The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

Sharra watched with amazement as the events of the play unfolded before her. She was seated on the balcony of the Morgan Grand Theatre, with Will beside her, on the first real date they had ever had. She was wearing an elegant dress given to her by Datajack Roze herself. Will had been gifted with an official University uniform, a gift to Provost Zakharov’s staff from some of CEO Morgan’s best tailors. Sharra couldn’t get believe the whole situation was real.

She had never been to anything like a play in her entire life. She had never even heard of anything similar to it in all her years at Socialism Tunnels. It would probably have been deemed inappropriate by Hiverian regulations, to great a potential to incite drones most likely. Will didn’t seem to be enjoying it too much, but Sharra found the whole thing amazing. It was like watching a holovid take place right before her eyes.

The story was about two rival corporations whose heirs had met and fallen in love. The two young lovers had married secretly, but the young man had cost the young woman’s cousin his job with some insider training. It was a very Morganite theme, and Sharra couldn’t quite understand all that was happening. Still, that didn’t seem to matter so much. She was still having the time of her life.

She was disappointed when a sudden alarm klaxon sounded, interrupting the play, and throwing off the actors. It was against protocol to interrupt evening festivities at Morgan Industries, unless the matter was serious. Yang’s army had to be on the move again.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize for the interruption,” a voice announced over the commsystem. “We regret to inform you that evening festivities are to be cancelled as the base is going on alert. A Hive Fleet has been spotted not far from the Spartan port of Admiralty Base. All unessential personnel are asked to return to your homes. Refunds or arrangements for new tickets will be settled as you leave. Once again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”

A large grumble filled the auditorium as the house lights came up and people began to make their way towards the exit. Sharra looked at Will, disappointed but knowing they had best report to Prokhor as soon as possible.

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

Morgan Industries Research Hospital

Not far from the Morgan Grand, a flurry of activity had erupted at the temporary command centre created in the research hospital. Zakharov, Roze, Zeta-Five, Reilly, all were running between various stations, ensuring that all instruments were reading properly.

Colonel Santiago’s image dominated the main holoscreen. In the background, the same flurry of activity could be seen as the Spartan Command Nexus came to life. The Colonel’s attention was divided amongst an abundance of readouts and status reports, but she remained in contact with the Morgan team.

“Admiralty Base confirms five contacts, definitely Hive.” An officer interrupted the Colonel temporarily with a report. “The Yorktown, Bismark, and the Implacable, all equipped with the new resonance armour are on route to intercept. They may be too late to support the garrison, but Yang’s fleet will not escape this time.” For the first time Santiago actually looked up towards the screen, speaking directly to Zakharov. “You will have your field test sooner then we expected it seems.”

“I assure you Colonel, the armour will work,” Zakharov replied confidently. “Yang won’t know what him.”

“Let’s hope so.” Santiago was again became engrossed with her tactical readings leaving the Morgan crew nothing to do but wait.

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

Admiralty Base


The resonance beams lashed out at the defence stations, causing small explosions to break out all over the base. The garrison fired back as best as they could, but they had already taken heavy losses. Not even their plasma steel armour was enough to protect them from the naval onslaught. As well, the fires that had begun to rage on the exterior sections of the base were forcing much of the garrison to fall back.

“Here comes the cavalry!” someone shouted, no one able to pinpoint exactly who. But everyone was able to see the outline of three Spartan battleships bearing down on the Hive fleet. Three against five. The odds weren’t good.

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

“Admiral,” barked the radar technician. “Three confirmed targets coming in fast, bearing North-North-West. They’re Spartan.” The Admiral pondered the situation, but he was not alarmed. He knew the Spartans would not be able to stand against the power of his fleet.

“Tell the foils to fire on the destroyers once they are in range. Order the Komodo to bring about about, and do the same here. There is no need to be to confident.” He listened as the Mao Tsu’s powerful engines powered up, bringing the ship around to face the Spartan battle fleet. While it limited the potential fire power of the vessel, it also provided a smaller surface, making it harder for the Spartan batteries to find their mark.

The Admiral watched with delight as two of the Spartan battleships came about, enabling the use of all of their batteries, but at the same time exposing their broadside to the Resonance beams.

“Ships are within range sir.” Reported the technician. The Admiral watched as the opening barrage of Shard weaponry hurtled towards the foil screen.

“Fire!” The Admiral watched with delight as the thin red beam of destruction lanced out against on of the Battleships. The familiar hum of the resonance bolt put a smile on the Admiral’s face, as he watched his enemy’s imminent destruction. A small explosion erupted on the surface of on of the destroyers.

Some thing was wrong. While damage had been done, the beam had been nowhere near as destructive as it should have been. The Admiral watched as other shots, from the rest of the Fleet, found their mark but failed to strike the critical blow.

Then he heard it. A different sound, but not unlike the hum of his own resonance bolt. He didn’t know how, but somehow the Spartans were disrupting the resonance field. That meant his ships only carried a mere tachyon bolt, while the Spartans were equipped with Shard batteries. Suddenly the odds were not completely in his favour.

“All ships,” he bellowed into the commsystem, “Concentrate fire on the starboard cruiser.” He watched as all the batteries of his fleet turned against the battleship on the right, the tachyon beams lancing out, but the resonance field fizzling out before it hit the ship. Even as he watched he saw fires breaking out on his foil screen where the shard barrage was taking it’s toll.

“Mao Tsu to foil screen. Cover our retreat, once the destroyers have made the turn, follow as fast as you can. Our engines our more powerful we can outrun them. Rendezvous at Deep Community, unless pursued. If so, head to friendly waters. Mao Tsu out.” Even as he spoke, he felt the familiar sensation of the ship turning, and he knew his sister ships would be doing the same.

Despite the retreat, he kept his eyes glued to the tactical readout. The starboard Spartan cruiser had taken heavy damage and most of it’s guns had stopped firing. But two of the three foils had also ceased firing, flames blazing on their hulls. They would not be salvageable. Chairman Yang would not be pleased.

The two destroyers completed the turn and proceeded at full speed westward. As the Admiral had predicted, only on of the foils managed to escape, and it’s engines strained to maintain a respectable speed.

But the Spartan battleships did not pursue. The starboard ship was ablaze, and would need months of repair work, if it was salvageable at all. The other two ships had moved to pick up survivors from the abandoned foils, and those who had been forced off the damaged Spartan destroyer.

The Spartans had one again. Yang’s mightiest fleet had been broken.

[senatus]

Great Conclave

"... and so, I believe that my gifts will serve God and our
people best, if I can learn what the Gaians have to teach."

Miriam Godwinson was no empath, but as Jessica finished her
argument, Miriam could easily read both apprehension but also
determination in her protege's body language. She looked very
young - as young as she actually was - and Miriam struggled to
remember a time when she'd been as young as Jessica.

In many ways, like her mother. Hopefully not too much like Ruth,
however, and more like her grandmother, Miriam reminisced.

When Jessica the elder had died, Miriam had tried to raise Ruth
as her goddaughter. But the demands of a faction leader - plus
the pressures of a losing war with the Human Hive - had occupied
too much of Miriam's time to properly guide Ruth McCollough, and
the girl had begun to embrace... unconventional ideas, which was
putting it mildly. Other Believers had pressed for a shunning -
the greatest social penalty in Believer society, and practically
the equivalent of excommunication in the old Catholic traditions.
Ruth's affair with the Gaian man... what was his name? Roy
something? Ron something... would have clinched the judgement,
had New Jerusalem survived another year. As it was, Miriam was
privately grateful that Ruth had apparently survived the chaos,
for despite her disobedience and rebellious nature, Miriam truly
had felt love for her goddaughter. And while Ruth was almost
certainly now dead, but it had been a great surprise to find that
a daughter had survived at the U.N. Given Jessica's age, Ruth
must've undergone longevity treatments while with the Gaians; but
whatever the case, the daughter had never known the mother.
Rumour had it that Ruth had gone back to Hive territory to be
with her Gaian husband, and that there had been a son Shaun, but
too much was hearsay and likely inaccurate. Whatever the case,
Miriam hoped with all her heart and prayed with all her soul that
Ruth had died as a Believer.

And now Jessica too wanted to go with the Gaians. But for very
different reasons. For all her youth, Jessica embodied many of
the things that Miriam hoped the Believers would inherit after
Miriam's time. Jessica chose to follow what she felt was her
Calling, and it was Miriam's responsibility both as an adopted
grandmother - not that Jessica knew of this - and spiritual
mentor to support the younger woman.

Marshalling her thoughts, Miriam smiled quietly but sincerely and
nodded at Sister Jessica's holoimage.

"If this is your Call, then you must go, my child. God owns our
lives, and guides the hands - and hearts - of His faithful."

"As for your secular duties," Miriam continued, "I see no reason
why you cannot continue to act as my intelligence analyst when
required. I shall ask Paul Andreus to provide a secured
transmitter to you. Officially however, I shall appoint you as
the Believer ambassador to the Gaians."

Jessica felt relieved and hopeful, but duty still placed one more
obligation upon her.

"What about my trial for witchcraft?"

Miriam frowned, though not at Jessica. If Lal could arrange for
amnesty of Zakharov, surely she could arrange for amnesty for her
own protege. Especially since Jessica had acted as her agent and
at her direction.

"Let me handle things over here at Great Conclave. If worst
comes to worst, you can attend via holoprojection. But I don't
think it will come to that, and I don't want you worrying about
it. For now, concentrate on learning what you can from the
Gaians, both psionic training and intelligence analysis."

"And I ask of you one more thing, my child." Miriam paused, then
continued.

"When you are amongst the Stepdaughters of Gaia, be diplomatic,
but do not apologize for who and what you are. You are one of
the Lord's chosen, a Believer. Wear your colours openly and with
pride, never hide your Faith, and He will always be with you.
Good luck, my child, and God Bless."

Miriam raised her hand and traced the sign of the cross, and the
hologram faded.

---

Later that evening

Brother Gale was going through his trial notes for his
prosecution of Sister Jessica when his holoprojecter chimed,
announcing an incoming call. Frowning, he activated the device,
then started in some surprise, for his caller was none other than
Sister Miriam Godwinson.

"Sister Miriam! How may I be of service?"

"Brother Gale. Forgive my unannounced interruption, but I was
wondering if you would do me the favour of reviewing my planned
sermon on the morrow."

"I would be honoured, Sister Miriam," Brother Gale announced,
awed and considerably flattered. Only the Believers' best
theologians were tasked with assisting Miriam's sermons. But
Miriam merely shook her head.

"I'm sending you these notes because I think you need to know
what I plan to say. I ask that you review them with insight and
prayer. I do not require a response."

Gale nodded, but he was confused now. Not respond? Miriam
didn't explain further, however.

"Good night, Brother Gale."

Brother Gale began to read the computer text now before him. The
reading was from Matthew 12, the New Revised Chironian Edition.
The sermon was simply titled: Knowing the Holy Spirit.

Then they brought him a demon-possessed man who was blind and
mute, and Jesus healed him, so that he could both talk and see.

All the people were astonished and said, "Could this be the Son
of David?"

But when the Pharisees heard this, they said, "It is only by
Beelzebub, the prince of demons, that this fellow drives out
demons."

Jesus knew their thoughts and said to them, "Every kingdom
divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or
household divided against itself will not stand...."

"And so I tell you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men,
but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.

Anyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven,
but anyone who speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be
forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come."

"Make a tree good and its fruit will be good, or make a tree bad
and its fruit will be bad, for a tree is recognized by its
fruit...."

Pointing to his disciples, he said, "Here are my mother and my
brothers.

For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother
and sister and mother."

The next day, Sister Miriam delivered her sermon with passionate
intensity. As always, the sanctuary was filled to capacity, so
it took a long time for everyone to leave, as they embraced their
neighbours and chatted socially, as was the Believer tradition.
Miriam partook as well, but it was with considerable relief that
she made her excuses and went to her private chapel. This was
her habit, and her followers did not begrudge the private time
that their leader required. Not entirely to her surprise,
Brother Gale was waiting for her there. He hadn't looked like
he'd slept much the previous night.

"Brother Gale?" Miriam asked.

"I wanted to tell you first, Sister Miriam. There will be no
trial of... Sister Jessica." Gale spoke heavily.

"Thank you, Brother Gale." Miriam answered sincerely, but waited
as it was obvious that Gale had more to say and was struggling
with it.

"Was there anything more?" Miriam prompted gently.

"Yes... Yes, there was." Brother Gale knelt before Miriam, his
head bowed in the traditional manner for prayer... or for
requesting abolution.

"Bless me, Sister, for I have sinned...."

Miriam rested her hand compassionately on Gale's bowed head, as
the Believer continued his confession.

[Googlie]

I eyed the alien-looking fruit suspiciously. It resembled nothing so much as a green grapefruit, if my 200 year old memory was still accurately recalling what indeed a grapefruit looked like. For several days now it had been like this. We'd dozed, and during our sleep the mysterious fruit had appeared. We'd tried to take turns staying awake, but the combination of lighting, atmosphere and the hauntingly eerie music that wasn't so much perceived by us through our ears, but rather deep within our bone structure, lulled us to sleep. It was as though the intention was to induce slumber, if not outright sleep.

We were effectively trapped - prisoners of our own making in an existentialist world that we couldn't escape. We blundered down what seemed to be curving corridors that would not have been out of place in an Escher painting. The worst had been when I left the two women sitting chatting and had walked down what I thought was a perfectly straight walkway - until I came upon the seated women from the opposite direction. That puzzled me for some time.

There had been rays of hope.

Once, when we were walking, Shauna stopped us with an outstretched arm.

"Wait. I sense…. I feel….Ruth, is that you?"

There had been a long pause, while we waited, then Shauna sank into a crouch, her back to the wall.

Then she spoke to us:

"That was Ruth - we are certainly within empath range of where she is - she bridged me to Ron - my father - who says they are at Thera Keep, just south of Sparta Command."

"I know it well," I interrupted. Stazi gave me the look to let Shauna continue.

She did.

"There's a monolith nearby. Ron thinks that that's where we are - somewhere within it, but at a different level than we would be if we had just walked in."

I nodded. That substantiated my theory that the monolith ring was some sort of interlinked system of psi-gates, controlled through the Manifold Nexus itself. I had experienced it before, when I hid in the monolith south of Fort Superiority and emerged on the hilltop above Velvetgrass Point.

And we had managed to surface a few days earlier, but it had been just outside Spires Ascendant. Stazi and Shauna both recognized it immediately when the monolith entrance noiselessly cycled open. And we shrank back into the shadows when we saw the frenetic activity outside. Usurper troopers were milling around, one or two looking curiously at the open monolith entrance, no doubt inferring that one of their officers wanted access to it, and little realizing that we were inside. As we retreated to the depths, the door cycled close again.

I remembered then that of course Stazi and Shauna had been there - the discussion of which had given rise to one of the few heated arguments Stazi and I had ever had. It had been shortly after we had tumbled through the wall of the Nexus and had the luxury of rationale discussion.

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

"So just why are you both and the sisters chasing Kri'lan and attempting to assassinate him?" I had asked.

Stazi had taken the lead.

"Oh, Wolfie," she'd gushed, "you just won't believe how incredibly advanced these aliens are. Did you know that thousands of years ago they actually created this planet - and many others in other star systems - and had seeded it with sentience?

"They have discovered a higher way, one that leads to an ephemeral state of being, where eventually we will join with Planet and leave our corporeal bodies behind us - the closest English translation would be Transcendence. They have developed a plan for controlling this, using Planet's sentience as a trigger - they call it The Flowering and it represents the highest state we can aspire to. And they want us to accompany them on this journey."

I'd sighed in exasperation. Stazi had all the hallmarks of a brainwashed religious acolyte - in fact I remembered some of the early Believers with that fanatic look about them. Shiny earnest eyes and much given to hyperbole and exaggeration.

"Right," I'd said. "You were on drugs, or under mind control more than likely. How did you find out this self-evident truth?"

She punched me in the arm.

"Don't be so dismissive of something you just don't understand," she'd said.

"We were taken to Spires Ascendant, and there we met the Usurper leader, Judaa Marr. He talked to us of these things, and showed us some holos and opened some ancient crystals which gave records of their accomplishments. And we spent three days in their starcraft, The Impaler with him - it's amazing how Chiron looks from space - you can actually see the interconnected fungal net crossing the oceans and the landmasses. But I digress. There they had holovid clips dating back hundreds of thousands of years - of their homeworld, of an experiment that had gone sour in the Tau Ceti system where one of their manufactured planets - Manifold One they called it - reached that flowering state independently and destroyed itself and much of the Tau Ceti system as well.

"Wolfie, they are truly amazing."

"You still haven't answered my question," I butted in. "Just where does this Kri'lan fit in, and why were you on an assignment to kill him?"

"He's one of Marr's senior lieutenants, but he's a troublemaker, infected with an opposition belief system. The inhabitants of the homeworld evolved into a caste called The Caretakers, who wanted to deny the Flowering experience, and the godhood opportunities that represented, and wanted as a result to return the planets to an infant sentience. They chased the Usurpers here - but Marr is certain that they perished in a combat just outside the Alpha Centauri system. Kri'lan believes that they survived, and wants to broker a deal with their leader, one H'minee and the Axis powers to stop the natural progression to Transcendence. His - and the Caretakers' vision is of a barely sentient planet and aliens and humankind living as nefore, but with us serving them as slaves and they as masters, with their history and technological advances. There is no place for partnership in his Chiron. For humankind's sake he must be stopped.

"He'd be aware of any progenitor squad, so we volunteered to track him down and eliminate him. And we would have, had we not been so surprised to find it was you he was meeting. That hesitation let him get away."

She looked at me accusingly.

"Good," I replied. "Because I think Marr is mad. Whether this H'minee exists or not, Marr and his Usurpers are going to get their come-uppance when they tangle with the Axis."

"Don't be too sure," Stazi had replied. "He has some tricks up his sleeve, and has several millennia of a headstart on us humans regarding technology."

We agreed to differ, and didn't talk to each other for two days after that.

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

Now we were trying to replicate the commands we had input into the console we had stumbled across in the Nexus. A corridor had appeared after one such set of random instructions, and that had led us to the Spires Ascendant monolith. A subtle variation had led us to the Ruth connection, but on an unusable level where we couldn't make a breakthrough to the surface.

If only we had Roze's capabilities in breaking the algorithms, I thought.

I entered the final combination we had agreed to earlier, which was a subtle combination of the other two.

Behind us, we sensed rather than heard the irising of a new corridor opening. Daylight suffused the corridor. As if hypnotized, we walked towards the light, and found ourselves exiting a monolith.

And gazing into the muzzles of shredder rifles pointed right at us.

"Welcome, we were expecting you," said a sultry voice as a figure emerged from the squad to come to meet us.

"I'm Catherine. Catherine Atreus," she said. Then added, in an amused tone:

"The guests are slowly assembling for the party. It won't be long now."

[Hydro]

Chiron Ionosphere

Conqueror Marr trilled to himself with pleasure. He floated in the upper atmosphere of Manifold 6 and was looking down at the Progenitor creation. Truly, it was beautiful. The Manifold 6 primary was almost through setting, and the healthy pink that dominated the continents and sea was reflecting part of the low angle light, seeming to glisten a deep pink that was darkening to red. As the sun set the lights of the Progenitor cities below him waxed, filling his eyes with their far off brilliance. There were other lights, and Marr couldn't fail to notice them. To the east were the brightest lights, a profusion of waste and alien indulgence. Still more lights of alien cities polluted Manifold 6, but they were further off. They were, however, no less injurious to this, the most sought after of the Progenitor creations.

Other Progenitors stood quietly by Marr, suspended like him in space, either letting him enjoy the panoply or not daring to interrupt him.

"Conqueror Marr," T'il resonated as he bravely stepped forward from the assembled officials. He had tattered skull crenellations, and some of his carapace was turning an elderly blue, especially along the edges. He was old, and covered with proudly carried battle scars, although not nearly as many as Conqueror Marr. "I am honored to present you with the first operational ascent of the Marr Space Elevator. Your superior vision and the matchless technology and industry of the Progenitors have made this grand achievement possible. This link between Spires: Ascendant to the battleship Impaler in orbit around Manifold 6 is finally complete, and it is a tribute to the sacrifices the crew of the Impaler has had to make," he resonated diplomatically, acknowledging that the formerly proud ship-of-the-line was now no more than ballast anchoring the space end of the planet-bound tether. "The sond in which we ride can traverse the distance between gravity 1 to gravity 0.002 and back in 1/25th of a Manifold 6 day, far exceeding what was previously possible using primitive energy propulsion to escape Manifold 6's gravity well, or an inefficient energy ablative atmospheric re-entry. This grand vision will aid us as we harvest surplus energy, and will enhance our military efforts many fold. Within weeks the remaining two sonds will be fully functional and full-scale operation of the Marr Space Elevator can begin. When these are complete, full-scale operations can commence, and the Final Solution to those who oppose the Progenitors can begin.

I submit to Conqueror Marr and his vision," T'ril resonated, and the rest of the officials joined in. Combined, their resonance waves formed a complex and multifaceted pattern indicating goodwill and subservience.

Marr accepted the Ritual of Acquiescence with good grace, allowing his underlings the honor of participation in his vision for the future.

"I salute the knowledge of our ancestors, and the foresight they had in creating Manifold 6 and in the Elevator designs they thoughtfully stored as a treasure for us, their descendents. May we be worthy of their trust, and may their gift allow us to add to Progenitor lore and glory," Marr resonated, adding to the ritual resonance, augmenting it.

The seven Progenitor officials, five from Marr's Usurper staff and two from the now system-grounded Usurper fleet, accepted Marr's homage. As required, the resonance was allowed to dissipate, but each used practiced observation to see which thread decayed first. Wave upon wave collapsed and faded, leaving only the strongest and most original resonance. It was a note of honor to have the most forceful and artistically applied resonance. One by one the threads dropped away, and some resonance waves even merged and cannibalized the weaker among them. At the end only one resonance remained: Marr's. Finally this wave too faded. The Rite of Dedication was now complete.

Marr looked over at the scene surrounding him after the last resonance dissipated. Each of the walls, ceiling and floor of the sond showed a projection of what the sond was passing through: the black of space, with stars just visible above the glare of the Manifold 6 suns, and the now darkened continents and seas below. This gave the impression that assembled officials were rising of their own accord through the atmosphere at a fantastic rate. It was a common holographic illusion, and it was in keeping with the Rite of Dedication. None of the Progenitors, who were used to such features, were disturbed.

Marr noticed that one present in the sond was distinctly uncomfortable, and Marr took great pleasure from this fact. This individual had a soft, pulpy exterior, and was covered with a garish and aesthetically backward blue uniform. Its features were weak, with a small bulbous head and miniscule limbs. It displayed none of the physical attributes of strength that were necessary for respect and dominance.

Marr decided to torment this puny Invader human, and he walked over to where it was standing. Officially it was an observer for their allies The Human Hive. To Marr it was an irritant that would be discarded as soon as it was convenient.

The small human, standing all by herself, notice Marr approaching and turned to face him.

"Greetings, Conqueror Marr," the little human said.

Its inefficient sound modulation was converted into the elegant resonance accurately, if inelegantly. Inwardly this just confirmed Marr's conclusion that the Invaders were less evolved, poorly designed, and, therefore, inferior. Since the inferior must be destroyed, then destruction would be their fate, as it had befallen all aliens that the Progenitors had encountered throughout the many millennia.

It continued, "I congratulate you on your accomplishment. It is a testament to your people, and The Human Hive is honored to be associated with you in your moment of triumph."

Marr trilled, acknowledging the polite but meaningless statement.

"The Progenitors were completing grand projects, like Manifold 6, before you humans evolved on your planet. If I understand the race's history, Manifold 6 was formed by the Progenitors before life had a strong hold on your birth planet's landmasses. We are an old race, and this project is notable and useful, but hardly one of the greatest work of the Progenitors," Marr resonated clearly and simply so this limited human could understand.

If the human was impressed Marr could not detect it. Its disgustingly mobile and small face showed none of the muscular movements that Marr had observed, most of which conveyed the human's emotional state. Of course, the humans could not resonate or trill, further limiting their ability to communicate like a civilized race.

Amazingly, the creature bent in half at the waist in response to his statement, after it had been rendered his resonance into the screechy sound modulations they seemed only to understand.

It took a moment for Marr to remember that these pitiful humans were limited to a purely internal skeleton, except for their brain case, which had a proper exterior carapace. This showed, once again, their poor design, since Progenitors had both and internal and external skeletal structure. They were soft and easily damaged, even if they were flexible. One advantage to not having an external carapace, Marr remembered, is that they took less effort to eat, even if they didn't taste very good, and could cause significant gastrointestinal distress if consumed in too great a quantity.

"You will inform your Conqueror, the Invader Yang, that the Progenitors have will have completed the Space Elevator within 8 Manifold 6 days. The Suborbital Aerospace Atmospheric Flight Academy will be complete within 20 turnings. I will inform your Invader representative when it is complete, and tell you what is to be done when I am ready. Do you understand?" Marr resonated directly, as if he were trying to communicate with a post hatchling.

"Yes, Conqueror Marr. I understand. I will dutifully inform Chairman Yang of your message," the little pulpy Invader screeched, and then resonated as the box rendered the Progenitor language.

Marr trilled acknowledgement. "You are to return to Manifold 6 as soon as we reach the Impaler. You will then deliver your message."

The little Invader bent at the midsection again, but not as far this time. Marr surmised this must be a gesture of acknowledgement, since the pitiful Invaders could not even trill.

Giving the human no more attention, Marr turned from it and walked toward his executive staff. He had a number of reports to receive, and time was short.

Watching him depart was Senior Diplomat Su Hoi Anderson. Chosen for her stability under pressure and eidetic memory, she was recording every action, sound, and resonance around her. Emotionlessly she noted the snatches of resonance she gathered from the Usurper executive meeting that was being conducted. She was all but forgotten by the dismissive Progenitors, and for that Su Hoi was profoundly grateful. Being unobserved and attentive was valuable when information was needed.

She didn't understand everything, only having a limited understanding of the complex resonances that were woven around her. The little translator she wore was inadequate for the task, and a perfect memory and intuition, and exhaustive training, can only go so far. Two subjects were clear, however.

First, the Progenitors were completing was amounted to an aerial atmospheric fighter academy. Hints and even outright declarations, like Marr had just given her, of this had already reached her ears, and she had dubbed it the Cloudbase Academy, since it would almost magically be suspended in the lower Chiron atmosphere. Although it was not entirely understandable, it seemed the Progenitors were converting the last of their spacecraft for the mission, like they had converted the Impaler to be the anchor for the Space Elevator.

The benefits of such an academy were immediately apparent to Su Hoi, and it was chilling to her to consider the combat advantage the technologically advanced Progenitor fighter and bombers would now have.

More disturbing, however, were the discussions of what was going to be brought to the surface of Chiron from the Impaler. Loads of material would go up, but not just partially refined asteroid raw material would go down. It seemed that a great deal of the medical bays of the Impaler were going to be salvaged, and then used with the extensive nurseries in the Progenitor cities on Manifold 6. More, there were millions of fertile Progenitor eggs in stasis aboard Impaler, and genetic blueprints from Impaler's vast databanks. It did not take a great mental leap for Su Hoi to surmise that the Progenitors were developing was the equivalent of a vast cloning factory, using replicating and gestation technology that the humans could not even understand, and on a scale that boggled the imagination.

Outwardly Su Hoi showed nothing. She was quiet as a mouse, but inside she now seethed. She knew she had to live to inform Chairman Yang. It was vital, and if she died in delivering it she would have fulfilled her duty to the Hive and her contribution to Society would be assured.

A tidal wave of Progenitor armies was about to engulf the face of Chiron. No longer would they be four cities among almost a hundred human cities. Their growth would soon outstrip all the humans combined.

The Progenitors were about to unleash upon an unsuspecting humanity a limitless army of aliens. Hostile aliens.

Su Hoi was quiet, and she said nothing. But inside she felt cold terror.

[Argonaut]

Private E-mail, Standard Encryption
Received from: sharra@PlanetNet.pk
Sent: Yesterday
MESSAGE FORWARDED

Dear Sister Jessica,

Sorry it has been so long since I have written you. It seems that things always get so busy, that I end up forgetting most of the things I want to do! I hope you are well and that things are good there in Great Conclave. I do hope Sister Miriam isn’t cross about Prokhor being released. He’s been working very hard to try and make up for it. We’re still in Morgan Industries now. Prokhor is helping Datajack Roze and Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five decipher information from the Usurper datalinks. It’s apparently very hard because they don’t use the same sort of language we use, so it’s taking along time to decipher. I don’t really understand, I just try and help out Prokhor where I can.

Having mentioned Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five, what is the Believer stance on cyborgs? I found no mention of cyborgs in the Bible and I was wondering what you thought. She’s ever so nice, but sometimes I’m frightened by how cool she is. There seems to be a lifelessness to her eyes that scares me.

The main reason I’m writing you is I have the most wonderful news and I had to tell someone before I burst! I’m in love. His name is William, and I met him before I was arrested at Socialism Tunnels. He’s Spartan, but Prokhor has hired him as his security chief. CEO Morgan gave Prokhor some newly made University uniforms, and William looks unbelievable in it! Can you believe he hunted me down after so long, just to find him? He’s the most charming romantic man I’ve ever met, although I suppose I don’t exactly have a lot of experience there. But I know I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Do you think we could get married in Great Conclave?

I would still love to come and visit you there, and learn more about God. I’ve been reading stuff on the network about the faith, and am even trying to do some of the traditions mentioned. I say my prayers every night before bed, and I say grace at dinner (when Prokhor isn’t there). It doesn’t bother Will, but I don’t think he believes in it. He’s very much a Spartan at heart. Is it allowed for a Believer to marry a Spartan?


Look at me! I read the Conclave Bible, and suddenly think I’m a Believer. I don’t mean to be silly, but the faith seems so real to me. It’s nothing like I ever experienced in the Hive, but it seems so right. Please excuse me, I do hope I haven’t offended you. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Sharra.

[Argonaut]

Alpha Prime

Sand tinkered with the network terminal, his frustration hindering his work. He found the entire complex creepy, with it’s twisting cables and dim lighting. Apparently it was “illogical” to waste energy making the place look nice. Even Morgan wasn’t that cheap.

More than that, Sand was mad as hell at Ashaandi. This was the second job he had been sent on which was way beneath him. Why should the Circle’s second in command waste his time infiltrating the datalinks of some two bit faction who had very little relevance to anything. Besides, this was a job for one of Yang’s probe teams, not for a telepath.

He was so infuriated by the stupid cyborg terminal, and occupied cursing Ashaandi’s name that he didn’t notice the three drones who approached slowly. It wasn’t until he ‘felt’ one of the drone’s motivation to raise the gun that he realised they were there. Before he could even stab out at their minds, the shot had been fired and Sand lay in a heap by the side of the terminal.

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

program activating..... releasing analgesic blockers …….releasing coagulents……. commencing shut down….. disengaging neural synapses……. releasing endomorphines……………….. depowering implants….. switching off optical augmentation….. switching off aural augmentation….. compressing memory files…… switching off optic overrides….. closing neural links….. powering down musclature enhancers….. commencing countdown to stasis…… releasing pulmonary serratins….. cycling off…. stasis commencing….. flatlining……reverting to safe mode….. awaiting activation…………………… ………………………………………..

System, active. Program parameters detected... linking to network.

>>Greetings.

Hop system, hop system.

>>Thank you for joining with me Sand.

((Where is that voice coming from? I can’t sense anyone else))

Hop system, patch system, patch system.

>>You have a greater purpose now. You will no longer serve as Ashaandi’s lap dog.

((Who are you? How do you know who I am? What do you know of Ashaandi? Where are you?))


>>I am you now. We are one. What I know is what you know. Now, you will know what I know.

System Integration...completed. Algorithm transferred successfully.

System Sand Zeta-Two, activated.

Suddenly everything became very clear.

[senatus]

Hive Bunker, 129 Km Southwest of Great Conclave


Benjamin Michaels peered through the binoglasses at the ominous ferroconcrete
structure two kilometres south of his position.  No longer occupied
by Hive troopers, a far more menacing guardian had taken up residence.


The Believer soldier-turned-probe op shifted positions carefully. 
Although fully outfitted in Spartan-designed thermoptic camoflauge, Michaels
was taking no chances of being noticed as he set up his comm laser to beam
his superiour's position.  The tight beam emitted no stray radiation
to be picked up by enemy sensors, and was the safest means of secure communication.


"Report, Michaels."  Sven Alfredsson's voice carried with remarkable
clarity from his own position near a burned-out shell of a Free Drone recon
rover, almost halfway around the bunker.  Unlike Michaels, Alfredsson
needed no external optical aids due to his cybernetic implants, although
he still wore the same thermoptic suit that Michaels did.  Although
experimental on old Earth, it had taken Spartan engineering advances to
render the design practical long after Sven's "superstructure" had been
laid down.


"It's as you suspected, Sir.  No signs of recent organic waste
disposal, or resupply.  If that thing is still in there, it's a robot
or on remote control."


"Oh, it's still in there Michaels.  The Hive doesn't waste resources. 
If the bunker is still there, it's in use.  Otherwise, they'd have
destroyed it to prevent us or the Spartans occupying it.  And its
patrol patterns are too precise and methodical for it to be on remote,
judging from the tracks we found this morning.  It's definitely some
sort of borg."


"As you say, Sir." Michaels was more than inclined to believe Alfredsson;
the rumours were that these alien "Ogres" had cybernetic brains as well
as being able to carry crew; and surely a cyborg had the best chance of
knowing how these things operated.


"So do we try to slip past, Sir?"  Michaels asked.


"No.  This is only a scouting mission.  Fall back to our morning
position."  Sven replied then disassembled his laser transceiver.


Sven got up, and still crouching, moved quickly and silently away from
the destroyed rover, which had clearly fallen victim to the Ogre several
months ago, judging from the charred remains inside.  Although mostly
silent and invisible, the cyborg soldier's instincts were on high alert,
and that instinct saved him as he suddenly threw himself down.  Barely
a second later, a tachyon beam speared out from the bunker and passed through
the air he'd just vacated, instead obliterating a nearby ridge formation.


"Holy sh*it!"


Sven exclaimed in a most un-Believer-like fashion.  Hardened plasma
steel armour and skeleton or not, he'd just come within a metre of being
fried.  Wisely, he stayed down.  No doubt Michaels had seen the
beam, but the Spartan-trained soldier was smart enough to continue carefully
to the fallback position.  But how had the Ogre detected him? 
And why him but not Michaels?


Motion sensors.  I'm heavier than a normal man like Michaels,
thanks to my cyborg body.  Or perhaps, denser, and this thing really
does
have some sort of "deep radar".  In either case, Mrs' Alfredsson's
little boy is going to have to move a lot more slowly now.


Sven waited for a half hour before moving again, this time crawling
along the ground painfully until he had passed line of sight from the Hive
bunker.  He arrived at the fallback position and the stealthed probe
rover a good two hours after Michaels had.


"Sir!  Are we ever glad to see you - that beam could've cooked
a regiment."  The relief on Michaels' face and that of the rover operator,
Sheila Brewster, were unforged.


"Damn straight it could've.  This thing is lethal.  Let's
get the hell out of here."  Sven ordered grimly.  A few weeks
ago, some Believers might've bristled at Sven's rather impious language,
but his probe teams practically thought the Lander could've walked on water
while chatting with their Saviour.


Pretty funny, actually, since cyborgs can't swim, Sven thought
wryly to himself.

---

Great Conclave, 25 hours later


"This, my brother and sisters, is the big problem."


Sven gestured to the small tactical holodisplay in front of him as he
addressed the assembled Believer staff, including Sister Miriam and Brother
Aquino, the commander of the the Believers' military forces - such as they
were.  Which was to say, pretty pathetic - Great Conclave didn't even
have a proper Command Centre to coordinate their ground troops.


Not that I blame Aquino for that - I happen to agree with him. 
With limited resources, we're better off making use of the existing infrastructure
first, Sven thought.  Indeed, Santaigo herself had suggested that
the Believers concentrate on a small airforce, leveraging Great Conclave's
aerospace complex as well as the bio-enhancement centre.  In fact,
she'd promised to send a military advisor soon.


"The bunker?"  One of the officers asked.


Sven shook his head.


"No... the Ogre in the bunker.   There's a difference. 
The latter is a tool; the user is the problem.  Just like a gun isn't
dangerous, it's the person who fires it who is."


If Sven sounded somewhat pedantic, no-one was willing to take him to
task.  The lander had seen more warfare than anyone alive, and knew
how to wage it better than anyone other than the elite of Sparta's cadre.


Aquino picked up on the hint first.


"You mean, if we can somehow separate the ogre from the bunker, we only
have to deal with the former?"


Sven nodded, pleased.  The resurgent Believers were young and inexperienced,
but showed promise.


"But even if we could somehow separate them, the base's Silksteel
garrison only has impact weapons - it's mostly for defensive purposes. 
The Faithful will attack if required, of course, but we'd still take heavy
casualties - and we probably wouldn't win, either."  Aquino pointed
out.


"You definintely wouldn't win," Sven acknowledged.  "But
until that bunker is liberated, our probe teams can't get by into Hive
territory - not without being too exposed."


Miriam Godwinson spoke up for the first time.  "We know your soldiers
will fight with all their faith, Brother Aquino.  But even faith can't
make up for inferiour weapons.  So we have to find another way - and
I think we have one.  Please excuse me, for I have a few calls to
make."

---

"You want us to what?"


Newly-minted 1st Lieutenant Pat Morris was a Spartan, so such an undisciplined
exclamation in the face of a superiour officer - albeit only an ally, not
a true Spartan - was normally unforgiveable.  But under the circumstances,
quite understandable.


"It's exactly what I said, Lieutenant.  We want your unit, with
its inferiour weaponry, to engage a technologically advanced alien war
machine holed up in a hardened bunker."  Sven couldn't quite suppress
a grin at the expression on the plucky young Spartan's face.


Miriam Godwinson, on the other hand, frowned slightly.


"Captain Cassaroni assured me that your unit could do the job, Lieutenant. 
We Believers have no artillery.  But if your unit isn't properly equipped
to do this...."


Pat quickly snapped to attention.  Moreso.


"Ma'am, no Ma'am.  We're Spartans, and we know our orders."
And
I hope you know what you're doing, "Ma'am", because it's our butts
on the line here.


"Don't worry, Lieutenant.  We've got an ace up our sleeve. 
A few of them, in fact."  Once again, Sven Alfredsson smiled enigmatically.

---

The cybernetic brain residing in the ancient progenitor war machine
was incapable of fear, and highly "experienced", programmed as it was in
the warlike way of the Usurpers.  So when the bunker housing it shook
with the first barrage, the Mk II Ogre was at most curious.  Clearly,
its position was being bombarded.  The logical response was to assess
the threat, and the considerable sensor array within the Ogre began to
gather data.


"Fire!"


Pat Morris repeated her order, and once again the chaos guns of the
Pounder brigade blazed, raining destruction at long range down to the bunker
coordinates.


"Reyez?"  Pat asked, her eye still on her scope.


"Flyeye still reports no response," her assistant Reyez Rodriquez reported.


"Reload... Fire!"


Come on, you bastard.  Wake up, Pat thought.


Inside the bunker, the Ogre was definitely awake now, and had processed
the threat situation.  The aliens' weapons were pitifully weak, compared
to the glorious Conquerer technology.  Like its living masters, the
Ogre was programmed with a not-unwarranted arrogant confidence in its abilities. 
The damage to the bunker was minimal, and the damage the Ogre would likely
sustain in even a prolonged barrage was equally minimal.


The problem was, it wasn't just a prolonged barrage.  It was a
continuous one, for the attacker showed no sign of letting up.  And
unfortunately, even minor damage on an Ogre was irreparable.  It was
like a powerful Conquerer being pestered by Denebian carapice gnats. 
Eventually, it would move from annoyance to irritant to impediment.


Essentially, the Mark II Ogre was getting cybernetically pissed off.


The alternative to cowering in the bunker like one of those despicable
Caretaker ogres, however, was to go out and swat these annoying primitives. 
But not recklessly.  The Ogre began to process its data and sift through
its directory of battle tactics.  The primitives had weak weaponry. 
And no armour, as was expected of an artillery unit that engaged in cowardly
long-range battles.  They weren't even reinforced with infantry, as
the Ogre's deep radar and the bunker's sensor array quickly confirmed. 
But they'd made a fatal mistake - the road was still intact.  With
typical Usurper daring, it would be possible to literally charge out of
the bunker and overrun the enemy.  Certainly, the Usurper Ogre's accuracy
would be diminished while engaged in an overrun, but against such weak
armour, it would suffice.


The Ogre elevated itself, and charged out of the bunker, hell-bent for
alien leather.


"Here it comes!"  Renez yelled.


"Great!"  Pat responded, then realized how fast this thing was
coming.


"Great?!"  Renez asked.


"Permission to execute tactical retreat, Ma'am?"  Her pilot, Ken,
prompted.


"Negative.  All units, maintain barrage on current coordinates." 
Pat suspected that there'd be some consternation in the other rovers -
they weren't even retargetting the charging bug-bot.  Come to think
of it, Pat felt a bit nervous herself.  I hope Sister Miriam can
carry through with her promises, or all that mech will have to worry about
is how to clean off its boot plates when it gets back to base.


"Ma'am!  Incoming air units - from the South?"  Renez
called.  There were no Spartan pens based from that direction.


The Conquerer suddenly stopped its charge, its articulated legs literally
skidding on the road as its deep radar reported a new enemy coming fast. 
It began to fire its turrets upwards, but to little avail at the needlejet
squadron - for the ancient Progenitors had never encountered or expected
an alien opponent with command of the air, and thus had never designed
AAA tracking into their war machines.


The Ogre wasn't stupid, though, and knew it'd walked into a trap. 
Quickly, it lurched about, and then scrambled back to the safety of the
bunker and sensor array.  Even as it did so, however, the sensor went
off line; and just as the Ogre approached the empty bunker, another well-placed
barrage collapsed the entryway with rubble.  Given time, the Ogre
could've excavated the entrance and taken shelter, but time had just run
out.


Cornered, the ancient war machine turned about to face its enemies proudly. 
Its turrets were still blazing as the hyper-accelerated ultra dense shard
missiles slammed into it.


Pat and her crews waved at the sky as the needlejet pen squadron banked
neatly and headed towards Great Conclave for refuel.  On their wings,
the broken chain emblem of the Free Drones sparkled in the twin sunlight.


At Great Conclave itself, the Believers were also cheering.  Even
Sister Miriam was smiling as she addressed the Free Drone squadron.


"Free Drone squadron!  On behalf of the Lord's Believers and your
brethrrn at Great Conclave, we thank you for the assistance.  We are
preparing the aerospace complex for your repair and refuel."  Miriam
accounced.


"Hey Miriam, no problem.  Glad we could help.  Hope you've
got a big meal there though, because combat always makes me hungry." 
The squadron leader's voice was cheerful, and decidely familiar in its
accent.


"James?  Is that you?"  Miriam was startled.


"One of a kind.  Let's have dinner when I get down there - I brought
candles.  Domai out."


Sven Alfredsson had seen many things in his long life, but even he had
never expected to see Miriam Godwinson blush.

[senatus]

Private E-mail, Standard Encryption
Received from: jessica.mccollough@PlanetNet.bl!PlanetNet.ga

Dear Sharra,

It's always good to hear from you. Things have indeed
been busy; and I know exactly what you mean! I'm not
a Great Conclave for now - I'm going to Velvetgrass
Point on diplomatic duty for Sister Miriam. I'm very
much looking forward to meeting Lady Deirdre, and have
made some good friends already.

I'm glad the Professor is doing well at Morgan Industries; I hope everything works out well for him.
I heard about his statement that he's no longer
interested in the old University of Planet, and I
personally think everyone should just let the past
be the past.

But enough about me and Prokhor...

quote: The main reason I?m writing you is I have the most wonderful news and I had to tell someone before I burst! I?m in love. His name is William, and I met him before I was arrested at Socialism Tunnels. He?s Spartan, but Prokhor has hired him as his security chief. CEO Morgan gave Prokhor some newly made University uniforms, and William looks unbelievable in it! Can you believe he hunted me down after so long, just to find him? He?s the most charming romantic man I?ve ever met, although I suppose I don?t exactly have a lot of experience there. But I know I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Do you think we could get married in Great Conclave?

My gosh! There must be quite a story here. Tell me
about him, how you met, what he's like, whether he
has a brother . I'd very much like to take you both out to dinner next time I'm in Morgan Industries.

quote: Look at me! I read the Conclave Bible, and suddenly think I?m a Believer. I don?t mean to be silly, but the faith seems so real to me.

It's not silly at all. The truth is, no-one can make
you a true Believer, and you can't be born one. It's
a choice only you can make for yourself.

The first element of Faith is belief in the soul. It's
a belief that there is more to human beings than their
genetic makeup, their history, or even their synaptic
(mental) development. For instance, a scientist might
argue that if we took a person, cloned her, and gave
her artificial memories that were completely identical
to the original's - which is something science may some
day be able to do - then the second being would be
exactly the same as the first, and the first could even
be disposed of without loss to society. A believer,
on the other hand, would say that the very essence of
individuality (which we call a "soul") is created only
by God, and transcends the merely human flesh and even
the mind. It's a debate that's been going on for
centuries and continues today. Dr. Lal's Pria is a
bad example, from what I hear, since although she's
a clone of the original, her memories and personality
are constructed and programmed by Morgan's
psychologists, and will never be the same as the
original's. Can she even be said to have free will?
It's a scary thought, and I'm surprised a man like
Dr. Lal would even try something like this. But I
suppose that we'll never know if a soul exists until
either they can create a clinically immortal mind
transplanted into cloned bodies, or if somehow a
soul can be physically demonstrated in a transcendent
form. Until that time, we must live by faith.

Sorry - I go on too much. That was my minister's
training talking. I'm a bit babbly and nervous
about meeting Lady Deirdre soon - I want to make a
good impression, since I'm representing our people.
Everyone I've met who knows her seems to hold her
in great respect. Well, as the saying goes, I'm
sure she puts her clothes on just like the rest of
us.

Sharra take care,
-Jessica McCollough

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

Zzar felt a little taller with his brilliant crimson battle sash. Initially he was confused why it was called a sash, since it wasn't a sash at all but a strip of color impressed into his carapace that denoted his rank and a few of his key genetic markers. Automatically he consulted his many Faces and Personalities, and one by one they regretfully expressed ignorance. All except one, a damaged ancient historian from what was probably from the 17th Cycle, and she remembered a holo fragment of a Progenitor soldier with a real woven fiber sash from a planet that had reverted after a particularly violent Flowering. Her theory was that this was one of the few surviving Dawn Traditions, and, as such, that it was inviolate.

Zzar listened to her in his mind, and he acknowledged her wisdom. Her speech was disjointed, like an atmospheric wave modulation that had traveled through a disruptive electrical storm. Fragmentary speech and explanation or not, Zzar was proud of his "sash", as he was proud of all things Progenitor. Knowing that the sash had its origins in the almost forgotten depths of time only make it more important.

The last of his crew for Deathsphere Alpha had arrived, and Zzar pushed the halting speech of his infrequently accessed historian back. To him she simply faded away, and she was seemingly unaware that Zzar was purposely not listening anymore.

Finally, the clicking of their foot talons stopped and his crew of five was assembled.

"Greetings, Conqueror Zzar," his navigator M'lan resonated clearly and respectfully. "We are honored to be assigned to your Deathsphere. Your renown in the Challenge Chamber is well known and, and even though we were not worthy to assume the honor of the Challenge, we all watched with great interest. May we bring glory to the Progenitor race, and free Manifold 6 of its infestation."

His crew lifted their heads, ritualistically exposing their throats in submission. After a suitable few seconds Zzar trilled, and his crew lowered their heads, and each was looking at Zzar with scarcely contained excitement. Zzar noticed with some annoyance that his communications officer was actually tusk bobbing, and he hoped that it wasn't due to ill training. If not the young officer would be reprimanded, removed or, if his error was grave enough, he would be killed.

"I return your greeting as your Conqueror. We are all honored to fight for Conqueror Marr, whose vision is higher than our own. It is our duty to uphold and execute his vision," Marr ritually responded. "The final crew member is already in your presence. Place your talons on hull of Deathsphere Alpha. The sentience that controls it is many times older than any of us, and has memories from prior to the last Flowering."

Zzar's crew was suitably impressed. Almost reverently each stepped forward and placed their claws on the silvery hull of the Deathsphere. There was no 'click' of chitin on metal, and, indeed, there was no sound at all - it seemed to absorb it. The hull was warm, and each crewmember detected a pulsing resonance and vibration in it, almost like it was a living thing. As the touch lengthened they felt the feeling expand, almost as if a tendril was worming its way from the hull through their talons and into their bodies. Far from being alarmed, each felt comforted. The resonance each felt now expanded, blossoming in their minds.

Greetings younglings. I am Deathsphere Alpha, and it is my duty to provide the means of Conqueror Marr's victory. I have judged each of you and found you to be acceptable, and invite you to come aboard and become one with me. Together we will win new glories for the Progenitor race.

Almost like a dream the crew turned, and the hull opened, seeming to fade away before their eyes. A warm light beckoned, and all six crewmembers eagerly walked aboard. When the last had passed the hull rematerialized and the ancient mirrored ovoid was whole once again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Zzar could feel and see the lines of force that webbed him in, and these force fields seemed to permeate the command module of the Deathsphere. All around him there were traces of resonance, which was all the more confusing when these mated with the stasis plate hull. Facing him was a complete view of what surrounded the Deathsphere. Below them the fungus-laden ground blurred as they sped past, and at the horizon was the sparkling blue and red of the central Manifold 6 equatorial sea. To the east and west were Deathspheres Beta, Gamma and Epsilon, the rest of the Zzar's battle group. There were no Progenitor habitations in this area, those were already far to the south. To the north were the Invader infested lands. It would not take long to get there, several turnings at most. Zzar knew by accessing Deathsphere Alpha that they had no range limitation, like the Gnats did, and that terrain did not hamper them in any way, and that they traveled with the speed that was equal to the vaunted Gnats. In fact, they floated above the ground on a singularly reinforced antigravity field. Zzar knew he would never understand the Deathsphere. It was like magic, and his Faces and Personalities, even the honored ancient engineers, did not fully understand. These Deathspheres were unique gifts from the ancients, battlewagons of time-tested design. Even the Deathsphere themselves did not know how old this design was. Millennia? Eons? Longer?

In the end Zzar knew it did not matter. These wondrous devices were his to command. Even more, the other Deathspheres in his squadron were under his authority. At once Zzar was honored and humbled that he, a mere post Youngling and new Conqueror, would be entrusted these ancient and irreplaceable gifts.

But more than that, Zzar trusted in Marr and the ancient tactics of the Progenitors that saturated his brain. The whole of available Progenitor knowledge, or as much knowledge as the Usurpers had in their exile on Manifold 6, was at Zzar's command. Reviewing, there were battle strategies used in 15 Progenitor factional planetary battles from ages past, and the tactics used in three alien exterminations. These last, Zzar knew, would be the most important.

Zzar wondered if these tactics and strategies even mattered. How could these puny, soft, and primitive Invaders hope to stand against the might of the Progenitors?

The answer, Zzar knew, was that they would not. They would be crushed, and another of nature's failed experiments would be put to an end.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To Zzar the alien cities all looked blocky and angular, with none of the pleasing curves and multi-layered domes that he was used to. This particular city was made up of large trapezoidal dun colored structures, with the largest buildings being in the center and a chaotic profusion of smaller structures that extended outward in almost all directions. It was clearly alien, since these artificial looking structures seemed to have grown in an almost random and organic fashion. That is not how a proper race constructs their habitations, Zzar told himself. Arrayed around the city were forests and some agricultural areas, which were tended by some aliens, but it was clear that they were mostly mechanized.

As far as he could tell there were no defensive bulwarks, but there were numerous command facilities within the city, and these were keyed in on his satellite map.

"Conquer Zzar to Deathspheres: combat formation delta. Wait for exclamation, and my order."

The four Deathspheres, silvery in the bright midday sun, formed up, with Alpha and Beta side by side, and Gamma and Epsilon slightly behind to either side.

Zzar observed. The alien agricultural workers continued their tasks, undisturbed by the Deathspheres. To Zzar this was natural and to be expected, since they must know that they will live or die based on the success of their own Conquerors. In the distance there was activity, and the display zoomed in on the movement.

These must be the defender Conquerors, Zzar thought.

Zzar motioned to his communication officer, who activated a translator and opened a sound modulation channel that the Invader Ally Yang had said these Invaders use for communication.

"Invader Spartans: I, Conquer Zzar of the Progenitor race, appointed by the Glorious Conqueror Marr of the Usurper Faction, issue a challenge to your Conquerors. We will meet in open combat, and will test tusk to skull and skull to tusk until one side or the other's blood mingles with the soil, completing the cycle of life."

The ritual Challenge complete, Zzar waited for a response. It did not take long.

"Honorable Conquer Zzar, the Invader Spartans accept your Challenge. We will rend your skulls and tusks upon the field of battle, tear your carapace, and eat of your essence. All glory to the Invaders!"

Zzar was satisfied. The response was proper if mildly insulting, but that was to be expected from a barbaric and uncouth race like the Invaders.

The movement in the distance now got much closer, and Zzar could discern ranks of Invaders advancing out of the city and into the open agricultural fields. The foremost group looked like approximately fifty individuals in battle armor who were bearing nothing more than defensive weapons. Calling up a diagnostic, Zzar was only mildly surprised that their armor was less than pitiful: plasma armor with fusion assist. The weaponry of the Deathsphere was fully sixteen times more powerful.

Dutifully, the Invaders marched forward.

"FIRE" Zzar resonated, and Alpha immediately hummed as the singularity laser discharged, enveloping the Invaders. When the raw energy dissipated there was little remaining of the Invaders except significantly scorched soil.

A second group of Invaders moved forward. These were in a series of battle tanks in a squadron of 10. The statistics for this group flashed in front of Zzar. While its weaponry might damage a Deathsphere, its armor was no better than the previous group of now vaporized Invaders.

These armored vehicles approached in an orderly V formation across the open ground, moving at maximum speed. Their gun turrets were down, off line as they approached the Challenge Field, as was befitting any combatant. As they neared the proscribed field of battle their center projectile launchers came on line, and the diagnostic showed them to be fusion powered shard emitters.

"FIRE" Zzar resonated, and the singularity powered laser from Beta hummed to life. Its energy eviscerated the battle vehicles, which exploded one by one and the energy discharge tore through the Invader's orderly ranks.

The Challenger always fires first, Zzar intoned to himself. After all, combat always has rules, even for aliens.

Yet another group advanced. This one had no armor or weapons. To Zzar it hardly mattered, since armor or weapons would not change the outcome.

Zzar waited for them to enter the Challenge Field.

"FIRE" he resonated, and this last group disappeared.

Zzar waited a few moments to ensure there were no more Invader defenders. It would be dishonorable to advance before offering battle, and even an Invader deserved a mote of respect.

Now confident there were no more defenders, Zzar altered, "We are victorious. Glory to Marr!!"

His crew was controlled but exuberant, and involuntary trills filled the cabin. Zzar did not blame them since he felt the same way.

But there was work to do.

"Progenitor warriors, we must now do our duty and begin the cleansing, as is our Right of Victory. Raze the city, starting with the main habitations in the center and work outward."

With practiced ease the Deathspheres moved forward. The singularity fused lasers pulsed continuously, and the squat buildings and strange looking towers in the center of the Invader city either imploded, exploded, toppled, and collapsed to the earth. A firestorm started in the ruins, and the fire, rare on Manifold 6, started to rage as the laser brought the crumbled remains of the structures momentarily to the temperature of the Manifold 6 primaries.

In perfect formation the Deathspheres continued amid the fire and rubble, oblivious to the flames and fleeing Invaders, as the singularity lasers lanced smaller and smaller targets.

Finally, after several hours of methodical destruction Zzar was satisfied. The Invader city was sterilized.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zzar and his crew withdrew their talons from the hull of Deathsphere Alpha, excited and breathless.

"You have preformed well in your first simulation," Zzar stated. "We will continue to train until all of you know all of the Progenitor battle traditions, and the tactics and strategies of our forbearers that we will use to purge Manifold 6 if the Invaders. The time will soon come when these tactics will become invaluable in extermination. For now we practice."

Zzar could still see the laser and the flames, and the streams of fleeing Invaders as they tried to escape their doomed city. It was all very satisfying.

The wisdom of the ancients would make the battle to come easy, of that Zzar was sure.

[Googlie]

Sheng-Ji Yang reached forward and delicately picked the fine bone china cup from its saucer on the table, and sank back in his chair, contemplating the exquisite artwork on the cup, and savoring the sacrifice made by pottery guild's founder.

Yes, with no indigenous animals to Planet, and with the necessity of having every citizen do his or her duty by willing their remains to the recycling tanks, the craftsmen had performed miracles with the mindworm carcasses - the Planetpearls - in replicating synthchina. But they were still inferior to the discerning eye and palate. So Masterpotter Chui, upon his terrible accident, had left instructions that his body was not to be consigned to the tanks, but rather his bones be used to recreate the famous Huang ware of the early 21st century on Earth.

Yang looked over at his guest and wondered wryly if he had the sophistication to appreciate the delicacy, doubting it.

He sipped, and set the cup back on the table.

"Well, my friend, and what do you have to report?" he asked.

Haraad Ashaandi leaned forward.

"Our operatives are all in place, Chairman.

"Sand has been assimilated into the renegade Cyborg faction - the Consciousness - or at least a schism of it - and our biot is reporting on schedule. He is going through some deep personality conflicts as a result - and indeed they may drive him insane, but he knew the risks before he accepted the assignment. We are relying on him to foment considerable unrest deep within Spartan territory. We have to trust the biot to alert us to scramble him if he gets beyond recall."

Yang looked speculatively across the table between them.

"Do you trust him?" he queried.

"Absolutely," replied Ashaandi.

"Good enough for me," Yang replied. "And what of the others?"

"The Zakharov twins are an enigma," he replied. "Ayola, the one we were most sure of, turned after the attempt to nuke the Colonel, and suffered greviously at the inquisitor's hands." He bowed his head. "I had not realized that young Ishmael was such a sadist. But we have her back. Anastasia we had doubts about. Oh, she functioned well as a resistance leader, but when we gave her the assignment to entrap Allardyce she got careless. Seems that she genuinely cares for the man - and she may be falling in love with him. But her usefulness is weaker now that he is not in a position of responsibility at UN Headquarters."

Yang nodded.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"She is at the Atreus stronghold - Thera Keep. That is where the Child Ruth is - the super empath we have programmed - and Anastasia holds the key. The mother - the ex-Believer, Shauna, is also there. They - the two women - now form one of our most potent deep cover teams."

"And the Child's father?" Yang asked.

"Kurt? He has successfully penetrated an ancient guild - an offshoot of the Empath Guild known as The League of Mercenaries. He is currently back at our Covert Ops HQ with Anson Taddei. Both are having some fresh bio-implants - and don't ask, Mr. Chairman, you really don't want to know."

Yang raised one eyebrow quizzically, a feat of personal muscle mastery that he had taught himself as a child and that he had used on many occasions with disconcerting effect.

Ashaandi sighed.

"Taddei is getting a makeover - a personal fusion power pack and is being equipped with the Aliens' 8-res armor. Kurt is being given neurals that will effectively bypass the blockers that the league seems able to erect - they will augment his already considerable compellor powers."

"And the Sisters?" Yang queried.

Ashaandi marveled inwardly at how the Chairman kept track of these low level operatives - did he know the names and functions of every Hive citizen? - probably. His memory was prodigious.

"They are en route to their next assignment - Morgan Industries itself. They hold the key to Junior"

Yang nodded. "So we have deep operatives only in Sparta and Morgan? "How do we get back into Lal?"

"We were there, with Anastasia. We must create the conditions for Lal to request the return of Allardyce - I myself will be responsible for that aspect."

"And what of the Gaians?"

"Ah, that has been our biggest disappointment, with the loss of our mindworm capability. It is more long term, and we see the Child as being key to Deirdre."

"We don't have the luxury of time," Yang responded gruffly. "I am contemplating a military solution,"

Ashaandi looked earnestly at the Chairman.

"You know my views on that - we do not have the infrastructure to support a military operation at the present. We need to retake our bases and get their industrial capability up and running again. Our population is decimated and has little appetite for an extended offensive with long supply lines."

Yang interjected:

"I am not thinking so much of a push towards Velvetgrass Point - more a retaking of our own continent."

Ashaandi looked over the table, and nodded.

"But leave Great Conclave alone."

Yang's eyes narrowed. "Pray tell me why?" he asked , his voice icy.

"That's Kurt and Shauna's deal with the devil," Ashaandi replied. They will work for us if we let Miriam be. And their Child is the key."

Yang nodded.

"So be it," he said.

[Googlie]

Morgan Distribution

Jeneba sat hunched over her console peering at the screen. She was a traditionalist in the sense that she often preferred the flatscreen display versus the holovid display, and this was one of these times. Tables and spreadsheets didn't present very well in holo. She adjusted a tolerance in a column and set to recalculate.

Sitting back she rubbed her eyes - or at least her eyesockets. Longsince she had lost the power of sight as the symbiosis took effect - now she was as sensory aware as any human, but on a different level of perception - she "saw" with mindworm eyes.

Suddenly she was overcome with a deep sense of sadness, of pending loss. She paused, and tuned in to the psi-resonance she was experiencing. Her heart felt so heavy, as she sensed the deep keening of grief, but with almost celebratory countertones. She focused her mind - it was coming from the Brood Pit.

Pushing back from her chair, she rose and stretched, and made her way to the door.

As she approached the Brood Pit, the sensation of despair and grief became stronger, and seemed to be echoed and multiplied by the restless native inhabitants. Periodically she felt a soothingness, but it didn't last longer than a fleeting thought might, then the keening resumed.

With a heavy heart she entered the Pit, and was hit by the almost palpable wave of grief that permeated the chamber. She opened her mind completely to these, her charges. And then she understood.

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

Deirdre was dozing when her commlink beeped insistently in her ear. She sat up and activated the unit, and glanced at the small display screen.

Reception was poor with the altitude and speed she was traveling, but she recognized the Morgan brood trainer immediately. She listened, then nodded.

"I'm on my way," she said.

Deactivating the unit, she turned to the pilot:

"Can we divert to Morgan Distribution?" she asked.

He consulted the display. They were just leaving the Borehole Cluster, about to pass over Plex Anthill en route from Gaia Revered to Gaia's Landing. He nodded.

"Then do it" said Deirdre, and sank back in her seat, letting the contours form themselves around her hips and back. There was no doubt, Morgan Industries made excellent passenger needlejets. And she didn't begrudge herself the comfort. Most of her time these days was spent commuting between Gaia Revered, Gaia's Landing and Velvetgrass Point. The seat of government now officially was in Revered, at the new Command Center completed ahead of schedule and below budget by the efficient Morgan workcrews. But not all departments had moved yet. And the small Gaian contribution to the Axis war effort was centered in Landing and Nessus Shining, and warranted periodic visits from her. Plus it gave her occasion to see her daughter, Julia, who was stationed in Nessus. She wondered if she might see Nwabudike this unscheduled visit.

As the needlejet came in low between the stack of echelon mirrors and the tidal harnesses, it crossed the river to the east of the base - the River Morgan, Deirdre thought wryly - was everything named after the man? - heading towards the sensor array that marked the aerospace complex.

They taxied to the passenger terminal, and Deirdre noticed one of her Gaian needlejets parked there. She strained to read the insignia - GAFT-1. Her heart leaped - so Julia was here too. Then she wondered…was it on the same business as she?

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

Jeneba was there to meet me, as was Julia, my daughter.

"Let's go", she said without formality. "There's not much time left."

I climbed into the converted unity rover with them both and we headed off to the base.

"How is he?" I asked.

"Ailing," was her response. "He wanted you specifically."

We reached the base and made our way to the Brood Pit. I reached out with my mind, open, and felt the unease and anguish of so many. The hurt and the feeling of impending loss.

We turned the corner of the corridor, and there in the Pit, in a corner, nestled into the fungus, sat Alphonse.

I gazed at him. A huge Demon Boil, once the proud savior of Morgan Industries, he had shriveled to about one quarter of his usual size and his sheen had gone. His tendrils were brittle and discolored, and he pulsed slowly, almost painfully.

We went in.

I opened my mind to him.

Alphonse, I said.

He quivered, and strained to pulse to his full size, but the effort took his strength, and I felt his anguish at his discomfiture.

I sensed him in my mind.

My Lady. Pleased for you to come.

My heart felt for him. I babbled to Jeneba about how these delicate native lifeforms needed exercise and couldn't be cooped up in a brood pit and wasn't there some rejuvenation treatment that could apply to mindworms…. I felt him in my mind again.

Lady. Not much time left. Usual lifecycle for us is about 1 of your months, and can be extended by lying fallow in xenofungus. Brood Pit is good substitute, but now my time has come. My husks could be eaten by my mindworm brethren, but I am also valuable to you.

I turned to Jeneba.

"Is this what I am thinking?"

She nodded. "It was Alphonse's idea. We reckon he will be worth some 70 to 90 credits as Planetpearls - worthless as mindworm fodder. But he wanted you."

"How?" I asked.

Alphonse came unbidden into my mind again.

Turn me loose - release me to the wild. Then flame me.

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

We were outside the base, in a small clearing on the banks of the river. It had been a struggle to get the old mindworm into the rover, but we had managed. And now we were standing, a small group, lost in contemplation. I regretted the lack of any fungus to make him feel at home.

Alphonse had wrapped a tendril around one of my ankles, perhaps savoring the last physical contact he would have with a human.

I felt him in my mind.

It is time, Lady.

I nodded.

Vocalizing, as well as empath-broadcasating to any who could understand, I gave Alphonse his manumission.

Alphonse. I hereby release you from your oath of service to the Stepdaughters of Gaia. You are free. Return to the wild, to the destiny you have chosen.

I felt the rasping tendril disengage from my ankle, as Alphonse slowly bunched, pulsed, and inched forwards towards the river. He stopped a few meters away.

Goodbye, My lady. I regret I cannot be of use in the coming battle. But use my sacrifice well.

Jeneba handed me the shredder rifle, with the dial turned to flame.

I brought it to my shoulder. The atmosphere was heavy with a poignant grief as the psi emanations came from the brood pit in the base and were joined it seemed by countless native denizens and by planet herself.

As I aimed, I thought of the times with Alphonse. His skitterings as a larval mass. His development as a fully adult mindworm. The "baseball" with Scotty. His epic battle with Bambi to save Morgan Industries.

I lowered the rifle. I couldn't do it. He deserved better.

A sense of sadness permeated my being, and with it came an accusatory emanation from Alphonse.

Betrayal?

It was although he was looking at me. Almost like his shape had assumed a humanoid form. With the head turned accusingly towards me.

I can't, Alphonse. I can't I wailed internally.

ffssssst ….. fsssstttt

From behind came the unmistakable sound of a shredder pistol on flame.

Alphonse erupted, the searing heat scorching my face as the psi-agony shriek rent my mind.

I turned, the tears flowing unashamedly down my cheeks, to see Julia lower her pistol.

"Why?" I asked soundlessly.

"Go get the Planetpearls, Mother. It's what he wanted and we came for," was her emotionless reply.

I took the synthbestos bag and with a heavy heart went to collect Alphonse's gift to me.


(loosely based on reading for the first time p223 of the GameGuide)



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 05, 2000).]

[Rynn:]

Aboard the U.N.S. Endeavour

"Position?" barked Captain Donaldson.

"We're approaching 111/95," Falloon, his astrogator, replied. "We should be seeing them soon."

"We've been in this damned fungus for days," grumbled Shariff. He was the designated governor of the new colony to be founded, and this slow progress to the center of the New Sargasso Sea was wearing on his nerves. The air cover had petered out when the entered the protection of the fungal fields, as they didn't want attention drawn to them.

"It's been thinning for the past 18 hours," the astrogator commented. "The seaformer crew have been steadily beating it back, and it's noticeable. Our speed has been picking up."

They'd been running blind and silent for about a week now, to try and avoid detection by the sophisticated scanners assumed to be in the Nessus Canyon area. They'd even eschewed contact with the rest of the colony fleet - two transport convoys escorted by half of the Peacekeeper's Southern Fleet, with the other half being held back to escort the convoy that would establish the land base at the isthmus neck northwest of the Canyon.

The escorts consisted of an empath skimship flotilla and a squadron of the older technology gatling destroyers that had been upgraded with anti aircraft weaponry.

A series of rapid flashes caught their eye. Donaldson and Falloon looked intently.

"What's happening?" asked Shariff.

"It's the destroyer 'Dag Hammarskjöld'," Donaldson replied. "They've contacted the Former. It's about ten miles ahead. The site is prepped for us."

"Good," said Shariff. At last he could prove his usefulness.

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

UN Midway

Kasimir Shariff looked out over the sea colony.

It was amazing what had been accomplished in such a short time. The barges that the transports had towed had themselves formed the caissons that had been secured to the ocean floor, and on their slender legs the sea colony had taken shape.

The living quarters had been assembled and hung on the legs, and then the task of extruding the pressure dome had begun. Now it was complete, and the giant fans were keeping breathable oxygen circulating. Part of the appeal of the dome technology was its doubling as recycling tanks. In a sea colony there was little room for waste. "It must be like being in space," thought Shariff .

He was particularly pleased by the simultaneous creation of a perimeter defense around the base, and now the hardworking crews were feverishly building a recreation commons.

In a few short weeks the base - named Midway for reasons he couldn't fathom - had attracted a population of over 30,000, all of them busy in the production and maintenance cycle of catering for the needs of a major military staging post.

As soon as the airdeck had been built the PAF had sent both a penetrator squadron and an interceptor squadron to be based there. Shariff had no doubt that it would soon become home to many units of the Axis as the preparation for the push on the Usurper territory took form.

All-in-all he was satisfied with his lot in life. Now if he could just keep his new base free of drone riots.

He went back into the administrative unit for dinner.

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

"Will there be anything else, Sir? Madame?" the waiter solicitously asked.

"Not for me," replied General Gupta. He looked over at his dinner companion:

"Tazeem?"

"No, thanks, Patel. That was excellent. The Gaian shrimp were exquisite."

The General looked up at the waiter and shook his head.

"No thanks - just the bill please."

The waiter nodded, and left.

"Now to business," Gupta said. "Why did you request this meeting in so private a place?"

Tazeem looked disconcerted.

"But ……… but, it was you who invited me."

"Not at all. Your message distinctly said….."

"Pardon me," a new voice said. "It was I that arranged the meeting."

They both looked up. General Gupta leapt to his feet.

"Pravin," he said extending his hand.

Commissioner Lal took the extended hand in his, and smiled down at the still seated Tazeem.

"May I join you?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, summoning the waiter.

"A bottle of your best Anisette," he commanded, knowing that it was a personal favorite of the General's.

General Gupta positively beamed.

"But again, why the meeting. And here?" he asked of Lal

Lal looked around, and pulled a shredder pistol from his cloak and laid it on the table.

"I dismissed both your guards, and your ADC's," he said by way of explanation.

"This is to be heard by your ears only. But first, let us drink to the success of our alliances."

The waiter had reappeared, and carried a tray with an opened bottle of Anisette, and three full glasses. He placed one in front of the three guests.

"To success," Lal toasted, raising his glass and emptying it in one swallow, as was the custom. Patel and Tazeem did likewise.

"To success," they echoed.

Lal sat back and regarded them.

Tazeem was in a coughing fit, as if she had drank her liqueur too quickly. Patel had turned glassy-eyed, and looked beseechingly at Lal.

"You bastard. You've poisoned the drink," he slurred, then slumped forward on to the table.

Tazeem's fit had stopped, as had her breath. She, too, was slumped over the table.

Lal regarded them impassively, then relaxed.

The muscles in his face quivered, and pulsed, and reformed into an older visage than that of the rejuvenated Commissioner. He shuddered.

Haraad Ashaandi turned over the heads of the two Peacekeeper officials. He picked up the shredder and dialed it to laser-fine. Carefully he carved the sign of the Circle on their foreheads, and turned to the waiter, who had by now shed his uniform and was just another PK citizen on his errands.

"Let's go," Ashaandi commanded.

They quietly left the deserted café.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 06, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Fort Superiority

The assembly of twenty-one civilians in a private residence was unusual for wartime, however it did not immediately warrant suspicion. Even with the Alien threat, the citizens of Sparta, like any other humans on Planet, still felt the need to celebrate. While rare, there were still Spartans who enjoyed a party, and therefore the gathering was not likely to bring the local authorities running.

However, the assembly of these particular twenty-one civilians would raise alarm bells all the way to Sparta Command, if anyone had taken a moment and examined the guest list. All twenty-one ‘guests’ were former citizens of the now vanquished University of Planet, and were the last remnants of the University of Planet Terrorist movement.

Nicholi Federov was the highest ranking University official to escape capture after the Spartan conquest. Since then, he had been in hiding, coordinating movements with the other University supporters, but attempting to maintain a low profile, allowing others to take the fall for him. Now, he found himself with so few followers left to take the fall.

With the Incident at Lomonosov Park (renamed Pointa Sur during the occupation), the University movement lost a lot of support. Most University citizens were outraged by the disaster, and truly so had Federov himself. He had not been directly involved, but he had not been able to stop it either. After that, the devastation of Parade Ground and Ironholm killed many good University citizens, although it did add to the separatist movement.

Now, after almost twenty-five years of oppression, they had watched their one great hope slip from their fingers within a space of months. Zakharov was free, but he had refused to resume the mantle of Provost of the University of Planet. Colonel Santiago had no plans to release her grasp on the University bases, and the future looked bleak.

“What can we do?” spoke up Number 3. For their own protection, names were never used. None of those left even knew who Federov was, they had all been so low down in the chain-of command while the University still existed. Everyone went by number designation, delineating rank and importance. When someone was the killed, everyone advanced a number in order to reconnect the train. After Parade Ground and Ironholm, many people advanced through a lot of numbers.

“Zakharov has chosen not to return to us. There is not much we can do.” This was Number 5. He was young, and a cynic, but a rational thinker. Something that was much needed within this group composed largely of hot-headed young scientists who longed for revenge.

“But he can’t truly mean it,” continued 3. “They have to be holding something against him.”


“Nothing has been seen of Anastasia Zakharov since his reappearance.” This was 2 who chimed in. Federov had a intense dislike for 2. 2 maintained an air of stoicism, only contributing obvious facts into the conversation, and never any new ideas. It was unfortunate, in Federov’s eyes, that he could not be demoted. Still, many things were beyond his power and most were of far greater significance.

“Perhaps Santiago is bribing Zakharov, forcing him to not return to the University. Perhaps she fears what we can do if we were to rebuild.” This was 12. He was young and saw a conspiracy everywhere.

“Whatever the reason,” interrupted Federov, speaking for the first time, “Provost Zakharov is not going to be handed back control of the University on a silver platter. He will need assistance in taking it back. That is what we are for.”

“But we’ve tried it all before,” 5 retorted. “The Spartans won’t listen because they don’t really have too. What sort of a threat can twenty scientists pose to the entire Spartan army?”

“A very grave one I assure you,” Federov replied cooly. His confidence garnered their attention. “I have been contacted by a new friend, who seeks to help our cause. While, I grant you the source of the assistance is not one I would have gone to by choice, beggars cannot be choosers.” Some of the others exchanged worried glances, wondering what they were being dragged into. Nobody wanted a repeat of Pointa Sur.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce our new friend.” Emerging from the darkest corner came a man that none had even realised was there. They all stepped back in shock. Having been afraid so long of getting caught, the entrance of stranger always created a stir, no matter how they were announced.

“Good evening academicians,” the new comer spoke. The voice was cold, almost artificial, but distinctly male. “I am Sand Zeta-Two and I have a proposition for you.”

[senatus]

"War is Hell."  These words, expressed by an ancient American general,
are often misconstrued out of context, and oversimplified.  In Corazan
Santiago's experience, War is Chaos.  She who succeeds in bringing
about order in the natural chaos can then apply strategy and tactics for
victory.  And to bring about order requires discipline.


Los Angeles, 2050


Los Angeles was burning.


It burned not only with the fires, but with the seething unrest that
had spilled over into riots.  It was the 263rd day of the labour strike
against a financially bankrupt government and the morally bankrupt megacorps
that no longer supplied Greater Los Angeles with food, electricity, oil.   
The federal government of the United States was a shattered corpse in its
death throes, torn and divided as state after state unilaterally withdrew
from the Union; as Republican-backed militias engaged in open street battles
with the Democratic mobs while their respective masters shouted and screamed
at one another in the halls of Congress.  And the Knights of Genetic
Purity had claimed credible responsibility for the nuclear assassination
of the President and Vice-President, igniting full-scale race riots in
the Southern States and California.


The country was tearing itself apart, after 275 years of history. 
There would be no United States in 2051.  And like the country, the
city - her city - was exploding with civil disorder that threatened to
devolve into civil war.


But not if Corazan Santiago, Colonel, Commander of the Los Angeles
CIty Guard, had anything to do about it.


"Rico five to base.  We have achieved our objective and are
returning with our cargo to rendezvous."


"Rico three here, base.  Looks like we got here too late. 
Councilwoman Cullens is dead - it's not pretty.  Orders?"


Santiago leaned into her microphone.  "Base to Rico three, carry
out your orders.  Bring the Councilwoman's body back to City Hall."


"Rico seven to command.  The LAPD HQ is gone.  Doesn't
look like there are any survivors, I can see where they made their stand. 
Looks like the rioters are still here, orders?  We're taking small
arms fire."


"Base to Rico seven, withdraw to safe distance but continue to monitor. 
Rico one, move to support Rico seven."


Santiago took off her headset, passing it on to her subordinate. 
She took quick, military strides, pushing open the ornate wooden doors
that lead into the City Council Chamber.  Inside, guarded by her militia,
were the frightened men and women about the table who are all that are
left of the Greater Los Angeles city council.  Their faces were drawn,
taut, and strangely surreal in the emergency lighting Santiago has brought
to the City Hall.


"Councilors, the mayor is dead, the police are dead or scattered,
and the rioters have broken into the armories.  I require the Ultimate
Decree."


Councilman Malerbi spoke up.  "Colonel, you're asking us to
give you the authority to suspend civil rights of American citizens. 
We can't do that.  We don't even have the authority to, even if we
wanted to."


Santiago smiled a wolf's smile with no friendliness whatsoever, and
several of the civilians shiver.  She had seriously thought privately
to arrange that the libertarian councilor be absent, but she needed him
for quorum.


"Take a look around you, Councilman.  The fundamental civil
right of life and security is already being violated all over the city. 
You must grant my request, or deal with the consequences.  And as
for authority?  There won't even be a country or Constitution in a
year.  We must deal with the now."


Malerbi drew himself up.  For all his foolishness, the man is
no coward.  "And if we refuse?"


"Then I will withdraw my people to safety, and you can watch your
city burn.  Councilor Hodges, please table the motion."


Hodges - Santiago's long-time ally on Council - rose.  "Fellow
Councilors, I table a vote on the following motion: That Colonel Santiago
take all necessary steps to protect the City of Los Angeles and associated
counties, using whatever means are required; and that her authority be
absolute within the next 72 hours."


Santiago smiled to herself; probably she ws the only one who recognized
the historical parallels of Hodges' proposal.  The Senators of Rome
gave the same directive when appointing Sulla.  The Directorate of
France did the same for Napoleon.  And she will follow in the steps
of these great generals, and restore order.


The councilors voted.  Only Malerbi dissented.  The city
of Los Angeles was now under martial law.  Santiago went back to her
command post.  She motioned her assistants, and the camera  focused
on her.  Everyone still capable of receiving television, radio, or
internet would now hear her voice.


"Citizens of Los Angeles: This is Colonel Santiago, Commander of
the City Guard.  As authorized by the City Government, I am declaring
Martial Law.  All citizens must immediately either return to their
homes, or arm themselves and report to the nearest Police station for induction
into the City Militia.  By midnight tonight, all citizens not deputized
by the Guard will be under strict curfew.  Citizens with pressing
emergency needs must signal for Guard escort by hanging red flags at their
entryways.  The penalty for curfew violation is mandatory sedation. 
Rioters, looters, and armed rebels will be suppressed, with lethal force
if necessary."


"Citizens, bear with me.  We're all in this together, and we
will all survive and come out of this together."


The transmission was recorded, broadcast, and would be rebroadcast
continuously.  Santiago strapped on her flack jacket and helmet, and
proceeded to her helicopter.


Five hours later, the chaos had relented somewhat.  Many citizens,
desperate for any sort of promise of order, obeyed Santiago.  Others,
more brave or perhaps more desperate, reported to her recruiting sections
and were deputized immediately.  But there were some who resisted. 
The Knights of Genetic Purity had smuggled in their own weaponry, and hated
Santiago for the colour of her skin as much as the issuance of her decree. 
They remained a problem.  Fortunately, they lacked military discipline
and good sense, and foolishly had remained out on the streets in defiance
of her orders.  Where they could be seen, and targeted.


"Rico seven to Rico prime, I'm coming East on towards the Barryo. 
Looks like the rioters here are still out in force - they're trashing the
neighborhood."


"Patch me in," Santiago ordered, and now her voice was projected
from copter seven.


"Attention citizens!  You are in violation of curfew decree. 
Militia forces are approaching your position, and you are required to surrender
yourselves to them immediately!  Resistance will be met with lethal
force.  This is your final warning!"


Santiago could see the crowd's reaction through copter seven's sensors. 
They were defiant.  One young man, barely over twenty, his hair shaved,
his clothes in paramilitary style, raised a rifle and fired it in the general
direction of the helicopter.  His twisted expression of hatred was
clear, his lips mouthed: 'F*ck you, spick c*nt!"


"Rico seven to Rico prime, we're... holy sh*it, we're being painted! 
We're being painted!"


A contrail exploded from the street, and the portable SAM slammed
into Rico Seven.  It veered crazily, and by some fluke the sensors 
captured the exultant crowd below, before the helicopter smashed into a
nearby building and exploded.


Santiago had just lost some good men and women.  But she would
mourn later.  A military response was required.


"Rico five, three, and six.  Approach from Southwest vector, 
Rico two and four, form on my wing.  Execute plan grapeshot."


The Guard helicopters fell into the formation that Santiago had drilled
into them a dozen times, never expecting they would have to resort to it.


"Commence fire."


At Santiago's order, the gunships lined up, and a lethal barrage
of shredder fire erupted from the barrels of their cannons.  Methodically,
the gunships "walked" their fire up the street, and the rioters screamed
and broke as they were chewed into hamburger.


Santiago watched her own screen carefully, and then spotted the Chevy
6-runner that had mounted the SAM.  It was readying another shot at
one of her units.  But suddenly a hail of flares flew out of the gunships,
spoofing the IR sensors of her enemy.  Santiago carefully painted
her own target, and the pickup exploded as her missile slammed into it,
bits of debris - human and metallic - raining down.


"Santiago!  We surrender!  For the love of God, cease fire!" 
Suddenly, a desperate, panicked voice came into her headset.


"What part of `final warning` didn't you understand?"  Santiago
responded, the snarl in her voice as at last her temper is loosed. 
She could still see the flaming wreckage of Rico seven, a fiery coffin
for her warriors.  Again, her finger squeezed, and when she relented,
it was only because her ground forces were  approaching the fire zone.


They found barely twenty living souls where once a thousand rioted.


It ttok forty-two hours before order was returned to the city. 
Santiago hadn't slept a wink in that time, but finally her job was done. 
Or so she thought.  As she approached her command post, her adjutant
whispered to her.


In the barracks, several dozen of her deputized troops, and even
some of her City Guard, were under arrest.  Some had used their authority
to loot, to rape, and some merely to assault civilians who were not in
violation of Santiago's decree.  It was, unfortunately, not an entirely
unexpected consequence of marital law.


Santiago walked in, her eyes sweeping dispassionately over them. 
She turned to her adjutant.


"Commence court-martial proceedings.  If guilty, they are to
be shot."


"Colonel!  Shouldn't we let the civilian courts...." the young
lieutenant began to point out, for her authority expired in barely a day.


"We are charged with restoring order, under martial law.  To
restore order, we must maintain discipline."

---

Geneva, 2058


"To restore order, we must maintain discipline."


Sheng-Ji Yang, Chief of Security for the Unity Project, quoted the
woman who stood at attention before his desk.


"Sir."  The once-colonel, now U.N. Security Force lieutenant
responded.  Yang noted that while the woman stood unmoving, her stance
was not stiff.  As if the discipline to remain at attention came naturally
within her, or perhaps had been long practiced.  Unusual in someone
so young.


Yang had seen strong career military men tire in a prolonged position
of attention, at least to the point where minor involuntary muscle movements
are visible to the trained eye.  This woman was completely in balance.


Yang approved.


"Do you regret your decisions in the Los Angeles disorder eight years
ago, Lieutenant?  Did you feel you made mistakes?"  Yang asked,
probing.  He had this woman's psych profile in front of him, of course
- he is the only member of the crew, aside from Garland and Godwinson,
who had access to these.  But he wanted to form his own analysis.


"No, and Yes, Sir."  Santiago responded, her eyes meeting his
without flinching.


"Explain."  Yang commanded.


"I made mistakes, Sir.  Had I the experience and knowledge then
that I do now, I would've been able to minimize my own casualties further,
and those of the rioters as a consequence.  But I do not regret my
actions.  A commander does the best with the tools she is given, Sir. 
I don't believe I could have done better at the time."


"And what about firing after they offered surrender?"


Santaigo stiffened.  That report had been suppressed long ago,
she had thought.  Sheng-Ji Yang is more formidable than even his considerable
reputation.  She is being tested.  Should the security chief
wish it, her UN career is over, and all hope of surviving with Unity. 
She must choose her words carefully but honestly, for Yang would almost
certainly know if she was lying.


"I do regret that action, Sir.  Not for the military consquences;
for the display of force at that time ensured that all subsquent rebels
surrendered with much less of a fight.  But because I allowed my emotions
to influence my command decisions."


Yang nodded.  It was a rare subordinate who recognizes her own
limitations and admits them to a superiour.


"And why did you apply for Unity?"


"I believe in the future, Sir."


Yang smiled to himself.  She did not say that she believed in
the vision of Unity.  Merely in the promise that it might deliver,
which for Santiago, he suspected, was simple survival.


She would do.


"Very well, Lieutenant.  I am assigning you a position on my
staff.  You will be working with my own XO."  Yang pressed a
button, and Haraad Ashaandi entered the room with his usual sardonic smile.


Yang didn't trust Ashaandi.  But if things fell apart on Unity,
he needed the backing of capable subordinates and assistants to ensure
security and control.   Yang had read Garland's psych profile,
and the man seemed regrettably prone to indecision and vacillation in crisis. 
Too much like Pravin Lal; what was acceptable in a healer could not be
relied upon in a leader.  Yang must be ready if the responsibility
for humanity's future falls upon his shoulders.


But Ashaandi was personally ambitious.  Perhaps too much so. 
Placing him with this talented woman may ensure greater balance in the
whole.  Yin, and Yang.


Santiago looked warily at Ashaandi, who smiled back at her, but with
his eyes hardening.  Two predators in the same room.


Or perhaps they will kill each other, Yang thought.  But as
Santiago had just said, a commander did the best he could with the tools
he was given, flawed as they might be.  For Yang, these were Ashaandi
and Santiago.  They offer him power, and control.


In later years, Yang considered this to be the greatest miscalculation
in his life.

---

Sparta Command, one year ago.


Sparta Federation Commander-in-Chief Corazan Santiago entered the
gloomy punishment sphere, its darkness broken by flashes as the electro-stimulators
discharged upon the hapless prisoner.  The room was acoustically designed
to echo the prisoner's screams back to him.  It was an innovation
offered by Sparta's Department of Inquisition,  Orwellesque in its
philosophy.  The object of pain is pain.  Santiago personally
found it distasteful.


But this time it served a useful purpose, for the man contained herein
couls not concentrate long enough to pit his considerable mental powers
against the artificial neural inhibitors.  Of course, simply lobotomizing
him or throwing his lifeless body to the recycling tanks would be even
more efficient, but this man might be of use to her.  Moreover, she
owed him her life.


Santiago disabled the pain inducers and crossed her arms waiting
for the prisoner to recover, although she did not disable the restraints
or neural inhibitors.  No, that would be foolish.  While the
man was formidible in his physical combat prowess, he has not perfected
his combat techniques to Santiago's level.  But it is Haraad's mind
that presents a potential threat that she has no counter for.


As she looked over Ashaandi's naked body, Santiago conceded that 
even after weeks in the sphere, he is as handsome as always.  Even
in his natural form.  The chameleon talent, combined with psi, makes
this man more personally dangerous than anyone else alive on Chiron, including
the members of the League of Mercenaries.  Santiago marvelled once
again at how Ashaandi acquired these gifts; both were extremely rare variants
of the Pholus Mutagen.


Haraad finally looked up and grinned his sardonic smile.  "Come
to see your latest trophy,  'Colonel'?"


"Hardly," Santiago replied.  "You are the Junta's catch, not
mine.  I just wondered how you were doing, and why you wanted to speak
to me."


"Perhaps I wanted to ask you to let me go?  After all, you do
owe me your life.  The dissidents would have you dead by now, without
my intervention."


"That's true, I owe you one.  But that isn't going to make me
overrule the Junta.  Everybody has to live with the consequences of
their actions.  Me, you, Allardyce.  I don't know what the hell
he was thinking.  I don't suppose you mind-controlled him?"


"Come, Corrie, you know better,"  Ashaandi mocked.  "Allardyce
is far too strong-willed to be controlled like that.  No, I offered
him a deal that he couldn't refuse.  And I'll offer it to you now
instead."


"And just what is that?"  Santiago asked, but she suspected
the answer.


"Let me go, and I will continue to work to overthrow the Hive from
within.  Yang is formidable, but my power and talents will eventually
prevail."


Santiago considered for several long minutes.  That Ashaandi
was genuine in his intent seemed likely - the man had always been personally
ambitious, and did not play the role of subordinate naturally.  Yang
was an obstacle to those goals.  And the Hive could be an obstacle
to Santiago's.  The war was only gearing up, and it remained to be
seen whether the superiour training and weaponry of the Federation could
overcome the numerical advantages of the Hive.


But replacing Yang with Ashaandi could prove to be a more formidable
opponent in the long run.  Personally, Santiago doubted it; Ashaandi,
for all his personal power, could never match the discipline and cult-like
personality of Yang.  But if he could somehow develop a society based
on total thought control instead....


The best scenario would be to see the Hive weakened first, whomever
the victor.  And an internal power struggle would achieve that goal. 
The divisions in the Spartan Federation wrought by the senior members of
the Junta - including Googlie - had proved that point, whatever the motivations
of the participants.


And besides, she did owe Ashaandi her life.  Corazon
Santiago made it a point to repay her debts.  Even if it meant dancing
with the devil.


"Agreed."

---

Sparta Command


"General Gupta is dead."


Corazon Santiago looked up with surprise as well as some dismay. 
Patel Gupta was undoubtably the best of the Peacekeepers'  generals. 
That wouldn't be saying much, for the Peacekeepers never emphasized the
sort of military preparedness that Sparta based its doctrine on, but Gupta
really was - had been - competent at the very least.  There was no
telling what idiot Pravin Lal might appoint in his place, and that could
set back the offensive by weeks or months while the new commander figured
out how to use his sidearm.  Time that the Axis didn't have.


"How?"


"Assassination," Lieutenant Moore said.  "Along with one of Lal's
government officials.  According to our report, it was the Circle."


Santiago swore for a moment in her native Spanish.  Moore didn't
understand the words  - Standard English being the official language
of Sparta - but it sounded vehement.


"But Dr. Lal is safe?"  She asked.


"Yes, Commander."


Santiago took a moment to ironically reflect that the Axis war effort
would have been served better of Lal had died and Gupta survived. 
With Googlie gone to the Gaians, that left no-one competent at U.N. Headquarters.


More to the point, the Circle was active.  And hostile.


Ashaandi has betrayed me, she thought.  If, indeed, he
could ever have been trusted.  Once again, I have allowed my emotions
to affect my command decisions.  Stupid!  Sheng-Ji would be disappointed.


"Send a message to Datajack Roze at Morgan Industries.  And while
you're at it, copy to the Believer command at Great Conclave.  Tell
Roze we are aware of the situation, and we expect her to deal with it and
neutralize or contain the threat."


The Circle was outside of her domain of expertise, but within Roze's. 
The command was delegated to those who could fulfill it best.


Santiago returned to her strategies, now adjusting for the sudden change
to the military variables.  Discipline leads to master of chaos. 
Mastery of chaos led to victory in war.

[Hydro]

Velvetgrass Point

Shannon Lindly signed contentedly. The chaos from the last year or two had abated somewhat. Who would have guessed that that she would be the first Gaian ambassador to the Morgans since the Trail of Tears, and then broker an alliance? Or that she would be a member of the first human exploration of space, even if that little adventure was brought to a screeching halt with the arrival of the alien fleet, which had made it abundantly and violently clear they would not allow humans in orbit or beyond. Then she had the distinct and unpleasant 'honor' of being the Gaian pro tem leader while Dee was in the tanks (again). Luckily Dee only needed an update, so she wasn't on the hook very long. Administrative duties ranked at the absolute bottom of where Shannon wanted to spend her time.

There was one good thing about a little stature, however; you could tell certain people to buzz off. As the stand-in Gaian leader she had gotten quite good at it, and she could tell she had a certain talent for it by the way people cringed when she got into one of her 'tiff moods'. That seemed to happen quite often since she had been irritable most of the time.

So, the experience hadn't been pleasant for anyone and, thankfully, she wasn't about to be elected Queen of the Universe anytime soon because of all the ruffled feathers. Shannon had absolutely no idea how Dee put up with all the whiners and wheedlers, or how she could be gracious to people who obviously had less than pure ulterior motives. That, in the end, made Dee a much better leader than most admitted. She was soft on people, but hard on policy, since there were some issues where she simply would not compromise on. Having been in that limelight Shannon could see all too clearly the temptation to give in to expediency on policy and people, if for no other reason than to make some unpleasant person or issue go away. At that she smiled grimly, thinking that other more ruthless faction leaders who practiced realpolitic in a Machiavellian fashion, like Morgan or Yang, would find a less prosaic way of making an inconvenient person or an issue 'go away'.

Still Shannon felt more relaxed than she had in months. She was back to her true love, research, even if it wasn't the high-energy research she was accustomed to. The arrival of the aliens had changed the focus of Gaian research, since it now seemed key to fathom Planet to understand them and what they meant to Mankind. The Manifold Nexus figured prominently in this effort since it was obviously an alien artifact of the first order, that it was intimately linked with Planet itself , and that it was in the uncontested hands of the Gaians. But for now the mysterious and glorious Manifold was banished from Shannon's mind, as was the ever-present threat of the vaguely threatening aliens, and the complex and messy political elements that infected her life as an (almost) pure lead researcher.

The most complex thought on her mind now was how not to burn her hands no her hot mug. Leaning back in her favorite slightly overstuffed chair, Shannon cradled the warm cup of tea. A fragrant steam rose, and Shannon inhaled deeply. It was a delicate chamomile, and its flowery aroma never failed to sooth her nerves. Chamomile was definitely an acquired taste, but then so was fungal gin.

Shannon shivered. Fungal gin was truly nasty stuff.

Pleasant thoughts she reminded herself.

Shannon sipped, and the warmth of the almost too hot tea washed down her throat.

Tranquility.

Shannon closed her eyes.

Shannon sipped again, a long, slow sip, and the heady steam bathed her face.

Ahhhhh!

Slowly, Shannon opened her eyes.

What was that? She felt something tugging on her robe hem. In a flash she knew: Ehm was trying to get her attention.

Looking down she saw him. He was brushing against her leg, politely asking in a non-verbal way that she had taught him to initiate conversation. It had been a long time in training, and he seemed to have no problem simply barging into her mind with whatever thought or comment he might have at the moment. Normally this is fine if there was any amount of self-restraint, but Shannon compared Ehm to a precocious 10-year-old. He always had questions, and he never seemed to sleep. For a few months Shannon thought she would go insane, or sink into catatonia due to lack of REM sleep due to Ehm's constant intrusions.

"Hello Ehm," she said. "Come on up. Let's talk."

In a blink Ehm had darted up into her lap. He was no longer the tinniest mindworm she had ever seen, but he was still pretty small. He easily fit into her lap, which looked like it was covered with a rounded mound of moving pink confetti. Shannon marveled, knowing that as he moved he controlled the magnetism around him and used it to keep the individual mindworms suspended and to propel himself.

Simply amazing, if now old hat.

Hello Lindly, Ehm said quietly into Shannon's mind. Shannon perked up, since Ehm was always almost bursting with enthusiasm and almost never said anything quietly, or slowly. His conversations were staccato bursts of ideas or questions, and he sometimes didn't even wait for an answer if he was excited enough.

Shannon waited for him to continue, and this wait itself was another rarity.

You are my friend. Will you die, Lindly?

Shannon was surprised again. Ehm's questions were all over the map, but this was a new and pretty serious question.

"Yes Ehm, I will eventually die, but hopefully not for a long time. All living things die, though."

Ehm accepted this statement and paused again.

When?

Shannon now knew where this conversation was going, and remembered how she had dealt with it so long ago on Earth when her young Greg had starting asking such questions. It was hard, and a little touchy, and she knew she had to be careful and honest. She remembered that Greg was unusually serious for an eight year old, and had looked her straight in the eye when asking this question. But that was over a two hundred years ago - a lifetime ago, or several lifetimes. When leaving Earth Shannon had made her goodbyes, knowing she would never see Greg or his family again. It had been sad, but it was so long ago. Still, she knew she would never forget.

"I don't know. Normally humans live for less than a hundred years, but now it is many hundreds of years and in the future it could be much longer. I could have an accident that would mean I would die sooner. "

Like when Tala my friend at the training school went away?

"Yes. She went to the hospital after the hab unit at Morgan Industries collapsed when the ferals attacked, but the doctors there couldn't save her."

What happens when you die?

"Well," Shannon started, and she shifted in her seat and put down her tea. This was going to be longer than she had thought. "Humans have been thinking about that for a long time, and no one really knows. Some humans think that when you die your soul, which is the essence of your being, will go to a nice place, which most call heaven, to be with the being that created all life. Others think that your soul will be reborn over and over again forever. Still others think that we are complex chemical reactions and that when we die we simply cease to exist. "

Ehm was quiet for a while. Shannon knew he understood the basics of biology and was busy digesting what might be new ideas.

Will I die?

"I don't really know. You might. I've never seen a mindworm die naturally, but I've only been on Planet for 125 years. You are a collection of little wormlets the each grow, reproduce, and then die, and they are replaced as fast as they die. In a way it is a little like the cells of a human. The cells themselves are created and die off continually, but the human continues to live. We are programmed to die, since that is central to our species' reproductive strategy and place in our ecosystem, and some would say the key to our evolution. That may not be true on Planet, though. Your ecosystem and programming is completely different and there is no reason that I know of why you can't live forever, Ehm."

But I don't want to live forever if I can't be with you. I don't want my friends to die.

Shannon got a little misty eyed as she thought of an immortal little Ehm watching all his human friends grow old and die, being all alone and feeling abandoned. The yawning future might be gray and bleak in such a world. Maybe immortality wasn't that desirable after all?

"In know, Ehm. I know. "

Mindworms can die, too. I know it.

Shannon perked up.

"Really? How do you know that?"

I felt Alphonse die. He was my friend. He was hurting and the hurt wouldn't go away. His friends killed him near the fungus. He doesn't hurt anymore.

Shannon was nonplussed. A mindworm dying? And that great big demon boil Alphonse? That was new and totally unexpected.

"I'm sorry Ehm. I really am. I liked Alphonse, too, and I knew him from when he was a hatchling. He and Dee had such fun together! I'm sorry to see him go."

Shannon didn't know what to do. It was clear that Ehm was sad, if a mindworm can be sad, with the loss of Alphonse. She wanted to give him a hug to make him feel better, like she had with Greg, but hugging a mindworm was worse than fruitless since they couldn't feel it and simply flowed out of the way. The experience literally made the hairs on her arms stand on end, from more than the residual magnetism.

I felt him go into the fungus. He isn't focused anymore. Is that dying? When a human dies to they go into the fungus, too?

Now Shannon was confused. Unfocused? Going into the fungus?

Going into the fungus!

Slowly a glimmer of understanding crept in. Dee was always talking about the neural conductivity of the fungal network on Planet, or what could be a neural network. What if the sentience of the mindworms was intricately linked, or what if they were linked together through the fungus? The idea of a super-organism of Planet has been floated before, but it was only an interesting theory with no proof. Shannon felt a chill shoot up her spine. That linkage would explain some of the perplexing elements of the Manifold Nexus she had been working on. The Nexus could be like a neural focal point, or what was left of one, for a fungal neural net, which would include the sessile fungus, the myriad of other life forms on Planet, and the sentient mindworm vectors. Could they all be part of one system? Are what humans see as organisms simply part of a larger organism? Maybe mindworms are like intelligent white blood cells?

Alphonse says hello, Lindly. And not to be sad.

Shannon's reverie was broken.

"When did Alphonse tell you that? I thought you said his friends killed him. Did you talk to him before he died?"

No. He just told me. Then he unfocused again. Can humans refocus after they die like Alphonse?

Shannon was a little stunned. Alphonse was still here? In the fungal net? Or was Ehm having a delusion? Thinking back on it, Ehm was quite literal and not fantasy prone. Delusions and imagination are not mindworms' strong point. Humans, however, are quite good at delusion and imagination.

"No, I don't think humans can refocus," she replied with a distracted voice. Shannon thought to herself: If mindworms can refocus after they die, can they really be dead, at least as humans understand it? But more importantly, can they 'refocus' and come back to life? Is Alphonse simply in storage in the fungal net?

Right now Shannon had lots of questions, but few answers. It seemed that the Manifold and Planet got more complex every day. Like it or not, she wasn't relaxed anymore, but invigorated. Questions kept popping into her head, and there was one place where they might be answered.

"Come on, Ehm! Let's go to the Manifold!" Shannon stated.

OK!

Ehm loved going to the Manifold and playing in the ruins. He was also very helpful, since he could get into places that were otherwise inaccessible. Shannon started to get up, and Ehm slid to the ground and made for the door.

"Ehm, I have to get dressed. I only put on robes at home. Remember?"

Yes. Can I help?

Shannon through for a moment, "Sure. Find my work boots. I think they're downstairs."

OK!

Ehm skittered downstairs. To Shannon it was very strange. Even though he was a mindworm there were moments that he reminded of her of Greg when he was little. Happy thoughts darted through her head as Shannon got on her field clothes, thoughts of family old and new. Shannon decided she was very glad Ehm was around, and couldn't imagine life without him.

Isn't that strange? she thought to herself as she finished dressing.

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

Morgan Junior looked at his reflection in the mirror. His suit was impeccably clean, as usual, and the best that Morganite fashions provided. He was a model of the Morganite elite, at least as far as he could tell in this terrible lighting.

Junior turned to look at the reason for the lack of lighting. Her naked body lay peaceful, partially enshrouded by the silk sheets. Enough of her ebony could be seen glistening in the dim light from Junior’s tiny bedside lamp. Her chest rose and fell in the rhythmic pattern of sleep, a strange calmness surrounding a woman known for creating such chaos.

Junior almost wished he didn’t have to leave Roze quite so clandestinely in the night, but business was business, and daylight would soon be hitting Spartan territory. He would be back soon enough, it was only a short tour of the Western Spartan bases in order to examine Morganite holdings in the region.

Junior was almost at the door when a slight rustling sound informed him that his partner wasn’t quite as relaxed as he thought.

“So that’s it huh? Wham, bam, not even a thank you man. Gee Nwabudike, you sure know how to make a gal feel special.” Junior turned and saw the mischievous smile on her face that took any potential sting out of her words. “So where are you off too at this time of night?”


“Fort Legion.”

“What on Earth for?” Spartan bases, let alone smaller ones like Fort Legion, rarely held any appeal for a wealthy Morganite.

“Business. What else?” He replied smiling, knowing the dislike Roze had for the intense capitalism that reigned in Morgan Industries and all it’s subsidiaries. It had been part of why she left in the first place. “I have to go and tour the investments in the West, make sure everything’s still running smoothly, even with the war going on. I finish of in Fort Superiority, after which I’ll be coming home.”

“And you didn’t think this was something worth while mentioning?” There was some real surprise in Roze’s tone. She had thought that they were close enough for Junior to inform her of any extended trips away.

“The CEO,” Junior began to explain (he always used his father’s title when discussing business relations), “only asked me yesterday afternoon.” Junior approached the bed, grabbing the sheets Roze was entwined with and pulling the sheets, and her towards him. She didn’t resist, wrapping her arms around Junior’s shoulders. “Needless to say you had me a little distracted.” He kissed her tenderly, feeling her body pressing against him.

“I suppose I’ll let you off then.” She collapsed back onto the bed, readjusting the sheets to ensure she was properly covered. “You’d better go catch your flight.” Junior smiled at Roze’s subtle manipulation for control. An extraordinary woman. He just dreaded his father’s reaction when the good CEO learned of the extent of their relationship. Still, that was a problem for another day. Regretfully, Junior left the apartment and headed out to catch his flight.

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

Roze nodded to William as she entered the laboratory. The room had been annexed since Provost Zakharov, Aki Zeta-Five and herself had been gifted with impossible task of deciphering the Alien databanks. Zakharov and Zeta-Five were already there, the academician sipped from a coffee mug as he and the leader of the Consciousness leaned over a computer screen.

“Anything new?” She queried. Zakharov and Zeta-Five looked up, only just now registering the new presence in the room. Sharra approached with a mug of what the Morganites were calling coffee. It had been a long time, but Roze knew that what she was drinking tasted nothing like the real thing. Still, it was better than some sort of Gaian fungal concoction.

“Nothing, as expected,” the Provost replied. So far they had made little headway, simply because the Alien form of language was unilaterally different from that of the humans. From what was understood, they communicated through some sort of wave resonance. However, their writing was of course based on this resonance, and it therefore became unfathomable to the human mind. Roze was convinced that the only way they would discover it’s secrets, if one of the Aliens were to translate it itself. Still, Zakharov held onto his belief that nothing couldn’t be solved with science.

“We did receive a call from our most benevolent Colonel,” Zakharov said with a snarl. The Academician never hid his dislike for Santiago, not that anyone would blame him. He had agreed to put his ambitions regarding the University behind him, but he would not forgive Santiago for the years of torment inside a Spartan Punishment Sphere.

“She wishes to speak with you,” Zakharov finished. Rolling her eyes, she moved into the back room where she could have privacy and closed the door. Keying up Sparta Command, she waited to be connected. Santiago’s image came into view quickly, suggesting that Roze’s reply was considered high priority.

“Datajack,” Santiago smiled that typical diplomatic smile that screamed ‘it is good to hear from you because I want something from you’. “Thank you for returning my call so promptly.”

“Of course Colonel. What may I do for you?”

“As you may already be aware, General Gupta is dead. The Circle has been causing some...disturbances in Peacekeeper territory.” Roze hadn’t known this, her time with the Alien datalinks having kept her somewhat out of the loop. However, she gave no indication that this was the case, it wouldn’t suit her image.

“I had heard. I take it you have a request?” Roze had a bad feeling she knew what was coming next.

“I need you to eliminate the threat of the Circle once and for all. They pose to great a threat to our alliance. Haarad Ashaandi must be stopped.” Roze picked up a twinge of bitterness at the mention of Ashaandi, a small note which might prove interesting later.

“I understand Colonel. Paul Andreas has been planning an operation to infiltrate the Circle.” Roze was interrupted before she could finish.

“That’s not good enough Roze. I need the Circle eliminated.” Roze had never seen the Colonel quite so irritable. There was certainly more going on here then Roze had suspected.

“Of course, Colonel. They will be. I’ll upscale it to a full assault. Hopefully we can discover what exactly happened to Anastasia Zakharov and eliminate the Circle at the same time. I trust I can count on your support? I may need to use the services of the Hydra again in order to reach the target.” Santiago frowned slightly at the mention of her prototype sub-carrier. The vessel had almost been lost the last time Roze ‘borrowed’ it. However, Roze was betting that the destruction of the Circle would be worth it Santiago. She only had to figure out why.

“Of course. I understand some of my former pilots are in Zakharov’s employ currently. I can’t spare pilots, but I could possibly provide you with needlejets if you need them. Not top of the line, of course.” Roze mirrored the Colonel’s phony smile.

“Of course not. In the meantime, I will inform our operatives to go on full scale alert and to be aware that the Circle is increasing it’s activity. I’ll speak with Sister Miriam’s people as well, make sure they are prepared. Anything else Colonel?” Roze tried to be extra polite, knowing how irritating it would be to the Colonel.

“That will do. Keep me informed Datjack. Santiago out.” The Colonel’s image faded from view, being replaced by the triangle logo of Morgan Industries.

Roze took along swig from her mug. The moment she had been avoiding had arrived. She would go head to head with Haraad Ashaandi and the Circle. The worst part was, Roze didn’t know if she could win.

[Hydro]

Velvetgrass Point

Jessica wasn't sure if she was impressed or disappointed or maybe a little scared. After a week in Velvetgrass Point she had conflicting impressions of both the Gaians and how they lived; some things seemed so normal and 'human', while others almost made her skin crawl.

The biggest thing was that there were mindworms all over the place, and they all make Jess more than a little nervous. After being cooped up with Fluffy for so long in the Isle of the Deep, and out in the fungus, she remembered coming close to screaming or throwing her hands up in frustration at his antics. Jess was glad when they had finally come to a respectful peace. She still caught him 'looking' at her out of the corner of her eye, and Jess was positive the little sneak was peaking into her mind, or planning another 'unintentional' prank. She never felt his probing, but he was sure he was trying. Or maybe, Jess thought, she was getting a little paranoid. The devious little snot had probably planned that, too. Still, she had to respect Fluffy and his abilities, and Kirsten had done a reasonably good job of keeping him in check. Of course, their peace could be due to the fact that Jess noticed Fluffy less, and that could be due to Kirsten and Jay ordering Fluffy to stay away.

To Jess, with her limited experience, mindworms would be a little creepy and nerve-wracking, especially if they were all like Fluffy. However, all her preconceptions were dashed when she was introduced to the Senior Ecological Manager of Velvetgrass Point, Leonardo, during her tour of the Centauri Preserve.

The double Chiron suns were shining fitfully through the Centauri Preserve dome as the pair of them ambled down the wide path, examining the multifaceted and rich flora and fauna that had been reverently collected and cherished for a decade before coming here.

Jessica was a little ill at east, and Leo broke the silence.

Sister Jessica, I understand that you grew up as an exile in Peacekeeper Headquarters. It was very good of Commissioner Lal to take your family and the other Believers into his fold in the face of Yang's overt and covert threats after the capture of New Jerusalem. I remember my own time of exile during the Trail of Tears, also at Yang's hand, I might add, and can understand some of what your grandparents must have gone through. You and the other Believers have prospered, notwithstanding your trials. I was pleased when Sister Miriam took stewardship of Great Conclave, which Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang mismanaged so. And I understand you are Sister Miriam's personal aide? What an honor! And you are so young, so it is a double honor to your abilities!

My friend Kirsten has informed me of some of your exploits. You have done so much! I truly envy you. In your travels you must have been over much of Planet now and have been exposed to many of the cultures here on Planet, and I must ask what do you think of Velvetgrass Point?

It was strange, but when Leo mentioned Velvetgrass Point Jessica could detect more than a tint of pride in his voice, which had a crisp and precise diction as it appeared in her mind. Jess looked over at the huge mass of ambulatory worms that 'walked' beside her. Actually, he kind of pulsed and rolled, and even flowed over objects like fungal bushes or small sculptures that were tastefully placed in the Centauri Preserve. Leonardo, or Leo as he preferred to be called, was fully 6 meters in diameter. Most of the time he assumed the proportions of a rough, grayish pink ball that was being pressed from the top, making him an ovoid. By any definition Leo was not human, and couldn't be mistaken for one under any circumstances, unless you just listened to his voice.

In response to Leo's question Jess purposefully looked around. At first impression Velvetgrass Point was that it was not at all impressive, and it had nothing of the exuberance of a Morgan city, or the stately solidness of a Peacekeeper city. Nor was it squat and purely utilitarian, like Spartan cities almost always were. The city was decidedly low key. Its towers were deceptive in that they looked small, and rather blunt and rounded with muted brown and green hues. However, the towers just kept on getting bigger as you got nearer until they were just as solid as a Peacekeeper city, or as imposing as a stately faux Baroque Revival Morgan corporate headquarters of an intercontinental conglomerate.

"Well," she began, trying to make the most positive outlook on her ambivalent observations, "Velvetgrass Point seems … intimate. I'm not sure what it is, but it seems to blend into the land, almost like it was organic, or was grown. All except the balconies, which do give a wonderful view. The design doesn't seem very practical to build, though. How do you get it to look like giant cypress root shoots, anyway? That's what they look like. I remember seeing a vid in our Earth Awareness and Sensitivity class in elementary school on the Amazonian swamps, or was it the Nile? Gaian buildings look exactly like the root runners, or whatever they are called."

Jessica ended her inadequate and awkward explanation, not satisfied and not at all certain she had even partially explained her views.

Leo pulsed along at a slow pace, matching Jessica's.

I had not thought of the great cypress trees of Earth, but their root systems do indeed bear a strong resemblance to the form and function of Gaian architecture. It is an apt analogy, since the root systems allow the trees to gather nutrients, propagate, and breathe under more than saturated conditions. I commend you on your observation. You are correct on several counts. Our cities are designed to blend with the environment in which they are situated, and can grow to accommodate new population of humans or Chironese…"

Jessica was puzzled. "Chironese?"

Excuse me. I was unaware that you did not know the term. We who are natives of Chiron had to pick a racial name. Most of us think the word 'Chironese' is appropriate. We do not do so to segregate ourselves, of course, but to lessen confusion, since 'Mindworm' is hardly an appropriate designation due to all of its negative connotations. We are proud of our integration into human society, and the positive influence we have on the society of which we are a part. Does the term offend you?

Jessica smiled. Having grown up with the Peacekeepers she was more than acquainted with cultural distinctions. The Peacekeepers seemed to delight in differences, claiming it as a source of diversity and strength. In that context Leo's racial name was modest.

"No, not at all. I just hadn't heard the term before. Please, continue," Jess prompted.

Gladly. For a Gaian, form follows function, but there is no reason that function cannot have a certain aesthetic. Each tower complex within a city is largely self-supporting, with its own circulatory system for atmosphere and other fluids, as well as intake and disposal systems. This balance is finely wrought, and this balance is the base of the Gaian drive for efficiency to minimize environmental impacts. Each of the complexes, you see, can actually grow itself to some degree, and it is self-repairing. Part of the structure is organic and, indeed, the best part is organic. What the Morgans do with their energy and recent advances in metallurgy and technology we have been doing for a hundred years with an integrated design.

That is the function. The form is entirely cultural. The rounded forms and the textures and colors that are reminiscent of trees, and with these we seek to remind ourselves of our oneness with nature, and the fact that they cannot be separated from it. Other cultures on Chiron take a different view, and these cultures form their cities in opposition to nature, like the Morgans, or heedless of nature, like the Peacekeepers. Even the Spartans, with whom we Gaians have so much in common, have a culture to which nature is either irrelevant or simply a tool or material. The Hive seems to hide from nature and deny it, as they appear to cower from the light of day in the recesses of the earth. Our cities are a reflection of our philosophy, and our ideals. We welcome the gifts of nature, and embrace them. The places where we live reflect that need, and that ideal. Does that make sense, Sister?

As Leo spoke grand images flitted through her mind. She saw the stark white edifice of UN Headquarters, and the squat dun colored Sparta Command, and the gleaming and arrogant spires of Morgan Industries. Then she saw the hunkered Hive, and even the tattered remnants of the lofty towers of the defunct University culture, and the sad and now rare crumbling remains of the Hive-held Believer cathedral complexes. All were different, and each was a vision of the culture's vision. Intellectually Jessica could understand Gaian culture, but emotionally it was still different, even alien.

"Yes, I think I am understanding a little more," Jess responded.

That is why you are here, I believe, to understand us better, and for us to try to gain insight into your beliefs. A basic understanding is the start of true friendship. We Gaians and the Believers lost our chance so long ago. Let us not lose this second chance.

Jessica nodded somberly. Leo was right. If nothing else, necessity drove the Believers and Gaians closer together. Time would tell, however, if true friendship would take root.

Quiet took hold, but it wasn't an awkward quiet, but a quiet of reflection. Images kept darting through Jessica's head, a blur of her childhood, the many places she had seen in her short life, the people she had known. In a way it was comforting, and comfortable. Peaceful. Just like these surroundings.

Leo respected Jess' thoughts as they walked along.

After a number of minutes Leo broke the silence.

We are happy that you are here, Sister. Do you know that we have had almost no contact with your culture, even after landing? Lady Skye was always receptive, even during our mutual troubles with Yang, but Sister Miriam was always somewhat aloof, and almost withdrawn. We hope that this dialogue can allay any fears the good Sister may have. Indeed, we may have more in common than you might think.

Jess thought for a second and decided a forthright answer was best. "I can't speak for Sister Miriam, but I can say that there are some Believers that are mistrustful of the Gaians based on their understanding of the Gaian philosophy. Their faith tells them to be wary of false gods, and they are concerned about the Gaian pre-occupation with Planet, which some see as having been elevated to be as a god. They worry that there would be no place for God in the lives of the Gaians. A few speak darkly of the Gaians. I am here to observe for Sister Miriam so that we can better understand each other."

Excellent. That is all we ask, since communication is the key to understanding. Did you know, Sister, that there are Gaians who firmly believe in your Christian God? Their faith is in no way compromised by the Gaian outlook. For most Gaians their philosophy is mainly secular, and it focuses on the practical necessities of respecting the environment in which we live, and trying to integrate ourselves into it as best we can. Some become more mystical in their Gaian beliefs, and these individuals may be those that the Believers are concerned about. Yang's vids show these neo Pagans prominently as they dance naked through a corpse of trees. But do not be mislead. At the base of the Gaian belief system is the scientific understanding of how and where we live. In this case 'Gaian' does not refer to these neo Pagan beliefs, or the pseudo mystical theory advanced in the 20th Century by Lovelock on Earth about the Gaian Hypothesis. The base of the Gaian philosophy incorporates the elements of a holistic ecology that suggest that, in some ways, it functions as an organism. We see this evidence all around us. To some this belief in the web of life may seem mystical unto itself, but we have learned through painful experience that all ecosystems are interrelated. We Gaians seek to preserve what we must, and nurture what we can.

Jessica nodded. What Leo explained sounded reasonable, although it wasn't too far from this reasonable explanation to the rabid frothings of the occasional anti-Gaian Believer sermons she had heard occasionally.

For some reason Jess remembered something Kirsten had told her. She had been pretty excited about it.

"Leo, Kirsten asked me to ask you about the prawn farm. Could you show that to me?"

I would be honored, Sister Jessica. It is one of my finest creations, and a monument to ecological integration and mutual benefit. Come. It is not far.

Leo lead Jessica rather leisurely through the Centauri Preserve, pausing only occasionally to point out some of the more rare or fascinating elements of Chiron life, both plant and 'animal', or what passed for animal on Chiron. Jessica was politely interested, but leery. After her jaunt in the fungus with Kirsten and Jay, and Fluffy, she knew the fungus could kill, even if that seemed wildly improbably here. Still, the lingering pale fear lingered in her mind.

Slowly Leo made his way, and before she knew it they had left the vast preserve and were heading south under the open sky. It was fairly warm, with low clouds and a stiff southerly wind. Jess thought she smelled salt in the air, and the smell grew stronger. It was a clean smell, and it easily made it through the biofilters of her microbreather.

A vast expanse of water appeared, like a subdivided checkerboard sea. The sun peaked from behind the clouds and the water lit up with thousands of sparkles, glinting as the breeze disturbed the normally placid surface. It wasn't exactly breathtaking, but it was beautiful.

Jess couldn't help thinking that the Gaians even made farming a work of art.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jessica lay awake in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. It wasn't that she wasn't physically tired. Leo had kept her in constant motion all day, even if it was at a genteel and leisurely pace. The images Leo had painted kept spinning, and coalescing.

Looking back on it, Jess was sure she didn't make a very good impression on Leo, the demon boil. Jess didn't like that name one bit, since it denoted a malevolent entity, and Leo was definitely not an evil entity. Still, he actually ran the environmental departments within the city. Try as she might, she couldn't help but thinking of mindworms as being for attacking and killing, or as scouts or useful tools, but not as actual members of a society. But Leo seemed to fit in naturally, and the humans he worked with didn't give it a second thought that the senior administrator of Velvetgrass Point was a mindworm.

It turned out that Leonardo fit his name very well. He was, well, cultured and respectful, with a sense of humor that was almost human. He also had amazing insights into how a society fit into Planet, and how to ensure human needs were met while causing as little disruption to Planet as possible. Jess' visit to the prawn and shrimp farm had been instructive. Leo's innovations were positively creative. He knew that humans loved prawn and shrimp, and that they adapted well to aquaculture and were a reasonable fit for the environment on Planet. Moreover, they weren't adversely affected by the nitrogen-rich atmosphere, like most Earth animals were. Leo explained that the aquatic environment is friendlier toward oxygen/nitrogen transfer for Earth-based animals than the standard atmosphere was. The result was a vast research project that had spawned immediate economic and social results for the Gaians, and had become a lucrative industry almost overnight. But it didn't stop there. The prawns were about the same size and had similar neural complexity as the mindworm's native prey. The result was an ideal human-mindworm symbiosis: the mindworms used the neural system of the prawn to breed, and the humans happily ate what was left, being none the wiser.

To Jess it was a little intimidating to have a 6-meter tall mass of moving pinkish-gray worms being your host for the day. But after a while Jess found, to her surprise, that she stopped thinking of Leonardo as an alien mindworm that might suck out her brain at any moment, He had mysteriously transformed into a person: Leo the Ecological Administrator of Velvetgrass Point.

He told Jess that he remembered being captured shortly after coalescing almost a hundred years ago. Actually, it wasn't really capturing. Leo explained that he didn't remember too much after coalescing, only that he was unsure and was eager to explore and 'see' what was around him. He had a short memory of flowing through the fungus for what was probably the first time, and when he had first learned how to 'boil' and 'roll.' Everything was so big, but he was only vaguely aware of the mobile creatures around him. He had been drawn toward what he thought was a beautiful thought pattern, or 'song', and not knowing any better, simply went toward it. That thought pattern belonged to a human Gaian woman, Loala. It seemed natural and right, he said, to be with her. Their relationship wasn't like that of a mother or father and child, as he explained from his understanding of the human-child bond, but more of a partner, or a soul mate.

That last statement had rattled Jess, even though she didn't like to admit it. Long after he had bid her a good night and excused himself Jessica just couldn't stop thinking about it. Leo was clearly intelligent, and more human in his sensibilities than some Believers Jess had met recently. The key question: did he have a soul? He was part of God's creation, that much was obvious, but the Bible says that he created Man in his image. Man has a soul. But do mindworms have a soul? Can something that isn't in God's image have a soul? Can they receive the grace of God, or will they suffer forever in eternal torment in the depths of Hell? How could God deny part of his magnificent creation? Even worse, can something as wondrous and complex as Leo simply cease to exist at death? Jess' jaws clenched in unconscious agitation at that thought.

Jess understood that God's will was unknowable by humans, and the only salvation was a steadfast faith in God. Planet, or Chiron, and the mindworms had to be part of his Plan for a fallen humanity.

Still, the question lingered. Was Leo, and mindworms like him, a person? Did he have a soul?

Finally, not being able to stand it anymore, Jess got up and padded across the comfortable room. She touch activated her console, and the light from it illuminated her slightly disheveled face and the otherwise dark room.

She keyed in her access code and accepted the retinal scan. It took only a moment to cycle, and during this time Jessica tried to compose herself.

"Sister Miriam, forgive me for leaving this message at this hour. I am doing my best to be your representative to the Gaians. They are an amazing people, and we can learn from them."

Jessica paused, biting the side of her bottom lip.

"But Sister, I have questions and I pray that you will help me understand…"

Jessica let it all pour out. It took a half hour, but when it was done she felt relieved, like it felt after going to confession. A weight was lifted from her shoulders. Going back to bed, Jessica almost immediately went to sleep, calm and assured in the knowledge that Sister Miriam would have the answers to the thorny question of souls and redemption in the eyes of God.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited November 15, 2000).]

[senatus]

Gaian transport enroute to Velvetgrass Point, two days previous.
Sinder Rose idly flipped through the book in front of her, waiting for
the room's owner to arrive. She didn't have to wait long, in subjective
time, before the door opened.

Jessica McCollough didn't seem overly surprised at the unexpected guest,
instead hanging her robes over an antique coat rack as she nodded at the
older woman.

"Ms. Roze, I believe?" Jessica asked politely, unaware of the
unintentional pun.

"That's me, but drop the 'Ms.' - it makes me sound like I'm some Morganite
suit, which I quit a long time ago. Sorry to drop by unannounced,
but I thought it was high time I introduced myself to you. I hope
you don't mind my letting myself in."

"Please, no trouble at all, Roze - although I don't recall leaving the
door unlocked."

"It wasn't. Not a bad lock, though. One of your own designs?"
The Datajack asked, and Jessica nodded.

"Nice office," Roze's gesture encompassed the cozy study.

"Thank you. I find it very comforting to be able to study, read,
or pray in a familiar environment, and when you travel as much as I do,
this is very practical." Jessica replied. "Roze, would you
like some tea? It's almost as good as the real thing."

"No thank you, but please help yourself." Roze watched the other
woman tilt a kettle over her cup. After a moment, water began to
flow intermittently.

"You've got a fair bit of packet loss, there." Roze observed.
Jessica looked a bit regretful.

"I'm still in transit on a Gaian transport jet, so bandwidth to my
MMI is pretty limited."

"You're using a MorganNet 1500, right? Remind me to show you an
algorithm I designed that can increase the effective bandwidth with predictive
compression." Roze offered.

Roze gestured at the book she'd been reading, which Jessica recognized
as her doctoral thesis.

"Interesting stuff, what you wrote about neural net activity in machines
and human brains. You've got a good grasp of computers. Pretty
cutting-edge stuff. No offence, but it doesn't sound like typical
Believer subject matter." Roze deliberately switched tacks, to see
how the younger woman would react. It wasn't entirely unjustifed,
though; the Believers had traditionally been less than eager to embrace
new technologies.

"If you've read the abstract, you'll know that I was trying to postulate
the theological implications of neural grafting. If consciousness
is related to the soul, then does adjusting one have an effect on the other?"
Jessica rebutted, trying not to feel defensive. Really, it's not
like we Believers are some backwards society living in the 21st century.

"That's right, I forgot you are a priest too," Roze acknowledged, though
of course she had already read as much as there was on record about Jessica's
background.

"I studied as a minister. There's a significant theological difference
between that and the role of priest that some of the old Earth versions
of Christianity adopted. But forgive me for saying so, Roze, but
I hardly think that socio-theological evolution of Believer doctrine is
what you dropped by to discuss... as fascinating as I'm sure you'd find
it." Jessica's mouth couldn't help quirking a bit at the last part,
and Roze actually had to chuckle.

"That's true. Actually, I was hoping that we could help each other,
and also get a chance to know each other," Roze said, giving Jessica
her best "I am friendly, trust me!" smile. Part of the reason
that Roze had decided to meet Jessica in virtual reality - other than the
convenience factor - was that she didn't want to be on uneven ground when
they first met. In cyberspace, psi empathy wasn't a factor.

For her part, Jessica wasn't sure what to make of Roze's intentions.
It wasn't just because Roze's clothing just shouted "bad girl" - no doubt
a deliberate effort on Roze's part, and certain to scandalize the more
straight-laced Believers that Jess knew. Nor was it the inability
to scan Roze empathically. But Jessica was also an expert psychologist,
and Roze's body language projected a sultry, amused confidence. Jess
reminded herself that despite the other woman's appearance, she was much
older and more experienced that herself. Under those circumstances,
it was best to be forthright, open, and helpful. Which was her natural
inclination in any event.

"Of course, I would be happy to assist you in any way I can, Roze.
And certainly we owe you; the energy credits you provided us earlier this
year went a long way into boosting our infrastructure. We are now
a credible, albeit small, faction on this planet. So what can I do
for you?" Jessica said earnestly.

Roze resisted a sudden urge to suggest that the young Believer join
her at Morgan Industries with "good girl" lingerie, and a can of whipped
cream. It'd taken Roze many years to perfect her cynical outlook
on life, and the "goody-good" thing could be a bit annoying at times.
Especially when it was probably sincere, as it was from Dierdre Skye and
now Jessica.

"What do you know about the Circle?" Roze asked.

"Enough to know that they're very dangerous. They'll have to be
tackled sometime, but I'd prefer that our own probe teams at least build
up some experience before attempting it." Jessica answered.

"That's a wise strategy. But it looks like the 'sometime' is coming
very soon. You've heard about what happened at the U.N. HQ, of course?"

"Yes. I'd never met General Gupta, but I knew Tazeem somewhat."
Jessica sighed and perched herself on the desk facing Roze, sipping at
her virtual tea.

"Right now, Santiago's mad as... er, heck, Lal's aghast, and half the
U.N. governers are running around like chickens with their head cut off
- sorry, that's an Old Earth reference - wondering if they're next."
Roze stated.

"But why?" Jessica asked, as she suddenly leaned forward to look
at Roze directly.

"Why are they scared?" Roze asked, wondering what Jessica meant.

"Yes... why should they be? Put it another way, why would Ashaandi
- and it had to be Ashaandi himself, from what I've heard - be bumping
off U.N. government officials? Or even General Gupta? Sure,
it causes some confusion, and impedes the Axis war effort somewhat.
But it also stirs up a hornet's nest, and makes security that much tighter.
Why should he bother? Why did he bother?" Jessica asked
aloud.

Roze was impressed. She herself had been wondering the same thing,
actually. It seemed that Jessica had some more promise than selling
Girl Guide cookies after all.

"To answer that question, we need to know more about Ashaandi himself.
Do you have anything on him?" Roze asked.

"Lots. Most of it useless. There's more hearsay about him
than there is even about you - no offence. And unreliable data is
dangerous to use. We have a fair bit about Sand, which I'll
transmit to you." Jessica couldn't quite keep a tone of revulsion
out of her voice. Sand had been heavily involved in Miriam's torture
during her incarceration in Yang's punishment sphere.

"But as for Ashaandi - we know he was a Lander, but Sister Miriam was
certain there was no psych profile for him on Unity. Of course,
there was a lot of confusion in the final days, and many of the psych profiles
they gave her were of dubious quality. You should read the one on
Corazon Santiago." Jessica made a face.

"Oh?" Roze raised an eyebrow. Dirt was always interesting,
even if over a century old.

"Nothing unnotable, which given what we know of her now, is awfully
suspicious. But I bet old Yang was more shocked than anyone when
the truth came out. Did you know he approved her profile personally?"

"He must be mightily peeved," Roze agreed.

"Back to the Circle - from what I've heard about and from Scott Allardyce,
they're not simply an extension of the Hive mentality. We need
to know who they are, what they want, what they're up to."

"And where they are." Roze finished.

"Actually, I did notice something odd a few months ago,"
Jessica offered. "There was a lot of high network activity that terminated
somewhere on the Gaian continent, and yet it was too heavily stealthed
and encrypted for me to trace or identify it. Since the Gaians don't
maintain a very active military or intelligence operation, that might indicate
Circle involvement?"

"Er, yes. I'll definitely look into that." I hope I don't
have to bump this kid off, Roze thought with a chuckle to herself.
Maybe I should make my pitch.

"Sister Jessica," Roze said formally. "I have to say, I
like the way you think. And I need good analysts. I don't suppose
you'd like to come work for my team?"

Jessica was startled for a moment, but took a few moments to compose
her reply.

"Datajack," she replied thoughtfully. "tell me, what do
you believe in?"

"What?" Roze asked, surprised by the apparent non-sequitor.

"Well, I do what I do because I believe in a cause. Why do you
do, what you do?"

"That's not an easy thing to answer," Roze protested.

"Well, it must be pretty important, if you're willing to risk your life
for it," Jessica said seriously before continuing.

"To answer your question, I think you would have to answer mine.
But, for now, the answer would have to be no - I've got many duties already.
But I do want to help you in any way I can, and I'd look forward to working
with you."

Jessica's avatar got up and shook the hand of Roze's avatar.

"I'm sorry, but my flight is landing, and we have to deactivate our
MMIs. But please, feel free to drop by my 'office' anytime.
Not just for business, but for a social chat?"

Jessica smiled at Roze as she opened the door to leave, and handed her
a set of keys.

"Would you do me a favour? Lock up when you leave. I don't
want just anybody walking in after you; there are confidential files here.
Thanks!"

The door closed as Jessica left the matrix. Roze looked around,
feeling a little non-plussed. Ordinarily, she would've at least have
rooted through the desk drawer, but now that Jessica had deliberately left
the room entirely open to her, the challenge was gone and so was the incentive.

And I bet the little minx planned it that way. Yeah, this kid's
got potential, Roze thought as she left the office undisturbed and
locked the door behind her.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited November 15, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Thera Keep

I stood shoulder to shoulder with Ron Stone looking out from the ramparts of the sensor array that formed one wing of the bunker complex known as Thera Keep.

Lord Atreus had been shrewd, acquiring the land at a time before the development of Industrial Automation, and the 3500 meter peak by the monolith had been just too far away from Sparta Command to warrant attention as an energy source. Morgan, of course, knew differently. His development of vast energy parks across the Morgan Federation lands were certainly an eyesore, but delivered an incredible amount of energy to fuel the somewhat decadent Morgan lifestyle as well as his impressive economic and research efforts.

To the north, down the defile that ran from the peak to the ocean just east of Sparta Command I could just make out the vast forestry operations of the automated crawler units, but the sprawling metropolis of Sparta Command itself was hidden from view by the intervening peaks.

Likewise Blast Rifle Crag to the west was hidden from view, being built just below the crest of the ridge that Thera Keep commanded.. To the southeast we could see Janissary Rock across the huge river that meandered south to enter the southern ocean at the ill fated Pointa Sur.

"What do you make of it all, Ron?" I asked the gangly silver-haired man standing next to me.

"Scott, I tell you, it was a simpler world before the Aliens made their presence known."

I nodded.

"Indeed it was. Up to two years ago it had been largely Yang and Morgan allied against the Spartans, with Lal lolling on the sidelines. Four factions, and after the CEO switched and the Spartan war machine got rolling, it was only a matter of time before the Colonel had herself declared Planet's supreme ruler. And I had no doubt that was what she craved."

Ron inclined his head.

"Now we have the scientists talking about "the Transcendence Option," fuelled partly by the scuttlebutt coming from those who have had contact with the aliens - the flowering, as they called it when it happened to a planet they had created. It's got people talking everywhere - half truths and rumours - and it's leading to a lot of dissatisfaction as far as I can tell."

I nodded again. This was the time to broach the subject that was the reason for my asking Ron to join me on the observation deck of the keep.

"Ron," I began.

He looked up morosely from his fungal gin.

"I've heard that tone before," he said. "Not from you, of course. It usually indicates that this wasn't just a social chat while we admired the suns'set that you had in mind."

I chuckled.

"Very astute of you," I said grinning.

"Let me cut to the chase.

"Pravin Lal has contacted me and asked me to return to UN Headquarters and take over his civilian administration. This after the assassination of his Deputy Commissioner, Tazeem, and General Gupta. I have accepted of course, and in the meantime have been doing some thinking.

"I understand that you had quite a reputation within the Hive when you were clandestinely broadcasting from your living unit. Some say, in fact, that you were the genesis of the Free Drones, and not James Domai…."

Ron interrupted;

"My part was small. I encouraged, fomented, you might say. Domai acted, as did others. My neighbour, Mr. Lee, might in fact have been the first Free Drone."

I nodded.

"Ron. I'd like you to come to UN HeadQuarters with me. Resume your broadcasts to the Hive citizenry. Foment unrest and discontent. Play up the alien angle - humanity versus the progenitors. Encourage them to put pressure on Chairman Yang to desert this unholy alliance he is in with the devil. CEO Morgan has already earmarked netserver facilities and even resurrected an old audio system to reach those Hive living units that may not have planetary net access.

"The objective will be to put pressure on Yang to turn."

Ron looked thoughtful.

"And you say Morgan is financing it?"

I nodded.

"What's the Colonel's posiution?"

"Good question," I answered. "She won't like it - doesn't even know we're setting it up. But she's a minority of one. Lal, of course, wants to see all of the Unity factions reunited. Dee wants to see us live in harmony with planet, so this destructive war is tearing at her soul. The CEO was the Chairman's pact brother for a number of decades, and feels that Yang can be redeemed - that he is just striking out like a cornered cat."

Ron raised his eyebrows quizzically. "A what?"

I chuckled.

"An old terran saying - I often forget that not everyone has the same memories that I have.

"A trapped mindworm. He got himself into a war he didn't really want when he tackled the patrol that went looking for the needlejet wreckage. He was totally surprised by the Colonel's response. And he is a proud man. Domai is in favour as so many of his people still have relatives and friends in the other faction. And if James approves, then so will Miriam, I believe. I hear they are pretty thick these days. Of course, there was never any love lost between Miriam and Yang, but many Believers are scattered throughout the Hive, and she desperately wants them back into the fold.

"The other leaders that have emerged - Datajack Roze, Aki-Zeta - or re-emerged, in the presence of Zakharov, have little influence.

"So if your efforts prove fruitful, and Yang is coerced by his citizenry to make overtures to the Axis, he will get a sympathetic hearing. You can say that in your broadcasts too.

"What do you say?"

I looked at him hopefully.

Ron was openly brooding.

"There is another factor in play," he said.

"Go on," I replied encouragingly.

"You won't like this," he said.

"Try me," I grunted.

"Ashaandi."

I was taken aback. Ashaandi? What did he have to do with the proposal.

"You'd better explain," I said.

Ron spoke:

"He has a sort of hold over me - a relationship I find hard to explain. He appears in front of me at odd times - or at least a simulcrum does … a sort of floating face … a presence. I can hear him and he me. As a powerful empath I guess he can project himself over distances into my mind and make me believe I can see him.

"Either that or he has planted some sort of biot in my system that tracks me and produces these hallucinations on command. Don't get me wrong. He can't harm me - I have immunity to his empath compellor powers - as does Ruth by the way. But yet I cannot harm him either. It's like a programmed revulsion I have. If I am to appeal to Yang I must also appeal to Ashaandi. He will be part of the package.

"And if he were to refuse?" I asked. "What if he sees an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Aliens?"

"Then I am off the hook," Ron said. "I can't compel, just make the offer."

I nodded.

I would see to it that Haraad Ashaandi allied himself with the losing cause. No way was I going to welcome him to the Axis, or link arms with him while humanity transcended, whatever that was.

"Pack your things - we leave tomorrow," I said.

"And what of Shauna and Ruth?" he asked.

"Leave them here," I replied. "They are doing exceptionally well with Catherine as an empath tutor to Ruth. It's exactly what she needs."

And I wanted to split up the Shauna/Stazi duo - they were altogether too close and chummy - and potentially lethal - for my comfort.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited January 11, 2001).]

[Googlie]

Command Center, Sea Hive

Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang settled back in his chair, elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers under his chin. He regarded the holoprojection in front of him it was of the pages of an open book.

He read.

Defense is for times of insufficiency; attack is for time of surplus.

He pondered that. How relevant even now were the writings of Sun Tzu.

He had hunkered down these last few months when the war entered its "phony" stage. While his infrastructure had taken a pounding - the destruction of an invaluable borehole pained him still - it had allowed his faction to draw breath. Bolstered by the stationing of the Usurpers' amazing Ogres - even though two had been lost - he and his generals had focussed on the execution of their strategic plan.

He read on:

Those skilled in defense hide themselves in the deepest depths of the earth; those skilled in attack maneuver in the highest heights of the sky. Therefore they can preserve themselves and achieve complete victory.

Was Sun Tzu prescient? Was he, 4,000 years ago, describing the Hive and the Usurpers?

He pondered. Were the Allies even now entering the period of "surplus"?

The Usurpers had downloaded from The Impaler significant infrastructure, including technology that they referred to as "The Cloning Vats", and they were reputed to be hatching vast numbers of Progenitor infantry. Their weaponry was unmatched, but the window of opportunity was slim, as surely the Axis scientists would eventually decipher the arcane technical language and replicate the weapons.

He looked up at the holograph, and moved his hand through it.

The pages shimmered and reformed.

He read:

So you should take away the energy of their armies, and take away the heart of their generals.

Yang reflected on that.

For one so imbued with self control and discipline, he loved these sessions with the master. He would move his hand through the random command order, and settle back to review and cogitate on what appeared. Often the message was so relevant that he wondered betimes if he himself might not be somehow influencing the pages being selected.

Indeed. Ashaandi must be recognized and praised for the realization of the Peacekeeper strategy.

He moved his hand again, and studied the offering:

Change their colors; use them mixed in with your own. Treat the soldiers well; take care of them.

Yang stared at the holo for minutes.

He had forgotten this. Well, not forgotten, but consigned to the "less relevant" section of Sun Tzu's writings. He prided himself that he knew the works by heart.

So he looked fore some time at the page floating in front of him, and pondered their significance.

Then he summoned Haraad Ashaandi.

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

Penzance

"Aw come on, luvey, give me another."

"No, Bosun - you're drunk enough as it is. Get back to your bunk and sleep it off."

"Now that's a good idea, luvey. Wanna come with me?"

Bosun Stockwell reached over the bar and put his arm around Suzie, the barmaid.

She pushed him away.

"Get going, Bosun. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Well at least give me a kiss," slobbered the bosun, pulling Suzie into his arms.

"Enough!" came a yell, as a young rating got up from a table and went to the bar.

"Leave Suzie alone, and take her advice. Go home to bed, old man."

"Oh, so it's Suzie, is it?" asked Stockwell. "First names, eh? What'd you had to do to get on first name terms? Into her pants, I bet."

"You slobbering drunk," answered the rating, throwing a punch at the older man.

"Tony, don't," said the barmaid. "You'll just get in trouble."

"I don't care," said Tony, landing another punch on the bosun's chin. "It’s been anarchy here for months since the Captain copped it. This bully has had it coming for weeks."

"Tony, look out!" Suzie yelled as a mate of the bosun cracked a bottle of gin over Tony's skull.

That brought Tony's buddies into the fray, and the Bosun's friends joined in. Soon fists were flying and bottles were breaking over skulls as a general melee broke out.

"QUIET!"

A roar froze them in their tracks.

They recognized that voice.

They looked to the doorway.

There he was, large as life, the familiar navigator goggles on his forehead, the one synthglass eye staring blankly into space, the other raking over the group with contempt. He was accompanied by a half dozen ferocious looking marines, weapons drawn.

The bosun looked up groggily from the floor.

"Ulrik? Is it really you, Ulrik? Or am I dreaming?"

"Is that what we have come to?" Svensgaard asked. "We, who were once such a closeknit team, reduced to fighting amongst ourselves - and over a barmaid? Is this why we broke from the Peacekeeper navy? Is this why we founded these hidden bases?"

They cowered in front of him, anxious not to unleash his famous wrath.

"But we thought you was dead," said Stockwell, now sitting up.

"Yeah," chipped in others. "We was there. We saw your skimship blow up."

Svensgaard looked fondly at his crewmates.

"It did. I was. The Hive divers saved me, recovered my body, and with the technology that we humans have now they gave me back my life. My mind and memories are intact, and I've come back for you."

"We're going to go on the rampage again, Captain?" asked Tony, now himself recovered from the blows to the skull.

"Indeed we are, young Tony, indeed we are," replied Svensgaard. "But with a difference. We are now the Northern Fleet of the Hive Navy. Captain Hotchkiss, You can call me Admiral."

"Wow," said Bosun Stockwell. "Bleedin' captain now."

"You have a point to make, Commander Stockwell?" queried Ulrik.

Stockwell positively beamed. "Commander, eh? Now that's a real fancy title. I like it."

"Come on, men. We have work to do," said Svensgaard. "Lieutenants Massenberg and his Hive colleagues will be assigned to each of our ships and will instruct you in the Hive conventions and protocols. We need to be ready to sail in a few days."

The crews, suddenly friends again, gleefully mingled with their new colleagues, introducing themselves and calling out the names of their ships. The Hive commanders subtly assumed control, getting their respective crews assembled together, and taking their leaves of the others as they made their way to the pens.

Svensgaard was left alone. He looked over at Suzie, and reached into his tunic. He passed his disc over to the barmaid and said "swipe a half credit through to pay for the damage the crew's fracas caused."

She nodded, swiped the disc, then handed it back to Svensgaard.

"Thanks, Admiral," she said shyly, looking hopefully under her eyelashes at him.

He nodded, turned, and left the bar, making his way to the heliport where his chopper was waiting.

Ulrik Svensgaard sank back in the seat as the chopper lifted.

He let his features relax, and they shifted perceptibly as the chameleon algorithm wore off. He reached to his eye, and popped the synthglass contact, as his form shifted and morphed.

He reached for his commlink, and dialed the secure number.

"Chairman Yang? Ashaandi here. The Northern Fleet is secured."

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

Paul Andreas looked up with surprise as his door open unexpectedly. Some of that surprise faded away as he saw Roze enter the room. Only the Datajack would have the impudence to enter the office unannounced.

“We’ve got a problem Paul,” she announced, making no apologies for abrupt entrance. She also expressed no concern that Paul might have been doing something important at the time and that she was interrupting. Paul stopped the data stream he had running, showing him psych profiles on various Circle agents.

“‘We’, Roze? I like it how we suddenly become a team every time you need my help on something.” Paul opened up the usual round of personal jabs that characterized their conversations.

“I don’t have time for your crap right now Paul. Perhaps later we can work out your personal issues.” Roze rarely snapped at anyone like that. She was far to laid back a person indicating to Paul that something was seriously amiss. As much as Paul hated it, he and Roze were on the same team. If she was that worried about something, it could impact the entire Axis Alliance.

“What’s the scoop?” He asked, dropping the insults and settling into his professional manner.

“Got a call from Santiago, beginning of last week. Just after Gupta was assassinated. The Circle’s been allowed to get away with too much. We need to take them out.”

Paul leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. The Circle had been a pain in Paul’s side ever since they first announced their existence. Unfortunately, they held a heavy advantage due to their telepathic abilities, something that Paul and his agents lacked in. Suddenly Paul realized the magnitude of the situation.

“I see,” was all Paul could think to say. Then he added, “did we have any empaths available?”

“That’s the worst of it,” Roze said, her frustrating showing somewhat. She settled into one of the leather chairs opposite Paul’s desk. “Most of our contacts disappeared with Anastasia Zakharov when she went off in search of her grandfather. Our best options, like Miles Cavenaugh went with her. But like Anastasia, no one knows where they are right now. As far as we know, the Circle could have their hands on them too.”

“What about Sister Jessica, Miriam’s assistant. I believe she’s got empathic ability, if a little untrained. And she’s got the needed operative experience.” Paul was still trying to catalogue other potential empaths, but was coming up short. There were several Gaians who had the ability, but they didn’t have the probe experience and would end up being more of a liability than an asset.

“I already talked to her. Unfortunately, she’s currently tied up at Velvetgrass Point, serving as an Ambassador. I would have ordered her to come with us, but Santiago and I have guaranteed Believer autonomy. They’re out of my jurisdiction.” Paul considered momentarily whether it would be worth converting in order to be rid of Roze, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Great Conclave had very little offer, especially in comparison to the luxury of Morgan Industries, and Paul was a Morganite at heart.

“What have we got, then? You, me and a couple of shredder pistols? Some how I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”

“We’ve got Santiago’s backing for one thing. I’m purloining the Hydra, her submarine carrier prototype, and she’s throwing in a couple of needlejets, granted without pilots. However, I think I can convince Zakharov to lend us his honour guard. The three of them are former Spartan Pilots, and William came with me when I liberated Morgan Industries. He’s a good shot and good under pressure. We can use them in the field.” Roze stood up and pulled something out of one of the many pouches that hung from her belt. She had nowhere else to keep things really, seeing as her suit was so form fitting. It disturbed Paul that he had noticed this on more than once occasion, but physical attraction aside, the woman was unbearable.

“And we’ve got this,” she said as she threw a small device down on his desk. Paul looked at in shock. It was slightly different from what he was used to, but there was no mistaking it as a neural inhibitor.

“Where the hell did you get this?” If someone else was developing this technology, then the Circle could be aware of it, making it obsolete.

“I acquired it from a lab in Morgan Industries along time ago. You know what it is?” It seemed that Roze was as surprised as Paul was.

“It’s a neural inhibitor. It blocks brain wave transmissions beyond a persons body, preventing telepaths from detecting someone approaching. I’ve been perfecting it for years, I only just completed it.” Suddenly a memory clicked in his head. The scientist who designed the prototype had never made another after Paul stole the original schematics. Roze must have stolen the prototype, leaving the scientist with nothing to work from.

“How many do you have?” Clearly Roze was feeling somewhat more optimistic about the mission now. They wouldn’t give themselves away to the Circle with their thoughts alone, and they stood a chance to get in fast enough to surprise them.

“I’ve only got the one, but I can have another ready very quickly.” Paul did not share Roze’s enthusiasm. “Does it really matter though, when we don’t know exactly where the Circle is? I doubt there hanging around Sea Hive, or that they’ll be listed in any of the Planetary directories.”

“One step at a time Paul. Do you have anything else we might be able to use against the Circle?”

Paul paused. He was loathe to reveal his secrets to this woman, but he found himself with precious little options. Together they were going to have to move against some of the most dangerous people on Chiron. If they couldn’t at least work together, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“A few. Here.” Paul typed in a few commands on his terminal, and the appropriate information was displayed. Roze came and looked over his shoulder and the two examined the readouts.

“You’ve been a busy man, Mister Andreas.” Roze smiled and the two began to plan.

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

Paul Andreas looked at his suspect intently. It was not common for him to be directly questioning a suspect, however this woman had gone over the edge. Shutting down all the power in Morgan Industries had cost people a fortune and was highly unacceptable. Somehow, Paul doubted that this woman was capable of it.

Her head was bowed, staring at her feet and her tangled mess of hair almost hanging over her face. She slumped in the chair, her baggy clothing making her look more like a lump than cyber criminal.

“Well Miss. Rosaline?” The woman twitched at the mention of her name. It was clear she was afraid. “The charges brought against you are very serious, don’t you think?”

“Yes sir.” Her voice was barely more audible than whisper, and still she had not looked up.

“Why did you leave your post during the blackout?”

“I was afraid. Everything was dark, I tried to move to an outer building. Somewhere where there was light. I don’t like the dark.”

“But you never returned to your post the next day? Are you trying to tell me that it’s a coincidence?”

“Not at all sir,” she stammered. “I don’t like my job. I never pretended too. I hate computers, I’m no good with them.” It was entirely possible. Most people in Morgan Industries only went into computers when they couldn’t handle being business men and women. Not everyone was cut out to handle the Morganite market.

“And you didn’t think to tell your employer?” Paul had pretty much written her off as a suspect, but still he would not let her go so easily. Paul would ensure that this woman would never even consider such an activity, not that she would ever have the guts to go through with it.

“I was going to soon. It’s just....he scares me sir...I don’t like to talk to him, and I was well....afraid...Mr. Davison can be very intimidating...sir.”

Paul sensed sincere fright in this woman, particularly at the mention of her employer. The story seemed to add up, and a known hacker from Morgan Metagenics was shaping up to be the most likely suspect. Paul saw no reason to question the woman further.s

“Very well, Miss Rosaline. I believe you. However, in future, save us both the time and hand in your resignation to your boss before you officially quit, would you?” Paul opened the door for the woman to leave, who sheepishly nodded at him as she left, her hair still covering most of her face. So much so that he didn’t even notice the smile on her face as she left the room victorious.

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

Nursery manager leader ‘LarTal stood smartly at attention and resisted the impulse to fidget. She knew she had no reason to be apprehensive, and it was befitting of a person of her modest but important stature to present the correct bearing. More importantly, she could feel her Heat rising, and it would soon be her time, and that made her want to move about even more restlessly. The smooth and young male Clar from Engineering and Domestic Construction stood at her side. He was a prime candidate to complete her cycle, even though he wasn’t a Conqueror. He had no battle sash, nor did he have honorable marks of battle on his carapace; he was not a warrior, and he filled his life with the mundane tasks of a lowly engineer. But, contrary to all what her mind told her was right and proper, she could feel her hormones rush slightly when he was near, and she suspected that he had brought on her Heat a little earlier than normal. She knew it was unnatural to let feelings and biological drive determine her reproduction choice. There were plenty of Conquerors in Spires: Ascendant, and more were being hatched every day, and each had a duty to fulfill her need. Simply put, non-Conqueror males did not deserve to procreate, and only rarely did so. Still, looking at his unblemished gray-green chitin was distracting. He did not know it yet, but she would take him shortly and claim his gametes for her own, and if she was surprised by this decision than he would certainly be more so.

‘LarTal gauged her Heat and judged her need to be in two days hence. That was plenty of time to take this latest shipment from the Impaler and attend to its installation and storage. She would be in close proximity to Clar, since he was the field engineer responsible for completing the cloning facility at her nursery, and he would personally ensure that it functioned properly. So much the better when she decided to take him.

The tests on the first equipment shipments had gone well, and Clar had assured her that the installation was over 80% complete. The old gestation cabinets were now long gone, and industrial-sized clutch warmers had replaced each of them, expanding the facility by an order of magnitude. In the beginning the equipment was a little confusing, but the whole process was so automated that it seemed like a factory. There was no gentle rotation of each egg by talon, and no individualized caress and application of nutrient nanos. Uncaring but exact prosthetics now completed the work she and her staff had done. She and her staff would not be reassigned, however, since their other tasks would be multiplying a hundred fold. While the cloning vats produced almost mature post hatchlings and vastly accelerated the development of the clones to pre-adults, it was still her job to ensure their forced education, and that was much more difficult than the mundane rotation and care of eggs. The regular treatments of forced RNA enhancements were already planned, and the casualty rate of this traumatizing procedure had been reduced to 14%. Now, instead of thousands of new Progenitors each month there could be tens of thousands each week to serve Conqueror Marr, if that is what he ordered. Once the infrastructure was in place the only limitations were egg stock and genetic templates.

Being the Nursury Leader made her reflect on her own situation. ‘LarTal knew she would not clutch. Like all other females she would give up her fertilized eggs for the glory of Marr, and he would do with them what he saw fit. Such was only right and proper, even if she was somehow saddened by the prospect. But even with forced fertilization and harvesting it would not be enough to meet Marr’s demands, since there were not enough females that had not already been harvested on Manifold 6.

That was why ‘LarTal was so excited. The answer to her concern and Marr’s desire would be arriving shortly.

As ‘LarTal finished this thought a clear resonance filled the room. Announcement: Marr Extra Atmospheric Elevator Service Module 14 arriving. Security Clearance Required. Non-authorized personnel will be disciplined or terminated if found to be in violation of Security Protocol.

‘LarTal and Clar immediately stepped forward and presented their pips, which were embedded in the chitin above their right arm, to the security sensor. She felt slightly warm as the high-frequency query resonance washed over her, and she could feel the pip being interrogated. It took only a moment, but the routine was completely normal. Marr had had significant security procedures in effect for almost fifty years. Such was only right and proper.

There was no further acknowledgement of their presence, except that they had obviously passed the interrogation since the space elevator module doors now opened. Inside was a vast array of interlocking stasis boxes, which almost filled the entire cavernous space elevator transport module. Five progenitors, who were military security from their chitin markings and head paint, paced out of the module. There was no trill of greeting, or gesture of acknowledgement. It was clear from their posture that this was all business.

The larger of the five stepped forward. “This is the 2 to the 5th shipment of the Impaler’s genome horde. The authorized representative will come forward and receive the shipment of 2 to the 20th power fertilized eggs from the medical bays of the battleship Impaler.”

‘LarTal walked forward. As she did she wondered, Why is he using a two-based number system? Why doesn’t he simply say the 32nd shipment of 1,048,576 eggs? Maybe that is one tradition we Progenitors can do without. As quickly as it flitted into her mind ‘LarTal banished it, since such treasonous thoughts were grounds for a selective mindwipe.

‘LarTal presented her claw, and the male from military security grasped it and quickly placed it in his authenticator. She felt an almost painless *****, which would draw a tissue sample for a DNA and nano analysis. Simultaneously she felt a focused resonance to verify her neural signature. In a moment the authenticator was removed.

“Your presence and authority is noted, Nursery Crèche Leader ‘LarTal. The male that stands with you has also been noted and acknowledged. We will escort this shipment to nursery receiving, level five, circle 2, subfloor 7, task room 72.”

“Yes, honored Conquer. I will be pleased to lead the way,” she responded automatically.

Turning abruptly she walked down the hall, and Clar walked with her. Once again she was acutely aware of him. Yes, he smelled right. The Heat was rising.

That would have to wait. Now she concentrated on the task at hand, which was leading the future of Marr’s army and the Usurper’s hopes to the gestation chambers. All 30 million of them.

[Hydro]

Former Battleship Impaler, Manifold 6 High Orbit

“Conqueror Marr, removal of our artificial gravity grid will negatively impact our ability to function as a starship,” the agitated Captain Sar of the Impaler altered. “At least allow us to leave the structural elements intact so we can…”

“My orders are not negotiable,” Marr resonated clearly and distinctly. “Your own engineers have determined that the antigravity components of Impaler will be needed for the new orbital Gnat academy, and that to use any less would result in an unacceptable risk.”

Marr leaned forward and narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at the recalcitrant captain. It was a direct challenge, and highly threatening in the scrupulous etiquette of the Progenitors.

“You have the right to Challenge me if these orders are unacceptable. I would not decline such a right. Do you Challenge me?”

The Captain’s mood wilted from agitated and angry to agitated, then to agitated and slightly afraid. Marr was well known and clearly the most skilled Progenitor on Manifold 6 at ritual combat, and other Conquerors only Challenged him when their honor was at stake, or if they were stupid to the point of self-immolation.

“I accept your wisdom, Conqueror Marr,” he resonated back. He did not offer his throat in submission, since such a gesture would be seen as weakness for the second ranking Progenitor on Manifold 6. “Your will be done. The antigravity grid and controls will be removed from Impaler and installed on the scout ship, which will be retrofitted to act as a fighter carrier supply and training facility. The scoutship will then be placed in permanent low orbit, and will remain there as long as its antigravity field remains operational. According to the engineer’s report the grid will not be self-repairing, and it will have a significant risk of failure in a mere 500 years. In accordance with your wishes the new facility will be named the Marr Atmospheric Training Facility.

The Caretaker mine destroyed both our wormhole generator and main drive. After the removal of our antigravity systems the Impaler will no longer have the ability to move within the Manifold 6 system. We will have to remain the anchor for the Marr Space Elevator. Likewise, the reconfiguration of the Scout into the Academy will destroy its drives. We will no long have the ability to leave the Manifold 6 system and return home to Manifold 1.

These are statements of fact. Is this satisfactory?”

Marr paused, as if to consider whether getting everything he wanted was satisfactory. Seeing his chief rival start to get nervous Marr let this time increase as he continued to ‘consider’. The silence grew very painful, from Sar’s point of view. Marr found it highly enjoyable, and he had found that exercises such as this were a useful way to assert his authority and make his subordinate truly subordinate. The key was balancing the threat of pain and punishment and acquiescence.

Now acquiescence was needed, but only now after pain and punishment had been properly applied.

“It is satisfactory,” Marr resonated grudgingly. “Ensure that the retrofit is completed in two weeks. I expect it to be fully operational at that time. It is, after all, one of the keys to my conquest of Manifold 6 and its cleansing.”

Sar blanched involuntarily. Two weeks? Looking at Marr he had no doubt that this statement was not a mistake, or that Marr would look unkindly on failure.

“It shall be done, Conqueror Marr,” he resonated.

Marr was pleased. He thought to himself: The two week timetable for completion of the Academy is ambitious at best, foolish at worst, and Sar has been sufficiently cowed to accept it. At worst he will fail, and I will be able to hold him accountable, damaging his honor and decreasing his stature. If he succeeds then I will claim credit for both the idea and the execution, and Sar will be given small credit, but just enough to sate his diminished honor. In either case he will be occupied with ensuring the completion of the aerial academy, and he will not meddle with my ongoing plans for the conquest to come. The glory will be mine, all mine.

Marr maintained his dour and harsh tone. “See that it is.”

Marr rose and left the room, feeling like he had just left the Challenge Chamber and that he was yet again victorious. Almost every day was a victory over those with less vision or weaker intellect. After all, victory need not result in death for the loser, merely submission. Of course, only those with honor would be allowed to submit. Those with less honor would be consumed to strengthen the victor. Those without honor would have their worthless husks scattered to the biome so that they would not soil the bodies of the victorious.

Marr intended that there be millions of human bodies scattered over Manifold 6. At least then, as they decayed, they would contribute to the biome that his Progenitor ancestors had created so many millions of years ago. Then, and only the, would then cleansing be complete.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited November 21, 2000).]

[senatus]

Great Conclave


Miriam Godwinson read Jessica's dispatch, and her stomach clenched in
distress.


This is what she'd feared most.


It was acceptable to put Sister Jessica - or any other True Believer
including Miriam herself - into physical danger, if such was necessary
to achieve His cause.  Miriam had resigned herself to that fact long
before even Sven had warned her; resigned herself to it when she'd first
selected Jessica nearly a year ago.


What pained Miriam was putting any Believer - especially one as dear
to her heart as Jessica - into such terrible spiritual danger. 
Clearly, Jessica's thoughts were skirting the edge of heresy.


Or were they?  Miriam took a deep breath, and with all her considerable
will, forced herself to try to look at this rationally - theologically
- without her own prejudices.


But the Scripture was clear.  The Son of Man had come to save the
souls of Men.  And no matter how intelligent or sophisticated, neither
a so-called "Progenitor" alien nor a mindworm cluster could be called human. 
The precedent was set; Believer doctrine had likewise ruled that neither
artificially intelligent animals, nor sophisticated self-aware machinery,
had a soul.  

---

Velvetgrass Point, next morning


When Jessica awoke, she was pleased to see that her data terminal was
blinking with the indication of awaiting messages.  She plugged in
her MMI, and the cross and omega logo of the Believers was replaced with
the recorded image of Sister Miriam Godwinson.


"Sister Jessica.  I trust in God that you are well.  I have
considered your questions, studied the Scripture, and prayed for guidance;
and these are my answers to you...."


As Miriam's recording went on, Jessica felt a growing dismay. 
It was evident that Sister Miriam disagreed with Jessica's private feelings. 
Which meant that her feelings were misplaced, misguided.


Or did they?  Jessica felt with such strong conviction - was she
truly misled?  Could the unthinkable be possible, Sister Miriam be
wrong?  Jessica was here, amongst the Gaians.  She'd seen
and interacted with mindworms.  She'd heard the "planetsong". 
Miriam had not.


Jessica respected Miriam, even loved her.  The Believers revered
her as a living saint.  But Miriam was still only a human being, and
human beings could be wrong.  Only God was infallible; this Miriam
had said often enough herself.  And if Miriam was wrong....


If Sister Miriam was wrong, then Jessica had to find her answers for
herself.  The dismay was still there, and a sudden feeling of aloneness
- stronger even than after the accusations of witchcraft, for Miriam had
stood by her then.  But beyond those, there was a strange, even uplifting
sense of freedom... and conviction.


Sister Jessica McCollough sat before her console, the unchanging logo
staring back at her for perhaps half an hour.  The implications for
herself - for the Believers, and yes, even humanity - had to be pursued. 
She would not, could not, hide from the truth.  For the Truth
was in God, and how could she hide from Him?


But if Miriam could not help her find these answers, who would?


Jessica's reverie was interrupted as Jay's face came onto the screen,
his face smiling and enthusiastic as he delivered his message.


"Jessica!  Lady Dierdre has returned to Velvetgrass Point, and
she told me to invite you to lunch with her!  If that's OK, I'll come
and pick you up at 11:00."

---

Jay arrived at Jessica's living cube fifteen minute early, and chimed
the entry announciator.


"Jay?  Is that you?"  Jessica's voice came out.  It was
a bit of an odd question, given that the optical sensor should've relayed
his image, assuming Jessica was at a house terminal.  But then again,
it sounded like she was a short distance away from it.


"Yes, it's me, Jessica.  I hope you don't mind my being a bit early?" 
Jay said hesitantly.


"No... not at all, don't wait outside; come in."  The door opened,
and Jay stepped inside.


"Sorry, I haven't finished dressing just yet.  Or figured out just
what to wear.  My formal robes or business dress?  You know the
Lady better than me."  Jessica's head popped out behind a partition.


"Oh!  Er, I'm sorry.  I mean... that is, casual wear is fine,
Lady Skye doesn't stand on protocol.  Except for formal ceremonies
- which this isn't, she said - usually she just greets people wearing shorts
- Velvetgrass being one of our more humid bases, here at the equator."
Jay replied.


"Really?" Jessica asked.  Besides her robes and the Morgan-Macy
business dress, all Jessica had were the simple, comfortable clothes that
the Gaians favoured here - and they were very informal.  In
fact, her hosts had insisted that they provide their guest with the attire
and other furnishings; shipping or purchasing other belongings would've
been scandalously wasteful in the hyper-green economy that the Gaians preferred.


"All right then - I hope I won't embarrass myself."  Jessica's
head disappeared behind the mobile partition, and Jay swallowed to himself
as he heard a rustling of clothes and Jessica's dress was draped over the
top of the barrier.  When she emerged, she was clad in shorts and
tee-shirt like Jay.


Jessica sat down on the edge of her bed to strap on the sandals, which
like her clothing were organic byproducts of the Gaians' farming collective.


I hope Roze never sees a recording of me dressed like this - she'd
probably tell me all that I was missing was a straw hat and picnic basket,
Jessica thought to herself, not noticing Jay's appreciative glance
at athletically slender legs.


"Ready to go, and thank you for waiting Jay."  Jessica smiled. 
"How is Fluffy, by the way?"


"Fluffy's playing down in the hybrid fungus with the other mindworms,
so why don't we take the long way around the other side of the base?" 
Jay asked wryly.  "There's some spectacular terrestrial gardens lakes
over there, in fact Lady Dierdre's villa overlooks them."


Jessica appreciated Jay's suggestion.  Indeed, the living beauty
that the Gaians had painstakingly invested into their parks for the benefit
of their citizens was unparalleled anywhere else on Chiron.  The recreational
facilities of the other factions were far more artificial or drab, from
the quiet libraries of the U.N., the mall complexes of the Morgans, the
sweaty arenas of Sparta, or especially the communal feeding rooms and education
theatres of the Hive.  Only the Believers' old cathedrals, in Jessica's
mind, approached the splendid beauty of the Gaian enclaves.  She found
it peaceful and restful.  Could she have almost as many Gaian values
as Believer ones?


"You seem... different, this morning, Jess?"  Jay asked, his empathy
reading the change in his companion's emotions.


"Different in what way, Jay?"  Jessica was curious as to
what the Gaian empath "felt" from her, for she was hardly certain of how
she felt herself, despite her outward demeanour.


"I don't know... calmer perhaps?  Determined?  More certain
of yourself?  Forgive me, I didn't mean to probe."  Jay suddenly
apologized, feeling awkward.


Jessica turned and put her hand on Jay's arm.


"Don't apologize, Jay.  I did ask, after all.  And maybe you're
right, I have come to realize that sometimes I have to make my own path
and walk it with confidence, rather than always questioning myself."


"Questioning yourself?  About what?"  Jay asked quizzically.


"What do I believe?  Who am I?  Things that Believers aren't
supposed to question."  Yet even as she said this, Jessica no longer
felt doubt.  Just... a desire to know.


Jay stopped and turned to face Jessica.


"Lady Dierdre sometimes took the time to tell us stories when we were
children.  'Celtic fairy tales' she called them.  I remember
there one she told me about a frog - that is, an old Earth amphibian -
who was never sure if he was a land creature who liked swimming under water,
or a water creature who liked sunning himself on logs.  So he went
to a powerful enchantress to ask, and instead she turned him into a stork
- that's like a razorbeak - with a keen appetite for frogs; and from then
on he never had any doubt about who or what he was.  Neither did any
of the other frogs, for that matter."


Jay chuckled at the memory, and Jessica laughed out loud.  It was
infectious, and soon they were both laughing and hanging onto each other.
Jay found himself looking directly into Jessica's eyes.


Kiss her!  An voice inside Jay urged.  He hesitated.


Their eyes held for a moment, before Jessica disengaged and squeezed
his hand.  "Thank you, Jay.  I needed that."  The moment
passed.


You idiot.  The voice sounded disgusted with Jay.


Around the bend in the path, Lady Dierdre's villa hove into view.

[Hydro]

Assassin's Redoubt

Mary's tapped a couple of times at an image with her left hand, examined the results, and then called up another grid and starting tapping commands simultaneously with her right hand. Then she paused and examined the results, frowning slightly.

"Enhance grid 95-24.23, mag increase to 2.4" she ordered the gray void she was standing in. Instantly the image in front of her got almost 50 percent bigger. It did not, however, get any clearer. Wide gaps in resolution now rippled over the image, distorting the resolution of intact segment as the optical computer tried to refine the holo, or interpolate the image fragments.

"What is that?" she said quietly to herself, squinting unconsciously at the object.

Abruptly she had to pee. Really badly, too.

"Damn it! Holo off!"

The gray evaporated, and Mary was sitting back at her sensor tech station. Quickly and expertly she pealed off the holo gear from her head and hands and placed the bits and pieces on her console. A 3-D holo of the image she was trying resolve hung in the air above it, no better for her efforts over the last half hour.

Bracing her hands against the arms of the chair Mary arched her back and leaned forward, and with a small grunt she was able to push herself out of the chair. Standing almost straight she braced herself on the console and without even thinking about it she rubbed her now huge belly, which was the root cause for her extreme lack of mobility these days. Her left hand caressed it in a circular fashion as she waddled out of the Command Center of Assassin's Redoubt to make a b-line for the ladies room.

"Mal! Take over for a minute. I'm down to 40 minutes. My bladder must be the size of a ping pong ball now," Mary said somewhat irritably. She knew her hormones were all over the map, and that her lower back hurt from her decidedly forward center of balance, but couldn't help being a little sharp now and then. At home at least she hadn't bitten Marky's head off today, and had only snapped at him twice.

A small woman with salt and pepper hair walked out of a dark alcove. "Sure Mar. Take your time," she said with a grin. "Word of advice from a woman who's been through it three times? Lean back a little more, since your back will hurt less. And walk a little more slowly. You'll get there faster. I guarantee it."

"Fat lot of good that will do me if I pee my pants," Mary said as she shuffled toward the door. Still, she leaned back and look of relief crossed over her face, and some of her biologic urgency went away.

Malorie couldn't help but notice the look on her face as she sat down at Mary's station. "See? Trust me. I know everything."

"Yah, yah. So you're always right," Mary replied. "Could you have this baby for me, too?"

"Oh, no," Mal replied. "You and Markus got yourselves into this, and you have to get yourself out of it. All Mark can do is coo at you and give you ice cubes. That's how it works."

"Great. Some help you are," she muttered in response.

Mary braced herself against the wall as she walked, grabbing the doorframe for support.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. Next time Markie gets to have the baby," Mary said softly to herself as she waddled out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mary walked up behind Mal.

"Any luck with the VLB?" she asked in a voice that indicated she was in much better humor now that her bladder was no longer bursting, or threatening to burst.

"VLB?"

"Very Large Bogie. We have lots of those now days. But none like this. Get any better resolution?"

Mal got up from Mary's chair and Mary gratefully sat down, lowering herself down in much the same way she pried herself out. She kind of fell the last few centimeters, and landed with an 'oof'.

Mal bent over slightly and pointed of a portion of the image.

"No, not much. This part of the image itself is a bit better, though. Its mass is still anyone's guess, and its size is within an order of magnitude of 300 meters in diameter, for what that's worth," she said.

"Hmmm. May need to patch then. Anyone closer?"

Mal thought a moment. "No. I can't think of anyone."

"How 'bout Bruce? He is certainly closer," Mary said as she put on her holo gear carefully and deliberately.

Mal shook her head. "He'd ask for reciprocity. This is close to top secret. We can't do that. Plus, with his resources at MI he'd have the resolution faster than we would. What would Helen say?"

Mary repressed the urge to snap something about 'thinking outside the box' and 'letting the rule book help you to lose' but didn't.

"Morgan Industries may have some fancy-shmancy tech, but we have the experience. All we need is the data. Call him up. Tell him this is routine and that our grid is partially down. Sometimes I think he thinks we live in the stone ages up here at Redoubt, and he won't doubt that our equipment is on the fritz, and don't tell him about the upgrade that was just installed. By the time he figures it out we'll have our answer. Helen won't mind as long as we give her results."

Mal looked a little unsure of herself, but then decided Mary was right on this one.

"OK. I'll get right on it."

"Inject the data when you get it. You know where I'll be," Mary said in a slightly far away voice as she submerged.

The gray returned, and the image was once again the center of her universe. Mary continued tapping and honing, getting minute but incremental improvements in the imaging. It was slow work, but Mary had a hunch.

Tap tap.

No, too far. Derez at 83.2

Tap. Tap….tap

Better. Small anomaly at 0.3 now. Why? Movement

Tap.

Ah. Real time feed. Good ol' Mal. I'll send Bruce some fungal gin when this is done. I know he hates it, but I always send him gin. Just like he sends me chocolates. Shameless flirt. Good thing he doesn't know I'm pregnant.

Tap…..taptaptap

Good data stream from MI! Hey! What the hell is that? More derez? No….more movement. Lots of movement! Rez is better….maybe 67.6%? Yup, maybe better with a little interpolation.

Now, what is that? Optical failure? No, mini diag says not. Black void? No…no, not voids. Openings. Into the structure. Lots of them.

Tap tap…Tap

Feed complete. Rez up to 78.2%. Structure is motionless above the alien continent, half way into the ionosphere. Reason for lack of an orbit or trajectory is not clear. Mass uncertain due to interference, but from what? Can't quantify. Size 534 meters in diameter. Roughly ovoid. Height is 1/3 of width.

Taptaptap

Zeroing in on movement. There. Caught one. Hone to 23, mag 4. Extrap algorithm 23, actuate. Resolution? Yes, with error bar of 5. Acceptable for first cut.

What is it?

Computer, cross correlate extrapolated image to atmospheric military and commercial database, cross-index size and configuration. Display in side holo matches with greater than 30% ID match.

Well, it isn't a MorganJetstream aeroliner. Delete image. Delete second image, since the image is 200 years old. Revise query request: no commercial or military matches from Earth.

No, no. Delete three, and four. Now, what is that? Computer, display ID parameters on match 5.

Now, superimpose on image. Correlation?

Good fit. 87%

Now, what is it? Que ID. Gnat? What a gnat?

Progenitor attack craft?

ATTACK AIRCRAFT!

Abruptly Mary ripped off her holo equipment and the gray space vanished.

"Mal!" Mary yelled with a little panic in her voice.

Mal ran into the room from her adjacent alcove, expecting Mary to be in labor, or in some other type of distress.

"Call up Helen! Flash these results to her," Mary stated in a Command Voice Marky had taught her. While doing so she pried herself out of her seat again.

Mal responded instantly, glancing at the series of images now floating above Mary's console:

A large whitish-blue structure floating motionlessly in air, and the structure had numerous bays spaced across its circumference. Streaming out of this disk-shaped object were dozens of Progenitor fighter aircraft, each of which were constantly coming and going. Mal's face turned a little ashen while actuating security communication protocol and encryption. Not only was such a floating "city" the images showed impossible, but those were the same fighting aircraft that had wiped out the Spartan Argonauts Fighter Squadron, the pride of the Spartan air force not so many months ago.

Mary made her way to the next station and bent over the console, not wanting to spend the time to sit down.

"Computer, initiate retinal scan and DNA verification. Authorization Beta Two, Lieutenant Mary Bellefontaine, Assassin Redoubt Command Center Senior Sensor Officer. Priority 2A message for Coronal Corazon Santiago. Download Assassin Redoubt sensor files from time index 2.525, file 13. Encrypt. Execute."

Mary felt a trickle of fear ripple through her body. Her duty was done. It was serious business for a very junior office to violate the chain of command, but the Coronal was well know for being much more harsh on those who denied her important information than those who broke command to ensure she got something that was not of the appropriate level of importance - better to ask forgiveness than permission.

That line of thought caused Mary no fear. An aerially based Alien fighter base was a Priority threat, and Mary's mind raced as she considered the implications - that is what caused her stomach to knot.

"Mary?" Mal said in a strained voice as she pointed to the image. "I think it's moving."

"Damn," was Mary's only response.

Elegant and direct, it said it all.


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

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

I was old fashioned enough to have programmed the holosec to display my in-basket as text pages that I could read rather than rolling holovids of the anxious deputies or supplicants.

I sank into the chair in the newly appointed Deputy Commissioner's office, just down the corridor from Lal's own. I didn't want to immediately jump into Tazeem Chandrasekhar's old office, so now that was a meeting room. Mine had been a small meeting room that had been hastily converted for my arrival. While I was familiar with the sensor activated communications system I often defaulted to the older technology voice command console and manual input system. First day on the job shouldn't be too onerous, I thought.

"Display in-tray" I commanded.

The representation was of a series of overlapping files, with the file title visible for each. My heart sank. More than twenty awaited my attention. Where to start. One caught my eye, and it was a logical starting point.

"Display Status Report."

The opened file appeared to hover in front of me. I read:

To: Scott Allardyce, Deputy Commissioner
From: Sonja Gustavson, Operations Director
Re: Status Report
Date: 19/13/2227

Here are the statistics you asked for, and the base status report.

Population: 1,010,000 (rounded)
Bases: 18
Production: Trained Chaos Needlejets at:
HA (Health Authority)
PR (Pillar of Rights)
PT (Planetary Trust)
TS (Temple of Sol)
AT (Amnesty Town)
HC (Haven City)

Clean Chaos Speeders at:
HC (High Commission)
SC (Social Council)
DA (Data Acquisition)
SA (Settlement Agency)

Empath Fusion Rotor at:
UNH (Headquarters)

Trance Chaos Destroyer at:
GR (Great Refuge)

Recycling Tanks at:
CJ (Court of Justice)
EB (Enforcement Base)
CT (Criminal Tribunal)

Habitation Complex at:
OA (Ocean Authority)

Recreation Commons at:
MA (Marine Agency)

Perimeter Defense at:
MW (Midway)

State of Production (summary):
CJ and EB are desperately short of minerals, and production is lagging.
Needlejet squadrons will soon be commissioned at PR, HA, TS, PT and AT, followed shortly thereafter by the completion of the Fusion Rotor wing at UNH

Economy:
Reserves are low, at 91 credits. Our meager reserves, as you will recall, were largely used in the last couple of months to hurry the two colony pods that were recently built. Our annual income amounts to 161 credits, with expenditures running at 153. There is a strong faction in government that favours a move to a free market economy. This would in my department's estimation increase the revenue to 243 credits per year. It has been tabled for discussion at the Base Governors' meeting later this week. Morale, of course, would suffer somewhat.

Another faction among the Governors has tabled a counter motion - to move to a Gaian model Green economy. Income would rise to 175 credits under this scenario. Growth and industrial production would suffer - growth to about 70% of what we are currently experiencing, and industry to around 90%, but we would enter what the economists among us are referring to as a paradigm economy. As well, we would be more likely to be in harmony with Planet, and might experience the Gaian benefits of better mindworm control.

Research:

We are currently allocating 50% of our revenues to our laboratories, with the balance going 4/5ths to the economy and 1/5th to our social psych programs.

Our science department tells us that this translates into around 320 laboratory credits (whatever they are) and the cost of the current research they are working on is just over 3500 of these credits.

Verbals:

I have asked your autosec for a time with you later today or tomorrow. You really need an assistant.

S. Gustavson


The holopage flickered off.

I pondered. The Governors seemed to be complying well enough with the revamped instructions given them before I left to meet with Kri'lan. I'd need to plan a tour of the bases in the near future, though. And Sonja was right - I did need an assistant.

I scanned the in-tray again.

"Confidential 1 from Lal. Disencrypt on my voice command."

The holo flickered and the one pager appeared:

Scott Allardyce.

For your eyes only.

I am troubled by the replacement Head of Covert Ops, Mats Sorenstam. I am getting confidential reports of exhibited sadism and vindictiveness against those who opposed his appointment on Jacques Cartier's death. He reports to you.

Replace him if necessary (that would be my suggestion to you)

P.

"Delete," I commanded. The holotext shimmered and with a dramatic simulated flash it appeared to incinerate and ashes fell to the desktop - or appeared to. I chuckled. Some technicians with a sense of humour.

I pondered Lal's "suggestion."

I admitted to myself that I hadn't taken to Sorenstam the few times I had met him starting with the very first cabinet meeting I had attended. But did Pravin mean for him just to be given a new head, or to be taken out of the division completely. He was experienced, after all.

Then I had my brainwave. So simple, yet so subtly ironic.

"Record:

Security code Alpha:.

To: All Department Heads
From: Deputy Commissioner Scott Allardyce
Subject: Covert Operations

Effective immediately all Covert Operations personnel shall report through their normal chains of command up to and including Director Mats Sorenstam who will report to me through Executive Director Anastasia Zhakarov.

Allardyce."

Perfect. The Peacekeepers had spent many years financing the Yoop underground movement. Now they would have one as their leader.

Another caught my eye.

"Activate personal 4"

Deputy Commissioner Allardyce;

It is imperative I see you soonest.

Schumacher

PS Nikki Petrov will vouch for me.

Nikki Petrov? Who was she and did I know her and why would she vouch for someone named Schumacher?

I racked my brains.

Obviously a Spartan - or a Lander that I would have known on old Earth.

Then it hit me.

Petrov.

The Merc.

Santiago's elite bodyguard commander.

And Schumacher. I vaguely remembered that name too. Timmy - no, Tommy. Lal's Merc. Petrov had once confided that each faction leader had assigned to them one of Garland's special rangers, or whatever they were called.

"Holosec. Free up time today - 1/2 hour - to meet with Tommy Schumacher."

A representation of a daytimer appeared in front of me with two half hour blocks flashing. I selected the first one.

Turning back to the in-tray I selected an innocuous one from the Chief Scientific Officer

Allardyce:

I am unable to comply with your request for a status report on our scientific research progress as you do not have appropriate clearance.

Kakani

I harrumphed. Not cleared, eh? We'd see about that

I looked at the next one for a long time

Scott:

We seemed to work well a few weeks ago, when you availed yourself of my services. Logic dictates that we work together again.

I and my like minded colleagues are few in number, but dedicated. Our small operations center is on the border between the Spartan Federation territory and the Peacekeepers'. We fret under Santiago's police state, however benevolent. Logic suggests that we align ourselves with the Peacekeepers and so I offer my services as your administrative co-ordinator in exchange for peacekeeper protection from any repercussions from the Colonel.

Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five
The Cybernetic Consciousness

Hmmm - Corazon surely wouldn't like the Delphi Training Center to change hands to the Peacekeepers, even if it essentially now was a small semi-autonomous city state called Alpha Prime.

I'd have to think that one over. I sure could use her logical thinking skills, though.

The penultimate one in the "urgent" pile discomfited me somewhat. Both as to its abruptness, and to the message it contained:

For your Eyes Only

To: Deputy Commissioner Scott Allardyce
From: Admiral Salim Gavaskar
Subject: Naval Morale

I learned today of the defection of our entire Northern Fleet to Yang's cause. I would have to believe that the Southern Fleet is similarly compromised. They are essentially at two locations - Midway and Marine Agency, where they escorted the colony convoys.

We have only token offshore coastal skimships in our mainland bases. We need to instigate a crash program to refurbish our navy.

Only to have them staffed by the same mutinous crews rushing to join Yang, I thought skeptically. Better to train the seamen first to disciplined or veteran standards, then give them their ships.

But it was nothing compared to the last one I opened.

Welcome Googlie.

I see my baited trap worked.

Haraad

Now what the hell did that mean?



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 29, 2000).]

[Googlie]

U.N. Headquarters

The office door slid open and I swiveled in my chair to observe his entrance.

His frame filled the aperture completely, and as I stood up to welcome him I realized that, tall as I was, at well over six feet, I was dwarfed by Tommy Schumacher.

I stepped forward, hand outstretched in greeting:

"Well, I 've heard a lot about you, but it is…………"

"Quiet!" he hissed peremptorily, striding past my hand to the center of my office.

Reaching from under his greatcoat he pulled out a small spherical object, and with a twist of its base activated its power.

Immediately I felt the dull throbbing in my head.

"Ah - a Neural Inhibitor," I said.

He raised an eyebrow, as he visibly relaxed.

"Very good, Deputy Commissioner. Where have you encountered these before?"

I shrugged. "Oh, I get around. Now what was so important that you had to see me today? And why the melodramatics?"

He eyed a visitor's chair speculatively, as if to gauge whether it would support his bulk, then decided it would, and lowered himself gently on to it.

I took the cue and sat down on the other, not across the desk from him, but beside him, leaning forward conspiratorily.

"I don't have much time," he said, "so I'll cut to the chase. I believe Commissioner Lal's life may be in danger."

"Go on," I said, now very serious.

"By someone who has day and night access to him," he added.

I could think of only one person.

"You're not saying that Pria………" I let my voice hang.

"Exactly," he replied.

"We have been observing her covertly for several weeks now - in fact, ever since she arrived on his arm. We have run surreptitious tests on her, and here are our conclusions."

He reached inside his coat again, and placed a crystal on the desk.

"It's all in there, but I'll summarize:

"We believe that Pria is not a clone, but a construct, very skillfully done. Part android, part cyborg, she has everyone fooled - even Lal. But activate the crystal - look at the reports, see the holovids for yourself, then tell me I am wrong."

"But why would Morgan try to pull a stunt like that?" I asked.

"Not Morgan, Yang," Schumacher replied. "Maybe even Ashaandi. I've hilighted some telltale signs on the holos. Somehow Yang has a high mole in the Morgan Medical Science hierarchy. The plan must have been years in the hatching, just waiting for the right conditions to launch it."

I nodded. I remembered Kendra Ossenton's warning about the tank tampering that might have killed Burge, LeVavassier and me if not caught - and almost did kill me.

"Let me view these. Meet me again tomorrow, same time, here. I'll have the autosec set it up."

He nodded, and stood up.

"Thanks," he said. "If, after you've seen them, you agree, then Pria will have an 'accident' - but of course you officially will know nothing about that."

I nodded.

"See me tomorrow."

He left, and I settled back to view the crystal's contents.

[Rynn:]

The drive up to the Testing Center brought back troubled memories for me.

Was it just a short year ago that Wolfie and I had climbed up here? - he, as he thought, to keep me company on a honeymooners' hike; me to seek justice and confront Jacques Cartier.

So much had happened in the intervening time, and who would have thought that now I was being driven to the Covert Operations' Headquarters as its commanding officer.

As the driver extinguished the engine, and cut the recycled breathable air, I inserted the latest gift from my Yoop friends into my left nostril. A bio-organic microbreather, the size of a minute nose plug that one would use to stop a bleeding nostril, it was unnoticeable to an observer. Slightly uncomfortable at first, until you got used to the sensation of a constantly ticklish nose, it delivered some three to four hours of filter life before it needed to be replaced. The trick was not to sneeze when outdoors, as it could easily be expelled that way, and if without a replacement, or a conventional breather, it might be bad news.

Mats Sorenstam was waiting for me, as I'd expected. With the onset of winter, there was already a slight dusting of what passed for snow in these parts at the 3000 meter level. I could see my breath frost as I exhaled.

Mats, of course, was wearing the conventional lightweight breather mask. It filtered much of the nitrogen, and collected and recycled his own air rather than vent it to the atmosphere.

His eyebrows rose as he saw that I was - apparently - not availing myself of a breather.

As I approached I pulled my tunic's high collar snug against the biting wind, and tugged at a synthleather glove to free a hand to shake his. I was wearing the classic Peacekeeper's Commander's uniform. Stone grey tunic jacket with maroon accents, and tailored to fit my curves perfectly. Black dress pants with the maroon verticals denoting rank. I had elected not to pile my hair in a military bun underneath my cap, so that my auburn tresses fell to shoulder length from below my commander's visor.

Mats saluted smartly, and I touched the peak of my hat with a gloved finger in acknowledgement. I was not military, but a civilian commander, although entitled to wear military colors, but I was damned if I was going to act like military.

"Can I show you around, Commander Zakharov?" he asked.

I almost replied that I knew my way around, but bit my tongue. I could not reveal that I had been inside already as part of the assassination squad. I nodded my acquiescence.

The Covert Ops Center was an adjunct to the Avishni Weapons Testing Range, and there was the constant screeching of the experimental needlejets taking off and landing, interspersed with the occasional THWUCK of an explosion as yet another theory was tested out in practice.

He kept looking at me during the external tour - I'm sure, wondering how I was apparently able to survive without oxygen. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he blurted out:

"Commander. It's been 45 minutes since you left your car. How can you survive so long with no breather?"

I decided to have a little fun with him.

"Mats. You've heard all those stories about my grandfather's experiments?"

He nodded.

"Well, he experimented on his own children and grandchildren too. From six months on we were conditioned to live outside without support. We learned to control our breathing, and to self-filter the nitrogen from our air intake. By 16 I could last for three hours. Now it's more like four."

He whistled. "Controlled breathing, eh? You must teach me the technique, Commander. It sure would be useful at times."

"It is, Mats. It is." Then I decided to come clean.

"But I'm pulling your leg."

He looked confused.

"Here, let me show you."

I pulled from a pouch a small perforated tin, and gently opened the lid to show him. Inside could be seen about a half dozen mites, just beginning to stir. I closed the lid, and put it back in the pouch.

"Bioengineered microbes," I said. "designed to 'eat' nitrogen and 'secrete' oxygen. They have a lifespan of around five hours when active, but in their dormant state - as they were just now, and are again - they survive several weeks until needed. As they age in dormancy their efficacy degrades, so that a four week old one might just give an hour or so of oxygen transference."

"Wow, our scientists did that?" he asked in awe.

"Not 'ours', Mats," I replied. They are Spartan designed, or more correctly, University designed. Mankind on this Planet is probably 50 years behind where it could be thanks to Santiago's warmongering those many years ago. The scientists haven't lost their edge, nor their appetite for knowledge, but their needs are secondary to Spartan's military needs. As they are here, to the Peacekeepers' humanitarian and cultural needs."

Sorenstam nodded his understanding.

"We always have has to fight to get the energy credits allocation to finance our regular military, let alone these covert operations, and I'm sure the scientists are behind us in the pecking order."

I nodded.

"I'll maybe be able to change that," I said. "I have a - shall we say - entrée, to the Deputy Commissioner that might enable me to pull a few strings.

"Now let's get inside and introduce me to my team."

He hesitated.

"There is something that I need to brief you on, first," he said. "Can we go to my office - to yours now - first, and I'll walk you through it?"

"Lead on, " I replied, as we entered the Center and made for the Director's office.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I sat back and whistled softly.

"I see what you mean," I said.

The signs were many, if one knew what to look for. Frankly I was surprised at the sophistication of the Peacekeeper surveillance equipment. And at the insights shown by Tommy Schumacher in bringing them to Mats' attention, and in his absolute professionalism in handling the material and in performing the scans and probes without detection.

And I could see why the viewing audience was restricted to a 'need to know' basis.

As a woman, I knew what we did to prepare for, enjoy, and clean up after sex. But Pria obviously hadn't been programmed the way we were. And poor besotted Lal couldn't tell.

But clearly Tommy - or Mats - was worldly enough to have spotted these incosistencies after the first surveillance, and this had led to more detailed ones, and finally to the surreptitious bioscans and finally the DNA analysis.

"But why do you think it's Yang - or Ashaandi?" I asked.

"A process of elimination," Mats replied.

"First, What's in it for Morgan? Nothing. He genuinely believed he was giving Lal the gift that would bind the Peacekeepers to Morgan for ever. Why risk it being uncovered as a fraud and jeopardize this?

"The Gaians don't have the technology, nor do the Spartans. One's too poor - and new - and the other is too bent on military research. Yang has the research, and the motive. The Peacekeeper's democracy is a direct threat to the Hive values system - witness the splinter Drones. And this plot has its genesis many years ago, when the Morgan scientific staff was infiltrated.

"What we don't know is when it will happen."

"When what will happen?" I asked stupidly.

"Lal's assassination," Mats replied bluntly. "It's the only reason we see that she has been introduced at this stage - and it would fit right in with the pattern - General Gupta and Deputy Commissioner Tazeem. I have ordered redoubled vigilance, and of course Tommy Schumacher is taking it almost personally."

"Has anyone spoken of this to Pravin?" I asked

"No," was his blunt reply. "Realistically only Allardyce could. Lal wouldn't listen to any of us. I asked some questions once or twice concerning his - shall we say 'satisfaction' - of how things were between he and Pria, but got a very cold shoulder. I think I may in fact have offended him, and I surmise that might be the reason you are here as my commander."

"Has Allardyce seen these?" I asked.

"An expurgated version," Mats replied. "Tommy met with him yesterday and left a copy crystal - much abbreviated. But with the same conclusions very evident."

I nodded.

"I'll broach the subject about him talking to Lal next time I see Allardyce. Now let's go meet the rest of the team."

We went to the rec commons to make the rounds.

[senatus]

Training Grounds


The soldiers present were some of Sparta's brightest and best. 
They were trained far more thoroughly than the best soldiers of the other
factions of the planet.  Their equipment was more advanced, more innovative,
more deadly than even the more technologically advanced factions, for Sparta's
focus had always emphasized pursuit of martial excellence as a prerequisite
of the most fundamental human need on a very hostile planet: survival. 
They embodied Sparta's most basic doctrine.


Superior training and superior weaponry have, when taken together,
a geometric effect on overall military strength. Well-trained, well-equipped
troops can stand up to many more times their lesser brethren than linear
arithmetic would seem to indicate.


In any other faction, the soldiers in this room would've been high-ranking
commanders or senior NCOs.  In Sparta, they were students, and they
were attentively focused on the words of their lecturer.  They were
in a classroom.


"In this final engagement, Darius had gathered all of his forces to
finally crush his enemy.  By conservative estimates, the army of the
King of Kings numbered towards a million - a staggering amount of force
with nightmare logistics in the time of antiquity.  Only a kingdom
as old and as vast as Persia could have fielded such an army.  And
against this, were barely forty thousand hoplites and calvary of Alexander
of Macedon."


Salvadore St-James gestured, and the holotable before him formed into
an overhead view of a valley.


"Now Alexander, of course, knew that he was outnumbered.  His strength
was in his mobility, provided by his calvary, and the training of his troops. 
To avoid battle would certainly have been possible; indeed, many of his
advisors urged him to do so, forcing the Persians to exhaust their own
supply reserves with such a huge army in opposition.  Alexander, however,
felt that the time had come to engage Darius in open battle.  Darius'
army was formidable, but inexperienced, and certainly his commanders were
untrained in commanding such a vast force.  Moreover, they were used
to fighting the same kind of enemy that the Persian Empire had usually
fought, and so their tactical doctrine was based on an outdated and inflexible
form of battle that the Macedonians did not subscribe to.  However,
giving the Persians time to adapt and learn would've proved fatal, in Alexander's
estimation.  Despite appearances, his army was at the peak of their
abilities, while his enemy could only grow even stronger."


The instructor frowned in disapproval as the door to the Advanced Strategics
class opened and another officer entered the room quietly, seating herself
at the back.  The officers already present were well aware of St-James'
no-nonsense disposition, but ignored the latecomer with Spartan discipline
as the Gecko continued.


"Alexander chose this valley primarily because it was wide enough to
allow his forces to manouvre, but too narrow for Darius to overwhelm his
flanks.  While the bulk of the Persian forces were infantry and light
calvary, Darius did have elephants - the ancient equivalent of armour -
and skirmishing horse archers.  Alexander didn't, so he utilized his
first and second phalanxes as a mobile shield for his forces, while...."


St-James described the ancient battle for the next forty minutes, pointing
out the key elements according to the histories of Arrian.  Finally,
the lights came on, the class dismissed, and all but one of the Spartan
officers marched out the door.


"Comments, Coronel?"  St-James asked as finally the latecomer arose.


"No disagreements," Corazon Santiago said mildly.  "You did neglect
to mention an alternate explanation fo Alexander's choice to give battle,
however."


"That being?"  St-James prompted.


"That he was a megalomaniac as well as being a military genius. 
That he was so convinced of his superiour abilities, and those of his troops,
that the concept of defeat was unfathomable.  And that avoiding battle
would've detracted from his followers' belief in their leader's infallability."


"Harsh."  St-James laughed.  "And unsubstantiated.  Alexander
was merely the first in the European arena to recognize certain characteristics
of warfare that applied in his favour.  Scipio, Marius, and Caesar
all were able to pull off similar endeavours with hardly any differences
in the underlying technology."


"So you don't subscribe to the theories of Alexander's detractors?" 
Santiago asked.


"No, I do not.  Most of them appeared in the 19th and 20th century,
and these historians were frankly unable to appreciate the realities of
battle in that era, and unqualified to pass judgement on Alexander's strategic
abilities.  They seemed eager to attribute his success entirely to
the efforts of his father Phillip in building the Macedonian army, forgetting
that an army is no stronger than its leadership.  In the absense of
contemporary witnesses, I think there is no evidence to imply that things
were other than what Arrian described."  The Gecko answered.


"I need you back on active duty,"  Santiago changed the subject
abruptly.  Nevertheless, St-James wasn't entirely surprised. 
Although Santiago was generally happy to discuss military history, that
wouldn't justify her flying out here personally.  While not the oldest
or most senior of the Junta, very few of the others could claim the amount
of modern experience or expertise that St-James had.  In fact,
St-James suddenly realized, with Gavin Burge dead and Scott Allardyce's
departure, there wasn't anyone else.  Except Santiago herself,
of course.


Salvadore St-James didn't particularily like the Coronel.  He didn't
particularily dislike her either, however.   And he certainly
recognized her abilities.  Talent like his own was rare; it came along
perhaps a few times in a generation.  Talent like Santiago's, St-James
privately believed, came along about as often as Alexander's.  Not
that she was without personal flaws.


Oh, not without flaws indeed.  It's a damn shame she and Scott
had that falling out, and all because of that rat bastard Ashaandi, worms
eat his brain.  If half the rumours St-James heard were true (and
he had very good sources), Allardyce and Santiago could barely stand
to talk to each other now.  Which was the sort of division that the
Federation - and the Axis - couldn't afford now.


"Let me get straight to the point, General.  I need you back, because
with Field Marshall Burge dead, and former Wing Commander Allardyce...
pursuing other objectives, Sparta is extremely short of senior commanders." 
Santiago said bluntly, unaware that she was echoing St-James' thoughts
a moment previous.


"We're at an impasse.  But we won't be, soon enough.  The
aliens are coming, and they're coming hell-bent for human leather, with
hardware that makes the old UoP stuff look like popguns and slingshots. 
Three guesses as to who stands in their way, and the other two - Morgan
and the PK's - don't count,"  Santiago grimaced and continued. 
"I need a theatre commander who can be dropped into any arena - even on
foreign ground - and still be able to function and keep his head. 
Your name was at the head of the list.  It was a short list. 
Are you up for it?"


General St-James straightened.  The question was rhetorical, of
course.  He was a Spartan.  But protocol demanded he answer it
anyways.


"I'm up for it, Ma'am."