The Wizard of Chiron

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 60: Terms of Agreement


"I will accept, on certain conditions."

"Go on."

"I work unsupervised. I choose my own assistants, and I choose whomever I want. That they will operate undisturbed, with a clean record and with immunity, goes without saying. I want full access to your records of citizens, also all your crime- and intelligence records. I choose my own weapons and equipment."

A cough. "To sum it up, we are to know and do as little as possible, while you are to know and do as much as possible."

"The less you know, the better. Do not misunderstand me on this. I see no reason why whoever is behind this already wouldn't know what you are doing, so the less you know the safer I, and my recruits, will be."

Lord ferrel smiles a humourless little smile. "Details, details. The conditions are acceptable, but we'll need to discuss matters of practice. For example, our data-systems are complex, and won't open easily for one not trained in their operation. How do you propose to handle that?"

"The second node-administrator Celan Barr will take care of that. You will, of course, make sure he has access to all parts of the registers."

"Very well. But what do you expect to find from these registers?"

"Suspects. I have suspicions of my own concerning the guilty party, and I might find leads in the records."

"Useless. Our criminals are interrogated by a psionicist, so we'd have found out if they are linked to these wars."

Hubris shakes her head. "Telepathic scans, while normally reliable, would not reveal a thing about the kind of person I am looking for.. and that is already revealing too much. Besides, haven't you already developed methods enabling you to hide your true motives and memories from such scans? Trust me, I know what I am doing better than any of you would, and much better than your Branch of Pruning. I have agreed to help you.. Honour my conditions and let me take care of everything else."

"There is one other thing. You must hurry. The Usurpers made a sneak attack on one of our border patrols only half an hour ago, and since then they've rolled over our border in an unstoppable stream."

"I will be fast." She is silent for a moment. "Cha is furious. And close by."

The doors to the Hall of Advisors slam open, and the advisors turn simultaneously. Ferrel is the first to bow deeply, and the other advisors follow his lead. Hubris turns around and comes face to face with Cha Dawn. She looks down, into his pink eyes, and notes he has menace on his mind.

"Stand aside, spy."

Hubris takes two long steps out of his way, and he walks up to Lord Ferrel. "Advisors.. what is this?"

Ferrel bows again. "The mercenary spy Hubris has agreed to work for the glory of Planet, oh Prophet."

"And did I tell you to ask her? Did you even tell me that she had recovered?"

"No, lord, we did not."

"Why not?"

"Lord, it is a minor matter, and you should not-"

"Minor matter? Should not? Lord Ferrel, do you maybe think I should concentrate on talking to Planet and let you advisors take care of the day-to-day business of the Cult? Maybe I will.. Maybe I will leave you altogether, and talk to Planet somewhere else? Do you think you'd survive? Have you an army that can stand up to the Usurpers? Do you know how to remove the young broods from planet's influence without diminishing their power, as the other factions are reduced to doing?" He points at Hubris and shouts: "Without me around, would she still be working against us, instead of being caught?" He grits his teeth. "You need a lesson."

The floor explodes around the petrified advisors, showering the entire room with shards of stone and marble. Ferrel tries vainly to stop the blood gushing from the numerous cuts on his arms. "Please, Cha, we were acting with the best intentions of the Cult and of Planet! We stand by you, but can only do so when you listen to our advice! Please.. curb your anger and see the wisdom in our actions!" His voice is weak and hoarse, and he sinks onto his knees. The other advisors are either trying to crawl away or are lying still and moaning.

Cha's face shows no mercy. "Which action is that? The failure to come to me with matters of state, or the unauthorized negotiations with a hostile spy?"

Ferrel loses his temper and pounds an intact part of the floor, smearing it with blood. "She is not an enemy anymore, Cha! She is our best hope of surviving.. You know what would happen, should the Hive, now of all times, decide we are a threat rather than a nuisance! Or a fruit ripe for the picking! We have no choice, for Planet's sake!"

Cha turns towards Hubris.. or at the empty wheelchair where he expects Hubris to be. Then he looks around quickly and spots her standing not far away, calmly picking a marble shard out of her arm. She looks at him critically. "You have tried to kill me, Cha. You might have fooled Planet, but you didn't fool me. It was your will, with Planet's backing, that drove me into the focus. I've got no hard feelings, but I do have some free advice. Just because you are the most powerful telepath on Planet doesn't mean you are invincible. Would I be here to kill you.. then you'd be dead. Period. And your advisors act as a shield against much of the world.. don't throw them away. Or else you, and a huge amount of other people, will be killed. Period. While I don't know everything, I suspect your nation is far, far up the creek without a paddle, and a lot of your neighbours have the same problem. Let me deal with it or pray to Planet for salvation.. or death."

Cha marches up to her, eyes blazing. "The spy speaks. Was your wisdom sufficient to evade me? No." His voice turns mocking. "If that was the extent of your power, then I might as well turn you over to the Branch of Pruning. They have a better chance than you, you insolent, bragging-" His eyes pop wide open and his face turns white.

Hubris smiles a neat little smile. "Can you match that, boy? Do you have a weapon of similar power? If not, then perhaps you'll make sure your advisors get some medical attention and then let me start my work." She pats him on the shoulder, and he flinches from the touch. Then she walks out of the room. After some hesitation, the guards let her pass.

Ferrel has torn scraps from his robe and bandaged his arms. Now he approaches Cha Dawn cautiously. "Lord, did she hurt you?"

Cha gives him an absent-minded glance and returns to staring after her. "No.. She showed me something." Then his thoughts return to the present. "Guards, send for the doctors.. and the builders." He turns fully towards Ferrel. "Be your decisions wise or not, next time you try to run the Cult without consulting me.. it will be your skull that explodes. Understood?"

Ferrel's head slumps towards his chest. "Yes, my Lord."


End of chapter 60.

[Raging Mouse]

The need for secrecy, and a way to relay those secrets without fear of interception, led to a general failure in attempts to enforce standards of technology and measurements, of which the wildly different designs of MMI were but a small indication. The factions of Chiron all developed different modes of communication to keep their messages safe. Pravin Lal, for example half-heartedly used techniques of compression and encoding, otherwise relying on standard radio-traffics. Rumours circulated that each Hive city was connected by hundreds of kilometers of optic cable, and even though the inhabitants of Chiron believed this to be untrue, it would have only ranked as a mediocre attempt. Truly off the scale in communications-scrambling were the two Progenitor nations, having salvaged several thousand tiny and extremely versatile commlinks from their escape-pods. They used frequencies and energies that would not be properly understood by Humanity until long after we had started colonizing the stars again. A good second attempt came from the Cybernetic Consciousness, with so many different modes of communications -many of which they could use simultaneously- that historians are still rediscovering and implementing some every now and again.

- Reprinted by permission from 'Encyclopedia Imperia'.


Chapter 61: Game.


See the scaffolding, as it starts fifty meters deep, in a pit, and towers a hundred meters into the air, against the background of a glorious Chiron day. Both Alpha and Beta are high, making the sky a vividly purple bowl with an orange tint along the horizon. A few pinkish cumulus-clouds seem nailed to the sky. The site of the former energy-bank has been cleared, and a new one is quickly prepared. Everything that would benefit from being bigger shall be so. If some component would be more efficient if it was smaller, then work has been done to reduce it's size. Everything will be better; it is the slogan of the times.. Tomorrow will be better, citizens. Stay calm and work hard, to make it true.

On the twentieth floor, wearing an atmospheric filtration unit, Jessica Parks Rho-Five surveys the initial construction-work with a pair of binoculars. As the chief architect, much of the responsibility is hers and every detail must be checked. Luckily, she has a memory honed to perfection by the splinter of the Algorithm sharing her mind. Unfortunately, that same splinter makes the presence of the guard necessary.

It is a good guard; one of the C-I:s best. Even up here, on a silksteel girder less than thirty centimeters wide, her full attention is on Jessica. The filtration unit she is wearing disturbs her not the slightest. Every move is noted and analysed. Even so, she is about to fail her assignment.

Faint shouts echo from the street below, and Jessica takes the binoculars from her eyes and looks down. The guard follows her gaze. "What is it?"

Jessica sees a large crowd gathered around two people holding a banner between them. She sees the military patrol arrive, and sees how the crowd reacts with hostility to their presence. She sees the man with a pair binoculars at the back of the crowd, looking back up at her. He sees how he makes quick and complex signs with his right hand.

What is the code to unlock your vehicle and defuse the alarms, he asks.

"What is going on?"

Jessica lowers her binoculars and turns towards her guard. "Some kind of demonstration is turning violent. Here, take a look." She hands her binoculars to the woman. As the woman grabs the binoculars and aims them at the crowd, Jessica flashes a rapid answer using her right hand.

Three-nine-nine-nine-zero-three-four. Then press the 'Cancel'-button instead of 'OK'. Now look away!

The guard's mouth thins out into a line, and she grabs her commlink. "Number four to central, what is going on at the corner of 135th and Tolstoi?" She listens for a while. "Thank you. Out." She turns to Jessica and hands back her binoculars. "Miss, we should move away from here; let's walk to the other side. After you."

Jessica steps onto a girder leading into the maze of scaffolding, and the guard follows her. "Your escort this evening will be a police-unit rather than the normal military vehicle. The soldiers had to arrest some dissidents and bring them to the lab-complex for questioning and medical scans."

Down on the ground, Lewis' and Jessica's car drives around a corner.

Jessica nods. "Very well. Will they be present immediately? I don't have many more tasks planned for today."

"They arrived as I watched."

"Good.. Let's go to site fifteen, it's almost exactly on the other side."


****


Lewis points at a complex device. "Those things, over there. Do you recognize them?"

The head engineer nods. "They're mark sixteen capacitors, aren't they?"

"That's correct. Their positioning and installation has changed quite a bit from the last bank. I want you to pay attention to sections 205 B and 105 A through C of the drawings when you install them; about a month from now if the schedule holds. I'll remind you later as well, but you might take some time off to study the changes already now. Okay?"

Some more nods. "I'll look at them, professor. Was there anything else?"

Lewis checks his list. "No, that's it. I'll see you next week."

They shake hands, and Lewis steps out of the huge shed containing the first material to be used in the rebuilding of the energy-bank. He grabs his commlink.

"Jessica, I'm all done for the day. How about you?"

"I still have about three hours of work to do. I can take a cab when I'm ready. Oh yes, a police-unit will serve as escort today."

"Oh? All right. See you at home." Lewis puts away the commlink and walks out of the construction site. Outside, he nods to a sergeant leaning towards an armored personnel-carrier painted in police colours. "Evening, sergeant."

"Evening, sir. Is not your wife with you?"

"No, she's still got work to do."

The sergeant nods. "I'll radio for another unit to come and wait for her." He nods towards a car. "Is that your car?"

Lewis glances at it. "Yes, it is. Do we have an assigned route today?"

"Yes. We'll have to avoid the central areas, as there's some unrest going on there. We'll take the route past the old industrial yards instead. It should be virtually abandoned at this time of day. Just follow us."

The old industrial yards are a remnant from the first century of University Central; large factories, stripped of all metals until only their skeletons remain, that served as the first nodes of infrastructure in a fledgling economy desperate for materials. Smelters, ironworks, assembly yards.. even a small-size spaceport; one of the last giant industries to be placed in the area. Three of the University's first satellites were launched from there. Then Zakharov geared the industry to use the new versatile assembly-lines, meaning that a factory could produce virtually anything with only minimal need for retooling. Those production centers were erected at a new and now better-situated site, since the city had moved. Left are only crumbling, ceramic exoskeletons of once majestic buildings, riddled with holes; a popular hideout for criminals and thrillseekers.

One or two structures are significant enough to draw the occasional group of well-guarded tourists; like the rocket pit. Gently sloping paths lead fifty meters down, forming a slowly deepening asterisk towards the center. On the edges of the pit, above the roads, are the shells of once-powerful cranes used to assemble the launch-rockets, who were then fired towards the stars with their cargo of instruments. Lewis is pleased to notice that the police-APC is driving onto one of the roads leading down into the pit; he has seldom been here, and is glad to be able to marvel at the structure's size. Girders and scaffolding criss-cross above the road as soon as it sinks far enough below ground level, their gnawed-out forms blending into a dark spiderweb when seen from underneath. The scene is quite beautiful, with it's network of shadows, and Lewis is so engrossed by it that he almost fails to notice that the APC is slowing down.

He taps the brakes quickly to avoid colliding with it. Then he starts to worry; what is going on? He steers slightly to the left to see if something is blocking their path, and sees a car.

His jaw slackens. It's his car, or an exact replica of it. Right then he hears a small pop, and sees how thick, yellow fumes boil out from under his seat. He puts his hand over his mouth and tries to brake, but the car won't respond. It is slowly coming to a halt directly behind the APC. Then he tries to open the door, but to no effect. In front of him, the back door of the APC opens and several people step out. One of them looks very much like Lewis, and is clad in similar clothes. There are also several people lying on the floor of the APC. They are almost naked, and obviously dead. Lewis deduces that they are what's left of the real police-unit.

The fumes have now evened out into a fine yellow haze inside the car. Lewis realizes he is trapped, and that his breath will run out in a matter of seconds.

End of chapter 61.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 62: Set


See Morgan Studios, one of the newest morganite bases. It is still a maze of scaffolding, as the initial mad expansion to make room for all the immigrants has not yet slowed down. In this chaotic time, the mayor of the base has still decided to look towards the future; his future as a mayor over content citizens. He's ordered construction of a hologram theatre, to keep the populace at peace.

This won't do at all to the Free Drone probe-team assigned to increase unrest until the base can be subverted. The base extends it's economic and military influence far into territories that Domai considers Free Drone holdings, so the base must either go or switch sides. So, to keep things going the way the Free Drones want them to, Balbo is hanging from a plasma-steel girder with his legs while he sets the time on the last of sixteen bombs, destined to break the massive supporting pillars they are attached to.

">How are you doing?<"

">Sheesh, do you have to ask twice every minute? I'm just done. Oh great- I nearly lost the spanner. Look, I need to concentrate up here.<"

">Suit yourself. I just thought I'd mention that we're being recalled.<"

">WHA- oh no, watch out below!<"

Balbo watches the silver twinkling of the spanner as it falls away from him. It bounces into a crane, sending it careening in a wild arc before it disappears from his view.

">I see it. Can you finish the job without it?<"

Balbo celebrates his solitude among the scaffolding by swearing viciously, taking care not to sound anything through his MMI. ">Yes I can, because I'm finished now! This last one will have to manage with only one bolt holding it.<" He grabs hold of the girder he is hanging from and hoists himself up. Soon he is descending towards the ground again, in one of the elevators. ">Why are we being recalled?<"

">I don't know. Jasonian didn't want to say much, except that Domai must be crazy.<"

">Well, the explanation had better be at least as good as that. I didn't sign up to the teams to be moved like some chess-piece all over the place.<"

The elevator reaches the ground, and Balbo nods towards Laysa.

"Balbo, how much time did you put on the clocks?"

He stops and thinks. "Let's see.. there should be some five minutes left."

"Good. Quick, let's find a restaurant with a view to the show."

They walk off. Four minutes and fourty-seven seconds later the construction-plans for a hologram theatre in Morgan Studios are reduced to shambles.


****


"Hello, Dorothy. You had a long day at work today."

Dorothy frowns. "Yes, well, I had to make two round-trips between the lab complex and the nanohospital. The second time, some engineer got panicked because most of the grade three nanites were threatening to escape from their cracked containers and into the sewers. I spent two hours trying to contain them in a magnetic field before the engineer calmed down and remembered that they wouldn't survive outside the containers unless a steady current of six volts flowed through them at all times. Needless to say, this has not been a good day." She looks around. "Is dad here?"

Jessica shakes her head. "He's asked that we spend the afternoon relaxing by the old rocket-pit. I've got food ready and packed, so we could go there immediately. The car's in the garage, so we won't need to call a cab."

"Sounds good. All right, I'll just freshen up before we leave."

Half an hour later Dorothy steps out of the front door and walks up to the police-APC. She looks at it curiously. A sergeant notices her and approaches.

"Can I help you, miss Parks?"

"Where's the standard military escort?"

"They had to arrest some demonstrators and bring them to the lab complex. We were assigned instead to escort you for the rest of this evening."

"All right." She nods at Jessica, who is opening the garage door. "We're going by car to the old rocket-pit."

The sergeant nods. "Very well, though I must ask that Jessica travels with us for security reasons."

Dorothy opens her mouth to object, but Jessica pats her on the shoulder. "It's a perfectly logical demand, Dorothy. I'll just stow the food in the trunk."

The sergeant salutes and smiles. "No need for that, there's plenty of room in the APC. Allow me.."

Dorothy shrugs and walks to the car while Jessica is being helped into the personnel carrier.

The old industrial yards bring back memories to Dorothy. While she's too young to have seen them in their primes, she's had many adventures in the abandoned shells. Significantly, many scars and bruises, plus some broken bones, were created here while Dorothy learned to control the mono-grav of her childhood. To these old ruins she sneaked away to meet with her friends and play 'hunt the mindworm', 'hide and seek', and various contests of skill and courage.

Then they heard about a girl missing from a similar group of children. A large search-party was organized, and the entire area was carefully combed until the girl was found. She had fallen into a deep shaft filled with rubble and water. Her head had hit the wall of the shaft, rendering her unconscious. She had drowned.

After that, no-one had dared go to the old yards again.

However, the memories are still numerous. Dorothy smiles or grimaces as the memories, happy or embarrassing, march by her inner vision.

She is brought out of her reverie by a small pop. She looks out of the front window and notices that the car is slowing down, even though it should be maintaining a steady speed. Next, she notices that she can't make the steering-wheel budge.

Only then does she notice the yellow mist boiling forth from under her seat. She shuts her mouth and pinches her nose.

Then she thinks for a moment, shrugs.. and takes a deep breath.

She is instantly unconscious.


End of chapter 62.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 63: Match!


Consciousness is slowly flowing back into Lewis' mind. With it comes messages from various parts of his body, disjointed at first. His head is throbbing in pace with his heart. His mouth is dry. His shoulders and wrists are aching.

He tries to move his arms, but they refuse to budge. As more feeling returns to them, he realizes they are bound. He cracks open his eyelids and peers groggily at the concrete floor in front of him. Apparently, he is standing upright. He straightens up and looks around.

He has been tied by his arms and legs to a metal pillar, in what appears to be the top floor of a run-down factory. There are large holes in the roof, exposing the sky. Lewis supposes that he is still somewhere among the old industrial yards. The hall is full of crates and equipment. Computers, weaponry, medical equipment.. and cameras. Several monitors are active, and some display the revolving logo of Channel sixty-three..

Lewis hears the silent shuffling of several people approaching. He tries to look behind him, and sees a familiar woman walk around the pillar until she is standing directly in fromt of him. Behind her, two men carry the unconscious shape of Dorothy up to a pillar, where they tie her in a similar fashion as Lewis. He notes, though, that Dorothy is tied much more firmly to the pillar. All the while, the hauntingly familiar woman has been standing in front of Lewis and studying his expression with every sign of amusement. Finally, he remembers.

"Rita."

He is answered by broad smile. "You remember me; I'm flattered." She shakes her head. "Tsk, tsk. You should have merged like a sensible person the last time I made the opportunity available to you." She trusts her face close to Lewis', and her eyes flash with hate. "You creep, do you realize what I've had to endure because of you? Nine years without a hope of upgrading as 'reward' for failing to capture you and Dorothy together." She smiles brightly again. "But now I have you both. My suffering will be over, finally. All I have to do is report the outcome of this, and I'll be upgraded to Iota."

Lewis stares at her in horror. "You want to be merged? Don't you want to be free?" He whispers.

She grimaces at him. "Of course I want be merged, you fool! Why should I endure one second of the alternative misery? Being merged is so much better in every possible way. And it is a true freedom, unchained by emotions. To think that you are trying to remove your wife's algorithm.. what kind of monster are you? Do you really think she could be happy without it? Confined inside her own emotions, forever insecure?"

"She has been happy for countless years without any, and she will be happy again!" He gives Rita a withering look. "She is in control of her emotions."

Rita shudders and shakes her head. "Luckily, your insanity will stop here. You see, there's only two ways out of this building for you, and both include you walking out of here as a fresh member of the Consciousness." She lowers her voice to a hiss. "The difference between the two is that in the first scenario your daughter accompanies you.. for you will have deactivated the defensive algorithms protecting her, and overseen the downloading and merger of her algorithm personally. The other is that you leave, alone... If you won't accept merger right now, we'll kill Dorothy." She smiles. "Then you will perhaps see the merits of merging with the algorithm and be free of your sorrow, hate and fear."

Lewis gives her a steady look. "What if I still refuse?"

Rita shrugs. "Then you won't leave this building. Ever. There's a pit in the basement.. it's over twenty meters deep. We'll drop you in and pour down some concrete until the pit is only ten meters deep."

Lewis is silent for a while. He looks across the hall at Dorothy, who has awakened as well.

"So, how long does it take before you accept matters as they are, Lewis? Will you accept merger now, or will you draw this out more than necessary, to the great disadvantage of Dorothy?"

Dorothy looks straight into Lewis's eyes and shakes her head. "Don't accept."

Rita turns around to face Dorothy. "Are you so eager to lose your life then, Dorothy? Has Zakharov cut away everything that is human in you already? Maybe you would accept the Consciousness.. if I let your father go?" She walks to a spot equally far from both Lewis and Dorothy. "One thing is sure. Your lives as citizens of the University will end today and within the hour. You'd both make an invaluable contribution to the Consciousness, so you can expect a luxurious existence as merged talents, in spite of all the trouble you have caused." She lowers her head. "However, there is one member of the Parks that isn't irreplacable. Jessica!"

Jessica walks calmly into view and stops next to Rita. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid your family is stubborn. So.." She motions to one of the other probe-operatives who throws a rifle to her. "You may have to pay for their stupidity. It's a shame, but that's life. What have you to say now, Lewis? Dorothy?"

Lewis opens his mouth to shout a curse, but Dorothy is quicker. "That won't help. I know you keep images of each and every merged person's mind in your databanks, together with their genetic makeup. Even if you shoot her, she can be speed-grown a new body, and her neurons imprinted with the most recent image. She'd only lose half an hour of her memories, at most." She smiles. "And we could still attempt to remove the algorithm."

Rita nods. "All right, I was bluffing. Partially. It's clear, Dorothy, that no-one could convince you to merge, no matter what. I wonder what Zakharov has done to you?"

Lewis snarls. "Why do you keep referring to Zakharov?"

Rita glances at him and flashes an evil smile. "You actually don't know? Bring a holo-projector here." The two probe-operatives quickly push a small-scale model in front of her. She places a memory-crystal into the assigned slot and operates the controls. The projector flickers to life showing an operating room. Lewis recognizes almost every detail of it, and knows he has been there plenty of times. It, and it's staff of surgeons, was assigned to his team as they started growing additional living interfaces for Methis.

Only this isn't a recording of that. The team of surgeons is the same, but instead of Lewis, Zakharov is leading the operation. And the subject.. is Dorothy, approximate age ten-eleven. As Zakharov wields the laser-scalpel, Lewis feverishly tries to spot any sign that he could latch on to and claim that it is proof of a falsification. But the image is too sharp. There is even sound. Zakharov's dry and strictly proffessional comments and orders to the surgeons. The dry hiss of the laser as it cuts skin and bone. The organic sounds as the cranium is opened, and the neural connectors applied. The hum from the machines as they are activated. By the time Dorothy's body starts to twitch in response to the invasive neural re-routing, Lewis feels so intensely sick that almost every ounce of his willpower is needed to calm his retching. He is almost glad, for it takes his attention away from the ongoing horror on the holo-display.

The view fades away. The probe-operatives wheel away the projector, and Rita walks up to Lewis' side. She speaks in soft tones. "We can help you get your revenge. But not as long as you refuse to merge. And what do you have left, keeping you back?"

Lewis looks at Dorothy -or, what appears to be Dorothy. His eyes utter a silent, pleading question.

"I am Dorothy, dad. You know that I am."

Lewis nods, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I believe you. I.. believe you."

Rita shakes her head. She speaks in a dead monotone. "I don't. I know what I saw. You are but a mindless tool for Zakharov." She aims her gun. And squeezes the trigger.

Lewis sees and hears everything in stop-motion horror. A dull thump and a brilliant clang sounds almost at the same time. Rita's arm is forced upwards from the recoil of her gun. Dorothy's chest quivers, and a red stain appears. A cloud of red droplets, combined with flakes of steel from the pillar she's been tied to, appears behind her. And far behind her, there is a pock and some cracks in the concrete wall as what's left of the bullet impacts into it. And last, the ears register a scream, his scream, that fades into a wail and finally ends in a single sob. Dorothy's head slumps down towards her chest, and the red stain spreads fast.

Rita grabs hold of Lewis' hair and forces him to look at her. "We'll bury your daughter -or clone, or whatever she was- in the pit. While we're doing that, you can decide if you want to join her or not." She looks at Jessica. "Think about your wife. She's now all that you have left."

Rita cuts loose the ropes around Dorothy's arms and legs, and her body slumps to the floor, revealing a gaping crater in her back. The two probe-operatives grab her arms and legs, lift her up and carry her away. Rita follows them, throwing one last comment before disappearing into view:

"Remember- you have time until we have returned."

Lewis doesn't answer. He lets his chin rest against his chest while he cries silently, the tears running down to the tip of his nose and dropping on his shoes. He doesn't react when Jessica touches his arm.

"Please, Lewis. You must see that this is pointless. Accept merger, and all of this pain will go away."

He doesn't answer. She grabs his chin and pulls his head upright, produces a handkerchief from a pocket and wipes away his tears.

"Please, don't throw away your life. You could do so much good, discover so much, if only you'd join the Consciousness. At least, couldn't you do it for me -oh." She looks at something behind him.

Suddenly, a soldier clad in black and wielding a fusion laser appears within Lewis' field of vision. He signals to Jessica to be silent, and then grabs her wrist and pulls her away. Someone else cuts Lewis' bonds, and he collapses on the floor. He is picked up by strong hands, and someone throws him onto a shoulder. A familiar voice murmurs to him. "Captain Steiner here. We'll soon get you to safety-" He is interrupted by the sound of gunfire, and he starts running even as he carries Lewis. Before Lewis realizes what is happening, Steiner has jumped out of a window. But instead of falling, he swings back against the wall, level with the second floor. He cushions the impact with his legs. Then he descends slowly until he is standing on flat ground again. He puts down Lewis and unties the rope around his waist. Then he walks away, leaving Lewis sitting by the wall of the factory.

"Who fired? Where are the suspects?"

A soldier runs up to the captain and salutes. "Sir, the suspects have escaped underground through some old maintenance-tunnels. We don't know where they lead."

Steiner starts cursing violently, and Lewis closes his eyes. He shuts out the world, concentrating on his aching body, and feels the tears start rolling again.

A soft hand caresses Lewis' hair. He smiles through his tears, raises an arm and squeezes the hand gently. It is a hand he knows well, for it belongs to-

His eyes slam open and he stares at the standing figure, clad in a black stealth-suit, carrying a rifle and looking mournfully down at him.

"Dorothy."

He faints.


End of chapter 63.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 64: The Explanation that Satisfied


See Free Drone Central, through the windows of a conference-room at the aerospace complex.

"Ah, Balbo.. Laysa.. good to see you. I hope your trip was uneventful? Great. Then, this is what you'll be doing next; there's a transport jet that will take off for an unknown destination four hours from now. It has room for you and your team, plus any equipment you might need. You will be met by your new employer, here's a file containing all we know about this whole affair. As you can see, it's one page thick. Any questions?" Jasonian takes a deep breath and grins at the stunned pair of probe-operatives. "Was that too fast for you? Want me to take it again, slower this time?"

Balbo stutters indignantly. "What's going on here? Why are we-"

Jasonian holds up a hand. "I'm sorry, I'm rather tired of this whole affair. The orders came from Domai, and he's unwilling to tell me why it must be you, or why it's such a hurry, or anything." He rubs his temples. "Do you think you have questions that I could answer?"

Laysa asks, quietly, "Are we being punished?"

"Not as far as I'm aware. Domai seemed.. excited." Jasonian sits down on a chair, leans back and crosses his arms. "He received a call from Provost Zakharov.. a long call.. and when he closed the connection, he immediately summoned his entire staff." He blinks. "He seemed almost in panic. He asked strange, searching questions to his medical experts, concerning MMI:s. Then he ordered the police to raid the offices of Margolith Mindsoft in Spannerworks, close down the company and arrest all executives." He sighs. "That was two days ago. Yesterday the report from the raid came, a damn thick document labeled 'top secret' even before it reached him. He spent two hours reading it, as far as I'm aware.. then he called Zakharov. They had another long discussion. And.. as soon as they were done talking, he summoned me."

"What did he say?"

Jasonian scratches his chin. "First he looked at me, suspiciously. After some time he asked, 'Jasonian, you don't happen to have an MMI, do you?' I told him no, I haven't needed one yet. Then he asked, 'What about the two foremen of that probe-team you have under your command? Have they used their MMI:s much in public networks?' I said I don't think so, since you only had had them for two weeks before I sent you to Morgan Studios, and that you were forbidden to use them for recreation while on a mission. He nodded and chewed on his knuckles. Then he raised his head, looked straight into my eyes and said, 'I have received a request for their probe-team to be assigned a rather special mission. And.. I'm going to say that they are on their way.' Then he almost smiles at me, and hands me that piece of paper without saying another word." He lets out a tired sigh."Look, I fully understand if you refuse to go on this mission unless you receive more information, and I am prepared to back you up if you want to take this to Domai. I don't see why the University sould have need of you and your team, or why on Chiron we should accept. Zakharov isn't honest, and he sure doesn't have any morals to speak of."

Balbo shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. It's just that this is so sudden and everything. If we really are heading to the University, then it would be fun to try and meet Dorothy again, or at least try to find out what has happened to her. I've wondered about that ever since our probe-trainees returned without her. No mention of her was made by the Morganites."

Jasonian nods. "Yes, I know. I tried some innocent questions, but they were only met with confusion. I don't think the Morganites ever caught her."

Laysa speaks. "Don't forget that Jim was with her. That old pirate is right at home anywhere."

Balbo and Jasonian nod, and silence descends over the group. Then Balbo stirs. "Well, I think we'll take the mission. We'll give you a call when we've arrived." He smiles. "If there's something fishy about this, me and sis will teach whoever's toying with us not to mess with the Free Drones."

Jasonian grins. "That's the spirit! I felt I should let you have prime pickings for this mission, since it's so vague. So, let's proceed down to the cargo-hall, where I've set up a little shop for you and your agents. They should be there already. You can take whatever you want."

They walk towards the nearest elevator.


***


Lewis wakes up, and sits up so fast that he nearly falls over. He is in his own bed, at home. The room spins, and there's a rushing sound in his ears, but he manages to sigh with relief, as he deduces that his last experiences have been a dream. He raises his arm to run his fingers through his hair.. and feels the fire in his wrist. He focuses on the patterned burns. The rope had been too tight, leaving marks on his wrists.

His thoughts skid to a halt.

He claps his hands over his eyes and starts shaking. Then he violently flings the sheet aside and stands up, swaying for a moment. He walks into the bathroom and washes his face, wrists and ankles. Then he returns to the bedroom and opens his wardrobe. He dresses with manic speed. He walks quickly to the door to the upper-floor hallway.. and halts with his hand on the doorknob. He swallows, releases the doorknob and spreads the fingers on his right hand wide. He watches them shake for a moment, and notes how pale he is.

Then he grips and turns the doorknob, and pushes the door open.

The hallway is empty. Off to the right, from the stairs, come the clinking sounds of lunch being eaten. He starts to quietly descend the stairs. He hears his wife murmur something, and he hears Dorothy answer. But is he hallucinating, or does Dorothy's voice sound strange? Yet it is her voice.. he is sure. Then he hears a third voice, that of Captain Steiner. He reaches the last step, and steps down onto the ground floor. He walks quietly to the dining-room, and stops at the doorway.

Jessica, Dorothy and Sebastian are all there, eating. A fourth place has been set.

He looks hard at Dorothy. Her facial features are more pronounced than he remembers, and her body is athletic. While Lewis knows that Dorothy has kept herself in shape, he also knows that she definitely shouldn't be so muscular. Her eating-habits are also slightly different; she is attacking the food with unheard-of gusto. Yet now she carefully positions the knife and fork on the edge of the plate, and then looks up at Lewis.

"Father, stop standing in the doorway. Come and grab something to eat. We didn't know when you'd wake up, so we started without you. The doc said you'd be ravenous."

On cue, his stomach rumbles. He walks up to the table, grabs the empty chair and sits down. Today's lunch doesn't only taste, it also looks like meatballs. He scoops a good amount and adds some rice. Then he looks up and lets his gaze pass from Dorothy to Sebastian and Jessica. Jessica returns his gaze for a moment while she chews her current mouthful. Then she swallows and nods at Dorothy.

"She hasn't told me anything yet, but insisted that we should wait for you. She also insisted that Captain Steiner should be present."

Lewis thoughtfully eats a couple of mouthfuls -the food is really good- and then he can't wait any longer. He lowers the knife and fork, and stares fixedly at Dorothy. "I'm waiting."

Sebastian clears his throat. "I think Dorothy wants me to start. About eleven years ago, me and Dorothy had just got the news that the University-Consciousness war was over. We were currently deep within Morgan Industries. I explained to Dorothy that Beta was unlikely to stop trying to kidnap her, and presented her with two options. We could head on into Data-Angel territory, or return to the University.."

Lewis nods impatiently. "Yes, I know. She chose to return here. Everything has worked well, with no sign from Beta up to now."

Dorothy looks down at her hands. "Actually, father, I chose to continue to the Data-Angels."

"What?" Lewis stares at his daughter, and even Jessica looks confused.

Sebastian continues. "That' right. She wanted to continue, since she felt that she'd be an easy target within the University's borders. My orders were to protect her, first and foremost, and I had no objections. We already knew the Data-Angels would protect her, thanks to Domai, and chances were good they would agree to train her in the arts of the probe-operative."

"But.. You were here when I arrived, or are you saying it wasn't Dorothy?"

"Yes, I am. Methis had suggested already earlier that she should be allowed to impersonate Dorothy to further fool the Consciousness. Cloning her was no problem, after your visit to the Longevity-clinic. Only I, Dorothy, Methis and Zakharov knew. We had plenty of time to prepare, since you were travelling by rover and would take weeks to arrive within University borders. It was generally agreed that neither of you were to be told." Steiner looks apologetically at Jessica. "You, obviously, would have exposed our plot, and you could even get suspicious if Lewis changed his attitude towards 'Dorothy'. I must say, that Methis is a good impersonator, since even I got confused at times. Anyway, once I had made sure that Dorothy would receive good care and the best training diplomacy and money could offer, and that Methis would be able to contact her and relate the things she had done, I flew back to University Central so I could play my part in Dorothy's 'return'."

"So.. all these years it wasn't you?"

Dorothy looks awkward,and Sebastian shrugs. "That's right. She 'graduated' from probe-training two years ago by successfully returning from a mission inside Caretaker territory. She returned to the University to be a bit closer to events, but her years in training, plus the mission, had put their mark on her.. you'd never be fooled if we simply switched from Methis' interfce to the real Dorothy. Also, her skills as a probe-operative was sorely in need, and she was almost constantly out on missions. We thought that, in the end, it would be better if we revealed the truth to you only once Beta had been taken care of in a permanent manner. We were quite confident it would work. What you don't know, but maybe Jessica does, is that three attempts, in addition to this one, have been made to kidnap Dorothy. First from the lab-complex, where the Consciousness didn't get close. The second time she, or I should say Methis' image of her, was just exiting the lab. Methis noticed something was wrong, and retreated. I personally chased the would-be kidnappers, but they got away. The third time was only one week ago, again when she was exiting the labs."

He shakes his head. "However, once the probes realized they had been spotted, they pulled their guns. They tried to kill her. I don't know what has changed, but the Consciousness seems to want Dorothy dead now, if they can't get her merged."

Everybody is silent again, and Lewis is prodding his food with the fork while he digests the sour news. While he is happy that his daughter is alive, he is incredibly sad as he looks back at the memories of his daughter these last eleven years. He wonders if they will fade, now that the falseness has been revealed.

Then Jessica speaks. "So, where were you one week ago?"

"I was on a mission to Freshwater Springs; it's a Pirate city not far from University territories."

"Oh." Jessica is silent for a moment. "Did Methis only create one interface in your image?"

Steiner answers. "I can answer that; she had a backup interface in case the one in use would get damaged, or should I say injured.. It's stored in a room close to your labs, and Methis will probably activate it now. It will be useful, even though the Consciousness will probably find out pretty soon that they have been fooled. They'll never be sure again if it's really Dorothy they are watching."

"Then.. neither you nor Methis' interfaces have ever visited the Cult of Planet?"

Dorothy looks up at Jessica with a start. "Why do you ask?"


End of chapter 64.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 65: The Explanation that Was True


Balbo stares at the aircraft. "It's huge! That's the Antonov 264 superfreighter!"

Laysa lets her uninterested gaze sweep over the aircraft. "So what?"

"It's an advanced University-made VTOL transport! It doesn't have a tremendous speed at ground level, as it's jets are built for power instead of speed. But beyond two thousand meters, it's ion-engines kick in.. max acceleration four G's, max speed depends on local air-density.. over thirty machs at ninety-thousand meters. Outside of an atmosphere the theoretical limit is one-sixth the speed of light.. Laysa, this thing can fly in space!

"Well, if we really only are going to the University we probably won't need to do that."

"Sis, after seeing that plane I'm quite sure we're not heading for the University."


****


"The Consciousness claims to have identified you there. A certain spy had been brought to Cha's infirmary. I even have a recording of it."

Steiner stirs. "Well, obviously they are wrong-"

Dorothy interrupts him. "Show me."

Jessica picks up a memory-crystal and a MMI-linked recorder from a pocket. "It's all here. Probe-operatives of the Consciousness can record their experiences directly. All you have to do is link up and press play."

Sebastian rises from his chair. "Now hold it! I smell another attempt at merger here."

Dorothy calmly takes the recorder and the crystal. "Mind if I check for any splinter-algorithms, just to be on the safe side?"

Jessica shrugs. "No, not at all. Captain Steiner is only being logically cautious."

Dorothy brings up a reader of her own, although this one is bulkier than Jessica's. She links it to her MMI and inserts the crystal. She sits immobile for fifteen seconds. "It's clear." She unhooks the reader and plugs in Jessica's, inserts the crystal again and presses play-

See the hand opening the door. See the dark room. See the bed. See the lying shape.

There is a click as someone turns on a flashlight and aims it at a clipboard. There is a voice. "Log five-nine-nine; first inspection of potential extraction-subject." The viewer turns to a monitor. "EEG shows waves characteristic of an ordered mind. A good plus." See a hand grab a folder lying on the bed and flipping through the pages. "Medical analysis shows an excellent physique. Subject has the fitness of an athletic. Analyzer found no history of drugs. Hmm.. the CAT-scan of the cranium shows some interesting-" There is a pause, and then pages are quickly turned. Then the flashlight is aimed at the shape in the bed.

It's Dorothy.

A quiet curse, hissed between tight lips. Then the speaker resumes, in an excited voice. "Positive identification! The inspection is terminated, as I must report this quickly.."

See the viewer turning around towards the door, opening it, looking cautiously out, then exiting, and the door closing with a click behind him.

Dorothy opens her eyes, and slowly removes the link from her MMI.

"Thank you for showing this to me. But now we have a problem. We must make sure that what I am about to tell will not leave this room." She looks meaningfully at Jessica Rho-Five.

Jessica nods. "I want to hear this. So I suggest that after you have told everything, I should be taken to the cryolabs." She takes a deep breath. "I have anticipated this moment for some time."

Lewis flinches. "What are you saying? Should we freeze you?"

"Of course. That way, I will no longer be a security risk -provided that I am guarded, and I can be awakened as soon as you find.. the cure.. or as soon as the Consciousness invades the University, whichever comes first. It is the most logical course of action to take." She grabs Lewis' hand. "And I am willing to do it, for your sake."

Lewis take a shuddering breath. "Very well. Dorothy?"

Dorothy looks down at her hands again. "Not even Captain Steiner knows this.. it is true that I had decided to continue to the Data-Angels. It was perfectly logical, but I was so sad.. Then Methis suggested something radical. It was her idea, originally, to clone an interface of me for her. Now she pointed out that there was no theoretical obstacle to me being both at the Data-Angels and the University at the same time. After all, my MMI is greatly expanded beyond the basic function. It's 'reach' of my mental functions is complete. And the same is true for Methis' interface.. and she aleady had cloned me.. you see where I am getting?"

Jessica is staring slack-jawed at Dorothy. Not to mention Lewis and Sebastian. Dorothy continues.

"The initial interface was a crude affair, and I felt very strange. It felt like being an intruder in my own body. But it enabled me to be there, and greet you. That was the birth of my first research-project. The result is called 'simulacrum systems', and was ready after two years of hard work. I suppose I was actively in control of the interface for half that time, and let Methis impersonate me whenever I was busy studying at the academy in Data Decentral."

She takes a deep breath. "The S-systems, while enabling me to be both here and there, had one major flaw. As I have said, I had to alternate between being here and there. Then Zakharov suggested the next logical step; learning how to control many bodies at once." She shrugs. "It sounds near-impossible, and it is harder than it sounds. Eventually, I looked at your research to see how you solved the problem with Methis. Turning the matter over to a computer was out of the question, but I managed to incorporate a modified function into my MMI. And then all I had to do was try."

She sighs. "It was almost impossible, and a couple of serious flaws in my programming almost killed me, as impulses meant to control my heart were sent over the link, both ways. But I succeeded. Seven years ago, at the age of fourteen, I assumed full-time control over the interface originally meant only to look like me." She smiles shyly. "Then one of my tutors at the university happened to mention that some Gaian training in psionics would be invaluable to any probe-operative intent on longevity. By this time I had already earned a good deal of energy-credits doing small jobs inside the Data-Angel borders, so I could equip my own laboratory. Three months later I took control of my third body. A week after that I contacted the most powerful Gaian telepath I know. She proved happy to instruct me."

She shrugs. "And since then.. well, what can I say? I have seven bodies as we speak, and an eighth is currently being grown to replace the dead one. Five years ago I noticed that although I am indeed one mind in several bodies, each body has a unique personality. They're nowhere close to as diverse as eight separate humans could be, but there are tell-tale differences. You see, I didn't see any need for my new bodies to grow up brainless, so they all have perfectly normal brains.. though totally devoid of a mind. Then I install my expanded MMI and take over. I use the brains as a normal person would. The motoric center controls the motoric functions of the body -but is not independent. The outer layers store memories and experiences.. and that's, of course, why my bodies develop different personalities. I realized that my original body has special value." She grimaces. "This isn't the first time one of my bodies have died. It's like losing a piece of yourself, leaving a gaping hole in your mind. And I don't want to speculate what I would lose if my original body would die. So I've 'stored' it, so to speak, in a hideout inside Data-Angel territory. It's well defended there."

She pauses for a while to smile at her awestruck audience. "Almost immediately after I realized that the person that was me, Rachel Dorothy Parks, didn't change even if my bodies varied in their personalities -in essence, who I really am is the sum of all my bodies- I started 'customizing' myself. I conducted genetic experiments. I implanted cybernetics. All my bodies except the original are modified somehow. I also learned how to transfer the consciousness of one body into a new, 'empty' one. Thus, I had learned how to upgrade myself, and to diversify my bodies for different tasks." She nods at Sebastian. "Captain Steiner here for example has had no idea that I have no less than three times exchanged my body here at the university for a new version."

She glances down at herself. "What do you think, by the way? I call this model 'Hubris', taken from my Progenitor nickname. This body has triple the normal human endurance and twice it's strength and durability. Plus, my neural impulses are twice as fast. My eyesight is thirty per cent sharper. My hearing is over five times more precise, and the range is greatly expanded. Plus, the neurons of the MMI have been included since the beginning, only requiring installation of the dermal contact. And still, it is perfectly human in every possible way. It's excellent for probe-missions, but I have to concentrate hard to talk to you in a perfectly normal fashion. I'll replace it with my new basic body, that has more human capabilities, as soon as it is ready. Then I will return to probe-assignments with this one."

She looks at the shocked and stunned Lewis. "What I'm trying to say is, that for the last seven years it's really been me and not Methis who's lived my life here. And before that, I could be with you for almost half the time. So please don't think that you have been living with an impostor all these years. It's just that it was safer if not even Sebastian knew what had really happened. Only Methis, Zakharov and I knew the whole story."

Lewis finds his voice after a frantic search. "What does Zakharov think of all this?"

"He's ecstatic. I suspect he has even made use of my research to, uh, 'backup' himself. But since my model of MMI is needed, and that is a dangerous tool -especially concerning the current plague of sleeper-algorithms- I don't think my research will be publicised for some time."

Lewis leans back. "Well, I'll be.. But I see a lot of issues here I want to know..."


***


Balbo parks the cargo-truck behind the tail of the plane. "Right, let's get the pilot to open the-"

A metallic rumbling interrupts him, And the tail of the plane swings upwards, revealing the opening cargo-door. At the same time, the entire plane lowers itself down towards the ground by partially retracting it's telescopic landing-gear. Eventually, the belly of the plane makes contact with the ground with a dull thud. The cargo-door is now only one and a half meters above ground, and a ramp extends downwards, creating only a gentle slope when it is fully extended. The cargo door is big enough to swallow the entire truck, and Balbo slowly drives up the ramp. A cavernous interior is revealed, partially filled with boxes firmly secured with chains. A large sign directly over the entrance prohibits stacking.

"Whoa, this is big! We could have taken another truckload of equipment." Laysa exclaims. "Not that we left much behind, either.."

"Yeah, but it can't be everything. The plane is much longer than this room. Anyways, why not let the team unload and secure our gear, plus the truck, while we check this baby out?"

They work their way between the already-present crates towards the front end of the cargo-hold. A door is set in the middle of the wall, and beyond it lies what would pass for a spacious first-class cabinet, with extra goodies. There's a bar, a holo-projector, three recliners sporting in-built MMI-links, several recliners around a circular table, and a food-dispenser. What the room is missing is another exit. Balbo walks up to the front wall, as if disbelieving his senses.

"How do we get to the cockpit?"

He is answered by a voice that reverberates through the entire plane. "Good evening, passengers! This is Methis, your captain, speaking. Welcome aboard special flight one. Our scheduled departure is fifteen minutes from now, and is likely to proceed smoothly as the weather is fine. In case you wish to address me, simply shout my name, or 'captain', whichever you prefer. You can also use the MMI-links or the holo-projector if you wish to see who you are talking to. Unfortunately, this plane does not have a cockpit, as it is fully automated, so I cannot invite you to watch the view. However, the MMI-links are connected to all the external sensors, which should provide an even less restricted view of the outside. The food-dispenser can cater to your every tastes. Enjoy your flight."

Balbo walks up to the holo-projector. "Hey, Methis!"

The holo-projector hums, and Balbo is suddenly standing in front of a tall man, clad in a blue uniform and a white cap. "Yes, Balbo? What can I do for you?"

"Say, are you the same Methis that Dorothy spoke of? Dorothy Parks?"

"Yes, I am. She has told me much about you and Laysa."

"How is she? Will we meet her?"

"She is fine, but I cannot reveal anything about this journey." Methis smiles. "I hope you won't mind. Now, do you have everything you need or do you have to retreive additional cargo or passengers from outside the plane?"

"No, everything and everyone is inside."

"Good. Then, if you don't mind, I will close the cargo-door so I can start the preparations for take-off."

Balbo and Laysa return to the cargo-hold and watch as the ramp is retracted, entering a slot under the floor. Then the cargo-door closes, and a short rumbling, ending with a clang, indicates that the tail is lowered into place. The other probe-operatives have secured the cargo and the truck. Methis' voice echoes in the airy room. "All passengers are asked to take a seat and fasten their seatbelts. Take-off in ten minutes."


End of chapter 65.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 66: Additional answers


Lewis looks concernedly at Dorothy. "Have you ever pondered about the psychological effects of -of your experiments?"

Dorothy nods gravely. "Frequently. A major obstacle in my research was how to render the new bodies acceptable for my psyche with the minimum of effort, meaning altering my own mind as little as possible. Since then, I have observed a large number of minor and major psychological effects, and Methis has pointed out a couple that I had missed."

"Uh, what is the most radical change?"

"My definition of self, of course. It's a considerably more mutable definition for me, now, and partially detached from my original body.. Neither am I as concerned anymore with preserving the shape of my mind.. rather I strive to maintain my identity. Physical form matters little to me anymore. In fact, I'm experimenting with a totally synthetic body and cerebrum. However, I expect that any body far removed from humanoid form will require some 'dampers' in order for my mind to fully accept it as another part of me. I will probably find it hard to stamp my identity on non-humanoid forms."

Steiner, interested, asks the next question. "How many bodies can you control at the same time?"

"Hard to say, as there's no precise upper limit. I could probably maintain fifteen bodies at the same time without difficulty, especially if I manage their resting periods so they all sleep at different times. Of course, as I, uh, 'activate' more bodies I tap into more brains, meaning a greater capacity to control additional bodies. It's an endless cycle, if I only include bodies with human brains."

Jessica is the fastest with the next question. "Do you mean that you can sleep with some bodies and be awake with others, at the same time? Won't the different levels in consciousness come in conflict?"

"Not since I learned to adapt. It was a prerequisite for engineering bodies with enhanced senses and neural activity, like this one. Besides, we all live through our entire lives with mental processes going on at different levels of consciousness at the same time, so the mechanism I needed was there already; all I had to do was expand it."

Lewis asks, "What have you been doing these last years with all your.. bodies?"

"Mainly, gathering power. Jim Sturlasson taught me the customs of all the factions, plus a good many tips on business and corporate policy. The Data-Angels taught me the arts of the probe-operative. The Gaians taught me psionics. And here I've learned cybernetics and nanotechnology. I remember all of this; I have a good memory. Through various middle-hands I control numerous corporations in several factions. I didn't buy or create all of them.. there are other forms of control. Anyway, right now I am preparing for a new task, in which I will probably need every resource I have."

"What's that?"

"I intend to find and extract Aki Zeta-Five. That's the basic reason why I am also at the Cult of Planet."


****


The ascent has been nearly vertical during the last moments of flight, even though the plane has remained quite horizontal. Now, however, it starts to point towards the sky.

"This is Methis. I will engage the ion-thrusters in thirty seconds, and apply three G's of thrust. Now is a good time to relax and take a few deep breaths."

Balbo looks across at Laysa, grins and closes his eyes. He starts to breathe deeply through his nose, and manages to take four lungfuls before the ion-engines are activated. The padding of his seat is very soft, so he sinks far into the chair as the thrust pushes him backwards. He is startled when he hears the jets shut down, as his instinct tell him the noise-level should increase with the thrust. Instead, the cabin becomes eerily silent; he can hear his own laboured breathing quite well, plus a faint whistling produced by the last, weak currents of air against the hull of the aircraft.. or spacecraft. For as he opens his eyes and looks out the closest windows, he sees how the plane is swiftly cutting through layer after layer of darkening blues.. until there is no atmosphere to speak of and he looks out at the stars, blocked only by the now useless wing of the aircraft, gleaming green where it reflects the light from the ion-engines. The thrust disappears, and the passengers are awed by the view of Chiron slowly sliding into view as the plane rotates until it's nose points almost straight towards the planet.

Then Methis speaks: "Initiating one G of thrust in the direction of the roof. This will enable you to move freely within the plane as long as I'm maintaining thrust." The pressure returns, though not as strong as before. But the direction is new; the passengers are pushed straight down, towards the floor of the plane. "You may now unbuckle your seat-belts. We will be maintaining a constant thrust of one G for one hour. Then there will be a pause of five minutes as I turn the plane around in preparation of deceleration, followed by one G of thrust for another hour.. only this time to reduce our speed. Enjoy the view. We'll reach the night-side of Chiron in fifty-five minutes."

Thirty seconds later, every member of the probe-team has his or her nose glued to a window. They spend an exhilrating ten minutes marvelling at the bizarre scenery, as Chiron now seems to be a wall that the plane is swiftly climbing. A large window in the ceiling of the spacecraft even allows Balbo to watch where they are heading. Even though the view is astounding, he is the first to gather his thoughts and ask some seroius questions.

"Do we have a mathematician among us?"

A young man called LightEning, fresh from Data-Angel training and replacing Jim, raises his hand. "I took advanced mathematics and physics at the academy, sir."

"I've told you to lose the 'sir', LightEning, and call me either Boss or Balbo. Can you calculate our destination? You heard how long Methis would accelerate and decelerate, and you know where we started, how long it took to leave the atmosphere and where we are now." Balbo gestures out the window, where the northern forests of the Gaians are giving way to the barren fields of xenofungus characteristic of the Data-Angels.

LightEning nods. "I will have to approximate, but I will manage a very good guess." He takes a small computer from a pocket and powers it up. "Let's see.." The rest of the team watches him for five minutes as he frowns at the small screen and lets the fingers on his right hand dance over the controls. Then the frown disappears, to be replaced by a stunned stare at the screen. He looks wide-eyed at Balbo. "There's no doubt. We're heading for the Cult of Planet."

"WHAT!?" Balbo walks up to the holoprojector. "Methis! Say we aren't heading to the Cult of Planet!"

Methis' image of a airplane captain materializes and looks inquiringly at Balbo. "What's wrong with them?"

"They're a probe-team's worst nightmare! Fundamentalist governments are the worst, when you measure ease of infiltration. We'd be blasted fools to go up against them!"

"As far as I am aware, you will act with their support."

"We've been hired by Cha Dawn!?"

"No. By.. well, she's called 'Hubris' by the locals."


End of Chapter 66.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 67: Arrival


"I am ready to begin. I have everything I need."

"Most excellent.. may I ask, what do you intend to do?"

"First, I intend to introduce some of my assistants into the Branch of Pruning, as well as your Diplomatic Corps. I will require your help to ensure the insertion is discrete."

Lord Ferrel nods. "This can be arranged. But what will they be doing?"

"Watching. The foreign representatives and your internal security-force are good places to start."

"Very well. I will tell Lord Paidar to-"

"Please, you must do this yourself. I understand you are Cha Dawn's chief advisor, so you should be able to do this single-handedly."

"Well, yes. But I would hurt the trust my fellow advisors put in me if I acted without telling them. Lord Paidar is bound to notice the increase in our Diplomatic Corps, especially as he handles many of the meetings personally."

"You may trust Lord Paidar, but I certainly don't. His position makes him a prime target, and he is ridiculously exposed. You can tell him, of course, of the additional staff -in fact, introduce one of them as his assistant- but don't tell him what they really are." Hubris is silent for a moment. "Why does he have an MMI?"

"A what?"

"A Mind/Machine-Interface. The plug in his neck."

"Oh, that thing. It was a gift from the Peacekeepers' ambassador. They wanted to exchange the technology for -what was it we gave them? Ah yes; the Centauri Genetics." He frowns. "Paidar was unimpressed by the things, but our scientists said that the technology had useful applications, so we swapped. It was a bad deal, I think."

"Hmm. Who uses MMI:s in the Cult of Planet?"

Ferrel scratches the back of his head. "To tell you the truth, I have no idea -oh, wait; the Palace Guards use them to communicate. Cha said they would interfere with his contact with Planet if they used telepathy to keep in touch. And... I believe they are standard equipment for any member of the Branch of Pruning. They are frequently in situations requiring delicate application of psionics, so they also tend to have need of -what did you say, oh yes- MMI:s. Ask High Reverend Willard about that. She heads the Branch of Pruning."

"I will not, but one of my assistants will. Good; then all that's settled." She starts turning away.

"Hubris, how long will this take?"

"I will find the problem in.. a month." She starts walking away.

"And.. can we rely on you to present us with a solution?"

She stops, and half-turns around. "No. If what I suspect is true, then it's not your problem anymore. It's everybody's." She walks out of the Hall of Advisors.


****


"We'll land in five minutes. Please return to your seats, and fasten your seat-belts."

LightEning fiddles with his data-pad. "Where will we land? Dawn of Planet has no airport."

Balbo and Laysa look at each other, and then stare at Methis' image.

"Remember, this freighter has VTOL capabilities. We'll land on the yard of a decommissioned iron-smelter. It is currently being refitted into a high-pressure alloying plant by the Ferro-Chiron corporation. It shall act as your base of operations. Is everybody secure? Good. Then.." The plane decelerates sharply in the direction of the floor. Then it starts gliding, with it's jets at minimum. It starts to vibrate as it passes through a layer of turbulence, and the lighting turns softer as it dives into some clouds. Finally, Dawn of Planet comes into view. The probe-operatives gasp in awe.

"It's beautiful!"

"And big! It must hold several hundred thousand people!"

Methis appears in the holo-projector again. "Actually, it's slightly smaller population-wise than your Free Drone Central, holding approximately a hundred and fifty-thousand inhabitants. All that beauty is detrimental to solid efficiency of layout. Notice the big mottled-green spot in the center? That's Cha Dawn's palatial gardens. It's the largest Chiron Preserve ever built."

The city changes from stain on the ground to sprawling metropolis, beginning to show depth. As the plane descends, Cha's palace is lost behind a hill. Then the view is abruptly cut off by a tower-like building, it's function indeterminable. Finally, the large buildings of the smelter rise into view. The plane applies a burst of thrust that slowly weakens, and only after a couple of seconds of silence do the probe-operatives realize the plane has landed.

"Welcome, everybody, to Dawn of Planet. I will now open the tail-end door and prepare the plane for off-loading of cargo. You can load your truck and prepare for exit."

The probe-team quickly reloads their truck. Then they watch as the ramp slowly unfolds, and digs deep into the reddish earth of the yard.

Three men, clad in workers' helmets, overalls and gloves, stand by the ramp, gazing up into the cargo-hold. One of them nods to the other two and walks briskly up to the door. Balbo and Laysa watch him appraoch. He walks up to them and extends a hand.

"Evening, folks. The name is Storgard. Rolf Storgard. I am senior engineer here, and was told to meet you." He gazes into the hold and continues before anyone can interrupt him. "You got all your stuff in the truck? Good. We'll take care of the rest. See that garage-door there?" He points at a gaping hole in the side of one of the smaller buildings. "You can park your truck there, and unload. The entire building is reserved for you. There's a connecting passage to the main building on the second floor, when you are ready to meet the boss." He gazes at them for a moment. "Any questions?"

Balbo lets out something between a snort and a laugh. "Yeah. For starters, what's going on here?"

Storgard raises his eyebrows. Then he sweeps with his left arm towards the smelter. "Ferro-Chiron has bought the place, and I'm in charge of retooling it to an alloying plant. Mainly, we'll produce alloys of silksteel and plasma-steel, as well as some high-grade ferro-fibrous weaves and fabrics. That only requires the smelting-hall, so there's a lot of room over; the main building will become the branch-office for Ferro-Chiron, and your building -the old crew-quarters- have been refurbished into living-quarters." He grins cautiously. "You're lucky; the place has a large kitchen, and a well-equipped gym. Plus, a workshop and a computer-room. Whatever you do, the boss is treating you good."

"The boss?"

"Yeah. Miss Kojl herself is here. She even chatted a while with me, as she came to inspect our progress. In fact-" He glances at his watch. "I'd better have these crates unloaded before she arrives." He nods at Balbo and Laysa, and walks into the cargo-hold. After a quick inspection of the crates, he looks up at the ceiling. "Hey Methis, do you have the list of cargo?"

Methis' voice resonates within the room. "Yes, Rolf. Everything is here. Ten crates from Data Decentral, to be delivered to the stores in the special operations -building. Plus, one crate from Data Decentral that is to be delivered to Miss Kojl's private quarters."

"Good." Rolf turns towards Balbo and Laysa. "Well, I'd need to get some forklifts in here, so if you'd get going I'd be grateful. The controls to the garage-door are on the left side, and atmospheric recyclers will give you a breathable atmosphere once the garage is sealed."

Balbo jumps into the drivers' seat, and Laysa takes the seat next to him. As he starts the truck's engine, Balbo glances at LightEning via the rear-view mirror. "Hey, you got info on one Miss Kojl, some kind of boss over Ferro-Chiron, in that data-pad of yours?"

LightEning nods at Balbo. "That would be Rebecca Kojl. She's the founder of the corporation, and it's prime shareholder. She has fifty-five per cent of all shares." He plays with the keys on the datapad. "Let's see here.. Hmm. Age twenty-two.. The corporation is four years old, having grown at an exponential rate. Standard success-story. It's expected to level out somewhat during it's next five years of operation, so the other shareholders are slightly nervous. Marital status unknown. Education.. unknown. Hmm, she's a big question-mark. There's a picture, though."

He hands the data-pad to Balbo. Balbo takes it and looks at the picture on it's screen. His hand starts to tremble. He hands the datapad to Laysa, who takes it, looks at the screen and gasps.

They look at each other, their faces showing awed surprise. Balbo steers the truck into the garage, brakes and turns off the engine. Then he turns to the other probe-operatives, handing back the datapad to LightEning at the same time. "You people set up shop here, we'll go find out what's really going on here."

He and Laysa exit the truck, look around quickly for some stairs and start sprinting up them, taking the steps three at a time. The stairs emerge in the middle of a corridor on the second floor, with similar stairs leading further up on the opposite side. Balbo and Laysa, however, look around briefly and head for a glass door in one end of the corridor. It leads to the passage-way; a tunnel made of transparent material. At it's end is another door, leading into a large, dark room. Computer terminals line the walls, and a cluster of five holo-projectors occupies the middle of the room.

Baldbo and Laysa stop and stare. There's a large group of people in the room, mostly seated at the terminals, but some are standing at the holoprojectors. Everybody looks up at the two probe-operatives. Then a man leaves the holoprojector and walks up to them. He is clad in a traditional Cult of Planet robe. He extends a hand in greeting.

"Welcome. You two must be part of the new people that have arrived. My name is Celan Barr."

They shake hands with him. "I'm Balbo Orlov, and this is Laysa Orlova. We'd like to meet the boss, and were told she'd be here."

He nods. "Just a moment. The boss will be down in a second."

***

Two men put down the crate outside Rebecca Kojl's office. They walk away.

For a short while, nothing happens. Then the door to the ofice slowly opens. Hubris, alias Rebecca Kojl, looks around at the empty corridor. Then, with an ease that would have severely embarrassed the two men, she puts her arms around the crate and lifts it into the office. The door closes.

Inside, she carries the crate towards a non-descript wall. A slight hesitation in her walking rythm, and a section of the wall silently retracts and slides to the right, revealing a room as big as the office, but crammed with computers. She puts down the plastic crate against a wall and opens it, taking away both the lid and it's sides. What is revealed is a dull-grey, metallic crate, two and a half meters long, one and a half meters wide and one meter high. There are no markings of any kind, nor any lights. Only two seams break the surface, dividing the crate into three equally large parts along it's height.

She brushes a corner of the crate, and a muffled beep is heard. Seams appear, and a small lid opens to reveal two sockets. One for power, and one for control. She plugs the crate into the wall, and also connects it to one of the computers.

Then she stands back, regarding the box. For an instant, her eyes unfocus.. a gurgling sound emanates from the crate for a moment. Then the upper third of the box separates from the rest with a hiss, and rises about half a meter into the air on telescopic supports.

She inspects the contents of the top half of the box, or sarcophagus, carefully. Then she pushes the lid shut again and steps back. Another short pause, and both upper thirds rise as a unit about a meter into the air, revealing the bottom half of the box.

It looks like a dull-gray mould, for humans. It is empty, save for a socket.. at neck-height.

She undresses and climbs into the mould. A moment's wriggling, and something goes click at neck-height. The box closes, and some gurgling sounds can be heard..

The upper half of the box opens, revealing it's contents again. Dorothy, alias Hubris, alias Rebecca Kojl, sits up stiffly. Apart from slight details of musculature and bone-structure, she is identical. She climbs out, and stretches. Muscle and bone clicks; for the first time. With this body, that is...

***

Hubris appears in the doorway and enters the room. She smiles at Balbo and Laysa. "Welcome to the Cult of Planet."

They walk up to her. Balbo grins, tilts his head and squints at her. "It is you, isn't it, Dorothy?"

She nods and smiles. "Long time, eleven years. I was afraid you wouldn't recognize me, anymore."

"What have you been doing? And how come you're here? Why are we here?"

Dorothy/Hubris turns serious. "Well, the first question is easy. Three years living in Data Decentral, trying to qualify for probe-training. Four years of Probe-training. And another two years of advanced studies with the Gaians. That's the short version. As for the next two questions.. It's a long story how I got here, but I've found that this continent is a mess. And, frankly, I'm trying to clear it. I need your help with that." She walks up to a chair and sits down. "This is what has happened, and what I'm trying to do now."

She speaks for nearly an hour.


End of chapter 67.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 68: A Shape in the Night


Overhead, dark purple clouds against the blackness of the night sky, Proxima Centauri giving the southern sky a red tint, and the clouds a crimson lining. Below, University Central is coloured deep red where the city's own lights are too widespread to compete with the distant star. A soft breeze delivers a hint of Xenofungus from the north, while the forests a bit closer add a touch of sweet sap to the scent.

Dorothy gulps the night-time air hungrily as she stretches to soften some muscles. Then she looks down the side of the recycling center again, to a shoddy network terminal in a forgotten alley.

">Steiner here. Are you guys all awake still?.<"

The MMI-controlled thoughtlink buzzes into life, superimposing on normal hearing as the four C-I operatives report.

">Smith here, sir. Everything's quiet here.<" Dorothy lets her gaze fall on the lobby of the Energy Bank. As far as she can see, it is empty. She ignores the shape of Sergeant Willard Smith, half-way up some gantries on the opposite building.

">O'Malley here. There's two amorous youngsters having fun at this terminal. I'm trying not to let them disturb my reading.<" Dorothy looks at the red-lights district's last operational terminal, shrugs, smiles and turns away.

">Wendels reporting. Everything is quiet. Out.<" Lieutenant Katharine Wendels' stakeout is on the outskirts of the old industrial yards, overlooking one of the University's oldest network terminals. Dorothy inspects her view through the MMI-link.

">Rotwald here. Nothing to report.<" Wilhelm Rotwald, Second Lieutenant, guards the remaining terminals in the recreation commons. Dorothy accesses it's security-cameras and quickly inspects them all.

">Good. Stay alert, people.<" Steiner sets his MMI to send only to Dorothy. ">How are you doing up there?<"

">So far so good. And quiet. Methis' systems indicate all terminals are operating normally. No uploading is being processed.<"

">Right. Maybe they gave up after we rescued Lewis.. But somehow I don't believe that. Okay, I'll get back to the monitors now.<"

Dorothy strolls casually around the edge of the roof, looking down on nearly empty streets. To the enhanced senses of her 'Hubris'-type body there is no greater relaxation than a quiet night with a soft breeze. High places has been her refuge from the world for almost a decade now. She remembers..


***


The streets of Data Decentral have traditionally been crammed with people, as most of life takes place on the streets. Pedlars in electronics might share a booth with a minworm-charmer. An electronics-expert, repairing comm-links and datapads, could sit on the edge of the sidewalk, while his waiting customers are entertained by a holoartist, creating spectacular illusions using a hand-held holoprojector linked to his MMI.

From Dorothy's eleven-year-old, low vantage-point, it seemed as if the crowds parted upon spectacle after spectacle. But the biggest show, in her mind, was the mass of people itself, each individual living his or her life mainly on the street and at the top of their voice through their breathers (Data-angel cities weren't domed). University cities were deserted even during rush-hours, in comparison. Dorothy started feeling uneasy. She tugged Captain Steiner's sleeve.

"Basti, I don't like this. I want away from the crowd."

Jim, having heard the remark, stopped and smiled at Dorothy. "It's quite lively here, isn't it? We could take the bridges, as long as you aren't scared of heights." He pointed upwards.

Dorothy saw, between the two closest houses, a bridge. To say it looked rickety was an understatement; it swayed merrily as a handful of people crossed it. Basically, two cables of steel had been strung between the houses to serve as railings, and bits of plastic, front hoods from old rovers, or whatever other flat material had been available, had been connected via chains to the railings to serve as a walkway. Dorothy let her gaze fall, and saw stairs circle the outsides of most of the buildings.

She nodded. "Let's try."

Jim nodded. "If we're unlucky, some gang might demand a toll for the right to use the bridges. Generally, smooth-talking or intimidation will see us through. Violence or the threat of it, however, is a bad idea."

They started climbing the nearest stairs, and Dorothy was immediately relieved as she got higher than the throng of people. A cool breeze blew among the buildings, whose circular construction offered little shelter. Up at roof-level, Data Decentral took on a different face. Here, the roofs were as circular islands, forested by antennae, chimneys and microwave-dishes, and connected by narrow bridges that disregarded most changes in height. The closest bridge rose sharply due to the fact that the opposite building was one storey higher.

Sebastian let his gaze sweep over the labyrinthine paths. "Well, you are the expert on Data-Angel society among us, Jim. Where should we go?"

"To the nearest administration-office. Most are actually up on this level. Look for the Data-Angel flag."

Dorothy scanned the horizon. Then she pointed. "There. It's quite far."

Steiner shielded his eyes with his hands and peered in the direction she pointed. "Oh, yes. Now I see. You have good eyesight, Dorothy. Let's go."

The first bridge was a nerve-tingling experience. The old sheets of aluminum and other scrap-metal issued a high-pitched whine as soon as Dorothy shifted her weight. They groaned and clanged against one another as the wind buffeted the bridge, and the entire thing swayed alarmingly. But they were well made despite their haphazard appearance, and the third bridge was crossed with little concern.

By the twentieth bridge the admin-office was close, and they paid little attention to the bridges anymore, simply wanting to reach their destination. However, before Sebastian could step onto it, a man barred his way.

"What does Feargus see here, then? Hmm? Stinken' Gaians, breathing Planet air as if they owned it? Mmm? Well. They might own the air, but this bridge is owned by the Flicks, and if they wants to cross, they needs to pay. Hmm?" The man was clad in tattered jeans, and a makeshift ringmail consisting of thin, interlocking cogwheels with a base of coarse plastic. On his head he sported a raised welder's mask, lacking the smoked glass, and his face was covered by an old-fashioned breather; basically a modified gas-mask.

Steiner's face darkened, but Jim stepped in front of him before he could react and raised a hand at the man. "Pay? Do you want it be known that the Flicks are so poor they have to toll their bridges? No respectable contact would go near your turf then. You'd be stuck up here, fighting the others forever. And they'd know you are in trouble, so they would be bold and arrogant, taking your turf from you."

The man grinned. "Feargus hears a load of junk. The Gaian pukes will pay extra for earwash, mmm?" He spread out his arms. "Flicks own all behind Feargus, mmm! We're strong, and the contacts know it." He thrust his face close to Jim's. "So we take whatever we want as payment, mmhm!" He snorted. "Gaians give.. everything they own. They can keep their stinken' clothes."

Jim glanced at Steiner and shrugged imperceptibly. Steiner set his face into a deep scowl and took a step forward. As if by magic, a pair of stilettos appeared in Feargus' hands. "You want into Flick territory, you pay what Feargus wants. Mmm? Otherwise, mmm, Feargus opens your stomachs!" He demonstrated a quick slash that passed very close to Steiner. Sebastian reacted by quickly grabbing hold of the man's arms and pressing his thumbs against the inside of Feargus' wrists, blocking the flow of blood to his hands.

As Feargus's grip on the knives slowly weakened, Sebastian spoke in a low monotone. "How about this? We pass without paying, and you walk away without those knives buried up to their hilts in your buttocks."

Feargus looked panicky for a moment as the stilettos slid out of his limp hands, and then he nodded silently. Sebastian slowly released his grip. "You can pick them up when we're gone. Be too eager, and you will fly.." He glanced down, towards the street below. "..About twenty meters, I'd say. Give or take a meter, depending on where you land." He smirked.

Feargus crouched aside silently and watched fearfully as Steiner, Dorothy and Jim crossed the bridge.


***


">This is Smith. I have Two men and a woman entering the energy bank. They are accessing the terminal.<"

Dorothy's attention returns from the memory, and she looks quickly towards the bank. She focuses on the distant trio, and regards their faces for a moment. Then she activates the MMI-link. ">Speak to me, Methis.<"

">The terminal is accessing the network node. The user has logged in as a guest. The protocols for security were quickly accessed, now the uploading instructions are read. Yes; uploading is commencing. I'll intercept the file. Hmm. It's about the right size.. let's unpack. Yes; it's the shell for the algorithms' delivery system. They are attempting to infect the terminal.<"

">Thanks.<" Dorothy switches to another link. ">Steiner, this is it.<"

">All right! How is Methis doing?<"

">He's maintaining appearances. We'll have the entire program soon.<"

Steiner pauses for a moment. ">People, we have an ongoing uploading. Gather near the energy bank, but keep out of view.<"

Dorothy doesn't bother with the stairs. When it comes to boosting physical abilities, be it through the MMI, genetics or cybernetics, she has incorporated it into the Hubris-model. A brief spurt, during which the body is already gathering energy like a tightening spring, until the edge of the roof is reached. Then, an explosive release of energy through her legs launches her into a shallow arch, far out into the air. However, there's a long way to go to the next high building, and it's several floors lower in any case.

She concentrates. Imperceptibly, at first, her momentum lessens. However, it is enough to let her bounce, unharmed, from the concrete roof fifty meters beneath (and seventy meters away from) her starting point, into a lazy, tumbling arc. She stops concentrating, and the increased weight brings her feet to the roof with a thud.

She runs on, towards the energy-bank.


End of chapter 68.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 69: The Diplomat


"What manner of foolishness is this?! I have never needed an assistant!"

LightEning smiles slightly. "Lord, 'assistant' is merely my official title. You may certainly treat me as one... mostly. However, I'm really here as an extra pair of ears and eyes. I am, of course, trained in diplomacy, so I could meet with your diplomats by myself, but Ferrel feels this would make me too conspicuous."

Lord Paidar shakes his head stubbornly. He is blushing slightly. "This is most irregular of Ferrel, I must say." He pulls himself together. "But, come to think of it, you might prove useful." He thinks. "Follow me, then. First, Colonel Watts, the Spartan ambasador, has asked for an audience. Likely, he wants to suggest another alliance."

LightEning notes the frown on Lord Paidar's face. "Which is a bad idea", he fills in.

"Yes, as long as he can't suggest better terms. You see, there's a lot of talk about trade and reduced tension along the border -of which we have but a small stump with the Spartans- but what it boils down to is that Santiago wants to stab the Peacekeepers in the side, by manoeuvering troops through our territory. Essentially the same deal as the Santiago-Yang alliance back in 2128. It's a stable alliance; everyone can see that, but it's too openly aimed at the Usurpers. Plus, we are at a continuous state of red alert against the Hive, so we can't really ally ourselves with anybody who's also allied with them."

"I see. Is there anything else I should keep in mind during the meeting?"

"Yes. Our Colonel is, of course, a military man, and they hate circling the issue, at a rule. He's very likely to reveal his true agenda in some obscure way. I'd like you to see if you can spot it."

LightEning nods. "I will do my best."

Lord Paidar starts walking, and LightEning follows him. eventually, they exit the palace and walk a short bit through the garden. They come to a small square of smooth, granite tiles, with a circular table and a couple of cushioned chairs. The Colonel is already sitting in one of them, with a large glass in front of him, and as he spots Lord Paidar he rises and bows slightly.

"Afternoon, Lord Paidar." He is quite obviously old, though of course the possibility longevity-treatment discourages estimates. He has jet-black hair with a few streaks of gray, cut relatively short but not too short to allow it to settle in slight waves. He also has a short, ash-coloured beard without any moustache or sideburns. He is clad in a parade-uniform coloured deep brown and rust-red, identifying him as once belonging to the infantry. Several medallions decorate his jacket.

"Afternoon, Colonel Watts. How goes the home front?"

They sit down at the table. "All is quiet, all is well. Though Santiago has asked why I am taking such a long time in getting your acceptance of this alliance."

Paidar smiles slightly. "Oh dear. I can assure you, we can speak on your behalf and explain that it is no fault of yours, should it be necessary. By the way, this is Gustav Thunder Nineteen, my new assistant. I hope you don't mind his presence, as I am getting slightly senile as of late. Too long since my last longevity-treatment, and I don't know if I will qualify for yet another."

Watts nods politely. "Be assured, you have much to contribute to this world still. And no, I do not mind mr. Thunder's presence."

"Well, then. How can I assist you this fine day?"

"As I said, Santiago is concerned about my lack of.. progress here. She fully understands that, since Cha Dawn runs such an intricate form of government, sometimes some disruptive personality can come in the way of what everyone recognizes as a good thing. So, to soothe possible malcontents, she is prepared to spice up the deal. We have seven resource convoys currently travelling close to your border. We could turn them over to you, together with the blueprints for a real marvel of military and civilian technology; The Cyborg Factory. We estimate, that with the aid of those convoys you could upgrade your current recruiting-centers to utilize the factory in, say, three to thirteen years, depending on where you build the actual factory."

"This is interesting. We've of course sketched some initial drafts for such a project, but nothing more has come out of it. Tell me more."

Watts leans forward enthusiastically. "You should see the difference between soldiers trying to pilot a chopper 'raw', so to speak, and soldiers with an MMI plus the standard neurochemical enhancers, flying the same. It's like night and day! Their effectiveness is way up." He grins, his eyes unfocusing on some distant memory. "And I remember what bliss it was, when I first learned to recognize the Progenitors' alteration for fright. It was in the wolverine-campaign a few years back; this Usurper had sneaked up on one of my guards, and had applied a couple of kilowatts of plasma to him before we knew what was happening. Ah, the sight as Jones, that was the guard's name, turned around with melting skin dripping from him, looked at the lizard for a second, and then proceeded to tear it to bits, with his metal arms glowing from the heat!" He laughs heartily. "I tell you, run your recruits once through this beauty, and you'll have soldiers nearly matching our own."

"This is an intriguing offer. However, Cha cannot be hurried.. so, shall we meet again three days from now? Next thursday?"

Colonel Watts calms down and nods solemnly. "Same time is fine."

Paidar rises and bows at the Colonel. "Same time it is, Colonel. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting I need to prepare for.." He walks away, followed by LightEning.

He doesn't say a word until they have entered the palace once more. Then he stops and turns to LightEning. "Well, what was your impression of that meeting?"

"Lord, the Colonel obviously considered it imperative, for some reason, that your troops have military-grade MMI:s as their standard equipment. He is going to great lengths to make this happen."

"But the offer must come from Santiago herself, mustn't it?"

"Not really. She delegates quite a lot. In theory, she controls every slightest detail of Spartan society.. but in practice, that's impossible. This Colonel has troops and support assigned to him. It's most likely his own supply crawlers he is offering."

"Why, for Planet's sake?"

LightEning shrugs. "So you will accept the offer of alliance.. and so your troops will be fitted with MMI-links. I see no logic in this, but that's how I interpreted his words."

Paidar nods. "So be it. We shall see where this leads. I will inform Cha of this new offer.. and I think he will accept. He likes grandiose plans. Now, next I will talk to the diplomat for the Peacekeepers, one Stephen Ray Burton. He is waiting in the hall of fountains."

"What shall I pay attention to while you talk to him?"

Paidar looks embarrassed. "Actually, the man is something of a mystery to me. I haven't figured him out yet. He will most probably involve you in the discussion, though, so be alert. Come, it's through this way."

The man, clad in blue and light-grey and sporting the Peacekeeper insingia, is sitting by the largest fountain, his attention caught by something in the water. Paidar smiles. "Admiring our goldfish?"

Stephen looks up at Paidar. "Yes. Though a show of vanity, meant to impress, they are.." He smiles. "..Impressive." He stands up and extends a hand. "Thank you for having time to see me."

Paidar shakes hands with him. "No need to thank me. Now, how can I help you?"

"Commissioner Lal is, frankly, concerned about the Cult of Planet. He fears that, caught as you are between the Believers and the Hive, you might make the mistake of seeking aid from the Spartans, which they would be only too happy to give."

"Mmmhmm. And how is this bad?"

"They would have you hooked. Their aid-packages always provide short-term relief to your problems, indeed, but to get them you have to allow ever-increasing freedom of action for Spartan troops within your borders. And mark that I said 'short-term'; they won't end the problem, only reduce them for a while. Then they will be back, commenting your hopeless situation and proposing an 'alliance', that means they will defend you." He raises his right index-finger in a warning gesture. "Beware; they might call it an alliance, but what it means is that you'd become a protectorate of the Spartan Federation. Soon, there would be talk of arranging support for the forces from your cities, 'to shorten the supply-lines' and so forth. Little by little you'd pay more and more for their presence, with your independence and freedom as the ultimate price."

Paidar nods. "We are well aware of the risks, however we feel that they are manageable."

Stephen gives him a dark look. "Don't underestimate them. After you allow their troops on your territory, there's no turning back. You will be trapped. I urge you not to ask nor accept any offer of help from them."

Paidar shrugs. "Well, how else can we get help? The Usurpers don't care what happens to us, and the Pirates negate any chance of receiving aid from Ixion."

"From us, my good man. We are more than capable of assisting you, and with something significantly more effective than mere material help. We could set up a technology-exchange program."

"Ambassador Burton, I am sure you know that we consider our knowledge of Planet and it's native life-forms a holy privilege, not to be given away as soon as we're in a bit of trouble." Somehow, Paidar fails to sound convincing.

The ambassador smiles and holds up his hands. "Did I mention ChironTech? Surely, you have researched into other areas as well? If you could, say, provide us with a safe and efficient technique for bio-engineering, we'd be grateful and repay you with, for example, the theory and practice of the hover-vehicle. And so on."

Paidar's eyes narrow. "You don't have the technology to build hovertanks!"

"Well-" Stephen stops, and looks questioningly at LightEning.

Paidar clears his throat. "Ambassador Burton, this is my personal assistant, Gustav Thunder Nineteen. You can speak openly in front of him." LightEning nods severely at the ambassador, who returns the gesture.

"As I was saying: Yes, we do have the technology. We just haven't built any yet." He sighs. "For a vehicle as complex and expensive as a hover-tank, advanced training and state-of-the-art equipment is logical, even essential. This means, basically, everything from a computer using advanced military algorithms, MMI, and so on up to whatever you have that is cutting-edge military technology. And Lal is rather unwilling to utilize the military capabilities of the MMI -technology, for some reason. Our army has suffered somewhat as a result, though not disastrously. You, I trust, would have no such reservations. I understand you are, in fact, working on a purely telepathic interface that would remove the need for MMI:s?"

"Where have you heard such nonsense?" The tone is slightly amused, but Lord Paidar's face is perfectly emotionless except for a slight quivering of his eyes.

Stephen turns to LightEning. "How about you? Do you recall any such project?"

"No, sir Ambassador. I can't say I can recall ever hearing of such a thing."

Stephen smiles and turns back to face Lord Paidar. "Then, let's say it came to me in a dream. Anyway, what do you say? Lal would be very happy if we can somehow come to an agreement, thus saving you from having to risk becoming dependent on the Spartans."

"I will, of course, pass on your suggestion to Cha Dawn. He will consider the facts most carefully before coming to a decision; you have my word on that."

Stephen rises and bows. "Then I can go now, and await his wisdom without worry or fear."

Paidar bows in response. The ambassador leaves, and Paidar sits down on the spot he just left. "Have a seat, Gustav.. I can call you Gustav?"

LightEning sits down. "Of course, Lord."

"Good. Then, what did you think of the esteemed Stephen R. Burton?"

He thinks about it for a moment. "He is good. He presented the mirrored version of the Spartans' offer, but in a much more flattering package."

"But did he promote the MMI?"

"That's the funny part. He didn't have to; he let the technology sell itself. I know some about hovertanks, and one fact is that you need a very advanced interface with the vehicle to fully utilize it's awesome potential. This almost automatically means a mind/machine-interface. It's self-contained; where you have hovertanks, you get MMI:s in every soldier."

"I see. Obviously, however, you have a suspicion concerning these frequent marketing-attempts for the MMI?"

LightEning hesitates. "Mere speculation, right now. I'd have to study the concept carefully.. however, clearly they are not solely concerned with our continued prosperity when they offer these deals. They expect to gain something themselves."

"They always do, according to my experience."


End of chapter 69.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 70: Memory Lane


Steiner looks through the binoculars. The three persons in the energy-bank have done little except use the node-terminal the last ninety minutes. He activates his MMI-link. ">Methis, how are things going?<"

">Smoothly, I'd say. So far, I've had no problems in simulating the terminal. The downloading actually consists of several, modular programs, who activate as soon as they're completely downloaded. They assume quite effective control over the terminal, and even contact other terminals. My analysis shows, that there's modules enabling infected terminals to cooperate, reaching a much greater effectiveness and making the intrusive programming harder to counteract. Quite well-planned. Attention: The downloading has stopped, and the last program has activated. The simulated terminal is almost completely re-programmed, so this is a quite extensive modification. They are manually requesting systems-checks.. My simulation of the terminal is an exact replica of the terminal's own functions, so the checks will show only what they expect. They are logging out.<"

Steiner punches the air. "Yes! We've got the entire program! Team, follow the suckers to their hiding-place." He watches them leave, and then turns around as he hears a sound. Dorothy has dropped down onto the ledge he is standing on. "What do you think?"

She regards the retreating backs of the probe-operatives for a moment. "They have already been spotted. They will be taken alive." She raises a finger. "Don't warn them. Don't recall them. We might just save the day, but they'll have to meet whatever's coming their way.. and I know what that is. They will be merged with splinter-algorithms."

"I can't allow that to happen, Dorothy. Anyway, they wouldn't accept merger."

"Sebastian, I've checked the programs they downloaded via Methis. Mainly, they consist of three things; one, a bunch of programs designed to upkeep the terminal's previous functions, as well as defeat any attempt to detect or erase the extra programs. Two; A set of programs designed to study the mind and MMI of the current user. Those then activate the third group of programs using the most suitable parameters; namely, programs designed to defeat countermeasures of the MMI and suppress the mind of the user." She shudders. "Beta has found out how to merge unwilling humans. And he does it remotely; the terminal contacts a network node inside Gaian territory that links it further with a node inside Cyborg territory. This terminal could install both sleeper- and active algorithms. And you can't resist." She glances towards the probe-operatives, now disappearing behind a corner. "So those operatives are heading for mental slavery.. Or, at least, we must let whoever captures them believe this is the case."

Steiner shifts impatiently. "How do we do that?"

"I'll track the probes, and keep you updated on events. Once we've found out where the center for this entire operation is, I'll get them free. Meanwhile, you arrive with as many guns and people as you can. How about that?"

"You make it sound like a piece of cake, Dorothy. But do it anyway." Steiner looks ashamed. "I have orders, Dorothy. Zakharov said my probe-teams are expendable."

"Don't worry, I'll get them out of there unmerged, though I can't make promises about their health."

He nods. "I'll have to live with that. We're too close to call this off. When you see them, tell Smith, Rotwald, Wendels and O'Malley that.. I'm sorry."

Dorothy hurries away.


****


"I'm sorry." Steiner looked sadly at Dorothy. They had, these last three weeks, tried every conceivable office that was reachable by the public, the influential or the well-paying. Everybody had given the same answer. No, we relax our procedures for no-one. Only agents recruit probes. No, we do not know how you contact an agent. No-one knows.

"It's all right." Dorothy wasn't crying, but the silent gloom she projected spoke volumes about how miserable she felt.

Jim stared at the sky. His arms were crossed, and he was chewing on some strands of his beard. "The fact is, you almost have to be a criminal to become a probe. Stage a daring theft, or pick up a name as a man you don't want to meet in a bar-brawl, or something similar, and you can be sure the agents will come looking for you." He gazes at Steiner and Dorothy. "Then, rumour says, they give you the Offer with a big oh. Become a probe-trainee.. or become a prisoner." He shrugs. "Personally, I suspect there's additional ways that don't cause so much harm.. but they are few. There's a reason why gangs rule the streets of the Data-Angels, you know. It must be a good system; Angel probes don't get caught alive, as a rule."

Sebastian looked at him. "Could we contact Merlin somehow? Maybe he could help?"

"No. He wouldn't help. He told me that he thinks Dorothy has what it takes, but that she'd have a difficult time proving that." Jim froze for a second, and started to search through his pockets. "Where is it.. Ah. He did give me this address, though." He gave a piece of paper to Sebastian, who took it and eyed it critically.

"Number fourteen, the Fading House, Merchant's District, west of the airport." He wrinkled his brow. "What kind of address is this?"

"Few streets have official names here. Instead, a house or a group of houses are issued a name by it's inhabitants. There's three Merchant's Districts in Data Decentral, but only one of them lies west of the airport. Once we arrive there, we'll ask around until we meet someone who knows the house in question. It's too far to walk, so let's take a cab."

Data Angel society used de-regulation as a theme. Only trade was taxed, and only industry was regulated. No public health-laws existed. Crime and punishment was mainly a matter between the perpetrator and the victim, the roles reversing for the latter. Overall, the system worked. Trade was brisk, and the government's metaphorical coffers were always well-filled. Industry managed to survive and prosper, despite being constantly pressured by the public to reduce pollution. And if someone mugged you, there were plenty of opportunists who would seek out your assailant and beat nine kinds of regret out of him, provided you could pay enough.

Some concepts, however, couldn't function in such a society. Like streets meant for cars. Or traffic-signs. Data Decentral turf was solely the disordered territory of the pedestrian and the bicycle.

Matters were different in the air. Only the vicinity of the airport had restricted air-traffic, through the simple method of threatening to shoot down any pilot not taking orders from air-control. The rest of the skies were open for entrepeneuring fliers, and were filled with everything from people wearing old jump-jets bought in an army surplus store, to huge blimps sedately transporting several thousand tons of cargo to anywhere in the city. The fusion-engine had made electricity a viable source of power and ion-thrust a good source of propulsion for every conceivable form of aircraft; it meant you could make a living by transporting people quickly through the air. The airtaxis had quickly agreed on a hailing system; a metallic pole containing a transmitter, operatable by a row of buttons detailing how many people were waiting. Once the signal was transmitting, it was usually a case of first come, first serve.

Jim now walked up to a pole of this kind and pushed the button for two to four waiting persons. After a short moment the sky was blocked out as a smallish blimp, propelled by ion-engines, drifted over the house and positioned itself directly above the street, then lowered itself so that a door on the side of the gondola was level with the roof. It opened, and a man wearing an oxygen-mask extended a plank, forming a bridge.

He removed his mask for a moment. "You lot Gaians? I don't mind. Hop in, people! Me's captain Teefer, and I's got some other passengers to ship as well. I'll see to you after I's dropped them off."

They entered the gondola, and found it quite homely. There were seats for twelve people, around two tables. A small family was seated around one of the tables, and four pairs of eyes glanced disinterestedly at the newcomers. Scores of decorations in various styles hung from the ceiling. The cabin wasn't airtight, so everyone wore breathers. The captain had disappeared through a door in the front wall after asking their destination and closing the outer door.

The trip was smooth, if a bit tiresome, and offered a splendid view of Data Decentral. The family was dropped off in an area of the city containing wide but not particularly tall houses, and therefore called 'The Squat'. The blimp veered sharply and hurried towards the airport.


End of chapter 70

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 71: Assignment


LightEning enters the living-quarters and starts to search for the rest of the team. He finds most of them in the gym, working out. Balbo looks up and grins. "Hey, LightEning! How was your day?"

"Not too bad. But all this diplomatic talk is giving me a headache."

Balbo nods. "Well, me and Laysa went and had a look at the BP:s head office. Dorothy -ah, Hubris- wants us to stage a raid on the place, to see if there's something fishy about them. She thinks they're infiltrated, but she refuses to say by whom."

LightEning raises an eyebrow. "Do you know Hubris?"

Balbo looks embarrassed. "Well, we met a number of years back, and she played an important part in the first subversion of Morgan Entertainment. Plus, she is one of the reasons why I was assigned this." He slaps the back of his neck.

"The MMI?"

"Yes. I know you're interested in that sort of thing, so I recommend trying to see her in action as she uses the thing. She was something out of this world back then already.. I can't imagine how good she could be right now. Anyway, you'd better go and write your report."

"Sure thing. Wanna spar when I'm back?"

"Why not. See you soon."

LightEning leaves the gym and heads for the connecting passage. Eventually, he opens the door to the operations-center. Unlike the last time, only Celan Barr is present. He looks up from the holo-projection he's been studying.

"Oh, hello, er.. Lightning, right?"

"Almost. LightEning." He looks around the room, and decides to take a seat at a terminal in a corner. He starts writing his report, but after a moment he stops and leans back. He stares at the monitor.

"Mr. Barr?"

"Call me Celan, please. What's the matter?"

"I just have to write my report, right, and tell the computer to process it, and Hubris will read it?"

Celan nods. "That's how I've understood the system, yes."

LightEning starts chewing a fingernail. "How many reports have been made today?"

The node-administrator furrows his brow, and starts gazing at his fingers. "Hmm. Let's see. Oaken and Starbright came back from inspecting the headquarters, and a couple of their friends had reports too. Then there was Balbo and Laysa, and a few others from your team, reporting on the BP:s.. Plus, I've fed the major news-headlines for today, and some interesting personnel-files.." He looks up at LightEning. "About fourty, I should say. Give or take a couple."

"She reads them all by tomorrow?"

"Hm. Now that you point it out, it does seem a bit unlikely. However, I can't say I've noticed an occasion when she wouldn't know what we have reported. Maybe she's a really fast reader?"

LightEning scratches his head. "Or a really fast MMI-user."

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind." He is quiet for half an hour as he finishes his report and tells the computer to file it. Then he looks up at Celan. "Can you tell if she's online right now?"

Celan looks up, frowns speculatively, walks to a terminal and punches in some commands. "She seems to be. There's two data-streams with very large transmit-rates currently active, and one of them is most likely hers." He looks at LightEning. "Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, just curious. No reason." He stretches. "Well, I'm off for some sparring. See you around."


****


Rolf Storgard opens his eyes, and tries to move. All he manages is a slight squirming. He seems to be staring directly at a lit lamp in the roof, but he can't recognize it. The room is dark, despite the lamp, preventing any possibility of him finding out where he is. He finds it hard to concentrate, and is suffering from a headache of galactic proportions.

"Rolf Storgard."

He rolls his eyes desperately. "Yes?" The answer is automatic, and escapes before he has time to gather his wits. Then he starts cursing, and lets out steam for several seconds. "...Set me free, you unprintable bastards!"

The voice takes no notice. "Is Rebecca Kojl still present at the Ferro-Chiron construction-site?"

"Like I'd ever yes she is tell you, you unprintable..." Rolf's voice fades out as his ears register what he's just shouted. "You unprintable bastards, what have you done?"

"A truth-serum, coupled with a couple of hundreds of thousand nano-inhibitors aimed at your brain's neuro-chemistry. Quite simple, untraceable, and very effective. Now you will tell me all of the routine events in her schedule you have observed, plus all new arrivals to the construction-site."

"You.. You-" The sentence is long, and spiced with over sixty adjectives.

The voice is mocking. "I appreciate your strength of feeling, Rolf. I also appreciate the useful information you just gave me." The voice chuckles, while Rolf screams in frustration. "You might be worrying what we're going to do with you? Well, we're just going to make you forget. That's all. Oh, and implant some diffuse memories of a rough night at the local bar.. there will have been a fight, which you won, to explain some bruises you might receive due to.. various factors. Isn't that nice? Now, off to sleep you go."

Rolf's eyes remain open, but his body relaxes visibly and a slow hiss escapes from his mouth.

"Take him away. Remove the nanites, inject alcohol until he's at two promilles, give him some bruises and a cut in the lip -but be careful so you don't knock out a tooth- and dump him in a taxi."

He is carried away.


****


The ops-center is full of people, chatting. Most of the people native to the Cult of Planet are awed by the Free Drone probe-team, so they are also the center of attention. Oaken and Starbright are chatting lively with Balbo and Laysa, Celan is comparing scientific data with LightEning, and so on.

Dorothy enters. The noise of conversation fades away, and all heads are turned towards her. She walks up to the group of holo-projectors, and they hum into action as she approaches.

"People, we have collected enough information passively. It is time to act."

The holo-projectors each display different images, and the one closest to Dorothy shows the Peacekeeper logo. "I have singled out two factions we shall investigate closer. The first is the Peacekeepers. They have more land, more cities, more resources and more manpower than any other faction on Zeus, yet Lal is paralyzed. He is fighting two wars; with the Believers and the Spartans. Why? How come he is so hesitant to act? Why does he tolerate this constant warring between factions? And why does he fear the MMI? If we find the answers I suspect, you will soon realize how important that last question is." She walks to the next holo-projector. "Then there's the Spartans. With possibly the finest army on Chiron, what is she doing? Fighting two drawn-out wars with the Peacekeepers and Usurpers, with little gain but with horrible losses on both sides. How is this possible?"

She lets this sink in while she walks in front of the third projector. "On the domestic front we also have two items to investigate. The Palace Guard and the Branch of Pruning. Both are influential parts of Cultist society, and both are vulnerable to infiltration. They need to be checked."

She stops. "Any questions, before I assign tasks?"

"Hubris, how will we be able to detect any signs of infiltration, if the Branch of Pruning and the Palace Guard can't? I mean, they use regular mental probing by a specialized telepath on their members. It's considered a failsafe method."

Dorothy shakes her head. "It is far from perfect. It can't detect treachery in a mind who's basic neurochemistry or composition varies significantly from the standard human. For example; people with braindamage, or with cybernetic implants. Like MMI. The further the target brain is removed from a standard, the less accurate and complete is the result from the probing. There are ways to scan an MMI as well, but the Cult hasn't implemented any. I simply expect you to keep your eyes and ears open, since you aren't too sure of yourselves."

She looks around the room. "Very well. Balbo and Laysa, your team will check the Peacekeepers and the Spartans, in that order. Meanwhile you, Oaken and Starbright, will investigate the BP and the palace guards. You will have full authority to do this, to the greatest extent. Celan, you will assist by providing a list of all members of the Guard and the BP that have an MMI, or who have travelled outside Cultist territory." She lets her gaze wander from person to person. "Everybody get that? Then, let's start."


End of chapter 71.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 72: Recall Street


See the old town of the University. The buildings are simple boxes with few windows, and with steel girders protruding out of the wall between each floor. The streets are narrower here, and wires cross the air above them. Bill-boards, public infodisplays and the occasional traffic-sign are hung from massive supports also strung between the buildings. Almost all of the air-purifiers embedded in the walls are old and worn-out, leaking indoor humidity in a steady stream of billowing mist, lending a foggy atmosphere to the streets, visible even in the light of day.

Dorothy crouches down on a support for some rest, while she looks for the best route further. Down below, sergeant O'Malley hurries a bit onward so he won't lose sight of his three teammembers in the crowd. He's the rearguard, and must be ready to alert them via MMI should someone try to sneak up on them. He isn't expecting trouble for himself.

Despite the streets being thronged of people, Dorothy is the only one able to spot what happens; a man casually hurries past O'Malley's left shoulder, barely brushing into him. There is a snapping sound, which only she is able to hear, and Dorothy sees a faint, blue light between the men. O'malley sags without a sound, only to be caught by the stranger and pushed into a van. No-one in the crowd reacts, or even spots what is happening. The van drives away, past the remaining three probe-operatives.

She moves on, after the van. It has stopped a couple of blocks further towards the old industrial area. She is now ahead of the cyborg three probes, and sees the woman part from the men at a corner. They wave goodbye to each other and smile. Dorothy notes the conversation they carry out with their eyes.

The three C-I agents arrive at the corner. She can see how they decide what to do; Smith and Rotwald plan to go after the two men, while Wendels and O'malley will go after the woman, they decide. Then they start looking for O'malley; Dorothy can practically sense the remaining agents' vexed confusion as he won't answer via MMI and is nowhere to be seen. A sensible, cautious probe-team leader would stop the mission, or at least wait and observe his surroundings for a while. But Lieutenant Wendels has been told that the success of this mission is priority one. Besides, everyone knows that it is through merit...


***


...."that you advance inside the University. A real nice idea, though your system is far too elitist. Here, everyone gets a chance, while at the University you'd need some good connections to make sure the right person knows of your merits. Anyway, it's what people know you have done, or what they know you are capable of doing, possibly to other people, that lends you respect and provides you with food on the table in this country." Ralf, the manager of the Fading House; apartment condo, orphanage, trades-school and mechanical workshop rolled into one, scratched his chin, coaxing a sound from his beard like someone sandpapering a stub of celery. Small, white particles cascaded onto his denim overalls, creating a nice contrast with the dark stains of oil. "What I mainly mean is, you must be good at something in order to avoid having to do jobs no-one else wants. Survival can be a harsh affair. Now, I've taken care of my orphans as good as I can, so they are all good at something they can use to live with. But I started training them early, and hard. Now, you are.. what? Twelve? Do you know any down-to-earth job that will let you earn credits, or are you willing to learn recycler maintenance and the correct usage of trash vaporizers? 'Cause that's the options you got here."

Steiner laid a hand on Dorothy's shoulder. "Somehow, I don't think Dorothy here will be forced to learn general property maintenance -procedures."

Ralf straightened up. "Well that's good, but she has to speak for herself. She'll be doing a lot of this, as I expect all my kids over eleven to do that. So, Dorothy, what are you good at?"

Dorothy looked shyly at the man. He appeared good-natured, but there was a directness in his manner of speech that alienated her. "Well, I can play chess, do tricks with a mono-grav, operate MMI-based software and hardware, create and maintain up to grade two pre-sentient algorithms, use a stealth-suit, assist a research-team, drive a rover, operate a holo-projector, cook cocoa, do simple designs with a VRAD-system and program an industrial robot provided I have the list of commands ready. Oh, and I have finished eighth grade at school."

Ralf stared at her, with his mouth open. Dorothy sensed that he half expected her to continue listing skills. She shifted nervously. "Will that do?"

"What? Oh. Yes. Yes.. it'll do..." He nodded absentmindedly a couple of times.


***


Wendels starts walking after the woman. Smith and Rotwald follow the two men. Dorothy pushes back her memories and silently leaps across the street, onto the opposite roof. She casts a final glance towards the Lieutenant before walking along the edge of the roof looking down onto the street Smith and Rotwald are using.

Up ahead, the van has stopped by the side of the road, apparently broken. It's hood is open, and a man is lying on the sidewalk, exploring the underside of the van with his left arm. The Cyborg probes walk past, soon followed by the two C-I agents, who pay no heed to the stricken van. As they walk past, the lying man withdraws his left arm from under the car; he is holding a chemical sprayer. Quickly and silently he lets loose a mist of clear droplets that envelops Sergeant Smith's left leg. The sergeant walks on without noticing anything until he suddenly stumbles and falls, a look of pain and surprise os his face.

"My leg!"

Rotwald tries to pull him back up, but to no avail. Smith's left leg seems totally paralyzed, and by the grimace on his face it hurts a lot.

The man from the van approaches, a concerned look on his face. "Do you need help? I have a first-aid package in my van."

Rotwald silently communicates to Smith, who hangs his head in frustration. Then the Second Lieutenant turns to the man. "I have urgent business to attend to for both of us, but if you could be so good as to help my friend I'd be very grateful." He walks away.

"No problem. Here, let me help you up!"

Smith finally manages to stand on his right leg, aided by the stranger. "Thank you for your help, mister.. aow, this really hurts! I think my whole leg is cramping."

"Well, it certainly seems to twitch, so I'd bet you're right. I got local pain-killers and I think there was a relaxant in the package as well, the last time I looked.. Oh, you can call me Mandra." He helps Smith to sit down with his back against the van, and then walks around and opens the back door. He pulls out a hypodermic gun and a couple of ampoules. He returns to Smith while loading the gun with one of the ampoules. "Here, this should stop the cramping." He hand the gun to Smith.

The agent gratefully pushes the nozzle of the gun into the back of his shin and presses the trigger. He lets out a sigh of relief, and it is obvious that the pain is greatly relieved. He lets himself slump against the van. Then his brow knits in puzzlement for a moment before his face relaxes, and he slowly keels over. Mandra shakes his head and smiles. "Looks like the ampoule wasn't meant to be used all in one dose, friend. Oh, well.. let's get you nice and safe." He picks up the limp agent and climbs into the back of the van, closing the door behind him. Dorothy, via a window in the van's roof, sees him open a large box and deposit Rotwald inside it. He inserts the second ampoule into the hypo-gun and injects it's contents into Rotwald's arm. Then he closes the agent's eyelids with his fingers and closes the box. Mandra, or Armand, then quickly opens another box and checks that O'Malley is doing fine, before moving into the driver's seat and starting the van. The hood closes automatically, and the van drives off.

Dorothy shakes her head, sighs and bounds away, while remembering..


***


She had been accepted into the Fading House, even though she was no literal orphan. The other children had understood, though, once she'd told her story. Jim agreed to stay in Data Decentral and keep an eye on her, but Captain Steiner..

"I have to return home, Dorothy. I'm a known figure among probes, and the chance of getting detected is doubled when we are together. Once I'm back at the University the cyborgs won't be able to deduce that you are around if they spot me. And.. there's Methis' plan." He sighs. "Normally, I'd be dead against cloning, Dorothy.. and knowing that it's only another interface of Methis makes little difference. For Planet's sake, the whole idea is to fool everyone into beliving you have returned to the University!"

Dorothy gazed steadily at him. "Then do you have a better suggestion?"

He grimaced. "Less immoral, yes, but none as effective. Of course, keeping you safe is my top priority, so my morals can go hang." He smirks. "Anyway, you're settled down here, and I can't help you much more.. I've given you what advice I can -remember to develop an eye for details, or you won't spot gangmembers or borders- so there's no point in me staying.. I have a plane to catch tonight." He watched Dorothy. "Don't be too sad; if all goes well, I'll be able to come and visit you now and then. And Jim's still here, yes?"

Comfort was hard to find. She had retreated to her new room and cried. Later that evening, her comm-link had beeped. She picked it up and noticed it was a transmission meant for MMI-communication. She connected to it, and saw Methis. The sentient algorithm was appearing in her original, ape-like form.. that is, the form she'd always used in virtual reality- a healthy, large chimpanzee with a startlingly human face, and large, dark eyes hinting of the grand sentience they represented.

"Hello, Dorothy.." Methis appeared hesitant. "Has Steiner departed? Are you in privacy?"

Dorothy nodded, but then remembered that Methis couldn't see her unless she activated an avatar for her as well. "Yes, I'm alone." She let out a shuddering sigh.

"I miss you, Dorothy! I had hoped you'd return, now that this is over." For a moment, Methis looked accusingly at Dorothy. Then her expression softened. "But I must admit that coming back wouldn't have been the best option. It's just that.. I want you here, where we can talk and play."

Dorothy smiled. She knew that by now the ape/algorithm could outthink a city full of geniuses, but that didn't stop it from being playful, emotional or downright childish at times. Lewis had expected this, she knew, and had speculated both on methods to remedy and ways to benefit from this. "I wish we could, Methis. Now I'm stuck here, and there's nothing to guarantee that I'll eventually get any training to become a probe-operative."

Methis waved her hands dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about that.. the sense-booster, as long as you use it, should quite quickly catch you some attention. Just remember that it's a good idea to be able to blend into the crowd as well as stand out from it. I'd recommend practicing both." She gazes thoughtfully at Dorothy. "I'm here to make you an offer."

"An offer?"

"Yes. You cannot tell anyone about it! They'd disapprove, or say that it's wrong -or dangerous- and try to stop you. Zakharov knows, but nobody else should."

"Yes?"

She leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "I've thought of a way to let you be both there and at the University! To let you live both here and there! This is how it goes.." She talked for a long time, and Dorothy sat and listened; awed, horrified... intrigued and relieved.


End of chapter 72.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 73: A Strike in the Dark


LightEning awakens due to the fact that someone is shaking him. He opens his eyes and sees Balbo. The probe-leader indicates to him that he should keep quiet, and then points towards a locker, where he keeps his probe-equipment. A certain sign of trouble.

">Are we in trouble?<"

">Big. Someone is attacking the admin-building, and I can't contact Hubris.<"

As LightEning dresses, Balbo goes to the door and listens. Then he goes back to Lightening and motions him to dress up in armor. LightEning puts on his vest of fibrous silksteel and hangs padded plates of plasma-steel on his trousers. Then he grabs his 'silent shredder' silenced plasma-shard rifle, checks the power-level and indicates to Balbo he is ready.

">Okay, you head over there, and see if you can find any of Oaken's troops. The comms-room is priority one. Laysa is already up there. I'll go alert the others.<"

With the University's help, the Free Drone probe-teams have acquired a technological edge superior even to the Data-Angels, which tends to compensate for their sad lack of finesse. LightEning is well-acquainted with the usage of MMI:s, and has received extensive training in it.

">>Request Combat-link with Unit Two; Laysa Orlova.<<"

He moves stealthily up the stairs. As he steps out into the dark corridor, he hears a synthetic voice:

>>Combat-link established.<<

The spectral form of Laysa appears, supplied by the MMI, glowing faintly green and apparently hovering in mid-air some twenty meters ahead and to the right of LightEning. She seems to be crouching. Another person, rendered in flashing red, is also superimposed on his vision; Laysa is spying on a stranger. LightEning deduces that they are both inside the comms-room.

">Laysa, what's up? Why aren't you pulling his plug?<"

">I can hear another one, but I can't see him. Can you try to spot him?<"

The unknown foe is obviously keeping guard, as he is carefully keeping an eye on all exits from the room. LightEning sneaks up to behind the door, and waits for him to look away. He quickly and silently opens the door a crack, then pulls to one side.

The man turns back, but fails to notice what has changed. LightEning peeks through the crack, and spots the second man. He is lying under one of the holo-projectors, apparently meddling with it's machinery. LightEning wills his MMI to mark the man as a foe, for the combat-link.

">Good, you got him. Okay, I will-<"

">Wait. There's something..<"

LightEning is suddenly feeling uneasy. The nape of his neck itches, and he involuntarily glances around. Nothing seems out of place, though; there's just him and the tunnel, suspended above- the tunnel- the tunnel is transparent -you are exposed!

He is leaping forward, through the doors, even before the thought has fully unfolded. A cacaphony of booms and splintering noises erupts behind him, but he has no time to think about that as there is a man with a gun in front of him, and he seems to be prepared. LightEning rolls to the left, feels a searing heat on his thigh, hits a chair, steadies himself and fires. His shot zooms through the air where the man stood a moment ago. As he tries to see where the man has gone, he hears a series of metallic groaning sounds in the direction of the connecting tunnel. The final one is the loudest, and it ends abruptly. Next, the doors fly open and he feels the wind on his neck, and a sweet smell that hints of xenofungus. The MMI-rendered images of the foes slowly fade, indicating that Laysa has lost sight of them.

He dons the ever-present breather. ">Laysa, the tunnel's gone, and the atmosphere's entering.<" He suddenly spots one of the men, apparently the one who was lying under the holo-projector. He is ducking from cover to cover towards the door. LightEning calmly raises his gun, and waits for him to try to reach the next cover.

Move!

He he is startled by the telepathic command, but he has enough presence of mind to act. He bursts out of his cover, firing wildly. His gun emits weak popping sounds, and the bullets fly away with an audible buzz. He hears how they smack into equipment, followed by hard thudding noises, and dismembered electronics start flying through the room. Behind him, the corner where he sat is disintegrating from a series of high-powered shots. Only now does he realize there's someone outside with thermal imaging and a very big gun, and that these people also have a way of communicating silently. Probably MMI:s. But he grins. Hubris must be somewhere out there as well.

Then he sees both of the strangers, one to his left and the other right in front of him, rise from their cover with their guns pointed at him.

He lets himself fall, while ripping off a volley of shots towards the one in front of him. He is lucky; one shot bites into the man's shoulder. There is a pained cry, followed by a dull boom. Then he rolls around, trying to find cover from the other man.. but there is none. Also, there is no shot. LightEning slowly pulls himself upright, and sees the other stranger. He is generally plastered against the wall, parts of him still smoking.

Laysa chuckles over the MMI-link. ">Them University scientists sure pack a mean little punch into these guns, don't they? What does plasma-shard technology mean, anyway?<"

">Beats the mindworm-juices out of me.<" He shudders. ">And any poor sods who get in our way.<"

">>Unit Zero, Hubris, is Sending an Update to the Combat Interface. Receive?<<"

LightEning glances at Laysa, who returns his gaze. She shrugs.

">>Receive.<<"

The download is quick, and the updated combat-link initiates. LightEning stares around him in awe and wonder. Objects further away than three meters have been turned into translucent shadows, while the walls of the room, and of the entire building, have been reduced to ghostly green outlining. He can even see a representation of the ground and surrounding buildings. Also, numerous people can be seen, in red, green and yellow. A team of five red individuals grabs LightEning's attention, as they are heading his way and are clearly expecting a fight. Briefly, as he seeks cover, he wonders where Hubris could be, to be able to get all this data.

Laysa gasps over the MMI. ">Look at all this info! And look at the front yard!<"

Directly blocking the entrance to the yard, is a hovertank. The behemoth is still a very rare sight on Planet, and LightEning eyes it nervously. It flashes, and a text appears next to it:

Mk III 'Pacifier' Tank. Power-level 100%. Shields 100%. Fusion Engine 100%. Heavy Quantum Laser 100%

Suddenly, a blue line touches the tank. LightEning follows it to it's source, and sees a group of five people -the probe-team, he realizes- quickly sneak out from the crew quarters, into the yard, and head towards the tank.

He returns his gaze to the advancing team of five hostiles. They are now directly on the other side of the door leading further into the admin-building. Sod silence, he thinks, and twists a knob on his rifle. Then he takes support on a table and rips loose on full auto towards the door. It caves in amid a keening boom, and the shapes beyond are either mowed down by the furious volley, or manage to duck. He manages to take out two foes this way, but the rest of the burst is wasted as his aim is way off by it's middle. He stops to take new aim, and Laysa rips loose with a similar volley, partly chewing up the door-frame in the process. She takes out two additional people, leaving one last survivor to stagger away. The woman stops though, gropes at her belt and tosses a grenade into the room. It rolls under one of the computer consoles and explodes, tearing the console apart. Little shrapnel is created, but the shock is stunning and reduces LightEning to a painful state of semi-unconsciousness. He has no chance to react as a shelf full of circuit-boards falls on him.

His lungs are squeezed until no air remains, and all blackens.


***


Balbo stops, out of sight of the tank. ">Hubris, what is it you want us to do to that thing? It's shields could take hits from our weapons all day without showing so much as a flicker. And we won't be able to shoot a second time; we'll die after the first shot.<"

">You are underestimating the technology of the University. Those rifles you are holding are specifically designed to punch through any armor, up to and including neutron shields. Just get withing fifty meters and then take out the turret. It is the main threat. Fire off a coordinated volley towards it, and watch it disintegrate.<"

Balbo looks down at the gun he is carrying, and turns it this way and that. "Trigger, stock, barrel, nozzle, sights, MMI-link. Looks like any other rifle in this day and age", he mutters. ">All right, people, the boss says our rifles will go through that tank like hungry mindworms through a blonde. Aim for the turret, and when it shows signs of disintegration you are to switch to the propulsion. Ready? Then.. One. Two. Thre-<" He spins around the corner, rifle raised, starts firing and then aims towards the turret. In that order.

The tank fades away, quite unceremoniously. From behind the wall surrounding the yard comes a loud, echoing pop, and several canisters spin lazily over the wall. They burst noisily, gushing forth thick, black smoke. The low hum of anti-grav engines powering up can be heard.

Balbo wastes no time gawping. "FALL BACK!" he screams. ">Hubris, it was a damned ghost-unit! The real tank was on stealth behind the wall!<"

">I see. Get away from it; you can't risk going up against it when it knows you're coming.<"

">You read my mind. Running like blazes right now.<"


****


Dorothy/Hubris stands over the corpse of a man and looks curiously at the tank as it parks in the middle of the thick cloud of smoke it created. To her the cloud is transparent, and she inspects the hovertank carefully. It is an amazing device, no doubt about that; probably the third or fourth revision of the basic design. She can tell. She remembers how desperately the University is trying to develop the technology, but the shortage of scientists due to the sleeper-algorithms is putting a stranglehold on research. She notes that it is designed for stealth and deception, rather than outright cannon-to-cannon duels. As such, it has less than optimal defenses, and it's cannon is smallish -while still perfectly capable of levelling any and all buildings in the city, if unstopped and used to it's full potential.

One thing a unit designed for stealth does not have, is much active surveillance. And Dorothy knows many ways to hide from most surveillance, be it active or passive. She walks up to the tank and feels it's smooth, cool surface, quite unconcerned about the swivelling, searching cannon-tower. She gently probes it's shell with her mind, and smiles. All that stealth, not to mention the ghost-generator -a pure Progenitor-technology- has taken so much room and power, that only the skeleton of a psionic defense exists.

She lets her will brush the defenses aside and enter the tank, and senses it's interior.. and a point of darkness. Someone is psionically shielded, in addition to the tank's defenses. The gunner and the driver are totally unprotected, and would succumb to her first assault, but this third person, in the commander's seat.. She brushes with her mental tendrils against the darkness; a direct psionic signal of challenge. Usually, the target will either instinctively recoil (if the target is unskilled) or slowly unfold into proper mental gearing for combat (to show off the target's skill and level of control), but neither happens. In fact, nothing happens; the darkness remains unchanged.

Dorothy makes a mental shrug and summons up her will-power, letting it fly like an spear, insubstantial but deadly, against the darkness.

Her attack splashes harmlessly, as if stopped by an impenetrable wall! Despite her bewilderment, she manages to notice the momentary rise in pitch in the sound from the engines. She senses how a slumbering electric circuit awakens, and a light in front of the commander's seat begins to blink. She senses the laughter that resonates inside the tank, causing the gunner and the driver to look around. Anger rises within her, and she reaches out into the gunner's mind, pushing his thoughts aside and possessing him.

She looks out of the man's eyes, for a moment with the double vision of the inside and outside of the tank conflicting. Then the images part, and she is able to focus on the man in the commander's seat. He is looking back at her.

He smiles, and speaks. "That sudden spike in power, the alarm, the short surprised cry from my gunner.. Greetings, Hubris.. or should I call you Dorothy?"

She is unable to collect her wits for a few seconds. Then she grips the gunner's vocal chords with her will. "Both will do. But what, ambassador Stephen Ray Burton, is your name among probes? And what are you hoping to accomplish here?"

Ambassador Burton rises and bows mockingly at her. "I am Sprayber. Here, first and foremost, I wish to strike a blow for the continued stability and future of the Peacekeepers, and the for rest of the factions on this continent as a good second point."

"I really don't believe you."

He shrugs. "It was a good enough excuse for me. Now, obviously you can render my gunner quite, quite unable to perform his tasks." He glances away. "And my driver as well. But I assure you it won't be necessary, as I shall drive away now. You can, of course, scramble their minds if you feel justified, or if you have some thirst for violence that must be quenched, but.. it is unnecessary. I shall withdraw."

"But you will, of course, be back."

He nods gravely. "Naturally. I intend to finish what I have started. Of course, tradition states that it is now your turn to attack me, as if this was some kind of game where we trade punches. But you still need to comb through your buildings... I know there's a bomb or two ticking away there. So, I think you will only have time to catch your breath and secure your base. Then you will have to wait for me to return and punch the last of the air out of you and your sorry band."

Dorothy smiles through the captive gunner. "You sound like a Cyborg I know."

She is rewarded by a satisfied smile. "I am a big player, Dorothy. Compared to me, your impact on the life on Chiron is insignificant. Does it surprise you, then, that I sound like a certain Cyborg? And does Zakharov really sound much different?" He nods to her. "I'll be gone now.. Make peace with the world before I find you again."

He sits down and nods to the driver. "Take us home."

Dorothy pulls out of the gunner's mind, putting him in deep sleep just in case. She watches silently as the hovertank drifts backwards, through the gate. Then it turns around and zooms away along the street.

Balbo walks up to her. "Dorothy, are you all right? What happened?"

"We came one big step closer to the source of the troubles."



End of chapter 73.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 74: Flashback Alley


The woman turns into an alley. Wendels hurries silently up to the corner. There's almost no people around; this part of the old town is dead during night-time. She listens for a moment, until the footsteps of the Cyborg probe are suitably weak. Then she steps into the alley. A silhouette ahead of her is receding further into the alley; Wendels stops long enough to note that this is a dead end.

The woman bangs a complex rythm on a reinforced door. After a moment, she is let inside.

Wendels sneaks closer. Halfway down the alley she spots a man, dressed in ragged clothing, cradling a bottle containing a clear liquid and lying among some plastic boxes. She sneaks over and prods him. The man grumbles a bit and shifts position. A short moment of silence is ended by a light snore.

She had intended to ask the man about the building, but now she has second thoughts. She sneaks closer to the door. Behind her, eerily silent and in a cascade of old newspapers, the man rises to his feet in one fluid motion, holding a tazer.

He has fired it before the first of the newspapers touches the ground. Wendels hits the ground before the last. The alley is filled with the scent of ozone. The door opens, and the woman appears. Together, they carry Wendels' inert body inside. The door closes with a very final clang.


****


The man turns into a doorway. Dorothy watches how Rotwald slowly walks up to it, then stops.

">Wendels, come in.<"

He turns his head to look down the street the way he came.

">Wendels, come in.<"

He stands motionless for a moment.

">Smith, come in.<"

He eyes the building as if it just insulted him.

">Damnit, where are you people?!<"

He kicks around some dirt.

">This is Wilhelm Rotwald. Can any agent hear me? Central, can you hear me?<"

Dorothy, from her much higher vantage-point, regards the radio-scrambler on the roof of the building for a moment. Then she concentrates.

"Sebastian."

His reply is immediate. First, a purely reflexive string of cursewords. This is followed by some well-selected blasphemies that would seriously offend no less than five religions. Finally, he gathers his thoughts.

"Dorothy, why on Planet aren't you using common MMI-link communications?!"

She regards a particular van, parked in an alley and hidden by a sheet of plastic. "Because I am opposite a very functional scrambler, that's why. Rotwald is right now entering what is very likely the wolves' den, so this would be the time to get prepared. Give me one minute, then slam these coords with whatever you can pull loose. The old records say the building is condemned, and has twenty-eight subterranean floors in addition to the three above ground. Common pre-dome construction. It should be a nightmare to clean out. I'll give you a telepathic beacon to lock on to once I've gotten your probes out of the fire."

"Gearing up already." For a moment, Steiner's surface thoughts are dominated by shouted insults mixed with commands obviously meant for some probe-teams he is in the vicinity of. Then his attention returns to Dorothy. "You just be careful, you hear? What I really can't afford to lose is you. Multiple redundancy or not."

Dorothy withdraws her mental link to Steiner. She takes aim, jumps and lands on the ledge outside a first-floor window. She inspects the window for a moment. Then a click sounds and the window opens. She enters.


****


Beta Sixteen walks back and forth in front of the three captured probe-operatives. They are sitting in chairs, restrained by bands of silksteel across each limb, plus torso and head. Sergeant Smith is still unconscious.

"Here is a deal for you. The first of you to willingly merge with a splinter of the consciousness will be the leader of your probe-team. You'd stay together."

Beta waits for a while. No-one speaks. Then two cyborg probes walk into the room, supporting Rotwald between them. He is extremely groggy, and mostly his feet simply drag along the floor as he is half-carried forward. He is secured to a fourth chair.

Beta raises his eyebrows. "Well, which one of you is the highest-ranking?"

Wendels takes a deep breath, but O'Malley hushes her up. Beta walks over to stand in front of her. "So, who are you? If I'm to treat you with every right due a prisoner, I need to know your name, rank and number." He smiles.

Wendels squints at him, deep distrust apparent on her face. "Lieutenant Katharine Wendels, 061196229543".

"A lieutenant. Very good." Beta nods happily. "Won't you volunteer? Sacrifice yourself and set a good example to your fellow team-members?" He clears his throat. "The alternative is that I assume control of your team. Specifically, you will be converted into a node for the Beta-algorithm."

Weak curses can be heard from the other probes. Wendels just shuts her eyes. Then O'Malley leans forward. "Ma'am, say yes. Being merged is bad, but being a Beta-algorithm is being dead.

Rotwald coughs and takes a deep breath. "No, Lieutenant. Don't do it. Being dead is better than being merged. Don't let him mess with your mind."

Beta shakes his head. "Agents, you have failed to understand. I don't require your cooperation any longer to merge you. It's just that if you cooperate, you can receive a higher class of algorithm from square one. You'd start with an advantage. But the decision, merge or convert, is entirely mine to make. You can only affect your subsequent status within the Consciousness. I am, you could say, throwing your Lieutenant a bone here. Either I will convert her, and you will be obeying the undisputable command of a beta-algorithm, or she agrees to merge willingly and retains her free will, plus you would be able to interpret her commands in a way that suits you. That's not an option if I convert her. I am always obeyed to the letter by the lesser algorithms."

He lets this sink in. "Well, what do you say? I am not very patient."

Wendels, gray in the face, speaks. "I will merge", she whispers. The other agents close their eyes. O'Malley sighs. "I'll merge too."

Rotwald grits his teeth. "Damn you. Damn you all. You got me. I'll merge. Willingly." He spits.

Beta grins. "Your poor unconscious friend can't choose for himself, but don't worry. With the three of you backing him up, he should advance to your class of algorithm quite quickly." He nods to the two cyborg probes. "Link them up."

They attach cables to the MMI-ports on the back of each agent's neck while Beta walks over to a computer console. He thinks for a moment, moves his right hand so his index-finger hover over the 'enter'-key, turns around and eyes the University probes. "This first program will enable your MMI to enhance your relaxation, so you can enter a light meditative trance. Simply go with the flow from here on." He presses enter.

After a moment, the agents visibly relax, and their eyes close. Beta nods, calls up a link to a node within Consciousness territory, selects four splinters of the algorithm to download, and then the lights go out. So does the computer console.

The room is pitch-black.


****


Rita Iota-95 Koskinen fumbles for a flashlight from her equipment-belt, turns it on and looks around. The building is now very silent; even the ventilation has stopped. Then she steps out of the room, into a corridor. She walks down to it's far end, and opens a door leading into a large hall. In the middle of the hall is a small fusion-reactor. In operation, it should be the source of a deep humming, but right now it is silent. She starts to walk towards it.

Then a hand grabs her neck from behind and throws her into the concrete wall with force enough to make it crack. She slumps to the floor, severely injured. Her bones have been cybernetically strengthened, so nothing is broken, but many of her internal organs are wounded. She still manages to raise herself on her arms, to peer at the approaching attacker.

She becomes the living image of utter, utter amazement.

Dorothy stops and raises her gun. "I want you to remember, Rita, that this is for making Lewis see me die. And I will make sure you remember, by helping you." She throws a collar with an MMI-link in front of Rita. "Put it on. It's a transmitter with an independent battery and a slight delay. I've hacked a direct link to the Consciousness, but I don't want your latest version to arrive there in time to contact your friends."

Rita obeys silently, and Dorothy watches her relax.

Dorothy nods. "Good. Until next time, Rita." And she fires. There is a soft pop as Rita's body implodes. The collar falls to the floor, unharmed, and a flashing light indicates that the timer is counting down.

Dorothy picks it up and walks away.


****


Beta blinks in the darkness. Then he picks up a flashlight from his belt, turns it on and looks around. A door opens, and Armand enters, holding another flashlight. Beta nods to him. "Find out what's wrong. Take your team as backup."

Armand nods, motions for the probes to follow him, and the three exit the room.

Beta listens to the calm breathing of the captive agents for a moment. Then he walks to a cabinet, opens it and lifts out a combat-suit. He puts it on. Next he picks out a rifle, checks it's power-levels and turns it on. He mounts the flashlight on top of it.

When he turns back, the four chairs are empty. O'Malley, Smith, Rotwald and Wendels are nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, he stands completely still. Then he starts to slowly edge along the wall while carefully eyeing the room.

A shadow moves in the corner of his eye, and he snaps his head around in that direction to find nothing. A second later, the door to the room closes with a slam. He can hear the sound of running feet through the wall. Four pairs of feet, running away. Then something slams into his chest, causing him to lose his balance. He stumbles, and sits down heavily.

He switches to thermal imaging. He still can't see anyone, but the floor in front of him is getting warmer. He throws himself to one side and rolls along the wall. Then he springs to his feet and shoots into the corner. It disintegrates into a ball of fire, and shrapnel flies around the room. He switches to ultra-violet vision. Still nothing. Then something hits him in his right shoulder, jarring him and causing him to drop his rifle. He leaps to the left while activating the suit's psi-shield. Finally, a human form seems to fade into existence in front of him.

Nothing prevents a member of the Consciousness, including Beta, being surprised. This nearly costs him a foot planted in his face. He staggers to the left, while removing his helmet and cautiously prodding his left ear. Dorothy runs and leaps into a flying kick, but Beta throws himself flat against the wall and punches Dorothy in the stomach, with the force of a pneumatic hammer, as she flies past. She slams into a chair, falls, rolls to the side and stands up.

Beta shakes his head, smiling slightly. "Dorothy, Dorothy. What have you done to yourself? A simple human would have been smeared around my fist by that blow. Not to mention the slight inconsistency in you walking around alive."

She smiles back. "Actually, I have done noting to my self. And my self never died."

Beta straightens, an expression of understanding forming on his face. "Ah. So how does it feel, being a single-unit, multiple-node consciousness?"

"Quite fine, thank you. Tell me, how does it feel, knowing that your grandiose plans are crumbling?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. It hasn't happened yet." He gently puts the tip of his right index-finger on his lower lip, while smiling. "Oh, you mean that it would happen right now? Then you fail to understand how 'grandiose' my plans really are. This is but a slight delay, nothing more. Really, Dorothy, you must learn to play the true game if you ever want to be something else than a small player, and an amusing distraction. I don't move people across the board; I move socio-economic forces, and they are a bit hard to face down with a gun and a flying drop-kick."

Dorothy laughs. "I knew it. Sprayber is another Beta-convert."

"Wrong! He isn't even merged. Ambassador Burton is a super-talent, Dorothy, and he has seen the glory of the Consciousness even without being merged. Such talent is rare. So rare, in fact, that I won't offer a splinter to him until I am very sure he will lose nothing of his multi-faceted personality. He is, to put it simply, one of my most powerful allies. And with allies like that, why do you bother trying to fight me, instead of joining?"

She shrugs. "Because someone has to. Because I can."

Beta suddenly launches himself towards Dorothy, fists ready. She simply steps out of his way, turns around and gives him a kick that sends him, head first, into one of the chairs. It rings with a low booonng, and Beta slumps to the floor. His head comes to rest at an unnatural angle.

Dorothy gives him a prod. "Damn." She straightens up. ">Sebastian, how are things going?<"

His MMI-produced voice echoes in her head. ">Quite well, thanks. I picked up the four probes; they seemed all right. I also caught Armand alive. His two thugs got killed, though.<"

">Well done. You might want to come in here and help me check if there's anything interesting in the computers.<"

">All right. Please turn the fusion reactor back on.<"

She sends out her will, repairs some control circuitry she severed, and a couple of rooms away the silent reactor awakens it's fury. The lights come back on.

As Steiner arrives, Dorothy is sitting in front of the computer console, with her MMI attached to it. After a moment, her blank face resumes a semblance of life and she glances up at him.

"We're in luck."


End of chapter 74.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 75: This Means War


"Damn, I hate service-tunnels!"

">What was that, Balbo?<"

">Sorry, that wasn't meant for the MMI-link. I just said how much I love creeping around in confined, cold and above all oily places. My hands are already pitch-black from the stuff, and more slippery than a soaped snake.<"

">Quit complaining, brother. you've been through worse.. remember the time when-<"

">Probably would, but I'm at this intersection right now and I need you to tell me which way to go.<"

">If you keep interrupting me you can go for a long stroll down a short pier. Go left.<"

">Creep, you mean. Or slither; I slipped with my hands again.. Oh great; now I'm coated with oil up to my chin.<"

Laysa's voice sounds sarcastically dramatic over the link.">You must be strong, my brother; for the world is cruel! You should come to a panel marked 'FJ-06' about now.<"

">That's right. Is this it?<"

">No, I just thought I'd impress you with my knowledge of the floor plan. You're still five meters from the one you want.<"

">Sister, you have an odd sense of humour. Have I said that before?<"

">At least ten quadrillion times.<"

">Good; it can't be said enough. Then this one would be it? Says 'FJ-09' on it.<"

">That's the one. Says here that the white cable contains the datalink-optics.<"

">Darn; the lid clanged.. but not too much. Lightening, tell me if something moves. White cable, you said Laysa? They are all more or less gray from dust, anyway.. Ah, this must be it. Opening.. yes; that's optics, all right. Okay, I'm going to cut these cables. LightEning, do you see any activity at all?<"

">No, boss; all is nice and quiet. I have a slight increase in the temperature in the corridor; I guess he's taking a shower.<"

">Great. That will give me all the time I need.. Cables cut.. attaching our little bug.. clamps shut; let's see if it's aligned. No; it's not. Luckily, there's only one cable without contact... reopening and adjusting.. retesting.. ah! I'm set! Now, where's my pillow?<"

">Pillow?! Am I sister to a probe that brings a pillow to a stakeout!?!<"

">Yeah. And my teddy-bear. Of course I'm pulling your leg, Laysa! Honestly, that you'd even think... wait, there's an incoming call on the node. Wow; source untraceable, but last node is on the border to the peacekeepers! Amazing, really, that the cult has failed to spot this weak point in their privacy and secrecy.<"

">LightEning here. He's just come out of the bathroom, and is running towards the terminal..<"


****


"Lord Paidar, you have a serious problem."

"More like a horde of them, my good Hubris; do you have something to add to the list?"

"How does a double-agent sound to you?"

"You mean the BP has been infiltrated? How high?"

"No; actually, the agent doesn't work for you at all. But both his employers are working against you."

Paidar grunts. "Who are we talking about?"

"Ambassador Burton. He is also known as Sprayber."

Paidar chuckles. "So he's an agent of the Peacekeepers? No big harm done there; I doubt their training comes much further than how to best skim through the local headlines for matters of national importance, how to overhear conversations while socializing; things like that."

"That may be so. Too bad he isn't trained by the Peacekeepers alone. He has received instruction by at least the Spartans and the Hive, and is using these skills for the Cyborgs."

"I hope you can prove your statement! I won't accept that merely on your words!"

"Of course you won't. Listen to this conversation I've recorded. Oh, and don't ask me how I did this; there's plausible deniability and a dozen other good reasons why I won't tell you."

"Including that I probably wouldn't like the answer, I gather. Well, I promise not to choke on the ethical dilemma inherent in listening to this..."


****


"Ambassador Burton."

"Doctor Ashton here. May I speak freely?"

"You shouldn't have any cause for worry, doctor. I've been told that the diplomatic nodes never enter the public network."

"That means only that the Cultists don't have to be distracted by masses of meaningless spam."

"Of course, and by the same line of reasoning, it is easier for my agents to be certain that the net is not tapped. The Cultists have a major flaw- they are truly honourable. So, Michael Kappa-209 Ashton, you don't have to worry. Now.. what is so important that you interrupt my bathing?"

"Lal is dangerously close to figuring out what is wrong. Just this morning he-"

"Spare me the details. They are unimportant. Am I correct in assuming that he has scheduled a new appointment?"

"Yes."

"Good. Log on to the special node; there is a package I've asked your Cyborg specialists to prepare for this moment; it has your name on it. Follow the instructions contained within. And be happy; if all goes well, the final phase will begin. I will in fact send a message to our allies that they should mobilize their forces shortly. Soon, the Consciousness will expand."

"Thank you, Ambassador, and goodbye."

"Goodbye."


****


A visibly stunned Ferrel shuts off the player.

"That is bad. I must present this evidence to Cha Dawn; he must be informed of all events as serious as this." He gives Hubris a slightly embarrassed look. "At least, that's what he said. And.. thank you. This will probably solve a great many of our problems."

"Don't be too sure. I am quite convinced that Cyborg infiltration has occurred at almost every layer of your society, including the BP, and that many of the ambassadors from other factions are also in fact working for the Cyborgs."

"We shall see. They will be investigated. And so will everyone else. When it comes to rooting out spies, Planet offers some unexpected advantages..."


End of Chapter 75.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 76: The Weak Link


"Tell me the good news."

Zakharov's office has changed little since the discovery ot the sleeper algorithms. Dorothy reflects on a very popular University superstition; if Zakharov's office remains unaltered for more than a year, it marks the beginning of the end for the University of Planet.

"We have found a weakness, that hopefully will enable us to neutralize many of the more recent network-node infections."

The Academician raises his eyebrows. "More recent? And only those caused by corrupted nodes? Not the 'black box' -conversion?"

"I'm sorry, no. The two methods are now essentially resulting in different things."

"Well, what has changed from the black box to the network node?"

"For some reason, the node-transmittable splinters are less encrypted than their traditional counterparts. We can't explain why, except that Beta somehow has been unable to use the traditional cybernetic melding-techniques when he created the method. Consequently, I have very high hopes that they will prove easier to neutralize."

"Hmm. Good. We'll see what can be done; provide me with a complete report and I will assign a team of researchers on it."

Dorothy nods. "There is more. I have investigated the possibility of interfering with the actual downloading. Trying to remotely disturb a node within Cybernetic Consciousness -territory is impossible, of course, but they must use Gaian nodes as links between ours and theirs; no direct link would be allowed. So we could create a team of information-specialists to attack their data-traffic within the Gaian network."

"Excellent!" Zakharov stares into space for a moment. "I'm thinking, we might want to spread this information. We could tell others how to protect themselves from Cybernetic infiltration via the nodes."

Dorothy shrugs. "I doubt many would believe you."

"I know that. But if I can convince even one faction-leader that this threat exists, then the time has been well spent." Zakharov puts his hands on the table, palms down. He seems to be unsettled. "Dorothy, Methis has estimated that the University as a faction will cease to exist within two years from now, based on the estimated spread of splinter-algorithms and the current calculated critical percentage of the population required to ensure a successful takeover. The two numbers are rapidly approaching each other."

"I was afraid of this." Dorothy sits down in one of the chairs in front of Zakharov's table and stares at the floor for a while. "We could investigate another possibility. It's a very, very questionable scenario, but.."

Zakharov grimaces sarcastically. "If I find it too offending I'll withhold your scientist's paycheck for the two minutes it takes me to reestablish my purely scientific motives. How about that?"

"Hah; it's a deal. Well.. I've prodded on the neural coding of the splinters we've been sent, and am positive that they are not locked. Beta has not prevented in any way adding completely new information to the splinters. It doesn't have to be encoded or anything; it will work as long as the new information is meant to interact with the splinter. So we could try and interfere with the efficient functioning of the splinters; enter in a very strict set of requirements that have to be met before the splinters are activated, for example. Or we could try to interfere with how it interprets the conditions we assume Beta has set for it. There are many, many possibilities."

Zakharov looks at Dorothy, a smile slowly spreading on his face. Then he chuckles. Then he laughs. Then he stands up and shouts; "Dorothy, why on chiron haven't you told me of this possibility earlier? It's most irresponsible of you!"

Dorothy raises an eyebrow. "One; because I heard of it only yesterday, and two; because it was originally not my idea. One of my assistants raised the subject on our lunch-break. I encouraged him to look into it, and allowed him to use some of our assigned work-time, and some equipment. I even assisted him myself. The results were really promising."

"Well, she deserves a medal. Send her up."

"Him. His name is Dr. Vanadi Bresl."

Zakharov shrugs. "Whatever. I'll get to know him better when we meet. Would you mind if I assign him to a higher post, should I find that he has what it takes?"

"No, not at all. He is brilliant, certainly, but I have found out there are some less desirable aspects of his personality as well. It will be your job, of course, to decide how much they deter from his ability to lead. I will send you my evaluation of him."

"Good. Then, I thank you for these news... Good day."


****


"Honestly, Provost, you are going too far. Do you think that you can make us believe everything merely by leaning on your scientific reputation? This- this warning of yours- nothing but fantasies! Would you have us become superstitious, maybe? This is pathetic. A sadly transparent attempt to make us fear the Cybernetic Consciousness. Really.."

Pravin Lal sits down.

Zakharov would have welcomed some calamity and disorder at the moment; but the council of Planet is deathly quiet. Every single faction-leader is looking at him, their stares unforgiving. Merciless.

Lal leans forward, so that he takes the center of attention in the virtual council-chamber. "In fact, Provost, you have just -in front of us all- possibly committed a crime against humanity, as outlined by the U.N. charter. Namely, that of attempting to incite hate and fear towards a group of people. This is a crime that may cost you your place in council, as the punishment is exclusion from the U.N. council until it's remaining members deem the University suitable for representation again; usually when the leadership has changed."

Zakharov's jaw tightens. "Will I get a chance to clear my name by proving my claims?"

Lal rises from his chair so quickly that it falls over. He slams his fist onto the table. "No! By Planet, I will not reduce the council to a forum for petty, jealous rumours and hurtful lies!" He calms down a bit and turns to the other faction-leaders. "While Zakharov's offense is serious, excluding a member is a matter requiring very, very careful consideration. All members, excluding the accused, will be given a vote. In order for the council to be able to consider Zakharov guilty -and therefore have the justification to suspend his membership- the vote must be unanimous. This session will now take a two-hour break while each member considers how to vote. I am shutting down the virtual room in the meanwhile."

Zakharov waits until the holographic illusion disappears. Then he slumps backwards into his chair, his face gray.

Dorothy rises from the corner where she could watch the council undetected. "Did I not warn you? But I certainly didn't expect that strong a reaction."

The provost bangs his desk in frustration. "What has gotten into Pravin? He used to be calm, peaceful and above all without bias! To not even allow me to prove myself- outrageous! And I could see Beta smirking the whole time. Has he really that large support?"

"The media research -division can tell you more abot that. But, know that Beta, and the Cybernetic Consciousness, is continuously gaining prestige from the war against the Caretakers. The Cyborgs have been very successful in making your hostility look like the random attacks of a jealous and frightened neighbour. The UoP has lost what international credibility it had."

Zakharov nods somberly. "Public relations is not my forte. Science must tread down all paths; even those that provide no glory -only notoriety."

"Nice motto, but the council won't be swayed by election-speeches."

"Never mind the Council. They're now history, as far as I'm concerned: We're certain to be eliminated. No-one likes us much right now except Domai, and he has his own image to think of."

"Well, how about using these two hours to see if you can gain some new friends?"

"No; it would be a waste of time. Besides; who should I contact? Who is not likely to report my attempt, thereby giving Lal more things to fuel his indignation with?"


****


"Two hours have passed, and I would have the members vote now; remember, all must vote for removal of Zakharov's position for the results to have power. Use the voting buttons in front of you."

All members (except Zakharov) perform variations on the same move, and the result materializes as some ghostly numbers in front of every leader.

Result: 10 votes for removal. 1 vote against.

"What? Who voted against!

A man rises from his seat, turns to Lal and bows deeply. "I did."

"I strongly urge you to reconsider, Yang! His defamatory statements, if left unpunished, will make a mockery of this council."

"No, Lal. I will not reconsider.. or, at least, not reconsider until Zakharov is proven guilty. Since this would wrongly put suspicion on Beta and the Cybernetic consciousness, such an investigation would not be diplomatical. I instead would make a counterproposal of adding a statement to the council records, where we speak out against rash and unconsidered statements like Zakharov's, and state that he owes Beta an official apology."

Lal seems unsatisfied. "Hmm. Anyone in support of this proposal?"

Domai nods. "I am."

"Then we will vote on that now."

Result: 11 votes for the proposal. 0 against.

"So be it, then. Zakharov, we will expect you to change your behaviour, and also apologise to the Cyborgs, before our next session. Otherwise we'll be forced to discuss more serious punishment to curb your insolence and insubordination. This session is now ended."

The virtual room once again fades away, revealing an intrigued Dorothy.

"Have you had any contact with Yang before this?"

Zakharov shakes his head. "We've acknowledged the existence of each other, established that so far none of our interests are in conflict and that's it."

"Yang isn't known for his charity, and no-one in their right frame of mind would describe him as compassionate, or merciful. He must have another reason for sparing you."

"I know... I wonder what he knows?"

Dorothy smirks. "Seems like you have to brush up on your PR-skills. Yang is a master of protocol."

"Indeed he is, and yes it seems I must. I'll get the media research -department send me everything we have on Hive society and customs."

"I'll leave you to it, then", Dorothy states. She rises from her chair and exits the office.


End of chapter 76.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 77: A Storm in the Horizon



The Cult was going through one of it's most severe moments of crisis. After receiving Hubris' report, Cha Dawn had summoned her. He wanted to know how to detect these traitors. And while Hubris watched him communicate with Planetmind, as the first outsider ever allowed this honour, she advised him. What to look for. And where to look. How to mark them so the Branch of Pruning could find them.

The day turned out to be long, and Cha made it longer by frequent outbursts of blinding rage. Once he calmed down, he'd shout out a name or two and again resume his probe of every Cultist mind. Hubris would exit the hall to find Lord Paidar and report the new name, quite often to be answered by disbelieving shock.

Elsewhere, the Branch of Pruning (once rid of it's share of sleepers and actives) systematically purged the capital, block by block, hunting for those individuals that Cha and Planet had marked.

And the day dragged on. Name after name after name after....


Excerpt from the novel 'Cha: The Struggle -a True Story' by Liam Proudwillow Ninety-three.


****


The Cultists have scrapped the old Terran calendar, instead going through their life with a pure Chironian calendar. Thus, the twin suns of Alpha and Beta Centauri are actually setting as Cha Dawn slumps down onto his cushioned divan, his entire body shivering from exhaustion. Dorothy walks up to him, and he gazes at her with matted, tearful eyes.

"Over twenty thousand cultists. Including more than a third of my closest staff. How could this be?"

"Beta has been actively infiltrating the other factions for years; long before he usurped total control of the Consciousness. And he, for some reason, sees Planet as a threat. You are therefore a most likely target. But you should be happy as well; with this amount of infiltration I doubt you would have been alive at the end of this year, should all this have gone undetected."

Cha seems to slowly regain some of his strength. "Are the other factions as bad off?"

"Most likely, though not necessarily in the same way. Beta wouldn't use the same strategy everywhere; one strategy wouldn't work for all the factions, and even if it did, we could topple it everywhere if we found a weak spot in it. No; he might be insane but he's not stupid."

"Then how can we help the others? Even if we warn them, the threat they face might not be the same."

"One step at a time, Cha. First, you could help the Peacekeepers. I believe they are in still more trouble than you were."

"How so?"

"Sprayber has infiltrated the government, and he alone is a major threat. He's currently here as an ambassador, of course, but as we proved with the message we intercepted, that isn't slowing him down. He is working for the Cyborgs, and as such is probably one of the main links in their strategy here on Zeus. The Peacekeepers would be much safer if they removed him from their government, and safer still if they got rid of him in a permanent manner. Unfortunately, as he currently has diplomatic papers, the Cult would be committing a gross diplomatic insult if we acted on the PK:s behalf and silenced him."

"So what do you suggest."

"Explain to him that he is unwelcome; in other words give him a one-way ticket to Peacekeeper territory. And warn Lal of him even before he arrives."

Cha sits up. "Yes. I shall warn Lal of him right now." He rummages among the pillows, and pulls out his hand holding a remote-control. He fiddles with it, and parts of the floor sink down and to the side. Up from the hole rises a holo-projector. It is already flickering to life before it is fully raised. For a while only the Peacekeepers' symbol is visible, then it is replaced by a man clad in the drab, grey-blue uniform of Peacekeeper officials.

"Good evening, Cha Dawn. I am Anwar Hemet, Commissioner Lal's personal secretary. How can I help you?"

Cha raises an eyebrow. "I've never heard of any secretary for Lal before! I need to speak to him."

"Lal has informed me that he is not to be disturbed, unless a matter of utmost importance arises. I have to ask what the nature of your business with the Commissioner is."

Cha grits his teeth. "What insolence!" Then he calms down a bit. "It concerns the safety of the Peacekeepers as well as that of his own person! I demand you connect to him immediately!"

The secretary seems unimpressed. "I have heard that phrase some twenty times today. Please, specify."

Cha is silent for a moment, while presenting one of his most ominous grimaces to the secretary. "For starters, I'm going to send home your ambassador Burton. He is no longer welcome inside Cultist territory. And the other matters I have to discuss are a damned bit too sensitive to tell to you! Do I have to make myself any more clear than this?! If he values his life and those of his countrymen, then he'll talk to me RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"

The secretary is now more stonefaced than a granite bust. "I will inform him, certainly, of this diplomatic action. As for your other topics, if they are too sensitive to be relayed to me then Lal has informed me that I am to advise you to send a deputation to him, carrying the necessary diplomatic letters, properly signed and sealed. Then, once your deputation has presented itself to me, Lal will speak to them in privacy and absolute security. That is the proper diplomatic procedure, and that is how Lal wants it to be done. Good day, Cha Dawn."

The projector dies down as the link is closed. Dorothy expects Cha to erupt, and is as surprised as she is wrong. Cha simply stares out into the empty space of the holo-projector and shrugs. "It seems that you are right, Dorothy. Somehow, that man strikes me as more twisted than a moebius-loop in a hurricane." He shrugs again. "But it is a feeling right now, nothing more. Despite the gross insolence, it seems I have to assemble a deputation."

"With your permission, I'd like to include a couple of probes on the deputation."

Cha smiles. "They will be easily included, Dorothy! Since he demands a deputation, he can't blame me for complying.. in the grandest of styles."


****


"Good morning, LightEning! What's that you are reading?"

"Well hello, Hubris. Nice of you to drop by." He waves vaguely with the pad he is holding. "This thing is crammed with today's most important news-bulletins around Zeus. Some nice vid-feeds, and a lot of text. Mainly, of course, I'm following up on our new target."

Dorothy looks surprised. "There's news about Ambassador Burton?"

"Of course; he arrived to U.N. Headquarters last evening. They are giving him a real hero's welcome." LightEning looks confused. "I thought Celan fed you the news as and when they happened..?"

Dorothy shrugs. "He only submits what he thinks is important. But that's not why I'm here. I came to check if you are ready to return to work."

He grimaces. "Well, the docs say they want to do a heap of tests and monitor my health a few days because there's the risk of some infinitely improbable after-effect from the absolute punishment I went through under that shelf. But mainly I think they want to find out as much as possible about the med-nanites sloshing around in my blood. Seems they're quite impressed by it's reoxygenating capabilities."

She nods. "Good; I'll make the doc declare you fully restored and in no need of further followups. I want you to play the role of diplomatic aide again; you'll be part of a deputation to the Peacekeepers."

He groans. "These propagandistic wimps? You must be joking! The show they're putting up for the ambassador is bad enough!"

"Oh? Fireworks and stuff?"

"That's where it starts. Listen to this.." He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

"Once the airlift entered Peacekeeper territory, it was honoured with an escort by a squadron of needlejets. As the plane was landing, on the Central Airport amid the cheering masses of ten thousand Peacekeeper citizens, the jets performed brilliant feats of aerial acrobatics and released mock missiles loaded with fireworks in honour of the ambassador. Once mr. Burton exited the airplane he was greeted by thunderous cheering, as well as the Peacekeeper Council -led by Pravin Lal. The Commissioner awarded him with a medal for his distinguished service for his country, citing especially his 'brave and unwavering conviction to upkeep the Peacekeeper ideals of humanity in the face of a barbaric and rogue nation'. After several speeches in his thanks, the ambassador was allowed to rest in the U.N. Grand Hotel's diplomatic suite, while Pravin Lal sent his personal surgeon and neurospecialist, Doctor Albert L. Ashton, to examine the ambassador's health. Then-"

"DOCTOR ASHTON?!?" Dorothy shouts.

Startled by the outburst, LightEning eyes the pad carefully. "Yes. Yes! Good grief, I've missed that- There's a popup-menu about him as well.. Let's see-"

Dorothy rises. "There's no time to study his bio. I know who -and what- he is. Get your clothes and get to the palace, as fast as possible!" She grabs the handle to the door leading out of the hospital room.

He nearly wails. "But I don't know where my clothes are! The doctor..."

Dorothy stops and turns around to look at him with a concentrated expression. Then she disappears out into the corridor of the hospital. LightEning hears a startled intake of breath, and seconds later an obviously stunned and disoriented nurse stumbles into the room. He focuses on LightEning. "You haven't received your clothes yet? Just a minute, then. I can't imagine why I haven't remembered them, if you are in a hurry to leave..." He turns and walks out the door, shaking his head. LightEning watches him go with a bemused look.


****


"What's the status?"

Balbo turns to LightEning and grins. "Hi again, tough guy. Your mates have agreed on a honorific for you, to commemorate your first wounding in action."

"Oh? Oh no. I don't like that look you're giving me. What is it?"

Balbo takes a slow breath, clearly savouring the moment. "It's 'Shorted'".

"Shorted LightEning?" He groans and chuckles at the same time. "Okay, that's it then. Now, what's happening?"

"Between Hubris and you arriving, the entire palace staff has been working on all cylinders trying to contact Pravin Lal. We fear now that not only are we being denied contact with him, but that he also is not being informed that we'd like to speak to him."

"Then it's too late?"

"Not really. Maybe. We just have to get the deputation going as soon as possible. I hear you're on it; so will most of the Cultist diplomats be. Ten BP:s and ten of our men, including Oaken and Starbright, will act as guards. Then there's what the official document calls 'staff'.. which is mostly actual staff, but also includes the rest of us probes under the heading 'troubleshooting'. We're all going there." He grins.

"And Hubris?"

"Not as Hubris. She'll use the name Rebecca Kojl."

"Right. When do we leave?"

"When you've packed. Get going."


End of Chapter 77.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 78: A Friend you Need is a Friend in Greed


The diplomat stepped forward with an outstretched hand in the direction of his colleauge.

"Greetings, and welcome to The Hive! I hope you were informed that I would meet you; I am diplomat Cheng, as you should be aware." They shook hands while Cheng continued talking. "I am afraid we only caught fragments of the message detailing your arrival; there was a most inconvenient EM-storm directly over our territories... I am afraid I must ask your name."

The University diplomat smiled and told Cheng his name.

Cheng looked perplexed. "Your name is.. Troubled Child?"

"Impressively close. Problem Child. Of course, that's the translation from traditional russian. My mother was of Armenian ancestry and knew a smattering of ancient russian words; She told me she found this name reading an ancient copy of Moscow Times in a museum while carrying me. She couldn't understand the words, but she could pronounce them. She thought they sounded like a good name for a warrior. I'm surprised; I didn't expect to meet anyone with a broad knowledge of russian!"

Cheng smiled. "Amazing; we have barely met and I feel that you've just supplied me with much information about yourself! Please allow me to repay your generosity and directness via a tour of the city." He gently nudged Problem Child by the elbow. "I have practiced russian ever since Hive-University relations were included to my responsibilities, some twenty years ago."

"But we haven't had relations until now!"

"Slightly incorrect; we have certainly had relations, but they have been mutually undefined. I have merely kept track of our two nations' foreign politics, observing when they have been in harmony and when they have conflicted. Out of this data it has been my duty to compile a biannual report to Chairman Yang, who would then adjust the Hive's attitude towards the University as he'd see fit."

"So.. he's lately been adjusting it towards a more friendly side?"

"I'd assume so. He does not inform me of his decisions on the subject."

They had been walking down a gently sloping corridor that now ended in a pair of sliding doors. They opened as the diplomats approached to reveal an unadorned elevator-cabin. The door slid shut behind them.

"I am curious; do you have many diplomats visiting your city?"

"Not really. Currently we have two resident ambassadors; from the Spartans and the Peacekeepers. The PK ambassador, by the way, is threatening to leave unless the Chairman changes his attitude towards Zakharov. We're currently helping him pack; once Yang has made a decision we know it is the right and proper one; it is unthinkable that he should be expected to change it."

Problem Child recognized the warning for what it was. "I see. I certainly don't plan on asking him to change any made decisions; merely to speak in favour of, and be available to represent, the University, should he feel the need to decide upon matters concerning us."

"Very good. Ah; the elevator is slowing down. I fear you will have to don a breather; I assume you are carrying your personal one..?"

"Why certainly. But why? As I understood, from the introductory holo you sent me, The Hive is almost entirely subterranean."

"Most true, but we don't bother to cycle breathable air into the less used sections, like the diplomats' walkway we are entering now. We merely pump in enough of Chiron's own atmosphere to create a pressure a fraction below that of the areas with a breathable atmosphere. We estimate that we are hereby maintaining breathable atmosphere in a volume only two thirds as big as would otherwise be the case; a very significant advantage when all is considered."

"I see. Most wise. These walls are fascinating me; their surface seems to have been melted.."

"Indeed. A tell-tale sign of plasma-drilling. What is left is a totally airtight surface. You might have difficulty in telling, but we just crossed the city's boundary. Outermost are the storage-spaces for less fragile items, like mined ore and processed metals. Inside that are stores for manufactured goods. Then come the water, air and food reserves. We would have to walk for half an hour to pass these stores, but that won't be necessary.. here starts the maglev-track. And there's a private train waiting for us...."


****


"That was a comfortable ride... Where are we now?"

"A tour of the city should start at the hub of it's activities, and since the Hive is the capital, this is also the hub of the entire faction. Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang has expressed a desire to meet you briefly after you arrived, so I am fortunate in being able to introduce you to our leader; the center of the hub. This way, please."

Until now, Problem Child had not seen a single square centimeter of decorations anywhere. He was mildly surprised and disappointed when the administrative building of the Human Hive's massive population turned out to be just as unadorned as everywhere else.

In front of them, two heavy-looking doors opened ponderously. A guard with his back towards the doorway glanced briefly and warily over his shoulder, to make sure the newcomers appeared harmless. His vision rested a fraction of a second longer than necessary on Problem Child before returning to stare straight forward, and this was also his only concession to curiosity. The hall beyond was as void of decorations as it was large. The word cavernous sprang unbidden into Problem Child's mind. In the middle of this grey, polished vastness, dwarfed but somehow still dominating, was a man sitting cross-legged on the floor behind a table. Apparently, Yang was eating lunch. He glanced up briefly, nodded and pointed at a small mat on the opposite side of the table.

"Good day, Ambassador. Do join me."

Cheng indicated with a nod to Problem child to go ahead and sit down. The Hive diplomat himself remained standing at a respectful distance from the table. Problem Child sat down and, sensing that this was expected of him, waited for Yang to speak.

Finally, the chairman looked up again. "What is your name?"

The ambassador told him.

Yang nodded. "A name with a meaning, yet a meaningless name. More correct would be 'problem-solver child'. Your name has, apparently, not been a predestination."

To be surprised once again would have been pointless. "You are insightful, and knowledgeable, but I must admit to being led by the apparent destiny. Only, the solutions I envisioned during childhood were not the ones I applied once I had the opportunity. Destiny is unclear."

"Indeed. But more of that later." Yang paused for a second. "Your focus is wandering, I can tell. You are searching for a feature to lock your eyes on, are you not..?"

"Maybe; let us say... I am searching for a feature merely to confirm that there is one to find in this place. I am intrigued.. why do you have no decorations in your city?"

"Many reasons, but mainly because the unblemished, smooth surface that has been well crafted, and refined until all imperfections have been exorcised, but after that has not had any further work wasted on it; that surface... I find it has a beauty of a most fundamental nature. Why hide it with superfluous decoration? Cheng will probably mention additional reasons during your tour of the city." He dabbed gently at his upper lip with a serviette. "And now, my good ambassador, I have matters to attend to. But I would appreciate your presence during my breakfast tomorrow morning. A servant will lead you to my quarters at the appropriate time."

Problem Child nodded and stood up. "I am honoured. Until then I bid you good day, Chairman." He retreated until he was behind Chen. Then they both turned around and walked out of the hall.

"You did well, ambassador. The Peacekeeper ambassador was less skilled in his initial meeting with the Chairman; I suspect he worried excessively about causing a faux pas, and therefore seemed strained and uncomfortable. Very well done."

"Thank you. I've always found that preparing for every situation is fruitless. So much better merely to hone your skills in dealing with the issue at hand as, and when, it happens."

"But that means you never have the initiative, does it not?"

"In some situations that is true, yes."

They walked in silence for a short moment.

"By the way, you are not the first outsider to comment on the plainness of the city. You will soon come to realize why the entire concept is slightly misleading."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But now.. where to continue our tour? Do you have anything you'd wish to see?"

"Well, there are numerous myths circulating the other factions concerning the everyday life of the Hive. So, with your permission, I'd like to see people. Homes, work-places and recreational areas."

Cheng licked his teeth while digesting the request. "Hmm. I think we're quite close to a factory. That would be a good place to start."


****


"You need to protect your hearing. These headgears will muffle any outside sound quite effectively, and also serve as an air-filtration unit. There is a microphone you can speak into, and some speakers so you can hear what I am saying. There, now these two helmets are on the same channel."

Problem Child donned the helmet, turned to Cheng and said something. Cheng raised a hand and donned his own helmet. "Excuse me, ambassador, what did you say?"

"I said, these things are quite good quality."

"Thank you. Now we are ready to enter the factory. I believe it is slightly warm in there, so brace yourself for the change."

A pair of doors slid aside, and a wave of heat poured down upon the diplomats, hinting of the uncomfortable atmosphere beyond. They stepped through the doorway. The noise in the factory was somewhere on the outer reaches of what could still be called sound. 'Shock waves' would be as fitting. The helmets were extremely good dampers, but maybe nothing short of vacuum would muffle well enough to create a comfortable noise-level. Problem Child had to raise his voice to be sure Cheng would hear him through the speaker.

"This factory is automated!"

"No, it's not. This is one of the multi-purpose plants, capable of being retooled within minutes to produce anything you might desire. Every stage of the production requires human supervision."

"But there's no-one around! There's just these machines, working away..."

"Yes. I will explain shortly. There, however, is the supervisor of the factory."

A man on a catwalk had strolled into view, wearing a similar helmet and apparently giving the machinery a superficial inspection. He noticed the diplomats and waved a friendly, yet uninterested, hello. Cheng continued talking.

"I feel sorry for him, but he is well compensated for his sacrifice I am told. Unfortunately, there are one or two like him in every factory. It's inescapable."

"I'm afraid you have completely lost me."

"Then step this way, and you shall see the other workers."

They exited the factory.


End of chapter 78.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 79: The King is Dead.


Lord Paidar drums impatiently with his fingers on his thigh. Then he rises up and starts to pace back and forth in front of the chair.

"What's the time, LightEning?"

"Fourteen hours and twenty-six minutes. Still four minutes."

Dorothy/Rebecca Kojl smiles slightly. "Are you nervous of crowds, Paidar?"

"Let's just say that they're good when they're down there a good distance away and all you have to worry about is standing on your toes so everyone can see you waving. I find that the... intimacy of this is new. It's like we're some attraction in a zoo.

Dorothy spends a moment idly taking in the room. It is a hybrid of an antechamber and an amphitheatre, with a wide corridor leading to and from a central area flanked by rows of seats. Doors by the far walls allow access to the seats, while the pathway and central areas are fenced off. Doors are located at each end of the corridors, one leading to Pravin Lal's office and the other leading to the rest of the governmental building. Almost all the seats are occupied, and the Cultist deputation is subjected to much ogling and staring.

"I suppose Lal thinks it is symbolic of his open government. He might say it shows that no-one can meet him in secrecy. His guards might say that it makes an assassin's life difficult. I say that the best way to guard your secrets is by creating the impression you don't have any. I mean, if he's so open then why isn't this arrangement present in his office? Because for some of the people that want to talk to him there might be reasons other than the official ones."

Paidar grunts. "You'd think these people have never seen a foreigner before!"

"I gather they've never had a chance to see one of Cha Dawn's aides so up close before. And Cha did make sure that we came here with, if you know the expression, our trumpets blaring."

The couches for those waiting for an appointment occupy half the central stage. The other half is mostly empty, except for the secretary's desk. Anwar Hemet now looks up from his paperwork and gazes at the deputation as if he's been completely unaware of the immediate presence of more than thirty people. He breaks into a welcoming smile and waves at Paidar to approach. He speaks.

"Ah, Lord Paidar and the Cultist deputation! You are most welcome here, and may I say that your presence has provided a major happening for Peacekeeper society. The public-" He gazes left and right to take in the rows of seats, all occupied. "-has taken a healthy renewed interest in state affairs."

Paidar smiles innocently and raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Really? You'd expect them to be sick and tired of all these foreigners stomping around in their capital nowadays, ever since Lal required deputations rather than the standard hyperlink for interfactional negotiations. You must have, what? Thirty, fourty deputations a week?"

There is a fragile moment, during which the absence of any other deputations is particularly loud. Then the secretary clears his throat.

"Well, only a fraction of them wish to see the Commissioner, of course... and most are of smaller size anyway... and it's been relatively quiet as of late. Yes. Now, did you have the formal documents that detail what rights and powers Cha has bestowed upon the deputation?"

Paidar nods. "Of course; they are right here." He holds out his hand, and LightEning gives him a thick wad of folders. He places them on the desk.

Anwar looks down, perplexed. "Funny, I expected a... thicker... document."

"Oh well, Cha is a man who likes to be brief. I think you will find that we are empowered by him to act as representatives for him, that is Cha Dawn, and the Cult of Planet, in any way we see fit, without limitations."

With his brow furrowed, the secretary opens the folders and glances at certain parts of the documents. Then he stacks them neatly and nods to Paidar.

"They are in order. You have been formally welcomed, and I will deliver the letters of accreditation to the Commissioner momentarily. Since we could expect you, you have been reserved two hours' time with him in the red dining-hall, beginning at ten o' clock this evening."

"Oh? You have many matters of utmost international, also personal, importance to take care of?"

Again, the secretary shows just how stony he can look. "Of course. Few matters requiring the Commissioner's attention are of any other sort."

"He must be blessed with amazing stamina and organizational abilities then, since he manages to govern the Peacekeepers as well."

"The delegates and the U.N. Senate help."

"Capital. How much in advance do you recommend us to be here?"

"Oh, between five and fifteen minutes is usually enough. However long it takes you to be ready before ten."

"Good. Until then.."

The members of the deputation walk away. Everyone is silent until they exit the main doors. Then Paidar stops.

"What to do now? Hubris, could your probes sneak around in there without being detected?"

"Hardly. It might be mostly public-access, and it certainly isn't Cha's palace, but to do any good they'd have to take too large risks involving restricted areas. In a way, openness in the form of crowds of visitors can add to the security of an official building. The actual areas that need to be carefully guarded are considerably fewer in number."

"Right. Then forget that. Let's find a restaurant with some half-decent food, or something else to do until it's time to get ready."


****


"That was excellent."

"Tell me, Lord Paidar, have you eaten smoked salmon before?"

"Oh, a couple of times, Hubris. I always order it when I see it on the menu."

"So.. You've gone through the -ah- initiation, then?" Dorothy smiles slightly as she asks the question.

"What do you- oh, the initiation. Yes. I was heartily sick all the next day after eating my first salmon. Only later did I hear what eating fish does to the stomach if you've never come close to it before. How could I know...." He looks up as silence descends around the table.

Dorothy chuckles. "I didn't want to say anything in advance that would spoil the fun, because I do believe that you and I are the only ones around this table that have ever had the luxury of eating fish in any form before."

There is a loud belch. "Not true, Hubris dear! Balbo and I have eaten fish before. But we didn't notice any adverse effects, did we?"

Balbo spreads his arms wide. "That business with the spots I got from the strange fungus I ate stole everyone's attention." He looks at the expressions around the table. "There was a mad scientist cook and a daring wager involved. I don't want to talk about it."

Dorothy clears her throat. "Anyways, you first-timers might want to soothe your stomach before meeting Lal. I do believe there'll be more food on the menu tonight."

There's some general nods. Paidar waves towards an observant waiter, who brings the cheque-pad. He looks at the figure below the glowing double line with a hint of dismay and vexation, and then he fishes in his pockets for his credit card and waves it over the pad. There is a beep and the pad goes dark.

"All ready? Then let's find somewhere else to spend our remaining time. Here you go, girl." He hands back the pad.

The waiter nods, swallows for courage and speaks. "Sir, I collect autographs of politicians; could I please have yours?"

Paidar raises his eyebrows, seemingly happy about the request. "Certainly, my dear. Electronic or authentic?"

"Authentic would be very nice, and.. both would be best, sir!"

He nods and smiles. "All right. Give me your notepad, I have my own pen." He signs the notepad and hands it back. "Your palm, if I may?" They shake hands quickly, and the waiter immediately takes out a small screen from her pocket and sweeps her hand against it while Paidar walks away.

"Thank you so much Sir Lord Paidar! I'm so terribly sorry that your meeting with Lal had to be cancelled."

Paidar stops dead. Then he turns around and looks incredulously at the girl.

"What do you mean? We have an appointment with him at ten o' clock."

She looks confused. "I thought that's why you came here, because he.." She stops, and restarts. "Sir, just prior to your arrival they said on the news that the Commissioner has had some sort of seizure or something. They said that all his further appointments would be postponed until further notice."

Paidar opens and closes his mouth a couple of times while staring at the waiter.

"Do you have a news-console in here that we could use? It's urgent."

She nods. "There's a node terminal through that door, sir."


****


The secretary's amphitheatre has changed; gone is the public, and in it's place is a crowd of Peacekeeper politicians talking worriedly to one another. Three guards stand in front of the door to Lal's office, and two guards flank the secretary's desk. Clearly, this isn't the time and place for open government. Anwar looks up at the approaching deputation.

"There you are; I've been trying to reach you. I'm sorry, this is highly unusual, but the Commissioner's... health... has deteriorated abruptly. I fear it is highly likely he will be unable to meet you at ten." He seems genuinely apologetic and worried.

Dorothy speaks. "He's ill? Is it bad?"

"There is no official statement of that yet, as I believe the doctors are still trying to figure out what is wrong." He takes a deep breath. "As his secretary, I am acting commissioner.." He gulps and shudders. "By Planet! You must understand, no-one thought it very likely that this would happen. Least of all I."

Paidar nods in sympathy. "Rest assured, acting commissioner, that I and all of the deputation will help in any way we can, probably by keeping out of your way."

"Oh no, you are no bother -well, at least not more than would be expected, really. I can arrange to have lodgings here in the council house appointed to a couple of your assistants, so they'll be able to fill you in on current information as and when it becomes available. Would that suit you? Oh, and if you would inform me somewhat of the agenda you wish to discuss with Lal, I might better prioritize it when I construct the Commissioner's new schedule once he has recovered."

Paidar looks at him for a moment. Then he glances at Dorothy, who nods.

"Very well. But not here, if at all possible. Somewhere private. This had better not be generally known, even among the councilmembers."

Anwar looks this way and that, apparently at random. He is clearly stunned by uncertainty. "Well.. I could see you some time tomorrow afternoon. In the red dining-hall."


****


"Now, please keep it brief."

Paidar is silent for a moment. "We suspect there is a traitor within the Peacekeeper government."

The secretary goes pale. "Who? Working for whom?"

"We.. don't know who. But we have evidence. There is at least one person whose allegiance lies with the Cybernetic Consciousness rather than the Peacekeepers. It must be someone high and mighty. We know -or maybe I should say knew- that some kind of coup is or was planned." Paidar sighs. "Do you know if there's signs of... foul play? Is Lal really ill, or is the problem... different?"

"I can't tell you."

"Ah. So there's a twist to this story, yes?"

"I really can't tell you! But... I will take steps. I can't promise much, though. Mainly I will concentrate on arranging the emergency elections."

"What! Surely you aren't thinking of replacing Lal!"

"No. But the national council decided today that we should elect a Vice-Commissioner. I'm not formally recognized to have any legal grounds with which I can take care of the Commissioner's duties. So the council has decided to create the title of Vice-Commissioner, and give it all the duties and rights that Lal had -I mean has. They have graciously told me that as his secretary they assume I will be a candidate."

"Capital. We shall be lobbying for you."

"I'm flattered, Lord Paidar, but I'm afraid that the elections might turn out to be of purely symbolic importance. I will participate in them, of course, as there are fringe-benefits to gain from the elections themselves, in the form of new friends and supporters, but the general atmosphere in the senate is that there already is a winner. Everyone is preparing for that."

"Might you reveal who you believe will win?"

"Ambassador Stephen Ray Burton. He's very popular among the council members, apparently. Plus, he has the backing of all the major parties, including the Unity Alliance. They are fervently against me."

"Why are they against you?"

"They consider Lal's conversion of the U.N. government into a factional government to be illegal and against the principles of the U.N. They claim that the reason why no other faction is prepared to reform the true U.N. -organization as a peacekeeping force is that Lal is much too willing to let the agenda of his own faction override that of the international community. As his secretary, I have held the status as Lal's major advisor in internal politics and agendas, so the Unity sees me as the worst possible man to follow Lal. They fear I'd completely neglect the foreign policy in favour of internal affairs."

Paidar sighs. "And Burton has extensive diplomatic experience in numerous foreign powers, last but not least us. And nowadays we probably count as a hostile power to a sizable portion of the Peacekeeper population. So, if they think you are introvert, nationally speaking, then he must be extrovert. I see your problem. Do many think as the Unity does?"

"Yes. They are the second largest political party in the council, and as patriotic traditionalists they have a solid backing. Both the ruling party and the opposition coalition want them as allies. So backing me would be politically unhealthy."

Paidar thinks. Then he takes a deep breath. "Mister Hemet, I know Ambassador Burton quite well. And I can tell you, he does not have the rebirth of any United Nations as his first, or indeed as any of his goals. His name could be mentioned in the dictionary under 'Introvert'. So I must ask you, do you think that the Peacekeepers need to be more extrovert or more introvert?"

"I'm a realist, Paidar. It doesn't matter to me, as long as things are running smoothly, there's a tomorrow we can look forward to, and I am secure in my job."

Paidar smiles. "You sound like the right man for the job to me. I'll, no we will support you. Now, There is something this Unity-party should know. Is there some possible way they could find out that in reality almost every faction Burton has visited, as an ambassador, has taken to an extreme dislike for him? Nothing officially, of course, but if they'd ask the right people they'd find out just how loathed he is. And it is not because they're envious of him. Oh, no. See where I' m heading?"

Anwar's eyes are sparkling. "They won't believe you."

"Who says we'd tell them anything? No. As long as they hear this... interesting fact, they'll find someone they trust and ask them. Think you can manage this? As for your bad image, Rebecca Kojl here is my press advisor, and she has some excellent assistants. I'm sure they can advise you how to work that PR-magic."

The Vice-Commisioner's candidate grins. "I have other matters to attend to, and you gave me several extra ones as well." He turns serious. "Please do stay a couple of weeks, you have the government's invitation for that. We should meet again, and I will contact you when matters have ...advanced suitably." He bows slightly and walks out of the hall.

Under his breath, Paidar starts to count. Dorothy explodes on the 't' in three. "WHAT THE MINDWORM'S TEETH DID YOU JUST DO?!"


End of chapter 79.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 80: There's No Place Like Hive


The diplomats step into a huge chamber. Problem Child gasps. Cheng smiles smugly.

"It takes every visitor like that, the first time. We call these rooms 'grape silos', due to the seemingly irregular clustering of the pods into bunches. Actually, the location of every pod is the result of some of our most complex ever calculations within the area of logistics."

"By Planet! How many pods are there?"

"The number actually varies from week to week as pods are constantly added or removed, but this room houses about twelve thousand pods, some two hundred of which are vacant. There's ten rooms like this here in The Hive."

"Can we take a closer look?"

"Certainly. I've even arranged for a vacant pod for you. All foreign diplomats are welcome to try them out -and most do- but eventually they ask shyly for 'more conventional' quarters. Don't feel you have anything to prove, or a record to break. We'd be delighted if you'd feel at home in one of these, but we're quite used by now to the fact that one not born in the Human Hive usually finds our way of life too alien to be able to adapt." They have walked towards a centrally located cluster, surrounded by a spiral catwalk and covered with various balconies and ladders for access to the higher pods, and Cheng has walked a little bit ahead of Problem Child. Now he spins around, one arm outstretched, to take in the entire room. "Think! In this room, eight percent of The Hive's entire population work, eat, sleep, relax and search for fun and excitement! Each pod is capable of sustaining it's inhabitant day and night for up to twenty years without servicing, while carefully monitoring and maintaining nutritional levels, fitness and health; it is even able to administer medicine for the more easily curable diseases. That factory we visited is mostly run from here, except for the overseer whose physical presence is required on-site."

"Goodness gracious! You're saying that most of these people aren't sleeping, but are actually working -or resting, or... well, why would they prefer this?"

"Why wouldn't they? They are living in mankind's most stable society and it's most hospitable dwelling ever designed. Via MMI, they are in touch with a virtual reality -model of the base. An exact copy of it that they can walk around in and manipulate as they wish. It's always clean, the temperature is always pleasant, it's always bright and pleasantly perfumed. And, it has an additional feature; it's decorated. Art of every kind cover it's walls, floors and ceilings. Those citizens who are actively interested in such a thing arrange a large annual party, where they vote for which piece of art stays, and which will be replaced. And who will create something to fill in the space. And don't think they merely 'will' their visions into existence; Yang has forbidden short-cuts of that kind. They must work on their material as any sculptor or painter in the real world would be forced."

The pods resemble huge metallic eggs. A hatch set in the front allows access, and is also slightly transparent. Problem Child walks from pod to pod in a stunned fashion, occasionally stretching out to touch them, as if not quite believing the evidence of his eyes. Abruptly, he places his left ear against the hatch of the pod he is closest to.

"I can hear a woman singing!"

"She's singing somewhere in the Virtual Hive, then. When Yang envisioned this ultimate usage for neural grafting, MMI-based technology and VR-programming, he made one basic rule clear to his engineers: If a person develops a skill, he or she should be able to use that skill and practice it with equal ease in both the virtual and real versions of the Hive. So, when someone sings, they actually do sing. And it's their actual voice that is heard in the virtual Hive. That way, the person can be sure that he or she will be able to sing just as good -or bad- in the real Hive. The same goes for everything else. Yang did not want to enable people to establish different personalities for Real and Virtual Hive. He just wanted them to prefer the Virtual Hive over the real one, as a place to live in."

"Is that why the walls are bare here?"

"No. While Yang does prefer a lack of decorations, he also says that to allow decorations would be a permanent compromise to a problem whose components change shape, possibly resulting in a situations where all the reasons for the original decision have disappeared. He means that fashion would render any decorations obsolete. So, better to keep the walls bare and let people decorate their Virtual Hive however they wish. The reason why he wants people to prefer the Virtual Hive is because it allows them to function as a much more closely-knit society than is possible in any real world. One way it does that is through the Hivemind. It's- well, the Cybernetic Consciousness is a slower, more permanent version of it. The Hivemind is temporary- you are only allowed acces to it for five minutes per hour. And it's faster, since theoretically the entire population of The Hive can use the Hivemind simultaneously and in real time. Only the Consciousness' government can copy that."

"But what is it for? What does it do?"

"It's like a sea of thoughts. When you link up, you are grouped next to those persons whose thoughts mostly resemble your own. Sorry, that was a bit unclear, I should say opinions, feelings, moods, wishes. Your general mood and thoughts are added to the sea, and in return you get to sense that vast conglomerate of an entire society's opinions, neatly grouped into a self-organizing map. And it's an active map. You sense what the society as a whole feels, and can analyze any part of it, and others sense what you feel and think. Thus, you interact by influencing and being influenced in turn. It brings a great sense of purpose, advances understanding and fellow-feeling, and is very soothing."

"And what does Yang get out of this?"

"It's a statistical tool, of course. His interface is different, in that he can choose to observe the entire Hivemind as a whole -to look for general trends in moods and opinions- or even focus on the motives and feelings of a single person. It is the primary tool with which he maintains a good sense of what is happening, and what people think, in The Human Hive. And.. he can use it to actively influence people, by inserting targetted opinions and emotions."

"You mean that he has control over the will of the public?"

"Of course. It's part of his job to guide the people and form their will. One can opt not to link up to the Hivemind, but I have never heard of anyone who has done so. The sense of isolation would be too overwhelming. In fact, most people would prefer never to leave the pod at all, but it is necessary already for psychological reasons. Generally, everyone is required to perform some real-world duty once every week, that requires them to be active away from their pods. Generally, it's inspecting some area of the base for damage or wear, or to act as couriers between two bases. That last task is mostly given as punishment, though. As travelling between bases can take days."

A thought seems to be nagging Problem Child. "How do people do, when they- if they-" He waves his hands vaguely in the air, looking embarrassed.

Cheng smiles slightly. "Most pods are capable of housing two people, ambassador. It's the standard. Physical proximity is, of course, important to couples. But even then, they usually prefer to socialize within the comfortable settings of the Virtual Hive. Births, however, require some special arrangements, and there are rooms we call 'family pods' that might resemble normal homes in other factions. The children are usually assigned their own pods when they are ready to begin in elementary school."

"I'm frankly amazed, mr. Cheng. Um, where is the pod reserved for me?"

"We've made sure there's a vacant one here at ground level. It's this one over here."

They walk over to a pod that looks like any other pod in the room. Cheng gently nudges a metallic plate set in the hatch, and the hatch opens with a hiss. Inside is what seems to be a mould for a human body, fitted with an MMI-link.

"Funny, I expected... catheters, probes, electrodes... you know. Life-support."

"Most of the medical data is collected through smart fibers, that's microscopic threads that extend through the porous material of the bed and through your skin without leaving a mark. That's also how you receive nutrition and muscular stimulation. The pod will be filled up to your neck with a fluid as warm as your body, and with a slightly smaller weight-to-volume ratio, to further increase comfort and prevent bedsores."

"Um... Right now, though I'd prefer something... a little more familiar to me. If that's all right."

"Certainly. A set of rooms in connection to this one has been furnished for your convenience. It includes bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and office. We do have a terminal linked to a virtual one within the V-Hive, but I do recommend that you try the pod if you wish to talk with The Hive's citizens. They will feel more comfortable, and will respect the effort." They have stopped outside a door apparently leading into Problem Child's assigned quarters. "Is there something you wish to ask, or something more you'd like to see? I know the day has been long, and I will be available tomorrow as well should you wish to explore the city further."

"No, Thank you so much for this tour, It was most enlightening. Oh, there is one thing- How do I contact you?"

Cheng smiles. "Two ways. One is to use the terminal. The other is to simply go to my pod and knock- that is, place your hand on the metal plate and I will be notified that someone wishes to see me."

Problem Child finally realizes something obvious. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry to have caused this inconvenience for you, ambassador.. you must be eager to return to your pod. Er, which one is yours?"

Cheng points. "That one. Since I will act as your guide and contact within the Human Hive, my pod has been moved as close as possible to your dwellings."

"Ah. Oh. Well, er, good night, ambassador Cheng."

He watches the Hive diplomat walk to his pod and enter it. Only then does he realize he hasn't tried to open the door to his appartment yet. Fortunately, the palm-reader seems to accept him, and the door opens. Whistling slightly, he steps in.


****


"Good morning, Ambassador. May I ask, how do you like The Hive so far?"

"Sir, I feel that I have merely scratched the surface of the city yet with my explorations, so I have not formed a definite opinion. However, I can say that it certainly overthrows all the expectations I had. I have come to realize that very few people outside of your borders have a clear picture of Hive society and customs. But, to speak of merely what I have seen... I am impressed. The University, I feel, would find many interesting aspects of your society to study and learn from, should they get the chance."

"Thank you." It doesn't sound like any real thanks, merely an affirmation that the world is running smoothly and on the right tracks. "Do join me for breakfast."

Only now does Problem Child sit down at the table where Yang is eating. He sees himself to a portion of the food laid out on the table, and eats in silence, again waiting for Yang to speak. That occurs only once he has finished eating.

"Now, mr. Ambassador, to politics. I know Zakharov's eagerness to learn. He has built his society around that desire, and he lets it create a form for both himself and the entire University, like a shell. This society... does not have the same set of priorities. But there exists knowledge that would help us."

Problem Child nods slowly. "Zakharov knows that too. He has said, once, that any society is almost permanently in a state of near-catastrophic ignorance. Knowledge, in itself, is dangerous, and mostly the solution is additional knowledge. An endless cycle."

Yang nods. "He is correct. Therefore I believe he will understand when I state that we are not looking for just any piece of knowledge, but only specific ones. To guard against unwanted side-effects. Likewise, I believe Zakharov would not be interested in just any trivial piece of knowledge that we have. He, also, has... preferences."

Another slow nod. "Yes. First, though, there is a common question: What do we know?"

"Yes. Well, I certainly know much about the Cybernetic Consciousness."

"So does Zakharov, sir. They are, after all, neighbours."

"And, I know about splinter algorithms."

This time, Problem Child chooses to remain silent.

"Take a look at my society, mr. Ambassador. I have worked hard, thought hard, to create this high level of harmony between every individual and the society as a whole. I felt great peace and satisfaction the day I envisioned what I could achieve, should I only embrace the full reality of the mind-to-machine interface. It is not perfect; the harmony and coordination is not intense enough, and there is a too sharp border still between individual and crowd and community. But it is the best I have found so far, and no doubt from here we can develop an even better technique. Until then I maintain this transitional society as well as I can."

Yang peers at Problem Child.

"Can you spot the weakness, ambassador? Can you point at the thing that spells doom for the Human Hive unless steps are taken?"

"The MMI, right? Your society is built around the MMI. Any attack would target that. And the splinter algorithms do just that."

"Good. Very good. Did Cheng tell you about the Hivemind? I have allowed an entire parallel reality to form, so that my people could be more harmonious and united. And then I learned of the splinter algorithms. They are very dangerous even here... and they have brought terror to the virtual Hive..."

"May I ask, sir, do you know how they enter Hive society?"

"By probe teams. Somehow, the Cybernetic Consciousness is able to maintain a very high presence of probes here on Zeus. They infiltrate a base, trying to sneak past the automated security systems, and tamper with the pods. They transmit subliminal commands to the occupant, trying to bend his will to a more favourable outlook on the Consciousness in general and splinter algorithms in particular. It's risky, since I -and some aides I appointed for that very purpose- can spot such an intrusion through the Hivemind. The probes' solution is to make the victim resent the Hivemind. I cannot counter that, since I cannot make the Hivemind involuntary without endangering it's purpose. Then, once they judge that the victim has been adequately brainwashed, they communicate their presence to him or her and offer a splinter algorithm." Yang sighs. "So far, I haven't heard of anyone that has refused. They are good. Once the merger is complete, the new cyborg immediately begins to persuade others, from within the local version of the V-Hive, to merge. Also, the person reestablishes the link with the Hivemind, and uses it as a very powerful tool of persuasion. They bend it's purpose, and usurp my control over it. This was most painfully obvious when I lost a base to the Cyborgs. No-one ever heard about it, since I made sure that the base ceased to exist before it could establish any kind of contact to the rest of the Human Hive."

"Goodness gracious! How bad is the situation?"

"Not bad at all anymore. The bases' Hiveminds have been updated with programs designed to spot merged individuals, and even sleeper algorithms... though sleepers are rare within the Human Hive. Also, I have found that surgically replacing the MMI and reengineering the personality of the individual removes all traces of the algorithm. But, I estimate that there is still a ...presence in every base, simply because the splinters can evade detection by refraining from using the Hivemind."

Problem Child is silent for a moment. "The University would be very interested in knowing how you can spot merged and sleeper-algorithms."

Yang nods. "Tell me, do you have an MMI?"

"Yes, I do. I brought an adapter with me, in case you don't have optic-"

"So, it's optronic?"

"Yes."

"Just the interface part, or also the processing unit and the memory unit?"

"It has optronic processors and memories. I'm sorry, but where are you getting with this?"

"I'm interested in... neural MMI:s. Where the processor and memories are integrated as neurons directly into the brain."

"Neuronic MMI:s? That's what we call them. But why? I can reveal to you, the Cyborgs already know about them, and they have been very inventive in ways to introduce splinter-algorithms into them."

"I believe that, with the information I have, neuronic MMI:s won't present such a big risk for the Human Hive."

Problem Child waits a moment to see if Yang will continue and present him with a reason for wanting neuronic MMI:s. Then he speaks. "Well, you already have MMI:s -and have developed it's usage far beyond the University. I don't see why Zakharov wouldn't provide you with the neuronic technology; we're hard-pressed to keep it out of the Morganites' hands as it is, and will feel relieved when they finally send a probe-team that is skilled enough."

"Good. Then, we should discuss how to exchange information, and coordinate further efforts into neutralizing the Cyborg threat."

Problem Child flinches. This isn't why he has originally come here; this doesn't sound like Yang is thinking solely of defense...


End of chapter 80.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 81: What is the Value of a Man?


"Good evening, Commissioner."

"Good evening, Stephen. Please take a seat."´

Lal appears distracted. Ambassador Burton seats himself in an armchair positioned at an angle to Lal's desk. He clasps his hands in front of him and waits in silence. The Commissioner inspects the papers on his desk, blinks confusedly and looks up at Burton.

"I'm sorry, Stephen... what was it you wanted?"

Burton scratches the back of his head. "Pravin, you summoned me. To discuss my next assignment."

"Oh? Oh? Well, yes, obviously, we'll have to find some new place for you... How about the Cult of -no, that was you, wasn't it? Then- maybe the Cybernetic Consciousness? I'm sure I have a memorandum..." He starts to rummage among the papers on his desk, spilling a large amount of them onto the floor. He leans back, perplexed, his arms visibly shaking.

"Commissioner? Are you all right?" Burton is anxiously leaning forward in his chair.

"I'm fine, fine; I just seem to be a bit tired, that's all." Lal smiles, and two lines of blood emerge from his nostrils and meet on his upper lip. "If you could help me pick..." He tries to rise from his chair, and collapses on the floor.

"Ambassador?! Pravin! What's wrong?" Burton has rushed to the side of Commissioner Lal, and is holding his shoulder. Lal is spasming violently. Stephen rises, searches the desk hurriedly and, finding it, hammers a button. Then he returns to trying to aid the Commissioner. Seconds later the door slams back, revealing a group of guards and paramedics rushing in.

The scene fades. "Since then, no further comment on the Commissioner's health had been given, until ten minutes ago, when his chief neurospecialist, Dr. Michael Ashton, issued this statement..." A press-room in University Central Hospital fades into view. Doctor Ashton is standing behind a small podium, flanked by several other doctors. He has just raised his hands to silence the crowd, and is now lowering it.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, after hearing with his secretary and his lawyers, since he has no living relatives, we are at this time giving the following statement: The Commissioner's condition is stable, and at no time was his life jeopardized. We have diagnosed him with a massive stress-related nervous breakdown, coupled with a mild stroke. We do not wish at this time to present any timeframe regarding his recuperation. That is all."

The scene fades. "Well, there you have it. Reactions on the streets today were...

Paidar switches off the monitor. Silence fills conference room three, The Diplomat Grand Hotel, Peacekeeper Plaza, U.N.Headquarters.

"We were too late."

Paidar doesn't bother to turn towards Balbo. "More likely, whoever did this was just waiting for the right moment, or hoping that it wouldn't be necessary."

LightEning clears his throat. "We're assuming it wasn't natural, right? And we're assuming Ambassador Burton is responsible?" There is a general nodding. He continues. "But why would he expose himself as a likely suspect by being in the room? And why not just try and implant a sleeper-algorithm, or an active splinter, straight away?"

Dorothy/Hubris shifts uneasily. "Because Lal doesn't have a fully developed MMI, just an early-model, neurally grafted, electronic memory-aid, marginally upgradable with software. Surgery is required to upgrade it into something that can be used as housing for a splinter. It's officially known that Lal's opinion towards the MMI has been extremely negative." She sighs. "I know where this train of thought is going; He's now in a hospital, and we know his chief neurospecialist is merged with a splinter. But I don't see how he could perform major surgery on Lal without people raising questions. Of course, if Sprayber becomes elected, then he'll have absolute power over the Peacekeepers, but only while Lal recovers. Unless he is willing to attempt a coup while he's in office. So, I was thinking, maybe they're trying to make Lal's condition permanent... Anyway, I know how they did it. Our recorded conversation between the Ambassador and Dr. Ashton proves it; they sabotaged his memory-aid, and installed some kind of trigger to make it malfunction so that Lal would be incapacitated. The trigger might even be something spoken."

"Like 'good evening, Commissioner'?"

"Yes. Even that. Anyway, I don't think Sprayber plans to kill him. That would lead to an obduction. People would like to find out what killed him. Even now I suspect the doctors are subjecting him to every possible scan and test devised, to make sure they aren't missing anything. But I doubt they'll find out what triggered his collapse; it's easy to make sure the memory-aid is back to normal. They might detect some neurochemical abnormities in the graft's vicinity, but that might as well be a sign that whatever went wrong reacted badly to the presence of the memory-aid. Isn't that so, doctor?"

The deputation's chief medic, Cha Dawn's own neurospecialist, a gray-haired and wrinkled woman with dark eyes, nods. "You know much about medicine, miss Kojl. But there is another possibility. Do you know that in the Cult, to facilitate recuperation from strokes and many other brain injuries, we install MMI:s into the patients? We can program them with all kinds of exercises for memory, concentration, coordination, speech... anything. Maybe they do the same here?"


****


Lal makes an attempt to sit up. "Why, Ashton, have you ordered guards outside my room?"

"Sir, they are there for your safety."

"That's unnecessary, I'm sure. Send them away. And call for Anwar Hemet. I need to stay in touch with what's going on."

"Sir, there are rumours that your attack of sickness was the work of members from the Cultist deputation."

"What deputation?"

Doctor Ashton blinks slowly. "As for your other request, No. You need rest. Doctor's orders."

"Albert, my health takes second place to the welfare of the Peacekeepers."

"Sometimes, sir, they can be one and the same. So, please, rest now!"

Elsewhere in the hospital, Balbo curses. He is fiddling with a datapad hooked up to some optical cables.

">Would you look at this, Laysa! Lousiest electronic security on Chiron lets us tap into the surveillance cameras, only to find out that Lal is guarded by so many people I'm surprised an overzealous bodyguard isn't sitting on his head. How many are there? Fifty? A hundred?<"

">Hard to say. We can't see the hopsital canteen from these cameras, so we can't count those who are 'guarding' it. What can you do?<"

">Nothing at all.<" He spits on the floor. ">I'll call Dorothy... <Channel 0241> Hey Dorothy!<"

">Yes?<"

">We're good for nothing here; the security around Lal is tight enough to catch a flea in a camo-suit.<"

">That's bad. Hmm... Can you access the hospital's surgery-room reservations from where you are hooked on?<"

">Haven't tried yet, lass... Yes, I can. What about it?<"

">When is Lal scheduled for surgery?<"

">Let's see... Operating room three is reserved for one Doctor Ashton, starting this evening at twenty-two hundred hours and going from there for... whoa... all of thirty-six hours.<"

">So. What do we know? If he's going to install an MMI into Lal, he needs to install the splinter right away, right? Otherwise Lal himself might comment on the unprecedented flexibility of his memory-aid. And Ashton doesn't have any free time before the operation?<"

Balbo scans through the hospital's timetables again. ">That's right; he's in the middle of a four-day marathon that he scheduled himself. I'm beginning to understand what you are getting at; The splinter must be here in the hospital already!<"

">Correct. The interface usually resembles a black box. Size varies, but it's seldom less than one cubic decimeter. Probably much larger for Lal; they probably have one of the better splinters reserved for him. So... How is security around Ashton's office?<"

Balbo switches to the cameras. ">More or less non-existent, except for the occasional nurse or surgeon passing by.<"

">Right. So, his office is where you'll search first. If you find the box, do not link up to it before you have contacted me. I'll take care of it remotely via your link.<"

Balbo senses a withdrawal at the other end of the link, and switches his attention back to Laysa. ">Did you get all that?<"

">Sure did. I'll meet you outside Ashton's office.<"

Balbo grins. ">Tired of sitting on the roof as comms-relay?<"

">There's that<", Laysa admits. ">Also, you need someone to keep guard at the door, in case mister Ashton drops in prematurely to pick up his toy.<"


****


"Had any troubles getting here?"

"Nah. A couple of the guards made suggestive comments, but that's about all."

Balbo grins. "What did they say? 'What's a good-looking cleaniewoman like you doing here?' Something like that?"

Laysa shoves her commandeered sanitary cart into the room. "Something like that, bro. Only, they were politer."

"Probably the way you wield your sanitizer. It demands respect."

"Yeah? You want your mouth washed? Had any luck yet?"

Still smiling, Balbo shakes his head. "This office isn't big" -he looks around at the twenty square meters of office- "but there's a hundred and one places to hide a smallish box."

"But why hide it? It's his office; he can keep whatever he wants in it."

Balbo straightens up; he's been crouching to peer under a file-cabinet. "You are right, sister. But what does that leave us?" He looks around the office, and his eyes fall on Ashton's desk. "Maybe..." He very carefully picks up a keyring studded with keys. "Maybe doctor Ashton has forgotten something in his car?"

"Balbo, the garage is monitored! We can't search through his car just like that!"

"You forget; we've been recording every security-camera ever since we tapped into the system. All we have to do is pipe an endless, seamless loop of an uneventful garage into the monitors, and the guards can be as sharp-eyed as they like. I think I'll manage that; why don't you go to the garage to be ready at my signal?"


A while later, Laysa is waiting by the elevators of garage-floor sixteen.

">Go.<"

Laysa walks up to doctor Ashton's car, makes sure no-one is watching, and tries a likely-looking key. The car unlocks. ">All right; I'll check the trunk first. Let's see- Whoah...<"

">What is it?<"

Laysa stares at the device in the trunk, and the remote transmitter it is linked to. ">That's one huge box. The doctor has some good rear shock-absorbers.<"


****


"Doctor Zarya, please follow my instructions to the letter. Do not make assumptions about my general health, other than in a purely physiological fashion. If I am breathing, and my heart is beating, then I am still alive."

Zarya nods. "Understood. But why can't I assess your mental health?"

"Because, once I begin what I plan, the monitors here beside me will indicate that I am brain-dead."

The Cultist neurospecialist is silent, obviously waiting for Hubris to explain further. They are both in Rebecca Kojl's bedroom at the council building.

"You see, I intend to have a discussion with Lal, and also aid him as much as possible. The only way he'll get out of the hospital is by convincing doctor Ashton that the merger was successful. I intend to help him do that."

"How? You can't contact him in any way."

"Not conventionally. But I've checked what make and model the MMI he will receive is, and it's a neural one with massive storage capacity. The splinter he was intended to receive is huge; much larger than, say, my mind..."

The neurospecialist pales. "You are going to replace the splinter with your own consciousness!"

"Exactly."

Zarya takes a deep breath and purses her lips. "How will the transfer occur? If you think I'm capable of transmitting your sentience into that black box, you are wrong."

"I have, uh, an exceedingly advanced MMI. It will do most of the work."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"As backup. I'm not worried about the transmission. But... I don't know how to return. I might need your help with that, and I also need someone to look after my body in the meanwhile."

Zarya shakes her head incredulously. "Is this how researchers work in the University?"

Rebecca Kojl smiles. "I don't know. I've never met a researcher."

All having been said, she lies down on her bed and links herself via her MMI to a medical computer and a high-powered commlink. She activates the commlink.

">Laysa, do you hear me?<"

">Loud and clear. What next?<"

">Next, I want you to unplug from your commlink and instead plug it directly into the black box. I will take it from there. Do not try to monitor the link; it could be dangerous. I will flash the indicator on your commlink when you can unplug it again. As I will be unavailable from then on, I want you to make sure everything appears as if you never came to the car, return the keys to Ashton's desk and leave the hospital. Then all you can do is wait.<"

">All right, got that. But why will you be unavailable?<"

">All my attention will be focused on Lal. In a manner of speaking.<"

">Oh? Well, all right then. Disconnecting the commlink...<"

Laysa unplugs the small device from her MMI-port at the back of her neck and instead plugs it into one of the ports of the black box. A soft beep indicates a successful contact. A few minutes later the power-indicator starts to blink regularly, and Laysa unplugs the commlink, reconnects the black box to it's own transmitter, closes and locks the car and leaves. Five minutes later both she and Balbo have left the hospital.


****

[Raging Mouse]

"Someone please wipe my brow."

As a junior surgeon removes the pearls of sweat from his forehead, doctor Ashton runs a healing-stimulator over the small hole that is, in this day and age, the only external sign that sizable portions of Lal's skull have been replaced by a non-irritating composite material into which a myriad of synthetic neurons with pre-designed connections have been embedded. The combination of a patch of pre-generated tissue, precisely measured portions of numerous chemicals essential to tissue growth and the gentle electrical caress of the stimulator leaves only a slightly lighter patch of skin on Lal's skull where there moments before was a hole all the way into his brain. Ashton relaxes. Soon, his most important work for the Consciousness would reach its completion.

"That's that. Very well done, everybody; let's move the Commissioner over to his room. I'll take care of the software."

The hospital's own chief surgeon pats him on the shoulder. "Are you sure? I've got at least six members on my staff capable of doing it, and you've been working for-"

"Thank you, Van Rijn, but I'm afraid you don't have the security-clearance. I, and I alone, am authorized to install new software into Lal's cognitive aids." He smiles. "Sorry, old friend, but I'm afraid the honour is all mine and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh well, can't blame an old fart for trying."

"What! You're a hundred and thirty-two; two years younger than me! Go take some vodka if you think you're old. Now, excuse me..."

He follows Lal's bed as it is rolled through the corridors of the hospital. Eventually, the commissioner is once again lying in his own room. Ashton turns to the guards.

"Sirs, the installation of software is a critical step in Lal's treatment, and to minimize the probability of even the most insignificant disturbance, there cannot be a single electrical device operating within this room other than the installer. So, please leave if you have any devices which you'd prefer to keep switched on..."

All three guards leave the room, and Ashton is left with a softly breathing Lal and some medical monitors. He switches off all the monitors and finally the lights. Then he turns on the medical software installer, and instructs it to stand by for commands from a remote source. He extracts a collapsible antenna from his pockets, positions it securely onto a table and links it to the installer.

A monitor on the installer flashes to life. "Ready to execute file 'Splinter Kappa Sixteen'. Proceed? es / o / bort"

Doctor Michael Kappa-209 Ashton taps the 'Y' key with a hint of satisfaction.


****


Lal cannot exactly pin-point the exact moment he realizes he isn't unconscious anymore. Suddenly, he's simply feeling that he is aware again. Part of the problem is that there doesn't appear to be anything around him to be aware of. There is only an inky blackness. He can't even feel his own body, and attempts to wave an arm give no sensory feedback whatsoever. He can't even be sure he still has an arm, or any body at all.

Then, suddenly, he sees a vertical, gray line in the air. Slowly, his senses, including his sense of possessing a body, return. He manages to turn his head on the second try, and follows the line upwards with his vision, until it turns horizontal at a sharp edge. He realizes that he is standing, and takes a step closer to the line. It turns out to be the absence of a surface -a crack. More precisely, a crack between a door and it's frame; his questing hand finds a knob.

He pauses to assess himself. His senses appear to be functioning normally, but something appears to be dampening his emotions. There is something about the situation that makes him think it is false, and logically he should feel worried about that. Instead; mild curiosity.

He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open. A bright light blinds him momentarily, and he raises his arms to shield his eyes. He steps forward, and feels bare stone under his feet. He peers down and sees his own shadow cast before him, upon a white slab of stone. A bit further ahead of him is the edge to a shallow basin filled with water.

He turns around. There is no door; instead he is looking into a bright, afternoon sun. The sun; good old Sol rather than Alpha or Beta Centauri. He almost starts to cry as he basks in it's long-forgotten warmth, while an insistent voice in the back of his head says this can't be real. He turns back to find out what blinded him, and sees the brilliant white marble of the Taj Mahal.

"You are awakening again. This is just a simulation."

The voice seems real enough, and certainly doesn't sound like any neutral feminine voice designed to instill confidence in modern technology. It sounds like the voice of someone who has long ago grown tired of waiting, and who also doesn't appreciate the scenery anymore. Lal spots the girl sitting on the edge of the basin and dipping her feet in the water. She looks up at him.

"I am Hubris. I am not a simulation. You might call me a... hitch-hiker. Or the saviour of your mind."

"Why are you here? Why am I here?"

"I am here to warn you, and because I couldn't think of another way to save you. You are here because there's nowhere else you could be. This is inside your head. Don't get me wrong, not inside your mind. Your MMI, rather."

"My what!"

Hubris nods. "Yes, a rather nice model, too. Fast, flexible and a monstrosity when it comes to storage-capacity. Bound to make your life easier."

Lal fails to notice the sarcasm. "But I don't want an MMI! Ashton can damn well remove it!"

"He will not."

"What! Why not!? I'll tell him it's that or his job that goes."

Hubris shakes her head. "Do that, and you can kiss goodbye to your free will. He'll trigger another attack in you, talk about 'software incompatibility' to the press, and make sure that you never, ever again have full use of your mind. He'll install a splinter algorithm into you."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Doctor Michael Ashton's full name is Michael Kappa-209 Ashton. He is an agent of the Cybernetic Consciousness."

"Never. Not Michael. He's been loyal to me for more than a hundred years!"

"Loyalty isn't a factor. It doesn't matter what you are when you get merged with an algorithm. After that your loyalty lies one hundred percent with the Consciousness."

Lal sits down. "But Michael?! How could I believe you?"

"I told you earlier that my name is Hubris. What does that mean to you?"

"Uh, let's see... If I remember correctly, there's an independent agent by that name. Supposedly trained by the Data-Angels and the Gaians. Supposedly one of the richest people on Planet. Supposedly seen in two places at the same time. Supposedly a super-talent, which is probably why I gathered data."

"Well, all is correct, except for me being in two places at the same time. Currently, I am in your head due to an attempt to prevent doctor Ashton from merging you with a Kappa-splinter, and also due to a need to guide you through the next day so you'll still have a free will at the end of it."

"By the gods!"

"You said you were gathering data on me because I'm a super-talent. Why does this interest you?"

"I'm trying to draw Planet's brightest minds and most capable personalities to the Peacekeepers, to aid in creating a future atmosphere of peace and openness between the factions."

"Fool. You took a snake into your arms."

"What do you mean?"

"Ambassador Stephen Ray Burton is a super-talent, right? How did you get him to join you, and from where?"

"I was at a dinner-party at the Spartan Embassy. He was the ambassador's secretary at the time. He made an impression on me by displaying a most intricate understanding of diplomacy and it's vagaries."

"He is also known as 'Sprayber'. He is the most infamous probe-operative Planet has seen."

"Sprayber! Planet!"

"Exactly. And he is a fierce supporter of the Consciousness, even though he hasn't been merged."

"Why? And why isn't he merged?"

"He believes he can gain influence through the Consciousness; he believes in Beta and his plan. And Beta believes in him; so much so that Sprayber won't get merged in case this would disturb something important in his personality."

"So, you're saying that it's through him that Michael has been..."

"Merged. Yes. I have proof. Listen to this."

The sound of doctor Ashton's discussion with Sprayber is replayed, apparently from thin air. By it's end, Lal is furious.

"Did Sprayber cause my- my illness?"

"Oh, yes. With Ashton's aid, most likely over several years, they slowly tampered with your neurally grafted memory aid, probably changing your personality in the process as well. They most certainly used it to trigger your seizure."

"What makes you think they tampered with my personality?"

"Is it usual for you to be so irritable? So tired, short-tempered and eccentric?"

"Um... no."

Lal is silent for a while. Then he looks up. "Well, thank you for this warning. What do you suggest I do?"

"It is imperative that both Ashton and Sprayber believe that you are merged, as well as any other member of the Consciousness that might reveal itself. The splinter meant for you had the name 'Kappa Sixteen'. That, and some other relevant information, is stored in a special file I will aid you in accessing. Also, I will be present to advise you; there's some additional objectives to achieve beyond getting you out of the hospital."

"Won't they become suspicious if I am constantly using a commlink to be in touch with you?"

"Um, you aren't using one now. You see, I had to make sure there was a splinter for Ashton to install. Otherwise he could always get another one... so I destroyed the core of the original and took it's place. Practically, you have been merged with the Kappa 16 -splinter, only I've kept away from your actual brain. I currently reside within your MMI. I am trapped here. Getting me out in one piece is also an objective."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you, I guess. But how do I know I can trust you?"

"I just told you I'm inside your MMI, yes? From here I could modify your mind in any way I choose. And would I want to do so, this discussion would be unneccessary."

"Ah, the old 'I could harm you, but have no desire to'. I feel so much more trusting now."

Hubris smiles. "Sarcasm? I can hear you're feeling better. Ready to wake up?"

"Just a moment. What is your real name? I doubt Hubris qualifies."

"Why do you want my real name?"

"I want to know if you trust me. It would help me trust your advice."

"My name is... Rachel Dorothy Parks."

Lal is silent for a moment. "Thank you, Rachel."

"Call me Dorothy, please."

"Very well. Dorothy. Now, about waking up..."



End of Chapter 81.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 082: Effects and Causes


"Zakharov."

"Greetings, Chairman Yang. How is your social experiment doing?"

"We are advanced quite a lot beyond the experimentation stage, thank you. And we shall advance further, should we be able to come to an agreement today."

"Oh? Well, that is good. I understand you refer to the preliminary sketch of an agreement my ambassador sent me?"

"Yes. It's current form would be very acceptable, I think. Don't you agree?"

"Well certainly. I do have some points I would like to negotiate further."

"Of course. What, exactly, are you referring to?"

"Might I interest you in some wider exchange of technology?"

"This is possible, but maybe not at this time. The Hive is quite well off, technologically speaking."

"Ah? Well, how about simply adding a mutual commitment to keep observing the situation, for possible future exchanges?"

"That is most satisfactory. Our assistants can discuss the exact wording. Was there anything else?"

"Good. Good. Well, there is a small matter. We might not want to actually designate anyone as a target just yet. And the sentence 'defense and retaliation' is quite strong, in my opinion. In fact, is it at all necessary to mention the Cybernetic Consciousness?"

"Zakharov. This is a secret non-aggression pact. Secret. No-one else should be allowed to read it. Why are you so concerned with the wording?"

"These days, I cannot fully trust even those persons who need to see this agreement."

There is a pause.

"I understand. We shall construct two agreements and sign them both, One official and extremely vague, plus one secret and extremely specific. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds... agreeable. That is what we shall do."

"Good. Now, let's talk about how..."

-Reprinted with permission of the author from the book "Historical Discussions I Have Heard", by Sinder Roze.


****


Lal opens his eyes, and regards the slightly pink roof of the nanohospital for a moment. Then he swivels them to the left, to gaze at doctor Michael Ashton.

The neurospecialist glances briefly at some readouts on a computer monitor. Then he looks back at Lal. "Welcome to the Consciousness, Pravin Kappa Sixteen Lal."

Now do you believe me?

"You are Michael Kappa Two-Oh-Nine Ashton."

"Correct. Do you have any questions?"

Not likely; your meant-to-be splinter was crammed with information.

"Not at this time, other than... What is my medical status?"

"You are, and have always been, perfectly healthy. The medical disorder was caused by sabotaging your neural graft."

Lal nods. "Then it is time for me to resume work."

"Ambassador Burton, by his real name Sprayber, requires that you see him immediately upon reassuming your duties."

You must obey; the Splinter was ordered to treat Sprayber as a superior.

Lal nods. "Once I have reestablished my position, I shall contact him. Can you deliver that message?"

"Yes, I can."

Lal rises. "Where are my clothes?" Dorothy, how am I supposed to treat him? Is he my superior?

"In that cupboard."

No, you're both Kappas, but your number is much lower; you're superior. Plus, your splinter was designed to interfere as little as possible with the normal hierarchy of the Peacekeepers .

"Good. Tell the guards to prepare an inconspicuous way out of the hospital for me; meeting members of the media would not be practical at this moment."

"Of course." Ashton leaves.

So far, so good.

Michael, poor Michael! How long has this infiltration been going on?

I don't know. At least five years, I'd guess. The infiltration-rate is basically geometric, but varies in intensity as certain sociological boundaries are reached.

Lal discards the hospital gown and dresses in his own clothes. Let's leave. And when I'm safely back in office, I'm going to... do something horrible to whoever is responsible for this!

Well, ultimately Beta is responsible, but Sprayber is the more immediate foe. Let's do a deal; if you can aid me in tricking Sprayber to reveal how the Consciousness maintains it's presence here, I'll help you deal with both him and everyone else infiltrating your faction.

Lal mumbles through clenched teeth; "It's a deal."


****


"Sir Provost, I have Sister Miriam Godwinson on hold."

Zakharov turns towards the aide. "Really?"

"Yes, sir. It's the standard diplomatic frequency."

Zakharov thinks for a moment, while letting his eyes rest on some workers assembling a nano-laboratory. "I'll talk to her in solar lounge two. Have it cleared and transfer the signal there."

"Very well."

The solar lounges are a combination of market, garden and solarium. They usually occupy two or three of the uppermost floors in any high building, and can be found in numerous factions. Typically, they resemble parks, with a wide variety of terrestrial flora (and occassionally some fauna). Large lamps set in the roof provide the lounges with an illumination of the same type and quality as Sol in some tropical country on earth. Furthermore, the large windows circling the lounge are designed to provide near-Terran coloring to the ground and sky outside. These attempts to recreate earthen environments tend to have beneficial psychological effects on all visitors; Zakharov has theorized that some genetic component in humanity still longs for the Mother Planet. Restaurants and Cafeterias might occassionally rent some space in one of the lounges, but the high rent tends to hinder such ventures.

Zakharov locates a comfortable bench situated in front of a fountain, and signals to the aide to open the link to Miriam. The aide places a small holo-projector on the floor and backs away while it hums to life. Miriam's image appears.

"Blessings upon this meeting, Zakharov."

"Good afternoon, Miriam, and thank you. What can I do for you?"

"Zakharov, in the Council you made certain accusations about Beta. I have decided to investigate the validity of your claims, and would appreciate any information you have."

Zakharov thinks for a while. "Why? If I understand the Believer mentality, Beta should be everything you loathe; I'd assume you want nothing to do with him -or then you'd want to blast away every sign of his presence from planet, validity or not.."

"We think Beta is a problem; you are correct there at least. I have decided to find out what kind, and how much of a problem he actually is. Aki-Zeta Five was truly no follower of the Lord's path, but she was a pure atheist, or materialist -maybe a technologist. Beta, on the other hand... Beta's Consciousness has the signs of a quasi-mystic personality cult. I want to find out how intentional this is, and what kind of threat he might be."

Zakharov is silent while digesting Miriam's words. "I'll see what I can do. I'll have my aides compile a batch of documents with material relevant to your inquiry. I'd estimate it will be ready about a month from now."

"Thank you. And Zakharov; I'd appreciate if you see to it that no-one finds out about my request."

"Naturally. Was there anything else?"

"No... I may contact you again, once I have seen what information you have. Until then, goodbye."

Zakharov nods courteously to Miriam's fading image. Then he turns to the aide. "Get me all the info on current events within the Believers."

"A comprehensive search will take about a day, sir, but I do have one recent bit of rumour: Apparently, they have lost a city."

"To whom? The Pirates?"

"Rumours abound, sir, including that the Progenitors have launched a joint attack on Humanity's most irrational component."

Zakharov dismisses the theory with a disgusted snort. "Find out the truth, if you can, and bring me any other bit of news that you find. I want it before noon tomorrow."

The aide nods and leaves.


****


"EarthCha."

"Planet? You sound strange."

"Wrong, feel we. Wrong. Something."

"Wrong how? What feels wrong."

"Not find out, we. Not want to, we. If try we, More wrong, feel we."

"I don't know how I can help you."

"Find wrong, you. Stop wrong. Else, growth-dream too soon is."

"Very well, I will try. And you could try to prune your animal and plant selves around the wrongness."

"Not prune, can we. Search for wrong. Please. Hurry. Afraid, we. Growth-dream too soon. Too soon..."


End of chapter 82.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 83: Long Live The King


Lal steps through the doors of a small staff's entry and into the government building. A janitor finds himself face-to-face with the leader of his country, and the shock makes him polish the tips of his shoes with the machine he is pushing. Lal merely smiles at him, nods a short greeting and continues past him. Other staff-members, proceeding carefreely through the chores of the day, are similarly startled by his appearance, as he tries to navigate through those parts of the building he is least familiar with.

News tend to spread, and big news spread quickly. As Lal is halfway down a corridor, he sees the captain of his bodyguards approach. The man is carrying the usual neutral face of the professional, but his eyes are restless.

"Commissioner, it is good to have you back. But why did you not use the main entry, or even announce your arrival?"

Lal smiles. "I wanted an inofficial return to office. No doubt, though, it is quickly becoming official. I guess the house is getting alerted to my presence as we speak."

The captain nods. "Indeed. I rushed to find you, before you'd be swamped by minor functionaries, pompous politicians or any more Cultist assassins."

Whoah. What's going on?

"Cultist assassins? I haven't been informed of any evidence pointing to them!"

The captain opens his mouth as if to answer, looks warily around him, opens a door to a closet and motions Lal to enter. Lal does so, and the captain enters as well, closing the door behind him.

"Look, sir, I know about the, uh, the... the splinter. The operation was successful, wasn't it?"

There is a pause. "Yes, the operation was successful."

The captain sighs with relief. "Great! I'm Delta Two Nine Nine myself, sir, so you needn't worry about secrecy with me."

He is supposed to be merged? Very interesting. Please, Lal, find out more.

"I am surprised, captain. How did you become merged with a splinter?"

The captain grins. "You might not know this, sir, since I've kept my private life out of my work, but a year ago my only daughter died." He swallows. "At that time, you had appointed Mr. Burton to minister of domestic affairs, if you recall. I scheduled a meeting with him, and informed of my intention to resign. I wanted to travel somewhere and forget the pain. He made me a counterproposal; he said that with the aid of the cybernetic consciousness I could find aid for the pain, and also be able to do my work more efficiently." He coughs. "He didn't say it immediately, he approached the subject carefully. Before I knew it, I had accepted." A shrug. "The operation was quick, and -and since then, I have known the Consciousness, and have been working to further it's cause." He grins happily. "I'm damned pleased, sir, that you are finally merged. Everything will be so much better now!"

Lal's smile has turned inward, into a contemplative frown. "Yes. No doubt things will improve from now on. But I resent this blundering in the dark forced upon me. Do you know who else is merged?"

"Yes, sir, I've got lists of everyone but the most recent mergers, sir. Those that might concern you are the ministers of defense, health, economy and domestic affairs. Oh, and the security-staff is, in it's entirety, merged. I think Sprayber -that's Mr. Burton, sir- has big plans concerning the security-staff."

"I see. Well, could you lead me via the quietest route possible to my office? I do not wish to have to discuss state affairs with anyone until I am ready."

Wait a minute. What about me? Don't you want to get rid of me first?

"Certainly, sir. Just follow me."

I think, Dorothy, that I will have use of you, where you are, for a while longer. Burton -Sprayber- must have something important on his mind, since he is anxious to see me.

The captain leads Lal to a door with a palmprint scanner. The door opens as soon as the captain places his left hand on the scanner. "This, sir, is the exclusive territory of the security-staff and your own bodyguards. Besides us, no-one usually has any business to these corridors. They are quite extensive, and lead via discreet doors into almost any part of the council building. Down that passage are the ambassadors' quarters."

Oh no! Ask him if they are bugged!

"Have you been spying on the visiting ambassadors?"

"No, sir, we can't. There's only a half-hidden door at one end of the main intersection. Sprayber has been preparing to improve upon that arrangement, and plans have been made to install proper surveillance-equipment into every room. I am sure he will mention them to you. But here, sir, is your office. Or, rather, the wardrobe of your office."

A panel slides aside, and Lal is confronted with a view consisting of a rack full of coathangers, a lonely shoe on the floor, and the back of the wardrobe's door.

"Since how long has this passage been here?"

"It was included in the original construction plans for the building, sir."

"Why wasn't I told?"

"You would have objected. Additionally, the chief of security at the time felt he wanted an alternate approach to your office that would be as secret as possible. That way, the security-staff has an ace to play in case of, for example, a hostage situation".

Lal nods and pushes the door open. The office is empty. He walks to his desk and sits down.

"Thank you, captain. You can go."

That was the most stupid merged person I have ever witnessed. Odd that he had so obvious use of his own emotions. Very strange. I wonder what it means.

Lal opens the commlink to his secretary while ignoring Dorothy. "Anwar, contact ambassador Burton and tell him to come here."

"Sir? You're back! The Ambassador is here with me, sir."

"Oh? Then send him in."

Seconds later, the door to the waiting chamber opens, and Sprayber walks in. He smiles faintly while peering at Lal. "Was the operation a success? How do you feel?"

"I feel fine... Sprayber."

"Good. Good. Then, this is what you will do now, in order of importance. First, open the border to the Usurpers. There's a virtual crowd of Cyborg probes waiting to cross into the other factions here on Zeus."

JACKPOT!

Lal looks perplexed. "How did they end up on Usurper territory in the first place?"

Sprayber grins. "Sweetest bit of negotiating I ever did. Basically, the Usurpers have made a secret alliance with the Consciousness, in which we divide the continent between us. The method of conquest has been limited to probe activity, until anything else might be needed. And the Usurpers have agreed to let us use their bases as staging-points for probe missions into the territory of other factions."

Oh YES! Let him brag all he wants!

"Very impressive. Is there anywhere special these probes will be going from here?"

"We're currently trying to bring down the Hive. We know how to do it, but until now have been unable to keep up an effective stream of fresh probe-teams to their bases. Once the probes move freely across the Usurper-Peacekeeper borders it will only be a matter of time. Also, the Cultist situation is rapidly deteriorating, and I feel that they'll stop searching for merged algorithms once we give them other things to think about, like a war or two. But enough of that; just make sure they can pass undisturbed, all right?"

"Yes." I am slowly beginning to detest this fiend.

"Good. Next, you must declare openly that your recent ...illness... was the result of Cultist machinations. Have their deputation here arrested and interrogated, and tell the Peacecorps to assault Cult of Planet bases. Don't officially declare war until after you've captured the first base."

Lal, what you feel is mild dislike at most, compared to what I am feeling.

"Very well. Anything else?"

"Two things. First, one member of the Cultist deputation is extremely dangerous, and should be captured as soon as possible, and preferably while separated from the other members of the deputation."

"Oh? Who?"

"She has many names. The one she uses currently is Rebecca Kojl; she poses as media-advisor to Cha Dawn. Her true name is Rachel Dorothy Parks, and is known among spy-circles as 'Hubris'."

Little me? How flattering.

"What shall the security-staff accuse her of?"

"Espionage, of course! Though her real crime is incompetence."

WHAT!

Lal smiles faintly. "Oh? How come the harsh judgement?"

"The fool thinks that she can combat the Consciousness by interfering with individuals. She's probably here to 'save' you from the enlightenment of the Consciousness. As I said, she's a fool, and you are today the definite proof of that."

Oh, how he will regret those words.

"Very well. I will see to it. And the last thing?"

"After doing all of this, you will retire and name me your successor."

"Oh? Very well, then. These tasks will take time to carry out. How about meeting me some time the day after tomorrow?"

Sprayber nods. "I'll contact you via Hemet. But don't reveal anything to him; he isn't merged and knows nothing." Then he walks out.

Lal leans back in his chair. Time for you to do your part of the bargain, Dorothy.

First things first; I want out of here. Summon Anwar in here; we'll need him to plan our next step. Thank goodness I can now be sure he's not merged. Then I suggest we all take the 'back' way to the diplomats' quarters. I've got an appointment with myself.


End of chapter 83.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 84: On Ties, the Bank Wins


The U.N. Council Chamber. Any terrestrial diplomat would feel right at home, until he tries to move: The heavier gravity of Chiron would inform him that this is no chamber on earth. Pravin Lal himself directed it's careful reconstruction, for the day when the U.N, in it's original form, is established on Chiron. Until that glorious day the Peacekeepers use it as their seat of government. Pravin Lal steps into the hall through the main doors and watches the assembled politicians. The hall is filled; matters concerning the coming elections are argued.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention!" Lal finds that he is feeling confident, despite the enormity of what he is about to do. Every man and woman turns to him, and someone starts to clap. The hall fills with clapping and cheering.

Lal raises his hands to calm the crowd. "Yes, I am back. There are certain matters I have to see to, so let's save those welcome back -speeches to a more suitable time, and I truly wish such a blessed moment will come someday!" Laughter ripples through the crowd. "Thank you. Then, first things first; guards, could you step over here, please?"

Twenty guards push through the crowd and gather in front of Lal. And in the blink of an eye, ten armed persons appear in the doorway behind Lal and spread out around him. He himself raises his hands again, to calm the startled guards. "I am sorry for this, but it is very necessary. I ask you to lay down your weapons on the ground and kick them towards me; then these men and women by my side will take you to the hospital to have your MMI:s deactivated."

The hall is very silent. Then one of the guards raises his hand. "Sir, I don't have an MMI."

Lal nods at him. "Yes, you do; you just don't know it. You've fallen victim to a black plot. Simply go with these gentlemen; they are armed almost as much for your protection as for theirs."

"Stop! Hold on to your weapons!"

People turn their heads around, and then draw back to leave a path of empty floor between Lal and the speaker; Sprayber.

"Lal, you are not yourself! I recognize these persons; they are Cult of Planet probes! Have they brainwashed you? Is this a coup?"

"Yes, they are probes, yes, this is a coup, but no, I am quite, quite in control of my own mind, no thanks to you. I am not surprised you recongize probes, Burton, or should I call you Sprayber! You yourself are quite well-acquainted with the field, since you've received training from the Spartans in it!" Lal turns to address the rest of the crowd, plus some of the representatives of the holovision whose cameras are gulping the scene and regurgitating it onto holo-projectors all over the Peacekeepers' territories. "Not to mention that you are currently working for the Cyborgs to completely subjugate this fine nation!"

A torrent of excited babble breaks out. Sprayber shouts, "Please, can't someone call the rest of the guards? We need to end this as quickly as possible, so that Lal can be freed of the Cultists' influence!"

"Do not listen to him! He is a traitor, a spy and a pawn of Beta!"

"I am quite willing to take medical tests! They will show that I am not merged!"

Lal's eyes narrow and he lowers his voice to normal. Not that he needs to shout anymore to be heard, reporters with microphones have clustered around him, and some also around Sprayber. Whatever is said is relayed through the loudspeakers for everyone to hear.

"That's quite true. You are not merged; you work for Beta of your own free will. Unfortunately for you, the same doctors can prove me completely free from mind control of any kind. Furthermore, there is the matter of proof. Remember the instructions you gave me this morning?" And Lal smiles the smile of a winner while producing a holodisk. "Ladies and gentlemen, under several years now Sprayber here has actively tricked people into merging with the Consciousness. The security-force of this building, some of you gathered here, and unfortunately Doctor Michael Ashton, my chief neurospecialist, have all become his pawns. And by sabotaging my memory-aide he planned to enable Michael to install an MMI into me, and subsequently merge me with a splinter."

He shakes his head, and motions towards the door. The Cultist deputation, with Dorothy and Paidar in front, enters the hall. "Luckily, there are enemies of the Consciousness, and they came to my rescue. They couldn't prevent the operation, but they did sabotage the merger. So; I now have an MMI. And one meant to store colossal amounts of information, at that. I needed but a small portion of it to record a discussion that this villain and I had this morning, where he tells me of his plans while believing I am merged and under his control."

He walks to the nearest desk, where a minor politician is currently sitting and staring at him, and inserts the disk into a slot. "And now you will all see it. Chairman, channel sixteen on the main projector please!"

The conversation is played out in full, and the image is sharp. Towards the end, the audience becomes increasingly restless, and Sprayber receives some hostile looks. As it ends, he waves his arms.

"Skillful forgery! That is all! Actors, computers, whatever, the result is the same, and masterminded by those Cultists you see! But it is badly exaggerated!" He takes a deep breath and points at Dorothy. "You are behind this! You are the mastermind of this coup, but you will not succeed! Ladies and gentlemen, you should know that Doctor Michael Ashton has been arrested by my order. I interrogated him personally, and I'm sorry to say I used chemicals to do it, but I was in a hurry. Almost too late, in fact. But I do have the recording of it with me, here! Chairman, channel ninety please!"

Once again, a huge, flat hologram flickers to life above the upturned faces of the council. Doctor Ashton's face, enlarged to huge proportions on the screen, appears. He looks sleepy, and his eyes have no focus whatsoever.

"...Come now, doctor, you know you'll feel much better to get it off your chest. We know you did it. We only need the details. Tell us everything, and we'll make everything better."

"...Yes. Tell..."

"Good. Good. Start at the beginning. What have you done?"

"Lal. I made Lal... sick. Sabotaged... memory-aid. Then... while he was in hospital, I ...installed an MMI... With programs... so many programs..."

"What programs?"

"Programs... to control, make him follow orders..."

"Who gave you the MMI and the programs?"

"A Cultist... Kojl, Rebecca Kojl... she hurt me, my mind burned! She said I had to do it... and I had to, I couldn't disobey..."

The scene fades, and chaos erupts.


****


The Chairman buries his face in his hands. He a plump man, apparently in his mid-fifties, with a small bald spot on the top of his head. His brown hair has been combed away from it, giving it the appearance of a bullseye.

"Lal, was it necessary to walz in there and try a coup? Had you come peacefully you'd have resumed business as usual today!"

They are in one of the non-descript meeting rooms of the Council. Besides the Chairman, only four soldiers are present. The regular security has been replaced by military. Some fourty hours have passed.

"Had I tried to gain back my Commissioner's post without seeing to Sprayber, he'd have inspired you all into a rage, and war with the Cult would have been the result, not to mention that he'd have eliminated the only people capable of guarding me from a renewed attempt to merge me."

The Chairman sighs and shakes his head. "Noble of you, but do you realize that it might just cost you your post as Commissioner?"

Lal frowns and leans forward in his chair. "Is it that bad? I thought that he's been proven guilty!"

"Oh, the fact that he disappeard during that awful brawl in the Council Hall, and that no-one's seen him since, is bad enough, but then there's also the reports from the neurocybernetics-ward that three of our ministers have scrambled algorithms in their MMI:s that are sending and receiving signals from critical areas of their brain. Oh, and some of the interrogations of the probe-teams have leaked. Problem is, we don't have enough to convince an impartial judge. Your recording doesn't mention mergers, and not all of the councilmembers are even convinced it is authentic. Thing is, I've overheard most of the discussions since then, and they keep quoting a speech of yours. You know, the one you held at the end of the Data-Angel Probe crisis?"

Lal's eyes unfocus, and he mumbles from memory. "I said that 'I can only lead you while I have your full trust and confidence to back me up. If you ever should lose your trust in me, you should find another leader. I will retire then and there'."

"That's the one." The Chairman scratches his forehead. "There is talk. Tomorrow, someone will suggest that the council should recommend you to retire. The council will probably vote it's approval. And after that, someone will suggest we remove the 'Vice' from the title of the coming elections. Also that suggestion is likely to be supported by a majority. You see? Doubt has entered their minds. There's that damned what if- question." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Lal. Right now you'd actually need a coup in order to remain in power."

Lal is silent for a moment. Then: "No."

"No what?"

"I might use a coup to purge this faction of traitors, but I will not use it to gain back my position as Commissioner." Lal looks sad and tired. "If they suggest I retire, then I'll accept. Tell them I won't suggest who should be the new Commissioner, but I can certainly suggest some people who shouldn't." Now it's his turn to bury his face in his hands. "I never imagined it would end like this! Now what will become of humanity's future? Are we bound for mental servitude, dominated by Beta's algorithms? Will the U.N. now fail, leaving the way open for endless wars?" He looks up. "Who's the most likely successor?"

"Well, there's only one person left with any real chance at the Commissioner's post now that Burton -Sprayber- is out of the game. That's Anwar Hemet. He's received some major backing as of late, and doesn't seem to have been hurt much by the fact that he was your secretary. The other candidates are only playing for strategical gains."

Lal straightens up. "Well, at least Anwar isn't totally unfamiliar with the requirements of a head of state. I feel he might be a good choice. The future may depend on him, then, for I- I will find something else to occupy my time."

And the ex-Commissioner stands up, shakes hands with the Chairman, and leaves active politics for ever.


****


Dorothy gazes somberly at Hemet's image on the holo-projector. "This doesn't feel like victory."

"I know what you mean, miss Kojl. I am saddened that it had to end this way; frankly, I am worried about Lal. What if he doesn't adjust to life outside politics?"

"Oh, he'll adjust. There will be no end of lectures, speeches, honorary dinners, clubs, organizations and political commentaries in store for him. Remember, he's now in many ways more free than he was as Commissioner. Since his word will only stand for his opinion, rather than for the official Peacekeeper opinion, he can talk much more openly about his experiences, and his former rivals."

"Hah, you have a point. Well, I wanted only to thank you once more, and assure you- Every last bit of data that you asked for has been included in that holodisc I sent you. Also included is a commlink code that will open a direct link to my office. Please deliver it to Cha Dawn in person. We need to discuss the Usurper situation."

"I'll give it directly to him; I promise. Well, then... Farewell, and good luck... Commissioner."


End of chapter 84.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 85: Missions Accomplished


Usually, Chiron Preserves aren't divided into smaller compartments. But the Preserve at Dawn of Planet could easily engulf five of any of the other Preserves built on Planet. So it was unique also in consisting of not one, but several sections. The largest, of course, contained Planet's dominating plants and animals; the fungus and the mindworms. The smaller sections held rarer specimens, such as a thriving population of the very rare Orchidea Usurpa, or invader's orchid. It was first discovered, on the anniversary of the Progenitors' landing, by a University explorer in the frigid desert close to the north pole, where it had been safe from any mindworms who'd destroy the plant on sight. It wasn't a real plant; a parasitic mold would latch onto a growth of Xenofungus and force it to produce a plant-like structure, complete with a stunningly beautiful and intricate flower containing nectar. This would attract some of planet's less dangerous flying insects, who'd sate themselves on the fluid and leave coated with a colony of the parasitic spores, ready to seize control of another patch of fungus.

While the flower-construct is beautiful to the human eye, it's aroma is ranked among the most foul ever to assault the human sense of smell. Consequently, the section of the Preserve that houses it is guaranteed to be empty of people, which is why Lord Paidar has chosen it for today's most important meeting. He smiles slightly. "I think we'll hire more freelance operatives in the future; we're able to reduce expenses drastically since a big award-ceremony is out of the question in a situation such as this."

Hubris merely nods. She is busy examining the data-crystal she is holding, so Paidar continues. "That disc contains most of what we know about Chiron, it's flora and it's fauna. Matters of security required us to leave select parts out."

Hubris shrugs. "No matter. Morgan Industries can hardly have advanced this far already; this latest fashion of studying Chiron from a biological, naturalistic point of view has only been around for a couple of years." She turns the crystal over a couple of times, inspecting every surface of it. Then she notes the increasing silence and looks up. Paidar has turned a very interesting shade of white. "What's the matter?"

"You- you- Morgan Industries?!"

"Yes?"

"They want Chirontech?"

"Oh, yes. At a very good price too, I understand. Though that's not why I agreed to this. Suffice to say, I am doing a favour for a friend, and in return he will help me. That is, if he still remembers our agreement. It's been a year and a half." Hubris looks again at Paidar, whose usual poker-face is threatening to dissolve. "Is there a problem with Morgan getting this tech?"

"Problem? Problem? By Planet, no. I'm just... surprised, that's all. Those unholy polluters and rapers of Chiron, ready to pay for Chirontech. What is happening on Planet nowadays?"

"Chaos and uncertainty, Paidar. Oh, and a good deal of warring. Not a time to be ignorant about anything."

"I see your point. Uh... so, Nwabudike Morgan asked you to, eh, infiltrate us?"

"Him? No. I'm acting on behalf of myself, really, but was sent here to fulfill my part of a deal with a major Morganite corporation. Nwabudike has nothing more than his standard, by law required, eleven percent of their shares, so his influence is minimal. I won't deal with him, as I don't trust him. Of course, I have little doubt that Morgan will get his hands on this information; as a major shareholder, he is entitled to it."

"Oh." Paidar is silent for a moment before extending his hand. "It's been... an experience getting to know you, Hubris. Next time you visit us, please do drop by the palace. Where you'll be able to explain the reason of your visit, file a detailed travel-plan, be checked for possible illegal items on your person which you can pick up when you leave, and be assigned a team of escorts."

Hubris grabs his hand with a smile. "I'll be sure to do that, next time I have official business here." Then she leaves.


****


Paidar waits for a while before leaving the preserve. Then he stalks the palace until he finds Lord Ferrel. Cha Dawn's political advisor is going through some paperwork, but he looks up and smiles as Paidar enters the room.

"Paidar! How are you? Did you meet with Hubris already?"

Paidar nods gravely, and sits down on a chair by Ferrel's desk. He plays nervously with the folds of his robe before answering. "Ferrel, that data is going to the Morganites."

"Really?" Ferrel raises an eyebrow. "Excellent."

"Ferrel, they wrote the book on propaganda! We've practically copied their manual, page for page! Don't you think they'll spot and reject the -uh- biasing we introduced into those tech readouts?"

"Did Hubris say she worked for Nwabudike Morgan himself?"

"No. For a corporation."

"Then there's little need to worry. The VIP:s of the corporation will probably notice the propaganda, but won't do anything about it. Why bother, after all? And even cancelling that out, the facts themselves might be enough to inspire a more friendly approach to harvesting Planet's riches. And knowing Morganite practice, they'll sell the tech to whoever can afford the price they set. And sooner or later, the man on the street will see the reports. Maybe due to some Data-Angel operative, or maybe some corporation decides to dump the data to prevent any further profit by whoever hired Hubris." He nods to himself. "You'll see, Paidar. Some of our pro-Chiron propaganda will reach the general populace. Since the facts present a rather interesting picture about how to best live and prosper on Chiron, it will have an effect. I said it is fortunate the data will go to Morgan Industries, because the large mass of the population, i.e. all those not in a position of power, has been trained to be very responsive to propaganda. All those clever commercials, subliminal messages, that reverse psychology... in short, the Morganites have been brainwashed to be susceptible to brainwash. All the better for our intentions then, isn't it?"

Paidar nods, first slowly and then with increasing vigour. "You're right. You are right! By Planet, this is a great day indeed."

"Indeed." Ferrel pouts his lower lip. "While you are here, how is the council of war coming along?"

"The invitations to the other factions are out, but we just received a similar invitation from the Peacekeeper. This is promising, but it means we'll need to negotiate with them about where to actually hold the meeting. Two councils would be stupid. All things considered, I expect we'll discuss the punishment of the Usurpers in less than a month. Any sooner would endanger the secrecy needed, and any longer would cause the Spartans to launch a private crusade against the Usurpers, dissolving the effect of a combined assault. They're eager to be the first at the watering hole, so to speak. I had to be most persuasive to stop Santiago from immediately launching an attack."

"As expected. Thank you. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"No. See you at Cha's council."


End of Chapter 85.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 86: Crossing the Same River Twice


One might ask, in this age of zero-friction windows and buildings whose outer surfaces have been mirror-smoothed on a molecular level, how exactly does that lonely figure of a human cling to a featureless wall over sixty stories up? Well, since this is Chiron, and Morgan Industries to be exact, the first thing any witness to the feat would ask is 'how does she avoid nitrogen poisoning?' To that, however, there are publicly known answers, like those fancy, genetically engineered fungi that the Gaians carry in their lungs, or like the Hive Army's genetically engineered brutes.

Only a person with a very high security-rating, or with more knowledge than what is good for an average citizen, would be able to answer the former question and state in a know-it-all way, 'she's probably using resonant adhesive fields to anchor herself to the surface. That way, even a roof could serve as a floor to her, provided she knows the resonant frequencies'. Not that there's anyone able to ask this question, since spotting her without special equipment is next to impossible.

With this kind of savvy cutting-edge stealth-technique at your disposal, it's always something of an anticlimax to see a window slide open and a friendly face look down at you.

Jim smiles and shakes his head. "Girl, why can't you use the front door like normal people? Since my security detected you, they've been admiring your progress these last thirty floors. Always remember that I use one-way windows, and of the nice polarizing version that foils most active camouflage, before you contemplate climbing one of my buildings; even if you can't look in, someone might be looking out at you."

Hubris/Dorothy sits down on the wall, with her back facing straight down, and crosses her legs. She tilts her head slightly and peers at Jim. "And how are you, you ancient pirate?"

"As good as I've always been, these last hundred years. Occassionally I get a slight bite by the post-cryonic degenerative syndrome, but that's nothing for the ol' reliable 'juve'-tanks." He holds out a hand. "I'm having a party to celebrate some deal or other I signed earlier today, can't remember the details through all this alcohol, and you're making me neglect my duties as host. Why not come on in and join the party? I need to close this window so those not able to breathe Chiron's atmosphere can use this floor."

Dorothy glances down at her chameleon suit. "There's no room for fancy dresses under all this equipment."

Jim plays crestfallen. "So all those female spy -movies have been wrong all this time? What is a man to do?" He grins. "You're in luck. Just copy this mirror-smooth wall-texture right here for your suit, and you'll blend right in with these other chrome-fans."

Dorothy does as suggested. While the camo-suit starts showing a reflection of the surroundings, distorted by the shape of her body, she frowns. "No suits? What kind of deal are you celebrating?"

"I told you, my short-term memory is blasted by this here vodka. Good shtuff! Wait, I do remember something!" He glances incredulously at the bottle he is flourishing. "Am I building up resistance to this stuff? Anyways, it's some group of singers -or was it players- who have agreed to endorse a brand-group I am creating in one of my companies."

"Oh? What brand-group?"

"It's... it's... just on the tip of my tongue... anyways, it's going to include shtuff like holoprojectors withth built-in commm-blinks... or wash it the other way around?"

Dorothy smiles slightly, while easing herself through the window. "You must have signed a good deal, the way you are partying." Despite Jim's claims, there's no apparent signs of a party going on, apart from a rythmic pulse that seems to sway the entire building and that, once you have felt it, you just know is emanating from the most outrageously oversized loudspeakers in existence.

"Well, shure, I shust sringk sat- Aww blarst, hwait a hminute." Jim fumbles in his trouser pocket, brings up a small capsule and swallows it. In two seconds, the old seafarer seems to become totally sober. "These darn detox-chems give me a headache, but hey; we have business to discuss and, frankly, being that drunk isn't fun for long. What was I saying before I interrupted? Ah, yes. Actually, the party is part of the endorsement contract. I put my bars and nightclubs at their disposal, pay all their expenses while the commercials get recorded, and pay them a minuscule amount of credits each time said holomercials are aired. Oh, yes. the band's name is 'Chromatic Gray'. Beats me why, since they insist on wearing more colours than the sky as Alpha is setting. Well, except for the singer and star of the band; he likes to wear mirrors if you get my meaning. Damned vain bunch of kids, but they've got the public in their pockets, and as long as they are in my pockets they equal huge profits. Come on, I need to get down there; they're probably screaming another ludicrous demand right now. They know how to spend, I can tell you that."

He leads her to an elevator, and pushes the button for the top floor. By the time they are ten floors away from their destination, the rythmic boom is strong enough to rattle the elevator's walls, and several accompanying beats can also be heard -or felt. As the elevator slides to a halt and the doors slide open, the full force of this 'music' manifests; focusing your eyes in this noise is difficult, as your eyeballs keep vibrating in sympathy to the rampant shockwaves that pass for sound as the band does it's best on the stage of this huge penthouse ballroom. Dorothy does the only sensible thing.

Why are they playing so loud? I can hardly hear you think!

I don't know; you'd have to ask one of their therapists. They've got five. He peers in the direction of the stage, while trying to prevent his eyeballs from rattling out of their sockets. Well, they seem to be content for the moment; the barrels of soda they demanded has arrived. Let's go to my library.

Jim leads her, like a large, bearded ice-breaker, through the crowds and past some guards blocking the way to a corridor. He walks up to the second door on the right, punches in a code into the keypad next to it, and steps into the room beyond as the door opens. Dorothy follows, and for the first time in a very long while she is struck speechless by what she sees.

Jim Sturlasson's personal library is no mere electronic data-storage; it contains actual books, in a perfect model of a terran library from the victorian era. The only inconsistency in the otherwise perfect picture are the motorized platforms that replace the ladders. Here, in humanity's center for vanity, fast-changing fashions and money, Jim has created something that seems ageless. The dust-covered shelves seem to radiate age.

One other thing catches Dorothy's attention; despite the party raging at near-carastrophic volume on the same floor, in here a total silence reigns.

Jim seems to read her thoughts. "Progenitor technology. Audio-dampers based on resonance principles are embedded into the floor, walls and ceiling of this room. The same technology also prevents any and all kinds of remote eavesdropping." He sits down at a desk, rummages through a pile of books and pulls out a battered volume. "Maybe I shouldn't treat this so carelessly", he says, "as it is one of my truly priceless possessions. '1984', written by one George Orwell. This copy was printed that very year. It has shown me valuable examples of paranoia, and I have been careful to learn." He puts the book carefully on top of a precipitous pile of other, equally mistreated books. His gaze is somber as he studies Dorothy.

"My dear Dorothy. I hope you have seen better times, this past year and a half, than Morgan Industries. Even old Nwabudike, whom I have known as a ruthless man since the first time I met him in a small town on the Ivory Coast, seems to have given up. He's quitting while he's not losing. Too weak to face Beta."

Dorothy's face becomes serious. "Has he tried to negotiate?"

"Don't underestimate his observational talent; he knows there's not a microgram of honesty to be found in that electronic madman. No; he's trying to become harmless. Almost all of his power has been delegated to functionaries. Functionaries, in fact, who after a careful screening issued by him, were all determined as merged with sleepers or actives. Do you understand? He specifically sought out Beta's allies, and handed them the keys to Morgan Industries. He's chosen to become a figurehead. When they don't need him for a media-appearance to assure the masses he's still in charge, he's hiding out in Morgan Cybernetics, guarded by what trustworthy element remains of the elite divisions."

"How do you cope?"

"Sometimes, I don't. The military has begun to interfere with my businesses. Remember Captain Milos Ontor? He's a four-star general now. Oh, and has added Sigma to his name. In bloody public! It's that bad!" He sweeps his arm in the general direction of the ballroom. "Those kids, out there... they've got a manager. Oiliest person I have ever seen... I've been careful not to move any open flames close to him. Well, he paved the way to their stardom. One little sub-clause in the contract was, that they'd have to perform a certain song, that he'd specify, at every major tour. Including this one. It's name is 'Cybernetic Rapture'. I'm telling you, the tale of Morgan Industries might be drawing to a close."

Dorothy is silent for a while. Then: "How long has the Consciousness been mainstream?"

"Since soon after you left."

"Then it's six terran months overdue of being replaced, according to current marketing theories."

Jim spreads his arms wide. "Replaced by what?! There's no alternatives! They're in control of the broadcasting stations, so there's no way a competing political force is going to receive air-time. In fact, I'm surprised Beta hasn't ordered Ontor to stage a coup already."

"Doing so would cause a reaction from other factions. Remember, he's trying to conquer the world. If Morgan Industries falls, the other factions would be swift to outlaw MMI:s to ensure their survival. We'd see a massive amount of surgical operations to remove or disable all kinds of neurally grafted devices. Even the University would do this, I believe, though it would pain Zakharov greatly." Dorothy sighs. "I gather you have no need of Chirontech anymore?"

"I never said that. Let's see what you have."

She gives him a crystalline disk, which he inserts into a slot on the desk. The surface of the desk, which until now has seemed a solid slab of marble, splits in half and slides apart to reveal a keyboard and a holoprojector. Jim's fingers dance over the keys for a while. Then the holo-projector springs to life. While Jim is not as fast a reader as Zakharov, it doesn't take him long to skim through the material. He leans back, and starts scrutinizing the pages with more care.

"Interesting. Very interesting." He looks at Dorothy. "Have you read this?"

She nods. "Yes. There's a few things there that were new to me, but I knew most of it before. Just not how to prove it scientifically. Very careful work, these Cultists have done."

"Good. The fact that you can affirm the validity of these statements is important. You see, this is what I need. Here is material to present as an alternative to the Cybernetic Consciousness." Jim smiles. "Let's see how long it lasts when it's up against the Planetary Consciousness!"

"You mean Planetmind?"

"Sure. But that name can't steal the Cyborgs' trademark."

"Jim, the Cult has tried to sell the idea of Chiron-Gaia to Morgan Industries ever since they established contact. Are you going to wave a magic wand to make it all seem appealing all of a sudden?"

He snorts. "All of that time the Morganites were able to gaze at their own faction, and be fooled into thinking that what life of any importance there was on Planet had been placed there by Man. Since they now feel insecure, unimportant and betrayed as the government stagnates -all carefully according to Beta's plan, I'm sure- they seek another ideal on which to rest their sense of security. And the Consciousness is being offered to them through every possible media. We shall introduce an alternative, and one that they are predisposed to choose since they now think exploitation of Planet is a bad tactic."

"And, since the media is under Cyborg control, how will you spread this?"

"That's the best part. Once I have given it an initial boost, it will spread by itself. As soon as this new cult pops into existence, it and it's teachings will be declared illegal by the Consciousness -driven court and media. But the Cyborgs are methodical. In order to enable the average citizen to stay away from this 'bad influence', they'll carefully explain to them what it's all about." He grins. "Instant, faction-wide coverage! And people will flock to the Cult, simply because the Cyborgs don't want them to!"

Dorothy isn't as enthusiastic. "You realize that by sending cybernetic mind-control and quasi-religious, quasi-scientific environmental fanaticism into a collision-course, you are most likely causing a civil war?"

Jim dismisses her statement with a grimace and a wave. "Better half a faction that survives than no faction at all, I say!"

"And what about me? Will you give me the assistance we agreed upon?"

"Naturally. Once I have decided to cross the Rubicon, I will do it in every conceivable way."


End of Chapter 86.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 87: Illegal Emigrants


Dorothy leans back. She's sitting at the controls of a quantum resonance-microscope. Small parts of the human brain are displayed by the three holoprojectors in front of her. Lewis sits at her side, his attention caught by one of the projections. Dorothy lays a hand on his shoulder.

"I need to talk to Zakharov, dad. I'll be right back."

Lewis nods. "All right. Why not give a progress-report to him while you're there?"

"Sure, though I think we'll be reassigned once he hears what I have to say."

Lewis swivels his chair around to face Dorothy. "What's the matter? Have you seen an impassable obstacle to this?" He waves towards the projections. "Please, tell me."

"No, I think this might work. But I know Zakharov, and I think he'll consider this project too unimportant to warrant us being assigned to it any longer."

"What could be more important than finding a way to remove splinters of the Consciousness from a person?"

"Finding an even better way. One that doesn't require major reconstruction of the person's neural pathways and personality."

Lewis sighs. "The only way to do that seems to be by acquiring the authentic Cybernetic deconstruction-codes, that will trigger an automatic decoupling of splinter and mind." Then he squints at Dorothy. "Are you saying you know how to do that?"

"Well no, I don't have a step-by-step plan. But I now have the resources to construct one. By planet, I have enough resources to storm into Consciousness territory and improvise, though I doubt that would be very successful. I still don't know where Aki Zeta-Five is. But now I have the means to find her."

A sigh. "The time for caution, study and questions is past, eh? Very well. I'll follow you to Zakharov."


****


"Well?"

Jim removes the cigar he's been chewing and looks up at Edgecrusher.

"Well what?"

"Sir, is the public as receptive to this Chiron-data as you projected?"

"It's slightly too early to tell, Edge. Why are you so curious?"

"It's my job to think ahead, sir. You are paying me to spot the potentially hostile encounters, and preferrably before they occur. Well, if this data is traced back to you then General Ontor will knock on your front door with a hovertank."

"Yes, I realize that. I have taken steps."

"I'm not so sure you could cover your trail that well."

"Edge, I know that. I'm not trying to erase my trail, I'm trying to achieve maximum coverage for this data before I'm forced to leave Morgan Industries. Virtually all of my corporate assets have been either sold or moved abroad, until only the skeleton of an organization has remained. Haven't you noticed that there's virtually no personnel left? Oh, there's the chefs, bartenders, cleaners and caterers looking after Chromatic Gray, but that's about it. I'm actually planning to have that idiot general bomb the guts out of this building and then storm it, only to find the Consciousness' greatest stars among the rubble, alive with any luck and most hopefully so angry that they'll vent some of their newfound anti-cyborg feelings in public. You know that Ontor is a populist, don't you? Guess what such a scandal would cause him."

Edgecrusher is silent for a moment. "Sir, none of this requires that we remain here a minute longer, does it?"

"No." Jim rises. "I like Morgan Industries, and am saddened by the thought of having to leave it, possibly for good. So I've been stalling."

He stretches. "But if you're nervous, then it's probably time to go. Everything's prepared; there's a 'copter on the roof that will take us to the airport, and no-one will realize I am gone until we've already left Morganite territory. Come."

"Sir, where are we going?"

"To the University. I've tired of being a CEO for the moment; it's time to go adventuring again." He turns to look at Edgecrusher. "Edge, your contract specifies that you are a corporate bodyguard. You are not bound by it anymore. Of course, I'd be happy to negotiate a new contract..." He leaves the question hanging.

Edgecrusher thinks for a while. "What would this mean?"

"Well, you'd be a mercenary bodyguard. Since we'd soon enough end up being illegally in a hostile country, there'd be no restrictions on weapons, no regulations, no company policy, no guarantees and no insurance."

Edgecrusher grins. "And on top of all this I'd still get paid, right?"


****


Zakharov rises. "Ah, Dorothy. And Lewis. I've been expecting you. You've come to discuss, um, some scenarios?"

"Indeed. I gather you have read the files I delivered you?"

"Oh, yes. Very interesting reading; it's been sent to the media research-department for de-biasing." He motions to the Parks to sit down.

"Methis and I have been collecting data from various sources, compiling it and evaluating it. Your report was among the data I weighed as I decided, this morning, that it's time to launch another covert operation into Consciousness territory. The probe-teams are being briefed, equipped and transported to the border as we speak."

Dorothy is still for a moment. "Why?"

"There's been some extremely unusual activity along the Cyborg borders lately, Dorothy. Plus, Miriam has decided to act against the Cyborgs, and though she states doctrinal conflicts as the only reason, there's probably an even better. My guess, it has something to do with that base they lost." He cracks his knuckles. "Oh, and I always welcome the slightest excuse to cause the Consciousness some trouble. I've been hoarding algorithmically enhanced viruses for this very occasion."


****


This is ground control to alpha squad. Do you copy?

Alpha leader here. Over.

Alpha leader, break your current mission and standby for new instructions.

Alpha flight, abort and form up behind me. Ground control, I am standing by for instructions.

Transmitting new orders now. Please confirm orders.

Orders state, pursue civilian aircraft MA-014521 and forcibly escort it to the nearest Morganite airport. If civilian aircraft refuses to comply, we are authorized to fire at will.

Orders confirmed. You should have the frequency of the flight-beacon of MA-014521. Proceed.

****


The dopplering wail of another set of jet-engines besides the plane's own causes Jim and Edgecrusher to jump. Jim slams a button on his table, linking the table comm-system to the cockpit. "What the mindworm's teeth was that?"

"Sir, it was a Morgan Needlejet, sir! We are being hailed by the air-traffic control at Morgan Processing. Should I reply?"

"How far are we from University borders?"

"Two minutes, sir."

"Then put the message on the main speakers. Don't reply in any way."

...ering you to break from your course immediately and follow the needlejet escort. Failure to do so will authorize the jets to open fire. I repeat, this is Morgan Processing airport, we are ordering you to break...

Jim pushes the 'transmit'-button. "Morgan Processing, could you repeat your message? You are breaking up at this end. Did you say we are to break course and immediately open fire on the needlejets?" He plays with the frequency-intensity. "I repeat, you are breaking up at this end. We are experienceing severe electromagnetic disturbances. Please readjust your frequency and retransmit messages."

Edgecrusher smiles as Jim releases the transmit-button. "How long do you think they'll need to figure that out?"

"Not nearly long enough; they're in perfect contact with the jets. But I'm hoping it will delay them long enough to force the jets to break off; they must avoid straying into University airspace."


****


"Couldn't you have waited until I am ready, so I could participate?"

"No. Sorry. Dorothy, I can't wait anymore. I had to create a demilitarized zone between us and the Consciousness, and subverting a couple of bases is perfect for that. Plus, Beta is installing a network of peculiar-looking sensor posts, and I'm worried it might be the foundation of a network-expansion of the consciousness into our territories. Real-time contact between the Cyborgs and our population would triple the danger of the sleeper-algorithms. Do you realize how likely they are to attempt a coup these days? As of the latest reports, I'd estimate that nine point four percent of the University's population carries an algorithm, most likely a sleeper. The C-I has done it's best to halt the increase, but the number still grows -be it ever so slowly nowadays. But it doesn't matter anymore. The different between nine point four, ten and thirty per cent is merely the percentage likelyhood of a well-staged, population-driven coup succeeding. Currently, Methis calculates our chances of being successfully overthrown by tomorrow at fifteen per cent. Once the total number of merged reaches ten percent of the population, that's a fifty-fifty chance. If we have underestimated the flexibility of the Consciousness, the chance might be higher. Also, I'd estimate that the Consciousness, since they're allied with the Usurpers, are the de-facto technological leaders on Chiron. I must find out how big an advantage they have."

An awkward silence descends, until Dorothy stirs. "Well, can I rely upon University support once I am ready to start my own probe-expedition?"

"Naturally. I've prepared to have all the resources of Methis dedicated to your efforts once you begin. She -or it- is being built a specially modified combat/communications -chassis for the occasion. I hope you will forgive my initiative in this case, as I felt that some head start on design could give you that extra advantage. Also, the arms-labs are saving some of their most promising prototypes for you to choose from. Oh, and though I know that most of my probes are unavailable right now, I've compiled a list of those still available that you may choose from to accompany you, or support your efforts in any other way."

Dorothy graciously accepts the data-crystal before she speaks. "Zakharov, I do have thought out the core of the team that I'd like to take on this mission. I need to contact them yet, to ascertain their availability, but I must explain to you that very few of them hail from the University."

Zakharov leans back in his chair. "Yes, I am familiar with your choice of team-members. I certainly do not have any fancies regarding the talent of my probes, when compared interfactionally. I understand you have excellent contacts to probes in many factions, the Data-Angels and the Free Drones to name two. Though I am still curious.... Why?"

"Because I only work with people whom I trust completely, and who know as much about me as possible. That way, I won't have to worry about secrecy. Remember how you lectured to me about how I had, and I quote, 'used technology on myself that should be kept absolutely secret for as long as conceivably possible'? Well, it's not that secret anymore; I know for a fact that Beta knows what I have achieved, though not how I did it. But still; I'm keeping it as secret as I can. And that means I work only with people who know me."

Zakharov nods. "Might I know who you are thinking of inviting?"

"Well, there's Laysa and Balbo Orlov and their team of probes. Jim has said he'd help me, but I don't know if he has the time to join personally. There's some good people in the Cult of Planet that I'd like to extend an invitation to; Cha and his lords would probably be relieved to see them go. Finding Merlin, a Data-angel psi-probe, would be a stroke of luck, but knowing him I doubt he'd respond to any such call. I might try asking Planet, though."

At this, Zakharov raises his eybrows. "You never told me you could communicate with Planet!"

"Um, I haven't actually tried to contact Planet. It's been talking to me, certainly, and the Cultist data includes all the necessary information on how to call for it's attention, so it's an option I might try."

"Oh. Uh, did you say you still haven't invited Jim Sturlasson?"

"No, I haven't."

"Um... then it's just a coincidence that he's about to cross our borders right now? Those morgan needlejets don't sound like an honorary escort, either..."


****


There's a throbbing sound. On top of it, as if it was merely modulations of the basic sound, was a very loud voice relying a message.

This is captain Kirwa Delta-Sixteen of Alpha Squadron, Morgan Airforce. You are ordered to change your course immediately or we will be forced to shoot you down.

Jim removes his hands from his ears. They haven't helped. "Harmonic projection. They want to make sure we're listening."

Edgecrusher peers at him nervously. "Well, what now?"

The old pirate again activates the commlink to the cockpit. "Pilot, how far are we from University territory?"

"Sir, we've been in UoP airspace these last thirty seconds."

"Are the needlejets disengaging?"

"No, sir, they- Look out!"

A dull thump, together with some alarming groans from the ship's hull, herald an explosion outside.

"Sir, they just exploded a missile approximately fifty meters away from us."

Captain Kirwa here again. You have thirty seconds to change course, or else we blast you to pieces.

Jim nibbles on his lower lip. Then he sighs, and contacts the pilot.

"Set course for Morgan Proces-" Another set of jets transmit their mechanical keen into the plane. "What was that?"

"Sir, it's University needlejets!"

Once more, the very air vibrates with a voice. Morgan needlejets, you are using University airspace without permission. Immediately set course for Morganite airspace, or we are forced to treat you as hostiles. Morganite civilian jet MA-014521, you are on an unauthorized flight-path. State your destination.

Jim virtually bounces up and down in his seat. "They're disengaging! We're safe!" He rams the comm-links again. "This is MA-014521 to University jets. Our destination is University Central."

This time, the comm-link also relays the response. "Copy that, MA-014521. Stand by." There's a short pause before the speaker resumes. "You are assigned to special airpath two; here are the vectors. Do not stray from your course."

"Understood. And, sir, may I ask how you arrived so fast?"

"You've been observed these last ten minutes. I'm authorized to inform you that the mayor of University Central cancelled our routine patrol some three minutes ago to intercept you."

Jim closes the links and looks at Edgecrusher. He is visibly relieved. "How stupid of me not to inform the University that we were coming. I hadn't counted on this plane being tracked."

"I guess they didn't like the thought of seeing you leave, sir."

Jim chuckles. "Darn, I guess I forgot there's no such thing as emigrating from the Consciousness."


End of chapter 87.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 88: Lobotomy


A room, so crammed with electronics that it seems the pulsating heart of some technological monster. A lonely figure, standing in front of a screen. An arm moving, a hand unfolding, a finger extending.

It presses a button.


****


In a desolate patch of xenofungus, a woman awakes. Or, at least, she opens her eyes. Her face becomes a mask of terror, and she opens her mouth as if to scream.

She is not alone; a man by a boiling pot of food glances at her direction for a moment. Then he half runs, half leaps over to her side, incidentally tipping over his food in the process. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her gently.

"Lisa? What's the matter? Lisa!"

All around her, her mindworm-brood is writhing as if in pain.

"Lisa!"


****


"Sir, this is an image taken from astroponica. It's almost directly above Cyborg territory."

Zakharov takes the datapad the functionary is offering, and inspects it almost with a hint of suspicion, as if he's willing to disbelieve the evidence of those stellar eyes.

"Amazing. Simply amazing! How sharp is that boundary?" He points at a detail in the picture, and the functionary leans in to get a better look.

"I think I have a zoom of that somewhere." He lets Zakharov hold the pad while he cycles through it's recorded images. "Yes, this is it. Smallest details are ten centimeters across."

Zakharov gasps. "A virtual knife-edge! Inside, nothing. Outside..."

The functionary nods and gulps. "That. Masses. Enormous masses. We took a radar-sounding and compared it with a previous image for depth, sir, and it was over fifty meters at some points. And it's grown since then."

Zakharov hands the pad back to the functionary. "I want to know the minute a change occurs. This includes any signs of a decrease in growth." He nods at another functionary. "Have you been able to analyze the wave?"

"Partly, sir Provost. It's electromagnetic, with a very complex waveform. We compared it with the database and found it most closely resembles the microstatic fields generated by Planet's indigenous lifeforms." The functionary waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the cyborgs. "I don't think we need to change that theory, sir. It's pretty obvious it's driving every piece of indigenous life within it's range nuts."

Zakharov shakes his head. "Not nuts. Out. Beta has invented and deployed a simple electromagnetic field, and enhanced it with Progenitor resonance technology, that somehow repels all mindworms and xenofungus. Of course, Planet's biosphere acts in many ways as a single entity, as manifested by Planetmind, and it resents this. It tries to fight back. It's like- like- " He motions wildly. "Like beta has cut a wound into Planet, and it is feverishly trying to heal itself by focusing all it's energy on growth. Thank you, return to your post."

He signals to a third person to approach. "Dana, what can you tell me?"

Dana Terchenko approaches with a measured step and bearing almost exaggeratingly careful not to show emotions. She is one of Univerity's most talented telempaths. "Planetmind is not currently detectable within the University. This is not too unusual, as it can be relocated and focused at will. Not until several days have passed might we assess the true impact this has had; my guess is we might compare it to lobotomy. As Planet's memory is somewhat tied to the relevant location, it is reasonable to expect that it has lost most information about the Cybernetic consciousness. This is bad news, as Planet will hence consider the Cyborgs an unknown threat and react with according hostility. Even though it's memories concerning us and thus our lower threat-level probably remain, some of the activity might spill over on us."

"Spill over! What an understatement! There's a virtual wall of xenofungus along our border with the Cyborgs! We're tracking so many mindworm broods that we're swamped in alarms! Not to mention that some of our bases are uncomfortably close to that thing..."

"Yes, I know this. With spillover, sir, I mean the fact that there's a truly staggering increase of psionics near the wall. I estimate a surface-strength of three, four Keldharts. Peaks up to nine. As soon as a burst occurs near one of the closest bases, you'll have civil unrest on your hands. And that's not all." She takes a deep breath. "Our measuring stations for global neural activity can measure up to three Keldharts. Well, the very second this field activated they all went offline. Every single one recorded a spike strong enough to damage the equipment. Basically, half the globe has been blasted with the mental equivalent of a neural whip at low settings."

Zakharov looks perplexed and rubs his forehead. Dana anticipates the next question. "Remember, Provost, that your quarters are psi-shielded. You requested it yourself."

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Um, how badly affected is the rest of the population?"

"Not too badly. Since most were asleep, they merely awoke with a jolt, possibly some fleeting images of xenofungus. Those who were awake report experiencing migraines, fainting and vertigo. Your population isn't very sensitive to Planet, sir." Zakharov can't tell if that was praise or scorn. She continues, for the first time showing sadness. "However, those who are sensitive have... suffered. Nightmares, pain, hallucinations, and so on. Several of your mindworm broods have died, along with their keepers. We're still trying to assemble the whole picture, sir."

"Well, this will do for now. Thank you, Dana. Sebastian?"

Commander Steiner nods. "Sir?"

"Our probes... How are they?"

"Five teams have reported back. We're still waiting to hear from the rest. As far as I know, they were all well inside the, ah, field when it activated. The probes didn't report any personal impact of this activation, so I gather that any psionic pulse generated by it's activation only manifested outside it's range. They are all still heading towards their assigned targets, sir. There is one other thing, though."

"What's that?"

"These five teams were the ones that didn't include a psi-probe. The other seven were almost all psi-probes. So I'm slightly worried about any effects this field itself might have on human psionics, sir. After all, the Cyborgs are all apparently non-psionic, for some reason, so they wouldn't worry about this."


****


This self, who?

"Planet? Is that you?"

Planet. Planet we. Planet why?

"Because you are the planet. I've told you how we perceive your parts. Don't you remember?"

Afraid we. Remember not we. Remember we self Cha now. EarthCha. Cha! Wrong. Wrong something. Poems lost. Forgotten. New feeling. Not fear. Similar. Like dying brood. Like drowning Locust.

"Pain? Are you hurt? Planet, what is happening! I felt pain when you contacted me! You have never hurt me before!"

Pain feel we? Make pain vanish Cha. Not dream you we, Cha. Talking we how, Cha, if dream of Cha not we? Wait. Distant dream of seeborg we. Of Conscience. Pain is dream lost.

"What are you saying? Have you lost your memories about the Cyborgs? The Cybernetic Consciousness? What have they done to you?"

Cybernetic. Yes. Cha, pain! Fear! Please! Weak we, now. Sleep we. Cannot sleep we! Pain/memories awake!

"Planet, please listen. I don't know if you are capable of doing this, but pull away from the painful memories. If they hurt you, let go of them. Don't remember; forget completely. Stay away. But please, don't dream the growth-dream yet."

....

"Planet?"

Hurt we not now. Thank you, Cha. Dream of regrowth, we will. Dream of dancing locust and sated larvae. Of growth, yes. Growth-dream no. Not yet. Almost. Much sooner now...


End of chapter 88.