The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

Morgan Senior inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma and he closed his eyes to remove any distractions.

He swirled the brandy again and the amber liquid seemed to race around the globe-like crystal sifter. Ever so gradually he decreased the swirling with the almost imperceptible pulsing of the muscles in his palm until the thin band of liquid was almost stationary, then slowly brought the sifter to his lips, inhaling again as his nose entered the great sifter's cavernous opening.

Yes, this is very close, he thought.

He sipped, and his eyes closed with the pleasure as Morgan Senior lost himself in sensations of now and long ago, and of a certain château in Bordeaux that had surely perished with Earth. A faint smile crossed his lips and he sank a little deeper into his wing-backed chair. Morgan savored the complex flavors of the brandy, a flavor he had never hoped to taste again. He kept the small mouthful a moment longer, then languidly swallowed and the warm and gentle ambrosia seemed to tickle its way to the innermost part of his being.

Morgan sighed very softly, totally relaxed for the first time in ages.

A faint whisper of sound came from above Morgan's chair, which he didn't notice, and a white hand snaked its way toward Morgan. The hand was graceful and purposeful, and made its way unerringly toward the neck of a Morgan lost in a personal reverie. The fingernails on the hand were daggerlike and perfectly manicured.

They touched his neck, and turned inward in a smooth motion to caress his skin. Morgan started to alertness.

"If you don't like my touch I could leave," a husky female voice breathed.

Morgan smiled and his alarm left his face. He placed his partially emptied sifter on his synth walnut end table and stood up to face the interloper.

"Leave? Never. My dear, what would I do without you?" Morgan Senior asked his Number Two Consort Amilia. He stood tall and stately with a dark blue silk robe tied loosely about his waist. Amilia wore a gossamer gown, which accentuated her curves and did little to hide her full and voluptuous body.

In return she graced him with a sweet smile, sauntered up to Morgan, and kissed him. Slowly her arms wound themselves around his neck and pulled him close. She closed her eyes and she seemed to melt into his form. Mwabudike's arms found her waist and pulled her tight and he lost himself in her taste, smell, and touch. All they saw and felt was each other, and so great was the connection that they seemed to drink of each other's being.

Almost by instinct they inched toward his bed, and fell together into its silk sheets. Of their own volition the lights dimmed and went out. It was almost as though someone were watching.

++++++

Morgan woke at precisely 3:00 am. He glanced fondly to where Amilia had been, but she was gone, as was her custom. Morgan sighed, wishing he could promote her to Consort Number One, but politics intervened, always politics. In addition to her other talents Amilia was an adept courtesan and had plied the Morgan court for years before catching Senior's eye. She quickly eclipsed Consort Number 3 and 4, but even her brilliance and stunning intellect couldn't breach the ultimate power broker in such affairs: his wife. Simply put, Bali didn't like her and since she had ultimate veto power that was that. The Number One position was his wife's closest confidant and ally, and attended all ceremonial state functions. Bali felt upstaged by the rambunctious Amilia. Amilia was no great beauty, and she knew it, but her beauty was from within, and from the connections she seemed to make with Morgan. Morgan wondered if she might be empathic, but it was unlikely since an empath would not be able to pass the rigorous security in the Morgan Governmental Palace.

Morgan threw the sheets aside and, as if by magic, his Gentleman appeared.

"Good morning, Sir," Harnon said exactly. "Your bath is drawn. May I be of assistance?"

"Yes Harnon," Morgan replied easily. "Please select a Council Suit for me. The color accent I require is ruby. Low buff on the shoes."

Harnon nodded once to acknowledge the selection as Morgan passed by him on his way to his bath. "Very good, Sir."

Suddenly Morgan was all business again, and the transformation was instant and complete.

+++++++++

As always, Morgan was early for the Council Meeting of Managers. Although generally mundane, Morgan felt it was critical to keep abreast of developments in his cities, which vindicated all he had said and worked so hard for in his 125 years on Planet and before on Earth, which was a total of well over 160 years.

Human behavior is economic behavior. The particulars may vary, but competition for limited resources remains a constant. Need as well as greed have followed us to the stars, and the rewards of wealth still await those wise enough to recognize this deep thrumming of our common pulse.

Even so it was a missive from the infamous Ms. Roze that had his attention: "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."

Morgan felt oddly elated and grateful, which was a very strange feeling when dealing with Roze. From the start she had been brilliant in the Morgan intelligence service, but volatile and impossible to control - not that Paul hadn't tried, of course, but that only made it more personal between them. She seemed to lash out at authority wherever she saw it. At first this was useful, and her efforts were directed toward enemies, like the Gaians of 50 years past, or even allies like Yang. However as her abilities grew she increasingly challenged all authority, not simply those of different factions.

One day she had simply disappeared, and it was feared she had been taken out by any number of hostile elements. But no, she made her presence known all too soon, to Morgan and Paul's regret.

Ms. Roze has little notion of the difference of a prank and catastrophic damage, he thought wryly as he remembered how four years of accumulated research was wiped out in a network node overload 45 years ago. As the scientists were scurrying about trying to figure out what had happened as series of holographic angles flew through the laboratory, to the bewilderment of all present, except Paul, Morgan and other adepts of the Morgan intelligence service.

Roze was back.

Good luck, Ms. Roze, Morgan thought with every fiber of his being.

After all the trouble she had caused wishing her luck felt unnatural, but considering the circumstances quite appropriate.

[Argonaut]

Sea Hive

“What do you mean he has escaped?” thundered Yang at the terrified guard. The old phrase, “don’t shoot the messenger” was lost on Yang. Lately, he had been taking out his frustrations on whoever was nearest, seeing as those causing his frustration always seemed to be distantly removed. The guard shook visibly at the wrath of the normally serene Chairman.

“I mean he’s not in the laboratory, and he’s not in his quarters.” The guard swallowed hard as he prepared to relate the last part of his message. This would be the last time he ever agreed to draw straws to see who would report to the Chairman again. “The test subject is missing as well.”

Yang fumed, but this time he managed to contain it. His breaths were ragged and deep as he attempted to regain control. He turned and looked out the solitary window, watching the sealurks herding the fish in the nearby kelp farm once again. A lost and lonely sealurk approached the windows light, but darted quickly away as the Chairman moved to turn around.

“I do not doubt, that somehow Sinder Roze was involved in this,” he said, the cool tone being in stark contrast to his momentary outburst of rage. “I want her, and Provost Zakharov found and returned to me. The test subject, you can kill. But I want Roze and Zakharov alive. I want Roze’s picture posted on every holoscreen in every room of every base. Tell all guards and operatives to be on the look out for a gentleman travelling with two young ladies. They will be found. Or else, someone will pay.”

The guard trembled knowing that it very well that Yang meant him. The Chairman would not be past such indiscriminate punishment if it so suited him.

“Also,” Yang continued, “I want all the remaining high profile prisoners to be removed to the Remora. Once all the spheres have been relocated, the Remora is to leave port and not permit anyone to board without my direct permission. She is to have twenty-four hour air support, is that clear?”

The guard simply nodded, praying for Yang to release him soon.

“Find them, and find them quick,” Yang added, as if his point was not already clear. “Dismissed.”

The guard turned as quickly as he could and exited, trying unsuccessfully to not appear hurried. Yang simply leaned back in his chair, and began his breathing exercises again. Soon the Axis would pay.

[LightSniper]

Onboard T-2 PK Transport Needlejet
Destination: Sea Hive

Amy, you know I love your cooking. Why do you think I married you in the first place?

Frank, stop joking around, and get ready for my family coming over tonight.

Oh come on Amy, just one…

Fine Frank, if it will get you out of my kitchen. But just one mister.

“Frank!”

“Lieutenant Lancer!”

Frank scrambled inside his mind to bring back the memories of his departed wife, which seemed to be running away from him. He had flashes of Amy frequently, but every one he treated as his last. In a way, his remembrance and reverence of her memories kept her alive in his mind and heart.

“Lieutenant, we are approaching the drop area. We need to have our final briefing.” Lieutenant Walker called from outside the bunkroom, onboard the aircraft. “I’ll meet you in the briefing room.”

The T-2 was a relatively small air transport, but it did specialize in PeaceKeeper Special Forces missions, similar to the one Lancer and Walker were undertaking.

Lieutenant Lancer opened his eyes slowly and stood up from the rough bunk he had been resting on. The reality of the mission seemed to be methodically replacing the beautiful images of his wife in his mind, until none remained.

Lancer slowly walked down the small hallway, which made up the interior of the aircraft, careful not to hit his head on the aircraft’s low ceiling. The entire 15 individuals, which made up the two squads, were sitting around a rectangular table inside the aircraft’s cramped briefing room.

“Please proceed Lieutenant Walker.” Lancer said professionally, as he walked into the room and took his seat next to Sergeant Bruno.

Apparently the designers of the needlejet had not thought to put the briefing room away from the loud drone of the power plants.

“Thank you Lieutenant.”

It was a strange situation having both officers of the same rank, with no clear superior. Both lieutenants seemed to also feel the stress of the unclear command structure, but neither of them would bring the subject up.

“As you all know, Sea Hive is located at the center of a very large body of water. Thus, with no terrain other than flat water for quite some distance to the target, there is no way of approaching undetected from the air.” Walker stopped and took a short sip from a glass on the table, then he continued. “As a result, we will execute a airdrop from this aircraft quite some distance from the base. We will also be dropping armed with two compact skimmers to transport us to the base once we hit the water. With any luck, we will arrive undetected.”

Walker finished and motioned for Lancer to pick it up from there.

Lieutenant Lancer took a look around the room at the different faces, which would undertake the mission. He could tell a lot about people by simply looking at their faces, a talent he could never put to use on his wife anymore.

He finally stood up slowly which produced a slight crackle from the chair he had been sitting on, braking the strange silence.

“If all works to plan, we will arrive on the skimmers, at Sea Hive’s above ground transportation harbor. We should be able to sneak inside the perimeter defenses if we stay close to one of the various freighters arriving from other Hive bases.” Lancer stopped talking and went through in his mind about what he would say next to his audience.

“I understand that you have been speculating on what our retrieval target is, and I believe now is as good a time as any other to tell you. Simply put, we are here to capture a living alien and get him in one piece back to Axis hands.”

Lancer sat down, as the entire room erupted into quiet side conversations about the different target.

Walker stood up again and waited for quiet.

“At Sea Hive, we will brake up into squads. Lieutenant Lancer’s squad, designated Alpha squad, will work its way down through the tunnels. While my squad, designated Bravo squad will search the above facilities. The first non-human you see, take it down quietly without killing it, and hall your asses back to the skimmers. We are not hear to take out secondary targets of opportunity, so nothing fancy out there today.”

Walker motioned for Lancer to follow him to the front so that they could talk about the mission separately, while the other men stood up and headed for the rear cargo hold to get ready for the drop.

“Do you think it is possible for this mission to be a success?” Lieutenant Walker asked as he motioned for Lancer to follow him into the quiet bunkroom.

“We will succeed if we stick to the plan, and are willing to do anything for the mission’s success.” He paused. “I’m also counting on you to take command of my squad if I’m taken out, as I would do for you. I know you have contempt for my non-PeaceKeeper squad, but they are all good men and women.” Frank Lancer hated talking about his own death, but it was a real possibility.

“I will do as you ask. Hell, I’ll bet you my PeaceKeeper squad gets an alien before you even get to the base’s second level.” Walker jokingly boasted.

Lancer by far had no love for his arrogant fellow officer, but for this mission to succeed, he could not allow that hatred to get in his way.

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

Both squads looked out the rear of the aircraft, which had just lowered its cargo ramp revealing the water flying underneath them at incredible high speed. They remained silent and watched the moon’s glow illuminate their drop zone in the water.

Suddenly, a green phosphorescent light lit up the entire cargo bay, signaling that they were directly over the designated drop zone.

“Release the skimmers!” Walker yelled over the roar of the engines and water, which could even be heard from this altitude.

Two members from each squad rolled the unmanned skimmers next to the ramp, and then with one final push, the metallic jet black skimmers slid down the ramp on their journey to the water below.

The entire bay was still silent, as each member went through the drop procedure in his or her mind. They were not fearful, yet it would be false to believe they weren’t nervous or concerned.

“Get ready to jump. First Bravo, then Alpha squad. Remember to make it as quickly as possible to the skimmers, once you hit the water. The water is after all populated by Sea Lurks.” Lieutenant Lancer exclaimed as he motioned for the eight members of Bravo squad, under Walker’s command, to take their positions near the ramp leading outside the aircraft.

Walker was first in line. He took a look down the ramp into the dark abyss briefly and looked back at Lancer who was with his squad. After a short exchange of glances, and one final cocky smile, he quickly ran down the declined ramp into the void. He was followed by his pure PeaceKeeper squad.

Yuri Swerdlow and Miles Dole, both Morganites, walked up to the ramp slowly and carefully.

“Are they crazy?” The unsettled Russian asked.

“That’s the understatement of the generation!” Miles answered back as he slowly slithered closer to the ramp.

“Geronimo!”

The two Morgans turned to see their two Spartan squad members running towards them at top speed. Both stunned individuals moved just in time to see the two intrepid Spartans jump out of the aircraft headfirst, just missing the edge of the ramp.

“What the hell!” Both Morganites said simultaneously and followed the crazy Spartans out the aircraft. The two Gaian members quickly followed suit, leaving Lancer alone in the aircraft.

“Who wants to live forever anyway!” Lancer said to the empty room and then jumped to his destiny.

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

Three… Two… One… Now!

Frank Lancer pulled his ripcord, releasing his cargo of a large midnight black ferofiber parachute. Although his parachute was a little low tech, it was very effective for the purpose and it did not give off a thermal signal drop pods produced.

The drop did not require a long free fall, do to the original aircraft’s low altitude. Yet, Lancer felt like he had just hit into a brick wall when his parachute fully unfolded and caught its first gusts of wind.

He managed to look down while still keeping focus on manipulating the maneuvering controls. The closer he could get to the empty skimmers, the better.

As he watched the sea getting closer to him, he watched as his squad members hit the water hard and fast. Unfortunately the parachutes weren’t as good as drop pods in slowing its cargo down before landing.

Lancer tensed for the initial impact into the rough water below. The night’s gusting winds were battering Frank to the point almost of bruising slightly his face.

Amy, lets get these relatives out of here, and throw our own party.

Frank, stop that, my aunt is watching us.

Let her watch, she can learn something.

Frank, you’re insane…. Although, did I ever tell you how much I love insane people?

His body seemed to crumble as it hit the water, but he managed to quickly eject his parachute before it dragged him underwater. Lancer hastily looked around, as he tried to keep above the water’s waves, and noticed his squad bobbing up and down in the water like play toys trying to keep afloat.

He could feel that all his bones were still moderately working, which was a relief after the hard decent. Lancer fought to keep above the water as he slowly made his way to his squad who were moving towards the skimmer at a snail’s pace. He could only manage himself, some brief movement at the trough of the waves, but he did finally reach the skimmer with all hands accounted for.

The entire squad, tired and wet, slowly crawled into the boat. After the entire unit was in, Sergeant Bruno turned on the skimmer’s power and activated a synthmetal sheet, which covered the entire skimmer, protecting them from the elements.

They all simply sat there immobile, and waited. They weren’t waiting for anything in particular, just simply waiting for what was to come.

“This is Bravo Squad, you with us Alpha?” A low metallic voice came over the skimmer’s COM equipment.

“We read you Walker, lets link up and head to Sea Hive together. We have to make it before sunrise, or we will be sitting ducks out here.” Lancer responded into his own communication equipment.

The two parallel skimmers darted off toward their destination, Sea Hive.

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

“Bravo Skimmer, come in.” Lancer whispered over the comlink connecting the two skimmers.

Lancer’s skimmer took the lead position and slowly crept closer to a very large Hive freighter, off their forward bow. The two boats had been monitoring the process of this cargo foil for a little over an hour, and they were preparing to make their move.

“Roger Alpha, we read you.” Walker called back.

“Follow our boat in. Remember to keep it slow so your wake is minimal and get as close to the side of the enemy foil as possible.” Lancer ordered over the comlink, as he motioned for his own skimship’s driver, Sergeant Bruno, to take it in closer.

The behemoth foil was an amazing example of Hive industry and slave labor at its finest.

The two skimships slowly migrated into the foil’s wake, using its large diameter to move closer unnoticed by any of the crew of the transport foil.

Finally, after a bit of a shaky ride, the skimships managed to come abreast to the transport. They then attached silksteel harnesses quietly to the large hull, locking the two ships in place.

They all waited silently, hardly moving, waiting for any sign of their detection from the Hive crew above them.

“The sun.” Armitage simply said, while pointing in its direction. Yuri laughed over the insignificant brake in the silence.

Yet, its light rays crept ever closer to them, like a swarm of insects moving in for a kill.

The large transport foil with its hidden PeaceKeeper cargo moved through the large anti-submarine nets and perimeter defenses, which surrounded the transport harbor. Luck seemed to be holding for now and hopefully it would stay with them for the rest of the mission.

The large foil methodically moved towards the large cargo unloaders fitted to the docks and stopped. With synchronized perfection, the two parasite boats released their harnesses and slowly made there way to an sector of the harbor adorned with pleasant shadows which would hide there vehicles during the short mission.

“Don’t overload with equipment, we need to be highly mobile.” Lancer said as he unlocked a compartment inside the skimship, revealing the squad’s lethal and non-lethal equipment. “We move out in five.”

[Googlie]

Finally they had decided that with the state Kurt was in, Miles should go on ahead and try to help him psychically, then summon the three women to follow. He had left with a parting word privately to Anastasia:

“Stazi, don’t trust these two further than you can spit. I’m already regretting that you gave Angel the antidote, but watch out for the young one too.”

He’d left, closing the apartment door softly behind him.

Angel was on her immediately:

“So you’re Allardyce’s doxy, eh? Did you know that he and I had a thing going a few years back? Ah, I see you didn’t. Before your time, I guess. My, he did like my diamond gloves.”

“Oh, do shut up,” snapped Anastasia, “else I’ll give you another little sleeping jab.”

Angel sneered, “You and whose army? I’ll bet Angelica and I could take you any time we wanted, eh Sis?”

She looked over at Angelica, who had a dreamy look on her face, relaxing, with her eyes closed.

‘I wonder what she’s thinking, or whose mind she’s reading,’ thought Anastasia.

She tapped her commlink, and spoke softly into it:

“Watcher, relay to base, the hawk is closing in on the dove, then we’ll go hunt the eagle. Meanwhile I’m........”

She looked up in consternation as the door burst open, and just as the male voice said “Freeze” she activated the PCD suit control and rolled to one side, pivoting, then crouching as she took stock of the situation.

Then paused in panic. The commlink. It was still in her hand ..... and wasn’t sheathed.

Quickly she threw it across the room, and rolled after it, figuring that the intruders would fire at where it had come from.

She was right. The outer edges of the stun probe reached her, causing momentary nausea, which she fought down.

There were three men in the apartment, two with shredders drawn and the third with the stun probe. She eyed her escape route to the door. It would mean slinking past one of the men, but doable.

Just then Angelica piped up:

“Sand, guard to your right. She’s planning her escape there. Block the door.”

He nodded. The two guards closed ranks at the door.

Anastasia shuddered. Sand. She'd heard of him, but never met the demon.

He spoke again:

“Lead me in, Angelica, slowly. I’ll guide you.”

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

“Lead me in, Angelica, slowly. I’ll guide you.”

I nodded. Though what that entailed I had no idea. I’d never done this before. Oh sure, the thing with Kurt had been fun, following his thoughts – at least those that he wanted me to see – he was good at blocking, and just revealed enough to egg me on. And I never was sure how much of him I was reading, and how much he was projecting.

But with Angel it was different. She was so transparent. Eventually we had a pact that I wouldn’t read her thoughts without advising her or being invited to by her. But of course I ignored that. After all, sisters aren’t supposed to have secrets from each other, are they?

Cut the crap, kid. Get into the Yoop agent’s mind before she can erect defenses, and here’s my trail to pull in after you

I felt the insidious thought tendril insinuate itself in my mind, as it wormed its way around my consciousness.

Now probe. Broadcast around the room and I’ll show you how to filter

I stretched my consciousness, thinking of the symbols that Kurt had explained were so necessary to use to effect a true mind probe.

I was climbing the tree again. It seemed to reach forever, right through the clouds themselves, the trunk and the higher branches disappearing into an impermeable mist that signaled the base of the clouds. I climbed ever higher, until I was almost in the clouds as well.

As I continued upward things began to get misty, then opaque, with my head now in the clouds, yet still I climbed, pulling my body through. From my waist there looped a cord, and hanging by my hips was a satchel that I knew contained the tools I would need once I was above the clouds.

Finally I was through, and I paused to examine the scene before my eyes.

A branch extended at my feet, pushing out above the cloud and just disappearing back into it some ways out. Around me was a sea of white, like a snow covered névé, with trees periodically poking their heads and some branches above. In the distance was a veritable forest of trees, hazy and indistinct from the mist rising from the cloud, but there were five closeby.

One looked familiar, as if I had visited there before.

“Angel.” The name came unbidden to my mind.

Ah yes. That’s why it looked familiar. I had visited it many times. The branches were waving gently, welcoming me. I ignored their enticement.

Two others were almost barren, devoid of bark and branches, rising stark into the sky above the cloudbase.

“The troopers,” said the voice inside my head.

The two others were interesting. One was old and wizened, with numerous branches even at this level. There were some broken limbs as well, and the trunk was blackened as if by lightening. I hesitantly stepped off the branch I was standing on to make my way to it.

“That’s me, you fool. The other”

I looked over. It was shimmering in the haze, as though pulsing, becoming alternately stronger to my vision, then weakening, and occasionally disappearing from view entirely.

“She’s dampening. Quick. We don’t have much time.”

I hesitantly stepped from the branch to the cloud, my weight sinking me a little into its spongy surface. I waddled towards the tree that seemed to be growing fainter with each step I took

“Hurry,” came the voice inside my head. The weight of the satchel by my hips was getting heavier.

Finally I crossed the gap between the trees, and stepped onto one of the branches, and began to make my way down its trunk. It began to shake, as if trying to dislodge me, each vibration becoming more violent.

“Patch me in,” came the unbidden, soundless command.

I opened the satchel, and extracted a small fusion drill, and placed its bit against the trunk. I made a small incision, then reaching into the satchel again, pulled from it the syringe, and placed the injection cap against the incision I had just made, and pressed the plunger cap, sending the liquid deep inside the trunk, there to mix with the sap of the tree.

“Good, you’ve painted her,” said the voice.

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

Stazi screamed as the stun probe swiveled in her direction, as she crouched behind the counter, then felt the full wash of the discharge as it burst over her neural synapses.

As her mind went blank, she heard the sneering, gloating voice:

“Got you, my pretty. Now let’s see what kind of price we can extract from Allardyce to get his lover back, and from Zakharov for his Granddaughter.”



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited July 12, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Sea Hive

Zakharov watched as the large freighter pulled into the harbour. The monstrosity of a vessel was a true tribute to Hive industry and slave labour. It made Zakharov shudder just to see it.

Beside him, Sharra shivered in her wrap. The suns had not yet risen, and the cool temperatures of the night still surrounded them.

Zakharov gently put his arm around her shoulder and draped his coat around her. She cringed, at first, but eventually relaxed into the comforting embrace. Zakharov could almost imagine that it was Anastasia beside him.

The thought of his late and beloved granddaughter, brought a tear to his eyes. He gazed into the cool ocean to avoid Sharra noticing. The girl rarely spoke, but Zakharov knew that she was very much alert to what was going on.

Suddenly, movement caught his eye in the harbour. Two small ships were pulling silently away from the freighter. The fear of capture left Zakharov's stomach in knots.

"Come Sharra, we must hurry." He led the young woman to the customs gate and took out the two identicards which he had forged in preparation.

The guard examined the cards, and then paused a moment to examine a datapad. He looked intently at both of them, as if scrutinizing them and comparing them to whatever information was on the datapad.

Something is going down Zakharov thought to himself. They're looking for someone. We have to get out of here now. The guard finally allowed them to pass after a tense moment and Zakharov led Sharra up the gang plank onto the freighter.

They entered a dismal cargo hold, normally reserved for livestock at best, and took a seat onto empty canisters. The ship would take them to the mainland, and from there they could escape to Free Drone territory. There they would be safe.

Back at the customs terminal, the guard placed the datapad down after the few other passengers had boarded the ship. On it were three cycling images: one of Sinder Roze, one of Sharra and the last of Provost Zakharov. Under each picture was printed one phrase: Wanted, preferably alive...

[Hydro]

Somewhere Over the Central Chiron Sea

Bound for UN Headquarters Paul thought morosely, meaning every bit of the double meaning.

Privately he cursed Roze. Only she would be so diabolical to 'honor' him by appointing him as her second when she was away. She knew he hated UN Headquarters. It is inconceivable that anyone could conceive of a government so bound up in rules, regulations, votes, primaries, and petty officialdom. Now, Morgan society as a democracy had its elections, but never the unending plebiscites and back room maneuvering that typified Peacekeeper government. And then there was the insufferable politics that ran rampant through every aspect of the society.

It's absolutely amazing that they get anything done, Paul thought

Paul grumpily waved away a very nice attendant that offered him his choice of refreshments on the rather short supersonic flight from Morgan Industries.

Then Paul smiled. Roze had given him her power while she was gone, so why not use it? There is no use in being a shiftless drone, sitting behind an overly ornate desk as faceless and ineffectual underlings pestered you about trivial and useless details.

So, how to best use the time? First, set up a network to track Sinder-the-Loose-Cannon Roze, since she has to be 'protected', of course.

Paul chuckled at that, since it was perfectly within the bounds of a Number Two to protect the Number One.

That was a short-term goal, and a personal one, Paul admitted to himself. A more important goal is to get a probe team to infiltrate the Usurper's Datalinks. With the destruction of the Spartan's Empath Guild in Yang's planetbuster attack the Spartan's intrinsic intelligence had waned. It was sad to see the empaths of the Guild go, but now they would have to be replaced the old fashioned way. The various human factions had long ago infiltrated each other, so that was not the point; the Progenitors were an unknown quantity, and no one knew what they were doing. And no one, Paul was sure, had infiltrated them.

Paul smiled, knowing he had just the team for the job: The Raven, and his ops team lead by Rider.

Inspired, Paul clicked his holo recorder into place and started recording:

To: Commander Allardyce, Axis Command
From: (Temporary) CIO Paul Andreas
RE: Progenitor Threat

In her absence, Ms. Roze has appointed me to take temporary leadership of the Axis intelligence operations. With your approval, I propose to mount a multi-pronged operation to infiltrate the datalinks of the Progenitors. This will vastly improve our passive intelligence on a threat that we know painfully little about. The Morgan team that secured Great Clustering and saved Sparta Command from the Hive planetbuster will lead this effort. Any information that is gained will, of course, be freely shared with appropriately cleared officials of the Axis leadership.

If you have any suggestions please make them. My team will depart within days unless you specifically countermand this order.

Paul

[Googlie]

Thomass looked up and down the level four corridor to see if he was being observed, and on being satisfied that he was relatively inconspicuous, ducked under the lintel and entered the small café. He had to duck as he was a tall man, above average height, and even though he stooped to try and blend in with the general populace, he still had to watch doors and other low ceilinged rooms.

He looked around – six tables, with four occupied by the usual assortment of drone supervisors and petty officials. One unoccupied table was set against the back wall, with two decrepit chairs, and he selected the one that gave a view of the doorway out into the walkway.

The proprietor came over to take his order.

“Expresso, drop of vanilla flavoring,” he asked. As he always did.

The proprietor looked around, then bent low with his pad as if taking a food order.

“Your friend was in earlier, asking for you. He said to meet you at the site, whatever that means,” he said quietly, then standing up, and making to move away, more loudly, “Thank you sir. One moment.”

As he waited for the coffee to arrive, he pondered. This was highly unusual, but not unprecedented. He would meet Vlad at the entrance then, and take it from there.

The coffee arrived, and he was sipping in relish when he noticed immediately the two strangers walking through the door.

As they looked around, he lowered his head, and fumbled for his modified shredder in his inside pocket. The drone supervisors’ gray utilitarian uniforms made it hard to conceal weapons, but with his height he carried the deceit well.

They were looking over his way. He saw them nod to each other, and then they made their way to his table. From the corner of his eye he saw the proprietor put a hand under the counter top as he watched the proceedings with interest.

They were standing over his table now. One of them pulled from his pocket what appeared to be an official CIP badge. Thomass shuddered inwardly. Why did they have to be Counter Insurgent Police. Why not just plain clothes operatives. This was going to be messy.

He looked up, and snarled in his best offended citizen manner:

“Do you mind, citizens? You are blocking my light.”

“Papers,” asked the one proffering his badge for inspection.

“Ah, I have them here,” he replied with his hand inside his loosely fitting jacket. He stood up.

They stepped back a little, in fear perhaps – or just being prudent, as he unfolded himself to his full height. Just giving him room, he thought, but the slight hesitation was all the time he needed.

In one co-ordinated movement he kicked out with his right foot as he was standing up, catching the smaller of the two men in the groin, and sending him to a rumpled heal to the floor in surprise. Simultaneously, he brought his shredder into the face of the other and fired. The stunned look on the operative’s face was like a narcotic to Thomass as the NLG took mere seconds to render the man incapacitated. As the body crumpled to the floor, Thomass turned the shredder to the first agent, writhing on the floor and clutching his aching groin, and discharged a similar dose on non lethal gas on the hapless operative.

He looked around the café. The patrons who had nervously buried their heads in their food and drinks when the confrontation looked about to start still glanced apprehensively at Thomas as he turned to the proprietor, saying with a wink “ Give them both a double expresso when they come to – they’ll need it.” And throwing him a part credit to cover the cost.

He left to rendezvous with Vladimir.

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

He found him outside the Command center, reading up on the day’s news on the scrolling screens on the bulletin boards. Vlad had positioned himself so that he could see the reflection of anyone approaching on the monitors. Thomas approved. Yes, he was good.

“Hi, bud, what’s happening? How come you couldn’t make the café?”

“I was being tailed most of yesterday and today,” he replied. “Damnit, but these Hive counter intelligence agents are getting good. Managed to give them the slip just in time to leave you the message, then led them a merry dance all over The Hive to throw them off.”

Thomas nodded. After all, he’d been followed right into the café.

Vlad continued:

“Are you sure that you want to carry this out? After all, if they know that we’re in the base they’ll be doubly cautious – probably trip some new algorithmic codes in the security interlocks – ones that we haven’t encountered before.”

Thomas looked at his friend.

“Vlad. We haven’t failed Deirdre yet. This is our … what ….. , seventh mission together, and we’ve come through on every one. We’re an elite team now, the best The Stepdaughters have. It won’t be a piece of cake, but we’ll pull it off.”

Vlad grunted.

“What are we spiriting away this time?” he asked. “It’s better be awfully important to warrant infiltrating Yang’s HQ itself. I’m not sure that’s ever been done before. In fact, I always thought that the faction HQ’s were immune to infiltration.”

“Up until now,” Thomass agreed. “But we can’t get this anywhere else. It’s not up on his nets.”

“What isn’t?” asked Vlad.

“Progenitor Psych. We’re going to steal from Yang the ability to communicate with the Aliens.”

Vlad grunted.

“Then let’s get started.”

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

As they approached the doorway, Vlad took the lead. He was the empath of the team, a controller. Thomass always was amazed at his friend’s ability to make others see exactly what he wanted them to see, to have them act in exactly the eway he commanded.

The two guards snapped to attention. “Chairman. Madame Hsui,” they acknowledged as the two Gaian probes swept past them to the door. They continued to stand stifly to attention.

Thomass pulled his pad from his jacket pocket, and moved towards the lock. He held the screen to the optical scanner while he placed his right hand on the palmprint analyzer, and felt the familiar tiny ***** of the needle as it took the dna sample. His finger was on the transmit key of the pad during the transaction.

“Welcome , Chairman Yang,” a metallic voice sounded, as the door silently swiveled open.

They entered.

It was late evening, yet there were still hordes of citizens going about their work. They gave the two intruders scant attention, secure in the knowledge that outsiders couldn’t penetrate the Command Center of the Hive HQ.

Thomass consulted a small map display on the pad screen he carried.

“Eleven flights down,” he mumbled to Vlad, who nodded. He remembered that much.

They were careful to saunter over to the bank of elevators at an appropriate pace. Not dawdling, as Hive workers didn’t dawdle. Nor too enthusiastic. Enthusiasm was like a banner ad announcing you as a sycophantic party member or a fraudster with something to hide.

They exited the elevator at the tenth level, and sought the stairs for the descent to the eleventh.

“Just to make sure,” Thomass whispered.

In the stairwell, they undressed their pants and jackets, turning them inside out, and re-donning them.

They were now two elite guardsmen of the Chairman’s personal squad.

From various pouches they assembled somewhat authentic looking shredder rifles, which they slung over their shoulders, then pushed open the doorway and entered the corridor on the eleventh level.

Two troopers standing outside a doorway saw them emerge.

“Halt,” said one, gesturing over at Vlad and Thomass.

Vlad exerted his mind probe, but was met by a psi-blocker.

“Uh-oh, blocking me. Plan B,” he muttered to Thomass, just as the guard said to his companion – they’re trying a mind probe – be prepared. He raised his pistol to Thomass. “Just stay right there,” he commanded.

He raised his hands to shoulder height as he walked towards them, to reassure them that his intent was harmless. Behind him, the smaller Vlad unslung his rifle and moved along, partially hidden by the bulk of Thomass.

“That’s far enough,” the guard said. “One more step and I shoot.”

“Now you wouldn’t want to do that, now, would you,” said Thomass. “Someone might get hurt.”

As he uttered the last sentence he rolled to the floor, and behind him he heard the Thwuck…thwuck…thwuck…” of Vlad’s shredder as it cut down the two troopers.

Thomass rolled upright on his feet, and kicked open the door that the troopers were guarding.

“Cover my tail,” he said to Vlad. “This’ll take but a minute.”

Vlad nodded at the disappearing figure of Thomass.

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

He reached the central console, and hastily keyed in the codes that Velvetgrass Point had supplied him with.

The screens lit up, and his fingers flew, taking the journey deep into the central Hive computer, wending its way to the files containing the anxiously awaited data on the Aliens.

Ah, this must be them. He tested to see what he was accessing, and stood transfixed, gazing at the screen.

His body began to sway gently, as he stood inert, the bluish light emanating from the screens casting a sort of halo around his silhouette.

Vlad glanced down the hallway, and was perturbed to see two guardsmen arrive at either end. This was going to be tight. He glanced inside, and saw his friend motionless, mesmerized by the vision he was seeing.

“Thomass. Hurry up. Reinforcements are arriving. Get your butt in gear.”

Then he froze in horror, as a door opened in the room and a Glyph appeared. These were the Alien scout patrol units, so named by Thomass after he’d run into them innumerable times and successfully destroyed them by the dozens.

“Thomass,” look out,” he yelled.

Thomass looked up, slowly, turning round as if in slow motion, blinking in surprise. He brought his shredder up but as he was raising it he saw the muzzle flash from the Glyph’s weapon and felt the triple impact of the searing heat of the laser on his face and shoulders, the unearthly sound that resonated through his skeletal structure and the impact that knocked him from his feet as his head and torso exploded.

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

Megan Lindly sat bolt upright and pulled the jack from the console, sweating profusely.

She was dead. Or, more correctly, Thomass was dead. The character that she had so painstakingly created, and nurtured for two months now, to be the undisputed champion on the Gaian web, was dead.

Ever since her elder sister, Shannon, had brought her the game, The Progenitors she had devoted her leisure hours to it, and was the undisputed champion. And she had been on the verge of the biggest prize yet, capturing Progentitor Psych from Yang.

But dead. Killed by a Glyph, no less. The units she ate for breakfast, generally no match for even a newbie, let alone the Gaian champion. She’d have to apologize to Elspeth for leaving her with Vlad in a hopeless position, but that would have to wait.

She relived these last few minutes, when she was mesmerized.

She had started the Psych program. The resonance had begun, the weird alien language that was a mixture of sound and feeling. And she had understood it.

More so, she had not only understood it, but somehow it wasn’t a tutorial program she was running at all. She was communicating directly, live, with one of the Aliens.

Said his name was Kri’lan



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 27, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex: Briefing Room Gamma

Sinder Roze entered the room had the first glimpse of her team. She was shocked. She had asked Colonel Santiago for a squadron of needlejet pilots as a support team. She entered the room to find five pilots, none of whom could be a day over twenty-five. She could feel her contact smiling beside her.

The squadron consisted of three men and two women. They were all young, well built and not half-bad to look at. Roze almost laughed at the thought of a bunch of Morgan Holosoap stars like these being her support team.

“Surely there has been some confusion,” Roze said quietly to her contact. All the eyes in the room were on her. “This can’t be the whole squadron,” she finished with tact.

“This is the best Colonel Santiago could offer, considering the current hostilities. The Colonel views this mission to be of too high a risk to commit a full squadron. She is unwilling to slow the war effort in order to fund Morgan’s personal vendettas.” Her contact spoke as if he had been practising that little speech for hours. It also appeared that Colonel Santiago disliked Roze far more then Roze could have imagined.

Roze walked to the front of the room and placed her portable terminal on the desk. She took a moment to analyse her new “team”. None of them were in proper uniform, as Roze had interrupted their daily regimen of calisthenics, which every Spartan was expected to participate in. They all wore Spartan Gray pants with a black sleeveless shirt with no collar. There was nothing to indicate rank or identity to establish who was who.

The first woman was quite tall, with long dark hair and a stern face. She sat beside a rather attractive young man with dark hair and a brooding expression. There was an exceptionally tall man who looked just like Roze imagined Morgan must have when he was younger. There was also a stocky Asian man and a quite women with gentle eyes and soft dark hair. None of them were what Roze had expected, but somehow she would make ends meet. She had managed with far less in the past and she would manage now.

“Good afternoon pilots,” Roze said finally breaking the silence. “As you may have guessed, I am Datajack Roze, Head of Intelligence for the Axis. This is my associate, Sam Grant.” Roze indicated the suspicious man who had remained at the doorway. He smiled, once again making it look more like a sneer then any sort of friendly guesture.

“The mission you are about to partake in is highly confidential. Therefore, you will remain in isolation from outside contact until further notice.” It was clear the pilots were not expecting that, as each shifted in their seat and shared glances with each other. Roze was impressed to watch them. No words were spoken, but the general message was conveyed to the entire group. At least they had established a good team understanding.

“We will be heading deep into Hive territory...very deep. I cannot tell you our exact destination or are target. What I can tell you is that we will need to escape with the target intact. That means we have to get in, retrieve the objective and get out without getting caught by Yang’s forces.” The squadron showed their concern as disbelief crossed all of their faces.

“We will be taking a transport in with us. You Mister...” Roze stumbled, realising she still didn’t know their names. Her finger pointed to the broody man in the front.

“Private Bradford,” he offered with little enthusiasm.

“Private?” Roze had hoped for a slightly more experienced officer than that. “Who is the senior officer of the unit?”

“I am.” Bradford’s answer certainly wasn’t the one Roze had wanted. “Along with Private Kingswell,” he added, gesturing to the woman beside him.

“Well then. Private Bradford, you will be piloting the transport. The remaining four will fly escort for as long as possible, before turning back to land. We will be operating off a small task force of ships, including a carrier. We set sail later today, so be prepared. Dismissed.”

“Miss Roze?” The young Morgan look alike raised his hand with a question.

“Now is not the time for questions Private. We have a long voyage ahead of us. Further information will be relayed to you then. Dismissed.” As Spartans, they knew not to test their commanding officer’s authority repeatedly. One by one, they filed out of the room, followed by Grant who was to escort them to their quarters.

Tired from the flight, Roze had one more thing to do before she took a quick rest. She hooked her terminal into the network and connected to her office. As expected the image of Paul Andreas filled the screen.

“Datajack. Missed me so much you had to call already?” His cocky smile indicated he was enjoying this moment. She watched as he clearly leaned back in her chair and put his feet up on her desk.

“Terribly Paul. Don’t worry I’ll get over it,” she replied with the same insincere, sarcastic tone. “What’s the latest update on activity at Sea Hive?”

“So glad you asked,” Paul remarked casually. “The place is just a buzz with activity. We’ve got a commando team moving in currently, mission objective is classified. I suspect their after information on these aliens. Chairman Yang has moved all high profile prisoners to the Remora, a small, but heavily armed foil, one kilometre west of the base. How are things at your end?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, darling.” Paul visibly cringed at such a personal reference. “What about Stazi's team? Have they reached the target yet?”

“Unknown.” Paul’s voice changed to a more serious and professional tone. While his quarrel with Roze was one thing, Anastasia was another matter. “They failed to meet the last checkpoint. It’s possible they’ve infiltrated the base and are unable to transmit.” It was clear that he did not believe that any more than Roze did.

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open once I get there. Do your best to keep me updated. Roze out.”

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

I sat gazing out of the window, idly tapping the electronic stylus against the datapad, and wondering if I should go through the proper channels or bypass them. I needed information.

I opted for the latter. And swiveled the chair to face the commlink screen.

“Encryption active,” I said. A low assenting murmur came from the unit. I keyed in a number.

“Barracks, came a voice response.

“Lisa Mayberry,’ I said.

In a moment the attractive face of Lisa appeared on my screen. She hesitated for a moment, not recognizing me in my more youthful guise.

“Allardyce,” I said.

“Ah, Googlie,” replied the blonde bombshell (I wondered if that still was her nickname among the penetrator pilots, shortened just to ‘The Bombshell’)

“Lisa,” I said. “We’re on full encryption, so you can be frank. Have you heard anything at all from Miles and Stazi? No pick-up arrangements?”

“Nothing,” she replied. I understood that they were going to link up with Kurt somebody – an old Miles’ acquaintance, and spring the Professor loose, then come out overland. I really didn’t have any role to play other than the insertion. But you might try Julia Santiago – she once had an empath thing going with Miles, I believe.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, remembering now. “I will. Thanks Lisa. How’s Slats these days? Thirsting for action?”

“Au contraire, Googlie, he and the boffins are locked up every day trying to work out a counter to these new alien machines that have been appearing. Sentient Needles, he calls them. We’ve had our hides tanned every time we’ve approached one. They’re faster, more maneuverable, better armed, and the machines seem to think – almost like they are mindreading us and knowing what we’re about to do even before we do it. Weird. And scary too.”

“Oh, I know Slats and the crew will work out a counter tactic inevitable,” I said. “And thanks, Lisa. You’ve been most helpful.”

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

I punched in the code for the Gaian Air Command.

Julia herself answered.

“Ah, Representative Allardyce,” she said, all formal. She never had accepted calling me father – not that it mattered, as I really had nothing to do with her conception or upbringing other than as a donor to Deirdre. “What can I do for you?”

Julia – we’re encrypted, so this goes no further. Agreed?”

Instantly she was all solemnity.

“Shoot,” she said.

“I presume you have heard of the current Miles caper?”

I swear I saw her blush on the vidscreen.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” she said. Miles and I have … ‘been in contact’ ….. for a few months now.”

I bit back the retort I was going to make about his being Lisa’s man – no point in getting her edgy.

“They’ve missed their check in, and failed on a back up rendezvous. Have you heard anything from him?”

There was a pregnant pause at the other end. She was frowning, squirming almost.

Hesitantly she began:

“So you haven’t heard then…..” her voice trailed off.

“Heard what,” I almost shouted.

“I had contact with Miles a short time ago. The mission is a shambles. Miles met up with Kurt, who is acting as if he’s been mindswiped, the group split up, the Professor has disappeared, and Stazi has been captured.”

I sagged back in the chair as if poleaxed.

“Yang?” I asked. “Being held in the Sea Hive?”

“Worse,” she replied.

“Not in the Sea Hive – she was captured in Fellowship City.

“By Sand.

I reeled as if I had been physically struck.

“Googlie, I’m sorry,” Julia said. “If there is anything I can do….”

“Thanks, Julia, but I need to wrestle with this. Don’t feel bad about bringing the news to me – someone had to. Take care.”

I cut the commlink connection

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

I hit the comm key for Sinder, realizing as soon as I had done it that she was away.

Paul Andreas answered.

“Yes, Governor?”

He looked as though he was just finishing dinner.

“When you get a moment, Paul, drop in to the office. Oh, and by the way, don’t call me Governor. The name’s Scott, or Googlie if you prefer. Everyone calls me that.”

“Yes, sir. Scott, I mean. I’m on my way.”

He came in a few moments later. I ushered him to a chair.

“Paul,” I began. “Let me get straight to the point.

“Through contacts which shall remain nameless I’ve just been informed that the Zakharov rescue mision is a disaster. The group has beeen split up, with Cavenaugh having to play mental nursemaid to a Hive empath who was their main hope, and Anastasia getting captured by none other than Sand himself, my old nemesis. Oh, and the Professor has disappeared from the face of the earth.

“Paul, I was powerless to stop her going – indeed she was airborne before I knew she had left. But I understand why she did it. She needed a purpose, a mission in life. The Yoop resistance is all but dormant, and I’m sure Corazon was on the point of reinstating it as a submissive pact, and Stazi’s not the type to sit around here and watch me work. She is a trained agent – in fact once confided in me that she had been trained by the Circle itself – financed I’ve no doubt by the CEO himself.”

I glared at Paul as if it was his fault personally.

“I’m not sure what I’m asking, Paul, but it’s more than just getting my woman back. With her in their hands, Ashaandi can blackmail the Professor. Without the Professor, the Yoops might stir up trouble again. And if what Roze says is correct, the good professor was collaborating with Yang in any event in deciphering the Alien technology to aid them in weapons development.

“You have operatives already there, and others going there. What can you do?”

I left the question hanging in the air.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited June 27, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Somewhere in the Eastern Chiron Sea

“You lost the bet. Now go,” Steve told a mute Jay. Several of the other new recruits to the Gaian Empath Corps nodded absently, obviously relieved not to get this assignment.

Jay looked beseechingly at each of his fellow empaths for support, and found none. Their minds were shut, although some leaked a little sympathy.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Consider it your first combat assignment!” Steve stated.

“We’re all dying to find out about the Mindworm Lady. I’d really like to know about her,” Cindy Porter said encouragingly. She was Jay’s age, had mousy brown hair, was just a little chunky, and she had a brilliant smile, which she was using on Jay right now.

Does she like me, or is she just using me like everyone else? Jay thought sourly to himself. Jay yearned to touch her mind, but that was strictly against the rules unless you are invited. Jay ‘felt’ around and there was no invitation.

“Fine,” Jay said tightly as he turned and walked all alone toward the back of the Isle of the Deep. Due to the size and roughness of the surface it would take at least 25 minutes to get to the Mindworm Lady probably was, especially since the ridges and valleys of the Isle’s surface had no real organization, beyond what man had cut or built into it to make it minimally accessible.

Jay stopped and glanced back into a low spot that they called The Valley where their squad was based. The crowd of the Corps had largely dispersed on their assignments, except for Cindy, who was still looking in his direction.

Good luck, Jay! he heard in his mind as a focused projection.

Jay smiled to himself and felt a little better. He had made very few friends since joining the Corps, unlike the popular Steve, who everyone seemed to like. Jay felt like he was in the bigger and older man’s shadow. Maybe Cindy would be a friend someday.

Thanks Cindy. I appreciate it, Jay projected back. Cindy waved at him, and then turned and jogged after her partner.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Jay muttered to himself.

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

There she is – the Mindworm Lady Jay thought.

Jay had seen her infrequently, since she kept to herself and never interacted with the other members of the Empath Corps outside of required functions. She was a mystery to everyone, since she was an officer but didn’t have any officer duties that anyone could figure out. That struck Jay as very strange since she was odd even for a member of the Corps, which was known for its quirky and individualistic members. The Corps long ago recognized that psi talent in any form was so rare that it accepted everyone and then accommodated them instead of forcing them into its mold.

She sat at the hind end of the Isle looking out to sea. A stiff wind blew against the back of her head, which faced Jay. Not a hair was out of place even in the warm breeze since it was pulled back into a bun that was so tight it had to hurt. She was obviously old since her hair was almost white and she had deep wrinkles in her exposed deeply tanned skin, but not quite ancient. To Jay she seemed worn looking, as if she were bent but unbowed from years of labor and grief. She was clearly old enough to remember the Trail of Tears after the fall of Gaia’s Landing over 25 years ago to the Hive.

As Jay watched there was movement under the Mindworm Lady, and it looked like pinkish gray confetti was being squeezed out of the business end of a meat grinder. In moments a medium sized mindworm had erupted out of the ‘hull’ of the Isle and formed a loose ball, and it made a B-line for the Mindworm Lady. It flowed slowly toward her as if slinking, picking up speed. Then it impacted on her lower back and flowed around her. It happened so fast that Jay didn’t even have time to shout or project a warning.

“Fluffy!” the Mindworm Lady yelled in a slightly surprised and irritated voice. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me! You scared me half to death!”

The mindworm formed a ball again, and a ‘head’ morphed onto the top of the boil that Jay would swear was ‘looking’ at her. As she yelled the mindworm seemed to shrink back and sag a little. She absently started ‘petting’ the mindworm by running her fingers through the seething mass of worms.

“Now none of that. Whining will do you no good. Just don’t do it again. What? There’s someone here? Oh…” she said as she was turning around.

She looked at Jay and a scowl formed on her face. “What do you want?” she asked in a quarrelsome voice.

“Ahhhh,” Jay stammered.

“Well, out with it!” she ordered.

“I noticed your mindworm. Fluffy? He seems to be a little unusual,” Jay improvised, not having a clue what else to say.

The Mindworm Lady blinked twice, slightly taken aback. Then her scowl softened a little. She was still petting Fluffy, who seemed to be pulsing with each stroke.

“Yes, I suppose he is,” she responded slowly while looking Jay over with a highly critical eye. After a pause she seemed to come to a decision and continued, “Why do you say that? Why is he different?”

Now Jay knew he was in hot water. He had to think, and think quickly. First the obvious.

“Ah, he kind of seems to be like, ah, an animal. I mean, an Earth animal. I’ve never seen a mindworm attack like that, or form what looks like a head when you’re talking to it. And why are you talking to it? Why not just project to it? It seems to form a pretty perfect ovoid, which isn’t at all like the swirling and almost amorphous masses that I generally think of. His sides almost seem smooth. He’s kind of on the smallish side, too, now that I think of it. His color is right, but the worms are a bit tighter. I’ve seen that on larger worms who don’t generate as strong a mutual repulsion field due to their greater mass…”

The Mindworm Lady put up her hand to stop him, since he seemed be gathering speed.

“Very good, young man. You’re not a biologist, are you?”

Jay shook his head.

“Too bad. You’re observant enough to be one. My guess is that you are an empath. Right? I think I’ve seen you with the recruits in the mindworm brigade.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Jay responded automatically. “Private Jayson Fergeson.”

Fluffy perked up suddenly and ‘looked’ at Jay, getting both of their attention. Then he flowed over to Jay, extended a tendril, and touched him.

“He’s tasting you,” she commented dryly as she watched, her eyes watching for something that she obviously expected to happen.

::Hello earthfergeson::

To Jay the voice was high pitched with a pure tone, like that of a small child. Each mindworm was unique, but most were either abrupt and came across as being ageless, which considering they were aliens and part of an ancient sentient Planet wasn’t too much of a leap of faith.

::Hello Fluffy:: he projected back. The mindworm pulsed and moved to surround Jay’s legs, and a few worms found their way under his pant cuffs. When directly in contact with his skin they felt dry, and their strong electromagnetic fields seemed to dance across his skin, making the hairs on his legs stand up on end. All in all it was not an unpleasant sensation, as long as you knew the mindworms didn’t have feeding in mind.

The Mindworm Lady gave a pale smile as she saw the simple exchange. “Congratulations. Fluffy doesn’t like very many people. In fact, you are the first besides me he has spoken to since I lost my husband and son over 28 years ago. He seems to dislike empaths and sends them what I have been told is painful static. The fact that you aren’t gasping and clutching your head says it all. Are you sure you’re an empath?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m sure,” Jay responded. He wasn’t sure how to address her, since calling her ‘Mindworm Lady’ didn’t seem to be appropriate and no one knew her name. Might as well treat her like an officer.

“Hmph. Well I’m not, so stay out of my head. Actually, Fluffy does a fine job preventing you empaths from mucking around. Don’t you Fluffy?”

At her prompt Fluffy formed a ‘head’ and looked toward her even as he coiled around Jay’s feet.

Now Jay was puzzled. “How can you communicate, or control him if you can’t project commands?”

“Is that what they teach you at empath school? Commands? Orders? Control? Mindworms aren’t property to be commanded; they are friends and partners. I assure you that Fluffy is perfectly capable of understanding me, and he makes himself understood.”

The Mindworm Lady paused and seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Now, since Fluffy approves of you, my name is Kirsten. I was drafted into this little affair by Dee, who pulled me away from my crèche at Garden of Paradise for no other reason than ‘I need you Kirsti’. I’m supposed to be a teacher, so you might as well be my student. I’ll contact your duty roster so we can start your training. You can start by getting to know Fluffy. Is that OK Fluffy?”

Fluffy pulsed again, but Jay didn’t have a clue what it meant. Kirsten gave him another of her pale smiles and she nodded.

“Run along now,” Kirsten said as she looked back out to sea.

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

Jay walked into the fungal cave where he and Steve had set up residence. Steve was piling supplies in one of the corners that was sure to be dry in a storm, and turned around when he heard him enter.

“Well? How did it go?” Steve asked as he walked over toward the doorway.

Jay didn’t respond right away, and let the pause continue for several seconds.

“I don’t really know. She told me I’m her student now. And I think she just gave me her mindworm Fluffy,” Jay said with a partially stunned voice.

Outside there was a skittering sound and a medium-sized mindworm boil barged into the small cave. It formed a ‘head’, looked around the room from the doorway and spotted Steve, then carefully advanced on Jay, being careful to keep Jay between him and Steve. Reaching his legs he coiled himself around and pulsed a few times.

Jay smiled, feeling what Fluffy meant.

“No, the earthuman Steve won’t hurt you, even if he is big. And no he isn’t a food animal, and you can’t eat him. No, I’m not going to change my mind, unless he makes me mad.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to be stunned.

Jay was beginning to really like Fluffy.

[Hydro]

UN Headquarters

I've never met Governor Scott Allardyce in person before, and he is just what my dossier on him say he is: tall, ruggedly good looking and charismatic, sharp, and young. His voice and demeanor are not that of a young man, however: he exudes confidence and authority, and wears it well. On a truly young man it would be considered a cocky or insolent swagger, but on Scott is it simply Authority.

So here I am sitting across from him, and he is asking me for what amounts to a personal favor. Not an unreasonable favor, mind you, since he has sound tactical and strategic reasoning. Stazi is all that Scott says she is: granddaughter of Prokhor Zakharov; UoP terrorist formerly in the employ of Morgan to cause chaos for the Spartans, as he surmised; a skilled operative trained by the Sand and other members of the Circle, although I bet Stazi never told that to Scott; and wildly beautiful. I suppose that if I were as fortunate as Scott to have Stazi as my significant other then I would move heaven and earth to get her back, too.

Still, in the intelligence business it never hurts to do favors, particularly for those in authority, and especially for those that are outside of your standard chain of command. Contacts are worth their weight in gold, be they trivial or high ranking, but particularly if they are high ranking. Basically, those with favors and 'leverage' can do their job well, and throw in a little talent and you can become legendary - if you don't get killed first.

Scott is waiting for my answer, and I'm not going to disappoint him.

"Sand, eh? I've locked horns with that crusty old bastard more than once, and I even came out on top occasionally. He was my protégé back in the Hive-Morgan alliance days, and Yang 'insisted' that we work together. Of course I did everything in my power to prevent that, and Newbie agreed. Having Sand running around loose at Morgan Industries is a very bad idea. There is no love lost between us.

Now, to the question 'What can I do?' Well, I can get Stazi back, but against Sand that will be costly. The only hope we have is to deploy multiple teams and overwhelm him, and accept the fact that there will be casualties.

We may even be able to eliminate him, if we're lucky," I ended.

Scott's eyes glittered. It was clear he would love that. He and Sand had been blood enemies ever since he, Gecko and Burge had tried to assassinate him so many years ago to protect Santiago. Too bad all they did was partially incinerate and disfigure him, and earn his eternal hatred. I'm sure that Gecko and Scott are on Sand's list. After all, Sand tortured and then eliminated Burge, and so Scott and Gecko are next.

"Can you do that?" Scott replied hopefully.

"No guarantees. If it were a simple assassination then I would say that we might be able to. But our objective will be to free Stazi, and that limits our options. Our lethal options, that is."

Scott nodded. "I understand."

I continued. "Sand is a first class intrusive empath, called a ripper in psi lingo. We'll need several top grade empath rippers of our own, and they are extraordinarily rare. It will take a while to round them up and get them integrated into the teams. I'll get right on it. We will require more resources for the training, and to support these activities since I will be diverting people from other operations."

"Route it through me, and just keep it reasonable. Do what you can."

"Fine. Is there anything else?"

Scott looked a little relieved, but still anxious. "No. Thanks Paul."

I smiled at him. "Don't mention it."

+++++++

Back in my office I made a call to an old University friend at Morgan Industries. She is a specialist in nano technology, which is perfect for high-end probe actions. All it takes is the appropriate resources, which Scott has just graciously provided me with, and a little creativity to push their capabilities. Nanos can be constructive, or destructive. It all depends on how they are designed. They can't be seen and are difficult to detect, and are easy to conceal and carry. If I am right, the nanos I have in mind will literally give Sand fits.

I have a second recipe in mind, too. It will be perfect for tracking my favorite loose canon.

[Argonaut]

Hive Freighter Orion: Deep in Hive Territory

Zakharov watched as Sharra slept, curled up on the cold synthmetal floor. Even as she slept, the poor girl fidgeted and mumbled in her sleep, tortured even in slumber by the memories of her past. Zakharov would always despise Yang, knowing he had caused this torment to Sharra. Zakharov also felt a pang of guilt, knowing the had contributed to her torment.

Zakharov had never before felt connected to one of his subjects. He had never looked at them as human beings, merely as necessary casualties in order to better the lives of the rest of humanity. But as he had watched Sharra, writhing with under the alien beam and looking so much like Anastasia, the reality of the situation suddenly dawned on him that it was wrong. What he did to his test subjects was no better then the torture Yang performed on his prisoners. That was why Zakharov planned to make things right.

He had been examining the small datapad that he had stolen from Yang’s lab. He had downloaded information on the geography and boundaries of Hive territory and was trying to determine the safest and quickest route to this new factions territory. They had been forced to leave Sea Hive much early then Zakharov had hoped, and they now found themselves with an extreme shortage of supplies.

From what Zakharov had determined, the boat would land them at a bunker near a Hive base called Fellowship City. If they could reach that base, they would be able to hide within the masses of drones amid the Hive underground. That would give them enough time to gather supplies before they made the long trek along open terrain to Free Drone Central. If they were to seek any other form of transport, they might attract too much attention to themselves. However it would be viewed as more efficient if two drones were relocating near the border, on foot, rather then sending an entire transport rover for two lowly drones.

The old freighter creaked heavily as it rolled over a heavy swell in the sea. The noise awakened Sharra, would looked around her, momentarily disoriented, before noticing Zakharov and remembering her situation. She had barely spoken since they had escaped, and Zakharov did not blame her after what he had done.

Sharra sat up and rested her head against the damp synthmetal wall. She clutched her stomach as the rocking of the ship once again took it’s tole on her conscious body. She vomited, the nausea being to intense for her, and wiped the bile from her mouth as the desperation once again began to overwhelm her.

Zakharov got up and pulled her over two him, away from the mess on the floor. He wrapped an arm around and began to whisper to her soothingly.

“It’s okay Sharra. Just a little bit longer,” he said in a hushed tone. He gently grabbed her arms and began massaging the pressure points near her wrists, which affected her equilibrium. Finally, she relaxed into him as the nausea passed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just a little longer.”

[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited June 29, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Data Angel Special Task Force: S.F.S. Pericles

Roze sat in her cramped office on the tiny foil and felt like throwing up. She had taken three anti sea-sickness pills and still the nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She would have to talk to Morgan when she got back about the effectiveness of his merchandise. Roze almost laughed at the thought of Morgan actually caring.

Despite the sea-sickness Roze was very lucky to be where she was. While Colonel Santiago’s pilots were not exactly what Roze was hoping for, the two ships that she had been provided with were more than adequate.

The S.F.S. Pericles was a Spartan prototype, a carrier which had been adapted to use a deep pressure hull, allowing it to dive beneath the waves and out of the sight of Yang’s forces. It was of destroyer size, but it’s cargo space was limited do to the confines of the hull. Still, it had ample room for her squadron of five and her reserve team.

Her escort was the S.F.S. Hydra, a basic submersible shard foil. It was equipped with AA defence systems and plasma steel armour, providing the necessary fire power to protect the carrier. The only moment the two ships would be really vulnerable would be at the moment of launching, and the way Spartan carriers were organized, that would be a minimal amount of time indeed.

A knock on the door indicated that her two guests had arrived. She took one more of Morgan’s seemingly useless pills just in case and then called her pilots into the office.

Private Bradford and Private Kingswell entered, sitting in the two seats opposite Roze’s desk and looking typically Spartan. They sat upright with perfect posture, staring straight ahead, quite in contrast with Roze who leaned back in her chair and had her feet up on her desk.

“We will be approaching the launching site shortly,” Roze finally began. The two privates’ eyes remained focused ahead, although she knew they were listening intently. “Private Bradford, you will be flying with Grant and myself in the transport as I have already mentioned. Private Kingswell, you will be leading the rest of the pilots as Angel One.” The twitch in Private Bradford’s face indicated that he was not entirely comfortable with that decision.

“You have something to say, Private Bradford?” Roze queried. His expression reddened, realizing he had not been composed as he had thought.

“No sir,” he responded firmly.

“For Chiron’s sake, Bradford. You aren’t in Sparta anymore. I’m not even a senior officer. You’re allowed to make suggestions to me.” Roze found these Spartans to be far to wound up for her liking. She had seen them relaxing off-duty, in the mess-hall, but in every breifing they behaved as thought they had a synthmetal rod up their rear-ends.

“With all do respect sir, you are a ranking executive within the Axis chain of command. You are also the supervisor for this mission. Therefore it would be inappropriate for me to question your orders.” How typically Spartan Roze thought. What was that old saying, when in Rome? Where was Rome anyway?

“Well then, Private Bradford, as your senior officer I am ordering you to speak your mind and explain to me why you reacted when I placed Private Kingswell in command of the squadron.” Roze was standing firmly at attention, doing the best impression of the Colonel that she could. The humour was lost on them.

“Yes sir. My only concern was that, under normal circumstances, I lead the squadron with Private Kingswell as my second. I would like to know what I did wrong to deserve this demotion.”

“You are not being demoted Private, you are being promoted. You will not be leading the squadron because you will be on special assignment with me and Grant, and will therefore be unable to lead the other pilots.”

“With all do respect sir,” he said finally looking at her. She had obviously got his attention now, except he seemed even more concerned then before. “I’m not an operative.”

“I am aware of that Private, I have read your file.” The Spartan once again turned red and reverted his gaze straight back to the office’s rear wall. “However, your combat skills will be required at the target. Now, for the time being I cannot release any further information to you. If the mission does not succeed, you will each be protected by how little you will actually know. Dismissed.”

The two privates immediately stood up from their chairs and left the room. Roze slumped back in her chair and sighed heavily. She couldn’t figure out which was worse, her sea-sickness or her Spartan headache.
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited June 29, 2000).]

[senatus]

Sparta Command


Corazon Santiago brought the chaos rifle up to a  well-muscled
shoulder in a smooth motion.  Over a century of practice allowed her
to sight and fire at her targets in a fraction of a second.  Four
disintegrated in succession.  She ducked, rolled, and reloaded a new
fusion energy pack, then rose and squeezed off two more shots without pause. 
She scanned the target grounds for a moment, even though there had been
only six automated targets, before activating the safety of her weapon.


"Care to try, Sister Miriam?"  Santiago offered politely to the
first of her two guests, holding out the rifle.  In the background,
one of her Spartan Elites shifted slightly, no doubt instinctively uneasy
about the presence of an armed non-Spartan in his commander-in-chief's
presence.  Not that there was any reason to be truly concerned, of
course.


Miriam Godwinson felt uncomfortable with the heavy rifle, but manners
were manners, and in Sparta, one should do as the Spartans did.  So
instead she nodded and stepped forward, the energy weapon pointed carefully
at the ground, and toggled the safety off as Santiago ordered the random
target sequence to repeat.  Not that she had more than a prayer of
hitting these things, but at least an old, old friend had once taught her
how to hold and fire a rifle without completely embarrassing herself. 
Sven Alfredsson is still alive, she thought.  I have to
try to find him.  But he is somewhere in "Fellowship City" - Great
Conclave! - still under Yang's control, and Jessica's not yet ready
to go deep?"


The holotargets appeared and Miriam fired, tensing for the nonexistent
impact.  She missed, of course, but not by more than a metre, which
was pretty good at twenty metres' range for her.  She failed to dodge,
however, as the holotargets oriented and fired low powered lasers at her,
marking her as "dead".


"The holotargets appear randomly, and thus have the advantage of surprise. 
But they are stationary and are programmed with delays mimicking a human
opponent.  So exercise your own advantages of mobility and initiative." 
Santiago advised matter-of-factly.


"Private McCollough.  Demonstrate."  Santiago ordered Sister
Jessica, who stood beside her faction leader.


"Yes Ma'am!"  Jessica took the chaos rifle, and waited for the
holotargets to begin their sequence.  When they did, Jessica threw
herself into a shoulder roll, keeping the rifle balanced along her forearm
so that her other arm and hand could slap the ground to break the fall,
and push her off to the side before the targets could reorient.  She
took the time to spot each of the targets before attempting to bring her
weapon up; lining up the first, she fired and then dodged to her left,
swinging the rifle in line with the second then third targets while firing. 
Lasers pulsed into the position she vacated, but Jessica ignored the distraction
and dodged again.  Three more times the chaos rifle whined its weird
harmonic pulse, and the sixth target "disintegrated" holographically. 
Then Jessica noticed the laser tag indicator winking on her vest.


Santiago pointed to the third target, which Jessica realized she had
barely missed.


"Always make sure your enemy is dead before turning your back
on him."  Santiago instructed with clinical dispassion.  Still,
she was privately pleased; Jessica's performance was as good as any Spartan
trainee's would've been - which was to say as good as any other
faction's battle-hardened troops.  If the other Believer soldiers
could do so well with Spartan training, that - combined with the rumoured
zeal that the old Believer military had been able to muster - would produce
effective assault troops to supplement her own Spartan forces.


Not that the Believers have the resources to produce many troops
as yet- but who knows how long this war may last with the Aliens. 
A smart soldier always made sure she had enough ammunition in her belt
to serve for a sustained battle, Santiago thought.


At the same time, Jessica looked momentarily uncomfortable.  If
Santiago thought that was because of her "poor" performance a moment ago,
Miriam knew better.  The thought of killing doesn't come easily
to Jessica.  But it will become a regrettable necessity in the Lord's
service.  We must talk about that soon.


Santiago sat down cross-legged on the ground and gestured for her guests
to do the same.  Jessica sat easily in her Spartan fatigues, Miriam
a little more uncomfortably in her orange robes.


"So, Sister, I have been considering your needs, which will be to establish
a formal base of operations - I mean, a place of worship - soon. 
Looking over Federated Territories, I am prepared to recommend to the Junta
that the area north-west of Assassin's redoubt be granted to your followers. 
The area is heavily wooded now, providing an excellent source of start-up
minerals, and there is even a monolith nearby that you could make use of
for a second base.  You would want to clear some of the fungus there,
though.  We can provide you with some old fission formers to start
you off."


Miriam and Jessica looked at each other, then Miriam turned back to
Santiago and bowed her head briefly in gratitude.


"We thank you for your assistance, Colonel, and we would like to take
you up on that.  However, we had hoped to be able to return to our
old homelands, beginning with what is now called Great Clustering."


Santiago arched an eyebrow.  Great Clustering had been claimed
by this "Foreman Domai" for his "Free Drones".  But no doubt Miriam
knew this, so she waited for the Believer leader to continue.


"Our problem isn't our tech level," Miriam explained.  "You have
generously opened your datalinks to us, and the advance of human science
has been staggering - especially the possibility offered by fusion reactors. 
And we can always... obtain new technology from other sources.  Nor
is it with raw energy reserves, thanks especially to Sinder Roze. 
No, our biggest problem is infrastructure and growth.  If we start
from scratch, I fear it would be some time before we can contribute in
any substantial military fashion to the Axis and yourself.  Our probe
operatives will, of course, be at your disposal.  But sooner or later,
actual fighting will have to take place," - Miriam emphasized subtly
as much as for Jessica's behalf as Santiago's -

"and the Lord's Believers are determined to do our part, the sooner
the better."


"But," Miriam continued, "if we start with a base right in the thick
of things, we will shave off years of infrastructure builds. 
Plus, it is close to our old homelands and the brothers and sisters still
oppressed by the Hive - so the local proximity will make our contributions
more efficient, should the war progress favorably.  As well as cut
down transit times for our probe operatives, or whatever military forces
the Legions of the Faithful could provide."


Miriam waited for Santiago's response.  She'd had some time now
to get to know the Spartan leader, and had decided at the outset with Jessica
that stating the advantages in military terms was the most likely way to
get her pact sister's support.


Colonel Santiago frowned in thought, her finger absent-mindedly tracing
the outline of the Hive continent on the ground.  Finally she looked
up and nodded.


"Your arguments make sense to me, and I am willing to support them within
my capacity as Axis Commander-in-Chief.  However, ultimately you will
have to work this out somehow with Domai.  I am not positioned to
intervene on your behalf there.  You might wish to put your arguments
to Commissioner Lal; this is a civilian and legal matter and thus within
his domain."


"Lal!"  Miriam exclaimed before she could help herself.  Temper,
temper.  Lord, please guide me with your wisdom and patience. 
"Commissioner Lal is... well, his faction isn't exactly the most pro-active
and decisive on Planet."  Which was a diplomatic way of saying that
his so-called "democracy" was an inefficient bureaucracy that catered to
the demagogues.  She and Lal had argued about this before her defeat;
Lal had had the effrontery to demand that the Lord's Believers emulate
these ideals right in the middle of the war with Yang!  Well, Heaven
wasn't a democracy, and neither would His church on Planet be led other
than by holy vision and the teachings of the Conclave Bible.  In the
end, however, it hadn't mattered as Yang's troops tore down the spires
of the Great Cathedral in New Jerusalem.


In spite of her Spartan reserve, Santiago had to smile.


"Yes... he can be a bit... indecisive... at times."  Privately,
Santiago thought if Lal had spent even half the time establishing a capable
military as he did in kissing up to his precious Charter, the Axis might've
had the military might to finish the Hive before the Aliens had
entrenched themselves.  Ironically, the only other faction leader
who appreciated the truth that political power flowed from the muzzle of
a shard projector was Yang... and possibly Miriam, religious fanatic that
she was.  Ah, well.  A general had to establish strategy based
on the resources she had, not the resources she wished for.  A sudden
thought came to her.


"You might want to try contacting Lal's current deputy, Scott Allardyce. 
You'll find that he is perhaps more... realistic... in establishing goals
and methods, than Pravin Lal is.  He's also an experienced political,
and may be able to broker a deal between you and Domai if you can
convince him it's in the Axis' interests."


Jessica caught Miriam's eye and nodded almost imperceptibly.

[Rynn:]

Warriors’ Harmony

Ron sat entranced as the alien continued speaking – resonating she had called the language style – after the holovid had finished. She gave him a short history lesson spanning the last 4000 years - the collapse of the Progenitor civilization after the resonance pulse from Manifold One had swept through the Tau Ceti system. The break up of the remnants of the race into two factions – the Usurpers, who were spacelocked without the infrastructure on their planet, Harmony, to support the landings of the giant starcruisers, and the Caretakers, who grubbed on the desolate planet surface until they had built themselves back up into a starfaring civilization. The building of the Rim Systems planetoids by the Usurpers who lacked the power to wrest Harmony from the Caretakers control. The enmity that erupted as the Progenitors wanted to replicate the experiment, but this time controlling it. The Caretakers wanting to return the six manufactured planets back into their infant sentiency, and to keep them there, inviolate and pristine. The skirmishes that broke out periodically as the Caretakers tried to break free for the stars, or the Progenitors tried to win back some of the sacred sites on Harmony’s surface.

“Tell me about your living aircraft,” he asked, and waited as the resonator/translator worked its magic for the trooper.

She altered:

“Ah, yes. The Gnats. I am not too familiar with them, and indeed had never seen one until they arrived here those turnings ago, but from our history they are bred for fighting.

“The crew are identified as hatchlings, and bonded with the infant craft, growing up together, and learning to communicate instantaneously empathically. They become a complete unit, together, the two hatchling progenitors and the gnat itself. What we find interesting is that the crew is always of the opposite sex of the gnat – two male warriors with a female aircraft and vice versa.”

Ron thought that fascinating, as he pondered her comments.

“So what happens if a crew member dies while not with his or her craft?” he asked.

“Then either the Gnat is retired for breeding, or it performs the suicide song and flies to its death in honor of its crew,” she altered.

“So no-one else can fly them. That’s interesting,” said Ron, as they decided it was time for sleep.

Shauna and Ruth had long since dropped off into slumber.

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

He lay awake thinking of what they had gotten themselves into. It had seemed such a neat idea. Make their way to the aerospace center at Courage to Question, use Ruth’s ability to get to the hangars, and commandeer the Gnat that had befriended Ruth, and fly to Spartan or Morgan held territory.

But it was not going to be that simple.

He’d need to question the alien some more in the morning.

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

Courage: to Question

Teerts awoke with an ache in his belly. He needed food.

He rumbled out of the cot and waddled over to the dispenser in the corner shaking his head and flaps to knock the sleep from his eyes. The incessant beeping of the reslink communicator intruded on his almost trancelike actions and with a grunt he went over to the console and punched in the receive command.

“Wazzup?” he resonated, and immediately stiffened to attention and assumed the head bowed position of submissiveness as he recognized the familiar face and tusks of Conqueror Marr.

“Governor Teerts. I arrive at the Aerospace Center in a tenth. I will expect to see you at the Command Center in two tenths,” came the resonance. “Is there anything new to report?”

Teerts pondered, and absent-mindedly tapped a claw against his lower tusk while he thought. ‘What had happened since last Marr had a report beamed to the orbiting scoutship? Oh, the attack on the Hive base – but of course he would know that from their surveillance capability from orbit. Ah, yes, the report from the trooper at Warriors’ Harmony.

“Your human guests are making their way for their meeting with you,” he altered. “We expect them today.”

“What?” came the altered interrogative from Marr. “You make no sense. What guests? I have no meeting arranged.”

Teerts cringed at the unexpected force of the Conqueror’s statement. ‘Things can’t be going well,’ he thought, ‘if this upsets him.’

“I’ll investigate right away,” he resonated in reply. “There must be a misunderstanding. I’ll contact the trooper who sent in the report and ask her for clarification.”

“Do that, and quickly,” altered Marr. “I want no unauthorized humans around us for several turnings. Our war council has much to discuss.”

Teerts bowed his head in meek submission. So much for his rumbling stomach – it would have to wait.

“I will meet you at the Command Center,” he resonated obediently.

Marr signaled assent, and the reslink went silent as he cut the connection.

Agitated, as he would now be going hungry for some time, Teerts fumbled for the frequency of the trooper who had reported meeting the little human contingent, and tapped in the sequence with a talon.

After a short pause, the sleepy face of the trooper appeared on the small screen, and the reslink hummed with the interrogative resonance:

“Sir?”

“Ah, trooper,” he altered. “I have just been in contact with Conqueror Marr who is returning today. He has no meeting with any humans. In fact, he was quite specific that no humans were to be allowed near our headquarters for several turnings. So you will interrogate them, stay with them, and while not under arrest, you will not let them out of your sight or hearing. I’ll relay orders to your garrison commander. Is that clear?”

“Yes Sir,” the altered resonance came grumpily.

“What is your name, trooper, so that I can couch my command to your commander in the proper form?”

“Chatho,” she altered.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Warriors' Harmony

Great, just great. I have to act as broodnurse to three aliens and walk with them all the way back to their homestead to the north. The malehuman had said that it took them a complete turning to reach here from where they dwell. And if I am not to let them outside the range of my sense receptors then they must accompany me to my barracks while I pick up necessities for the journey. I wonder if I can commandeer a rover for the journey as it will be slow with the female and the hatchling. And what do they eat and how will we communicate if each time the malehuman needs to set up that clumsy translation apparatus in order for us to understand each other. I had thought that maybe I intuitively understood their language…I mean I did at first, but alone with the malehuman neither he nor I could understand each others’ resonances. Only when the female with her young were awake was there no problem.

Chatho?

What the heck? Someone resonated my name and I don’t see anyone nor did my flaps react to the waves. What on Chiron is happening?

Chatho. I am Ruth, the hatchling. I am in your mind, Chatho, that is how you understand our human communications.

In my mind? How can this be?

Let me show you. Come, visit mine.

……….discontinuity…………

I am in the tent with the humans. To one side I see the malehuman, lying on his side, with his head on his arm, sleeping peacefully, snoring gently. I am being held in the arms of the femalehuman named Shauna. I have a warm sensation filling my stomach. There is a pleasurable feeling as my lips are clamped to an appendage on her mammary gland as I suck and partake of her life giving fluids. She is talking to me.

“There, now Ruthie. You’ve got to have some breakfast, baby, we’ve a long day ahead of us to get to that Alien base to get to the aircraft.”

I am conscious of cutting my mother off at the pass.

“Mommie,” but no sounds are heard – I am in her mind. We are linked telepathically. I hear mother again, audibly.

“Ruthie. What are you doing. You’ve mind-linked us with the Alien.”

I am inside the femalehuman’s mind now too – a jumble of ideas and fears, defenses being hastily erected even as I trail along with Ruth’s sentient probes of her mother.

…………She’ll understand our plans – will take steps to stop us getting access to that spacecraft…what was her name…ah, yes, Yelle …anyway she won’t let us near it so we’ll be stuck for the next ten years with Yang’s bodyguard and we won’t ever be able to get loose and hold him to his bargain to give us back the Believer bases…..Ruthie I can’t believe that you’re doing this……how naïve………I need to waken Ron, he’ll know what to do…………………………..ah yes, he’s stirring…………….

I see the small cottage where they lived, on the edge of the Hive Covert operations headquarters. The two armed guards are always present, and then of course there is the companion/nurse/maid/guard herself, always around. I sense the despair of ten more years of this, with the promise of frequent visits from members of…The Circle… a feeling of dread washes over me as I contemplate this concept………. I sense the hopelessness of it all. Then the exhilaration as the alien craft befriends Ruth, and the beginnings of a plot being hatched to travel to Courage: to Question to steal the craft and use it as a bargaining chip to have Yang comply with his promise to return the two Believer bases of Fellowship City and The Leader’s Horde to Miriam’s control. And now the despair and frustration as Ruth is transmitting to them what she has discerned in me that I must accompany them back to their cottage and their forced confinement, probably with fewer relaxations of the regimen than before, since their attempted escape.

I thought unwittingly of other ways that they could escape – I could commandeer a rover and we could just drive until we met civilization – but then I remembered that we were on an island, with only four Progenitor bases and the Hive ops center – there was no other civilization.

Then I remembered the Monolith. To the south of Spires Ascendant. And it’s apparently wonderful powers. Rumor and speculation among the troops was that they were the remnants of the Builders’ work when they planetformed Chiron. A single facility that with the ancient Progenitor Builders economy comprised a Psigate, Bioenhancement Center and a Nanohospital rolled into one. They were linked across Planet according to the rumors, but no warrior of the Usurpers, whether lowly trooper or mighty conqueror, had been able to fully penetrate their secrets. Oh, the repair and hospital capabilities still functioned, but the psigates were closed and silent to any attempt to activate them.

Take us there came the command into her mind.

‘But…”

Chatho found herself agreeing, and looking forward enthusiastically to the journey of exploration with these weird aliens.

“Come with me,” she resonated, as they broke camp and headed for the barracks to pick up her needed gear.

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

They were fortunate – or perhaps Ruth used her coercive powers, but Chatho was able to requisition a small transport rover for them to travel in.

In a few hours they would be in the outskirts of Spires Ascendant.


[This message has been edited by Rynn: (edited June 30, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Data Angel Special Task Force: S.F.S. Pericles

Roze entered the bridge where the red flashing lights indicated that the ship wide warning, which had sounded only moment earlier, was still in effect. Sensors had picked up ships on the surface, on a course that would bring them directly over the top of the task force. Their heading and location made it 99% probable that they were Hive vessels. Visual confirmation was, of course, impossible without giving away their position.

Roze approached the captain of the Pericles, who was looking intently over the shoulder of his sensory technician. The screen showed six blips: their escort and the approaching fleet.

“What have we got Captain?” Roze’s voice was barely more audible than a whisper. With modern sonar devices, a sneeze could be detected by approaching ships. The fusion drive would have been set to 3% power when the alarm sounded in order to operate silently. The subs would still be able to maintain a relatively acceptable speed for the next hour, after which friction would have eliminated any left over momentum.

“Five ships, two destroyers and three foils. Unknown weaponry or defences at this range. We’re assuming it’s the Hive, however, there is a possibility that these are Alien vessels.” The Captain’s reply was brief and hushed, but still maintained that crisp Spartan tone that Roze loathed so much.

“I find it highly unlikely that these are Alien ships above us. Everything we’ve seen from them indicates a highly different from of construction and architecture. Those vessels are human and therefore Hive.”

“It is possible,” retorted the Captain in a smug demeanor, “that the Aliens have procured there naval technologies from the Hive, as they had no such existing technology.” It was clear that the Captain did not like taking orders from a civilian, especially one who was not Spartan. Roze decided that in future she would talk to Morgan about military assistance. His people she could at least tolerate.

“Captain, if the Aliens have built space ships that can cross the distances between the stars, I think you’ll find that somewhere along the way, they’ll have figured out how to build a boat.” The Captain noticeably stiffened at Roze’s arrogant reprimand. His back became suddenly straighter and he his jaw clenched.

“Anyways, these ships are not of our concern. Morgan’s fleet will be able to take care of them.”

“With all do respect, Datajack,” the Captain boldly replied, “we have valuable convoys travelling north of here, which are crucial to the war effort. If we were to launch a surprise attack now– ”

“One ship against five, Captain?” Roze interrupted. “Granted it’s a Spartan ship but those odds are completely unacceptable. Besides, it would jeopardize our mission, and I can’t allow that. We will maintain our course to the launching site.”

“Yes sir.” With the Captain’s forced acceptance, Roze turned and left the bridge. She would definitely need to talk to Morgan next time.

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

Later, along the Morganite Primary Eastern Shipping Lane

“Sir, I’m picking up five approaching ships on sensors.” The young lieutenant examined his readings carefully. The Morganite Merchant Marine ran as efficiently as the Spartan Navy. It was the best way to make a profit.

“Visual confirmation sir,” he added, turning to face his commanding officer. “They’re Hive vessels sir.”

“Contact the Third Fleet, Lieutenant. Inform them of the situation and ask for immediate assistance.” The face of his commanding officer was grim. “I want all ships in the convoy, to alter their headings to intercept the Third Fleet. We need to close the gap with them if they’re going to make it hear on time.”

“Aye sir,” replied the lieutenant. His commanding officer gazed out the window and the five tiny dots on the horizon and wondered what the enemy must be thinking.

[senatus]

Sparta Command, Parish of the New Covenant

"Let us pray," Sister Miriam Godwinson intoned, and eleven heads bowed.

"Blessed Redeemer, we pray for strength, wisdom, and courage as we carry
out Your works on your Planet. We pray that you guide our decisions
so that we may lead Your people with wisdom. We pray that you preserve
and protect all Your followers, especially the ones still hidden and persecuted
for adhering to their faith in You. We pray for the safety of the
soldiers of Sparta, that they may be victorious in their battles with the
forces of evil. We pray for the souls of Yang's followers, that they
may yet find redemption and forgiveness in Your infinite mercy. We
pray for the leaders of the factions on Planet, that they may rule wisely
and with righteousness."

Miriam continued from the general onto the specific. Even now
being staged at Assassin's Redoubt, five thousand of her followers were
preparing to undertake their journey, escorted by a lightly-armed but devoted
contigent of the Legions of the Faithful, along with two former units.

"We pray that you bless our endeavour in creating a new base for Your
Believers. Yet we also pray that You allow us to reclaim our original
homes, that we may return to the original Promised Land."

"Amen." Miriam concluded, and ten voices echoed her final word.

The leader of the Lord's Believers looked at the Faithful seated in
the sanctuary. Thirteen seats were placed in a circle. One
seat, larger than the others, was by tradition always empty, to symbolize
the seat Christ would take upon His return. The other twelve were
reserved for the leading council of the Believers, the number chosen to
symbolize His first apostles. Of the eleven other positions besides
herself, she only knew two of them well - Brother Joaquim, her minister
of foreign affairs, and Brother Westcott, her minister of research and
technology. Joaquim she of course knew well. Westcott was a
bit of an anomoly; the xenobiologist was one of Zakharov's old science
crew back on the UNS Unity, who had been trapped and abandoned in the "dead"
colony pod that Miriam had gone to in the final hours of the doomed spaceship's
flight. Miriam had taken the scientist under her wing early after
the Landing, and personally converted him to become a faithful servant
of the Lord. Perhaps the scientist had simply realized that without
Faith, no existential argument could be made for the preservation of mankind
on Planet. At any rate, Miriam had been pleased to discover that
he still lived.

The other nine members were all born after her incarceration and considerably
inexperienced to the tasks at hand. Neverthless, they were all highly
talented and motivated indivuals, and with Faith, all things were possible.
One of the members, Sister Jessica, was absent; en route to UN Headquarters
via Morgan Transport on a diplomatic assignment. Miriam was surprised
by how much she missed Jessica's presence; it brought a strange sense of
deja vu to her as she remembered the first Jessica, her onetime
assistant who had now been replaced by the second grandaughter of that
late (and first) Believer empath.

Miriam collected her thoughts and prepared to address her waiting council.

"Brother Joaquim. What is the status of our people in Assassin's
Redoubt?"

"Just about ready to set out, actually. Sister O'Reilly's former
crews have fueled and readied their vehicles. Brother Thomas and
Sister Larson have informed me that the colonists are fully supplied and
are looking forward to their journey. Brother Aquino's scout patrol
has flamers deployed and will probe somewhat in advance, on the off chance
that mindworms may be encountered." Joaquim nodded acknowledgement
at the junior members of the Council that he had just mentioned.

Concerned about the possibility just mentioned, Miriam turned to Doctor
Westcott. "Brother Westcott? Is there a danger posed by mindworms?"

Westcott smiled. "There is always the possiblity of encountering
a larval mass or even a pre-boil, but Alpha Centauri A and B are nowhere
near periphilion, so the odds of encountering anything Brother Aquino's
scout patrol can't handle are small."

Miriam nodded, relieved. Just after the Landing, one of the early
Believer colony pods had wandered off-course and become trapped in the
xenofungus, awakening a pre-boil nest of the horrible creatures; only the
heroic actions of a nearby recon rover pilot had saved the entire colony.
Even so, Believer Richard Baxter had paid with his mind and his life; and
as great as his rewards in Heaven must've been, his last few hours on Planet
were one of the most hideous torments Miriam had ever witnessed.

"May God protect and preserve you all. Please proceed under Brother
Joaquim's direction following this meeting. Brother Aquino, have
you managed to put together a bodyguard detail for my upcoming sermon visit
to Great Clustering?" Miriam asked.

"Yes, ten of the Legion, all volunteers, under the command of Major
Jason Ian," the new head of the Legions of the Faithful answered.

"Brother Stroustrup? What are the deployment of our energy reserves?"

"Thirty units are in portable energy cannisters along with the colony
expedition. The remaining two hundred and seventy have been deposited
with Morgan Bank, to be used as credit for future purchases. CEO
Morgan himself has expressed the desire to communicate with you personally,
under the circumstances." The Believer treasurer answered.
Miriam and Joaquim had both investigated Stroustrop's faith closely; it
would have been indeed disasterous had the current treasurer been
anything like the historical one.

"Excellent. Then, brothers and sisters, I believe it is time for
us to place a call to the good CEO." Miriam turned and punched in
the commlink for the richest man on the Planet.

The image formed, and a smiling, handsome man of carefully-sculpted
middle years bowed graciously to Miriam.

"Sister Miriam! It is indeed a pleasure to greet you after such
a long absense. I trust your return to the life of religious worship
is proceeding to your satisfaction?"

Half a continent away, Morgan was as gracious as ever, his desk carefully
cleared of ostentatious displays of wealth in deference to his caller.
Attempting to impress Miriam with religious icons as he had Lal with Unity
memorabilia would've rung obviously false. Instead he had settled
for an immaculate, tidy background and conservative suit; under the assumption
that if he couldn't project godliness, he at least could project cleanliness
and honesty. Although Miriam was no longer a great power on Planet,
she still spoke for a sizeable customer base who had been tithing most
generously, judging by sizeable amount of deposit placed at Morgan Bank.

"Indeed, CEO, and my thanks for your concern," Miriam smiled back with
equal false sincerity. If any man had the appearance to mimic the
devil in the form of a tempter, that man was Nwabudike Morgan.

"I wish to inform you that the Lord's Believers will be establishing
our first new base within the next two months. We would look forward
to a trade treaty and statement of friendship between ourselves and Morgan
Industries."

Morgan smiled in genuine pleasure. "But of course, dear Sister.
I congratulate your leadership in recognizing the necessity for commerce
and free trade. Indeed, Faith may provide loaves of bread and baskets
of fish, but Morgan Industries would be most happy to provide you with
the toasters and ovens to go with them."

Miriam forced a smile in return as several of her council winced off-camera.
Jessica would probably have laughed, though, she thought.

"Infrastructure development is indeed a major concern. We wish
to contract with Morgan Industries for a state-of-the art network node
upon completion of our new base. I trust that sixty energy credits
would suffice?"

"Indeed, Sister. I shall even arrange for delivery of the
hardware gratis, as a token of respect for a returning client."

"That would be sixty credits for both the hardware and software?"
Miriam prompted, wary of hidden charges and the CEO's greedy reputation.

"Of course we'll bundle our MorganNet software with the new network
nodes; our customers expect no less of us. We have never sought to become
a monopoly. Our products are simply so good that no one feels the need
to compete with us!" Nwabudike exclaimed.

"Very well, CEO. Please debit our account upon delivery." Miriam hesitated momentarily, then added: "And by the way, my prayers go out to you and to your son."

Morgan was startled if only briefly. That Godwinson knew of Morgan
Jr.'s incarceration by Yang did not surprise him; it was hardly publicized,
but as he himself had discussed with Paul Andreus, Miriam was establishing
a probe network. What did surprise him was Miriam's apparent
sympathy; the CEO and the former Psych Chaplain had never been friendly
with each other. Then again, Miriam obviously knew what it was like
inside a punishment sphere; indeed, it was quite possible that brief sympathy
was genuine.

"My thanks, Sister. Farewell for now." Morgan's parting words
were brief, but were more sincere than the entirety of the previous conversation.

---

Morgan Transport

Jessica tried not to gawk at the ostentatious displays of wealth surrounding
her as she wandered the Morganite metroplex; her connecting flight to UN
Headquarters from Sparta Command was not due to leave for nearly half a
day. Not even the largest of the Morgans' cities, as a mere transport
hub, it nevertheless maintained the absolute minimum essentials for a Morgan
base: Recycling tanks, network node, energy bank, and a huge shopping
mall. Jessica didn't consider herself some backward provincial; after
all, she had been raised at UN Headquarters base. Still compared
to this, UN HQ paled in comparison. And after months at Sparta Command,
even the most impoverished of Morgan's bases would've been overwhelming.

If it is more difficult for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven
than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, then CEO Morgan must
be farther away than anyone on the Planet, Jessica thought, and chided
herself on her momentary irreverance.

I shouldn't be gawking, the young woman told herself sternly.
I should be studying Allardyce's profile again. But I've already
memorized it. And as for meeting Sinder Roze at UN Headquarters,
there's nothing I can study that I already haven't.

Jessica doubted that she'd get anything more useful out of Roze's profile;
the data was simply too unreliable for her to form a psych profile of the
new head of Axis Intelligence. Allardyce was a bit of a surprise,
however, once she had a chance to review Spartan intelligence files.

Lander with Santiago's pod; not necessarily a follower of the survivalist
movement but defintely a survivor. Started out as a wing commander
in the Spartan Air Force. Personal friendship with the late General
Burge of the Spartan Junta; not particularily close to Santiago herself
however as far as she could tell. Upon the Colonel's disappearance,
had managed to successfullly finagle himself a position of power within
the Spartan hierarchy and was responsible for the declaration of martial
law. Dissent had been managed not via force, but by cleverly inserting
allies into key spots within the hierarchy. This argued for considerably
political savvy. Friendly relationship with Diedre Skye and the Gaians.
Had somehow managed to avoid being shot for treason by the Junta when connections
(?) with Ashandii masquerading as Burge revealed. Talk about complicated.
I wonder what the heck all that was about, Jessica thought.
How he'd gotten out of that was anyone's guess - telempathic smooth-talking,
or just a lot of friends in high places? Upon Santiago's return,
emigrated to the UN, and rapidly assigned to a position of responsibility
as Commissioner Pravin Lal's deputy. Romantic liasons: little known.
Some speculation about Diedre Skye; some speculation about some sort of
chameleon empath probe operative. Oh, and one tiny little note that
had especially caught Jessica's attention: Some sort of highly unfriendly
personal feud with the sadistic empath probe operative known as Sand.
Miriam had told Jessica about Sand, having experienced him too often first
hand. Even now, Jessica shivered to think about it.

The man seems to change colours like an old Earth chameleon.
He's moved between no less than three different factions. Does that
argue a purely selfish allegiance? Or is he beyond factional allegiances?
Is he ambitious, or altruistic? Shrewd and calculating, or simply
unbelievably lucky? Telempathic, or just very charismatic?
Benevolent or ruthless? Good, or evil? And just what the heck
was a "Googlie"?

Getting Allardyce's support had been Sister Miriam's assignment to Jessica.
Finding out what made this fellow tick was more of a personal challenge.
Still, Jessica was well-suited to the task. She was a receptive empath,
of course. But what made Jessica such an effective empath - as well
as diplomat and perhaps spy - was the same thing that made her a skilled
spiritual and psychological counseller. She had a rare talent for
reading people's faces and body language and discerning the emotions and
thoughts within. Combined with her actual psi talents, Jessica was
one of the best when it came to divining the truth in the souls of individuals.
That was the potential that Miriam Godwinson had observed in Jessica;
a potential yet to be realized by Jessica herself.

Jessica suddenly stopped and gawked at a boutique display window, peering
into it close enough to smudge her nose at the fantastic displays inside.
Her flight to UN Headquarters wasn't for half a day. And at that
very moment, suddenly Sister Jessica wasn't first a minister, or a psychologist,
or an empath, or a diplomat, or a spy. Just an attractive young woman
with time on her hands and a severe urge to shop.

[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 04, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Fellowship City

Zakharov and Sharra left the tube on level twelve, the gathering point for drones on their few off-hours. Here was where drones could find employment, purchase tools and if needed to, disappear.

Zakharov lead Sharra into the crowds, their relatively diminutive frames dwarfed by the majority of the other drones. Everyone walked with their heads down, resulting in constant collisions between passers-by. A particularly solid drone bumped into Sharra, knocking her on the floor. He continued walking without even looking back to ensure she was all right. Zakharov went to her assistance, but she was clearly adjusted to such events.

“I grew up in the Hive, remember?” Still, Zakharov could not help feeling protective for this young, if spirited girl. He lead Sharra to one of the simple benches, which lined the empty walls of the corridor. There she could rest unnoticed while Zakharov gathered the necessary supplies.

His first stop, was the Energy Bank Terminal. They had no credits between the two of them, but Zakharov’s knowledge of machines allowed him to withdraw forty credits out of a non-existent account. If only his probe teams could see him now.

He set about procuring rations, tools, clothing, anything that would prepare them for the journey ahead, without raising suspicion. He kept his eyes on the floor, avoiding the gaze of even the register operators who served him, to ensure nobody asked any questions. Finally, with only two and a half energy credits left, he went to rejoin Sharra at the bench. He froze instantly when he saw the two Hive security guards standing near her.

They were dressed in the uniforms of the Hive Central Police Agency, the organization which supported Yang’s reign and administered laws all across Hive territory. Their presence was rare in common Hive society, only venturing into the lowest levels for matters of extreme security. Zakharov sat on bench nearby, where he was still able to view the incident, although he was unable to here.

Sharra seemed composed, her eyes remained firmly on the ground, she did not run or look around. She seemed to be answering their questions with only one or two words, keeping things simple as any drone would. Lastly, they showed her a datapad, whose contents Zakharov could not make out. She shook her in head in response to the officer’s question, and Zakharov breathed a sigh of relief as they let her go. She began to walk towards the lift, as casually as any drone who had just been interrogated by the HCPA. Zakharov waited a moment, before getting up and following her.

He managed to catch up with Sharra at the entrance to the lift. They waited in silence until the doors opened. A flood of drones came out, but Sharra and Zakharov were the only two who got on.

“What was on the datapad?” he asked casually, knowing that they would be watched.

“Pictures of us.” Sharra’s response to the question stopped Zakharov in his tracks. They waited the rest of the ride in silence.

[Argonaut]

Data Angel Special Task Force: S.F.S. Pericles

“Datajack, we have reached the designated coordinates.” The words from the Captain were ones that Roze had been dying to here. Not she would get out of this Spartan Lunchbox and into some excitement.

“Signal the Hydra and sound the alert,” Roze ordered as she began to leave the bridge. “It’s time.”

Shortly after, the Hydra broke the surface, just off the western coast of Hive territory. Her batteries were charged and ready, but a quick visual scan confirmed that the launch area was clear. The signal was sent, and the S.F.S. Pericles rose to the surface.

Moments later, the first needljet launched into the air, it’s fusion engine allowing it to accelerate much more rapidly then any conventional fighter. Soon three, more fighters were in the air followed by one more heavily armoured transport. In less then a minute, the five Spartan jets were in the air and the Hydra and the Pericles had once again disappeared beneath the waves.

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

“This is Michael to all Angels,” Roze’s voice sounded muffled over the intercom and inside her breather. While not intentional, it would help to disguise her voice from the Hive officers listening in, just in case any of them recognised her voice. “Set course bearing fifteen degrees north of West and fall into formation around me.”

“Datajack,” Bradford said over the internal commsystem. The noise of the fusion engine was too loud for direct verbal communication. “That heading is going to take us right towards Sea Hive.”

“What’s the matter Private? Is your flying not good enough to handle a few Hive needlejets?” Roze’s smile was hidden buy her mask, however her tone of voice made it come through clearly.

“I guess we’ll find out, because here they come.” Roze’s attention turned to the sensor screen Private Bradford was examining. The screen showed a squadron of three needlejets on an intercept course. The odds looked good. Too good for Roze

As the fighters came within range, Angel One and Angel Two broke away to intercept. The other two jets remained behind, to defend the transport. In the first pass, Angel One succeeded in grazing one of the Hive interceptors on the wing, but not enough to send them out of action.

Rather then changing heading to engage the Angels in a dogfight, they maintained their heading towards the transport. A blast from Angel Four sent the already damaged Hive jet into a deadly spin, but shots from the other two Hive fighters scored hits on the transport.

“No critical systems hit,” Roze reported to her pilot. He was concentrating heavily to maintain the evasive manoeuvres, which had probably just saved their lives. Just a little bit farther, and they would be at their target. She could see the blue line of the inland sea that was her target.

The fighters made another pass, without either side making a critical hit. However, Angel One was on the tail of one of the Hive fighters, while Angel Two kept the other one busy.

“Angels Three and Four, break to intercept.” The announcement from Roze shocked Bradford more then watching his wing mates pull away to join the dogfight.

“Are you crazy? That’s our escort! Now there’s nothing between us and them!” Even in his distracted state, he still managed to manouevre the plane successfully out of the rain of shard weaponry.

“I’m aware of that Private,” she replied. “Now your going to let them shoot us down.”

Morganite Primary Eastern Shipping Lane

The convoy watched with relief as the ships of the Third Fleet moved into position amidst their ranks. The Hive ships had successfully closed the gap, but not close enough to prevent the Fleet from coming to the convoy’s assistance. Now the Hive ships had three Morganite destroyers and four Morganite foils to contend with. The odds were in Morgan’s favour.

Suddenly, the Hive ships opened fire unexpectedly. A strange ripple surrounded the beam that lanced out at the lead destroyer. Unlike shard weaponry, the shots were not intermittent. Instead, a steady pulse lashed out at the flagship of the Third Fleet, causing its plasma steel armour to vibrate. The tremors increased until, suddenly the destroyer virtually exploded from the inside, sending a rain of shrapnel down upon the convoy. Several of the freighters caught on fire from the explosion, and soon the remaining four Hive ships had opened fire on their targets.

The two Morganite foils not being target launched a barrage of shard weaponry against the lead Hive destroyer. While damage was inflicted, the destroyer now turned it’s strange beam against them. Soon all seven ships of the Third Fleet had suffered the same fate as their flagship, their remnants slipping beneath the waves.

“Signal our surrender,” ordered the shocked Captain in charge of the convoy. Ships were burning all around him, one of the large freighters was being abandoned as it sank. The Captain could not understand where the Hive could have got such weapons.

“Sir, no response from the Hive Fleet,” reported his Lieutenant. “Sir, it appears that they are once again preparing to fire their weapons!” The Captain couldn’t believe it. They had surrendered, they were civilians! What were they doing? He had no more time to contemplate this as the beam struck his ship, and one by one the ships of the convoy were blasted into oblivion.

[Argonaut]

Hive Air Space: Near Sea Hive

“Direct hit to rear tail wings! Now’s your chance!” Roze looked at the young private, realising that what she asked could be very much beyond what he was capable of. She had planned this mission for at least a veteran pilot, but Santiago had been less then favourable with the squadron she had provided. Bradford’s face did not flinch from the controls as he put the plane into a deadly spin that would take them directly into the sea.

Above them, Angel One lashed out in retaliation against the offending Hive Interceptor, destroying it’s Shard launcher and forcing it into a hasty retreat. That left all four Angels intact, and only one Hive needlejet.

Private Bradford was beyond the point of arguing, his attention entirely devoted towards his task. Putting the plane into a spin would be no problem, however pulling out in time to prevent them all being killed on impact would be unbelievably difficult. Will didn’t even know if he had it in him.

“This Michael to Angel Squadron. The Archangel has fallen, repeat the Archangel has fallen. Abort mission and return to launching site. I repeat, abort mission and return to launching site.” Roze’s desperation was not entirely forced as she was aware of the true nature of their predicament.

Grant leaned forward from his seat where he ridden out the entire battle and yelled to ensure and spoke softly to Roze.


“You know, Mirriam would just love the call signs you’ve adopted for this mission. You’re not going Believer on us, are you?”

“And risking losing the credit of it’s success to them. Not a chance.” Their joking was in stark contrast to Bradford’s desperation as he began pulling up on the throttle, attempting to break the dive. Finally, the plane gave way as it crashed into the surface on it’s belly. Unfortunately, the angle was not sufficent to prevent the jet from bouncing off the water and doing multiple somersaults before it finally came to rest, upside down the surface.

Quickly, the team abandoned the jet and made their way to the surface. Their air-recyclers were pushed to the limit as they gasped for oxygen and clambered up onto the side of the plane. Even as they did so, the plane began to sink slowly beneath the waves, until only a few broken off pieces of synthmetal remained.

“So what’s the next brilliant step, boss?” Grant said with his usual sneer.

“Now we wait,” Roze replied, “until the Hive comes and gets us.”

Sea Hive

Chairman Yang entered the chamber which currently served as his War Council. All of his crucial Generals were there, awaiting his arrival. His Grand Admiral was beaming.

“Sir, I am pleased to report that the Resonance Fleet was more successful in it’s mission than anticipated. They’ve demolished the Morganite Third Fleet, and prevented valuable supplies from reaching the Axis mainland.”

“I was more than aware of our Fleets progress Admiral,” the Chairman replied calmly. He found himself completely composed and more relaxed then his previous encounters with his commanding officers.

“You see Admiral, every holonews program out of Morgan territory is broadcasting the story.” Yang pressed a switch on the console near his seat, causing the holobroadcasts to appear on the screens behind him. They showed the chaos that was left of the Morganite fleet, the flaming wreckage and sinking hulks that had been the target.”

“Tell me exactly what occurred in this engagement.” Yang sat back in his chair, and watched his Grand Admiral intently. The Admiral remained oblivious to his peril.

“Our forces pursued the convoy until it met up with the Third Fleet, as anticipated. They opened first, destroying the Morganite flagship, and then proceeding to focus on the other attack vessels. Next, they turned their weapons on the convoy.”

“And did the convoy not feel it prudent to surrender?” It was clear the Chairman was onto something.

“A transmission came through which was garbled sir. The Admiral in command was unable to determine it’s nature before the convoy was destroyed.” The Grand Admiral shifted slightly. Clearly, Yang was very close to the point.

“I find that amazing, seeing as Morganite officers picked the transmission up on the mainland, and they understood the message’s contents. It’s playing all over the holobroadcasts. Would you like to hear?” Before the Grand Admiral could respond, Yang had activated the volume control. The surrender could be heard clearly, followed by the screams of the ships crew before it exploded.

“Grand Admiral, I no longer find it prudent to leave you in command of my naval vessels. While the convoy did belong to the enemy, there are rules to war which every civilized human must respect. One of them is you do not needlessly kill civilians. Not only did your people disobey this rule, they destroyed valuable materials which could have been contributed to our war effort. Upon the Fleets return to port, the Admiral in command will also be removed from command. Good day Grand Admiral.” Yang watched with a strange serenity as the humiliated Admiral left the room, his face an unbelievable shade of red. None of the other Generals spoke.

“Now,” Yang continued, “What of the incursion into our air space? Should we be preparing for an air raid?”

“Negative Chairman.” This time it was the General in charge of Air Defence who spoke. It was clear that he was nervous he might similarly cross Yang. “The enemy outnumbered us, resulting in one of our planes being shot down. I am told, however, that it is salvageable. A second interceptor’s shard artillery was damaged, but will be repaired within the hour. Our Interceptors did manage to shoot down the lead transport, and our remaining jet chased the fleeing squadron. Unfortunately, their greater range means we were unable to determine their exact launching location. We do assume, that it came from a carrier off the coast, and that it’s location would inevitably have changed by now.”

“Indeed,” mused the Chairman. “What about the transport, were there survivors?”

“Undetermined. An HCPA patrol foil has been dispatched to investigate.”

“Excellent General, keep me updated. Now, let us look at our main front...”

[Hydro]

Excerpt from The Philosophy of Chaos
By Sheng-Ji Yang, MY 2198

Chapter 23 - Origins and Repercussions

Some may claim that for humans Chiron is different from Earth. This is both right and wrong. It is correct in that Chiron is physically different from Earth and that these multifaceted differences present significant physical challenges to humans. We did not evolve on this planet and it is alien to us. Who back on Earth could envision a vast plane of xenofungus with its organic bulbous forms and infinite diversity, or the improbability of a collective sub-intelligence of electro-magnetically suspended worms that we casually dub the mindworm? The ecology is largely hostile to humans, for the very air on Chiron that we require for respiration will kill us without the aid of technology, be it a microbreather or genetic modification. The gravity of Chiron stresses our hearts and bones in a way that Earth did not; it is not native to us, and humans can only cope by either accepting a shorter productive life span or, where deemed appropriate by society, a normal life span through the use of medical intervention.

These observations about the physical are truisms and are therefore not relevant, for humans are not defined by their physical being, but by the mind. The mind is what delineates what humans are, not the physical bodies that we temporarily inhabit. Physical bodies can be replaced or transcended and are, therefore, of no consequence. Our mind forms our reality, and the reality to each mind is the society we create and interact with. In fact, what we consider to be reality is simply an interpretation of the electrochemical impulses filtered through the education and experience that each human possesses. But what forms the reality we choose to construct around us? Our society and the perceptions of our minds.

In the end it is our society that forms our environment, not the earth, plant and water that surround us. These are but stimuli for our bodies, and even these stimuli pass through the interpretive perception of our senses. If you are told that a tree is a fungus then to your mind it is a fungus - that is your reality. What defines what is judged to be reality? What sculpts the mind and its perceptions? The society in which it lives. Thus, the society is the mind, and the interaction of the mind and the society is the ancient circle of truth. To grasp this is to understand that it does not matter whether the body exists on Earth or on Chiron, for they are simply sustenance for the body and stimuli to be captured by our senses interpreted by our mind, and therefore by society. What is truly the essence of humankind is the mind and the society it weaves, and humans will possess this mind and their society regardless of whether they are on Earth, Chiron, or deep space. Society is truth, and the mind is its tool. Earth is irrelevant. Chiron is irrelevant.

All that matters is the mind.

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

The enforced blackness passes and he can see once again. His latest holo lesson flashes through his mind. They always do, and he can't help it. He also knows that they will be bracketed, and bracketed very soon, with the pain. The pain is almost always there, but never during the lesson. The lesson brings peace, and there is no pain.

Our mind forms our reality, and the reality to each mind is the society we create and interact with.

Junior considers.

Society is truth, and the mind is its tool.

Junior considers.

All that matters is the mind.

Junior considers.

It starts slowly, so slowly, creeping up in an unstoppable wave, like a crescendo in an ancient symphony. It starts as a pianissimo in the fingers and toes and builds, and he can feel every cell in his body as the pulses begin. His breath starts, the forte begins! He holds back for a moment, a split second, which is as long as he can.

Then Morgan Junior screams.

[Hydro]

Fungal Tower, near Pointa Sur

The golden strands of hair seemed to glint in the permanent twilight of the fungal tower interior. Sarah stared down at the loosely bunched golden strands in her left hand and wondered what she should feel. These were, after all, that last of her human hair, which had finally all fallen out. Even after her metamorphosis in the birthing chamber of the tower Sarah could feel changes as they occurred. Most were fairly obvious, like the two clusters of worm-like tentacles that now waved from her temples. These, Sarah learned quickly and painfully, captured and shunted electrical impulses that represented resonance fields to a new or modified portion of her brain, much like the optic nerves of her eyes transmitted impulses to her brain that were interpreted as light and color. Other changes were less obvious, such as the disappearance of her navel. Sarah didn't know what that meant but took it to be one more of the many symbolic breaks with her human past.

Then why did the final loss of her hair cause such confusion? Her detached Chiron portion of her consciousness considered these golden strands to be no more than a torn fingernail. Sarah's human emotional side remembered how traumatic it was when her old friend and commanding officer Ann Rynn ordered that the recruits for the newly formed Spartan Empath Squad have their heads shaved for neural grafting. Looking back it wasn't the grafting that was so threatening, it was the loss of the hair. For a human the hair is a part of what an individual perceived themselves to be, and what they professed to be to others.

Thinking about Ann brought back sad memories. Ann had been bright and impetuous, and much more outgoing than Sarah knew she was. She was a leader, and was leading the members of her brand new squad through the tortuous empath training. So many of the empath squad had subsequently just melted away, and no one really knew where any of them had gone. Her squad and the whole situation had ended in disaster, with Mile's doppelganger killing Ann and nuking Sparta Command. And Sarah had let Miles in. That first day was so horrible, Sarah remembered, thinking that she had allowed the suicide assassin to kill the entire Spartan Junta and Santiago. Luckily Alphonse let her know that Miles wasn't really dead, or the Junta. But Ann was really dead, and the real Miles went underground or in hiding. Then Alphonse was gone, and the friendly and father-like Googlie had done his best to keep her busy when her world had fallen to ashes.

All too quickly it was clear what being a Spartan empath meant. First she was assigned by Googlie to be the assistant to the new Spartan Governor for Plex Anthill, Kirsten Alfredsson. It was abundantly clear that that nasty Kirsten woman was going to make her into a mental enforcer, or a ripper, in her ambitions for control and power at Plex Anthill, and later at Zanzibar. Then, rescued by fate by Helen, the kind Governor of Assassin's Redoubt, there was the exhausting interview of the entire Plex Antill brigade of Hive recruits, which would have killed her but for the surprise intervention of Miles. There she had accidentally assimilated 'Merlin', a Hive member of the Circle who had been horribly punished for crossing Sand. Next she was assigned to be a sleuth at Pointa Sur, and she had discovering how UoP terrorists had killed the peaceful community of poets and dreamers as a demonstration of their power with a genetic weapon from 25 years ago.

Of all these horrors Pointa Sur was the breaking point. Sarah knew that of all the injustices she had seen that this was the greatest, and her exponentially developing empathy let the psi of all those who had died so painfully into her mind. Everything she touched bled thoughts and the very air seemed to pulse with the dead's longing and woe. All the psi controls, and even the help of Merlin and Miles, was no help. It was too much, and Sarah knew she would go crazy or would have had to kill herself to still the voices.

Then Planet came and offered peace, peace from the voices and the horror. But it was more than peace, for Planet promised purpose, and a noble purpose. What could be nobler than helping this great intelligence evolve into its next form? Planet is like a godlike child, ageless and searching, striving against its limitations. Sarah understood its tragic past, and its tragic future unless she helped. Planet had accepted her, and changed her. She had given up part of her humanity and been give a great gift in exchange. She was Planet's avatar, its angel of mercy, understanding, learning, and death.

Sarah looked down at her last lock of hair and her brows furrowed

One more bond with my remaining humanity is gone, she thought. Will I miss it?

No Sarah, you won't, Merlin interjected. In Sarah's mind he had now assumed the shape of the Merlin of King Arthur's Court, with a craggy ageless face, feathery white hair, and a shapeless dark blue robe. She knew that Merlin found it highly amusing to be considered a wizard and didn't object at all. In a way he was like Merlin to her King Arthur since he was her primary advisor, and, admittedly, his knowledge was vast. She just hoped her endeavor turned out better Arthur's. At this moment he was leaning on a knobby staff and looking her in the eyes. If you wish to retain some portion of your humanity then you must keep your memories. I can tell that your brain has been altered, and that there is a real chance that if this continues that a significant portion of your cerebral cortex will be, essentially, rewired. Your memories may be overwritten, given time. Memories are robust, however, and you can keep them. All you need to do is remember them, replay them, and they will be either retained or will be re-imprinted into a new portion of your brain.

Her mind Merlin smiled in a friendly way. Her Merlin always was friendly and helpful, even if he was a bit mysterious. Sarah didn't even know his real name, and had never asked. He was a Circle empath himself before he crossed Sand and had been imprisoned in his own mind as punishment, after he had been forced to kill his family. Sarah knew that as long as there was a chance for Merlin to get vengeance on Sand that he would remain a faithful Personality. They had formed a useful symbiotic relationship. Don't worry. I'll warn you if you are slipping too much. That is, if you want to be warned.

Yes. Please do. Particularly if I am in jeopardy of losing some memories that are valuable. But don't bother me all the time, since many memories are useless and would have disappeared anyway.

As you wish, m'lady, Merlin responded, playing his role to the hilt.

Sarah was a little annoyed but let it pass. In her mind's eye the image of Merlin faded and seemed almost to disappear, but he seemed to be there observing. Just like in real life.

Without giving it another thought Sarah turned and made her way up what passed for a stairway. The tower had changed itself to suit Sarah's needs, and one of these needs were passageways that were bigger, since the existing passages were generally the size of her little finger. Mindworm elements can pass through those with ease but they are a bit tight for a human.

As she turned toward the stairway to the crown of the tower her hand fell to her side, and the golden hairs fell, forgotten, to the floor.

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

This was Sarah's favorite spot

The view from on top of the fungal tower was truly magnificent. When it was clear you could see the Cental Chiron Sea to the south, and to the north and northwest the semi-developed land on what was otherwise the Spartan's continent. For some reason the Spartans never developed this area, except for poor Pointa Sur, which now stood largely in ruins with only 10,000 traumatized inhabitants. The territory wasn't that bad, and the only reason Sarah could think of for it not have been colonized long ago by the Spartans was that the early wars between Zakharov and Santiago had driven production toward military hardware instead of infrastructure and expansion. If Santiago had played her cards right she could have expanded east to and even into and across the Great Dunes. East of the dunes by the sea there were a few Peacekeeper cities of respectable size, but the Dunes stopped their westward expansion, too. The fact the Santiago would have been sorely aggrieved at Lal encroaching on her territory and his historic lack of resolved sealed the issue - the area around the fungal tower was barren of human occupation.

But that suited Sarah just fine. Humans had been known to attack fungal towers since they do represent a threat, but they generally leave a tower in the wilderness alone. Sarah's knew her tower was huge, and would be classified as a daemon boil in human terms. That alone would dissuade all but the most veteran force from attacking, and that isn't counting all the mindworm minions she knew her tower succored.

Still, it wasn't the view that drew Sarah to the tower's crown. Her efforts to gather intelligence about the Progenitors inhabiting Planet had reached an impasse. There is only so much information that mindworms lurking in the fungus can gather, and this information is largely limited to locations of settlements and settlement sizes, and vehicles that move between them. Of course they would immobilize and devour the occasional Progenitor, but mindworms are not good observers when they are breeding. Sarah had dried on occasion to 'ride' a mindworm when it was devouring a victim but found it to be difficult. It was too hard to hold on, and Sarah felt some empathy toward the sentient creature and the terror of its final moments.

What Sarah wanted to know was about the Progenitors themselves, and their motivations and objectives. Were they friendly to Planet? Initial indications indicated they didn't understand Planet very well and were wary of it. There were not the actions of the race that had, in all probability, created Planet at least half a billion years ago.

It's time for a personal investigation, Sarah thought to herself as she lifted her arms and mentally sent out a resonance wave, which amounted to a summons.

First a few, then an increasing multitude of locust erupted out of the porous surface of the tower. They came from the stairway opening, minute openings in the surface, and the sides below the tentacles. Some even came in from the air. Within minutes Sarah was completely surrounded by a swirling mass of pinkish gray motes.

There was no sound other than the minute flapping of thousands of wings. What was almost overpowering was the sympathetic resonance wave the collective intelligence returned to Sarah in response to her resonance wave, and the magnetic field that enfolded her.

Sarah lifted her arms higher, and the magnetic field that kept the locust swarm coherent focused and enfolded Sarah and she gently lifted her off the top of the tower. She rose slowly, but the swarm quickly picked up speed as it headed southwest. Sarah, who was at the heart of the great locust swarm, went with them.

In her mind she could see her destination, as her mindworm hosts had traveled it for eons. For the last 50 years the continent had been inhabited by the Progenitors, but much of it had been largely ignored. This remaining fungal network was her goal, and the fungal tower that existed within it.

Then she would prepare her base, and seek out the Progenitors. And she wouldn't go alone.

[Argonaut]

Fellowship City

Zakharov and Sharra rode in silence until the lift reached the third floor. There it paused, and they were shocked when the doors opened to reveal to HCPA officers waiting.

“Everybody, off the tube,” he commanded. Instantly the drones began to make there way off, assisted by a not so kind hand from one of the guards. A few of the higher ranking citizens grumbled a little, but did not refuse the order. To do so would have been suicide.

“What’s going on officer?” queried one of the men who had gotten of the lift. His uniform placed him as a member of the governing body of the base. Only with such authority behind them would anyone dare to question a member of the HCPA.

“This lift is being closed due to a potential security breach. Therefore, it is restricted from general use for the time being. Of course sir, you have the option of using the primary shaft two corridors over. However, the rest of you must remain here until we can determine whether the infiltrator has been either captured or eliminated. If your quarters are on this level, you are ordered to proceed directly there and remain there for the duration of the evening. Otherwise, there is a small restaurant in section four. Proceed there until you can be released back to your quarters.”

Zakharov and Sharra followed the crowd of drones who made there way towards the restaurant, only a few broke off towards habitation quarters. Labour drones only ever resided on the first and second levels, and occasionally on the surface. As they were considered the most expendable in an attack, their quarters were located on the most susceptible areas for damage in an air raid.

Following the flow of drones, they quickly found themselves in a run down room which was nothing more than a seedy bar. Zakharov and Sharra quickly took up a seat in the corner where they could examine their surroundings. Looking around the room, they could see that none of the other Hive citizens who had been on the lift were still here. They had probably all been granted the use of the primary shaft, which was reserved for none Drone traffic. It had proven an effective safety technique to prevent disgruntled drones from getting too near to their employers.

Zakharov ordered drinks with their few remaining credits and they sipped the foul liquid that was supposed to be fungal beer. It still retained the pink fungal colour, indicating that the liquid was more fungal than beer. Still, the other drones seemed to be knocking it back without a problem, and to ensure that they blended in it would be necessary to drink it. Zakharov watched with surprise as Sharra drank her glass thirstily.

Zakharov decided to pass his time watching the holobroadcast that was projected on various screens around the room. The Hive report was announcing the latest startling victory by Hive forces. Apparently, three Hive Interceptors had shot down a full squadron of Elite Spartan Needlejets on route to Sea Hive. One of the Interceptors had been shot down and another damaged. However, the third fighter had destroyed the remaining six Spartan aircraft single-handedly. Somehow Zakharov did not believe the report in it’s entirety.

He was about to turn his attention away, when something on the screen really caught his attention. The view had shifted to a tactical map showing the Spartan Squadrons flight path, and the path of the interceptors. This was not what intrigued Zakharov, but instead the small blotch of red that was located just north of Fellowship City. The map was taken done fairly quickly, but Zakharov was sure of what he had seen. There was another Free Drone Base within two days travelling distance of here!


Zakharov had feared he would have to travel all through Hive territory to reach Free Drone Central. But if he could simply make it to this base, they could be in safety within a matter of days. He pulled out his datapad to try and determine how he could not have noticed this base before.

The map listed the base to the north of them as Great Clustering and under Hive control. But the date on the map was old enough, that it could have happened before the base revolted to drone control. Zakharov could hardly believe their luck! Zakharov didn’t know who this strange infiltrator was that had got the HCPA so worried but they might just have saved both Sharra’s and his life.

Shortly after, one of the HCPA officers returned to say that the level had been cleared, and that as long as they were travelling up they were free to go. Zakharov and Sharra joined the herd of drones once more, and rode the lift to the surface. As the last of Chiron’s suns set below the horizon they began the trek north.

[Argonaut]

Central Hive Bay: Near Sea Hive

Roze, William and Grant all floated, draped over the remaining fragments of their transport, their legs dangling in the water. The first sun had already set, and the second was low to the horizon. Soon it would be dark, and soon they would be cold.

“I never thought I’d be tired of waiting for Hive troops to come and arrest me,” grumbled Grant with his usual sunny disposition. “What could be taking them so long?” The last remaining Interceptor had done a fly by of their location over two hours ago to confirm that there were survivors. They couldn’t have failed to see them floating there. They had even faked a fight, pretending to be lost in their own dispute too much to notice the approaching jet. The delay in their arrest seemed uncharacteristically inefficient.

“We’re adrift in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by Hive territory.” Roze was getting tired of Grant’s attitude and it was taking it’s tole on her patience. “We can’t go anywhere without getting picked up anyway. Their in no rush.”

“I betch you if we told them who you are, they’d come rushing.” Grant’s face was decorated with it’s usual sneer.

“Flattery will get you nowhere...literally.” Even Grant smiled at Roze’s smug remark. Hell, even the Spartan let loose a chuckle.

“My, my Private. I wasn’t aware Spartans knew how to laugh.” Roze smiled broadly to ensure no offence was taken from the remark.

“Only when there is no one looking. So don’t tell anyone you saw it or the Colonel will have you killed.” Roze couldn’t contain herself. Not because of the joke that William had made, but because the young Spartan private had made one at all.

Suddenly, there moment of laughter was cut short as large ripple passed under them and a strange wave of fear came over them. The three looked at each other, before they all scrambled up on top of the damaged hulk of the transport. They looked into the waters depths, trying to determine what had caused the ripple underneath them, although all of them had a good idea what they were looking for.

Suddenly, another surge passed beneath them and they watched in terror as a huge shadow passed underneath them. It was over twelve feet long and almost four feet wide. It moved like a mindworm, but no mindworms ever got that large. It was a sealurk.

Sealurks were a close cousin of the mindworm, using the same sort of psi attack to disable it’s victims. However, they did not reproduce in the same fashion, and they did not travel in swarms like their smaller cousins. Unlike mindworms, where the size of the boil grew as opposed to the size of the worms, sealurks continued to grow in size until death. Judging by the size of the shadow that had just past beneath them, it had to qualify as a daemon.

“Why the hell didn’t you plan for this?” Grant was letting the psionic terror get to him, causing him to lash out at the others. Roze knew the key to these situations was to remain calm. Fortunately, William was doing so, at least for now. They would need all the composure they could get, because their arsenal included nothing that could bring down a lurk of that size.

The surge passed underneath them again, this time more quickly, causing their improvised raft to rock heavily. Roze almost lost her balance, but a steady hand from William caught her in time. About ten feet away, they saw the sealurk break the surface for the first time. It’s mottled green and brown hide shined in the fading light. Roze prayed that the Hive forces would get here soon because the thought of being out in the dark with this thing was not something she was looking forward to.

“Here it comes.” Grant stared directly where the sealurks massive body could be seen swimming towards them. It moved like an old earth snake, it’s body curling in and out, propelling it through the water. William drew his gun, a futile effort, but the only thing a Spartan could do in such a moment. Roze drew hers as well and tried to get Grant to do so as well. She was unable to shake him from his stupor, and she didn’t dare to try harder in case she might lose her balance.

The sealurk drew ever nearer, it’s massive frame bearing down upon them. Roze and William readied their guns, not wanting to open fire until they were sure of a hit. Suddenly, just as they were about to shoot, the sealurk dived beneath the waves and disappeared.

The sealurk’s disappearance broke Grant’s trance, and the three of them looked around, trying to find a sign of the massive beast beneath them. Suddenly, a splash on the other side caused them all to spin around and aim their guns at the source of the sound. Yet they were so thrown off by what they saw, none of them fired a single shot.

The sealurk’s head, if you could call it that, was poking above the surface. It appeared to be trying to make sense of what they were, although there were no sensory organs that they could determine. There heart’s raced as they wondered what the sealurk was doing and what it was going to do next.

Then, a strange noise filled there ears. It was an odd, yet beautiful, sound unlike anything they had heard before. Roze realised with shock that the beautiful sound was coming from the sealurk. She could tell by the ripples that emanated from it in the water. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it slipped beneath the waves without a trace. To the east, the sound of approaching ships caught their attention as two Hive police foils came into view.

“I never thought I’d be so glad to see Hive police in my life,” Grant sighed. The ships circled them as orders were yelled for them to put their hands behind their head. Each of them did so, after carefully hiding their weapons once again. Soon, the three of them were brought on board the lead ship and they began the trip to Sea Hive. Roze looked back and in the last of the second sun’s light, she could have sworn she saw the shape of the sealurk following them.

[Googlie]

I activated the holo once more, and studied the subject for the third or fourth time.

Of course, I had known her grandmother. When Miriam Godwinson had been appointed Chaplain to the Unity, Prokhor Zakharov had protested vehemently. As Chief Science Officer he had felt that there was no place for archaic religious beliefs to be fostered among the crew and colonists, but had been overruled by the United Nations selection committee. Pravin Lal had been asked to mediate, and with his usual vacillating style had postponed action until it became embarrassing, then had turned to me as one of his promising junior peacekeeping officers in UN command and asked me to adjudicate their dispute.

As a result, Zakharov had sent his deputy, Fedorov, who came with an underling, Nataliya, and thus so had Miriam, deputizing Westcott, who had brought with him a young research officer, Jessica.

‘So like her grandmother,’ I thought. ‘I wonder if she has her verve and lust for life.’

I let my memory wander….

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

It was a cool fall evening, and the final negotiations were complete. As expected, the two principals, Federov and Westcott, had pulled out early from the nitpicking bargaining, leaving the minutiae to their underlings. And now we were finished.

“Dinner?” I suggested to Jessica and Nataliya. “I know just the right spot."

They nodded, and we piled into my UN issue PTV. Geneva at this time of the evening was almost gridlocked by the proliferation of Personal Transit Vehicles, but with three in our rig we qualified for the fast transit lane of the Autoroute to Lausanne.

I punched in the co-ordinates for the restaurant and sat back as the autopilot took over and seamlessly inserted us into the speeding line of vehicles in the FTL. We sat back and relaxed as we were swept north and then eastwards from Geneva along the N1.

We passed the exit for Divonne, and I idly wondered if we would ever colonize to the state that we would build golf courses on an alien planet, or if life would be so tough as colonists that there would be little time for relaxation. Below to the right we passed the gleaming towers and skyscrapers of Nyon – once a sleepy town on the shores of Lac Leman, now a major dormitory city for Geneva’s overspilling population. I had read the history books that talked of Switzerland in terms of a five million population – now at thirty million – and growing – urban sprawl had been contained only by the Jura mountains to the north, the lake to the east, and France to the south and west.

But soon we were in the gap between Geneva and Lausanne, rolling along through the grape terraces that still produced their marvelous offerings year after year.

The PTV sensor blinked, alerting me to the cut off point, and as I assumed manual control, I eased the vehicle from the Fast Transit Lane to the exit lane and turned off for Bussy, turning sharp left almost immediately for the village of Villars. The chateau dominated the small hill as I pulled in to the parking area, engaging automatic once again as the PTV was unerringly slotted into a vacant parking spot. I recognized the coat of arms on the small utility vehicle that was parked next to us.

“You’re about to meet a very interesting person,” I told Jessica and Nataliya – “one who will also be on the Unity Mision, come on.”

We went inside, and were greeted by the Maitre d’.

“Captain Allardyce. Good to see you again, Sir. And with such delightful companions, too.” He bowed deeply to the two young women.

“Is She eating, or just hovering?” I asked him.

“Indeed. She is eating, and will be delighted to see you, I’m sure,” he said, taking my arm.

She was alone at a table overlooking the lake.

She looked up as I approached, and leapt to her feet.

“Scotty. How good to see you again. How are you? And these would be…” she let her voice trail off interrogatively as she looked at Jessica and Nataliya.

I introduced them.

“Lady Deirdre Skye, xenobioloist, author, sometime politician, and the owner of this chateau and these estates. Sister Jessica Blair, assistant to Sister Miriam Godwinson, and Nataliya Nemchinov, assistant to Professor Prokhor Zakharov.”

They nodded politely to each other.

“Well, do join me,” Deirdre said, sweeping her hand expansively round the table. “Antoine, three more settings for my guests.

“So what brings you here?” she asked, looking over at me. “And more to the point, what are representatives of these two quarrelsome principals doing together with you? Last I heard Pravin was trying to broker a resolution to the seemingly irreconcilable differences. Don’t tell me he suckered you into deputizing for him?”

I nodded glumly.

“So you’ve succeeded, and this is the celebration?” she asked with a twinkle.

Jessica nodded. “At least as far as we can agree. Who knows if the seniors will endorse it.”

“Oh, they will,” said Deirdre. “The pressure’s too great for them to do otherwise. I’m on Prokhor’s staff, as you know, and while he can be irascible at times, he does see reason more often than not.”

“But he’s a deeply committed atheist,” Nataliya offered. “I think the thought of a proselytizing missionary type on the Unity throws him somewhat.”

“Well, a Chaplain is OK – although I’m agnostic myself,” said Deirdre. “Just so long as Miriam doesn’t ram her ideas down everyone’s throats we’ll be fine,” she added, looking pointedly at Jessica.

Antoine arrived to break the tension that was building. He started to pour some wine in our glasses, but Jessica held her hand over hers.

“Oh, you must,” said Deirdre. It’s so refreshing and only mildly alcoholic. You can take an anti-stim in the morning and you’ll feel no different than now.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“We call it Mout,” I interjected. It’s the Swiss equivalent of Beaujolais Neuveau. The first of this year’s grape crop, and as Dee says, not too alcoholic.’

Jesica relaxed and lifted her hand.

"Oh, all right then,” she said. “I’d better show some unity and join in else you’ll think we are all strange.”

Dee smiled. “Don’t if you don’t want to. Scotty here is just trying to get you drunk. He has a fondness for tall auburn-haired women, and you fit the bill quite nicely.”

Jessica had the grace to blush, as I harrumphed into my glass.

During the meal Deirdre gently probed the women, asking pertinent questions, and again I marveled at her perception.

“You say you are a researcher,” she asked Jessica. “What’s your specialty?”

“Social Psych,” she responded. “Some say that organized religion, especially evangelical sects, just prey on the average person’s wishing to ‘belong’, and that mass hysteria plays a large part in the conversion experience. I am doing research into the three types of believers.”

“Oh, and what may they be?” Nataliya asked.

“Firstly, what one might call inherited faith. You’ve grown up among believers, and the faith comes naturally – you’ve never known anything else, so you follow the tenets experiencing numerous small corroborations of that faith. Then there are the conversions, where an event or experience so overwhelms you that you see the hand of the Lord in revelation,”

“The ‘road to Damascus’ experience,” I murmured.

“Exactly,” said Jessica.

“Then there’s the third – the deathbed, or near death conversion, when a person is contemplating death, and maybe for the first time wonders if that is indeed the end, or if something greater lies beyond.”

“And which one are you, my dear?” asked Deirdre gently.

Jessica paused.

“Well, I was brought up in a family that were staunch members of the Evangelical Fire – in fact my father is a lay preacher in a diocese in Atlanta. So I am probably in the category one – the inherited faith. But I must confess I have not yet experienced these ‘mini conversions’ that others talk about. In fact, I’m hoping that my research thesis will give me enough comfort and confidence in the faith that I can go ahead and reconcile science and faith satisfactorily to myself – they need not be in opposition, you know.”

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“I know how you feel,” I said. “I joined the military to escape these family pressures too, except mine were political, not religious. Father was a very public supporter of the Britain First party, whereas I found my sympathies more often than not aligning with the Free Scotland movement – which had a very eloquent spokesperson in the lady here” I added, nodding to Deirdre.

Jessica returned the squeeze to my hand.

“And did your family hate you for it?” she asked.

“Not at all,” I replied. “After the original annoyance of my parents, and their understandable feeling of betrayal, they eventually accepted me for what I was – an independently thinking free spirit. And now when we visit, we have heated debates and discussions about what would have been better for Scotland under a United Britain confederation.”

“Well, I hope my parents feel the same way if I end up not embracing the faith,” she said.

After the meal, coffee arrived, and I summoned Antoine for a round of Kirsch to complement the coffee.

Deirdre approved.

Jessica was hesitant.

“What is this…Kirsch?” she asked.

“Liqueur, made from cherries,” I replied. “Here, let me show you.”

I dipped a finger into my glass, moistening it slightly with the kirsch, then cupped the palm of Jessica’s hand in my free hand, and rubbed in the kirsch into her palm.

“Now smell it,’ I commanded.

She brought her cupped palm to her nose, and squealed delightedly.

“Cherries. You’re right,” she exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

“Well,” I replied, “the heat of your hand and the friction evaporates the alcohol, leaving just the cherry residue on your skin – that’s what you smell.”

“Let me try it,” she said, taking my hand in hers, and repeating the process to me.

I smiled inwardly. I knew we were going to spend the night together.

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

The commlink beeped. I snapped out of my reverie.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Sister Jessica is here for her appointment,” Annika said.

“Send her in,” I requested, and cut the holo of her.

The door opened, and Jessica walked in, hitting me immediately with a sense of déjà vu. She was the spitting image of her grandmother, whom I had just been fondly remembering.

I rose to my feet, with outstretched hand, which she shook. And I ushered her to the sofas and coffee table at one end of the office.

“Do sit down, Sister,’ I said, indicating a seat, which she took. I sat across the table from her.

“I trust your journey was pleasant and that you were not too inconvenienced when I rescheduled our appointment?”

“Not at all,” she replied. "I enjoyed my stopover at Morgan Transport, and of course I am familiar with UN Headquarters, so the time was well spent while waiting for this meeting.”

I continued:

“I have reviewed the report you flashed me, and while I have not yet contacted any of the faction leaders, let me give you my opinion, for what it is worth.

“Forget Great Clustering. While many of the original Believers ended up there, and while they fomented a strong underground movement, it never was a Believer base. After Miriam’s surrender to Yang, he renamed New Jerusalem as Fellowship City, and Godwinson’s Hope became The Leader’s Horde. We tried, in our ultimatum of a few months ago, to have Yang relinquish control of those to a renascent Believer faction to achieve peace, but I’m afraid that all that got us was the obliteration of a Spartan base - Parade Ground - by a planetbuster.

“There were three reasons that Great Clustering opted for Domai. One was obviously the strength of the Believer resistance there. Another was the obliteration of several of the base enhancements that Gavin Burge took with him in his death - that created tremendous citizen unrest. The third was Ron Silvermane’s transmissions that created the backbone among the Hive drones to revolt against their supervisors.

“The key is to turn The Leader’s Horde. Intelligence reports say that in that base former believers openly wear the symbol and flout the Hive restrictions .....”

Jessica cut in, just a little apprehensively:

“Representative Allardyce, with all due respect, Sister Miriam sent me to discuss the Believer acquisition of Great Clustering. Can we at least discuss that and could you list me the pros and cons before we dismiss it so quickly?”

I paused, frowning, and looked at the young woman sitting opposite me. Stubborn and tenacious as was her grandmother.

I smiled.

“Of course, my dear Sister. Forgive me. I had assumed that everyone was on the same page regarding the factions’ strengths and weaknesses. Let’s by all means discuss Great Clustering. What exactly did Sister Miriam have in mind?”

“God, don’t be so patronizing,’ she blurted out. “Give us some credit for knowing what’s what. We may not be as organized as some factions, but we have numerous operatives in every base on Chiron, so our intelligence is the equal of anyone’s. And these aren’t Sister Miriam’s thoughts – they are mine.

“Let me give you my assessment.

“Foreman Domai has four bases. Two on the Hive mainland, one on Mount Planet, and one offshore of there. Widely dispersed. Inefficient, even with a faction as industrious as the Free Drones.”

Jessica leaned forward.

“What if we, the Believers, were to gain control of Manufacturing Warrens, right next to Free Drone Central, and initiate a swap with Foreman Domai for Great Clustering? He would then be in a position to think of expansion to Laborers’ Throng, The Drone Mound and Deep Passages – through negotiations with the Colonel, of course, while we would then be poised to consolidate Great Clustering and move on The Leader’s Horde and Fellowship City.”

I pondered. There was a certain synergy and sense to that.

“But how will you get control of Manufacturing Warrens from Corazon?” I asked.

“Well, we have three possible approaches,” Jessica said. “And we need your support for all three.”

“Begging, using the same arguments we used with her for her support in the Great Clustering discussion – she seemed to approve of them when it was Domai giving up a base – would she be so willing if Sparta is asked to pass over control of one of their conquered bases. You would need to convince her that her empire is too large and unwieldy, and that the base secession would be to her long term advantage.”

I grunted. “And the second?”

“We’ll buy it from her, at the price it would cost to mind control it using elite probe teams.”

“I snorted. “Buy, with what?”

Jessica lowered her voice, conspiratorially.

“With energy credits we’ll siphon from Sparta Command, using our probes, and framing Yang. She’ll never know.” She sat up. “But Sister Miriam doesn’t like this option. She suggested another that you might help us with.”

“Shoot,” I said.

“The Fusion Core Recovery team has returned, and soon the windfall will be distributed. You could argue for an equal share to be given to the Believers, and that would put us in funds to effect a transaction with the Colonel.”

I nodded. “That’s a possibility. I have been tasked with the recommendation on the disposition of the credits – which we believe to be around 3500. Chairman Yang will insist on one fifth, as there were five factions when the proposal was approved, but since then the Free Drones, Cyber Consciousness and yourselves have emerged – thank goodness Datajack Roze hasn’t formed her own faction yet.”

“And don’t forget the recent move of erstwhile Captain Svensgaard,” Jessica interrupted.

I swore softly under my breath.

“Your sources are impressive,” I admitted. “But I could only argue a strong case for Miriam, as an original faction leader, and Domai, as a major player now on Chiron. Hmmm. I think it could be done. Yang takes his 700, and the remaining 2800 are divided among Sparta, Gaians, Morgan (with his share being promised to Deirdre), Peacekeepers, Drones and the Believers. That would be around 400 to 500 credits – perhaps not enough to sway Corazon.

“But you spoke of a third option. What is it?”

Jessica leaned forward again.

“Sister Miriam is unaware of my thinking on this. And combined with the second option, is very powerful.”

“And is?” I prompted.

“Blackmail.”

“Blackmail,” I sputtered. “You have dirt on Corazon? How so?”

Her reply stunned me.

“She has released Ashaandi. Owed him a huge favor. Has hired a chameleon actor to impersonate him for the benefit of the guards and other faction leaders. If known, this would drive a wedge between her and the other faction leaders.”

I pondered. My dealings with Ashaandi had certainly brought me tumbling down in the Spartan hierarchy . Was Corazon immune?

“And just how do you know this?” I asked.

“The chameleon actor is my brother,” she said simply.

I nodded.

“Leave it with me,” I said. “I’ll broker a deal with Corazon and Domai. Neither you nor Miriam will be compromised. Your brother will come to no harm.”

I rose to indicate that the meeting was over. Jessica rose too.

“Scott,” she said.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“We have news of Stazi.”

My heart leapt. I could hardly contain my excitement.

“Yes?”

“She is safe. She has been moved to the Hive Covert Operations Center just north of the recently discovered Alien bases. Ashaandi and Sand are stationed there.”

My face told the story.

She came round the coffee table to me and hugged me.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Do the deal for us and we will get her out. We have assets even there.”

I nodded, understanding. Nothing had changed in politics. It was still ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’

Even after 300 years.




[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited July 11, 2000).]

[Rynn:]

They saw the roadblock in the distance. Two hive rovers blocking the track, sentinels with drawn shredder rifles.

Chatho resonated “What now?”

“Bluff our way through.” Ron replied. “Ruth?”

“Ssshhh, she’s sleeping,” came the reply from Shauna.

“Then waken her. We need her,” said Ron.

Shauna nudged Ruth awake. “Darling, wake up. Mommy and Granddad need you to help us get past these nasty men.”

Ruth stirred, and groggily opened her eyes, scrunching up her face against the light streaming in from the rover’s windows.

One of the sentinels had moved to the center of the road and was standing with his arm outstretched, commanding them to stop.

Chatho brought the rover to a whining halt beside him, and looked out imperiously, while Shauna, Ron and Ruth hunkered down in the rear of the rover, invisible to the casual watcher who might glance inside, but not hidden enough to escape the gaze of an insistent inspector.

The trooper walked to the drivers aperture, and seeing Chatho, pulled back puzzled.

“Hey, Vinnie, c’mere. It’s a Bug. Can you work the machine thingy?”

Vince clambered out of the barricading rover, pulling a cumbersome translator – similar to, but more compact than, Ron’s contraption. He wheeled it over to Chatho’s rover.

“We’rte looking for a man and a girl,” he said into the machine. “Have you seen these humans?” he passed a commlink to the progenitor who looked at the screen as the machine gurgled and squeaked its resonance message.

“You’re wasting your time asking that bug,” asserted his companion. “They can’t tell us apart. I’ll have a look inside.”

He opened the door to enter as Chatho pondered what to do. The pictures in the commlink screen sure looked like Ron and Shauna, although the names seemed longer that scrolled across the screen. Her reading skills were poor, and of course it was in the alien’s language, so her sight receptors weren’t tuned to decipher the scrolling letters.

“Yo, what have we here?” asked the trooper whose head was inside the rover, as he spotted Ron and Shauna. “Vinnie, get Sarge.”

Chatho knew from the tension in the air, as well as the continued translation emanating from the machine, that things weren’t going well for his friends.

The sergeant came from one of the rovers to investigate.

He assessed the situation, then dialed up his commlink to get instructions. Vinnie and his companion waited patiently for the sergeant’s instructions.

Finished, the Sarge said. “It’s not the professor and the girl, but boys we have a much more valuable catch – it’s the runaways from the Circle. Big reward for their capture.’

Behind her, Ron tapped Chatho on the shoulder scales. She turned around. Ron motioned to go forward, indicating she should split between the barricading rovers and make a break for it.

Chatho grunted a reply, and slid the control joystick to maximum.

The fission motors whined as the rover lurched forward, knocking Vinnie down as it swept past him, and neatly glancing off each of the parked rovers as she expertly split the gap between them.

Looking back, Ron saw the sergeant and the trooper make for their rovers, Vinnie being dragged along and shoved on board. The two rovers wheeled around and began the pursuit.

The road to Spires Ascendant was wide and well paved for the few kilometers leading to the city, with what seemed to be marker posts arrayed every 200 meters or so on either side of the road, staggered so that they passd one every 100 meters. Ron wondered what they were.

‘Resonance cloakers’ came the thought unbidden into his mind.

Ah, so Ruth was awake and fully alert now. Mind reading his query and asking Chatho telepathically.

He looked round. The two hive rovers were gaining on them.

Chatho swung the vehicle through and around the base facilities on the outskirts of the city, heading towards the south base gate, which shortly loomed before them.

As they approached, she activated the automatic scanner response on the progenitor rover, and the gate swung open. Chatho roared through, and as Ron turned round he saw that both the rovers had also made it before the gates electronically locked.

In the distance they could see the looming shape of the monolith.

Chatho was heading full speed towards it.

She resonated quietly to Ron:

“When we reach it, you three run for its shelter. I will hold off our allies long enough to help you make your escape.”

Ron nodded his assent.

Chatho swung the rover sideways a short distance from the monolith portal, activating the rover’s hatch at the same time.

As it swung open, Ron leapt out, followed quickly by Shauna clutching Ruth.

They sprinted for the monolith just as the two Hive rovers arrived on the scene.

Sarge leapt out, shredder cradled in the crook of his arm.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” he yelled.

They continued running, Ron almost on the threshold, and the portal was noiselessly opening as he approached.

THWUCK…THWUCK…THWUCK

The sergeants shredder spat, and Shauna screamed and collapsed to the ground, both her legs a bloody mess where the flesh had been torn by the shredder’s blast.

Ron stopped, and turned back.

“Here, take Ruth and get inside,” yelled Shauna, practically throwing Ruth to Ron, who caught her, and stood in indecision.

Sarge was approaching.

“Go,” Shauna pleaded. “It’s her they want, and you. Teach her everything you know about psi-blocking. Now go.”

Ron turned.

Chatho arrived, looking on flustered, not knowing what to do.

Ron reached the threshold of the Monolith portal, and looked round one last time at his daughter.

Shauna looked on, as a voice entered her mind:

It’ll be all right, Mommy. We’ll come back to get you soon. Have faith.

The sergeant raised his shredder, aiming at Ron and as his finger squeezed the fire button Chatho threw herself in front of him, and Shauna screamed as she saw the alien’s head and carapace explode in a pulpy mass. Beyond her she caught one last glimpse of her father and daughter as the monolith portal closed behind them.

The sergeant and two troopers ran to the monolith, but the portal remained closed, impervious to their shouts or even the attempt by Sarge to blast his way in.

Shauna chuckled grimly inwardly.

“At least they’re safe,” she thought. “But for how long?”

“Set up a guard,” Sarge said. “They must come out sometime. Meanwhile, let’s take this little beauty home.”

He grabbed Shauna under the arms, and dragged her to the rover, where he shoved her inside, then set course for his base.

“Where are you taking me to?” Shauna asked.

“The Covert Ops Center,” was Sarge’s reply.

Shauna grunted. Kyella wouldn’t be pleased – that is if she hadn’t been executed for allowing them to escape in the first place.

Ah well, life had a habit of moving in circles.

“Can I have two medipacks?” she asked.

Sarge nodded. “Help yourself. Second cubby on your left.”

Shauna applied the medipacks to her torn legs, wincing with the pain, then relishing their smooth comfort.

Then she gave in to the insidious blandishments of trauma and fatigue, and passed out.

[Googlie]

I was looking forward to the call.

Her aristocratic face lit up the wall screen, and the familiar voice said:

“Ah, Googlie, or should I address you now as Representative Allardyce?”

“Now Corrie, you don’t need to stand on ceremony with me,” I replied, even if this is a semi-official call.”

Her mood changed.

“So what do we have to discuss?” she asked.

“Great Clustering,” I replied. “Or, to be more specific, how to get it into the Believers’ hands as a springboard for the liberation of The Leader’s Horde and Fellowship City.”

“Ah, yes, the persuasive Sister Jessica, I see, has been to see you. Did you find her a good substitute for your missing Anastasia?”

“B!tch,” I replied, and under my breath added ‘you’ll change your tune soon enough, my dear.’

“So what did you concoct?” she went on. “How are you going to persuade Foreman Domai to relinquish such a gem to Sister Miriam?”

“An exchange of bases,” I replied. “They’re going to offer him something of equal, or better, value, than makes more sense strategically, and he’ll agree in an instant.”

“But they have nothing to offer,” Corazon said scornfully. “Except a few credits they have been gifted by others with a guilty conscience.”

“On the contrary, my dear Corazon,” I replied. “They indeed can offer a trade that Foreman Domai would covet.”

“Which is?” she replied.

“Great Clustering for Manufacturing Warrens and Laborers’ Throng. The populations about balance each other out.”

“But we hold those two former Hive bases,” the Colonel replied. What could the Believers offer me to induce me to part with them?”

“Not them, Corrie. Me,” I replied.

“You,” she snorted. “What on earth have you to offer me, Scott?”

“My silence,” I replied.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Silence?” she asked.

“Corrie. You stood by and kept quiet when my dealings with a certain Haraad Ashaandi became known. I’ve never forgiven you for not speaking up for me at that trial. The prize for your silence was the regaining of your position as Head of the Junta. But that was yesterday. I’m willing to return the ‘favor’ by remaining silent now. The price is the two Hive bases.”

“What’s in it for you?” she asked.

“That, dear Corrie, is none of your damned business. Do we have a deal, and I’ll call Domai and Miriam, or shall I place a call to Mwabudike and to Deirdre?”

I could tell Corazon was inwardly seething.

“Deal,” she said reluctantly. “But you’ll pay for this doublecross, Allardyce. It’s the last act you’ll take as Axis Civilian Administrator.”

I sighed.

“Ever the vindictive one, eh? So be it, Colonel. But tell me, why did you release Ashaandi?”

“None of your damned business, to quote your own words, Scott. Just watch out for your back in the future.”

She cut the commlink connection.

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

“Representative Allardyce. It is good to hear from you again. What can I do for you?”

“Likewise, Foreman Domai. I’m brokering a deal that I think will interest you very much.”

“A deal? What kind of deal?”

“The Believers have just come into possession of the former Hive base of Manufacturing Warrens, and are offering to exchange this base – adjacent as you know to Free Drone Central – for great Clustering, which as you doubtless know harbors a large contingent of ex-Believers.”

“Indeed I do, Representative Allardyce…….”

“Call me Scott, Foreman Domai, please.”

“Agreed Scott, but only if you call me James. As I was saying, I am aware of the strong Believer sympathies among the citizens of Great Clustering. But to exchange that jewel for the pitiful Manufacturing Warrens ………….. ” he let his voice trail off.

“Well, I certainly didn’t anticipate that negative response from you,” I replied. “What would it take to have you execute the trade? What additional sum of energy credits might make it worthwhile?”

“Oh, perhaps the base plus 400 credits would justify the loss of Great Clustering.”

“James, you are a shrewd negotiator,” I replied. “But I don’t think Sister Miriam could lay her hands on that kind of credit very easily. But there is another possibility. She also now controls Laborers’ Throng. What if she were to throw that into the mix as well?”

I could see Domai’s eyes glitter as he contemplated the map he had undoubtedly drawn up in front of him.

“Now that is attractive,” he replied.

I jumped right in:

“But of course Great Clustering in exchange for two such bases, so contiguous to Free Drone Central, would appear to me to be scant recompense. Methinks that Sister Miriam would expect a hefty injection of credits as well as great Clustering to make the exchange worth while – say 400 or so?”

“And where would I get that kind of credit at short notice?” he asked.

“Well, it so happens that you might be coming into a windfall as a result of the expedition to recover the Unity core. Originally there were five factions participating, with the approximately 3500 credits being evenly divided. With your recognition as a full fledged faction it will be hard for the others to cut you out of the spoils even although you had made no contribution to the exercise – unless of course you argue that your enslavement under Yang was your contribution. A share could amount to over 400 credits, if divided equally after yang’s cut.

“So you could afford to throw some energy credits Miriam’s way as well as the base.

“Interested?”

“Allardyce, you have a deal. Great Clustering and 400 credits for Manufacturing Warrens and Laborer’s Throng. Tell Sister Miriam that I will hand over to her tomorrow at noon in person, and tell her – or the Colonel – that I will receive Warrens the next day at noon and Throng the day after, all in person.

“This is a great day for the Free Drones.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled, cutting off the commlink, and dialing Jessica to relay the news.

Now if she could do her part in helping me get Stazi back. I'll have to introduce her to Paul, I thought.


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

[Argonaut]

Hive Territory: North of Fellowship City

The dust swirled around their faces continually. They had already been on the road for several hours, but still their journey was far from over. Zakharov hoped to reach Great Clustering tomorrow morning sometime, however the travelling was proving to be far more tiresome than he had expected. If he ever did make it back to civilized society, some time in a rejuvenation tank would definitely be in order.

Sharra on the other hand seemed to be coping remarkably well. Her diminutive frame was deceiving, obviously in possession of a drones endurance in her small body. She maintained Zakharov’s steady pace, matching his stride easily despite their difference in height. When they took their few breaks of rest, she seemed only to go along with it for his sake. It seemed as though she could travel the whole distance without stopping if she wanted too.

Sharra seemed possessed of a new energy, ever since they had realized how close to Free Drone territory they actually were, suddenly a new life returned to her eyes. She seemed to have found a new hope, which had so long ago been destroyed by Yang’s machinations. There was no longer that look of utter despair in her eyes that had once haunted them, nor the fierce mistrust for himself. It reminded him more of Anastasia with each passing hour.

“Tell me Sharra,” Zakharov started with some difficulty. They had been forced to adopt out-dated air recyclers, as opposed to the invisible micro-breathers that were now the norm. They had not been invented yet when Zakharov was captured, and drones were restricted from having them as a rule in order to discourage runaways. They’re bulky fit made talking somewhat difficult. “What do you know about the Free Drone Faction? They were not around when I was first incarcerated, and Yang ensured that I was not exposed to outside politics since my liberation. Am I getting myself into a lot of trouble by seeking refuge there.”

“I don’t believe so Provost.” She had continually insisted on using the old honorific, shying away from the more personal Prokhor. “The Free Drone movement has established itself as a friend of the people, and an enemy of Yang. Their philosophy is that any enemy of Yang’s is a friend of theirs. At least, that’s the situation before Yang arrested my family. We were going to runaway to Free Drone Central, but then the Spartans attacked and the HCPA came to arrest us. In the confusion, a riot broke out. Shots were being fired, nerve gas began pouring through the tunnel. Beyond that I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know if my family survived.”

Zakharov couldn’t help but feel touched at that moment. Sharra had not talked much through their entire journey, and never with such candid honesty. Despite what had happened between them, she seemed to have developed a trust in him. Zakharov promised himself that her trust would not be misfounded.

“It appears that both of us have similar enemies. Not just the Hive, but the Spartans as well.” Sharra blushed somewhat at that comment, although Zakharov couldn’t figure out why.

“Not all Spartans are bad.” Although it was not as obvious due to the air-recycler, Zakharov could pick out the distinct trace of a smile on her face. This truly was a momentous day.

“Oh really?” Zakharov was more than willing to indulge the girl, especially since he was enjoying this new development in their relationship. Besides, Zakharov was old enough to know that the Spartan crimes done against him were not the fault of every Spartan. It all came down to that wretched Colonel Santiago and her Junta. That Sharra would be able to find a redeeming quality in an enemy of the Hive, having grown up in it’s heavily propaganda based society, was a testament to her character.

“Before the raid happened, I was walking in the woods near Socialism Tunnel, where we used to live. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but security was lax at the time because the troops was spread so thin. I bumped into a boy, about my age doing exactly the same thing. He was in the Spartan Youth Cadets or something like that, and would be thrown in the brig if he got caught there. But we would sneak out every night, timing our runs to be the security sweeps to meet in a little abandoned building in the forest.”

“You seem quite smitten with this Spartan,” Zakharov encouraged her to continue.

“I was. I kind of still am. He was so unbelievably sweet, and caring and unlike anyone I had ever met before. Not to mention the fact that he was unbelievably good looking and had a body to die for.” They both smiled. Zakharov looked at the harsh world around them and marvelled at how to such people could find a moment of happiness in a place like this. The view in front of them quickly snapped them both out of their reverie.

Just ahead, the road bent heavily to the right before curving back in to where Zakharov was certain the border was. If they were to caught straight across the open ground they would be there much quicker, and walking down hill the whole way. However, it would bring them dangerously close to a fungal bed, and night would be approaching soon. Zakharov examined the road closely, and suddenly noticed the outline of a low lying structure on the road. It could only be a bunker, probably swarming with Hive defence forces. The decision had apparently been made for them.

“Looks like we take the low road,” Sharra said from beside him. Zakharov was surprised, as she had normally left all the decisions up to him. Zakharov realized how much he had underestimated the girl who was proving remarkably bright, especially for a drone.

Together they started forward and off the main road.

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

The last of the suns had just set and an eerie dark covered the land around them. To the west, the fungus glowed a dull pink, waving despite the lack of a breeze. Zakharov had always been amazed by the fungus, and the planet’s ecology. When they made it to freedom, and they would he was convinced of that, he would seriously consider experimenting with native fauna. How Deirdre would have a field day if she ever found out. Assuming she was even still a free woman, let alone alive. He had heard nothing of her faction since his release, nor many of the other faction leaders. He had also heard nothing of Miriam, and her fanatical followers. Her loss would certainly not provide Zakharov with any sleepless nights.

They had decided to journey through the night in order to make it to Great Clustering by noon tomorrow. Their position was dangerously exposed, and they could no longer pass as relocating drones this close to the border. Besides, this close to a fungal bed was not an appealing camp site, even for a crew of elite Spartan troops.

Suddenly, movement caught their attention from the fungal bed. Both of them stopped instantly, Zakharov positioning himself between Sharra and the fungal bed. From out of the pink tendrils darted a solitary mindworm, clearly newly hatched. Zakharov new enough about native biology to know that even at this age, mindworms could still be lethal.

The mindworm watched them, as if trying to determine the best route of attack. Suddenly it lunged at them, making directly for Zakharov’s face. The wave of terror had only just hit him when the worm exploded suddenly in front of him. Zakharov turned to see Sharra holding a shredder pistol towards where the mindworm had just been.

“I stole it off one of the guards back at Fellowship City. I thought it might come in handy.” Her casual nature added more to Zakharov’s state of shock.

“Let’s just get out of here before its brothers and sisters come looking for us.”

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

Alpha Centauri A and B were both rising high in the sky, providing warmth from the cold of last night. Zakharov and Sharra had left the fungal bed behind them and were on the road, within sight of the border. Suddenly, the sound of an engine could be heard behind them.

Zakharov turned to see the outline of a rover, leaving the bunker in the distance. It was followed by three others, obviously making their way towards Sharra and himself.

“Run.” The simple word had both of them sprinting full force towards the border. The rovers would be infinitely faster, but if they could make it to the border, perhaps the rovers would turn back to avoid confrontation.

In front of them, as if out of nowhere, a squad of men appeared, waving them on and shouting encouragement. As they sound of the rovers increased behind them, they began to take up defensive positions. Zakharov prayed that they were the Drone border guard, not Yang’s guard playing a cruel trick.

As Sharra passed the first of the guards, they began to open fire on the rovers that were only just behind Zakharov. It almost seemed as if they were firing at him, but the explosions behind indicated that they were finding the right targets. Zakharov passed the defensive line but refused to stop running, he made his way towards a second group of men, whom Sharra had already met up with standing further back. Some of the guards fell back with him as the Hive rovers returned fire. Just before they reached the border however, the rovers turned sharply and careened their way back up towards the bunker. A quick count indicated that all the guards had survived.

“Welcome to Great Clustering in Free Drone Territory,” said the large man with a smile. He was apparently in command of the operation. “Don’t worry friends, you’ll be safe here. In fact, we’re just having a bit of a party at the base. I insist that you join us.”

The large drone led Sharra and a perplexed and tired Zakharov towards the base while the guards once again disappeared into the foliage.

[senatus]

Great Clustering

A mighty Fortress is our God, A Bulwark never failing;
Our Helper he amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and pow'r are great; And armed with cruel hate,
On planet there's no equal.

The crowded auditorium, once used by the Hive's Bureau of Mental Hygiene
to "educate" and "motivate" Hive workers now resounded with the song of
one thousand voices. Voices that followed the words set by a specially
trained choir of the Lord's Believers. Voices that would soon follow
the word of Miriam Godwinson, and through her, the word of God.

That Word above all Planet's powers, No thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours Through him who with us sideth;
Let goods and kindred go, This mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still;
His kingdom is for ever.

Major Jason Ian was one of the few members of the Lord's Believers who
wasn't singing. In fact, he was scanning the assembled crowd through
the scope of his chaos rifle from his vantage point in the projection control
room, alert to the tiniest possibility of an assassin. Not for the
first time, Jason wondered if this would've been easier if he was one of
those empaths he'd heard about; but it was quite possible that the emotional
enthusiasm of the crowd would drown out the malice of a single individual.
So he had to do this the old-fashioned way.

Not that any assassin with an ounce of self-preservation would
try anything here... he'd be ripped apart in seconds by the mob.
Still, that wouldn't rule out the kind that had almost assassinated
the entire Spartan Junta last year, Jason thought. Which is
why I'm here: to look after Sister Miriam's safety while her mind is upon
greater things.

Miriam's plan had been brilliant in its simplicity. Her entourage
had arrived only yesterday and had immediately set up shop in the abandoned
auditorium. Word had gone out openly that Miriam would be delivering
the base's very first public sermon today, and all were invited.
Of course, all the Believer adherents had attended; but so also had many
hundreds of the "Free Drones" out of curiosity. The first session
had been packed to capacity, and Miriam had repeated the service seven
times with barely a break since this morning.

The largest probable source of interference wasn't a Hive assassin,
actually; Miriam's arrival to Great Clustering had not been pre announced
to anyone outside of the Council, and Santiago's command structure.
In fact, she had specifically avoided informing any of the base's
authorities, or "Foreman" Domai. It was therefore Domai's administrators
who would be most likely to put a stop to this. In fact, just a few
hours ago, a Free Drone supervisor had turned up, demanding to know what
was going on and whether or not Miriam had the Foreman's permission to
be conducting this activity.

"We're conducting a religious service, Supervisor Williams. We
wasn't aware that this required state approval; it hadn't occurred to me
to ask for it," Miriam had responded. That was entirely truthful;
she'd never had any intention of obtaining Domai's approval until
it was too late for him to do anything about it.

Nor could the hapless supervisor do anything about it; hadn't Domai's
initial address to the People specifically encouraged religious
freedom? Declining Miriam Godwinson's invitation to stay and enjoy
the service, Williams had been about to scurry off, when a sudden unpleasant
thought occurred to him. He tapped one of the throng on the shoulder
at random, and the man had turned to him smiling.

"Excuse me, citizen. I wanted to ask... are you one of Sister
Miriam's Believers?" Williams asked.

"Oh, no, actually I'd barely heard of her before today," the man replied
still smiling. "But isn't this music just wonderful?"

Supervisor Williams had never heard of mob psychology, didn't know of
Miriam Godwinson's history and her legendary abilities to lead a crowd,
and certainly didn't have the anthropological training to realize that
the uneducated and inexperienced former Hive citizens - now "Free Drones"
- were perfect candidates for religious conversions by their group
profile. But he wasn't stupid, either, and knew this could be trouble
with a capital "T". He practically ran towards the nearest lift (Free
Drone supervisors didn't use personal transports or chauffeurs - they took
public transit like everyone else). Foreman Domai would have to be
informed.

For her part, Miriam knew that it would only be a matter of time before
Domai did something. She had no intention of antagonizing
him if at all possible - she knew nothing of the man - but she was also
stubbornly determined to remain upon the course God had laid out for her.
And she knew that these "Free Drones" were in desperate need and
want of spiritual salvation, and delightfully willing to experience what
God had to offer for them. So if, by chance, Domai was not inclined
to see reason, nor inclined to negotiate, it was Sister Miriam Godwinson's
full intention to cut the support out from under him.

A cynical observer might've seen a calculating manipulation of the masses
to serve Miriam's own ends; but someone who knew her would've seen the
frightening truth: Miriam Godwinson was genuinely convinced that
these actions were for the best interests of the people. That conviction
shone brightly in her and it inspired contempt in her enemies almost as
much as it inspired a near reverence in her followers. Miriam Godwinson
wasn't some modern descendent of the worst 20th-century televangelists
and demagogues. Miriam Godwinson was a Joan of Arc. And like
Joan, Miriam allowed no doubts to enter her heart once she settled upon
a course of action.

And so Sister Miriam Godwinson smiled beatifically at the worshipful
crowd as her earbug informed her of an incoming priority call from Foreman
Domai.

---

U.N. Headquarters

Jessica felt a strange rush of excited elation combined with the relief.
She'd accomplished far more than she had privately expected, Sister Miriam's
instructions notwithstanding. Assuming that Scott Allardyce was able
to deliver what he had promised; and Jessica had been able to "read" confidence
in his emotions when he had done so. Somewhat more curious was why
he was going to do this; inviting Corazon Santiago's anger was a decidedly
risky course of action. Allardyce's reactions had seemed somewhat
muddled here. He was obviously in love with this woman Anastasia;
evidently not seeing any irony whatsoever in asking the Believers to help
the granddaughter of Provost Zakharov. Not that it didn't make sense;
Anastasia - Scott's "Stazi" - was a useful diplomatic and political asset
given the resurgence of the University underground in Sparta, as well as
the recent return of Zakharov himself. Moreover, it was the decent
and Christian thing to do, if possible.

Allardyce's reaction to Jessica herself felt somewhat odd, however.
He'd greeted her and dealt with her in familiar, almost endearing terms;
yet Jessica was positive that they'd never met. Believer missionary
or not, Jessica knew that she was an attractive and likable woman; but
she was sure that wasn't the main reason.

Maybe I'll find out more at dinner, Jessica thought. Scott
had commed her and asked her to join him and a friend at the UN HQ's best
(meaning it was a Morgan franchise) restaurant, telling her only that he
had good news. It was just as well that she'd suffered a moment
of weakness at MorganMall; neither Spartan combat fatigues nor her orange
minister's robes would have been very appropriate for a dinner engagement.
But this black synthiweave dress was very nice. With long sleeves
and hem it was sufficiently modest for Believer doctrine, yet form-fitting
and elegant enough to flatter her figure. Accessories included a
simple but elegant necklace crucifix (of course), and a matching purse.
Jessica hesitated, but dutifully dropped her laser pistol in the latter
as per Miriam's standing instructions. Despite her training, she'd
never fired at a human target, and hoped she'd never have to.

Jessica was still deciding whether to wear her hair up or down when
the holovid flashed, indicating that Sister Miriam was returning her call.

Miriam herself looked tired but exuberant.

"Sister Miriam. How did your sermons go in Great Clustering?" Jessica asked.

"I believe that God was with us this day," Miriam replied. "Moreover,
Jessica, God was definitely with you. Foreman Domai commed me just
a little while ago."

"Already?" Jessica responded with surprise. Allardyce was fast.

"Indeed. While I was expecting a possible confrontation, Domai
was instead extremely positive, to the point of even offering to Pact with
us, provided that we respected the working class. And of course
he'd be happy to trade Great Clustering to us in return for Manufacturing
Warrens and Laborer's Throng - he's even willing to throw in extra energy
credits to sweeten the bargain."

Miriam's smile vanished and she leaned forward into the holodisplay,
fixing Jessica with her gaze.

"There's just one little problem, of course. We don't have
Manufacturing Warrens and Laborer's Throng. They belong to Corazon.
A little fact that I thought it would be prudent to avoid mentioning to
Domai until you and I had a little talk."

A slight chill went down Jessica's spine. She knew that Miriam
had decided to support Santiago completely. Just as Joan of Arc had
once championed the cause of Charles the Seventh. Jessica herself
was considerably less trusting of the Colonel.

When she had begun her training, one of the assignments Jessica had
undertaken was to deliver psych profiles of the various faction leaders.
The very first one she'd compiled had been Corazon Santiago, and she'd
had plenty of opportunity to judge the Colonel first-hand since then.

Santiago was widely recognized to be Planet's foremost military leader;
the type of military genius that shows up perhaps once in a generation.
But that really didn't speak to her personality. In Jessica's
assessment, Santiago was focused, honorable, and maintained a closely held
set of principles. The flip side was that she was blind/stubborn, not politically
astute, and opaque to outsiders. And despite her personal code of
honour, she was quite capable of ruthless manipulation; Jessica believed
that Santiago looked upon the Believers as a useful weapon in her arsenal
- although Jessica also believed that Santiago would honour her
pact with the Believers come Hell or high water. Jessica admired
Santiago's genius and discipline. But she also questioned the Spartan
leader's ethics and morals. Santiago had pressed for the rescindment
of the UN Charter in her conflict with the Hive. Yes, Yang had performed
atrocities upon Morgan and Sparta first, but responding in kind was ethically
reprehensible. And releasing Haraad Ashaandi... that man was
a completely amoral assassin and leader of a cabal whose philosophy and
methods Jessica found extremely frightening. Was not Sand,
Miriam's torturer, Ashaandi's right-hand man?

Jessica chose her words carefully.

"I'm not sure of the details, truthfully. I believe that Sc- that
Representative Allardyce must've been responsible for this, and must've
convinced Colonel Santiago to relinquish those two bases in name to us.
Perhaps he managed to make a case for the military efficacy of such an
action - after all, those two bases aren't really able to contribute to
the Axis war effort as they are, but Great Clustering, in our hands,
would be a much more useful base for Axis forces." And perhaps
he also made use of the information I gave him, Jessica thought
silently.

Miriam was silent for a moment as she considered Jessica's words.

"And, for the sake of my curiosity, just what convinced Mr. Allardyce
to be so accommodating to our cause? I knew him before Unity, you
know. While never hostile to my presence the way Zakharov was, Allardyce
isn't a Believer."

Since Miriam demanded the truth, Jessica had no choice but to answer.
But first she reconfirmed that the comlink encryption was secure.

"First, I told him that we'd help with the rescue of his lover, an probe
operative now in the hands of the Ashaandi Circle, who happens to be the
granddaughter of Zakharov."

Jessica waited, but Miriam only shrugged.

"Her parentage is probably irrelevant, but I have no objection so long
as it does not compromise any of the Faithful."

"Also, I let him know about Ashaandi having been released, and a chameleon
actor - someone with a Pholus mutagenic talent for shaping his appearance
- taking his place in Sparta's prison. He judged that useful enough
information to be valuable," Jessica said, and anticipating the next
question as to how she'd know, added, "I told him that the chameleon actor
was my brother."

"Your brother?" Miriam raised an eyebrow.

"The chameleon actor is a Believer. And of course, we are all
brothers and sisters in Christ."

Miriam pondered for a long moment.

"Well, the Lord does work in mysterious ways. It appears that
now we must wait and watch His plan unfold, and in the meantime, we must
continue to pray for guidance. I will contact Colonel Santiago and
confirm the matter with the bases, and then Domai. It looks like
I will have to stay here longer than planned at Great Clustering; when
you are finished at UN Headquarters, please join me here. Until we
see each other, may God look over you."

"And you to, Sister Miriam. This World is God's." Jessica
responded.

"This World is God's." Miriam disappeared as the holocom disconnected.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 13, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

HCPA Security Boat: En route to Sea Hive

The guards dragged the three Spartan prisoners mercilessly onto the bridge. Their hands remained bound together by silksteel restraints and their legs were kicked out from under them, forcing them to their knees. The Captain watched as one of the Spartans, a strong young man, immediately went to stand up again. Before he was half way up, a second kick behind the knee had him floored again. Still he struggled to his feet and again he was knocked back down. When the prisoner went to stand the third time, the Captain held off his guard’s foot with a hand gesture. The other two took that as a sign to stand as well.

There were only three survivors of the crash. One was the proud and strong Spartan who had refused to kneel. He was young, but his spirit could still be broken while there was still use for him. The next was considerably older, a sinister looking man with a strange glazed look in his eyes. However, it was the last prisoner who caught his attention.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” The Captain watched as the prisoner tensed at the shift in focus. She was an exceptionally beautiful young women with dark skin, long hair and an amazing figure. The Captain could not help thinking he recognized her somehow.

“Tell me, young lady,” The Captain moved to within inches of her, using his height to intimidate the girl. “Have we met before? I swear that I recognize you from somewhere.”

“No.” The response was adequate but it was not satisfactory.

“No, what?”

“No we have not met before.” The girl was insolent, but she too could be broken. He indicated to his guard to administer the appropriate punishment. Soon she was again on her knees, staring directly below his belt line. The Captain did so love playing with his prisoners.

“I would remember a face as ugly as that if I had.” The Captain was shocked at her disobedience. The guard behind her clouted the young woman on the back of the head with his laser rifle. She suffered the blow, but refused to allow it to overcome her.

“Back off old man.” This came from the proud young man once again. Soon he found himself having to stand up again after another kick to the back of the knee floored him. In all his years in service as a Hive operative, he had never witnessed such insolence. Not even during the alliance with the greedy Morganites had he seen such a wanton disrespect for authority.

Soon they would pay. Rumours abound about the power of their new alien allies, and new weapon systems under development. Soon the Hive would resume the offensive and crush the Axis powers once and for all. To bad these three Spartans would not be around to see it. At best they could hope to be suffering eternally in one of the punishment spheres. Assuming the Chairman wouldn’t rather make an example of them with a public execution. Now that would be interesting.

“Take them to the brig,” the Captain ordered. Before they left he turned to the spirited young man who had caused such a problem. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

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

The door closed an a mechanical click indicated the door was locked. There was only a dim light inside the tiny prison cell, barely revealing the grim bare walls and dilapidated bench against the far wall.

“Now what?” William was at the end of his rope. So far he had been ordered to crash a plane he could have saved, almost go attacked by an overgrown sealurk, all while waiting to get picked up and thrown into the brig of a over-sexed Hive patrol boat. William was no probe operative, but he was sure successful operations weren’t supposed to go like this.

“Now we take the ship.” Roze’s statement seemed almost humourous, given their situation, but William watched as the two probes set to work. Roze pulled out her datapad from one of the limitless pockets on her outfit. Her suit was so form fitting he couldn’t understand where they were all coming from. She quickly set to work creating programs, while Grant began to roll up his sleeve, revealing a mechanical apparatus around his arm.

“What the hell is that?” William suddenly found himself at a loss as the two probes set to work.

“Sensory recorders off-line. They can’t see or hear us.” Roze continued with her work, oblivious to William’s question.

“I’m a cyborg you idiot. We’re not all in the Consciousness.” William watched as Grant plugged his actual arm into the wall socket next to the door. His eyes lost focus as he began to run decryption programs within his mind. Moments later, the door popped open, letting in the artificial light from the corridor.

“Ladies first,” Grant gestured grandly to Roze. She stepped out first with a smile, checking to see the hallway was clear before proceeding. A confused William followed as they made their way into the corridor and towards the bridge.

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

“William, you’re the muscle of the operation. You go in first and take down as many as you can. Grant and I will cover you with the pistols. Avoid weapons discharge at all cost. We don’t want the rest of the crew to know there’s something wrong.” Roze whispered as she relayed her orders to her team just outside the door of the main bridge. They had made it this far without detection, which showed a remarkable lapse in Hive security. The ship seemed to be operating on a skeleton crew.

Roze gave the signal, and William darted into the room, tackling the first person he could see, taking him down hard and knocking the wind out of him. Before the others could react, his Spartan training guided him back to his feet. As the first guard drew his weapon, William attacked with a quick punch to the wrist and a powerful uppercut to the guards stomach. He fell back knocking his head on the sensor panel, probably knocking him unconscious.

Before the second guard hit the ground, William had turned on the approaching helmsman, who advanced without a weapon. William rolled with the blow, absorbing the impact and responding with a knee to the helmsman side. William used the helmsman’s momentum against him, pushing him forward while grabbing his arm, causing it to twist back and crack painfully, leaving the helmsman slumped on the ground in pain. William examined the room and found only the Hive Captain still standing, the old man obviously unwilling to engage in hand to hand combat. Roze entered, followed by Grant and they began rounding up their new captives.

“Nice work Private,” Roze said with a smile. “I just might have to keep you around.” She turned now towards the Captain who stood with a disgusted expression on his face as the interlopers tied up his bridge crew.

“Well, well, well. What have we hear?” Roze did her best to mimic the old Captain’s earlier tone. She circled him, getting herself into position to kick the old man behind the knee cap, sending him to the floor. She continued round in front of him, holding his face in her hand and forcing him to look up her figure towards her face.

“I must say Captain, that so far this trip has been one of my favourites.” With a smile, she moved her hand down his cheek to his neck. Finding the correct nerve, she pinched it violently, hitting the pressure point that would render him unconscious.

“Now comes the hard part.” Roze was again became all business, locking the door to the bridge and examining the controls.

“Which is?” William queried.

“We highjack the Remora . And I guarantee you that she won’t be operating on any skeleton crews.”

“Great,” William responded sarcastically. “I was beginning to get a little bored."