The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Argonaut]

HCPA Security Boat: Approaching Sea Hive

“There she is.” William looked up to see what Roze was referring to. About one kilometre north of the gargantuan structure that was the surface level of the Sea Hive, Yang’s headquarters, was a massive destroyer class ship. It lay silent in the water, unmoving, protected by it’s solid silksteel armour.

“What is it?” William found himself increasingly in the dark as the mission progressed and he didn’t like it.

“It’s a boat, William. Haven’t you seen one before?” Roze’s smile took some of the sting out of her barb, but at this point William was getting a little tired of her nonchalant attitude. Sensing this, Roze chose to elaborate on her answer.

“That is the Remora . She’s currently serving as Yang’s Detention Centre for the Rich and Famous. That is where we will find our target.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll find out when you get there.” Roze simply smiled, as Grant began to gather equipment for infiltration.

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

Roze watched on the entire break in from the bridge of the patrol boat. They had pulled up slowly to a safe distance, looking like nothing more than a typical sentry. Already, William and Grant had swum the entire distance between the two ships underwater, and had climbed silently up the side of the ships hull. Roze had, meanwhile, linked her system into the Sea Hive main computer system over the cellular net in the region. As the team progressed, she ensured that the correct doors were unlocked, and the correct observation devices transmitted to her eyes only.

So far, they had been successful in avoiding detection. Only two guards had been encountered which William had quickly disabled. Roze would have to thank the Colonel for her dedication towards military training even for her pilots. Without the Spartan help, this mission would have probably been impossible, even for her skills. Well, it certainly would have been more difficult.

All the while, Roze was working swiftly in a small subwindow on the main screen, furiously concocting a program that would guarantee that there would be no pursuit.

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

“This is it.” Grant whispered into William’s ear. Since they had reached the cell block, their noise had been covered by the screams of the prisoners torment within the punishment spheres. Row upon row of spheres echoed the tortured screams of those who had most earned the Chairman’s hatred. All of those that he had been able to capture at least. While the noise provided cover to the team’s operation, it also provided cover to any approaching security teams, not to mention the psychological impact it had on them.

Grant once again rolled up his sleeve and made a direct connection with the punishment sphere’s control panel. The punishment spheres were not connected to the main network, to prevent tampering. However, this did not stop the Cyborg probe operative from breaking the electronic lock. The door released with a click and an immediate alarm sounded through out the ship.

“Let’s get out of here.” They quickly entered the sphere where a man hung limply from a pair of shackles. The screaming had stopped as the sphere had shut down when the door was opened. Grant undid the restraints, allowing the limp form to fall into William’s hands where he could see him for the first time.

“Morgan?” William couldn’t understand how the faction leader could’ve been captured. It would have been all over the news.

“Not Morgan, his son. Now let’s get out of here.” With that, Grant slung Junior’s other arm over his shoulder and the operatives began to make their way back to the ship.


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

The look of Chairman Yang’s face was priceless as he recognised who it was that was calling him.

“How did you get this frequency? What is going on?” The normally composed Yang was not his usual serene self at the moment.

“Now, now Chairman. That’s no way to greet one of your old and dearest friends.” Roze smiled. This was the part of her job that she loved.

“I was just calling to let you know that I’ve taken Morgan Jr. off your hands now, so you don’t need to worry about him anymore. You look like you’ve been awfully stressed lately, and so I thought you’d appreciate it. You can consider it an early birthday present. Love ya” Roze blew the fuming Chairman a kiss just before she shut down the commlink. She quickly began to move the patrol boat into position in order to pick up her comrades.

“That’s where I recognise you from!” The old Hive captain was suddenly hit by a wave of revelation. “You’re the one from all the holobroadcasts! You’re the one everyone has been looking for!”

“In the flesh,” Roze said with a broad grin. “I would offer to sign an autograph, but I don’t have a pen and I’m a little busy. May be later, though.” With that, Roze pulled the boat alongside and left the bridge to find the rest of her team.

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

“Where are you going Grant? The rendezvous is on the other side!” William had to yell over the siren. So far they had been able to keep ahead of most of the guards. There had been one small firefight, but Grant’s precision shooting had ended it quickly.

“Not my rendezvous Spartan.” The full wait of Junior was suddenly shifted onto William as Grant let go at his end. Suddenly, Grant’s metallic right fist connected with William’s jaw, sending him to the cold hard deck. Morgan Junior, still not recovered from the pain, was unable to move, and lay dazed on the deck.

“You didn’t think I would actually let Roze turn him back over to Morgan for free, did you? Not when I can make a fortune selling him back.” Grant pulled his shredder pistol and aimed it directly at William’s head. William was still to dazed from blow to react properly.

“You Spartans are dumber than I thought.” A shot rang out and William shut his eyes, and clenched his teeth, awaiting the final pain he knew was coming. When no blast hit, he looked up to see Grant, lying on the floor with a large burn right across his chest. Shocked, William looked behind him to see Roze, laser rifle at the ready.


“Think about it William. This is me were talking about. I know what Bra size Deirdre wears, and you didn’t think I would know he was going to doublecross me?” Roze walked over and helped William to his feet. Together they picked up the dazed Junior and made their way back to wards the boat.

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

Back on the bridge of the patrol boat, William settled Junior into a seat and began to try and revive him. As Roze resumed the controls, a transmission came in over the commsystem.

“Roze.” It was Chairman Yang. “My forces are quickly surrounding your position. Surrender yourself and Junior, and I will promise that neither Morgan’s son, nor your team will be executed.”

“What about me Sheng-ji? Don’t I get a prize?” William watched as Roze stood up to one of the most feared men on Planet, and didn’t even seem to care.

“You get the pleasure of spending a vigorous session with my good friend Sand before I have you killed. You must understand, I do have to make an example of someone for all of your crimes against the Hive.” Yang was clearly playing along with Roze’s game to buy his troops more time in surrounding her.

“Thanks but no thanks. Keep in touch, Yangy.” Roze shut down the transmission as she pulled the boat away from the Remora.

“Yangy?” William asked. Suddenly, the water exploded all around them as shots rained down from the base garrison, and other HCPA patrol boats began moving in. “I don’t think he liked it.”

“I must remember that in future. Now for the real kicker.” Roze pulled up the tiny little window that she had been working in earlier, and pressed the innocent little button that said ‘run’.

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

“What’s that noise?” One of the Sea Hive lieutenants, looked around in shock as a strange and powerful melody erupted from the bases loudspeaker system. Mixed with the continuing weapons fire towards the fleeing patrol boat, the sound was less than enchanting.

Suddenly, a large wave splashed the garrison’s position, as something large splashed very near to the base.

“That was too close to be our weapons’ fire! What the hell was it?” Their was a break in the garrison’s firing, as they waited for the water to clear and find out what had happened.

From out of nowhere, a large sealurk emerged from beneath the surface, and crashed down upon the base. The garrison ran in fear as the psi-induced terror overwhelmed the unprepared Hive forces. All around the base, the water thrashed and bubbled as the young sealurks tending the kelp farms were affected by the music and the presence of their overgrown sibling.

Just as quickly as the commotion had started, the sealurks disappeared beneath the waves, leaving nothing but silence and the remnants of their rampage. Then, from over the loudspeaker came a gentle, soulful jazz song. Roze had struck again.

[senatus]

UN Headquarters

Jessica entered the Serengeti, a posh restaurant overlooking
UN HQ's main govermental complex. Classical music filtered from inside
the restaurant to reach her ears; from real musicians rather than
holorecordings. The maitre d' glided over to her and bowed slightly.

"Madam?"

"Representative Allardyce's table, please."

"Ah yes, Sister Jessica. Please follow me." Jessica started
to follow the headwaiter, but a subdued chime sounded as she stepped over
the threshold into the restaurant.

"Madam is carrying a weapon?" The maitre'd asked politely, his
eyebrows raising. Jessica began to apologize, making as if to hand
over her purse, but the maitre d' raised his hands dismissively.

"Not a problem, Madam. Mr. Allardyce has vouched for you.
Apologies for the interruption."

Scott Allardyce was sitting with another man in a private room.
Both men rose politely as Jessica approached, an old-fashioned tradition.
Scott introduced the other man.

"Ah, Jessica. Please let me introduce you to my good friend Paul
Andreus. Paul, this lovely young lady is Sister Jessica McCollough."

"Googlie, you do seem be acquainted with the most attractive ladies
from every single faction on the planet," Paul said, his eyes twinkling
as he shook Jessica's hand. "With such a list of contacts, perhaps
you should have my job."

Jessica smiled at the compliment, while she studied Paul. Other
than his impeccable Morgan-tailored suit - which barely showed the slightest
bulge from a holstered shredder pistol - the man looked very ordinary.
Extremely ordinary, as if he'd made an effort at appearing unremarkable.

"Paul Andreus is the head of Mr. Morgan's Security Intelligence Service."
Googlie explained. That explains his carefully unremarkable appearance,
Jessica thought. She'd heard of him, of course.

"Jessica here is Sister Miriam's personal assistant and... information
research specialist." Googlie continued, and while Andreus'
good-natured expression didn't change, Jessica sensed a sudden focus behind
his eyes, not entirely dissimilar to the focus the MorganMall store manager
had when Jessica had produced her credit card. He doesn't feel
like an empath... but neither is Roze, supposedly. Paul Andreus
is Morgan's intelligence director, he will be the very best that
money can buy, Jessica knew.

"Don't be fooled by her pretty face, Paul; I can assure you that Jessica
is very good at her research, even if she looks too young for her role."
Scott chuckled as he seated Jessica.

"And you, Scott, don't look a day over ninety." Jessica retorted
good naturedly, even as she was unable to entirely suppress a blush at
the compliment. Both men laughed at the joke, and then conversation
proceeded to small talk.

"Scott, I'd been meaning to ask you, what does the nickname `Googlie'
mean?" Jessica asked as the wine arrived. Allardyce inspected
the bottle, and then reached over to pour some into Jessica's glass.
A strange expression of deja vu crossed his face as Jessica covered the
glass with her hand.

"No offence intended, it's just that we have a rule about alchohol,"
Jessica declined apologetically but firmly.

"Probably very wise, when Googlie's around." Paul stated with
an innocent smile.

"You wound me," Scott assumed a mock injured expression.

"In answer to your question, Jessica, the nickname comes from -" just
then, Scott's comlink beeped.

Allardyce studied the screen of his box for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Jessica, Paul; looks like another `emergency'. The
fun never stops at UN HQ. I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you.
Paul, could you see Jessica back to her hotel after dinner?" With
that, Googlie made his exit.

"I don't think I'll ever find out," Jessica muttered under her
breath.

After dinner Paul walked Jessica back to the UN Hilton.

"I understand you were looking for Miss Roze. She's on assignment,
but I'm filling in for her. Did you want to pass on a message?
Or is there anything I can do for you?" Paul asked, and Jessica almost
had to laugh. She could learn from this man; almost every seemingly-innocuous
comment was designed to gain information.

"I just wanted to pass on our thanks for the assistance she rendered
us," Jessica replied. Let him chew on that for a bit.

"But... there actually is something you can do for me, if you
wouldn't mind. What information do you have about Sand and the Circle?"

Paul halted and turned towards her, and if his face betrayed no thoughts,
it was obvious to Jessica that the wheels were turning inside his mind.

"I take it Mr. Allardyce asked you to help out with Anastasia?"
He asked carefully.

Wow, lucky guess, or... Jessica thought.

"He asked you too, didn't he?" Jessica realized, and Paul nodded.

"Yes... in fact, I'm assembling a mission team right now. I'm
telling you this because I think it would be bad if we ended up stepping
on each others' toes, if your Believers are also in play."

Jessica nodded. "Death by friendly fire" didn't apply to just
military operations.

"I'm guessing that your plan would be to leverage your assets in the
Believer underground?" Paul asked, and again Jessica had to nod,
impressed by this man's deductive capabilities.

Paul appeared to be thinking hard, then reached a decision.

"If you want, I could offer you a place on our probe team. That
way we could help each other. But we can't have two bosses; your
people would have to be subordinate to mine for the duration of the mission."

Jessica thought hard for a moment as well. While Sister Miriam
might initially balk at the prospect of working with the Morgans so closely,
this would be an invaluable opportunity to learn about their methods
and gain some practical experience within a team of veteran operatives.

"I have to go to Great Clustering tomorrow to see Sister Miriam anyways.
Let me frame your suggestion to her, and I'll get back to you within 24
hours?"
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 14, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 14, 2000).]

[senatus]

Great Clustering, 07:13 AM


Foreman James Domai was a very big man.  He towered over the diminutive
woman opposite him, his hand enveloping hers.  The incongruity 
might've seemed vaguely ludicrous, but no one present was inclined to laugh. 
The man and woman shaking hands were the respective leaders of their factions,
and each commanded a tremendous amount of stature and respect amongst their
followers.


"Sister Miriam.  A pleasure to meet you at last.  I only regret
I was unable to greet you personally upon your arrival to Great Clustering." 
Of course, nobody told me that you were coming, Domai thought
but did not add.


From Miriam's perspective, this could be interpreted as a remonstration
against her acting behind Domai's back.  But since this was to be
an amicable transaction, there was no point in debating a non-issue. 
Apologies, properly worded to avoid casting blame, were in order.


"Foreman Domai.  Indeed, it is my pleasure to greet you in the
flesh; my apologies for the breach of protocol.  Indeed, you should've
been informed in advance."  "Should've", given that things worked
out as they did.  If they hadn't... well, all that is hypothetical
now, thanks to Jessica and Scott Allardyce, Miriam thought.


Domai waved a giant hand dismissively.


"Protocol is for U.N. bureaucrats.  We have work to do.  And
call me James."


Miriam found herself liking the down-to-earth simplicity of the Free
Drones' faction leader.


"Very well, James.  Please call me Miriam, if you prefer. 
And yes, I agree, we have much work to do for an orderly transfer of government
of Great Clustering before noon today."


The two delegations sat down and began their work.  Miriam had
something more long-range to discuss, however, and she brought it up to
Domai during the Free Drone traditional observation of coffee break.


"James, the more our people work together, the more it seems to me that
your ideological goals of creating a worker's paradise and our own emphasis
on spirituality can complement each other.  In particular, I want
the workers in this base to know the labourers' working conditions that
they have fought for will not be sacrificed in this change over. 
Indeed, it is Believer doctrine that all are brothers and sisters in Christ;
that doctrine seems very convergent with equality amongst all the People."


"I would like to invite you to leave your Workplace Health and Safety
supervisors in place here, to help teach the Believers  how we can
bring about a fair labour environment.  I would like us, Believers
and Free Drones, to work together to achieve both a labourers' paradise
here on Planet, and a spiritual paradise in the eternal life beyond. 
I ask for this as I offer a Pact of Friendship."   Miriam paused,
awaiting the Foreman's response.  Had she read him correctly?


Domai's eyes lit up, and Miriam got her answer.  Like herself,
James Domai was a "believer" in a greater ideal.


"Emphatically yes, we accept your invitation, Miriam.  I
am personally delighted to see that you treasure the well-being of the
workers as I do.  Let us seek to perfect a Eudaimonia on Planet together!"


"Then, let us announce this pact at the noon Address to the People?" 
Miriam suggested.  "It would also encourage the Free Drones here at
Great Clustering - whom I recognize as the largest segment of the population
here - letting them know that nothing will be changing for the worse as
this base changes hands; that the work here will continue as usual."


Domai nodded enthusiastically, and Miriam felt a moment of satisfaction. 
Truthfully, she'd meant every word she'd said.  Having had a chance
to study the social psychology of Domai's vision for the Free Drones, it
was clear to Miriam's trained eye that the Free Drones were actually delivering
what the Hive only promised; an extremely industrious, honest, and
egalitarian society.  Which was what the Believers wanted anyway. 
Although Miriam Godwinson's detractors often characterized her as narrow-minded
and inflexible, in fact Miriam was quite willing to embrace new ideas;
just so long as those ideas didn't conflict with her vision of a
strong, righteous, pious society of Christian worship.  And
so the Religious would become pact mates with the Workers as they had with
the Warriors.  A trinity that would carry them together through
the next millennium, Miriam prayed.

---

Great Clustering, 11:52 AM


"Do you smell it, Provost?"  Sharra asked.


"I smell recycled air."  Prokhor Zakharov replied.


"You're so literal.  It's free air."  Sharra
smiled and actually jumped happily.  "We've made it!"


Zakharov had to smile in spite of himself at the girl's enthusiasm. 
It was infectious.  Indeed, it seem that the entire base shared some
unexplained jubilation.


"Yes, he's here!  I saw him at the aerospace complex myself! 
It was definitely the Foreman!"  A nearby fragment of conversation
reached Zakharov's ears.  A crowd was forming in the tunnel, sweeping
towards the surface where the aerospace complex would be.  The two
refugees found themselves caught up in the throng.  Zakharov stumbled
more than once, his vision suffering from the loss of his glasses in their
narrow escape a few hours previous.  But Sharra was always at his
side, steadying him.  She was saying something about how she too wanted
to see the Foreman, and Zakharov nodded.


His mind was still active though, ignoring the hubbub even as his body
was carried along.  Considering his options.  His own faction
had been eliminated by the hated Spartans, he was sure.  He couldn't
go home.  He couldn't go to Sparta, and he would choose death before
returning to the Hive.  Of the other factions he knew of, that just
left the U.N., the Gaians, Morgan Industries, and the Free Drones. 
The first two might offer him shelter, but both Pravin Lal and Diedre
Skye had been foolishly sentimental and illogical in the past when it came
to the pursuit of research - the genetics experiments that the University
had undertaken in the past would've horrified Lal as "inhumane" and disturbed
Skye as "unnatural".  Besides, they were too cozy with Santiago. 
Morgan was much more pragmatic; while Zakharov knew he'd resent the demands
that Morgan would place upon him, he knew that he'd at least be paid well
for it.  More than enough to earn a living, perhaps even enough to
form the nucleus of a new University?  But Morgan was pacted with
Sparta.  That left the Free Drones.  More of an unknown; the
Drones were reputed to believe that they had little need of "research". 
Almost as bad as Miriam and her bible thumping fanatics had been before
Yang had crushed them.


Foolish, Zakharov thought.  Knowledge is always
worth pursuing.  Those ignoramuses who can't appreciate it
might as well go back to beating drums and and conking each other on the
heads with clubs.  Meanwhile, the rest of us will be communicating
with tachyon emitters and defending ourselves with antimatter plates.


Still, the Free Drones were a good, though perhaps temporary, option. 
Sharra liked them and would likely want to stay there; Zakharov strangely
felt that he wanted to stay with her at least until he knew she
was safely settled.  The Drones were independent of Sparta and had
no quarrel with Zakharov.  They were pacted with the UN, though,
so perhaps it would be wise to remain anonymous.  That was one advantage
to losing his distinctive glasses; no-one would recognize him from his
description, and certainly no-one here was old enough to remember
him from the old days.

---

Great Clustering, 12:03 PM


Foreman Domai finished his introductory speech to his fellow workers. 
The tarmac below was thronged with people, more arriving even as he finished
speaking.  Politely, he adjusted the old-fashioned microphone to a
lower height before making way for his pact sister.


Sister Miriam Godwinson stepped to the podium, resplendent in her orange
robes of a Minister of the Lord's Believers.  Behind her, similarly
attired, Sister Jessica McCollough smiled.  Everything had worked
out better than dreamed.  What could possibly go wrong?


"Brothers, Sisters!"  The crowd cheered.  Miriam raised her
Conclave Bible in her right hand as she addressed the crowd, her eyes sweeping
over the assembly as if to make personal contact with every single one
of them.


Miriam Godwinson was a natural orator, gifted and flawless when addressing
a crowd.  Which is why it was quite unusual for her to stop mid sentence,
her mouth open, her precious bible slipping from her outstretched hand,
as her gaze locked onto the squinting face of Academician Prokhor Zakharov.


Zakharov couldn't quite make out the face of the woman who had come
to the podium after Domai.  But the voice sounded strangely familiar,
and the style of address, that pose of holding up a... book?


"Bohze Moi!"  Zakharov's jaw dropped.


To Sharra, frowning in confusion, the next few moments could only have
been described as what her Provost called "chaos theory".  But somehow,
she found herself separated from Zakharov as the latter was propelled by
the puzzled crowd towards the podium.  Sharra followed as best she
could.


Zakharov simply couldn't believe his bad luck.  Short of Santiago
herself, he couldn't imagine any other woman he'd less like to be face
to face with.  It was inconceivable.  Or, perhaps Miriam was
right, there was a "God", and he had a nasty sense of perverse humour.


Miriam looked down at the long missing Academician, both of them still
in shock.  She didn't even recall what she'd said or done, but somehow
the crowd had brought the former Unity Science Officer before her as if
in response to her mental wishes.  Even though everyone, including
Domai, was looking puzzled.  Some still had incongruous smiles on
their faces, perhaps believing that she'd spotted an old comrade in the
crowd.  Which was sort of true.


"Seize him!"  Miriam turned and ordered Major Jason Ian. 
The Believing major was as surprised as anyone, but combat reflexes took
over as he and one of his men stepped forward, reaching for the old man.


"No!"  Sharra shrieked.  "Leave him alone!"


The two Believer soldiers stopped as the distraught young woman pulled
out a shredder pistol out.  The muzzle swung to cover them, then swiveled
to aim at Miriam Godwinson as the young woman realized instinctively where
the true source of the threat to Prokhor was.  Nearby members of the
crowd screamed and people started to duck for cover, but Zakharov, Sharra,
Jason and Miriam all stood unmoving.


Zakharov shook off the spell first.


"Sharra!  No!"  He ordered.  He knew that if that pistol
was fired, neither he nor Sharra would live more than a few heartbeats. 
But Sharra instead ignored him, except to move in front of him protectively.


"Let him go."  Sharra ordered the two soldiers, although her words
and gaze, as well as her unflinching aim, were focused on the expressionless
woman in the orange robes barely three metres away.


Another woman, also wearing orange robes but younger, suddenly stepped
in front of the older woman, her arms outstretched and her hands open to
show that she was unarmed.  Clearly, she was shielding what Sharra
presumed now to be her faction leader, just as Sharra was shielding Zakharov. 
Their eyes met, and in that moment, both realized the determination in
the other.  And realized what the cost of a mistake would be.


"Sharra?  I'm Sister Jessica.  Please, don't shoot anyone. 
I'm sure we can work this out?"


Zakharov sighed.  Resistance was useless.  And he wasn't going
to let Sharra get killed on account of him.


"She means no harm, Sister.  She's just trying to protect me. 
Let her go, and I shall come willingly."


Sharra shook her head.  "They mean you harm, Prokhor."  For
the first time, she used the familiar form of address.


"Sharra," Jessica said carefully, "I give you my word that we will cause
no harm to your `Prokhor'.  I swear this in the name of the Blessed
Redeemer."


Behind her, Miriam's jaw tightened.  She knew that Jessica was
trying to protect her, but the public oath that her assistant had just
made was sacred and holy... and one that Miriam herself would be bound
to uphold.


Sharra looked at Jessica.  She didn't understand the references
the other woman had just made, but looking into her face, somehow Sharra
knew the words were genuine.


The shredder pistol dropped to the tarmac, and the two relieved Believer
soldiers stepped in to take Zakharov into custody.

---

Great Clustering, 22:32


Zakharov paced in the empty conference room.  All the old interrogation
rooms under the Hive had been destroyed when the base revolted, so this
is where they'd put him.  At least they'd provided him with food and
drink, but requests and demands to see Sharra had been rebuffed with a
coldly polite "no" from the Believing guards.  Finally, he asked to
see the "Sister Jessica" that had faced off with Sharra.


"We'll pass your request on, Academician."


So Zakharov had waited.  Finally, the door slid open.


"He's inside, Sister.  Are you sure you'd prefer us to stay out
here?"


To Zak's surprise, the woman who walked in was not Jessica, but Miriam.


The faction leader of the Lord's Believers looked at Zakharov with mild
disdain.  She saw an unkempt man, unshaven, his hair wild and dirty,
squinting without his glasses at her.  The man didn't even have the
courtesy to rise.


"So, `Science Officer', it has been some time since we last had a conversation." 
Miriam stated flatly.  In fact,  Zakharov and she usually had
talked only when absolutely necessary.  Miriam had been inclined to
attribute that to Zak's poor social skills as much as his personal dislike
for her; even the lovely Diedre Skye had experienced the same veiled contempt;
both women had been brought onto Unity over Zakharov's objections. 
There had been one exception however; when Zakharov had deigned to explain
why he found Miriam's religion - as well as Miriam herself, by implication
- so objectionable on what he characterized as a `science' mission. 
Surprisingly, Zak had been relatively polite (for him), as if by engaging
in the debate he had switched to his clinical mindset rather than his personal
dislike.


"We had very little to discuss, `Psych Chaplain'," Zakharov retorted
in kind.  "And now?  You'll forgive me if I seem somewhat discourteous. 
I haven't had a shower or a shave in days, as you are no doubt aware judging
by your wrinkling nose.  If you expect a civil conversation under
the circumstances...."


"You'll get those amenities once we can properly keep an eye on you. 
I have only a handful of trained Faithful here at this time.  And
don't blame the guards; I specifically instructed them not to provide you
with anything that you didn't absolutely need.  I am quite confident
that you could fashion a weapon or means of possible escape given tools
of any sort."  Miriam said.


Zakharov laughed harshly.  "Is that a compliment?" he asked, his
tone still seeming to mock her.


"No, Academician.  You may take it as one, but it was not intended
as so."  Miriam refused to mock the man in return, as tempting as
she found it.  Instead, she would remain coldly honest.


"Of course, practical application of knowledge has little appeal to
you.  You would rather return to the 20th century and embrace those
silly superstitions of yours."


Miriam's nostrils flared.  The man was already in her power and
seemed intent on provoking her.  Or perhaps he figures that he
has nothing to lose, Miriam suddenly realized.


"I would be careful in mocking those `silly superstitions' as you call
them, Prokhov.  It is thanks to them, and the promise made by a certain
assistant of mine, that you are here and in good health right now. 
And don't tell me that you would have been so generous had the situation
been reversed and one of your assistants promised my well-being
`in the name of science'".


Zak looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.


"If the the circumstances were reversed, and you were both a danger
and of no use to me, it would be prudent and logical to have you removed. 
I would not feel constrained by the word of an assistant."  Zak acknowledged
matter-of-factly.


"Fortunately for us both, I am not you."  Miriam said.  Zakharov
shrugged.


"And what of Sharra?"  Zakharov asked.


"Sister Jessica is looking after her.  If she is no more than she
claims, we wish her no misfortune.  She may go or stay as she chooses."


"Thank you."  Zakharov's response was brief and dismissive, but
the sudden courtesy in it surprised Miriam.


"That leaves you," Miriam continued.  "Despite our differences,
the Believers were never in vendetta with the University.  However,
I am sworn as pact sister to Colonel Santiago.  Normally I'd turn
you over to her, but given the nature of the little incident this
afternoon in front of Foreman Domai, that may seem an act of petty ill
will at a politically sensitive moment for me.  So tell me, Provost..."


Miriam steepled her fingers and leaned forward to fix Zakharov with
an intense gaze.


"... what do you think I should do with you?"

[Argonaut]

Great Clustering, 22:35

“I suppose the obvious answer of ‘let me go free’ is not up for consideration.” Zakharov eyed Miriam, seeing if he could somehow make a dent in her composure. The Believer remained as cool and calculated as ever.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied.

“This much I do know,” Zakharov stated as he finally stood up. He began to walk back and forth, as if he were giving a lecture, not pleading for his life. “You shall not turn me over to the murderess whom you now call Pact Sister. And absolutely no harm will come to Sharra whatsoever, or you will answer for it personally.”

“You are in no position, Zakharov, to be making such demands.” Zakharov smiled as he finally cracked Miriam’s cool demeanor. His attempt to shift the power had caught her by surprise. “While I can guarantee the safety of your young friend, I see no reason why I shouldn’t turn you over to Santiago, whom I’m assuming you mean when you say ‘the murderess’.”

“The reason, Miriam, is that I am in possession of something which the Axis coalition needs very desperately, although they remain unaware of it. While you may not be a key member of the Axis powers, your Pact Sister, Santiago, is.”

“All the more reason for me to turn you over to her,” Miriam countered.

“No.” Zakharov almost surprised himself with the vehemence of his response. Miriam to seemed surprised, although she hid it well. However, Zakharov had been involved in politics far too long not to notice it. Zakharov took a breath, attempting to calm himself. Talk of returning to the Spartans had almost made his blood boil.

“No,” he continued much more calmly this time. “Because if you turn me over to Santiago, then I will die not long after.”

“Granted, the Colonel’s police state is strict in it’s punishments, but she is not likely to have you executed. Especially if, as you say, you have so much to offer.”

“Of course Santiago won’t execute me, that would be far to quick for her. But I would rather die than return to the lair of that witch after what she has done to me.” Zakharov slumped back down into the seat, the long journey and the emotions of today finally overwhelming him. Miriam, sensing this, let the argument drop temporarily, and poured the tired old man a glass of water. Zakharov eyed the glass suspiciously, but not about to let his pride override his health, he took a sip.

“I will not turn you over to Colonel Santiago. I don’t know what she has done that is so terrible that you would give up God’s greatest gift for...but I will respect your wishes.” Miriam’s benevolence for her fellow man would normally have been enough to make Zakharov sick to his stomach. But now, when it was need, he was thankful.

“What will you do with me then?” Zakharov watched as Miriam gave the subject a great deal of thought. She walked slowly along the far wall, gazing at the ceiling as if waiting for some divine inspiration. Finally she stopped, obviously having found it.

“I will do what the UN Charter for this mission demands that I do. While I understand that it has currently been revoked, for us it seems like the only possible course of action. I will turn you over to the authorities at UN Criminal Tribunal. From there, it will be the judges decision what to do with you, and you will be out of my hair forever.”

Zakharov let the decision sink in for a moment. He couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome, under the circumstances. While he disliked Lal, it would be possible to plead to Lal’s over compassionate side to grant Zakharov political asylum.

“As for Sharra,” Miriam continued, “she will be informed of all options available to her. She is welcome to stay here in Great Clustering, to go with you to the trial, or perhaps to make a home for herself in on of Domai’s bases.”

“When will I be able so see her?” Zakharov had been concerned for the girl’s safety, ever since the incident at the assembly.

“Soon enough Provost. For now, goodnight.” With that strange gesture of respect, Miriam turned and left.

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

Great Clustering, 07:24 (The next day)

Sharra stepped out of the shower into the cool, temperature regulated air. The night had been miserable. She had been unable to sleep, constantly worried about what they might be doing to Prokhor. Even after the long journey, it had been well into the night before she finally fell asleep. Then, the guards had woken her at 07:00 and brought in breakfast.

Sharra could not deny that they had treated her well. The food had been splendid, the room was comfortable, and the shower after their long journey outside had been wonderful. The only thing they had denied her was the one thing she wanted most right now: to see Zakharov.

Sharra was surprised as she emerged from the bathroom to discover Sister Jessica, the woman who had been looking after her, sitting on the edge of the couch. Although Jessica had been exceptionally nice to her, she still did not trust her. She clearly worked for the woman who had arrested Zakharov, and she insisted on calling everyone ‘Sister”. As far as Sharra knew their was no relation between the two of them.

“Good Morning Sister. I trust you slept well?” Jessica’s attitude was genuinely pleasant, but there was still something strange about her. Not necessarily in a bad way, but there was something about her that just didn’t seem right to Sharra.

“Not really. I spent the whole night worrying about Provost Zakharov. Is he all right? When can I see him?” Sister Jessica simply smiled at her, as if she was anticipating the barrage of questions.

“He is quite all right. I served him his breakfast this morning and he is currently having a much needed bath. You will be able to see him shortly, before he leaves.” Sharra was surprised to hear that Zakharov was leaving. She had thought he was under arrest.

“Where is he going?” Sharra found herself quite perplexed.

“I am unaware of what was settled between the Academician and Sister Miriam, but it appears to be a somewhat amicable decision. He was in fairly good spirits when I awoke him this morning.” Sharra couldn’t understand. He didn’t plan on leaving her here, did he?

“If you don’t mind my asking, who exactly is this, Sister Miriam?” Sharra had never heard of her, yet she seamed to wield an enormous amount of power.

“She is the leader of the faction, of which I am a member, known as the Lord’s Believers,” Jessica explained. “We have only recently come back into power with the acquisition of this base from Foreman Domai. Our bases were conquered, long before you were born most likely, by Hive forces. Great Clustering actually used to be one of those bases, and with a little help it has been returned to us. Now we can celebrate our faith, and devote ourselves openly to God once again.” Sharra couldn’t grasp a great deal of what Jessica was saying, but thought it might be rude to ask. She had never heard of this God while growing up, and Sharra couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in charge instead of Sister Miriam if they liked him so much.

“If your ready now,” said Sister Jessica, shaking Sharra out of her private analysis, “I can take you to meet with Provost Zakharov. Then we’ll find out what happens from there.” Sharra nodded and quickly set about getting dress. Once ready, she took Sister Jessica’s hand and followed her out of the room.

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

Great Clustering, 07:34

Sharra was lead into a large conference room with a solid wood table in the centre. At one end of the table sat Sister Miriam, clad in her orange robes and looking startlingly dignified. At the other end of the table, was a strong and powerful man that Sharra recognized as none other than Foreman Domai. She had seen him on the datapads her family had examined dozens of times before the raid. He stood for everything that Sharra had long for ever since.

Seated on the far side, at the centre of the table was Prokhor. He was looking very much himself again, having had a good bath and a shave. He had received replacement glasses, although not the characteristic type he usually wore, and they seemed out of place.

Sister Jessica offered her a seat across from Zakharov and once Sharra was seated, she took up a position behind Miriam. It was Miriam who spoke first.

“Sharra. As you know, Academician Zakharov has been placed under my arrest as of yesterday. After careful deliberation, I find that the only course of action is to turn him over to the proper authorities at the UN Criminal Tribunal.”

“But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Sharra blurted out. Miriam smiled, almost condescendingly before she continued.

“Provost Zakharov has been collaborating with Chairman Yang, with whom my people and my allies are currently at war with. This amounts to treason. Granted he has escaped to us for whatever reasons, his fate is not for me to determine. It may be that the trial proves him innocent, but until then he remains in custody.” Miriam spoke as if she were speaking to a child, something that irritated Sharra immensely.

“Now you have a decision to make Sharra,” interrupted Zakharov. It was clear from the glances exchanged between him and Miriam that their was no friendship between the two. “Sister Miriam has welcomed you to stay here, with her, at Great Clustering. This base is currently being transferred to Believer control, and won’t be Free Drone Territory any longer. However, Sister Miriam has assured both Foreman Domai and myself that the same freedoms will be provided.”

“Indeed,” said Domai, speaking for the first time. His voice was deep and powerful, and had a strange accent that Sharra had not heard before. “As well, you are more than welcome to join with the Free Drone movement, as I understand was your original intention. Are territory is currently expanding and there will be several bases where you might set up a home. Who knows, you may find that some of your relatives have escaped and made it to Free Drone territory. We would be more than willing to help you look.”

“The chances are good that you may find someone Sharra,” Zakharov nodded. “The Foreman tells me that quite a few people escaped Socialism Tunnels during the Spartan attack and made it to Free Drone Central.” The idea was highly appealing to Sharra.

“Or,” Zakharov continued, “you are welcome to join me at the trial. No charges will be laid against you, but you could function as my aide, if you so wished. The choice is yours.”

Sharra thought about the three choices for a moment, but she was sure which way she wanted to go anyway.

“Sister Miriam, Foreman Domai, I thank you for your kind offers. However, I would like to continue to travel with Provost Zakharov, at least for a little while longer. Perhaps I might come back after the trial, I don’t know. But Provost Zakharov helped make sure I got here safely. I can’t just leave him now, he means far too much to me. I hope you understand.”

“Of course dear child.” Foreman Domai leaned over, resting one of his massive hands upon hers. His smile was sincere and genuine as he talked to her. “Such loyalty in someone so young is inspiring. And know, that you will always be welcome here as a Free Drone citizen, if you would ever like to visit.”

“And feel free to return here anytime.” Sister Miriam added. “I understand Sister Jessica here has enjoyed your company. I sometimes think I’m to old for her. She appreciates having someone younger to talk to.” Sister Jessica simply frowned at the idea, but Sharra suspected their was a grain of truth there.

“Well, now that the matter is finalized, it would be best if the two of you prepared your belongings. Your transport will leave within a few hours.” Miriam stood, gesturing for Sister Jessica to escort Sharra. At the same time, two orange-clad guards entered, obviously to escort Provost Zakharov.

“Excuse me Sister,” added Sharra quickly, before she was led out of the room. “How long a boat ride is it to UN Criminal Tribunal.”

“It’s not a boat child,” smiled the Believer leader. “You’ll be flying there by needlejet transport.” Suddenly, Free Drone Central was looking enormously appealing.
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited July 17, 2000).]

[senatus]

Great Clustering


The decision to hand Zakharov over to UN custody sat uncomfortably with
Miriam; turning the brilliant if amoral scientist over to Santiago would've
stood the Believers in excellent stead with Sparta, more than justifying
the effort the Colonel had invested on their behalf.  Nevertheless,
a promise made before Man was also a promise made before God, and therefore
had to be adhered to.  Besides, it wasn't as if Zakharov was being
released; the UN Criminal Tribunal would judge him and apportion responsibility
for the University's crimes against humanity, like the creation of "Bob"
and "Alice".  Miriam also knew that despite his faults, Pravin Lal
would never corrupt a judicial process merely for the sake of political
expediency.  Zakharov would be judged fairly by the laws of Man.


However not everyone was as generous as Miriam, even within her own
faction.  David Weaver was as devout a Believer as any man. 
He therefore could not understand why Zakharov was being released. 
Zakharov had led the University.  The University had committed unholy
acts upon human flesh. They had created and destroyed abominable parodies
of life, taking onto themselves the role that belonged only to God. 
They had developed monstrous retroviral weapons.  And Yoop terrorists
had deployed these weapons in the base of Pointa Sur.  Tens of thousands
of civilians had died there, including David Weaver's wife and son. 
Surely these acts deserved retribution in the eyes of the Lord,
just as He had visited destruction upon Sodom and Gomorrah.  Why then
was His servant Miriam releasing the very father of this evil?  Had
she lost her vision?  David couldn't believe that.  But it was
possible that Sister Miriam was being misled.  Perhaps by Jessica
McCollough, who was rumoured to have strange mental abilities.  Not
a prophetess, but a witch.  And if this was so, God's divine will
would be frustrated... unless he, David Weaver, became His instrument
of Holy Justice.

---

Sister Jessica helped Sharra pack her meager belongings. 
It didn't take long.


"Is that all?"  Jessica asked.


"Yes... that's all we have."  Sharra responded.  Jessica looked
thoughtful for a moment.


"Hmmn... wait here for a second, OK?"


A few minutes later, Jessica returned with a handful of packages. 
Inside were some nicer clothes, toiletries, and sundry items.


"If you're going to make a good impression in the U.N., Sharra, appearances
count.  Not as much as it would in Morganic territory, of course. 
Also, you'll need some money.  Here's a card with twenty energy millicredits
on it.  I'm sorry I can't afford to give you more, but if you spend
carefully, that should last you a while.  If you claim refugee status,
the U.N. people may be able to help you more."


Sharra was overwhelmed.  She knew that Jessica and her Believers
didn't like Zakharov.  Not to mention that less than 24 P-hours ago,
Sharra herself had pointed a pistol at and threatened the very life of
their faction's leader.  So why were they going out of their way to
help her?


Jessica read the emotions playing on Sharra's face and in her mind,
and it was easy enough to guess her thoughts.  But it was best to
let her form her own questions before offering answers.


"Sister Jessica.... why are you doing all this for me? 
Especially after yesterday?"


Jessica smiled, trying to project a feeling of benevolence.


"I don't blame you for yesterday, and neither does Sister Miriam. 
You were just trying to protect someone you cared about.  Whatever
crimes the Academician may have  committed..." and here Jessica raised
a hand to forestall Sharra's protest "... and it is not for me to
judge him - has nothing to do with you.  So helping you seems like
the Christian thing to do."


"Christian?  I thought you were a Believer."  Sharra asked. 
"And why do you call Miriam `sister'?"


"We are Believers in Christ, whom we also call `Lord'. 
That's where our faction name comes from.  And we teach that all who
believe, are to be considered as brothers and sisters."  Jessica tried
to explain.


"Then where does this `God' person fit in?"  Sharra asked.


Of course, Jessica thought.  The Hive's Bureau of Mental
Hygiene erased all references to the word "god" in the official
drone vocabulary.


"God is the creator of everything.   That's why we sometimes
call Him the `Father'.  It is our desire to live a life according
to His teachings."


"So, he's a Progenitor?"


"Er... no.  We don't know what exactly these aliens are, but they
certainly didn't create us.  Or Earth, or Planet.  God
is... well, it's sort of hard to explain in one sitting.  Wait, I
know...."  Jessica reached into her robes and pulled out an old-fashioned
datapad.


"I truly wish we had the time to talk about it more, but this is our
Conclave Bible.  If you read it, you'll get the idea, even though
it may raise more questions than answers.  If we ever meet again -
and I hope we do - then you can ask me those questions and I'll try to
answer.  Actually, any Believer that you can find will do her or his
best to answer any questions you have."  Jessica pressed the book
into Sharra's hands.


Sharra looked at the datapad.  She sort of doubted that Zakharov
would approve, but Jessica obviously meant it as a gift, so the very least
Sharra could do was skim it.


"Thank you, Sister Jessica."  Sharra said as the two women got
up to go to the awaiting transport.

---

Sister Jessica watched the Free Drone transport depart,
bound for U.N. territory.  She wished Sharra well, and prayed for
her safety.  Jessica had developed a strange fondness for the girl
- they weren't that far apart in age, and Sharra was exceptionally intelligent
considering her background.  Perhaps she too would find a home in
the U.N., as Jessica herself once had.


Two of the Believer guards had gone with Zakharov, more of a symbolic
gesture than a practical one.  A third waited on the tarmac, watching
the transport get smaller.  Jessica suddenly twitched; the third Believer
soldier was projecting a palpable feeling of hatred towards the diminishing
speck.  He turned and walked towards the control tower complex, and
Jessica found herself following surreptitiously.


The man then turned again, moving disappearing into the empty alleyways
between maintenance sheds.  Half of this portion of the complex was
gantries and ladders, and he rapidly climbed up one.  Jessica looked
down at her own robes and grimaced.  They weren't made for any sort
of physical activity, so she unclasped them and shrugged the cumbersome
garment off.  That just left her in modest (but much less restrictive)
undergarments, and she quickly followed where the soldier had disappeared.


"Sparta Command... come in... this is David Weaver of the Lord's Believers. 
Be aware that the fugitive Zakharov is on Free Drone needlejet transport
seven-zero-seven, bearing 32 degrees North by Northeast, speed approximately
2012 kilometers per hour, tracking frequency 181.2 gigahertz.  To
prevent his escape, you must intercept and destroy.  I repeat,
this is David Weaver of the Lord's Believers...."


When she caught up to him, the Believer soldier had his back turned
to her and was speaking into a patch set obviously hooked into the tower's
radio electronics.


"What are you doing?!" Jessica hissed, and the soldier whirled
to face her.  His lips curled into a sneer as he viewed the half-undressed
civilian and recognized who it was.


"I'm delivering the Lord's Justice to a heretic and a sinner." 
The man's fanatic conviction hit Jessica like a sledgehammer.  He
pulled out a heavy laser pistol and pointed it at her.


"Brother... are you planning to shoot me, a Sister in Christ, a minister
and missionary for the Lord's work?" Jessica asked hollowly.


"You are no `sister' of mine.  You're a witch who has betrayed
Sister Miriam.  And I shall not suffer a witch to live."


"There are two other Believer soldiers on that plane.  What about
them?"


David Weaver hesitated only a moment.  "Their souls will be with
God soon."  He raised the laser pistol and fired it at the woman before
him.


As the pistol rose towards her, Jessica reacted without thinking. 
Just as she'd been so rigorously trained by the soldiers of Sparta. 
She threw herself to the side, twisting to minimize her target profile. 
The beam passed so close to her that her shoulder burned from the heat
trace.  But her own pistol came out seemingly of its own accord, and
her beam caught David Weaver exactly as she aimed it into his right eye. 
The laser burned through the soldier's eye, and the brain tissue behind
boiled in milliseconds,  bits of it spurting out of his eye socket. 
There weren't sufficient nerve impulses left for the Believer soldier's
finger to twitch a second time.


Ignoring the burn on her shoulder, Jessica rushed to the patch set and
quickly reset the frequency to that of the Free Drones.


"Transport 707!  This is Sister Jessica of the Lord's Believers! 
You may be pursued by hostile fighters!  Change your course and tracking
frequency immediately!"


The startled needlejet pilot acknowledged, and Jessica breathed again. 
Then she looked down at the body of what had once been a living man. 
There was a faint hissing noise of steam escaping from the gaping eye socket.


A precise and instant kill.  Corazon would be so proud of me,
Jessica thought, and then threw up.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 18, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Free Drone Transport Seven-Zero-Seven: En route to UN Criminal Tribunal

Zakharov leaned back in his seat, finally relaxing as Great Clustering disappeared into the background behind them. Miriam had been merciful, this Zakharov couldn’t deny. She could have easily turned him over to Santiago, but she hadn’t. Granted, some manipulation had occurred on Zakharov’s part, yet Miriam had been willing to turn him over to the more sympathetic UN. Perhaps he thought, the thought of me dying before she had a chance to convert me was not appealing. It wouldn’t be unlike her.

Zakharov watched Sharra and smiled. He was thankful that she had chosen to accompany him to the trial, despite her chance to join the Free Drones. Since his escape, she was the only person who had shown unabashed kindness towards him. Sharra truly was the only friend Zakharov had in this world.

He watched her as she examined a datapad carefully, obviously reading something of particular interest. He had no idea what it was, she hadn’t had one with her when they left Sea Hive, and he hadn’t been able to buy her one. So where did she get it?

The image of Sister Jessica sprang to mind and instantly Zakharov knew what it must be. The incessant preachers of the Lord’s Believers had given Sharra a copy of their beloved Conclave Bible. Zakharov fought the urge to get up and snatch it from her immediately.

It is her choice he thought to himself. I cannot deny that the Bible is one of the most critical aspect of old Earth literature. To understand the likes of Shakespeare, and Dante, the Bible can be key. Besides, Sharra is an intelligent girl. She will quickly recognise that it is nothing more than folktales and stories. At least I hope so.


The plane shifted heavily to the right, causing Zakharov, Sharra and the two guards to lurch in their seats. Zakharov pushed the commlink on his chair to connect him to the pilots in the front.

“What on Planet is going on up there?” It was clear from the nervous expression on the pilot’s face that all was not well. Even on the tiny vidscreen, Zakharov could see the sweat rolling down his face.

“We just received an emergency transmission from the base sir. We’ve had to adjust our heading, but I think it might be too late. Long range radar is picking up two needlejets in Spartan airspace, heading for our position.”

“How long till we reach Peacekeeper airspace?” Zakharov was worried. Somehow, Santiago must have been tipped off that he was on this transport. It would not be beyond her to shoot it down.

“I estimate that we can hit Peacekeeper airspace in thirty minutes. We’re doing our best to avoid the Spartan aircraft, keeping as much distance between us and them as possible.” The pilot swallowed hard as he examined his data readouts. “It’s not going to be enough. They’ll pass UN Criminal Tribunal in minutes.”

“Do what you can pilot.” Zakharov shut off the commlink and realised all eyes were on him. The two Believer guards were clearly out of their league. They probably hadn’t seen combat in months, if not years, and they had not been prepared for such a situation. The Spartan’s were their allies, Zakharov was not. Somehow, Zakharov did not believe that they would be willing to see him to safety at the risk of getting shot down.

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

“Attention Free Drone Transport, number seven-zero-seven. By order of the Spartan Air Fleet, you are ordered to proceed with us to Hero’s Way Point. At which point, your passenger will be handed over to our custody and you will be free to leave. Failure to comply will force us to open fire and if necessary destroy your aircraft. Please respond.” The message from the Spartan Pilot sent chills down the Drone pilot’s spine.

“Don’t they know were their ally? What do we do?” The co-pilot had never even flown outside of Drone territory before, let alone been in a combat situation.

“We ask him,” replied the pilot, pointing towards the back.

“But he’s a prisoner! And he’s the one they want anyway!” The co-pilot was clearly out of his depth.

“He’s also the only one here who’s ever gone up against the Spartans. Did you have a better idea?” The co-pilot’s silence was enough of a response.

************************************************** ***************************
“Spartan aircraft, this is Provost Prokhor Zakharov of the University of–“ The Spartan pilot cut him before he could even finish.

“The University was wiped out, in case you don’t remember old man. We’re here to take you back to the punishment sphere where you belong.” The Spartan’s insolence was not unexpected to Zakharov, but nevertheless, it was annoying.

“This aircraft is en route to the UN Criminal Tribunal, where I will be put on trial from my past actions. You are welcome to escort us there, but we travel under the authority of Sister Miriam Godwinson and Foreman James Domai–“ Again the Spartan interrupted.

“And we travel under the authority of Colonel Santiago. And in case nobody told you since you broke out, she pretty much runs things here.”

“Colonel Santiago is in charge of military operations only.” This third voice came out of nowhere, and Zakharov was unable to get a visual on the speaker. What he was able to see, were the three shard needlejets who moved into position around the transport, bearing the unmistakable symbol of the Peacekeepers.

“As Governor of the Peacekeeping Forces, I am in charge of the civilian operations of this coalition, including all criminal trials. Therefore, you shall return to base and allow the transport to proceed without further harassment.” The strange voice obviously wielded a great deal of authority, for the Spartan pilots refrained from their usual snide remarks.

“Yes sir. However, I will be forced to file a full report with Colonel Santiago.” The pilot’s words did little to veil the underlying threat of the action.

“Please do,” replied the voice. “And give her my regards.”


With that, the Spartan fighters turned and returned towards Spartan airspace.

“Free Drone Transport,” came the voice again. “Please adjust your heading to proceed directly to UN headquarters. The prisoner will be taken into custody here. Our fighters will escort you in.”

“Understood sir. Transport seven-zero-seven out.” Zakharov, returned to his seat as the plane shifted it’s trajectory and moved towards the Peacekeeper capitol.

So Lal has come to my aid? Zakharov thought to himself. An unusual display of backbone for him, standing up to Santiago like that. Perhaps things will work out better than I planned.

Zakharov watched as once again all eyes were on him. Sharra had even put down the datapad she had been examining. Leaving it behind, she shifted seats and sat down right beside him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Never better,” he replied with an uncharacteristic optimism.

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters

Zakharov entered through the large wooden doors of Pravin Lal’s office and made his way towards the desk. Lal’s chair was turned away from him as he approached, the old man obviously gazing out the large window and onto the beautiful lands below. Zakharov cleared his throat in order to get the man’s attention, despite knowing that Lal must be fully aware he was there.

When the chair turned around, Zakharov was only somewhat surprised to see that the man was sitting their was by no means Pravin Lal. He was a young and handsome man, yet with a grave expression on his face. Their was something familiar about him that Zakharov couldn’t quite place his finger on. Then suddenly he realized what it was.

“I should have known Lal wouldn’t have had the backbone to stand-up to Santiago like that.” Zakharov began. “Of course, I never thought I would live to see the day a member of the Spartan Junta was in charge of UN Headquarters. I know you, don’t I? You must forgive me. After spending so long in one of your punishment spheres, my memory isn’t what it used to be.” Zakharov tried to contain the rage that had started to boil inside of him. To have made it all this way, only to end up in Spartan hands again. He was glad he had left Sharra back in the quarters they had been provided.

“Yes you do know me Provost. And please, the situation is not what you think.” Zakharov could hardly believe his ears as the Spartan murder tried to appease him. “Prokhor, my name is Scott–“

“Do not presume to be on a first named basis with me Spartan. Not after what your people did to mine.” Zakharov’s fists clenched behind him, wanting nothing more to reach across the desk and strangle the man sitting there.

“My name, Provost, is Scott Allardyce,” the man continued. The name was familiar to Zakharov but he still couldn’t quite place it. Normally, the rejuvenation tanks would have regenerated his neural tissue, but it had been so long since his last trip that his mind had begun to deteriorate. Nothing could have frightened Zakharov more.

“I was part of the original Unity mission, and settled a number of issues for you before we left. Then, when we landed I did side with Colonel, and yes I was a member of the Junta.” As the man spoke, more of the memories began to come back to Zakharov. The arguments about Miriam’s presence on board the ship, conflicts with Deirdre. He had been a key negotiator in resolving such conflicts. But he was Spartan, and his people had wiped out everything that Zakharov had ever held dear, including his granddaughter.

“But I no longer work for the Colonel now.” Allardyce’s statement caught Zakharov by surprise. Few people ever dared to countermand their commander back in his day. In fact, this man’s actions today would have been grounds for treason when Zakharov had led the University.

“I’ve become, some what of a free agent,” Allardyce said, managing a small smile. “Currently, I’m filling in for Pravin Lal while he is away indefinitely on personal business. That’s part of why I’ve brought you here.”

“At some point, I believe it would be beneficial if you did explain that.” Zakharov was trying to contain his hostility, knowing it would get him nowhere. He could learn far more from this Spartan if he attempted to cooperate.

“I’m aware that you are currently being sent here for trial by Sister Miriam,” Allardyce finally explained. “The good Sister, has herself, not long been back on the world scene. A great deal of time has passed, time which you have spent contained in a Spartan punishment sphere.” The way this man spoke so openly about Zakharov’s own torment, sent shudders down the academician’s spine.

“Whatever crimes that Miriam has accused you of are a thing of the past. You have already paid your dues for you past transgression, and lots more beside. Had Sinder Roze not spirited you away, you would have found yourself released shortly after.”

“I find it hard to believe,” Zakharov retorted, “that the Colonel would ever have been willing to allow me to leave a free man.”

“She may not have been entirely willing,” Allardyce replied, “however I had convinced her that it would be the only way to stop the terrorist attacks.”

“You? Terrorist attacks?” Suddenly Zakharov realised he was missing out a great deal of the big picture. “First off, what terrorist attacks and how could I have stopped them? And secondly, why did you want to help me?”

“Since the University was eliminated, their has been a large underground movement acting in your name. At one point, they were drastic enough to destroy a Spartan Base at Pointa Sur. It was hoped that your release would be able to help stop the needless violence.”

Zakharov sat in shock as he listened. Yang had told him that all University citizens had been exterminated. Suddenly, the foolishness of accepting such a source as Yang hit Zakharov hard. Tears began to role down his cheeks, a mix of sadness and elation. Sad to believe he could have been so naive, yet delighted that those who had followed him had not been murdered for their loyalty. Zakharov was almost too terrified to ask the question that he most wanted the answer too, fearing it would not be the same.

“My Anastasia?” Zakharov’s throat tightened on him, as if his body was almost afraid of what the wrong answer might do to him. “Is she..?”

“She’s alive, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Allardyce seemed somewhat confused by that question, but he seemed affected by Zakharov’s emotional state. Zakharov couldn’t understand why this man had done all of this for him. “She would be the answer to your second question, “why me?”. You’re granddaughter and I are very much in love.”

Of all the things this man could have said, Zakharov was not expecting that.

[Argonaut]

HCPA Security Patrol Boat: Fleeing Sea Hive

“I can’t believe we managed to get away with it.” The smile on the young private’s face showed his delight at the successful completion of his first probe meeting. Roze simply shook her head. She had regretted having to kill Grant, despite his betrayal, simply because it only left her with the naive Spartan pilot for companionship. That and Morgan Junior, but he was still unconscious from the effects of the punishment sphere, resting peacefully on the ground opposite the old Hive Captain. He at least, had remained thankfully quite since his startling revelation of who his ‘prisoners’ were.

“Bradford, you’re so cute when you’re being all innocent and naive.” The Spartan pilot blushed at the gentle reprimand from Roze. Roze couldn’t help thinking that if he were only a little bit older...

“So far we’ve made it through the easy part. No one there was expecting us, or had any idea who ‘us’ was. Getting Morgan Junior out was simple, because we didn’t give them enough time to organise a proper pursuit. But they’ve had five minutes now, and in operations like this, that is all you need.”

As if on cue, massive explosions of water went up on either side of the patrol boat, causing both Roze and Bradford to lose their balance. The explosions moved closer as the two Hive interceptors made their first attempt at a strafing run. In an instant, William and Roze were both back at their posts and examining the situation.

“We’re in luck,” William reported. “Those planes carry the same ID as the one’s we met on the way in. That means they’re interceptors and aren’t used to hitting ground targets.”

“In this little boat, all it will take is one lucky shot.” Roze was not being pessimistic with this statement. Bursts of water once again rocked the ship as the interceptors made a second pass. A piece of shrapnel sliced across the upper deck, fortunately not deep enough to cause serious damage.

“How are we going to make it all the way back to friendly territory with these guys diving at us all the time?” William was suddenly worried as realised the gravity of their situation.

“We don’t,” Roze replied confidently. “We wait for the calvary.” Again, as if Roze was somehow orchestrating everything that was occurring, four more fighters appeared in the air and moved to intercept the Hive aircraft.

“Angel One to patrol boat.” The voice from the transmission made William smile. It was Private Kingswell and the others. “You look like you could use a hand.”

“If you can find the time, we would appreciate you chasing off these Hive pilots,” Roze smiled calmly. “They’re getting a little bothersome.”

“Not a problem,” was the affirmative response from Angel One, whose fighters had already engaged the Hive pilots.

Ahead of them, William could see the Pericles and the Hydra , obviously having taken the long way around. William altered the course to meet up with the Pericles in order to transport their cargo to safety.

“Datajack, this is the S.F.S. Pericles here. We’ve got enemy vessels approaching on our escape vector. Five confirmed contacts. What are your orders.”

“Damn,” Roze swore to herself silently. As far as William could tell this was the first part of the mission which had not gone exactly as she had planned.

“How long until they intercept? Can you bring the fighters back in time?” Roze hadn’t anticipated Yang’s Fleet responding so quickly. These must be the five unknown ships that they had passed on the way in, probably returning to port.

“Negative. Not with those Hive fighters up there. As soon as our pilots lined up for their entry runs, they’d be shot down.” Even as the Spartan Captain said that, one of the Hive planes crashed into the ocean, chased down by two of the Spartan interceptors.

“Sir, if we send the Hydra to intercept, she can buy us some time. It’s our only option.” Even as he said it, Roze had already come to that conclusion.

“Do it. But tell the Captain that as soon as our fighters are back on board, he’s to dive and get the hell out of there anyway he can.” Despite that last command, Roze knew she had just ordered the crew of the Hydra to their deaths.

Roze pulled the patrol boat alongside the Pericles where crew were already to take them aboard. William helped the semiconscious Junior onto the boat, as Roze shut down the controls. She returned to the Hive Captain and untied him.

“My recommendation, is that you take this boat and get the hell out of here. Yang doesn’t think too highly of failures.” The old man simply looked at Roze, understanding the honesty behind those words. With that, Roze climbed up onto the large sub, and disappeared below.


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

“Report.” Roze walked onto the bridge which was currently a flurry of activity, with every station fully manned. The Spartan Captain stood at attention as he began to fill her in on the events of the battle.

“The last Hive fighter has been disabled. Our fighters are already lining up for their approach. Within five minutes, we should be able to dive.”

“What if the Hydra doesn’t intercept. How quickly could the Hive fleet get here?” It might be possible for their sister ship to dive now, and then they could all get away with their skins intact.

“Two minutes.” The Captain clearly understood that the Hydra could not withstand the odds. With no options left, their was nothing left for Roze to do but sit and watch.

“Give me a visual.” Over the main command console, a 3-D hologram sprung to life, showing the opening minutes of the battle.

Before the Hive ships could even fire, the Hydra opened with a full barrage on one of the smaller foils. Rather than cycling her firepower between all five ships, she was concentrating on the weakest link, trying to inflict as much damage as possible. It was succeeding, as fires sprang up all along the Hive foil’s outer hull. Than the Hive fleet fired back.

The lead destroyer fired first, a strange beam emitting from it’s main battery, slicing through the Hydra’s armour. A strange rippling effect accompanied the beam, causing the Hydra’s hull to buckle. Soon the other ships joined in the assault, four more beams carving through the Hydra’s shielding. Roze and the others watched with horror as an explosion rocked the ship, causing it to explode from the inside out where the beams had breached the fusion core. When the blast receded, their was nothing left but a flaming hulk.

“Hive ships continuing on intercept course,” came the frantic report from one of the lieutenants.

“All fighters accounted for.” The second-in-command's words were like a blessing.

“Dive. Get us the hell out of here.” The Captain’s order was already being implemented by the time he made it. Even as they dived, the powerful Hive beams lanced through the water where they once were, sending tremors through the ship. Fortunately no damage was sustained.

“Keep adjusting our heading until we’re certain they're not following us. Then, take us out of this sea and set a course for Morganite waters.” The crew busied themselves with their work, even as the Hive fleet passed overhead. Around them, wreckage from the Hydra began to sink to it’s final resting place. Unable to watch, Roze left the bridge and headed back to her quarters. The mission had been a success.

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

Chairman Sheng-ji Yang sits on the floor in his austere office with his legs crossed in the lotus position. His eyes are closed and his face has a serene, composed aspect of inner peace, and his breaths are deep and purposeful.

Breathe in.

Ignore the thought of the ungrateful Zakharov, who managed to escape despite all efforts to the contrary. Something is slipping.

Breathe out.

Focus

Breathe in.

Put aside the wretched and impudent Rose, and the flight of my student Morgan Junior. He had so much to learn, and was taken away too soon.

Focus on the center

Breathe out.

Dismiss the deluded Miriam Godwinson, who stubbornly and illogically resisted decades of wisdom, and who now has the gall of calling Great Clustering a true Believer holding, when it had been founded and built through the labors of the Human Hive.

Focus…

The disturbing thoughts fade, and are banished to memories.

on the Center

Gradually his perceptions change, or rather they alter to be understood in a different way. First the soft and almost imperceptible sounds around him fade.

Focus

The hum of the air cyclers, and the dull clangs and reverberations of the constant construction and repair recede into the background.

Focus

The residual reddish light that seeps through the flesh and blood of Yang’s translucent eyelids dims to gray, and then to black.

Focus

Then the feeling of the ambient air temperature and the pressure of his slight mass on the floor decreases and then vanishes completely. Finally, even the core, the beating of his heart and gentle throb of blood through his veins, fades from Yang’s perception.

Emptiness. Blackness. Oneness.

The Center is near.

Near the Center a faint mote of brilliant white light forms at infinity. It is almost imperceptibly small and far away, so distant that it seems to be inaccessible. Yang wills it to him, and the light comes. At the Center Yang focuses on the light, understanding its form and its essence. As it gets closer the light is a sphere. The white undulating sphere is not perfect, but Yang understands its imperfections and accepts them, or changes them. This is his essence and Yang has crafted and molded it for almost 200 years.

Satisfied Yang metaphorically steps inside his essence. The light envelops him, blinding him, consuming him.

Then only the light remains.

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

Yang examines himself. All of his memories and motivations are before him, each exquisitely ordered and categorized.

One by one he wills his memories toward him and looks at them anew, examining each for hidden, lost, or forgotten meaning. Yang has a multitude of memories from his long life: most of them have multifaceted links to other memories or events, and all of them are interrelated. In here Yang takes his time, for this place, his Center, is timeless. While within himself there is all the time in the world.

Yang spies a minor but crucial memory from almost 150 years ago from long lost Earth and wills it forward. Looking at the memory it opens like a flower, and Yang remembers.

”Good morning Mr. Sheng-ji Yang. I’m Carlin Potter. Please have a seat,” the UN Project Unity technician says as she points to a chair to her right.

Yang nods to acknowledge her instructions and sits in the holo chair, which is common in both high-end instructional programs and correction programs.

“As required by Captain Garland and UN protocol, I’m going to administer a Character and Personality Compatibility Evaluation Test. This is required for your application to be a member of the Unity crew. You will have to acknowledge that you understand and agree to the standard contract and this test, and then sign this affidavit for the record,” she says with a serious smile as she hands Yang the datapad.

Yang takes the datapad and scrolls through it. Of course, he knows the method, purpose, and format of the CPCET. However, he ‘reads’ through it, making sure he takes an appropriate amount of time.

After a few moments Yang looks up.

“May I ask a few questions?” he asks softly and politely. Even with his whisper of a voice it seems to carry across the room and it gets the technician’s undivided attention. Her eyes lock onto the impassive features of her Asian testee, and Yang looks back and locks her gaze with his eyes.

“Of course Mr. Yang.”

“I understand the basic mechanics of this test and that it will read my neurological and physiologic responses to stimuli, Ms. Potter. It is common enough in China. But how will the machine read my brain patterns to determine my pre-dispositions? Has that been properly baselined? I am leery of improper results and how that would affect my record.” Yang structures his question and concern to show he has a little knowledge but no deep understanding of the test, as is befitting someone who has been nominated to be the Unity Security Chief.

Still looking Yang in the eyes, Carlin responds with a smile, “Very perceptive, Mr. Yang. This procedure has been baselined against the psychological profiles of almost 1.1 million people, and its accuracy is in the six-sigma range. Is that acceptable?”

Yang nods. “Yes, it is. One more question, if I may. What does this test determine and how will these results be used to determine my acceptance to the Unity project?”

“Well, the test identifies those that display a more than a 0.1% propensity toward undesirable behavioral traits, such as what the layman calls megalomania, sadism, masochism, multiple personalities, violent tendency disorder, extreme alpha personality disorder, and many others. Other than that, the test screens for those that work well with others on a personal level and in groups. So if you meet these criteria you will be considered on your credentials for the Unity mission.”

Yang nods once, having gotten the expected response and affixes his genetic tag, voiceprint, thumbprint, and retinal scan to accept the terms and conditions of the test.

Carlin notes this. “Well, now we can begin. Please relax. The test shouldn’t take more than two hours.”

As he leans back the full holo of the test enfolded him and Yang lets the holo play its way out.


Hours later Carlin comes up to Yang moments after the test has ended.

“Congratulations Mr. Yang! Your responses are well within the norm, with an average amount of response deviation. You are certainly well adjusted, and should make an excellent crewmember of Unity. With your credentials I’m sure you’ll get on the mission! I sure wish I were going.”

Yang bowed slightly toward the young woman to acknowledge her station and service. “Thank you for your attention. I am indeed unworthy, but I will be honored if I am selected for the mission. It is my earnest wish to expand humankind to other worlds, and create a stable and peaceful society,” he said softly and truthfully. At this point there was no need to conceal the truth from this technician, especially since the truth aligns with the goals of the Unity mission. As he finishes he looks into her eyes and brakes his connection with her.

Carlin shakes her head slightly and then refocuses no Yang, smiling again.

“Have a good day, Mr. Yang.”

Even small memories can be important. In a way that was the beginning, Yang thinks.

The Center is a refuge, and it is a place of ultimate order and contentment, and a place for reflection. In his mind, Yang wills another memory to him for inspection, but something catches his eye. One of his memories is pulsing slightly, as if demanding attention.

Yang displays the barest hint of a smile. Only one person can enter his core, his Center, and he knows this person well, too well, even. Back in the beginning times on Chiron close associations and alliances were formed, and these resulted in the Hive society. Although the structure and philosophy of The Human Hive had been designed by Yang, others had had a significant influence on its genesis and development. The most influential of these architects and early collaborators was Haarad Ashaandi. The Hive was based on discipline, and where discipline could not be maintained then control by the State was necessary. A balance between discipline and control had always been maintained, and Yang’s philosophy had erred on the side of discipline. Within society discipline can be encouraged, taught, and, if necessary, enforced. This results in a contented, productive, and orderly society that strives for the greatest good of humanity, as opposed to selfish and wasteful individualism that had torn apart and ultimately destroyed the fabric of civilization on Earth. Ashaandi’s view of the optimum society was through absolute control, which preferably occurred through the control of the mind. With Ashaandi the control of the State is absolute and enforced without remorse for the good of society. Yang understood at the beginning of humanity’s landing on Chiron that the ultimate goals of his and Ashaandi’s vision were similar and that these would result in a powerful Hive society. However, their methods to the ultimate goal were different, and differences such as these can lead to conflict. Yang understood and accepted this, as did Ashaandi, as both implicitly understood that they both walked the same path.

Approximately a year ago Yang perceived a change in the relationship. Ashaandi was drifting away, even though he and his operatives cloaked it well. Yang knew that his understanding of Ashaandi was not the result of the psi ability that Ashaandi prized so much, but simple observation and correlation of actions and responses. Yang knew that using and developing psi powers made such users sloppy in the more subtle avenues of manipulation, control, and information gathering. As such they were quite readable, even when they thought they were obscuring their motives and objectives. It was quite clear that the outcome of psi verses discipline was lopsided, in that a disciplined mind will persevere every time. A disciplined mind can yield results of any psi probe, and can create a more impenetrable shield toward unwanted influent or intrusion than any psi blocking strategy.

So, here was Ashaandi knocking at his door. However, he can’t enter without permission.

Yang willed the memory to him and unfolded it.

“Ashaandi,” Yang said, calling him into his domain.

Ashaandi’s indistinct form strengthened, then faded as he struggled against the barriers that Yang enforced whenever Ashaandi visited. After a few moments he gave up, and his form coalesced.

“My Chairman,” Ashaandi stated with a ritual bow, standing a respectful two meters from Yang.

To Yang his voice carried no mocking overtones, however slight, as they had in the past. This indicated a change. Perhaps his incarceration by Santiago had changed him? Not likely. It was likely that the political winds had changed, or that he had struck a deal or was going to strike a deal. With Santiago? Perhaps. How else could he have escaped his neural inhibitor and very private punishment sphere?

“You have been long absent. Santiago finally released you. We have,” Yang paused for a moment, “issues to discuss. Issues of loyalty. I am aware of your efforts to weaken me by weakening The Hive. Your agents were partially responsible for Morgan’s treacherous subversion of loyal Hive citizens, and you have conspired with Scott Allyrdice,” Yang stated with some distaste, “to militarily destroy the Hive and then replace me as its leader. Have you strayed so far that you will put personal ambition above the needs of humanity? Have you abandoned the basic tenets that are the foundation of The Hive? The forces of decadence and disorder threaten to overwhelm what we have built. Will you enlighten me?”

Ashaandi didn’t respond immediately as he considered.

Yang was inwardly pleased to see the glib Ashaandi pause. Yang knew that Ashaandi expected him to be oblique and subtle, especially in delicate matters such as the fealty and the betrayal of a trusted associate. But now it served his purpose to test his errant colleague and gage his reaction with a direct challenge. It was clear from his pause that the he considered the dance they had played for the last hundred years would continue. That indicated a certain mental fixation that Yang knew he could use to his advantage. Again, discipline wins over the arrogance of psi and the intoxicating power of the mind.

“Yes. Loyalty. Loyalty to the guiding principles of the Human Hive, or personal loyalty and a cult of personality? Loyalty to personal principles? Which do you mean?” Ashaandi replied sardonically.

Yang didn’t verbally respond, but instead selected a memory and drew it toward him. As the luminescent ball glowed in his hands he held it out toward Ashaandi, and it unfolded, capturing both Yang and Ashaandi in its wake.

The emblem of UNS Unity was emblazoned above the door, and the seats appropriated from the command module were a UN powder blue. There was a slight but noticeable tilt to the entire room, which grew less pronounced with each passing day as the unstable ground the pod had landed on settled and was compacted. The room was small, barely 16 square meters, and space was so limited that even the few leaders of the pod’s landing had to crowd around the makeshift table. An air compressor thumped in the background, working hard to keep a positive pressure in the seared and often repaired habitation module pod of what had just been named The Hive. Repair crews worked around the clock just to keep some semblance of atmospheric integrity in a structure that not meant for continuous habitation, but only for atmospheric reentry and as a source of raw materials for a permanent settlement.

Seated around the table were six men and women, all of whom had serious looks on their faces. Two, seated opposite Sheng-ji Yang, were slightly hostile, and two others were simply concerned. Two men seated next to each other, Sheng-ji Yang and Haarad Ashaandi, were impassive.

Yang bowed his head to the others in the room to honor them, and broke the looming silence, “The Unity mission as we previously understood it has failed. The mutiny, assassination attempts against me by Santiago, the disintegration of the mission, and the chaos of Unity’s last moments have gravely weakened humanity’s seed in UNS Unity. With nothing but silence from Earth we can only infer that humanity on Earth is at an end. Therefore must assume that we are the only remaining humans, since we have no assurance that the other landing pods landed safely. We must adjust and learn from the painful lessons on Earth and Unity to ensure the survival of humanity.”

One of the men to the side of Yang looked down, and his left hand started trembling. He discretely used his right hand to still the tremors so that he didn’t distract the rest of the Council. His efforts were unsuccessful, for all eyes drifted toward him. Psychological maladies were all too common after the disaster of Unity and the landing, even with the psych profiles having chosen the Unity crew for stability under stress. At least 10% of the surviving 20,000 humans in this pod were so debilitated by stress that precious medication had to be used to help them through the turmoil. These drugs and treatments were limited, and soon alternate therapies would have to be considered.

“We must attend to the needs of the people entrusted to us and provide for their physical needs, and their societal needs,” Yang said softly and pointedly, and most people around the table unconsciously nodded in assent. “Our primary interest at this moment is survival, and we must do everything in our power to ensure the survival of the human race. Sacrifices will have to be made.” Yang made this last statement slowly, and looked at each of the other five Council members in the eye. In doing so he gauged their dedication and fortitude.

Council Member Samuel Rodregez, Unity Assistant Engineer Grade II and current Minister of Works, cleared his throat to get the attention of the rest of the Council, even as he continued to still his trembling hand. “Chairman Yang, what you have described is a ‘hunker down.’ I can see why this is needed now, but surely in the future we will not have to be so…ridged. People have rights, and the State has to have limits.”

Yang waited patiently for him to finish. “Minister Rodregez, what was the cause of destruction of humanity on Earth?”

Samuel paused for a moment, and then answered, “The Chaos.”

Yang nodded. “And what was the cause of the Chaos?”

Rodregez hesitation indicated that he didn’t want to answer. However, Yang and the other Council members all looked at him expectantly waiting for his reply. Finally he gave one.

“It was the spiral of societal instability caused by the feedback effect of wars, ecological damage, governmental corruption and mismanagement, overpopulation, and economic dislocation. The UN used its resources for over 50 years to damp what were first called ‘brush wars’, pandemics, and starvation. Later it was found that these were part of a larger trend toward instability, and the UN found it impossible to contain more then the symptoms. There was always one more outbreak, and they were getting more serious and more frequent. Unity was supposed to be a common goal, a noble goal, to pull humanity together. They never said it, but we all kind of knew it was an admission of defeat. Kind of like a life raft from a sinking ship.” Samuel finished in a small voice. He truly believed in the UN and its ideals, and in the martyred Captain Garland. Admitting the failure of what he had devoted his life to was painful.

The faces around the table were somber.

“The Chaos is a sickness that kills humanity. Do you agree that this cannot be allowed to be repeated?” Yang asked, looking at Samuel but intending the question for the whole Council.

Samuel’s hand started to violently tremble again, and he took it and placed underneath the table.

“Yes,” he said, and his voice cracked as he said it. Samuel had the undivided attention of the entire Council, even Ashaandi, who was typically aloof and somewhat contemptuous of his Council-mates.

Yang looked to each of the other Council members, and one by one they also nodded in assent. Some nodded reluctantly and some with regret, but all nodded. Only Ashaandi nodded with the barest hint of a grin on his face.

“Very well. We have chosen a new course for humanity. Now, let us define how we can ensure the survival of humanity, and lay the structure for a society designed for the greater good.”

Yang folds the memory and wills it away, and then looks at Ashaandi.

“Loyalty to the guiding principles of the Human Hive, then,” Ashaandi concedes as if unwilling to remember that pivotal Council meeting so long ago.

Yang looks at Ashaandi intently. “Do you reject these principles? Do you see these basic tenants in any of the other factions that strive for supremacy? Perhaps you see it in the shortsighted militancy of Santiago? Or in the humanism of the Free Drones? Maybe the Commissioner Lal’s ideals appeal to you?”

That got a rise out of Ashaandi, “There is no need to be insulting. Your point is taken. I believe that our paths converge once again, and that any further dissention between us will lead to further unfortunate results for our vision of humanity. I will once again work for the greater good of man.”

This is what Yang knew he wanted to hear, and he was therefore wary of it. Was there sarcasm in Ashaandi’s voice? Yes, but only a hint, and it is likely that there is always a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Very well. Hive security has been criminally lax during your absence,” Yang said, referring to the liberation of Miriam, the escape of Zakharov, and the recent abduction of Morgan Junior, “and I expect you to correct these errors. In particular, ensure that your colleague Sand takes proper care of our charge Anastasia. She is valuable to us for her influence over Zakharov, and our ‘friend’ Allardyce. Sand has failed me in the past. I trust that he will not fail me again.”

“Yes, Chairman,” Ashaandi replied, bowing slightly and taking on his accustomed role of subordinate. “I will ensure that there is proper security during Anastasia’s stay in the care of the Progenitors, and I will ensure that Sand doesn’t take too many ‘liberties’ with her, or at least no liberties that damage her irreparably.”

Although he didn’t show it, Yang found the use of torture for pleasure distasteful. Physical duress has its place as a tool of correction and education, but torture for torture’s sake serves no purpose. Of course, Ashaandi knows this. So the dance begins again, just like it has continued for the last 100 years, Yang comments to himself.

“Our allies have provided us with new tools in our efforts to form a perfect society. With these tools we will soon begin our efforts to reclaim what we have built. Very soon. Ensure that your operatives are in position to enforce and ensure the liberation,” Yang stated.

“Yes, Chairman. Allies?” Ashaandi commented.

“A means to an end,” Yang corrected. “You are dismissed.”

Ashaandi bows again and then his image fades as Yang escorts him out of his Center.

Once gone Yang cleanses his Center of the traces and ‘doorstops’ Ashaandi has placed within it. It is a tired ritual, but after a moment he is certainhe has gotten them all. In completing this trivial labor Yang reflects on arrogance, and especially the arrogance of one such as Ashaandi. His addiction to power is his weakness. In many ways it is a waste. What could a man such as that achieve if he would put aside his personal pride? Discipline. It always comes back to discipline.

Yang shakes his head. He can be redeemed, but his education will take a long time. First Ashaandi must shake off the influence of distractions like Santiago, and the corruption of his subordinates like Sand. Second he must realize that discipline is greater than control. Can he achieve this? Perhaps.

The last memories, including this one of his meeting with Ashaandi, are filed away and Yang prepares to leave his Center.

White light recedes into infinity. Sensation returns. Sight returns. Hearing returns.

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

Sheng-ji Yang opens his eyes, and his internal chronometer tells him that exactly 20 minutes has passed. Completing the ritual, he unfolds from the lotus position and rises.

The Center is renewed.

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters

Tears welled in Zakharov’s eyes. It was a mixture of elation, that his beloved granddaughter was alive and disappointment that she had sided with his enemy. Yet, there remained something about this Scott Allardyce that confused Zakharov. He didn’t seem like the same man who had once been a member of the Junta. So much had changed since the fall of the University.

The emotions of the moment soon overwhelmed Zakharov. The tears welled up in his throat, and soon he was overcome with a severe coughing fit. Allardyce offered him a glass of water, forcing Zakharov to take a sip despite his initial refusal.

“It’s been a long journey for you Provost.” Genuine concern showed on the young Spartan’s face. Zakharov almost smiled at the thought of calling someone from the original Unity mission ‘young’.

“Perhaps,” Allardyce continued, “you should get some rest.”

“It’s got nothing to do with rest, Governor” Zakharov scoffed. “I’m an old man. Somewhat of a rarity among the elite of our civilization.”

“How long has it been since you were in a rejuvenation tank?” Allardyce returned to sit behind his desk, pulling up information on his personal network node.

“Too long. Occasionally the guards would throw me in the tanks for a period, to ensure I stayed alive long enough to suffer for standing against Santiago.” Despite the inherent accusation in the statement, Zakharov placed no blame on the man seated across from him. All blame lay directly on the head of that wretched Santiago.

“There,” Allardyce said as with two final keystrokes. “You have an appointment in one hour for the rejuvenation tanks here at UN Headquarters. We can sort out Miriam once you get out.” Again the Spartan startled Zakharov with his kindness. Zakharov doubted, that had the situation been reversed, he would have been so merciful.

“Thank you.” The two words were barely enough to express his gratitude for all that Scott Allardyce had done for him in this brief meeting. However inadvertently, he had given Zakharov back his will not only to survive, but to fight.

Allardyce helped Zakharov from his chair and led him towards the large doors, where a guard was waiting to escort him back to his quarters before he entered the tanks.

“Before I go,” said Zakharov, halting their movement. “I must see my granddaughter before I enter the tanks.” Here, Scott Allardyce frowned.

“I’m afraid she isn’t currently in UN territory. However, as soon as you are settled, I will contact her and let her know that you are safe and sound. I’m sure she’ll be waiting to greet you when you come out from the tanks.” Zakharov couldn’t quite get over the feeling that there was something he wasn’t being told. Still, the journey had taken its toll on his old frame, and the thought of a good two weeks in the rejuvenation tanks was undeniably appealing.

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

“What is a rejuvenation tank?” Sharra queried. Ever since their journey to Great Clustering, she had been much more outspoken. She was inquisitive, which pleased Zakharov immensely. She would make a good student.

“It is a place,” he explained, “where old men go so that they don’t come out quite so old. It regenerates the body, essentially turning back the clock.”

“I’ve never even heard of one.” Sharra’s innocence was flattering to her.

“That’s because you’ve never been old,” Zakharov replied with a smile.

“Prokhor,” Sharra began. It was clear from the look on her face that a serious question was plaguing her. “Why do you dislike Sister Miriam so much?”

“How would you like the list categorised? Alphabetically or chronologically?” Zakharov quipped. It was clear the answer was unsatisfactory to Sharra.


“Sister Miriam and I have disagreed upon many things, since before humans ever came to Chiron. Miriam is a believer, and I don’t refer to her political leanings, but more to how she sees the world. She looks at a fungal stalk, and sees it for what it is: a native form of plant life. She does not see the need to understand, what it is made of, or how it lives, to her it simply exists. If it proves troublesome, she burns it to the ground.”

“I on the other hand, seek to understand the way things work and move, so I have a chance to predict what might happen in the future. I discover the facts, and that knowledge prepares me for the future.” Sharra was clearly intrigued by what Zakharov had to say, and it reminded him of his teaching days.

“Knowledge is power,” he continued. “If we can unlock the secrets of this planet, then we can understand how it works, how it thinks. We can determine when a fungal stalk will cause a bloom and endanger lives. We can understand how the mindworms attack, and then better prepare ourselves to defend against them. Do you see what I’m getting at?” Sharra was silent for a moment, allowing the Provost’s words to sink in.

“I think so...I don’t know.” It was clear that Sharra was somewhat out of her depth. She was a bright girl, but as a drone had never received more than a basic education under the Hive. When Zakharov came out, he hoped he would have the chance to rectify this.

“Prokhor?” It was clear from Sharra’ tone she was nervous about her impending question. “Would it be all right if, while you were in the rejuvenation tanks, if I were to possibly go back to Great Clustering for a bit? I promise I will be here when you wake up.” That is the question Zakharov had feared was coming. But he had promised himself he would be open minded towards Sharra’s future and allow her to make her own decisions.

“Sharra, you are free to go where you please.” Zakharov sat down beside her, brushing his hands gently through her hair. “You are a grown woman and free to make your own decisions. Just know that I will always be there for you if you need me, no matter what. Okay?” Sharra nodded sheepishly.

“Now give me a hug.” She wrapped her arms around him tightly. Zakharov felt a tear in his eye, for he knew that she had forgiven him for what he had done to her. And he would make it up to her, he guaranteed.

Gently kissing her on the forehead, Zakharov left the room and was escorted by the guard to the tanks.

_____________________________________________

UN Headquarters Aerospace Complex


Roze was awakened as the transport ended it’s flight and landed with a slight bump on the tarmac at UN Headquarters. As they pulled into the hangar at the Aerospace Complex, Roze breathed a sigh of relief. Morgan Junior was on a transport home, the pilots were headed back to Sparta Command, and Morgan Sr. owed her one big debt of gratitude.

The plane came to a stop, and Roze made her way out with the few other passengers. As she stepped down the ramp, she observed the expectant crowd waiting for the passengers to disembark, and thought it was kind of sad that none of them were waiting for her. Sure she hadn’t told anyone she was coming, but if she had been in their shoes she would have found out.

Suddenly, a blast from a shredder pistol impacted with the side of the needlejet, just inches away from where Roze had been standing. The crowd scattered, and Roze dived over the side of the ramp to cover. Even as she did so, she knew her attempted assassin would already be making his getaway. He wouldn’t dare try for a second shot now that the guards were alerted.

Roze emerged from her shelter and quickly made her way to the approaching escort, who had finally recognised her. As they escorted her towards her office, a thought suddenly came to her. Well, at least one person was waiting for me.

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

Roze entered the room which she had dubbed Data DeCentral to find none other but Paul Andreas waiting for her. He was sitting leaning back in a chair by one of the terminals with a large grin on his face.

“Heard about your bumpy landing,” he said with the same grin plastered across his face. “Glad to see you made it back in one piece.” Roze was not about to let herself be baited.

“It wasn’t too bad really. At least the food was good.” She smiled that same vindictive grin back at him. “Of course, if you were any sort of intelligence officer, you would have known the assassination attempt was going to take place.” She let the not so subtle jab sink in, as she leaned back against the shelf that lined the room, mostly covered with computer terminals.

“I did know,” he replied as his grin broadened. “But I figured you could handle it.” Roze smiled. Paul certainly knew how to keep life interesting. However, she was only alive right now because that shot had missed. It was clear that the resentment Paul harboured for her ran deeper than she thought.

“Well, all that besides, we have work to do.” The game was now over, and both operatives understood that business needed to be taken care of, despite their differences.

“I understand you’re mounting a mission to rescue Anastasia Zakharov. I want to you to stay in charge of it.” Roze watched the man suppress his anger at the idea that Roze could have simply taken him away from his mission. It was a subtle reminder that Roze was in charge, and that they were not equals. “Use whatever resources you need, just try and keep the budget to a minimum. We can always syphon credits from Yang, but I’d rather not piss him off more than we have too.”

“And what will you be up to while I’m risking my neck against the Circle?” Paul was clearly struggling to contain his anger at this moment. It appeared he was going to be more of a danger than Roze had originally anticipated. Who knows , she thought to herself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Sand will switch Paul’s life for Stazi’s.

“I’ll let you know,” she said, the phony smile returning to her face again, “as soon as the deal is finalized. Katt! How’s the program coming?” With that, Roze moved onto her personal assistant and left Paul to fester.

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

Roze watched as the familiar face of Scott Allardyce appeared on the screen. He smiled when he saw her, which was a good sign.

“Roze. Glad to see you made it back to us in one piece. I trust that Morgan Junior is safely home?”

“Sleeping like a baby in his old room, or so his dad tells me.” Roze returned the smile, this time genuine. She couldn’t help liking Scott Allardyce. That’s probably because he always gives me what I want she realised. She would have to ensure that the trend continued.

“Any word from Stazi?” Scott became sombre at the mention of his missing beloved. He’s even cute when he’s sad. Too bad he’s taken.

“I’m afraid not.” Scott’s answer wasn’t anything Roze hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t worry, Scott. Paul will find her. He’s a good man and he knows what he’s doing.” Roze thought how Paul would wretch to hear such an honest commendation coming from her mouth.


Scott sighed heavily, and collected himself, trying to recapture his earlier good humour.

“So what can I do for you? I’m assuming this isn’t just a personal call.” Despite his effort, Scott could not hide the concern in his eyes. Roze couldn’t blame him.

“Is it ever, Scott? Actually, I’m just here to let you know I’m going on vacation.” Roze smiled as the anticipated confusion showed on Scott’s face.

“Vacation? You haven’t even been working here for a month, and already you want a vacation?” Scott was a cooperative man, but Roze was crossing the line.

“Don’t worry,” Roze smiled. “It’s a working vacation. I’m going to take a team and establish a private headquarters for the agency. Security isn’t tight enough here anymore, and I have the feeling Yang has put a price on my head.”

“Yes, I heard about the attack. I apologise,” he offered sincerely. “In future, if you would simply inform us of your arrival, we could provide an escort.”

“And miss the chance of making a grand entrance?” Roze feigned shock. “Not on your life Governor. Besides, the deal has already been made. And autonomy will do the agency good. No one faction can say we’re favouring one over the other because we won’t be favouring any of them!”

“And where, pray tell,” Scott asked, aware that he didn’t really have any say in this decision, “is this base going to be located. And more importantly, who is paying for it?”

“Well, I had a little chat with Lady Deirdre, wonderful lady actually, thinks very highly of you by the way.” Scott smiled at Roze’s description of Deirdre. It was clear that Deirdre had been her usual amicable self when she had spoken to Roze.

“Anyway,” Roze continued, “she has agreed to allow us to establish a base to the North-West of the Monsoon Jungle. It’s undeveloped territory, and she has even been generous enough to help us build an environmentally friendly facility. Yippee.” Roze's sarcasm made it clear what Deirdre had asked for in return for the land.

“As for paying for it,” Roze added as her smile broadened. “Let’s just say that Morgan was very appreciative for the return of his prodigal son.” Even Scott had to laugh at the thought of Chiron’s best deal maker, being outdone by a former employee.

“We leave tonight,” Roze finished off. “Oh and Scott, incase Lal comes back before I see you again, don’t worry. I can always find you a job working for me if you need it.” Roze grinned broadly and turned the terminal off.

[Argonaut]

Scott,
One last thing which I forgot to give you. Here are the files you requested on the most influential PK officials and bureaucrats, including Lal. Every dirty little deed since the age of four is in there. Who would have thought that Lal was such a loose cannon in his youth! Makes for some interesting reading, if nothing else.
Roze

[senatus]

Sparta Command

Her face has been described as aristocratic, haughty, cold. Now
it is illuminated from below as she leans over giant holotable, upon which
all the military forces and bases on Planet are arrayed. If she wished,
she could focus in upon a particular unit, a particular battle; even perceiving
the actions of individual soldiers so long as they were comlinked into
the tactical net that is but one input to the Command Nexus.

The Command Nexus is the greatest military supercomputer built by the
hands of man. Not the most sophisticated or advanced; that title
would have to be awarded to Morgan's Hunter-Seeker Algorithm. But
for the specialized needs of the Spartan Federation, it was far more powerful
than the simple command centres scattered in various bases of other factions.
It consists of two giant supercomputers, "Sandhurst" and "Westpoint"; each
focusing on aspects of proactive and reactive military actions respectively.
It contains all military wisdom recorded in the Unity datalinks, plus all
data garnered over the years on Planet. From here, Corazon Santiago
can call up Arrian's "Campaigns of Alexander", Sun Tzu's "The Art of War",
"The Civil War" by Gaius Julius Caesar, the memoires of Napoleon, or the
Spartan Battle Manual.

Yet for all its power, the Command Nexus can only advise and coordinate.
It cannot fight or win battles on its own. War is fought
by human beings, Karl von Clausewitz once wrote. Centuries of
technological evolution; yet the truth remains.

Hundreds of years ago - in Clausewitz's time, in fact - a commander
could only watch the theatre of war and issue directions to the actors
involved. It took time for messengers to travel to and from an embattled
flank, or a reserve unit. The commander could assess trends and direct
strategy - but in that time, the men under his command would be fighting,
dying. The tactical situation could change. As tempting as
it was to use the power of the Command Nexus to micromanage individual
battles, a good general served her cause best by watching the entire
theatre and formulating the strategy. Corazon Santiago was more than
a good general. She was the finest military mind that Planet
had. Even her enemies granted her that, even if they resented her
arrogance and self-assurance.

War is fought by human beings. Human beings have flaws.
A woman could be a great general, yet still be politically inastute, personally
inflexible, and so opaque to outsiders that some would consider her a sociopath.

Human beings are unpredictable. A man, once a trusted subordinate
and as close a confidante as a survivalist could have, might turn on her
unexpectedly.

I thought Scott Allardyce - Googlie - was such a man. A fine
soldier, a good leader, a fellow survivalist.

It was true that Corazon had said nothing when Googlie was on trial
for his life, accused of acts of subversion by the Junta. What could
be said? Her own power base had been precarious already. She
had known very little of what had gone on in her absense. Instead,
she had trusted Googlie to able to defend himself - assuming, of
course, that the charges were false. Was he not a survivor, like
her? And like her, should he emerge victorious, would he not be hardened;
stronger, smarter than before? Contrawise, would his own abilities
not be stunted if she'd stepped in to protect him from his own mistakes
in judgement? What she had done had not been an act of petty powermongering,
but a deliberate, calculated decision designed to harden her own subordinates
and through them, Sparta. The ideal had to be greater than any one
woman. Or man.

To care for someone was a sign of weakness. Therefore, she did
not care about Googlie. Therefore, his blackmail and betrayal meant
nothing to her, save how it affected the Grand Strategy. That is
what Corazon "Corrie" Santiago told herself; and telling herself it often
enough meant she was convinced it was the truth.

Santiago reviewed the huge tableau of data before her. Individual
elements could be quirks of fate. The greater picture could be obscured
by the fog of war. But if she perceived the pattern correctly, an
image began to form. Spartan needlejets crashing in fungal fields.
A cessation of overt Hive army activity on all fronts; behind them, the steady
rotation of units in what could only be a refitting operation. The
destruction of an entire Morgan fleet. The loss of the S.F.S. Hydra.
She punched a query and waited while emotionless computers formed their
response. Conclusion: Tentative. Predictive algorithms optimized
for land-based battles. Confirmation of superiour weaponry and armour
refits. Probability of imminent parallel refit on land / air forces:
High.

She has already lost the technological edge. Now she is losing
the initiative. The tide seems minor, insignificant as yet.
But the ocean moves. For the first time in months, defeat is a possibility.

Santiago stood in thought for five minutes, her eyes observing the battle
table but her mind considering her options.

I face two enemies. Yang, and these Progenitors. Napoleon
faced Blucher and Wellington. He failed to engage either until they
combined; and united, they defeated him. Like Napoleon, my lines
are extended and ill-suited for reactive defence. Like Napoleon,
time is against me.

Santiago made her decision. She knew it could be the wrong decision.
But inaction would cost her the war as surely as the wrong
action could.

"Summon the Junta." Colonel Santiago issued her first spoken words
in two hours.

---

Four hours later, holotablets activated at Morgan Industries, Velvetgrass
Point, Great Conclave, and UN Headquarters.

Nwabudike Morgan looks calm and impeccable as always, despite it being
deep in the night for him. Although his forces are weak and undisciplined,
his cool rationality and pragmatism are an asset to any general in need
of logistical support.

It is late in Great Clustering - which Miriam has renamed to Great Conclave
(a similar enough name so that the drones can adapt) as well.
Domai hadn't been included in the conference and Miriam's significance
was even more limited than his, but her unswerving loyalty and devotion
were particularily welcome after the betrayal by - but Santiago cut off
that train of thought.

In Velvetgrass Point, Deirdre Skye's beauty appears as naturally flawless
as Morgan's crafted image does. Like Morgan, she appears calm and
collected; but while the CEO's demeanor is a composition of his intellect
and grooming, Deirdre's reflects an inner peace.

Finally there is Googlie. Santiago did not bother to give him
more than a cursory glance.

"My fellow faction leaders - and delegate. I apologize for the
short notice, but I felt it necessary to discuss the current military situation
at the highest and most confidential level."

Unseen, unheard, Datajack Roze listened intently.

"As you are aware, these `Progenitors' possess an extremely sophisticated
technology which we cannot hope to match by quality or quantity as yet.
However, data seems to indicate that they also possess limited resources
and have no immediate source of reinforcements."

Some of the faces around the table turned grimmer. The fact that
the aliens couldn't have come out of nowhere had occurred to everyone;
no-one knew if that meant more would be coming.

Deirdre Skye spoke up.

"If more may be coming, then perhaps we should try again to establish
peaceful relations with them." Her words seemed reasonable, even
coloured as they were by sadness over the prospect of continued conflict
and lost lives, human and otherwise.

Santiago had been anticipating the question and was prepared.

"Recording THX1138 please."

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

The recording, "liberated" from Hive intelligence databanks, continued.
The faction leaders watched one of the Progenitors enter the same arena,
and the wretched girl's demise as the alien hunted her down, tore her throat
open, then disemboweled her and clearly began to feast. Deliberately,
Santiago had left the audio unmuted. She looked about surreptitiously.
Morgan showed little emotion, but the distaste was plain upon his face.
Deirdre said nothing, but tears were visible on her cheeks. Even
Miriam looked shaken and pale. Googlie... Googlie was looking back
at her, his face expressionless, waiting to see what was coming next.

Carefully making an effort to appear fair-minded, Santiago resumed
speaking.

"We don't know the details behind this recording. We know nothing
of these creatures' psychology, and whether this incident is characteristic
of the race. However, I believe that any negotiations we may eventually
undertake must be done from a position of strength."

"All this had been agreed upon by the council already, Corazon.
Why summon us for this?" Googlie spoke for the first time.
In public, he betrayed no evidence of the rift between them.

"I'm getting to that. Consider the destruction of the CEO's fleet.
It is clear that technological exchange is occurring between the aliens
and Yang. Nothing else could explain his leap in weapons tech.
Likewise, the aliens no doubt are receiving data on humanity, such as our
genetic code and potential succeptability to retroviral strains.
Clearly, if we do not act, our situation will worsen. However, the
results of our last offensive were costly, and I don't want to throw away
Spartan lives for no improvement in the overall situation. The time
has come for us to shift strategies. We must apply more pressure,
especially on the aliens, while at the same time finding out more of their
capabilities and building up our own forces while hopefully tying theirs
down."

"We begin by shifting to harassment tactics. Since we cannot win
a direct conflict without horrendous casualties, we try to damage their infrastructure.
And if we can draw their forces out individually, we isolate and destroy
them, or perhaps even subvert them via probe operations."

"On the home front, Sparta will begin to concentrate on creating `core'
units, properly trained but with only the minimal equipment our industry
can provide directly. I remind you all that my resources are stretched
thinly. CEO Morgan, your industries will be responsible for upgrading
the equipment of the core units to state-of-the-art technology. Sister
Miriam, you are in a position to provide logistical support to our front-line
units in Hive territory, where Spartan supply lines are over-extended.
I intend to shift some infantry and air units over to Great Conclave, and
I expect the Believers to assume the responsibility for their upkeep."

Miriam and Morgan both nodded; this suited their inclinations well.
The Believers were famous for "digging deep" in times of war. While
for his part, Morgan was loath to put his units on the front line; the
danger pay required by his troops was prohibitive. But outfitting
Spartan units was within his means, and led to lucrative military
contracts in the future.

"How can we help?" Deirdre asked.

Although her question was probably meant to speak only for the Gaians,
Santiago deliberatly chose to apply it collectively to the U.N. as well.

"The U.N. has yet to assume its fair share of the duties. I realize
that your infrastructure isn't designed for military production, so instead I
want you, Googlie, to establish an Axis base near or on the Usurpers' continent,
north of the Nivetech facility. We will need a forward base to conduct
either reconnaissance or raiding operations on the aliens."

"Why the U.N.? Morganic territory is closer to the eastern side."
Googlie pointed out.

"Morganic waters are being patrolled by Hive vessels," Santiago explained.
"And his movements are watched. On the other hand, a convoy coming
south from U.N. territory would be unexpected and unwatched for.
The most you might encounter is a few wandering Isles, and perhaps Lady
Deirdre can help you with that."

"I would nevertheless suggest-" Googlie began, but Santiago cut
him off.

"This isn't a matter open for debate. As you pointed out to me
recently, you are in charge of civilian affairs. I
am in charge of military operations. Correct?" The smile
that Santiago showed was anything but friendly. A short silence ensued
around the table. Miriam looked confused, and Deirdre looked concerned.
Morgan was studiously examining his fingernails, concealing discomfort at the
faux pas.

"Now... faction leaders, Representative... if there are no other questions,
do I have consensus?"

One by one, the faction leaders signalled assent. Santiago waited
a brief moment to see if Googlie would put his head into a noose for her.
He did not oblige.

"Then our staff will work out the details. This conference is adjourned."
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 21, 2000).]

[Googlie]

I de-activated the holocam, and sat back in my chair.

The woman was preposterous. Oh, yes, I had noticed the slight – the barely perceptible acknowledgement of my attendance. And I had endured her putdowns, but, of course, I was not one of the faction leaders, merely deputizing.

At least she hadn’t used the occasion to strip me of the Axis appointment.

But she was so wrong. Dead wrong.

Yes, the prosecution of the war was a military matter. But the establishment of a base was very much a civilian matter. And an internal PK one at that. How dare she presume to dictate to another faction where it sites a base?

Yet she had a point.

Of all the factions, the Peacekeepers would find it easiest to assemble a colony pod convoy, and it would be less noticeable than one coming from Morgan territory.

But I needed to discuss this further with some trusted aides. Ones that wouldn’t bristle with indignation at the loss of the PK sovereignty, at being ordered about by the Colonel. Ones that could think rationally, emotionlessly, unbiasedly. Ones that would complement my admittedly impulsive nature. I thought I knew the perfect candidate.

I remembered a fragment of a conversation….

I activated the holoscreen again, and keyed in the phrase Aki Zeta. The archives dredged up the short holovid, which I then replayed:

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

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

Think it over

I dialed the commlink.

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

We met later that day at the Governor’s offices in UN Amnesty Town. Aki had suggested coming all the way to UN Headquarters, but this was half way between my location and hers, so it suited our purposes just fine.

I’d been brief over the commlink, just saying that I wanted to take her up on her offer to have special accreditation to me as an assistant, so I broached the subject in a light hearted fashion, to remove any residual tension that may have remained from my CC days.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet, and so quickly, too. I’ve been thinking of a title for you in my administration, and the best I could come up with SCRATCH – Special Consultant Representing the Axis Temporary Civilian Head.”

“Droll, Representative Allardyce, droll,” was her humorless reply. “It doesn’t matter what I am called, how can I help?”

I sighed. Ah well, down to business.

I explained the situation, then activated the recording of the holovid of the leaders, and then asked:

“So as an unbiased third party, what do you think?”

Aki Zeta pondered, then gave her reasoned reply:

“Firstly, the Colonel is correct. We are entering a war of attrition , of harassment, and as such a forward location is essential to stage units for skirmishes against the aliens. But I question why a base. Why not just an airfield with a sensor and bunker?”

“I think I can answer that,” I replied. If we are to have troops stationed there, in any numbers to speak of, then we need a full civilian infrastructure to support them. Food and minerals production for repair and refitting, recreation activities, a hospital, and of course the subsequent infrastructure to support these – a childrens’ creche, recycling tanks, etc. We are talking about a sizeable base within a few months, I think.”

She pondered that, and nodded.

“Yes, I see. If we are eventually to overrun the alien bases we need ground troops to do so. So I would agree, a base is essential. And the Peacekeepers are the logical Axis faction to hurry a colony pod to completion and move it there, perhaps fitted with drop technology if speed is of the essence.”

I nodded.

She continued:

“But why north of the Nivetech Testing Center? The logical place is the waist of the continent, map co-ordinate 1,93. It has ocean access to the North, West and Southwest, and is almost surrounded by fungus, which would provide excellent defense, particularly if there were some Gaian mindworms attached to the base.

“And it would be accessible to fusion needlejets from UN Great Refuge and Settlement Agency, Morgan Bank and Pharmaceuticals, the Gaian Temple of Chiron, Great Conclave, and the Drone base on Mount Planet. That would be the ideal location.

“But why would you not consider a sea base? With drop technology, a landbridge is no longer as essential as it once was. And the area of New Sargasso, with its thermals, is known to be extremely rich in energy.

“In fact, why would you not consider two bases?”

I replied: “Why not indeed? Except for the cost, and the moans and wailings of the Base Governors whose bases were going to be asked to produce the colony pods, it’d be a piece of cake.”

Aki Zeta looked at me quizzically. “I don’t understand,” she said.

I explained the plebiscite ruse the governors had pulled on me earlier.

“But that is illogical,” she said. “Highly wasteful and inefficient.”

I sighed again, “Tell me about it,” I said.

She moved over to the holomap, and adjusted some of the settings.

“Why not a Peacekeeper base at 1,93, and a Free Drone base in the New Sargasso Sea – at 111,95” she asked.

Good question.

I remembered the holovid from Domai, and reckoned that to the extent it could, the Peacekeepers should control the expansion.

“I don’t think so,” I said. Foreman Domai has his hands full right now with the consolidation of his little empire after the base swap. In normal times, yes, but this time I think you’re on to something, but as a full PK effort.

“Let’s look at the base situation.”

I pulled up the base display on the Peacekeeper map.

Aki Zeta-5 was entranced.

We scanned through the base production statistics, and both came to the same conclusion.

“You first,” I said

“UN Great refuge has drone problems due to overcrowding. They are currently partway into constructing a research hospital. A change to a fusion sea colony pod, with accelerated building, would cost 85 energy credits and be finished before the year is out.’

I nodded. “Go on.”

She continued:

“Likewise, at UN Headquarters, you have the same problems with drone control, so taking some of that excess population and hiving it off to a colony pod would make sense. Rush building it would cost 320 energy credits, but delaying it until the riots die down might cheapen the cost – albeit prolonging its development, as the workers would be happier with some recognition of their discontent.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I beamed. “It’s good to have them corroborated by an independent third party.”

I looked at the time display. Too late to contact Tazeem to get her blessing – that would have to wait until morning. Then we’d tackle the Base Governors. I might need some of Roze’s dirt to get their co-operation, but I’d review that later in the evening.

I turned to Aki Zeta – 5.

“Prime Function. Can Omicron One interest you in dinner?”

She looked startled for a moment, then saw the twinkle in my eye, and relaxed.

“Ah, being droll again, Representative Allardyce. Yes, I would.”

“Then you must call me Scott,” I replied, taking her arm and leaving the office.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited July 22, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

“Father, I’m fine. Really,” Morgan Junior stated.

“Yes, you have said that several times now. However, you need a complete physical and psychological medical exam. Most who are tortured by Yang come out changed. I need to ensure that he has not altered you. The physical and mental stress of a punishment sphere is enough to change any man,” Morgan Senior replied, looking down on his son. As he did so he remembered the audio of Junior’s screams that Yang had sent him as a ‘present’ to remember his son by.

Gone was Mwabudike Senior’s steely, critical gaze, and the mildly disapproving body language that said ‘what you have done is acceptable, but you can do better and I expect more of you.’ Morgan knew business and the affairs of state always came first, but he also knew that the loss of his only son to Yang had changed something in him. He was still able to intuitively evaluate the value of a business dealing or transaction, but now he was more aware of relationships. It made the net sum more complicated.

Morgan looked at his son, who had a far off look in his eyes. That far off look in and of itself was unusual, since he knew that Junior was even more driven and, in some ways, more ruthless than he was. In the past his demeanor almost crackled with energy, and impatience. Junior had built his own corporate conglomerate, Morgan Microtrade, Inc., into a powerhouse without his help. The fact that he was a Morgan undoubtedly greased the wheels, but it had grown in only 45 years into the 8th largest financial entity in the entire Morgan society, which made it the 8th largest corporation on Planet. Competitors had been crushed without remorse economically or politically, and there was a long trail of debris behind him. But, what businessman does not do such things? That is the way of the world – consume, or be consumed.

What drives someone so hard?

Morgan Senior knew. He had known all along, but had never chosen to realize it.

Morgan place his hand on Junior’s shoulder. “Son, I am proud of you.”

Morgan Junior, lying on a scanning bed, refocused and looked over at his father. There was a slightly surprised look on his face.

“Thank you, Father,” he replied. His voice sounded more ‘here’ than it had since he had arrived home. And there was a smile on his face, the first smile Morgan Senior had seen since he had been given back into his care. In fact, it was the first smile he remembered seeing since he was a boy 80 years ago.

“Son, the doctors are going to do a deep scan, which is similar to the exam taken before a longevity renewal treatment. These results will be compared to your last exam. It will take several days. Do you understand?”

Junior continued looking at his father and replied in a disinterested voice, “Yes, Father.”

Senior looked from his son to the swarm of technicians waiting to start the procedure. The return of Morgan Junior had caused quite a sensation, and these men and women had jockeyed for the honor of attending to the heroic Returning Son. Of course, they each paid dearly for the honor. Junior’s leadership during the horror at Morgan Bank had been told and retold, sometimes in the vids but just as often in private conversations. His failed revolt against Yang’s oppressors had taken on the caste of a tragic tale of bravery against hopeless odds, and those that Yang had executed after the revolt failed were now called the Milton Burle Heroes. Rumors spread that speculated about the tortures that Junior had endured in Yang’s punishment sphere, and the tape of Junior’s screams finally leaked out and spread like wildfire. The survivors of Morgan Bank told anecdotes of Junior’s compassion and help to the distraught and his fearlessness in the face of doom. Of course, the tales grew with the telling. Everyone knew this, but no one cared. Every society needs its heroes, and in Morganic society a heroic businessman is a rare thing indeed.

Morgan nodded, and a gentle sleep was induced on Junior. Slowly his eyes closed.

Senior looked at his son. He looks like me, but has his Mother’s fearlessness. Or, he did.

Morgan pulled himself up straight, realizing he was slouching a little. Turning, he walked out of the room, his polished patent leather shoes clicking on the floor. As always, there is business to attend to, and paying his debt to Rose was at the top of his list.

[Googlie]

Fellowship City

Anson was surprised to hear another knock on the unit’s door, and instantly activated his aug-psi defense as he looked at the sleeping Sven and the gibbering Kurt.

He reflexively tapped his nails against the sensor pads, and in his hands came the nervegas and fleschette shredders. He moved to the door, and yanked it open, pointing the shredders in the face of the visitor.

Miles Cavenaugh reeled back, hastily raising his arms in the air:

“Whoa, Old Fellow. Take it easy. I’ve come to help Kurt there,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the pathetic figure of the young man clutching himself and rocking to and fro on his heels, muttering incoherently.

Anson looked up and down the corridor. A couple of neighbors had opened their doors to see what the commotion was about, so to mollify them Anson said expansively:

“Come on in, my friend. I’ve been expecting you,” and yanked Miles inside the apartment, pushing the door to behind him.

Miles staggered into the room, and sat down by the table, hands resting on the surface, palms up, indicating that he intended no harm. He sent the thought tendril exploring to Anson’s mind.

Anson felt the tingle, and recognized it immediately, although the operator was a lot smoother and professional than Kurt had been.

“Cut the crap, kid,” he said. “I’m blocking and I’ll make you sorry if you try and persevere. Now do what you came to do and get your friend here out of his trance.”

“Why did he come here?” Miles asked.

“Wanted to meet my buddy,” Anson replied.

“Ah, yes, his father,” said Miles.

“Well I’ll be damned. He’s Sven’s boy? Wouldn’t have thought that seeing his father like that would have set him off. Sheesh, you never know.”

“That wasn’t it,” Miles responded. “He was mind-probing him as he slept and came across some particularly painful memory that he had been suppressing all those years. His mother’s death. Threw him into this trance. I’m going into his mind and will try to cauterize these links and excise these particular memories for him. But I can’t do it alone. I need to summon a greater talent than I.”

“No one else comes into this room,” Anson said stubbornly. “You can leave with the boy if you need to enlist someone else.”

“Oh, not in person,” Miles replied. “Psionically.”

“Might this … talent friend be able to help old Sven here?” Anson asked.

Miles contemplated the sleeping man.

“Perhaps,” he replied, “although I fear it’s more medical attention he needs, not neural. We’ll try, though.”

“Well better get to work,” was Anson’s caustic response.

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

”Merlin …. Merlin ”

Miles sent out the psi-wave.

“Ah, my boy. And how are you?” came the almost instantaneous response into his mind.

“Not too good,” Miles transmitted. “I have a friend with a badly fried brain that needs your help.”

“Well then, link me,” came the thought from Merlin. “Although forgive me if I wander at times, I’m having the ride of my life with Sarah.”

“Sarah! How is she. How come I can’t connect?”

“She’s preoccupied now – on a mission, you might say. Wheeee - she's summoned a locust swarm and it's her own 'magic carpet', so to speak. But what's the problem?"

Miles empathed the Kurt problem to Merlin, and together they went into Kurt's mind.

Miles led Merlin to the memory core, where he'd been flummoxed, but it was easy going after that. Merlin had been trained by the Circle as an Empath Talent and had obviously been their agent in numerous mindwipes and alterings. Miles 'observed' with interest as Merlin identified the offending memory strands, and then skillfully isolated it.

"Trouble is that we don't want to block it completely, but neither do we want to link it to a feeling other than complete revulsion, lest we create psychopathic tendencies in him. He mustn't lose the memory of what happened to his mother, but we need to remove the link to catatonia."

Merlin's deft mental touch carefully undid the linkages and then reconnected to less traumatic areas.

Finally he was done.

"What about seeing what you can do for the old man, while you are here?" asked miles.

"What old man?"

Looking over to Taddei, Miles indicated that his friend was going to try and help Sven. Anson nodded.

With the empath link intact, Miles gently entered Sven's mind again, Merlin in tow.

Merlin's exclamation point came as a mental jar in Miles' mind.

"But this is Sven Alfredsson," Merlin empathed.

"You know him?"

"Very much so. I was still an operative with the Circle when the Hive and the Believers were at war. It was my assignment to find him after Miriam surrendered and mentally cripple him before turning him over to Sand, my superior officer in The Circle. After I learned what the sadistic Sand intended to do with him, I released him and alerted some Spartan officers as to Sand's whereabouts. They tried, obviously unsuccessfully, to assassinate Sand. That act of kindness - yes, and betrayal - on my part was the reason for my banishment from the Circle by Ashaandi and my corporeal disbandment as punishment. I'd love to help, if for revenge on Sand if for no other reason"

"Be my guest," Miles replied with his mind. "I'll let Anson know what's happening."

"Anson? Anson Taddei?"

"What, you know him too," Miles asked

"Ah yes. He was - is - the Hive Independent Mercenary. I was the operative who installed his psi- augmentation. Ask him to unblock, and I'll pay him an empath visit. He'll remember me as Agent Steel. But let me get to work on Sven."

Miles nodded, and let him get to work.

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

Sven was sitting up eating some stew when Merlin said his mental goodbyes.

Anson sadly shook his head.

"Poor fellow. We all thought he was dead - trapped for decades in Ashaandi's control. I hope this Sarah woman can help him."

"That reminds me," said Miles. "I need to reconnect with my team."

He let his mind roam, looking for Anastasia's telltale mental signature.

"I'm getting nothing," he said. "Kurt, can you join me and augment me?"

Kurt nodded, and forged the bridge.

They swept the city.

Nothing.

"I left her guarding Angel and Angelica when I came here for you," Miles said.

"Well, they're either being blocked somehow, or not in easy range," Kurt offered. "But let me try. Angelica is pretty new at this game so her empath broadcasts will be like scattered chaff if you know what to look for. Join me if you like."

Miles nodded.

"Got her," Kurt said. "In a needletransport heading for…the Hive Covert Ops base. I know that - that's where I first met Angel. "

"I, too, know it well," said Anson softly.

"Can I get there?" asked Miles.

"Yes," Kurt replied. "I'll take you."

"And I'll come too - how about you, Sven?"

He shook his head.

"No, I've been following the underground broadcasts. I'm going to make my way to Great Clustering - now called Great Conclave, I understand.

"I have to report for duty to Sister Miriam."

Anson nodded.

"I understand. Glad to see you feeling and looking better, old friend. You need a couple of weeks in the tanks, and you'll be as good as new."

Sven agreed.

"Thanks to Miles and his friend, I haven't felt better for a decade, but you're right. I've lost the edge, and a couple of weeks in rejuv would work wonders."

The two mercs clasped wrists, then the groups quietly exited into the corridor and went their separate ways.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited July 23, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Courage : To Question

The two delegations took their places around the conference table.

In the center of the table sat the micro-translator machine, the resonance receptors pointed to one side and the projectors to the other.

Chairman Yang stood at the middle of the table eyeing the receptors and remained standing until the Hive delegation were all seated.

They always filed in in the same order:

Civilian General Sang Shimoda, Minister of Applied Science; Civilian General Manshan Chow, Minister of Production; Civilian General Virgil, Finance Minister, and Acadamicienne Pauline Sy.

Then the military:

Generals Peake and Masterton, Air Marshall Lew and Admiral Hy.

Finally, walking in together came Marshall Ng and Civilian Marshall Hsui.

They sat down on uncomfortable chairs, made for torsos other than their own, and looked across the table.

Seated opposite was the Usurper command.

At the center, Conqueror Judaa Marr. With him, the Manifold Six commanders:

General Commander M'uth;
Xenobiologist 'Yossli;
Superior Master N'Kal;
Ambassador Kri'lan
and
Junior Stochastic Canla.

From the orbiting Planetary Scoutship 393_s

Distinguished Commander Nang Sk'aard, its captain;
and
Chief Engineer Sartor

And sitting with the Manifold Six delegation, the young Progenitor, Conqueror Zzar.

Introductions were made.

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

"And so we must go on the offensive," resonated Marr. "I am of a mind to take the battle to the heartland of these - Spartans - you know them by?"

Chairman Yang nodded.

"These Spartans," Marr continued.

""This way we will be fighting an offensive battle, which we Progenitors are ideally suited for. Our Ogres are practically indestructible, and will form the spearheads of our armies, and your shard troops will form its backbone."

"I disagree," the Chairman said.

"The first priority must be to recapture our bases, where at least we will find a sympathetic population. Then we can concentrate in ridding my continent of the nuisance factions - Believers, Drones and Gaians, to say nothing about the Morgan turned base that has been immune until now as the base for The Redemption.

"But now that the Unity Core Salvage mission has returned successfully, that base's immunity no longer applies.

"That should be our first priority."

Judaa Marr flapped his mandibles in agitation:

"No, no," he resonated. "That is false tactics. Do not be swept by emotion to regain your lost bases. These will fall into place in due course.

"No, let us concentrate in dealing this Colonel a body blow. South of their capital lies a small, lightly defended, I'll wager, base, Blast Rifle Crag. We will seize this base as a clawhold on their continent, and from there fan out to take their capital, and leave the rich pickings of the western tip until the end."

Air Marshal Lew snorted. "How? It is well outside of our range. The drop pods have limitations, you know."

Conqueror Marr looked over at Sk'aar:

"Fill in the details," he resonated imperiously.

Sk'aar leaned forward:

"Before we left the orbiting Scoutship I sent a resonance burst to the Sol wormhole where Commander Haart is waiting with our Battlecruiser Impaler and Scoutship 229_s commanding their return to Manifold Six orbit. I also transmitted the specifications for adding drop pods and heatshields for their remaining five Ogres, and the specifications for the conversion of the Impaler's fifty Gnats for Manifold Six duty. They will be here in a few turnings."

Engineer Sartor added:

"And I have asked the weapons officer to see what can be done with the Impaler's planetary bombardment and interspacial torpedoes to make them useable on our surface.

"But remember, although we have these weapons, we do not have the technology to construct or even reconstruct them. Once damaged or lost, they are lost forever and cannot be replaced. Our only hope is to conquer Manifold Six completely, with the help of our Hive allies, or to grow enough bases to a sufficient size to construct the six subspace generators needed to summon the Battle Fleet itself to our aid. We do not even know if these generators could be built in our ally's bases."

"What of the defense of out own bases?" the Xenobiologist Canla altered.

"We think they are secure," resonated General Commander M'uth. Each base has four Ogres and two Gnats committed to it, with one being fitted with offensive weapons, and the other defensively equipped. Plus we have the usual 3-res garrison squads as well in each base."

Judaa Marr turned to the Chairman:

"Do you concur that this is the optimal plan?" he resonated interrogatively.

Sheng-ji Yang turned to his commanders:

"Give me your reasoned opinions."

Marshal Ng took the iniative:

"We are reduced to eight bases, six of them on the continent, and two offshore. Our allies have generously committed four of their scarce Ogres to our defense, and they are deployed at … just a moment. Do we have holomap projection capability?"

Junior Stochastic Canla nodded assent, and sketched a small sequence of moves in front of her with a taloned claw. A holomap of manifold six appeared in front of them.

Ng continued:

"Co-ordinate 26/96, the bunker on the road from Fellowship City to Great Clustering; 31/95, the bunker northeast of Seat of Proper Thought; 26/106, the bunker northeast of Labor network. It was at location 28/108, the bunker on the road northwest of Unity lair, but we ordered it withdrawn when the base was overrun by the Spartans. The final Ogre is operational in the bunker 32/106, southeast of Social Engineering Den."

"But what about your headquarters. Is it not worth defending?" resonated Marr.

"Indeed," replied Ng. "But we have withdrawn our command structure from The Hive to Sea Hive, although both are adequately defended."

"Although I note that the Professor with whom we were working has disappeared, and I am given to understand that one of your prisoners has been spirited away," altered Marr. "Is this not so?"

Ng squirmed, and looked over to Civilian Marshal Hsui with the mute plea 'you field it'.

She did.

"Zakharov will return to us. We have his granddaughter in our custody. As for the loss of the Morgan, we consider the exchange to be worthwhile, for we have finally eliminated the redoubtable Datajack Roze …"

Air Marshal Lew interrupted:

"I'm afraid not, Civilian Marshal. The mission to destroy her failed. She escaped."

Conqueror Judaa Marr looked on.

How had he gotten involved with these incompetents?

He jumped in:

"Let there be no more discussion. We are in command of this offensive, and it shall be done as I say. Look to your own defenses and if you so wish, you may use the Ogres as offensive units if you wish. Just remember again, once damaged or destroyed, they cannot be replaced.

"This meeting is terminated. I will advise you of the arrival in our skies of The Impaler"

[Rynn:]

Hive Covert Operations Headquarters, vicinity of Nessus Canyon

The chopper came in low over the canyon's edge and dropped down to the floor below, skirting the walls until it came to the patch of fungus to the south of the depression. The rotors kicked up the dusty red sand of the canyon floor as it settled in the fungus.

The doors opened, and Sand descended first, followed by Anastasia, then Angel and Angelica.

Anastasia looked around. The view was bleak in all directions. Desert scrub climbing the canyon walls on three sides, and a low depression just north of the fungus jungle in which they had landed. In the depression Anastasia saw what appeared to be a deserted homesteader's cottage. She had heard of these, Hive colonists who were perhaps more Spartan inclined, individualists, who had deserted the Hive community life and struck out on their own. Chairman Yang had tolerated them, and indeed had recruited some of them into his forces as advance spies. She thought she just could make out the shadow of a much larger building, but it was difficult to see well in the heat haze rising from the canyon floor. That seemed to be where they were headed.

As they descended, the shadow loomed larger, though from what she couldn't say.

Then she saw the two rovers appear in the valley bottom, just to the northwest, heading in the same direction she was going.

Then to her amazement the valley floor seemed to open up, as great doors slid aside allowing the vehicles to enter. They remained open for the pedestrians to also enter. Now Anastasia saw how she could have seen what appeared to be shadows. They were in fact, just that, caught by the setting suns.

As they entered, the great doors slid shut again.

The two rovers had come to a stop, and a young woman was being helped out of one of them, both legs encased in full medipacks. A guard and another woman were waiting for her as she limped from the rover, leaning on its driver for support.

"Ah, Kyella, how are you?" she heard the wounded young woman ask.

"As well as can be expected, Shauna," came the reply. "This time you will not escape. Where is Ruth?"

"Safe, I trust, and away from you monsters," came the spirited reply.

This exchange drew Sand's attention as he was leading his contingent across the floor. He stopped in mid stride.

"Shauna?" he asked, as he recognized her. "And without Ruth? And no Ron? Haraad will not be pleased."

She spat on the floor. "Ask me if I care," she replied testily. "None of this would have happened if Yang had kept his part of the bargain, but oh, no, he had to doublecross me. We were co-operating fully, but he welched on his commitment, so blame him for the whole fiasco."

Sand chuckled.

"Ah, Shauna, ever the negotiater, eh? Never mind. We have some company for you, to help while the time away."

He indicated Anastasia with a sweep of his hand.

Shauna looked over at the tall, athletic, brunette, just a little bit older than her, she reckoned. She nodded.
Anastasia nodded back.

"Hi," she said.

Suddenly Shauna stopped, head lifted, as if sniffing the air. A small smile played across her face, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Then she went on.

'Hmmm. I wonder what that was all about?' Anastasia thought. She followed Sand to the rooms off to one side. Shauna disappeared with Kyella to another room.

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

They all met later that evening in the common room, for dinner.

Then Ashaandi entered the room.

"Ah, Anastasia," he said. "The Angelic Assassin. How you disappoint me. We had you earmarked for stardom, perhaps even as the Joan of Arc of the dormant University faction. But you lost your idealism. Pity. Now you are the consort of the disgraced Allardyce.

"Your Grandfather has disappeared, you know."

Anastasia blanched.

"Where… how…"

Ashaandi chuckled.

"Just walked away from Yang. Most irate was the Chairman. That's why you are here, you know. As bait."

"But where…" her voice trailed off at seeing the twinkle in Ashaandi's eye.

"Probably having dinner right this moment with your Allardyce. Yes, that's right. Turned up in Great Clustering, and was whisked away by Miriam to a crimes tribunal trial at the UN."

He turned to Shauna.

"And you, my dear. What we could have done had you thrown your lot in with us. But you didn't. So Ron was the bait that kept you docile. Now he and your daughter are gone. So you'll be the bait that brings her back… just like Anastasia here.

"So get to know each other. And do make friends with Angel and Angelica. They can be quite disarming when they want to be. Ah, but of course. Anastasia - you and Angel have crossed paths before, in training, if I am not mistaken. You bested her then. It will not be so easy now. They are a very potent sister act. They will be honing their skills on you both.

"And of course Kyella will be keeping an eye on everybody. Isn't that right?" he snapped at her.

She nodded, eyes downcast.

"I will not fail this time," she said.

Ashaandi nodded.

"Correct. There will be no failures again in The Circle. I have spoken."

He turned on his heel and left the room.

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

Anastasia?

What the heck? What's this?

Anastasia. It's me, Shauna. I'm in your mind.

You're an empath?

Well, I read minds. But I'm linked to my husband right now, and he is what is referred to as a compellor. He's on his way here with a Spartan operative that we've worked with before, on a rescue mission for you, of sorts. His name is Kurt. He contacted me when we were outside earlier.

Hi Anastasia.

Hello Kurt. This is weird. Miles Cavenaugh and I came to get you, and after he found your location, left me with the sisters.

I'll say. Now pay attention. You will need to team together to counter Angel and her sister. Her sister is also an empath, albeit quite weak right now… she's in training so to speak. She and Angel work very well together…

Tell me about it. I'd have escaped from Sand if she hadn't been with her sister. I was wearing a personal cloaking device and would have slipped out, but she was able to indicate where I was through telepathy.

Exactly. Now, Shauna, keep your mind open to me and Miles at all times. We'll take shifts so that none of the Circle empaths can read you, and through you, keep the bridge to Anastasia open until we can get there. I don't think you are in any physical danger - oh, maybe some rough play will lead to a bruise or two, but be on your guard constantly. Team together to combat their teaming.

I've handled Angel before, I can do it again. I've a few tricks I've learned since last we met. But her sister is a different thing. I've never battled with an empath team before.

That's why you and Shauna need to work as a team. And Miles and I will help. Anastasia. You've had some anti-psi training?

Just the usual Circle stuff. I'm not an adept if that's what you're getting at.

No. But the Circle techniques are good. If you can remember how to channel, then you can keep Shauna bridged while making it hard for Angelica to penetrate. She will, eventually, but it will cost seconds - and they will come in handily. When do the sessions start?

First thing tomorrow. Sand wants to see if Angel is fully recovered from the Great Clustering blast, so we're going hand to hand.

OK. Either Miles or I will be with you to combat Angelica. Good luck.

Thanks, and goodnight.

Goodnight Shauna.

'Nite Anastasia

You can call me Stazi.



[This message has been edited by Rynn: (edited July 23, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Courage : to Question

Judaa Marr sat still as first the Hive delegation, then his senior officers, left the conference room.

As Young Conqueror Zzar and Junior Stochastic Canla made to leave he looked up:

"Stay," he resonated quietly.

Kri'lan and Superior master N'kal, who were just edging out of the doorway, caught the slight eddy of resonance, and turned as one to re0enter the room.

"Conqueror?" they resonated, as one.

"No, not you two. Begone," Marr altered. "I wish only these two."

Kri'lan and N'kal left quietly.

Canla oozed apprehension, so palpably that the smell receptors of Zzar quivered as he sensed her unease. He for his part was excited. To be in the presence, alone - well almost alone, with the great Conqueror Marr , was a singular honor. He waited in anticipation.

Judaa Marr did not keep them waiting long.

With a sweep of a taloned forelimb, he brought the holomap projection back to life, and turning first to Canla, then to Zzar, he resonated interrogatively:

"Do you agree?"

Canla caught the wave, and cradled it, passing it from flank to flank, searching for deeper, perhaps hidden meaning. 'Agree to what,' she mused inwardly. 'With what? That we should take the offensive and not wait to be garroted in our sleep by these alien intruders like the bovines we slaughter for our feastings? That we don't help the Alien ally, Yang, to recapture his territory and bases and free his subjugated citizens? That we cross half of manifold Six just to strike a blow at the enemy we perceive as being strongest, perhaps spending all our energy and squandering our significant, yet tenuous, technical superiority in one grand gesture?'

She looked over mutely at the Young Conqueror Zzar for support.

He was intently examining the holomap.

She began, hesitantly:

"I, ……. I,…"

Marr resonated quietly, in a friendly manner:

"Share your thought process, Canla. Only by doing so - as I will mine, and as Young Conqueror Zzar will shortly do his, can we learn from each other. Do not be afraid - there is no right or wrong answer, only more attractive and less attractive options. So share."

Canla altered: "I am unused to this, Conqueror Marr. The advice you usually seek of me is not normally of a military nature."

Zzar raised his head, listening intently.

'So the Conqueror is in the habit of soliciting opinions from the junior officers,' he thought. 'I must learn from this. If I am to command in battle, as Superior Master N'kal has indicated, then I must not be above listening to the thoughts and fears of those I command.'

Canla continued:

"As I see it, Conqueror Marr, we are at an impasse at present. The aliens cannot attack further, as we have given our ally the weapons to do significant damage if deployed defensively, with the Battle Ogres. With our 4 Ogres and two gnats for each of out four bases, we are nigh impregnable.

"We need to expand, and grow our bases and our population, and rapidly. Just a short distance west of us is the landmass occupied by the faction known as the Gaians - with philosophies similar to the detested Caretakers."

As the resonance reached them, both Marr and Zzar shuddered, turned and spat on the floor, as did Canla at the mention of the word, Caretakers.

She continued:

"I believe that the obliteration - or occupation - of their bases should be our primary goal. The landmass south of then isthmus alone would support twenty sizeable bases, of which at surely six could be grown to support the infrastructure necessary to build subspace generators in the pattern necessary to signal the main fleet and summon it here."

Marr intervened immediately, fluttering his mandibles in some agitation, as he altered:

"And have my victory denied? Have me beholden to Supreme Conqueror Hra'ath? Is it not enough that I have to beg for weapons and supplies from Commander 'Ychet Haart and her officers in The Impaler, when she should clearly be obeying my commands?

But go on."

Canla resonated:

"Well, if not to build the subspace generators, at least to provide you with an unbeatable army and the infrastructure to support it for planetary conquest without the Supreme Conqueror's assistance.

"But there is another reason why this sub continent of Manifold Six should be our goal. Our Scoutship reconnaissance shows us what we believe to be the Ancients' Manifold Nexus located there. What a prize to have that in our grasp. Perhaps even to invoke its powers imbued within it those hundreds of thousands of turnings ago by the Ancients."

Marr pondered.

This did indeed make sense, so much so that he wondered if he might have been over hasty in exercising his partially inbred, partially developed reputation for going for the thorax of his enemy.

He turned to young Conqueror Zzar.

"And you?" he resonated.

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

Young Conqueror Zzar had been studying the holomap as Canla had been resonating.

He could see the attraction to Marr of a quick strike to the heartland of these aliens who self resonated as Spartans. It had always been Conqueror Marr's style. Who was the strongest, where was their head, go for it. Never the soft underbelly. Never the swift amputation of a limb, the slow weakening through loss of blood, loss of strength, loss of will.

But this ego could be a weakness, Zzar thought.

Sure, the exhilaration would be immense…the sensation of being unstoppable as the usurper troopers stormed from one base to another, but then what? And by how much would the enemy be crippled when the advance stopped?

He began:

"The initial conquest will be easy. Their base known as Blast Rifle Crag will fall almost without casualties. We will move along the ridge to Fort Legion, where that too will fall, but not quite so easily. Then we will sweep down towards their headquarters, Sparta Command, which will be panicking, as all their defense positions are to the south and east. They thought themselves unreachable from the west, so we will, after a short and bloody, but glorious battle, take that base."

Marr's interjected altering grated on Zzar.

"And then their leader will sue for peace!"

"I think not," Zzar altered in return.

"We will continue eastward from Sparta Command to take their base of Hero's Waypoint, which perhaps will mark the limit of our eastward expansion."

"Why so?" resonated Canla, intrigued by the Young Conqueror's grasp of the strategic implications of the military situation.

"beyond that lies a vast desert," Zzar altered. "Our slow moving Ogres and long lines of supply will make us sitting targets for the fleet Alien rovers and needlejets.

"No, we will then move north of Fort Legion to capture Halls of Discipline, Centurian Cove and Training Camp. That may represent the zenith of our invasion. To the west of Fort Legion lies one of Manifold Six's highest mountains, and a heavily forested area that again would bog us down. To the south of Hero's Waypoint lies a wide meandering river and a valley that would make us but fodder for the alien sharpshooters."

Zzar swept his arm across and through the holomap, and the seven Spartan bases changed color and assumed the familiar shape of the usurper bases.

Marr resonated:

"Would the Alien intruders not now sue for peace? Surely they would recognize their hopeless position if we decimated their number of bases?"

"Alas no, I am afraid," Zzar altered.

"Watch. The color gold will represent the industrial and population strength of the aliens."

Again Zzar moved a forelimb through the holomap.

A huge golden crescent of bases materialized, from the figure-of-eight island held by the peacekeepers with its eight bases, down through the Morgan continent and through the captured Hive, Believer, Free Drone and Gaian bases, crossing below the Emerald isle until it stopped at the four ex-University Spartan bases.

"We have not touched their capacity to reproduce or to make war," he resonated softly. "They will not sue for peace."

Judfaa Marr regarded the young conqueror speculatively.

"You have not indicated your thoughts - merely expanded on my strategy. What would you do?" he resonated.

Zzar paused, then took the plunge

"Distinguished Conqueror, while you are right in that the capture of the Spartan headquarters would deal a severe blow to the pride of the alien invaders - and at little cost to our troops, it is but merely symbolic."

Zzar shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and continued:

"And for that reason I believe that we should open more than one front.

"Being small, we are weak in units, although our small number easily out-tech the aliens. But for that reason we should listen to the Chairman's pleas, and plan with him to liberate some of his conquered bases. This will give him a larger population base from which to draw recruits for his armies as the base reclamation proceeds. Many of these humans will have friends or even broodmates in other, as yet to be unliberated, bases and will fight with fervor to liberate them.

"And Canla is right. The capture of the Manifold Nexus would be a ring on our tusks like no other. And should not be expensive as we understand that this Gaian faction is new and weak.

"So, in reality, we would be operating on two fronts - Blast Rifle Crag and the Manifold Nexus, while just giving support to our ally for his offensive. We would not be stretched to thin at that."

Judaa Marr the two younglings.

There was much truth in what they both said.

His eyes were drawn to the golden crescent still evident on the holomap.

"You are both right," he resonated abruptly. "But the time is not yet."

His forelimb swept the display.

"The key is their production capacity, as you so rightly resonate.

"Therefore we will not stop at the seven bases around Sparta Command. After their capture we will foray westwards to the north of the Arzamas Forest, sweeping all before us right to the gates of Fort Superiority itself.

"And we will help our ally to recapture his erstwhile bases. The objective will be the three southernmost land bases, Unity Lair, Socialism Tunnel and Deep Passages. When that has been achieved, then Chairman Yang will have no further claim on our seconded personnel. They will then be freed to cross the sea and claim the Manifold Nexus for the Progenitors. And you, Canla, will lead that expedition, which means that you will need to familiarize yourself with the troops you will be commanding during the Yang offensive."

Turning to Zzar, Marr dropped the bombshell.

"And you, Young Conqueror Zzar, will command the Northern Expeditionary Force with the objective of driving the Spartans from their continent."

[Hydro]

Laborer's Throng

"Get that out of may face!" Mel almost yelled at the well-meaning Drone citizen who offered her a 'Domai Dusie' cocktail. The partying had started early and was still going on, and these revelers had no interest in helping their allies the Spartans.

Mel brushed the more-than-tipsy woman aside, causing her to spill her 'Dusie'. She didn't seem to notice or care.

"Rog, get these halls cleared. Now! I don't care if this is Domai's base, all I know is that we have to change our C&C in four hours to The Drone Mound."

Roger, her harried aid, lost his smile and nodded. He whispered into his comm, and three Spartan soldiers walked into the hallway. They gently, and irresistibly, moved the throng that was encroaching on them out of the way. In moments the hall was cleared.

Mel looked at the soldiers and some of the miffed expression left her exasperated face. "Good. Now keep them out. If anyone intrudes, shoot them."

The soldiers didn't even blink, but saluted smartly. "SIR! Yes, Sir!"

"Ah, sir. 'Shoot'? Isn't that a bit…extreme," he said tentatively. He clearly saw that Mel was in one of her moods, and a direct challenge was liable to result in tread marks on his backside.

Mel furrowed her brows, and Roger winced, braced for a pasting.

But it never came.

"Fine." Mel looked over at the sentries, who were watching the exchange very attentively. "No lethal measures. But keep them out."

Once again, the soldiers didn't flinch. "SIR. Yes SIR."

Looking around Mel found something else to get mad about. "Where is that sled? Mr. Collins, you told me it would be here 10 minutes ago!"

"Ah, yes Sir," Rog responded, getting on his mike again to track down the cargo sled.

Mel sighed, wondering why she was surrounded by such incompetence, and such a bewildering array of blithering idiots.

"Now, get Jess off her a** so she can demob the situation holo. We can't run a war without that…"

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

Finally, a moment of peace, or what passed for peace. Mel looked around at the beginnings of her new tacs room at The Drone Mound, which was barely operational. Big wig politics required the switching of bases, and the moving of the 'temporary' Hive Theatre tactical command from Laborer's Throng to Mound. Mel knew she couldn't do anything about that, so it was no use worrying: Just get it done, and get it done right. If you have to run over some officious bureaucrats and a few underlings, then so be it.

However, the Command Communiqué she had recently received she could do something about. In fact, it was her duty.

Mel punched it up again to make sure she understood it.

To: Captain Mel Cassaroni, Hive Theatre Commander
From: Field Marshal Wang, 2nd Armor Commander, Sparta Command
CC: Coronal Corizon Santiago

RE: Tactical and Strategic Objectives

Due to the high losses expected during future offensives on the remaining Hive holdings, the Axis Command has changed the Hive Theatre strategy from the Chop-and-Drop fast attack and occupation of Hive colonies to tactical harassment and the destruction of Hive infrastructure. The objective is to preserve Axis resources while systematically denying the ability of Axis enemies to effectively mount an offensive campaign and to limit his ability to resist a future Axis offensive operation.

You are ordered to enact this policy effective immediately.

(Holo excerpt for Captain Cassaroni's eyes only, personal encryption authorization required: Mel, don't read more into this than you need to. If you see an opportunity to liberate additional territory from the Hive then do so. Be wary of committing too many of your men, since you are not liable to get significant replacements. You can expect some anti-aircraft choppers soon, but only those in production at captured Hive bases. Domai may help, since his primary bases are on Yang's continent, but his troops are likely to be poorly trained. The Gaians are busy elsewhere, and have a significant presence on Morgan lands. Miriam is expected to provide ops security, but will otherwise be of little military help. Santiago is preparing recent Spartan production to be ready at another theatre. Keep me informed. - Wang)

Mel agreed with this assessment, and especially with the addition of more anti-aircraft ability. The Hive seemed to be concentrating on aircraft, and the intelligence report of three Hive shard nerve gas choppers being near completion was worrisome.

There were many targets of opportunity for a harassment campaign, and Mel mentally ticked them off.

Tier One Targets:

Boreholes - number one target. Each Hive base generally has one, and they provided most of the Hive's mineral and energy resources

Sensors - destroying these decreases defensive ability, and reduces the Hives' line-of-sight, giving a tactical advantage to the attacker

Bunkers - the Hive has these at almost every road junction, and destroying these increases the speed of a ground attack, and allows easier destruction of a ground-based Hive offensive

Tier Two Targets:

Condensers - there are few of these, but destroying them can decrease growth and put stress on remaining cities

Formers - the Hive makes cheap formers that can be replace quickly, but destroying them disrupts their production ability, which is already limited due to a significantly diminished production base. Also, with no formers it is difficult to replace destroyed infrastructure, and if they are afraid to use them and don't then they are as good as destroyed

Tier Three (Non-priority) Targets:

Roads - the Hive has already cut roads into hostile territory to blunt a Spartan attack, so no additional roads need to be destroyed

Farms and forests - there are so many of these that destruction will not measurably affect Hive production, and it would reduce the ability of the base to survive when captured by Axis forces

Recalling her holo map Mel knew that 3 boreholes were within immediate striking distance. A priority would be given to the boreholes for their new capital Sea Hive, since it has little mineral production otherwise, and for The Hive, which is almost behind Spartan lines.

Mel quickly drafted orders for her ground and air units and set them off.

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

The Hive Theatre army didn't have much artillery, but what they did have was behind the lines. Moreover, since it was behind the lines it didn't get used, and since it didn't get used they weren't considered important, particularly for the type of mobile warfare that Sparta Command loved most. Getting assigned to an artillery unit was considered a 'penalty box' for officers, and a slightly shameful cushy assignment for the enlisted. Basically, Sparta didn't put their best into units that weren't essential, and since they almost never saw action they never improved the experience and morale. Of course, even an 'average' Spartan is very, very good. Other armies would call them veteran, but in an army wholly composed of commandos and elites they were definitely second-class in the great pecking order.

Life was uneventful, all things considered, for Spartan artillery. When orders came in for action, and 2nd Lieutenant Pat Morris was more than a little excited.

"OK. Look sharp. This is our chance! Get these pieces of sh*t rovers in gear! We have a date with destiny at The Sea Hive!"

Those around Pat in the rover's cabin groaned ever so softly. Pat was given to theatrics, and exaggeration. With nothing to do all day that was a common avocation.

"Gomez! How are those chaos guns doing? Brigade report!" Pat almost yelled into her mike. As she did so the rover lurched sideways, and everyone's body was yanked uncomfortably even with the anti-G five point inertial harnesses.

"All operational, and spit-shined within an inch of their lives, SIR! We're ready to shoot us some Hive!"

"Roger! Pilot? Status! Ken! Pay attention!"

"Just driving, Sir. Avoiding rocks and trees. Situation nominal. These Hive roads seem to have some holes in them. I wonder who put the holes there?" a playful Ken quipped. He knew 'Lieutenant Patty', as she was called when she wasn't within earshot, wouldn't appreciate his irreverence, but he did it anyway. That was why he was still a downright old private piloting a second grade rover instead of on the front line.

"Flyeye up?" Pat asked.

"Affirmative," the distracted voice of Reyes Rodriquez intoned from the comm engineering station. "Coordinating holos now, and patching through to HQ. No enemy activity. HQ confirms with available sensor data."

Pat smiled and took a deep breath, relishing the faint rush of adrenaline.

"ETA to target?" Pat asked for the second time in the last 10 minutes.

Five minutes closer than the last time you asked, Reyez thought to himself. "4.5 minutes, Sir."

Pat nodded, and flipped on her mike to all rovers in her brigade. "2nd Lieutenant Morris to Pounder Brigade: when you reach the assigned coordinates link targeting computers, lay down proximity fire to refine simulations, then blast the hell out of that damn* borehole! I want to see clouds of metal and rock within seconds! Morris out."

Pat deactivated her secure comm. Looking around see could see her crew focus, and there wasn't a slacker among them. Although she wouldn't admit it here and now, she was pleased.

"Sir, target in sight. Routing flyeye visual. Rover 2 has begun firing, now 8 and 10," Reyez said.



The visual appeared in a 3D oblique view, with each rover the size of a thumb. The distant borehole was absolutely enormous, like a great, roundish rent in the surface of Planet. By comparison the rovers were specs of dust. The 'small' conduits coming out of it were each actually 10 meters in diameter, and occurred in clusters of 100. They appeared 'small' simply because the borehole was so big. Surrounding the sides were the engineering crews and warehouses of automated machinery that maintained the borehole, which was the infrastructure that ensured its mining and energy production.



The rover reverberated with the energy discharge of the now obsolete chaos turrets.

"Give me visual of the borehole, 500 meters from the rim that is nearest to us," Pam ordered.



"Yes, Sir," Reyez responded, and the oblique view was replaced with a ground eye view.

The enormous borehole looked placid, except that there were little brilliant explosions of white light where the chaos energy 'formed' from the artillery. Nothing was actually thrown, like conventional artillery of old. Instead, the energy was transferred to its new point, which could be tens of kilometers distant. The incendiary flash of super-excited air molecules released energy and heat in a 'chaotic' form, hence the name. Each 'artillery' blast wasn't as powerful as a direct chaos discharge from a rover or airplane, but it had a wider area of effect.

Initially Pam was disappointed. The little white lights seemed so small, and ineffectual. Then one of the little white lights formed on one of the conduits, and it ruptured, and ruptured spectacularly. White and yellow boiling, raw energy erupted out of the conduit, and the rupture grew, and fully engulfed the adjacent conduits in the bundle. The rupture followed the conduit both down into the borehole, and it flowed along the conduit over the ground, where it detonated a mammoth transfer building. The resulting explosion was most satisfying.

Then another flash detonated near the edge and a chunk of rock and reinforced earth calved off and fell into the borehole. It seemed tiny and to be moving in slow motion, until Pam realized the little chip was 100 meters wide. After a moment the chip disappeared into the blackness below.

Next, an automated liquid metal conduit bundle broke, sending fountains of yellow-red magma-hot metal into the atmosphere. The little jets arced 150 meters up, where it started to cool to red, then a luminescent dark red as its parabolic arc tended downward. Each little jet was 10 meters in diameter, and when it impacted wetly on the edge of the equipment warehouses it creating even more destruction.

Even at this distance flashes of light and deep rumbles of the ongoing destruction reached the rovers, punctuating the regular staccato of the rover chaos projectors with an intermittent throaty growl.

The displays were spectacular, but still the borehole showed no sign of giving up. It was simply too huge. More chunks spalled off the sides of the fissure, and the surface buildings and conduits created a maelstrom of heat and raw energy discharge. But each little, bright light of chaos chipped a little more away.

"Sir," Reyez interrupted. "HQ tells us that they have seismic activity. Its epicenter is 2 kilometers beneath us, and it's a Richter 5.5."



"Any signs at the surface? Are you sure it's associated with the borehole?"

Reyez was distracted, being completely hooked into the holomatrix virtual reality. "Yes, Sir. They're sure. The epicenter is too tight, and the onset was 10 minutes after we started. It could mean a cascade collapse."



Reyez stopped, and hunched over his VR rig.

"Wait. More info. The epicenter is almost continuous, and it's moving. Moving upward. "

The intermittent deep rumble stopped being intermittent. Now it formed a throaty and continuous groan that was growing in volume.

"Upward?" Pat repeated, alarmed by what that might mean.

"Affirmative."



In between the firings of the chaos turrets the rover started shaking, which was surprising since its heavy-duty shocks and energy attenuation suspension system were supposed to mitigate all but the most severe jolt.

"Ah, Sir…I think we need to get out of here."

The scene at the borehole momentarily transfixed Pam. Instead of having 'little' 100 meter chunks of the curved edge crumble and fall into the depths, now the eastern third of the rim gave way and slid in a leisurely fashion into the depths of the borehole. Pam had never seen anything like it. It was…majestic, in a horrifying sort of way.

"SIR!??" Reyez yelled above the growing din to get Pam's attention.

Pam snapped out of it, and slapped her mike.

"Pounders, return to base. Best possible speed. Morris, out," she yelled as she belted herself in.

Almost in a choreographed dance, the rovers of Pounder's Brigade wheeled around and exited the way they came. Considering the situation, the fact that they maintained such order was amazing, as was their reaction time. Their departure was a bit choppier than their arrival, since they were enduring a magnitude 7 earthquake and the rovers had a hard time staying on the remnants of a road.

"My god! Look at that!" Reyez commented.

In the holo, which still played in the command cabin of Rover 1, showed the surface of Planet as it rolled like the waves in the ocean, with the focus being the borehole itself. Pam was fascinated, never having seen the effects of a surface S waves of an earthquake. As the ground surface rolled unnaturally the rim of the borehole completely collapsed, and the slabs of rock, buildings, and metal slid inward in one catastrophic event, almost like the earth puckered inward. As it did the center of the borehole became brighter, a rich, almost sultry red.

"Faster Ken. Faster," Pam said almost to herself, and her pilot.

"Trying, Sir," Ken said, his tight voice exhibiting his concentration. His playfulness was long gone.

Behind them the ground surface near the borehole seemed to slump further, and titanic cracks radiated from the now crumbled and widened rim of the borehole.

The ground became red, and abnormally bright, as viscous liquid rock from the mantel of Planet welled up and vomited onto the flat plains near Sea Hive and The Hive.

From the sky it looked like a gigantic, blood shot red eye of an angry beast.

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

Her HQ set up, Mel reviewed recent activities: two boreholes destroyed, one by artillery at Sea Hive and one by aerial bombing at The Hive. The bombing of the third borehole failed at Labor Network, since the young Gaian pilot dropped his load too early.

Mel smiled at that. Lots of men, and particularly young men, were accused of just such a 'crime'.

All in all it was a good day's work. The destroyed minerals alone were worth the production of one of the remaining Hive cities, and that was exactly what Sparta Command was looking for; if you can't kill them, make them bleed to death. It made the real estate less valuable in the long run, but who cares - that is for civilian administrators to fuss about.

Now, if the Hive doesn't shoot down our bombers we'll be in good shape.

Then Mel corrected herself. If the Hive does literally rise to the occasion they will shoot down our bombers, but our counterattack will kill all of their remaining interceptors, and future-bombing runs will be done with impunity, and will make mincemeat of any Hive aerial assault. Even the two Morgan interceptors at Great Conclave, who were moderately well trained, could take out a mediocre Hive bomber, and the Axis has twice as many interceptors right now than the Hive did. Adding the captured and allied bases on the Hive continent, the Axis had a production advantage, even if some of it was not geared totally for war material.

Mel understood Wang's private message that, all and all, there would be losses. The key was to keep the losses manageable, and make sure the Hive lost more.

Mel sipped some more ersatz coffee, and was reasonably happy for the first time in days.

[senatus]

The Leader's Horde

Supercoolant systems engaged.

Primary core booting... boot load enabled... application software
enabled. Strategic analysis unit online.

Auxiliary processors booting... application software enabled.
Tactical analysis unit online.

Polling peripheral interfaces.

Peripherals responding: command interface online. Underwater
sensors online. Thermal trackers online. Topographical database
online. Transponders online. Naval datalinks online.
All ships responding.

Maritime Control Center: Operational.

---

Sea Hive

"It's ready."

Admiral Hy faced the most feared man on Planet as he delivered his long-awaited
message.

Brief, and to the point, although open to interpretation, Sheng-Ji
Yang considered. Hy's face conveyed no anticipation of reproof for
the long delay, nor hope for praise. The admiral simply reported
and awaited instructions, despite the fact that the simple statement confirmed
the ascendancy of his navy and therefore himself.

Many on the Hive council had privately resented the vast consumption
of resources this secret project had required. Yet none had dared
protest; each time its construction status had been reported in Council,
the Chairman had simply nodded. This alone was sufficient to indicate
his continued approval. Such was the respect - no, fear, Yang privately
admitted, that he was accorded by his subordinates.

Fear was a two-edged sword. Yes, it allowed him to issue commands
without having to argue or cajole others. Ashaandi ruled his Circle
with this tool. Yet it also dampened initiative. Fear precluded
rational thought. It stressed the mind and therefore the whole.
It was wasteful and inefficient, and it was used too often as the Hive's
principal means of enforcement. Ultimately, it coerced the individual
mind, and did nothing to improve the collective. That was an imperfection
in the vision that would have to be eliminated... some day.

Yes, some day, Yang thought. But that day is in the
future, and my focus must be upon the present situation. Such as
ensuring the survival of the Human Hive until true group consciousness could
be achieved. And this will help ensure our survival.

"Good." Yang spoke at last. He did not remonstrate for the
many delays - that was pointless. He looked at Admiral Hy's impassive
face, and saw the thoughts behind it.

"You are perhaps wondering why we have been willing to wait so long
and invest so much effort in this?" Yang asked.

Hy hesitated. The Chairman did not often ask for the opinions
of his subordinates. But when he did, he demanded a complete and
truthful response.

"Yes, Chairman. While I am personally... gladdened by the expansion
of my service's capabilities," Hy did not say '`delighted',
for the Chairman also saw strong emotion as a weakness. Hy continued.

"... I have wondered why we have committed ourselves thusly,
instead of directing that energy into the production of more conventional
military."

The Chairman nodded. It was the duty of the student to question
and the teacher to explain.

"Consider: our land and air forces, to date, have been consistently
outclassed by the opposition. Our bases fell to the enemy too easily,
despite our defensive advantages. But our enemies, primarily the
Spartans, have relied upon airpower support of a land based advance.
However, that advantage is nullified if we deny them the opportunity to
engage us, and the vast resources they have deployed on land will be of
no use to them in the water. `This is in many ways a water planet,
and it can be ruled from the waves. With sea power, rugged terrain can
be bypassed and enemy strongholds isolated. Once naval superiority is achieved,
Planet is ours for the taking.'" Yang quoted Corazon Santiago
from memory, having made it a point to study the teachings and minds of
his greatest adversary.

"I see the wisdom, Chairman. We have indeed suffered numerous
defeats," Hy admitted, knowing that the Chairman never criticized the utterance
of truth. "But now we have powerful allies?"

"Ah, yes. Our allies."

Yang leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, looking inscrutable
as always.

"It is interesting, is it not, how quickly we have come to rely upon
them. As necessity has forced us to. And yet, must we not be
curious as to why they are aiding us? And what is their ultimate
aim? Somehow, I find it difficult to believe that their goal is,
in the long term, consistent with the principles of the Human Hive.
Nor do they seem to be greatly interested in the ultimate evolution and
uplift of humanity that the Hive represents. Has this not occurred
to you?"

Admiral Hy paled slightly. Indeed, it had occurred to him and
probably others of the Council, but he had not dared to question the apparent
direction of the Chairman.

Yang seemed to read his underling's thoughts, and sighed to himself.
Fear is unproductive.

"Survival in the present is a prerequisite to definition of the future.
But evolution cannot be served by focusing solely upon the present.
We shall remain allied with the Progenitors for now... as we must.
But should the relationship sour, we must plan to deal with the aliens.
And if... or perhaps, inevitably when that occurs, our forces must
be prepared. The aliens are most formidable..." Yang
looked at Hy and raised an eyebrow slightly, inviting the admiral to complete
the thought.

"... The aliens are formidable, but their forces consist entirely of
ground-based war machines, and flying craft that cannot take or occupy
sea colonies on their own." Hy finished quietly.

"I tell you this, Admiral, only so that you may prepare your forces
and tactics accordingly. Do not discuss this with anyone. Do
not record this in any fashion. Do not disappoint the Hive
in these instructions." Sheng-Ji Yang said matter-of-factly, and
Hy shivered almost imperceptibly. In his years of service to the
Hive, Hy had seen the Chairman angry enough to threaten only twice.
Seeing Yang completely dispassionate was far more frightening.

Fear is a flawed tool, Yang thought. But it is, at times,
a useful one.

"Now, let us put our new resource to the test. I have chosen an
insignificant target whose loss will be noticed by no-one."

---

Nautilus Pirate Submarine Reaver, near Morganic shipping
lines

Captain Ulrik Svensgaard looked about the bridge of his flagship with
the hungry appreciation of a man looking over the naked form of his lover.
This was the first, greatest effort of his "Nautilus Pirates". Soon,
he and his fellow travelers and renegades would be in a position to establish
their very own sea base, using the resources captured from a dozen merchant
vessels. Then, they would be able to prey upon and plunder the landlubbers
as his ancestors had once swept along the Nordic coastlines of old Earth
in their fearsome longships.

Let the other factions of humanity continue with their foolish struggles
for military dominance or lofty principles. Survival of humanity?
Democracy? Let the others do such work if they wished to try.
Svensgaard wasn't interested in any of it. Did a shark concern itself
with the migrations of fish? The gradual change of oceanic temperatures
over the years? Of course not. Ironically, Ulrik Svensgaard
was very knowledgeable about those same oceanic topics that the
shark ignored, but the principle was the same. Life was meant to
be lived in the here and now. Svensgaard knew this to be a truth
more fundamental than anything Yang or Miriam espoused. And of course,
life was meant to be lived well. Preferably with the spoils
of other people's efforts. Such as that big, slow Morganic transport
dead ahead.

Pity it isn't Gaian, Svensgaard thought. Those Greenpeace
Rainbow Warrior castoffs were even easier meat for his sea wolves than
Morganite or PK ships. Though for all his contempt for the pacifist
Gaians, he wouldn't mind a chance to grapple and board Lady Deidre Skye.
A man can dream, can't he?

"Unidentified contact! New vessel bearing at 292 degrees, range...
range 12.2 nautical miles!" Svensgaard's sonar man suddenly called
out.

The pirate leader swore even as he instantly called up his holotac display.
Despite appearances, Svensgaard was every bit the professional naval officer
when in combat.

"How the hell did it get so close?!" Svensgaard demanded, even
as Lieutenant Windsor moved over to the sonar station.

"Definitely using military quality ECM." The tac officer reported.
That was bad; it meant that whoever was out there likely knew the Reaver
was nearby.

"Morganic?" Svensgaard queried. No-one else was likely to
be escorting Morgan's merchant ships in these waters, yet the whole point
of coming here was because most of the Morgan navy had been sunk by the
Hive Resonance Fleet six weeks ago. It was in the news, dammit.

The tactical officer studied the ECM patterns and exclaimed in surprise.

"Not Morganite... sh*t, Hive?!"

That was bad news. Still, Svensgaard knew he could evade anything
he couldn't fight.

"Speed?"

"62 knots. Definitely on an intercept course, Captain."

"Gotta be a destroyer." Svensgaard scratched at a grizzled chin.
Still, on direct pursuit vector, even a destroyer couldn't match his
top speed of 70 knots. However the Hive vessel had known he was out
here (assuming it wasn't chasing the Morganite merchant - and the intercept
course with Reaver implied it wasn't), it couldn't catch him.

"New unidentified contact! Vessel bearing 17 degrees, range 14.7!"
The sonar man yelled again.

"Same ECM pattern as the first." Windsor reported tersely, some
tension showing in her voice.

Two destroyers. At least they took him seriously. This made
it a real challenge, and Svensgaard grinned in sudden enthusiasm.

"Set depth to 380. Flank speed, evasion vector. Once we
hit the thermocline, fire decoy torpedoes and rig for silent running,"
he ordered.

The two Hive ships changed vectors as well. The hunt was on.
But who was the hunter and the hunted? The tension increased as the
minutes passed, and the two Hive ships closed slowly, since Reaver
had to choose a vector between them.

"I've broken through the ECM, got an acoustic read coming in."
Windsor informed him. "It's... Jeezus! That's a foil!"

Svensgaard swiveled his chair to face his tactical officer, his jaw
opening in disbelief.

"Bullsh*t! How can a foil do 60 knots?"

Before Windsor could respond, the sonar man screamed one last time.

"New contact in stealth mode dead ahead! Range 1.2, bearing..."

The Hive resonance destroyer had accelerated around the pirate vessel
and then lurked directly in its path as soon as the chase had begun.
Before the unfortunate seaman could finish his warning, he and Reaver
were blown into fragments, along with one Captain Ulrik Svensgaard and
all of his aquatic ambitions.

The sharks had found their prey.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited August 02, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited August 02, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited August 07, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Great Conclave

Miriam put down her Conclave Bible, having reviewed and savored her favorite passages in the Book of Job.

The Devil torments, and God tests, Miriam thought. I have been tormented, but that is only a means to God's end, God's plan. Even the Devil and his minions are merely God's tools. That is what succored me through my long years of agony, and Yang's attempt at breaking my Faith, which he called 're-education'. God sharpens his tools through adversity, and I have been sharpened so that I may do His will.

Miriam crossed herself and whispered a heartfelt prayer.

Now, to secular duties, which grow ever more burdensome. Miriam reached over and activated a holo program from a panel in her small study. Unasked, Jessica had been kind enough to compile a history of humanity on Chiron and an annotated outline to historical events. More information could be accessed through the Datalinks of Great Conclave, formerly Great Clustering, and the outline was set with embedded links that Jessica had also been thoughtful enough to provide. Miriam finally though she had a working understanding of the tumultuous years since New Jerusalem fell to the godless hordes of Yang.

The upheavals in politics after her incarceration left Miriam a little breathless. Before she was placed in Yang's punishment sphere, the Spartans had been a miniscule faction banished to the northern edge of what was called Zak's Continent above the Arzamus Forest, and the heretical and irreverent Prokhor Zakharov had been the largest and most technologically advanced faction on Chiron. How Santiago had managed to grind him under her heal Miriam knew she would never quite understand. It must all boil down to the fact that Santiago was a brilliant strategist, and that she understood advantage where others only saw defeat and despair. However, regardless of the cause, she knew she would be forever grateful to Santiago for humbling what was truly a dangerous man - Zakharov. And she had shriven the Godless Yang of most of his empire, weakening him so that the Believers might again be free of his tyranny. It was quite clear that she deserved respect, even if she did not understand the Truth. Santiago, too, is God's tool, and a powerful one at that, even if she did not know it.

Scrolling through the history of Great Conclave, it seemed that a great many of the Believers from New Jerusalem and Godwinson's Hope had been forcibly relocated to Great Conclave in the decades after the war. They had suffered from Hive pogroms ever since in an effort to sear the Faith out of the Faithful.

Sadly, it had largely worked, since the Believers at Great Conclave now accounted for less than 16% of the population. Most of the rest were malleable Hive drones, many of whom didn't seem to care who was their leader.

More opportunity to save souls, Miriam thought hopefully and fervently as she continued to absorb the information.

A list of the Hive pogroms at Great Conclave came up. They were the standard fare that the Faithful had borne throughout history: job discrimination, confiscation of property, closing of places of worship, forced relocation, public humiliation, imprisonment, torture, execution, mass re-education, genejacks…

Genejacks? What are genejacks? Miriam wondered, as she activated the link for more information.

As Miriam read about the genejacks her horror grew: Believer children taken, their frontal lobes surgically and chemically atrophied, muscle, skeletal, and nervous system enhanced, and then placed into endless toil. It was one thing to persecute and kill the Believers, for in doing so their faith is tested. A Believer may be killed, but they are then a martyr and their soul goes to heaven. But, it was quite another thing to remove their ability to believe. It was diabolical, a plan worthy of Satan.

A picture appeared of an old and worn genejack, with her shaved head and a pucker in the middle of her forehead where her higher brain functions used to be, forever marking her as a genejack.

Miriam shivered. More horror of science and its immorality. When man dares to play god he degrades God's creation.

Miriam hurriedly shut off the holo reader. Thankfully, it was time for vespers.

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

The choir sat down and the last notes of Ode to Man's Desiring by J.S. Bach faded from the air.

A man in red vestments rose from his bench that was to the right of the altar and took two steps toward the pulpit. In a sweeping motion he raised both his hands, palms up, to signal the congregation to rise.

"Go in peace and serve the Lord!" Minister Harfelt intoned.

"Praise be to God!" the congregation responded.

The young dark haired minister crossed himself once, and the congregation did likewise in return. Vespers was complete.

Slowly, the solemn attentiveness dissolved, and small side conversations started. The parishioners made no haste to leave, as that would be unseemly, and each would then miss an opportunity to discuss the affairs of the day with old friends and confidants. People dressed in their best started forming clusters of twos and threes, and a low murmur filled the sanctuary. For the truly Faithful, vespers was the social event of the day.

Miriam rose from her place in the choir. A woman by her side gently touched her shoulder to get her attention and whispered, "That was beautiful! You have a lovely voice!" Her eyes were a little misty.

Miriam smiled brightly. So much had changed, but that which is the truly meaningful always stays the same. The simple joy of singing elevated the spirit, and it brought the soul closer to God. In many ways it was one of the most divine ways of communication, for it unified the whole of a disparate humanity into one, multifaceted and rich voice. Look closely and you can see the hand of God in the land and its people, but listen closely and you hear his Voice in the music.

Miriam reached up and touched the woman's hand. With that simple human contact another level of understanding beyond communication passed between these two women. "Yes it was. God was here."

The woman nodded, knowing that the beloved Sister felt the same way. She disengaged her hand and walked back to the vestibule, her choir robe softly swishing about her ankles as she went.

Miriam paused, enjoying the moment. To see the Faithful, congregated and worshiping together after so many years almost made her weep with joy. It was almost more than she could hope for but, yet, it was true. In the blackest hours of her torment she had dreamed of vespers, of the choir, and the unity that it brought. Memories of the sight of light through the stained glass window, the feel of the polished wooden benches against her back, and the sounds of voices in prayer and song - it had sustained her then, even as it restored her now. Truly, God is Great!

Movement to the side of the choir apse drew her attention, and she saw a man in a nondescript brown robe approach. He stopped a respectful distance away. Miriam nodded slightly, allowing him to come closer.

He bowed to Miriam.

"Sister," he said reverently, "here is the information I informed you about. I brought it to you personally to ensure it was not intercepted, or corrupted." The tone of the man's voice indicated that the matter was of some urgency, and in his hand he held a datacrystal, which he offered to Miriam.

She had received a vague note that 'important information' would be arriving for her this evening, but the note had given no details as the form or manner of delivery.

"Thank you Brother Gale. I will attend to it immediately," Miriam responded as she took the crystal from the Brother's outstretched hand.

"We cannot allow unbelievers, or those possessed by Satan, within our hallowed ranks. The unclean will infect the Body of God. They must be washed out! Purged!"

Miriam nodded. Some Believers were concerned with expanding the Body of God, while others saw their task to be preserving its holiness. This Brother was clearly of the ladder ilk.

"Yes, that is true. I will attend to this matter immediately. Go in peace, and server the Lord."

Brother Gale's hard eyes remained trained on Sister Godwinson's as he bowed to accept her dismissal. Then he turned and left the chapel.

After watching the brother leave she brought the crystal to arms length in front of her eyes. The crystal was such an innocuous and plainly beautiful item - clear, with only 12 facets. But it could contain information that could shake mountains. Incongruity?

Miriam kept tight hold on the crystal, and proceeded to her apartment. There, no doubt, her questions and concerns would be answered.

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

Miriam popped the crystal out of the old fashioned reader.

Miriam frowned. The crystal contained a detailed dossier that showed, in exquisite detail, the transgressions of a supposedly loyal Believer. The evidence was damning, and overwhelming. Numerous Believers of irreproachable character had sworn affidavits attesting their witness against this individual. Individually their observations and opinions were mere suspicion, but together the case was hard to refute.

Miriam sighed.

Allegations, Miriam thought, against one of my own.

Such a wound must be stanched. The guilty party must be called to account.

Miriam activated her comm circuit.

"Sister Jessica, report to my domicile."

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

Jessica paced quickly down the hallway in response to the unusual summons. Sister Miriam was always orderly and punctual, and had a routine for daily activities from prayer to management of domestic affairs. To break this routine meant there was something serious that needed attention, which was not surprising when considering that Great Conclave was in the middle of a war zone that embroiled the Hive, Spartans, Believers, Moran, Gaians and Free Drones, not to mention the malevolent and mysterious alien race.

Suddenly Jessica was worried. Was there an imminent Hive attack? Or perhaps some political upheaval that negatively impacted the Believers? The Believers were weak right now, and to a large extent they were at the mercy of the larger factions. In many ways they lived at the sufferance of the Spartans, and to a lesser extent the Gaians, Peacekeepers, and Morganites. Certainly the Believers had cause to mistrust the pagan Gaians, and the materialistic Morganites. And volatile Peacekeeper politics could always drift against the Believers, potentially causing great harm.

Worst of all, there might be reason Santiago was displeased. Jessica furrowed her brows as she walked. Maybe Santiago found out that she was the originator of the idea for the blackmail and base swap that Scott had 'facilitated'? She had a hard time believing that Santiago would take being blackmailed with good grace. Was it possible that she is taking her wrath out on someone who can't defend themselves? Miriam, and the Believers? Could she have harmed the Cause?

Jessica shrugged these thoughts off. Such worrying is not productive, and Miriam will be able to explain herself in moments.

Arriving at Sister Miriam's apartment Jessica took a moment to straighten her robe, and then placed her hand against the recognition pad. The pad glowed a faint green, and the door opened and Jessica walked in. Miriam was sitting at her study, and she stood as Jessica entered.

"Good evening Sister Jessica," Miriam stated with a tight smile. "Please, my child, have a seat." She waved toward a spare seat next to her desk.

Jessica nodded and walked over to her seat and sat down. Miriam did likewise.

Looking at Miriam's diminutive figure, it was easy to read her body language: she was concerned, even apprehensive. And her eyes were focused squarely on Jessica, as if looking into her soul.

"Child, you have been a true and loyal servant to the Church, and me" Miriam started hesitantly and slowly, like a parent might talk to a child when they have very bad news, "but there have been serious allegations made against you."

Now Miriam had Jessica's undivided attention.

"Allegations? What kind of allegations?" Jessica asked in a pensive voice.

Miriam paused, as if unwilling to answer.

"Child, you must be strong, and have faith in God."

Jessica felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"Jessica, you are accused of being a witch."

[Argonaut]

DataDeCentral: Axis Central Intelligence Agency

Roze stood there, amazed at what had been accomplished in so little time. The glorious colours of the monsoon jungle surrounded her as she stood, in the centre of this strangely earth-like forest, without a sign of civilization for miles around. That was the brilliance of it all.

Below Roze’s feet was one of the most advanced Covert-Ops Centres on all of Planet. From there, computers monitored events in every faction and every facility that could be tapped. Hardly an inch of habited territory on Chiron wasn’t being monitored by the mighty computers below her.

Down there, Roze’s Data Angels, the mission code name she had adopted for her employees, worked day and night decrypting and analysing information, deciding what was crucial and what just might come in handy in the future. None of them were allowed to leave the facility without special arrangements, because none of them even knew where they were.

The idea, first of all, was to create a centre without a physical location. More of a nexus of thought where we could trade intelligence, turncoats and technique. The second goal was to hide it from the very probe teams who used it. Nothing could be more secret than a collection of information that spends ninety-nine percent of its existence dissolved into the ether. It’s what Roze called, putting the Covert, in Covert-Ops.

The only people to ever have seen the facility were the Gaian workers who had constructed the facility. Deirdre had been generous in providing workers to construct the facility, largely to ensure that no damage came to the lush vegetation that flourished here. Even Deirdre and her workers, however, were never clear as to where the facility was constructed, as their route to the construction site was always different, and always controlled by Roze herself.

Morgan, as well, remained completely oblivious to the facilities location despite providing the funding for the entire operation. He was merely instructed to deposit credits at an account in Garden of Paradise, not even being informed what the money was for. He complied, with some grumbling as always, and the facility was completed in record time.

Roze breathed in one last gulp of air through her micro-breather, and looked at the life around her. It seemed like such a shame not to be able to enjoy it more. Suddenly worrying she might soon turn into another Deirdre, Roze disappeared into the facility’s entrance and vanished without a trace.

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

UN Headquarters

Zakharov walked down the halls of University Base, nodding to those he passed. The twin suns shone down brightly on the University Headquarters and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Zakharov couldn’t imagine a more perfect day for a picnic.

He wandered over the hills of St. Petersburg, through Lomonov Park to where Anastasia sat waiting for him. She looked beautiful as she sat there, her white gown blowing gently in the wind. She saw her grandfather approaching and smiled. From behind Anastasia, another figure came into view as he made his way over the hill. It was Yang.

Zakharov began to race towards Anastasia as the Chairman strode confidently towards her. No matter how fast Zakharov tried to run, he never seemed to move any closer towards Stazi. Yang moved closer and closer, and to Zakharov it seemed that Stazi moved farther and farther away. He tried to call out to her, but he found that suddenly he could make no sound.

Zakharov watched with horror as Yang drew a shredder pistol and aimed it directly at Anastasia. Yang smiled at Zakharov as he pulled the trigger, and Anastasia fell limp, her white dress stained red with blood.

The Spartan guards seized Zakharov on either side, and dragged him before the judges bench. Santiago stood, flanked by Miriam and Yang, all three of them sneering down at him. Each was adorned in the traditional black robe of a Justice of the Peace, and Santiago in her hand carried a large gavel.

“Prokhor Zakharov,” Santiago announced, “You have been accused of vast atrocities against the human race. You have destroyed lives in your endless pursuit of knowledge. You have failed your own faction. Your own granddaughter is dead because of you.” Behind them, a holoprojector displayed a picture of Anastasia in the park. But this time, it wasn’t Yang who pulled the trigger, it was Zakharov.

“This court now finds you guilty.” With these last words the gavel came hurtling down towards the bench.

Zakharov breathed heavily, his lungs unadjusted to breathing proper oxygen, making it difficult for him to catch his breath. He felt a strange ooze around him as hands lifted him out of the rejuvenation tank. His muscles, still limp from their long relaxation, almost failed him before a steady grasp caught him. It was Sharra.

“Prokhor, it’s all right.” Sharra’s voice quickly brought Zakharov back to reality. He looked around him at the other rejuvenation tanks, and suddenly it came back to him. The nurses in charge of the tanks waited patiently with a towel, allowing Zakharov time to regain his bearings.

“It’s all right Prokhor.” With that, Sharra gently led him towards the waiting nurses and back towards reality.

[senatus]

Private E-mail, standard encryption


Received From: Jessica.McCollough@Believer.gov
(sent: 21 days ago).


Dear Sharra,


I hope you get this e-mail sooner rather than later, although I remember
how "fast" the U.N. is at setting up PlanetNet accounts. Then of course
it'll take some time before you can figure out the manuals - UN manuals
are badly written in all official languages. Bureaucrats! Still, I'm certain
the Academician will help you with computers. He's probably saying we're
really backwards for using old-fashioned e-mail right now :-). But actually,
I did try to com you, only nobody there seemed to know who you are. I know
in some Hive bases they don't give their citizens last names, only numbers;
but you can register for one of your own.


Before I go any further, I wanted to apologize to both you and Prokhor
about what happened on the plane. Although the Lord's Believers were at
fault (I don't really want to go into it), please believe that this was
by no means the intention of Sister Miriam or any of our leaders. Sadly,
there are people amongst us who have difficulty interpreting the Lord's
Will. Just between you and me, Sister Miriam was so shocked by what happened
that I think she's going to adjust our official doctrine and policies because
of this incident; we've sort of lost our way a bit in the many years of
diaspora and need to focus on fundamental principles of Faith. I guess
I'm sort of rambling here, but I'm just grateful to God that He chose to
see you safely to the U.N, and I hope you and Prokhor can forgive us for
our trespasses.


Which sort of brings me to my next point - I heard that you were thinking
of visiting while the Academician was in the 'tanks. I really wish you
could come, but I probably won't be able to be in town - business. And
unfortunately, until we clean up our act (frankly speaking), I don't think
we can offer you a hospitable stay. It pains me to admit this, but nothing
got solved by hiding from the truth. Instead, I hope I can visit you next
time I'm at U.N. H.Q.?


I also heard that Governer Allardyce offered Prokhor immunity when you
both arrived at the U.N. Speaking for myself and not Sister Miriam, I think
Prokhor might want to refuse. Until he goes to trial, there will always
be suspicions and allegations hanging over his head. Besides, when Dr.
Lal comes out of the tanks, he'll probably be required to conduct the trial;
legally the allegations against Prokhor took place before the Charter was
revoked. I think the Academician would be best advised to clear his name
now that he's got a chance to. It's sort of like Confession; owning up
to and facing the past. It's something we all have to do sometimes. Recently,
I had to break one of God's most sacred commandments, and I tell you it
weighs heavy upon my soul. I can only confess my sin and ask forgiveness
of God, but I know He has promised forgiveness to all of us.


Prokhor may well ask why do I care about him - it's true he and Sister
Miriam aren't exactly good friends :-(. But let me tell you something,
Sharra: Prokhor cares for you, I can tell. And I've always been taught
that love and compassion for our fellow human beings is the greatest gift
we can offer to please God. Please take good care of that relationship,
and let him know I'm praying for you both. Preferably when he's drinking
something so he can snort and spray liquid all over himself (kidding...
sorta :-).


One last thing, don't be afraid to ask Scott for help. He's very busy
and very important, but I sense he's a truly decent human being and he
does try to help people.


Anyway, stay well until we meet again.


Yours in Christ,


Jessica McCollough.


P.S. If you find out what "Googlie" means, please let me know.


P.P.S I'm sure his reputation for being a lech is completely unfounded,
but I know firsthand that you can take care of yourself.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited August 07, 2000).]

[senatus]

Sparta Command, 12:32 Eastern Spartan Time

In the very heart of the deepest, most secret chambers of the
Department of Inquisition, a man screamed.

This alone was hardly an unusual occurance in the headquarters of
the shadowy organization responsible for the internal security of
Sparta. Many had suffered here before; in cells scattered
throughout the building, several other unfortunate individuals
were suffering even now.

What was unusual this time was that the victim was far more
accustomed to being the giver rather than the recipient.

Ishmael Skye, self-styled Prophet of the Cult of Planet, writhed
on the floor in private agony before the mental projection of his
master.

You have failed me, earthIshmael. You have failed Planet. You
have failed your God.

"My Lord Moor! I beg forgiveness! Spare your humble servant!"
Ishmael's pleas issued forth from a twisted mouth, but more
importantly, from his mind.

The irony of the scene was particularly intense. Ishmael Skye
was alone in the private quarters that belonged to Sparta's Grand
Inquistor. Alone, unless you counted the shell of a human who
had once been the Grand Inquisitor - a man he himself had
humbled, dominated, and then destroyed until only a shell
remained: a mask that Ishmael wore for over a year while secretly
ruling Sparta's Counterintelligence Service. And now, Ishmael
Skye was humbled, dominated, and in danger of destruction himself
before his own Master.

It had been many months now since his Master, his God, had
contacted Ishmael. That had disappointed Ishmael at first, but
at least he had been free to rule his Cult, and now the
Inquisition, in a matter he hoped was pleasing to Planet. He
exerted considerable influence over Sparta's environmental
policies; and if it was unusual for the Department of Inquisition
to take an interest in such things, no-one had dared comment. At
the same time he had kept his tampering hidden from those who
could've interfered - namely the Junta. In particular, Santiago,
Burge, and Allardyce. But Burge was long dead, Allardyce had
left for Lal-Lal land, and Santiago herself was fully occupied
planning a war and polishing her beloved artillery pieces. He
had masterfully balanced on the line between exerting enough
influence to please Planet, but not so much as to get noticed.
He had infiltrated his Cultists into the Inquisition, and even
recruited a few fanatical worshippers of Planet within the ranks
of Sparta.

"My Lord Moor! How have I failed Planet? Is not the Spartan Psi
Corps shattered, its master dead, as you instructed?" Ishmael
begged.

Yes, earthIshmael. You have done this as required of you. But
you failed to destroy Santiago. And now she and her minions
threaten Planet itself with their uncleanliness.

"But Sparta now runs a clean economy; surely the Hive or Morgan
with their planned and free market economies are worse enemies of
planet?" Ishamel asked, then cringed at the stinging response.

Do not question the ways of Planet, and your God, earthIshmael.
The Hive and Morgan are not your concern.

"How may I make amends, O Great Lord?" Ishmael asked.

If you would seek Communion with planet, do as I command:
Continue to catalog the evils of Santiago. Obtain the
disposition of her forces and report them to me when I call for
you. And I have a specific task for you now.

"I live for Planet, O Lord. How may I serve?"

You remember the woman Ayola. She who was one of the
granddaughters of Zakharov. Is she still alive, as I instructed?

"Yes, Lord Moor. I allowed the Grand Inquisitor to mutilate her,
but not kill her. All believe her dead, but I erased the records
and minds of all who watched, and placed her body in the cryocell
as you commanded."

It is time for her to serve Planet. Have her revived, and I
shall come for her. DO NOT FAIL AGAIN!

"I shall not fail, Master." Ishmael grovelled in the renewed
presence of the incarnation of his God, as a particularily
intense wave of mental energy washed over even his own powerful
shields. Only his God could be so mighty.

The Presence diminished, and Ishmael Skye got up from the floor,
ready to serve Planet.

---

Hive Covert Ops Base




"Gullible bastard, isn't he? And crazy to boot." Sand commented
sardonically, even as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"Quite insane," Ashaandi confirmed. "But a very powerful psionic
nonetheless, which is why I required your assistance to boost
me."

"How long have you been using him?"

"I've been his 'Lord Moor' for years, now. I think the first
incarnation of Moor was solely in the man's mind, but I took the
dream and form and became his 'God'".

"And you used him to help destroy the Spartan Empath Guild? And
feed you military intelligence? Sweet." Sand whistled,
impressed.

"Yes. It seems he's been able to thrive even when I was held in
that damned psi containment cell for months. He's quite
resourceful."

"So you kept Ayola Zakharov alive? Why?"

"I thought she'd be a useful card to have sometime." Ashaandi
confirmed.

"Zakharov is too cold-blooded to be blackmailed, though?" Sand
queried.

"Probably true, although I hear he's getting soft in his old age
- even adopted a drone girl. But Ayola can be used as leverage
on Anastasia, and vice-versa." The Circle leader explained, and
Sand nodded.

"Probably a good idea to get what you can out of this Ishmael
character before he drowns in the deep end, too. And I thought
Miriam was a nut. This guy takes the whole fruitcake."

---

Sparta Command, Department of Inquisition, 16:44 EST

Ishmael Skye plotted with renewed energy. He would do as his
Master, Lord Moor, had instructed. But even better, he would
complete what he'd set out to do long ago. The odds were risky,
of course, but Planet was with him.

He would kill Corazon Santiago.

Ignoring the Grand Inquisitor, who had an unfortunate habit of
drooling when not under direct control, Skye summoned his
immediate underlings, and moments later three men stood before
him. Two of his original cult, and the most loyal of his recent
converts. Skye had probed the last man himself, and had been
more than satisfied at the man's strength of conviction. The
cult had to be careful, of course, but new converts were
necessary for growth.

"Lord Moor has returned." Ishmael announced, and the three men
looked startled despite themselves.

"Are you ready to serve God?" Ishmael asked rhetorically, and
all three men nodded in unison.

"We serve."

Ishmael issued his instructions and explained his plan.

---

Sparta Command, Parish of the New Covenant, 22:17 EST




As evening services ended, a handful of dedicated Believers -
mostly soldiers attached to Spartan command - bowed to the cross
and left with somber demeanor. It was at this time that a
solitary figure slipped into the emptying sanctuary.

Benjamin Michaels shrugged off the detested greatcloak. He
would not come into the Lord's House wearing the attire of a
false religion. As Ishmael Skye had confirmed when he probed
the trance-trained soldier, Benjamin Michaels did indeed serve
God with fanatical devotion. He just didn't worship the same
one that Ishmael did.

Michaels walked into the antechamber, startling the minister who
was now putting away his robes.

"Code Mark - Joshua 4-11. I need to speak with Sister Jessica."

[This message has been edited by senatus (edited August 16, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters

“I still don’t think this is the best idea Provost.” Scott Allardyce sat behind his desk, with Zakharov and his aide opposite him. Zakharov was looking much healthier this time, as he had back in the days before Unity and he seemed much more himself now.

“If you allow yourself to be put on trial,” he continued, “I won’t be able to protect you. As it is, Lal should be returning fairly soon to resume his duties and you’ll be completely on your own.”

“I am aware of that,” the old academician responded. “The fact remains that I have been accused of committing crimes against humanity. If I have, then I should be duly punished, charter or no charter. Otherwise I leave myself open to constant attacks from the likes of Santiago and Miriam and there will be no chance of me making a new start. As you have already said yourself, you cannot protect me for ever, nor should you.” Scott knew that every word Zakharov had said was true. Yet, somehow he felt he had to do more for him, after he and Stazi had worked so long to see Zakharov free. Still, he could not refute Zakharov’s logic.

“Fair enough Provost. I believe there is a flight for UN Criminal Tribunal leaving later this evening, I shall see that you are on it and that no security leaks will announce your departure this time. I recommend that you and your aide prepare whatever belongings you have.” Zakharov nodded his head in agreement, and rose from his chair.

“Before I go, Scott,” Zakharov began. It was clear from his tone that they were no longer talking officially. “What of my granddaughter? Has she returned yet?”

“I’m afraid not.” Scott had hoped to avoid that question, despite knowing that such a thing was impossible. Still, he could not bear to tell the old man that the granddaughter he so longed to see was captured on a mission intended to set him free.

“The mission is overseas,” he lied, “and she’s only been checking in, there hasn’t been any direct communication. As soon as we can get a message to her, I’m sure she’ll race back to see you.”

Zakharov nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. As the academician turned to leave, Scott noticed that his aide, Sharra, still stood there looking at him quizzically. She seemed not to notice his gaze.

“Can I help you with something?” The question startled the young girl, causing her to blush as she averted her eyes to the ground. She could barely be more than twenty.

“Sorry sir, it just...well...” she was smiling awkwardly as both Scott and Zakharov watched her intently. “It’s just...I was talking to Sister Jessica... and she kind of wanted to know...Why do they call you Googlie?”

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

Data DeCentral

Roze examined line after line of garbled code. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. She had tried every advanced decryption code she knew and she still couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Damn these University codes! Where the hell did they come up with anything this advanced, that long ago?” Roze’s assistant, Kat, didn’t answer as she puzzled over the same lines. Normally, advanced algorithms contained codes, within codes, but they could still be broken into. A job like this should have taken no more than a day. They had already been at it for over two. There had to be something they were missing.

Kat was bored of it now. She was tired of staring at the same stupid screen which didn’t make any sense. She had begun to think that there might no be anything there at all, just a plant to waste the time of any probe who bothered to steal it. Still, Roze seemed to think it was something important and she was the boss.

Absently, Roze tried a program that substituted basic numerical values, and based on certain probabilities, translated the code into text. After a moments pause, the screen filled with what looked to be a series of words, but none of them seemed to make sense. It had been a waste of time anyway. Nobody used such a basic encryption code except for journals and private messages. Kat as just about to hit the refresh key when Roze shouted ‘hold it’.

On her master screen, Roze pulled up the window which allowed her to access Kat’s work screen. The words seemed to be nonsensical, not in any recognizable language. But just because it wasn’t recognizable, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a language. One word had been the clue, the very first word of the entire file: Navaho .

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

Sparta Command

Will let the hot water pour down over his head, the heat of the shower easing the pain and wiping away the grime. Every single muscle in his body hurt, at least that’s what it felt like.

Since they had come back from the mission with Roze, things had gone from bad to worse. The squadron was personally blamed for the loss of the transport needlejet and of the Hydra. They had all been placed on probation, and their planes were given to other more ‘experienced’ pilots. They hadn’t even been in the military a year and all ready they were being pushed out.

They had spent their time since doing every form of manual labour possible. They had hauled jet-fuel all over the aerospace complex, levelled terrain for new runways and they had even been forced to clean the toilets in the officer’s barracks. It was clear that nobody wanted teenagers in the Spartan Air Force anymore.

Will reluctantly turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. As he made his way into the bedroom to get dressed, he was shocked to find Kirstie sitting there, a sly smile on her face.

“Oh my,” she said with feigned bashfulness. “The least you could do when you have company around is to put on a pair of pants. Do you mind if I come over there and towel you off?”

“Kirstie,” William began, but it was clear from her reaction that she knew what he was going to say. It wasn’t the first time they’d been through this.

“Look Will, you need to face the fact that she’s gone. Eventually you’re going to have to move on with your life.” Kirstie put her hands on his shoulders, trying to comfort him. For someone so young it was strange that he was carrying around such a huge weight on his shoulders.

Will pulled away, uncomfortable with the close proximity between the two of them. He liked Kirstie a lot, and she was an incredibly attractive woman. But somehow, Will couldn’t give up on the chance that Sharra might be alive somewhere out there. And until he knew for sure, he couldn’t consider starting something with Kirstie.

“Anyway, the rest of the gang and I are all going down to the off-duty lounge. Are we going to see you down there?” Kirstie had made her way to the door, understanding that Will was uncomfortable. Will nodded his head, and Kirstie smiled softly as she pulled the door closed behind her.

[Googlie]

The bridge of the Battlecruiser Impaler was a scene of frenetic activity as it readied to exit the wormhole.

The tension was palpable as a faint hum emanated from Commander ‘Ychet Haart - a low unending resonance that transmitted the stress she was under. This was in turn picked up by one or two of the underlings on the bridge, who did their best to avoid amplification and retransmission, but somewhat unsuccessfully.

It was always the same since the ion drive exhaust residue of the caretaker ship had been detected many turnings ago back at Epsilon Eridani. Careful egress, always with a couple of Gnats to scout ahead, sensors active, then okaying the Impaler to emerge, with the Scoutship protecting the rear in case of any danger from the wormhole.

"Launch," barked Haart, as the snout of the Battlecruiser emerged into the real-time space of the Alpha Centauri star system.

The four Gnats rocketed from the launch bays, sensors deployed, and commenced the scan of neasrspace.

Within tenths they had the location mapped and the resonance echo signature logged of every orbiting body around the twin stars of Alpha Centauri.

The 'All clear' was relayed.

"Only the res signal of Sk'aard's Scoutship, still maintaining station," came the reassuring resburst from the senior Gnat pilot.. "Oh, and some residue at the periphery of the asteroid belt - messy - fusion drive - probably those aliens that Conqueror Marr talked about. Turnings old, though."

'Ychet Haart exhaled noisily.

"Good," she resonated briefly.

The crew relaxed, as the message was relayed to the Planetary Scoutship 229_s for Commander Toku Krill to follow the Impaler into Alpha Centauri nearspace.

"Summon Chief Engineer Sth'aap," resonated Haart sharply.

An underling jumped to obey her command.

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

"Report," barked Haart.

Sth'aap cringed at the harsh resonance, and collected his thoughts.

"Thrall Commander Haart," he began, "I have both good news and bad news."

Haart snorted, a gesture of contempt at the failings of these junior officers - she wanted a report, not an excuse.

"Go on," she commanded.

"Well, we decoded the resburst of Marr, and got to work right away. As you know, we sent all of our Mark II Ogres - ten in all - together with the five each from the two Scoutships to Manifold Six at Conqueror Marr's request. We have only the remaining five Mark IIIs.

"Our engineering hangars have been active, and we have carried out some modifications in order to create the Deathspheres that the Conqueror suggested.

"To each Ogre we have mated two Gnats, taking from each the requisite weaponry and armor and abilities modules - somewhat crude, but very effective. The result is a formidable fighting unit of considerable strength and versatility.

"The drive is the Ogre's Quantum Chamber, tested to a 96.01 efficiency and powered by a Deuterium-tritium mix. The primary weapon is also its string disrupter emitter cannon, which we believe to be a combination of temporal disruption and resonance technology taken to its highest degree. Unfortunately we are not able to replicate this technology, so only five weapons platforms are available, As to its defense, we have retained the Ogre's Stasis Generator, which relies on temporal field distortion. From the Gnats we took the flight capability, in the form of their gravitonics, but had to double the output to cope with the much heavier mass of the Ogre base.

"As to secondary weaponry, they could, of course, retain the Gnats' inherent Air Superiority, although they would then lose some weapons effect when attacking the aliens' ground based forces as a result. We estimate around 50%, which we deemed to be unacceptable. Accordingly we retained the Gnats' Blink Displacement capability, which mated to the Ogre shell, provides an enormous advantage in being able to distort and bypass any base's defensive capability. In addition, though, they will retain the dissociative wave capability, which, while conferring no advantage in attack, will nullify any alien advantages in specialized electronic and other elements of combat bonuses they might have devised.

"Also, by grafting two Gnats to the Deathspheres weapons concept, we have somehow been able to induce regenerative powers. As you might be aware, the Ogres, as a class, when used in other planetary engagements, have suffered from our being unable to repair any damage they might sustain. However, communication with the embedded sentience of the Gnats reassures us that they will be able to self diagnose damage and effect repairs - of course, an early visit to one of our Monoliths - assuming our forebears seeded Manifold Six with any - should provide not only a morale boost for the crew, but will expedite any repairs and regeneration necessary."

"But this is wonderful news," Haart boomed. "What can possible the bad news be?"

"Well, Thrall Commander, unfortunately the Gnats' cloaking technology only seems to work in space, and while it is possible to modify it for Manifold Six use for slower moving ground based forces, we do not have the technology to apply it to airborne units.

"And, as mentioned earlier, they will not have the ability to attack alien aircraft, and will have to rely on their defensive capabilities.

"But, perhaps as importantly, the empath crews will be useless with the Deathspheres, as they will be totally unfamiliar with the commands and operating procedures. They might be valuable crew members when mated with some of Conqueror Marr's elite young conquerors, but only in a secondary capacity."

"So of our sixty Gnats, we have converted ten?" Haart altered.

Sth'aap shuffled nervously.

"Not quite," he altered in return. "Unfortunately we lost six more when attempting the conversions - they did not survive the necessary adaptations to their exoskeletal membranes, and the loss of their graviton powers was too much for their somewhat hatchling sentience, and they expired - without even being able to sing their deathsongs, I understand. It created some considerable unrest at the time in the hangars."

"Would we be able to perform a similar operation on the twenty Mark II Ogres now on the surface?" Haart asked.

"Undoubtedly, although they would be significantly less powerful, with only pulse 8 armor and resonance bolt weaponry. And I fear that we would be limited to the Mark II's Fusion equivalent drive, as the Gnat's Singularity engines would not be able to be converted. And with only forty-four left, we would be at risk to use forty of them in converting the Ogres to miniature, less effective, Deathspheres.

"So more effective would be to retain the Ogres as are, and provide air cover for them with the Gnats."

Haart mumbled her assent.

"Yes, you resonate well," she altered.

"The conqueror will be pleased. You have done well. You are dismissed."

Sth'aap rocked from one limb to the other, his mandibles working agitatedly.

"Well?" Haart asked impatiently. "What now?"

"With your permission, Thrall commander," he altered, "There is an idea we have been passing resonances on in the engineering workshops that we would like to bring to you for consideration."

"I await, then," she altered in reply.

"Bring in deputy engineer 'Ycraet," he resonated to an orderly.

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

The bridge doors irised open, and a young engineer joined the group nervously.

"Tell the Thrall Commander your theories," commanded Sth'aap.

The young engineer bared her neck in obeisance, and began.

"Honored Thrall Commander," she resonated, "First let me say what an honor this is to be in your august presence…"

"Yes, yes," Haart altered. "Your theory - what is it?"

Even more nervously, she continued:

"You, of course, know of the Great Progenitor Library, and its construction?"

Haart's eyes twinkled, and her flaps fluttered in silent mirth - which elder or commander did not know of the library?

"Yes. Go on," she altered.

'Ycraet continued.

"Well, the library was - and still is - the sole joint venture between the Usurpers and the Caretakers, immune from this blood fued - where the accumulated knowledge of millions of turnings is kept. It is a manufactured world, in geosynchronous orbit around Harmony, built by the Usurpers, but tethered to Harmony by a space elevator maintained by the Caretakers."

"Yes. Yes. What of it?" Haart resonated impatiently.

"We can perform the same function on Manifold Six," 'Ycraet altered.

"A library?' Haart snorted contemptuously.

"No, no," 'Ycraet altered. "We can assume the role of a space elevator to pass materiel to and from Conqueror Marr's bases to anywhere else on Manifold Six, provided the unit has what I believe the aliens referred to as 'drop pod' abilities - the devices that Sk'aard equipped the earlier Ogres with to allow them to withstand the gravitational pull of the Manifold.

"Getting them there is no problem - it is the uplifting of them that gave rise to our idea. As the latest of the Galactic Battlecruiser line to be produced, the Impaler has the latest in Progenitor technology, and our tractor system rivals even that of Supreme Conqueror Hra'ath's Galactic Battleship Resonance itself.

"From a geosynchronous orbit, we could train the tractor beam on Courage to Question, and it would have the same effect as if there were a space elevator from them to us. Thus the Conqueror would have the ability to make orbital insertions anywhere on the surface of Manifold Six. And the twenty Ogres that he already has have drop pods, as they are called."

Haart tapped a tusk reflectively. "Well I must resonate, this sounds like a splendid idea. How vulnerable would we be to an orbital attack if we were in geosynchronous orbit? I would want to be far enough removed that my Gnats would have ample warning of any surface to space weapons launch."

"Well, that is one problem," 'Ycraet admitted. "We need to be just outside the Manifold's atmosphere for full effect. The beam's efficacy weakens the more distant we are."

"Unless we relay it somehow," interjected Sth'aap, mandibles quivering.

"We could station one of the scoutships in low orbit to act as a tractor relay. The dissipation from us to them will be minimal, and the full effect will be transferred to Marr's base. At the same time, it could be a haven and training ground off Manifold's surface for the Deathsphere commanders and for the Gnat pilots as well - a sort of Cloudbase Academy, if you will."

Haart caught the resonance immediately, savored it, and altered:

"Indeed. Admirable work, you both. Set up the specifications and I will alert Commander Toku Krill that his 229_s is being renamed The Cloudbase Academy"

Her guffaws permeated throughout the bridge, setting the mandibles of her crew clucking with delight.

She abruptly stilled the resonances. "Get me Conqueror Marr. I will advise him that he has at his disposal five Deathspheres, forty Gnats, a 'Space Elevator' and a 'Cloudbase Academy'. And if we send Commander Sk'aard to an orbit through the axis of the Manifold, Marr will, in The Impaler and the Planetary Scoutship 393_s, have two of the six subspace generators in position that he will need in order to summon Supreme Conqueror Hra'ath's battlefleet to Manifold Six."



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 16, 2000).]

[Googlie]

U.N. Headquarters

I chuckled.

"Ah," I said, "That takes me back a whiles. It's an old term we don't use here on Planet, derived from my pre-Lander days on Earth. It's taken from an organized sport called 'Cricket' - look in the datalinks, it might be there. Played with a bat and ball, somewhat like another similar sport called 'Baseball' - some of the young Spartans play that - they will have seen a few of the Landers at it at some time or another I guess.

"Anyway, I was what was called an all-rounder - a batsman who could bowl, and I bowled a ball that seemed to come from the back of the wrist and spin one way, but in reality spun another when it bounced…"

I saw that she was utterly confused.

"Here. Let me demonstrate."

I had a paperweight on the desk - an ugly ball of an early attempt at glass manufacturing from the rough Chironian sands.

I picked it up, and showed Sharra how I gripped the ball, then simulated an overarm bowl showing how the wrist broke on delivery but the ball rolled off the fingers with a different spin. Zakharov looked on intently, reminding me of a nagging thought that I needed to mention to him.

Turning back to Sharra, I continued:

"The batsman, seeing the wrist flicking on the delivery, would anticipate the ball breaking a certain direction when it pitched on the ground just before he made his stroke, but in reality it broke the other way, often coming of the edge of the bat and being caught by a fielder.

"It's called a 'googlie' - and that's how I got the nickname.

"One of the best batsmen around in those days is actually working with me here - General Gupta - nicknamed 'Sweep'. It's named after a cricket stroke that actually was a very effective counter to the googlie."

I could see that, her question answered, Sharra wasn't all that interested in the game of cricket, so I shut up and turned to Zakharov.

"Provost," I began.

He looked at me quizzically.

"Yes?" he asked.

"When you were …….. working ....... for Yang, did you run into an alien who called himself or herself Kri'lan?"

"Why, yes," he boomed. "He was my main contact - one who understood the workings of that damned resonance translator machine and who really took the time to get to understand how we humans ticked. But why do you ask?"

"Oh, the name came up in a conversation recently and I just wondered if he was known to anyone. Thanks."

Zakharov nodded, and made as if to go, but my comment forestalled him.

'Prokhor."

He turned. My use of his first name was unusual, and he recognized it for that immediately.

"Yes?"

"You only talk of Anastasia. Did the Colonel's jailors - or Chairman Yang for that matter - not tell you that Anastasia was one of twins?"

He started.

"Why no," he replied. "You mean I have two granddaughters?"

"Had," I corrected him. "It pains me to be the bearer of bad news, but your other granddaughter - Ayola - was tortured and killed by a Spartan terror squad. If it is any consolation - and I know it isn't - she was a wonderful woman, and in fact rose to become the personal aide to the Colonel herself. I guess Santiago felt she was doing your family a favor by her appointment, but both Ayola and Anastasia were active participants in the University Resistance Movement, Anastasia more flagrant, but Ayola as a 'Mole', which is how she came to be captured, interrogated and tortured by the Spartan splinter covert operations group."

"I see," said Zakharov quietly. "And when did this all happen?"

"Just about a year ago," I replied. The Colonel was missing, I was running the civilian government of the Spartan Federation, and Ayola was my aide. I didn't even know at that time that she was your granddaughter. I even have my doubts that Santiago knew, but she must have. Security is too tight around her …. And yet she couldn't have known about the resistance involvement. Well, no matter.

"I just thought you should know."

"Thank you, Scott," the old academician said gravely, then took Sharra's arm and they left my office.

I turned to the commlink and keyed the sequence for Velvergrass Point.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 16, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Private E-mail, Standard Encryption

Recieved from: sharra@PlanetNet.pk
Sent: Today

Dear Sister Jessica,

Sorry it has taken me so long to reply, but these computers are quite difficult and just learning to type is using up a lot of my time.

I'm also sorry that i didn't get a chance to come and see you while Provost Zakharov was in the rejoovenation (sp?) tanks, but I could not find passage that was affordable enough, and I hated to ask any favours because of my connection to Prokhor.

I still would like to come and visit you, but Prokhor has decided to go ahead with the trial, and I can't leave him at a time like this. Perhaps when it is all over, you can explain to me some more about your religion.

In the mean time, I hope things are well with you and that this letter finds you happy.

By the way, a few questions:

1. I thought you were in Great Conclave? Where is Christ?

2. What does P.S. stand for?

3. What is a lech, and why do I need to protect myself from Governor Allardyce?

If you get a chance, I would appreciate answers, but only if you have time. I know you are a busy woman.

Sincerely,
Sharra

Oh, by the way. I asked Governor Allardyce what "Googlie" meant. He said something about a "ball" and a "cricket"? Does this make any sense to you?

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

Authorization DNA scan affirmed – subject is Paul Andreus, official title: Morgan Industries Trade Minister

Bioscan – no anomalies detected

Nano scan – 14 medical nano types present, negative unauthorized nanos

Meme biological scan – negative

Brain pattern sync 99.7% with archive data - within allowable parameters

Entry authorized.

Welcome, Paul.

Paul listened intently as the security scanner voiced its results and then relaxed a bit when the scan came up negative. Just because the scan was a standard protocol didn’t mean he took it lightly, not by any means. One slip or moment of inattention could mean death in the covert ops business. There was always a price to pay for the heady rush of adrenaline.

Or discomfort, Paul thought wryly, recalling his last incident with Rose. It had taken actual surgery to remove the tapeworms.

Paul dismissed that recurring negative thought, even as he was more than a little envious at Rose’s ability to penetrate even the tightest security by finding weak links, either electronically or by subverting people. In that infamous case, his people.

Walking into the entry chamber, he stopped for a complete changeout of atmosphere and a secondary scan. This precaution was added after Yang had pioneered pico ‘tag alongs’ that homed in on a target’s DNA, followed as a discrete distance, and then collected real-time information about everything that person did or said. The only way to get rid of them is to literally suck them away in a quick atmospheric exchange.

Measure and counter-measure. That is how the game is played.

A green light flashed, indicating all clear. A dataslip flashed with a report on terminated devices and bioagents, which Paul ignored. It would be automatically stored for review, and right now there wasn’t time.

I wonder if Rose knows about tag alongs, Paul thought as he smiled to himself.

Inside his inner sanctum, Paul looked at a holo readout. It showed a representation of the area north of the Monsoon Jungle near Gaian territory. That would be near the ‘secret’ Spartan ops center. On this display a small red light winked, and some hololinks could be seen in the upper corner that would pull down more information.

Seeing the display, Paul chuckled to himself as he sat down in his immersion holo matrix and prepared to engage it.

Tagged like an animal. Serves the loose canon right, he thought with a mote of self satisfaction. At least she isn’t quite so loose any more.

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

“Hello my love,” Ahdia purred as she ambled up and took Paul’s hand.

As always, Adee’s beauty took his breath away. Her highlighted deep and rich ebony skin, broad, flat nose, and full lips were simply sensuous, and she carried them with an easy, regal grace. Today her black hair was plated with intricate hand carved wooden beads. Somehow the gray in her hair seemed to shimmer, accenting the swirling deep red and brown of the tiny beads.

Then Paul looked again. Gray? When had her hair started to gray?

Subtle, always subtle, and that was why Paul loved her so.

Paul gently squeezed her hand as she pulled him forward, and she squeezed back just as gently. They knew each other so well. Paul had known Adee since they were in graduate school at the University Nigeria in Port Harcourt, and this Adee had known Paul for almost a hundred years now.

“What do you have for me, soulmate?” Paul asked.

Adee looked back at him and gave him a sideways smile. “Lots of things. But some are for later,” she said, reading his mind. “You have your situation reports, which I noticed you ignored. You have to absorb them sometimes, and several are quite urgent. In other news, Newby is concerned that Yang has installed a meme in Junior, and wants you to look into it. His medical scan came up nominal, but the deep psych showed some anomalies. You need to give that a priority.”

Paul was looking over a holo of a data summary of the deep psych scan, and a series of multicolor diagnostics flashed by, with numbers and error bars to bracket the visual pattern.

“Yes, I can see why he is worried. I would be too, since memes can be hard to identify, and harder to eradicate.”

Paul looked up. “Excellent job in the summary, by the way. When did you become a deep psych expert?”

“I’m an expert at everything now. Didn’t you know?” she replied playfully.

Paul started, realizing that what she said was true. Every once in a while the AI was so real that he actually believed this was his Adee, the real Adee. Just after his realization he experienced a sharp pang of loss, the same pang that he always felt when he realized that Adee was long dead, killed in a pointless terrorist attack during the Biafran Secessionist War of 2027. Small by Earth standards of the time, the West African Chaos of 2027 had consumed much of the western coast of Africa, including Adee. The Chaos had crushed most his idealistic hopes, and those hopes had only resurfaced with Newby, and with a resurrected Adee.

Paul reached up to brush her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

Soft and smooth. Just like he remembered. But for one last caress…

Adee reacted to the touch. “Paul, are you OK?” she asked, concerned.

“No. I mean yes. Just remembering,” he responded, smiling sadly.

Adee warmed, feeling for Paul. She knew of his loss, and felt for him. How could she not?

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it,” Paul said definitively as he let his hand drop to the side. “Just by being here.”

Adee understood. Indeed, she understood more than Paul knew. Mwabudike Senior had personally made sure that her AI knew everything about Paul, and that she would be everything to Paul. It was wise to nurture resources, especially human resources. And ‘Newby’ was a friend, which made the imperative all the greater.

“There is one more message you will be interested in,” Adee mentioned with a mischievous look on her face. “You will never guess who it’s from.”

Paul looked at her, and saw that she was enjoying their little game.

“Never? It can’t be one of my ops, or our associated ops. It can’t be Ashaandi or Sand, or any of his nefarious minions. Hmmmm. Zak? No. Well….”

Paul thought for a moment longer.

“You’re right. I can’t guess.”

Adee stated, “Miriam Godwinson.”

Paul smiled. She really knows – I never would have guessed

“Really? Well, what does she want?”

“It seems one of her close associate has been accused of being a witch,” she stated in deadpan. “Although she doesn’t come out and say it in her very sort message, she needs a favor. I think you know the ‘witch’ in question: Jessica McCollough.”

“That nice young, pluckish, and prudish Jessica a witch? She doesn’t strike me as the broom-riding type.”

Adee glared at him.

“Maybe resisting the charms of that old lech Allardyce proves it,” Paul continued, nonchalantly looking at Adee.

“Only a witch can resist the ministrations of a warlock…”

Finally Paul got his wish and Adee exploded. “Oh be quiet! This is just another example of a male-dominated edifice of religion persecuting a women based on a backward mockery of justice, and due to fear…”

Paul put up his arms as if to ward off blows, knowing he had pushed her button. Between the reactionary Sunni Muslims and fanatical proselytizing Protestant Christian sects, and warring tribal factions of Yoruba, Ogoni, and Edo, Nigeria had been torn apart. Women always seemed to be both target and casualties, being relatively powerless in the male-dominated Nigerian society.

Paul laughed in a friendly way indicating that he surrendered. “Yes, you’re right. Just don’t hurt me. I’ll help if I can. Anyway, I like doing favors, especially when I know I can deliver. Miriam wouldn’t have asked me otherwise.

Put her on!”

[Hydro]

Great Conclave

Jessica was stunned.

“Witch?” she responded weakly. “Me?”

There was a silence.

“But I am not an agent for the Damned,” she said. “I am not!” Jessica’s voice changed from being stunned to being stunned and a little angry.

“You don’t think this is true? Do you?” she asked plaintively, looking intently and hopefully at Miriam.

Miriam reached over and took her hand, holding it firmly between her own. Jessica could feel her strength flow into her, and she drew from it. That was Miriam’s gift – touching people, understanding people, and giving of herself. That is why she was so loved.

“Child,” Miriam said gently, “I know your heart is with God. But there are those who have a belief that is as devout and true as yours, but their fervor is directed at their conception of God’s purity, and their desire to protect the Body of Christ. That which differs from their version of righteousness is suspect, and they are threatened by what they do not understand.

“The Body of Christ has suffered many wounds, since the first of Man’s transgressions in the Garden of Eden to the lancing of the Lord at Calvary. Each of these damages God’s creation and harms the Body of Christ, and only by faith and renewal can the wound be cleansed and healed. We have suffered no less on Planet than those who have passed before us, and the trial by fire that we Believers have borne at the hands of Yang has tested our mettle. Some have grown and been tempered from Yang’s fire, others have been quenched and are lost to us, and yet others have been made hard. In their unyielding hardness they perceive a threat to the Lord’s Body in all the dark corners where they cannot see and cannot perceive. These corners are unknown to them, and they fear them and the Dark they think lurks there, for they wish to protect the Body, and stamp out Dark corruption. They seek to cleanse and heal the Body of Christ by destroying what they see as evil. They react as their hearts tell them to. Because they do not understand they call these dark corners ‘evil’.”

Miriam let Jessica absorb this statement for a moment.

“They do not understand you, Child. You are different. You are opaque to them, and therefore dark and evil in their mind. I do not mean different in a biological way, for God makes each of us a unique creation, that is his gift to us. But God has bestowed on we undeserving humans many gifts, some of which are beyond our ken. We poor humans will never be able to grasp the fullness of God’s plan, its intricate ways, or all of the gifts he has to bestow upon us.

“Some of God’s gifts are unknowable, and some are miraculous. You, dear Child, have the ability to see where others are blind.”

Miriam smiled knowingly and looked intently at a sobered Jessica. She understood Jessica’s turmoil, and her gift of second sight.

“Those who hate you do not see the Dark, Child. They do not see at all, for they have no sight. They cannot see what they do not understand.”

Jessica’s fear and terror faded. Everything Sister Miriam said was so true, so clear. Even as she shrank at the horrifying thought of being aligned with the powers of Darkness, and that other Believers truly believed it to be true, she drew strength from Miriam’s support.

“But what of the accusation?”

Miriam looked a little sad, but steadfast. “There will have to be a Tribunal, and you will have to be tried. Your accusers are true and loyal Believers who have influence, and they can’t be ignored, and they will be satisfied with no less. The evidence will be weighted, all of the evidence, not just what these hard souls have shown me. The Tribunal will be formed of senior Deacons chosen by the hierarchy, and they will decide based on their faith in God and understanding of the Bible.”

Jessica looked crestfallen again. “I see,” she said in a small voice. Jessica could see her world crumbling, failing faster than she could repair it. It made her feel…helpless, and alone.

Miriam saw this, leaned forward, and squeezed her hand to get her attention.

“Don’t fear Child! Trust in God! Everything we see, everything we do is part of his Plan! I believe in you. But we must make the others believe in you, too! Show them that you do God’s work, and believe in God’s plan!”

The change was startling, for Miriam’s countenance fairly sparkled and her eyes blazed, and Jessica felt the energy.

“If you do God’s work with your gift, then it will dispel most of the doubts,” Miriam stated confidently. “You will allow them to see, casting light in their darkness so they can cast away their fear.”

Jessica felt like she was on a rollercoaster, crashing to troughs and then rising to an apex just as quickly as she plunged from bleak despair to hope and understanding.

“But how?”

“I don’t know,” Miriam said simply.

Jessica plunged again.

“But, I know someone who does,” she continued with a twinkle in her eye.

Smiling, Miriam gently released Jessica’s faintly trembling hands, patting them as she activated the comm channel.

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

Paul Andreus grinned expansively.

“So, it is done! One of my operatives will arrive within the day. We are a little thick anywhere Yang is, aren’t we? Have to keep an eye on the bastard! I think this will work splendidly! A worthy mission, and we will both profit from it!”

Miriam nodded in agreement.

“Yes, we all will grow in God,” she said, emphasizing ‘God’ ever so slightly.

If Paul noticed he didn’t let on.

“Excellent! If you need anything else, Sister Godwinson, just let me know.”

Paul switched his gaze to Jessica. “I must say that you will make a fine addition to our venture! I happen to know of a Morgan operative that could learn from you and you from him, and of a crack Gaian psi team, too.”

Paul’s infectious grin broke into a full-fledged smile. “But you’ll find out about that soon enough. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, now would I?

Well, I must thank you both. You have solved one of my vexing problems, and I hope I have helped both of you. If you need anything please give me a call.”

Paul’s holo image abruptly winked out, leaving the room much emptier now that Paul’s exuberance wasn’t taking up all the room.

Jessica was stunned again.

“Psi team? Heathen Gaians? Progenitors? I…I don’t know what to say,” she said flatly.

Miriam patted her hand affectionately.

“Then say a prayer and give thanks to God,” Miriam said matter-of-factly as she got up and left the room.

And Jessica was still stunned, but excited at the same time. As she worked it over in her agile mind the situation seemed to click, and fall into place. This mission would serve the Believers, and Humanity, and in serving Humanity it served God. It would poke that Godless Yang, who seemed to delight in tormenting the Faithful, in the eye, and in the long run punish him for his actions, and his betrayal of Humanity itself. It was a Godly mission, a mission with purpose, and righteousness. Infiltrating the aliens would allow priceless information to come into Humanity’s hands. It might save Humanity from a dark and truly evil fate.

Slowly a mote of comprehension crossed her face.

Maybe God does have a Plan for me, Jessica thought to herself, a little in awe.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 17, 2000).]