak with an accent from the Caribbean island region where she had grown up. She was one of the only people on planet with such an accent, making her not only beautiful, but a unique woman. "You wouldn’t be so rude as to pass by a lady without even acknowledging her presence, would you?"

"Of course not Ms. Roze," replied the eternally patient Yang. "However, I have pressing matters I must attend too. Good day." Yang nodded and once again moved towards the door.

"There is still the matter of my fee which needs to be cleared up. Or had you forgotten?" The smile on her face softened the harshness of her tone. It was clear she was not quite finished with Yang yet.

"Ms. Roze, I have not forgotten your fee. In fact, you can consider yourself duly paid. I have given you your life. As long as you are out of my sight within one standard hour, I will not have you killed. Any further queries?" Yang returned Roze’s same false smile as he waited for her response. Yet, she maintained her composure in the face of Yang’s threats.

"No further queries Chairman," she replied simply.

"Good day Ms. Roze," and Yang marched through the door into the conference room where his guest was patiently waiting. Once he was gone, Roze’s smile broadened as she contemplated her next move.

**********************************************

Conference Room 1, Sea Hive

"So it is you," were the first words out of Zakharov’s mouth as watched Yang enter the room. Since the young woman had freed him from the Spartans, he had not seen a single face he recognised. Yet, he could not fail to recognise the face of one of his greatest competitors, Chairman Sheng-ji Yang.

"Indeed it is, my good Provost," Yang replied. "I trust my people have been treating you with kindness?"

"Compared to the Spartans, anything is kindness," Zakharov spat with more vehemence then perhaps he intended. "Your people have been very generous Chairman."

"Excellent." Yang sat down across the table from Zakharov and it was clear that his true agenda was soon to be revealed. "I assume you are wondering why I have freed you?"

"That question has definitely crossed my mind," Zakharov affirmed. He was unwilling to give up to much information, for he was a firm believer that knowledge meant power. Yang was not the kind of person you wanted to see with a lot of power.

"The truth is, I am fighting a losing battle," was Yang’s startling confession. Zakharov had never known Yang to confess a weakness. "The other factions have allied against me. Spartan forces control over half of my territory. A new planetary coalition has formed with me as their primary target. It is only a matter of time before the Collective falls to the Spartans." Zakharov watched intently, fully aware that he did not yet have the full story.

"But there is a new hope," continued Yang. "The original inhabitants of Planet have returned. They call themselves the Usurpers, and they have agreed to help me in my war with the Coalition. Their technological capabilities are beyond our wildest dreams. There is so much we can learn from them, yet the others want to see nothing but their eradication."

"And where do I fit into this?" replied a sceptical Zakharov.

"Who better to study the great wealth of knowledge these aliens can provide, then the greatest academician that Planet has ever had?" Yang allowed his obvious flattery to sink in on his visitor.

"And what of my people?" Zakharov questioned further. He still did not trust Yang, which even Yang would have to accept as a wise move.

"I am afraid, that after your capture, the Spartans began an ethnic cleansing of your captured bases. Any citizen with University heritage was executed by order of Colonel Santiago." Tears began to well up in Zakharov’s eyes. Finally, he dared to ask the question whose answer he dreaded more than anything in the world.

"And my granddaughter?" Yang shook his head with solemnity, unable to meet the old man’s eyes. Zakharov stared intently out the window, tears rolling down his cheeks, his jaw clenched. "I will help you. Whatever it is that you need, I will help you."

"Thank you my good Provost I knew I could count on you," Yang gingerly put his hand on Zakharov’s shoulder, a extremely rare sign of compassion. A soft jazz ballad began to play over the rooms intercom system.

"What the—?" Suddenly Yang’s comm-system beeped.

"Chairman, our computer systems have been breached," informed a clearly worried technician. Yang simply listened to the music as anger welled up inside of him.

"Roze."

[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited April 20, 2000).]

[The_Progenitors]

Spires:Ascendant

“They make poor meat animals, and they are uncreative Challenges for our younglings. We do not have enough old ones, and we do not have toor beasts from home, so they will have to do,” the Master resonated to his Superior Master.

Superior Master N’kal trilled assent as he watched through the duraglass of the Challenge Observation Room into the Challenge Chamber itself. His underling Master was obliged by age-old protocol to inform his Superior Master of the status of the training of the younglings. Some traditions predated the disaster of the Flowering, and these traditions were one of the surviving traditions. As such, each was enshrined in elaborate ritual, which was preserved through countless thousands of years of Progenitor history.

The Superior Master altered back, “Normally such training takes two decades, but now it must be compressed into two short years. Such change makes my tusks vibrate in agitation. Growth treatments and RNA treatments aid the physical stature and basic knowledge of our Progenitor younglings, but it does nothing for their psyche or training. And since these younglings will determine the future of the Usurpers it was vitally important that they succeed, and, indeed, it is required that they exceed all expectations. The future of the Progenitors on Manifold 6 requires it.”

Superior Master N’kal swiveled his eyes toward the Master to ensure he understood. The Master B’qon wordlessly resonated back a fourth order harmonic, indicating he agreed and understood.

“A Challenge begins, Superior Master. Watch and see. Assess the training, and guide this poor one to understanding so I can better serve Conqueror Marr,” B’qon responded as protocol required. His gill flaps curled inward in a gesture of submission and acknowledgement of authority.

N’kal trilled assent and both turned toward the Chamber to view the Challenge.

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

A seamless door opened and a scrawny dark haired human girl is ejected into the room. She is naked and has the body of girl just into womanhood, and can’t be much past 16. Her dark brown hair is cropped short in a messy way, as if by inexpert hands (or talons), and her face shows she is a polyglot of human genetics common on Planet. Her eyes hint of an oriental heritage, but her skin hue is too dark and the wrong cast, perhaps of North African dissent. And her eyes are blue, a clear nod to northern European stock.

Quick as a cat she gains her footing and makes for the already closed door. For a couple moments she pounds on the door, which she can’t see anymore. Feeling no yield to the door she evidently decides it is a lost cause and turns around with her back to the wall to scan the room. Seeing nothing but a dark beige room that is about 30 meters in diameter and 10 meters tall she starts cautiously moving around, evidently looking for an exit.

Finally, seeing and feeling no exit the young girl puts her back to the wall and sinks to the floor. She folds her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them protectively, hugging them to her lithe torso. Her eyes continue to dart around the room with alarm and fright. A fine layer of dirt is well streaked from tears that have flowed, and been wiped away, by her finely shaped hands.

Gradually her ragged, deep breaths slow and a look of profound fatigue crosses her face. She slowly places her face on her knees, which are mere centimeters from her forehead. Her chest starts heaving as she begins to weep softly and inconsolably, and she starts rocking back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

From the Observation Chamber, N’kal is displeased.

”It is not a very impressive specimen for the Invaders, Master Youngling Trainer. Is this the best that the Invader Yang could provide? I personally have captured, tested, examined, and masticated better than this,” Superior Master N’Kal altered accusingly at Master B’qon.

“Superior Master, I asked the same questions when the shipment arrived. Invader Yang has assured us that he has provided representative example of the Invader Humans. When I questioned his Invader representative it replied that the examples we had previously seen were from the Invader Human fighting stock, and were therefore not a representative Invader,” the Master resonated in reply to explain.

N’Kal was silent for a moment and let the magnetic fields clear. Dissidence degraded his thought process.

“This Invader Human Yang has told us much that is counter to Progenitor knowledge,” N’kal resonated. “I do not understand these Invader Humans. They are not Progenitor. They soil Manifold 6, and degrade its usefulness to Conqueror Marr. They upset the Grand Conquerors plans to use Manifold 6 against the hated and foolish Caretakers. They are destructive, primitive, and uncouth. The sooner they are exterminated the better.”

B’qon altered back a six-fold harmonic of agreement. “We do these Challenges to train our Younglings to view the Invaders as enemies, as food animals. It serves the Challenges, but it also trains our youngling’s psyche.”

“Agreed, Master,” Superior Master N’Kal altered back.

Both Progentors at the observer gallery perked up with movement in the Challenge Chamber.

“Superior Master, the Challenge begins.”

Sitting against the wall, Pyung Moon starts as a door opens, her head erect and alert. Instantly she springs from her tuck position to standing, her eyes fixed on the large doorway. A shadow passes the doorway and a Progenitor youngling steps into the Challenge Chamber. He is arrayed in a Ursurper battle sash, and has only his talons for weapons. He immediately spies the Challenger across the room and advances toward it.

His mind is not filled with battle lust, however, but curiosity.

‘What is this creature?’ Zzar asks himself. He knows he isn’t supposed to question. This is a Challenge. His job is to kill. But he also knows his Mother taught him to question to ask – it is instinctive. As Zzar ate her at his first Challenge she resonated to him that he was her Special, and that she had given her Gift. Zzar didn’t know what a Special was, or what the Gift was, but he knew that no one else in his brood understood his Mother’s resonance. Maybe that was her gift? A special form of speech?

He observed the creature was letting wet yellow fluid and brown semisolids erupt from between its legs, which impacted wetly on the floor. ‘That is a typical animal response to fear,’ he observed, forming a link to previously unused portion of his RNA-enhance brain. ‘Progenitors do that, too, at times of great stress,’ his newly discovered cache of knowledge told him.

Swiveling both eyes directly on it he slowly paced forward. The creature backed away, keeping its head toward him, watching his every move.

Then the creature starts moving the thin, horizontal bits of flesh that border its head orifice. Zzar can detect a slight disturbance in the magnetic fields around him. The disturbance wasn’t coherent but it did have a pattern, although it was not a pattern he could understand. He had never observed any animal to do such a thing. He forged a new path, searching his enhance brain for information. No, animals did not resonate, a data store told him.

‘Might that be a form of speech? Is it intelligent?’ Zzar asked himself, in a sudden realization.

The creature is moving away faster now, but getting nowhere, Zzar observes. There is nowhere for it to go in a circular room.

Zzar stops in the center of the room, pivoting slightly as the small creature continues to run back and forth. As it runs it gets slower and slower as it tires, and its head orifice moves wider and more quickly and it disturbances in the resonance fields have less and less of a pattern. And it seems to be leaking around its eyes.

Zzar has now assessed his opponent.

“NOW THE CHALLENGE BEGINS!” Zzar resonates clearly throughout the room. It is part of the age-old ritual, ageless, and revered.

Zzar springs into action. The exhausted creature tries to run, but Zzar quickly grabs and pins it to the floor. He places his bulk on the creature’s small torso, pins its upper limbs with his talons, and uses his head tusks to impale the creature at the throat.

The creature’s mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, and its eyes are wide. A great torrent of red blood erupts from the head orifice and the creature grows still. Its face writhes in what can only be agony.

After several minutes Zzar is sure it is dead. Not taking any chances, he keeps his body on the torso of the creature and his talons still pin its upper appendages. He pulls up his head tusks out of its neck with a wet slurping sound.

Sliding back slightly, Zzar extending his mandibles to feed on the rich nutrients of the creatures internal organs. They taste strange and have a bitter tang, but he can tell that they are nutritious. He may give back his meal later if it proves unacceptable to his crop, but for now it stays down.

Sated, Zzar stands up, bloody in proper Usurper fashion from his kill.

“THE CHALLENGE IS COMPLETE! BRING ON ANOTHER!”

At his feet the bloody corpse of Pyung Moon leaks its remaining fluids onto the floor of the Challenge Chamber.

In the Observation Chamber, Superior Master N’Kal is pleased.

“This one fights differently. Others in his brood simply charge to rend and flay. This one assesses his prey, observing, thinking. He even resonated a query to it. None of the others did that. He saw that it was weaker and frightened and let its fright work for him. This young Conqueror let his prey tire itself out, so that he could dispatch it with the minimum of effort,” N’Kal resonated approvingly to his Master underling.

“Yes, this one is different,” B’qon alters back. His reply has a second harmonic that indicates that ‘different’ is not altogether a good thing. It is subtle, and might not be caught by most Progenitors.

But N’Kal is not ‘most Progenitors’ and he doesn’t miss the nuance, and he doesn’t let B’qon know he has detected the opinion. To N’kal it is all information, and it is perhaps more interesting than anything B’qon may have overtly resonated.

“What is this youngling Conqueror’s name?” N’Kal asks.

“Zzar, Superior Master.”

[This message has been edited by The_Progenitors (edited March 28, 2000).]

closure, 1.3

Scoutship Agnostic cruised on a wave of resonance. The speed that they had acheived altered the feilds in such a way to induce nausea and the progenitor equivalent of migraine headaches. H'mminee looked to her comm officer.

"How much longer?" she resonated.

"Half a turn, but it'll be another quarter after that before the effects of the wave wear off." the officer altered. "Wait..." he began. "Incoming transmission... it has the holo-ident of..." he paused, and resonated awe. "Great Caretaker Aa'chon."

The bridge fell to the nauseating vibration of the wave.

"Patch him through."

A large progenitor appeared in the center of the bridge. It was obviously very old. The skin was paler than most progenitor, and the talons had gone white. It resonated a fatherly image to all on the bridge. "Although this is a recorded message, I can sense that manifold six is near. We have spent several turns analyinzing coalesscense of resnoance. The sixth manifold is at Alpha Centauri. H'mminee. You were a broodmate with my great granddaughter, and you have distinguished yourself as a natural leader. i appoint you guardian of this mission"

------------------
follow close, the train of fools
just like them, (could be) just like you
-their eyes don't seem right.
[This message has been edited by edgecrusher (edited April 06, 2000).]

[The_Progenitors]

Spires:Ascendant

The air was rich with resonance, and to Zzar it was a cacophony of delicious delicate to vulgar interfoldings of electromagnetic fields. It was chaos, and it was beautiful. Zzar knew that electromagnetic fields emanate from each living and inanimate thing and that the fields vary by intensity, but still this display were somehow magical. The fields interacted and seemed to play with each other as one field would rise like a wave and envelop a smaller field. But, that field wasn’t gone - its complexity was simply added to the harmonic of the now carrier wave as it propagated outward, an added harmonic. Fields cancelled or magnified as the fields merged in an ever changing weave of interlocking forms that was breathtaking. The display was far better than color, and certainly richer than its pale cousin sound.

‘Truly, this is magnificent,’ Zzar thought to himself in awe as he stood to the side of the Challenge Chamber.

Surrounding Zzar were his broodmates. They were entranced to varying degrees, with some starting to fidget. Out of the corner of his eyes Zzar saw this and felt pity, for these youngling Conquerors, his broodmates, would only be semi-literate in the eyes of Progenitor society. To not be able to sense and appreciate, much less understand, this work of Resonance marked them as mentally limited. Zzar suspected their lives would be short and brutal, for ‘a Progenitor Conqueror must use his mind and body’. So says Marr!

In a flash Zzar realized that viewing the Resonance wasn’t a reward for him and his broodmates, as they had been told. This was yet another Challenge, but it was a subtle Challenge of a kind they had never before experienced. How many of his compatriots realized this? Zzar didn’t know, but he suspected only a few. And he could name them, for they were those with the quickest wits: Calcn, Flaard, and Dlec’. These were the younglings in his brood he must watch with a wary eye, for they would always be Challengers in the Rite of Domination.

When they had marshaled the courage each Progenitor youngling in his brood tried his turn in the Resonance to add his touch to the music. One by one they stepped forward into the wash of electromagnitism, almost obscured from sight as the fields distorted the very air around them. Zzar watched each in anticipation: ‘Will he be able to do what takes great strength and skill?’ he asked himself. ‘To be able to appreciate this great work is enough, but the Challenge is adding to it!’

Zzar watched more intently, searching for meaning as his broodmates stepped into the maelstrom. He hardly noticed them now, being absorbed in the Resonance, but he saw them try, and fail, to add to the form. Some walked back to the edge of the Challenge Chamber with a defeated look. These were the least enlightened of his brood, Zzar noticed. Most walked away with a thoughtful or even ecstatic look, even though they had failed.

After viewing the Resonance and his broodmates he understood. It wasn’t a Challenge after all, but a test of understanding. To conquer a Progenitor didn’t have to subjugate or destroy, but build and add. That is the key!

Zzar welled with joy, and a tingle of anticipation ran through his entire body. He felt like he would bust, so great was the revelation. Unannounced, he felt a new avenue of knowledge open up in his RNA enhanced brain – a never ending source of previously hidden, or overlooked, information. Or maybe it was from another source?

Light headed and almost in a trance Zzar walked forth into the Resonance. He felt the fields caress his carapace, washing over it as the electromagnitism waxed and waned. He felt the waves that pulsed throughout the Challenge Chamber, trying to grasp their meaning, their story, and their song.

Then, he caught a fragment. It was only a tiny fragment, but it was enough! Joy! Fulfillment! Understanding! He felt the fragment and touched it with his own resonance, gently and reverently. But this was a new resonance Zzar used, alien yet somehow familiar. Even as the Resonance in the Challenge Chamber responded to his ever so miniscule touch Zzar knew where he had gotten this Resonance: from his Mother. Was this her Gift to him? He didn’t know, but it had to be!

As Zzar stood in the middle of the Challenge Chamber he continued to touch the amazing Resonance. He knew his touch was a mote within the universe compared to the Resonance, but it was his touch. Zzar felt honored to be able to add to this even if it was in the most tiny, inconsequential way. The touch was all that mattered.

At the edges of the Challenge Chamber a few of the broodmates felt the change, and tried to discern the cause. The three that focused the most intently were Calcn, Flaard, and Dlec’. They didn’t know what it meant, but each instinctively knew they didn’t like it. To have another in their brood touch the Resonance was threatening. Each knew the source of their unease and disquiet: Zzar. Each couldn’t wait for the Rite of Domination, and they fairly drooled in anticipation.

In the Challenge Observation Chamber N’kal felt the Resonance with the joy that any Progenitor would. This was the phychohistory of the Progenitor race handed down from the ancients from a time before the Flowering. Progenitor might was great then to be able to make such a form, to distill the essence of what it means to be a Progenitor into a multiform resonance field of such depth that even now, after millennia of study, was only partially understood. After the Flowering much had been lost, and the Progenitors after the Flowering were but younglings compared to the ancients, for they can see their works, but never make or best them. Sensing the Resonance always made N’kal feel unworthy, yet proud to be a Progenitor – the race that made such an ageless wonder.

Then N’kal saw the change. Was it? Yes! It was a change! A slight, ever so slight, second harmonic! How can the Resonance change? Is it possible? It is ancient and immutable.

Through the electromagnetically distorted air in the center of the Challenge Chamber N’kal saw the youngling Zzar. Superior Master N’kal’s mandibles gnashed sideways in consternation.

‘Could this youngling have elicited the change in the Resonance? Is it possible?’ he thought to himself.

N’kal pondered for a moment, coming to no conclusion. The touch was subtle, but still it was there, as was Zzar. To say this was unprecedented would be an understatement.

‘Yes, I shall have to watch this youngling,’ N’kal thought to himself. As Superior Master he was supposed to be completely impartial in overseeing the gestation and training of generations of Usurper Conquerors. To be otherwise would let the unfit into Progenitor society, and culls are not to be allowed. So says Marr. N’kal had always let ability, happenstance, and the social dynamics of a brood take their toll to cull the weak.

This time he knew it was different.

‘This one will have to be watched. And nurtured,’ N’kal thought to himself.

[This message has been edited by The_Progenitors (edited March 29, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by The_Progenitors (edited March 30, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Near Pointa Sur

Sarah stood atop her fungal tower and let the warm, moist breeze blow through her thin blond hair. The tower was high enough – almost 300 meters – that the wind always blew strongly at its apex. It wasn’t really hers, she knew, but she was its de-facto ‘leader’, and the denizens it housed heeded her mental commands. Sarah now knew that the tower was a node, a focus in Planet’s neural net, and one of the epicenters of Planet’s sentience. As such it attracted many of Planet’s ‘children’: the mindworm vectors. Sub-larval masses to great boils of mindworms morphed in and out of the tower’s strangely porous sides, as did the locust of Chiron. It also ‘birthed’ Planet’s denizens, from its most base fungus to its apex: the mindworm. These birthing chambers were part of Chiron’s strange and symbiotic ecology that humans still didn’t understand – to do so would surely take centuries, if it were ever accomplished.

Being composed of interwoven fungus the tower was actually simply a self-supporting, extension of Planet, and it seemed to be held together mainly by Planet’s lattice energy. Only its trunk-sized tentacles were unique to the tower. Arrayed at random intervals around its crown they waved back and forth, seemingly like palm fronds in the wind. That is, they appeared to do so until the observer realized in many cases the tentacles were moving counter to the wind. These tentacles were another defense mechanism along with the mindworm vectors, and they were deadly. Normally fungus was pliable but sessile, but so not these tentacles. All Sarah had to do is look at the base of the fungal tower, where the partially absorbed remains of the Spartan transport were strewn. It had gotten too curious and too close, and it had borne the unfortunate attention of the tower’s mind-numbing power and its tentacles. It had quickly succumbed to the tower’s powerful onslaught.

The air had a tang of salt air that was far away, and on the near horizon Sarah could see the Central Chiron Sea. At the edge of the sea she could barely discern the sad remains of the human settlement Pointa Sur, which was a Spartan community that had been victim to a University terrorist’s biological weapon. But none of that was Sarah’s problem any more. She reflected that at one time she had cared, and cared deeply, about the problems of humans and humanity as a whole on Planet. There was so much injustice, treachery, hunger, disease, and the horror of war - never ending wars based on ideology and personality. This need to right wrongs had driven Sarah and it formed the base of her beliefs, and it had guided her when she was inducted into the Spartan Psi Corps.

Now all those concerns seemed so petty and far away. She had learned and developed her potential during the terror of Plex Anthill and its aftermath, and through the guidance of her bridge-mate Merlin, a former Hive citizen she had liberated from his psi-induced prison within his own mind and, accidentally, from his body. Now he was her constant advisor and mind companion even if he, too, seemed more distant.

Simply put, she had heard Planet’s call at Pointa Sur and had heeded it. The call was strong and alluring, and seemed so right. Planet wasn’t cruel, and didn’t engage in the politics of death. It was straight forward, and it only knew that it needed and wanted. To Sarah it was like a godlike child, wanting and yearning but not understanding. Planet needed her in a way that the Spartans, or even humanity, never would. With humans she would always be used for someone else’s end, and expended as necessary. The cause of her work and sacrifice may or may not be just, but it was her ‘duty’. Not so with Planet. In a way she had chosen Planet and Planet had chosen her. In response the fungal tower had grown, she had witnessed the glorious birth of a mindworm, and had then had morphed with it. In doing so Sarah knew she was reborn and was one with Planet, and was its Avatar. Planet had, she saw, great power; a power that was designed into it, she learned, by the Progenitors.

As Sarah looked toward the horizon it was the Progenitors that consumed her mind. On this topic Planet was foggy, for while it had a great store of knowledge, this knowledge was chaotic and focused in its neural net or its denizens. Moreover, the Planet had Flowered several times in its biological drive toward sentience. Each time it failed, and with that failure came a holocaust for the life on Planet, akin to Earth’s great extinctions. With those extinctions came a disruption of its neural net and its denizens; as a result, Planet has almost no knowledge of its previous sentience cycles, and its knowledge of the Progenitors was a mere whisper of greatness hinted at by the Ruins, monoliths, and the Manifold Nexus.

The Progenitors were back on Planet, Sarah knew, and they had been here for some time: over 50 years it seems. Standing atop the tower Sarah reviewed what Planet knew of the Progenitor: she saw their shape, saw their cities and works, listened to fragments of their curious and beautiful language, and observed their actions. But it just didn’t fit. These Progenitors didn’t act like the creators of the miracle of Planet. Even a few of their ships were yet in orbit, they didn’t come in power and grace. They acted like violent refugees, like the humans on Planet so clearly were. They acted more like… well…humans.

The mindworm tendrils embedded in Sarah’s temples waved in consternation, a miniature copy of the tentacles at the crown of the fungal tower. Both sets now waved in the wind. But while the tower pursued its own obscure path, Sarah strained toward the Progenitors. She desired to pierce their opaque surface, to understand them. To understand them is to understand the nature of Planet, and against that any action by the humans and Progenitors was irrelevant. Planet would survive their deprecations even if it would be painful, but if Planet could regain lost knowledge then it would stand a better chance in the upcoming Flowering.

Sarah felt angst. The buds of the Flowering (like her fungal tower) had already formed, and would continue to form. None knew this but Sarah, although maybe the insightful and sensitive Deirdre had an inkling of what was to come.

A steely look crossed Sarah’s sublime face, and it didn’t become her. It was a face that did not take well to such a look of determination. The look clearly said: Woe to any human or Progenitor that gets in my way.

Was Planet ready? Sarah was resolved to make sure it was.

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

Bright pink blood welled, forming rivulets across the gash in the carapace. It gave off a heady aroma, rich with the fuel of power. It spoke of vitality, vitality ebbing away and lost. The blood would have been tantalizing, even exciting, for Zzar but for the fact that it was his own. With each welling a bit of his strength leached out, falling to the floor of the Challenge Chamber.

Indeed, Zzar noted that there was a profusion of Progenitor blood in the Challenge Chamber. It formed a pool in one area where one of his broodmates had met a particularly violent and sudden end. In others it was more of a series of scuff marks accented in pink, which had formed as a combatant made his way across the Chamber to make his kill, or to be killed. Some formed pink droplets, splattered where it had fallen after a singular and violent thrust or slash had thrown it from the assailant or victim's body.

The Rite of Domination was never pretty. Zzar knew it had an age-old purpose in Usurper society: to weed out the weak, and identify the worthy. However, Zzar never in a thousand years would have thought of himself as weak, or unworthy. Yet, here he was, facing his most able broodmate Calcn with his life force leaking onto the floor of the Chamber.

He wasn't so weak that it pooled, oh, no. He was still able to keep moving. To stop moving caused blood to pool, and that was a signal of the end.

Across the Chamber Calcn paced him, not letting him rest or the chance to attempt a pathetic repair on his rent carapace. The moist air wasn't moist enough, and he could feel his exposed lower digestive organs begin to cool and harden. Zzar knew he might retard this process if he could retrieve the chunk of missing carapace, but Calcn was preventing that.

Already Calcn was drooling with victory, not ready to commit to the final combat. He was waiting, wisely, until Zzar was too weak to resist effectively. This Zzar knew. He had done that himself when he had dispatched three of his Progenitor broodmates who had foolishly Challenged him. And he had used it against that strange, soft creature in the Challenge Chamber from 15 turnings ago. It was an effective strategy, one for a warrior. The foolish rush in, the wise rush to observe, Marr has said, Zzar remembered mournfully.

To fail in the last Challenge of the Rite of Domination seemed so unjust to Zzar. He had won all the rest, and he had touched the Resonance. That had shown him more joy than the kills in the Challenge Chamber.

But, that was past. Already Zzar could feel his strength ebb, and his vision narrowed to a tunnel. As a body is deprived of oxygen the first affected are non-essential organs. Soon, the oxygen-starved brain will start to malfunction, generating false perceptions of sensory input and even output. Death will soon follow without medical attention, a data packet in his RNA-enhance brain told him, unbidden.

That is something that it is interesting but useless now, Zzar thought peevishly.

Movement caught Zzar's eye, and he looked up to the right. Advancing on him was Calcn.

He must have judged me too weak to resist, Zzar thought sullenly. Then he noticed he had stopped moving, and blood was forming a pink pool under his talons. The pool of blood was always the sign.

Ruefully, he thought, I would advance, too.

Summoning his remaining energy, Zzar turned to face his antagonist. He was larger than Zzar, and almost as intelligent. But he had a certain ferocity and cunning that Zzar had underestimated, to his regret.

Calcn was almost upon him, and Zzar could barely see.

Unbidden, a resonance built inside Zzar's carapace. It wasn't a healing resonance, or even one of final, futile challenge. It also wasn't one of grief or regret. It was his Mother's Song, the one he knew she had trilled to him when he was still in the egg. A Gift, she had called it. It had allowed him to touch the Resonance before, and Zzar knew it had a certain power. Now it simply provided a cold comfort as he stood as straight as he could, toward his doom.

Calcn stood there, waiting. Waiting.

Zzar continued his Song. Then he wondered, Why is he waiting? I am can barely lift a talon to stop him. I can barely even see him!

Still, Calcn didn't attack. He simply stood. Waiting?

Then Zzar focused his dimming eyesight, looking Calcn over. His posture was right, and his mandibles still gnashed, with the drool of victory dripping.

Looking into Calcn's eyes, however, he saw something else. He saw raw, unbridled fear: A fear so real and terrible that it stopped the mind, paralyzing it with dread.

Zzar knew his mind was working slowly, but he at last understood. His Mother's Song was more than communication!

It can be used to attack! Zzar through triumphantly.

The Song burst forth, resonating from his very being. He could feel it pulse through his carapace, echoing complex harmonics off his chitin, filling the Challenge Chamber with his Song.

Calcn stood there, enmeshed in Zzar's Song. Now he was not just a listener, but also its target. His drooling stopped. Then his mandibles stopped gnashing. Finally, his eyes rotated awkwardly, and he toppled over onto the bloody floor of the Challenge Chamber.

Dimly, Zzar felt triumph. He scuffled over to Calcn, his closest friend and challenger, and dragged himself to his head. Astride his chest, he struggled to use his talons to pin Calcn's arms. Zzar lifted his head and brought it down with all the force he could muster. His tusks impacted with a reverberation that was augmented by his dizziness. With a Crack! they pierced Calcn's neck shield.

There was no blood, no soft, wet bite.

It isn't enough, Zzar through wearily.

He brought his head down again, as hard as he could.

Another resounding Crack! filled his hearing and reverberated through his head. This time it struck home, impaling the breathing tube and an artery. Hot, wet blood sprayed over Zzar in a wave of pink.

Calcn's eyes fluttered open, now that the Song was done and its paralyzing resonance gone. Pain had awakened him.

In a weak and pained voice Calcn resonated, "Do me honor, Zzar. The Rite of Domination demands it, and I ask it."

Zzar barely hear the plea, but understood it. If a Progenitor fought well, he deserved honor. And Calcn had fought well.

Zzar backed down from his friend's body, and tore open his two layers of chitin that protected his abdomen. Calcn's body quaked with the pain at this violence. With ritual reverence, he lowered his mandibles into Calcn's still living entrails and ate, and ate well. Blood spurted from ruptured arteries and from each heart as Zzar ate them. Blood washed his face

Calcn shuddered in pain, and then was still.

Sated, Zzar rose, steaming pink blood covering his face shield, tusks, and upper torso. Some of it was his, but most was Calcn's.

Standing as straight as he could, Zzar resonated clearly through the room: "THE CHALLENGE IS COMPLETE! THERE IS NO OTHER! I CLAIM VICTORY IN THE RITE OF DOMINATION!"

Zzar stood as well as he could. A full set of stomachs did not make up for loss of blood. He awaited his judgment, and his fate.

In the observation room of the Challenge Chamber, Superior Master N'Kal was pleased and worried at the same time.

'This one has gifts far beyond many Progenitors,' he thought to himself. 'But what of this paralyzing resonance the young Conquer Zzar displays? Even here I felt it, and for a moment it felt like my worst fears were realized, and in that instant all was hopeless, all was fear. What is this new resonance? It is almost like that of the feral mindworms on this experiment-run-amuck of Manifold 6.'

Still, Superior Master N'Kal had to acknowledge the feat. There was no error. He nodded to the waiting adjudicants, and the Victory was recorded as fact.

Zzar had won the Rite of Domination and was now an Honored Conqueror.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited April 06, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

"So that small soft creature I defeated in the Challenge Chamber was one of these Invaders?" Zzar resonated. Blood still wept from his torn carapace, but his exposed lower digestive tract had hardened, stanching the wound. He was a little light headed, but fully focused and alert. He had to be: he was in the presence of the Superior Master N'Kal

N'Kal trilled assent. The Superior Master was pleased. Even battered from his triumph at the Rite of Domination Zzar was still curious, and he had learned to overcome the limitation of his pain. Yes, N'Kal thought, Zzar has all the makings of a Usurper Conqueror. Full healing will come later. But for now a lesson, a reward. "Yes. The Invaders call themselves 'Humans'. At first we thought they evolved on Manifold 6. We have observed strange and highly unusual evolutionary forms frequently, in fact, after a Flowering on other Manifolds. A Flowering typically destroys most mobile life forms and the Manifold has to start all over again and, although it doesn't start from the beginning, the template is open. This is part of the genius of the Manifolds that our ancestors gave to us: infinite theme and variation! Since it can be 100 million years between Flowerings it is more than possible that an entirely new and surprising form had arisen. But this theory was soon discarded when we determined that their DNA has nothing in common with Manifold 6, or any other Manifold. This was confirmed when we captured and interrogated several of the Invaders, for they revealed that they were from another solar system. They are aliens from a unique ecosystem. These are intelligent and adaptable. In just over a hundred turnings they have grown from a mere 100,000 to millions, and their technology has grown even faster. They arrived at Manifold 6 on an unbelievably fragile sub light spacecraft, if we can believe the reports of the Invaders, and they were then more primitive than the Progenitor race was almost a billion years ago! At that time they didn't have any knowledge of the beauty and utility of resonance, knew nothing of interstellar resonance gates, and they are just now learning the secrets of Manifold 6. They are dangerously unstable. Indeed, they destroyed their own homeworld with weapons of mass destruction! No poetic but unexpected Flowering took them down, as it did us. They self immolated themselves, and these are the only pathetic survivors! They are truly a threat to Marr's plans for Manifold 6, and to the Progenitor race."

During this lecture Zzar and the Superior Master observed a multitude of holograms of humans, each of which rotated to show all angles and all sides. Superimposed over each was a low resonance that, if activated, could be brought up to perceptible levels. The resonance told the observations and research on the featured subjects, most of which was highly technical. The Superior Master N'Kal had played several of the earliest encounters and dissections of humans to orient Zzar on the Invaders, but left the techno-babble reports for Zzar's later study.

To Zzar's eyes the Invaders looked similar to each other. They only varied minutely by height, and by the multicolored fungus-like growths that covered some or all of their bodies. In some areas it was thick, and yet on others it was hardly present at all. Some of their pigmentation was different, too, but most were a vaguely unpleasant and unnatural brown - very little grey, and no healthy green. The creatures that were white hued were the worst - they looked like corpses that had been in water too long. By the placement of their eyes they were surely carnivores. A datapacket Zzar called from his brain told him that binocular vision almost always indicated a predator. Only in instances where evolution had forced a creature to abandon its carnivorous habits was the trait present but not used to hunt. The most strange was its body covering; it was soft and yielding, not unlike that of a newly hatched Progenitor before it carapace hardened. Zzar found it hard to imagine that a creature could exist with so little natural protection for its entire life, with not even a partial outer layer of chitin to protect it! Their offensive weapons were minimal, too. They had no claws or talons like a proper Progenitor, and no war tusks. All they had were short, blunt digits at the ends of awkwardly jointed appendages. Looking at them closely Zzar found it amazing that they could walk upright at all. Surely that was a poor design, an example of their incomplete evolution.

Everything Zzar had seen and observed indicated that the Invaders were weak. "Superior Master, the Invader that I met in the Challenge Chamber was easily defeated. Marr must conquer, and Progenitors prevail. Our ability, valor, and technology are superior. Why have we not exterminated them?" Zzar altered, genuinely puzzled.

N'Kal shifted uneasily.

"They are many and we are few. We number a quarter million, and they number many millions. As primitive as they are, they are productive in their own way. Due to their apparently never-ending wars and many petty rivalries they produce an inordinate amount of military material. It is qualitatively inferior to Progenitor war machines, but it is quantitatively greater. With this they made war on each other. This served our purpose, for if they harm one another they assist us. Now, however, we are revealed to them after 25 turnings of secrecy, during which time we have built our strength. Marr's great vision foresaw this, and our bases were hidden, even from their primitive orbitals."

N'Kal looked at Zzar with an intensity that made Zzar distinctly uncomfortable. It seemed that the great Superior Master was looking at and then through him, looking into his very essence. It is said that a Superior Master can do such things, that he can divine a youngling's future by reading his passive resonance. So N'Kal seemed to be doing to Zzar now. Zzar fervently hoped he was found deserving in his august Superior's sensors.

"The honor and glory will fall upon you and your broodmates. You, Zzar, have won the Rite of Domination, and have earned the right to lead your broodmates in the battles to come. Some of your broodmates will pilot the gnats, which are newly refitted from our brothers from Home, who are newly stranded here at Manifold 6. They will clean the skies of the weak air vehicles of the Invaders. Others will pilot antigrav hovertanks, and they will sweep all before them. These will blast the Invader defenders and attackers, alike. They will raze the Invader cities that infect Manifold 6. Each is worth many times that of the primitive Invaders. We will be like a Flowering: deadly, fearsome, inevitable, and irresistible.

The battle is long planned, and long prepared. And you, Zzar, will lead them," N'Kal resonated fiercely, almost as if it were prophesy.

At once Zzar altered back, "As Marr commands."

There is comfort in ritual. A datapacket told Zzar that ritual is the binding that holds a society together - an agreed upon set of formalities that guide social interaction. All of Progenitor society was governed by an intricate set of rituals and customs, most many millennia of turnings old. Some rituals were said to go back hundreds of millennia, although the truth of such statements was lost in the Flowering of Tau Ceti. Order was maintained, and society strengthened by ritual. Now Zzar understood the truth of this.

For without tradition Zzar would have no idea how to respond and would be otherwise speechless.

How can I lead? I am just a youngling! Then Zzar thought back to his training, and to the Rite.

No. I am no longer a youngling. I am a Conqueror!

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

Zzar opened his eyes and blinked twice, briefly confused.

Where am I? he thought, with more curiosity than panic. The room he was in was utilitarian, and there was scientific or medical equipment lining the walls. Three Progenitors, medical attendants by their chitin color patches engraved at their left shoulder, moved purposefully about, paying no attention whatsoever to Zzar. Like all Progenitors, their duties were age old and well defined, and woe to those that failed or exceeded their assigned responsibility. Apparently Zzar was not one of their duties.

While looking around Zzar was surprised when, unbidden, images flashed into his mind: a shinning gray city that seemed to be an island in a pale green ocean; an aged Progenitor with archaic dangles on her head crest that he felt he should know, but didn't; a stable star field not viewed through the shimmering distortion of an atmosphere, and a sudden flash of light and the formation of an iridescent ring of resonance against the starry black of space. Then new images washed into Zzar's mind, cresting like a great wave. Zzar could occasionally make out a fragment of an image or a resonance, but it was a tattered fragment that he couldn't understand and was soon log. The images flashed by faster and faster until they were one long distortion, filled with flashes of color, sound, and warped and incomprehensibly jumbled resonance fields.

Zzar shut his eyes, but it didn't help. He could still see, could still feel the images. They were real, but seemed to be phantoms.

And the images wouldn't stop. All the images demanded his attention, reaching into his consciousness, exhorting their importance. Some had greater power and stayed for a fraction of a second, only long enough for Zzar to know they were there but not long enough to actually see or understand. Then they were carried away and replaced with another image, more sound, and more discordant resonance. The cacophony grew, as did Zzar's confusion.

Now the images, sounds, and resonance passed by so fast and with such intensity that Zzar could not see the room that he knew he was in. Pressure grew. Each image now was a burst, thousands each second, and each caused his mind to jolt with shock, and fear. Zzar started to panic, feeling overwhelmed.

Then the images conquered his last willful, conscious thought and descended like ravenous beasts to the feast.

Blackness.

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

Zzar opened his eyes, strangely exhausted. The lights in the room seemed a to be little bright, or his eyes overly sensitive. Standing around him were three medical technicians and one Honored Healer, a combat veteran by the battle stripes on his blue chitin. The healer was older judging from his discolored chitin, but not old enough to be an Old One. There was an odd lack of emitted resonance in the room - almost as if it were purposefully hushed.

Zzar felt…something. Something uncomfortable. Something that was a little cold. That could only mean actual probes had been inserted through his carapace. And that meant that he was sick.

Sick from what? Zzar thought.

The technicians were busy reading their instruments and casting furtive glances in his direction. Authoritative, the Honored Healer said nothing.

Although it wasn't his place, Zzar couldn't stand not knowing. He resonated, "Honored Healer. I am evidently under your care. In what way am I ill?"

As Zzar's resonance filled the barren air the Honored Healer and the technicians looked relieved and unconsciously trilled to each other.

Inexplicably, the Honored Healer lowered his tusks to Zzar in reverence and respect. "Conqueror, we were treating your physical damage, which was a small challenge. Your torn carapace and internal organs were easily repaired. In addition, we were ordered by Superior Master N'Kal to give you access to the Wisdom of Tau Ceti. We had completed the procedure when you had an…unexpected…reaction. N'Kal insisted that time was of the essence, so we installed the Wisdom of all the ancients from the Memory Room. Normally this is done singularly."

The old Honored Healer stated this almost as an apology. Such deference was appropriate for a Conquer, which, Zzar reflected, he now was.

Zzar nodded. Now he now knew where he was: the Memory Room. This is the storehouse of Progenitor knowledge: the actual knowledge and, in some cases, recorded personalities of many honored ancestors of the Progenitor race. It was the hallowed link to the past, and it was what kept the sometimes far-flung Progenitors true to tradition. The past cannot be distorted or misused if it can talk to you. Basic knowledge transfer is a common thing, of course. Zzar knew that his data packets that he accessed so frequently were simply RNA enhancements of his brain. These were common medical procedures. Installing the knowledge and personality of the ancients, however, was something else entirely. These personalities were unique, and if lost they were lost forever. When a Progenitor died they would give up the ancients back to the Memory Room. A truly exemplary Progenitor might have his or her personality recorded as a knowledge base. Only the most august Progenitors were placed into the Memory Room as actual personalities.

"How do I communicate to the ancients, Honored Healer?" Zzar altered. He felt nothing right now that would indicate that his head was full of other Progenitors. It must feel much different than data packets, he reflected.

"They are suppressed, Conqueror. Your negative reaction was to all the ancients, who were trying to communicate with you at the same time. They came near to overwhelming you and we had to install a damper," the healer resonated. He lifted a talon and pointed to at wire, which ran over Zzar's chest, past his neck shield, and to the left side of his head and out of sight.

Oh, Zzar thought. There is also a probe in my brain. No wonder I felt…something.

"We will gradually remove the damper on one ancient at a time. This way they can introduce themselves singularly. They are Progenitors and will assist you, but you must learn what they can do and what you know. You must trust them, and they must trust you. They are not your slaves. They are the most honored of all Progenitors, and you, Conqueror, must honor them."

Now that it was explained, Zzar was awed that he was entrusted with such a precious gift. No, it was not a gift. He was simply a caretaker of a vast treasure.

At that thought his sight trembled and the images of the healer, technicians, and the entire room undulated much like it had during when he had observed the Resonance in the Challenge Chamber. It seemed like an intensely strong resonance field just sprang into being, from nowhere.

Yes, Zzar. You are a Caretaker, the field told him after a moment. The voice was clear and focused and almost intimate. And feminine? Very strange.

As quickly as it appeared the field disappeared. The healer and technicians seemed not to notice anything. As the powerful resonance dissipated the puny resonance of the healer could be resolved again.

"…and then I will, with your permission, Conqueror, remove the dampers one by one. You will tell me when you are ready for another to be released. Am I clear, Conqueror?"

Although Zzar hadn't heard all of it he was sure of the intent. "Yes, Honored Healer. Proceed."

The Honored Healer lowered his tusks and trilled assent. One of the technicians' talons moved several times, then Zzar felt a change. A presence, lofty and powerful, approached in Zzar's mind. Like a pinpoint of light it started, then grew quickly until it felt like it was illuminating his entire mind.

The presence formed in his mind, and an image appeared: an old female, with an archaic set of dangles on her head crest.

I am Lain'y, interstellar pilot from the Tlan asteroid colony at Manifold 4. I greet you, Zzar, as I have greeted many before you. May we grow together, and aid the Progenitors as we grow. My time was from before the Second Flowering of Manifold 4.

In his mind Zzar responded with thanks, as was appropriate. Again, tradition saved him, for he knew instinctively what to say even if he was speechless.

An interstellar pilot? To manage interstellar resonance gates is almost unimaginable! But, Lain'y says she is from the Second Flowering of Manifold 4!

That was over 300,000 turnings ago!

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited April 13, 2000).]

[Bearcat]

The scoutship Agnostic sped toward Alpha Centauri. The wormhole drive was at top speed. Everyone aboard was holding their breath. Guardian H'minee sat rigid on her command couch. The cryptic message pointing them to Alpha Centauri was over but everyone could still feel it's resonance. H'minee lookd over toward Varac St'aar her Stellar Cartographer. She resonated.

"Is the manifold near?" asked H'minee. St'aar resonated affirmation. H'minee sat back. The fabled Sixth Manifold within their reach. If they could control the Sixth Manifold than they would control the Progenitor race. The Usurpers would be forced to surrender. St'aar noticed H'minee's resonance and altered.

"Yes Guardian. If we take the Sixth than the Usurpers have no hope of victory" altered St'aar. H'minee nodded her neck and relaxed. Than she realized something. The Usurpers had been ahead of them everywhere they had been so far. Would it not be plausible that the Usurpers might of made it to the Sixth Manifold before them?

"Engineer Dzora can we make the drive go any faster?" H'minee resonated. Sensing H'minee's distress Dzora jumped to her controls. Than she answered.

"No Guardian our drive is going as fast as it can go" trilled Dzora. H'minee resonated distress and took her seat once again. St'aar queried.

"What is it Guardian?" he altered. H'minee replied.

"Everywhere we have been so far the Usurpers have beat us there. Is it plausible that the Usurpers could have beat us to the Sixth Manifold?" altered H'minee. St'aar replied uneasily.

"It is quite possible H'minee. After all the Usurpers have been ahead of us the whole way. The only problem I can see is that they were never contacted like we were" altered St'aar. H'minee nodded and turned toward the res screen. Thw wormhole drive was narrowing. The end was in sight. In a matter of minutes they would know wether or not the Usurpers had beat them to the Sixth Manifold.
[This message has been edited by Bearcat (edited April 15, 2000).]

[Bearcat]

The Agnostic sped through the wormhole as fast as it could. After H'minee voiced her worries to St'aar everything had picked up pace. Everyone was in a hurry to get to Alpha Centauri. Everyone wanted to beat the Usurpers. H'minee had told everyone aboard the ship that the Usurpers were right behind them to increase speed. However as she sat on the command couch and waited for the end of the journey she silently knew that the Usurpers had already made it to the Manifold.

"We are approaching the threshold Guardian" resonated the conn officer. H'minee altered assent. She activated the res screen and watched the brilliant colors of the wormhole slowly dying away to the black void of space at the end of the wormhole. H'minee watched with rapt attention as the threshold drew nearer and nearer. Finally her ship shot out through the threshold like a mo'ra fish through a reef opening. Everyone on board gasped. Ahead of them lay a planet covored in bright colors.

H'minee stood up just as St'aar entered the bridge. She turned to him and he spoke.

"It's the Sixth Manifold Guardian" he altered. H'minee nodded her neck and returned her gaze to the brilliant orb. Others on board had stood as well. Finally H'minee spoke.

"We must attempt to regain contact with Great Caretaker Aa'chon. We need his guidance in this matter" said H'minee. The sudden trill of the tactical officer alerted H'minee to a problem. Sheturned to the youngling who pointed a talon at the res screen. Everyone turned to look. And thta was when they saw it.

An Usurper Gnat was barreling towards them. Apparently atteacted by the wormhole. H'minee reacted qucikly.

"Battlestations" she altered gruffly. The ship shook as the Gnat released a deadly barrage of energy. However the shields held. H'minee began to resonated a command.

"Release the Hornets let them try to distract it. Ready the Gravtion cannons. Shields to full" resonated H'minee. Everyone complied. Sparks fell from damaged equipment as the Gnat found it's target again. H'minee held her breath as the battle continued.

- - - - - - -

Meanwhile in the Hornet bay everyone was scrambling to get in to their ship. The Broodcraft had already been alerted by the distressed aura of their pilots. And young Pilot Tacn was no exception. Just out of Flying Academy back on the Homeworld Tacn had been assigned aboard H'minee's craft for a begginer mission. Seemingly!

He hurried to Yacu his craft were he began to check her sytems. The Hornets as sentien craft had telepathic links with not only their other Broodcraft but also with their pilots.

What are we doing? Tacn? Is there a reason why we need to leave the bay? inquired Yacu. Tacn was busy checking systems so he didn't reply. The ship queroed furhter before resolving to ask at a later time. Tacn finished checking the systems and hurried to climb in as a Guardian was coming by making sure everyoen was in. Tacn bolted the top of the ship and began the powerup.

ALL SHIPS GO, REPEAT ALL SHIPS GO came the command. Tacn gunned the accelerator and burst out of the Agnostic and into space. Now every pilot could see why they had been called out. A lone Usurper Gnat was circling the Agnostic firing every so often at the ship. When it noticed the Hornets it broke it's pattern and veered off toward them. Immediatly every single Hornet but Tacn let loose with their Singularity cannons.

"Yacu their is an Usurper Gnat we must destroy. We can't fire early and we can't fire late. We must do this at the right time" resonated Tacn to his ship. Yacu replied.

Yes at the right time Tacn. Tacn veered Yacu away toward the Agnostic. Two of the Hornets had been destroyed and the Gnat was circling bakc toward the Agnostic, which was firing Graviton cannons. The Gnat circled under the Agnostic and cmae up firing. The Agnostic's engines were hit. Than the an antennae array. The Gnat blasted with glee at the Agnostic.

Tacn circled in with Yacu taking careful aim. The Gnat noticed and began to charge them again. Tacn waited. The Gnat was firing wildly at him charging forward every minute. Not yet. Finally the Gnat roared past him.

"Now Yacu" he altered. The Hornet did a 360 and fired with everything at the Gnat which lurched to a stop and than exploded in fire. Tacn let out a victory trill and turned back toward the Agnostic which was leaking flames. And than he heard it over his comm band.

"This is Guardian H'minee to all. Report to the escape pods. Bring all valuble materials and supplies and report to the escape pods."

closure,1.4
Alpha Prime, Containment Subroutine.

system uplink complete...

Michael phi-7 strolled past the holding cells for errant and degraded algorithms. He had up to this point been quite happy with his life with the consciousness. That is, if you could call him happy now. He was still adjusting to his lack of emotions, but they were still there in the background. It had been shown that the instantaneous destruction of human emotions, left both the algorithm and the host damaged or deranged. In fact, many if not all of the early Cyborgs were either left insane or permanently brain damaged.

A three-legged dog walked by. While uploaded one could assume any form he or she wished. most showed their former physical form sheerly out of habit, though it was not uncommon to see a dog, great cat, extra arms, an extra head, or in extreme cases something akin to a digital ameoba. Because of his duties he tried to be used to his download shape, simply because if he reached for something with arm number three, and there wasn'y one, things would get... uncomfortable. He did however have a black carapace, much akin to a progenitor's. He had done much studying of these creatures of late, and found their anatomy most facinating. The carapace was his idea of a joke.

If there was one thing that he insisted, it was that he check the containment cells. It had always, even back with the Spartans bothered him if things weren't just right. And subsquently, the phi algorithms have always had a sort of obseseive/compulsive disorder in one form or the other and it just might have been the personalities that the origial phi had come in contact with, but nobody knew for sure.

Currently, something caught phi-7's attention. In this particular portion were the high-risk algorithms. A few dated back to before the Unity crash, and others were at one point as vital to the Consciousness as they were a danger to it now. What attracted his attention was the fact that a cell was now empty. How odd. Michael checked the registry. It came up zeta-2. he stopped and contemplated this for a moment. How could zeta-2 have escaped when it was wearing the electronic equivalent of a silksteel striaghtjacket and was on a thorazine drip that would have put a score of the hardiest drones to sleep for a week.

And now, the cell was quite empty. he scanned the datapool.

name:zeta-2
commissioned:2130, by zeta-1 and alpha-6.
decommissioned:2215, by zeta-4, alpha-10, and beta-7.
reason for decommission: in 2188 zeta-2 had begun construction on its replacemnt, zeta-3, with alpha-8. at this point zeta-2 was beginning to show the usual signs of dementia that had accompanied the old age of the early algorithms. delays had proliferated in the construction of zeta-3. by 2199, zeta-2 had become 76% corrupt. it had consumed zeta-3, alpha-8, and several other designations. however, in 2195 secret construction began of zeta-4, by alpha-9, alpha-10, and beta-7. zeta-2 was finally subdued in 2215,but not after it had consumed alpha-9 in the final battle.

It was a cannibal. Michael phi-7 collectivly shuddered. He tapped on the force feild, and his finger stuck and when he tried to pull his hand away, the feild pulled with him like taffy. This was most highly unsusal.

"Aki zeta-5. this is Michael phi-7."

"yes Michael?"

"I have reason to beleive that zeta-2 has somehow..." there is a surge of static "..aped."

[Argonaut]

Courage : To Question

The twelve needlejets of Argonaut squadron were making their final run. They were the best of the best, the Spartan Elite. They had been chosen, as the best fighter pilots of the new alliance to lead the first assault against the alien bases. They had maintained radio silence for the entire trip, and now they were ready to drop their load of lethal nerve gas on the unsuspecting Progenitors below. Suddenly, a blip showed up on Argonaut One’s radar.

"We’ve got radar contact, permission to break radio silence is granted," he said breaking the tension of the long silent flight to their target. "Argo One to Argo Two, confirm my contact please."

"Roger Argo One, confirmed. Solo bogey at twelve o’clock."

"All right Argonauts," replied Argo One. "Move into attack formation. Let’s show these aliens what we Spartans can do. Shard launchers to full power. When we come into range, break in pairs and let’s take this sucker out."

The eleven other fighters pulled into formation behind Argo One, arranging themselves to provide equal firing opportunities for each needlejet. The solitary Alien ship would find itself faced with the combined fire power of an entire Spartan Shard Needljet Squadron. They didn’t stand a chance.

Just before the squadron came into firing range, the warning light went off on Argo One’s readout, indicating that the enemy had a lock.

"Scramble!"

"They’ve got a lock!"

"I’m in their sights!" Suddenly warning reports were coming in from all the fighters as each one reported in that the enemy had a target lock. How the hell could they be locked on to all of us?

"Argonauts, bring that bogey down," was the best Argo One could do to try and rally his squadron. He was up against an enemy he wasn’t prepared for but he definitely wasn’t going to go down without getting in a single hit. He let loose a full barrage of shard weaponry and new that he had hit his target. Except their was no damage.

"Holy sh-" Argo One didn’t even get to finish his sentence as he watched the strange ripples pass through the air in front of him. It passed through the front of the ship, and then he felt it hit him. The noise was intense and excruciating. He watched as the front part of his ship began to break apart and realised that his body was too. Soon the pain was too much, and Argo One’s world faded to black.

*********************************************

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex

William watched the Morgan Holo-News broadcast with disbelief. Argonaut Squadron had been wiped out.