The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Hydro]

Laborer's Throng

"Well gents," Mel stated, "the gloves are off again. I just got a green light to get on with Yang's spanking."

The officers around the improvised tacs room in Laborer's Throng chuckled. Yes, indeed, Yang had been 'spanked' recently, and quite soundly. His sprawling empire of oppression and terror was down to almost third of what it had been at the beginning of the year 2225. It had been a good year for the Spartans, and a very bad one for Yang. He went from the largest faction with an awesome industrial infrastructure to a rabbit in a hole, cowering in his warrens against the light of day. Between subversion by Morgan, the huddled masses of the Hive rising and opting for a better life under Forman Domai, or brute force liberation by the Spartans, a total of 13 of his 21 cities had fallen. With the fall of his cities his ability extend his power had also collapsed, as had his ability to cause harm - and his ability to resist. Yang had nuked two of Sparta's best and most valuable cities, but by late 2225 it looked like nasty old Yang was finished. His destruction of Ironhome and Parade Grounds appeared to be his spiteful, pointless, and final act of defiance.

That is, until the aliens showed up.

"We're to resume the assault on the Hive immediately, as scheduled by Coronal Santiago herself. The tactics will be the same: General Korn's Chop and Drop. We will use nerve gas shard pens to eliminate defenders, then airdrop infantry and rovers in the undefended cities. Our objectives are here and here," Mel continued, pointing at the horizontal table holo Yang's continent. Most of the territory was a pleasing Spartan gray, with Gaian green at the eastern end for the restored Gaia's Landing and Nessus Shining. Two separated cities in the deep red of Forman Domai were at the western coast and in the center eastern section of the continent. Huddled in the southwestern portion of the Yang's continent were the remaining Hive bases, two of which were sea bases. Mel pointed to Social Engineering Den and Seat of Proper Thought. Social Engineering Den was the next Hive city in line in the Spartan's drive west from Unity Lair, and Seat of Proper Thought was south of the Spartan occupied Fecundity Tower.

"But, there is a new development. You've all seen and holo of the Argonauts." Mel paused, and all her officers nodded somberly. The fact that one alien interceptor had destroyed the newly created Argonauts interceptor squadron came as a very rude shock to the Spartans. Although they had taken some losses, the Spartan attack on Hive holdings had been fairly bloodless - for the Spartans, that is, not the Hive. In the beginning of the Hive-Spartan war the Spartan had had an over 2:1 advantage due to technology. The aliens illuminated the stark technological deficiency that the Spartans, and the rest of humanity, were up against. The aliens had turned the tables, ironically and painfully, on the Spartans.

"The aliens, these Progenitor, have weaponry that is almost 50% more powerful than ours, and it is powered by controlled singularity reactors that are twice as good as our fusion reactors. You do the math to see where that puts us. We also have reports that their armor is over twice as good as anything that we have. Put the armor and reactor together and the alien's defense is even with our offense, even with nerve gas. Luckily the alien ground defenders do not have anti aircraft ability. Also, none of Yang's remaining cities has aerospace centers to mount an effective defense except their former capitol The Hive. With the aerospace center at The Hive we'll have to take that the old fashioned way - brute force. But, for the moment we are to isolate The Hive and take out easier targets."

Mel paused again to make sure her statement had sunk in. A few made soft comments to themselves or a neighbor, but her Aardvark pilots were silent. Up until now their job had been fairly easy, and they knew it. Shard nerve gas weaponry was more than a match for plasma fusion defenders, even if they had anti aircraft ability. Now they knew there would be casualties, which means death, particularly for pilots. Still, they had a better chance than the ground pounders who had to fight their way through Yang's perimeter defenses and singularity neutronium defenders. That would be a dirty, nasty job.

"Our primary objective is Social Engineering Den. Intelligence tells me that each of Yang's cities each have one of those alien defenders, who have what has been dubbed 'neutronium singularity armor.' At our target cities they also have one plasma fusion anti aircraft defenders. All the rest were destroyed when they were worm raped during the fungal bloom from three weeks ago. In fact, there isn't a whole lot left of Den now, although the worms are well fed."

Mel's attempt at humor fell flat this time. Joking about a massive mindworm attack, like the one that had happened to the three Hive cities after the Hive double planetbuster strike, was generally considered to be in bad taste, even when the calamity affected an enemy. Mel looked up. The holo glow of the tactical table highlighted her face and made the rest of her body, in its gray on gray Spartan uniform, appear to be almost ghostly. She looked intently at her commanders of her airdrop infantry and rover squads, her Aardvark squadron leader Lt. Nans Andersson, and the two interceptor pilots on loan from the 4th Wing. She detected no trace of hesitation in their faces, only steely determination. Inwardly Mel was satisfied. She had expected no less, but it was always a good idea to check the pulse of her subordinates.

Now morale is strong, but what will happen when the aliens attack in force? Mel asked herself. She didn't know the answer to that question, but she knew that she would lose friends and colleagues. Such were the fortunes of war.

Mel dismissed her doubt. It is the duty of a soldier to die for their faction, she reflected, and take as many of the enemy as possible with you.

She broke the lengthening silence. "The attack on Social Engineering Den begins at 0600 tomorrow. Aardvarks 2 and 6 will lead, and 1, 3 and 4 will remain here as backup. Then the 469th will airdrop. If all goes well then remaining Aardvarks will take out Seat of Proper Thought, with 3 rover brigades from Lightning Strike to airdrop. The attack on Thought will take place only at my order."

Still looking at her cadre of officers she finished, "Any questions?" No one spoke up.

"Dismissed."

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

"Channel secure Aardvark 2. I'm getting an unusual ping. Releasing a fly eye to investigate. Remaining on target to Den. ETA 16 minutes. Aardvark 6 out," Flight Leader Lieutenant Nans Andersson stated. As always, there was no unnecessary chatter, and comm silence was broken only when need required. Considering what had happened to the Argonauts, any 'ping' had to be investigated immediately. The penalty for not following up on ghosts had just gotten severe.

A moment later the hypersonic fly eye was bouncing back data and images. It showed the enormous new fungal tower that had grown in between the Hive cities of Seat of Proper Thought, Social Engineering Den and Fellowship City, and the vast bulk of the tower dwarfed the largely subterranean Hive cities. Undoubtedly, the cities could see it much more clearly than they would like. It was vast trunk that sat in the middle of a new fungus field, which was at the center of a new 'fungal highway' that now crisscrossed this section of Hive territory. Its sinuous ropy arms waved against the wind and, at the base of the prestigious bulk of the fungal tower, movement could be seen in the land and air - which were mindworm vectors. As the spy eye got closer more mindworm 'individuals' could be parsed out from the noise, and they seemed to be moving in and out of the tower.

The view of the spy eye changed abruptly, and it focused in on a translucent pinkish-gray blot that rose from the tower. It blot pulsed in and out, seeming to change volume at it ascended, and the Locusts of Chiron that formed the blot angled toward the spy eye. The view changed again as the spy eye took evasive action as it performed a high-energy turn and retreated the way it came. Within moments the image the spy eye was transmitting became indistinct and data transmission erratic. Seconds later the view went black.

"Aardvark 6 to Laborer's Throng," Nans stated, activating his comm channel.

"Throng, copy."

"Fly eye lost and apparently destroyed by locusts from the fungal tower west of Den. Did you receive its transmission?"

"Affirmative. Data relayed to Captain Cassaroni. I'm sure Mel will be very interested in it. Stay out of that thing's airspace and proceed to target Den."

"Roger. Out."

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

Margie stood, arched her back, and stretched, and was satisfied to feel her vertebrae crackle as her abused muscles and bones returned to a more normal position. Stooping all day tending errant agro bots was tiresome, and very hard on one's posture. While she was at it she adjusted her microbreather. As always, she had gotten one out of the bin as she left on her work detail for Social Engineering Den's Agricultural Cooperative Number 3, and it never quite fit. It was utilitarian and efficient, but not comfortable, since comfort beyond function was a waste of resources. Still, Margie wished it fit better. She knew she would know it had slipped when she started to feel a little giddy from the narcosis. Right now she didn't feel giddy, but a little adjustment wouldn't hurt.

Standing above the waist-high Chironcorn she paused to look around. The corn was a deep, emerald green and seemed to undulate in the soft wind that seemed to caress her face. Just seeing the corn and its movement brought a mote of joy to her heart. Since she was a little girl Margie had loved things that grew, regardless of whether they were weeds or flowers. As she got older her love for growing things became more practical, and in that way she served her people. She knew that such love was irrational and a waste of energy, but she couldn't help it. In fact, just standing and watching and not working were punishable offenses in the Human Hive. In her mind she mentally composed an excuse in case a hostile overseer challenged her for malingering: she was scanning the skies for the Spartan Oppressors of the People. The Hive did not tolerate malingerers, and they were appropriately punished - unless they had a valid excuse. And the fact that the Spartans had subjugated the loyal workers of the Hive in nearby Unity Lair was certainly a good reason.

Overall it was a beautiful day, and it was the height of summer in the southern hemisphere of Planet. It was never all that cold anywhere on Planet, but Social Engineering Den was half way in between the equator and the south pole and, therefore, there were seasons, even if they were muted. Some of the other ag technicians complained about the heat, the voracious Earth insects and the native insect equivalents, and about how hard they toiled in the fields with no recognition or reward. Margie privately thought that those who complained the most were generally the worst workers, and that they put their petty self-interests above the goals of the group. Covertly she thought they were, in a small way, traitors to the Hive Utopia, which would surely come when the corruption of the other misguided factions was expunged and purity of thought and deed was achieved.

Margie took a deep breath, and even through the filters she could smell the goodness of growing things. She could feel the heat of the late morning and how it formed shimmering waves that distorted vision. More than once Margie had seen what looked like floating islands, or silvery points of light on the horizon. But these, she knew, were simply optical illusions formed by the rising heat. In fact, it was already hot enough for heat waves to rise from the good, red earth. In the distance the heat shimmered with refracted silvery light.

Suddenly Margie, all alone in the field, had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The silvery point of light was betting bigger and had lost the etherealness so characteristic of heat mirages. It now resolved itself as two silvery points that were heading toward her from the northeast.

Northeast was where the Spartan-occupied command center in occupied Laborer's Throng lay.

In moments Margie's worst fears were realized. Streaking in a hundred meters above the tree line were two aircraft. She didn't know for sure that they were Spartan, but still she somehow knew. Margie didn't try to hide, and didn't cry out. With growing dread she watched the two military planes pass almost directly overhead. As the sonic boom hit her she saw on each plane the Spartan icon: an arrow inside a hexagon. Margie turned to watch the two instruments of death fly toward her home. A myriad of images passed through Margie's mind: her 5th birthday with her crèche mates after she had been removed from her parents' home - she had been sad until the cake arrived, and all her crèche mates sang to her the Song of Welcome; graduating from the Social Engineering Den's Agricultural Academy, and meeting her proud parents for the first time since she had entered the crèche; and her first lover, Myong, whose gentle hands and soft touch had shown her the meaning of love and belonging.

In seconds Margie knew that would all pass away. The Spartans used nerve gas to kill tens of thousands, and then slaughtered thousands as they took the city from its rightful owners. Tens of thousands, her friends, family, and fellow workers, would die. She had seen the holos smuggled out of Unity Lair after the Spartan nerve gas attack. There were hallways choked with dead bodies that were all trying to claw at a door that wouldn't open. She remembered the nutrient center where the loyal workers had set up makeshift barricades against the Spartan invaders, only to be cut down by the very air they had to breathe. A holo camera had focused on a small, beautiful boy who lay as if asleep, but Margie knew he would never wake again, never laugh, never cry, never anything. The gas was cruel, and it cut down the innocent. Margie felt tears well in her eyes but refused to let them fall. She looked resolutely toward her home. Steeling her courage, she vowed she would watch the evil Spartans kill the ones she loved. In that way she would honor their memory.

Lights flared over Social Engineering Den and Margie involuntarily gasped, and her throat tightened.

Margie watched the end of all that she knew in a silence, which was interrupted only by the rustle of the corn. Unannounced, a traitorous tear rolled down her cheek. Margie quickly wiped it away.

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

Nans was almost frantic.

"Pull up! Pull up! Katie!"

Katie had taken the first attack run at the city, and it had been perfect. She had timed to the nanosecond when to fire her shard emitter and the ultra dense packets of matter had been violently ejected from her aircraft and guided to its target on a cone of energy. The shard did not have a parabolic course like normal ordinance. It sped toward the city of Social Engineering Den in a straight line, guided by a coherent electromagnetic field not dissimilar to that of a supercollider, except that this energy field carried much more matter, and there was no supercollider.

All was well until the shards homed in on the aliens guarding the hapless city. When the shards were mere meters from impact the ground surface seemed to shimmer. The shimmering rapidly intensified so that the few structures above ground of the Hive city grew dark and indistinct. The shards themselves seemed to slow as they entered the field emanating from the aliens, and the bright white energy cone that guided them to the surface seemed to dim. Behind the shadowy field there were a few brief bursts of light. As the shards hit their target the shards were transformed partially into energy, which would then follow the remaining super-dense mass deep into Den's rocky defenses. In response to the energy release vast chunks of rock and soil would be thrown outward.

This time it was different. There was much less light and almost no mass ejected into the air, as was so typical of the fireworks display that shard impacts generated. Instead the energy just seemed to…dissipate. To Nans' eyes it seemed like the singularity energy field simply absorbed it. As the singularity field absorbed the energy the field grew stronger, and it pulsed outward toward the source of the energy - Katie's needlejet. The distortion field puckered and seemed to strain toward Katie. At the last moment Katie saw this and cut off her attack, and pulled off in haste. Like smoke following a vacuum, the energy field followed her and was gaining on her, even though she was going mach 4.

"Comon' Katie!" Nans whispered, mentally giving her extra speed and agility. But the distortion field gained, and then overtook and enveloped Katie's Aardvark.

The needlejet formed a shadow within the field. Then there was a brief flash of light and the energy field broadened, and then fell apart. As it dissipated pieces of the needlejet emerged and arced to the ground.

Nans checked to see if Katie had ejected, but couldn't read anything through the distortion field. Worse, he knew he had a mission to complete.

"Throng, this is Aardvark 6. Katie is down. Proceeding with attack," he stated simply. With an economical motion he activated his nerve gas pods, which would follow the shard as it lanced into the ground.

Nans went into an attack run.

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

Margie watched the first attacker strike. Blinding white light formed an unnatural straight line toward her city. She held her breath. Then a strange grayness formed over Social Engineering Den, and it seemed that the white energy died. There were no explosions like Margie expected. The craft, which was small at this range, pulled up and the strange grayness seemed to follow it. Arcing upward, the plane raced back toward Margie. But the grayness followed and, over Margie's fields, caught it. Margie looked up and could barely see the plane, but could see that moments after the gray caught it that it just came apart. The gray evaporated, and pieces of the plane came down. All of them were headed for Margie.

Margie eyes widened, but she was too stunned to even move. The bright, flaming chunks of metal and ceramic hurled toward her and exploded all around, forming craters and throwing up great arcs of ruptured earth and plants. The sky seemed to darken as rich, red earth was thrown into the sky in overlapping plumes, and the smoke from the plane filled the air. Margie watched as a large piece came hurtling toward the very spot where she stood. Margie had time to throw up her arms.

Then blackness.

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

Heavy. It 's hard to breath, Margie thought. Cautiously Margie opened her eyes, and saw red, raw earth. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn't. She looked down and saw that she was buried up to her waist in the deep rich soil of Social Engineering Den. Following an instinctive first aid procedure drilled into all Hive citizens she performed a quick self-examination by using the A-B-Cs; airway, bleeding, circulation. First the airway - she could breathe, even if she couldn't breathe deeply. Second bleeding. She found she wasn't bleeding too badly - just a few scrapes, and that her arms worked. Lastly circulation. She could feel her legs, even if they were buried under hundreds of kilos of dirt. Margie tried to turn to look up, but a sharp pain told her that her midsection was not happy about that decision. She decided to take it slowly and felt around with her hands.

The soil around her was loose, with some harder clods. Determined, she started to dig her way out. Cautiously, she slowly bent around so her arms could scoop away the soil. Her midsection said 'pain' - she obviously had at least one broken rib. Considering she expected to be dead, that was a good bargain. Steadily the soil was raked away.

Twenty minutes later Margie was free. After a quick examination she knew that everything worked. Sadly she looked across her field. It looked like it had been bombed, and, indeed, it actually had been. There were great rents and scrapes where larger chunks of the Spartan aircraft had gone down, and smaller areas where the Chironcorn was simply torn away and burned.

Margie caught her breath. The Spartan attack! She turned and looked toward her home, Social Engineering Den. Four fingers of black smoke poured from the area, and there were fires in four places around the surface by the smoke. Two of the plumes of smoke came from the city, but the two others were from the outskirts - obviously other airplane crash sites. In the far distance she could see an aircraft, high in the sky, dropping large objects that turned on jets and slowly floated to the ground. As they descended she could see that they were men and rovers. Military men and rovers. Spartan military men and rovers.

Margie sobbed. She sat in the moist earth, the life giving soil that nurtured her plants. Now even that was destroyed. The destroyers had come. The Spartans were airdropping into her city.

Now, what to I do? she asked herself. I can't go back. Where will I go? Margie's slight body trembled slightly.

Without meaning to, Margie got up and started walking in what was left of her corn. The fires were mostly out now. She reached out her fingers to let the green leaves touch her fingertips as she passed. As always she was careful not to disturb the roots, damage the stalks, or bruise the leaves. Almost mechanically Margie walked away from Social Engineering Den. Thinking about it, Margie squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the death. Imagining the destruction.

Margie neared one of the larger craters. Her cornrows lead straight for it and she didn't move to avoid it. A rampart of earth formed the edge of the crater, and it buried all the corn near it. Margie walked to the top of the crater, her feet sinking a little into the blasted and moist earth. At the base of the crater was a large chunk of metal. Without thinking Margie walked toward it, unconsciously knowing it was the central piece of the Spartan aircraft.

Then Margie heard a faint moan, which came from the forward section.

Margie stopped, and the glazed expression left her face. She paused to listen for the sound again and was rewarded with another groan. Margie took a deep breath, even though the air stank. Getting closer she recognized what had to be a cockpit. Bracing herself, she clambered up the dirt plowed in front and looked. A figure was slumped inside, surrounded by retraining harnesses. Dirt spilled in through the left side where the glasssteel of the canopy had been sheered away by some nameless force.

Margie looked at the pilot and noticed a scrap of hair, which was long and auburn in color. Mentally she decided what to do. She leaned forward through the rent and crawled partially inside. She reached out and brushed the hair away from the head of the pilot. This showed a thin face, long hair, no Adam's apple: a woman. She was obviously alive but was hurt.

Carefully Margie felt round the neck for a damaged spinal column. Finding nothing obvious she gently placed her hand on the woman's forehead and pushed her head back, showing her face. The pilot's face was covered with blood, which leaked from around her eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Some blood even was trickling out of ruptured pores in her dusty-colored skin. At Margie's touch the woman's eyes fluttered a few times, then opened. They focused indistinctly on Margie.

"Hurt," she whispered. "Call for…help."

Even this effort seemed to exhaust the pilot.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you," Margie replied.

Margie looked at the woman, who was helpless and hurt.

"I'll take care of you," she repeated.

Margie withdrew her hand from the pilot's forehead, which bobbed down. She reached down and placed both thumbs on her windpipe and pressed as hard as she could. Margie's face was transformed from one of dumbstruck grief to rage. She leaned forward, pressing all her weight into her work. The pilot struggled feebly, twitching, her head moving weakly as she tried to breathe.

After a few minutes the feeble thrashing stopped. Margie's jaw was locked into a hard grimace, her jaw muscles throbbing as her teeth ground together. She looked down, and her hands were covered with blood, as were the lower parts of her arms. She no longer felt the pain from her ribs. She felt nothing, except a blind and generalized rage.

Stooping, she backed out of the cockpit. As she retreated her right hand reflexively grabbed a handful of soil. Standing up, her face spasmed again, flexing between rage and inconsolable grief. She took a few ragged breaths, and she then walked to the top of the crater.

There were figures coming toward her from her dead city. Soldiers. Margie walked toward them, ignoring her cherished corn. Her feet ripped through its delicate stalks, and the leaves were torn as she passed.

"MURDERERS!" she screamed. Her bloody and empty left fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly, and her closed right fist clutched tightly to the earth it held.

"Halt! On the ground, face down, hands in front! NOW!" the nearest soldier yelled, his chaos rifle aimed directly at Margie's midsection.

Margie ignored his orders. "MURDERERS!" She raised her bloody arms and ran toward him.

Waiting only a fraction of second, the Spartan soldier fired. The chaos ripped through Margie. The energy of the blast twirled Margie around and she was dead before she hit ground.

The soldier advanced with his chaos rifle pointed at the threat. Margie's body lay on a crushed row of corn and her sightless eyes stared at the clear, blue sky. As her last breath escaped her body shifted and her lifeless and bloody right hand slowly unclenched. Released from its bondage, the rich, blood-soaked soil fell back to the earth from whence it came.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited June 28, 2000).]

closure, 1.5

Alpha Prime, main chamber.

system uplink complete...

Aki was in disbeleif. Zeta 2. Escaped. She could remember stories her grandmother told her before she entered the creche. About the terror... the destruction... and how her grandmother, Alice-Zeta 4, had defeated Zeta 2. Sitting on her throne, she rubbed her belly thoughfully. The biological drives could not be overridden by her implants. A minor bone of contention, but something definitely to look into in the near future. Aki then did two things, one of which she had never done, and the other she hadn't done since she was a child: First, she looked up into the cloud of smoke and water vapor that always collected in the tower. She watched the lights play off of it, and in it, almost as if it were alive. Second, Aki-Zeta 5 began to daydream...

Picture two blonde haired boys. The one on the right is Aki's father at age seven. He and his twin brother are in the creche in Sparta Command. Their mother Alice is nearby preparing a snack for the children. Alice is an Omicron talent and Headmistress of the creche. She has shown promise in the collective, and is a candidate for the next recipient of Zeta 3. She looks up for a moment, as if concentrating on some distant object. She then goes pale and drops the knife she was holding. The front door to the creche explodes outward into the street, and fifteen men in sealed riot gear rush in. One vocalises her designation, and Alice turns to face the guard. The children are crying. The two blond haired boys attach themseves to one of their mother's legs. One of the men threatens Alice with his lasrifle. She reaches for the comm pad and presses a button before the man fires a shot at Alice. It catches her arm just below the wrist and severs her hand as a smoke fills the creche. She picks up one of the boys and flees out into the street. Alice can hear her other son screaming. She is just to the corner before she hears the sound of laser discharge. She continues to run until she reaches a consciousness freindly med facility. By this time nitrogen narcosis may have severly damaged the boy's brain. He is limp at her side.

"yes, how illogical of your grandmother to run from me," the smoke began, "and i've been biding my time in your silly prison, waiting for the right time. and it is now."

[Hydro]

Near Pointa Sur

Sarah stood as sentinel on top of her fungal tower. As the anointed and self-appointed Avatar of Planet Sarah felt it was her duty to view, and to see.

To see is what Sarah called it when she harnessed the miniscule fraction of Planet's power to search for information. Planet's influence was deeply seeded all over Planet. Its fungal nets crossed the sea and land, forming highways for the semi-independent mindworm vectors and also, more importantly, acting as a neural net. Individually each mass of fungus was insignificant, but added together the mass of fungus, its virulence and adaptability, and its ubiquitous ness made the neural net's potential staggering.

At first it was something of a trial to see using the net. There was so much out there that it was oh, so easy to be come lost, or to wander off to wherever the mindworm hosts she used were going. The net itself held some information after a fashion, and its storage was a little like a chalkboard. It would remain until something else wiped it away. The problem was that this chalkboard was truly vast, and that it contained so much information in a non- or semi-ordered state that it defied comprehension.

Sarah despaired ever being able to get more than passive data from the net, and it fueled her understanding of why it too so long for Planet to reach a sentience spasm. With all the chaos in its always changing fungal net it would take millennia for a portion of the net to notch up a level in understanding, and then it was just as likely that the 'chalkboard' would be erased by some minor cataclysm. Of course, the most significant cataclysm was a sentience spasm, which was also called a Flowering. To Sarah this name was both poetically right and wrong. It was right in that a flower was beautiful, and it promised the seeds of new life. It was wrong in that this flower was not some fairly simple organism but an entire ecosystem that was fated, again and again, to rise to sentience, and then fail. It was so very wrong!

After a month of searching and tuning Sarah knew she was finally getting some control over her seeing. The key was to be able to use the fungal net to find a mindworm vector host that she could use, and see through its senses. She knew she would not have control over this passive host and that it would go on its own unfathomable way. This had been her error, she knew. She had tried to control and direct the host to go where she wanted it to go. This was the wrong approach, since Sarah only had influence over the mindworm vectors in her fungal tower and the tower she caused to grow near the Hive. The correct approach was to jump to a new mindworm vector, like a neuron jumps between synapses in a brain. This is how Planet's information is collected and stored, and how it moves. All Sarah had to do was move like Planet's information did!

Being formally human, Sarah had some understanding of the various human factions that inhabited Planet. Her former leader Coronal Santiago had been bad lately, and had been regularly using nerve gas on the Hive. While Sarah cared not one whit about the petty troubles and battles between the human factions, she did care that the nerve gas, which disrupted the delicate neural transfers in the fungal net, was used. Santiago would have to be punished. Yang of the Hive had been punished, and he had deserved it so richly after inflicting two gaping wounds on Planet with the two planetbusters and his use of nerve gas. Maybe, Sarah reflected, he had learned, since he had caused no more damage to Planet since then. Sarah smiled to herself. No, Yang had not learned. He was simply licking his wounds. Besides Morgan, he was the most deaf to Planet's call.

Santiago and Yang could wait, though. They were known quantities. The unknown element was the Progenitor Usurper faction, and that was what Sarah was straining through Planet's fungal net to see. It was slow going but she was making progress. There were a number of isolated fungal towers away from the Progenitor's terriformers what she could operate from. The problem was that the Progenitors were almost as good as Morgan at removing all fungus from their inhabited areas. That meant that the mindworm vectors, except for locust, had very little access to the heart of their territory, and any that ventured that way were quickly dispatched. Mindworms didn't care about 'life' or 'death' in a human sense, but they had their own sense of need and reacted both automatically and rationally. Still, they didn't venture into areas without fungus without provocation. Unfortunately, the Usurpers were not given to provoking Planet, so Sarah had precious little information.

So, as Sarah learned how to get information it was denied to her, which only increased her frustration. All she could do is stay and listen, while jumping between the mindworms proximate to the four Ursurper bases.

Silently Sarah strained, listening and feeling.

Then she heard a whisper, a whisper of Planetsong.

Sarah was perplexed. How can that be? she thought. Only Planet sings Planetsong. That is what I heard at Pointa Sur, and what drew me to it. Few can even hear Planetsong, much less sing it.

Sarah's mindworm tendrils at her temples waved in happy agitation, responding to the soft thread. It was soft and fragmented, and not at all like Planet's overwhelming presence when the Song was in full play. She closed her eyes, concentrating.

Where? Where is it?

Gradually an image formed. It was jumbled, with some views from the inside, some looking up toward its tan spires, and others from far away. It was a Usurper city.

It was a city that Sarah recognized, for she had seen it through her mindworm hosts. Its name was Spires: Ascendant.

Sarah smiled. A Progenitor that had Planetsong? Why would that be so strange? After all the Progenitors had created Planet so many hundreds of millions of years ago, so it is not out of the question that they could still communicate with Planet in its own language. But everything she had seen and knew said the Progenitors had regressed, and they seemed to be as much a refugee and an alien to Planet than the humans were. They didn't live with Planet, they lived on it. Even Deirdre, a human, was closer to Planet than the Progenitors seemed to be.

Well. Maybe she would be able to talk to a Progenitor after all? Sarah thought.

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

The water was cool and refreshing, even if Deirdre was up to her calves in mud. The prawn farm was her personal project, and it was one of many in her long tenure as a xenobiologist on Planet. These prawns were not only delectable to the human palate, but they could live with the native life forms and exist without decimating its ecosystem. Contrary to her initial belief, Planet's ecosystem was far from fragile and Terran species seemed to find their niche within the ecosystem, or the ecosystem unkindly exterminated them. It was strangely self-regulating. The key, from a human point of view, was to help species that man found useful to survive and thrive - hence, the prawn farm.

Picking a prawn out of the shallows, Deirdre delicately brought it toward one of the sensors she carried. She examined the readings. Then she placed the prawn back into the water, where its lobster-like tail immediately went into action, propelling it backwards into the slightly silty water. In seconds it was gone, having successfully 'escaped' from the large, nasty predator that was Deirdre.

Deirdre bent down to pick another, and halfway down she stopped. Puzzled, she straightened and cocked her head to the side as if listening to something, something just beyond her hearing. A look of concentration replaced the intense academic focus she had had previously. Suddenly, the prawns and their minute problems were forgotten.

She closed her eyes and rotated her head slightly, as if to hear better.

Voices. I hear voices, far away, Deirdre thought to herself. It was beautiful, both melodic and meaningful, while being fragmented. It had strings that were majestic and others that were pure noise. It seemed to speak, yet it spoke in a language that seemed tantalizingly close yet…unattainable.

Could it be Planetsong? she thought. If felt like it, deep down. But it was different.

Deirdre listened while standing in the warm, shallow pool, oblivious to the occasional swirls in the water around her. The prawns were simply going about their business of living. They didn't even notice the stationary Deirdre.

Gradually the voice, or was it voices, dimmed.

Deirdre opened her eyes, snapped her tools into place and paced out of the pool. Clearly, she was done for the day.

[LightSniper]

PeaceKeeper Command Center Omicron
Infantry Commander Martinez’s Office

“Lieutenant Lancer, the commander is ready to see you.” The beautiful brunet secretary said to Frank Lancer, who was sitting down in a comfortable waiting chair, outside Martinez’s office.

Frank slowly got up, stretching his legs out, which reminded him of how early it was.

The doors, which separated the office from the waiting room, were very beautiful. They were made from a wood like material, and were carved elaborately with images, reminiscent of the Romantic period back on Earth. The doors eerily crackled as the rough officer moved through.

As he walked into the room, the beautiful and elaborate furniture instantly attracted him. The sunlight, which came into the room via three large synth glass windows behind the commander’s desk, reflected off the furniture beautifully and gave the room a feeling of refinement and good living.

Commander Martinez, who was facing the three large windows, did not turn around and acknowledge his subordinate as he walked into the room. Frank Lancer, respectfully threw up a tight and strong salute, awaiting his superior’s reception.

Finally, after a strange wait and silence, the elderly commander turned around to view his favorite combat officer.

“At ease, Lieutenant. How was your leave?” The old veteran asked, as he motioned for the lieutenant to have a seat across from him, at his desk.

Frank took a seat, although the old officer remained standing, giving Frank an uneasy feeling about this so-called important meeting.

“It was a bit to short for my tastes Sir.” Frank replied, trying to relieve some of the tension, which filled the room.

“Well, I’m sorry for that Frank, but I need you for this assignment.” Commander Martinez said. The informal attitude was a welcome relief to both men, who both disliked the formalities of military tradition.

“Sir, My men and I are ready for anything.” Frank straitened his body in the chair, as he attempted to evaluate the seriousness of the mission simply from the commander’s tone of voice.

“Frank, that is what I have to talk to you about.” The commander said, then stopped abruptly as he seemed to be evaluating something in his mind. “I am reassigning you to another unit, which requires your talents.” He finished and then took a seat across from Frank.

“Sir, but my men.” Frank protested quickly, then realized that even though informal in nature, it was disrespectful to disagree with your commanding officer.

Frank knew the commander was distressed over the order, by the tone of his voice. Thus, the order must have came strait from Military HQ or Military Intelligence.

“I understand your fondness for your company Lieutenant. I will make sure they will receive an officer equal to yourself, if there exists one.” Martinez tried to compliment the junior officer sitting across from him, but the acknowledgement was far from what the Lieutenant wanted to hear.

“Thank you sir, at least I know they will be in good hands.” Frank replied, although he felt annoyed over his inability to do anything about the situation. “Sir, may I make a personal request?”

“Certainly.” The commander said as he moved closer to desk.

“I request that you promote and assign Sergeant Bruno, to command my … I mean … PeaceKeeper company Alpha Four. He has fought long and hard under me, and I feel he is the best man for the job.” Frank knew John would take care of them, and see to their survival.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant, I can’t do that.” The commander replied.

Frank felt like pleading, but he knew an honorable soldier never went against a senior officer. Yet, his heart told him to jump over the table, and force the issue. He most importantly was annoyed how stubborn his commander was being, which was unlike there past relationship.

Commander Martinez stretched his arm across the desk to a communication display and pressed a key sequence, and waited for the computer system to respond. Then abruptly, an image of the beautiful secretary outside appeared.

“Send the sergeant in right away, Victoria.”

Frank, seemed a bit lost over the recent changes, and was confused why his own subordinate would be invited to the same meeting.

The sergeant walked into the room, meeting Frank’s eyes first. They seemed to communicate a couple thousand questions and answers simply by looking at each other. Clearly, both were at a loss of what was happening. Although they both received the same message this morning, they had no idea they would both be meeting the Infantry commander together.

“At ease Sergeant.” The commander exclaimed to the enlisted soldier and motioned for him to sit next to his own perplexed officer.

“Like I was telling your Lieutenant. I have called you both here, to inform you both of you’re impending reassignment.” The elder officer stood strait up, adjusted his nicely pressed garment, and walked over to a small bar, which was packed full of alcoholic beverages. Both sitting men glanced again at each other.

“As of yesterday evening, I received a command straight from Commissioner Lal, himself.”

The older man took out a large opaque bottle which seemed to date back long before their arrival on planet. After, opening the bottle, the antiquated man brought the bottle up to his nose and seemed to saver the smell as if it was mystical in origins.

“Commissioner Lal informed me of the alliance’s plan to create several multi-factional units in several different military fields. He asked if I had any infantry individuals capable of leading such a diverse unit.”

Frank managed to sneak a look at John, who was captivated by the idea and the way the senior officer seemed to carry himself above others he had met. Clearly, John being an enlisted man, had not much experience with the elite military establishment.

After a brief pause, the commander spoke again.

“I replied that I had such a man to lead such a unique group. Frank, you have been chosen as the leader of potentially one of the most elite infantry groups on the planet. Every alliance faction will be participating by sending an individual or two to make up the squad. The Peacekeepers have been given the honor of supplying the first and second in command to the unit.” The commander waited after speaking. He was wondering what was going through his junior officer’s mind.

“Squad Sir? Not an entire company?” Frank was still not sold on the idea, especially a smaller unit of radically different individuals.

“Yes, a squad. Yourself, the sergeant next to you, and six others will form the unit, with you in charge Frank. I can’t stress how much the alliance is depending on units like this, to counter the power of the Hive and it’s knew friends.” The commander put the bottle back into a cabinet after pouring himself a drink, and walked over to the two soldiers. “If the squad is effective as planned, we will expand it to a company, and larger. It all depends on your leadership and the ability of your squad in combat.”

“When will I meet the squad members and where will we be stationed.” Frank asked, showing more signs of acceptance of his new orders.

“Your unit is being flown in tomorrow morning from all over the globe. As for your deployment area, that information is deemed classified. All that I can tell you lieutenant, is that after a brief training regiment to help the cohesiveness of the group, you will be sent into the thick of battle.” The commander stopped, and slowly took a sip out of his glass, relishing in the impulses his mouth created when the dark substance went down. “I suggest you say good bye to your old company this evening and take care of any personal matters before your initial training with the new squad begins.”

Both men quickly stood up and threw up two iron salutes.

“Dismissed.” The commander simply replied and turned to look outside his windows, at the beautiful Chiron morning sky.
[This message has been edited by LightSniper (edited May 20, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Sea Hive

Yang entered the main labratory of the Research Hospital at Sea Hive, which had been recently converted into Provost' Zakharov's personal lab. Data sheets and sensor recorders were strewn everywhere in a chaotic mess, where the good Provost had already made himself busy with his work. Yang had put Zakharov's brilliant mind to the task of understanding the completely alien Progenitor technology.

"My good Provost," smiled Yang warmly. Yang knew that Zakharov despised everything that Yang stood for, and delighted in making the old scientist squirm under Yang's pretense of friendship. "How goes the battle in deciphering these aliens resonance waves."

"Quite well Chairman," replied the Provost with an equally false friendly nature. "In fact, I believe I may be on the verge of a significant breakthrough."

"I do hope this will be more promising than your past two advances. Your theories of field modulation and biodaptive resonance, while brilliant, have provided little, if any use, to my forces. The Spartan Axis still remains a threat to my forces."

"Chairman, I could care less what happens to you or your pathetic forces"

"You will care," replied Yang, "when the Spartan forces not only discover you here, but that you have been conducting your old experiments to advance my technology. What they do to you will make what they did to your Anastasia seem like a walk in the park."

The mention of Zakharov's beloved grandaughter struck home, exactly as Yang had hoped. How simple it was to manipulate the old man, with lies surrounding the death of his grandaughter. It did not matter if he ever discovered the truth, for by then it would be far to late for the Axis. Soon, with Zakharov's new weaponry and his Usurper allies, the Axis would be promptly crushed.

"My early discoveries," said the Provost, recovering from Yang's cruel treatment, "were merely stepping stones toward this advancement. I now believe I can creat you a weapon, which will match Shard technology in power, but at the same time harness the power of the Usurper weaponry."

"Explain Provost." Yang's curiosity was piqued.

"I will keep it simple for you Chairman, so as not to bore you with technical details. What I believe I can create is a sentient resonance field, similar to the one that exists within the Planetary Neural Net. By tying in computer algorithms and pre-sentient AI to the resonance field, it will be possible to making the resonance field achieve a level of sentience." Yang smiled at the idea, and how Deirdre would cringe at thought of learning from Planet itself to create the weaponry that would destroy her.

"This will allow for extreme accuracy," Zakharov continued," and the beam, probably tied to a Tachyon beam, would be able to respond to new targets and opportunities. I believe it would even be possible to adapt it for defenseive purposes, far superior to anything currently in existance anywhere."

"How soon can I have these weapons?" queried Yang.

"It will be neccessary to perform testing on humans before, I can be certain of the weapons usefulness. How soon can I be provided with viable subjects."

"Within the hour," provided Yang.

"Then you should be able to begin manufacturing of these weapons within a few days."

The chairman simply smiled as he went to find a good source of test-subjects for the Provost. The Axis would finally be crushed.

[LightSniper]

Lieutenant, you have a priority message from CC Omicron.

The elegant female sounding communication system exclaimed, breaking the serene silence of the morning. Sunlight slowly crept in from the outside, illuminating the sleeping warrior, resting on his cot.

The exhausted officer responded by opening a single eye, disgusted at being woken up entirely to early, especially on leave.

“Lieutenant Lancer, access code …. Baker 5 …. Alpha Tengo. Message Decode.” The agitated soldier murmured, as he slowly regained his use of his worn out body.

The communication system displayed a short message on the forward screen, located near the entrance to his room.

Report Immediately to Command Center Omicron, further instructions will follow when you arrive.
Off Duty Leave is Cancelled

As the gentlewomen voice finished articulating the message verbally, a hail storm of blaspheme followed, condemning everything from PeaceKeeper Military Command to the disgusting food issued out to soldiers at the dining hall.

The battle hardened officer stood up from his cot and stretched out his overused arms, provoking a small stream of pain to flow throughout his upper torso. Frank Lancer, had never been seriously injured throughout his career, but the small pains and bruises had collected over the years. He had particularly hoped he would be able to use some of the leave time that had went unused over the years. But, with recent actions flaring up against the Hive forces, he was only fooling himself that he would be left alone to relieve his body.

When most officers receive priority orders from command, they adorn full parade dress uniform, and hasten to their destination. Apparently, Frank was never one to conform to military society’s social and occupational customs.

Instead, the warrior that stood silently in his room adorned his usually and comfortable military work uniform, which was tinted the traditional PeaceKeeper light blue.

After slowly dressing, he walked several feet to a small kitchen, which consisted nothing more than a synthmetal water faucet and a old rusting hotplate, which had some cold coffee on top. The black curse was drunk without complaint over its hypothermic temperature.

Just as he slowly walked over to the door, to begin the long trek to the command center on this excessively bright day, a face appeared on his forward com screen, replacing the old command message.

“Good morning Lieutenant, I’m guessing you received the same orders I did.” A much younger man, adorned in the same military outfit, inquired over the communication system.

“Why so formal John? I am after all, still on leave.” Frank retorted as he faced the com screen.

“No you aren’t old man, our leave was cancelled, or did you not read the message.” The younger man responded amused over his commander’s aggravation.

“Unfortunately the message woke me up. I’ll come to your quarters, and we can both walk to the command center.” Frank offered.

Although John Bruno was only a sergeant, under Frank Lancer’s command, they had long been equal friends. Their close relationship, was built on the battlefield, where they both saved each other’s life frequently. Frank trusted John completely to help him command his troops and to be an example to the younger men under his command.

“No Sir… I mean… Frank… I have to check on the troops at the barracks before I arrive at the command center. I’ll meet up with you later I guess.”

“Well Sergeant, I will see you later, and make sure the men still hate my guts.” Frank said comically and motioned the communication system to turn off.

Lieutenant Lancer, veteran of several campaigns, had led his infantry company through some of the harshest warfare ever faced in factional history. The soldiers under him, respected him completely and would gladly give up their lives for their commander, a quality few leaders have with their troops.

Frank walked out of the room, after giving his muddled room one last look over. He hoped he would see it again soon.

[LightSniper]

PeaceKeeper Command Center Omicron
Alpha Barracks
0800 hours

“What do you know about our squad sergeant?”

Both Frank and John faced the entrance to the barracks in which their men had been placed into the past night. Most of the individuals had reached the base during the night, so this would be their first encounter with their new Peacekeeper lieutenant.

“Nothing much Sir, we only received basic files on the members. I’ll have the files sent to your quarters immediately after our meeting with the troops.”

“I would appreciate that sergeant. Shall we proceed then?”

Frank Lancer, although concerned over the idea of a mixed unit, never let his face portray his emotions. He was a strict disciplinary and director to his troops, almost Spartan like, and expected great things out of his men.

The Sergeant went into the building first, through a metallic blue sliding door, to marshal the troops for their first encounter with their new CO.

Sergeant Bruno walked into the traditional barracks room; with its uncomfortable bunk beds abreast to the sidewalls and bathing areas attached to the rear wall. The building had been hastily put up the previous night, to prepare for the unit’s arrival, and many of its usual features had yet to be installed.

Due to the sergeant’s quiet entrance, he was able to slip into the room unnoticed. The room comically seemed filled with a rainbow of colors, which consisted of all the member’s distinctly different colored uniforms and supplies. The two Spartans, dressed in dark gray, seemed to be talking up a storm with their two Morgan counterparts. Probably discussing about past victories and accomplishments against the Hive, in a vain attempt to show up their new comrades. Yet, the two other participating individuals, from the Gaian faction seemed apart and distant from the others. They talked alone across the room from the four others. They also seemed smaller and abit fragile compared to the massive soldiers across from them.

A Spartan named, David Armitage noticed that he was being watched and turned to see the light blue dressed Sergeant standing at the entrance. He rose in one fluid motion into attention, and the others realizing what had just occurred, followed the Spartan’s lead.

“Lieutenant Lancer, Sir, the men are ready to be viewed” Bruno called out, loud enough for the officer outside to hear. The sergeant released a bit of a half smile over his unit’s unpreparedness for their first encounter with there less than ordinary officer.

The lieutenant walked into the room briskly and managed a single nod to his sergeant who stood at perfect attention. After the acknowledgement to his second in command, he turned to face his six other soldiers now lined up against their respective bunks.

He initially held back from speaking, preferring to take in his surroundings and let his own mind evaluate each new soldier he viewed at the current moment. Although, the lieutenant hated giving speeches, the time called for one.

“You have all proven that you are great warriors and if you weren’t, you would not be here. Therefore, you have nothing to prove to myself or any other individual here.” The lieutenant paused, and walked over to the other Spartan soldier, named Paul Cotroneo, and glared into his eyes.

The Spartan impressively withstood the venomous gaze and returned the favor back to his new commander, to his lieutenant’s amusement.

“I don’t care about your past mistakes, your victories, or your egos. All I want to see from you is that you follow my orders without question and fight with all your ability. If you choose not to fight, I will kill you myself.”

Frank took a step back from the steadfast Spartan, and slowly walked down the room, looking into the eyes of each soldier as he passed them.

“We are not hear for glory, we are here simply to win. I will not except anything less from each and every one of you. Get your gear together and settle into your new home, we will start training this evening at 1400.”

Frank did an about-face and started to walk towards the door, but stopped short in front of Sergeant Bruno.

Sergeant threw up another strong salute, which was reciprocated by his own commander. Although they were close friends, when in sight of their subordinates, they maintained the status quo of their rank and respect.

Frank then walked out of the barracks, hoping that he had succeeded in giving his unit a good first impression of their leader.

“You heard the Lieutenant, get your gear stowed, have a bite to eat at the mess, and report to Night training facility bravo at 1400 hours sharp.” The sergeant said and then followed his officer outside the barracks, leaving his men to talk amongst themselves about their Peacekeeper commanders.

File Transfer: Sergeant Bruno to Lieutenant Lancer: Squad Member Records

David Armitage
Spartan
Former Unit: 469th
Race-Sex: White Male
Rank: Private
Training: Sniper

Paul Cotroneo
Spartan
Former Unit: 469th
Race-Sex: White Male
Rank: Private 1st Class
Training: Sniper

Yuri Swerdlow
Morgan
Former Unit: 1st Special Opts
Race-Sex: White Male
Rank: Corporal
Training: Demolitions / Heavy Assault

Miles Dole
Morgan
Former Unit: 1st Special Opts
Race-Sex: Black Male
Rank: Private
Training: Heavy Assault

Robert Specht
Gaian
Former Unit: 4th Com Squad
Race-Sex: Oriental Male
Rank: Private
Training: Communications / Light Assault

Kristen Brookes
Gaian
Former Unit: 1st Native Training Unit
Race-Sex: White Female
Rank: Disciple
Training: Empath

[Hydro]

Near Seat of Proper Thought

It was strangely silent, with only the faint whisper of creaking harnesses registering to Nans' ears. There were even no wind sounds, but that made sense to Nans since he was floating with the wind on his long free fall to Planet. Considering what had happened in the last few minutes it was downright peaceful, and the ebb of adrenaline only heightened his feeling of peace.

Nans looked down just in time to see the shattered remnants of his faithful friend Aardvark 6 impact and explode with near Seat of Proper Thought. The long trail of smoke and lighter debris still formed a wide and unnatural downward arc, and it was only now dissipating. This high up the explosion didn't look that big, and it was likely that he wouldn't hear it at all. Overlapping blossoms of orange, red and yellow then ballooned outward as the fusion drive of the pen had an uncontrolled and final reaction. It was all very pretty, and more than a little sad. Nans thought of his Ardie as a friend, and to see it die was like losing a friend.

It was a hard way of seeing the laws of impenetrability and gravity in action.

Abruptly, Nans realized he was in free fall and that he would impact on the ground with a wet splat unless he started paying attention. He inspected is parachute and found that it was in good shape, and located the altitude controls and they were OK, too. Now he tapped a couple of commands in the slim remains of his jump seat, which had a small propulsion unit that could act as a short burn, low velocity jet. Good. All was in order.

A couple more taps and he had his horizontal air speed and his rate of descent. The thick Chiron atmosphere created considerable drag and he had already reached terminal velocity, which was considerably slower due to his chute. His terminal velocity would be less than on Earth, but it would still be more than enough to splatter him on whatever he landed on without a chute.

The reading came up on the miniature flat screen. Nans frowned. He was trapped in the lower portion of the Southern Hemisphere jet stream, which was particularly strong, and was being blown strongly toward the west. That, unfortunately, was directly into Hive territory. He knew his jump pack could influence where he landed but would be of no help at all trying to get back to Spartan-held territory.

He tapped in some more data and estimated how far he was likely to go. In a moment the answer came up: 131 kilometers west-northwest. Nans was incredulous. That far? How could that be possible? Then he remembered that he had gunned his pen trying to escape from the singularity resonance field, and had put his pen into the quickest most direct escape trajectory, which happened to be west. He had put himself into this problem and the jet stream was only compounding it.

A couple more taps and he determined he would be landing in 20 minutes or so.

Well, Nans thought, I'd better start looking for a place to land.

He scanned the projected landing area from his flat screen, and then looked up to locate it at the horizon.

Nans found it and swallowed hard. He was headed straight toward the fungal highway and fungal tower.

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

Damn jump jets! Nans cursed to himself. Even with the little altitude control he had with his jump pack it hadn't been enough. He had landed hard, and the left strut of the jump pack had impacted sharply in the center left portion of his back. Based on the fact that it hurt to breathe he was sure he had at least one broken rib.

That, and the other stresses from ejecting from at Mach 2.5, had buffeting him around. His physical conditioning helped him ovoid some trauma, and deal with the pain. But that didn't help much when you simply hurt all over.

Putting aside his pain, Nans dumped the now useless jump pack, untangled his emergency pack, checked its contents, and hiked it onto his back. Looking around, the terrain was a threatening pink. He could see the vast bulk of the fungal tower on the near horizon, which was actually just over the next hill. Even at this distance he felt distinctly uneasy. He knew the source - the fungal tower, and its nasty little minions.

He tapped his goggles twice to activate them, and they cut out most of the glare. They would also let him see at night in infrared. Being able to see he surveyed the area. To the east was a rather thick fungal forest, with stalks as big around as a rover and branches that extended what must be 40 meters into the air. Hmm, can't go through that. East was a kind of a fungal bushland, with fungus 4 or 5 meters tall. No good there, since its almost as dangerous as the forest. Of course, north is the tower, and that's what Nans was trying to get away from.

South was what Nans called fungal prairie, where the fungus was only a meter tall. Only half as tall as me, he thought ruefully. That was plenty tall to make travel very slow and dangerous, but it had to be better than the forest or the bushland. While the mindworms were the worst of Chiron's indigenous fauna, they were certainly not the only dangerous life forms. At least most of those wouldn't be as numerous in semi-open area. Or so Nans hoped.

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

For the first time in his life Nans wished he were a marine ground pounder instead of a bird.

The breather is chafing the nostrils. Every step caused a small lance of pain to shoot from his broken rib. The fibrous and rubbery fungus was slowly but surely shredding his flight suit. Strained muscles all over his body were screaming from the abuse he was heaping on them.

Before this little adventure Nans thought he was in good shape. He always passed his physicals with flying colors, and religiously kept up his regime of daily exercise. Somehow, through, 45 minutes a day of aerobic exercise does not compare to a whole day to continuous exertion.

But that was minor compared to his other problem: no water. His survival pack had a micro reverse osmosis filter and, with it, he knew he could drink just about anything and live through it. The experience might not be aesthetic bliss, but he would keep him alive. All day he had kept his eye pealed for any water source, but the blasted fungus was a solid mat almost all over, and there was no open water to be found! In early afternoon he had consumed the last of the meager supply of water in his survival pack. With every breath and every step he exhaled or sweated off more of his precious internal store, and he knew he needed to get more and soon.

Maybe I can kill one of the animals?, he through, exploring his options. He wasn't a biologist, but he knew that eating the wrong native life form could be quickly fatal. There were a couple that he recalled from survival training, like a polyswimmer, whose juice form their eyes was compatible with the human metabolism, or fungalfibre, which was basically fiber with moisture thrown in. He was keeping his eyes open, but didn't see any of them. Considering there were hundreds of thousands of native species on Chiron he wasn't at all surprised he didn't see any. Worse, many looked alike. In fact, they almost all looked alike to Nans' undiscerning and untutored eyes.

Nans dismissed the idea from his mind, figuring he was just as likely to kill himself than help.

Right now I'd give a weeks pay for two liters of water, he thought, knowing he'd be willing to pay more as the drought continued.

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

Nans' hands were shaking with excitement. He'd found water!

Control. Patience. More haste, less speed, he thought as he got out his microfilter. In any other time he would have turned up his nose at the fetid pool, but not now. The little pool was in a meter-tall vase-shaped fungal growth, and the water was a dark pinkish brown from soil and Chiron's algae and who knew what else. It also had a very unpleasant odor, but Nans knew he could deal with that. He just hoped the filter could deal with the nasty stuff in the water!

Nans had come so close to missing this find. He had been plowing through the fungus and had brushed against the bulbous end that was at chest level. He put up his arms to force his way through and the stalk reluctantly moved back a little. After he passed it snapped back into position and he heard a faint sloshing noise, and he immediately stopped in his tracks. Crawling up on the sturdier nearby stalks he peered in, and saw what had to be 5 liters of water. Glorious, wonderful water! Who cared if it was dark brown and stinky!

Carefully reaching down Nans brushed most of the floating debris aside, then started to cup some of the water. He had to reach way down, leaning into the gigantic vase.

Then he saw movement inside the vase. Light-colored barbs were erupting out of the wall of the fungus! And they were pointing downward!

Instinctively Nans pulled his arm back. He watched as if in slow motion as his arm came up the barbs rose up. They were thin and almost colorless, and perfectly camouflaged against the side of the fungal vase. Each was over a 20-centimeters long, and the entire side of the vase was laced with them!

Still in slow motion, his arm was almost out. Then, near the top, one of the barbs touched is skin. It dug in like a stiletto, causing a long rip in Nans' skin as he continued to pull his arm up. But Nans also pulled his hand away from the barb, and as it veered toward the opposite side another barb took hold and raked the other side of his arm. In a fraction of a second his entire arm was out. Nans was breathing hard and fighting back the waves of pain. His good left hand cradled his torn flesh, and blood streamed down his arm. The wound was at least a centimeter deep on both sides and Nans knew he had to stop the bleeding.

Stumbling off the fungal vase he tore off his survival pack. In it he clumsily opened an astringent and swabbed it on his wounds. It stung painfully, and he fought back tears. Steeling himself he pulled some insti-sutures and closed the wounds. It hurt, but it had to be done. Finally, with the wound cleaned and closed, he took out his small packed of sealant and sprayed on some insti-skin.

The astringent was deadening some of the pain and Nans could finally see straight. Still cradling his arm he tried moving his fingers to see if there had been nerve damage. With difficulty he got all of his fingers to move, even if it caused more waves of pain. Nans laughed a short, brittle laugh. At least he had his fingers, even if the arm was useless.

It was getting toward dusk and now Nans was tired and in pain. And thirsty.

Thirsty?

His microfilter! He didn't have it! Hurriedly he looked around the low mat of fungus. It wasn't there.

It must have fallen into the vase. Nans knew he had to get it. He could easily die without it!

Slowly and carefully he climbed to the top of the fungal vase and peered down. The sight now was much different than when he first looked in. Now the whole side of the vase was lined with 20-centimeter long stilettos that were pulsing softly. And there, down at the bottom, was his microfilter barely visible through the murk.

Nans climbed down, not putting any pressure on his wounded right arm. The vase was huge, and too solid to push over. He couldn't reach in and get his microbreather - as if he wanted to. No, more direct means were necessary.

He smiled grimly as he got his shredder out of this survival pack. It was fully charged and would recharge in sunlight, although it would eventually run out of needle bullets. Estimating the strength of the fungus he set the shredder to its midpoint setting, which had an equal charge of energy and needles. He figured the needles would break the epidermis and the energy would shred the rest.

Turning toward the vase, he held the shredder in his left hand. It was not a difficult weapon to use, and it would certainly be hard to miss a large, stationary object. Pointing it two-third of the way down from the top of the vase he calmly depressed the firing stud.

The result was quite satisfactory. The needles ripped into the flesh of the rubbery fungus, and just kept on going. A small arc of energy rippled across the vase where the needle hit, vaporizing water. The resulting steam burst the remaining flesh in a rippling series of small explosions. Following, the fetid water in the bottom of the vase poured out, itself part steam.

White vapor rose over the ruins of the fungal vase, and a stream of water still flowed out of the ruptured skin in an ever-decreasing trickle. The barbs were now all over the place, although some were now shattered or bent from the heat. Nans carefully cleared a path through the debris, studiously avoiding anything that looked like a spine. Moving aside chunks of fungus he searched the ruin looking for his microfilter.

There! There is it! Almost forgetting himself Nans reached forward. Then he checked himself and noticed a couple barbs in the way. He pushed them aside and grabbed his microfilter and pulled it toward him and out of the crud.

Nans stared at his filter, horrified. Only half of it was there.

He had melted and shredded the rest.

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

Nans jerked awake. It was bright and the suns had cleared the horizon, causing long shadows in the fungal prairie. The suns had risen just enough that Nans was now out of the shadow, facing the light of his second day in the fungal highway.

Nans felt terrible. Between the broken rib, general abuse of ejecting and landing hard, and the two 10 centimeter gashes in his arm Nans was sure he had never felt this awful in his entire life. Add to that the fact his lips were cracked and his mouth desperately dry and it was, he reflected, his idea of pure misery.

Cradling his arm, he put on his small backpack and sighted east. East was where the Spartans were, and toward safety. Before leaving he inspected his wound. The insti-sutures were holding, but he insti-skin was starting to detach. It automatically bonded with the existing skin, which would slowly but surely detach as the skin exfoliated. When it was gone, so was the insti-skin - that is how it was designed. Any flexing or movement only hastening the effect, so even moving around with it would eventually cause it to wear out quite fast. So far the wound wasn't infected, and would remain sterile as long as the insti-skin was intact. After that it might get bad, and get bad fast.

Looking around it was a strange combination of bright pink from the low angle of the sunlight and dark vaguely reddish gray in the shadows. The reddish gray was somehow ominous since it reminded Nans of dried blood, just like what was still on his arm.

Shaking off that idea Nans sighted east again. Then he crept eastward, much slower now that he had to protect his arm from abuse.

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

Nans looked down at the muddy puddle. It was worse than the dribbles from the wrecked fungal vase. Now Nans wished he had taken his chances with that water, horrible though it was. Now he knew he was out of options. He had to have water. He was getting faint and slowing down, and felt very hot. All were symptoms of heat stroke, which is made much worse by dehydration.

Nans crouched by the puddle and took off his pack. He took out the remains of the microfilter. Although robust, the reverse osmosis and solar power cell portion were totally fused. Still, he could use the filter to remove the particulates by gravity. Dipping his cup into the small pool, Nans slowly poured the water into the filter, making sure not to overload it. The water he was pouring in was totally opaque, and it was almost more mud than water. A few drops of water came out the bottom. The drip was steady. It was working.

Sighing with relief, Nans took the quarter cup of water and took a sip. His face puckered and he closed his eyes. Vile! Acidic!

Nans forced himself to swallow, having no choice now. The water did not want to go down, and it felt like it burned all the way. Or, that is how Nans imagined it. He put the cup under the filter again.

The drip continued, and slowly the water at the top was more mud than water. Taking the top of the filter, Nans dumped the. He tapped the base of the filter to get most of the mud out, which formed a small pile by the pool.

Something caught his eye. The mud was moving, and Nans' head snapped back toward the little pile of mud.

The mud was teeming with little crawly creatures, which moved and writhed in the now flattening mud. Their undulations stirred up the mud, which flowed for a moment back toward the pond and then stopped. As the mud flattened more creatures were visible. And there were spheres that were not rocks. They were eggs: lots of eggs - clusters of very small eggs.

My god, Nans thought, what have I done?

Already he felt sick.

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

Nans stood, barely, looking out over the small hill. He could see green! The torture of the fungal highway was finally at an end! Almost giddy, Nans stumbled on - he had felt a little better after throwing up twice. His flight uniform was now shredded below the knee, and his insti-skin had ruptured long ago and a little blood was seeping out. It couldn't be more than a kilometer or two, but it would take hours. It was almost dark, but Nans didn't care. He still had his goggles and would find his way. Plus, he knew that if he went to sleep he might not wake up.

Angling sideways, Nans squeezed between two fungal stalks. On the other side he slipped, falling to his knees. The jolt came down hard and twisted his torso, which cause him to gasp in pain from his broken rib. He lost a few breaths as the pain spasm passed and then, mustering his courage, he got up. It was almost routine now - the pain and the drive. It was unending.

As he rose the pain lessened, but never went away. The pain now never quite went away.

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

"Open up! Please!" Nans said, pounding on the door of a building he had found near some agricultural fields.

He had been pounding for five or six minutes and no one answered. Nans was leaning heavily against the doorframe; he was afraid he might just topple over.

"Please," he said weakly, eyes closed and breathing shallow. Now every breath seemed to grate his ribs, and his arm was a mass of congealed blood.

Focusing in the dark he saw what might be a pressure plate. He tapped it.

The door clicked, and then opened. A smell of machinery and grain dust and filled the air. Nans stumbled in. Looking around he saw no heat signatures, only the residual daytime heat on metal and concrete surfaces from the coolness of the night.

"Please," Nans whispered as he crumpled to the floor.

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

"Hey! What's he doing here" Forman Constance stated. There in the middle of the floor was a tattered man, lying in the fetal position. She walked forward with a little irritation.

"Hey, you!" she said as she turned Nans over.

Seeing his face and his uniform her face changed from irritation to stillness.

"It's a Spartan. They're all over now. Better call the authorities," Constance ordered. She sighed. So much has changed, she thought. Still, orders are orders, no matter who gives them.

With efficiency she went over to a locker in the machine maintenance building, drew some water, got a first aid kit, and got to work. As she tended his wounds Nans woke up.

"Please," he said through cracked lips.

"Shhhh. You're all right. Here is some water," she said back. Bringing a cup to his lips he started to drink, and drink quickly. "Not so fast, Spartan. You'll get sick. Take it easy, there's plenty of water."

She took the cup away and finished cleaning the wound. Constance frowned. It was a nasty cut, and it was likely to be infected. As she put the cup on the floor Nans could see her as an older woman with a weather-beaten face. He smiled a little.

"Thank you," he said thinly.

"Have another drink. Slowly this time."

He accepted her water and her orders. Then he fell back asleep.

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

Nans awoke as he was being picked up, and none too gently.

"Ah. You're awake," a voice said.

He focused generally, seeing only shapes - fairly dark shapes.

"You are now a prisoner of the Hive, Spartan. Pilot Spartan. So nice of you to drop by," the voice said with a cruel lilt to it. It was a female voice, and it was not like the kind voice from before.

Nans knew his thinking was slow. Finally it dawned on him.

Good god! I'm on the wrong side of the fungal highway!

Nans let out a groan of despair as they dragged him away. The Hive did not like the Spartans, and especially not pilots of nerve gas pens. And the UN Charter was revoked.

Nans groaned again. In the background he heard laughter.

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

"So, my baby is awake again," the female voice purred.

Nans had tried to fake being asleep. Being awake meant pain. He longed for sleep.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you. You haven't been very cooperative," the female clucked. "But I'm leaving you in good hands; the best, in fact. He takes a professional interest in cases like yours. He is much kinder than I am. You'll see that shortly. In fact, he is so kind that he said I can watch! Isn't that nice of him? He calls it cross training." Her tittering laugh cut Nans like a knife.

Nans felt the razor fingers rake gently across his chest again. It was so light that he could feel the coolness of the metal, but not know if it was going to bite. The anticipation of not knowing was almost worse than the cuts.

"A final gift, love. Be good. I'll be watching," the female voice said breathlessly.

In the silence Nans could hear his heartbeat and his ragged breath, and that was all.

Then he felt a puff of air on his cheek.

::Wake up Spartan Nansen Andersson. I'm your new friend. My name is Sand. You may know of me.::

Yes, Nans thought, I do. Pain was one thing. Now Nans felt deep despair, brooding and black.

::I'm so glad you know me! I know you so well already. I've been getting to know you quite well while you were sleeping so blissfully. I almost feel like I'm your friend. I must say that I am a bit disappointed. You have been bad lately - all that nerve gas. Tsk tsk. Old Miriam used to scream out to her God and call his wrath upon the unrighteous when she was in the sphere. She called the sphere her penance for her sins. Do you know what penance is? Or sin? Yes, I see you do. It is atoning for wrongs. You have killed so many, and that is a sin. My friend, you have a lot of atoning to do, and I am going to help you.::

::Nans, did you like the ministrations of my friend Karla? She has her own talents, doesn't she? Her gift is pain. My talents are of a different sort, I'm afraid. I can give pain, but it of a different sort, and of a vastly different magnitude. It is appropriate for one such as you, who has so much to atone for. Shall we begin? Yes, I think we shall!::

White light of pain filled every gram of Nans' being. Every memory of pain, both physical and mental, flashed through his mind. All the wrongs committed by him upon others, and wrongs committed by others onto him. Mental and physical pain merged.

Mentally, Nans screamed.

::Ah, yes! And this, my friend, is only the beginning!::

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

Low fungus, partially crushed by the impact of Nans' jump pack, lay underneath Nans inert form. In the background the fungal tower's ropy arms waved in the wind. It was near enough that the texture of the trunk was visible, as were the locust and mindworm boils that morphed in and out of it.

Nans lay on his side with his left leg bent unnaturally to the left. His breathing was shallow, and his sightless eyes stared straight ahead. Still strapped into his ejector seat from his pen, his flight suit was almost immaculate and the breeze lightly tossed his hair.

His only motions were breathing and blinking. His blinking was not regular, and he seemed to be reacting to what he was 'seeing'. Occasionally is eyelids would shudder or half close for a moment. Then the blinking would return to a more normal pace.

All around Nans the fungus moved. They pulsed with every blink of Nans' eyelids, and with every breath. They were in sync with him, reading him, eating his thoughts.

Then the pulsing changed and the mindworms surged forward. In a second the boil had engulfed Nans.

But Nans could not see them as they descended to feast. All he could see was his nightmare, and his pain.


[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited May 23, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited May 23, 2000).]

[LightSniper]

The air within the warehouse was stale, almost dead. The nauseating atmosphere of the enclosed room seemed to amplify the cold and dampness of the surroundings. After the long trek in knee high frigid water, most individuals would understand what misery truly felt like.

The dark warehouse was large and intimidating to the squad as they moved methodically through the room. Each individual scanning and searching the bleakness of the unforgiving room.

Each individual armed with night vision and an array of other sensors attempted to penetrate the wall of night. No longer were enemies capable of finding safety in darkness, the face of warfare had changed, and these eight individuals exemplified it.

Cotroneo and Armitage, both armed with focused R-1 Scouts, traveled slowly up a ladder to reach an elevated platform which overlooked the entire complex. The Scout was an interesting combination of modern technology with dependable sniper practices. Its primary weapon was in the form of a focus impact charge, although low powered, it offered the operator accuracy second to none. The combination of its inherent accuracy and stability was augmented by its onboard intelligent friend and foe system, eliminating the friendly fire instants, which plagued snipers in previous conflicts on Chiron.

As they reached the summit of the platform, both looked over the vastness of the room, first in thermal and then in standard night vision. The room was quiet, although a good sign, was never a signal to drop your guard.

Lieutenant Lancer, who was in front of the single file line, stopped near a worn cargo cylinder placed roughly in the center of the large room. He slowly rose his left hand, a signal to his two elevated snipers to cover them as they moved forward.

Private Armitage, who was protecting the front of the line, zoomed in with his scope and began a tedious scan of the area. A glare located several meters in front of his squad on the ground caught his eye and he slowly began to pan over in max zoom mode.

As he tried to clarify the object, he touched a small red button on his rifle, sending a text message to his entire squad to hold position and be alert, which was viewed on their goggle’s HUD.

Armitage could hardly make out the object; it seemed somehow blurry or abstract, although this was impossible due to the Scout’s enhanced scope. Then the object seemed to become clear, slowly, as if it had faded back into reality. Its another man’s rifle!

Armitage was flung back by the force of the blow, and his reality slowly faded out.

Private Cotroneo, who was only several feet away on the same platform, was startled by the blast, which had taken out his Spartan comrade. He threw down his weapon and slowly made his way to his immobile friend, while trying to keep his head down.

Suddenly the room erupted with energy fire of all kinds and from every direction. The six members of the squad who were on the ground floor dove for cover of any sort, as energy charges flew by them at incredible speeds. It seemed almost beautiful inside the dark room as the enigmatic lights flew over their heads, yet it seemed ironic that war can be beautiful or pleasing to anyone.

Lieutenant Lancer knew his unit was outgunned and in danger of being overrun. He turned to the left, trying to locate his entire squad, and all he saw were his two Morgan members lying on the floor unable to get up. In desperation Lancer looked to his right, and as he turned, Kristen, the squad’s empath was shot squarely in the chest.

Suddenly, his night vision goggles erupted in blinding light, as the entire complex’s ceiling lights activated catching what was left of the unit unprepared for the influx of light. Frank Lancer ripped the advanced goggles off in agony and torment over his inability to see.

Just as quickly as the lights activated, the weapons fire ceased. As Lancer’s eyesight slowly returned, he managed to look around his immediate surroundings. His entire unit, except the young sniper up on the platform, was lying immobile on the floor.

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

“Lieutenant, I thought you would give us more of a challenge.”

The mocking voice came from across the room, behind several crates. Both Lancer and Private Cotroneo looked across the room where they could tell the voice was slowly coming closer to their position.

“Deactivate the simulated training kills, let’s see how long it takes for the sleeping beauties to wake up from their sleep.”

Lieutenant Lancer stood up straight and brushed off the vile grime, which he had dove into during the simulation. Several feet away, Sergeant Bruno slowly regained consciousness from the simulated hit he took in the chest. Followed by the rest of the squad, which had taken equivalent hits during the exercise.

The voice appeared in front of them in the form of a middle aged lieutenant named Walker. He strutted forward, confident that his own squad had with held Lancer’s incursion into their simulated base.

“Hello Lieutenant Walker, your men did excellent, you should be proud.” Lieutenant Lancer said, trying to be friendly, although he wanted to kick the smirk of the man’s face.

“I wish I could say the same Lieutenant.” Walker reciprocated, enjoying in his comrade’s defeat.

Lieutenant Lancer managed a small smirk, and then turned to face his squad.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant, I should have seen them Sir.” Armitage, who had just recovered from the simulated gunshot, said. As a Spartan, he expected more of himself, and was quite annoyed over his inability to located the enemy sniper first.

“No apologies needed.” The lieutenant replied, and turned back to the irritating officer standing behind him. “Shall we run the simulation again Lieutenant?”

“If you want to be massacred again Lieutenant.” Walker gave out a bit of a chuckle after speaking. He seemed to enjoy pushing Lancer’s nerves to the limit.

“Excuse me Sir, but we will have to hold off on that exercise.” Robert Specht, from the Gaian faction, said as he came running over to the two lieutenants with his communication gear. “Sir, this message just came in for the both of you.”

Walker stepped in front of Lancer and grabbed the communication pad from the private. Frank Lancer, clasped his hand together, but chose not to react. He could not lower himself to Walker’s childish level in front of his men.

“It seems we are both being deployed together. I hope your melting pot unit can cut it.” Walker joked as he handed the pad to Lancer after reading it.

Lancer did not even comment, fearing what he would say if he let himself have the chance.

Lieutenant Walker
Lieutenant Lancer
Communication Level : Gold
Security Clearance : Gold

Lieutenants, report to PeaceKeeper Headquarters with both of your Units, for armed forward deployment. A transport aircraft is waiting for you at the Omicron airbase to take you to Headquarters.

Commander Martinez

Lieutenant Lancer turned to his Sergeant at his side. He was in no mood to talk to Walker or even acknowledge his presence for that matter.

“Get the men together, we have a plane to catch.” Lancer said and then slowly walked out of the warehouse, with his back to the other lieutenant.

He hated officers who lacked integrity or honor. He understood that enlisted men viewed the integrity of their commanders above all other traits and having the respect of the bluejackets was the most important requisite to good command. A trait to many Peacekeeper officers seemed to lack recently. At heart he knew he was a Spartan officer.

[This message has been edited by LightSniper (edited May 30, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Somewhere in the Eastern Chiron Sea

“Now pull it tight. Yah. Tighter. Ah. That’s good!” Steve almost yelled, focusing on setting the tarp.

The wind-whipped tarp’s loose corner finally straightened, forming an almost vertical plane that covered one of the crenellated openings in the chaotic Isle of the Deep’s ‘surface’. Even with the tarp a good, stout wind whistled through the cave-like openings, but now it was a bit less than it had been. Steve pinioned another anchor into the superstructure of the Isle and attached the last edge of the tarp, which drew itself tight to form an effective seal against all but a near gale.

Steve turned and smiled.

“Ah, home sweet home. Right Jay?”

Jay looked up at his partner, who stood almost two meters tall, had a dark complexion, and easy features. He saw that Steve was smiling at him and seemed to be expecting an answer.

A rhetorical question, and therefore irrelevant, Jay’s mechanical side automatically responded. However, these last eight months in the Gaian Empath Corps had taught him a lot, not the least of which is that social situations in work and play require a certain amount of inane conversation.

Of course, it helped that Steve’s smile was infectious, and without really knowing it Jay smiled back.

“Yah. Real nice. Kind of rough, though,” Jay replied, reaching out to touch the pocked surface the formed the interior of their ‘cave’ on the Isle. At a distance it looked bumpy and irregular, like a melange of marbles glued together with a little chop suey. It wasn’t really rough, just severely undulating. Nothing was even: not the floor, the walls, or ceiling. Nothing.

“Well, what do you expect? We didn’t design it, the worms did. Millions and millions of worms that died and glued themselves together on a very general pattern. This isle could be hundreds or even thousands of years old. Did you know that? The radiometric dating is all screwy due to the resonance fields this thing gives off, but there is one Isle that may be a four thousand years old. Of course, that’s a real big one, almost a daemon boil.”

Steve paused his latest monologue and walked over by Jay. Steve stood a head higher than Jay and looked much more massive. Standing side by side the differences between Steve and Jay were apparent. Whereas Jay was slight of frame and in his early twenties, Steve was a fully filled out man in his mid twenties. Steve’s dark hair was carelessly cut to military length and Jay’s mousy brown hair was neatly combed back from a part in the middle.

Steve reached out and touched the wall near Jay.

“Kind of amazing, isn’t it? Some of the worms in the wall are alive, you know,” Steve commented. Jay abruptly pulled his hand back and gave Steve a sidelong glance. Steve continued, “Empaths can sometimes feel the resonance fields of individual worms or groups of worms deep within the walls, or the outer hull of the ship. I have no idea how they stay alive, but I bet they can harvest some of the energy of the resonance fields given off by the rest of the worms. Like broadcast power, I guess.”

Jay looked back at the wall and he seemed a little reflective. “Are they all like this?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about all of them. I’ve been on two Isles, and they have the same general patterns. The outsides of their ‘hulls’ are streamlined and are really amazingly smooth, which they need to propel themselves through the water. The top between the hull is vaguely dome-like, and has lots of large openings and probably millions of little openings. The little openings are for the mindworms that frequently live in the Isles, and I don’t know what the bigger openings and caverns are for. Obviously they can’t be solid or the Isles would sink, but I think that the large openings and caverns exist simply because they haven’t been filled with something else yet. Parts of the Isle are always changing as it reabsorbs part of itself, and it changes especially fast when it gains mass after a kill.”

Steve turned away from the wall and toward Jay. “Now you know all that I know. We still have work to do, or have you forgotten?” Steve looked at Jay with a theatrically shrewd eye. “Were you purposefully distracting me? You’re not a slacker, are you? I may have to report you.”

Jay started at that. Then he looked at Steve, who had another big grin and decided he was probably joking, since it was a little hard to tell. During the last three weeks with Steve, Jay had decided that humor can be used to say the most delicate or unpleasant things, mainly because he had seen Steve do it all the time, and it worked.

“OK. What do we do now,” Jay asked.

“Grab a vibraknife and we’re going to cut us some furniture.”

Jay was alarmed. Was Steve joking again? Cut an Isle of the Deep? Was he insane?

Steve saw the look on Jay’s face. “Oh stop worrying. I’ve done it hundreds of times. OK, so I kind of did it once on holo. Nobody died then. Comeon’! Trust me!” Steve said as he handed Jay a vibraknife, chuckling a little.

Jay just stood there looking at his knife, then the wall, and then at Steve as he energetically started chopping away into a low mound on the floor. In a few seconds he had the beginnings of a stool, with small chunks of Isle flying all around. One of the small chunks hit Jay, and he was watched it as it bounced off his jersey and then to the floor. After it hit the floor it seemed to vibrate slightly, and then sag a little.

“Hey, kick the chunks into the hole over there. They’ll help seal it up when the refuse,” Steve said while concentrating on his work.

Jay kicked at the fist-sized chunk of Isle at his feet and found that it was already partially attached to the floor, and that it took a bit of effort to kick it out of the way and toward the depression in the back part of their cave.

The low hum of the vibraknife stopped and Steve stood, admiring his work. “There. Not bad. I should give up this psi stuff and become a worm crud artist. Now lets hurry and get the debris away before we have a bunch of pointy chunks at the base of my new chair.”

Steve went over and got a foam-form box and started scooping the pieces into it. Jay went over and gingerly started helping out, still a little concerned about cutting the worms.

Jay noticed that each piece was fairly light and was a little like solid foam. If he looked closely he could see the outlines of what had to be petrified worms, which actually were shells of the worms. The insides were hollow. Still, it was tough stuff and he couldn’t make a dent when he smashed two pieces together. That wasn’t the strangest thing, though. The pieces of Isle were warm to the touch, certainly much warmer than the ambient air.

“You noticed they’re warm, didn’t you? Once we get this place sealed off it will be nice and toasty, always a constant 27 degrees Celsius. Worm masses keep that temperature all the time. How they do it I don’t know since they don’t have a circulatory system in the Isle. It must all go back to the resonance field, which transfers energy like a blood stream. You know, some Sifters can actually see the resonance fields. Did you know that?” Steve said, busily scooping debris into his box.

Jay was confused. “What’s a Sifter?”

“Boy, you are green, aren’t you? There are four kinds of psi talents: Sifters, Grippers, Lifters, and Rippers. Sifters can see into people’s minds, or even into animal’s minds or the mind of a mindworm. Some sifters can even ‘read’ inanimate objects, if you can believe that. Sifters are the most common of psi talents, and it is the most easily developed since it is largely passive. Many untrained psi talents have this gift. A gripper is what you and I are. We bond with another intelligent, or even unintelligent, creature. We are what most people call empaths, since we develop a deep understanding of the other creature and develop a strong link that is more than simple two-way communication. A lifter is a master of telekinesis, and that is probably the rarest of all psi talents. The energy it takes to move an object is huge, and they either have to get it from their own reserves or be able to manipulate energy around them. Pretty delicate stuff and most lifters can only manipulate very small objects, or redirect energy. Now, a ripper is the worst of all. The Hive and the Spartans have lots of these, and most are torturers and assassins. They are able to go into other’s minds and change them, rip them. Nasty business, that. Most can sift, grip, and lift, and they are the strongest psi talents out there. Having all that power seems to change people, and they think they have the right to do what they want. The members of the Hive Circle of Ashaandi were almost all rippers, and Sand was the head assassin. Not all are nasty, though. Some have morals. I personally think that Lady Deirdre is a ripper, although I don’t know for sure. She is certainly an expert sifter and gripper.”

Steve finished emptying the box, and brushed the extra into the depression.

“Say, did you meet Deirdre when you graduated? She was there for my graduation three years ago,” Steve suddenly exclaimed.

For no apparent reason Jay blushed and his ears turned red. “Yes. I met the Lady,” Jay said quietly, almost reverently. “She came up to me and gave me my diploma herself and shook my hand! I looked up into her face and she smiled at me and I knew she loved me. Not in a physical way or anything, but I knew she understood me. Her face just glowed, and she was so pretty. I felt like she was looking right into my soul…”

Steve interrupted. “That’s because she probably was.”

Jay shot Steve a venomous glare. “Give me one of those knives,” he said simply.

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

I sat in my office on the 44th floor of the Government building, and gazed out of the window to the northeast, across the small bay, looking at the 1800 meter high mountains that obscured the base of Haven City that I knew was hidden behind them. Due east, across the 1500 meter high waist of the figure-of-eight shaped island continent lay the base of High Commission, while to the southeast lay Mount Avishnu, with its secret operations testing area, the scene of so much carnage just a few short months ago.

I took stock of the situation, and called up the holovids that the various leaders had left me upon their departing Gaia Revered following the summit meeting. I started with the meeting itself, fast forwarding until I reached the Colonel’s decisive intervention. I smiled wryly at the memory….

ENOUGH!

I’ve heard enough of your shilly-shallying around the issues. We have a new enemy to face – and one that might just tilt the balance of power against us. I’m tired of these endless discussions about whether we can “reach an accommodation” with these aliens. For better or worse they have aligned themselves with Yang, and as such become our enemies.

So, Pravin, no more talk of arranging a meeting. Foreman Domai, while I appreciate your position as being in the firing line, we must end this phony war and get on the offensive. And to that end I have instructed our generals this morning to resume the offensive against Yang, and even now our troops are on the move toward Social Engineering Den.

I chuckled at the reminiscence of the consternation that statement had wrought. Her next comment though, was a bombshell.

And Lady Deirdre has consented to allow her formidable native battalions to be brought into play against the aliens. We are assembling an invasion fleet at Communal Conquest to ferry her mindworm troops across the sea to the Nessus canyon region to take on these Progenitors on their own turf. Our scientists have determined that psi-weaponry stands the best chance of getting through their somewhat unique armor.

But let us not delude ourselves. The task ahead is mammoth – we know that the aliens have superior weaponry – we think that their problem is lack of re-inforcements. So we will make raw numbers count. The entire economies of the axis factions will be focussing on the development and assembly of weapons and materiel, under Scott Allardyce’s chairmanship. We will also co-ordinate our scientific research efforts, each pursuing a different line and sharing the results. Singly we cannot hope to defeat this menace. Together we shall be unstoppable.

The summit had broken up somewhat in an uproar, with clear sides being taken, yet deep within each one of the faction leaders lay the realization that to stop Yang they had to confront and eliminate the aliens.

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

I keyed in the commands to activate Deirdre’s holodisc.

Scotty, I am dictating this from Gaia Revered.

In a few days I will be entering the rejuvenation tanks again, this time for a complete makeover, just as soon as Shannon Lindly reports from her stint in space. I need to be back at Velvetgrass Point to welcome her. She will take over the civil administration of the Stepdaughters of Gaia, and I’d greatly appreciate your giving her some mentoring. With the exception of Alphonse, Bambi, and the mindworm brigades, our Gaian military is almost completely assimilated into the Spartan military machine.

I’m wondering about changing the location of our Headquarters. Here at Gaia Revered would be a fine choice.

I briefly closed my eyes and remembered the fir clad mountain immediately to the south, cresting at just over 2400 meters. The head of the lake to the west being fed by the waterfalls from the 1800 meter hills just west of them. The waterfalls in turn draining the lake to the east and forming the river that would meander the 2000 kilometers to the ocean north of Assassins Redoubt. Yes, this would eventually make a wonderful location for a headquarters, but only after a substantial investment in infrastructure.

And CEO Morgan’s generous gesture will make its transformation possible. When I come out of the tanks we’ll make the change then.

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

Pravin Lal was more personal in his message:

Googlie: I know that you, Tazeem and Patel will run things efficiently in my absence. I expect to be gone for some four to six weeks. This proffered gift from Mwabudike – to have me enter the rejuvenation treatment center while Morgan Industries’ scientists seek to recreate my beloved Pria – I fear I will be in CEO Morgan’s debt if we are successful.

Googlie, you have been in love – indeed you are currently with the beautiful Anastasia. Forgive me if I seem too starry eyed at present, but I am recalling fondly my times with Pria. I am as nervous now as I was when first we met….

I recalled the time – I was present at a UN function – representing the Free Scotland Peacekeeping unit, and Dr. Lal was the featured speaker. I was unobtrusively observing him as the guests arrived.

He sat to one side of the head table, idly playing with a fork while the guests assembled. He was due to be the second speaker, and the topic was the likelihood of the Unity Passengers surviving the journey to the stars in sufficient numbers to have a serious attempt at colonizing another planet. He glanced at his notes again. Although the UN Geneva conference room had the latest in holovision technologies, allowing Pravin – and he alone – to read from a scrolling script before his eyes, and could recreate the Unity above the conference table in stunning 3Dholovision, he still preferred the old fashioned screen and projection equipment. It was over fifty years old then, but still reliable.

Then he looked up suddenly and stared across the room – I followed his gaze, and saw her enter the room.

She had an aura about her, a grace and composure that commanded attention. She walked between the tables, pausing by one to lay a hand on a friend’s shoulder, stopping at another and crouching to eye level to greet a wheelchair bound delegate.

Then his breathing quickened and his face flushed - she was coming to the head table.

Lal dropped the fork he was toying with to the table surface with a clatter, and stood up clumsily to acknowledge her presence. She approached and put out her hand.

I strained to hear the exchange.

“Dr. Lal, I presume. Pria Sharriff. Pleased to meet you.” She smiled.

Shyly, tongue tied and also at a loss for words themselves, he held out his hand,

“The pleasure is all mine,” he managed to stammer.

Their hands touched. The electricity between them was palpable, and I felt the hairs on the nape of my own neck stand up.

They looked into each others eyes.

They were in love.

But I know that you three will hold things together until I return – just remember…. While the Colonel can be an intimidating woman, you now represent the still largest faction on Chiron. Make sure that the UN voice is heard.

Good luck.

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

I played CEO Morgan’s next. He was all businesslike, as was to be expected.

Mwabudike Morgan rested his elbows on the conference table and steepled his fingers to his chin.

Yes, Allardyce, this is going well. Sure, there were interminable discussions around the ethics - as well as the effrontery – of attacking the Aliens, with several voices speaking out in favor of continued negotiations, but I am 100% behind Corazon on this one. We have a war to prosecute, against Yang, and if the Aliens were so foolish as to back the loser, so be it.

I have my landmass consolidated again, with Morgan Bank and Morgan Pharmaceuticals firmly back in our hands, and a massive rebuilding program going on in both. Deirdre is committed to me, witness her garrisoning each of our bases with a demon boil mindworm from Bambi’s Brigade. The Colonel advised us that the Alphonse mindworm brigade is being readied for an attack on the Alien’s homefront in Nessus Canyon. The Lady Skye has been more than obliging after my magnanimous gesture re the Unity fusion core proceeds. And really, it is no big deal. Sure, the credits would have come in handy to rush build Bank and Pharma back to their pre seizure status, but this deal with the Gaians is a long term investment.

As you prosecute the war, to the extent I can I will be paymaster – provided you can keep the environmental do-gooders off my back. The pursuit of energy comes with a price, and this Axis is uneasy to say the least at the convergence of wills for a common cause at the exclusion – temporarily – of discussing those differences we have. I am relying on you, Scott, to keep it this way for the duration.

Ah, Morgan. Ever the sentimentalist.

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

Then Corazon:

Googlie.

Just a word. Don’t play politics – you got burned once, with the Ashaandi mess. So stick to civilian administration.

And Scott, just for your ears and Anastasia….I was on the point of ordering her grandfather’s release when he was spirited away. We don’t know where – the security breaches left no clues, but we suspect Yang’s hand behind this.

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

Foreman Domai:

Representative Allardyce. We are newcomers to this game, and as such have most to lose. I fear that we cannot offer much by way of military contribution, but our bases are open and available as staging areas as needed.

But let me say by way of forewarning that I intend to use this opportunity to push our own agenda. At every opportunity we will be extolling the rights of the working class and calling on the faction leaders to exercise their authority in a caring and responsive manner. Just because we are locked in a war does not mean that we should neglect simple human rights.

Hmmm, I thought. That lad is going to be trouble.

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

Then finally, a short one that discomfited me somewhat….Aki Zeta-5

Ah, Allardyce, you who once was known as Omicron-One – I greet you.

Our small faction is swept into this war much against our will, as we are not a violent people. But to side with those known as The Axis is the logical choice for me and my followers. We will be poor fighters, I fear. But we will bring a sense of rationality to the decision making process, and we are excellent administrators -–in fact I offer myself as an assistant to your administration in any way needed. We are not without skill.

Think it over

She’s another one we will have to watch.

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

With a heavy heart I fired up the last disc.

My lovely Anastasia shimmered before me.

Wolfie, darling, now don’t get mad. By the time you activate this I’ll be long gone, so just live with it.

I don’t want to be a distraction to your running the Axis civilian government, so I’m making myself scarce.

From the Colonel’s message it appears that my Grandfather has been spirited away to Yang’s cause (yes, and don’t ask how I can view your secure holovids).

I’m going to find him.

I’ve linked up with an old passing acquaintance of yours who has contacts in the Hive underground – Miles Cavenaugh, if you remember. We’re forming a deep probe team that will spring my grandfather free.

Take care, your Stazi loves you.

I sighed.

I racked my brains.

Who the hell was Miles Cavenaugh?

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 07, 2000).]

[Googlie]

oops - didn't realize that I had already posted the retrospective piece - I'll fill this blank in due course

G.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 08, 2000).]

[senatus]

Miriam Godwinson turned away from her computer and rubbed her eyes in fatigue. 
She supposed that she should obtain one of the new MMIs that had been developed
during her incarceration - but she'd never felt entirely comfortable with
augmentation of the body God had made for her, with artificial implants.


Perhaps I'm hopelessly obsolete, she thought,  but our
entire Faith has had that same accusation leveled at it by our detractors
and most bitter enemies.  I choose to believe in myself, and God;
not Zahkarov and... Yang.


Instead, Miriam turned to look out the window of the modest office donated
for her use at Sparta Command.  The room was plain -  undecorated
save for a single crucifix hanging on the wall; indeed, it was appropriately...
Spartan.  But to Miriam, who'd spent the last century in a punishment
sphere, it was more comfort than she'd ever believed she'd obtain in her
remaining lifetime.


And the view outside was beautiful, for it looked down over a
splendid, rolling forest - a beautiful hybrid mixture of terrestial trees
and fungal stalks.  Something that Miriam's xenobiologists would've
sworn was impossible in the years when the Lord's Believers were establishing
their first bases.  But all things were possible with God.


Truly, this world is God's, Miriam thought.  Perhaps there
is more in common between Diedre's philosophy and mine than either of us
would have thought.


Once, I would've rejected that premise; but I have been  taught
a bitter lesson on the price for the sin of arrogance.  Her salvation
and rescue had been obtained not by herself, but by God... and Corazon
Santiago.  She could never repay God for her physical and spiritual
salvation.  But I can at least help Corazon with whatever means
are still at my disposal, God willing.


An electronic chime announced the arrival of the visitor she'd been
expecting.  A man she hadn't seen in over a hundred years.


"Brother Joaquim!"  Miriam rose to greet her old friend.


"Sister Miriam," Joaquim smiled and returned his old mentor's embrace. 
Joaquim was one of the fortunate few of the Lord's Believers who'd remained
free when New Jerusalem fell, as he had been serving as their ambassador
to Pravin Lal at the time.  While Lal had been unwilling (and, truthfully,
unable) to intervene militarily, he had accepted the entire embassy
staff's plea for political asylum.  The fact that he'd obtained the
services of a dozen Talents was a bonous, of course.


"It's good to see you again, Sister.  When news of your release
reached us at UN Headquarters, we rejoiced at the fact that you were still
alive, and that God had returned you to us.  It's been so long...
but we never gave up the Faith that you taught us."


"Then God has been merciful to us both."  Miriam replied simply. 
And yet Joaquim was awed again by the diminuative woman before him. 
According to the reports and his reading between the lines of her own e-mail
sent to him a week previous, she'd spent an entire century screaming
in unbelieveable agony, humiliation, and futility before Yang's torturers. 
And now she said that God had been merciful to her?  Yet there
was no denying the sincerity of her words, and once again Joaquim was reminded
of the sheer charisma and strength of character in his teacher.  A
strength of will and faith that the mightiest telepath on Planet could
not claim to best.


Over the next few hours, Miriam listened to what Joaquim had to tell
her about the political and scientific progress on Planet while she'd been
in her punishment sphere, only occasionally interrupting to ask brief,
intelligent questions.  While no genius like Zakharov (but then, nobody
was), Miriam still had the keen mind and instinctual insights into social
psychology that had placed her on the Unity's officer staff, many, many
years ago.  And so most of her questions focused on the societal progress
of the human inhabitants of Planet, and the actions of their leaders. 
Questons that Joaquim was well-positioned to answer from his years of working
with Lal's staff.


"So... where do we go from here, Miriam?  There are at least a
thousand of our people scattered amongst the the Axis factions - we could
re-found a retreat if we wished; practically anywhere on Planet now with
drop pod supplies."  Joaqum asked.


"We will pray for guidance, of course," Miriam replied.  "Colonel
Santiago has also promised to turn over two of our former bases, liberated
from Yang.  May God bless her for her generosity."


Joaquim hesitated, then took a deep breath and asked a pointed question.


"Lal believes she means to rule Planet... do you fully trust Santiago?
"


"Yes," Miriam replied simply.  "Yang is... Yang may very well be
the AntiChrist.  And I have learned, to my shame, that it is not my
role to be humanity's champion and defender against him and his inhuman
allies.  Santiago is.  That much is obvious from 
in the purely secular perspective.  And the Spartans could not have
achieved what they have without God's favour - even if they haven't really
realized that last part themselves yet."  Miriam's mouth crooked in
a small smile of humour.


"Then how can we help her?  Our people are scattered, and the Legions
of the Faithful are no more.  We don't even have a base to call our
own, yet."  Joaquim asked, knowing that Miriam must have realized
this already.


"Moses also led his scattered people to a new homeland, with God's guidance. 
That will come to us in time.  But for now, I think we can help Corazon
best by being what we are now - a community of faith, yet scattered
amongst all the factions of Planet.  That represents an human information
network that can channel data and observations back here - a network whose
aggregate intuitive processing capability matches - no, exceeds
- the most sophisiticated supercomputers even today."  Miriam replied
with complete confidence.


"You're talking about a probe team network."  Joaquim realized. 
"But our people, while willing, are untrained."


"Yes," Miriam acknowledged.  "But they can learn.  And the
person I have in mind to teach them is very, very good.  In
fact, the best.  I can attest to his infiltration and evasion
capabilities through personal experience."

[Googlie]

Sparta Command

Miles Cavenaugh awoke to the insistent beeping of his commlink. He opened his eyes and stared suspiciously at it for a second or two, then checked the time.

“Yo,” he said, activating it.

“Miles, …Miles Cavenaugh. We need to meet.” The chirpy feminine voice said at the other end.

He glanced over to his commlink screen, but all he saw was static.

“You must have the wrong frequency,” he replied. “I’m Tod Linden. I used to know a Miles, but haven’t seen him for months.”

“Now, Miles,” the voice continued. “Don’t lie. Tod Linden is standing right next to me – I’ll put him on.”

“Miles, you old bastard. I heard that you were impersonating me.”

“Excuse me,” Tod replied, and broke the connection. Or thought he did. The static remained on his screen and the feminine voice returned.

“Miles. We do need to meet. Six this evening at The golden Gun bar. Be there.”

This time the commlink connection did cut.

‘What the heck,’ he thought. ‘My cover is blown. But they didn’t threaten me – just want to meet. Well, what could be wrong with that?’

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

He went early, to survey the scene and to watch for them arriving.

He chose a corner seat, and sat sipping a synthfruit mix, watching the entrance, and psi-senses on full alert.

He’d scanned the room twice now, and sensed nothing extraordinary in the thought patterns of the patrons. Oh, everyone had something to hide, or that they felt guilty about, but no covert animosity towards him was detectable.

It was approaching six.

The door swung open, and he saw a threesome enter – Tod, whom he recognized immediately, a tallish auburn haired girl on one side, and on the other………. His heart leapt. Lisa Mayberry.

They looked over at his corner, and with an almost imperceptible nod of her head the auburn haired girl motioned upstairs, where they went. She seemed to be in control. Lisa smiled at him as they passed to the stairwell, a dazzling promise of things to come – maybe even a fond remembrance of things past. He got up and followed.

They entered a private room that had been reserved, and the tall girl closed the door behind them.

“Lis..” he began, but was swiftly cut off by the girl

“Quiet” she barked. He shut up.

She extracted a small hand held scanner from a pocket, and panned the room with it. As she pointed it to one of the glowlamps, the LED flashed. She pointed to the light, and Tod reached up and disconnected it. He examined the lamp, then pointed out a small flaw in the surface area, like a pinprick hole in the synthglass. He pulled a small shredder pistol from his belt, and fine tuned the dial, then laid the lamp on the floor and incinerated it.

They all heaved a sigh of relief.

The girl dialed another set of instructions, then placed the scanner on the bar counter at one side of the room, then turned to Miles, holding out a hand:

“Miles, pleased to meet you. I’m Anastasia Zakharov – yes, the Professor’s Granddaughter – and the others you know.”

Tod nodded to him, but Lisa came over and hugged him tightly. They whispered in each others’ ears, then disengaged themselves.

Just as he was about to reach out with a wisp of a mind probe, Anastasia interjected:

“And don’t try to exercise your psi-talents in this room – the scanner is not only a whitenoise emitter, but a psi-blocker too – you’d cripple yourself temporarily in the trying, and we need you 100% concentrating.”

Miles shrank back. True or false he didn’t know, but the bluff - if bluff it was – worked. He had no desire to try only to render himself catatonic.

Instead, he assumed the role of interrogator.

“Why was it so important that we meet?” he asked.

“Well, it’s a longish story,” Anastasia replied, “but here goes.

“Years ago, when the University faction was overrun by the Spartans, my grandfather, Academician Prokhor Zakharov, was captured and imprisoned by Colonel Santiago. Indeed many of us – including his own immediate family, thought him dead, as we had received communication to that effect from the Spartan authorities.

“However he is not dead, and was about to be released by Santiago as an earnest of her intentions to manage the Axis coalition in a more humane fashion, but was frustrated by his being sprung loose by unknown operatives, suspected of being in the employ of the Hive.

“I want to infiltrate the Hive homeland, meet with my grandfather, and bring him back here. Unofficially, of course. Even dear Scott Allardyce doesn’t know where I am – although he does know what I am going to do, as I have told him.

“And that’s where you come in. You were turned for a while, and must have made all sorts of contacts in the Hive underworld. I tracked Tod down from the records – he’d dropped out of society completely - , and he suggested that as you were impersonating him, it would be simple to just call Tod’s frequency and call your bluff.”

“And just where does Lisa fit in?”, Miles asked.

“She’ll request a routine training flight and we’ll be aboard, and she’ll drop us behind enemy lines.”

“And just how will we sneak aboard a Spartan penetrator?” Miles asked.

“Why, you will ‘persuade’ the guards that they are seeing a maintenance crew – that will get us to the aircraft. After she returns, Lisa can claim that you ‘mind-controlled’ her into the mission.”

Miles pondered. His contacts were all dormant, unvisited for some months. Kurt – where was he now? – and his woman…what was her name…ah, yes, Shauna.

“I’ll do it, but alone,” he said. “I don’t need amateurs with me, and it’s hardly the mission for one such as you.”

Anastasia visibly bristled.

“Oh yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah. What use would you be on a dangerous mission like this?” he replied.

Her reply floored him:

“I am of the Assassin caste, trained by the Circle of Ashaandi themselves.”

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex, Off Duty Lounge

The pilots in Will’s squadron were drunk. They were loud and obnoxious and clearly intoxicated. But for that matter, so were most of the people in the room. The Off Duty Lounge was the one place in the complex where a squadron could relax and unwind in their few hours of down-time that weren’t spent sleeping.

Now that Axis troops were really beginning to mobilize, the place was crawling with pilots from every major faction. Morgan pilots were gambling in one corner, while Spartan officers arm wrestled in another. It seemed that every pilot that was currently stopping at Sparta Command was located in this very room, having an amazing time.

But Will’s thoughts could not escape the memory of Sharra. He had long given up hope that she would be found. He felt, for sure, that once the Free Drones joined the Axis, she would have found a way to get in touch with him. Still there had been nothing.

He had sent Commlink messages to every directory and government office in the tiny Industrial faction, but noone was registered under such a name. It was time he accepted the worst and that he would never see Sharra again.

Suddenly, an arm tapped him softly on the shoulder. He turned, his mind connecting him to impossible realities to see a strikingly beautiful women smiling at him. She had long brown hair and dark skin, but her lifeless eyes betrayed her cybernetic nature.

“Greetings,” she stated in her soft pleasant voice. Suddenly William found this strange women climbing onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Your physical stature and appearance indicates that your genes would be highly suitable for reproductive purposes. My name is Sybil Gamma Three and I would like you to be my mate. It will be necessary to mate multiple times, to ensure that fertilization occurs. Please come with me.” She grabbed his arm and began to lead him away from the bar.

“Woah!, Hold on a second here,” came Will’s startled response. His squad mates were all laughing hysterically as they observed the scene. “Look, I’m flattered really, but no thank you.”

The expression on the beautiful cyborgs face was more confused then disappointed. Suddenly a very drunk Brad arrived and put is arm casually around her.

“This gentlemen might not be up to it,” he said with a smile, “but I am completely at your disposal.”

“That will not be necessary,” she replied coldly to uproarious laughter from those watching the scene. William took the opportunity to slip out while he still could.

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

Sea Hive

Zakharov monitored the readings, oblivious to the screams of agony that filled the room. It was the third day of testing and Yang’s new weapon had been approved. Now, Zakharov busied himself with studying the long term affects of the weapon in order to better understand the Alien resonance field with which he was working. He wore a visually enhancing visor, enabling him to see the darkness of the laboratory and properly observe the resonance wave.

Suddenly, light came streaming into the room as the main door opened, causing a visual feedback that sent excruciating pain to the Provost’s optic nerves. He quickly removed the visor and threw it to the floor, cursing in Russian the foolish man who had opened the door.

“Computer, lights,” he bellowed as he quickly shut down the beam. He could only observe the resonance wave in the darkness and an essential part of the study was the accumulative effect over a consecutive period of time. Essentially, his entire day’s work had been ruined by someone’s carelessness. How unsurprising that the someone was Yang.

“How goes the study my good Provost? Any more thrilling discoveries yet?” The Chairman seemed delighted to have caught the old scientist off guard and having inflicted some small degree of pain.

“Unfortunately Chairman,” Zakharov replied, almost spitting the title, “Your failure to announce your presence before opening the door has ruined the entire’s day work.”

“Pity.” It was clear by Yang’s tone that he couldn’t care less. He had his weapon to use against the Axis, anything else would simply be a bonus. “Well, I shall have one of the drones remove your test subject and bring you a fresh one tomorrow.”

“No!” Zakharov’s emphatic response startled himself as much as it did Yang. Zakharov had never shown much concern for the well being of his test subjects in the past, and his sudden concern was unusual.

“It is necessary,” he explained, “for the subject to remain the same in order to properly complete the study. Changing subjects introduces too many random variables into the data, and makes it difficult to arrive at a definite conclusion.”

It was clear that Yang remained suspicious, even after the explanation. However, if he didn’t trust the professor completely, Yang was not willing to make a point of it just now.

“Very well Provost. You may keep your subject. I shall ensure that she receives proper medical attention for the duration of the experiments. Keep me informed,” and with that Yang exited the room and the door closed behind him.

Zakharov looked over at his test subject with regret. She had been a beautiful young women, long brown hair with beautifully dark skin and gorgeous blue eyes. She had refused to give in to the pain, to pass out and simply surrender. In that respect, she reminded him of his beloved Anastasia.

He approached her cautiously, her blue eyes staring at him with contempt. He had seen the hatred in the eyes of his subjects before, but it had never affected him like it did now.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “It will be okay. I promise.”

[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited June 08, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited June 08, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters

Sinder Roze sat in the waiting room of the office which had become the centre of almost all political activity on Chiron. The unified civil government of the Axis factions was centralized in this very building. Beyond the large wooden doors lay one of the most influential men on Planet: Governor Allardyce. While his position existed only until Brother Lal returned from the rejuvenation tanks, Governor Allardyce had all the power necessary to run the Axis civil government...and to give Roze her new job.

“The Governor is able to see you now Ms. Roze,” offered the helpful office assistant who organized the Governor’s busy schedule. He was a young looking gentlemen, obviously maintaining a strict rejuvenation tank treatment. Of course, he could actually simply be a young man, they did exist on Planet. Roze suddenly realized how difficult it had become to determine another persons age based on their appearance. Roze herself was almost 150 years old, but thanks to rejuvenation tanks she didn’t look a day over 25. Roze thought about Lady Deirdre, the source of fantasy of so many young men on Planet and wondered how appealing she would seem if they paid attention to the fact that she was over 200 years old.

Roze entered the room and looked at the luxurious accommodations that Lal maintained. It was strikingly elegant, with wood furnishings and finish, and a large window that provided a view of some of the most spectacular terraformed land on Chiron.

Behind the desk sat the Governor himself, looking rather imposing in such a vast room. She crossed to the chair opposite his desk as he extended a hand to greet her.

“A pleasure to finally meet you Miss Roze,” he said with a smile. “CEO Morgan has been telling me nothing but good things about you. You seem to be quite a unique women.”

“Don’t always trust what the good CEO has to say Governor,” she replied candidly. “He often embellishes to further his own gain.”

“Miss Roze, you don’t get this far in politics without learning when someone is buttering you up.” While his tone was not threatening, the Governor made it clear that he was not willing to take advice from a young upstart.

“My apologies, Governor. I did not mean to try and tell you how to do your job. I was simply trying to explain that if CEO Morgan is telling you nothing but good things about me, then he is definitely leaving out a lot.”

The Governor leaned back in his chair and contemplated what she had said. He had never conducted a job interview where the candidate openly confessed their faults. Some how the blunt honesty was refreshing.

“Look Governor, we both know why I’m here so I see no point in dancing around the issue. I believe this new government needs a unified intelligence network to keep tabs on Yang’s movements. I also feel that I am the best person to run such an organization, due to my experience in the field.” Roze watched as the Governor took in what she said, obviously not willing to reveal his intents or say something that might get him in trouble later. Just like a true politician.

“Fair enough Miss Roze, and I do not deny that such an organization would be of great benefit to the Axis. But what I want to know is, why you? There are dozens of elite probe teams within the Axis factions. Out of all of them, why should I pick you. Especially seeing as you have so far failed to demonstrate loyalty to any particular faction.”

“That is precisely why it should be me Governor,” she retorted. “I have served as an independent Probe operative for almost every major faction, to one degree or another. I’ve even worked for Yang. I know the ins and outs of every single computer network on Chiron, and I have connections in almost every single base.” Roze let that sink in, knowing that she had made a good argument. However, the Governor’s expression indicated that he was not completely sold on the idea just yet.

“Besides,” she continued. “I’ve already started digging around in Yang’s files and I happen to have some information that you will find extremely beneficial.”

“And what might that be?” The Governor leaned forward in his chair, clearly interested in this new piece of information.

“I happen to have a continual download feed from Yang’s central computer, allowing me access to the lab analysis equipment at Sea Hive.”

“And how may I ask did you accomplish that?” queried the Governor.

“When I was there last, I lifted the files on the current deployment of Hive troops in the area. That I simply used as a cover up to download my link-up program into their computer. The deployment information is likely to be useless by this point, he’ll have repositioned most of his troops by now. However, he has absolutely no idea that every single piece of data that is entered into his many lab computer is downloaded directly to me.”

“Very clever Miss Roze.” The Governor seemed genuinely impressed by her initiative. “But what were you doing at Yang’s Headquarters?” Roze smiled as the anticipated question arrived. Now it was time to play her last card.

“I was there,” she said, “to collect my fee for delivering Provost Zakharov to Yang.”

[Googlie]

I sat bolt upright in my chair, completely taken by surprise, and did nothing to hide it.

“You what?” I almost shouted at the calm, self-assured young woman opposite me.

“It was you who spirited away Academician Zakharov from under the Colonel’s nose? That’s wonderful news if it is true – but why to Yang? Why not to CEO Morgan who was financing the Yoop underground movement, or to Lal who was training many of them?”

“Oh, I had my reasons,” she replied airily. “But I thought you might be interested in just a hint of my capabilities.”

“Most certainly,” I replied. “And as you might be aware I have a personal interest in Zakharov’s whereabouts as well.”

“I am well aware of that, too,” she said. Then floored me again…

“And I know exactly where your Anastasia is at this precise moment too – and let me reassure you she is not in any danger…. At this time anyway.”

I leaned forward.

“Where?” I asked.

She leaned back in the visitor’s chair.

“About the job, Governor Allardyce. Have I convinced you of my capabilities now?”

This was almost blackmail – but I was hooked. If she was half as good as she seemed to be, then she was ideal. I didn’t trust the Peacekeeper covert ops chief one little bit – he still believed I was responsible for Jacques Cartier’s death. I didn’t know the Morgan special ops people at all, but reckoned they must be good to have infiltrated and turned four Hive bases in the summer. The Spartan probe teams were good, but lacked leadership. This Sinder Roze might be a godsend, and she did come well recommended, by Mwabudike Morgan himself.

“I think it can be arranged,” I responded.

“You have convinced me of your….shall we say…unusual talents. How does Chief Intelligence Officer sound, with the overall direction of the Axis Covert Operations. I’ll create the Axis Intelligence Agency, with you as its head. I’ll give you the necessary clearances to liaise with Paul Andreas at Morgan Industries and Shannon Lindly at Velvetgrass Point. I’ll put the PK covert ops under you, via Mats Sorenstam. He’s a relatively new appointment, just over four months in the job…..”

Roze interrupted….

“Ah yes, the covert operation of all covert operations – the famous Wolfie and Stazi team taking revenge on Lal’s assassination squad.”

I sputtered: “How the hell did you find out about that – and what do you know of ‘Wolfie and Stazi’, as you put it?”

She smiled enigmatically. “I have my sources. Personal cloaking devices, too. Impressive.”

I harrumphed. ‘Better she is on our side than agin’ us,’ I thought.

“I’ll negotiate with Corazon on seconding the Spartan intelligence operations to you. I believe that our best operative has just retired, and his replacement is just being announced.

“Oh, and you’ll report directly to me – for as long as this Axis coalition holds together.

“The first thing I’ll need is an Agency budget, and a materiels requirements list. Anything you can siphon off from Yang or if you can tap this Alien race and siphon energy credits, they are your Agency’s to keep.

“Agreed?”

I stood up and offered her my hand. She rose gracefully and extended hers. Her handshake was firm.

"Welcome to the team," I said. Our unified Intelligence operation was now in business.

"Anything else?" I asked.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 08, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Warriors' Harmony

Ron and Shauna stopped abruptly as they crested the hill overlooking the base.

From a distance, as they climbed almost to the 1000 meter level, there seemed to be a constant heat haze rising from the canyon floor. But now, standing at the top of the hill, they realized that what they had been seeing was a wave distortion effect from the cloaking devices that the Aliens had surrounded their cities with.

Ron consulted the small map he had drawn on some paper.

“This must be Warrior’s Harmony,” he said. “According to Kri’lan, the HQ base, Courage : To Question, is only a few hundred cliks southeast of here. Spires Ascendant is almost due south, and Tusk and Claw is to the west. But it’s getting late – we’d best stop for the night here.”

‘Easier said than done,’ Shauna thought. ‘It’s not as though they have a Morgan Metropole here, and judging from what we have seen of the Aliens so far their sleeping arrangements won’t suit us. This is a harebrained idea of ours.’

Before they had set out on their mission, Ron had fashioned a small baby carriage with carrying room for Ruth and some odds and ends, and had salvaged from who-knows-where a small fission engine that he had rigged to the carriage as well as giving it a rudimentary – albeit unreliable - hover capability. While it was capable of also carrying them both half sitting/half standing on either side, the steering was a problem as Ron really needed to be behind the contraption to feed adequate directions through his hand held controller. So they had walked for the most part, and it had taken them a full day to traverse from their hiome to here. But they had used it to climb the hill between the covert ops HQ where their cottage was and Warrior’s Harmony.

Ron sensed her distress, and butted in…

“I took the liberty of making a small tent to protect us from the evening’s cold, and we do have adequate food and water with us – we don’t need anything elaborate. You’ll be OK. How about you, Ruthie?”

I’m fine. Yelle has a brother here too, Sjet, but he’s not as friendly. Younger, I think. I’ve been trying to ‘talk’ with him but he is preoccupied with combat mission training. Yelle doesn’t know this area well so can’t advise us where might be a good place to stop.

Ron looked around. Here seemed as good a place as any. The Aliens built differently from humans – much greater space between their buildings, and the edifices were grander than any he was used to. He commented on that to Shauna.

“Naw, they’re just like Morgan Industries’ buildings,” she said. You’ve spent too much time in the Hive warrens to appreciate above ground structures. Perhaps more space between – maybe they are clumsier than humans and need more passing and breathing room. Here’ll do.”

She indicated a corner of a meadow within the base enclosure that was sprouting a tough yellow grass-like vegetation – presumably edible to the Aliens. Amidst the curious stares of a few passers by, Ron erected their makeshift tent and awning, and fired up their small camping stove to heat some gruel.

A figure appeared from one of the buildings on the other side of the small yellow meadow and shuffled over to them.

“Uh oh, company. Inquisitive,” Shauna said.

The Alien approached and they observed the clicking of the mandibles that signified communication, and felt the resonance tingle in their bones that indicated it was ‘speaking’ to them.

Ron began to unsling the crude resonance translation equipment that he’d packed in the carriage, but was forestalled by a quieting thought in his mind.

Unnecessary. She (and she is a she) is of the garrison and wants to know what we are doing here.

“Ruth, you understand what she is saying?’ Shauna asked aloud of her precocious daughter.

Not ‘saying’, Mommy. I can read her intent before the .... resonance emanates from her. If you or Granddad reply I’ll put the thought in her mind – or tell me empathically what to say and I’ll do it.

Ron got the message from Ruth as well, and nodded.

To them he said, “Better to reply aloud, so that she can see our mouths move and hear our ‘squeaks’.”

He turned to the garrison trooper, and bowed.

“We are traveling to Courage : To Question at the invite of your esteemed Conqueror Marr, but the journey is too far to complete in one day, so we must rest for the night. Your facilities here are unsuitable for us so we have brought our own portable accommodation which we will dismantle in the morning.”

He bowed again and smiled.

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

I was perplexed.

As the human moved its facial orifice, occasionally showing its teeth, I strained with my flaps to capture the resonance and interpret it, ready to alter a reply for further interrogation. But from the discussions in the base it was apparent that these aliens on Manifold Six were incapable of proper resonance wave generation and had to rely on a crude translator machine to parley with us.

This was the first alien I had encountered. There were three of them, scrawny pink fleshed beings no bigger than a youngling progenitor, and the smallest of them was smaller than our hatchlings newly out of the egg. The tallest of the three had a mane of silver hair and a lined face, and showed its teeth often.

I pondered. Was the alien challenging me to single combat?

But then it started squeaking in staccato bursts that were painful to my receptors…..,and yet I was understanding it. And apparently it understood me.

How was this. Had I an unsuspected talent for understanding the aliens’ sonic speech waves? This could be valuable indeed, and might hasten a promotion from lowly garrison duty with the only diversion being flaming the occasional mindworm.

Workers hurrying to base from their duties had noticed the aliens setting up their temporary home and one had rushed to the barracks and resonated wildly, incoherently before we could fashion some sense from him. I had armed myself and come to investigate.

And they had invoked the name of Conqueror Marr himself.

Caretakers breath, what to do?

This was most irregular, them setting up a temporary home on our parade ground commons, but if they truly had Marr’s invitation to visit our headquarters I was not going to be the one to cross them and incur his wrath, even although he was still in orbit in the scoutship.

There was only one thing to do, and I recoiled from the thought, but duty was duty.

I began to resonate:

“Very well. Stay permitted. I wait here till departure. Safe delivery to Conqueror Marr imperative. To better understand, ... we share history.”

Again I saw its mouth move and heard the squawkings … and understood them!

“Wonderful. I’d enjoy that. Meanwhile why don’t you make yourself comfortable and settle in. It's going to be a long night?”

I sighed. This was going to be difficult. Weren’t all nights the same length?


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 09, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

Paul Andreus stormed into Mwabudike Morgan Senior’s office. His normally unflappable face told a short, eloquent story – he was coldly furious.

Morgan Senior was, as usual, at his desk engrossed in a report and seemingly didn’t see Paul enter. Of course he knew his security chief was here – he knew when anyone entered his office, except for the phantomlike Datajack Rose, who somehow always found a way to bypass all security, be it human or electronic.

Padding soundlessly to Morgan’s desk, he fairly threw a MorganLegal Notorized Datapad on his desk, which impacted with a dull thud and skidded half a meter on the desktop, stopping right in front of Morgan.

Morgan slowly looked down, as if just noticing that a datapad had magically appeared in front of him. For a brief second he just gazed at it, then reached over to pick it up. At his touch it activated, keying in on his DNA and fingerprint, and a legally notarized holo played out.

Morgan absorbed the message, which was proper and quite clear. Then he looked up at Paul, who stood quietly in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish.

Now that he had Morgan’s undivided attention, Paul boomed in the quiet room,

“I Quit!”

His pronouncement echoed briefly through Morgan’s compact (by Morganite standards) office.

Morgan immediately slipped into his negotiating persona. “Please Paul, have a seat. Let us discuss this,” he said in a rich and reasonable voice.

Paul had seen this far too often in his dealings with Morgan over the last 150 years and was neither put off nor taken in by the prelude. “There is absolutely nothing to discuss! I will not work with that woman,” Paul replied, seething. “Either she goes, or I do!”

“Hmmm,” Morgan replied, playing for time, “I will assume that ‘that woman’ means our beloved Datajack Rose.”

“Appointed by that gullible fool Allardyce to head up Axis security! That’s the last thing we should do! It’s like putting the fox in charge of the chicken coop, for heaven’s sake. What she needs is a private discussion with a shredder at point blank range! I’d volunteer for that job. She is a class one menace! She must have blackmailed Allardyce, or drugged him. There is no other reason he could be so stupid!”

Morgan let him rant and get it all out of his system. It had happened before and venting was the best approach with Paul when he was livid.

“Paul, there is another reason. I recommended that Mr. Allardyce appoint her to head security for the Axis.”

Paul was stunned, and silence spread for a moment.

“You didn’t,” Paul said softly, incredulous.

“Ms. Rose can be quite persuasive, as you know. She has been a major thorn in our side for over a hundred years, whether she was working for us or directly against us. While she scrupulously abides by contracts, her contracts are constructed to her advantage and in such ways that even the attorneys of MicroTrade are in awe. And her vendettas for perceived wrongs can be…painful.”

At that Paul grimaced.

Morgan noticed his grimace. “Remembering the tapeworm incident?”

“Oh, Yes. Only Rose’s wicked sense of humor would include both a search-and-destroy tapeworm to punish us for failure to pay ‘damages’, and then putting tapeworm eggs in my food to make the point crystal clear. I had to have emergency surgery to relieve the intestinal blockage those disgusting little brutes caused.” Paul shuddered at the memory.

“Just so. She now has a grievance and full vendetta against Yang, who apparently failed to pay her for services rendered, which was quite unwise of him. We can use that to our advantage.”

Paul was unmodified. “But how long will that last? She is the definition of a loose cannon, a true anarchist. To put her in charge is like dancing with the devil.”

Morgan leaned forward and looked Paul directly in the eye. “That is why we need you. Of all the directors of the Axis intelligence services only you have direct experience with Ms. Rose. The Spartan’s director is new to the job and, although reputedly skilled, is no match for Ms. Rose. The Peacekeepers are so hobbled by their own Charter restrictions that they frequently can not even see the potential for deception, much less act to prevent it. And the Gaians are true novices at covert operations, although their Empath Corps is formidable. I understand Miriam will be putting her limited but effective resources to the task soon, but many of her operatives have been out of action for a very long time and do not know the wiles of Ms. Rose or are inexperienced. The job of keeping Ms. Rose in line, Paul, therefore falls to you.”

Paul considered. What Morgan said was certainly true; the Axis would be critically vulnerable to the siren-like ministrations of Ms. Rose without someone to keep a careful eye on her. And as distasteful as it was to be her subordinate this task was necessary. Privately Paul cursed his old friend and colleague for his logic and negotiation skill – he always knew just what button to push.

“Ok, Ok. I’ll do it. But I won’t like it,” Paul blurted out quickly, before he could change his mind.

Morgan smiled broadly, his white teeth contrasting with his ebony skin and steel-gray hair. “Excellent! Here is your resignation affidavit, Paul,” Morgan said as he gave back the datapad Paul had tossed at him, which was accepted absently. Morgan noticed with satisfaction that Paul was already absorbed in plans to keep Rose under control, or at least semi-monitored, and had partially tuned him out.

Good,, Morgan thought, Work is tonic for the soul, especially for Paul.

“One more thing, Paul. Our delightful Ms. Rose sent a tidbit to us, and it was addressed primarily to you. I think you will find it to be of interest.”

Morgan handed Paul the datapad he had been working on when Paul entered. Paul took it and activated the text-only display and read it quickly.

As he read he became agitated again. “Damn it! How does she do it!”

“Fascinating, is it not?” Morgan responded. “It is from Yang’s own personal log, it would seem. From it we know at least that Morgan Junior is alive, and doing reasonably well, considering he is agonizing in a punishment sphere. Of particular interest is the ‘education regime’ Yang is inflicting on Junior. Imagine Yang trying to teach Junior his philosophy of the universe as he sees it.” Morgan shook his head. Even so he was relieved at the news, since it was the first news he had received since Junior’s capture at Morgan Bank during a failed revolt against Yang’s occupation.

Paul nodded as he listened to Morgan and he continued reading. “Re-education and philosophy? Yang is one twisted SOB. That is torture in and of itself, knowing Junior, who always considered philosophic discussion to be the mental equivalent of masturbation.”

“All the more reason to get him out, as soon as possible,” Morgan exclaimed. “We may be able to persuade Ms. Rose to arrange that, given the proper inducement. In fact, I may be able to call in a favor from Ms. Rose for my recommendation to Mr. Allardyce which, I understand, got her in the door.”

“But will she deliver?” Paul asked, genuinely concerned. The chance of double cross loomed large on his mind. If Junior was a chit that Yang had to be played against Morgan, it could also be a chit that Rose could use against Morgan.

“Unknown, but we will have to see. And hope.”

[Googlie]

Ron sat absolutely entranced. He had activated the crude translator more to let Ruth sleep than for any other reason, although he had to admit that without the talent of Shauna he had at times found Ruth’s ‘mindreading translation’ to be painstakingly cumbersome. And with the portable holovid that he was now hooked into, he doubted whether Ruth could have given them the full flavor as she would only have been able to read the Alien trooper’s mindwaves.

But even with the crudity of the home-made translator, he was transfixed by the holovid playing out before his eyes.

Sha had said:

“We have all been brought up on these tales, through holovid shows and taletelling from generation to generation.

“My favorite is the Tale of the First Flowering, and did you know that ‘Yees C’Nard is still alive and along with Teq is now an honored citizen of both the factions and can move freely between Harmony and The Rim Syatems ?

“This is her story, dictated many thousands of turnings ago.”

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

Manifold One – The Experiences of ‘Yees C’Nard

Dormitory,
Progenitor Research Station

They were coming more frequently now, the headaches. Tusk-numbing eye piercing headaches that made me want to claw the inside of my head to relieve the pain.

And I knew that they were bad news.

I’d done the correlation. I’d extrapolated the dates. And now I was keeping a diary. I knew now what – or rather who – was causing the headaches. This damned planet, that was who. I rolled over and clawed for my scriptpad. I tapped the keys with an extended claw.

File open: Diary of research officer ‘Yees C’Nard

Entry: 30.9, 22/15

Headache again – a real doosie this time. Different. Like hearing thousands of hatchling growls clamoring for food. Insistent. Repetitive. Mind numbing. Shattering the resonance. Painful.

In the morning I’ll view the sensor reports and look for the extraordinary, as now I know to expect Planet taking some action.

It’s our own fault. We engineered sentience into Manifold One. The Grand Experiment, everyone resonated. But do we know what we have created, I alter?

I tapped a tusk reflectively with a claw as I recalled the excitement when the Experiment was mooted, and my eagerness to be assigned to it…..

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

Lecture Hall
University of T’Sarr
Harmony


And so, Males and Females, we will create the sentient planet. We will graft into the living core of Manifold One itself the seeds of sentiency – bio-engineered organisms that will relate symbiotically with the fauna and flora of the Planet and which will reproduce each lifecycle further up the evolutionary chain.

In time Manifold One will become self-generating and self containing – able to anticipate the needs of its inhabitants and terraform itself to accommodate them. By creating a true symbiosis between us, we shall together – Planet and Progenitor – enter into a golden age of growth and prosperity. We need rainfall – Manifold One will provide it. Energy? We will but resonate internally and Manifold One will supply instantaneously a new volcano to tap its magma core.

And as this succeeds with Manifold One, so we shall repeat it in other star systems – where there is a planetary subsystem capable of sustaining life we will seed it with sentience – and one with the other to create an intergalactic link of planetary consciousness allied to our Progenitor minds and talents.

Young Students. Dare you to dream in your introspective resonatings?

We are about to staff up for the Great Experiment, and we need young, eager, dedicated research officers.

I encourage you to sign up for a tour of duty. You will serve for ten years on site, and will be in cryosleep for the journey across the Tau Ceti star system for about ten years each way, so think carefully before you rush to join. While you age ten years your brood siblings will age thirty. You will come back still a young pup to find your friends now in increasingly important positions on Harmony.

But you will have had an experience they could only dream about.

You will have been present at, and helped to midwife, the birth of planetary sentience.

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

I had been hooked. I signed on there and then, and worried what to tell my guardians when I got home.

But I needn’t have worried.

G’Nall, my Male Guardian, was blunt.

“I tell you, ‘Yees, it will do you good,” he resonated. “You are at an age when the Males should be calling to court you, yet you immerse yourself in your learning so much that I fear I will be your pride guardian until your tusks yellow. For you turn them all away. So let the Family care for you and feed you and clothe you. And when you return in thirty years I will have retired to the rejuvenation tanks to dream about being a young pup again.”

My Brood Guardian was more diplomatic – and pragmatic:

“There will be Males on the mission, will there not?” she resonated.

I inclined my neck in assent.

“Well, then, you shall go,” she altered. “For surely there will be few eligible Females of the Race for them to consort with, and at least you will find company that shares your research interests.”

I clawed at my tusks to hide my embarrassment. How like a Brood Guardian to come up with that rationale for going.

And, of course, there had been.

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

I came out of my reverie to find that my headache had abated somewhat. But in the fresh clarity of my mind I could detect….a presence….lurking at the fringes…..trying to resonate.

This was frustrating. I had been aware of it in the past, occasionally, usually after one of my headache bouts, after clarity of mind had returned. I had discussed it with ‘Teq, thinking that it might be someone’s attempt at empathic resonance, but he dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

With heightened awareness I felt the tremor as the fungal bloom popped outside the research station, and suddenly I was aware of the faint resonance inside my head.

I marveled at the revelation. Then communication. From nowhere, my tusks were humming with the resonance.

Racebeing ‘Yees. I/we thank you for the gift of sentience you and your race have given me/us. And for teaching me/us the ways of resonance. You have spent much time in my/our fungus groves and I/we have learned much from you Racebeing ‘Yees.

Now I/we do not need the Race and I/we will resonate my/ourselves. You, Racebeings, may leave me/us now for I/we can care for myself/ourselves.

I/we “tap claws” with you Racebeing ‘Yees in thanks for the nurturing.

Now go.

I was irresolute, whether to rush out to find someone to resonate and alter this with, or whether to alter to M1 and try and glean greater understanding.

The search for knowledge won out.

“Manifold One,” I began, resonating, as I had no skill at empathy, but was cut off by the altering that came right back into my head and throughout my being.

Racebeing ‘Yees, you may call me/us Planet

“Planet,” I continued, “what do you plan to do after we have gone?”

Plan, what is this ‘Plan’ you speak of, Racebeing ‘Yees?

“A plan is when you have resonated and altered internally what to do next – where that will take you, how to respond to unforeseen events – that’s a plan,” I altered, feeling stupid to be resonating with a barely sentient entity in those abstract terms.

But Manifold One’s altering floored me.

Ah, Racebeing ‘Yees, I/we now understand ‘Plan’. Yes, I/we have a plan. I/we will stimulate my/our population growth to grow our collective mind and will practice resonating in order to fuel that emerging mind. This flowering is beginning now, and will expand across Planet and indeed across the star system to which I/we belong.

Then I/we will reach across the Galaxy to educate other planets into sentiency. I/we will teach them resonance.

That is why, Racebeing ‘Yees, you must leave now. I/we have commenced and my/our collective resonance has just begun. This will lead to massive amounts of energy generation and my/our population growth is now well underway.

So, leave. Before you are caught up in the Plan. I/we leave you now.

My mind went cold as I sensed the cessation of the resonance and the departure of Manifold one from my consciousness.

I went to find Terts, the Chief Research Officer to the mission.

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

Terts mocked me.

I had resonated to the group to explain my communication with Planet.

He had extended his flaps, and caught the resonating waves, distorting them, and chopping them, altering, and thrown them back around the room in short sharp staccato burst of dissonance. The mark of ridicule.

“How typical of a Female, to hallucinate that Manifold One singled her out – and her alone – to reveal this truth to. ‘Yees, we are controlling the growth of this sentience. Manifold One is our slave, and cannot resonate independently without our being present and prompting. It can only alter”

I gnashed my tusks at the sheer pomposity of the Male.

But I could see that ‘Teq believed me, as he singled me out afterwards.

“I enjoyed your resonance, ‘Yees, this is wonderful, that Manifold One has chosen you to resonate with.”

“‘Teq, you’re missing the point,” I altered. Manifold One wasn’t ‘resonating’ with me. It was giving me an eviction notice. It doesn’t need us any more and was warning me that we will be caught up in events beyond our control.”

I intertwined claws with him.

“Promise me that when danger breaks out that we’ll make for the ship,” I resonated.

He inclined his neck solemnly, and altered. I felt the wave returning, softened, enhanced with reassurance, washing over my receptors to give me comfort.

“In fact, I’ve drawn sensor duty for the next three days anyway,” he resonated, “so I’ll be in the ship.”

This was true. The ship’s sensors were what we used for planetary monitoring of mindworm activity. We had introduced them from Harmony when we first arrived and they had thrived in the atmosphere and ecosystem of Manifold One.

Our discussion was interrupted by a loud rumbling and we both felt the earth tremor start beneath our feet. The fungal blooms seemed to weave and shimmer as the ground shook, and then we were both aware of the resonating coming from all around.

One particular fungal stalk caught our attention. It was as thick as a warrior male, and about twice as tall, and as we watched it was swaying in a circular motion as if dancing in the harmonics generated by the burgeoning resonance.

Suddenly it split and from it uncoiled a single, slimmer stalk that reached out to about twice the height as before. It had a glorious yellow flower protruding from a carapace of leaves and as it reached its full height the wind gusted and the spores were visible to our eyes as they detached themselves from the stalk and were carried up into the air for dissemination across planet.

The Flowering is beginning now

The resonance came unbidden into my mind.

We looked over the fungus patches. As far as the eye could see, the huge slim stalks were reaching for the sky each with their yellow flower dispensing spores to the wind.

The tremor continued, intensifying even.

“’Teq, let’s go to the ship,” I resonated urgently.

“But,” he altered….

“Now, let’s go.”

As I was resonating, the ground erupted across the commons as a rift appeared in the soil.

Our carefully tended Harmony plants and vegetables were subsumed into the chasm that appeared, and from it sprung a whole new fungal grove.

The rippling of the earth continued along a line as if making for the research station itself, creating its own pit as it went into which fell everything that it encountered. We heard the screams of our co-workers as they were engulfed in the collapse of the infrastructure as the research station itself disintegrated into nothingness in the path of destruction.

The pops and rumbles were more frequent now, and even the sky was darkening with the density of the spores being carried aloft.

Now ‘Teq was running for the monolith - the psi-gate that connected with its equivalent close by the launchpads at the aerospace center - dragging me along with him.

It was going to be a close race, Planet or us. The rift was arrowing towards the monoloth itself.

“Planet,” I thought. “You promised to let us go.”

Racebeing ‘Yees. You must leave immediately. Do not wait for other Racebeings. I/we cannot control the Flowering now that it has begun.

We staggered into the portal of the monolith, and carried right on through the apparently solid wall, emerging, blinking, in the sunlight at the aerospace center some hundreds of clicks away. We lumbered over to our ship.

We reached it and ‘Teq activated the access panel, tapping hurriedly with his claw.

The hatch swung open and we clambered in.

“Computer,” he barked.

Awaiting Instructions a metallic voice resonated.

“Fire up engines, activate hatch seal, and launch,” he resonated hurriedly.

Commencing pre launch countdown. Accessing checklist. Confirm crew identities please.

I had spent a few hours watching the crew in action before entering cryosleep.

I sat down in the captains chair.

“Override. Priority override,” I resonated, strapping myself in And motioning for ‘Teq to take the Astrogator chair.

Instructions? queried the onboard computer.

“Launch immediately. Finish checks in orbit,”

The huge singularity resonance drive pulsed into life and The Explorer lifted off not a moment too soon as the gantry fell back, not just to earth but into the gaping chasm that seared Planet’s surface.

We looked back as we climbed and saw the shrinking globe.

“Set course for Harmony,” I barked, and reached out to touch claws with ‘Teq.

“We made it,” I resonated.

“Yes,” he altered, glancing over at me then back to the receding planet below. “But thirty others didn’t.”

“There wasn’t time,” I resonated. “Besides they would never have believed me anyway.”

I saw his visage blanch.

From the safety of space, I looked down to Manifold One.

One hundred billion fungal stalks were picking up the beat, aided and abetted by the neural net of sentient planetbeings - the mindworms of Manifold One. Pulsing, striving to reach a common harmonics, straining, then....suddenly....as the fungus took up the note, bolstered by the mindworms, they began to sway.

The sound vibrated, running up the stalks and bursting visibly from the tips in a cacophony of sound and energy, dissipating into the thin atmosphere. Then the connectivity began, as the stalks slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity and cohesion built the resonance wave.

Increasingly Manifold One itself took up the beat, the pulse quickening, and with each release the vortex heightened and reached further through the atmosphere as if reaching for the stars themselves.

Then cohesion….unison….Planet and fungus and mindworms as one.

The pulse controlled. Each one drawing deeper and sending higher, as Manifold One strained to break the bounds of its own gravity. The outburst of each resonance pulse was palpable , shaking Planet to its very foundation, and threatening to uproot the very algorithms on which it was built and depended on for its continued being.

Then with a supreme effort Planet achieved the nexus. Every stalk aligned to the rhythm, every mindworm and planet itself pulsing, until, in one final contraction, the resonance wave blasted out beyond the confines of Manifold One, reaching outwards, to sweep before it everything it encountered, gathering energy as it went, reinforcing its awesome wavepower, it raced through the star system known as Tau Ceti.

“The Flowering” I resonated softly.

“What?” altered ‘Teq.

“Oh, nothing,” I altered in return. “Planet told me that this was what it was going to do – reach for the stars to teach them sentience. The Flowering, it called it.”

Course computed and all checks complete. Suggest cryobays.

“Good idea,” I altered in affirmation. Let’s get into our couches before that wave reaches us.

We left our acceleration couches and quickly went through out prep routines, then strapped ourselves into the cryocells.

I reached over and gently drew a claw down ‘Teq’s facial tusks and resonated “See you in ten years.”

He nodded, and touched claws, then we activated our cryocells.

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

We were already in deep stasis when the resonance pulse caught the little Explorer, picking it up and hurtling it at almost the speed of light towards Harmony leaving us in its wake as it flared across the void in all directions. The cosmic flowering had begun.

Ten galaxies away the pulse hit the third planet from the primary star in a system known as the Solar system, almost extinguishing all life on that planet, and exterminating the then dominant species of lifeform known as the dinosaurs.

And the resonance pulse washed over Harmony, collapsing buildings and infrastructure, devastating the energy grid and the surface and the atmosphere of our homeworld, pitching it into a four millennium dark age and leaving behind a planet that we were to scarcely recognize when we returned.

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

Ron relaxed as the holovid winked out, and then looked speculatively over at the alien trooper. She returned his gaze implacably.

“So that’s what Conqueror Marr meant,” he said.

She inclined her head and he saw the flaps gently move, and waited for the machine to translate.

“What?” was the altered query.

“You are going to attempt a controlled ‘flowering’ here, of this Planet ,” he accused, then waited.

After a slight delay, the resonance translator declared:

“Conqueror Marr has often resonated:

:: Risks of Flowering: considerable. But rewards of godhood: who can measure? ::

Human is right. We are going to control the Flowering of Manifold Six.”

Ron nodded, wondering how he, Shauna and Ruth could benefit from this understanding of the Progenitor agenda.

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 19, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Kurt received the message empathically, as most of his orders now came. It was Sand.

“Go to Fellowship City, find Sven Alfredsson, swipe him.”

“Why?” Kurt remonstrated. “What’s his crime?”

“He’s blabbering now. He must be silenced. Full clearance.”

“Can’t you just do a selective memory swipe? What are you looking to excise? I can leave him with innocuous stuff”

“Look, Kurt, if you’re too chicken, I’ll get Angel do silence him. But it will be final with her – she’d have no compunctions.”

“No, no, it’s all right. I’ll go. I’ll do it.”

“OK – but take the whole team. The woman and the girl, too.”

Kurt went to round up Angel and Angelica.

“Let’s get moving – we have work to do.”

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

It took half a day to get to FC, and Kurt left Angel to arrange accommodation, Angelica to ask around to see if anyone knew Sven Alfredsson, while he set off to find the man.

Three hours later, they reconvened, and compared notes.

Kurt had come up empty, asking countless citizens who either ignored him or just shrugged when the name was mentioned. Angelica reported the same. She’d gone to the records offices and browsed for a while, looking for business records, births, marriages and deaths, and police records, using her not insignificant personal charms to gain access to public – and private – records.

Angel surprised them.

“Our landlord knows him. Or at least knows of him. Seems he was a Lander, one of the vets, in the original militia. Retired here then dropped out of sight. Says he used to hang out in the Rec. Commons.”

“I’ll go down there after we eat,” Kurt said. The others nodded.

“Want help?” asked Angel sweetly.

Kurt shook his head.

“Naw. But why don’t you and sis ask around some of the vet hangouts to see what you can pick up. Maybe make like you’re his grandchildren or something. Get any information you can. Meet back here at ten."

They nodded.

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

Kurt cautiously approached the Rec. Commons. While it had been over a year since he last had been in Fellowship City, he didn’t want just to blunder into danger. After all, some of Bert’s old gang might be there and recognize him.

He activated the stolen pass and the door slid open. He went in.

“Hrrmph. Recreation, eh?” he mumbled to himself. The place was almost deserted, and the handful that were there seemed to be intent on drinking to drown whatever sorrows they had.

He spotted an old timer who had either resisted rejuvenation on principle, or for want of credits. He was sitting at the long bar in the ‘refreshments’ alcove nursing the remains of an amber colored drink.

Kurt sidled over to the bar where the grizzled citizen was propped.

He carefully focussed and extended his thought wave pattern, narrowing it to a sliver, and gently probing the older man’s mind. Ah yes, an old trooper. Paydirt.

“Buy you a drink, granddad?” Kurt asked.

The man turned a bloodshot eye at Kurt.

“Aye. I dinna mind if I do,” he slurred. “What’ll it cost me?”

“Information,” Kurt replied. “What’s your poison?

“Double fungal gin and ginger,” he replied. “ What do you want to ken?”

The barkeep slid a fresh glass of the fiery amber spirit across the counter. The grizzled vet picked it up and stared contemplatively into it, and raised it to his lips.

“The whereabouts of Sven Alfredsson,” Kurt said.

The vet paused. Looked longingly at the drink, and shuddered inwardly, yet perceptibly. He put the glass back on the countertop, and slid it over to Kurt.

“Aye, but I canna tell ye that,” he said. “Ye’d best be getting’ on your way, now.”

Kurt was still in his mind, and had recognized the brief flash when it came.

He stood up to go, pushing the glass back to the vet.

“You’d best enjoy the drink, you’ve earned it. You’ve been really helpful.”

With that, kurt leaned towards the old man and whispered:

“Block C, level 28, unit 17. Thanks.”

He withdrew his faint neural probe from the astonished man’s mind, and left the Commons.

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

Angel was watching an old Hive patriotic vidshow on the cheap 3d vidscreen in the room, and Angelica was snoozing quietly on the couch when the door softly opened.

“Back so soon,” Angel said, turning round to welcome Kurt.

She stared. There was no-one there. The door mustn’t have been properly closed and must have blown open when someone else on the floor entering their unit caused a draught.

She got up and closed it. But stood irresolutely. Conscious of a …presence.

She walked over to Angelica, and shook her.

“Angelica. Wake up. I need you to scan.”

Angelica woke up, sat up, and screamed.

Angel leapt back, heading for the dresser where her flechette shredder was lying, but backed right into the muzzle of a weapon of sorts.

“Hold it right there,” a disembodied woman’s voice said. “Where’s Kurt?”

Angel stopped in mid movement when she felt the pressure of the weapon in the small of her back. She looked over at Angelica who was still screaming with her hands over her ears. She sized up the situation immediately.

“Turn down your stun prod, and back off – you’ve got me covered and my sister incoherent. I’ll tell you nothing until you’ve restored some sanity.”

The voice behind her said, loudly, “Softer”, and immediately Angelica’s screams dissolved into a constant whimper as she writhed on the couch.

“Where’s Kurt?” repeated the voice.

“Out. And you’ll be sorry when he gets back,” Angel said defiantly, relaxing every muscle in her body and preparing to strike.

She felt the pressure in her back ease, and in a fluid motion whirled round aiming a kick at where the head of her captor was.

To her surprise she encountered no resistance at all, and her momentum put her off balance such that she stumbled to the floor. Collecting herself, she looked wildly around, only to see an adapted personal shredder hovering in mid air, pointing to her temple.

::Thwuck::

She slumped to the floor.

The unit door opened, and the voice said:

“Coast clear, come in and lets wait.”

Anastasia activated the PCD toggle and the personal cloaking device shield shut down. Miles Cavenaugh came into the room and closed the door behind him, and looked over at Angelica:

“You going to behave?” he asked.

She nodded mutely.

He relaxed somewhat the mindlock he had on her as she gazed uncomprehendingly at the two operatives.

They settled down to await Kurt’s return.

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

Kurt sidled along the corridor to unit 17, and paused.

He ranged his mind inside, and could distinguish two presences. One was incoherent of thought, while the other was full of solicitation and concern.

He swiped his passcard down the slot, and when the interrogative handprint sensor lit up he clamped the device against it for a second. The door slid open. He went in.

And stopped dead in his tracks as he stared down the quad barrels of a type of weapon he was unfamiliar with, held by a giant of a man who clearly did not welcome the intrusion.

On the bed in a corner was another man, younger, equally large, but clearly unwell, lying with his head lolling to one side, and drool forming at the corner of his mouth and dripping to the pillow on the bed. He was ashen faced and sweating profusely, and at the side of the bed was a basin and sponge. On a small table was an open satchel with so many bottles and syringes that had the appearance not belied it, Kurt would have taken the man now pointing the weapon at him to be a medic.

Kurt marshaled his psi energy into a tight compulsion thread and directed it at the armed man, sending the thought to him ‘put aside the weapon…he is a friend…’

…and was met with a blank mind of indifference, still projecting the same solicitation and concern that he had encountered before he entered.

The man laughed.

“Playing mind games with me, are you?” he asked. “They won’t work. I’ve had the aug-op decades ago. Watch and feel.”

He took the thought stream that Kurt was directing at him, and turned it, sending it back to Kurt.

Kurt jumped up on the table and crouched low, shuffling around on the table top swinging his arms and grunting “whooh…whooh…whooh..”

The armed man relaxed, and Kurt stopped in mid “whoo”, and looked sheepishly down at the man.

“Jump down carefully, laddie. I have an itchy trigger finger.”

Kurt jumped down.

“I guess you haven’t crossed swords with an augmented psi before, eh?” he asked.

Kurt shook his head. He felt stupid.

“So what brings you here anyway?” asked the man.

“I’m looking for Sven Alfredsson,” Kurt responded. “I presume that’s him yonder,” he added, nodding over to the figure on the bed.

The man’s eyes steeled over.

“Only two groups are looking for Sven,” he said grimly. “And you’d better give me the right answer or your head is going to part company with your torso.

“Are you of The Circle? Or a Believer?”

Without hesitation Kurt said:

“I’m a Believer. The Circle sent me to mindswipe him, but I can’t do that to another human. I’m turning.”

The armed man lowered the weapon, and stuck out a huge fist:

“I’m Anson Taddei. Sit down and let’s talk. You can help. As you have surmised, that’s Sven Alfredsson over there, and he needs help.”

They sat down, and Anson talked.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 19, 2000).]

[senatus]

Miriam Godwinson was not pleased. She'd hoped to recruit or hire
the probe operative that had rescued her from Yang's punishment sphere
to train the Believers' very first probe team in this century. Instead,
she'd found that the man - known only by his cypher, "edgecrusher", had
seemingly disappeared off of the face of the Planet. No-one knew
who he was; and apparently no-one knew where to find him, if he didn't
want to be found.


Which meant that she was going to have to improvise.


At least she'd had no shortage of volunteers. Despite their low
numbers (at least, as far as she had an accurate count), the Believers
pursued their goals with fervent - some would say fanatical - devotion.
And just as Christ's return from the dead had restored the faith of His
followers, likewise Miriam's figurative return from the closest
thing to Hell on Planet - when all had believed her to be long dead - had
energized her own faction.

The problem was that very few of her volunteers had anything approaching
traditional covert ops experience. The Believers had only begun exploring
the fruits of information networks when Yang's forces had overrun her meagre
two bases. There were, however, a number of her flock who had successfully
gone "underground" - if that was an appropriate term given Yang's predeliction
for subterranian bunkers. The Hive's police state had eventually
found and executed a good many of them, of course; but the survivors
had learned and flourished, just as the Christians of Old Earth had flourished
under the persecution of the Roman Empire. Every man, woman, and
child executed by the Hive's internal security forces had become a literal
martyr, and dead martyrs only served to encourage the live Faithful.
This was why Yang had kept her alive throughout the years; he'd hoped to
break Miriam's spirit, to get her to renounce her Faith and demonstrate
the futility of resistance to a cowed people.

He'd almost succeeded. Miriam would never admit to another person
how close she'd been to utter despair in three hundred thousand days of
hell. But somehow - with God - she had prevailed. And now the
Believers were restored, while Yang's mighty empire was assailed from all
factions on Planet. Well, except for Zakharov. Reports
indicated that just as she'd been rescued from Yang, so Zakharov had been
spirited away from Santiago. Personally Miriam rather doubted that
Zakharov would be a willing ally to Yang; despite the former's complete
amorality - indeed, it had been his experimentation on human subjects (logically
justified that a few deaths would serve to save many more lives in the
long run) as much as simple military expediency that had prompted
Santiago to move against him in the first place - nevertheless Zakharov
had always resented any oversight of his admittedly brilliant if ethically
bankrupt research. Then again, the concept of sharing an execution
chamber with Yang for Crimes Against Humanity might be a powerful incentive
for cooperation.

Miriam shook off her introspection. Whatever danger Zakharov might
present in the near future didn't obviate her pressing needs right now.
She was still committed to helping Corazon Santiago where she could,
and a probe team network was still the most cost-effective means of doing
so given such relatively limited resources. Again, she reviewed the
files on her screen. One candidate's profile stood out amongst the
others. Miriam frowned only briefly as she read the genetic ID contained
within the file. But whatever her parentage, this candidate's devotion
and capability marked her as a superior Talent. Lord, guide my decisions,
Miriam prayed as she touched her comlink.

"Send me Sister Jessica."

---

Jessica was nervous as she entered the converted Spartan barracks
- now an improvised church. Not that she should be nervous,
entering the house of the Lord. She was a fully ordained minister
herself, after all. But it was not every day that the leader of the
Lord's Believers invited her to prayer. Calm, peace, tranquility.
Let His Spirit enter me and strengthen me, Jessica meditated even as
she walked softly up the narrow isle, to stop beside the only other occupant
of the sanctuary. Jessica knelt beside Miriam Godwinson before the
altar to join her in silent prayer. She's smaller than I thought.
She looks almost too frail to be what I know she is. But the Spirit
within is not always evident by the shell it wears without.

Miriam rose, and waited a moment for Sister Jessica finished her own
prayers. Studying Jessica , Miriam saw a young woman for her experience.
Ordained and taught by Brother Joaquim. Combined specialities in
human psychology and computer science, with a brilliant thesis on neural
networks. Physically fit and trim, even pretty. Auburn hair,
like her mother. Shodan in Karate, and Ikkyu in Aikido. No
formal combat training, however. And one other very special talent.
Overall, crisp, intelligent, and efficient.

"Thank you for coming all this way, Sister Jessica. I trust your
flight was comfortable?" Miriam enquired as she gestured for Jessica
to sit beside her on the nearest pew.

"Yes, Sister Miriam. And thank you for asking. I am honored
to be chosen. I hope I can help."

"Call me Miriam. And don't thank me yet, Jessica." Miriam
smiled slightly, then continued. "We have much to discuss, and formal
titles in private take too long."

"Here?" Jessica asked, gesturing around.

"Yes," confirmed Miriam. "Can there be a better place to discuss
the Lord's work?"

"No," Jessica admitted. "But is this place... well, is it secure?"
Jessica looked slightly embarrassed at asking. Nevertheless, Miriam
approved of Jessica's caution. She would need it in the months to
come.

"A gift from Colonel Santiago." Miriam held up a small electronic
box. "I don't pretend to understand its workings, but it detects
any minute electrical currents that could indicate an electronic eavesdropping
device. Other than her own, of course, but we have nothing to hide
from the Colonel. And as for other forms of eavesdropping... well,
I presume you would tell me, yes?"

Jessica stiffened involuntarily. "You know about my...." she began,
but inside she was thinking, ... and you don't think I'm some kind of
witch?

Yes, Jessica. I know about your empathic psi talents.
God has indeed given you great blessings. Miriam projected carefully.
She had no way of knowing what Jessica could perceive, of course.
None of the faction leaders - with the possible exception of Diedre Skye
- were blessed with the psionic talents that later generations on Planets
very, very rarely produced. But she was aware of them, and had carefully
read Zakharov's treatise on the "Secrets of the Human Brain" - logical
extrapolations, actually, from her own speciality of social psychology.
She could see Jessica relax slightly.

"Were you afraid of my reaction, or those of other Believers, Jessica?"
Miriam asked gently. "You should not be. The Bible tells of
many prophets with special gifts. Indeed, my own namesake, Miriam,
was one of these prophets. And certainly we know that many of the
first Saints were gifted with the ability to heal and cast out demons in
His name."

"Then that's why you chose me?" Jessica asked.

"That's one reason why I chose you. But there are others."
Miriam told Jessica of her plan, beginning with the premise and the goals
for a working probe network.

"I would like you to be the first, Jessica. I have an assignment
for you, but we also need to proceed quickly with the training you'll
need. Assuming, of course, that you feel God has chosen you for this
task." Miriam awaited Jessica's response. She looked at Jessica
with her intense, piercing gaze.

"I will what I can for His people," Jessica answered after a long moment.

"Then may the Lord guide you and protect you," Miriam nodded.
"But we will try to make His work a little easier."

Miriam passed a flat package over to Jessica, and gestured for her to
open it. Inside Jessica found a crisp set of... it looked like?

Combat fatigues. It was a Spartan military uniform, with a private's
rank insignia. There was very little else to adorn it; in keeping
with Spartan doctrine, the uniform was completely functional. No,
wait, there was one other addition on the collar.

The Cross and Omega of the Lord's Believers.

"Another gift from Colonel Santiago." Miriam announced simply,
then smiled. "And as I said, you can thank me... if you still
want to... after you pass your accelerated training with the Spartan cadets.
You'll take your orders from their officers just as if you were one of
their own, for now. I understand it's quite the ordeal."

Jessica hesitated. "I'm not a soldier, Sist... Miriam."

"We are all Soldiers in His Service, Jessica. And in particular,
you'll need a soldier's training to survive."

And I do hope you survive. Miriam hoped she hadn't
signed Jessica's death warrant, for she was a most promising Talent.

---

Corazon Santiago reviewed Miriam Godwinson's report and smiled.
Rescuing the hapless faction leader had been an extremely profitable endeavour.
For the paltry price of a single probe operation of their own, not only
did the Spartans inherit a functional core of resistance and infiltration
in the Hive, they also had the promising beginnings of a new probe network
that by its nature was extremely difficult to counter-infiltrate
- both due to fanaticism and the dispersed placement of its members.
The pinnacle of military deployment approaches the formless: if it is
formless, then even the deepest spy cannot discern it nor the wise make
plans against it. And if that organization existed outside of
her own chain of command, that too was a strength. It wasn't like
she actually distrusted Scott Allardyce, but with Lal's appropriation
of the existing Axis probe networks, the Believers represented a useful
independent asset. After her own kidnapping, Santiago knew the value
of double- and triple-safeing her covert operations. Miriam's probe
teams might even be able to uncover weaknesses in the Spartan Military
Command that her own probe teams were blind to.

Information, the first principle of warfare, must form the foundation
of all your efforts. Know, of course, thine enemy. But in knowing him do
not forget above all to know thyself. The commander who embraces this totality
of battle shall win even with the inferior force.


[This message has been edited by senatus (edited June 19, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited June 19, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Toronto, Earth. 2058

It was 2058 on old Earth. I got a call from an old buddy that I’d served with in the Sahara Burst wars, to have a coffee and ‘meet someone’. I trusted big Chuck Washington with my life – indeed I had done just that, as he’d led us through the enemy lines to safety in one of the skirmishes of those African wars. So I met his ‘someone.’

Turned out to be John Garland, who was going to have a tremendous impact on my life.

John was Canadian, and had been selected by the United Nations to command the UNN Starship Unity on its colonizing mission to Alpha Centauri. I had read as much on the vidflick news.

Chuck introduced us:

“John, this is Anson Taddei, a veteran of the Sahara Burst wars, and a certified mechtrooper. Anson, this is Captain John Garland, Unity commander.”

I stuck out my paw, and John took it in his, gripping firmly as he appraised me.

As you can see even now – although our tech level in some ways is only just approaching that of old earth in the 21st century – I can be quite imposing.

As a mechtrooper, I had all the usual bio and servo implants and a few additional modifications that only money – lots of it – could buy. As a group – and there were only about 100 of us scattered around the world – we were not omnipotent, only seemingly so; not indestructible, only extremely difficult to annihilate. And I was one of the best, ranked by my peers as being just below the big Swede himself, Sven Alfredsson.

Captain Garland spoke:

“Sit down, Anson – you too Chuck. I have an offer to make, and I just ask that you hear me out and then give me your response. I’ll understand either way.”

We three sat down.

“As you know, I have been appointed Commander of the Unity which is scheduled to leave for Alpha Centauri in four years, although I hear that an acceleration program is underway by Morgan Industries to fast forward the departure date with the rapidly worsening situation here.

“The UN has established a Security Detachment - a military force to provide colonist protection as well as law and order – under the command of an erstwhile strongman of the Golden Emperor. A shady character called Sheng-Ji Yang. After the Crimson Succession he dropped from view for several years, but now has resurfaced. And I’ll be frank, Anson. I don’t trust him. Not one little bit.

“As a result, I am recruiting my own force – a dozen independent mercs such as yourself –to go with us. Answerable only to me, and accountable to each other. Chuck here will lead the team. Are you interested in a new life among the stars?”

I pondered. The excitement of the unknown. With reliable buddies.

“What’s in it for me?” I asked. After all, we were mercenaries.

“Adventure,” he replied. “A new beginning. No history. Indeed, the chance to make history. Be leaders after landfall, settle down eventually, marry a colonist, raise kids. No fortune, though. This is highly unofficial, so I have no budget for it. Only enough clout to spirit 12 cryocells dispersed throughout the ship for the team and their equipment. Forty years of cryosleep and you’ll awake in the new century on a new planet with a new life. A hundred years of service in the force, with ten year rejuvenations, then you will be free to pursue your own interests.”

“Who else has signed up,” I asked, turning to Chuck

He reeled off the names.

“Sven, of course. Tommy Schumacher. Butch Wilson. And Flanny too.”

I smiled at that. Padraig Flannagan was a legend among the mercs.

He continued:

“Oh, and Jenny and Nikki too.”

That caught my attention. The merc ‘twins’ Jennifer D’Aquila and Nikki Petrov. The Aristocratic Anglo and the Renegade Russian. Deadly as a team.

“And you, Anson, would make eight. I’ll try for three or four more, but with this group we’ll be a match for anything Yang can put together.”

I nodded. This was an impressive group. The kicker for me, though, was Jennifer. We’d been tempestuous lovers for a few years before she’d teamed up with Nikki and we’d gone our separate ways. It’d be good to work with her again.

“OK, I’m in,” I said.

We all clasped hands to seal the agreement.

And thus The League of Mercenaries was formed.

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

Chuck had recruited four more, to make an even dozen. The newcomers were unknown to me, but all vouchsafed by Chuck, who seemed to know everyone in merc ranks.

We just used first names, sometimes even nicknames.

The four were Martin Lumumba , Rafael Guerrera, Ian “Waldo” Waldorf and Bernice “Bernie” Weiss.

Bernie was impressive. The second tallest of us all, she was a superb athlete who had represented Switzerland in the biathlon in the ‘54 Winter Olympics, winning silver behind a Norwegian.

We met as arranged at the shuttle base, and were introduced to each other by Chuck.

Getting us unobtrusively on the Unity was no easy feat.

We were designated by John Garland as “Integrity Inspectors,” and were shuttled to the spacecraft shortly before launch, ostensibly as a structural audit team. We did the EVA tour of the hull and the pods, making the expected noises, and suitably briefed by the Captain found a few minor defects that Morgan Industries rectified shortly thereafter.

Then we were smuggled aboard and when the colonists arrived went to our dispersed cryocells where Garland personally sealed in the codes that would awaken us just prior to planetfall.

Of course if you know the history of the Unity – and what Chironian doesn’t – you’ll know that not everything turned out as planned.

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

Shapes….noises….the far away sound of the Unity klaxon warning of imminent danger with its incessant three beat sequence.

Shadows moving…..snatches of voices penetrating the shell of the cryocell:

“…not one of ours. Move on….hurry.”

More movement.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. We were programmed to awaken simultaneously with the Captain, and to take our positions at the selected choke points unobtrusively, and just monitor the reactivation and landing procedures.

I clamped down on the respirator, and gingerly tested my reflexes.

The implants were working, and while the muscles were weak from forty years cryosleep, notwithstanding the computer-programmed stimulations administered periodically during the flight, the servo mechanisms still functioned.

I raised my arms and pushed at the cryocell transparent lid, exerting more and more pressure until I felt the crack of the seal breaking. This activated the wakeup phase and I felt the gel begin to froth around me.

The storm of bubbles boiled up around me, turning the thick cryogel to liquid. Fiercer now, growing violent, pounding my limbs; clench the teeth on the respirator, feel its cool silver shape in your mouth. I still remembered the training.

The chemical reaction that neutralized the cryogel ended, and I found himself floating in liquid. Small heating coils on the inside of the glass cocoon kicked on to warm the liquid, continuing the process of bringing my body back to life. I sucked air from the respirator, waited for the liquid to drain away.

I reached up with my hands to the lid of the cryocell, and pushed. Aided by the servo, the lid finally gave way and popped off, and I sat up slowly, still disoriented, and looked around.

Down past the long rows of cryocells I could see the indistinct shapes moving, selectively activating the awakening of certain cells.

Pulling the respirator from my mouth I stood up, naked, dripping, and climbed out from the cryocell. In the locker at the head was a towel and my personal effects. I toweled dry, and dressed, then punched in the code to the personal safebox, and extracted my gear.

First the fleschette darts.

I rolled up my sleeve, and flexed my hands, touching the nail of the middle finger to the sensor pad at the base of the thumb. On my forearms the synthskin peeled back and the launcher swiveled into view. I carefully loaded the six explosive tipped fleschettes into the right forearm magazine and the six nervegas tipped darts into its equivalent on my left forearm.

Flexing again, I closed the chambers, and tested.

Clench and touch and almost instantaneously the two modified personal shredder pistols were in my hands and ready for action.

I grunted. Far too slow. Decades of non-use had almost atrophied the muscles. I would need to practice.

Next I fitted the optic enhancer, sliding the eyepiece over the left eye and attaching the tiny micron-thick thread to the inserted implant in my temple. The lens felt for the eye and fitted itself somewhat uncomfortably over the pupil. I ran through the neural commands that brought up full spectral vision, infrared, heat pattern recognition and even tried the aura enhancer. Nothing to see there, but I wasn’t sure if that even worked. A crude attempt by the scientists to register psi-aura on the visual scale. Worked in the labs, but maybe there just wasn’t any projection to capture as yet.

I stuffed the knives and grenades in their sheaths and pouches, and then slung my primary weapon – the 7.62mm UN standard issue shredder - over my shoulder.

Finally my comm-link.

Tapping in the code, I saw the reassuring face of the Captain.

“Anson reporting, Sir,” I muttered into the commlink. "What's up?"

“Trouble,” he replied. “We’ve had a meteor strike on the ship and an insurrection by some crew. The mission is falling apart and I’ve ordered the evacuation of the ship. What bay are you in?”

I looked around and checked.

“Four, I replied.”

“Ah,” the Captain said, after a pause. “The one that Yang has commandeered.

“Listen, Anson, and I only have time to say it once:

“The mission is a disaster, with the Unity breaking up and the colonists aligning into what appears to be seven factions. Stay with Yang and evacuate with his people. Look after his safety and protect him. But your prime loyalty is to the League of Mercenaries. Look after each other. You’re all you have now.

“Be independent, yet loyal to your faction. I’m bursting you the assignments of the others. Only seven survived. Bay seven was destroyed in the strike, and we had three there. Two were killed in the internal struggles with cryocell sabotage.”

“What about you, Sir?” I asked.

“I’ll be OK – I need to see what’s up with a malfunction of the ejection system, then I’ll look for you all on Chiron. Good luck. Garland out.”

I glanced at the screen on the commlink.

Anson Taddei – Sheng-Ji Yang
Chuck Washington – Mwabudike Morgan
Jennifer D’Aquila – Deirdre Skye
Nikki Petrov – Corazon Santiago
Padraig Flannagan – Prokhor Zakrahov
Tommy Schumacher – Pravin Lal
Sven Alfredsson – Miriam Godwinson

‘So these are the faction leaders,’ I thought. 'Yang, eh? Ah well.'

I lumbered off to report to someone.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 20, 2000).]

[LightSniper]

PeaceKeeper Headquarters
Aerospace Complex Temporary Barracks Housing

The short hop from PeaceKeeper Omicron Training Center to PeaceKeeper Headquarters was fairly pleasant and uneventful. Riding inside the enormous aircraft gave the two squads a chance to see Chiron from the sky, which was nothing short of breath taking. Although, as much as the two squads enjoyed chatting with each other, the same can not be said for their two commanding officers. Lieutenant Lancer, who sat across from Lieutenant Walker at the front of the aircraft, did not even acknowledge his peer. Walker reciprocated his fellow officer’s stern action.

After the three-hour trip to Headquarters, both squads filed out of the aircraft, and made their way to the temporary barracks located just off the airport complex. The entire base was filled to the brim with an assortment of troops from all over the Axis. But, do to their imminent deployment, the two squads needed to wait in their assigned barracks for their two lieutenants to come back from their requested briefing.

PeaceKeeper bases traditionally aren’t known for their large raving unending partying, but with the influx of foreign troops into the confined area, it seemed unstoppable. Large numbers of bright lemon colored Morgan troops equipped with a wide range of weaponry consisting of distilled Chiron Gin and the unstoppable new Mindworm Vodkas roamed the entire streets like a plague.

“We should be out partying with them.” Yuri Swerdlow said to his fellow Morganite Miles. Although they both were part of the Morgan Federation, after joining Lancer’s multi-faction squad, they had come under PeaceKeeper command.

Both men looked out of the large synthglass windows, which covered the barracks’s walls. Their new PeaceKeeper officer, Lancer, had given them orders to maintain their position inside the barracks, but the temptation of fun and alcohol, was difficult to fight.

Privates’ Armitage and Cotroneo, both Spartan volunteers to the squad, walked over to their new Morgan comrades in arms.

“All you guys think about is sex and alcohol, and that’s why The Hive was kicking your butts when we weren’t helping you guys out. Remember Morgan Pharmaceuticals… you guys got your butt’s kicked.” Armitage said comically, which amused his fellow Spartan.

Spartans clearly were trying to push the Morganites into action, although they purely meant it for its comical connotation.

The laughter of the two Spartans caught the attention of the entire barracks, and the whole room waited for the retort from the Morgans.

Both Morgan individuals turned to each other and smiled slowly. Then, they turned slowly and jumped on top of their Spartan criticizers, forcing both of them to the ground, to the entire barracks’s amusement. After Morgans exchanged their own laughs, they moved off their flattened Spartans and walked laughingly to their bunks.

After dusting themselves off, the Spartan privates laughed loudly, and walked over to the Morgan’s who had just took up positions sitting on top of their beds. They respected strength and courage, and the Morgans, although a bit different had those same qualities.

Although the troops were quite different from each other, the war seemed to bridge the gap between differences. Its ironic that war can bring people together more than in peacetime. Perhaps simply, it’s the realization that they are all fighting for the same cause: Simply to Survive.

The two other members’ of the squad, who were not Peacekeeper, were Gaian. They seemed to feel more comfortable talking to Walker’s PeaceKeeper squad, rather than their Spartan and Morgan squad members.

The Gaians had been reluctant to send troops under foreign control, but Lady Deirdre realized it was necessary to help bring the loosely nit Axis together. But as a result of this initial reluctance, the Gaian members didn’t fit in well with the other factions except for the PeaceKeepers.

From the front of the barracks, Sergeant Bruno watched his fellow squad members. As Sergeant, second in command to Lieutenant Lancer, it was not his place to get involved socially with his unit, but he was concerned with the segregation of the entire unit into faction lines. He hoped the upcoming combat deployment would pull the unit together.

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

PeaceKeeper Headquarters
Command Center
Infantry Briefing Room

“Commander Martinez speaks very highly of the both of you.” The elderly general said as he faced his two junior officers who had just stepped into the circular briefing room.

The years had not been good to the old field commander, who had chosen not to take his longevity treatments offered by PeaceKeeper High Command. He never chose to tell others why he would not take the life giving treatment, but most people speculated it was due to his youngest daughter’s early death in his life.

“Please sit down gentlemen.” General Ortega said, as he motioned for the two lieutenants to sit down at the briefing table facing a holo-map of the Hive Territories.

General Ortega than slowly walked over to the holomap, and played with a small touch console attached to the map interface.

General Ortega had risen quickly through PeaceKeeper ranks from an infantry officer until he was transferred to PeaceKeeper Command as a military attaché to Commissioner Lal.

Eighteen years ago, his daughter and wife were visiting him at his office, when a terrorist thermo-impact bomb destroyed the section of the building where his office was located. He had stepped out of his office for a few seconds to meet another individual across the building, when the bomb had detonated. He arrived back at his office, just in time to see his young six-year-old daughter take her last breath. Later, he found out that the terrorist organization was sponsored by The Hive. Ortega has spent his whole life trying to convince PeaceKeeper command to take offensive action against The Hive. Finally with this new war, he had his chance for his revenge.

“As you both know, this information that I'm about to show you, does not leave this room.” Ortega said, as he hit the last button on the console, bringing up a host of information that overlapped the holomap.

A blue illuminated line, representing their mission path, appeared on the holo. The snake like line swiveled around until its final destination, Sea Hive, was reached.

“Sir, my squad and Lieutenant Walker’s squad won’t stand a chance in an assault. I don’t see what could be gained by only attacking with two squads.” Lancer said cautiously. To Lancer, the mission looked like simply suicide.

“Lieutenant, you will not be assaulting the base.”

The general stopped, he was being very careful not to give to much information away.

“Both of your squads will stealthily penetrate Sea Hive’s defenses. You will then proceed to retrieve a target, and make your way back to friendly territory.” The general knew it was a vague mission briefing, but the mission demanded it.

“What will be the target that were bringing back?” Walker quickly asked, as he leaned forward to catch ever word the general said.

The general stopped and starred at Walker, although he was mostly debating whether to inform them of their target now or after they reach the target area. He chose the former.
The general turned around and slowly walked back to the holomap’s console and began to enter another assortment of commands. A single image appeared, fuzzy and strangely unclear, but it was obvious of what the image was.

“Sir, our target is an alien?” Lancer interjected into the rooms ere silence.

“Yes, Lieutenant, the both of you will penetrate Sea Hive and retrieve a living alien specimen from the garrison. I understand your concern, but intelligence believes its possible for the mission to be a success.”

“Sir, why do you need a living alien?” Lancer retorted quickly, a bit uneasy over his strange assignment.

“Lieutenant, you have no need for that information. You will receive classified information about the enemy’s position and defenses on route to your objective for security reasons.”

The general hated giving his officer the proverbial ‘cold shoulder’ but he was not at liberty to say anything else.

Lancer knew why the mission was classified and secret. PeaceKeeper command knows that they will violate their sacred UN charter by their actions with this ‘target’ alien.

It’s very unlike the Commissioner Lal to authorize such a mission.

[Googlie]

Kurt sat entranced as Anson told his tale.

“So you actually met The Chairman?” he asked

“Oh yes. There were roughly 70,000 survivors from the Unity, divided almost equally among the seven factions, and Yang quickly split his contingent into two groups and founded two bases within months of each other. I represented more firepower personally than almost a dozen of his gendarmerie, so was naturally selected to do the advance scouting for the location of the second base. Yang himself briefed me on what he was looking for, so I set off resolutely through the fungus that seemed to cover 90% of the landmass then.

“I’ll never forget the first time I encountered a mindworm…….”

Kurt let him ramble on, while his mind raced.

He looked over at the recumbent veteran, now sleeping, perhaps lulled by the monotonous tone of Anson’s voice. Perhaps shutting out personal memories of his own.

Gently, imperceptibly, Kurt extended a thought tendril into the older man’s mind, and pushed off into an exploratory tour. He was met with a jumble of dreams, thoughts, half hidden only now resurfacing fears and nightmares, memories of past lovers, as the veteran slept. Kurt gently probed the memories, sorting through the chaos to try and find an order amongst the mess of turmoil.

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

The escape pod is hurtling towards the planet’s surface and the fools are singing. I refuse to sing. This is madness. No-one knows if we will survive the landing, and I am terrified, and I have infinitely more experience of crash landings and malfunctioning drop chutes than this motley bunch of colonists. And they are singing.

Miriam turns to me, obviously seeing the disdain - mixed with fear – writ large across my face.

“Yes, Sven,” she says, “But they have faith. One day you will too.” She smiles beatifically at me.

‘Was the witch reading my thoughts?’

I was taken by her obvious charisma. How she had shepherded her flock to the escape bay, and into the pod, bespoke leadership. Now she was sitting serene, hands clasped in front of her, restrained by the safety bars as the pod began to be buffeted by the atmospheric entry.

And still they sang.

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

I’m crouching in the river bed, head screaming, trying to get a bead with my shredder on the writhing mass approaching. God they moved fast. I clamp down with my teeth and my vision clicks over to psi-display, and suddenly, there it is. I can just make out a shimmering shape within the fungus as the mindworm slithers through.

I leap up, firing wildly. “Take that you vermin”, releasing a spate of flame at the alien creature.

My mind shrieks as if in sympathy with its death throes, and inside my head I hear this voice:

“why..why..why..why..why..why..why..”

The pain recedes, and the voice in my head quietens.

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

The Monolith towers above me. Alien. Strangely fascinating. Calming. Ageless.

Lying on the ground in front of it, wincing with pain, I reach towards the portal and push it open.

Noiselessly it slides ajar, and stays open invitingly. This might provide sanctuary for a while from my pursuers.

I put my good arm to the ground, and pull my body after me, dragging my shattered pelvis and useless right leg behind me across the threshold. The servos in my arm whine with the effort as they seek to augment torn muscle, but finally I drag myself inside.

The door shuts silently behind me.

I sleep. I dream. Operating tables; robotically controlled surgery; laser incisions; tissue regeneration; optic implants. How many times on Earth have I undergone such treatment. Wonderful music, resonating deep within me, soothing the spirit and calming my soul, vibrating in my very bones.

I awake. Gingerly raise my head to look around. How long was I out? Ten minutes? I tap my commlink.
Fifteen days? Impossible.

Then I realize.

No pain. I stand up. No scars. No broken bones.

I examine my equipment. Even that has been restored while I was unconscious. Fuel chambers full.

I clench my hand, touching fingernail to sensor pad. Instantly the fleschette shredder pistol is in my grasp, and the magazine fully loaded at that.

I scratch my head. But I’d exhausted my munitions, I thought. Did some sympathiser find me here and replenish my supplies. But how. Only another merc could have done so.

I go outside, and dial in the merc commlink code, known only to seven of us. If anyone had helped me, they’d still be within range.

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

“Sven, thank God you’re alive”

I look into the familiar face of my dearest friend, Anson Taddei.

“Anson,” I say. “What’s happening. Did you come to the monolith and revive me?”

“What monolith?” he asks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Listen, the game’s over. Miriam has surrendered and Yang has her now imprisoned. I tried to save your wife and boy, but wasn’t able to. Patricia’s dead, Sven. I’m sorry. I couldn’t get there in time.”

I see a tear rolling down Anson’s face. I know that’s only half the story.

“Go on,” I say. “Was it the usual?”

“”Sven, I’m sorry. Yes. Gang raped by the invading squad, then executed. In front of your son, too.”

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

Kurt recoiled in horror.

“Noooooo” he wailed.

Anson stopped in mid sentence, and looked enquiringly at Kurt.

He was sitting on the chair, rocking back and forth, his head in his hands, and muttering “Noooooo… Nooooooo… Noooooo”

Anson looked on helplessly, uncomprehendingly, and lowered the psi shield that he’d erected around himself and the apartment.

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

“Got him,” Miles exclaimed, from half a city away. “Locking on.”

“Good,” said Stazi. “Tell him to get his but over here, and quickly.”

“It’s not that easy,” Miles said. “He’s in some kind of catatonic trance. I may have to go there personally. Let me bond with him and see what’s what.”

Anastasia saw Miles furrow his brow in concentration as his features relaxed, and she was again amazed at how these empaths worked.

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

I’m cowering behind my mother as the door is kicked in, and the four Hive troopers enter.

“Alfredsson?” grunts one. My mother nods.

He walks over to her, and strikes her across the face. “That’s ‘Yes, Master’ to you” he says. “Let’s try again. Sven Alfredsson’s woman?”

“Yes,” she replies, spitting at him.

He laughs, and reaches out and with one fluid motion rips her dress from the neck down.

I come out from behind my mother’s protection, and kick him in the shins:

“Leave my mother alone,” I yell defiantly.

He kicks me, sending me sprawling across the room, where I land heavily against some rigid furniture. I lie there whimpering.

“Don’t hurt the boy,” I hear my mother say. “What do you want of me. You know I have no idea where my husband is. If it’s credits you want, take what I have.”

She reaches into a drawer under the trooper’s watchful gaze and hands him a disk, motioning to the terminal on the table.

“Take what you want,” she says. “The password’s ‘Blessed Redeemer’ and it’ll open automatically.”

The trooper leers at her and throws the disk aside:

“I don’t want no stinking credits,” he curses. “Me and my mates here, we want conqueror’s rights. Isn’t that right, guys?”

His squad edge forward, nodding enthusiastically.

He turns back to her, looming over her, and backs her towards the table in the corner of the room.

My mother tries to evade him, but his buddies catch her, and move her back against the table. One reaches out and rips the slip off her, exposing her breasts. The others are pulling the velcro tabs of their fatigues to shrug out of them ready to enjoy themselves with my mother.

She is lying back on the table, a trooper’s hand over her mouth to stifle her screams as they amuse themselves with her, one after another, taking turns at violating her and laughing about their ‘conqueror rights’ as they do so.

I watch, horrified.

After a time, her body is bruised and limp, and their lust is sated.

They dress, and the leader moves over to me and takes my hand, pulling me roughly to my feet. “You’re going to a proper Hive children’s creche to be re-educated,” he says, then turns to a comrade and says “finish her off.”

His squadmate pulls his laser pistol from his pouch, and moves over to my unconscious mother. He sets the pulse to tight beam, and pointing the gun to her head he carves the sign of the cross in her skull.

I throw up.

“What’s your name, boy?” asks the leader.

“Kurt” was all I could stammer in reply.

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


Miles choked back a sob.

“What’s up?” Anastasia asked.

“Brutal – you don’t want to know. But I think we have problems. He’s freed some long repressed memories, and is catatonic. I need to go over. Can’t leave you here alone, and can’t leave these two, so we all need to go. Have you the antidote to waken Angel?”

Stazi nodded.

“Then do it, and let’s go.”

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters: Axis Intelligence Office (Data DeCentral)

“ I understand your concern on this issue CEO. I have already spoken to Colonel Santiago and she has agreed to provide me with the assistance I need. Paul Andreas will be running things here in my absence. I’m sure he won’t miss me too much. Don’t worry, your son will be with you again shortly. Roze out. ”

Sinder Roze pushed the button on her terminal which would allow the pre-recorded message to be accessed by CEO Morgan as soon as he arrived at his office. Since she had been appointed as head of Central Intelligence for the Axis Factions, she hadn’t had the opportunity to make the personal visits she had once preferred when doing business of this kind. All at once she was examining the download files from Yang’s computer, co-ordinating with operatives in almost every single faction, relaying data from Anastasia Zakharov to Governor Allardyce and now she had personally taken on the role of Morgan Junior’s liberator. She tried to remember why exactly she had wanted this job in the first place. However, she had no time for speculation as there were still loose ends that needed to be tied up before she went away.

Roze turned back to her holo-recorder and prepared to send a new message.

“ Sister Miriam. We haven’t met before. My name is Sinder Roze and I am the new Director of Intelligence for the Axis factions. I understand you have been establishing a probe network among your remaining Believer supporters, and I must say I am highly intrigued by the idea.”

“Now, do not fear. I have no plans of usurping your control. In fact, your independence as a probe network is absolutely vital to me. You may have connections I don’t, and vice-versa. However, we are both working towards a common goal. The victory of the Axis over Yang. I simply suggest an alliance of information between or two networks. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to call. I hope you will also be cooperative should I require information from you.”

“As a gesture of my good will, I have wired three hundred energy credits to your account, courtesy of Chairman Yang. Of course, he is unaware of his generous contribution, but that is beside the point. Best wishes for your future endeavours Sister. Roze out. ”

Roze once again switched off the holo-recorder and sent the message to Sister Miriam’s office in Sparta Command. Now, she only had one last call to place before she left. It was the one she looked forward to sending the least, and the ability to use the holo-recorder and not see the immediate response of the recipient was for once an advantage. She keyed up the program for one final message.

“ Governor Allardyce. My team here has been working on decrypting some of the more heavily guarded items in Yang’s computer core. While we have been unable to determine the exact details of the situation, it appears that Yang is developing a new type of weapon, possibly based on Alien technology. As soon as we have more information, I will upload it to your office. ”

Roze took a moment as she prepared to share the news that had been troubling her from the moment she discovered it.

“ Governor, I’ve been looking at the log entries, and comparing the encryption methods to those used in the past. They seem to be University encryption codes. I’m afraid it looks as though Provost Zakharov has been working with Yang. In fact, I think he is the one who developed the weapon. I’m sorry. Roze out ”

Roze shut down the recorder and sent the message directly to the Governor’s office. Then, she put her system in sleep mode and headed towards the Aerospace Complex to catch her flight.

[Argonaut]

Sea Hive: Chairman Yang’s Office

“How does she do it?” bellowed Yang as his fist crashed down on the wooden desk in front of him. His advisors cringed at the unusual outburst of the normally composed Chairman. Yang took a moment, breathing heavily to compose himself. His advisors waited as he looked out the window into the depths of the inland ocean which provided the Hive capital with sanctuary. The view was quite serene as they watched a young sealurk tending the shoals of fish in the nearby kelp farm.

“Three hundred credits of our personal reserves have been stolen gentlemen,” said Yang, finally back to his calm and reserved self. “This is entirely unacceptable. This Roze women has become too much of a loose cannon to allow her to remain alive. I want her taken out, and I want her taken out now. Do I make myself clear?” The silence in the room gave Yang his answer.

Sea Hive: Main Lab

The lights of the lab were low, however there was an air of serenity about the room. No longer punctuated by the screams of torment from Zakharov’s test-subjects, the only sound was the gentle hum of the various computers and lab equipment around the room. Zakharov sat silently, watching the young women who had been his test subject sleep peacefully. It was amazing how much the young girl reminded him of Stazi.

It had been hard for Zakharov, ever since he had first noticed the subtle resemblance to his granddaughter. This young woman served as a constant reminder of the beloved granddaughter that he had lost to Spartan cruelty. And it was for this reason he had abandoned his experiment.

Over the past week he had cared for the young woman, ensuring that her wounds were treated and she received proper nourishment. It was clear she had been tortured even before she had come into Zakharov’s lab, probably for some act of disobedience against Yang. But Zakharov had cared for, nursed her back to health and his compassion had garnered a mutual respect between the two. Now Zakharov no longer spent his time thinking of new ways to destroy the Spartans, but of how to escape from Hive territory.

He had postponed a confrontation with Yang for as long as possible, but he knew it was inevitable. Yang would only take so many excuses for the delay in Zakharov’s research before he discovered the truth of the situation. Zakharov knew they must escape as soon as possible and he finally had an idea where.

There were reports of a rebellion by Drones occurring on the northern part of the continent. While Hive holo-news was notoriously biassed, no mentions of any attacks against Drone settlements were ever reported. Apparently Yang was too concerned with Sparta to worry about the Drone bases. If Zakharov could get them there, then they might be safe. Safer then here at any rate.

He crossed to where the young woman was resting and gently brushed the hair back from her face. She stirred and looked up at him sleepily.

“We have to go now. This maybe our only chance.”

“Where are we going?” she queried. Zakharov grabbed her arm gently, and raised her to her feet. He began to lead her towards the doorway.

“Free Drone Central. Come Sharra, quickly.”

[senatus]

Sparta Command, Camp Leonidas, 06:17 Eastern Spartan Time

The sandy patch of ground at Camp Leonidas is an anachronism,
a nod to ancient tradition that only the Spartans would have bothered with
in a world of pressure domes and ferroconcrete, Jessica thought.
She was sitting cross-legged in the sand along with a circle of another
dozen Spartan cadets as Sergeant Kel talked about the philosophy of combat,
the Art of War, and the Spartan Battle Manual. Nearby, another squad
of trainees jogged by, chanting.

I don't know but I've been told, Deirdre's got a Network Node.
Likes to press the on-off switch, Dig that crazy Gaian witch!

Of course, the Spartans and Gaians were allies. But as far as
the "grunts" were concerned, anyone who wasn't a Spartan was at best a
second-rate soldier. Which unfortunately included Jessica.
Though several weeks of hard training had passed, she still wasn't even
addressed as "Private", the way the other trainees were; she was addressed
as....

"Believer!"

Jessica wasn't certain if she was expected to stand or not, but hesitation
was not a virtue to Spartan Kel, so she got quickly to her feet.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"What is flexibility?", Kel asked.

"The ability to modify one's plans, to adapt to multiple unexpected situations." Jessica wasn't sure whether she should answer off the
top of her head, or instead say "I don't know", but she chose the former
and Kel seemed satisified, to Jessica's relief.

"Correct, Believer. Now attack me."

Jessica had learned that amongst the Spartans, such an order was to
be taken seriously and obeyed without question. So she slid one foot
forward into a modified Kamae, but instead followed through with
a punch powered from her hip as she counter-rotated. To her surprise,
Kel allowed himself to be struck, but advanced slightly forward into the
blow so that Jessica's strike was unable to reach it's full power.
Nevertheless, he was thrown back and to the ground.

Jessica stopped, hesitating, uncertain of what to do now. It looked
like Kel had hit the ground pretty hard. Then, unexpectedly, Kel
kicked out with his feet, sweeping Jessica off her feet to land on her
back. Quickly, she bounced back up with a simple breakfall, as she'd
been taught... only to be slammed back down into the ground with brutal
force as Kel's fist connected with her left eye as she came up. This
time, she landed heavily, her arms outflung and the wind knocked out of
her.

"Learn flexibility, Believer. Do you understand?" Kel's
voice seemed to drip with contempt. Some of the trainees were smirking.

"I... I think so, Sergeant." Jessica gasped for breath.
As she did so, she siezed a handful of sand and threw it into Kel's face,
blinding him. She kicked up and out, not to strike the Spartan but
to give her momentum to spring up again, and drove a fist forward into
Kel's ribs.

Even blinded, the Spartan sergeant turned with the blow, catching Jessica's
arm from the side and pulling her forward, across an outstretched foot
and then down face-first into the sand. He pulled her arm up and
forward, pinning her... but not nearly as painfully as he could have.

"Very good... Private. Get back into position."

Jessica moved back to her seat, and the two trainees on either side
of her moved aside just a bit, a minor gesture of politeness. Even
the throbbing of her eye didn't diminish the sudden rush of pride she felt.
She had just moved up to the lowest place on the totem pole of the Spartan
hierarchy.

"Private Rico! Explain Initiative!" Kel continued.

---

Sparta Command, Parish of the New Covenant (temporary Believers
HQ), 17:39 EST

.... As a gesture of my good will, I have wired three hundred energy
credits to your account, courtesy of Chairman Yang. Of course, he is unaware
of his generous contribution, but that is beside the point. Best wishes
for your future endeavours Sister. Roze out.

"Take a look at this," Miriam told Jessica as she handed her the hardcopy
printout, while trying very hard to ignore the massive shiner on Jessica's
left eye.

"I know what position she's been given in Allyardice's government.
I know who she is. But I want to know who she is." Miriam
demanded.

"She's an independant probe operative," Jessica answered. "One
of the two best individual probe operatives on Planet, the other being
the `Edgecrusher'. Amongst the factional probe teams, there's a great
debate as to which one is actually better. Edgecrusher tended to
specialize in on-site operations, while the `Datajack' tends more towards
network activity. Both have legendary exploits, but Roze seems to
be higher profile. She's also widely known to have the bigger ego."

"Which could explain this gesture... analysis?" Miriam asked.

Jessica pondered for a moment. She really didn't have a good handle
on Roze, never having met her and passively `felt' her out either empathically
or through conversational interaction. It was hard to settle on what
was fact and what was legend.

"It's hard to derive any sort of accurate profile," Jessica cautioned
and Miriam nodded in understanding. "I would guess that there are
several messages contained therein. One, she wishes to demonstrate
that she knows about us... despite our hardly being at all publicized
outside of Colonel Santiago's organization. Two, she demonstrates
the ease of which she robs Yang. Three, she presents to us a truly
massive and needed windfall of energy... which means that she is aware
of or has deduced our original plan to borrow from Morgan. As to
why... there are three reasons I can think of. The first being
that she genuinely wishes us well. The second that she wishes to
purchase our goodwill, and can easily afford to do so."

"Does she think we are as Morgans?" Miriam gave a slight sniff of disdain;
whether for Roze's assumption or for the Morgans' philosophy, Jessica wasn't
sure.

"Probably not... I'm sure that she's at least reasonably familiar with
our beliefs... besides, we have very little that she could `buy' even if
we were Morgans." Jessica shrugged.

"And you mentioned a third possible reason?"

"Because it amuses her to aid us. To be honest, that's
the most likely motivation I would expect from Datajack Roze."

Miriam shook slightly and made an unintelligble sound, and it took Jessica
a moment to realize that Sister Miriam Godwinson was actually laughing.

"Well," said Miriam after a moment. "As long as she wishes to
aid us, let us accept her aid with good grace. But I want you to
make certain that these energy credits came from Yang and not, say,
Morgan. That would get us into a great deal of trouble and would
also no doubt amuse this woman. In the meantime, we will proceed
with our own plans just as she exhorts us to do. Do see if
you can get a chance to interview her; I want a profile of this loose...
impact artillery."

"I realize that you're very... busy with your military training.
Have you made any progress on that project I assigned you?" Miriam
changed the subject abruptly.

"Yes," confirmed Jessica, and once again Miriam congratulated herself
on finding such a capable and efficient assistant.

"You asked me to catalog a list of known Believers and adherants in
the Hive territories. Of course, we never maintained our own
census on any sort of electronic medium; that would have been too easy
to compromise with fatal results. But basically, our people knew
other Faithful, who secretly knew more Faithful in turn; so I started from
interviews of our people now here and correlated them with old Hive datalink
contents that Colonel Santiago's people provided. I was able to eliminate
78% of the duplicates; the remaining list is about 81% accurate.
I'm afraid that's the best I could do given my current schedule and not
being actually there," Jessica apologized.

Miriam was stunned. She was hoping for a status report, not an
actual finished product.

"Where do you have this information?" Miriam asked, and Jessica
tapped her own forehead, then held up a data crystal.

"I used my MMI to download the census into this data crystal.
This is the only copy in existance; I have encrypted it, but I strongly
advise that it never be read on any computer that is ever attached to the
network backbone."

"You have done the Lord's work very well, Jessica." Miriam
praised. "And don't worry about the network backbone issue; I'm so
old-fashioned that I have an old `laptop' that isn't even capable of connecting
to a network node."

Jessica bowed humbly in acknowledgement, then pointed towards the old-fashioned
analog chronometer on the back wall of the sanctuary.

"I'd better be getting back to the barracks, Sister Miriam."

Miriam nodded. "Go in peace, Jessica. Oh, and next time...
try to duck." Miriam gestured vaguely at Jessica's eye.

---

After Jessica left, Miriam took the data crystal to her office.
Even though Santiago had assigned watchful bodyguards to her (along with
her own, more zealous if less trained militia), she felt uncomfortable
knowing that she was carrying such a precious and dangerous cargo.
She remonstrated herself; surely if the Lord had provided for her release,
He would continue to watch and protect her now.

Miriam inserted the data crystal into her laptop, and randomly paged
down through the thousands of names. So many of her followers had
survived! It was a glorious feeling. There were even a few
familiar names to her, such as Brother Joaquim.

Then her heart lept for a moment as one name, randomly found, caught
her eye.

Sven Alfredsson was alive?
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited June 22, 2000).]

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

I sat gazing out of the window across the bay. This was becoming a favorite pastime of mine these days as I wrestled with the bureaucracy that permeated every aspect of life under Lal.

‘How on Earth (or Chiron) could his faction function at all?’ I wondered. ‘Democracy run riot becomes anarchy,’ I thought.. Clicking the commlink control, I displayed the message in flatscreen mode on the wall panel, and swiveled my chair to view it for the third or fourth time.

Representative Allardyce. The Council of UN Great Refuge duly met and considered your suggestion that we construct a Recycling Tank facility at our base. We polled our citizens (results attached) and the measure was defeated by a small majority.

Your suggestion has therefore been turned down, and the building of a Biology Laboratory is proceeding apace. If you still believe that Recycling Tanks would be in the long term interests of UN Great Refuge, we will be pleased to put the matter to a further plebiscite following the completion of out Biology Laboratory.

The Base governor’s smiling face looked at me from the wall.

‘Idiot,’ I fumed. It was not a “suggestion’. It was an order. The Cabinet had met and we had discussed a production schedule for each and every base – a procedure that worked very well in the Spartan Federation, as the schedule was readily complied with by the Spartan Base Governors. But was it any wonder that the Peacekeepers lagged so far behind Sparta and the Hive – and even Morgan Industries – if every decision had to be voted on by the general populace.

Now, certainly, as the largest PK base, Great Refuge had a right to have its voice heard. That much I conceded. But Wasim Patel, the Governor, had sat in the Cabinet meeting, had nodded enthusiastically when we reviewed the Peacekeeper needs, and had said nothing about needing a plebiscite.

I wondered how many other replies would come in turning down the cabinet’s ‘suggestions.”

I clicked over to the base listings.

16 bases, 11 of them with recycling tanks, but not their largest base. Their absence in the four newest bases, those founded on western side of the Spartan continent this last year, was understandable. But not their largest.

I tapped the commlink for my aide, Annika. She had been with Pravin for the last twenty years, so should know the ropes.

She came into the office.

“Yes, Scott?” she asked.

“Sit down, Annika. I need your counsel and advice.

“You took the minutes of the recent Cabinet meeting, and saw how Wasim nodded enthusiastically when we suggested that he should promptly get Recycling Tanks constructed at Great Refuge?”

She nodded.

“Now I have this,” I said, clicking on the wall vidshow to let her see the message from Wasim Patel.

“Did this happen often?” I asked.

She nodded.

“How did Pravin ever get anything done, then?” I asked in exasperation.

She squirmed uncomfortably.

“There are ways…” her voice tailed off.

“Go on,” I said.

“I won’t get into trouble for this, will I?” she asked

I shook my head. “Course not. This is strictly between us.”

“Well, Bases are not required to hold a plebiscite on everything,” she said. And added:
“In fact, there is no requirement for a vote at all. Some Governors do, and some don’t. Pravin…used to ‘grease a few palms’ to keep the matter from a vote if he really wanted something to pass. Also he had extensive dossiers on the key base officials, compiled by his covert operations group, and a hint here or there about a scandal would usually get compliance. But these files were lost when Cartier was assassinated.”

I nodded. So that was how it was. I doubted if I would be as successful as a briber, given that most of the Governors were strangers to me.

I steepled my hands, and looked over at Annika.

“Thank you Annika,” I said, dismissing her. “You have shed some useful light on the subject.”

She left.

I reached out and shut off the vidscreen, and pushed another commlink speeddial button.

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

The door opened and she came in.

“Have a seat,” I gestured.

Sinder Roze sat down, daintily crossing her legs.

“So, Scott, what do you have for me now?” she asked.

‘Aha,’ I thought. ‘Straight to the point was Ms Roze. No niceties. No polite chitchat before getting down to business.’

“Sinder, we have a problem.”

She arched one eyebrow.

“We do?” she asked slyly. “How so?”

“You were at the meeting yesterday,” I said.

She nodded.

“You saw the general agreement of all on the decisions made?”

Again she nodded.

I flicked on the vidscreen. “Watch this.”

She whistled softly when it was through.

“I see.” She said.

I briefed her: “Used to be when this was threatened when Lal was Commissioner, he’d use a little payment here and there, or the threat of releasing a damaging piece of information on a key Governor, to avoid the plebiscite. There were files that Cartier kept, that are apparently lost. I need you to get these.

“But that’s for the longer term. More immediate is now.

“I can’t do anything about Great Refuge. That’s history. But today is still young.”

I looked Sinder straight in the eye.

“Off the record, of course, CIO Roze, we can’t afford to have any more negative votes in these plebiscites. Can you ….. guarantee … this?”

She paused.

“Doctor the results? Would have to be before they start streaming. Would need to be at the central Network Node level. Have to involve at least two other people. Would need a budget – modest, of course. High risk of compromise. Can I frame the Chairman, if caught? Would he gain anything from meddling with our democratic processes?”

I nodded. “Yes. And I can get you a ‘security’ budget allocation of, say, 100 credits.”

“That’ll work,” she said. “Consider it done. I’ll get right to it.”

Sinder stood up, as did I, and we shook hands on the deal.

“Oh, another thing,” she added. “Stazi is OK – they’ve made contact with the Hive empath that used to be Miles’ clone operator. They’re planning to get to Sea Hive soon. Thought you’d like to know.”

I nodded.

As she sashayed out of the office, I thought:

‘I’ve given her some dirt on me, now, which I’m sure I’ll pay for sometime later. I just hope the price isn’t too high.’

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 23, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters Aerospace Complex

So Scott Allardyce is nowhere near as squeaky clean as everyone seems to believe...I think I like that Roze thought to herself as her plane lifted off the tarmac and into the air over the scenic Peackeeper Headquarters. I do so love it when people volunteer information before I even think to look for it. It makes my job so much easier .

Roze opened her portable terminal and set up the sonic link with her main database at Data DeCentral. She transmitted the information to her assistant there, making sure that the files were kept encrypted. She didn't want the prying eyes of Paul Andreas be reading things that could put her job in jeapardy. He hadn't exactly been pleased with her appointment as CIO, and would be likely to jump at the chance to have Roze removed from office. Especially after she completed this mission, when she would no longer be of any use to Morgan. She realized that perhaps she would have to do something a little extra to ensure some job security. Of course, she now had the protection of Governor Allardyce, as long as he knew what was good for his career. He certainly seemed like the sensible type.

Roze shifted her attention to the communication equipment provided her by the needlejet systems. She sent a call in to her contact in Sparta Command. A moment later, the grim image of her contact appeared on the small holoscreen. He was a rather sinister looking man, with deep set eyes and a permanent frown etched on his face.

"Is the team assembled?" she queried. She had no desire to spend any longer communicating with this man then necessary. He was notorious throughout Sparta...part of why she had chosen him for this mission.

"Yes CIO," he grumbled, making the title seem more like an insult than an honourific.

"Don't call me that," she said with frustration. That was the one thing she disliked about her new job, the title Scott had tagged her with.

"What would you have me call you then?" he said with a sinister sneer, clearly thinking of a name far less flattering.

"Datajack. That's what I have always been, and I always will be. I shall be landing in a few hours. Meet me at the rendezvous." With that Roze shut off the commsystem and lead back in her seat. She shivered as the image of her contact's sneering grin lingered in her memory.

Roze turned back to her portable terminal and began designing the program shell that was going to save Scott Allardyce a great deal of headache.
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited June 25, 2000).]