The Wizard of Chiron

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 89: Sprouting Resistance


"Eric Schwarz."

"Yes?"

"When did you begin your career at Morgan Cybernetics?"

"Fall of '57."

"Right, move along." The guard hands him his papers.

Eric hesitates, and looks sheepishly at the guard. "As there's no queue, might I ask what this checkpoint is for?"

"It's for your safety and well-being, citizen." The guard radiates a field of official unhelpfulness.

"Um, thank you for your time..." He walks along.

Morgan Industries is quiet. For the first time in over two hundred years, the capital population has decided to stay home for the evening. Only those people who have to venture outside, through their jobs or otherwise, do so. Eric is among them, but that doesn't mean he isn't terrified. Morgan Industries is unofficially occupied; there hasn't been any functioning government in over a month. At first there was rioting, but these were subdued peacefully. Since then, the Morgan Military Division has slowly increased it's presence inside the capital and the largest cities.

The most scary part is that there is no curfew. No-one will arrest or shoot you, should you venture outside. There will only be a most courteous soldier who asks for your papers. And makes a report. The holovision is full of official-sounding messages advising people to stay indoors, and procure any necessary services through the Morgannet, whose operation is now guaranteed by the military.

By now, everybody has an idea about the shape of the future. Question is, what to do? When the head has got it's mind changed, how does the body resist? These are important questions to Eric, and so he is walking the streets. He knows where he is going, and why, but that's just for now. Where to take it from there....

He nods at a guard and enters the Morgan Central Bank. A flourish of his customer's ID in front of the outer doors gives him access to the outer areas; a completely automated bank meant to handle the huge majority of business. He walks over to an elevator door at the back and nods at a security-camera pointed his way. This rewards him with the door silently opening. He walks in and waits.

The door shuts as silently as it opened, and the elevator starts moving. Some seconds later there is a grinding noise, and the cabin shakes. The lights flicker momentarily as the elevator slows to a halt. Then the internal speaker crackles to life.

"Sir, there has been a slight malfunction in the system. You seem to be stuck."

Eric turns towards the back wall, which is covered by a mirror. "Well, me and most of Morgan Industries it seems. Where am I?"

"Between stops, sir. Floors sixteen and seventeen."

"Well, let me out at Sixteen B then."

"Sir, there isn't any sixteen B."

"Right. Well, perhaps this isn't Morgan Industries either."

He waits. The door open into a room, without the elevator moving. The floor-carpet sports large letters bidding him welcome to floor 16B.

"Hey Eternal, any news?" A man is bearing down on 'Eric' with his hands outstretched. He is quite fat, and going bald on the top of his head. What remains of his black hair is permed almost straight away from his head, giving it the general appearance of a partly shaven hedgehog.

"Not much, Kruger. There was a cell of resistance over at the nanohospital, but they were all processed by the time I got there."

Delight and concern fights for control over Kruger's facial features. He is the CEO of MCB, and a very influential man. He was one of those few really important Morganites who actually embraced the new teachings of Planet. As Eric -a.k.a. Eternal Spark- recently learned, he had felt a close connection to nature for his entire life. This floor is a testimony not only to this for Morganite standards highly unusual trait, but also to his power. The floor teems with life; few places on Planet can display a so diverse collection of flowering terrestrial plants. But the real surprise is the butterflies. As similar to iridescent jewels set in flight as ever on Terra, they awe Spark every time he sees them. Having never studied terrestrial biology during his upbringing, Spark had never heard of them before entering this floor the first time and seeing one land on the back of his hand. Now, as then, he can't resist gazing with his mouth agape at the artificial forest in front of him.

Eventually Kruger seems to make up his mind on how to digest the news. "Not much?! It means that we actually managed to generate sympathy to our cause! Targetted propaganda through personal messages... What an idea! And it works! Shame about them being caught, though."

Spark grimaces. "It's more than a shame, Steve. It's a blasted tradegy. There's two options; One, they were so darn unprofessional they got caught. This means, at the very least, The 'borgs know there's someone out there with the ability to erase all signs of origin from personal messages. Or two, they knew about the message. Now, that leads to many unpleasant scenarios."

"Spark, there's no way in space we could have a traitor here."

"Oh? Have you acquired the necessary equipment to spot sleepers, then? But no, not even I think any of us have a hitch-hiker. There's other possibilities. That hacker might not be up to the task no matter what he says. Or the message somehow triggered an alarm in the nodes while en route to the hospital." Spark shrugs. "How are things going?"

They start walking along a path past the carefully planted flowers. A constant fluttering from the many butterflies makes the air vibrate, and the flowers lend it a scent as of strong perfume. "Well, you know we were waiting for the results of our little experiment. So we haven't done much. Oh, the hacker just now managed to decode the transmission of the interfactional news-channel. We were waiting for you to celebrate the event with a nice little catching up on what's happening out there."

Spark grins. "Great! Maybe he is at least remotely as good as he claims, then." They are approaching a paved area devoid of flowers. Benches, tables and beds burdened with food, equipment and people, with no care given to the surface's actual function, fill the area. "Hey team!"

Spark's new team gives him a moderately cheerful greeting. He smirks, but his eyes turn scornful. "So much for Free Drone enthusiasm. Well, are you lazy maggots ready for some international holovision? Anyone made snacks?"

Two minutes later, everyone is settled around the holoprojector as it fizzles to life. Instantly, the air in and around the holoprojector is filled with scenes of pitched battle. But no sound. Nearly everyone starts talking all at once. Spark shouts everyone else silent before taking the stage as referee.

"Gread rusted piles of mindworm refuse! Those are peacekeeper units! Peacekeeper hover-tanks?! And they are duking it out with progenitors! Usurpers, I gather." He turns and points. "Hacker, get us some sound and quick."

An adolescent boy looks up from his computer and grimaces. "It's Infogod, thank you very much, and I'm working on it. I just forgot that the audio is coded separately from the holo. Just a sec... There! And now-"

"...Little progress in the last few hours, but remember that reinforcements are on the way; these units we see here will have Spartan backing in just over ten minutes, we're told. Needless to say, the military commands have refused to give us any kinds of insight into their chosen strategies, or even the number and kind of forces being deployed, but we will do our best by inviting some military experts from the Data-Angels here to the studio; they'll be with us any moment now. Until then, I think we'll take a break for commercials. But before that we'll replay the official message jointly released by the Peacekeepers, Spartans, Believers and Cultists..."

A new image, of the Peacekeeper parliament-hall, appears. Everyone in the room is giving a standing ovation to the four persons standing by the speaker's podium. Spark, Steve and the team recognize colonel Santiago, sister Miriam and Cha Dawn, but the fourth person is unknown to them. He eventually raises a hand, and the audience settles down. He picks up a paper, scans it briefly and clears his throat.

"This is an official announcement made jointly by us, thereby representing the Peacekeepers, the Spartans, the Believers and the Cult of Planet." He clears his throat again. "Members of the parliament, and people of Planet, the four factions we four represent have come to recognize the need to put aside our grievances and work in unison towards securing our continued existence; for there is a threat facing us all which, if left unchallenged, will surely overwhelm us. The last months have been an eye-opener for the factions here on Zeus; we have come to recognize the very serious threat the Usurpers pose, especially since we learned of their plans to conquer all of Zeus. But within and behind that evil force there is another threat; for the Usurpers have a willing ally. An ally who uses the most vile methods to spread discord, who cowardly taints the will of free men everywhere. That ally is the Cybernetic Consciousness."

By now, the audience in Morgan Industries is silent. More than a few mouths are open.

"We shall now strike back against these sinister forces, for they have already assaulted us ever so foully by trying to subvert our citizens. As of this announcement, the four factions we represent declare war on the Usurpers. We will stop at nothing to erase their evil presence from Zeus. We will also call back our ambassadors from the Cybernetic Consciousness, freeze their assets and ask all of their citizens currently residing within our territories to leave. The message is clear: The Cybernetic Consciousness will pay for their acts. And the retribution will begin now. Even as I speak, our forces are being mobilized. Historians might, if we are successful, mark this day as the turning-point, when the free world grasped the sword in defense of it's home. Thank you."

Half a second of a beginning storm of cheers is heard, before the commercials take over the transmission. Spark cuts the power to the projector. He stares at the rest of the group.

"Leaping locusts! Great Planet, what news! The Consciousness, cooperating with the Usurpers... Planet!"

"You know, if those news hit the street then people would be willing to chew xenofungus and die for their freedom. There'd be not only riots, but a real shot at rebellion."

Spark sneers. "Yeah, rebels would get shot all right. We can't do squat without at least part of the military on our side! And since those who aren't merged are loyal to Nwabudike, there's no chance of convincing them to join us."

"Really? They'd follow him, even after this? Even though he's in such a bad situation?"

"More likely, they don't know in what situation he is. He's good at being a figurehead."

The hacker speaks up. "Are they all loyal? I was at the army, and... uh... information has a way of spreading, if you know what I mean."

Spark sighs. "Look, we can't simply target a unit for propaganda on the hope that it's loyalty isn't perfect. We need to be sure there's a genuine chance."

"Then why not try and contact a soldier, and create that chance?"

"Their comm-units are monitored."

"Not all of them. I did say I was in the army, right? Well, I had this nice girlfriend, and we liked to talk over the comm' with no-one listening. There was this simple program someone who thinks like me had made. It's called 'tincan'. It's probably still around; I got a lot of favours by distributing and installing it. With it in your comm-unit, you can use the unit's daily maintenance call to the nodes as a base and..."

Spark holds up a hand. "Long story short, you're saying we can talk undetected to soldiers with this software in their comm-units?"

"Right. Talk, chat, mail. And, I have a nice little program designed to spot comm-units with this software installed. Plus, anyone with this in their units has something they won't tell their superiors in the first place. More likely to be disloyal."

"Right. Let's plan this."


*****


Private first-class Martin Lake popped open the lid to his sleeping 'coffin' and listened intently. The only sound besides the snores of the other soldier belonging to the same platoon was the slight humming from the fuseboard at the end of the room. He waited, and watched the activity indicators intently. Finally, there was a slight change in the hum and one of the indicators went dark. Martin closed the lid to his coffin silently. After a short moment he heard faint sounds of movement past his box. First one way, then the other. He counted to fifty and opened the lid again. Still silent.

He activated his comm-unit and dialled a number. The small screen displayed the logo of a black BBS. He scanned the message headlines, until he spotted something interesting.

There was a knock on the lid of his coffin. He stowed away the unit and opened the lid cautiously.

"Hey, Martin! What's up on the board today?" Private Smith grinned at him.

"Tim, shut up you idiot! Get to your coffin and call me!"

Tim shut the lid with a grunt. Martin waited until his comm-unit beeped and opened the link to Tim.

"Well, Martin? What's new?"

"You scanning the headlines? See the one called 'tincan upgrade'?"

"Yeah! Wow! What's it do?"

"Hmm. Says here... says here some 'Infogod' dude is rigging it to accept a 2-D feed of the interfactional news-channel. Among other things..."


End of chapter 89

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 90: Events in the Horizon


"Where is the little cossack! Where is he?! I demand a meeting with him this instant!" Jim is leaning over the desk of Prokhor Zakharov's security officer and spraying spit over some documents. His face has attained a shade of red usually associated with molten rock.

The security officer, used only to the form of sophisticated fury present in mistreated professors -that is, controlled and calm- can only stutter aimlessly back, while his fingers try to decide if pressing the button summoning the guards, or the button that unlocks the Provost's door, would lead to a longer life. The loudspeaker connected to the comm-unit on his desk comes to his rescue.

"What is that racket? Who's doing that blasted shouting?!"

Jim grabs the comm-unit with both hands and glares angrily at the embedded microphone. "This is Jim Johan Sturlasson, victim of University-sanctioned robbery, blackmail and extortion, that's who! I want to discuss these so-called business regulations I was handed by one of your charming officials this morning!"

A long and heavy sigh sounds from the speaker. "Will you need a company of guards to help you express yourself clearly and to the point, or are you capable of composing yourself entirely without outside assistance?"

Jim subsides a bit. "Ha, ha. Very funny. Open the door, Zakharov! There are many ways for me to get unreasonable, and if I contact my interfactional lawyers and pull some strings in other factions, you'll beg for me to start shouting again."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Do you feel threatened? I'm telling you, that I want to debate some points in the University's laws regarding monopolies, corporate taxes and secrecy. And I want to do it now, not after my corporation has been ruined!"

Zakharov snorts. There is a slight pause, and the door to his room opens. He pokes out his head. "Get in here, you pirate! I swear, one of the longevity treatments must have replaced parts of your brain with rotten seaweed. Shouting like that..."

Jim stomps past him into the room, grumbling deeply. Then he stops, straightens up and turns around with a glint in his eye. Zakharov closes the door and turns around with a smile on his face. They hug the traditional russian welcome.

"Too long since last time, old friend!"

"Too long indeed!"

They stand back from each other. Jim suddenly realizes they're not alone in the room; a man is sitting in a chair by the windows, watching him and the Provost with an air of polite interest.

"Jim, this is the mayor of University Central. Methis, I believe you recognize Jim Sturlasson?"

Methis rises and holds out a hand, which Jim grabs and shakes somewhat confusedly. "Um, I'm sorry, I know a Methis, but I always understood it was an AI..."

Methis smiles. "I am the Methis you refer to, Jim, but of course I have been quite upgraded since the days of Morgan Entertainment."

"Heck, from program to person it seems!"

"Um, from digital to neural, I meant."

"Sorry! Now look here, Zak; what's this about having to present all corporate patents to a board of evaluation? Those goodies are mine. I won't stand for some stupid group of scientists trying to decide if they're good enough to steal. Most of them are so good that I stole them off somebody."

Zakharov shrugs and smiles mischievously, while filing the abbreviation of his name under causes for a future vengeance. "What goes around comes around."

Jim doesn't even hesitate before retorting; he's tapped into the little salesman in his soul. "So why not let me keep my secrets, and I'll be nice by not selling yours to the highest bidder?"

"We've become better at keeping secrets, Jim. But I'm sure we can come to a deal here; let's discuss this."


****


On a typical day, a destroyer taking orders from Svensgard intercepts and 'tolls' five commercial ships, more if positioned near one of Planet's busier trade-routes. And less, a lot less, if positioned in the middle of nowhere, like the dead waters east of the Usurpers and west of the Cyborgs. Officially, it's called Hera's Grave -it's Planet's deepest ocean- but the pirates call it the Bounty Desert.

'Ol' Polly', an ancient, nuclear-powered cruiser, haunts these waters. It's non-commanding crew consists of criminals of Pirate society. It's commanded by people who have shown cowardice. That's a near-terminal offense. However, even Svensgard grudgingly admits that those men might, right now, be desperate enough to become good pirates. Those few unlucky ships actually crossing Polly's path are usually never seen again.

All in all, it's a relatively quiet and undemanding assignment, which is pure agony for the pirate with the classical frame of mind. Commander Jones is not a very good pirate, but a skilled enough leader to steer clear of mutiny. This usually means a careful act of juggling; How many more days of inactivity can the crew take? Will that Hive destroyer be too much of a fight, or must we engage it to prevent at least a self-caused slaughter among the crew?

Today has not started well. The crew's mess hall lies in shambles due to a disagreement about the correct order in the food queue. The belligerence of the crew is almost critical. So, Commander Jones has a lot to worry about.

"Commander on the bridge!"

"As you were, people. Sensors, do we have a victim today?"

'Sensors', a scrawny man with the closest approximate of an engineer's degree one can get in Pirate schools, wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Sir, the closest thing is a patrol boat just off the 'Borg coast. They'll beeline for a port as soon as they spot us. Besides that, the 'puter's just tracking noise.

"Well, cycle through the locks for me anyway."

'Noise' is a broad term. The ultra-sensitive detection systems can track dense, low-lying clouds, the occasional tsunami, ocean-floor volcanic activity and marine twisters, to name a few things. The computers are, of course, programmed to recognize the signs of a ship, but since stealth-technology is abundant on Chiron's oceans, the computers don't dismiss any unidentified signal outright. If it's trackable it gets tracked. The sensor-operator is presented with a summary of every tracked item, usually including radar and satellite images, plus sonar and sound if close enough. Polly isn't equipped with the latest of technology, such as the resonance-derivation imager or the harmonics-receiver.

"Wait- go back to the previous item."

The sensor-operator obeys, and takes a closer look at the data. "Do you make anything of it, sir? The track is quite big, so it could be a sub, except there's no indication of underwater activity."

Jones is silent. "I've been at sea for twenty years. Did you know that I started as a sensor-operator?"

"No, sir, I didn't! How did you get your commander's stripes?"

"I was rewarded a ship after I recognized a signature like that."

The operator is now bewildered, and getting excited. "What is it, sir?"

"It's an isle. I know it."

"Isle? Of the deep? Can they produce such large tracks?"

"Oh, yes. But only the largest ones." He taps the screen showing the calm trail in the water. "That's the first time in fifteen years I've seen tracks of a fully mature Isle of the Deep. Do you have any idea what that thing is worth, both dead and alive?"

The operator turns a hopeful grin towards Jones. "You are saying, we'll go and take it? And be rewarded if we succeed?"

Jones seems lost in thought for a while. Then: "Yes, we'll go catch it all right." He turns to the navigator. "Plot a course that will take us to within five nautical miles of the thing, and then match our speed and heading."


****


"Did you catch the latest news?"

Spark turns towards the speaker. "About the fire in Metagenics?"

Steve Kruger shakes his head. "Nope. About the Gaians. They have, due to some 'xeno-repulsion field', pulled back their diplomats from the Cyborgs, cancelled all pacts with the same and closed all borders between the two factions. Skye's announcement was on the news yesterday evening; she looked real mad for some reason."

"I suppose she would. I know what this field is, since I spied a shipment of the transmitters in the maglev-station. I got an engineer drunk and asked him about them. Seems it kills or drives off all forms of native life. I think Beta was planning on equipping every city in Morgan Industries with them, effectively removing the foundation from the 'Planet-lovers', as Ontor calls them."

"Do we have to do something about those transmitters?"

"I don't think so. Since Morgan doesn't have the necessary know-how, they can't be manufactured here. And since now neither the University nor the Gaians allow Cyborg shipments to pass through their borders, they can't be brought by land. And shipping by sea means the Pirates are bound to take an interest. And to activate a less than complete field would mean death to the cities left outside."

"Right. Well. I wanted to be the one to tell you; we've made contact with a really promising unit of infantry. It seems they're scheduled for 'cybernetic enhancement' two weeks from now, and there's all sorts of wild rumours flying around their barracks. Plus, they've been told they're in quarantine until then and can't leave the base. They might just be discontent and worried enough to believe anything, like, say, the truth."

"That's a great start. Puts us in a much better situation than previously. Any other candidates?"

"Well, there's a unit of assault rovers. They are unmerged, as far as we can tell, but we haven't been able to determine if they've been scheduled for merger any time soon. Their morale is pretty high at the moment, so we don't know how to sway them over to our cause."

"Well, it's never too early to start. They will be sent some interesting facts."

There is a short silence. Spark is about to nod and turn away when Kruger speaks again. He seems worried. "Hey, be honest with me. What chances do we really have of driving the 'borgs out of Morgan Industries?"

"It's hard to say. Why do you ask?"

"This morning, I received this." He hands Spark a glossy sheet of paper, embossed with Morgan Industries' symbol.

"An official letter from the board of traders? The bureau of public health and safety -hah!- wishes to remind you, that... yada, yada, reasons of public security... blah... A cybernetic enhancement?!"

"I give you two guesses about what kind of 'enhancement' they have in mind. Spark, they've even scheduled time for me at the hospital!"

Spark finishes reading. "Don't you already have these upgrades they've listed?"

"Yes, I do. I sent them a letter back informing them of that."

"What, already? You should have waited a couple of days, at least."

Kruger nods. "Yeah, sorry. I was in a bit of a panic."

Spark sighs. "Well, to answer your original question a bit better... I still have contact with the outside world. I've sent a lot of data about our situation here to the Free Drones, who have undoubtedly shared most of it with the University. I... well... last week, I was told that there's probably enough cyborgs within the Industries now to be guaranteed success, should they stage a rebellion and overthrow the government. Remember, they already control the government. Only reason why it isn't happening yet is because Beta's plans aren't limited to Morgan Industries. He is wary of how the other factions would react to such obvious foul play. They're already openly hostile towards the Consciousness."

"Well, then I don't see the point. Why is he infiltrating us, if he can't ever make that final move?"

"I just told you, Kruger. He's not only infiltrating Morgan Industries. There's sleepers and cyborg agents all over the world. I was also told the University is slowly approaching a critical level of sleeper algorithms, and Zakharov can't do anything about it without risking a simultaneous punch of internal rebellion and diplomatic outcry. And, of course, there's the Free Drones. Do you know, we have difficulties in even spotting a sleeper? Our faction is quite low-tech, and is likely to remain so. The last batch of upgraded detection-equipment that we ordered from the University disintegrated in what is officially a freak accident."

Kruger hangs his head. "Then we're waist-deep in mindworms."

"Well, ankle-deep. There is a slight chance we'll be able to deinstall splinter-algorithms in the near future."

"How so?"

"Someone I once had the privilege of meeting is going to pay the Cyborgs a little visit, in the hopes of finfing Aki Zeta-Five."

"Really? Who?"

Spark shakes his head. "I won't tell you; the less it spreads the better. Suffice to say, there's still hope."

Kruger shrugs. "Hope will only cover my behind so far. I might be forcibly merged pretty soon, and then all of this doesn't matter any more."

"You shouldn't worry about that. I'll ensure you never get a splinter. One way or another."

Kruger shudders.


End of chapter 90.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 91: Tools of the Trade


Jim squints suspiciously at the vehicle in front of him, and then down at the display of the electronic notepad he is holding.

"Let's see now. Item#14: Stealth-transports, hover-propelled. Times four. Unit numbers H242 to H245." He looks up, and nods at the vehicle. "H243. Where in space is 242?!"

"Sir." Edgecrusher is standing a few meters away.

"Ah, good. Here." Jim hands him another notepad.

"What's this, sir?"

"A list of weapons currently available to our mission. Dorothy said, and I quote, 'don't feel humble; if we need a tank then pick one'. But all my warring days were more than a century ago; I'm hopelessly lost among these modern specifications. So I thought: Maybe picking our weaponry is a job for you. You will probably better anticipate what our team will look like, and pick weapons accordingly."

Edgecrusher is already scrolling through the entries, a hungry glint in his eyes. "Sir, I've met most of the team. They brought their own guns. Still" -he swallows- "after seeing this, they might want to switch. Um, sir, you are a trained tank commander, aren't you?"

Jim nods. "Well, we called them tanks back them, but now we'd call them over-armored rovers. The things could barely move for all the armor. I've never piloted one of these hover-things."

Edge scratches his chin, while thinking out loud. "Of course, I hear they're easy to get used to, what with the MMI-assisted steering and all. And you used to be a drill instructor, too..."

Jim goes red. "For a sorry bunch of data-angel nobodies! I can't see where you're getting with this!"

Edge grins. "She said get some tanks, right? Think you'd be able to train and lead a platoon of rookies?"

"A tank. She only used singular form. And we'd need people who know and trust each other, not some distrustful strangers that..."

"They know each other well, sir. There's a team of Free Drone probes -and a large one at that- plus a group of former Cultist rebels that somehow get their paychecks from Hubris -Dorothy, I mean."

Jim leans against the hover-transport, crosses his arms and grins. "The free drones... were any of them called Spark, Balbo or Laysa?"

Edge nods. "Balbo and Laysa Orlova are here, but I can't remember anyone called Spark."

"Shame. I hope he's still alive; I don't know what happened to him when Morgan Entertainment was destroyed. Anyway, we're supposed to be sneaky. A platoon of tanks marching into Beta's territory isn't merely spying -it's an act of war."

"So we'll pick one of the stealth-models. A platoon of sensor-defeating hovertanks would rule the day, sir."

"Probably, but would also result in much bigger efforts to find and kill us. One stealth-tank with a small gun and advanced sensors might be reasonable, though."

Edgecrusher nods and fiddles with the controls of the notepad. After a while he whistles. "Wow. At first, I skipped over the outdated attack-forms, like plasma shard -weapons, but now that I look at them I realize the University has been polishing their older guns. That's the smallest fusion laser -based rifle I've seen capable of streaming fire."

"Streaming?"

"Usually, beam weapons emit their beams in pulses of less than a tenth of a second per shot. Streaming means any beam-weapon with a per-shot emission time of more than one second. They're very destructive, and you don't have to be so accurate since you have time to correct your aim. However, they require an enormous amount cooling and tend to suffer frequent breakdowns. Also, streaming weapons are easier to deflect since their beams usually deliver less energy per unit of time than pulse weapons. It's a trade of increased accuracy versus increased weight."

"Do you think some of the others have bad enough accuracy to need streaming weapons?"

Edge smiles. "Sir, in some situations I myself might use them. However, there's no need to go for one or the other. Some of the guns in this list can switch between the two. Here's one with a seamlessly adjustable emission time. Very scientific, indeed a feat of engineering, but any real combat value? I doubt it."

"Oh? Well, we'll have room in the transporters for most anything we might want to take along."

"That's true. I'll have some streaming guns taken along, then. Not that one, though."


****


Commander Jones squints at the sensors' display. It is currently displaying a live image from a satellite. The camera is tracking a slight disturbance in the waves of Hera's Grave.

"What's it's heading?"

"Still straight at us, sir. It's compensated for every manoeuver you have done in the last five minutes. It's accelerating slowly, sir, and is just passing the thirtyfive -knot mark."

Jones' brow furrows. "I't's doing thirtyfive? That's impossible! Not even demon boils have been observed with that kind of speed."

The sensor operator shrugs. "Well, these readings say it's doing thirtyfive knots. It'll be within firing range in sixty-three minutes."

Jones thinks for a moment. Then he goes to the communications -table, picks up a microphone and starts speaking.

"Attention all hands; this is Commander Jones. It seems that our auspicious host and provider of oceans, Planet, has decided to remove us from it's surface; the boil we've been tracking is now heading our way. It wants to fight, it seems. Suits me fine: It's time to show Planet it takes more than some swimming maggots to get a bite out of a true Pirate! Prepare for battle!"

He puts down the microphone, while around him numerous signals are calling the crew to battlestations.


****


Zakharov leans back in his chair. "What can I do for you?"

"We'd need some military help with the insertion. If you could stage a mock military drill that involves punching a hole through the wall of xenofungus, we'd have an easier time in slipping through."

Zakharov squints at Dorothy. "You're suggesting that I attack Planet? Seriously?"

"That wall is past the edge of its consciousness. Planet's retreated to the other half of the globe. All that remains are automatic reactions to the repulsion-field. Planet won't feel it."

"Well, all the same I'd be more eager to do this if you could get permission."

"Zakharov, I don't want to contact Planet."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it, and it scares me. Because every time Planet talks to me, it swallows me. That consciousness is huge, and it's frighteningly easy to lose oneself when it has it's attention on you. You get a feeling that you're merely a dream, or a memory, in Planet's huge mind, and that it's basically talking to itself."

Zakharov is silent for a while. "I've never heard anyone describe it like that before, Dorothy. Dana Terchenko says she talks to Planet while dreaming, or when meditating, and that the link always seems fragile and distant."

"I've had some extraordinary experiences involving Planet. I can't explain it, since I can't study the phenomenon. I suppose Cha Dawn would understand, but he is understandably afraid of me. He sees me as a threat."

Zakharov shrugs. "Well, I'd feel better about this if I knew Planet wouldn't mind. Then again, are you sure it's necessary? Some Antonov superfreighters could easily put you down on the other side of the wall. I'm not worried about the cyborgs; they seem extremely reluctant to wander close to the edge of their precious field of repulsion."

Dorothy nods slowly. "I hadn't thought about an airdrop. Maybe that's it."


****


"Five minutes to standard firing range, sir."

Jones scratches his chin. "What's it's speed?"

"A steady 55 knots, sir."

He slams his fist into a table. "What the blazes is that thing?! If it's a boil, it's the strangest thing I've seen!" He paces back and forth. "Sensors, get a good lock on the thing." A thought strikes him. "Are there any more signals like this one in our vicinity?"

The sensor-operator navigates throguh some menus, takes a look at the readings on the screen and goes slack with amazement.

"Well?"

"Sir, we're tracking five.. no, six signals identical to this one." His voice fades to a whisper. "Great Planet, they're all incoming!"

Before the commander has time to react, a rich, deep and vibrant tone rings through the bridge. Upon hearing it, Jones falls limply into a chair and starts shaking. The rest of the command simply observes fearfully.

"We're dead." He lifts his head and gazes tiredly at the sensor-operator. "That noise was a ping. Not a normal one, but the standard fallout of resonance scanners. That's no boil, it's a stealthy Progenitor cruiser! And there's an entire fleet of them." He rises. "Well, they don't take prisoners, we can't outrun them and we sure as Svensgard can't win. Remains to go out with glory." He goes to the comms-table. "Open secure link two." He takes a deep breath. "This is Commander Jones of Ol' Polly, to any Pirate vessel who manages to hear: We have sighted a fleet of Progenitor vessels, most probably Usurpers. We will engage them, but are probably heavily outgunned. Since this may be our last message, I'd like to-"

The bridge erupts into a globe of vapourized metal, with trace impurities of organic material.


End of chapter 91.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 092: Into the Great Wide Open


Edgecrusher stalks along the corridors of the University's nanohospital, until he realizes it and stops. Somehow, he feels like an intruder, even though he has a valid reason to be here. He nods nervously at a guard standing outside a door, and is about to walk past the woman when he hesitates and turns. She is watching him warily, making him feel even more unwelcome. "Miss, can you tell me if this is the right way to elevator C?"

The guard regards him for a moment before nodding. "Continue the way you were heading, following the blue or black line. They both go to the C-lift."

"Thanks." Edge hurries on, peering at the black line as he walks. It travels straight through two intersections before turning right at a third, and ends at an elevator door twenty meters further. The door slides open as he approaches, and he enters quickly. Then he looks around for the elevator controls, with growing alarm as the doors slide shut. What the blazes is this? That man Steiner only told me to go to this elevator, not what to do next! How-

A soft chime is heard, followed by an androgenous voice. "This is Lift C. Please state your name and destination."

Edgecrusher blinks confusedly for a moment. "Uh, I am called Edgecrusher and I'm looking for Hubris -uh, that is, Dorothy... um... Parks. Yeah, Dorothy Parks."

"Processing."

Edge expects to have to wait some time for whatever is needed to verify his statement, so he is quite surprised when the door opens again after only a few seconds, obviously not on the floor he entered. He steps out, marvelling at the fact that he didn't feel the elevator moving. The disembodied voice speaks again, but not from within the elevator; it seems to follow him around. "I am Ruby, the system manager of this sector. If you have any questions, simply speak my name or project it psionically. Would you prefer the guidelights, or the psionic system?"

Psionic system? What on Planet is that? "What's the psionic system?"

"Information about the required path is psionically introduced into your memory. Essentially, you will suddenly remember the way. No previous familiarity with the floor plan is required."

"No messing with my head, please. Gimme the lights."

Instantly, a row of lights turn on along the corridor to an intersection. Edge follows the lights, turning at the intersection, and soon sees Lewis Parks waiting outside a green double door. The scientist nods a greeting.

"Hello, Edgebasher was it?"

"Crusher. Edgecrusher. Is Dorothy here?"

"Yes, though she can't leave the lab at the moment, and I'm afraid you can't enter. What's up?"

"We're ready to go."

"Great; I'll tell Dorothy. She should be ready in a moment."

"Will you be joining us as well?"

"I wish I could. Having met and gained the trust of Aki Zeta-five I think I could be an asset to the mission, but the University can't risk losing one of their top researchers in the field of cybernetics."

Edgecrusher frowns confusedly. "But how can they risk losing Dorothy? Isn't your daughter currently the greatest scientist on Planet? That's what the newsfeed called her today."

Lewis smiles. "Dorothy can take care of herself; she's hard to kill."

"Um, okay. Well, see you in the loading bay..." Edgecrusher returns the way he came.

Lewis taps the door, and it opens. He steps through, into the laboratory, and regards Dorothy for a moment. She is busy reading some panels, yet Lewis can sense that she is aware of him.

"Dad, what's on your mind?"

"You are making a big deal out of this. What's the harm in them knowing?"

"We won't have the time for them to make the necessary social adjustments. Also, they may consider this morally questionable."

Lewis nods. "I can see why. But when you think about it, it's just where cybernetics is taking us."

Dorothy smiles slightly and looks again at a large plastic crate covered with warning labels. "See, that's just it. Anyone but me doing this would be... well..."

"Atrocious. Immoral. In the finest tradition of University science. But it's you doing it, so there's the loophole."

Inside the crate, Dorothy flexes her myomers in a completely unnecessary attempt to get more comfortable among the packing foam without dislodging the power feed. Outside, she shakes her head. "It would raise too many questions for them. Too many issues. I want them focused on whatever problem we are facing, not the moral implications of installing parts of your brain into a combat droid."

"Parts of one of your brains."

"Like I said, too many questions would be raised."

Lewis sighs and shakes his head. "This might not be the time to ask, but I've always wondered... What have you done with your original body?"

"Not much. It's accessible, but sleeping most of the time. I'm preserving it, as it's quite precious to me."

Lewis shudders. "You amaze me. Not even Zakharov has dared follow your example, and get himself more bodies."

Dorothy shrugs. "I was still a child when I got used to the idea of the self not being limited to the initial physical shell I was born with. Perhaps the basic changes this implies are too vast to accept later in life. We should offer this technique to the University's children."

This time, the shudders are strong. "You think parents would allow this?"

"If they are responsible, loving parents, yes. Not that it's their decision. Besides, think of the advantages! If people would only use these techniques, no University soldier would ever again have to risk his life. Just think! They could fight around the clock, while at the same time being safely among their friends and family."

Lewis shakes his head again. "It's just possible, Dorothy, that you've finally found an implementation too alien, too... scary... for the University."

Dorothy frowns. "Their loss."


****


"White Queen to Karpov, over!"

(A great cheering breaks out in the HQ of University Counterinsurgency.)

"Karpov here, and happy to hear from you! Status report!"

"All soldiers present and accounted for. Gambit still undetected."

"Good. Now, where have you guys been? We haven't heard from you in nine days!"

"Sorry, sir. We had a bit of a scare, sir; you might say that morale was totally comromised, when we found our psionics were gone."

"We were afraid of that. That compromises the mission. Where are you located?"

"South of Sigma Base, sir."

"Stand by for new instructions. Karpov out."

Five minutes later the woman whose codename is White Queen nods at the leader of Team White, White King. "I'm transmitting new orders. For all of Team White." The King nods and signals to his teammates to access their MMI:s before doing so himself. An image of Sebastian Steiner appears in his mind.

"White Team; due to events beyond our control, your current mission is cancelled. Instead, you will play a part in another operation, code-named 'Downfall'. Your responsibility will be the area around Sigma Base, where you should attempt the following, in order of importance: One, gather as much intelligence as possible about Sigma Base, with emphasis on data about it's network node and electronic countermeasures. Two, disrupt communications to and from Sigma Base. Three, compromise security and sabotage the military forces in and around Sigma Base. These objectives last until further notice, or until you are contacted by a special probe-team known as Wolfpride, whereupon they will give you further instructions." Steiner's image shifts position, a sign that the formal part of the briefing is over. "I understand, and I hope you do as well, that these orders are spectacularly vague. I am relying heavily on your capability to make tactical decisions in the field. Also, since you have such great freedom of choice, any kind of reliable threat assessment is impossible. 'Potentially lethal' is the best we can do. Do not, I repeat do not attempt any stupid heroics. Still, any successful act that falls inside the frame of your objectives has the potential to be invaluable. You don't need to know, but this time you are participating in an event that might decide the future of the University, indeed of Planet. So remember to act responsibly. Be swift, silent and efficient. And be lucky." The image fades.

As he refocuses on the harsh fields of xenofungus surrounding him, White King rubs his temples in irritated confusion. "Queen, what the blasted planet was that supposed to mean? Were we just shown the edges of our sandbox, and told to do what we like inside of it?"

White Queen smiles, and answers in a dreamy voice. "I've fantasized about assignments like this. To be told to do our best, whatever it is..."

King gives her a disgusted frown. "You have no fear of the unknown whatsoever, right?"

"Jealous?"

"Yeah. For me, it's unknown equals death."


****


Dorothy emerges into Loading Bay 4 and stops to survey the scene. Five vehicles are being loaded onto an AN-270 superfreighter; the last one is just about to enter. The entirety of the Wolfpride team except her is already onboard. So, no-one will pay unnecessary attention to her luggage...

Two minutes later she enters the passenger area of the orbital freighter. A general babble dies down, and everyone looks at her expectantly.

"Are we ready?" She asks, not really directing the question to anyone specific.

Jim nods. "As ready as possible, given the circumstances. I hope it'll do."

"It will do. Methis?"

Methis' ghostly airline captain's image appears. "Shall we go?"

"Yes."


End of chapter 092.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 093:Under the Skies of Red


"We're encountering nothing but sporadic resistance, Ma'am. They are retreating as fast as we are chasing them."

"What about the bases?"

"Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

"Go ahead, General."

"Santiago, they are not retreating, they are leaving. Every single base we have encountered has been mothballed or dismantled. They're not putting up a fight, because they're not interested. They are just holding us back long enough to make sure their civilians get out. It's obvious they decided on this strategy as soon as the war started. From the scant few Usurpers we've captured, we've gotten the impression that the actual plan was devised already a week before we declared war on them."

Santiago chooses not to share with her general her current thoughts regarding commissioner Hemet's request to wait until a coordinated assault could be executed. "General, how is morale?"

"Well, so far the men are happy just to chase. But we might get trouble with discipline soon unless we do get some kind of fight."

Santiago thinks for a while. Then: "General, did you say they were mainly making sure their population got out?"

"That's correct, Ma'am."

She nods. "Then I want you to intercept and surround one of the refugee convoys. Move to surround one of their cities, and test their anti-air capabilities with choppers and jets. When they've moved out too many troops to maintain an effective blanket I want you to airdrop some of our infantry in front of them, cutting them off. Then all you have to do is make sure you're ready for the fight when the rescue party arrives."

"And if the civilians choose to surrender?"

"Shell them until they know better. Oh, and don't contact anyone from the other factions. I don't think commissioner Hemet would appreciate the glory of this manoeuvre. You and I know there's no such word as 'civilian' in the bugs' dictionary, right?"

The general grins. "Yes, Ma'am!"

"That is all, General."

The connection is closed, and Santiago immediately brings up another. This officer has naval markings. "Admiral Dupondt."

"Ma'am, I -that is, the fleet has reached the xenofungal swamps by Hera's Grave. Sensors show only minimal activity along the coast."

Santiago's brow furrows. "How can that be? There should be standing room only, the way they've retreated towards the coast! Have you seen no activity at all?"

"Only contact has been Pirate raiders doing hit-and-run tactics. Oh, and we caught a glimpse of a Cyborg transport that dove into the xenofungus as soon as it spotted us."

"Cyborgs? They're a long way from home. One would expect the Pirates to keep them in check."

"Indeed. We haven't been able to capture and interrogate any pirates, though, and they seem reluctant to engage us. I've happily left them alone, Ma'am."

Santiago nods silently. "That is all, Admiral."

This time, she doesn't open any of the waiting links. Instead, she activates the diplomatic channels with a frown. Eventually, she is rewarded with an image of the bridge of a ship, and an unfamiliar face. The face of a young man, expressing mild curiosity. "Miss, wha' can I do fer' ya?"

"I want to speak with Svensgaard."

The man seems taken aback. "Miss, it's the boss' naptime, and you don't disturb the boss unless you want to suffer." He shakes his head, admonishing her silently.

Santiago's eyes bore into the man. "Would you rather bring him the message that he's at war, compliments of Santiago? No? Then go and get him.

The man gives her a look of one who has seen the rock and knows where the hard place is, but he rises from his chair and shuffles away. Without putting Santiago on hold, meaning that she gets to witness the marvellous efficiency of the bridge of what is probably the Pirates' flagship. Eventually, though, her view is eclipsed by Svensgard sitting down at the console. He regards her for a moment, obviously in a foul mood.

"Speak."

Santiago sneers. "Are you losing your touch, Svensgard? My fleet has spotted a cyborg transport just off our coast."

He raises an eyebrow. "We know what it's probably carrying, and we can say: If you want it, go right ahead. We won't stand in your way."

"What's it carrying?"

"Do yor own damned intelligence. If you can."

"Why couldn't we?"

Svensgaard grins. "Give it a try. Send a scouting party into Hera's Grave, and see what happens. You know you can rely on us for the salvage-operation. That is, if there's anything left to salvage."

Santiago snorts. "Look, I'm trying to be civil here. I could order my fleet to capture a pirate vessel so I'd have something to trade. Or I could hand over a nice piece of coast that the Usurpers are leaving behind. It's on a peninsula, so it's easily defendable."

For the first time, Svensgard gives her a look of appraisal, a sign that he is taking her seriously. "What peninsula?"

"I believe you call it Centaur's Hoof. The Peacekeepers call it Little Italy."

"And you can give it to me?"

"Sure. My forces are currently occupying it, and would frankly be glad to get away."

Svensgaard shrugs. "So why should I concern myself with it, if it's not good enough for you?"

"Because you don't have a good port city yet on southeastern Zeus. This could be good; there's some good resources in the area."

"Well, I say all right. But chicken out of this, and your ships won't ever reach port again." He leans forward. "Santiago, the Cyborgs are evacuating the Usurpers by sea. The Usurpers don't have the kind of seamanship my men do, but their fleet is sparkling new. They must have scrapped some major projects to be able to set it afloat so quickly. You know I've considered Hera's Grave to be backwaters, so I don't have a single really modern cruiser anywhere near it. Hence, I can't do squat to them. Not even to those juicy Cyborg transports shipping thousands of damned bugs to Hyperion. It's a damned invasion, Santiago; they're neatly escaping you by assaulting the Caretakers." Svensgaard smiles sardonically as he sees the effect his words are having.

Santiago has to compose herself before speaking. "Svensgaard, My fleet is on the edge of Hera's Grave. If you could provide some of your fast scouts to recon the area for us, I'm sure we could keep the Usurpers away from you when you raid those transports. I could probably also get some aerial backup from the Peacekeepers."

"What, you saying I want to ally with the arch-generalissimo of Planet and the successor to the greatest wimp in the history of mankind? What an odd threesome it would be!"

"Hey, if not for us then do it for the loot!" Santiago doesn't mean to sound quite as pleading as she does.

Svensgard looks content. "Relax. You'll get your chance to sink some bugs. I've swallowed the bait."


****


"No." Nwabudike locks his gaze with the deputy, warning him that to argue the point would be dangerous. "Beta can have the merged troops; they're more effective. No morale issue. I won't condone sending unconverted forces into combat with Progenitors."

The deputy tries to find a middle ground. "Your personal guard -regiments wouldn't of course be touched, only other-" He is interrupted by Nwabudike Morgan slamming his hand, palm first, into his desk.

"I repeat: Merged troops, or no troops. Choose."

The deputy puts on a neutral face. "This will disappoint Beta. It is far from the level of trust and friendship he has come to expect."

"That's his problem, not mine!"

"Very well." And the deputy leaves without looking back.

Morgan pushes a button on the intercom. Shortly, a man enters his office and salutes. Morgan leans back in his chair. "Marcus, how is the surveillance of the deputy going?"

"Smoothly, sir. Lack of equipment is the greatest problem. We're lucky that the deputy is unmerged, otherwise his personal messages would be very difficult to intercept and decode. Now we have real-time surveillance. The need for extreme care, due to his reputation, also hinders us."

Morgan nods. "In a few minutes he'll contact someone over the diplomatic channels. I want to hear that conversation as it happens. This is important."

The security officer nods. "Yes, sir."


****


The deputy enters the only windowless room in his luxurious penthouse apartment. The room is quite large, but almost empty, with no flat screen or painting to break the monotonous white of the walls. It contains nothing but a chair and a holoprojector. He sits carelessly on the chair.

"Open a special link to Alpha Prime; Vasily Beta-Nine."

Please wait. Connecting. Link established; hailing recipient. Recipient has answered. The holoprojector hums as it awakens, and soon Vasily Beta looks calmly at the deputy.

"Hello, Sprayber. I take it you are telling me the troops are preparing to depart?"

"Yes and no. Nwabudike is no fool; he knows exactly how vulnerable he'd be if all the unmerged troops would be sent to combat the Caretakers. So he demanded that we'd only send merged forces. I was not able to persuade him even to a compromise." Sprayber shifts position. "And there's logistics. The Gaians would attack any Morganite units entering their territory. I'll have to arrange for every single air unit with transport capacity to carry the troops in the shortest possible time. Merged troops move quicker, so they'll deploy quicker."

Beta is silent for a moment. Then: "Send the merged forces. By air. We have no choice." Another silence. "Morgan has outlived his usefulness. We might as well remove him. We have waited long enough; the amount of sleepers should be high enough to trample his personal guard, and have a good chance to overthrow the government in most other factions. You have permission to start operation Awakening at your discretion. Make sure Morgan is captured and treated well; he is an important asset."

"Beta, Morgan would be a liability if merged. Greed might be an emotion, and thus either checked or removed by the merger, but his logic has most definitely been heavily influenced by it -to the point where he is greedy even without motivation. I would advise against letting him keep his position as leader of Morgan Industries."

Beta tilts his head. "And the better alternative is, of course, you."

"Yes. Me."

"Sprayber, I will assign you to a position of power on par with your capabilities only once a splinter has been designed to specifically enhance your personality. That can only be performed in reasonable peace and takes some weeks. I also need you as an agent, currently. You must have patience; I have no doubt you would manage the Morganites with great efficiency, but it would be a needless waste of your potential. You are better suited for something more important than that."

A beep sounds from the holoprojector, and a green square appears at the edge of the projection. Sprayber nods apologetically to Beta and touches the insubstantial cube with his index finger. It disappears, and some greenish lines of text take it's place. He stares at the message.

"What is it, Sprayber?"

"A message from Ontor. He's intercepted an order from Morgan to assault my apartment."

"He's listening. Escape quickly. I will initiate the Awakening from here." The holoprojector goes dark.

Sprayber dashes out of the room. He's basically prepared; a backpack and a bag containing everything he needs for a situation like this have always been ready, and stowed in a closet next to his favourite gun; a Univ-5 Accelerator Rifle; the most silent weapon on Planet, and with the most versatile ammunition of any weapon to date. Also, a lightweight set of reasonably discrete personal armour.

He is fully equipped within twenty seconds, and he leaves the apartment immediately. He rushes to the stairs, but instead of going to the street level, he runs only two floors down and out into the corridor. He knocks on a door at one end. Morgan Industries' chief of police opens, and smiles as he recognizes the guest.

"Mister Burton! Nice to see you! Though" -and here his voice becomes uncertain- "you seem to be in a hurry?"

Sprayber smiles back. "A million eyes, ears, hands, feet, hearts and heads. But one mind. What am I?"

The chief of police's eyes glaze over, and he sways. Then he steadies himself once more, and answers: "I am the future. I am Daniels Gamma-2505, and I have awakened. What can I do for you?"

"This building is about to get attacked by military forces. I want you to mobilize the police to contain and destroy them. No prisoners. Oh, and I need to borrow your hovercar."

Daniels nods, and takes a set of keys out of his pockets. "Here."

"Thank you. The Awakening is starting, so spread the word."

The chief of police waves him goodbye and closes the door. He opens a commlink to police HQ and waits.

"Police headquarters, captain Geller speaking"

"A million eyes, ears, hands...."


****


"...But one mind. What am I?"

Zakharov nods, and thinks for a while. "Is it communism? Socialism, marxism? Fascism? An anthill? What?"

Methis' mayoral interface purses his lips. "All those suggestions have appeared, and more. The significant detail is that the original poster never gives the correct answer."

"How many times has the riddle appeared?"

"Well, I haven't monitored every single public channel of communication, and I'm not sure I caught the first appearances -although I am checking the logs. So far, a hundred and sixty-two thousand five hundred, and counting. In five minutes. Hundreds of new appearances every second, in more and more channels."

Zakharov looks scared. He whispers, "I know what this is. Beta has made his move."

Methis nods. "So it seems. I am mobilizing the garrisons, and shutting down all public communications as we speak. I have also informed the AI:s of the other cities to do the same. Sir, may I suggest pulling your garrisons from the Cyborg border into the nearest cities? Beta is unlikely to stage an assault when he himself has erected a barrier of xenofungus that greatly hampers troop movement."

"Not all of them. Let's leave enough to maintain vigilance."

"The troops are being notified. By the way, should I ask Dorothy to cancel operation Downfall and return to assist the University?"

"No. Unless I actually intend to slaughter ten to tweny per cent of the University population, operation Downfall is my only hope. She must continue. By the way, how are they doing?"

"So far, everything has proceeded smoothly. I am currently searching for a good place to land the plane, and the team is checking their equipment again." Methis turns his head. "Sir, the lab-complex is being assaulted by a crowd of lightly-armed citizens."

Zakharov nods. "They are probably out to disable you." The lights go out, and are replaced by emergency lights. Already, gunfire can be heard. "Here it begins."


****


"Thanks for the warning, Methis. Good luck."

Lewis closes the comm-link and proceeds to a cupboard. He shoves it aside, revealing a computer interface embedded in the wall. He enters a code and accesses the menus. Within seconds, the light filtering into the house turns red. A beep and a message on the display informs him that the house has been sealed, and the outer shield has been activated. Satisfied, he walks into the basement and unlocks a storage crate. It takes him thirty seconds to assemble a plasma rifle from it's contents. He returns to the ground floor. There he sees Dorothy, carrying a small weapon of her own.

"How do you feel, Dorothy?"

"I'm fine. How about you? Could you really use that weapon if you need to?"

"Sure. Right now, I'm not inclined to believe in pacifism. I have practiced some firing with weapons like this." He readjusts his grip.

"Very well. But if we get attacked, please follow my advice, okay? I'm the expert among us."

Lewis nods and faces the door. "Come and get me, Beta. We are not as surprised as you had hoped."

A stupid thing to say, really, but it makes him feel better nevertheless.


End of chapter 93.

[Raging Mouse]

Chaptter 094:Turning the Tables


Eternal Spark is livid. "For tonight's work I had better get a big juicy base to lead as a retirement bonus." He gestures, "I want the whole deal; recycling tanks, children's creche, nanohospital, hab complex, everything. I want some scenic fungus, where I can go on safaris, and a good deal of forest to relax in. No puny Terran preserve, either; I want a glorious hybrid forest. Maglev to the major cities, and an airport in case I fancy visiting Zeus. And all of this will only barely compensate for the turmoil I'm feeling, stuck as I am trying to save what's left of Morgan Industries, my arch-enemies for Planet's sake!

"Take it up with Nwabudike when you meet", Kruger mutters.

Spark calms down. "Sorry; I'm getting edgy. How are we doing?"

The hacker, self-proclaimed Infogod, turns around. "I'm in the middle of checking, but we should have access to every soldier's comm-unit in seven out of every ten Morganite garrisons. I've made sure we've got full coverage in the capital."

"We don't want to contact any soldier we have a good reason to suspect is carrying a sleeper."

"Sure, but is there a quick enough way to tell them apart?"

Spark thinks. "The activation message. Almost everyone got it, right?"

"I'd say so. It got sent out automatically to every comm-unit in the end."

"And what's the difference between sleepers and non-sleepers? Easy. Sleepers never bother to answer the riddle. Only send to those soldiers who have answered the message."

"Okay." The hacker quickly tells his comm-unit to perform a search for replies. Then he nods. "Good idea, boss! The difference between merged and non-merged military units is huge! Okay, usurping the nodes... now. Sending." He turns to Eternal. "Say, you want me to trash the nodes when we're done? They're almost certain to be controlled by the cyborgs, and we'll ultimately be shut out."

Spark nods. "When it looks like we're going to be kicked out, kill them. We'll have established other forms of communication by then."

"By the way, in terms of raw manpower, it looks like about fourty per cent of the military is still potentially loyal to Morgan. Problem is, the unmerged companies are mostly light infantry; we have almost no heavy units and not a single tank. Ah, we're getting messages back. They're probably wary of a trick."


****


Who are you, and what is your authorisation?

Private Lake feels a single bead of sweat slowly roll down his forehead as he watches the screen and waits for the answer.

We are a non-military interest group keeping a close eye on Morganite affairs, and have no official authority.

Martin reads the answer, blinks and holds the screen so Captain Blanc can read. The captain shakes his head. "Blast it, that is no guarantee either way." He grinds his teeth, a bad habit of his whenever he feels stressed. "Lake, get me a line to the second airborne. They should have units on patrol."

Martin operates the military comm-unit for a while before speaking again. "Sir, I can't reach any officer within the 2nd airborne. The scanners can't find a single beacon belonging to the 2nd anywhere near Morgan Industries."

The Captain curses wildly, but is interrupted by the crackling of the comm-unit. "Sir, we have an emergency at the gates! A crowd of civilians are demanding we turn over the base!"

The captain sprints out of the command building and over to the gates. As he approaches, he observes the crowd. They are mostly unarmed, and whatever weapons they do carry are too light to punch through even the weakest of armour. Yet they still bear the signs of a crowd that doesn't rule out violence. When he comes closer, and mounts the steps to the nearest guard tower, he realizes why. There are uncountable multitudes of them, and they could simply overrun the base. He grabs his personal comm-unit while climbing the stairs of the tower. "Private Lake, do you hear?"

"yes, sir!"

He has entered the top floor of the tower, where a single guard eyes the crowd warily through some monitors. "Tell whoever those guys are that warned us, that we believe them. Ask for instructions and tell them we could need help. Also, this base is on full alert. I want all men in combat gear and securing all entrances ASAP."

"Sir yes sir!"

He lowers the comm-unit and picks up a microphone linked to loudspeakers mounted by the gates. "This is Captain Bertrand Blanc of the 203rd Light Infantry Company! I want a community leader or other figure of authority among you to step forward to the gate so we can discuss! if more than one person attempts to approach the gates, my men will open fire. Over and out." he rushes back down the steps, stops by the front door to get his breath back, and emerges walking briskly towards the gates. Some kind of policeman has stepped forward, and is observing him as he approaches. The captain takes a deep breath to steel his nerves.

"Who are you?"

"I am Captain Geller, sir. Due to an illegal military attack, ordered by Nwabudike Morgan, at two thirty this morning, all military garrisons are to fall under civilian control. All weapons are to be handed over, and all soldiers will be returned to civilian status."

"Oh? And by whose authority are you telling me this?"

"By General Milos Ontor's authority."

"That won't do. Military authority only works through the proper lines of command. His staff would contact us to give such an order, and they haven't. You'll need some other authorization."

The police captain is silent for a moment. "I have the authority of Beta. As of today, Morgan Industries is governed by the Cybernetic Consciousness, and as a senior Merged talent, I have by Consciousness directive authority to order any non-merged military forces, in the interest of the Consciousness."

Captain Blanc, whose heart has climbed into his throat while the policeman talked, calms down considerably when he hears the welcome noise of a large number of soldiers taking up positions behind him. He sneers. "Those words mean you are a suspected traitor to Morgan Industries. I do not recognise the authority of the Consciousness, and none of my soldiers do so! You are ordered to disperse or you will be shot. Do you hear-"

The police captain pulls his gun, but Blanc reacts by kneeing him in the groin and headbutting him. The policeman falls unconscious to the ground. The crowd reacts as one, storming towards the gates. Captain Blanc dives to the ground while pulling his own gun. "Minimum force, maximum spread! Fire!"


****


"Report." The command reverberates over the electronic void. Like satellites, or planes, Beta is aware of sparks of energy and sentience approaching, contacting him, to respond to the Splinter's call.

"Losses are 23.71%, mostly among the lightly armored units. Caretaker Landing is expected to fall within the Terran week. Judaa Marr asks that we redirect additional air-support to protect the transports in Hera's Grave. Reports indicate fleet activity by the Spartan Federation in the area, and the pirates have also increased their presence."

Beta nods, even though no-one can see the gesture. "Make the necessary arrangements. Remind Judaa Marr to send troops for the next step of the operation. Nothing prevents us from proceeding, now that the Awakening has started. We shall, in fact, commit our own forces immediately. Redirect the approaching Morganite forces; they're no longer needed here. Tell them to land within Gaian territory and secure a bridgehead."

"Yours will be done, Prime Algorithm." The presence retreats, and Beta focuses expectantly on another distant mind.

"Prime, the Autumn Project is nearing completion. Do you still wish to observe as the prototype is tested?"

"Yes. When?"

"Within a month. What should we target?"

Beta thinks for a split second. "Gaia's Landing."

Other intellects approach, but their matters are more mundane.


****


"Commander Steiner? This is Ace of Spades."

"Leaping Locusts! Have you regained your psi?"

The Ace of Spades is careful not to let his smile show inward. "I would assume that would be obvious, yes? It's no big trick at all. No, the real trick is discovering how to use the repulsion field itself as a carrier wave for your psionics. These cyborgs have failed to discover a major security flaw in the field's design."

"Well, they designed it to suppress psionics, especially native psionics. Only a paranoid skeptic would seriously test the reverse. You must immediately contact the other teams, and also Wolfpride. They should have landed by now, and are on their way. This changes the mission profile, yet again." Ace of Spades hears some muted cursing over the telepathic link. "Sorry. From now on, Your next in command will be Hubris, the leader of Wolfpride."

"I will do my best."

"Then I wish you the best of luck. That's all."

Ace of Spades retracts his mental presence, and casts it out again in search of other, familiar minds. He manages to contact four of the other teams, last of which are the Clubs. Ace of Clubs has met and worked with Hubris before, and can tell Ace of Spades what her psionic presence feels like. "First time she contacted me I nearly soiled myself. It's like staring into a bottomles pit, that sucks at you... or like hugging the core of a star. I have no idea how powerful she is, but there are rumours. I tell you, if it's big and scary it's either her or mindworms."

Armed with this knowledge, he probes cautiously in the general area Steiner indicated Wolfpride should be. He spots a large group of over sixty human minds soon enough, and it includes a couple of telepaths, but they are all weaker than him. He carefully approaches the strongest with his mental presence, so that he should be sensed. The result will be etched on his memory forever; The closest metaphor is sticking your hand into the sea to pat a small and cute squid, only to see the hugest giant octopus ever surface and eye you warily. Ace of Spades' mind is virtually engulfed by the probing attention of Hubris. He notes with horrified fascination how quickly she copies his own method of riding on the repulsion field, which increases her apparent power by several orders of magnitude. He expects his mind's ears to be blasted by the force of her voice, but when she speaks it is with the same measure of control and restrain as he shows; nothing past the level of power necessary to ensure a clear contact.

"Ah, Ace of Spades. What can I do for you?"

Ace manages to reassemble a generally calm exterior shell to his mental presence. "You are Hubris, I presume... Steiner says all probe teams inside Consciousness territory are now under your command. I contacted you to... well, you figured that out... and to hear what orders you might have."

"I want you to infiltrate Beta Central. Proceed like this: One, find and disrupt all external links of communication. Two, disable all sensor arrays in the area except the two closest to the base. Three, infiltrate the base using psionics. Four, once inside the base take control of the network nodes and eliminate al Beta-splinters. That's all. When you have control of the base, and it's isolated from the rest of the Consciousness, contact me for further instructions. Military presence should be minimal, as the Cyborgs seem to be waging total war against the Caretakers, but probe the area with your minds just in case. Oh, good luck."

Hubris' mental presence retracts from Ace of Spades, and he witnesses in a stunned fashion as she sends out mental probes in virtually every direction at once; a mammoth task nearly impossible to oversee. For normal telepaths, that is. He retreats quickly, brooding over what kind of entity Hubris really is. None of the possibilities he thinks of are pleasing.


End of chapter 94.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 095:Mayhem


From the roof of Morgan Central Bank's main office, and during these moments of sunset, Morgan Industries is lent a curious, rugged beauty. It can, with but a little mental effort, be mistaken for some Terran metropolis during the 21st century. Tonight, the illusion is stronger than usual due to the near-total blackout killing the holomercials that usually fill the unregulated airspace. Some points of illumination do exist, mostly casting a flickering, reddish glow on distant buildings. The wind carries strands of thick smoke away from the pulsating glow.

"Morgan Industries is burning." Spark smiles, even though his voice is tinged with melancholy.

"Yeah, but it isn't supposed to."

"By planet, it's supposed to burn all right! Seeing this warms my heart. But then I remember what's really happening."

Infogod crosses his arms. "What's really happening, is that the city is burning for what you consider the wrong reasons. The fires are flickering at every point where someone resists the Cybernetic Consciousness, and they are much greater enemies than puny Morgan Industries, right? No point in attempting a worker's rebellion if the idea of class loyalty is hard-wired into their brains, right?"

"Your sarcasm is the last thing on Planet that I need right now."

"Chin up, boss. We did manage to warn the unmerged portion of the military. Without that, we'd all be carrying a nice little splinter right now, courtesy of the Awakening."

"Yeah, but the remaining units are all in near-hopeless situations! We barely get a radio network up and running on emergency generators before the network nodes shut down, killing all comm-units. Then we start getting reports of units beginning to get their perimeter secured -which hints at a massacre- only to hear those same units report snipers, forcing them to take cover indoors and stay out of sight. Somewhere those loyal to Planet, spurred on by cultist teachings, manage to put up a demonstration, but they are cut down by a mob of armed thugs, all merged with splinters and calling themselves a militia."

"So what are you going to do?"

Spark is silent for some time. "First, we need to gather the military. They're hard pressed to deal with snipers, but I and the regulars on my team specialise in stealth. We can flush out the snipers while keeping hidden." He turns to regard Infogod. "This means, we need to split up for a while. You and the other people with fields of expertise outside the clandestine have to be put somewhere safe while we clear up the vicinity of the closest garrison. Then we'll place you with the military, who should be able to protect you for the time being."

"Time being?"

"If any of those heavy units return from wherever they went before we are ready for them, we are dead." Spark shrugs. "But enough of what might be. Where's the nearest loyal garrison?"


****


White king holds up his hand, getting everyone's attention. "Look, I don't know what to tell you guys. This is probably an extremely dangerous mission. You've trained for it, even been conditioned for it, but I... would feel better if none of you actually have to lay down your lives for the University. Okay? No dying on my team. That's an order."

"Yes, sir!"

"Great. Now, another thing. We usually shout 'for the University' at this point, yes? Thing is, this isn't for the University. If all goes wrong, the University won't be around. No, we're doing this so there will be a University to return home to. See? This one's for ourselves. For us. So we do this as ourselves." White King takes a mental breath. "So... forget the codenames. My name is Victor Mendes. You can call me Vic."

A tense moment passes, as the rest of the probes are unsure how to react. Then White Queen straightens up. "I am Catherine Mendelsohn. Call me Cat."

White Bishop nods."Ray Atwater."

White Knight waves shyly."Ken Norman."

White Rook, the stealthiest of the group, spins a pirouette. "Dinah O'toole. Call me Tool if you think you're my friend."

One last member, White Pawn, nods to the rest. "Anatoliy Rostov. Look, now that we know each other, could I ask a favour? If we- If I- um... don't get back... tell my sister I miss her."

Silence reigns as the probes sink into private thoughts, until Mendes rouses himself. "Okay. I'll do it for you, Anatoliy. Now, once in there radio comms might get unreliable, but use them whenever possible. Speak verbally only if unavoidable, understand? Then, Tool, you take the point. Anatoliy, guard the rear. On three... one, two, three!"

A maintenance door at ground level closes, and the infiltration of Sigma Base has begun.

Mendes, an atheist, does not know what prayer is. He therefore addresses his inner doubts to his next in command. Hubris, I hope we get through this.

He is deeply shaken when he hears an answer. "You don't have to worry. I will be watching over you." He feels Hubris' presence, and it calms him and gives him a strength he didn't know he possessed.


****


The crowd surges forward along the streets, in pursuit of it's prey... a lone soldier. They have long since stopped shooting, it being obvious that the soldier's personal shield can take the combined firepower of the entire crowd without so much as a flicker. However, the soldier cannot fire his weapon. A shot could certainly take out several of these unprotected persons at once, but many, many more would be attracted by the noise, and from other directions than behind him. So he runs, not announcing his presence, content for the moment with letting the crowd behind him grow.

He is fast, but he is tiring, whereas the crowd is constantly renewing itself with fresh members as those who lack the required stamina fall behind.

He turns a corner, and sprints up a ramp leading to a higher level of streets. The crowd pursues him, and a sharp humming sounds above their cries as they scale the ramp. Those at the back suddenly run into a translucent barrier, and are additionally bruised as the people behind them either do not notice or fail to stop in time. Those at the front, on the other side of the barrier, stop chasing the soldier, instead looking warily around or pounding at the barrier of energy, which is slowly losing it's translucency.

The soldier reappears at the top of the ramp, together with many other soldiers. Weapons, held by skilled hands, appear all along the edges to the higher street-level. As the crowd realizes it is trapped, it calms down, becoming still and silent.

A sergeant raises a megaphone to his mouth. "You will drop down onto your knees and pass all weapons to the front row. Those not possessing weapons will put their hands in the air, and those who are in the front row will throw all weapons forward, away from you. We are observing you with advanced electronics, and can spot concealed weapons. Anyone who disobeys will be shot."

The crowd slowly reacts, and a dozen firearms are thrown in front of the group. Soon, everyone has their hands in the air.

"Remain still as the soldiers come and arrest you."

A group of soldiers approach, with their weapons pointing at the group. One picks up the weapons, while another shouts, "Front row will shuffle forward two meters and then lie down with their arms straight forward in front of them."

The front row obeys, and the soldiers handcuff them. One by one, the rioters are dragged away. Then the procedure is repeated with the next row.

Zakharov watches the scene via his holoprojector. "How are we doing, Methis?"

"Quite well, actually. Military presence in the capital was high enough from the start to contain the initial uprising, and by the time the splinters got organized we had been reinforced by seasoned troops from the borders. The rebellion is being quelled, for the time being. I have initiated a massive relocation of families, so the unmerged ones and the merged ones all live in different parts of the town."

Zakharov clenches his fist. "Ghettoes? I have ghettoes in my capital city?"

"I can see the similarity of the situation. However, it's the only way. The merged do listen to reason, and are easily persuaded by superior firepower, but even if we can calm them for now, they won't stop trying. They'll try other ways of disrupting government. For the safety of the University, they must be kept as easily manageable as possible. Even if we'd lose control of the habitation complexes they are quartered in, the surrounding area is easily defended. I have tested sixty-seven scenarios, and have come up with three possible main courses of action applicable to all events within the ninety-nine per cent probability group. As long as I have a line of communication with the soldiers, I think we could maintain this status quo for some time. But eventually the barrier will break, of course. Many merged individuals remain undetected and at large in other parts of the town. They can easily merge others, and attempt to sabotage our actions."

Zakharov nods. "What about the other cities?"

"The other cities are more or less the same. In some, the general rioting is yet to be contained, but overall we have survived the initial shock."

"And what about the other factions?"

"As you know, interfactional communications seem to be completely offline. However, Dorothy reports serious rioting in the Data-Angel, Morganite, Free Drone, Cultist, Spartan and Believer capitals. Morgan Industries seems hit hardest, closely followed by the Free Drones and Data-Angels. Also, Gaian network nodes are showing erratic behaviour, and their military forces are on the move. I would assume that they are the hardest hit, since they are the closest faction to the Consciousness. However, satellite images show no signs of any unrest in the cities closest to us, and Maglev traffic is normal."

"Odd." Zakharov sighs. "Look, any merged person that commits a violent crime, or who is found in an unauthorised area twice, should be put on ice."

"Our cryogenic labs only have room for some hundred patients, and it's half full."

"Then construct additional pods when there is time to spare on one of the smaller factory lines. Reserve room for leaders and coordinators of any further attempts."

"It shall be done."


****


"Set up the sphere."

Eternal Spark takes a careful look around the park his team is in before accessing the internal controls of the sphere via MMI. The 'sphere' is, at first glance, just that. A large globe mounted on four spindly plastic legs. It is the latest in military surveillance, allowing for a full 360 degrees of observation along every axis, using infrared, ultraviolet, thermographic, radioactive and resonance scanning or any combination of them, with numerous possible image-enhancers. It can feed it's data into the MMI of any number of users, enabling them to 'see' with the device as a third eye. With the globe a soldier has, for example, a completely unobstructed view of his surroundings in both normal light and thermographic, both enhanced, while the globe also pin-points sources of radiation and magnetic disturbances within his view.

"Set the device for image enhancement, thermographics and power-source tracking. Use the military base for testing."

The team takes up position in a rough circle around the sphere, who has been set up on top of a grassy hill overlooking both the military base and it's surrounding habitation complexes. Spark looks at the base as he sends his requests to the sphere, and sees first how night is turned into day. Next, he sees the termographic markings of numerous moving sources of heat, i.e. people, moving in and around the buildings of the garrison. Last, yellow circles appear on the screen, mostly in the vicinity of people, showing weapons-grade energy sources. The battery clip of a plasma rifle contains several terajoules of energy, and is easily spotted using a certain kind of resonant field.

"Stealth field is on. Everything seems in order. Okay, first sweep the immediate surroundings, and then sweep the structures further away in your sector. Directly north is twelve o'clock."

Spark also takes a look at the park in front of him. He sees no heat source large enough to be human, and nothing at all is moving. Then he raises his view towards the buildings beyond the park. Inside them are the telltale moving signs of numerous humans. Also, the sphere detects some suspected weapons. Spark sighs, and drops a bag he is carrying.

"Possible snipers at three through five o'clock."

As the other team-members also report snipers in their sectors, Spark assembles a rifle from parts in the bag, attaching a large scope on it last. He picks up a cable from the bag, attaches one end to a port on the scope and the other into his MMI. Instantly, the sphere transfers it's visuals into the eye-piece of the scope. He raises the rifle and searches for a yellow circle through the scope. He finds one, but thermographics detect no human nearby. To be safe, he asks the sphere to pin-point the energy source in space, and the readings tell him it is on the other side of the building. He looks up another one.

"Detected sniper. Firing." A short hum is the only sign that one of Spark's team-members has discharged a weapon. "One down."

Spark finds another yellow dot, virtually on top of the thermographic image of a person. He turns off the thermographic and zooms closer. Yes, it's a man sitting by a window and pointing a rifle out of it, towards the military base. Spark relaxes his arm, steadying his aim. "Remember, people, that we want to ensure no-one picks up the weapons again. Disable the weapons first." He aligns the cross-hairs directly in front of the man's hand, takes a reading for distance, and raises his aim to compensate for the higher vantage-point of the scope compared to the beam. Then he gently presses the trigger. He feels a buzzing in his cheek where it is pressed towards the barrel of the rifle, hears a hum followed by bubbling, and sees a slight puff of steam from a vent on top of the rifle as a cooling system disposes of the heat spike generated by the firing.

He looks through the scope again, to where he just fired. The yellow dot is gone, and the man is now lying on the floor of the room, apparently holding his right arm tightly to his chest. Be grateful, you poor bastard, that you played soldier with the big boys and lost nothing but your hand. Hands can be grown back, unlike heads.

He searches for yet another yellow circle. Around him everything is silent, except for the occassional firing of a rifle by his teammates.


End of chapter 95.