The Spartan Chronicles

[Dcole78]

I love you baldwin and I love you Co-

the ear splitting drone of the subs sirens woke Fleet Commander Baldwin. "What now" he thought. "First Santiago allows Morgan News to run that interview, and now this". Climbing out of his cot he activated the com pannel. "There had better be a good reason for this Private"

"It's Mark sir, came" the hesitent reply. Instantly Baldwin felt the pit of his stomach drop away from him, Mark had been with him almost from the begining. "What's happend" he asked trying, but failing, to keep the concern out of his voice. "he's gone crazey sir..he's running around the shipe..Davis and John tried to restrain him but he knocked them senseless...
"I'm on my why" said Baldwin and terminated the link. "sub-sickness" he thought as he removed his shreeder pistol from the wall.

As soon as the first subs had been commisined sub-sickness had begun to appear. The spartan goverment denided it's existence, claiming that the suffers were mentally weak. At first Baldwin had believed them, but he had seen to many good men go totally insane to believe them any longer. Perhaps it was radiation from the fission generators, or maybe it was only the close confines of the sub, only one thing was certain something was causing his men to go insane and the spartan goverment refused to even look into it.

Ducking, he stepped out of his cabin and into the subs main hallway to find Mark banging his head on the wall. "no..no..no.." Mark repeated the phrase over and over his usually handsome face contourted into a mask of pain and angony. Catching sight of the Captian he stopped.

"The voices Captain I can't stop the Voices" "They want....they want me to kill you" he said as he raised a shreeder pistol and pointed at Baldwin's chest.

"Mark, you know you don't want to do that, now lower that pistol and we can talk"

Mark slowly lowered the pistol "but the voices captian....can you stop the voices" He said pleading plantivley like a child to his mother. "yes I can" replided Baldwin sadly, as he rasied his pistol and fierd.

Several crewmen came running at the sound of the shot, led by the private Baldwin had spoken to earlier. Seeing Mark, dead, on the floor of the sub and the shaking hands of his captian he said about the only thing that he could. "You did the right thing sir" "If we had reported it, they would have put him in a funny farm, and his family would have become second class citizens" "I've actually been inside one of those places captain" said a second "and they are little better than prizons, no one goes there to get well, only to die" "I know" replided Baldwin "but that doesn't make it any easier" "order the sub brought to the surface and tell the men to assemble top side" "Yes sir" replided one of the seamen as he ran off.
"Is there anything else to report" Baldwin asked the other two privates?
"well, yes sir" "we recieved this on genearl burst a few hours ago"

Burst transmission

To: All Chiefs of Staff except retired Wing Commander Scott Allardyce
From: Corazon Santiago, Commander in Chief

Your presence is demanded at a reception tomorrow evening 1800 hours to roast the departure of Scott “Googlie” Allardyce to Velvergrass Point as our first Ambassador to Gaias Stepdaughters.

Due to the numbers expected and the significance of the event we will meet in the war cabinet room.

If you cannot attend in person it is mandatory that your designate attend.

Do not reply. Just attend, or be represented.

Corazon Santiago

Odd, thought baldwin, a little forceful for a simple party, but I have some things to take up with santiago.

"Thank you private" he replided as he walked down the corrider to the bridge. Yes, he thought, I have some things to take up with santiago, but now I have a burial to attend and some reports to fudge.

[Googlie]

I nursed my fungal gin as I pondered the events of the last few decades. Lazily swirling the amber liquid around in the glass I was struck by how easily mankind had adapted to life on Chiron.

Yes, in the beginning it had been hard, some might say excessively difficult. The early years, when we were cut off from the other Unity factions, had been hard. We had eked out a meager existence, talking fondly of the old times on earth while we wrestled with the realities of living on a nitrogen rich planet with hostile native lifeforms. And not just the mindworms.

Some early deaths had warned us of the incompatibility of the human digestive system and native fungal growths, even cooked. With a few minor exceptions, indigenous plants and fruits were inedible to the point of being poisonous. We had striven to adapt to the climate, with its afternoon furious winds, the rain, the unhealthy atmosphere and the poor food until our seedlings hatched and bore fruit.

Strangely the only native contribution to our diet was the gin. Scientists had worked out – goodness knows how – that boiling fungus stalks to a pulp, straining the liquid, then distilling it, produced a potent spirit with a taste akin to a gingery brandy. Although nothing like gin, we had adopted that as the name, or, to be more exact, fungal gin. It was best drunk diluted with gazified water, but was also very palatable taken neat, as I was now.

But after the collective wisdom had been pooled, and those among us more able to make sense of it all been identified, the knowledge leaps had been tremendous, with significant new researches coming on stream every 20 or so years. One of the most significant had been the development of synthetic fossil fuels, that had allowed the development of missile technology and our budding aerospace efforts.

We Spartans were not as adept at mineral extraction from the ground as were the Morganites or the Hive, preferring as we did the exploitation of a renewable resource such as forests, which better aligned itself to our Green economic principles. This did place some limitations on our production capacity, but we believed we compensated by developing better armed and armored troops with superior morale. I could certainly attest to that as regards the Spartan Air Command – we had proved ourselves almost invincible in the war against the University.

But I must admit that I was looking forward to what promised to be a quieter lifestyle among the Gaians. Since my wife had died in the tragic recycling tanks accident a few years ago I had retreated more to contemplation than action, and with Ian apparently carving a career for himself under Gavin’s command I had no ties to Sparta.

Sarah had surprised me, opting to stay in Sparta Command as part of the Mindworm Brigade, but even more surprising had been Alphonse’s decision. I still heard in my mind his comment:

“Stay I, earthgooglie. Much friends have become we and earthsarah. Muchlearn from each.”

So they were a team. Sarah had plans to go recruiting for more mindworms, she and Alphonse, that could be tamed and trained to be a viable fighting unit. Trouble was, there was a command void at he moment with Ann Rynn’s demotion/transfer that left no-one knowing whose orders they followed in that division. I’d promised to have a word with Santiago at the do the next evening on her behalf.

Then there was this business with Paula Forbes. Why did she need to be there? Oh, it would be great to see her again, and maybe even she would give me a “retiring present” that I’d remember for the rest of my days, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Anyway, she’d promised to introduce me to a friend who was “Gaian trained”. That intrigued me.

Pat Brewster worried me. He’d taken Slats’ appointment badly. He felt that he was being made the scapegoat for a ruinous mission that had only been put in place because other units hadn’t shown much urgency in getting a rescue going. He was sullen, and outspoken in his criticism of Santiago. I wondered if he’d be at the party – probably, as he was one of my few friends.

I refilled my glass.

Then there was Julia. It was going to be awkward, particularly if Deirdre hadn’t told her about her natural mother and in-vitro father. I’d have to quiz Deirdre on that.

Ah Deirdre……… my thoughts wandered……..

[Rynn]

Kurt wandered down an alley towards his sleeping cubicle in the eastern sector of Hole of Aspiration. His tour of duty was over for the evening, and it had been fairly uneventful.

He'd worn the enhancer today, as the distance was becoming greater, and Miles signal fainter. Bert of course had the enhancer apparatus working flat out. Miles had made his way to the outskirts of Fort Superiority, and had easily passed any interrogations that came his way from citizenry or garrison troops. The last time he'd been seen there was when he'd boarded Brewster's converted pen with the Rover, for the drop, but his face was not familiar, so no-one had recognized him.

Kurt and Bert had discussed, and disagreed, on how to play the return. The hero, escaped, returning to a hero's welcome, or the failed fugitive, slinking back into the city. They didn't know if Ann Rynn, Miles' buddy, was there or if she had returned to Sparta Command. They didn't know if she'd been assigned a new buddy. Bert wanted the splash return, the red carpet, the fuss, as he thought that would be the fastest way to the brass but Kurt wasn't so sure.

'He needs more practice' Kurt thought. He still waits too long before implanting the thought - it's like a cheap vidcom. The character's holo moves and the action commences about a second before the sound comes. Poor synchronization. Often drew guffaws from the audience.

Kurt had won the first battle. The entrance to Fort Superiority had been uneventful. No-one seemed to know where the Empath Squad were garrisoned, and even the regular garrison troops were unaware of its existence, let alone its location.

"Try Sparta Command" they'd said.

So now Miles was on a commuter shuttle to Sparta Command, and would be dozing for the next couple of hours.

Kurt paused by a grocer's. He ought to get something for supper. He was examining the mangoes and apples when he overheard: "…tonight at seven, the rec. commons - we're a bridge club today. We were crossword puzzle enthusiasts last week." The speaker - talking to the stallkeeper, then drew a symbol in the sand in a box that had contained potatoes - it was like the infinity loop with one end squared off. Kurt remembered his father drawing such a sign on the doorpost one day, before he was taken to prison.

After he left, Kurt went up to the stallkeeper, who was erasing the symbol. He triggered his empath senses to their maximum.

"That symbol you just erased. What is it?" he asked, senses flaring.

Fear. Guilt. Questioning. Fellowship…quieting of the mind.

"What is it to you?" the stallkeeper asked.

"My father. He drew one on our porch door the night before he was taken by the police and executed. I was six at the time. They took me the next day to military school, then the academy, and I'd forgotten about that symbol until I saw it just now."

Suspicion. Fear again. Resolution

The stallkeeper squared his shoulders.

"Oh, it's just one of the ways that some oldtimers communicate to each other - just so that we recognize that we're together. You know, bridge club members."

"Rubbish," said Kurt. "I remember now. It's the old Believers' sign. You're part of that old faction, still meeting clandestinely. I'd like to attend. Just to see if there's anything in my past that can be brought out."

"I don't know about that…" began the stallkeeper.

"Oh, I'm no threat,' said Kurt. "I'll lay my cards on the table. I'm part empath. I've always thought that it was my ability to somewhat read other peoples' minds - or at least their motives - that gave me a profound sense of disatisfaction here. But it may be deeper. It may have been my early upbringing. I'd like to explore that. As you know, if I wanted to turn you in, I'd just appear at the rec. commons with some garrison troopers. But I won't. I'll come alone, and sit quietly and absorb, if you and your friends will let me."

"Do you know anything about bridge?" asked the stallkeeper.

"Not a thing".

"Good. Then you'll be the reason we're meeting. Bridge School. Seven o'clock sharp. Harry's the name."

He stuck out his hand. Kurt shook it.

"I'm Kurt."

Obviously no second names were used.

[Paula Forbes]

I saw a white coated lab attendant come by.

Grabbing him by the arm I said “I need help. There’s an unconscious empath in that room…”

He shrugged me off.

“Not my department,” he said. “You need the Director.” And hurried away.

I looked around. How to find – or even recognize – the Director.

A group was coming by.

“Excuse me…” I began.

As one, they looked at me.

I sensed a mild confusion in my head, like thoughts trying to break to the surface of my consciousness. I inwardly exulted. These were surely empaths reading my mind.

One spoke.

“Are you declared?” she asked.

“Huh?” I queried.

They shrugged as one and moved on.

I realized that I was going to have to do what needed to be done, alone.

First things first.

I activated my commlink and called Peter.

“Paula,” he said excitedly. “Where the hell are you. The shuttle landed at MI and you weren’t on it. Guess what. Remember that piece you did about a year ago on the Spartan subs? Well Santiago cleared its airing about an hour ago. And I’ve got some corroboration on the nervegas issue that Levavassier spoke about.”

“Great,” I said. “I’ve some problems of my own here. I’m at bank, with an unconscious empath on my hands in a top secret facility where no-one will talk to me. I've got proof that Spartan security has been breached right up to Santiago's office, but can’t find my way out. Certainly won’t get to the borehole to do a report on that.

“ Tell you what. Be a darling and run the sub story at the six slot – do a simulcritude of me leading in and exiting, and run the old tape. You’ve got enough of me on file that you can do that, don’t you?”

“Yeah…..I suppose so. What do I tell Carter?”

“Leave JoJo to me. Just tell him I overrode your objections – that I’m working on something for the 9.00 news that’ll blow his sox off.”

“OK - I’ll do it for you.” he said.

“Great – I owe you one” I replied.

“Just run the nervegas piece, then”, he said.

“I’m working on it, Paula out.” Was my laconic reply as I snapped the commlink shut.

[Paula Forbes]

Tape 2225.17.11.37.spa.mil6 © MorganNews

“Good evening, viewers, this is Paula Forbes with a MorganNews special, courtesy of Morgan Pharmaceuticals, ‘Your Wealth is your Health’.

“Tonight, on the eve of an escalation of the war between The Human Hive and The Spartan Federation, we are bringing you this MorganNews special in full MorganLink 3DVision. This interview, one in our series on Spartan Military Preparedness, was conducted over a year ago, but we are excited to have only just received permission, this afternoon, from Colonel Corazon Santiago, to air it in its entirety.

“The interview you are about to see was taken at the launch site of the Spartan Federation’s first submarine, and is with her Skipper, Fleet Commander Baldwin.

RUN TAPE 2224.04.44.spa.sub/11.22

“Hi, Fleet Commander Baldwin, I’m Paula Forbes of MorganNews. Thank you for consenting to this interview on Spartan Military Preparedness.

“This must be an exciting time for you, the launch of the first Spartan submarine. I didn’t catch the name – what is she called? Submarines are female, right?”

“Well, Ms. Forbes…”

“Oh, call me Paula”

“Well, Paula, officially it is named after our leader, The SS Corazon Santiago, but I like to call it ‘The Black Panther.”

“Commander, it seems a stupid question, but obviously without a submarine fleet neither you nor your men will have had any experience aboard subs. What are your expectations re crew quarters. I suppose you can’t be claustrophobic in a sub?”

“Ha ha – that’s a good one Paula. Remember that a sub is a weapon of war not a cruise ship. Quarters will probably be adequate nothing fancy, I would expect them to be - excuse the pun - spartan.

“On the other note, yes: claustrophobia could be a problem. Subs are designed to be undetectable and to move quickly so everything is designed as small as possible. Even with the latest miniaturization techniques however, engines and sensory equipment still require a lot of space so living and working space is limited.”

“May I ask what led you to take up this calling – I must admit in preparation for this interview I read some of the old terran novels on submarine warfare, and all seem to concede that it is a calling, a way of life that few take but those that do love. What led you to this command?”

“That’s not…. easy. Just let me say that,… well,… commanding has always been something I've enjoyed, and…ummm..umm commanding a stealth unit such as this comes with more…uh.. freedom, shall we say, than other commands”

“And I suppose, Commander, that you have hand picked your men for this elite unit?

“Yeah right. No. Santiago decides all troop assignments”

“Now that’s interesting. Does the Colonel get involved in all personnel decisions? Would she have hand picked your crew?”

"She is an active commander in chief. All decisions, especially those of a military nature, require her seal of approval. Though it would be silly to think she has the time to personally choose troop assignments, she has to sign off on every one of them before they take effect."

“How do you think a submarine force will impact future naval warfare on Chiron?”

“Well that’s it, you see, Paula. You’ve read the old books. It will revolutionize navel warfare just as it did back on earth. The strongest cruiser or destroyer can be seen coming: but a sub can hit you and escape before you even know it is there.”

“That’s scary. I understand that she is fission powered – nuclear that is. What is her effective range, and how long can you stay submerged between surfacings? And I will understand, Commander, if you can’t answer some of these due to security reasons.”

“We do have to surface yes but not often.”

“What is her maximum speed? Her cruising speed?”

“She is fast, one of the fastest units on Chiron, I’m delighted to say.”

“What kind of armaments is she fitted with? How many torpedoes? I can see a deck gun emplacement but can’t make out the type of weaponry. Is it a missile launcher?”

“Now, Paula, is this an interview or an interrogation? Yang’s boys could take some lessons from you. Ha ha, just kidding. Seriously, you have good eyes for military hardware. The gun emplacement is indeed a missile launcher.”

“What’s the crew complement?”

“Ideally each sub would operate with a crew of eight”

“And now some personal questions Commander Baldwin. Are you married? Girl in every port? Children?”

“No, not now.”

“Now that’s an interesting response, Commander. It implies that you once had that proverbial girl in every port. But I’ll leave that well alone. What were you doing in the Spartan navy prior to this command?”

“Mmmmmm…well…I was an advisor…of sorts…to Colonel Santiago”

“You mentioned that each sub would have a crew of eight. How many more submarines are in production, Commander? In other words, what will be the size of the fleet you command?”

“More subs are in production, yes; the size of the fleet however has yet to be completely determined,”

“Finally, Commander Baldwin. Where will your home port be?”

“Ha ha, you are a persistent one, Paula. You’ll understand, I’m sure, that I can’t divulge that.”

“Touche. Thank you Commander Baldwin for your time and patience, and good luck in your new command.”

END TAPE

“Hi, this is Paula Forbes live once more. That was a recording of an interview over one year ago with Fleet Commander Baldwin at the launch of the first submarine to be commissioned into the Spartan Navy. Only today did we receive permission from the Spartan Federation to release this for your viewing pleasure.

“This presentation has been brought to you by Morgan Pharmaceuticals. Remember, Your Wealth is your Health.

“This is Paula Forbes saying goodnight.”

END TAPE
CUT TO COMMERCIAL 107 Pharma/suns/03.61

Cue forecast.

[This message has been edited by Paula Forbes (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Julia sat sipping fruit juice with Stephen outside a tent at the end of the runway. They were the Gaian Air Force. A Former mechanic had been assigned to them, and he was tinkering with the Thrasher sitting nearby.

It had been disassembled by the eager mechanics and science officers, and then reassembled, and the experience had proven beneficial. Now Velvetgrass Point was only a few short days away from rolling out it's first aircraft produced indigenously. It would be Stephen's to command. Two young recruits were sitting nearby, hanging on every word. They were going to be the Ops Officers of the two needlejets, and although their actual flying time in the Thrasher had been minimal, they had immersed themselves in the instruction manuals and if truth be known were probably more knowledgeable than Julia and Peter put together. Julia because she had trained as a flying officer, and ops were somewhat of a mystery to her, and Stephen as his ops experience was somewhat dated, with an earlier technology than now extant in the Thrasher.

They were discussing tactics when they were interrupted by an old hydrogen combustion-engined cart driving towards them. It was open topped, obviously cobbled together from the chassis of an old recon rover. Sitting as a passenger, with a scarf tied round her head and billowing behind in the slipstream, was none other than Lady Deirdre Skye herself.

All leapt to their feet stiffly to attention as the car came to a halt and she got out.

"Sit down, sit down", she said. "It's only me" and flashed that heartmelting smile at them.

They sat down.

"May I join you," she asked sweetly.

Stephen leapt to his feet again, somewhat red-faced.

"My apologies, Lady" he proffered, holding out his chair gallantly for her.

She sat down. Stephen returned from the tent with another and sat down beside Julia.

"I've good news" Deirdre began. "We had a small surplus of energy credits available so I persuaded the engineers to push forward with the completion of the new needlejet. It rolled out of the factory and is even now being transported here for your test flights."

"That's great news", said Stephen, all boyish enthusiasm. "Finally, my own plane."

Julia looked at him.

"I'll be test piloting it" she announced bluntly.

"No you won't", said Stephen. "It's for me. You've got your own Thrasher."

"And I've also got about 500 more hours piloting experience than you," she replied. "That means I'll be able to spot any flaws in her handling or performance in a tenth the time it would take you. I'm right, aren't I?" she asked, turning to Deirdre.

"It does make sense," Stephen admitted. "But don't crash it for me, will you?"

Lady Deirdre looked wistful. Julia immediately sensed the mild depression.

"What's troubling you", she asked.

"Oh, just the slow pace of scientific research we have here", she responded. "We've far too few really qualified people, and with our meager resources being split up to search for and find good spots for other bases, it seems that things move at a snail's pace. If only………….." she let her voice tail off.

Her somber mood was broken by the hum of a motor straining to pull a laden trailer to the airbase perimeter.

"Oh, look," said Julia, spotting it first. "It's the new needlejet."

And indeed it was. It brought everyone to their feet excitedly, even Deirdre, as they craned their necks to see the advancing convoy.

The fuselage was on one trailer, and the wings were on a second, to be assembled at the airbase. The Gaian symbol was proudly painted on each wing, and on the tailfin, and the fuselage bore the simple legend GAFI 1. Julia intuited immediately. "Gaian Air Force Interceptor 1" she said - that makes me #2. We'll see about that." She blurted, glaring at Stephen.

Deirdre chuckled. "Now Captains…yes, I said Captains - that's your new rank as of today - stop this squabbling. Julia dear, your call sign is GAFT 1 - Gaian Air Force Tactical 1. Your Thrasher is a Tactical needlejet, is it not? Isn't that why it has the Thrasher callsign, and not Indigo?"

Julia was flabbergasted at Deirdre's intimate knowledge of Spartan military protocols.

Then she remembered.

Deirdre had spent six days in the company of old blabbermouth Googlie. There was no Spartan secret she wouldn't know.

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 07, 1999).]

[Slats]

"Scramble Pinwheels one and four. I repeat, scramble Pinwheels one and four. Go. Go. Go"

The squawk came loud and clear over the needlejets idling engines. Together, Bearcat Brewster and Dusty Rhodes gunned their throttles and the two lumbering Penetrators, in echelon formation, lumbered into their takeoff run. They picked up speed as they rolled down the runway until they reached that "no man's land" between ground and air. Lifting their nose wheels, they effortlessly shook off the gravitational pull and soared into the air. Undercarriage stowing, they accelerated into the evening sky and headed south from Fort Soup.

"Wing one away. Wing two take position and hold"

Control's voice reached Ranjit Sing and Bert Evans as they taxied to their hold position at the runway's edge.

"Indigo six, scramble, I say again, indigo six scramble"

Dexter Patterson rolled the little Interceptor needlejet from his hold position and smoothly transitioned into his take off run. Before he had covered half the runway's length he was airborne, undercarriage upp and heading like an arrow in the direction taken by the two Pens. In a few minutes he would overtake them and gain altitude to fly CAP on their mission.

The mission was simple.

Carpetbomb the Hive forces pinning down the 47th, giving Burge's men a chance to break out. It was going to be a round the clock mission, with a return and rearm phase during which Pinwheels two and three would take their turn on the bombing run, with Lisa flying CAP. To this end, the command tower squawked again:

"Thrasher seven, take your holding position."

Lisa gunned her engines a little and taxied to the end of the runway and peeled to the staging area across from the Penetrators.

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

Dexter arrived over the target area ahead of the pens. Trish was active at her monitors aligning the coordinates with those of the satellite from its most recent flyby when it had trained its infrared sensors on the ground below. A hydroponics farm satellite it might be, but it was bristling with observation equipment and sensors.

Satisfied, Trish gave a grunt and Dexter just knew that the transmission burst had gone to the Pens.

Below and behind them, Pete Morris and Ralph Mandell picked up the busrt, and adjusted their co-ordinates accordingly.

"Over to you, Katy", said Pete, and Katy went through her weapons arm routine. These were HE fragmentation cluster bombs that were being used. In truth, old supplies, but useful in this situation with a tightly massed enemy. Every tenth was a napalm variant, an incendiary cluster that typically set the surrounding vegetation afire and often drove the ground troops our of their armored vehicles for fear of being incinerated alive - into the mayhem being caused by the cluster explosives.

They were approaching the target area at about 15,000 meters. If the troops below were aware of anything, it would be only contrail wisps being caught in the rays of the two setting suns.

"Ordnance gone" was Alfredo Lopez' laconic grunt to Bearcat.

"Roger that" said Katy.

The big Penetrators wheeled for home.

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

"Scramble Pinwheels two and three. I repeat, scramble Pinwheels two and three. Go. Go. Go"

The process repeated.

That night the pens made four bombing runs each, four planes, dropping a combined 320,000 kilos of explosives on the defenseless Hive forces.

By morning the crews were exhausted, both aircrews and ground crews.

Only one last task remained.

"Indigo Three, prepare for takeoff"

Rudi Gertz taxied his Interceptor to the runway's end, turned, and rolled into takeoff. He had swiveling HAC's mounted on two weapons pods, the other two being used for missile pods. The High Altitude Cameras would supplement the information obtained from the next satellite flypast, and would give a clearer picture of the task that awaited the 47th .

[Rynn]

Ann sat bolt upright in bed.

He was here. She knew.

The room was pitched black, with no window to the outside, and no light seeping under the closed door.

She felt the panic rise in her throat, the preparation for a scream.

The presence was stifling her.

She sat up in bed, and tried to force her pounding heart to still. No-one would hear her if she screamed. Oh, yes, she was being monitored, but only through the sensor nodes attached to her graft.

She wondered if her watchers could sense him.

Fear rose up in her mind again.

She had been moved to Sparta Command from the field hospital while they ran the tests and conducted the observations to see if she had been permanently damaged by the psychic scream. Hence the soundproof room. Once or twice she had relived that scream, and it had brought her own, much to the disturbance of the other 'guests'.

She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rise, and her scalp tingled, as she sensed the presence in her mind.

"Ann, its Miles."

She shivered, and drew her knees up to her chin. She sat on the bed with her arms around her knees, gently rocking back and forth.

"You're dead..dead…dead…dead" she mouthed silently

"No, Ann. I'm not dead. I'm here in Sparta Command. I need you. You are my buddy. I don't want to fight the mindworms alone."

Ann shuddered. The sense of panic was getting stronger.

She reached out with her mind, reaching, searching, back along the neural channel that had produced Miles presence.

She shivered. She hadn't tried this for weeks, it seemed.

"Miles" she empathed. Then drew back instantly, confused.

She had a mental image of Miles, but not Miles. Not his face. A fleeting image - a sense - of a leer, a faint presence in the background as though someone else was also probing. Then a third, in his mind, questing.

What's happening, she thought to herself.

The presence intensified.

"Ann", it said to her mind. "I've just entered the base. I'm coming for you. Be ready."

"Noooo" she wailed. "I'm not ready." She pulled the flimsy sheet over her head.

The implacable presence in the room, in her mind, paid no heed.

[Rynn]

Sarah woke up trembling.

She had felt the insidious presence, searching, questing. She'd gotten up and wandered over to the mindworm pen, thinking it was their unrest that had awakened her.

Alphonse skittered over, chittering excitedly.

"No, no, were not going hunting yet," Sarah said. "I just couldn't sleep. I sense something is reaching out to me, but I just don't know what."

She reached out to pet the tangled tendrils of the demon boil.

When her hand made contact, she suddenly stiffened. It was as if the physical contact with the mindworm had amplified her neural capability, strengthening her empath sense.

"It's Miles," she said aloud. "He's here. Looking for something. And something's not right. He seems unnatural. Help me Alphonse".

Help we EarthSarah. What need

"I need amplification. I need help to project, and help to resist if needed."

Help we can

Sarah reached out with her mind. At the edges she was aware of Ann, with Miles probing of her. Then suddenly she was there. Miles. Right through Miles. Another mind. Open, receptive. She went in, Alphonse right with her.

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

A continent away, Bert screamed, and tore the visor from his face, pulling out several probe filaments as he did so, and tearing the sensor pads from his temples.

"Holy ****", he said. "That hurt". Obviously he was in some pain.

"What hurt?" said Kurt. "You've lost him, and it's too far for me to hold him."

"Bloody huge mindworm, that's what." Said Bert. I was directing his probe to find out where this Lieutenant Rynn was billeted, then suddenly he's being probed by someone - I opened up to see who, and suddenly I've a friggin huge mindworm in my head."

"Get him back" was all Kurt said.

Bert reattached the nodes and the visor.

"Ain't gettin' nothin' ", he said. "Must have damaged the visor somehow when I yanked it off. You try with yours."

Kurt reached for his visor. He hated wearing it. It was hard to focus on one individual. So many voices in his head, so hard to trace to their sources. Oh, he could narrow the field somewhat through concentration, but there were thousands of channels to be explored. It was easy with Bert's visor - that was programmed for miles' thought patterns. But his was a general purpose one, manufactured at Morgan Industries to mesh with his brain patterns alone, and designed for pure magnification, not narrow beam focus.

Resignedly he put it on, and his face distorted with the usual repugnance he felt when he was invading so many minds on a broad sweep basis.

He searched, expanding his consciousness in broad swathes, like a radar, ignoring all but the signal that he had homed in on Miles.

Then he heard the voice in his head.

Welcome EarthKurt. Waiting we.

"Who's we?" he asked.

"Huh?" said Bert. Whaddaya talkin' about?"

Kurt was confused.

He focused his mind and senses from where he imagined the Voice to come from.

Then he heard the music.

Eerie.

Unearthly.

Haunting.

Wonderful.

EarthKurt. Belong you we. You us. Joy much we/you

The music swept him along.

Kurt my boy, you look good

"Dad…what's happening…here"

with mother and Beartrice….Planet and human as one….everlasting….Miriam was wrong….this is eternity…..you must leave…. Must stop this madness…..Planet will be destroyed…..cycle will never repeat…..this is the last chance….don't let them screw it up….get allies…empaths…in every faction….need to unite……only chance….

The music petered out.

Kurt pulled the visor from his head and looked at Bert through eyes that were brimming with tears.

"You're on your own, now, Bert" he said to the stolid uncomprehending brutish face of Bert, his buddy whom he hated with a passion. "Find him yourself."

He stood up and left the room.

Bert gazed stupidly after him.

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

Miles stopped suddenly, and shook his head to clear it. He realized that he had no idea why he was walking down an alley at Sparta Command base in the middle of the night.

He stood for a moment to collect his bearings, then turned back and crossed in front of the big recycling tank complex, only a few years old after the disastrous fire that had generated the explosion that killed over 300 people. It was rumored that the Hive operative, Sand, had had something to do with it.

He crossed behind the rec. commons and reached the empath squad barracks.

"I'm home", he thought, and whistling an off key tune he pushed open the perimeter gate.

Only to be attacked by the largest mindworm he had ever seen in his life.

[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited August 07, 1999).]

[Kuruk]

Ambassador Akeem looked through the glass into the chamber in front of him. The room was narrow and long, three meters across and fifteen deep. At the near end, directly in front of the glass, stood a rack with three rifles, ancient projectile weapons brought over from Earth on the Unity. At the far end of the room was a metal grating, deep crimson in color.

Reflected in the glass were the hard eyes of the men and women around him. He had served as the Peacekeeper's ambassador to Sparta for thirty years, but the brutality and lack of compassion in these people never ceased to amaze him. The Peacekeepers had done away with capital punishment long ago.

The court martial had been swift. Nadia Dimitriov had been convicted of Conspiracy to Commit Crimes Against Humanity, a violation of the U.N. Charter, and numerous violations of the Spartan Code of Honor, the most significant of which was Disobedience of a Direct Order. The Spartan Federation had kept news of the near atrocity out of the Morgan News nets, and it was doubtful that the Hive even knew what had almost happened. The Peacekeeper sources were better than Yang's or Morgan's though. Lal had ordered Akeem to personally witness the execution, to ensure that it was carried out. The commissioner still held the U.N. charter as sacred. Akeem wondered how Lal would feel if he was standing here, about to watch a fellow human be executed.

The door at the near end of the chamber opened, and three soldiers stepped in. The raised fist insignias on their uniforms marked them as Spartan Internal Security Forces. Each selected a rifle from the rack. Two of the rifles contained live rounds, while one fired a blank. No one would know for sure whether they had fired one of the deadly shots. The custom was a holdover from traditional military justice on Earth. The SISF soldiers would feel no guilt for what was about to happen.

At the other end of the chamber, another door opened, and a young woman in dress uniform stepped in. Akeem could not be sure, but it looked as though she had a satisfied smile on her face.

There would be no blindfold, no cigarette, no restraints. Spartans were expected to meet death with stoicism and discipline.

The three soldiers saluted the woman at the other end of the chamber. For another few seconds, she was still their superior officer.

The woman at the other end of the chamber returned the salute. The first soldier shouted out the orders.

"Ready ... Aim .... Fire!"

Captain Nadia Dimitriov was knocked back against the wall as the bullets hit her chest, and then fell forward onto the iron grating.

[Googlie]

(A joint effort - Googlie and Rynn)
___________________________________

“This meeting will now come to order.”

Santiago was stern looking as she looked around the room.

All were present except Googlie. She frowned. While his presence was not necessary for the task at hand, it was strange that he wouldn’t be early for his supposed briefing on the Gaian Ambassador’s duties. Unless he had gotten wind that it was supposed to be for a Roast for his retirement – she knew he hated those kind of do’s.

But that was only a subterfuge to get the generals together. Maybe his nose for intrigue had taken him down that path as well, or he had personal infiltration of their links and deduced what this meeting was about, and decided that as he was retired, he’d stay away.

No matter.

All were in attendance.

Gavin Burge, of the 47th was at her left. Next to him was Salvador St. James Arrayed further round was ‘Trawler’ Mcmillan, sitting next to General Wang. On the other side was ‘Slats’ Miller, flanked by General Lockhart and Eugene Levavassier. Lord Atreus was represented by Captain Paul Mitchell, a deputy in the Psi Ops command.

“Order of Business,” began Santiago. "Burge has the Chair."

Gavin Burge began to speak.

“First – An all out attack on Great Clustering. I’ll co-ordinate this. All units subordinate. I want the Base captured, the Planetbuster production capability destroyed and we’ll build it up as a major beachhead for an allout invasion of the Human Hive.

“Next – Plex Anthill. Lockart. Invade and secure. Immediately if possible. We need a staging area for the successful attack on Great Clustering. Build a land bridge if necessary. You’ll have authority to commandeer every former that I don’t commandeer.

“Third – there’s a Hive invasion force massing according to Morgan sources. Slats, I need that destroyed. Co-ordinate with Baldwin’s sub team. This should be just up their alley.

“Fourth – The issue of Nervegas. Levavassier has some comments."

Colonel Levavassier took to the floor

“I’m pleased to say that the Circle of Ashaandi’s efforts in this regard have failed, and as far as we can tell their operatives have been withdraw…”

The door burst open.

Miles Cavenagh came into the room throwing aside the lifeless body of Ann Rynn.

He mouthed one word.

“Kamikazi”

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

At the other end of the base, Paula and Jeneba watched in horror as the nuclear fireball engulfed the Command Center. They averted their ayes almost a moment too late, although the blast was obscured by intervening buildings.

It had been a small tactical nuke, sufficient to destroy utterly a sizeable building and smaller ones surrounding it. It’s footprint was about the size of four old earth football fields clustered together. The mushroom cloud rose as the shockwave hit them, flattening them to the street.

“Good God” Paula said. The whole Spartan War Cabinet”

Jeneba wore a puzzled frown.

Fleet Commander Baldwin looked at her. They’d intercepted him on the way to the Cabinet meeting, and Paula had recognized him. Jeneba’s insistent warning had convinced him to stay away.

“What’s up now? He asked.

“I’m getting something”, she said.

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


In the underground room away from the Base, Ayola watched in satisfaction. The monitor control surveillance of the proceedings had dissolved to black, and the small supernova in the sky bore witness to the success of the operation.

She turned to her prisoner, held under electronic restraints. Immobilized except for vision and voice.

“We’ve done it”, Ayola said with glee. The Hive think they've got the whole War Cabinet, in one fell swoop - except for Allardyce – and he doesn’t signify. And Artreus, but he’ll be no match for Sand, in Sand's opinion." She gloated.

Her captive just smiled that infuriating smile.

“Think again, sweetheart. The words mandatory and be represented were code words that signified a Virtual Meeting, via hologram.

“All they've destroyed is some holoprojector equipment with some bricks and mortar. The Junta is intact. Why would they even negotiate?"

The two Hive agents monitoring the electronic defenses were oblivious to this exchange made for their benefit.

Corazon Santiago chuckled, at least as much as her electronic restraints allowed.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 09, 1999).]

[Slats]

Slats jerked back in the chair he’d been sitting in, putting him out of the lensfield of the holoprojector.

“Shoot”, he said to his aide. "Was the Colonel there live?"

“Negative, Sir” she replied. “I detected waver fields and even discontinuities in her persona that makes me believe that she was not only a holo , but a simulcrae at that.”

“What on Planet does that mean?” Slats asked. “What’s a simulcrae?”

“Oh, sir, it’s a preprogrammed manufactured hologram. A true holo would show her behind her desk wherever she was during that Virtual Meeting, blinking, moving, looking at speakers, that sort of thing. A simulcrae is a cobbled together holo of her previously, in a number of poses, that has been coded to run as real – so her standing up and sitting down was not actually happening real time – it is like watching a 3D vidcom being holographically projected. The appearance, though, is a lot more stilted, more artificial.”

“Oh, I see,” said Slats, not really, but understanding enough to realize that Santiago had not been there in person.

“Why would she have done that?” he asked.

“Perhaps she wanted to be somewhere else at the time, doing something else” his aide suggested. “It’s a technique perfected by the criminal element – appear to be somewhere holographically – it’s an accepted alibi – while you are actually committing the crime elsewhere.”

“Hmmm. I wonder where she is, then” Slats pondered.

But he had work to do.

He commlinked to Bearcat. ‘I need to get these recon patrols up and running to look for the Hive fleet. And co-ordinate with Burge for any attack on Plex Anthill or eventually Great Clustering.'

But Pat Brewster was not responding.

[This message has been edited by Slats (edited August 07, 1999).]

[Rynn]

Bert Rose exultantly from the chair and stretched his cramped muscles.

“We did it,” he said, looking over at Kurt.

“You killed over 100 people.” Kurt said, with obvious distaste. “With a Nuke, at that.”

“Yeah,” Bert said. “Isn’t it great. I’ll get a huge promo out of this. Might even make Sarge. Let’s see if the newspiece has run yet.

He flicked on the Telereceptor in the control room, and changed the channel to MorganNews.

[Paula Forbes]

The young technician held the tape, and waited for the right moment. The senior technician turned momentarily away, and with a deft move the tape was switched. He hit the override button. He hadn’t seen the full tape yet but he was extremely impressed at the simulcrae quality.

OVERRIDE PROGRAMS******OVERRIDE PROGRAMS

MORGAN NEWSFLASH*****MORGAN NEWSFLASH*****MORGAN NEWSFLASH

We interupt our normal programming to bring you this newsflash

“Hi, this is Paula Forbes reporting live from…..from Sparta Command where just moments ago a tactical nuclear weapon was detonated at the Command Center. It is believed that the entire War Cabinet of Colonel Santiago has been destroyed, including the Colonel herself. The attack has been ascribed to an operative in the Empath Squad under the command of Lord Atreus, who was not present at the meeting.

“There were no survivors.

“This is Paula Forbes signing off from…from Sparta Command”

PROGRAM RESUME

“What the hell……” the senior technician looked across the room. The young assistant was nowhere to be seen.

[Rynn]

Sarah was sobbing hysterically.

“I’ve killed them all” she wailed, rocking back and forth with her arms around her knees, sitting on the damp ground by the perimeter fence. “I’ve killed them all.”

Even Alphonse was no comfort.

He was nonplussed.

EarthSarah - much grief. Understanding not. Help

“Oh, Alphonse” she wailed. “I gave him my pass to the meeting and now he’s gone and killed them all – I’ve killed them all.” She resumed her keening.

‘All’ understand not we. Four Planet join. EarthMiles, EarthRynn, EarthSmithers,EarthCarson. Who is ‘All’

“Smithers? Carson? Who are they” Sarah asked aloud. “What about Googlie, Burge, St James? The rest?”

Alphonse paused.

EarthGooglie here. EarthBurge with we commune – EarthSarah name Monolith. EarthStJames here.

“You mean they’re alive?” she sniffed.

Alive..not join we. Killed – with we one earthhuman… Planet. Alive EarthSarah. Alive EarthGooglie. Alive EarthAll. Killed say we yes…four Planetjoin

Sarah grabbed a handful of tendrils and hugged them.

“Thank you Alphonse. I don’t understand what’s happened but I don’t believe I’ve killed them after all.”

She got up to go and report to somebody, anybody, just to see some action.