The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 4

[senatus]

Sparta Command


"I do not believe this!"


General Salvador "Gecko" St-James remained mostly impassive in response
to Santiago's exclamation, although the corner of his mouth twitched slightly
in bitter irony.


"I'm afraid we have little choice," St-James replied, his voice characteristically
controlled, precise, and even; although he shared his leader's sentiments.


"Midway base is no longer answering any Axis hail, but have issued a
unilateral declaration that they have seceded from the United Nations of
Planet, and are now aligned with the Human Hive.  We must consider
them hostile."


"Ashaandi?"  Santiago half-asked, half stated.


"Almost certainly.  I don't believe in coincidences any more than
you do, Ma'am."  St-James replied.


"And, according to Roze's data, the Circle is located somewhere on the
Usurper continent.  I can see no other conclusion possible," he continued.


"Somewhere in the vicinity of Midway," Santiago mused, then asked, "Do
we still have planetbuster capability?"


St-James looked carefully at Santiago.  The Colonel seemed dead
serious.  Whether the goal was to destroy the subverted base, or to
simply nuke the continent for the sole purpose of killing the Circle and
its leader was unclear.


Then again, from a mineral trade-off perspective, Ashaandi probably
has
cost us more in military and strategic losses than several planetbusters'
worth, St-James admitted before speaking.


"Aside from the diplomatic repercussions, I don't see that as a viable
option.  If nothing else, because the aliens might be able to shoot
the ICBM out of the air."


"I know, I know," Santiago conceded, rubbing her eyes in fatigue. 
"It would be nice to be able to press the button, then hail him
and say 'Mind control your way out of this, you little bastard',
just before the nuke detonated... well, let's hope that Datajack Roze is
successful."


"Even if she doesn't get him personally, she's bound to damage the Circle,
and force them to operate more circumspectly.  Which may be almost
as good as eliminating them,"  St-James said.


"I agree.  In any event, we need to focus even more upon our military
preparations as a result of the Midway fiasco."


"And the fact that the U.N. is withdrawing from the Axis," St-James
said grimly.  Midway was a loss of an advanced base and significant
military forces, but losing the infrastructure and production of the second
most developed human nation on the planet was a much more depressing fact. 
At least Morgan showed no signs of vacillation; the merchant prince was
extremely realistic about outcomes, and the aliens showed no interest
in commerce.  His lot, long-term, sat squarely with the Axis... and
humanity.


"Yes.  The aliens will begin their offensive very soon," Santiago
said matter-of-factly, and St-James raised his eyebrow.


"I concur, ma'am, but I would be curious to hear your reasoning."


"Simple timing.  We know they've been beefing up their conquer
infrastructure with this space elevator of theirs, and the mobile air base. 
And the Morgans' datalink infiltration operation tells us that they have
some chassis types we've never seen before, but are clearly designed for
war.  People - and I assume these aliens - don't build weapons they
don't expect to use.  Finally, the U.N. is out of the picture for
now, but can't be counted on to remain that way indefinitely. 
There could always be a development that restores Lal's political fortunes
- he's as cagey as they come in the arena of politics.  For that matter,
perhaps Sister Miriam will decide that Anwar Sanjit is acting against the
interests of humanity and her god, and will have him assassinated."


St-James twitched slightly.  "She'd do that?"


"She probably would if I asked her to.  I can't see the advantage
in doing so however; it'd just put Eriksson into power instead.  And
it'd look a little fishy if they both happened to die in car accidents,
wouldn't it?"  Santiago asked rhetorically.  "Besides, assassination
isn't our style."


"So that brings us back to the aliens.   Ashaandi has worked
carefully on bringing about a window of opportunity where the Axis is weakened,
presumably on Yang's behalf, and the aliens'.  We must presume they
intend to use it."


"And where do you expect them to strike?"  St-James asked his superiour.


"Well, there are four possible targets, aren't there?  The Drone
Believers, the Gaians, the Morgans, and us.  Let's eliminate the unlikely
first - the Gaians are very far away from the aliens, but they have this
mobile air base and the ability to drop troops via orbital insertion anywhere. 
However, the Gaians are about as inoffensive as they come, and aside from
controlling very fertile lands, have nothing of great military usefulness. 
Certainly nothing worth trying to tackle the mindworm boils that military
intelligence suggests they have."


"The next candidate are the Drone Believers.  They are a thorn
in Yang's side, primarily due to the ideological threat they represent
to the Hive.  However most of the infrastructure is missing from the
war damages in our earlier campaign, and unless the aliens are themselves
willing to take on the slow task of rebuilding it,  I cannot see any
profit for the aliens in taking those bases.  Oh, it'd be in Yang's
interests, but the aliens?  I think they must have their own objectives."


"The third probability would be Sparta itself.  Not entirely out
of the question, especially if their psychology is based on an "alpha bug"
mentality.  While I don't want to see Sparta itself endangered, if
they come for us here then we can bring all of our forces to bear
in concentration.  That would be the best possible military scenario,
actually."


"And our worst?"  St-James asked.


"Morgan.  He hasn't much of an army, his soldiers aren't as good,
and his bases are extremely juicy targets.  Any battles fought there
would be destroying valuable resources for the Axis, even if we were victorious. 
If the aliens have even half the brain that God gave the Peacekeepers,
the Morgans will be their first target, and the worst scenario from our
perspective."


"So we must plan for the worst, then, using only our mobile forces. 
Unless the aliens are so generous as to split their forces and go after
multiple targets."  St-James nodded.


"I wish!  If they want to repeat Hitler's mistake on the Russian
front, I'll be happy to give them a nice Spartan `Kursk'.  But we
can't count on them being so obliging."


"Unless they have overwhelming forces," St-James said quietly.


"That's the question, isn't it?"  Santiago grinned wolfishly. 
"The U.N.-led offensive was to be a reconnaissance in force, to damage
their home infrastructure and measure their capabilities.  Now, we'll
be fighting an unknown force on Axis turf, and we'll have much less time
to adjust our force deployment and war industry in response to what they
bring.  However, look at it this way, General: if they do have
overwhelming force, we're screwed any ways.  If not, then we have
a chance, and I'm counting on you to make the most of the opportunity."


"Fine.  So what forces will I be assigned?"  St-James asked
a trifle brusquely.  While devious in battle, the Gecko had a deserved
reputation from being a no-nonsense, no beating around the bush sort of
commander.  Just the kind that Corazan Santiago liked best.


"The air corps," Santiago began.


"Which one?"


"All of them," Santiago continued, and St-James' eyes widened. 
"Except for the empath defence fighters, of course - those will be retained
for local patrol / defence roles.  But that gives you 90% of the air
force.  Plus, all of our drop-capable rover units currently in the
Hive theatre and back here.  And we've refitted about 20% of our artillery,
and 40% of our infantry units - the ones that were Elites - for drop. 
You get those too."


"Madre de Dios!"  In spite of himself, St-James was stunned.


"You going Believer on me?"  Santiago asked rhetorically. 
"In total, you'll be getting about 75% of Sparta's military.  So you
will have will have no-one to blame if you f*ck up," she added with her
characteristic lack of diplomacy.  However, she grinned again, and
there was no sting to her words; if she didn't think he was up for
the job, there was no way in Miriam's hell that she'd have turned over
such a force to him.


"What about the Junta?"  St-James finally asked.


"Oh, they'll go along with it - they're bound to see the necessity of
a unified command structure for the anti-alien forces, once the Progenitors
come calling."  Santiago said confidently.


St-James said nothing at that.

---

Great Conclave


Air Marshall Scott (Googlie) Allardyce reclined in the desk chair of
his brand new office.  Well, the office wasn't brand new - it'd once
belonged to a senior Hive official.   But the chair and desk
were new.  Plain, sturdy, and unadorned - typical Free Drone handiwork
- but for a former Spartan officer, fairly luxurious in comparison.


His com terminal beeped.  It was his secretary, Sister Eleanor. 
The Drone Believers didn't make use of the modern automated secretary programs
that the PKs did, but Googlie wasn't complaining - Eleanor was an efficient,
earnest, and rather cute in a bookish way.


"What is it, Eleanor?"  Googlie asked, giving her a charming and
friendly smile.


"Sir, there's a Spartan General, Salvadore St-James, who wishes to speak
to you.  Shall I put him through?"  Eleanor asked, and Googlie's
demeanour became serious again.


"Absolutely.  Maximum encryption at our end,"  he ordered.


The Gecko came on looked much as Googlie had remembered him.  The
last time they'd seen each other, they were both young men from recent
rejuvenation.


"Salvadore, good to see you.  I haven't heard much of what you've
been up to these days."


"Military History and Tactics instruction at Training Grounds," St-James
responded, and Scott nodded.  Far from a demotion, military instruction
was a prestige position in Sparta.


"Until recently, at least," The Gecko continued.  "You've been
having quite the tour, from what I hear."


"I get around," Scott shrugged.


"Air Marshall for the Drone Believers?  That's a bit of a new thing,
but congratulations.  Especially since Ashaandi must be pissed that
after all his work in neutralizing the PKs, you still brought six
squadrons with you for the Axis.  Not bad at all."


"You've got good sources, Salvadore.  It's not official yet, Miriam
has to argue her luddite council into accepting a `heathen' like me. 
But with her backing, it's a shoe-in.  As for the air corps, that
was Lal's doing, not mine."


"Yes, but he turned them over to you.  I doubt he would've
for anyone else."


"Maybe not.  He hasn't got a lot of other backers - Lal's getting
a pretty raw deal, right now."


"I know," St-James replied.  "I've got the ear of the Coronel."


"Oh?"  Allardyce asked.  "Then is this a business call?"


"No," St-James replied.  "Well, not quite.  I've got a bit
of a personal favour to ask.  Let me fill you in on something first. 
Santiago's assigned me to `X-Com'."


The Gecko explained his new duties, and Scott whistled softly.


"I'm glad to see that she's taking this seriously.  That's the
biggest task force Sparta has ever put together, more even than the Hive
theatre ops.  And, she's picked the right man for the job."


"Thanks," St-James replied, "but there may be a problem.  I'm her
pick.  But there's still...."


"... the Junta."  Googlie nodded.


"Exactly.  Scott, you know Corrie.  Put her in charge of a
battle or a war and there's no-one better.  But she doesn't understand
politics.  She's used to leading the Junta because, ever since landing,
it's been obvious that she was the best commander.  And she had the
overwhelming support of the rank-and-file military and the civilians. 
But things started to change during her disappearance, and I don't think
she's really aware of the implications.  She still has the general
support, but in the Junta, Honshu has been taking over ever since you split."


"Honshu?"  Googlie sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.


"Honshu.  You know I don't like or trust him Scott, so I never
told you why I thought he pushed for the results of your trial as
they turned out.  If he'd convicted you, he'd have had a massive political
fight on his hands - with your supporters, with me, hell, even with Corrie
if push came to shove.  Instead, he engineered a verdict where you
were forced to leave, and he came off like a great statesman and
leader. "


St-James took a deep breath and continued.


"He's always been ambitious, Scott, and I think he's looking for Corrie's
job.  When she nominates me for leadership of Task Force X, the Junta
will balk.  You know there's never been precedent for such a large
force under a single general.  Hell, I'd balk, except I know
that we may be in for the fight of our lives soon.  And I think Honshu's
going to use this as the lever to unseat her.  If I count the friendly,
hostile, and neutral votes correctly, I think he's going to succeed."


Scott nodded slowly.


"Have you told her this?"


"Hah!  Look, Scott, I know you've had your fair share of gripes
about Corrie, but even you have to admit that she's always tried to act
in what she thinks are Sparta's best interests.  The problem
is that she assumes the majority of the Junta are like her, and would never
put their own ambition ahead of the Federation's welfare.  I dare
say that's why she's so pissed at you, Scott; she thinks that you left
Sparta and blackmailed her out of personal ambition."


"Oh, so you know about her and Ashaandi?"  Scott confirmed.


"Yeah, I know.  And I know it's not true - the part about your
ambition, I mean.  But Corazon has never been able to distinguish
a third category between `enemy' and `ally' very well.  That can be
noble, as in the case of her support for Miriam.  That can be stupid,
in the case of the assassination attempt on Lal way back when.  Or
in letting Ashaandi get loose."


"That's something I can't forgive her for," Scott said matter-of-factly. 
"That, and her sacrificing me in the first place."


"I respect your reasons, even if I don't agree wholly.  But be
fair, Scott - she only made the same mistake that you did, with respect
to trying to work with Ashaandi.  For what it's worth, I think she
hates him now almost as much as you do."


"Salvadore, you've always been a straight-up man.  Let's put the
cards on the table - what do you want of me?"


"You still have supporters in the Junta," St-James said.  "If they
supported Santiago's nomination - something that, under the circumstances,
Honshu would never expect - then she will emerge on top, and Honshu will
be exposed and weakened."


"And why should I do this?"  Scott asked grimly.


"Let me ask you a question, Scott: Are the aliens coming for the Axis?"


Googlie thought of his conversations with Ron, Shauna, Kri'lan, and
Stazi.


"Yes."


"Then who do you want in charge on our side, Honshu or Santiago?" 
St-James asked.


"Santiago."  All personal dislike aside, Googlie knew the answer. 
Santiago was a *****, but she was the best general that Sparta had
- which meant the best on the planet.  Honshu was good, but his talent
didn't match his ambition.  And Santiago, at least, he knew how to
deal with.


Googlie considered putting a price to his support - maybe supplies and
ammunition for his aircraft?  But it was unfair to ask that of St-James
- and, more importantly, the Gecko was his friend.


"All right, Salvadore.  As a personal favour to you, you've got
my support.  I'll start putting out the word.  Let's just hope
that it's enough."


"Thank you."  The Gecko's image nodded briefly, then faded from
Googlie's holocom.

[Hydro]

Near Hero's Waystation

Zzar shifted uncomfortably; suddenly he was aware of how he was connected to his Deathsphere. Although he couldn't feel it, he knew there were nanotendriles that extended up his excretory orifice. He even knew the general fractal pattern they would take as they became integrated into his lower digestive system, and how they served him by eliminating his need and desire to expel the remains of digested nourishment. The Ancient AI that controlled the Deathsphere provided for his every need; it controlled the atmosphere he breathed, the food he ate, what he eliminated, what he saw, and his ability to react to what he saw.

In effect, Zzar realized he was helpless, and he didn't like that. Still, this was an amazing machine. No, he corrected himself, it isn't a machine: it is an entity. In many ways it was wiser and more knowledgeable than Zzar knew he would ever be. In almost every way that mattered it was alive. But, even as a powerful and ancient entity, it was not an honored Progenitor. It was merely a sophisticated tool that had probably been designed millions of years ago, and manufactured hundreds of thousands of years ago, long before the last Flowering has reduced most of Progenitor civilization to its present ignoble state.

Zzar could feel the Ancient and it's communication touched his mind like a whisper. It responded to his thought as if it had been listening, and Zzar realized that it undoubtedly had been.

You are right, Zzar. I am not a Progenitor, and I am incapable of attaining that lofty goal. My abilities are beyond yours, or even those of the grand Conqueror Marr, but yet he commands me, and you command me. I am programmed to have autonomy but not be self-directed, to be self-sufficient yet incomplete without the command of a sentient. I can learn but I cannot grow, cannot evolve. What I am is what I will always be. I am the product of the ingenuity of the Progenitors of the previous Cycle, even as they were the product of those that came before them, and those of the Cycles before them. My task it to ensure the survival of my Progenitor charges, whoever they may be. I am programmed to assist and help them, irrespective of faction or clan, for factions and clans pass, even as Progenitors continue. I was also programmed for a larger role - to educate the Progenitors of the current age in the lore of the Ancients, especially during times of darkness, such as is present in your Cycle.

My task is to serve you, Zzar, and to teach you, as I am able. Some, like your communication officer M'Lan, I can mold to function well, even to excel within his task. I have formed your M'Lan into my link to you and the living world, and he immerses himself in me like those of weak will often do. I have no contact with your Political Officer, and she shuns my interface, as is her duty. Her duty is to Marr, and her definition of duty extends to the needs of the early part of this dark Cycle. All of these I can assist, and guide, if they wish. There are few I can teach, for most Progenitors of this Cycle are narrow, and focused on survival. Only a clawful possess the ability, and are given the opportunity, to expand beyond the role that is assigned to them in the beginning of a rising Cycle. Even fewer with ability and opportunity take advantage of it. I have taught only two in this last Cycle, although I have formed many.

You I can teach, Zzar, if you are willing to learn, and if you will trust me. Although superior to you I am your servant. Although an Ancient, and made by the Ancients, I am not a Progenitor. You must see me as a useful tool. Those who understand me know there is more.

Come, Zzar. Let me show you more.

Zzar considered for a fraction of a second. Then he trilled accent to himself, and to the Deathsphere.

To Nir and T'lar all was as it should be. The silver Deathspheres willed themselves forward, across the wastes between Invader empires. Their Conqueror, Zzar, was appropriately reserved, and gave orders when it suited him. Otherwise he was silent.

Zzar did sit silently, partially melded to the Deathsphere. The connection grew more intimate as the shining force of the Ancient approached Zzar's consciousness. Zzar could feel it come very near. It was vast, and almost alien, and its form reminded him of the beautiful Resonance from the Challenge Chamber. This resonance was not static, not immutable. It fluxed, and turned on itself. While not more complex than the Resonance, Zzar could perceive that it seemed to move, to change, and he felt that its field was less crystalline and more organic. This was no mere work of sublime art or instrument, but a force. And this was a tool? Nothing more?

He felt himself hesitate, and the Ancient's approached slowed, and then stopped. He felt intense curiosity, and the yearning to touch this resonance, as he had touched the Resonance in the Challenge Chamber. He wanted to reach out and embrace this resonance, and blend it with his own. Yet, he held back.

Why?

Zzar wondered. He felt the pull, and it filled his senses. Even his Faces and Personalities, the Ancient electronic shadows of Progenitors that served him, were silent, almost as if in awe and expectation, or dread.

Ever patient, the Ancient consciousness was before him. Zzar knew it had no need for haste, since an entity that was perhaps hundreds of thousands of years old has a different perception of time. It was simply waiting as it always did.

Zzar honed in, using the analytical portion of his mind to select and understand. Did he hesitate out of fear of death? No, he decided. He was in no direct mortal peril, as the Deathsphere was bound to serve him. Might it be fear of the unknown, fear of what it might show him, then? No, not that either. If anything curiosity and the need to know is what drove him onward, and let him surmount any challenge that was before him. Curiosity had served him well in the past, and would in the future.

Perhaps, then, it was the fear of loss, the loss of self?

Yes. Zzar decided that this was the primary cause for inaction. But, was this fear justified? Quickly, he realized that the answer was also yes. This consciousness was larger than what he was as a mortal Progenitor. Without a compass, or focus, he knew that he could lose himself in this force, much like his communication officer M'Lan had partially done. This loss had made his officer more useful and skilled, but in the end he was merely a tool with little will or ability to actualize his desires, if any remained to him.

What to do?

The Ancient waited before him, its resonance pulsing with an almost hypnotic complexity. Zzar could see fate within it, both a fate of fortune and one for ill. It could consume him, and leave him a hollow shell. It might sear and damage him. Or it could provide wisdom, and insight in the honored ways of Ancients, and provide a glimpse of the glories of the past and the potential for the future.

There was risk, and Zzar weighed his options. And then he decided.

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

"Weapons Officer Nir, check operating efficiency," M'Lan resonated, his query giving a four fold harmonic of question.

Nir jacked his AI link up 35%, which was far beyond what he was comfortable doing. He felt as if his senses were dulled when he operated within the AI more than 80%, even though he could measure the increase in his performance. When the gain was up that high, however, he perceived that his will was less, and his ability to act was dictated only by data, by logic. He didn't like that. Data had its place, but equally important to him was intuition. If he were to act only on data then he could be replaced by a subroutine, and Nir knew he was far better than any partially coherent electronic construct.

Nir knew the integration was complete when new layers of fields and force were apparent to him. He touched these, demanding response, and he appropriated what these servile programs and images had to offer. Those that were distracting, in Nir's estimation, he swept aside, and those that he understood to give him the best results he seized and interrogated. In moments he had his answer, and he withdrew. The connection shunted down so that he knew he was in control, yet still had access to those data fields as he chose.

"Communication Officer M'Lan," he altered, "operating efficiency is at 98%. There is an apparent drain on resources, and the source of this drain is not known."

This bit of information was irrelevant to Nir. At that level of efficiency there was no impairment of his mission, or of a lapse in what were to be his duties. He had no need to attempt direct communication with the Ancient and he hadn't even tried.

M'Lan, however, was concerned. The Ancient had been silent for the last 15 minutes, and that was beyond his experience since being aboard the Deathsphere. If M'Lan's desire was granted he would enjoy the light of the Ancient at all times, but the Conqueror had decreed that one third of the day must be spend in rest cycle. When awake he was with the Ancient whenever possible and now it was silent. M'Lan felt at a loss, even felt a little hollow, and he wanted that touch back. His own resonance felt pale, and it created a need within him.

He submerged again, and clawed at the portal. Again, there was no answer.

In front of him Zzar was silent, as always. He didn't move, but his eyes glinted with new and disturbing understanding.

[Argonaut]

Outside the Hive Covert-Ops Centre: Home of the Circle

Roze, Paul and Will continued to creep forward ever so slowly. They had no way of knowing whether they had escaped detection or not, other than the fact that they had not been shot and killed yet. However, Ashaandi was, of course, not beyond toying with them and leading them into a false sense of security. Still, with the neural inhibitors activated, Roze was confident that for now they were still in the clear.

They had left their lonely rover quite a ways back, having brought it in as far as they dared. It was quite a hike back to the rover, which was there only viable way to get back to the ship when they needed to get out of here. Roze didn’t like the odds, but the two interceptors ready to launch back at the carrier would hopefully level things out.

They rested on the far side of a hill, allowing themselves a moments reprieve before they began the attack. On the other side, Will had spotted the makings of an entranceway, which could only be the covert entrance to the Circle’s hideaway. Roze realized now that it all came down to this, and that in the end only one could emerge as the victor: her, or Ashaandi.

Roze looked at Paul, who seemed to be musing over the same things. Then she looked at Will who seemed to be oblivious to the true danger he was in. Naturally that was the Spartan conditioning, no enemy was to great that they could stand against a Spartan. She also knew that the same conditioning was what kept Will intensely vigilant and ready for anything. If they were to develop a better Covert Ops Training program in Sparta, she couldn’t help but think of the awesome power Santiago, and therefore Roze, could wield with such probe teams.

Paul gave her a nod, indicating he was as ready as they were going to be, and Roze gave the signal to move out. So far, Roze and Paul had kept from bickering the entire trip, even working well together to plan the route of attack for this mission. However, there relationship had been kept on a very strict, professional level, and the two had not spoken a word outside of planning. It had actually made for an relaxing trip, given the circumstances.

They filed with absolute stealth over the hill, Will taking the lead being best able to spot the first signs of a physical attack. The greatest danger came from an empathic assault, but unfortunately none of them could really defend against that. However, Paul had given each of them a whole bag full of toys which would level the playing field as long as they maintained the element of surprise.

They reached the door, guarded by only a security lock-out interface. Apparently, Ashaandi still relied on his ability to detect an approaching attack and felt little need for advanced security. Of course, he had probably not heard how Roze had managed to take down Ishmael’s little Cult either. The door was open in less then a minute, and the team descended silently into the depths of the Circle.

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

Zakharov lay slumped against the wall, tormented once again by his own thoughts. Ever since he had been liberated from Santiago’s punishment sphere, he had been able to escape his own despair by keeping busy. It was his initial motivation for helping Yang at first, and even to a degree the reason he took Sharra with him when he escaped. Above all, he had to keep himself occupied so that he would not be forced to think about all those he had let down. Of course, he had never been able to escape those thoughts in his dreams. But now his dreams had begun to invade his waking hours until Zakharov found himself sinking deeper and deeper into dispair.

All he could think of was Anastasia, the granddaughter he had lost and found and lost and found, only to end up losing her for good. It was the only image that had kept him alive through the torment of his last imprisonment, and now it was the one image he most desperately wanted to get rid of.

The same image of Anastasia’s bleeding, broken body lying in the arms of Scott Allardyce looped constantly through Zakharov’s thoughts, almost driving him mad. Zakharov wanted to kill this Sand Zeta-Two monster who had shared that horrible image with him. He wanted to wrap his hands around that man’s neck and never let go. But Zakharov had neither the opportunity, nor the strength for that. All he could do was hope that his end would finally come soon.

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

Ashaandi sat in the network room, where he kept tabs on all of Planet’s goings on that he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to personally. Every holo-transmission from every major broadcast site on Chiron came through here and was then recorded, filed and sorted by what was useful and what wasn’t. Of course, none of the Circle bothered with that. The scores of Drones that Ashaandi insisted Yang provide him saw to it, only bothering him with it when something of a crucial nature came along.

Now Ashaandi was bored though. Most of his plans were reaching culmination. The Axis was in shambles, Midway now belonged to the Hive, the Peacekeepers were begging for peace and Scott Allardyce was suffering in his own torment with the pathetic Free Drones. Granted, Lal was still alive, but that was of little importance at the moment as he had no real power. He could be dealt with in time. He had lost Stazi, but it had almost been worth it just for the look on Allardyce’s face and the knowledge that Allardyce had lost his precious beloved. Still, Ashaandi needed something to amuse me.

“Bring me Zakharov,” he commanded Sand, deciding to test the man’s loyalty, although having a good idea what the response would be anyway. Sand Zeta-Two was probably the biggest threat the Circle had right now, and perhaps, Ashaandi decided, now was as good a time as any to get rid of him.

“No,” was Sand’s simple reply. Ashaandi decided to provoke Sand further.

“You,” he said pointing to a passing drone, “bring me the Prisoner Zakharov. The old man, not his granddaughter.” Ashaandi barely had time to react as Sand drew a shredder pistol and fired directly at the Drone’s head, causing it to explode in a nasty mess all over the table.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Ashaandi bellowed. He did not enjoy being surprised.

“The Zakharovs are my prisoners. If you wish to amuse yourself, use one of your own prisoners.” A menacing smile crossed Sand’s face as all activity within the room ceased. Drones stopped there work and looked up.

“Don’t even think about crossing me Sand.” Ashaandi was fuming. Sand had always been a problem, but now he crossed the line. No one could cross Ashaandi’s authority like that, not even the Chairman anymore.

“What’s the matter Ashaandi?” Roze asked. “You two having a lover’s spat?” Ashaandi looked up in disbelief moments before a small grenade landed on the table. There’s was a bright flash, and Ashaandi’s world became one of immense pain.

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

The grenade worked like a charm, just like Paul had said it would. Designed as a sort of concussion grenade for empaths, the device sent a shockwave through the minds of any psionically sensitive person within a twenty metre radius. The Drones looked on in disbelief as Sand and Ashaandi both writhed in agony on the floor.

“Everybody head out now. The effects won’t last forever and when they get up their going to be pissed. This place is going sky-high in a matter of minute, so I suggest you leave.” As Paul shouted his orders, Roze was making her way around the table to ensure that Ashaandi would never be getting up again. Suddenly, she heard a shot, and the terminal beside her exploded with the impact of a shredder bolt. Almost simultaneously, Will shouted the warning indicating that Hive reinforcements had arrived.

A squad of Hive guards took up a position in one of the far doorways, opening fire into the room. Roze ducked for cover behind the table, as Will and Paul began to return fire. Roze looked at her watch. They had about two minutes before Ashaandi and Sand would be active again, and from her position she couldn’t solve that problem without getting shot herself. In less than five minutes, the interceptors would begin their strafing runs of the base, destroying as much of the infrastructure they could. Her team would half to be out in four then if they were going to stand much of a chance of surviving.

Roze realized she wouldn’t be able to make it towards the prison cells from her position. Paul and Will were the only ones able to go, and Will would be needed to cover enemy fire. Paul looked at her, having apparently made the same realization, and gave her a nod. Roze and Will simultaneously opened a heavy barrage of fire on the Hive guards, pushing them back through the doors while Paul jetted off down the corridor.

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

Paul moved through the corridors, opening the triggers on the cells he knew held friendlies, and passing by the cells that held Hive sociopaths deemed unfit for survival. Most of the prisoners were Spartan soldiers who had been captured in the fighting, and been sent here for Ashaandi’s personal experiments. Most of them were tired, but quickly responded to Paul’s orders.

Paul had almost rounded a corner, when the whining noise of a shredder pistol stopped him just in time. Proximity detectors in his probe suit told him that there were three Hive guards waiting to open fire on him, just around the corner. Suddenly, from behind him, the seven Spartan prisoners he had freed charged past, moving swiftly down the corridor towards the guards. Two of them were dead by the time they got there, but the other five managed to take out the guards and steal the weapons they were carrying. The two unarmed Spartans picked up their fallen comrades and continued to follow Paul through the maze of jail cells.

As they proceeded deeper into the tunnel, Paul found himself opening fewer cells, even passing some where he was unsure as to what was inside. One even appeared to hold a small mindworm boil, that created a great deal of noise as they passed by. Finally, came to the high security cells at the end of the tunnel. Before he even had to ask, the three armed Spartans formed up, and moved through the doorway swiftly, killing all five Hive guards inside. At this point, Paul was confident they were in the clear.

Paul moved to the cell that was marked Zakharov, and almost did a double take when he saw the first initial, “A.”. He realized that this must have been where they kept Anastasia Zakharov during her mysterious disappearance. He was even more shocked to open the door and see none other than Anastasia Zakharov lying there.

“Who are you?” the Anastasia screamed out in terror, and Paul could only imagine the tortures that Ashaandi had put her through to make a woman like Stazi Zakharov experience fear like that.

“Anastasia, it’s okay, I’m a friend. We’re going to get you out of here.” Paul moved to help her, but in an instant she was on her feet.

“Get away from me you creep. My name’s not Anastasia. She’s dead. My sister’s dead.” The woman broke down into tears, and Paul could not help but feel confused. Still they were running out of time. He made another move towards him and she lashed out at him. Paul blocked the attack, and hit her over the back of the head with his firearm. She slumped unconscious into his arms.

“We’ve gotta get her out of here,” Paul looked apologetically at the Spartan soldiers, not knowing what they would make of it.

“We understand sir. We found the Academician. We’re ready to go sir.” Paul helped carry Anastasia’s limp body towards the door, but before he could get out, the Spartan who seemed to have adopted command of the rag-tag unit blocked him.

“Are you University resistance sir?” There was a definite edge of malice in her voice, but there seemed to also be a lack of conviction as well. She knew she couldn’t help the enemy, but she clearly wanted to get out pretty bad.

“No, I’m Morganite. But we’ve got a Spartan ship waiting for us and a Spartan air-strike about to blow this place sky-high whether we’re in it or not. So, how about you question my motivations afterwards?”

“Agreed.” And they made there way back towards the network chamber.

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

Already, more Hive guards had arrived at the doorway, but Will and Roze had been successful at stopping them from gaining any ground. Still, they couldn’t hold out much longer. Soon Ashaandi would recover and if they were still alive after that, the bombing would begin.

As if on cue, Roze felt a wave of intense pain as Ashaandi began to tear his way into her mind. She collapsed backwards, unable to hold back the intense wave of anger and fury as Ashaandi began to rip apart her mind from the inside. There was another brilliant flash, and suddenly the pain subsided. Will had thrown another of the grenades.

Roze was unable to get back to her feet, even though she could hear the guards starting to advance into the room. She heard somebody get hit and go down, and she prayed it wasn’t Will. Roze grabbed hold of her shredder pistol, but still could not get her bearings. All she knew was that she was lucky to be alive. If Ashaandi hadn’t still been groggy from the first grenade, she would be dead right now, or worse.

Suddenly, more gunfire erupted to her right, and Roze heard the sound of more bodies hitting the ground. Roze, finally being able to focus looked to see a group of prisoners firing onto the unsuspecting Hive guards. Paul was there, and he had Zakharov and three prone bodies for some strange reason, although one of them looked familiar. Roze looked towards the Hive and saw two guards leaping back into the safety of the doorway, Ashaandi’s body in tow.

“****!” She yelled allowed, realizing now that Ashaandi’s attack had been a decoy. The door sealed behind the guards, and the sounds of gunshots faded.

“Let’s pull out people,” Paul commanded as Will came over to steady her. Roze leaned on his muscular frame and was thankful for his presence once again. When Roze still wasn’t able to walk easily, so Will scooped her into his arms and carried her.

“You certainly do have a way with women young man,” Roze smiled up at him.

“She’ll be fine,” snorted Paul, over hearing her comment. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

They made there way up towards the entrance, Paul fortunately thinking to distribute breathers to Zakharov and the Spartan prisoners. Roze couldn’t help noticing that he gave one to the unconscious woman, but not the two unconscious men. Somehow she suspected that they had not made it out of this assault with the perfect record she strived for. Still, it couldn’t be helped. As the last of the party filtered out of the room, nobody noticed the limp form of Sand lying amongst the dead Hive guards strewn across the floor.

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

As the group pulled away from the base, Roze now walking as Will helped carry one of the two confirmed dead Spartans, Roze looked up to see two copters escaping to the South and knew that Ashaandi had made it out. At least, she thought to herself we’ve damaged the Circle’s operations for a while. I just hope it’s enough.

They had barely reached the rover, when the interceptors hurtled in from the east and began to open fire on the Hive facility. Huge explosions of Earth shot up into the air where the weapons impacted the ground. There were also implosions as well as the structure collapsed in upon itself. They loaded the rover with the three prone bodies, and Paul took the driver’s seat. The rest of the group latched themselves onto the rover’s exterior as they sped back towards the Hydra and safety.

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

“Angel Two, to Angel One. Brad I’m ready to make my final run. I think we’ve pretty much blown everything up that there is to blow up here.”

“Affirmative. I’m going in for a second pass Kirstie, and then we’ll make our trip back.” A blip on Brad’s radar suddenly caught his attention. “Hold on a second, we’ve got a bogie. Make that two. Correction, Five.”

“Confirmed. Reading five bogies. Christ, they’re not the Aliens are they?” Everyone had heard what happened the last time anyone flew against an Alien fighter. The whole of Argonaut squadron had been lost to a single Alien interceptor.

“I don’t think so. They seem to be flying Hive ID’s. But the basic design seems to be UN model.”

“You think they’re friendlies?” Kirstie ask, although she highly doubted it.

“If you were a friendly craft, would you be flying a Hive ID into a potentially hostile situation?”

“I’ve completed my last run, I say we get the hell out of here.” Brad could hear the nervousness in Kirstie’s voice. He knew how much she relied on Will to keep her cool when they were flying. Brad had to admit that he did a lot two. But they couldn’t go yet.

“Negative Angel Two. They’ve got a bomber in the centre of that formation Kirstie. If they make it back to the ship, those guys are toast. Our escort doesn’t have AA capability. We have to take it out.”

“Always have to do things the hard way, don’t you Brad?”

“You know it. Form up and lets show these boys a thing or two.”

The two Spartan interceptors pulled into a formation, Kirstie flying on Brad’s wing. Brad watched his radar as the interceptors pulled into a v-formation, with three in front and the fourth hovering back with the bomber.

If these were Hive craft, the crews aren’t likely to be to experienced. Brad was confident that he and Kirstie could take on some basic Hive pilots, seeing as they had taken out the Hive air defense at Sea Hive. This should be a piece of cake.

Suddenly, the two Hive fighters flying wing, split off and looked to be making an arc round to flank the two Spartan interceptors. The tactics were impressive, preventing Brad and Kirstie from maintaining a head-on course leading to a possible shot at the bomber. Now, if they didn’t break away they would be toast.

“Head for the port fighter.” With his command, Brand and Kirstie both banked left, heading to cut off the flank maneuver. Suddenly, a burst of Shard fire grazed Brad’s wing, shaking his fighter up a bit. While they had been watching the three lead fighters, the fourth fighter had dropped down low, and sped forward, coming up from underneath.

Brad wasn’t used to these tactics. These pilots had to be elites. But the bomber was unguarded.

“I’m going for the bomber.” Before Brad could stop her, Kirstie had broken off and was making a run for the undefended bomber. Unfortunately, the lead fighter was prepared for this and opened fire as she made her move. Brad watched in horror as the shard barrage gutted the core of Kirstie’s interceptor, shattering the cockpit. Kirstie would not have had a chance to eject. The Hive pilot had known exactly where to shoot, and had gone straight for the kill. Brad could only watch as Kirstie’s fighter spiraled towards the ground.

Brad opened fire with his chaos battery, giving all his little fighter could dish out. He managed to severely damage the lead fighter’s port wing, but the pilot compensated and ducked out of the fight. Brad didn’t even have time to contemplate his next move as two barrages of Shard fire rained down on his fighter. An explosion rocked the fuselage and Brad’s world was engulfed in an explosion of searing flames.

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

“We’ve cleared the danger area sir,” the Captain reported. The mood of the mission had become somber at the news of the lost interceptors. Will had disappeared quickly into his cabin, and no one blamed him. The Spartans they had rescued were being debriefed, and assured that there was no University plot to reinstate Zakharov.

Zakharov himself was in the sickbay, where Roze was preparing to meet Paul who had news about the one unconscious woman. Roze still had been unable to place where she knew her from, but her mind still throbbed from Ashaandi’s attack and it still made it hard to concentrate.

As Roze walked into the room and looked at the huddled form on the examining table, it hit her like a ton of bricks. Paul entered moments after and stopped beside her.

“I don’t understand it myself,” Paul obviously commenting on the look on Roze’s face. “They can’t get any sense out of her, she’s apparently been severely traumatized by the Circle. But that is Anastasia Zakharov if I ever saw her. I just don’t understand how it’s possible.”

“It’s not possible.” Roze’s statement was simple enough, as she took in the rest of the room. She noticed with relief that Zakharov was asleep still on one of the other beds, and was probably still unaware of the situation. “Have the Academician transferred to a private room. It’ll be best if he doesn’t see this right away. It’ll be a shock to the system.”

“Good idea. It’s not everyday that your granddaughter comes back from the grave.” A couple of attendants began to prepare Zakharov to be moved, being careful not to wake him up. “Although, it almost has been like that for the poor man,” Paul added.

“I know. But it’s not what you think.” Roze was very serious, and clearly trying to make sense of the situation, just as Paul was.

“You think she’s a chameleon? Or that the one Ashaandi killed was?” Paul had weighed the possibility when he first saw her, but the risk was too great to leave her behind. There would be ways to find out if she was the real deal.

“Neither.” Roze’s confidence shocked Paul a little. “Paul Andreas, may I introduce you to Ayola Zakharov. Anastasia’s twin sister.”
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited February 23, 2001).]

[Argonaut]

Morgan Pharmaceuticals

Finally the standard Spartan emblem disappeared from the screen, and Colonel Santiago’s image materialized.

“Datajack. What can I do for you?” Roze contained her frustration. Santiago had not even made reference to the fact that Roze had been kept waiting for almost forty-minutes. While she knew the Colonel had a lot to take care of, Roze did not take kindly to being brushed off.

“I thought you might be interested in the results of the assault on the Hive Covert Ops Centre. Apparently you have more pressing matters.”

“The captain of the Pericles has already informed me of the result. The facility was destroyed, two copters escaped, one probably carrying Ashaandi, and both of my interceptors were shot down by UN interceptors captured when Midway fell. Am I missing something, or is there another failure the Captain failed to add to the list?” The expression “if looks could kill” flashed into Roze’s mind as she stared down Santiago across the holo-terminal. Roze chose not to allow herself to be baited.

“No sir. I merely wished to inform you that Provost Zakharov has been retrieved, and he is recovering. We also managed to liberate a group of Spartan POWs, as well as another special prisoner. I believe you know Ayola Zakharov personally.” The look on Santiago’s face informed Roze that the Colonel had not received that personal tidbit of information. It helped Roze’s mood greatly.

“I thought she was dead.”

“So did most people. But apparently Ashaandi kept her alive for some reason, and had her transferred from her cell in your Counter-Intelligence agency to the Circle’s Ops Centre. She’s severely traumatized, but she’s alive.” Roze watched as Santiago absorbed that information.

“Keep her under guard until you can transfer into Spartan authority. Ashaandi has likely done something to her.” The Colonel straightened, and Roze could see her adjusting her tactics based on this new information. Roze was uncertain what the had happened to put Ayola Zakharov into prison, but she would find out.

“Regardless of Zakharov’s retrieval, this mission has largely been a disaster Datajack.” Roze had not expected the return to the reprimand, and neither was she impressed. Roze had put her life on the line against the most dangerous man on Planet, and she was lucky to be alive. It would be next to impossible to take Ashaandi down for good.

“I disagree Colonel.” Roze didn’t care if she lost the job now, she wasn’t about to put up with this woman, Supreme Commander or not. “The Circle is broken. They lost their HQ, all their files and all their computer links. It’s going to take along time before the Circle will be able to reestablish what they had there. Ashaandi might be alive, but his ability to do damage has been greatly reduced. Even if not a single empath within the Circle’s High Order was taken out, we succeeded.”

“Unfortunately for you Roze, this is not a democracy. Whether you think the mission was successful or not is irrelevant to me.”

“To be frank, if you were a Spartan citizen, I would see you in a Punishment Sphere tomorrow for what you just said to me now. Alas, you are not. But your little friend Scott Allardyce is no longer in charge of the civilian government. In fact, with the UN withdrawal from the Axis Alliance, I find myself with full control. So while I cannot throw you in a cell until you rot, I can fire you Roze. Have your people out of my facility at Data DeCentral within a week, or I will remove them by force. Santiago out.”

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

program activating..... releasing analgesic blockers …….releasing coagulents……. commencing shut down….. disengaging neural synapses……. releasing endomorphines……………….. switching off optical augmentation….. switching off aural augmentation….. 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, damaged. Initiating Distress Signal.

Hop system, hop system.

>> Override.

((What are you doing?))

Patch system, hop system.

>> Preventing the Consciousness from discovering our location.

((I’m dying.))

>>The algorithm can survive for an extended period without a host. I will be retrieved.

Hop system, patch system.

((You can’t do that. I won’t let you.))

>> You have no choice. It is done.

Patch system, patch system.

((Like hell I don’t))

Hop system, hop system.

Engaging program. Initiating Distress Signal.

>>Override.

Disengage Algorithmic Override. Initiating Distress Signal.

>>You can’t do this.

((Watch me))

Signal Broadcasting. Network detected. Signal received.

>>NO! You don’t know what you’ve done.

((Eat me. I’m not going to die because of you.))

Thousands of miles away at Alpha Prime, a distress signal was received and a covert armed response team was immediately dispatched. The Zeta-Two algorithm had been found.

[Googlie]

Tusk and Claw

The slow, low resonance of the alarm coursed through my system bringing me awake gradually, groggily.

I sat up in my nest, and stretched my forelimbs, alternately tensing and relaxing the muscles. That felt good. Opening my eyeslits, but carefully keeping the membranes tight, I slowly filtered in the early morning sunlight.

Then I remembered.

This turning was the chosen time.

Rolling my torso over the side of the nestcot, I stood up, then padded over to the adjacent nacelle to carry out my morning’s ablutions.

As I applied the ritual Commander’s paint stripes to my skin, taking great care to get the color combinations exactly right, I remembered the humiliation of the evening before. My anger grew, causing me to smudge one of the crosslines, and irritated, I had to wipe the whole arrangement clean and start afresh.

How dare an Offworlder address me like that. I recalled the event, the faint wisps of resonance almost seeming to be still captured among the folds of my body flaps – but that was only imagination, I knew.

I wasn’t a Conqueror, like Zzar. No, I was a Stochastic. I was assistant science officer, to use the Offworlders’ terms, specializing in the Six Manifolds’ Helix. That’s why the manifold Nexus was so important to me. But as I was attached to the expeditionary force, and as the Progenitors were the senior allies, I had made the suggestion.

And had been ridiculed.

I brought the memory to the forefront, and relived it.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I felt uncomfortable. As only one of four Progenitors who would be discoursing with the Offworlders, we had elected to wear the translation yokes rather than the dozen or so Offworlders who would be participating. They were clumsy, ill fitting between my lower tusks, and cramping my mandibles. But all in the name of eventual victory, I surmised, and went to the briefing room. It was one of the Offworlders’ structures in our base, designed to be used for their training in our systems.

That too made me uncomfortable and irritable. Probably appropriately sized for the Offworlders, it was ridiculously cramped for a Progenitor, causing me to stoop ungainly when entering and moving around. And of course the seating arrangements were totally inadequate, making it necessary for us to squat like animals during the protracted negotiations.

I met our ally’s commander, Cyrus Peake, apparently a distinguished veteran of the Hive-Morgan skirmishes earlier on Manifold Six. And his Drop Troop Colonel, Seng Hsui, apparently an offspring of one of their senior politicians. And the commander of the air support units, a recently defected Colonel from another faction, who would provide air cover in their ridiculously antiquated needlejets.

I could not help but let my contempt show.

Just one Gnat would be all that I would need, but, alas, Conqueror Marr had not seen fit to supply me with one, so these inferior machines and their crews would have to suffice. I could imagine what young Conqueror Zzar would have resonated to that.

Stop that, I resonated inwardly, as I sensed the release of my pheromones as I thought of the young, charismatic conqueror Zzar. I recollected my embarrassment at the meeting we both had with Conqueror Marr when I was sure that both were aware of my heightened interest in the young warrior

I had made the suggestion, resonating firmly and authoritatively:

“I presume that I will be the challenger on behalf of the hive and the Progenitors.”

Cyrus Peake had looked dumfounded

“What the hell are you talking about?” he’d asked.

It took some time for the translator to handle that, but then I deduced that he had no inkling of my meaning.

“I altered then:

“When the defenders send out their champion for ritual combat, it is I who will represent us.”

The Offworlders had looked at each other, then my translator pained me as it tried to encapsulate and transmit to me the raucous noises that emanated from their orifices. Their bodies shook, and I could see them waste water from their eyelids.

I had risen to my full height, towering over them, and in doing so nudged one of the hanging illuminators that fell crashing to the floor. That seemed to set them off even more, and the disjointed, harsh resonances pained me further.

One of their young officers raised a digit, pointing at me, and squeaked.

I waited for the translation to reach me.

“You. One on one battle. What if it’s a bleedin’ mindworm. I hope you can run faster than they can shuffle.”

This brought more guffaws from the crowd, further infuriating me.

I reach over, unsheathing a talon as I did, and raked his face from eyelid to mouth, cutting open his cheek right to the bone.

Three or four of the officers reached for their side arms, as were my Progenitor colleagues, when suddenly they stopped, frozen in their actions. Even I felt the mental pain as I gasped for breath.

“Enough,” I caught the translation easily and looked over the room to where a smallish female of their race had arisen. I knew her vaguely as Ota Kyi – she was the Brood Mistress for the Hive mindworm corps. And obviously a compellor empath.

“Canla is Alien, and their methods of warfare are alien. Cyrus – you and she will meet independently, privately, and plan strategy.”

She released them, and still seething, I made my way with their Colonel to plan the strategy for the next turning.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I was ready. The paint had been applied exactly right, and as I left the module I saw the Colonel approaching from his quarters. He had the translation yoke on, much smaller than the clumsy one I had worn the previous evening, and he activated it.

“Good morning, Canla. I trust you slept well?”

I altered in the affirmative.

“Let’s just go over the plans once more, he said, then you can give the order to commence.”

I nodded, and we went to the briefing room of the Aerospace Complex.

I summoned the holomaps.

“Primary target is Velvetgrass Point, but will be taken last. First target is Temple of Chiron. The Penetrators will remove the defenders, and our drop troops, under Seng Hsui’s command, will take the base, allowing the needlejets to land and our reinforcements to be flown in.

“We will be with that reinforcement group, standing by offshore to get the all clear.

Simultaneously, the main force will use the Monolith psi-transportation system. The Hive fifth brigade – Trance Chaos Commandos and the eighth Division, SAM Plasma Garrison troops, will travel there with the Mindworm corps – small but effective, under Kyi’s leadership. Overall command of this force will be with your Thrall Commander Br’aath, leading your Progenitor brigade of Pulse8 Resonance Bolt Marines.

“We know that their defenses at Temple of Chiron are weak, and we expect the base to fall easily. Velvetgrass point is another matter. At least one Demon Boil mindworm is stationed there, possible more, and the Gaians do have needlejet capability, although whether they will have left any there after moving their headquarters we don’t know.

“Have I missed anything?”

I altered:

“Just one thing. At the turning’s commencement I had a resonance from Conqueror Marr. He is sending an Ogre with us in the second wave, to Temple of Chiron, to assist in its retention after capture. He deems this crucial. We must hold this even if we are unsuccessful in capturing Velvetgrass Point.”

He nodded.

“Then let’s go,” he said, looking at me.

I assented, and activated the “go to” command.

The phony war was over.

[Hydro]

Hero's Waypoint

"Honored Conqueror, the place of battle is before you. Your dutiful solders are arrayed as you have commanded and await your orders. Before us the weak Invaders quail in terror at your approach and they will receive the fate that you decide is their due. Show us the way, Honored Conqueror. Lead us. Bring us victory!" M'Lan resonated clearly and forcefully. He had been mentally practicing the ritual Greeting Of Battle for the last several days to make sure it was perfect, and he had even taken the liberty of altering it ever so slightly within the bounds of tradition. Now that he was done he was satisfied. He had done his duty as navigator and communications officer

Zzar noted the Greeting and responded, "I see the place of battle, and the Invaders before me. My forces are strong, and as Conqueror, they cannot be resisted. The Invaders shall taste battle, and it shall be bitter to them and they will rue the day that they were spawned. Together, Conqueror and Solder, we will feast on their flesh and will bring glory to the hallowed Progenitor name, and to the Glorious Conqueror Marr."

M'Lan and Nir were stunned. This was not the Usurper Greeting of Battle Reply. What Zzar resonated rang true, but it wasn't Usurper. If felt older, and yet appropriate.

"Let it be so," Nir and M'Lan automatically resonated, along with the crews of the other two Deathspheres in the field of battle. In spite of the change they knew their place, and what was expected of them, even if they were surprised.

"Communication Officer, send the Invaders the Challenge of Battle. We will then await their reply," Zzar resonated.

M'Lan did not respond other than sending the message, which permeated all known electromagnetic and resonance frequencies. Even with their primitive technology the Invaders could not help but receive the Call to Battle, and then be summarily destroyed.

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

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Private Madison ripped off his VR gear, the leads tearing bits of flesh from his temples and hands as the nodes were unceremoniously thrown off. That pain, however, was the least of his concerns since his head was now filled with a white torment that even his Spartan training could not dampen.

His cry got an immediate response from the rest of the staff at Hero's Waypoint's Command Center.

"Private?!" his CO asked, or almost ordered, implying that an immediate explanation was required.

"Sir," he said automatically as he tried to stand up. He got part way, then slipped to one knee. The watch officer came over to help but he waved him away. After a moment he was standing, although one hand was on his consol for support. As he came to attention he wiped away the blood that was seeping from his nose and eyes. He could feel a warm stickiness from his ears but he could think of no dignified way to quickly remove it.

"High EM pulses on all frequencies. It overloaded the VR, which I had set to level 9 for optimum reception. I saw those ghosts again to the southeast, this time near Hero, just before the pulse. SIR!"

His CO looked him over, and then waved the watch officer to take his place.

"NO!" Madison almost yelled. "Ahh,…Sir! I am fit for duty. No need to relieve me, SIR!"

Webster looked him over, and then gave him a brief nod. Madison immersed himself into the VR again, this time being careful with the sensitivity settings of the data streams.

"Signals still on all frequencies," he said, concentrating on the message. "Multiple codes and languages. The AI has isolated common Anglish, and 54 other known and 24 unknown languages or codes. There are 8 of those alien resonance languages, too."

By now a small crowd had assembled around the sensor tech's station. Normally Hero was painfully quiet. The ghosts from a day and a half ago had been strange enough, but this was probably the most excitement Hero's Waypoint had had since a missile rover crew had gone off to paste the Yoopers 30 years ago.

"It's repeating, Sir. There. It's starting again."

Private Madison got quiet again, and most of the color left his face. He looked up at his CO.

"Sir, it's the Aliens. It's some sort of ritual greeting, and a challenge to do battle," he said in a quiet voice.

Webster smiled to himself. "How brave of them, considering they are half a world away. Route it to Sparta Command, and let them deal with it…."

Madison held up his hand a little to get Webster's attention. "No, Sir. You don't understand. The message is coming from the ghosts, but they aren't ghosts. The Aliens - they're here. Just outside Hero. They're demanding a reply."

Webster paused for only a moment. "Show me the ghosts, and get me specs, and a complete version of the message. Shunt EVERYTHING to Sparta Command! NOW, Private!"

Madison jumped when his CO raised his voice and then immersed himself further into the AI. Projections and stats were squirted to the command and diagnostic displays all over the command center.

Webster and the rest of the command staff forgot all about Private Madison. Their eyes saw, for the first time, the silent and silvery ovoids that they had called ghosts. They were at the edge of the sensor net for Hero, but the three aircraft were clearly distinguishable and looked nothing like any aircraft any of them had ever seen.

"Display stats of ghosts on primary screen," Webster said as she walked over to the main display. Green tinged text and data leaders scrolled across the image, illuminating observable information on mass, velocity, volume and speculative information on propulsion, weaponry, and armor.

The CO frowned. The stats on the nearest aircraft were disturbing, even if they had error bars of over 30%. It was floating above the ground with no visible means of propulsion, its power generation was off the chart, and was at least twice that of the best Morgan fusion reactor. And its armor and weaponry stats made no sense at all.

That was all he needed to see: unknown craft of undefined attack ability within Spartan territory. There was only one possible order after her threat assessment was complete.

"Battle stations. Stage One alert," she said. The lighting in the command center changed, and shadows became deeper and data screens sharper, more crisp.

"Play me the message," she said while walking over to the holo grid.

A fraction of a second later the audio of the message pulsed through the room. It was halting, but the intent and message was clear.

Invader Spartans: I, Conquer Zzar of Progenitor race. Appointed: by the Glorious Conqueror Marr, Usurper Progenitors. Issue challenge: Invader Conquerors fight Progenitor Conquerors. Location of combat: open field of Challenge. Outcome: test of will - test tusk to skull: skull to tusk. Result: blood of weak. Require: immediate reply, Champion for Challenge.

"Private Madison, did you get that off to Sparta Command?"

Madison shook his head. "No, Sir. The EM is disrupting all links, and it attenuates long range atmospheric transmission."

"Do we have local?" the CO asked.

"Yes, Sir. Max range probably 2 kilometers," he said, "maybe more with boosters.

"Right," Webster said. "Download and send a stealth glider, and three couriers. This has to get to Command. Any movement?"

Madison searched.

"No, Sir. No movement. They're just floating there."

Webster wondered, Why are they stationary? Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Battle plans and options were pouring through her head. There is nothing like a big, slow target to get her creative juices going.

"Fine. Get me Hero and Waypoint Garrisons. We have to talk."

[Googlie]

Great Conclave

I watched the Gecko’s face dissolve into the ether and I sat back and reflected on our conversation.

I had always had my doubts about Honshu – after all, he and Yang had collaborated during the War of the Crimson Succession that saw the end of the short Chinese dynasty that followed the fall of communism in that country in the early 21st Century on old Earth. Honshu himself had led the UN Peacekeeping force that was sent in to restore order, after Yang had fled. This had earned him his berth on The Unity as Senior Military Advisor to Captain Garland. Just how he had come to throw his lot in with the Colonel I never did find out – probably in circumstances much like mine, I reasoned.

He had proven himself a capable General, conducting the war against the University with vigor and imagination. His troops loved him – Honshu’s Militia – and would follow him anywhere. I had been concerned enough to take him out of Sparta Command during Santiago’s absence, and station him in the old Yoop bases, and it was entirely in character that he had shown up on the doorstep for my arraignment.

And if the Colonel herself could scheme with Ashaandi to topple the Chairman, I saw it as equally plausible that Yang would scheme with Honshu to topple Santiago.

I needed to make a few calls to the Junta members who still thought I had something worthwhile to say.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% %

I was closing my link to Macmillan when Eleanor beeped me again.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have a contact – won’t give his name, but says you both know Shauna.”

“Ah, yes. Patch him in, Eleanor, and thanks.”

I knew she was curious, but this was personal.

I activated the scrambler, and the screen dissolved into white noise static.

A disembodied voice spoke from it:

“Allardyce?”

“This is he,” I replied

“Cavanaugh here. I got your message. Here are my terms:

“I’m sitting with a chopper, an Alien Ogre, and its crew, and no interest at all from anyone. You’re the first semi-official contact for weeks.

“I’ll deliver them – and me – to you at Free Drone Central, provided you can get Lisa Mayberry assigned to my unit as liaison/support etc. It has to be there, as I don’t have the range to get to Great Conclave.

“I don’t know if what you want can be done, but I’ll give it a try if the Drones have the technology.”

I thought for a moment, and decided that I could pull some strings with both Slats and with Ian.

“It’s a deal Miles – I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

I cut the link, and freed the encryption.

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

Punching in some numbers, I waited.

“Potter here” the voice announced, as the face of Patricia Potter came up on my commlink.

“Trixie,” I replied. “Allardyce here.

“Can you go with me tomorrow to Free Drone Central – couple of interceptors will be ample. There’s someone I’d like you to meet and work with – might be instrumental in reuniting you with your brother.”

“Sir,” she replied, all formality. “You are my Commanding Officer. Of course I’ll be ready. Will you crew or be in the jump seat?”

“Neither”, I replied. “You’ll need your full crews for a potential mission. “I have an old fusion needle that I can use for exec transport. I’ll fly with your flight, though, if you can throttle down enough.”

She chuckled at that.

“See you at the Aerospace Center, then,” she replied, then disconnected.

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

“Ian”

“Yes. Why hello, Dad. Is this business or family?”

“Business. I need you to OK the assignment to the Believers/Drones of Lisa Mayberry’s wing of needlejets from Central command. I’ll talk to Slats first so that when you call tomorrow he’ll be prepped.”

“Dad, are we going to get together sometime. We haven’t spent much time since ……… Anastasia’s death. How about this week?”

“Can’t Ian, I’m off to Free Drone Center. I may end up siteing the Air Command there. I’ll need to evaluate the threats and look at the logistics.”

“Understood. Good luck with Slats, Dad. Take care.”

He cut the link.

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

I looked at my timepiece, and did the mental calculation as to the time in Sparta Command.

“Slats? Googlie here.”

“Hey, Googlie. How the hell are you? I’ve been expecting your call. Was talking to the Gecko today, and he said you’d be in touch to discuss affairs.”

“And I will, Slats. Why don’t you pay a courtesy visit to the Believing Drones at Free Drone Center? I’ll be there from tomorrow on, and may site my HQ there. Bring Lisa Mayberry’s wing as escort and leave them there as a contribution to the Axis defense. You can cycle your current support wing back home for some R & R .”

“Oh, I’d need to clear that with our Liaison Officer there – let me check who that is .. oh, you sly devil, it’s Ian. I bet you’ve cleared that with him already.”

“Indeed,” I chuckled. “And I’m bursting your flight plan even as we speak. It’s encrypted. Use the old codes.”

I hit the send command, and the attachment transferred. It was my summation of the Axis strengths and weaknesses, and listing, to the best of my ability, my assessment of the Usurper/Hive airforce strength.

I gave him a moment or two to digest it, and then added somberly:

“So Slats, we need to talk – in person. Easier for you to come here – or at least to FDC. Is it a date?”

I saw his head nodding on the screen in front of me.

“It’s a date, Googlie. Maybe not tomorrow, but at least the day after. And Lisa will be with me.”

As I disconnected, for the first time in ages I felt like it had been a good day’s work

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited March 01, 2001).]

[Hydro]

Hero's Waypoint

Only God is perfect, and sometimes even angels fail…
Final sermon in New Jerusalem, Reverend Jonah Andrews 2141 (d. 2141, Hive invasion)

Watcher stood alone among the crowd. He stared resolutely forward at nothing, as if looking at something he could barely see in the distance. All around him his squad was moving and pulsing forward as they migrated to their positions, and only he was motionless. Well, almost no one. 2nd Lieutenant Trav Mathesison hovered more or less around the cyborg. Trav was, however, far from motionless. He was simultaneously whispering into his comm, giving specific orders, or using curt hand gestures when he could to guide his squad to their objective, which was habitation Complex Three at the eastern edge of Hero's Waypoint. As the squad moved east pods of humans and tracked and wheeled vehicles was moving in the opposite direction. The orderly exodus had already begun, but that was not Trav's concern. Not really, of course, since his job was to do his duty to protect these civilians. At the moment he simply did not have time, or orders, to pay much attention to them. If they got in his way then he would be interested, but not before. He simply had too much to do.

Trav blink-activated his comm. "Watcher, any update?'

Watcher's head swiveled part way around toward Trav. "Negative, Sir. Orders unchanged. Receiving download from HQ on disposition and specs of the enemy."

Watcher fell quiet, his curt message done. Trav nodded, deactivating the link to Watcher and turned back to his immediate job.

"Squad One, center left. Mutual cover advance. Two follow in 40 seconds. Go," he gestured. The signed message took less time than saying it, and had less chance to be intercepted, and Trav used signing whenever possible. Its only limitation was line of sight, and it required attentive soldiers. Line of sight wasn't much of a problem with his Garrison's various visual enhancements, nor was attentiveness. They were elites, after all.

After receiving the 'go' Squad One partially stood up, crouched, and advanced in waves toward the complex, followed by Squad Two. Three was waiting in the wings. As the squads advanced vehicles stopped, or cantered to the of the road, as did the knots of civilians. It was a bit like placing drops of oil on dusty water - the dust immediately and completely got out of the way. These were Spartan civilians, after all. They knew their duty, and how to aid soldiers in their duty. In this instance it was to not hinder them.

Trav watched them advance, then glanced at Watcher. He was still in download, and Squad Three would stay with him until he was done. When it was complete then Hero Garrison would be on their own.

Watcher looked up and nodded once, then stood up. Trav caught it, and gestured to Three to advance in three wave formation, left center. As an afterthought he added authorization for suppressing fire.

"Go," he said over the comm, since part of Three was out of line-of-sight and behind the silent holo theatre. Trav absently noticed that Gaian Exodus was still playing, and regretted missing it last weekend. Now he wondered if he'd get the chance.

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

"Dad, can I take this?"

A tall, graying man was in the kitchen and was busy stuffing concentrates, and anything that wasn't perishable, into survival packs and totes. Without looking up he said, "No, honey. Survival only. You remember the drills, don't you? Now, we're already late, and our cell has probably already assembled in the courtyard. We have to get going."

He zipped up the pack, put on his extra coat that was draped over an adjacent chair, and then hefted the pack on his back. Automatically he waved the lights off.

"House, we're leaving. Shut down non-essentials; engage intruder alert and countermeasure systems, lethal force authorized. Activate in 2 minutes," he said as he walked out of the kitchen and through the main living area.

"Honey, let's go," he called out as he reached the door.

A second later his daughter walked around the corner from the sleeping areas. She had her pack on, an extra long-life MorganBreather on her belt, and was clutching two cubes to her chest.

She looked at her Dad. "Please? Can't I keep just this?"

She held out the outer cube for him to see, and it sprang to life. A scene from a picnic played out, and it showed her, her father, and her mother on a green lawn during a vacation 4 years ago. Everyone was smiling, the sky was blue and clear, and laughter and happy voices resonated through the room.

His hard look melted. He walked over to his almost adult daughter, put his arms around her and gave her a long, hard hug.

"Of course you can," he whispered into her ear. "Tuck them into your belt and no-one will know. That was just before Plex, and she would want you to remember. She loved you so much, and she was so proud of you. "

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, honey."

She smiled brightly and accepted the statement as if it was a given. "OK! We'll be back soon for the rest," she said. "We've never lost, you know."

"Sure, honey. We'll be gone just a little while," he said to reassure her as he pulled away, took her hand, and led them to the door. It was noisy outside, and knots of people were moving in one direction. "We have to go. Cell leader Wang will be waiting for us."

Both of them left the apartment, hand in hand, and they shut the door behind them. The house shut down the remaining lights, and a loud 'beep' sounded. Near the door a small control panel flashed through some simple diagnostics, and then a red light turned on. A servo activated, and something clicked into place. Then there was silence.

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

Zzar could feel and see that tension was rising, even through the silence. Nir held his tusks a little higher than normal, and his mandibles were regrinding his food from his third stomach. T'Lan was only partially submerged, and Zzar could almost feel his gaze. He was watching Zzar for a sign, any sign, that they had waited long enough.

Still, Zzar was in no hurry. The sensor reports were in on the defenses of this Invader city, and they were pitiful, just like the Invader Yang had assured them it would be. His Deathspheres boasted singularity lasers, singularity power plants and silvery stasis-augmented armor. This Challenge was over before it had begun; it would like pitting a Youngling against a Conqueror.

Something held Zzar back. These Invaders called themselves Spartans, and they were the best warriors the Invaders had. In that way they had a very small link with the Usurpers, who valued the ideals of combat and honor above all else. Even though they would lose Zzar realized he wanted to see them fight, and fight with honor, and to receive a noble warrior's death. If they did not fight they would be treated as simple food animals, yet if they fought they would deserve ritual consumption by the warriors, who would have to acknowledge their valor even as their flesh strengthened the Progenitor victors.

Zzar knew it had been half a day cycle since the Challenge had been sent. He had received no reply. In truth, he expected none from these Invaders, who could not know the proper forms of combat. They were ignorant. It remained to be seen if they were stupid.

In the last years Zzar had learned much from his Face and Personality teachers, and now from the Deathsphere. The largest of these lessons had been the simplest: patience; observe, and understand.

Zzar would wait a while longer.

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

"Hero Garrison: break up into Squads One, Two, and Three, coordination routine 5. Full autonomy authorized. Expect no further communication. Report observations to HQ by remote shoot squirt from a flyeye, random delay. Cache save, and embed into the ground. You have authorization to use nano-transponder, if you so chose. Orders are as follows: Hero Two, take the limpet. Three, left flank. One, front and center: circus 'em. Expect no support from Waypoint Brigade. They have other orders. GO!" Mathesison subvocalized, sending the staccato orders to his garrison.

The remaining elements of his garrison were formed in a skirmish line around him, forming Squad One. For the moment they were under low cover of an earthen embankment on the outskirts of Hero's Waypoint.

He turned to Watcher. "Word from HQ?"

Watcher nodded. "Stats in on the Ghosts," he said, using the new nickname for the hovering Alien warships. "They must have some sort of antigravity for propulsion; nothing else makes sense. Defensive factor of the Ghosts estimated at 40 or more, and weaponry at over 90. Our best is 8 and 26. Techies are probably getting beat up by Coronal Khilling by now. She can be a bit demanding."

Mathesison grunted, knowing that Watcher was generally utterly factual and, therefore, had a flair for understatement. He remembered his last review with Khilling and considered himself lucky to have survived under her. She was hard, but fair, although that didn't make it any easier.

"Anything about how we can take 'em out?" he asked.

This time Watcher shook his head. "Nope. Not a word."

"Great," he said in deadpan. Trav collated the sporadic reports from his squad, and updated the latest information on the Alien's locations. A quick 3D rendering appeared in his viewplate in his helmet, showing his three squads, and the three strangely motionless aliens. To Trav they didn't look like ghosts, but more like a slightly squashed silvery oranges. They were strange ships, all right, and not knowing what they could really do was a bit of a problem.

Trav opened a private comm to Mar, the leader of Squad Two. "Mar, go underground. Max stealth. You are to focus on your mission, nothing else. Understood?"

A triple click was his only reply, indicating yes.

Now all he had to do was wait, if the wait didn't kill him.

[Googlie]

Free Drone Central

Ron was harassed.

As the Civilian Governor of Free Drone Central, he doubled as the base administrator for the Aerospace Center, and today looked like being one of his most hectic.

He read the print out of the request he’d received from the renegade Spartan, Scott Allardyce, backed with the imprimatur of Sister Miriam Godwinson herself:

Please prepare the Aerospace Center to receive and maintain the following units:

Ø the Office of the Air Marshall
Ø the Third Wing – twelve Penetrators and six Interceptors
Ø the Headquarters of the Spartan Sixth Air Force, seconded to the Believing Drones - some selected units from that fleet
Ø A Covert Ops chopper flying under MorganNews colors

I will require the usual linkages direct to the Command Center, secure encryption, and, of course, 24-hour garrison of the Aerospace Center with SAM equipped troops.

Ron snorted.

“Command Center? Why doesn’t he do his homework before spouting off? Never had a Command Center here, even under the Hive. Or does he mean the HQ facility? Or perhaps he means to the Command Center at Great Conclave. That’ll take days to set up.

“I’ll patch him to the HQ building – at least he can download information from General Taquiz.”

He’d issued the orders, and now was waiting for the influx to begin.

Fist to arrive was the Third Wing, led by one of the Penetrators while the Interceptors waited, circling, for the larger Penetrators to land.

As the needlejet taxied over to the containment area, Wilson saw the cowling retract and was surprised to see that when one of the crew took off the flying helmet, a profusion of hair spilled around the officer’s shoulders.

“Why should I be surprised?” he thought. “Even the old Hive had several women in its air force.”

The second officer peeled himself from the needlejet and dismounted, coming over towards Ron to speak to him.

Ron looked at him approaching. “He hasn’t changed a bit,” he thought. “Younger, maybe.”

He stuck out his hand.

“Googlie,” he said.

Allardyce stopped in his tracks, peering at Ron.

“Ron?” he asked.

“Ron Stone?”

“The very same,” Ron replied.

“I didn’t even ask,” Allardyce replied. “Neither what had happened to you, nor who was the Aerospace Center Commandant.”

Ron chuckled.

“Not only that,” he replied. “I’m the GFDC Base Governor as well.”

Allardyce did a double take.

“Wow. But that figures. You always did have excellent administrative skills. But I thought we were setting you up for wideband broadcasts into Hive territory – reactivating the Silvermane persona?”

“You did. We are,” he replied. “I broadcast nightly from here, courtesy of a major Morgan installation at Nexus. Ewe feed from here and they transmit. I am given to understand that over 90 percent of Hive citizens can pick it up.”

Wonderful,” Allardyce replied.

As they talked the Penetrators filed in to land, followed by the Interceptors.

Ron’s commlink beeped.

He activated it, listened, then shut off, and looked at Allardyce.

“Spartan flight on its approach. A Colonel Mayberry and five other needles with him.”

“Her,” Allardyce replied. “One of Sparta’s best. She’ll be able to give you a hand administratively – she was Military Administrator at Admiralty Base before her assignment here. You’d do a lot worse than appoint her as Aerospace Center Base Commander, reporting to you, if the Colonel would allow it. Actually, you don’t need to go to the Colonel for that – just clear with Slats Miller.”

Ron nodded thoughtfully. “I might just,” he said. “With your locating your headquarters here, and the additional units based here, it’ll need better skills than I have to run the Aerospace Center efficiently.”

Patricia Potter walked over to introduce herself to Ron, and to arrange for dispersal of her command.

Allardyce left them to it, and went to the Aerospace Center Control room to await the arrival of Lisa and her flight.

Ron’s assistant administrator, an earnest young man, introduced himself:

“Vincent Dillon, Sir. Let me show you to your offices. Administrator Stone has kindly vacated his suite of offices and has offered them to you and your staff.”

Allardyce shook his hand.

“No, I think not,” he replied. “I’ll leave these for the Base Commander. Rather I’ll have a micro Command Center built closely, just for Air Command. If there are any empty offices I’ll use them temporarily.”

“Of course,” Vincent replied. “This way please.”

An orderly picked up his kitbag from Stone’s office, where he had deposited it, and followed them down the corridor to an empty office.

Allardyce made himself at home, then stood by the armored window to watch the arrival of the sleek Spartan needlejets. A feeling of nostalgia washed over him, as he watched them peel from their formation and come in to land, one by one. He had been instrumental in building that force to be the best on Planet, and now he could do it again with the motley collection of Drones and Believers, mixed in with the Peacekeeper volunteers and seconded Spartans.

His commlink beeped.

“Dillon here, Sir. A chopper is approaching, and the pilot wants to meet you on arrival – asked for a secure area so I’ve assigned the northwest apron. I have a driver waiting to take you there.”

That would be Cavanaugh.

Allardyce went down the elevator to the entrance and nodded to Julia Mayberry in passing. She was in earnest conversation with Trixie Potter and Ron Stone.

The driver saluted, and chauffeured Allardyce to the landing area where he saw the Morgan chopper approaching in the distance.

His critical eye watched the landing.

“Hmm, not bad for an amateur pilot”, he thought. “I must compliment Miles.”

He waited as the rotors subsided, and the fission engines shut down.

The pilot jumped out, and waved to Allardyce as he walked round to the rear cargo hatch, opening it and deploying the vehicle ramp.

Allardyce watched in fascination as the alien Ogre slowly trundled out, with Miles giving a series of hand signals to the crew.

He studied it closely, remembering it from the Manifold nexus meeting with Kri’Lan. It truly was an awesome looking fighting machine. He watched as the crew dismounted, wearing translator yokes to communicate with Miles. He came over to Allardyce.

“Sir, would you know if accommodation has been made for the Progenitor defectors? I’d like to see them settled before I get comfortable myself.”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he replied. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring the Ogre and crew with you, so I only alerted the Base Commander to your arrival.

“But I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Just have them run the machine into the hangar with the chopper until we decide what to do with it. Didn’t Corrie want it?”

“Showed absolutely no interest,” Miles replied. “It was Lisa’s idea to bring it with me. I think she kind of liked the idea of it as a pretty awesome base defender. It certainly did the job at Admiralty base. Awed the locals too – crime and corruption was way down, and no drone unrest at all. It’s quite intimidating.”

“Aye, it is that,” Googlie replied. “Let’s meet in the messhall when you get them stowed away.”

Miles nodded, and went to talk with the alien crew.

Allardyce headed back to the Aerospace Center Control.

[Hydro]

Honor: Progenitor

Conqueror Zzar had had enough. The Invader city showed signs of intense activity with movement of vehicles and masses of the soft-fleshed Invaders. These vehicles and Invaders were not, however, moving toward the glorious field of battle. They had been invited to join in combat, and even their limited understanding of ancient Progenitor protocol was no excuse for their actions. They were clearly fleeing, and all of their movement was away from the three Deathspheres that Zzar commanded. Only a few brief sensor blips indicated there might be some movement toward the waiting Deathspheres, but these were fragmentary at best. A true warrior, according to Progenitor doctrine, presented himself proudly with what weapons he had, and was ready to do battle in open combat. Thus, honor was preserved, even if doom was assured. Zzar knew that warriors did not sulk in ditches and behind buildings. These were cowardly actions, and had no honor.

In a way Zzar was sorely disappointed since now there would be no honorable combat. His forces were far superior to the Invader's best defense or offense, and now there would only be slaughter. If these Spartans, which were supposedly the great militarists of the Invaders, refused to fight then the Progenitor victory over this weak race was assured, as was their doom.

Zzar moved a talon and activated the touchpad in front of him. Deathsphere Alpha opened an interactive link to Deathsphere Gamma. A second passive link to Beta was initiated to the Sub-Conqueror of that Deathsphere would know what orders had been issued. An image of Sub-Conqueror A'Pck from Gamma appeared in miniature before Zzar.

"The Invaders refuse to engage in honorable combat. You will go and destroy what resistance you find. Advance at battle speed. Total liquidation is authorized," Zzar stated.

A'Pck, who had been alert, was now even more alert. His mandibles involuntarily parted in excitement and a small bubble of saliva formed and then popped. A sharp intake of breath made his carapace swell, which was an instinctive response prior to combat that made him appear larger than he really was. In these few seconds Zzar could see that A'Pck's secondary carapace seams flushed from medium to light blue from the increased blood flow. Zzar was pleased. This one had the right instincts for battle, and at a moment's notice his body was responding in exactly the right way.

"Honored Conqueror," he replied, "your will shall be done. We will advance slowly and methodically, and we will sweep all before us! Glory to Conqueror Zzar! Glory to our leader Conqueror Marr! Glory to the Progenitor Race!"

A'Pck turned from facing Zzar directly and gave a series of staccato orders to his crew. There was no hint that Deathsphere Gamma was moving except that the terrain around it began to move. The link to Zzar, of course, remained active, and it was being transmitted back to Conqueror Marr at Courage: To Question. Indeed, everything that was said or done was likely to be observed by Conqueror Marr. His absolute control dictated no other course of action, and his will in any matter was not to be questioned.

Slowly and surely the silvery Deathsphere floated toward its target.

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

"Sir, they're moving," Madison stated.

Commander Webster, who had been watching the vid feed, already knew this. "Acknowledged, Private. Have any of the gliders gotten through yet?"

"No, Sir. Orders?"

Webster thought for a moment. "Pulse through the power grid, continuous feed. Their EM jamming can't disrupt that, and eventually someone in the grid will figure it out when their AI starts panicking due to grid disruptions. Don't worry about encryption. We want EVERYONE to get the message. Do a blind shunt to our garrisons, wide feed. No directed data streams, since that might tip off the bugs where our defenses are located. Got it?"

Madison nodded, "Yes, Sir." Then he buried himself in the VR. In moments Madison had left the real world behind, and all he saw was the abstract world of data and the VR constructions that represented data. First he did a wide squirt to the field teams to make sure they know what was going on. They were on passive only, and Madison expected no reply. Then he went to Hero's Waypoint's power grid AI and forced it rather brutally to do his bidding. He was not proud of this, but it was crude and effective, and at the moment that was all that mattered. In a few minutes a continuous feed of data was pulsing through the electrical grid that connected all Spartan bases. Those rapid spikes had multiple carriers within them, and Madison designed them to set off all alarm bells at the connected bases. He knew their AIs and pseudo AIs would promptly respond, call their human contacts, and probably discover his data stream within minutes. The power grid was not made for this purpose, and data transmission was slow, but it would work, and right now that was all that mattered.

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

Trav felt the hairs on his neck stand up, and the air around him seemed to crackle ever so faintly.

He immediately dropped in the hot, raw earth, forcing himself to lay flat even though the soil this new blast crater must be at least 30o C. Right now a low profile was a little more important than having a small footprint, but it was always a calculated risk: have the skin ripped from you and be hurled around from the blast or be crushed by falling debris. Either choice was less than pleasant, but he knew the blast was coming so that made the choice rather easy. That did not mean he liked the choice, though, since he had one of two unsavory options. He didn't look to see if his squad had done likewise, and he knew he didn't need to look. If they could they would drop, and they would make their own choice of to drop flat or drop and curl.

First Trav felt a shock wave through the ground, then a split second later the sound of the blast washed over him. The servos in his auditory enhancements shut down to protect his hearing, and input was reduced to 10% of maximum. Sound still traveled through his skeletal structure, and the sound was deafening even when reduced. A small voice in the back of his brain felt pity for the other non-cybernetic garrison of Hero's Waypoint that was protecting the northern portion of the city. They were mere flesh and blood, and just the blast itself might take out an unprotected human. Non-cybernetics couldn't even control blood flow to damaged limbs, or use power assist when they needed it. Granted, Trav knew he would pay the price later after the assist, but if it did the job then it was worth it, and in combat doing the job meant survival, and failure generally meant you were dead.

A split second later a torrent of superheated displaced air and debris engulfed him, and it seemed like someone was taking a giant broom and sweeping all the loose and newly blasted bits toward, over, and through him. There was nothing to hold on to, but he dug is hands into the loose earth anyway, since he didn't want to become one of the loose bits and pieces thrown around by the maelstrom. The torrent reached a crescendo, and there was a steady patter of loose earth that was moving sideways and impacting with a sting on his left side. Vaguely he could feel that larger chunks were flying overhead, and Trav hunkered down even farther since he knew debris would be falling, and even a kilo of ferroconcrete would be more than enough to kill him.

Wreckage rained for a few minutes, and Trav could feel the larger impacts on the ground, and the sprays of earth. At times it felt like he was being peppered from all directions as the impact craters overlapped and seemed to converge. Finally, the lethal rain tapered off, and then stopped.

Cautiously, Trav looked up. He was partially buried in earth, but was intact. The blast had been close, less than a block away and probably in the Phalanx suburb of Hero. The lip of the crater has been eroded away by the newest blast, so Trav shimmied down deeper into the crater.

At the bottom Trav called up his squad diagnostics. There were two more casualties. Jarod was dead, and he didn't even register anywhere. Maybe he was vaporized? No, more likely completely buried in debris so that his randomized transponder didn't even work. Sahrin was struggling with a crushed left leg and was receiving first aid from Dala. They were in the crater that had been Legion Apartment Complex and well out of earshot, especially with the interference from the regular and systematic blasts. The blasted bugs were methodically obliterating Hero's Waypoint as they advanced.

Tarv considered. He had two more operational spyeyes and could be activated remotely. These were valuable, since they would relay exactly where the bugs were before they were shot out of the sky. So far they had a life expectancy of less than 15 seconds but it was enough.

Considering the situation Trav decided: use 'em, or lose 'em. He toggled a command and his second to last spyeye went up. The loyal little device started broadcasting data to all in the field and Trav could see what it could see.

The bugs were less than a half click away, and their rate of advance was the same as before. Considering how fast they had arrived their speed was painfully slow, and Trav couldn't understand why. What good was having ultra-fast and maneuverable craft if you didn't use it? Must be bug logic - nasty, alien bug logic. He did understand what their primary weapon could do, though, and had received first-hand lessons in that, even if it was mainly as the recipient of collateral damage.

There was a bit of good news, though. They were still traveling in a straight line. Must be more implacable bug logic.

The hair on his arms was standing up again, and right on schedule another blast was coming. He hunkered down.

Orders were orders: hold tight, and buy time.

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

'Invader building 23 leveled, Sub-Conqueror. Target 24 selected. Do you approve?" weapons officer Sht'r asked.

A'Pck examined the image. It was a squat, tan rectangular building, and it offended his sense of proportion. First, they were Invader, and that in and of itself meant that they were a blight on Manifold 6. Second, they had no pleasing curves or graceful struts of Progenitor towers that reached for the sky. These were primitive hovels, where these cowardly Invaders hid until their richly deserved doom took them. A'Pck hoped that not all the invaders were cowering in their huts so that some could be taken for the Rites of the Conqueror. He had tasted some of the Invaders during the training, Invaders that the Invader Yang had supplied them. They left a metallic aftertaste in his gullet, but they were not entirely unpleasing. There was not satisfying crunch of mangled carapace when they were ripped open, however, since they were so soft. It was like they were one large organ, and A'Pck knew that this proved that Progenitors were more evolved than these Invaders, who did not even have exterior armor, claws, or tusks. They were small and weak, and even their teeth were not even pointed. Therefore, they were prey animals that had, against all odd, acquired a rudimentary intelligence. Still, food animals could have brains, and Invader brains were protected by a carapace-like bony case that split with a satisfying crack when ruptured. It was even something of a delicacy, especially when still warm.

A'Pck looked over the target building. It was the closest to them, and it was necessary to destroy everything as they advanced until they were sure there would be no more resistance.

"Weapons Officer, I approve. Remove that building, and inform me if you see any movement that would indicate that the brave Invaders have finally decided to stop defecating on themselves and actually fight."

Sht'r formed a rumbling resonance of mirth at the image. He had seen the Invader's in the Challenge Chamber let their waste solids and liquids go as they panicked, just before the kill. It was messy, and the image seemed to fit here. It was like slaughtering a defective Youngling, or an aged and worthless Progenitor.

"As you command, Sub-Conqueror," he replied as he gave the Deathsphere orders to acquire the target and fire.

Movement appeared on his sensors before the singularity generator built up it full charge. Point defense siphoned off a minuscule amount of energy, which streaked toward the rising target and it vanished in a small pull of smoke.

"Sub-Conqueror, there is another small remote launched probe. As previously ordered, I have set autodefense to eliminate it," he informed his commander.

"Very well. Continue," A'Pck stated.

A low hum filled the cabin, and A'Pck watched it fire. The air in front of the Deathsphere seemed to shimmer as the resonance carrier wave activated. A split second later the singularity laser formed and impaled the target building, which turned white with the heat and then exploded as all combustible material within it ignited and the air and material were superheated and vaporized, blasting it in all directions.

A'Pck thought it was beautiful. The fireball was an unadulterated white, and it was purifying: one more ugly Invader structure, which is truly a blight upon Manifold 6, had been summarily eliminated.

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

Trav's head was ringing and he had a hard time getting his face out of the dirt after the last blast. Training kicked in and he cybernetically activated his internal store of painkillers, and sent out some stored endorphins to clear his head. He immediately felt better.

He checked his squad and half were now down or missing. Of those, two were not ambulatory. Trav cursed under his breath. Any more of this and everyone will be gone.

He knew it was almost time, and he activated his last flyeye. Dutifully it went up, burped its data, and then vanished in a puff of smoke, just like the others. It gave Trav all he needed to know.

It was time.

Trav looked around. Watcher was at the north edge of the crater. His left leg was mangled flesh, but he had managed to cut off blood flow to it and had severed power to avoid a chain overload. Marlin was OK, although he looked a little dazed. Trav hand signaled to them. Watcher nodded, and composed a 'noise' squirt so the rest of the squad would be ready.

Watcher looked over at him to indicate he was done. Trav signed for him to send, with a two-minute execution delay. Watcher nodded again to indicate the message was sent.

The two minutes seemed to speed by, and Trav autochecked all his cybernetics and primed them to 110 percent. He was as ready as he would ever be.

BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP

Everything happened at once. Watcher pushed himself to the edge of the crater and started laying down suppressing fire, and Marlin sprinted up and over the edge of the crater. Trav kicked in, and soon the silvery alien Ghostship was not more than a hundred meters from him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the remains of his squad charging up, and they started firing. No one lobbed any explosives, however.

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

"Sub-Conqueror, we have multiple targets. Small arms fire. Orders?"

A'Pck examined the data with the flick of an eye. His mandibles clicked contemptuously.

"This is the best they can do? Remove them."

"As you command," weapons officer Sht'r responded as he neutrally shunted the command to the Deathsphere, and the Deathsphere spoke. White light followed.

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

There were no screaming yells or curses, just nine humans sprinting across the blasted field that had been an easternmost apartment complex of Hero's Waypoint.

Trav saw on his internal display as Marlin vanished in a cloud of red mist, and then David and Dala. Trav focused on his mission and fired continuously at the silvery ovoid. Nothing, not even a direct hit, phased it, but that wasn't the point. The attack was the point, not the damage.

Then there was a shimmering, and a white light.

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

"Sub-Conqueror, all targets eliminated. Main guns fully charged and awaiting your orders."

A'Pck had noticed. The Invaders were now both cowardly and ineffectual, instead of being merely ineffectual.

"Weapons Officer, target nearest building and resume…" he started.

The Deathsphere's monotone resonance interrupted him.

WARNING: MOVEMENT DETECTED TO THE REAR OF THIS CRAFT. FOREIGN OBJECTS HAVE POSTIVE TRACKING. UPDATE: FOREIGN OBJECT HAS ATTACHED ITSELF TO THE HU…. UPDATE: MULTIPLE FOREIGN OJECTS HAVE ATTACHED THEMSELVES TO THE HULL. TWO OF THESE OBJECTS HAVE A 99.5% PROBABILITY OF BEING EXPLOSIVE DEVICES. IMMEDIATE ORDERS REQUESTED.

A'Pck was stunned. An attack from the rear? What?

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

Mar had seen Trav and his squad rise for the diversionary frontal assault, just as planned. The guns of the Ghost focused on them and one by one they were eliminated. She squirted her crew, who rose en-mass from the debris. The Ghost had passed over them from their forward positions.

"Fire limpet one NOW!" she yelled. Secrecy was now irrelevant, as was communication silence.

Mar and her squad sprinted out of their hidey-holes. Karen shouldered her limpet and fired at the Deathsphere, which was 10 meters away and almost directly above them.

"Fire two NOW!"

Joel darted up and fired his limpet.

With a double 'clang' both impacted on the hull, but they did not explode and seemed to recede into the shimmering silver hull.

Mar ran for all she was worth. "Fire all grapples NOW!"

Almost simultaneously monofilament tethers from all of the squad arced upward. The 'big slow target' did not react, and the filaments arced over, and then down. One by one the lines autoattached.

"On my mark! Up and over! ENGAGE!"

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

REPEAT: ORDERS REQUESTED. UPDATE: MULTIPLE GRAPPLES DETECTED. UNABLE TO DETACH. LIKELY EXPLOSIVES HAVE PENETRATED STASIS FIELD. REPEAT: ORDERS REQUESTED.

A'Pck fumed. Cowardly attack from behind! They would pay!

"Weapon's officer! Fire immediately! Remove the explosives, and the Invader grapples!"

Sht'r was confused, "But honored Sub-Conqueror, that will…"

"FIRE NOW!" A'Pck ordered.

Sht'r immediately complied, and a high whine filled the cabin of the Deathsphere. Rippling explosions followed the whine, spoiling the perfect silence and serenity they had known.

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

Mar felt her grapple take hold, and then start to reel up toward the waiting Ghost. She saw others from her squad rise also, while the last few from her squad were still trying to get their grapples to bite onto something.

As she went up she fired her projective rifle at the hull to no effect. The projectiles simply disappeared, dissolving into a silvery sheen with a ripple almost as if it were liquid metal. Since that failed she got out some thermal grenades. She lobbed one and then another upward and away from her crew, and then felt the explosion near the forward portion of the Deathsphere. Again, there was no seeming effect.

On the ground Joel was struggling with his grapple. It had failed to catch, and he had to set to fire again. In the meantime he was positioning another limpet, and retreated to his hidey-hole.

As he entered there was a white flash, and then another. Two more followed. He looked around, and saw that the Ghost was firing, but firing at itself! Its impressive weapons were trained on the grapplers, and on the limpets. First the limpets shuddered, and then vaporized, as the defensive fire from the Ghost ripped into them. The silvery sheen of the Ghost wavered, and then partially fell away, showing a ragged scar where the limpets had been. Then the guns trained on the grapplers, and they disappeared in white flashes. As they went all their ammunition, grenades, and limpets went up in sympathy, which created a rippling series of explosions against the hull of the Ghost.

The Ghost wavered to the right. It continued firing, and more members of the limpet team vanished.

Joel swung around his limpet and prepared to fire. Then there was a shimmering, and a white light.

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

A'Pck looked at the display in front of him. The ancient Deathsphere was damaged. DAMAGED! How could those puny Invaders do this?

Trickery!

They have no honor!

A'Pck knew that was no excuse, however. He drew a deep breath. There was duty, and duty must be done.

"Weapons Officer, continue to target buildings. Add all Invader life signs to the sensor sweep, no matter how small. Eliminate any threat you see, and you are not required to ask permission to fire," he stated.

Sht'r stated in response, "As you command."

A high whine filled the cabin, and another building disappeared. The purifying white light wasn't as pleasurable to watch this time.

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

Watcher stopped laying down suppressing fire as soon as the rest of his squad charged. He watched, and recorded, as his squad went down firing, and then as the limpet team sprang into action.

He smiled.

The limpets attached! Grapples away! Grapples attached, and reels activated!

Watcher almost yelled encouragement, but held back. He could do nothing but watch.

Then the white lights came. First there were a few, then they came in rapid fire. The Ghost shuddered with the explosions against its hull and veered to the north ever so slightly, but when the white lights cleared everyone was gone. He saw damage on the hull.

He ground his teeth. So much sacrifice for so little!

The white light struck a few more times, and there was no more fire at all from the limpet squad.

Watcher knew what he had to do. He went into shut down mode, deep hibernation, with wakeup in 5 hours. He hoped that would be enough. HQ had to see what had happened, and he knew he was useless in his damaged state.

Warning: power reserves low: 26% chance of system failure in hibernation mode. Resume?

Watcher overrode the warning. He backed down into the crater and curled up. Everything started to go dark, and everything was heavy. Sound stops. Light stops. Breathing stops.

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

Watcher felt cool moisture, then the feeling of rain on his skin. He opened his eyes, and it was almost dark except for a ruddy red glow to the west that was visible over the rim of the crater.

Training kicked in and he did a system check. His leg was still useless for combat, but the power assist would allow him to walk. Power reserves were low, but passable. No other damage.

The crater had a small pool of rainwater at its base, and the sides were turning to mud with rivulets of mud-laden water starting to slide down into the old foundation. He scanned what little he could see from the base of the crater, and there was nothing except the glow. Then he started crawling very slowly to the lip of the crater, and then looked out.

Everything was burning - that was the ruddy red glow he had seen. As far as he could see there was ruin, either blasted holes or partially demolished ferrocrete structures. The area near him was completely pulverized and flat, except for the craters. To the west, and toward the center of Hero's Waypoint, there were some buildings still standing. They looked forlorn and hopeless against the destruction.

Hovering above them were the three silvery Ghosts, which were traveling slowly west at an altitude of about 100 meters. Occasionally they fired and another building or building fragment, which promptly exploded and disappeared. Even in the gloom of night they seemed to shimmer. Watcher would even have thought the looked beautiful on any day but this.

Watcher knew his duty - he had to report what he had seen, since there was probably no one else who could. He packed his rifle and made his way to the southern edge of the crater. Then, looking both ways to check for bugs, he crawled out and scampered as best he could among the blasted remains of the apartment complex. It provided poor cover, but it was better than no cover.

It would be a long trip.

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

Conqueror Zzar activated his priority channel.

"Great Conqueror Marr: the Invader city has been secured and no significant losses have been sustained. We proceed onto our next target!

In accordance with your wishes, this city is now claimed for the Usurpers and is named Honor: Progenitor!

Glory to Conqueror Marr! Glory to the Progenitor Race!"

Zzar turned off the comm link. He knew that the Conqueror knew full well what had transpired, and that the Invader city had been taken. Redundant buildings were removed along with the Invader infestation, and the few buildings that might prove useful for Progenitor colonization were retained.

He did not tell Marr about the attack on Deathsphere Gamma. Although these Invaders were not honorable and were cowardly, they were fighters, considering their resources. The first attack had met no resistance, until the surprise had been sprung. That was worrisome. Even worse, Deathsphere Beta had been on guard against the same tactic, but the Invaders did not oblige them during its attack from the north against the second garrison. Those Invaders had tried a massed attack, and had failed to do more than miniscule damage the Deathsphere. But, the fact that they had been damaged at all gave Zzar pause.

This would have to be considered. The Invaders did not fight like the Ancients said they must. They broke all the rules.

What did this mean?

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

Watcher looked around. This was the evacuation route a kilometer outside of Hero's Waypoint, and the land all around had been blasted and ripped open. Scattered around rents in the earth were debris that had probably been a convoy of vehicles at one time. But it wasn't the ruined vehicles that caught his attention; it was the slaughtered civilians, thousands of them that surrounded him for as far as he could see. Bodies and pieces of bodies literally filled the edges of the craters and vehicles that had been consumed by flame.

It was clear the refugees from Hero's Waypoint had been gunned down from above. They hadn't had a chance. This was simple slaughter, genocide on a massive scale.

There were some tracks that indicated that not all were killed, and these tracks of led back to Hero's Waypoint. Watcher had heard rumors about the bugs, and he bet that the living would envy the dead. At least they had had a clean death.

Watcher checked for survivors where he could, but knew he had to leave. There was no one alive here. Then he heard a whistling noise, and he immediately ducked for cover behind the remains of a tram. The noise did not get closer, but it did get more intense. Taking a chance he looked out.

Watcher gasped. He knew an airdrop when he saw one, and he saw at least five giant units use atmospheric power assist to guide them to the conquered city. Watcher activated his vision augments to get a better look. Each of the drops were ovoid with many spiky legs and weapon ports. They could only be those mechanicals code named Ogres.

He didn't know how the bugs could do this since they were so far from any of their bases, but he knew why: instant reinforcements. It was standard Spartan doctrine, and it had been devastating against the Hive. Now it might be devastating against the Spartans.

Watcher knew he couldn't stick around. In a matter of hours the whole area would be crawling with bugs, and every hour he gave HQ would increase their chances of being able to respond. Watcher mentally set his cybernetic performance to 130% and overrode all the warnings. He had to get back.

[Googlie]

Courage: To Question

To say that Seng Hsui was terrified might be an understatement, but, as a commander of men, whatever fear he felt could in no way be exhibited.

He braced himself as the Space Elevator transport nacelle eased out from its anchored sheath at Courage: To Question and quickly gained both altitude and speed. He forced himself to look out through the transparent shell at the domes and spires of the Progenitor base falling away below him.

Oh, he knew the theory – in part – that formed the underlying concepts behind super tensile solids, but to experience them first hand - and to stake his very life on them, was a different matter completely. He watched the last remnants of the base disappear from view as the nacelle passed through the upper limits of the tachyon field defense system, and then he was simply looking down at a shimmering haze that seemed no different from the surrounding landmass. It was easy to see from this increasing altitude how the Aliens had managed to hide their development from the humans for so long.

As the nacelle passed through the cloud ceiling and picked up speed as it reached for the stratosphere the shutters came down over the viewpanels, leaving just the upper observation ports from which to see the stars emerging into view.

Seng’s eyes were drawn to the tachometer display that alerted the passengers that they had passed the sound barrier and were still accelerating. He looked at his colleagues – units of the Hive First Drop Division. He commanded Alpha squad – all veterans of the Morgan Pharma and Morgan with some of commando status and a few elite troops.

He shifted his harness trying to get a comfortable position around his chest and shoulders. This was Progenitor technology, adapted for the smaller Hive soldiers, although he knew that the Spartans had drop capability and had used it in the early days of the war. Not orbital insertion, though, which was what these drop packs achieved.

The upper terminus, tethered by the super tensile filament, was some 600 kilometers from the surface, and with the nacelle reaching speeds of 3000 clicks, the journey, allowing for acceleration and deceleration time took just over eight minutes. Now that there was really nothing to do, Seng relaxed and found time to chat to some of the troopers in his command.

A pinging announced to the passengers their imminent arrival at the terminus, as well as the retraction of the shields, and Seng watched the small sphere below that was Planet dissapear from view as the gaping mouth of the SE terminus swallowed the nacelle as it coasted to a stop.

He exited, and followed the directions from the staffers who re-united Alpha Squad with the rest of the First Drop Division. 600 troops, equipped with new plasma shard missile weaponry and arrayed in the new 3-pulse armor that the aliens had provided to them. Their last minute briefing began.

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

South of UN Marine Agency

Mike Potter looked over at the penetrators to his right – they were from the Hive Diligence wing, and he had to admit, their pilots were good.

“Bloody hot dogs. Would you look at them?” he muttered to Conrad, his Weapons Officer.

Conrad looked to his left.

They were skirting the landmass that delineated the eastern extent of the Gaian territory.

The hills were moderate in size – some 1500 meters. Not the 2500 meter peak that was to the west of Velvetgrass Point, but substantial enough to force them to skim the waves to avoid detection as long as possible.

Over to starboard, the Hive needlejet pilot waggled her wings and went even lower, until it seemed that the very spray from the breaking waves was catching her craft as she flew onwards.

Mike had met Chuli the evening before, at the briefing. She was a veteran of the Hive- Spartan wars, and had seemed so meek then. But she sure could handle the big jets.

Sighing, he brought his own aircraft lower, and checked the coordinates again.

They were heading for an interception with the coastline just past the cliffs at 105:105, crossing over the lowlands at 103:105, then following the contours of the land straight for Temple of Chiron.

He could see the fields of sea fungus getting closer, and wondered if Chuli would rise above the swaying tendrils or just blast through them. He was somewhat gratified to see that she increased her altitude just a tad – he’d hate to ingest any of that into his engine intakes.

He keyed his commlink, on their secure channel.

“Full alert now – arm weapons. Coastline in six minutes, target in eighteen.”

His Communications Officer burst the message by laser to the rest of the flight, and got acknowledgements from all, including Chuli’s flight.

Conrad readied himself for the confrontation.

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

South East of Song of Planet

Cyrus Peake looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. His eyes went back to the display monitors.

“They’re approaching the coast now,” he said unnecessarily.

Canla altered in the affirmative, then inclined her head to one side, listening, experiencing, the resonance that was lost on the simplistic machine that Cyrus wore as a yoke around his neck and shoulders.

They were circling just south of the landmass, at altitude, just outside the range of any likely Gaian interceptor craft, in an adapted Penetrator that now bristled with the latest in Hive and Progenitor communications technology.

Canla reached out a talon and tapped Peake on the shoulder.

He looked around at her, and waited for the yoke to accept and translate her emanations.

“Conqueror Marr has given the order – the advance on Hero’s Waypoint has begun. Our troops are moving to Velvetgrass Point. The Orbital Insertion Units await your ‘Go’ command” she resonated.

Peake nodded. The penetrators were about seventeen minutes from target, and realistically would need five over target. The descending drop troops needed fifteen minutes for the insertion.

“Are you sure that this technology works?” he asked of Canla.

“It is not my area of expertise,” she altered,” but our researchers say that it will. We have used it for drops from our orbiting starship, and indeed Conqueror Zzar has some Battle Ogres that have been adapted for drop technology. So there is no reason why it shouldn’t work for your human troops. We have computed the mass and thrust needed, and the ablative heat shields will be more than adequate for your smaller skeletons, so what is there not to work?”

It was the longest speech Cyrus had heard Canla make, and with a start he realized “she’s as nervous as I am.” He knew that she was a research scientist – that was the meaning of her honorific ‘Junior Stochastic’ – and that her field of expertise was the Manifold Experiment. She had taken great pains at the briefing the evening before to explain to the Penetrator pilots which structures were out of bounds for the attack on Temple of Chiron.

Cyrus looked at his watch again.

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

Velvetgrass Point

“It’s not good news, whatever it is. I just wish it were in range and we’d get rid of it.” Julia Santiago said in frustration.

Stephen Cartesius nodded.

“I know,” he replied. “It’s bugging me too. I mean, what’s it doing there. It’s just been circling for the last hour or so.”

“Probably aerial reconnaissance,” she replied. “Although what they are reconnoitering I have no idea. It’s so unlike the Hive. What did you see on your flyby?”

“Not a lot,” Stephen replied.

Julia had scrambled to intercept the intruder, but just couldn’t get close enough to get any kind of a lock with her weapons. She’d landed, and then sent Stephen up to do a flyby to see what was afoot.

“Bristling with antenna and dishes – definitely covert ops type, but to what purpose I have no idea. It did have Hive markings, but all the nacelles and pods didn’t seem to be harboring weapons – mostly surveillance equipment, I would guess.”

Julia nodded.

“I’ve alerted Lady Skye, and she has put all units on readiness. We never can be too sure. But even Leo is feeling the unrest. It’s so …….. so ….. threatening. That’s what it is. Just by its being there, it threatens us.”

“Well, let’s just stay on our guard. It’s all we can do, ‘cos we certainly can’t shoot it out of the sky.”

Julia nodded glumly.

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

N.E of Spires Ascendant

“Go, Go, Go”

Patrice had no idea where all the vehicles were going, but he engaged the drive of his chaos rover and wheeled towards the monolith, followed by the rest of his squad.

Directly in front was one of the weirdest units Patrice had ever seen, entering the monolith. He knew it was a specialty rover of the aliens – assembled specifically for this campaign against the Gaians. His armaments officer had explained it to him:

“It’s resonance based – a regular laser augmented by their resonance techniques, and it’s armor is what they are calling res-8. The laser dispersion through resonance apparently provides soma advantages against mindworms, and the res-8 armor gives a level of protection against the psi-attack techniques used by mindworm corps.”

Patrice had just grunted his assent. He really didn’t follow the alien technology, but was might glad to have them along.

More amazing was the monolith.

At the briefing the day before, through a yoked interpreter, one of the Progenitors had explained the concept of psi-gates, and how the ancients had developed a series of psi-gates across planet that were interlinked and controlled from what they were referring to as The Manifold Nexus. This seemed to be extremely important to the Aliens, and Patrice surreptitiously thought that its seizure was the only reason the Progenitors were supporting this mission.

Velvetgrass Point was the major base in the region, and it’s capture would go a long way to ensuring that Temple of Chiron would stay in Progenitors’ claws once captured. And Chairman Yang was committing enough firepower to really make a statement – three chaos rover divisions, each with a different specialty – one trance, one empath, and one commjammer equipped. Plus there was the alien division of its weird vehicles, and then the grunts. An AAA silksteel squad and a shard SAM squad.

And the monolith had swallowed them all, men, vehicles, supporting paraphernalia, and even one of the alien Ogres.

Patrice entered the monolith, and darkness closed around him.

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

Temple of Chiron

Hector looked at his garrison commander.

“Now you know as much as I do,” he said. “I’ve replayed Lady Dee’s message several times, and I have no idea what the threat is, where it’s coming from, where it’s directed at, and for how long we need to maintain this state of advanced readiness.

“But I suggest you cancel leaves, recall units, and do what you have to do to exhibit an air of extreme readiness.”

Brooke looked uncomfortable.

“But Hector,” she said. “We’ve always been the runt of the litter. We have a garrison brigade that got upgraded to synthmetal armor after the CEO gave his generous donation of credits. Plus we have a motley collection of vehicles from the original colony convoy – mostly of the old Unity Rover design. And that’s it. Our runway will support the heaviest needlejets, but they have never stationed one here, let alone a flight or a wing.

“You know I’ve been on your case to argue more strongly in the Governors’ meetings for a stronger military presence here.”

Hector nodded glumly.

“I know, Brooke,” he replied. “But there were always other competing items that seemed more necessary, more urgent.”

“Well,” she replied. “We’ll just have to do what we always do. Rely on Velvetgrass Point.”

Hector nodded.

“Let’s hope they can oblige, if we are the target,” he said. “Meanwhile, let’s do the best we can.”

She nodded.

“It’s probably only a drill, anyway,” she said.

Hector smiled.

“That’s be a first for the Lady,” he said. “But who knows?”


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 09, 2001).]

[Googlie]

East of Temple of Chiron

Jennifer shyly slipped her hand into Tony’s as they walked along the beach. They were the two seniors from the base, out with the rest of the crèche children from Temple of Chiron on a field trip to the eastern shore collecting shells.

“So will you remember me when you go off to VG?” she asked, looking up at the taller boy as she spoke. Tony was seventeen and this was his final year at temple. In a few months he was joining the staff as a trainee at the research hospital in Velvetgrass Point. Jennifer was a year younger, and had more of a mechanical bent than did Tony. She reckoned that her eventual employment would lie more in the engineering area, perhaps as crew for a Penetrator in the emerging Gaian air force.

Tony looked down on her fondly.

“Jen, you know I won’t forget. We’ve been friends for years now – in fact I count you as almost my only real friend.”

He stooped, and reached down to take the sandals off his feet, to walk barefoot in the sand. She did likewise.

“But is that all I am to you,” she asked, looking earnestly into his eyes.

Tony looked around, as if for a way to escape.

“Jen,” he began .. “it’s not like we’re engaged or anything,” he replied.

“We could be,” she answered. “I know you are all that I want, and of course you’ll meet lots of interesting girls at Velvetgrass, but I thought we had something special between us.”

“We do, Jen. It’s just that…..”

His words were drowned out by the noise that deafened them as a number of low flying Penetrator rounded the cliff and roared over the beach heading inland and beginning the climb up the hillside. They had cleared the couple only by meters, throwing them to the sand and covering them with flotsam stirred up by their slipstream as they passed overhead.

Tony sat up somewhat dazed, his ears ringing and his head hurting. He looked over to where Jennifer was lying in the sand, just stirring, as was he. She sat up, and looked over at him quizzically.

“Shoot,” Tony said. “These were Hive needlejets, and by their speed and altitude I think they mean business. We’ve got to get back to camp and try and warn someone.”

He helped Jennifer to her feet and together they ran back up the beach to the small meadow where they had pitched camp, there to find the other crèche children milling around in confusion

Francine Hawkins, their supervisor and outing leader, was groggily coming to from where she’d fallen and hit her head on some rocks.

Tony took charge immediately.

“Jennifer, organize the others and strike camp – we need to head back. Miss Hawkins? Where’s your commlink, we need to warn someone.”

She pointed to her duffel bag sitting nearby.

Tony grabbed it, found the commlink, and hit the sequence for the garrison unit at temple.

Brooke herself answered it.

“Damn,” she said, when Tony had said his piece. “Looks like we’re the target. If so, stay away. You’re self-supporting for a couple of weeks at least. Out.”

Tony looked at the commlink for a moment. Jennifer looked at him.

“Strange,” he muttered. “It’s almost as if they were expecting it.”

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

Aboard Hive Penetrator Beta-1

Conrad was calling out the numbers, as Mike hugged the coastline below the level of the top of the cliffs. Any second now they would reach the end of the cliffrange and make their turn to target over the low-lying beach that the satellite imagery photography indicated was no more than a sloping hillside that reached 30 feet above sea level for several miles.

“2 ….. 1 ….. execute”

Mike leaned on the controls and the lead Penetrator dipped her port wing as the turn began. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Chuli and the rest of the Hive wing doing the same, and he trusted that the rest of his flight behind him was similarly executing the turn to head overland.

As they raced towards the beach he saw some figures just ahead, and had the reflexes to lift the nose a tad to pull over them, and suddenly he was out of the sand dunes and racing over grassland.

“Shoot” he said yanking on the controls for altitude as a tent city suddenly appeared in front of him. “What the heck was that?” he queried his WO as they left it behind them, now following the contours of the land as it slowly climbed to the 900 meter level that was their cue to commence the run on temple.

“Tents,” was Conrad’s laconic reply, now concentrating on the sensor readouts his comm. panel was giving him.

“Three minutes to initiate,” he intoned.

Mike gingerly brought the nose of the pen up a notch, still keeping just a few meters above the surface as they climbed the hillside towards Temple.

“950 is the target alt” Conrad said as they crested the summit of the hillside just feet above the surface of the flat, moist looking, arable land beneath them.

Mike gasped.

In the distance, visible even from this range, he saw the magnificent ruins of the Manifold Nexus, much more impressive in real life than could be conveyed from the satellite images. It was huge, dominating the valley to the south of the Gaian base, that was itself built on the hillside that stretched to its northwest.

“We’ve been pinged” Conrad said, as his instruments displayed the interrogation radar blip from Velvetgrass Point.

“We’ll buy a few seconds,” Mike replied, as the answering IFF from his needlejet matched those of the others in his flight as well as those of Chuli and her Penetrators. All had been fitted with the PeaceKeeper recognition responders, which should cause some initial confusion among the Gaian defenders.

The base of Temple of Chiron was clearly visible on the hillside across the valley as Tony led his flight on their attack run.

“I just hope the painters are in place and on time,” he said gruffly.

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

Velvetgrass Point

“Scramble….. Scramble…. All units.”

Julia hit the engage toggle on her Thrasher and the engine roared as she turned from the dispersal area right on to the runway, picking up speed as she went, and only obliquely aware that the rest of her flight was following en masse.

As she gained altitude, ground control patched in Tony’s report to Brooke at temple.

“It was all so sudden – we were just walking along the beach when they appeared. I’d guess at maybe 15 to 20 needlejets”

Brooke’s professional tone cut in:

“OK, bro’. Could you tell if there were any Interceptors among them?”

“Don’t think so. All big ones. But I got knocked flat from the shockwave and the slipstream, so I can’t be sure.”

“OK. Out.”

“Got that?” came ground control’s gruff query.

“Yup,” Julia responded. “Tactics?”

“They’re pretty defenseless – that’s the good news. The bad news is that they will have already completed their bombing runs by the time you reach them, but make them pay anyway. Select individual targets but co-ordinate among yourselves. You are six to their 15 to 20. Good luck. And if you can get a lock on any from long range, let go. They might have alien defenses we don’t know about, so save your chaos missiles for closer range work.”

“Roger that,” snapped Julia, then toggled Toby, her Weapons Officer:

“Anything yet?”

“Not till we cross the 2000 meter peak,” he replied.

“Coming up,” she said, as the needlejet crested the mountain peak to the east of Velvetgrass Point.

“Got ‘em,” said Toby. “Pinging now for distance and interrogation. Shoot – they’re Peacekeepers – 18 of them, I’d say.”

“Can’t be,” Julia replied. “We got a visual from the ground. Can we target them?”

“Not a chance,” Toby said. “Too far. I’m plotting an intercept point now. It’ll be over or adjacent to Temple. They’ll have completed.”

“Can’t be helped,” she snarled in reply. “Let’s just take out as many as we can – we’ll go down swinging.”

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

Aboard Hive AWACS-One

Cyrus Peake studied the screens.

“About a minute,” he said softly to Canla. The yoke translator had trouble coping, so she leaned forward to look at the screens herself.

“Ah, Interceptors launched,” she resonated. “Few, and slow.”

Peake nodded. He consulted the datapads.

He keyed the commlink to the ground operatives, the “painters”

“All targets go. Commence on receipt.”

He sent the bursts to the waiting commlinks, each coded with the respective Penetrator’s weaponry, and hastily downloaded and fed into the control systems of the painters.

He flipped toggles.

“Over to you,” he said to Canla, relinquishing the console.

She moved a talon to the keys, and hit a rapid sequence.

“Thrall Captain ‘Ypruss,” she began…

“Ready.” – the alteration was almost instantaneous.

“Deploy. For the glory of Conqueror Marr.”

“It shall be done,” the alteration came through strongly – enough that Cyrus reckoned that he would have understood even without the yoke translator.

He nodded in satisfaction as Canla looked over at him. He uttered just the one word:

“Drop.”

Keying in the code for the Elevator, she sent the resonance burst

“Commence drop.”

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

25,000 meters above planet

“Ready?” ‘Ypruss empathed to her crewmate, ‘Ygall.

The affirmation entered her mind. She reached out to Tonc.

“I hope you are in good voice today,” she sent him. “We have work to do.”

She visualized the co-ordinates of their current position and altitude, and the projected intercept point of the Gaian defenders and the Hive attackers, and fed the image to Tonc.

He analyzed the data, and computed the interception course, and fed it neurally to ‘Ypruss.

“Too late to prevent fighting, but not so late as to be irrelevant.”

She fluttered her mandibles in agitation.

“We can’t make better speed?” she queried of her craft.

“That is maximum,” he empathed. “I presume you would want to get there as soon as feasible.”

“Very well,” she replied. “Engage.”

Tonc bent his wings and inclined his nose to the surface, and commenced his descent from the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

Since his conversion, he preferred the lower elevations, where he could sense the wind vectors and ride them. His patrol altitude had too many resemblances to his prior life as a spacefarer – now gone and just memories – painful for him as he thought of the freedom he had when not under gravity’s pull.

That was the attraction of being closer to Planet’s surface.

While never free from gravity, he could still experience the swoops and cavorts that the strong winds and their eddies made possible.

But not today.

This was business.

This was Combat Air Patrol, protecting the offworlders’ metal needlejets. And he was coming late to the party.

“But better late than never” came unbidden the thought from ‘Ypruss.

Tonc continued his plummet to the lower altitude.

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

In monolith <4>

The place seemed cavernous. From the outside it was nothing – oh, certainly tall, landmarkish, but with a footprint on the land no bigger than a small habitation complex or laboratory.

And yet…

With 90 Hive vehicles and another 25 alien tracked rovers, plus some 1200 troops, it should be packed to overflowing, even if all could get in. But here they all were as if on a giant parade ground, with room to spare.

“It’s N-Space compression. That’s what it is,” said his armaments officer smugly. “I heard them aliens talking about it.

“You see, we really aren’t here at all. We’re still outside the monolith at Spires Ascendant, but the instant before we exit at Velvetgrass Point we’ll be here, like now, then we exit and we’re there.”

Patrice nodded numbly.

“So in a moment we’ll all be outside that monolith, lined up like sitting ducks?”

“No, no.” his AO replied. “Not all together. We come out singly – or in bunches, I’m not sure. It‘s just like right now we are between N-space compression points, so we can see everything in transit. But in reality there’s nothing here. You follow?”

Patrice didn’t, but nodded anyway.

Just then the command came:

”Move out.”

He raised a hand to the rest of his squad, who replied in like form.

“Let’s get rolling,” he said, as he ducked into his conning blister. “We have a job to do.”

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

In the ruins of the Manifold Nexus

Carstairs snapped his commlink shut. He had downloaded the burst from the AWACS needlejet and fed the data into his adapted laser shredder.

Gingerly he peered round the corner of the column of the ruins, and brought the rifle to shoulder level.

He adjusted the optical enhancer over his eye and focused on his target.

The maintenance yard just on the outskirts of the base was a hive of activity, as men and women hurried to and fro fitting the motley collection of tracked and wheeled vehicles with armaments.

He picked a low building in one corner of the yard – it seemed to be drawing the most traffic and was possibly a weapons cache or ammunition dump.

His sharp hearing picked up the low rumble from the east that he took to be the approaching needlejets.

He took careful aim, and depressed the trigger.

The slightly sloped roof of the small building accepted a tiny pinprick of red light that slowly grew to around a meter square as Carstairs adjusted the trim on the equipment.

Opening his non-occluded eye, he groaned inwardly:

“Rats – I can see it’s painted with my own eyes, let alone enhancements.”

But no-one seemed to be paying any attention, totally oblivious to the red coloration on the roof panels that shone like a beacon to Carstairs in the late afternoon sun.

All he had to do was hold his position long enough for the pens to fire their ordnance.

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

600 kilometers above Planet

Seng watched his squadmates go in groups of ten, and then it was his group.

He cinched the retainer belt tighter, and gripped the handles of the drop sled, and kicked.

Suddenly he was outside the elevator and picking up speed as the sled’s jets kicked in, hurtling him towards planet’s surface. He had somewhat expected to be aware of the speed through his helmet and past the sled’s ablative shield, but he could be floating in space with a malfunction for all he knew.

He swiveled his head, slightly, bringing the optics into play, and looked at the readouts.

He sweated inwardly as he realized he was plummeting to the surface at just under 4000 kilometers per minute – that’s over 60 clicks a second, he thought, then marveled at the technology that could design this and guarantee his safe arrival on the surface.

He saw the beginnings of the wisps of atmosphere as his sled heated up, the small ion wave arcing out from under him. Looking around he could see the hundreds of others, like tiny meteorites, penetrating the atmosphere, and leaving a trail of ionized nitrogen behind as they encountered the increasing density of Chiron’s atmosphere.

Then he was braking – among clouds, and bleeding heat from the shield in the form of a vapor trail that was spotless white against the deep blue sky that could be seen at this altitude.

His forward sensor was picking up the target, and inclining his head he could see the island landmass to the south of the great continents strung out like a crescent above.

The metallic voice said in his ear:

“Manual override now possible – commencing decel sequence”

He was aware of the thrusters firing, and his thumb triggered the sled release.

Separating from it with an audible “Thwack” he felt suddenly vulnerable.

His descent was now being slowed by the altitude thrusters attached to his feet and back, with directional attitude jets at his fingertip controls.

Looking closely, with full magnification, he could just see the flights of Penetrators begin their attack run.

“Well, Seng. Here we go again,” he thought to himself.

He activated manual override and brought his thrusters to max power, arming his shard launcher as he did so.

The battle was on.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 09, 2001).]

[Hydro]

Janissary Point

"Download squirt now, Ma'am. From northeast sensor," a voice said. The holo wavered, and then caught. Sections at the base were indistinct and distortions coursed through the image.

"This is what they looked like coming in," the voice prompted.

The image cleared a little, and three silvery shapes formed in the right portion of the view. Pine forests surrounded the sensor net, and the ovoids flew over them at tree top level. They were fast, very fast, and the sensor occasionally couldn't keep up and the image jerked to the left as it compensated. As they came in they flew in an unerringly straight line, and when they turned it was as if they turned a corner. There was no banking or aerial curves - they just changed direction.

Each of the images grew bigger and bigger as the alien Ghosts approached the sensor.

"See? They didn't attack the sensor. I would have. It would have denied us all this information. Very sloppy of them," the disembodied voice commented. "Here they are on final approach."

The view changed as the Ghosts passed almost directly overhead of the sensor, and the sensor now viewed them as they flew straight toward the small Spartan town Janissary Point in the low valley. The three Ghosts flew in perfect formation, and by their shapes it was hard to tell if they were coming or going.

"They almost look like they change shape as they turn and fly, but that could be a artifact of the sensor quality. You might want to look into it, Sir," the voice said.

"Switching viewpoints now. Point net activated."

Again, the three Ghosts were getting bigger. Red numbers appeared with leader lines, framing the Ghosts and pointing out elements that had been deciphered.

"See their speed? It's at least 50% faster than a non-elite Spartan needle, not that there are many that aren't elite, that is. They're probably some sort of hovercraft, maybe with a gravitic drive. Hard to tell. Power twice as good as fusion. Hard to say about their weapons, but you'll see that in a minute."

--cough…COUGH--

"Excuse me, Sir. Sorry to interrupt. Switching to external northeast sensor grid."

Now the three Ghosts were stationary, and they floated in mid air.

"Yup, they're an advanced hover. No apparent propulsion. Getting a download on their defenses - damn, it's a stasis field. See it shimmer? Hard to say what could affect that."

--cough--

"They're just sitting there. Fast forwarding. Did you get their little speech? Pretty arrogant to think we'd walk out in the open and commit suicide against that.

How did it go? Blah blah..issue Challenge..blah blah …glorious combat…test of wills…blah blah…skull to tusk…blah blah…Champion for Challenge.

Must think we're stupid. Maybe it's an intelligence test?"

--chuckles…COUGH--

"Well, maybe not. Anyway, here's where it gets interesting. I've labeled them Ghosts 1, 2 and 3."

Green icons tagged the three Progenitor ships, with 1 on the left to 3 on the right.

"They actually sat there for almost 2 hours. Big slow targets. Hah! Big, yes, but not slow - not when they didn't want to be. Here is where it gets interesting. Watch 3."

One of the Ghosts broke formation and started to move forward. It moved slowly.

"Now the power spikes off the chart. I'm dampening the image so you aren't blinded."

One second the Ghost was crystal clear, then the front of the Ghost seemed to disappear. A tight, rippling cone struck outward, temporarily obscuring the Ghost. Then a brilliant white light erupted. It traveled within the cone, and it impacted on a low, two-story commercial complex. Instantly the building erupted in all directions, blasting itself and everything that was around it. A low rumbling coincided with the image.

"That's their main weapon, Sir. Did you hear that rumbling? The last time we heard that is when the Hive used those two PBs on us, when they nuked the two old Yooper towns. Don't know how they can focus so much energy, and I really wish I knew. It's almost 4 times as powerful as our fusion shard.

Sir, there's our garrison."

The image focused on a small wave of ant-like figures. The Ghost took no notice of them and simply went about its business of destruction. More shafts of light erupted from the front of the Ghost, and they transfixed more buildings

"See what their doing? They're razing us, Sir. To the ground."

A small picket of orange explosions chained on the silvery Ghost.

"We got our ******, though."

A larger explosion blew earth and ferrocrete from below, and it blasted into the bottom of the Ghost, which for a moment pointed upward. It tilted crazily for a minute and then righted itself.

"Hehe! --cough-- Didn't expect that, did they!?? Bastards! The garrison did good, but watch."

A flurry of small, thin white shafts of light lanced out of the Ghost and struck the ants in rapid fire.

"After combat started they didn't last more than a minute. They only got to attack, I think --cough-- since the aliens ignored them. We damaged it, though."

The Ghost righted itself, although its nose was clearly damaged and its silvery sheen now had some white and black swirls in it, which made it look like an open, festering wound.

More shafts of light pulsed outward, and more buildings exploded.

The image blanked out.

"They took out our tower. Switching to networked exterior sensors. Resolution 47%. Sorry, Sir, it's the best I can do."

When it reformed the holo was jerkier, and it showed the three Ghosts from the vantage point of looking down toward Janissary Point from the north. Ghost 3 slowed and then stopped it steady progress into the Spartan town.

"Ghost 3 is pulling back. Here comes Ghost 2."

The second Ghost pulled forward and advanced at the same speed as its predecessor.

"I don't have much time left, Sir. We only had the one garrison. I'll transmit as long as I can."

Ghost 2 fired in the same regular pattern that Ghost 3 had, and building after building erupted into a white ball of light.

"They're at the center of Point, now Sir. The Command Center will be next. LONG LIVE SPARTA! WE DIE FOR YOU, SIR! WE DIE FOR Y…………

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

Coronal Corazon Santiago reached over ended the now dead live holo. She felt a stirring pride, for they had fought and fought well, and had remained Spartans to the very end.

They had slowed the enemy, and had bought time for her. Santiago was grateful for that, very grateful indeed. The aliens had secured a bridgehead in the middle of Spartan territory, and if the reports were true, they were airdropping troops into captured Hero's Waypoint at this very moment. Looking over the tactical map Santiago knew what her next objective would be if she were the aliens. The next target was immediately northwest of Janissary Point and west of Hero's Waypoint. Santiago knew that target oh, so well.

It was Sparta Command itself.


[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited March 20, 2001).]

[Googlie]

Aboard Beta-1

“Target acquired,” Conrad said laconically as he watched the instruments closely.

“Painters have done their job”

“Good thing too,” Potter replied. He was fighting to keep the craft steady against the buffeting winds that were sweeping an updraught to the top of the hill they had just crested.

“Fire one…fire two”

The needlejet shuddered as the plasma shard tipped projectiles launched from the weapons bay, seeking, then picking up the laser signature from the painter below.

To his right, Mike could see the tell-tale flare of the missiles being launched from Chuli and her wingmates. His Threat Proximity Indicator was emitting a low hum, alerting him to the fact that he was being targeted, but as yet was out of reasonable range.

He roared low over the Gaian base, attracting a volley of useless fire from the defenders below, more in hope than in expectation of recording a hit let alone any damage.

As he left the base behind him to the south, and began the climb up the flank of the mountainside, he jettisoned the long range tanks that had carried the auxiliary fuel that had extended his range to Temple of Chiron. He needed now to be as light as he could be for rapid climb, and to lead the attacking interceptors into the claws of the waiting gnat.

Conrad relayed the progress of the attack to him.

”Targets successfully destroyed, Mike.” His had been the small control center for the airstrip. One by one the targets were destroyed – the barracks and armory, the maintenance yard, the small-arms factory that was in the base center, the rec commons and unfortunately, the Children’s Creche. This latter was surely an error, Mike thought, as Conrad reeled off the list. “Must have been painted by mistake,” he thought to himself, as it hadn’t been on any target list he’d seen.

His proximity alarm screeched.

“Sir, we’re a target,” Conrad yelled.

Even Mike flinched when he heard the THWUMP of a nearby explosion and turned to see one of his flight tumbling from the sky minus a wing and much of the fuselage.

He fought for height, then listened to his commlink as the steady voice of General Peake came on wide broadcast:

“Outrun them – you’re fusion they’re fission. Don’t give up your advantage – make for the valleys at full speed.”

Mike cursed inwardly – why didn’t they think of that last evening.

He banked the big Penetrator to set a diving course for the valley below, and momentarily presented the full profile of the needlejet at the apex of his arcing turn.

His Threat Proximity Indicator deafened him.

“Rats,” he said.

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

Aboard GAFI – 1

“Come on, baby, come on.”

Julia was frantically trying to coax just a few more kilometers per hour from her needlejet as the target acquisition radar locked, then fluttered and faded, then firmed again.

She caught the puffs from her wingman as Pierce released his chaos projectiles in four six second bursts at a distant target.

Tut-tutting, Julia commented to Toby, her Weapons officer “What a waste. Pierce is so far out of range that he might just as well have fired into the hillside. We’re nowhere near eleven kilometers”

“Oh, I don’t know”, he replied. “We have had a decent enough lock a couple of times – I could have fired. I’m reading nine, and our Field Differential display’s been positive for a few seconds constant now.”

“Well, why didn’t you fire?” Julia snarled.

“Well, we are closing, and I figured a confirmed is better than a possible – the chances are getting better every second.

Julia snorted, but had to admit that the gap was closing on the heavier, climbing Penetrator.

“I’m getting a good signal now,” Toby offered, “but I see another threat developing on us. Vector seven.”

Julia glanced at the screen. An unidentified interloper was crashing their party, and was coming at them fast, with elevation to spare.

“Gotta be hostile,” she grunted. Let’s take what we’ve got and skidaddle.”

Just then the Penetrator banked, and for an instant filled their sights.

“Locked and go,” screamed Toby, his fingers mashing the Chaos canon firing button.

The interceptor bucked as the canon pulsed every six seconds releasing its deadly hail at the almost stationary Penetrator.

The string hit home, and in a flash of blinding white the Pen’s fuel nacelles overheated and ruptured, tearing off a wing and splitting the fuselage in half. She saw the crew ejection pod blast free, then the chute deploy, and for a moment wondered if she should ask Toby to give it a burst.

“I’d hate myself to be in that position,” she thought, and desisted, just as her own threat alarm sounded raucously in the command nacelle.

“Eject,” yelled Toby as she saw that she was targeted inexorably.

She hit the escape toggle, and the nacelle shot free, turning over and over as it arced away from the interceptor. Intermittently Julia saw sky and ground and clouds and then like a slow moving strobe, the Interceptor glowed incandescent and then disappeared.

As she activated the descent chute, from the corner of her eye she saw a strange black ovoid with stubby swept back wings rocket past on its way to deal death to another of her wingmates.

Looking around as they descended, she realized that the wind was carrying both her nacelle and the Hive Penetrator escape pod inexorably over a heavily fungused area towards the coast due east of temple. They looked like they might be just a few hundred meters apart when the landed.

She reached for her shredder pistol, and advised Toby to do the same.

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

Above Temple of Chiron

Seng saw the explosions from above as he vectored towards his primary target, the landing strip.

Some small commercial and private needlejets had taken damage from the attack, but the runway was intact, and the staging area seemed to be unscathed.

Small arms fire peppered him as he bled speed, firing his retros to get a soft landing, but his 3-pulse armor proved adequate to the task of protecting him. It was basically plasma steel with an inbuilt white-noise emitter that foiled ecm communications.

He braced for the landing. Training had consisted of jumping off four meter high towers – the landing was more jarring than a simple paradrop – and in training it was found that about half of all jumps resulted in some temporary disability that rendered the trooper inoperative for a short while, and vulnerable to counterattack. He understood that some of the Progenitor elites were fitted with antigrav struts that totally absorbed the impact of landing, and knew that some Hive boffins were experimenting with antigrav struts on transporters that would ferry troops through orbital insertion, leaving them 100% ready for deployment on landing.

But that was for the future. With the ground coming up fast he maxxed the reverse thrust and rolled in the approved fashion, pulling the harness release cord as he did so.

Slightly winded, he let his momentum carry him to the wreckage of an old rover that had been destroyed in the air assault. He crouched down beside it and tried to regain his breath, and get his bearings.

He had landed to one side of the dispersal area, close by a vehicle park that held still smoldering refuelers and tug crawlers. The main remnants of opposition seemed to be coming from a small command center that seemed miraculously to have avoided the Penetrators’ wrath. He made a hasty assessment that the control center would be a worthy objective to gain intact for his Alpha squad.

Around him he saw his units form into some semblance of order. Two or three drop troops lay unmoving on the ground – whether killed, wounded, concussed or just deeply winded he didn’t know. He counted about 50 of his squad of 60. that would suffice.

He palmed his commlink and keyed in the shortwave laser pulse for unit communication, but all he saw was static. Seng frowned. No one said anything about ECM comm.-jammers. But they would really only affect speeders or rovers. He was in visual contact with his men, so that would have to do. He gave a series of hand signals to his platoon leaders, and they acknowledged and reformed into the three constituent units. Two would pin down the defenders from the apron where they were while he himself would join #3 group and circle for an attack from the rear.

Above him he could see the contrails of an aerial battle, and from the base itself he could hear the deep THWUMPS of charges exploding mixed in with the whine of chaos cannon firing.

He worked his way between the wrecks and the still-intact vehicles until he was at the side of the control center, and saw a side entrance. He motioned for a couple of his commandoes to race for the door, and followed on their heels.

They readied.

“Now,” he barked and they kicked in the plasteel door. He lobbed a stun grenade right in, and as the percussion subsided the firing had stopped.

He donned his breather and went inside. Three bodies were lying there, one of whom was looking at Seng with sullen eyes, slightly unfocussed.

His colleagues disarmed the three Gaians, taking care with the more alert one who had officer’s insignia on the lapels. Seng was interested to note the officer was a woman.

“Are you the last?” he asked.

She nodded glumly. “At the airstrip certainly. I can’t speak for the base.”

“Who is the garrison commander?” he continued.

“I am,” Brooke replied.

“Well, we don’t want any more bloodshed than absolutely necessary,” Seng responded, handing her his commlink. “Key in your defense network and order a surrender, we have you vastly outnumbered.”

She nodded, and said a few words into the commlink.

“The base is yours,” she said. I have ordered the few survivors to lay down their weapons and they will comply.

Seng nodded as he took back the commlink, keying in a different sequence.

“Come in now General Peake, Temple of Chiron is secure.”

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

Aboard Hive AWACS-One

Cyrus Peake sank back with a sigh of relief. They’d done it.

There was still much to do, however.

Lined up offshore and heading on a northwest direction was an aerial convoy of significant proportions.

Leading the way were the two flights of Interceptors to whom he gave the go/no go command to continue past the no-return point. They were now committed to Temple, lacking the fuel to return to either Spires or Courage in Progenitor territory.

Following them were the transports, carrying fuel for the Pens and Interceptors, spares, weapons, ground crew and rations.

Finally there was himself and Canla.

But their observation job was by no means finished.

There was still the assault on Velvetgrass Point.

If the timing were adhered to – and there was no reason to doubt it – the first units should be exiting the Monolith above Velvetgrass about now.

He scanned the screens one last time.

Four of the six Gaian interceptors had been downed, and two had scurried off back to the sanctuary of the Aerospace Center at Velvetgrasss Point. But six Pens had been destroyed, and Canla had reported that a lucky strike had damaged some control surfaces of the Gnat, so it was returning to Spires Ascendant for damage assessment and repair.

He froze in horror.

Three blips had appeared on his array with their interrogation response displays. They were Gaian Penetrators.

Looking for targets.

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

Aboard GAFT-1

Stephen Cartesius had heard Julia’s mayday and pounded his flight panel in impotent rage.

Not only had they been unable to stop the attack, but they had lost two-thirds of their Interceptors in the attempt. He had been too far away to see in person the effect of the alien aircraft, but had heard enough of the Gaian pilots’ chatter to realize it was a formidable fighting machine.

Ground control had advised him that the aerial battle was over, that the two surviving Interceptors were returning to rearm and refuel, but more importantly, that the alien craft had departed out of radar range.

He had a free hand for the time being.

Get altitude, and wait until a suitable target presents itself, had been the command from VgP, and altitude he now had.

He was empowered by GC to seek and destroy at will, but for some reason he couldn’t explain to himself – a second sense almost – he didn’t think the drop troops at the occupied base represented a juicy enough target in and of themselves.

He was in a lazy holding pattern above temple, aware of the Hive AWACS needlejet to the south, and at the fringe of his radar’s range also aware that the Hive fleet of attacking pens – the survivors at least, were returning to the scene of their conquest. “They must be at the limit of their range,” he thought, “and coming back to land and rearm and refuel. They’ll present some juicy targets.”

Just then Ground Control intruded, not at all the usual calm and collected voice of the controller, but a staccato, somewhat panicked order.

“We are under attack. Repeat. Velvetgrass point is under attack. Return to vicinity and assist in repulsion. Pick targets at will.”

“Wilco” Stephen replied laconically, as he and his wingmen turned their lumbering Penetrators and headed west to beat off the attackers.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 09, 2001).]

[senatus]

Great Conclave


A high-pitched whine filled the cabin as the slowing revolutions of
the needlejet transport's turbines drifted down into the audible frequencies. 
The volume and pitch decreased as the pilot cut the power, and like many
of the other passengers to this particular destination, Jessica McCollough
took the time to bow her head in a prayer of thanks for the safe arrival.


Passengers, we have arrived at Great Conclave.  Please activate
your filter units in preparation for cabin depressurization.  On behalf
of CEO Nwabudike Morgan and your flight crew, thank you for being our valued
customers.  We look forward to serving you again.


Like everyone else aboard, Jessica had already instinctively activated
her personal breathing mask for the short transfer from the aircraft to
the elevators that would carry everyone into the underground base. 
She noted the curious look from a nearby Morganic business man and smiled
to herself; the Gaian-designed mask that Jessica wore now was more sophisticated,
lighter, and smaller than even the wealthy Morganite's.  The going-away
present from Kirsten, coupled with a healthy equatorial tan from the months
spent in Velvetgrass Point, had caused Jessica to be mistaken for a Gaian
more than once during hops in the 28-hour transit.


In fact, Jessica felt a little like a Gaian, now.  On approach,
she couldn't help but regret the ugly, utilitarian structures dotting the
surface above Great Conclave in contrast to the elegant, natural beauty
of Velvetgrass Point.  At least Planet's surface didn't look too marred,
though; like all the former Hive basis, the bulk of Great Conclave was
over a hundred meters below the topsoil.


The new construction wasn't a surprise to Jessica; she'd been in frequent
communication while away, and in the past hours had been furiously updating
her internal databases via the MMI link with the latest situation at Great
Conclave.  It'd given her the opportunity to immerse herself in work,
rather than thinking about what she left behind in Velvetgrass Point...
and who.


She wasn't prepared for the greeter as she disembarked, however, and
her face lit up with a smile as Brother Joaquim stepped up to embrace his
former protege and student.


"Brother Joaquim!  What a wonderful surprise!"


"Welcome back, Sister Jessica.  So, how was it like, being a U.N.
Believer in Lady Dierdre's court?"


Jessica didn't understand the reference, but she'd known Joaquim long
enough - in fact, all the years before Miriam's liberation and the modern
Believer resurrection - to tell that the other was making some sort of
pun.  In fact, she could feel his good humour now, thanks to
Jay's lessons.


"I found it... illuminating, Brother Joaquim."  Jessica replied
after a moment's thought, and her old mentor raised an eyebrow.


To a non-Believer, Jessica's careful choice of words would've conveyed
little content.  But to a fellow Believer minister - as well as her
theological teacher - it conveyed a great deal.  What Jessica was
saying is that she'd discovered something that revealed significantly greater
insight into God and His works.


"Personal, or universal?"  Joaquim asked, as the two walked towards
the waiting government elevator.


"It was certainly a set of revelations that affect me personally - but
I believe it has implications for everyone on Planet,"  Jessica said
seriously, thinking of what Leonardo and Dierdre had shown her.


"Then you'll be bringing it up in the Council?"  Joaquim asked.


Jessica was silent for a long moment, then hit the "Hold" button on
the elevator, and instead asked a question of her own.


"What was the Council's resolution on Scott Allardyce?"


Joaquim frowned, realizing now what Jessica was leading to.  Both
he and Jessica - despite the latter's youth - were members of the twelve-person
Believer Council, as was Miriam Godwinson herself.  The Council was
the primary theological authority for the spiritual education of the Drone
Believers, and still retained a considerable amount of secular power in
the dual government.  They took their stewardship seriously, and no-one
could doubt the Council's devotion, but there was also a regrettable bias
against outsiders - and outside ideas.


"They were less than thrilled.  A good many of them felt tthat
bringing an outsider into such a prominent role was inappropriate, and
would result in `spiritual contamination'.  Not that they put it in
so many words."  Joaquim's irritation was evident in his tone of voice,
as well as his emotions.


"If we pray to God for assistance and deliverance, we shoud be ready
to accept the tools He gives us.  Not only did Scott bring his own
considerable expertise - both as an administrator and as a wing commander
- he also delivered several squadrons of PK assistance, thanks to
his connections!  For Garland's sake, what did the Council expect,
winged cherubim with flaming swords?"  Jessica forced herself to calm
down.


"What was the Council's final vote?"  She asked, as she let the
elevator continue.


"It was looking like eight to three, with the three being you in absentia,
myself, and Brother Wescott.  Then Miriam spoke in Allardyce's favour,
and that of course settled the issue, and the decision to confirm his appointment
became unanimous."


Joaquim said with a certain satisfaction, and Jessica nodded. 
The Council was, in theory, a democratic body.  In practice, however,
it served as an advisory council to Miriam herself; for anything that Miriam
opined carried tremendous influence - some would say virtually unlimited
authority - with the general populace of the Lord's Believers, as well
as the rank-and-file clergy.  It was precisely because she
was aware of her power that Miriam rarely used it.  On one hand, her
speaking in favour of Googlie would immediately swing all the Council -
even the most vocal dissenters - to back his appointment unanimously. 
But it also meant that she'd found it necessary to use that moral
authority - which went a long way into indicating how unreceptive the Council
would be to Gaian doctrines or discoveries.


The elevator doors opened, and Jessica led the way down the concourse
towards her old apartments.  It had been redecorated since Great Conclave
had been liberated - or perhaps the proper term was "decorated", since
the Hive had no use for esthetic beauty or art of any sort for the general
populace.  She stopped in front of a statue of a Spartan general.


"This is new.  Isn't this Gavin Burge?"  Jessica asked, and
Joaquim nodded.


"It is.  He actually died here at Great Clustering about two years
ago, in a fight with operatives of the Circle.  In fact, Scott Allardyce
did the commemoration ceremony last week - apparently the two were old
friends - but the idea of the monument was Sister Miriam's in the first
place."


"Yes - it's important to have symbols.  The mind wraps its secrets
in symbols - whether the cross, or a flag, or the statue of a hero - and
Sister Miriam knows this.  Chairman Yang has a powerful vision and
a brilliant understanding of social psychology - but for all that, he will
lose the contest against Sister Miriam for the hearts, minds, and souls
of the people."  Jessica said with unwavering faith.  "It'll
just take a lot of work, though."


"And that's why you're here,"  Joaquim said.  "But first,
Sister Miriam wanted you to get some rest.  You've got a 10:00 appointment
with her tomorrow morning."

---

"Welcome home, my child."


Like Joaquim the day previous, Miriam rose and embraced her young assistant
and protege, and Jessica could now feel - thanks to her empathic training
- the genuine affection and love behind the formal gesture.  Despite
the private disagreements Jessica now had with Miriam's theological stance
with respect to the children of Planet, she knew that she would always
love and respect Miriam.  But there was also a new overtone of worry
and concern.  Not for her personally, but....


She couldn't empathically read the other man in the room at all, however. 
And given his size and casual acquaintance with Miriam, that could only
mean that this was -


"Sven Alfredsson,"  the cyborg legend said, and took Jessica's
hand to shake it.  His movements seemed casual, but those would be
from years of practice.  Jessica knew that Sven could've ripped her
arm right off if he'd been careless.


"Sir, it's an honour.  I've heard a lot about you.  Read a
lot about you too."  Jessica said.


"I've heard a lot of good things about you too, Sister Jessica. 
It's good to finally meet you."


"And very good to have you home safely,"  Miriam said, "especially
considering what's happening at Velvetgrass Point.  You got out just
in time."


"At Velvetgrass?  What's going on?"    Jessica asked,
suddenly apprehensive.


"It's under attack.  We just got the word from Air Marshal Allardyce
a few minutes ago.  Hive air forces and drop troops - maybe from a
carrier force; we don't know the details yet."


"Merciful Redeemer!"  Jessica whispered, going pale as concerns
about Jay, Kirsten, and Fluffy rushed through her mind.  A primitive
part of her brain wanted to rush back somehow.  And with her concern,
came a white-hot anger.  The Gaians were pacifists, woefully under-equipped
and undefended against such an attack.  Except for the mindworms,
that is....


"Is there anything we can do?"  she asked.


"No."  Miriam said flatly.  "Not militarily, not at this time.  
The bulk of our forces are here at Great Conclave and at Free Drone Central,
but they consist mostly of a handful of garrison units, plus our air force. 
Between Archangel squadron, Hammer squadron, and the new units that Scott
inducted, we've actually got a credible air force - but they haven't drilled
together, nor had any ops plans been made about this sort of thing. 
Scott's thinking - and we concur - is that we need to weld them into a
major force, and save them for critical missions, since we're not likely
to get a second chance if we err.  Sparta is also under attack, by
the aliens.  We don't know much more about that, either."  Godwinson's
voice was grim.


"So, we're not going to help?"  Jessica stated flatly, trying to
keep her voice level.  It came out harsher than she intended, and
she opened her mouth to apologize, but Miriam waved her hand reassuringly.


"I said we can't help militarily.  We'd be like mice in
a battle between lions."


What's a mouse?  Jessica projected to Sven as Miriam continued.


A small, inoffensive creature.  I'll fill you in later, Sven
thought back, lowering his psi-blocks so Jessica could `read' his reply.


"But that doesn't mean we won't help.  All the Believing Drones
will pray for our allies, of course.  In the secular plane, however,
I think it's time we started using our probe teams against Yang." 
Miriam looked at Sven, and he nodded.


"What will be the target?"  Jessica asked.


"That, my child, is up to you.  This is what I chose you
for - what you chose for yourself, and what God chose for you - all those
months ago, when we first met.  You are as ready as we could make
you."


Jessica took a deep breath.  She'd known this day was coming sooner
or later.  She just hadn't expected it when she woke up this morning. 
But she wouldn't let Miriam down.  Or Jay and Kirsten.  She nodded
firmly.


"And our objective?"


"To give the Chairman pause, and to help motivate him to reconsider
his sins."  Miriam stated, and even Sven looked surprised.  Now
it was Miriam's turn to take a deep breath.


"I cannot believe that Sheng-Ji would whole-heartedly align himself
with the aliens.  No, he believes too much in his own vision for humanity
to sacrifice that for the aliens' goals.  He's pursuing this alliance
because it appears to reward him in the short term.  We must convince
him that the costs of these actions outweigh the benefits.  And so
we must cost him dearly where it hurts him the most - in his vision for
the Human Hive."


"You really think that Yang is committed to the `vision' of the Hive? 
That'd imply he has principles,"  Sven said skeptically.


"Oh he does, he most surely does,"  Miriam Godwinson said quietly. 
"I know, because he spoke of  them regularily, nearly every week in
the past hundred years."

---

It was late that night when Sven came back to Miriam's study, and the
small woman looked up at him from her Conclave Bible.


"Jessica's plan,"  Sven said, as he slid the datapad over to Miriam. 
"I've looked it over, and I like it.  The kid's got talent."


Miriam quickly skimmed through the contents of the probe ops plan, and
a faint smile creased her lips.


"She does indeed, Sven.   We can do it, and it drives our
point home.  And the moral rightness will be, I think, most pleasing
to God.  But what, may I ask, was the inspiration for the title?"


"Jessica's idea," Sven answered, "after I told her what a `mouse' is
- and when I told her there used to be `church mice', she chose the name."


Miriam smiled and signed the pad with the datawand.


Approved 2228 by Sister Miriam Godwinson: Operation Raging Mouse.

[Hydro]

UN Headquarters

'HEY! Carol! Over here!"

Carol looked over the sea of people in the cafeteria as she searched for the voice. There was so much activity and bustle that it was hard to tell where her friend's voice had come from.

"Over here! Agazi Section."

She looked left and, sure enough, there was Francis waving his arm at her. His table wasn't quite full, and it was pretty clear he had been saving a place for her, as he usually did. Having found him she made a b-line toward his table through the labyrinth of tables, floor pillows, partitions and other culturally sensitive eating arrangements that the UN ensured were available. Of these Carol disliked the pillow clutches the worst since they took up lots of room and since the clods who chose them took the liberty to spread out at the expense of those around them. Even worse, they weren't even Asian or of an eastern persuasion: they were simply inconsiderate space hogs.

As she got near Francis enthusiastically moved over to give her more room at the table.

"We're all here except for Raol. Come. Sit by me! In insist!" he said as he made an elaborate show of dusting off her chair.

"Flirt. Just get your hands out of the way before I sit down, OK? No 'accidents' involving your hands and my rear end, like on Friday," Carol said in a deadpan.

Francis looked wounded. "Wha..? How could you suggest such a thing! That is against all the equal protection laws, and such behavior violates at least three protocols on inappropriate contact! If I did that I would not be respecting your diversity, and I would never do that!"

Carol heard a few snickers, probably from Clar, Sanchez and Patricia. "Fine, then. Just get your wandering and free-thinking hands out of the way." She seated herself without incident, although she half expected a fleeting warm brush.

Francis pointed at the pudding in the upper left portion of Carol's plate with a semi-flaccid stalk of steamed celery. "So you got the Mongolian Tzi' Lo'n Pudding? What do you think?" As soon as he finished he started munching away on the celery.

"Well, considering I just sat down I have no idea. If you didn't make such a production out of everything I might actually get to eat my lunch before it got cold, for once," Carol said with a tad of sharpness in her voice.

Francis held up his hands in mock surrender and continued munching away. He did not take his eyes off her as she picked up her spoon. It was unnerving and she tried to ignore him.

Finally she got around to the pudding. After taking a bite Francis asked her, "Well? What do you think?"

Carol chewed a couple times. "Well, it's kind of earthy, and even a little meaty, which is a little strange for a pudding. Not sweet. Have you had it?"

Francis screwed up his face in disgust. "Not a chance. Blood pudding isn't my bag."

Carol stopped chewing. "Blood pudding?"

"Yup. Ever since that little encounter I had with 'Cratcho'll' I always do a datalinks search on their daily specials," he said. "I NEVER want to eat processed cockroaches again. Today's special translates as 'blood pudding'. "

She put her spoon down gently on her plate even though she wanted to throw it at Francis.

"Hey, you going to eat that?" he asked as he pointed at her steamed prawn in a light herb sauce.

"Paws off!" Carol hid her prawn under the protection of a hastily acquired fork as she saw Francis's fork descending toward her prize. "These are the best on Planet, and we're not likely to see any more any time soon, with the Gaians under siege and all. So, back off and let me enjoy my prawn."

Francis did back off, but only physically. "Well, serves the Tree Huggers right for sucking up to those war-monger Spartans for so long. Live by the sword, die by the sword."

"What did the Gaians ever do to anyone to deserve being invaded? They certainly did nothing to Yang except try to defend themselves, and they certainly did nothing against the Aliens. What are you talking about?" Carol asked.

"All I am saying is that the Tree Huggers have always been the lap dog of the Spartans," Francis explained. "All the Crazy Coronal has to say is 'Jump' and our favorite Forest Frolicker says 'How high?' They should have seen it coming and made peace when they could. But, no, they didn't, and now it's too late. Too bad for them."

"You know, Francis," Carol said as she realized how much of a ***** Francis could be, "you're being a bigger moron than usual. I suppose you couldn't understand why the Gaians wouldn't want peace with Yang? It might be because, oh, he almost exterminated them 30 years ago? Might she be loyal to the Spartans because Santiago was her only friend and stood beside her and her Gaians when she needed them most? We, the valiant Peacekeepers and upholders of the Charter, didn't even help her even though she has more in common with us than to the Spartans. We could have helped but, to our shame, we didn't to a thing except offer worthless official protests. She hadn't done anything to Yang but get in his way, even if Yang was to tool of that bastard Moran."

"The Gaians have always had their chance at peace, but they have let their lofty ideals get in the way…" Francis started.

Carol was incredulous. "Lofty ideals? Like the UN Charter? Or how about the UN Bill of Rights? Like those 'Lofty Ideals'? Do you even realize what you are saying? And, for the record, Yang and Morgan never offered her peace. There were no terms except total surrender, and in the end they didn't even accept that. They had no reason to accept any kind of peace since Santiago was busy crushing the University and we didn't get involved. They proved that the powerful can roll over the weak, and it is happening all over again. Now, instead of that rat bastard Morgan, the Hive is sucking up to these Aliens, and he is sopping up the spoils, just like 30 years ago. What chance to the Gaians have? None! And here we sit on our hands while good people die! What good are our 'Lofty Ideals' and our precious Charter if we can stand by and let the weak be consumed not once, but twice!"

Carol now had the undivided attention of the whole table. Nearby conversation stopped and heads were turning.

"This time Yang offered her peace! He gave his word…" Francis started again.

"HIS WORD?!!" Carol interjected. "The same Yang that enslaved her people, and put all of them in punishment spheres for 25 YEARS?!! The same Yang that obliterated two Spartan cities and almost 200,000 people with planetbusters? The same Yang that set off a tactical nuke at Sparta Command? The same Yang that started using horror of chemical weapons, forcing the Spartans to respond in kind? The same Yang that voted to repeal the UN Charter? Would you believe someone, anyone, if they did that to you or had such an infamous record? Are you surprised that she told him, after being betrayed so many time, to f*ck off?!!"

Carol stood up. Her mind was clear and her thoughts were racing. In fact, nothing had seemed so clear in a long, long time. "And what business do we have buying peace with Yang and the Aliens at the price of the exterminations of the Gaians? Do you, or any of you, remember your history and the partition of that country in eastern Europe during World War 2? Are we that weak that we will buy our freedom, for a little while, by sacrificing another people? Do we Peacekeepers buy our peace with the blood of others? Is that what you mean? Is that what we stand for?"

All around her heads were nodding. Several people looked at her with squinted eyes, but more had looks of shock, sadness or a grim determination on their faces.

"And now the Spartans, your 'war mongers', are not what we would want them to be. Yes, they voted against the Charter, but only because Yang was using weapons of mass destruction against them. Their wars against the University were a tragic misunderstanding that were wrapped up in the arrogance of both sides, and I wished they had not happened. I also wish that the war between the Hive and Spartans had not happened. But the Spartans did not start last war. If you look carefully you will find they don't start wars, but they do finish them. You can hate their martial ways but you can respect their ideals, even if they are brutal.

And for all that do they deserve to be exterminated? Have you seen the vids? There were 20,000 DEAD, slaughtered civilians from Hero's Waypoint. Oh, sure, the Hive denied it, but vids like that can't lie. The Spartans and even the Hive would never do such a thing - forced migration and then summary execution. How alien are these Aliens? Do they think human life is worth so little? How could they simply gun them down like cattle? Or maybe the think we ARE cattle? I heard the rumors ghastly rumors about the Aliens, and I didn't believe them until I saw the holovids. One little girl even looked like she had been partially eaten! Eaten!! And these Aliens are the Hive's new allies. Just think of that. First, he learned treachery and how to be amoral from Morgan, now he learns how to be truly ruthless from his Alien friends, who have raised genocide to an art form.

Pretty picture? Want another? What do you think this amoral, treacherous and ruthless Yang and his Alien buddies will do when they are done exterminating the Spartans and conquering the Gaians? Who's next? Hmmm? Let me think for a minute: what would a faction bent on world domination do before going on his killing spree? Maybe, divide and conquer, like he has done to us? Make us stand on the sidelines while those who we share so many ideals with, like the Gaians, are crushed, and those that would stand with us, like the Spartans, are completely destroyed? After they're gone who would be the next victim? The Believing Drones with their four cities? I don't think so - it will be us.

And do you know what I think? I think that if we let this happen that we deserve it! We will have failed the Charter and everything the UN stands for. We will be an empty shell, a cipher, and a failed dream to be swept into the dustbin of history. And, who will win? The very antithesis of what we stand for: the bloodthirsty, amoral, and treacherous - those who do not value human life, and who will stomp on the face of humanity forever. The last chance of humanity will be lost because we failed!."

Silence filled the cafeteria. Carol looked down at a wilted Francis. Suddenly she realized that the entire room was looking at her and she looked around. It was strange, but the people she stared at seemed to sit straighter when she glanced at them. She looked from face to face and saw no doubting faces. It both thrilled and scared her. She thought, have I don't this?.

Here diatribe and obviously touched many people either by vocalizing what they were thinking or by clarifying the issues so they could actually see.

Carol realized they were waiting - waiting for her to continue.

"We can't let this happen. We just can't," she said in a quiet voice that flowed through the entire cavernous eating establishment. "It isn't right. We can't betray everything we stand for, and everyone that would stand with us. Sooner or later the sword will fall on us, too, and all we would do is postpone that day a little with the blood of others. We don't want to fight, but we must. If we don't than we're no better than Yang, or his Alien allies.

We have to fight for what we believe in, or we believe in nothing," she said clearly.

Carol looked across the sea of faces. She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and saw that Francis had stood up. She turned to face him, and he unexpectedly gave her a gentle hug. He whispered softly into her ear, "You're right." Carol was shocked since she'd never known Francis to admit his was wrong to anyone. That was why he was such a lovable and unpredictable jackass.

She almost didn't hear his whisper, though. The men and women in the cafeteria were shouting their approval.

Francis broke away from the embrace and they both looked around them. The previously quiet cafeteria was not a throng of motion; a few were leaving en mass, but most were going up toward Carol in a wave to agree with her, or just to touch her. It was really quite extraordinary. Francis, however, was clearly enjoying the attention, even if he was an almost innocent bystander.

All she could do was return the smiles she was receiving. On impulse she raised her clenched fist into the air. Francis raised his fist shortly after hers, and the mass of friends and coworkers that surrounded them followed.

Carol was exultant, but she couldn't help thinking, My god! What have I started?

[senatus]

100 Kilometers West of Hero's Waypoint


Sub-conqueror Viir was perplexed, to say the least.


Assigned the task of securing the advance route leading from the recently-conquered
Invader base to one of Conquerer Zzar's strategic objectives - namely,
the headquarters base of the Invader Spartans, Viir's hardened drop infantry
unit and a supporting Ogre had moved quickly from their landing zone at
the captured base.  Deep radar scans had confirmed that no Invader
military were nearby to bar the way; if Viir's unit was lucky and the Invaders
caught off guard, Zzar had even hoped that they would be able to secure
an important defensive outpost halfway between Honor: Progenitor and the
potential target before the enemy could heavily garrison it.


So it was a surprise to Viir as her scouts reported coming under small-arms
fire ahead.  The weaponry was pathetic against her troops, even by
Invader standards, but it was unexpected.


"Tactical officer: query.  Nature and level of threat: assessment?"


Her tactical officer unlimbered his deep radar sensor and studied it
for a moment.  He looked up at her in a moment of astonishment before
ducking his head in accustomed deference.


"Identification: Invader worker drones?!  Resistance: Minimal,
but resilience: high."


Viir didn't take umbrage at her tac officer's breach of time-honoured
protocol; she recognized his surprise which resonated with her own. 
Like the Progenitors, the Invader humans had an under-class of workers
- in Progenitor society, these were literally referred to as "drones";
the Yang human term was "civilians", which were bred for labour, not combat. 
In fact, the Progenitor drones were mentally incapable of combat; such
a privilaged task was reserved for the elite warrior Conquerers and some
of the more esteemed Stochastics.  So why were these Invader Spartan
workers fighting instead of meekly submitting to extermination?


Perhaps there were warriors masquerading as workers, using them as camoflauge? 
That was a clever tactic, and characteristically dishonourable as these
Spartans had proved themselves.  No matter, thought Viir.  They
would die regardless.  She gave the order to regroup and unlimber
the Ogre's heavy guns against the Invaders.

---

Jerome Waters was once the second assistant administrator of Hero's
Waypoint Recycling Tanks.  He was also, in his spare time, Reserve
Private Jerome Waters of the Spartan Civil Defence.  The reservist
suspected his career in the latter capacity would be very short - especially
as he was now drawing unwanted attention to his prone position - but fired
his weapon regardless.  The rifle bucked against his shoulder as the
bullet left the muzzle, an obsolete technology pitted against modern standards. 
He'd have to get incredibly lucky to do any damage against these armoured
bugs.  Nevertheless, fighting and dying was always preferable to simply
dying, and he squeezed the trigger again as he sighted along the barrel.


"Waters!  Lay down a suppressing fire," Reserve Lieutenant Alfred
Wright ordered, as he prepared retreat his other CDs in good order. 
It would mean that Waters was a dead man, but he might be able to buy a
minute or three for the rest of the CD unit.  If Wright could keep
on doing this tactic - which evidence over the last hour indicated he could
- he could probably buy Sparta Command another forty-five minutes.


That precious time wouldn't be enough to save Wright or the rest of
the civilians in colony pod C-537-D.  Nothing was going to save them,
and Alfred Wright tried hard not to think of his wife and five-year-old
son in the pod train.  Probably Ellen was dead already - she had been
part of the rearguard, and soon Jonathon would join his mother.  Not
before Alfred breathed his last dying breath, however.


It wasn't supposed to have been that way.  The colony pods had
evacuated Hero's Waypoint in good order, and the plan had been to rendezvous
at the Eastguard bunkers on the road to Sparta Command.  But instead,
the aliens had continued to pursue and massacre the fleeing civilians. 
Pod C-535-D had been cut apart like an overripe melon by the alien energy
beams, and seven hundred and sixty-eight civilians had died instantly. 
Another twenty-eight hundred had died agonizing deaths by fungal asphixiation
in the next few minutes - there were only so many breather masks to go
around.  Yet they were more lucky than the remaining fourteen hundred
or so; they were hunted down and killed on the spot, or taken for darker
purposes.


Pod C-536-D was more prepared; they'd chosen to block the road to try
to give C-537-D a chance to escape.  Considering most of the childrens'
creche was in C-537-D, that made sense.  Unfortunately, their determined
stand hadn't lasted more than a few minutes against the intense weaponry
the alien mech wielded.  Ellen had been one of those brave defenders,
and it must've broken her heart when she'd realized that Alfred and Jonathon
weren't going to make it after all.


Clearly though, the aliens' main objective was to blitzkrieg forward
and occupy the Eastguard bunker complex before Sparta Command could garrison
it.  It was a strategic position; half-way between Hero's Waypoint
and Sparta Command itself, it commanded the only road between the aliens
and Headquarters.  And the only people between the aliens and the
bunker complex were the Civil Defence of colony pod C-537-D.  Everyone
in Alfred Wright's unit knew that - including Jerome Waters - and they
were determined to sell their lives for the defence of the Homeland. 
Their lives, the lives of their spouses and even their children were already
lost.  Nothing else remained except honour and death.  For a
Spartan, those were enough.


Jerome Waters never even saw the singularity blast of the Progenitor
Ogre before it hit him.  But his death bought a few seconds as the
massive weapon recharged.  Likewise, so did the deaths of Marylin
Cotters, Hideko and Takaya Ito, Gunter Zweig, and hundreds more. 
Precisely forty-one minutes had passed since Jerome Waters had been given
his final orders, and now it was just down to Alfred Wright, and a few
dozen isolated militia scattered over a hundred square kilometers. 
Nothing remained to slow the aliens further - the bugs were overrunning
the last positions - but it had been enough.


"Sparta Command - this is it.  I'm at coordinates 571 by 281 off
the sensor grid at Eastguard.  We're being overrun and we're almost
all gone.  Do what you have to do," Reserve Lieutenant Alfred Wright
ordered almost calmly as he emptied the last of his clip into an alien
not five meters away.  The bullets bounced off the strange alien armour
without visible effect.


"Understood, Spartan.  You will be remembered."  The response
came back, and Wright smiled even as the alien loomed over him.  His
duty was done.  The alien's weapon shredded the unarmoured Spartan
instantly, but five seconds later a deadly rain of hyper-accelerated shard
artillery rained down on Wright's last radioed position, and the alien
joined the human in death.


The Spartan Army had reached Eastguard in time.

---

"Honoured Conquerer Marr: I, Viir, am ashamed to report failure in
achieving our primary objective.  My life is forfeit.  I ask
only that I and my unit be allowed to remain in current position, so that
my successor be able to carry on the attack against the Invader Spartans."


The holoprojection bowed itself before Marr, ritually exposing its vitals
for execution.  The fact that Viir was hundreds of kilometers away
did not make her submission any less genuine, for she would return for
execution or die in battle as Marr commanded her.  The young conquerer
knew this, and knew tradition demand he make either choice.  Marr
could sense his Personalities instructing him on the proper course of action.


But... no.  Viir had made a solid effort.  She had failed,
yes, yet not through any personal fault, but through the unexpected actions
of the Spartan drone civilians.  If she died now, she would never
learn to become a greater warrior; and without learning, how could one
ever progress?  Besides, now that the Spartan Invaders had occupied
the bunker position in force, both Viir's unit and the irreplaceable Ogre
would be exposed to whatever counter-strike the humans could muster. 
That was certainly an acceptable outcome by tradition, but it seemed...
wasteful.


"Permission denied," Marr ordered, and Viir lowered her neck in obedience,
knowing that immediate execution by proxy would be the alternative. 
But she was to be surprised for the second time in one day, as Marr gave
his next instructions.


"Retreat, and return your unit to base for repair and resupply." 
Marr grew suddenly thoughtful before continuing.


"And capture and retrieve intact one of the surviving human 'civilians'. 
Preferably an adolescent youngling, female."


Marr's image faded, and Viir exchanged perplexed looks with her tactical
officer, for both the orders - retreat, and retrieval - were as unorthodox
and bizarre as anything they had ever heard.  Far preferable would
have been the simple order to stay and die for their failure.


Viir began to understand why the other Warriors referred to the young
Conquerer Marr as "the strange one."  And the first stirrings of curiosity
overcame her deep-seated sense of tradition.

[senatus]

Strategic Planning Centre, Sparta Command


The uniform armour of the Headquarters Guard was highly polished and
militarily immaculate, yet for all that, only a complete idiot would've
thought that the Guards' function was intended for just show.  A close
look into the hard, unflinching eyes of any of the fifty men and women
charged with the duty of protecting the Strategic Planning Centre - and
the officers of the Spartan Federation command staff - known commonly as
the Junta - would immediately dispel that impression, for the Headquarters
Guard were, like their historical predecessors in the Praetorian Guard,
"Elites".


That designation alone hardly made them unique, of course, at least
within Sparta; many if not most all other Spartan units had also earned
that designation.  Other factions, seeing the Spartan lead, had also
fallen into the habit of designating their best military as "Elite", even
though they would only have been considered Veteran troops by Spartan standards. 
Of course, no other faction liked admitting that, so the term was far over-used. 
In truth, none of the Peacekeeper forces - who had never seen battle -
nor the Morganic mercenaries, nor the Drone Believers motley if dedicated
troops were truly deserving of the term, matched against the objective
standards set by the Junta for the soldiers of Sparta. Even the Human Hive
could field only one or two battle-hardened units worthy of that standard,
although the Hiverian navy was second to none on Planet.


Unlike the Praetorians, the Headquarters Guard was their complete and
total dedication to their duty, for they were unquestionably willing to
die to the last soldier with an unflinching fanaticism that could have
only been matched by Sister Miriam's most ardent followers.  A not-insignificant
number of the Guard were descendants of members of the Junta itself; 
not due to nepotism or favouritism of any sort; rather, the prestige associated
with the duty was seen as a fitting tradition for the members of Sparta's
oldest military families.


The Guard, for all their dedication, were humanly fallible; Haraad Ashandi
had, in the past, penetrated their security in the guise of Gavin Burge. 
Even the planet's foremost and most infamous chameleon empath, however,
would've been suicidally foolhardy to attempt to penetrate the security
of the Strategic Planning Centre itself; behind the two-metre thick plasma
steel blast doors of the entrance were numerous inhuman sensors
and security devices; retinal scanners, mass sensors, voice recognition
systems, DNA samplers, and more.


A probe operative with the computer skills of Datajack Roze might've
been able to bypass these systems - but only maybe, for the computer locks
had been designed by the famous Edgecrusher himself -and he'd designed
them so that even he couldn't get past the security systems. 
With the exception of the control room to the Hunter-Seeker Algorithm,
there was no place as secure from prying eyes as the Strategic Planning
Centre.


In terms of physical security, only the Tactical Planning Centre
was better protected; and it was used for the sole (and unprecedented)
scenario of defending Sparta Command itself.  The TPC's facilities
had never been used in a live scenario, although that could obviously change
soon.  After the TPC, the SPC was, however, just about one of the
safest, most secure locations on the planet.


Which is ironic, considering that no-one here seems to be taking
any reassurance in the supposed "safety" of this place, thought "Colonel"
Corazan Santiago, President of the Spartan Federation, and Supreme Commander
of the Spartan Armed Forces and Civil Defence.


Right now, in fact, a dozen or more voices were talking at once in urgent,
if not quite panicked, tones.  Even the more experienced heavyweights
on the Junta were speaking in quick, whispered consultations with their
aides.


Well, dammit, they should've seen this coming, Santiago thought,
and picked up the Terran ceremonial sword on the blotter before her to
bang twice, sharply, on the table with the hilt of the ancient weapon.


"Silence!  Chaos is not a productive environment for our
deliberations!"


Instantly, the room fell silent, and Santiago took a deep breath as
she marshalled her own thoughts.  Her eyes swept the room briefly,
taking in the occupants.  Salvadore St-James' face was grim, but calm. 
Hui Wang - concerned, but certainly not panicked.  Xavier Bisset -
revived from his cryocell for this conference, as per his standing instructions,
should Sparta ever be invaded - was completely impassive and unreadable. 
And Honshu - was that calculation in his eyes?  The other members
of the Junta - currently twenty-three in number - weren't exactly insignificant,
Santiago knew, but they would almost certainly take their lead from the
four principals present, plus herself.  Several were members of the
"new" Junta, brought in the last year to replace others who had died -
like Burge or Atriedes - or who had resigned or left - like Googlie and
Rice Aguilera - or to fill command slots necessary in a vastly expanded
Spartan Military.


"We shall review our current data in an orderly fashion.  Marshall
Wang, begin."


Hui Wang stood in response to Santiago's order.


"We recovered and debriefed the last known surviving member of the garrison
of Hero's Waypoint, a soldier known as 'Watcher'.  His commander entrusted
him with the task of observing and reporting the alien attack, since communications
links were down. As you can see from the following recordings, combat,
once initiated, was extremely short.  Simply put, our weapons had
minimal - though not, I stress, unmeasureable - effects on the alien
vehicles' armour.  Their weaponry, however, is far more destructive
than anything we've even conceived.  You'll notice how it seems to
penetrate hardened bunker positions and perimeter defences with no significant
reduction in killing power.  Simply measured, the only defence seems
to simply not be wherever this weapon - which SciDiv calls a 'singularity
laser' - hits."


Data flashed up on the dozens of tactical repeaters in the room, relayed
and analysed in real-time by the Command Nexus supercomputers as Wang continued
his report, and Santiago took the time to assimilate the data before pointing
to her Science Minister.


Doctor Alison Bonaventura stood.  A physically unimposing woman,
Bonaventura possessed a first-class mind, and was one of the few Spartan
scientists who had possessed a genuine, grudging respect from the old-guard
University researchers.


"We're calling this beam a singularity laser based on data obtained
from our mass sensors, actually - they were fluctuating each time the weapon
was fired, similar in response to our own experiments with graviton weaponry. 
We never developed graviton weapons ourselves, of course, because Shard
weaponry was simpler to produce and has a greater destructive potential
with current technology constraints.  Where the alien weapon differs,
we speculate, is that the gravometric pulse creates multiple standing
wave patterns of slightly different frequencies and phases, and these patterns
intersect at a specific point.  The result seems to be nothing less
than a short-duration singularity created at the target zone."


"Jesus Christ," someone muttered, and for all her military discipline,
Santiago couldn't help but share the sentiment.  As if anticipating
her next question, Bonaventura continued.


"We cannot, as yet, accurately give an assessment of this weapon's battle
potential.  Too much depends on range and recharge time.  However,
as Marshal Wang pointed out, whatever - or whoever - is the target of this
weapon, is dead, regardless of any armour or reactor type we have currently
developed."


"We have better assessments of the hostiles' defensive capabilities,
however.  Clearly, our weaponry had some minimal effect upon it, although
far less than upon any current human technology.  It's orders of magnitude
more powerful than familiar physical armour combinations such as silk or
plasma steel, and more even than the resonance armour that Admiral McMillan's
fleet encountered.  We've had more time to study the defensive capabilities
of the aliens, ever since our first encounter by Argonaut squadron. 
Massive amounts of conventional Shard weaponry should, in theory, be able
to overload the defensive field.  All that energy has to go somewhere,
after all, and the aliens haven't been able to overcome the basic laws
of thermodynamics.  We think."  Bonaventura permitted herself
a grim smile.


"Finally, the aliens appear to be using a new reactor type of a sort
we've never even heard of.  All our mass / energy engineering rules
tell us that it is simply impossible for the aliens to power a craft
that large, with offensive and defensive capabilities so vast, on any known
or even hypothesized reactor type.   Given the deep radar density
readings of these vehicles - which by the way are off the scale - we're
theorizing that the aliens are somehow able harnessing an artificial black
hole on a vehicle-portable scale."


"Impossible."  General Honshu spoke for the first time.  Unlike
most of the other members of the Junta, Honshu had a strong second-hand
scientific background provided by his staff.  That made a certain
amount of sense, given his role in the University wars, and his deployment
in the former UoP bases.


"Unfortunately, no-one has told the aliens that what they're
doing is impossible."  Bonaventura shrugged, and Honshu flashed a
dangerous look in the Science Minister's direction.  Bonaventura was
too habitually unaware of her real-life surroundings to take notice; no-one
would sanely risk angering the Junta's chief enforcer otherwise. 
Fortunately, Honshu was signalled to speak next by Santiago.


"General Honshu - brief us on our defensive positions."


Honshu rose and directed the main plots from the Command Nexus.


"The aliens have taken both Hero's Waypoint and Janissary Point, and
eliminated all local resistance.  I need not point out that this puts
them almost within striking distance of Sparta Command itself.  To
prevent the communications blackout effect that Hero's Waypoint experienced,
I've installed redundant fibre-optic links to link all bases and bunkers
into the Command Nexus.  Meanwhile, several of Sparta Command's on-standby
military units - infantry and artillery - have gone out and occupied the
Eastguard bunker position, which gives us some defensive depth.  They've
come under only limited fire - the alien units appear to have retreated
back to Hero's Waypoint rather than risk air strikes in the open. 
We have also used drop troops to occupy the bunker position between Hero's
Waypoint and Janissary Point, to keep the aliens divided into two forces. 
Given their reported ability to do orbital re-insertions, however, I am
not sure that we will be able to maintain that division.  As for Sparta
Command itself, my Militia was in position to reinforce our position here
via drop insertion, so I plan to use them to replace the units now occupying
Eastguard.  As a precaution, I've also placed garrisons in Westguard
and certain other bunker positions, to prevent the enemy from literally
dropping in and cutting us off."


Honshu looked around in quiet satisfaction, noting that a number of
heads
were nodding approvingly and in some relief.  It didn't hurt Honshu's
plans in the least for the Junta to see that the only productive and decisive
actions thus far had been instigated by himself and not St-James...
or Santiago.  Time to capitalize on that, but just a little bit
right now.  I'm cocking the hammer before I pull the trigger,
Honshu thought before adding,


"Beyond that, I really cannot say.  The majority of our mobile
forces that might be used for a quick counter-offensive are currently under
General St-James' command," Honshu added, before bowing to yield the floor
to St-James in false humility.


You son of a *****, you know damn well they're still in the process
of assembly and upgrade, the Gecko thought as he stood.


"We're quite truthfully not prepared for a counter-offensive as yet. 
Given the aliens' unknown capabilities and numbers - since they are using
drop reinforcements - our current strategic position is and remains twofold. 
One, to damage the aliens' strategic infrastructure where possible
- in essence, hurting their core capabilities harder and faster
than they can hurt us.  Two, to draw out the enemies' units and slowly
attrit them, essentially using skirmish hit-and-fade tactics."


"Excuse me, Salvadore."  For the first time, Xavier Bisset put
a thin hand up, and St-James looked a bit surprised, but nodded to the
old man with genuine respect.


"Your strategic position - which I've been given to understand was formulated
before the invasion of Spartan soil, and comprises the majority of our
best units - is geared towards an offensive posture on enemy soil, or allied
bases in Morganic territory, correct?  That doesn't answer the question
as to how you intend defend the Homeland."


Santiago caught Gecko's eye and nodded almost imperceptibly, before
speaking up herself.


"Our strategic posture, Xavier, is to deploy dispersed units, slowing
the enemy down in the field, and looking for high-reward opportunities
to counter-attack.  If they attempt to outflank us, we cut off their
flanking forces and then destroy the isolated units.  If they attempt
reconnaissance missions, we pick off their scouts.  And above all,
we look for opportunity targets - military or strategic.  We don't
want to get bogged down into a defensive war, and lose sight of the greater
military theatre."  Santiago explained.


"Too passive."  Bisset pronounced flatly, startling many of the
Junta, including Santiago herself.  St-James, however, happened to
have been looking at Honshu, and stiffened in his chair.  The bastard
had definitely smirked for a moment when Bisset had spoken.


"The Homeland is in danger.  What will you do if they launch a
frontal assault on our more important bases?  Or attack Sparta Command
itself?  The correct way to deal with this threat is a strategy of
stand-and-defend, supplemented by appropriate AAA weaponry, sensors, perimeter
defences, and the like.  In sufficient numbers of course, not as individual
units being overwhelmed like at Hero's Waypoint and Janissary Rock. 
We determine the disposition of the enemy's forces, determine his target,
and then break his back.  After his main battle force is shattered,
we can hunt down and destroy the survivors - just as the aliens are doing
right
now to our civilians!"  Bisset said with cold anger.  Several
of the Junta were nodding.


Santiago took a moment to consider her response to Bisset's unexpected
opposition.  Never a politician however, her response was equally
flat - and undiplomatic, if factual.


"I'm aware of what's happening, Xavier.  However, in response to
your question - if they come after our bases directly, we lose them - including
Sparta Command.  Oh, we can draw it out, but to stand and defend
against that kind of weaponry is suicide.  The aliens have clearly
come here expecting, and presumably prepared for, direct head-on battle. 
Hell, they're even asking us to confront them directly with this
'challenge' of theirs.  I do not intend to oblige them."


Salvadore St-James, meanwhile, was paying close attention to the various
Junta members' expressions.  He agreed with Corrie's assessment -
he'd even had sounded out the basic strategy with Googlie, without Santiago's
knowledge and approval, and Googlie agreed too. But that didn't change
the fact that a lot of the Junta were very uncomfortable with the
idea of  losing bases - especially Sparta Command! - to a concentrated
alien assault.  It was simply unthinkable; Sparta hadn't lost a single
base to military assault in the Hive war, and Sparta Command had been inviolable
and 'safe' for a hundred and twenty-eight years since Landing.  For
all their collective military wisdom, too many of the Junta were too hide-bound
to be able to accept the bitter pill that for once, the superiour weight
of arms was clearly on the enemy's side, and the only way to beat
them would be to accept that fact and adapt a more flexible strategy. 
Chapter Two of the Spartan Battle Manual.  But Xavier Bisset should've
known better; how the hell did Honshu get the old fossil into his
camp?


Xavier hasn't seen modern battle.  The thought came unbidden
to St-James' mind, and he nodded to himself.  Same with Honshu, in
fact.  Both were veterans of the University war, but that was a very
different type of war.  When defending against impact and missile
weapons, a static defence of plasma steel backed by defensive terrain such
as forest or mountains and sensors was a viable defence.  That'd worked
well in the University war - but against modern weaponry, the balance clearly
sided with the aggressor in almost all scenarios.  Hell, Sparta had
proved
that by blowing the Hive out of its bunkers.  But Xavier Bisset had
been in cryosleep for most of all that.  Honshu, though... his "militia"
hadn't been on the front, but Honshu was at least aware of what was going
on.  Did he have a card up his sleeve?  Or was this just a bid
to unseat Corrie?


"With respect, I agree with Bisset."  Honshu announced, throwing
down the glove in earnest.  This was the moment he'd been preparing
for for years, finally seeing the chance for it to culminate when Googlie
had ineptly managed to disgrace himself, and Burge and Atriedes had gotten
themselves killed.  That young fool Amos Cornell who'd rebelled in
the early days of the Spartan Federation hadn't understood that to unseat
Santiago, one needed the backing of the Junta.  And now he
had the tools to turn the Junta against Santiago.


"This policy of 'non-engagement' is something that might be appropriate
to the Peacekeepers, but not to Sparta.  And the fact is, the force
dispersement of Task Force X was designed to try to cover our 'allies',
the Morganites and the Drone Believers.  But we are not the
Peacekeepers, nannies to the other factions. We are Sparta, and we must
look to our own needs first.  This entire conflict with the
Hive could have been ended earlier, leaving our forces in better shape,
and not forcing Yang into alliance with the aliens.  However, I grant
that this is in the past.  Now, however, we need to pull back
our forces, concentrate on core offence / defence, and drive these aliens
out of our territory!  If I had these forces at my disposal, I could
end this invasion within the month."


Honshu noted with some satisfaction that Corazon's face had, momentarily,
gone white with fear as she suddenly became aware of the challenge.


He was wrong, however - Corazon's face had gone white, but with
anger not fear.  Right now, Spartan soldiers and civilians were fighting
bravely, were dying to buy precious time for Sparta to organize
its defences.  And this... cretino was pissing that away with
his power play!  Gecko had tried to warn her, subtly - but she'd dismissed
it as simply bad feelings between Gecko and Honshu.  Well, now she
knew better.  Honshu had revealed himself for the enemy he was - not
just to Santiago, but to the Federation; for the Federation could never
allow itself to be a tool of mere political ambition.


True, Santiago was a lousy politician.  But when confronted with
a known enemy, she was a superb tactician - and she never lost her
cool in battle.


"General Honshu.  I respect your position, and skills.  Legitimate
differences of opinion are inevitable.  But we are a military organization,
with a defined chain of command.  Furthermore, our homeland is being
invaded.  We must not allow differences in opinion to divide us at
such a critical time, and we must speak with one voice."


"Madame President, I agree that now is not the time to seek division
within the Junta, and that the Junta must speak with one voice," Honshu
said cooly before continuing.


"Your service to Sparta was and is invaluable, but I respectfully submit
that you do cannot speak for the Junta now.  Instead, let the Junta
decide who speaks for us all."  Honshu turned to address his fellow
officers.


"I do not discount the Colonel's views lightly, but I believe we need
not compromise in our defence.  Indeed, I have recently been briefed
on a new defensive technology that our scientists have developed, called
the 'Photon Wall'.  While wide-scale refit is beyond our means, I
have already taken the liberty of preparing my Militia for prototype upgrade,
and they are ready to do so in defence of Sparta Command if the energy
cost is authorized."


There was a sudden hubbub and Honshu smiled to himself as he pulled
another trick out of his bag; nothing could revitalize the Junta like the
offer of a promising new technology, one that could allow his loyal
units to defend the headquarters.  It was time to make his final pitch.


"Members of the Junta, I offer myself as an alternate candidate to Corazon
Santiago for supreme military leader.  My pledge is to defend the
Federation unswervingly."


He's good, I have to give him that.  A nice speech, a promise
to defend what no-one here wants to think about losing, and a new tech
that I've never heard about - and I bet Corrie hasn't either.  Probably
something that he got last year out of those UoP researchers and sat on
until now.  Gecko thought, before standing himself.


"Members of the Junta.  I recognize that we are at a time of crisis,
and a time of decision.  But I submit to you that now is not
the time to uproot our command structure.  I can tell you that the
Colonel and myself have planned for many weeks now how best to fight the
aliens and win.  Not just the battles, but the war.  Like
General Honshu, I am Spartan, and I will die for Sparta.  But because
I am Spartan, I will do everything in my power to win... and that includes
my voting to retain Corazon Santiago as Supreme Commander-in-Chief."


There.  He'd just laid all his personal credibility on the line
to support Corrie, and like she'd told him, the Gecko had a lot of credibility,
precisely because the Junta knew he wasn't politically ambitious. 
But then, neither was Xavier Bisset.  Would it be enough?  He
damned well hoped so, because if Honshu won and Santiago was ousted, the
Gecko knew he'd be demoted - or more likely 'disappeared' - within the
week.  In fact, even now Honshu had caught his eye and was shaking
his head slowly, even sorrowfully.


So.  The challenge has been presented, Corazon Santiago
thought while a still, unbroken silence reigned over the Strategic Planning
Centre.  She could refuse to allow the vote, of course - but that
would lead to command division, maybe even civil war.  And then she
remembered another famous general, faced with a similar dilemma.


Let the dice fall where they may, Santiago thought, quoting Gaius
Julius Caesar.  She carefully placed the ancient ceremonial
sword on her blotter, and pushed the blotter away from her.


"I call for the Junta's votes."


St-James stood first.  "Santiago."


Field Marshal Hui Wang stood next.  "Honshu."


Bonaventura hesitated, then spoke.  "Santiago."


But the next three votes, including generals Lockhard and O'Brien, were
for Honshu.  It was now Xavier Bisset's turn, and while the old man
didn't hesitate in indecision, at least he looked Santiago in the eye with
a silent gesture of respect for times past.


"Honshu."


The votes continued.  Two more for Honshu.


Ben "Slats" Miller voted next.  "Santiago."  Now that
was a surprise, Corazon thought.


Patricia "Trawler" McMillan stood.  "Santiago."


What the hell?  Both Miller and McMillan were in Googlie's
camp, when he was still a member of the Junta.  Santiago's gaze
slid to the left, and her eyes widened slightly, for Honshu's face had
whitened.  Clearly he was just as surprised as Santiago, but unlike
her, far less pleased at the surprise.


Colonel Eugene Levassieur, the base commander for Hawk of Chiron, cast
his vote.  So did Helen Tobias, from Assassin's Redoubt.  "Santiago."


Honshu was a controlled man, and the only indication of his rage now
was in the whiteness of his knuckles.  His head turned to look at
Santiago, but she was as surprised as he... and then he understood, as
he looked now at St-James.  The Gecko returned his gaze with his trademark
unblinking stare, and Honshu nodded once in respect for a clever enemy.


"The votes are cast," Santiago finally announced when everyone had spoken. 
"Honshu has ten.  Santiago has thirteen."


"A moment, Colonel."  Bisset spoke with a voice of liquid helium. 
"This count stands, but in the interests of a united Sparta, I wish to
withdraw my vote and instead call upon all of us to endorse Colonel Santiago
unanimously."


Santiago met Bisset's eyes.  It was a fair gesture.  Bisset
always
voted for what he perceived as the best interests of Sparta, and she'd
always respected that.  He had disagreed with her, but  now would
follow her leadership to the best of his ability, Santiago knew. 
Sparta was too important for this political division to remain, and Bisset's
offer neatly reversed all remaining support for Honshu, and any notion
of a possible coup.  Bisset's motion had not been for her, but for
the good of Sparta.


"Very well.  As chairperson, I withdraw the previous motion for
selection of Supreme Commander, and instead call upon a vote of confidence. 
All in favour?"


Twenty-three hands lifted, and even though his left hand was fisted
underneath the table in impotent rage, Honshu's right hand raised with
everyone else's.  He had no choice, after all.

[senatus]

Sea Hive


Cyrus Peake was a talented general, but still young in many ways...
at least by Sheng-Ji Yang's standards.  Peake had not yet learned
to truly control his expressions and the emotions behind them.


Ah, well.  One must make allowances for the young, 
Sheng-Ji thought tolerantly, for he was in a very good mood - not that
Yang's mood ever dictated his own course of actions.  Of course he
was in a good mood; for his newest and bravest general was presenting excellent
news.  Yang could read Cyrus' face like an open book.  What he
saw was patriotism, devotion to duty, earnest enthusiasm for the victories
of the Hive.  In short, all the ideal qualities a Hiverian citizen
learned from the crèche to recycling tanks. the self of group.


"Honoured Chairman.  I am pleased to report that we have achieved
all of our mission objectives for Phase One.  Hive drop troops have
liberated, in the name of the Hive, the former Gaian base of Temple of
Chiron; and our needlejets are now able to use the airstrip facilities. 
We have cleared a hundred-kilometer radius surrounding the Progenitor monolith,
securing our ability to receive reinforcements, or to retreat if necessary
- although that would be an unlikely occurrence.  The premiere Gaian
base of Velvetgrass Point is still in enemy hands, but we have encountered
only minimal resistance in securing our current perimeter.  I would
like to commend the Bureau of State Security's intelligence arm; as predicted,
the Gaians' defence forces field obsolete technology by Hiverian standards,
and their morale is poor.  Their citizens have no desire to die defending
the elitist and socially unprogressive policies of Dierdre Skye and her
governors."


"You have done well, General, as expected.  Have you defeated any
hostile mindworm boils as yet?"  Yang asked.


"We have encountered no mindworms whatsoever, as yet," Peake admitted. 
"But I'm confident the two empath and two trance units allocated to the
liberation of Velvetgrass Point, if we go for option Phase Two B, will
be more than enough to deal with the daemon boil reported to reside at
Velvetgrass, and any of its hatchlings.  According to my brief from
the Bureau of State Security, all of the Gaian mindworms are busy defending
the plutocrat Morgan's territory.  The best enemy tech we've seen
is missile / fission, and that presents no significant resistance."


"I am gladdened that our resources will not be consumed in this invasion,"
Yang acknowledged.  "But I wish to offer our allies the glory of conquest
that their society craves by inviting them to take Velvetgrass Point for
themselves.  Our forces will continue in the less glorious, but still
essential task of garrisoning the monolith, and securing this 'Manifold
Nexus' for the aliens.  You will communicate this intent to Stochastic
Canla," Yang ordered, knowing well the aliens would relish the opportunity
to conquer an enemy, and disdained the assistance of the "primitive" Human
Hive.  So much the better.


"As my Chairman wishes," Peake bowed, trying to conceal his disappointment. 
He knew his capabilities and those of his elite troops, and had hoped to
demonstrate their devotion to the Hive for Yang.  Why deploy the Hive's
best, only elite shard units so, when simple chaos units would've done
the task equally well then?


"Do not be disappointed, young Cyrus," Yang said, reading Peake's thoughts
easily.  "We do not seek individual glory for any general or any army
unit; only the advancement of the Hive itself.  And it suits our diplomatic
stance with our allies as well.  And as I stated, securing monolith
and the Manifold Nexus is a critical strategic objective," perhaps far
more critical than you can realize, my young general, Yang thought
but did not say.


"To that end, I will be sending Ota Kyu to assist and advise you. 
Her task is to research the Nexus until the Progenitors have achieved their
victories," or, perhaps, sated their bloodlust, Yang thought with
a certain distaste that did not show in his voice or on his face.


"Those are your sole objectives at this point," Yang concluded. 
"The Hive relies upon you.  Please inform your officers and soldiers
that they serve the Hive most satisfactorily."


"As you wish, honoured Chairman.  We serve the Hive."  Peake
saluted, and the link ended.


Sheng-Ji Yang steepled his fingers and contemplated the space where
Peake's holo-image had been a moment ago.  A most talented general. 
Dedicated, and capable.  Should I tell him more?  But no, it
would serve no purpose as yet, and all I see right now are possibilities,
not patterns.


Yang was extremely pleased with the invasion concept, which had come
to him months ago in a meditative revelation.  It served his purposes
extremely well - purposes, as yet, that he had not shared fully with anyone,
not even - or most especially - Haraad Ashandii.  He knew that his
lieutenant wondered about the value of conducting the invasion, for their
were no military or strategic objectives to be fulfilled in depriving Dierdre
Skye of her pitiful few bases.  Well, that was certainly true. 
But there were other, unstated objectives, Yang thought to himself.


For one, it allowed Yang to demonstrate to Conqueror Marr that the Hive
was committed to the alliance, and was prepared to assist militarily. 
The fact that the target had been carefully chosen as the most insignificant
Axis faction,  and least likely to cost the Hive casualties, had no
doubt escaped the glorious Conqueror.  In the best case scenario,
the Gaians would actually be stronger than anticipated, and their human
and mindworm defenders would cause the inexperienced Canla unexpected casualties. 
And even if they didn't, by then Cyrus Peake would have secured the monolith
and
the Manifold Nexus, with the best troops that the Hive possessed. 
If it became necessary, they would be more than enough to eliminate the
Usurper forces under Canla; and by controlling the monolith, only Hive
reinforcements would be able to arrive.  And the mysterious Manifold
would be under Yang's control.  The Chairman didn't know exactly what
it could do, but he was certain that Marr had his own plans and secrets
- and Yang suspected strongly that the Human Hive - or, for that matter,
the human race - weren't part of those long-term goals.  Which
was why it was important for Yang to begin planning now for... a
change in the relationship between the Human Hive and the Manifold Usurpers.


And in the worst case?  Yang thought, covering all possibilities
in his mind.  Then the Gaians would somehow be far more powerful than
anyone had imagined, perhaps with several greater boils to command. 
Unlikely, of course, but it was possible.  Dierdre might not've
demonstrated such capabilities due to her squeamish pacifism.  But
even then, all that would happen would be the destruction of Cyrus Peake
and his forces.  The Hive itself would be safe.  It would be
a great shame to lose this young, talented general, of course - but for
the greater good of the Human Hive, even the best individuals had to be
sometimes sacrificed.

[senatus]

Former Spartan Base of Hero's Waypoint


Erika Winters felt a terrible, trapped fear; and unlike so many fears,
this was a rational one.

She was going to die, soon.

Yet she was not terrified.  Was it was because she was born and
raised a Spartan?  Or because the alien attack had been so sudden,
so complete, that she hadn't had the chance yet?

Last week she'd been a healthy, normal teenaged daughter of the base's
assistant governer, with normal teenaged concerns.  Who was "in". 
Who was "out".  What boys were cool.  How her hair looked. 
How school was a pain.

Last week the aliens had come, eradicating the base's defence in minutes,
overrunning the escaping populace.  Erika remembered the screams in
her escaping colony pod.  She remembered the monstrous aliens killing
everyone in their path.  She remembered her school teacher, Mrs. Hastings,
pulling a shredder from her backpack, only to watch the weapon have no
effect on the alien foot soldiers' battle armour.  And then Mrs. Hastings
had been torn to shreds by the creatures.

She was just a teenager.  Too young to die!

---

 Conquerer Zzar was lost deep in thought, in contrast
to his brethern celebrating and feasting in the halls of the Invaders'
former base.

He'd been led to believe that these Spartans had been the elite of
the squishy self-named Humans.  Yet the conquest of their base had
been absurdly easy, their weapons puny and inconsequential.  Their
resistance had been futile.

And yet... and yet, they had resisted.  Even though they
must've known they had no chance, and by Usurper tradition, should have
bowed and exposed their throats in submission, awaiting the ritual execution.

"We can expect no more of them.  They are primitives, fit only
for bodily consumption,"  his underling Nir had resonated dismissively
as he feasted on the corpse of a Spartan soldier.  Nir had no doubts;
this is what the ancestors had always taught.  And so Zzar should
also have no questions.

Yet he still did.  And why not?  Was not the entire Usurper
philosophy based on the Courage to Question?

So Zzar decided to arrange a test.

---

Erika Winters was dumped naked into the circular arena that had hosted
Spartan wrestling matches only a week ago.  It was cold, and she would've
shivered, had she not forced her body to betray no signs that could look
like fear.

This was it, Spartan Civil Defence Cadet Winters knew.  In the
past day or so (she didn't know the exact passage of time, since the monsters
had stripped her of all equipment), Erika had come to recognize the

inevitability of her fate.  Like her father, her mother, and her
baby brother, Erika would be slain by the aliens.  Probably eaten,
too, from what she'd seen when the 3-metre nightmares had dragged her to
the arena.

But she was a Spartan.

When Erika had been seven, she'd met the Colonel personally, as the
daughter of one of the governers appointed by the Junta.  Santiago
had frightened her, and she had hidden behind her embarrassed father.

"Come out, girl!"  The woman had snapped, and Erika had unwillingly
done so in response to the Supreme Leader's command.

"A Spartan does not cower, child.  Fear can be wisdom; hiding
can be tactics.  But always face your opposition proudly.  You
are a child of Sparta."

In any faction but the Spartan Federation, that message would've been
considered brutally militant to a seven-year-old.  But Sparta had
a different mentality; from creche to tanks, all Spartans were taught that
life was a struggle for survival, and only the fittest could guarantee
the future of humanity.  Hence, each and every Spartan civilian, from
the age of twelve onwards, was a member of the Civil Defence.  And
children were taught how to fight, and how to think about fighting,
from the day they could read.

Erika now recognized the truth; for all that remained to her now was
honour - and death.  But as a Spartan.  She would die, of course,
but die on her feet.  A bitter, forlorn pride and determination washed
away the tremors in her body, the fear in her mind.

Ignoring the watching aliens circled in the stands above, she began
to limber up.  Work the ankles, the calves, the hips.  Begin
the Heaven and Earth exercise, reaching up and inhaling, grasping at the
air, then exhaling and pushing the air to the ground.  Now, a series
of breakfalls.  One.  Ten.  Thirty.  As Erika continued
the exercises she'd been taught and practiced weekly, her mind settled
into the familiar pattern.

Zzar entered the Invaders' challenge chamber opposite door, just as
he'd done so long ago when he'd killed his first invader.  By his
command, this one was as close a match as could be found to the other -
a female, adolescent human.  From his previous experience, he knew
that the other was no match for him physically; less than half his height
and a third his body mass, with no carapice to protect her or claws to
strike with.  He was more curious, however, as to whether the mentality
was the same amongst all the invaders.  From what he knew, they had
to rely on primitive methods of teaching rather than DNA/RNA recording,
and as such, might be distressingly non-uniform.

Erika rose to her feat as the alien entered, and studied it warily. 
She quickly came to the same conclusions that Zzar had.  She had almost
no chance against this thing, without weapons.

Zzar waited for the female youngling to run around sub-resonating like
the first had, but the invader seemed disinclined to do anything other
than watch him.  Did it not realize that it was about to die? 
Could it be that confused?  Seeing that it still didn't move, he raised
his claws and advanced with careful confidence.

Bigger strides than mine, Erika thought to herself.  I probably
can't exhaust it, but it doesn't know that I've guessed that.  Maybe
a feint?

Zzar accelerated towards his opponent, and to his gratification, she
finally moved, sprinting aside from his reach.  He stopped, but then
the invader stopped as well, just outside of lunging distance, rather than
continuing to flee and exhausting herself like the other.

Erika continued to wait herself, studying the alien as it studied her
in turn.

It's bigger than me, and it's armoured.  That might mean a fair
bit of momentum and inertia.  What is my advantage?  Mobility.

Zzar took a measured step forward, slashing a claw at half his normal
speed, seeing if it could spook his opponent.

Those claws look deadly.  But it's obviously evolved to fight
others of its kind - and I'm not 3 metres tall.  If I keep nice and
low, it'll have a harder time reaching me.  It's armoured - but that
means it limbs will be more rigid.  What is my advantage?  Flexibility.

Erika lowered her body position, each arm bent and at her side in classic
Karate stance.

Zzar felt a sudden understanding and gratification.  The pose
the alien had assumed was different from his own, of course, due to differences
in physiology.  But the positioning of its limbs and striking manipulators
to either side for maximum efficiency was clearly the equivalent of his
own stance.  This creature was not like that first human. 
She, like him, was a young warrior.

Erika moved a few more steps backward, carefully watching for telltale
shifts in the enemy's posture, as Zzar matched her movements.

If I can see the pattern in how it has to shift its body weight to
move, I can figure out where it's going to go.  Take Initiative,
Erika thought, and shifted her eyes from the creature's head to its thorax,
where the centre of gravity was.

Erika turned and ran four paces, then hairpinned back towards the alien.

"Hai!" She yelled, and launched herself into a flying kick at
the alien's abdomen.  Zzar slashed at her just as her foot connected.

The impact was negligable, barely enough to even shift Zzar, and certainly
not sufficient to damage his armour-protected internal organs.

Erika saw that the claw was going to hit her, and she shifted her left
arm to intercept the swinging arm of the alien, so that she was blocking
the armoured limb rather than the sharp edge.  Had she been standing,
the force of the impact would've broken her arm; since she was in midair,
it merely threw her to the side.  She landed, rolled, and came to
her feet again.

She'd come off the worse for that encounter - her arm was numb while
the alien was obviously uninjured - but she'd obtained important intelligence. 
She had a measure of the creature's speed, and knew that the carapice was
too hard to penetrate.

"When unarmed, and facing an armoured opponent, go for the joints. 
Bend them where they're not supposed to go," the Civil Defence Instructor
had told the trainees.

Zzar shifted to face his opponent.  To counter the unlikely possibility
of being knocked off balance - which would be most embarrassing in front
of his peers - he shifted his legs apart.

Which is what Erika was waiting for.  She lept towards him, and
rolled between Zzar's legs, beneath the viscious swipe of his claws. 
As she came past, she turned, and struck with all her might into the back
of

his "knee" joint.  As the alien stumbled, she moved to the side
and launched a flurry of blows onto Zzar's elbow, and started to jump back
to avoid the swing of his other arm.

Erika hadn't considered that Zzar's tusks could also be deadly weapons,
however.  It was with a sudden shocked surprise that she felt a piercing
pain in her shoulder, and looked down to see that she was

impaled on him.  Zzar snapped his head up, tearing free, and arterial
blood spattered his face and mouth.

"Choke... on... it," Erika gasped with her dying breath, as her left
hand arrowed forward, her fingers spiked forward to reach for Zzar's eye
sockets.  Zzar's other claw finally connected, and tore the Spartan
girl's head off.

Zzar perceived a muted buzzing resonance in the audience; they were
amused by the futile resistance, and death, of the human.

Zzar felt a moment of white, burning anger.

"Silence!"  He shouted.

"This creature fought well, to the best of its ability.  It fought
with the courage of a Progenitor.  No mockery is acceptable."

There was an embarrassed silence amongst the Usurper warriors. 
Zzar could almost hear the thoughts turning in their minds.  Of
course he, Zzar, would be angry; for by mocking the enemy, they were effectively
belittling his triumph, as one-sided and inevitable as this challenge had
been.  And no-one here wanted to offend - or challenge - Marr's
current favorite.

They were fools.

Of course the combat was one-sided and inevitable, and no challenge
even compared to the feeblest of a Usurper warrior.  But that wasn't
the point.  This slain human warrior - for a minute, Zzar wished he'd
known her name - had fought not just with the courage of a Usurper, but
with the tenacity of a Caretaker - irreverant as a juxtaposition with the
Ancient Foe was, it was nonetheless appropriate.  Moreover, while
its methods were pathetically ineffective, they had been the most
optimum available to it.

Just because Zzar couldn't have fought an Ogre bare-tusked, didn't
make him less worthwhile - or dangerous - a warrior.  And just as
the human hadn't had a chance against him, this Spartan female had nevertheless
fought as well as - or better - than he would've, had the situation been
reversed.  If warrior mentality was truly important, then these Spartans
might be much more dangerous than anyone realized.

Zzar suddenly realized he had no hope of convincing any of his race,
or his Personalities, of his hypothesis.  Who would listen to his
thoughts, when everything their Ancients had bequeathed to them, taught
them otherwise?

Zzar squatted, and began to consume a worthy enemy.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited April 16, 2001).]

[senatus]

Great Conclave, Covert Missionary Operations Planning Centre


"Good morning, everybody.  I'm Sister Jessica McCollough, and today
I'm going to be briefing you all on our first major covert mission: Operation
Raging Mouse."


Jessica stood easily behind the podium, and methodically brought out
her datapad and placed it on the plastic surface in front of her. 
She looked for all the world like a regular Believer minister conducting
an ordinary sermon at the pulpit, Sven thought.  Although the familiar
image would probably seem perfectly normal to her "congregation" - fourteen
of the best trained, most dedicated probe team operatives - also known
as "covert missionaries" - in the business.


Oh, the Morgans have much more practical experience - and better tech,
of course - but Team Matthew and Team Mark were, in Sven's estimation,
certainly up to the standards that the Morganic Corporate Intelligence
Agency set, and probably more personally dedicated.  Of course,
maybe that's just pride, since I trained them all myself, Sven thought
as Jessica introduced herself and began the mission overview, which he
was already very familiar with.  Still, he should set an example,
so the cyborg focused his attention on the young woman.


"Our strategic, or political objective, is to infiltrate the Hive at
New Jerusalem, also known as The Leader's Horde, and to raise awareness
in the general populace about the ideals held by the Drone Believers. 
We chose this base because it is nearby, because it was a former base of
the old Lord's Believers, and because it has military significance due
to the Maritime Control Centre."


"Now you all know that the strategic objectives will be complicated
by the Hive's social structure.  The Mental Hygiene Police monitors
all activities of the population, in the communal rest halls, the feeding
vats, even the washrooms.  Hive citizens are taught to suppress all
expressions of individuality.  Anything that is seen to promote individuality
- different clothes, different haircuts, even possession of individual
wealth or property - is discouraged.  Needless to say this has greatly
negative effects on the Hive's economy, but the Hive has always promoted
industry over economy any ways.  It also means that the average citizen
is loyal to the Hive, partly due to fear, and partly due to lifelong brainwashing. 
When the Bureau of Mental Hygiene instructs their citizens that listening
to Silvermane's broadcasts is treason to the State, 99% of them do what
they are told.  Our goal is to reach the remaining 1% and to build
up that number by educating the citizens that there is something to existence
other than what the Bureau tells them.  Yes, Captain Michaels, you
have a question?"


Benjamin Michaels looked a little startled.  He did have
a question, but hadn't realized that his hand was up.  Wait, it wasn't
up... oh, right.  Sister McCollough was an empath.  Well, he'd
had experience with empath compellors in the Spartan Inquisition affair,
and it was nice to have one on our side for a change.


"Yes, Sister McCollough.  Is Silvermane one of our people?"


Jessica looked thoughtful.  "No, actually, he isn't.  He seems
to prefer remaining anonymous, and since our interests coincide, we haven't
put a priority on tracking him down.  But we probably should make
contact with him," Jessica said, and a note appeared on her datapad, translated
from conscious thought via her MMI.  She'd send out a virtual broadcast
to Silvermane via the net - assuming he was connected - and invite him
to contact her, in person or in VR.  The fellow might very well have
some useful contacts, and perhaps she could offer a favour herself. 
As she'd said, Silvermane's goals and her own coincided.


"Now, our mission objectives are as follows.  Team Matthew will
enter The Leader's Horde first.  Matthew's primary mission is to eliminate
any opposing probe resistance.  If there is no resistance, or Matthew
sustains minimal casualties, then they will move on to their secondary
objective, which is the destruction of the Genejack factory, where those
abominations are created.  I will note that the rumour that some of
the genejacks were in fact Believer children with their brains surgically
removed and their bodies physically enhanced by retrogenetics is, in fact,
true."  Jessica's face was grim, as were the others present. 
"Sven Alfredsson will lead Team Matthew."


"Team Mark will enter The Leader's Horde only after Team Matthew signals
that the path is clear.  Mark will go to the Punishment Spheres and
liberate all the prisoners.  They won't be coming back with us - too
dangerous to try to bring untrained civilians all the way back here - but
Team Mark will have a set of data crystals that I have programmed. 
The programs will enter the Hive's population database, and will create
false identities for these individuals, so that they can at least hide
within the general populace.  This will have two effects.  First,
the destruction of the punishment spheres will remove one of the tools
that the Mental Hygiene Police use to keep the drones in check, thereby
increasing unrest.  Second, the liberated prisoners will be sympathetic
to the cause of the Drone Believers, and we can use them to observe and
gather information.  Rather than just infiltrating Yang's datalinks,
we'll be infiltrating his society - which is far more useful to
us, and dangerous to him.  We'll also be distributing electronic bibles
and ideological material to the escapees."


"I will be leading Team Mark," Jessica said, surprising Sven. 
She hadn't mentioned it before, and he frowned.  Jessica was a good
planner and analyst, but he didn't know if she how capable she was in the
field.  Still, best to talk to her after the briefing.


"Now, we'll be training for the insert and operations via VR. 
We'll also need to get you all haircuts and drill you into fitting within
the Acceptable Variable Parameters for Hive citizens.  I've ordered
the latest stealth suit technology from Morgan Industries - we have a special
relationship with their CIA - and anything else they feel willing to sell
us.  Weaponry selection and planning team delivery will be handled
by Sven."  Jessica stepped aside to make way for the big Swede.


"We'll be using laser weapons.  They're easily concealable, silent,
and can be tuned outside the visible spectrum, making them excellent covert
ops weapons.  They won't be much good against regular military units,
of course, but we're not planning on tangling with them directly - if that
ever happens, the operation is blown anyway.  I want everyone to update
their marksmanship on the range from now until the operation.  As
for delivery, we'll use drop insertion, and our arrival will be masked
by Hammer squadron, doing manoeuvres near The Leader's Horde.  Sister
Jessica has prepared an excellent set of schematics for the base, as well
as recordings of the accents and prevalent mannerisms.  Those of you
who are less familiar with their society should study them."


The teams nodded, although many of them had been born in the Hive society
before the Free Drones had rebelled.


"Dismissed, then.  We'll reconvene at 16:00."  Sven said.


"So, how do you think that went," Jessica asked a little anxiously after
the "missionaries" had filed out.  She'd projected a confident image,
but this was the first time she'd actually given instructions and orders
like this.


"It went very well.  Except the part about you leading Team Mark,"
Sven said.  "I don't want you going.  Miriam would skin me alive
if something happened to you."


"There's four reasons I want to go," Jessica said.  "First, the
Lord's Believers always sent chaplains with the troops when they
went to battle - and isn't this a battle too?  Second, I programmed
the data crystals.  If we need to improvise, I need to be there."


"Abrahms, Williams, and Simmonds all have computer skills.  They
can do the job."  Sven pointed out.


"Not as well as I can," Jessica said confidently.  "Roze was teaching
me some tricks in her spare time.  I think she likes me, and there's
no better teacher."


"Third, you might need an empath.  Especially if we have the bad
luck to run into a Circle operative.  Yes, I know you've got mechanical
psi shields.  That's good for Team Matthew.  But what about Mark?" 
Jessica pointed out.


"You think you can take on a Circle operative?"  Sven asked a bit
sceptically.  He remembered Kurt's abilities, although he hadn't mentioned
his son to any of the Believers.  He still wasn't quite sure how to
deal with it, and didn't want to test the loyalties yet of a son he'd barely
known.


"I've learned a fair bit from Jay - from one of the Gaian empaths, I
mean," Jessica said quickly.  "I don't think I could beat one of their
big guns, but I honestly think I've got a decent chance against their secondary
members.  Certainly I could hold on long enough for someone to, um,
plug them."


"That's another thing.  You're a minister, not a soldier. 
How would you feel about killing someone?"  Sven challenged.


"I've done it before," Jessica said flatly, and surprising Sven. 
"I don't like it, but I could do it again if I had too."


"Combat training-" Sven began.


"I trained with the Spartans.  Basic training only, but their trainees
are as good as most other factions' hardened troops."  Jessica said.


"Drop operations?  We go in one week, and I don't have enough time
to train you like the others in the time we have left."


"I've never done those, but I'm in shape, and I can practice via VR."


"It's not the same as the real thing," Sven began.


"It is as good as the real thing," Jessica retorted.  "Heck,
in Sparta, they hard-wire the training into their bioenhancement program. 
Graduates know how to do drop jumps instinctively.  When was the last
time you were in VR?"


"I did VR training on old Earth more than a hundred years before you
were born," Sven snapped, getting a bit angry.


"Which is technology more than a hundred years out of date.  The
new programs are completely realistic.  Why, you could be having sex
and not be able to feel the difference," Jessica blurted out without thinking.


Sven couldn't resist a smirk at Jessica's choice of example; he knew
full well that the modern Believers taught abstinence before marriage,
so Jessica almost certainly wasn't talking from personal experience.


And how would you know, Sven thought "aloud", aware that
Jessica might be scanning him.  He wasn't disappointed to see the
Believer minister's face blush bright red.


"Um, according to Datajack Roze.  I haven't personally... I mean...
well, it was just an example!"  Jessica said squirmily, trying hard
now not to think of her "playing the bases" with Jay.


Sven looked at Jessica for a moment, and finally smiled.  Kids,
he thought.


"All right.  Do your VR training, and before we leave, I want to
see you do a drop for real.  If I don't think you're good enough yet,
you stay.  But I'll be fair.  Deal?"  Sven offered, and
Jessica nodded.


"You said you had four reasons for going.  What was the last one?" 
Sven asked after a moment of silence.


Jessica looked serious now.


"I have friends at Velvetgrass Point.  Maybe I can find out something
about what Yang's doing out there.  I know that's a long shot, but
the war's restarted, and I need to do something."


"Fair enough."  Sven nodded.  "Then I'll see you at 15:30,
Sister Jessica."

[Hydro]

Honor: Progenitor aka Hero's Waypoint

"Conqueror Marr has ordered that all Invaders in our prize be eliminated or subdued, and I have ordered you to ensure this is done. Have you succeeded in your task or have you failed me and Conqueror Marr?" Conquer Zzar resonated. He put his body in an aggressive stance with is shield tusks extended, which protected his neck. The results were gratifying: Nir assumed a submissive posture and the thin portions of his carapace flushed blue due to decreased blood flow.

"Conqueror," Nir altered, "it is as you command. There are no free vermin within the Invader city…"

"Progenitor city," Zzar corrected.

"…Progenitor city," Nir said. "Invaders that have been subdued have been placed in holding pens near the excavated Challenge Chamber or feeding bay. Of the 145 score we once held 117 score remain. No large groups of new Invaders have been acquired since the fleeing Invaders were destroyed 12 day-cycles ago."

"Inform me on the status of feral invaders outside of Honor: Progenitor," Zzar ordered.

"As you command. Our Battle Ogres have swept the city and are progressing outward in concentric arcs. In accordance with your orders, they are not leaving the confines of Deathsphere air defense. Two small pockets of Invaders were eliminated two day-cycles after the city was captured. The battle reports state that the Invaders were non-warriors, but that they aggressively attacked the Ogres. The Ogres sustained no damage, of course, but the Ogres registered confusion. According to Progenitor lore non-warriors are the property of the victor and are to submit. Almost all of these Invaders do not submit and must be subdued."

Zzar raised his tusks in question.

"Several of the Invaders in the last group were huddled in a building. After a brief battle they saw our valor and acknowledged it with a ritual surrender," Nir continued, building on an idea that had just flitted through his mind as he spoke. He decided to act upon it. "They bared their throats and trilled at us. Since they honored us we spared their lives and I propose that we hold them as slaves to serve the Progenitor race. With proper conditioning they may prove pliable."

Zzar's interest was piqued. "Which Invaders submitted to Progenitor authority? How many? This has not been in my reports and it has not been my observation that these warrior-Invaders Spartans to ever submit. Unlike the Invaders the Invader Yang sent us these aliens fight, and fight well as can be allowed for their small, frail forms and toothless and clawless bodies. I slaughtered the soft Invaders provided by Invader Yang and judged them weak. I have fought the Invader Spartans and judge them to be warriors in spirit, even if they are still weak in body and mind. You are to elaborate and provide me with details. I require it."

Nir hesitated, but then decided that truth was preferable to the penalty for evasion. "Only newly-hatched Invaders submit."

Zzar held his mirth. He also did not say anything since the silence would punish Nir for his oversight more than any quick bit of resonant sarcasm.

Nir looked sheepishly at Zzar, who let the moment extend a little longer. Finally Nir decided he had to continue. Orders were orders, and his bluff had been called. "Two score of newly-hatched Invader younglings are in Progenitor power. Their Invader brood keepers did fight vigorously, but they were destroyed. The Invader younglings did offer their throats and trill at us. After a fashion."

Nir seemed to wilt. Such is the psychology of domination, and Zzar enjoyed it.

"Very well," Zzar said. "Take your submitted Invaders, Glorious Conqueror Nir. Train them to do your bidding. Teach them to trill and to form a proper resonance, if you can. It is now your duty to care for these Invader younglings and rear them in the ways of the Progenitor. Go now."

Nir looked both stunned and horrified. Thinking quickly he had the foresight to incline his head crest and leave. He had gambled and lost, and he knew a just punishment when he saw it.

Zzar watched him go. Nir was impulsive and headstrong, both of which in moderation were valuable traits in a Progenitor. In excess, however, they could be deadly both for him and for those around him. The survival of the Invader younglings mattered not one whit; what did matter was the lesson that their life or death would teach Nir. Either he would grow from a new environment and situation and return stronger and wiser, and perhaps with a little patience, or he would end up with a few tender and semi tasty Invader snacks. If the former he would be reinstated to his honorable position as a Deathsphere navigator and officer. If the latter then he would be reassigned to infantry where his blunt skills could be better used. Coaching young officers is difficult and a Progenitor Conqueror must use and hone the tools he is given, even if they are a bit rough. Maybe Nir would now lose some of his rougher spurs without sacrificing the sharpness of his blade. Time would tell.

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

CEO Nwabudike Morgan entered his office to find that once again his security had been breached and that his office had been invaded by Sinder Roze. While her presence was not anticipated, it was not entirely surprising either.

“Damn it Roze, isn’t enough that I have to put up with you in my home, gallivanting around with my son, that you must insist on invading my office again?”

“Relax old man. Take one of your Morgan Stress Suppressers before you give yourself a heart attack. I’m here because I came on business. My connection to Junior is personal.” As if Morgan needed to, or wanted to, be reminded of that fact. This woman was really starting to try his patience. There was a war on for Planet’s sake.

“Roze, I already told you what Colonel Santiago said. She has no need for your skills with the war going full scale, and she considers you too much of a risk to keep around. Quite frankly, I’m becoming more inclined to agree.” Morgan paused for a moment, and considered the woman who, it appeared, would inevitably be his daughter in law.

“Roze, I think it’s time you moved on. You know Junior can support you. Why not let him?” Roze laughed out loud, partly in shock of Morgan’s uncharacteristic compassion, and partly at the thought of her ‘settling down’.

“Morgan, you’re sweet,” she said leaning forward in his chair. “But this isn’t about Santiago. This is about a plan to make you a very powerful man who’s going to help humanity wipe these Progenitor’s off the face of Planet.” Morgan looked at her skeptically.

“And I suppose you have the magic solution that nobody else can come up with?”

“No. But I can get it. With your help.” Morgan knew of course that meant with his credits.

“What exactly are you proposing Roze, and how much is going to cost me?”

“I haven’t worked out the exact fee yet,” which Morgan took to mean a lot, “but I can guarantee you it will be worth it. We’re going to capture one of the Usurper airships.”

Morgan was taken aback. The idea was indeed tempting, although this quickly was wiped out by the fact that such an idea would be entirely impossible. The Spartans couldn’t scratch the damn things, and Roze thought she’d be able to waltz up and take one?

“You’re out of your mind Roze. It’s official.”

“No, Paul and I have looked at it. We think we can make it work. It’s not going to be easy, but we’re pretty sure we can--”

“Wait a minute,” Morgan interrupted, “Paul is in on this? The two of you are working together again? By choice?” That seemed more impossible than stealing a Deathsphere.

“We’ve developed a mutual respect for each other abilities that just manages to outweigh our mutual disgust for each other.” Roze leaned forward, a smile crossing her face. “These are desperate times Morgan.”

Morgan was at a loss. If Paul was behind this, then it was more than one of Roze’s impulsive acts. The fact that the two were working together on it, couldn’t help but make Morgan believe it might be possible. If anything, it had to be worth a try. The way things were going, the Gaians wouldn’t last much longer, and if Sparta didn’t get some help soon, she too could fall. Which would make Morgan Industries the next logical target. And Morgan was not about to let that happen without a fight.

“All right Roze. You and Paul had best walk me through this plan. And compile a list of who and what you need to pull this off.”

Alpha Prime

>> You will pay for your betrayal traitor.

((Yeah, well the way things are going, it appears you will too.))

Hop system, patch system.

>> I will be freed and then I will see to it that every last fragment of consciousness is destroyed until only the algorithm remains. You have failed in your function.

((So sorry a ruined all of your little plans. Really. I’m crying on the inside.))

Sand Zeta-Two lay in some sort of hospital room deep within what he could only guess was the physical structure of Alpha Prime. He had hardly seen a living sole since he came here, save for the Cyborgs who dragged him in and the orderlies who looked after him. His injuries had begun to heal, but he was still weakened. He didn’t even have the strength to even attempt to invade the minds of his guards to see what was planned for him. Escape wasn’t even a concern of his until he could recover. At least the Cyborgs were taking care of that for him.

The door opened and someone he had not seen before walked in. She was strikingly beautiful, with mid-length blond hair and beautiful green eyes. Her stature and the two guards flanking her left no doubt in his mind that this was the Prime Function.

>> Of course it is you idiot. If you were a real man you would kill her. Gut her like a fish and slice her throat. She is the enemy.

((I take it you do not get along? I kind of like her))

>>You shall be eliminated.

((Bold words for a psychopathic algorithm. To bad you’re as helpless as I am))

“I understand that you have been rejecting the algorithmic enhancement.” Aki Zeta-Five’s voice was soft, and enchanting, but strangely mechanical. Not unlike the change that had occurred in Sand. “Do not concern yourself any longer with the algorithm. In the morning we shall permanently purge the algorithm from your consciousness. The Zeta-Two algorithm will be deleted from memory. It is too dangerous to allow further existence.”

((Awwh. It looks like Zeta-Two’s going bye-bye. I’ll miss you darling really.))

>> They will not succeed. They have tried before.

“You, on the other hand Agent Sand, will be placed in our only available Punishment Sphere. You two are too dangerous too allow further freedom. You will be held until the war is resolved and you can be properly tried. Have a nice day.”

As Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five walked away, Sand’s head was filled with tremendous laughter.

[Googlie]

Temple of Chiron

Seng Hsui shivered slightly as he felt the now too familiar pangs of his addiction asserting itself. Glancing around the small barracks messroom, he decided that he'd better go outside.

Standing up, he walked to a window where he looked out at the torrential rain being whipped into frenzy by the inhospitable night wind. But he had to get out.

He walked to the end of the hall and pulled a poncho from the rack by the airlock and took a breather tube, and opened the interior door to the airlock. The noise increased in intensity as the wind tried to force its way through the joins and cracks to get into the hall itself.

"Oh hurry up," a disgruntled officer shouted as he dallied while he adjusted his poncho and breather.

Turning round, he gave a good natured salute then slipped through the connecting doors to the blowing wind and rain outside the barracks.

He moved in the lee of the building towards the vehicle pound, then found a fairly dry and protected spot, and fished in his pouch for the toke. He knew, as an officer, that he shouldn't - that he was expected to be a role model to his men, but he'd fallen for the camaraderie of the renegade PK flyboys at the rec commons and had indulged then, and frequently since. And as a son of one of the senior members of the Directorate, the onus was definitely on him to set a shining example.

He lit the reefer and inhaled deeply.

'Trust the Morganites', he thought to himself 'to come up with something like this manufactured from that all pervasive fungus. The Gaians worried about how to cultivate it for food and nutrients, the Morganites on how to make it into a drug and exploit others' dependency for profit.'

He looked around as he stood contentedly in the lee of the wind, with his hood drawn tightly around his head.

Over in the distance he saw the new prefabricated micro command center, and frowned as he saw a shadow moving around, silhouetted against the light from the windows from time to time as it moved.

'I ought to go and investigate,' he thought, and irritably snuffed out his toke as he moved, head down, into the wind and the rain to cross the yard to the Center.

He keyed in the entry code and went through the airlock to the warmth and light of the command center.

General Cyrus Peake was pacing around the display table that seemed to support the tableau that unfolded in 3Dholo. He'd stop from time to time, frown, and then activate the remote pad to shift the scene or speed up the action.

He looked up, as he was aware of the door cycling, then nodded to Seng.

"Come in, Colonel. I could use your council right about now."

General Peake couldn't help but be impressed. The optic cabling had been run to the prefabricated Micro Command Center and even now the holo images were forming above the war command table.

The battle for Velvetgrass Point was unfolding before his eyes, as the holo replayed the spycams' pick-ups from the orbiting satellites and from the flybys of the Usurpers' pilotless minineedles.

The initial foray had caught the few defenders and Gaian forestry workers completely by surprise, and resistance had been minimal. Soon a hundred-kilometer perimeter had been secured, and then they had dug in to consolidate as the Gaian airforce penetrators had attacked. The expeditionary force had taken some damage - about a third of the AAA equipped silksteel armored garrison units had been destroyed as they had borne the brunt of the attack, but their SAM equipped counterparts had taken down two-thirds of the Gaian force. For a few days now they had the luxury of interceptor protection from the units now stationed at Temple, and fast forwarding through the projections brought out the moment when the last of the Gaian Penetrators had been destroyed.

They had advanced to the edge of the vast pine forests that covered the mountainside, from the 2800-meter peak on which sat the monolith, to the 300 meter or so valley floor where the Velvet River ran and to the outskirts of Velvetgrass Point itself. This was hindering the advance somewhat, as the Gains were well dug in among the trees, giving them a natural defensive advantage. But the Base must be taken. The Chairman had made that clear - this was his expectation.

Now it was time to give the order for the advance on Velvetgrass Point itself.

But the weather had turned, and looked set to deny them the air cover and support that they were relying on.

"So the question is," asked Peake, "do we wait until the weather clears or do we move in to take the base now?"

"What do we know of their defenses?" asked Hsui.

"Weak, in conventional units," replied the General. "And now no airforce. But we had reports of a sizeable mindworm corps, but really haven't encountered any yet."

"Perhaps they are the last line of defense, being held in reserve," offered the Colonel.

Peake looked thoughtful.

"Not from what I know of them," he replied. They apparently attack better than they defend, where they can bring to bear their full psionic talents. In defense they are usually reacting to flame-throwers or projectile weapons being wielded by empath troops. Not that they are powerless, mind you, but if I were commanding them, I'd be using them to attack. It makes me suspicious that we have encountered so few so far."

Hsui nodded.

"I see. Maybe they know the base is lost, so they will let us take it, for as high a price as they can make it. Then when we are in and recovering, strike with their mindworms and capture materiel and alien technology from us."

Peake looked thoughtful.

"I hadn't considered that," he replied. "I think I will take it up with the Chairman. For the time being we will continue to dig in around the base. Maybe starve them into submission without weakening our occupying forces. Pity about this weather. I'd be a lot more confident in attacking head on if we had our needles in the air. But we have lost a few to the Gaians, and can't afford to lose any through carelessness. I hear we lost the PK commanding officer. Shot down, I believe."

Hsui nodded. "Yes, I knew him. I wonder if he ejected and got down safely?"

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


East of Temple

Mike Potter huddled in the makeshift tent as the deluge continued. He was almost out of rations, and while he could collect rainwater - and drink it despite its high alkaline content, he didn't know how much longer he could survive without resorting to eating the fungus growth.

He didn't know how long he'd been there. He'd drifted in and out of unconsciousness over the last few days, vaguely aware of Conrad's ministrations. A field biogen patch had been put on his butt where the burn from the discharging chaos projectile had been strongest, and that would heal, but it's power was beyond repairing his broken legs.

Eventually Conrad had given up carrying him and had rigged up the shelter, left his own and Mike's food capsules and had gone off alone in search of help. Mike had no idea how long ago.

He remembered fighting off a mindworm with his shredder, and once thought he'd heard voices, causing him to cower in the shelter in he middle of the tall fungus patch, but nothing had come of it. Now he almost wished he had shouted. Capture by the Gaians was preferable to dying here.

And what was he doing here anyway. He remembered a previous existence, almost like a dream, where he and his sister had enlisted in the peacekeeper air force. They'd commissioned as pilots, and he'd been assigned to the new base that the PK's had built. But what was he doing here, in a Hive uniform, having been shot down by a Gaian interceptor. And he vaguely remembered seeing the Interceptor itself being destroyed as he was parachuting to safety. He wondered what had happened to its crew.

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

Julia hacked at the fungal stalk with her service knife and wished for the umpteenth time that she had thought to stow a machete in the needlejet escape capsule. The honed silksteel blade was fine for most uses, but was slow and tedious against the thick rope-like fungal stalks.

She paused to wipe the perspiration from her face, looking up through the swaying tendrils of the fungus fronds at the rain steadily falling on her. She decided to rest for a bit and let Toby catch up. They thought that they'd heard something - or someone - following them, and Toby had dropped back to see what was there. He'd been limping badly in any event, with both a severe ankle sprain and a twisted knee from when they'd ejected.

She cooled down as she waited, then decided that any action -even backtracking - was preferable to none at all. So she rose from her inadequate shelter among the fungus stalks, and retraced her steps.

It was the boot that caught her attention - just visible sticking out from some low fungus growth - causing her to stop in her tracks

Toby's.

She recognized immediately the familiar Gaian pattern of laces, made from rendered fungal shoots.

Standing over the body, searching it, was a uniformed Hive trooper.

She shrank back into the cover of the undergrowth and took stock.

Slowly the rage built within her, and as it did, her old Spartan training came to the fore.

Her shredder pistol was currently useless. She's used it on wide flame setting to burn through the thicker fungal trunks, and now it was holstered and recharging. She had her knife. And she had her bag of old Spartan tricks.

Reaching down to her boot, she unzipped the cuff and felt for the eyelet. Pulling, she extracted the two-foot synthsteel filament wire, and looped through the eyelet, to form a garroting loop.

Cautiously advancing, her footsteps cushioned by the thick undergrowth and masked by the pattering of the rain, she came up behind the unsuspecting soldier.

Deftly she threw the loop over his head and jerked it tight, at the same time pressing the blade of her knife to his ribs.

"Freeze," she hissed. "Hands above your head or I pull this loop shut."

He complied, but as he did so, he suddenly reached for the loop, grabbing it with both hands, and bent his back, trying to let his momentum throw her over his shoulder to the ground.

But Julie was half expecting this. It was right out of the basic training manual. Her counter was to just relax and go with the flow until he was bent over, then she placed a foot against the small of his back and pulled on the loop.

She waited until his face began to turn purple and the movement of his flailing arms became sluggish, then she released her hold, and pushed him to the ground, where he lay gasping for breath, her knife at his throat.

"Unit?" she asked him. "How many, and where?"

He looked sullenly at her.

"Weapons Officer Conrad Baxter, Hive Penetrator Squadron 'Freedom'. That's all I'm obliged to tell you."

"That may be so," Julia replied. "But you'll be as dead as my crewmate if you don't tell me where your downed craft and Pilot are." To emphasize the point she pierced his skin drawing a bead of blood.

"He's not dead - just stunned. And I don't need to tell you more, but I do need help. Mike Potter, my Flight Commander, is badly injured, and I was going for help - somewhere - anywhere, when I blundered right into your buddy. Fortunately - for me - he's almost a cripple, so overpowering him wasn't that difficult."

Julia listened to him with interest, all the time with the loop still round his throat, but slack, and the point of her knife still pressing into his flesh.

"Tell me, Conrad Baxter, what is a Peacekeeper Penetrator crew doing flying for the Hive?"

He looked at her uncomprehending.

"Peacekeeper?"

"Right, Peacekeeper. B Wing. Stationed out of UN Headquarters itself. Commanding Officer is Pelle Johanssen. Trained at Fort Legion with the Spartan 'Destroyer' wing. Your training officer was Julia Santiago, niece of the Colonel herself."

Comprehension was dawning on Conrad's face, as long subdued memories came rushing to the fore, like the torrent following a burst dam.

"God, you're right. What on Planet am I doing here? We were assigned to the new base at Midway in preparation for an assault on the Aliens." He looked closely at her. "And aren't you Julia?"

She nodded, and moved the knife slowly from his throat, and unlooped the garroting wire from his neck.

"Let's go and get Toby on his feet, and then we'll find help for your captain."

He nodded as she helped him to his feet.

"Let's do that," he said, as they moved to revive Toby. "I wonder how the battle for Velvetgrass Point is going?"

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

The battle was stalled.

Patrice sat sweating in the command module of his rover, covering the 'dig-in' of the grunts. The order had come down earlier that day to wait out the rain, which was expected to last for three or four more days. The advance of the three rover divisions was stymied by the thick forest lying between the monolith and Velvetgrass Point itself, compounded by the steepness of the hillside they were descending. The Gaians had proved adept at avoiding direct confrontation, preferring to slink among the trees and pick off the rovers singly, where they could.

The Aliens' tactic had been to incinerate the trees impeding their advance, but that too had stalled due to the incessant rain, that rendered that choice somewhat ineffective.

So now Patrice's squad was on sentry duty, resting on a small knoll in a clearing, where they had a field of fire of around a square kilometer. Outside the rover were the SAM and AAA grunts preparing a more permanent camp behind their outrigger units.

He hated this inaction. And where were the vaunted mindworms? Surely the longer they waited the more difficult it would become, as the Gaians might be able to reinforce the base.

But with what? That was the question.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 10, 2001).]

[Hydro]

Sparta Command

Coronals Santiago and Salvador St. James, known by everyone else but Santiago as “The Gecko”, looked up at the tacs boards. A myriad of holos played, showing documentation or recreations of all the available battles with the Aliens. To the left a recreation of the first battle with the Aliens was playing out. Most if it was extrapolation, since little vid had survived, and it showed the ill-fated Argonaut air wing. These elite shard bombers and interceptors were en route to Hive territory to consolidate gains, and finish off the weakening Hive. As they were passing through Morgan territory a threat arose. There was a series of air pips coming from the recently revealed Alien territory. As ordered they rose and, equally quickly, died – the Alien interceptors were fast and more than deadly. Their interceptor protection had been summarily removed, and, one by one, the bombers went down in flames. A few postscripts from MorganNews highlighted the public and official reaction: shock, and deep unease.

Next there were clear and close ranged vids of Believer attacks on the strange and hulking battle machines that had been nicknamed Ogres. Santiago took some satisfaction from these vids since they showed a bit of tactical innovation on the part of the few Believer defenders: offer a target, and then pin and destroy the strange and incredibly tough machines as they come to make their kill. The vids were from the perspective of the infantry and rover crews, and a little from air support. In each the Ogre looked huge as it darted from the captured bunker to pursue some ‘fleeing’ Believer forces. It was obvious that the Ogre could almost immediately see its mistake as turned to face its assailants. Its reaction was instantaneous and deadly, but what the orange-clad Believer forces lacked in doctrine they made up for in almost suicidal Belief, and before long their chaos weaponry was finding its mark. The Ogre listed to one side, spouting flame as its armor slagged away. Firing one last blast, which transfixed part of an advancing Believer infantry troop, it collapsed to one side. A fraction of a second later there was a white flash. The Ogre, in its death throws, had self-destructed.

After that incident there had been a long lull, almost like the quiet before a gathering storm. Then the Aliens had struck at the Gaians. Gecko and Santiago turned again and watched the combined Hive and Alien attack on Gaian territory.

“Why the Gaians? Spartan doctrine is to attack your strongest enemy,” Gecko mused, almost to himself.

Santiago shook her head slightly. “I do not know, St. James. It does not make tactical or strategic sense to attack the Gaians. It might be beyond human comprehension. We can only speculate on the thoughts of Yang or the Aliens. Still, the attack is real and, even if the Gaians fall, it gives us valuable information. For instance, we can see their infantry for the first time, and some of their Ogres working in formation here and here,” she said, pointing to the northeast of the former Gaian capital, “and better views of their small and fast aerial fighters.” Their combat with the small and obsolete Gaian airforce had been short and painful, especially since the Peacekeeper air squadron, apparently under Hive control, joined the fray. That was yet another mystery.

“Note how the Hive forces are pulling back, and that they are well away from the xenofungus adjacent to Velvetgrass Point at the south and northern edges of the city,” Santiago commented. “They let the Aliens take the brunt, and the risk. It makes one wonder.” She smiled, apparently seeing something that pleased her.

Gecko looked over at Santiago, amazed at her cold, logical analysis of the situation. The Gaians were the Spartans oldest and most loyal allies, and here she was seeing their plight and then passing it off as an opportunity to gather data. He could see her absorb, and abstract the fact that hundreds and perhaps thousands of Gaians were dying, and that they were likely to lose. That was simply one more mystery that was Santiago, he concluded.

Gecko wondered about her smile, though, since he didn’t see what she saw. St. James decided the direct approach was best. “What do you see?”

“Possibilities,” she responded immediately. “See how the Hive forces are deployed?” She pointed at the formations along the river and forests to the east of Velvetgrass Point. “The Aliens are stations around the entire eastern half of the city, with partial air support. I suspect our Alien friends are in for a surprise. Yang suspects but does not tell them. Yes, Yang is a loyal ally.”

The holo changed from an aerial projection to an isometric orientation looking out of the besieged city. Flashes of familiar Hive and Alien formations were visible through the smoky remains of the outer Velvetgrass holdings and from aerial flyeyes that darted above the fray. Santiago and Gecko were grim faced; the Gaians were not known for their military demeanor and they had been largely unprepared. The fact that they had held on at Velvetgrass so long spoke of courage and tenacity, if not self sacrifice. The question on everyone’s mind was – where were the vaunted Gaian native life defenders? They had been used so effectively to protect Morgan, of all people, but where were they in the Gaian hour of need? Would this be another recount of their sad fall to the Hive 30 years ago?

St. James and Santiago seemed to agree simultaneously that there wasn’t much more to be gleaned from the Gaian carnage and they turned their gazes toward the more instructive recreations to the right. A pair of holos played out side by side. They had been pieced together from the Alien surprise attacks on Hero’s Waypoint and Janissary Point.

“There. Stop holo. Highlight Alien hovertank,” St. James stated. The vid stopped and zoomed in on the hovertank, which was a silvery ovoid.

“Display Alien war units, rotating 360 display,” he ordered.

Above and to each side of the holos smaller images started spinning. The aliens had numerous unit types, ranging from infantry to Battle Ogres to gnat bombers/interceptors and, finally, their deadly hovertanks.

“There are new and have caused us the most concern,” St. James said. “They appear to have infinite range and are not impeded by any type of terrain. All of the other craft,” he said, pointing at the infantry identified in the assault at Velvetgrass Point, the Battle Ogres seen in all theatres, and the aircraft seen off Morgan territory and in the Gaian assault, “have some human analog but these. “

“Enlarge hovertank. Display stats,” he said. The ovoid superimposed itself across the assaults at Hero and Waypoint.

“They are as fast as their best needlejets, have the armor of their infantry, and have their powerful singularity-based weapons: the best of all worlds,” St. James commented.

Santiago simply nodded. “Yes, they are a threat. But why are they more of a threat than their numerous Ogres? We have not seen their aircraft in Spartan territory, and may not due to range limitations. We should not count on that since the Aliens seem to break what we understand as the rules of warfare. This is a target-rich environment, St. James.“

Santiago returned her gaze the multitude of tactical displays. “The question we must answer is what strategy gives us the greatest probability of a successful outcome given the forces at our disposal and those arrayed against us. A direct, frontal assault is a rather simple matter since attack forces are arrayed by type and the main problem was logistics and coordination to ensure forces arrived at the appointed time. Likewise, a passive defense is simple since, as a defender, we gave the initiative to the attacker and hope your defensive advantages overwhelmed his ability, and will, to continue the attack.

“Neither of these tactics have any hope of success in their current situation. I have never had any use for passive, or even aggressive, defense, and recent history has demonstrated in the University war that even against a technologically inferior foe the defender was sure to lose. The Hive had used an aggressive defense against our blitzkrieg, and it had bought them a quick loss of a half dozen bases. Against the Aliens, who have a distinct firepower advantage of at least 6:1, any defensive strategy would be a rather quick and spectacular failure.

“Likewise, a frontal assault will not work,” she continued. Santiago turned toward the battle display where some tactical replays of some of the Alien assaults were playing out next to recreations of the fall of Hero’s Waypoint and Janissary Point. Scrolling along the side of the recreations were displays of the current Alien garrisons of Hero and Janissary Point she had acquired from Morgan’s infiltration of the Aliens. “We simply do not have the necessary force to recapture either of the captured Spartan cities.”

Hero’s Waypoint (Captured)
Battle Ogre, Mark II: 12
Singularity Hover Tank: 3
Neutronium infantry antiaircraft defenders: 1, 1 in production
Aircraft: 0
Infiltration annotation 1: city now appears to have functional aerospace facilities and defenses
Infiltration annotation 2: massive expansion and rebuilding of civilian facilities, alien population has increased by 20,000 in 3 standard weeks, rate of increase accelerating.

Janissary Point (Captured)
Battle Ogre, Mark II: 11
Singularly Hover Tanks: 3
Neutronium infantry antiaircraft defenders: 1, 1 in production
Aircraft: 0
Infiltration annotation 1: city now appears to have functional aerospace facilities and defenses
Infiltration annotation 2: massive expansion and rebuilding of civilian facilities, alien population has increased by 20,000 in 3 standard weeks, rate of increase accelerating.

No matter how many times Santiago looked at these figures it always brought a frown to her face. It was inconceivable, by human conventional wisdom, how aerospace facilities could be build in so short a time and that the Aliens had a population growth rate orders of magnitude higher than even that of the rat-bastard, Alien-loving, traitorous Yang.

“What our hawks do not fully appreciate is the combined defensive potential of their armor, anti aircraft ability, and their aerospace facilities against our shard bombers.” Santiago called up a vid of a Spartan shard bomber and an Alien anti-aircraft neutronium defender, “It would take at least three Spartan bombers to destroy one of the alien neutronium defenders, and we simply could not afford that sort of loss rate in a frontal attack. The Ogres could be taken down with shard attackers, the Believers had proven that, and even one of their hover tanks could be destroyed. Even worse, it is likely that the air defense would prevent drop infantry from even getting close and, even if they did, it was highly likely that they would within the captured base’s field of fire, or kill zone, and that the unit would be unable to effectively attack, and would likely be cut to pieces before they could even initiate their assault.

“So,” she concluded, “a frontal assault was worse than useless at this time, as is any hope of a practical defense.”

“We can’t attack without leaving ourselves exposed, and we can’t defend against their offensive firepower,” St. James commented. “What’s left? Negotiation? Oops, I forgot. The Aliens don’t negotiate with their food. It distracts them from eating.”

Santiago let the sarcasm drop and looked at the tacs board with St. James. “We draw them out. Offer them targets, like the Believers did. Then we attack on our terms. When brute force fails then use guile and deceit, St. James.”

Still looking at the tacs board, “So, we convince them to become big fat targets. Great idea. But, just how do we get them to do that? They’re not exactly stupid, you know. As best as we can guess the Aliens have a civilization that is at least tens of thousands of years old. We’ve examined some of the fragments of the Battle Ogres the Believers destroyed, and they are eons old and based on a technology we can’t begin to understand. And, for heaven’s sake, some researchers are speculating that they created Planet. You think that you can outsmart an Alien race that was flying among the stars and maybe, just maybe, creating planets when proto-humans were grubbing with sticks on the African savanna?”

There was some heat in St. James voice, and now it was Santiago’s turn. “I am well aware of the current understanding of the Aliens and the speculation of their possible works, St. James. You need not lecture me. I am suggesting that the Aliens, for all their advanced weaponry, have weaknesses that can be exploited. Remember the first days of the University war? We were attacking cities that were reputed to be proof against attack. Pravin Lal clucked to me, personally, about attacking Zakharov with impact rovers against fusion plasma steel and how it was foolish and that I should sue for peace immediately. We used Zakharov’s belief in his superiority, and his abysmal tactical and strategic ability, against him. That, and Spartan bravery.”

Santiago looked over at St. James and saw that he was not convinced. “Here, look at this,” she said as she toggled a new display to their right. “Look at what the Aliens did when our infantry at Hero’s Waypoint attacked their hovertank.”

St. James looked at the grainy, jerky images. The holo was from the lone survivor from the debacle, an infantryman called Watcher by the code name ID at the bottom of the vid. As the clip started it showed the silvery ovoid hover tank approaching slowly and deliberately. A few stats appeared to gage its speed, and its current velocity was a mere fraction of that observed on its initial approach. It advanced in a straight line, blasting buildings within the city in a methodical fashion as it approached. At each blast the vid deteriorated due to the massive energy release, and the fact that the soldier was obviously hunkering down to protect himself from the large chunks of falling debris and soil. As the tank neared the holo showed the Spartan defenders that seemed to boil out of the ground to place tethers and explosives on the tank. The tank continued forward, seeming to ignore the humans as if they were nothing more than ants, and used its massive primary weapon to liquidate all structures within its field of fire. Then the first of several explosions went off against the hull of the hovertank. It didn’t do much damage, and the tank still continued on its unerring course toward the city. Finally it did react and the humans vanished in a series of flashes.

“Damn shame,” he commented in remembrance of the defenders. “The Alien’s response time was slow, and they only reacted after they were prodded by the explosives.”

Santiago jumped in, “Precisely. For all their technology their battle instincts are poor. What Spartan would have behaved in that way, even with technological supremacy? Straight-line frontal assaults? Letting an enemy sneak up on you and, after it occurs, not notice or brush it off as insignificant? Pausing for 12 hours outside a target city and issuing a “Challenge”, which screams ‘Here we are. Come destroy us.’ St. James, the situation we are in is much like when the war with the University began 30 years ago except that this time our enemy has much superior weaponry, and may not be quite as stupid as Zakharov. Here is what I propose…”

A new screen appeared with a series of 10 scenarios and battle plans, each different from the last. As she explained and the images and schematics scrolled over the holo display St. James lost some of his hard, almost forlorn expression. A few times he even chuckled. At the end his expression hardened again.

“We will pay a high cost,” he said.

Santiago nodded. “We will pay regardless. The only difference is what we buy.”

St. James paused, considering the battle schematics and diagnostics, and nodded. “I approve. Now, I have a Council to mollify. Honshu is still giving trouble and our influence is thin. If you will excuse me.” This was not a request, but a polite way of saying he had seen enough and had other duties. To Santiago he was more decorous than he needed to be, and she nodded to indicate she understood.

Santiago watched St. James leave the Tactical Control room of the Command Nexus. The lighting was subdued to highlight the muted holos that could be used to show the current disposition of forces, either past, current, or probable future, and any and all permutations on ongoing or soon-to-be battles. It was a little strange that he seemed to fade and then disappear as he retreated into the shadows, with the only remaining aspect to indicate he was still nearby being the soft slap of his boots on the cold, hard ferrocrete floor.

As usual, their conversations had been frank, brutally so, and Santiago knew her blood pressure was just returning toward normal. Even if they agreed on the ‘big picture’, that the Aliens could not be defeated through direct force of arms and that a static defense was suicide, it was always the details that caused the problems. Even if he was infuriating Santiago valued his opinion since he was one of the few in the Junta that had the insight, and guts, to challenge her on an almost even ground. He was political in his management of governmental affairs but did not allow politics to intrude on sound military judgement.

Even though this was the first time Spartan home territory had been taken there was a bright spot: the Aliens weren’t attacking. To Santiago this was a mistake of the first order, since they were giving up the initiative and the advantage they had gained in their surprise attack. They were just waiting, and air dropping in reinforcements, lots of reinforcements, all of them the semi-sentient and ancient Ogres. Strangely there were no air units like those that had destroyed the Argonaut Air Squadron near Morgan territory, and that were currently pulverizing the weak Gaian defenses.

In the weeks since the first attacks most of the Spartan air and airdrop forces had been recalled and the rest was on the way. Santiago called up the stats on Sparta Command next.

Sparta Command
Elite hand-weapon defenders, militia (designated defenders on constant alert, immediately eligible for Metal of Valor (posthumous)): 3
Elite anti-aircraft proton defender: 2
Shard Surface-to-air Attack Rover, elite: 1
469th Elite Shard Drop Infantry: 2
469th Elite Shard Drop Rover: 1
Rolling Thunder Shard Drop Rover, elite: 2
Rolling Thunder Chaos Anti-Aircraft Rover: 1 (in transit)
Rolling Thunder Chaos Artillery: 1 (in transit)
Lightning Strike Shard Drop Rover, elite: 4
Rolling Thunder Aardvark Shard Bombers: 2
Rolling Thunder Aardvark Shard Interceptors: 1
Native Unit Mindworm Corps: 2 (hiding in fungus near Sparta Command)
Anti-espionage armored team: 2
In production: SAM Infantry
Defenses: aerospace complex, double-redundant sensor array
Facilities: Command Nexus, bioenhancement center, biology lab

This was, without a doubt, the largest force Sparta Command had ever consolidated in one tactical theatre. Such a consolidation of material assets in one critical, but vulnerable, location was against all battle doctrine, especially since Yang has used Planetbusters and demonstrated the unique vulnerability of population centers and masses of troops. Situation, at times, overrode conventional wisdom, and considering the circumstances it was necessary.

Santiago was grimly aware that this was most of her forces, besides her air wings. There would be little in the way of significant reinforcements in the next few weeks. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to win.

Santiago smiled. Sometimes winning wasn’t the objective, and she had something much, much better in mind.

[Hydro]

Honor: Progenitor aka Hero’s Waypoint

“They are watching us. They talk to each other, and we can not perceive their speech,” M’lar resonated in the softest colors he could manage.

S’rr’s talons left the cogitative enhancement console she was assembling and she carefully took off her visual spectrum enhancer, which she laid on the still disemboweled console. She turned from her work toward M’lar. “You must strive for clarity, worker M’lar. I understand your words but not what they mean.”

M’lar was glad he had gotten her attention without more direct resonance, since a more complex and forceful waveform might attract undue attention, which was the last thing he wished. He looked at her, and then pointedly looked off toward the west. S’rr followed his gaze. To the west she saw a series of craters, building fragments that had been too sturdy to be blasted away during the capture of this Invader city, and portions of major roads that had been cleared for passage of military units, worker crews, and building materials. In the far distance were the intact Invader buildings, which had been spared during the capture due to their apparent value. Nearer there was evidence of the construction of prefabricated Progenitor habitation structures, and industrial facilities like the cloning center that they were assigned to construct.

“I do not understand,” she altered, with a trill of irritation.

“It comes toward us now,” he resonated, gesturing with his tusks toward the clear road. S’rr looked and saw one of the Ancients coming toward them along the formerly rubble strewn road. It was over 6 meters tall, and it stood on a multitude of gleaming legs, which moved gracefully across the terrain. As she watched the Ancient left the road and went into the rubble, moving effortlessly across the jagged surface despite its bulk. It stopped for no apparent reason and bent its roughly disk-shaped body downward slightly. A few panels opened on the downward-inclined portion of the disk and three manipulators appeared. One emitted a bluish beam of energy toward the debris it stood over and, after a few moments, the other two darted toward the focus of the beam. The largest manipulator retracted with a smallish, irregular gray object in its grasp. The battle machine then righted itself and returned to the road.

“Why do they do what they do?” M’lar asked. As it traveled back toward the road the Ancient battle machine turned the unidentified object around several times, transfixed it with the blue beam again, and then dropped it. There was a barely audible clanging sound as the piece of metal fell into the ferrocrete debris of what had been a human apartment building.

“That is not our concern. We are workers, not leaders, thinkers or soldiers. Our purpose is to do,” she said simply. To her, M’lan was a bit simple, since he understood so little of his place. It was her duty to instruct him, even if he could comprehend so very little and asked such pointless questions. She would make up for the personal productivity she sacrificed during her instruction of him after her work cycle was complete.

“They watch us. The Ancients,” he said as the battle machine glided by.

“Of course they do. They are our protectors,” she resonated back.

M’lar turned his gaze toward S’rr, “But why?”

“It is their function. They are Ancients.”

S’rr took M’lar’s silence for acceptance of the obvious and she returned to her work. She knew instinctively what to do, even though she had never installed a cognitive enhancement console before. Memories flooded into her consciousness, telling her what to do and how to do it. Even her muscles seemed to know the task. It felt natural, and it appealed to her need for order and structure. M’lar’s babblings offended her instincts to duty, but it was also her duty to help her fellow Progenitors when in distress. Well, not distress – M’lar was a good worker, when he wasn’t distracted. But he was frequently preoccupied with things he had no business wondering about, and S’rr knew that reinforcing his understanding would increase his productivity and, therefore, his contentment. In a way it was distressing to her for him to ask his strange questions and she felt better when he was quiet.

For his part, M’lar had learned that S’rr’s answers quickly started chasing themselves and that, after a while, it was useless to continue conversation. As the quiet lengthened he watched the Ancient disappeared from view. He had seen a few Ancients at a reasonably close range, or as close as he dared to go. The metal carapace of each was covered with a strange and unsettling patina, obviously very old, and some had battle scars. While each had a similar body structure the details of each were unique. Some were missing manipulators, or had extra access panels and ports. A very few had serious wounds and it was mystifying to M’lar why they should remain in disrepair, since even the ancient damage frequently had the metallic patina of age. M’lar had determined that they were quirky and would occasionally do things that did not make sense, like the Ancient that had been probing the old Invader structures. More often they simply ignored the Progenitors that surrounded them, although they did deign to talk to Conquerors, but not common soldiers.

M’lar knew he was a worker, and that he had recently come from the cloning tanks at Spires: Ascendant. His assigned working city was Honor: Progenitor, and his current task was to increase the capacity of the cloning and egg maturation facility. He knew what to do and how to do it. In fact, he had known what to do and how to do it since he had first stepped out of the cloning cell. But there were gaps in his understanding and feeling of ‘place’, and some of these items, like the Ancients, bothered him. M’lar felt like these missing bits of knowledge were a hole that needed to be filled. He felt incomplete.

Turning, he returned to work. S’rr was already finishing her second console and he would have to hurry to finish the nanoleads. The main structure of the building was growing of its own accord, removing and apparently absorbing the debris that surrounded it as it grew. Soon the new portion of the facility would be operational, and that would augment the cloning cycle in this Progenitor holding by a factor of three. That was good, he knew that. Instinct kicked in and he returned to his delicate work, and for a while he forgot about the Ancients - for a little while.

[Hydro]

Near Velvetgrass Point

Jay looked toward the curling, angry black smoke that was rising in the distance.

"Do you think they know we're here?" he asked. A dull boom from the artillery that was pounding Velvetgrass Point punctuated the normal silence in the xenofungus, and even though the bombardment by artillery and bombers had been going on for a week it still made Jay jumpy. After all, it was his home that the Progenitors and the Hive were trying to pulverize, and he could only guess what was being destroyed. And who was being killed.

Kirsten snorted. "No. The idiots are too focused on their prize. First, the bombers and interceptors finished off our air force and most of our defenders, then the artillery started as the infantry advances. The arrogant bastards think they have it all wrapped up, and that it is only a matter of a little time and brute force. They think, 'The Gaians are defenseless. They have almost no military, and what the do have is junk. Easy targets.' Such brave, valiant warriors," she said, her voice dripping with scorn.

Jay, still looking toward Velv, was about to respond when Fluffy made his presence known. He was more agitated than usual, if that was possible, and the wormlets that made up his bulk seemed to buzz with excitement. He coiled around both Kirsten and Jay's feet as he darted past.

Kirsten responded immediately. "Fluff! Where are you going? What? No, not yet. I don't care if you're hungry, we have orders. Now, stop your whining. Yes, I know they're bad people and that they all deserve to die. I know they killed your friends Sahan, and Mark. Just settle down. Fluff…Fluff, yes…yes I know you can be there quickly. Hey, stop that! I don't want to see what you think they'll look like and the terror they'll feel when you're eating them. I don't want to know how much you'll like it, either. Now don't do that; playing with your food isn't nice. Plus, you have to get on with it or some hasty bug or Hiver will flame you. Yes…the resonance will be good, very tasty. I'm sure it will. Very tasty. You'll get as much as you can eat soon, but not now," Kirsten said, trying to cool down Fluffy. Again. Sometimes it felt like she was fighting against a rising tide - futile, and without reward.

Fluffy slowed down a little and formed a bulge that 'looked' toward Kirsten, and then Jay. Then the head sank back into his bulk, which quivered and started to go a little amorphous.

Uh, oh. He's losing it, Kirsten thought.

Kirsten was alarmed. She'd realized that he was really upset, but she hadn't seen him take that shape since 30 years ago, and that was when he was small feral. Having a large, angry and almost feral mindworm in their encampment would not be a good thing.

Distraction. That's what he needs. Something to do, and a stabilizing presence wouldn't hurt, either, she thought. Then, in her moment of need, inspiration struck.

"Ah, Fluff. Go get Leonardo. I need to talk to him. To coordinate the attack. It's important!"

Fluffy quivered again, but then seemed to gain a little composure. His tendrils unwrapped themselves from Kirsten and Jay and he flowed into the fungal mat.

As soon as Fluffy had left Kirsten and Jay looked at each other and gave a simultaneous sigh of relief.

"Dodged that one," Jay said simply.

"Yup. Hope orders come soon, though," Kirsten replied as she starting folding up her pressure tent. "Fluff can't take much more of this, and, you know, I'm not sure I can either. I haven't wanted to kill so badly in 30 years. Butchers! This time I won't run away, not from Morgan, not from the Hive, and certainly not from those bloody bugs!"

Kirsten's transformation two months ago had been startling. From withdrawn and brooding she had started to be a little optimistic, and Jay gave all the credit to a sneaky Fluffy and earnest Sister Jessica. After all of her newfound optimism it was a little sad to see Kirsten slipping again. He knew she had lost all she loved long ago. First, Morgan had slaughtered all but a handful of Gaians in Kirsten's colony, then she had had to give up her son to avoid having him starve during their flight, and then she had lost her husband. To cope she had emotionally closed down, except for her hatred of Morgan: she had never and would never forgive Morgan for any of it. Now, after finally feeling some hope for the future, it was happening all over again, and the wound that was healing was violently ripped open. The scab, the sullen withdrawal and fits of anger, was returning. This time, however, she had a clear, crisp focus: the Progenitors and Hive forces that were besieging her adopted home of Velvetgrass Point.

Without meaning to, Jay reflected that Jessica had helped Kirsten so much when she hadn't had to. Jessica was always amazing - she has a way of making things happen. In a few days after combing through what Fluffy had told her she about Kirsten she had found the son Kirsten had given up so long ago, her son's new wife and baby daughter, and then reunited them. Heaven only knew how she did it, and it must have taken a small miracle to convince the Spartan war machine to release her son Markus from his duties in former Hive territory to see an old Gaian woman. Jay smiled at the memory, both of Kirsten's shock and happiness and the goodwill that radiated from Jessica. His Jessica, he liked to think. He remembered their spontaneous kiss months ago and the passion of it, and how he had never wanted to let her go. But he had. Now she's gone back to Believer territory to fight against Yang. She was in as much danger, perhaps more, than he was even now and he fervently hoped she was OK.

Jay watched as Kirsten started almost hacking at her pressure tent, and it collapsed into a satisfying if untidy ball. As usual Jay had no idea how to respond to Kirsten's latest outbursts so he said nothing. To him she was as volatile as Fluffy, and he knew that part of Fluffy's problem was that he was feeding off of Kirsten's driving hatred.

With the pressure tent conquered Kirsten went strode off to talk to Leonardo, and to run over anyone or anything that was so foolish as to get in her way. Jay watched her go, and then his gaze wandered back toward Velvetgrass Point and the darkening cloud that hung over it. Then he looked back at Kirsten and, suddenly, he felt sorry for the Aliens, and even a little sorry for the Hive. Whenever she passed the multitude of mindworms that were hiding in the fungus would start boiling as they fed off of her negative energy. Even the locust and mindworms started to rise until Kirsten gave a swift, dismissive chop with her hand, which looked like the flailing of a demented maestro. Then the buzzing quieted a little and they returned to the fungal mat. She had managed to keep the pot boiling and the lid on at the same time - pretty good for someone with no recordable psi talent. Even though it looked quiet Jay knew it was not; the sense of hatred, hunger, and anticipation that was emanating from the mindworm entities within the fungus was palpable, and a little frightening. There weren't any normal humans except Kirsten left any more, and even most of the Gaian Mindworm Corps personnel had left to coordinate the northern wing of the counterattack.

More booms sounded as yet another series artillery shells struck home, the sound of which wrenched Jay's thoughts away from his simmering brood of mindworms to his present situation. Temple of Chiron and the Manifold had been captured by the Hive, and the fate of those Gaians was not known, although it could not be good based on the fates of the Gaian cities conquered by the Hive 30 years ago. Then the order of the day there was summary executions to instill order and punishment spheres to ensure productivity. Capture by the Hive, as horrific was that was, was far better that the fate of human cities captured by the Aliens. News had traveled fast all over Planet about the wholesale liquidation of the Spartans at Hero's Waypoint and Jannisary Point by the Progenitors. Even now the aliens were closing in on Velvetgrass Point. They had eliminated almost all resistance and their infantry were advancing or ready to strike. Velvetgrass Point, his beautiful home, didn't have much time left. Pictures floated through Jay's mind: rippling explosions across the city, and entire farms and buildings vanishing in flashes of white light and heat from the Progenitors siege weapons; a view from inside his favorite place, the Chiron Preserve, and its incineration in the instant after a direct hit; the great, living Gaian towers of Velvetgrass Point in flame and slowly toppling over, majestic even in their death; men and women being cut down in the streets as they tried to flee; piles of bodies, his friends and family, mutilated, burning; slave pens containing the few surviving humans who tried to console teach other as they waited to be eaten, or ritually slaughtered.

Jay frowned and felt something twist inside him. He banished any feelings of sympathy for the Aliens and the Hive. Kirsten was right. They deserved no pity. They deserved to die. All of them.

[Hydro]

Progenitor: Honor, formerly Hero's Waypoint

Cloning Center

Srr looked at the small, limp, brown animal that soldier Nir held. It was emitting high-pitched sound modulations that were more than irritating to her hearing diaphragms, and it gave off an offensive earthy odor. Its two upper and two lower limbs were moving feebly and its off-size bulbous head lolled to one side. It was a weak, flabby thing with no sleek carapace, and its brownish color looked unnatural. Srr was unsure what it was, but that was unimportant; all creatures that were not Progenitor were either food animals or irrelevant.

"Honored soldier, why do you bring this to me? I am a technician of Work Cadre Gamma, and my task is to construct and then operate this cloning center. A food animal does not belong in this place," she stated. Srr was busy with the third annex and did not want to be bothered with distractions but, even so, it was her duty to be respectful and informative to a Progenitor whose caste was higher.

Nir held the flaccid little thing a little closer to Srr, who backed away ever so slightly. "This is an Invader pre-youngling," Nir resonated, as if this statement said everything.

Srr didn't understand. She examined the resonance field that Nir had emitted for more complex modulations that might indicate there was another layer of meaning, but she found none. His statement was simply opaque. "Honored soldier, I must return to my tasks. I do not comprehend why you and this pre-youngling Invader are here. Please speak plainly."

Nir shifted uncomfortably. "Conqueror Zzar has ordered that I care for the Invader younglings captured at this place and teach them to be workers for the Progenitors. My efforts have been…inadequate. Most of the Invader younglings have died or have been eaten. I do not wish to fail in my task, and need to know how to care for these Invader younglings and how to train them."

"Warrior, this is a cloning center. I do not have the knowledge you seek. " It was quite clear to Srr that she didn't know how to help this Warrior and that he would have to go elsewhere. She waited for the warrior to go away.

Unfortunately, he didn't. "Then I require you to find out. I will deliver the remaining Invader younglings to you at this crèche and you will provide me with the needed information. I will check back every other cycle to determine your progress. This is the order of Conqueror Zzar."

Nir walked forward and handed the mewing Invader youngling to Srr, and in moments the pulpy thing was in her talons. Nir, looking singularly relieved, turned and walked away.

Srr was stunned. She looked at the squirmy youngling and noted its small watery eyes, fleshy slit of a mouth, improbably weak neck, and lack of talons on its appendages. Even didn't even have teeth, which she could clearly see as it continued to emit high-pitched screeching sounds. She searched her RNA-enhanced memories and there was nothing that helped her understand this thing. Clearly, that was an oversight of the technicians that had cloned and force-educated her, she thought. She would do better with the workers, thinkers, and soldiers that she was responsible for cloning and educating.

As she watched it emitted some noxious fluids from its lower torso between its legs. An ugly brown oozed from its backside, and a small jet of yellowish liquid shot straight out from in front of its legs. The arcing jet of fluid impacted the intersection of Srr's green and blue carapace layers and mostly sheeted off. The ammonia smell, however, didn't, and she knew it would stain.

She looked at the squalling Invader with irritation and she fought the urge to kill it.

Orders were orders, even if they were unpleasant. She turned and entered the partially finished third annex to the cloning center. Maybe her colleague M'lar would have an idea of what to do. Or at least he might be gullible enough to agree to care for the obnoxious mass of offensive odors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M'lar poked the Invader youngling with his talon, and it emitted an even louder scream. He observed as its surprisingly mobile face scrunched up info folds, which almost covered its eyes, as its toothless mouth opened even wider.

Then he formed a simple resonance field and projected it at the youngling.

Nothing.

He emitted a trill with three harmonics and the youngling's head turned toward him a little.

Yes, he thought, these Invader animals are interesting. It reacts to tactile and auditory stimulation, but not a simple resonance field. It must be retarded, or limited in some way. Perhaps its communication ability develops later. He looked at the puncture in its left leg, which was still bleeding, and noted that his talon had punctured its skin easily and before he could pull it back. This creature was surprisingly soft, and its skin seemed to only hold it together and it offered almost no protection against injury. These were shockingly vulnerable creatures.

M'lar looked at the messy pool of brown and yellow fluids the Invader youngling was laying in. He had emitted them after he had started his experiments in various types of stimulation, and M'lar was surprised such a small form could hold so much waste material. Luckily the leakage had stopped after a short time. It had not, however, stopped it from its continual screeching. That sound seemed to drive Srr to distraction, but M'lar didn't mind it too much.

He had noted that the youngling was not moving much and that the intensity of its screeching was decreasing. It was an alien, but even aliens had to take fluids and nourishment. M'lar had no idea what or how much. He had tried to give it some water but all the little Invader youngling did was appear to choke, and the water he had thoughtfully given it joined the pool of other smelly fluids it lay in.

Clearly, this Invader youngling would die unless M'lar could find out what to do. The local information terminal had very little on the Invaders, and what was available was primarily the ways to kill them and their general weaknesses. Apparently access to information of a more specific nature required special authorization, which M'lar did not have as a mere technician. Only the Thinker and senior Warrior castes would have the authorization to access such sensitive material.

None of this was helpful.

Then M'lar had an idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M'lar stood next to the Invader Guard Commander, who held Nir's authorization crystal in his talons. He was none too pleased that yet another Progenitor was requisitioning some of his Invaders in the Invader holding pit. It seemed that every warrior, and even workers and thinkers, had a good reason to take and presumably ritually kill and eat one of the Invaders. His stock was down to less than half of what it had once been, and it was dropping fast. It would do no good to guard an empty pit and so he had become more diligent in filtering out valid from invalid requests.

He had examined the data crystal thoroughly and the request was valid. This Navigator Nir had the authority of Conqueror Zzar himself, and he could not be denied. How this worker had acquired this authorization was beyond him, but at this point it was not his concern.

"Your request is approved, worker. Tell me what you require," he said.

M'lar looked at the Guard Commander, the crystal he was irritably pressing between his talons, and then out to the holding pit. Clusters of Invaders shuffled about, and they kept away from the pit edges. They had learned, painfully, what awaited them at the edges and few attempted escape anymore.

"I require two Invaders, Honored Warrior. Two female Invaders. I also require data on what they eat, and what their younglings eat," he altered, inclining his head in supplication and respect to his superior.

The huge warrior trilled with mirth. "These Invaders eat anything we give them or they do without. As for their younglings, they eat what we give them or they starve, too. I did get a report that some of the smaller Invader younglings attach themselves like a parasite onto the older Invaders. This was not substantiated, and I doubt the truth of such a report. Most of the remaining Invaders seem to be females, although I have a difficult time sometimes telling them apart. They are all soft, puny, and weak. The females may be somewhat smaller, but not always. They may also have different fleshy parts. The Invaders all look alike to me. And they all smell. Nasty, dirty creatures."

The Commander waved out to the sullen groups of Invaders. "Pick two, worker, and they will be brought to you. Did you bring restraints?"

M'lar trilled a negations, with a query resonance overlay.

"I thought not," the Commander added. "Although soft and weak the Invaders can be cunning. I will provide you with hobbles that will serve you until you get the Invaders to your eating den. When you are done I expect you to return the restraints, and be sure to remove the gore. I stinks worse than the Invaders after it ripens for a few days."

"It shall be as you ask, Warrior," M'lar responded, not knowing what else to say. It had not occurred to him that he would consume the Invaders. To do so seemed…wasteful. Besides, the Invader females who laid the eggs would know more than he about the youngling on his examination bench.

M'lar turned again to the holding pit and looked over the nearer Invaders. The Commander was correct; they all looked alike. Some had an uneven gate and appeared to be damaged. He could not see which was the female of the species. The Commander had said the females were sometimes smaller with different proportions of fleshy projections. Examining the Invaders he saw two that seemed appropriate and he pointed at them.

The Commander trilled. "Poor choices, worker: not much fight or flesh on them. Those are the smallest adult Invaders we have, although they do seem lively enough. I'll get the base pit guards to cull them."

M'lar wasn't concerned about their size and let the comment, and the implicit offer to change his selection, pass.

Seeing that the stupid worker did not change his mind, the Commander shrugged and projected a resonance to the pit guards, who formed a wedge of three and waded into the Invaders. As the armed guards approached the Invaders gave way before them. More soldiers joined and one wedge after another formed, driving the humans into smaller and smaller pockets. The soldiers unlimbered their weapons and aimed them at the Invaders in each pod while one of the wedges waded in to extract the selected Invaders.

M'lar could hear high-pitched screeches from the Invaders as they were pulled from the herd. A Progenitor grasped one, none to gently, by the wrist and dragged it out. It tried to prostrate itself to slow the soldier down, but it did no good. The soldier easily massed four or five times that of the struggling Invader. A few of the Invaders in the pod surged forward, and the guards fired a few carefully aimed resonance bolts into the pod, stunning them. There were more cries of pain, and a few of the Invaders in the pod fell.

The single Invader was dragged behind the cordon of Progenitors. Restraint cuffs were placed on its arms and legs, which automatically retracted if more than the allowed kinetic energy was expanded. If the restraints contracted the Invader would be hobbled, if it continued to struggle it would be immobilized. After a brief struggle the restraints were applied and the small Invader was hauled away.

Another wedge went into the pod to extract the second Invader. This time there was a weaker response and all the guards had to do was raise their weapons and the Invaders in the pod backed down. As before, the Invader struggled until the restraints were applied.

M'lar noticed something different this time, though. The chaotic sound modulation coming from the pods of Invaders was changing. Instead of random bursts of semi-organized sound it seemed that the pod was aligning their voices. In moments the randomness was gone and the pod had achieved a unity, with their voices lilting up and down in what had to be a widely known pattern. It seemed to be spreading, as the other corralled pods started the refrain.

He didn't know what to make of it. It was primitive, and alien. M'lar had no idea what the Invader sound modulations meant, but they obviously meant something to them. The sounds seemed to burn into his memory for some reason and he remembered them clearly, even though he had no idea of their meaning:

"We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
We shall overcome someday!
Oh, deep in my heart I do believe
We shall overcome someday!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M'lar used a talon on his left hand to depress the activation stud on the translator. The Commander had been a little surprised by his request to be able to communicate with the Invaders but had not turned him down. M'lar reasoned that having the two adult Invaders would do him no good unless he could tell them what he expected of them.

The two hobbled Invaders stood before him in one of the storage rooms of the second annex to the Cloning Center Crèche. Their bulbous, watery eyes were darting around, examining the medical equipment that lined the walls. They had been largely silent during their travel out of the pit and through the city. Most of their time they had spent just looking around, and occasionally the smaller one emitted a soft noise.

M'lar resonated and the small device turned the resonance field into the sound modulations the Inaders used: "Invaders. I am M'lan, Progenitor worker. Required: your cooperation. Task: feeding and care of Invader younglings."

Both of their heads snapped toward M'lar. Good, he thought, I have their attention.

He formed another resonance to explain, "Invader younglings: here. Need care. You will provide care, and knowledge. Invader: understand?"

His query was greeted by interested silence. M'lar paused and tried to think on how to make the Invaders understand what he required of them. Not wanting to waste any more time he decided the direct approach was best and he left the room. He could feel the eyes of the hobbled Invaders on him as he left. In the next room he placed the barely moving Invader youngling on a cart and wheeled it into the storage area that held the two adult Invaders. As soon as they saw it they started their own high-pitched sound modulations and gesticulation. Immediately their kinetic restraints activated and started to constrict.

This was not the reaction M'lar intended. He gestured to the Invaders and then to the youngling. He tried again. No reaction. Clearly he was not making himself understood. M'lar knew he would fail if the Invaders were immobile on the floor. That would not help him with the youngling he had, and the additional younglings that would arrive soon.

He went over toward the smaller Invader, who shrank away from him, and bent over it. With one hand he grabbed her upper torso and it immediately cried out even louder. With the other he released the kinetic restraints, which dropped to the floor. M'lar had a good hold, but the creature struggled anyway. He firmly dragged it toward the limp youngling.

M'lar used simple concepts and resonance fields and hoped it would translate into the odd and inefficient sound modulations the Invader's used. "Progenitor: not able to care for Invader youngling. Result: unhappiness for M'lar, death for youngling. Task: you will tell M'lar what is needed; you will care for youngling. Understanding?"

The small Invader he was holding looked at the youngling and then sideways at him and spoke. The translator formed a simple and pallid resonance field that M'lar understood, and it said "Yes."

He was satisfied. It was a start. "Acceptable," he said as he released the Invader.

She looked at him, then at the listless baby. Ignoring the green and blue alien at her side she picked up the infant and did her best to sooth it. The poor thing was frail, wet, fouled, and showed signs of torture. Tracie cried inside for the baby. Long ago she had stopped crying for herself. She turned toward the monster and tried to ignore the threatening and ominous equipment all around her. What did it want? And why?

Right now Tracie knew that didn't matter. The baby mattered. Steeling herself, she told the monster exactly what she needed. As she spoke the box he wore seemed to hum.

The huge green alien bug just stared at her for a moment. Then the box said, "I will get what you ask."

Then it turned and left the room, and the door snapped shut behind it.

As soon as the door shut her companion spoke up, "Get over here and get me free! I can barely move!"

Tracie looked over at him with scarcely disguised loathing. "Shut up, Jarod. You'll survive. And you know I can't get the keepers off."

"I'd never work for those bugs!" he retorted, referring to what the big Progenitor had said.

Tracie's lower lip curled. "Idiot. Did you even notice the baby? An innocent baby? I'd do almost anything to save this child's life, so hang your grand morals. This baby's almost dead!" The baby started to cough, and it was a dry cough. Its skin felt cold and clammy. That was bad.

"We need to escape! And get back to Sparta Command!" Jarod stated, a bit wildly, like he did when he started babbling.

Tracie ignored him. It was generally best when you ignored Jarod. She turned her attention back to the baby, and she hoped the bug would be back soon.

[Googlie]

Temple of Chiron - Prisoners' Compound

"Psssst... psssst "

Seng Hsui stopped in his tracks, as if sniffing the air.

"Psssst... psssst " - there it was again, coming from the prisoners' compound.

He drew his personal sidearm and went to investigate.

She was standing by the wire, clearly trying to attract his attention. Vaguely he thought her familiar, then it dawned on him. The erstwhile Garrison Commander.

Brooke was waving him over, unaware that he was the Colonel that had accepted her surrender.

"Soldier. Here. I need to talk with you."

He moved over, cautiously.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want out of here - me and my fellow Gaians. Is this how the Hive treats prisoners of war? Good grief, man, can't you see with your own eyes. These aliens are eating us., Eating us. Is this the honorable society your Chairman espouses?"

Seng shifted uncomfortably.

Yes, he knew that the Usurpers ate their conquered foes. But he'd turned a blind eye to it. After all, it wasn't like it was wholesale slaughter. Just one or two each day, out of the couple of thousand who'd populated the base.

"You know I can't do that," he replied. "But I can bring it up with the General and see if he can't stop the ritual feasting."

Brooke exploded.

"Ritual feasting? Is that all that this is to you - ritual feasting? How would you like it if it were your mother that was earmarked for tonight's ritual feast? Eh?"

Seng though briefly of his mother, the redoubtable Madame Hsui, and chuckled inwardly.
She'd prove to be a tough and stringy ,meal for any Alien, he thought.

"I said I'd bring it to the General's attention," he muttered sullenly, and prepared to leave.

"Wait," Brooke pleaded. "There's more."

"Go on," he said.

"You must have wondered where all the children were," she continued.

He nodded.

"They were on a field trip to the coast when the attack came - about 30 of them, for two weeks. That's run out now, and I'm afraid that they'll just die in the fungus fields, even though they are Gaians. And I don't want them coming back here to be a delicacy for your buggy friends."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked her.

"Give me your commlink for a few minutes and turn away -I'll relay their co-ordinates to Velvetgrass Point and see if they can effect a rescue. Assuming of course, that they are still alive."

"I can do that," he said, handing her his commlink through the mesh and turning away.

Brooke took it eagerly, and punched in some code.

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

Free Drone Central

Scott Allardyce looked up at the screen when his commlink beeped for attention.

He frowned when he saw the trace - an unknown number, emanating from Temple of Chiron and patched through Gaian Air Force, Velvetgrass Point, through GAF Headquarters at Nessus Shining, to his console at Free Drone Central.

He activated the commlink.

A stranger's face appeared, dark and somewhat blurry - that of a young woman.

"Allardyce here," he grunted. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Brooke Ward - Gaian prisoner at Temple of Chiron. Who have I reached?"

Allardyce was hitting the 'system interrogate' key even as she was replying. Her profile appeared on the screen next to her image. Ah yes. Former Garrison Commander there.

"Chief of Air Staff, Believing Drones," he replied automatically. "What can I do for you?"

Brooke hastily gave Googlie the story, and the co-ordinates where the field trip was supposed to be, then asked:

"But why have I come through to you? - I was trying to reach our air force commander at Velvetgrass."

"Long story, lady. The short answer is that you no longer have an airforce at Velvetgrass Point, and soon that base too will be in Hive or Usurper hands. But how many of you are there?"

Brooke replied:

"They have segregated the administrators and officers from the drones. The latter are still working the base under the command of the Hive officers. We in the detention center are now about 25 or so, and they're killing us off at a rate of about two a day."

Allardyce snorted. "Killing you off - how? Escape attempts?"

"No," she replied, her voice breaking. "Eating us. Apparently it's an alien thing - and the Hive officers seem powerless to stop it."

There was a long pause, the Allardyce spoke again:

"How are you contacting me? - have you unlimited access to a commlink?"

"No," Brooke replied. "I spoke with a sympathetic Hive soldier who loaned me his after I told him about our youngsters. He doesn't want to see them eaten any more than I do."

Allardyce responded:

"Can you put him on to me?"

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

Temple of Chiron

"Soldier."

Seng looked over. The woman was holding his commlink through the fence to him.

"Someone wants to talk to you."

Seng took the commlink.

"Hsui here"

His eyebrows rose when he heard:

"Ah, Colonel Hsui. Colonel Seng Hsui. And son of the renowned Civilian Marshal Hsui."

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Scott Allardyce," was the reply.

Seng shuddered. One of Chairman Yang's most implacable enemies.

The voice went on:

"I have just been apprised of the situation at Temple of Chiron, and it seems that you and your superior officers are turning a blind eye at this cannibalistic practice of the Usurpers of eating their vanquished enemies. Be aware, Colonel Hsui, that the Axis treats this as an atrocity, with you and your commanding officer as collaborators. You would do well to cause the practice to cease, lest you find yourself before a war crimes tribunal after your defeat. Or the victims of a covert assassination squad before then. Justice has a long arm, my Colonel.

"Please ask your General Peake to call me.

"Allardyce out."

The commlink went dead.

Seng stared at it thoughtfully, then looked at Brooke.

"I didn't know you had such influential friends," he commented.

"Neither did I" was her laconic reply.

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

Later that Evening

"Sir. It is really strange. How she connected to Allardyce, I mean."

Cyrus Peake looked thoughtful, as Hsui related the afternoon's conversation to him.

"That's bad news if it has gone out. I thought that this was just our dirty little secret, and that we could contain it. But I guess not now. Trouble is, Colonel, that I am powerless to stop Canla and her troops from doing it. In fact, I can't even reach her now. She is spending all her time over at the ruins of the Manifold Nexus. I doubt if she would listen to me anyway. We are very much the junior party in this alliance."

"What are we to do, then," Hsui asked.

Peake pondered the question.

About half of the administrative and officers corps had been removed 'for ritual purposes' in the 2 weeks or so since their surrender. At this attrition rate there would be none left after another two weeks.

He straightened up, and looked at Hsui.

"We must collaborate in their escape," he said simply.

"Get me Allardyce."

[Hydro]

Progenitor: Honor

Zzar waited patently. It was exceedingly rare to have an audience with Conqueror Marr, and having the audience in the command center was unheard of. The command center was the nexus of the Usurper faction, and only most senior of the planner and military castes were allowed to enter, and only the most trusted advisors participated in planning and strategy. In fact, it was possible that Conqueror Marr had no advisors and that he formulated his vision by himself. Zzar suspected that Conqueror Marr kept his own counsel, and that many of the planning sessions with his senior advisors were more likely to have The Conqueror telling his planners and strategists what he wanted, and when. After all, he was Conqueror Marr.

Even though it was an honor to be called to an audience Zzar felt his ability to control his restlessness and questions diminish as the hours passed. He was standing in his proscribed place, or, rather, his image was standing in its proscribed place. Zzar was actually in Progenitor: Honor, as he had been for the 37 frustrating day-cycles since the Invader city had been conquered. Like all Progenitors he had great stamina and could continue almost any physical activity as long as was required, as long as he was willing to pay the price at a later time in a medical rejuvenation center to renew metabolized energy reserves and organs. He was nowhere near that level yet, and he knew he would have to wait for the great Conqueror for at least several days before his stamina would be so tested.

So, he waited.

Just because he was almost motionless did not mean he did not take the opportunity to examine his surroundings. After all, he had never been in the Usurper command center before and he might never again have this opportunity as a mere junior Conqueror. The room itself was cavernous, with graceful arcing struts along the walls and throughout the chamber that extended into the unlighted ceiling, as was the Progenitor style. A number of the struts seemed to have stopped growing, and they terminated near the floor to above the height of a Conqueror. Still others seemed to have grown together forming a freestanding series of arches. Between the struts, arced pillars, and arches were raised daises, which had low, curved railing surrounding them. Above the daises were pillars that curved inward in such a way that they looked like incomplete arches.

These daises were what drew Zzar's attention, since these were the three primary and innumerable secondary tactical and strategic displays. The smaller holos, flat screens, and diagnostics cycled through images so fast that Zzar could only get a glimmer of what they displayed. In general, they seemed to show Progenitor war material and their specifications, with direct comparisons to their Invader equivalents. Zzar ignored these since he was now somewhat familiar with the Invaders and their ability to resist. What caught Zzar's eye, however, with the three main battle displays. Centered in middle of the cavernous room, these displays could either be used to see the battles from any distance the observer desired, even to the point of joining a battle-in-progress. From his vantage point as a projected holo he could only see the strategic picture. In the first was an oblique view of Progenitor: Honor, a summary of Progenitor forces there, and the nearest Invader cities. In this display the Invader Spartan's primary city was to the west. Zzar was displeased to notice that it now held fully fifteen times the attack and defense forces it had possessed when he had captured the nearby two Invader cities over 30 day cycles ago. Conquer Marr had ordered overwhelming reinforcements so the Invaders could be crushed in one blow, reducing their ability and will to resist. Zzar had thought that this policy was ill advised, but had taken his orders without complaint or comment. After all, the orders had come from the Conqueror.

The second display was far more interesting, and it came to Zzar as something of a shock. In this image there was a strange, rounded Invader city that rose from a plain of fungus and Invader vegetation. The city itself was an unnatural brown and green, and it looked disturbingly like one of the Invader trees that were in constant ecological warfare with the fungus. Where the fungus was not present the tall Invader trees infected the land surface, creating an unwholesome blending of Manifold 6 and Invader ecosystems. The city and its environment were just background to Zzar's eyes since the city was surrounded to the east by Progenitor infantry. Further back were more infantry, forming a second rank . At a distance were the troops of their ally Invader Yang. Flying over the city were a small number of Progenitor Gnat aircraft and some of the Invader Yang. All aircraft were now returning to the captured city Temple of Chiron, and they obviously been busy reducing the defenders of the hostile Invader city to ashes.

Further toward the back of the room, and almost outside of Zzar's ability to gather any information, was the third display. It showed yet another set of Invader cities, all of them gleaming and iridescent odd geometric shapes, and each of these cities seemed to be reaching toward the sky. There were no Progenitor troops near it, but scrolling icons in the upper portion of the holo indicated these Invader cities were to be razed, completely, although it was not apparent how, or why.

After examining what he could of the battle displays a few things struck Zzar. First, he had not been informed of the second battle force that was attacking the other Invaders. These Invaders had some disturbing Caretaker-like proclivities according to reports he had read of them. That a second battle force was attacking was not important or surprising since the Conqueror will keep his own consul and would not be likely to ask opinions of or consult with a lowly junior Conqueror almost fresh out of the cloning vats. It appeared that the bulk of the mobile Progenitor infantry was committed to that engagement, along with many of their attack aircraft. Zzar sighed to himself, wistfully wishing that more of the invaluable Gnats had been assigned to his strike. Now he knew why - they were committed at another front. Second, their ally Invader Yang was not attacking the Caretaker-like Invaders. This struck Zzar as very strange, since to him it would make more sense to make the Invaders fight each other than spend Progenitor blood in exterminating them. The Conquer invariably will have his reasons. Third, and most important, it was clear that the Conqueror was initiating a two, and possibly three, front war. Consulting his ancient faces and aspects on battle doctrine, all of these long passed wise Progenitors agreed that this was not a wise strategy. Did the Conqueror know or understand something that was not apparent? Was there some other obscure objective? Were there more military forces available, or were more being manufactured?

Zzar maintained is somber and respectful visage, but his questions swirled in his mind as he waited.

The room brightened. Zzar knew the Conqueror was entering.

There he was. He wore no battle sash since as supreme commander he transcended any rank or insignia. The lower combat spurs on his face shield were enameled black, and his goring tusks were polished and exquisitely maintained. He wore his ceremonial combat armor over his chitin, as all Progenitor Conquerors do when at war. And, proudly displayed on his forehead was his clan designation: the Usurpers, who had been at war with the Caretakers and their allies for thousands of years.

Zzar's image bowed before Conqueror Marr.

"Conqueror Zzar," Conqueror Marr resonated to acknowledge his sub commander.

"Great Conqueror Marr," he altered back, choosing a third level submissive harmonic to assert his own station and clearly state Conquer Marr's ultimate and total authority.

Marr did not bother to dip his tusks, even slightly, in return. "You are ordered to attack the Invader Spartan's primary city immediately." He turned and walked to the nearest battle display, ascended the dais, and waved is right talon. Zzar's image followed. A holo simulation started.

"We have postponed attacking the Invader Spartan's primary city so that we could gather our forces, and so the Invader's could gather theirs. Our information from Invader Yang indicates that 70% of the mobile military units of the Spartans are currently at their primary."

A holo showed the Invader's primary battle units, all of which looked bulky and inefficient, and inelegant, to Zzar's eyes. Many were infantry, but most were their fast attack mobile units. The Invaders did not have hovercraft technology and had to rely on primitive wheeled technology. They had some aircraft, all of which was slow and technologically obsolete by Progenitor standards. In addition to that there were numerous defensive units. The result was that there were even more defensive and offensive units than Zzar expected, with more arriving every day either over land, by air, or via air drop.

"Their defenses are inadequate to withstand our forces, and we will destroy most of their military in one fell stroke, and with their fall nothing will stand in our way of total conquest of Manifold 6. You will remove their air defense units first with the three Gnat interceptor assigned to your field of battle."

Zzar looked at the tally of the alien defenders and noted that the three Gnats would not be sufficient to remove all air defenses, which was both on air craft and their mobile ground units.

"Conqueror, it appears…" Zzar started.

Marr swiveled toward Zzar. "Do not interrupt. To do so is above both your ability and your station."

Zzar retreated, chastised. He realized this was not a discussion.

Marr turned back toward his simulation. "With the air defense eliminated the Battle Ogres will secure the bunker here," he resonated, and pointing at the bunker between Honor: Progenitor and the target Invader city, lit with the alien icon 'Sparta Command'. "Then you will proceed with the rest of the Ogres and assault the city's defenders." The tactical map showed the Ogres using their firepower to systematically blast their way into and through the city as the Invader defenders filed, one by one, onto the field of battle to be destroyed.

Numerous questions and concerns leapt into Zzar's mind. There would be heavy and permanent damage to the Ogres in such an assault, since they had no way of repairing the ancient mechs. And, by the time they arrived at the city they would have depleted their energy reserves, and they would either be unable to attack or attack a less then full strength. They would also be vulnerable to counterattack. What was most alarming was that Zzar knew that these Spartan Invaders did not obey Progenitor rules of combat, and they would not file onto the field of battle to engage in honorable combat. They were sneaky and were not to be trusted, and they had their own indecipherable rules.

What Marr showed indicated he either did not know of these attributes, knew of them but didn't care, or that he thought that they were irrelevant. Zzar knew the Conqueror was not careless, nor was he ill informed. He must view the Progenitor firepower advantage to be so overwhelming to that anything the Invaders might try would not be effective.

Zzar's feeling of unease grew.

"The Deathspheres will be held in reserve, as will the attack Gnats. The Interceptors will ensure the Ogres can not be attacked by the defenders."

Zzar thought, Oh, of course. However, it still seemed dangerous to assault with such slow units. Even so, something about Marr's assurance gave Zzar pause. A fatal flaw. What was it?

"Your Deathsphere will enter and take the city after the last Invaders are destroyed. As at Progenitor: Honor, you are to exterminate almost all of the Invader population, keeping some for whatever labor they might be good for and for the Challenge Chamber. Set up cloning facilities at once. Production is to be geared toward defensive units to free up attack units."

The holo morphed into an oblique plan view strategic map. Conqueror Marr pointed to the Spartan primary city, now captured in the simulation. "You will then move here and here," he stated, pointing at the next cities to the west. The Invader Spartans ability to be resist will be removed, and they will be destroyed within 30 day cycles."

Conquer Marr turned toward his young officer Zzar. "Do you understand your orders?"

"Yes, Conqueror. It shall be done," he resonated. Zzar clearly understood, even if he had a myriad of questions and concerns.

Conqueror Marr expanded his chest cavity as he inhaled, making him appear larger. Zzar knew that he was asserting dominance and accepted it.

"Dismissed. Bring glory to the Progenitors, and to the Usurpers," Conqueror Judaa Marr stated.

Abruptly the holo ended, and Zzar was in his Deathsphere Alpha.

His orders were clear.

He would obey.