The Spartan Chronicles

[Tokek Belerang]

"Colonel?" St James asked of the darkness.

A hollow laugh followed. Not even that - a giggle.

"I'm in here, dear Salvador. Step through. I was wondering who of you would be the first."

Step through what, St James wondered. He stepped forward, half expecting to blunder into a rock wall, but found himself in a dimly lit room instead.

There was a couch, a heating unit, and a commlink. Not much more. And the familiar figure of Corazón Santiago. No actress this one, or?

"Please tell me how I came by that name." he said.

Another half laugh, half giggle.

"Salvador St James - Santiago's Saviour. I had a stain on my dress uniform on graduation day, and you removed it with I'll never know what, right in that wretched elevator. You were one of the hoi-polloi attending."

"And my real name?"

"That I don't know. You never told me."

"Why are you here?"

"I used the nuke threat as an excuse. I was under fire from quite a lot of directions, but I could not figure out who was doing the shooting, exactly. And I think you may have to fill me in on a few of the details, dear saviour. Morgan News is nothing to go by."

"What about Baldwin? Googlie? Did anyone know?"

"There has been quite a bit of smokescreening, I know. But none of it has been my doing. It has been quite interesting to observe, actually."

"But how? You must have had some kind of feed."

"I did. I rigged some of the overrides not to override if someone asked them nicely. It's quite amazing what you can do, Salvador, if you are the only one with top-level clearance."

"Do you realize that Sand knew where you were?"

"Is that how you found me?"

"Yesss... I met him, and he dropped one hint too many."

"On purpose, no doubt. We chatted in this selfsame place, you know. A remarkable man. Quite remarkable."

St James felt like hitting himself over the head. Of course. Of course Sand had come here. Blast, but you had to admire the man. Connections, he'd said: who better than the only person who'd ever be accepted by the Planetary Council, and make sure, to the best of his abilities, that she would be safe?

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

She told him. He listened.

He exited into the early morning with his head spinning, but he knew what he had to do.

Absolutely nothing.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri

[Rynn]

Kurt was depressed.

He didn’t know what he’d expected at Great Clustering, but apathy was the last thing.

Far from having an active believer network, he’d found only a handful of tired old men and women who were nearing retirement and not looking forward to it at all.

Under the hive regime, retirement consisted of just one Chiron year after an inability to work was diagnosed, and if the citizen was not significant enough to warrant longevity treatment or gene therapy, then it was the Recycling Tanks.

Kurt observed that the members of the cell displayed an inverse relationship of age to activism – the closer they got to retirement the more active they wanted to become in bringing back the believer religion and regime.

The meetings were boring. They heard him out, and said, ‘yes, yes, something needs to be done. Miriam would never have allowed that, Miriam’s way was to….’ Until Kurt felt like shouting ‘MIRIAM’s DEAD you old fools.’

Oh, they wanted to revolt.

“I won’t turn in my cup after the meal”, one said. “I’ll hide it and say someone must have broken it.”

“I’ll leave the energy turned on all night at my machine”, said another. “They’ll think it is the cleaning drones.”

Yeah, that’ll show them, thought Kurt. That will really put a crimp into the war effort.

It was depressing.

Then one of the old women had confided to him;

“You are wasting your time here. The old geysers make a lot of noise in the underground, but this was never a Believer base. You need to go to Fellowship City, or even better, The Leaders Horde, to find the kind of activists you are looking for. They are both old believer bases. Your parents came from the Leaders Horde. Try there first.”

Kurt left Great Clustering.

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

Of course he hadn’t given them his real name, not at first till he felt he could trust them. The old woman was the only one he told at great clustering.

There was a price on his head.

He had changed his appearance slightly – different hairstyle, dyed, he shuffled more, had grown a stubbly beard, and most of all, had a retina implant that changed his retinal pattern. He had also changed his molecular code through a subtle shift in structure of the epidermal tissue. It woould normally have been way beyond Kurt’s ability to pay, but a subtle thought placed in the surgeon’s mind had produced instant, fawning action.

Kurt was unsure of the ethical implications – was it stealing to thought control an individual to render services free of charge? He persuaded himself that he was just a superb negotiater.

He did the same thing with guard patrols.

Oh, he couldn’t make them not se him, or even forget that they saw him, but he could influence them at the point of seeing him so that their logs contained entries that would throw pursuers off track. He used his imagination wildly in those instances, too.

:: Log entry, base perimeter north guardpost.

Stopped entering male citizen. Interrogated. Special agent of Chairman Yang investigating marital infidelity of Base Governor. Permission to proceed granted::

Or

:: log entry, food commissary (embargoed for 3 days).

Released four days supply coupons for basics and luxuries to special envoy from Hive Newsreels Corporation to set up preparations for surprise visit from Chairman Yang in two days.

Kurt chuckled at the “I just follow orders” mentality of the average garrison trooper.

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

Now he was in The Leaders Horde, and already he could tell the difference in attitude. Perhaps it was the presence of a bustling Naval Yard, with the sailors milling around when their vessels were in for repair. Perhaps it was the starker contrast of Great Clustering, with its looming ever present minerals and energy borehole just on the city perimeter, and its genejack factory producing countless mindless drones.

But Kurt thought that it was something different. There was spirit. There were flashes of entrepreneurialism. People openly wore Believer paraphernalia as well – necklace crosses; rings with the fish symbol; dresses with hems embroidered with the cross and symbol; collar studs. They seemed to flout the prohibition on owning identifiable private property, and more amazingly, to Kurt, even some of the police wore those items.

He found modest lodgings in a rooming complex by the Naval Yard. He told the cubicle master that he was a member of a probe team being assembled for a Spartan invasion – that usually worked, as it shut them up and they avoided him like a plague. Just staring into the cubicle master’s eyes made him squirm and shuffle nervously. The belief that one’s mind was being read was a powerful fear inducer even to the entirely innocent.

He had made discrete inquiries, and flashed the signal when appropriate. The old woman at Great Clustering had given him that. When talking, idly touch each first finger to the thumb, join the two circles thus created, and steeple the remaining fingers. It was recognized throughout Planet as the Believers in Exile symbol.

It had gotten him the invite to the meeting that evening, and as he made his way to the warehouse he decided that this was not the evening for speechifying. He would listen, be attentive, and mindsearch. If there was a viable resistance, or if there were potential for one, he felt sure that this was the place for it.

He took a seat. The ostensible purpose was a lecture from a functionary on “Discrete methods of ensuring optimum production in an otherwise distracting environment.” The authorities loved seeing these evidences of a dedicated population striving together to create the ideal world, Kurt thought cynically. They would have to endure at least twenty minutes of this before they could progress to discussing Believer agenda items. The technique was to record the twenty minutes, then run a random playback that would take disassociated sentences and repeat them for the benefit of any recording devices while the attendees retired to another corner of the building and got on with their real business. To any guard listening through an aural link, the speech would just become more and more boring until it became utterly incomprehensible.

He set his mind to roam, and reached out with tiny tentacles of probes to the audience of around fifty. Little whispers of interrogative thought, reaching, massaging, and responding back to him as he analyzed what he was sensing and mentally perceiving.

Suddenly he stopped. He sensed a mind that was crystal clear, not listening to the speech at all, but formulating, scheming.

He carefully played around the edges, introducing a wisp, then withdrawing, not enough to be noticed, but more and more at a time to let the mind get accustomed to his being there without being alarmed.

As he settled in, he grew more confident, and traveled down the neural synapses to reach the optical nerves, and cautiously opened his mind to see what the target of his probe was seeing. He saw the view, and aligned his own vision to see where his target was.

She was about three rows in front, short blond hair clipped to a V at the nape of her neck. She was wearing earings fashioned in the shape of a small cross. He was admiring her from behind, when she turned around, and looked at him full gaze.

Kurt looked into her azure blue eyes, and felt himself falling into a huge void of blackness.

Opaque blackness.

His mindprobe retreated form her, but he felt the strength of her mind following him.

He retreated into his self contained awareness and tripped his neural blockers.

She stormed right through, and he was aware of her in his own thoughts, probing, searching.

He was still looking into her eyes.

She smiled at him, not a predatory smile, but the most inviting, refreshing smile Kurt had seen in all his life.

The voice said in his mind: “What’s sauce for the goose…”

He finished it “is sauce for the gander”, and smiled back.

Kurt was in love – with a Believer.

[Hydro]

Garden of Paradise

*****

The celebration would continue long into the evening. After weeks of delay, official word had been given and Garden of Paradise, the forth Gaian city, was finally founded. Kirsten was perplexed, since they had come on many fine locations as they passed through the Monsoon Jungle. But a mysterious figure had insisted that they locate near a monolith. The colony leaders refused to even acknowledge this person's existence, but rumors ran rampant.

Still, the site was the best Kirsten had ever seen: plenty of minerals, a beautiful river coursing through the center of the site, a monolith to the east, and ribbons of fungus that lead straight to the colony. For Kirsten this was the deciding factor, since she liked to call them Worm Highways, which they were. Given time and a little luck, they would soon be the strongest and most productive Gaian colony, of that Kirsten was sure.

The other two new colonies had been founded much earlier, since their convoy had had to travel a considerable distance just to reach the Monsoon Jungle. Chiron Preserve was located southeast and Song of Planet to the southwest of their capital, Velvetgrass Point. All in all, this was a happy year for the Gaians.

Kirsten had attended as much of the celebrations as she could stand. Evening was falling, and she and her assistant Mel plodded back through the luxuriant green growth to their impromptu crèche, where her 31 charges were preparing for bed. To a biologist the Monsoon Jungle was an anomaly. Why, on all of planet, would the fungus only form a jungle here, and a green one, at that? There were other areas that that had identical rainfall, humidity, and temperature but have nothing but the contiguous pink fungal mat. It was almost like the jungle had been engineered for humans. Almost everything in the Monsoon Jungle was either edible or useful, in stark contrast to the xenofungus, which fought to keep its secrets. Even feral worms avoided the jungle, except where fingers of xenofungus wove its way in.

Mel placed a hand on Kirsten's shoulder, pointing out a birdlike creature roosting in a great green fungal tree that stood at least 15 meters tall. The right side of his face broke out into an eager smile, while the left side remained a mass of immobile scar tissue. He made a throaty gurgle, and gestured toward Kirsten's ancient datapad.

"You have a good eye, Mel," Kirsten said appreciatively, knowing he couldn't answer, "and we have just enough light and time to make a recording before we continue."

Kirsten removed her datapad and made a quick holorecording of the bird, and recorded their coordinates for future reference. The Monsoon Jungle had the richest in fauna of anywhere on Planet, and every day a new discovery was made. It was a biologist's dream, and occasionally made Kirsten reconsider her choices. Then she thought of her beautiful children and all doubts vanished.

"Come on Mel, we have some stories to tell," Kristen said as she continued toward the crèche. Mel stopped her and insisted on leading the way.

Light from the translucent dome of the crèche partially illuminated their path at they neared their destination in partial darkness. They cycled the airlock, entered and removed their air filters. The children were only partially active, as some had already curled up in clumps, half asleep. When they entered all the children immediately woke up and ran yelling toward Mel and Kirsten, creating a happy din.

"Read us a story, read us a story!" was the general demand. "I want to hear about the White Tree," a sandy-haired little girl said. A ebony skinned boy asked politely in elegant PanEnglish, "I would like to hear of the Trail of Tears." The rest of the children quickly agreed and started clamoring for Trail of Tears.

"OK, OK, now go to your places," Kirsten said. The children sprinted to the Den and formed a semicircle, with much jostling and commotion. Kirsten entered the center and sat down, and folded her legs in front of her. Mel stood sat at her side.

"Now, whose turn is it?" Kirsten asked. Little Jonry piped up, "It's my turn!" as he rushed to the center. He happily crawled into her lap. Jonry beamed! Kirsten absently stroked his head.

With overly elaborate care Kirsten withdrew her beloved, ancient datapad and put it in front of her. The children's eyes followed every action.

"Datapad, activate," she commanded, and like magic a scene showing a beautiful city formed in miniature in front of Kirsten. The children's eyes widened, and some mouths opened in an 'O' of anticipation.

"Once, long ago, there was a city of wonder and delight, where people lived in harmony with themselves, with each other, and with Planet. The city's name was Gaia's Landing. That was before the dark time…

*****

The children had dropped off to sleep, and Jonry still sat nestled in Kirsten's lap. Kirsten motioned for Mel to start tucking the children in on their sleep pads. While he was busy seeing to the children, Kirsten just sat and rocked Jonry back and forth. She was humming a lullaby she had sung to her own son Markus oh so long ago. Kirsten hugged him tight. And, if she closed her eyes, she could almost believe that he was still here and not lost to her, forever.

[Tokek Belerang]

St James sat down at the same table in the same bar as before, when he had met Tricia prior to their little elopement. Bunker 118, the 118 Bar. The invitation to a drink had been quite specific, and the level of detail had intrigued him to no end. Whoever had invited him, had known their business.

"A Scotch whisky, I think it is? Hebridean."

Shivers ran hopscotch over St James's spine at hearing the voice. Impossible. Impossible, but the only person who would in fact have the nerve.

"Islay, yes." he managed to say, regaining his composure.

The man who had spoken to him sat down. In his hands were a bottle of whisky and two tumblers. Crystal, by the looks of them.

"A shared taste." the man said, and pulled the cork out of the bottle.

"Indeed."

Unfazed, the man poured two modest whiskies, and passed one to St James.

"What shall we drink to? Sparta?" he asked.

"If you have a reason to." St James answered.

"Perhaps I do." was the noncommittal reply.

They toasted, St James with slightly less enthousiasm, and drank.

"How do you know I will not take advantage of this?"

"And do what? Kill me? Arrest me? Maim me once more?"

St James looked at the scarred face. It was not as bad as he thought. Reconstructed, probably.

"Perhaps, yes."

"Your promise." he said flatly.

"I did not give you my promise."

"But you will. You will, and then we will talk. Then you will know my reasons for inviting you here."

St James took a deep breath. Checkmate, of course.

"You have my word." he said.

"And I thank you for it. Now. First, let me tell you that the Circle will have withdrawn from Spartan territory as of the moment I leave this base."

"Ah?"

"We have tracked the UoP for some time, even during the period they were working with us. Santiago is indeed alive, but not quite in the way that the ever watchful Morganites have just illustrated on their networks. I know her hiding place, but I am not going to tell you that. She is fairly safe as yet."

"Please elaborate." St James said.

"You are looking for Ishmael, and the Inquisition. Very good, but... Ishmael is not alone. You must look for the Chosen. Beware of them especially, Salvador St James. They are very dangerous."

"Believers?" St James asked.

"I think not. But dangerous - believe that."

"Are they the reason of your departure?"

The man smiled. Genuine amusement, it seemed.

"How very unsubtle of you, master St James. No, the Chosen are not a threat to the Circle. But Sparta, shall we say... is not the Circle's immediate objective anymore, either."

"Then what is?"

"The Hive." came the immediate answer.

St James began to understand. The Circle of Ashaandi - another Honshu, in another place.

"One more question?" St James asked, as his companion seemed about to take his leave.

"Granted. But I do not guarantee an answer. I have said what I have come to say."

"Why? Why tell me this? I think you owe me that."

"Let's say, ambassador, that I may need... connections... at some not too distant point in the future. Spartan connections. And now, I must bid you farewell. Please have your word extend a little longer, and remain in this establishment awhile."

"I will finish my glass." St James said.

The man stood. St James picked up his glass, and drank a thoughtful sip. When he looked up, there was no one.

Sand had gone.


------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 12, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 12, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

Dear Mary,

I apologize for not getting back to you like I promised. It was all pretty full on at the hospital, and I never got around to checking back on you. I couldn't find out exactly where you are, but your Captain Kosarau (not a bad-looking commander you have there!) told me I could address a letter to your unit in Assassin's Redoubt. Do you mind receiving a traditional written letter? I do so hate the commlink for personal communications.

My colleague Arihclinn (I may have referred to him as Frog, but his name is Arihclinn) has included your remarks to me in his report to our CO.

Anyway, I have to finish up now. I have to be in one of those excruciating staff meetings in a few minutes, and I'd better not be late. I enjoyed our little talk - perhaps we can continue it some time. If you ever get by the Hawk, drop by the Aerospace Complex. Say hello to Markus for me (nice man!),

Regards,

Nyoman

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 13, 1999).]

[Paula Forbes]

Tape 2225/08/15/77.1.spa/jun

Cue from commercial

RUN::

"Hi, this is Paula Forbes with the News at Six brought to you by Morgan Recreation Resort Corp. At MRR Corp your cybervacation is only as good as your imagination.

"Our main news story this evening continues to be the state of unrest in The Spartan Federation in the absence of their deposed leader, Colonel Corazon Santiago.

"As key junta figures consolidate their stranglehold on power, Field Marshall Gavin Burge is emerging as the strongman of the Junta, having been appointed just before her disappearance by Colonel Santiago as the Supreme Commander quarterbacking what we all know is an imminent invasion of Hive territory.
Supreme Commander Burge has parlayed this appointment - in the vacuum following the Colonel's disappearance - into the position of Junta Chair. He is aided and supported by his old friend, ex Wing Commander Scott Allardyce, who has adopted the title of Federation Governor, and General Honshu who has pledged his troops to the support of Field Marshall Burge internally.

"Our sources report that there is some dissent building among the younger military commanders who are incensed at a sudden requirement for them to swear an oath of fealty to the new leaders, and who are questioning the circumstances surrounding the appointment of Field Marshall Burge as Supreme Commander. A story is circulating that the appearance of Colonel Santiago at the fated Virtual Meeting that was disrupted by the explosion of a tactical nuclear device was not of Santiago at all, but rather the renowned Chameleon Actress Alexis Shtelnikov playing a role. If true, then this throws into doubt the legitimacy of the Burge/Allardyce regime, and may explain the haste with which Burge accepted General Honshu's offer to supply garrison troops for the Spartan homeland.

"Other sources report that there is some discussion that this may in fact be a ploy by the Colonel herself. That she may have engineered this crisis to identify and root out opposition within her own Junta. If so, it may have backfired as this afternoon's Morgan Foresight Corp cyberpoll of Spartan citizens is showing an increasing and almost overwhelming support for the new Junta notwithstanding the cessation of civil liberties introduced by Allardyce two days ago.

"We will keep you updated on events as they occur.

This portion of the news is brought to you by MRR Corp. At Morgan Recreation resorts you live your vacation to the full. Apply now to participate in the Spartan invasion of the Hive. Choose your command from among eleven separate units. All levels of difficulty. Pick up your commlinks and dial MRR now.

"In a related story we have heard reports of increased activity by elements of the defeated University of Planet faction. Indeed some sources attribute the disappearance of Colonel Santiago to this faction. Their motives are unclear, as little would seem to be gained by rendering her inoperable, as the Burge/Allardyce regime appears - at this early stage - to be more popular than was the Colonel.

"It appears that one of the key university leaders - a distant relative of the late Academician Prokhor Zakharov himself - has been killed by a secretive sect. Little is known about this sect, but reliable sources report that the Yoop agent was tortured and finally killed in an attempt to reveal the whereabouts of Colonel Santiago. This has not been substantiated, however, and other sources say that this is merely an attempt by the Yoop resistance to add credibility to their claim that they are holding the Colonel.

"And now for our other news.

"Today was a red letter day for Morgan Industries as earlier this morning the completion of a Secret Project was announced, code named 'The Hunter Seeker Algorithm'. Research scientists claim that this project, several years in the making, will render immune from …………………………………….................. ……………………………………………………………………….."

:: STAND BY. NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE ::

:: STAND BY. NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE ::

:: STAND BY. NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE ::

"We apologize to viewers for this technical difficulty. MorganNews has temporarily gone off air. We will resume our normal programming at six thirty with the children's comedy "As the Worm Turns"

:: INTERLUDE ::

:: DO NOT ADJUST YOUR SET ::

[This message has been edited by Paula Forbes (edited August 13, 1999).]

[Googlie]

“Lady Deirdre, I can’t and I won’t, and that’s final.”

Julia was adamant.

“Well then, if you won’t, Stephen will. I know he serves me loyally.”

Julia harrumphed; “Now that’s unfair. You are just becoming too good at playing one of us off against the other.”

Deirdre fixed that melancholy look on Julia. “Julia, dear, I have to do it somehow. PlanetVoice has been calling me. I must go, I talked with Hector earlier – he’s the colony convoy trailmaster as you know – and he says that they have already cleared enough of a landing strip for a Thrasher to land and take off. So it won't be a problem. And I do need to spend some time alone with you. We have much to talk about.”

“And how do you know how much is enough?” Julia asked crossly.

Deirdre smiled sweetly at her. “Stephen told me.”

“Bloody hell. I guess I’ve no choice then. I’ll do it.”

“Julia, dear, everything you do in life is as a result of a choice. And I’m pleased that you have chosen to accompany me.”

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

Julia came in low for a flyby to see what kind of landing strip Hector had prepared. Grudgingly she admitted that he’d done a good job. The area he’d chosen was a rocky plateau and it looked the former and crew accompanying the convoy had spent the best part of a day clearing the largest of the rocks and the smaller boulders ffrom the strip.

Satisfied, she waggled her wings and commlinked Stephen, who was circling anxiously above, “Looks good, I’m going in.”

Deftly she brought the small tactical needlejet in on its landing run and rolled smoothly to a halt at the end of the strip.

Hector was waiting with some of the more senior colonists, and after Julia was introduced to them, Deirdre gave everyone hugs and kisses.

A small rover had been assigned for their trip – one of the original rovers liberated from a Unity dispersal pod some 100 years ago, that still functioned efficiently. After a quick meal, Deirdre and Julia climbed aboard, with Julia driving, and headed off for the ruins.

As they joirneyed, they talked of inconsequential things – early life at Gaia’s Landing, and at Sparta Command; taming mindworms, the importance of building a childrens creche early in a Base’s development, the flawed character of Chairman Yang, the demise of poor Acadamecian Prokhor Zakharov, life back on old earth, Edinburgh, and other tales of antiquity that Deirdre was privy to.

They saw the ruins in the distance.

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

As they drew closer, both were overawed at the sheer size of the ruins. If city it was, it had been straddling an immense portion of land, thousands of square kilometers, and must have housed an awesome population – like one of the old terran cities.

The principal building – and the one that had so impressed Julia from the air – was more awe inspiring close up and on the ground than it could possibly be from the air. Whether it had been a large convocation center, a factory, or an enclosed habitation dome was unclear. Or maybe none of these deirdre thought as they approached.

The partially collapsed roof towered over them, reaching in a graceful arc to the heavens. They stopped the rover, and moved forward on foot.

“Do you sense it” Deirdre asked. “Planet’s presence is strong.”

Julia shivered. Yes, she felt it.

Not as a pervasive presence, but as a presence right on the edge of her awareness. Light tendrils of …sentience…playing around the fringes of her consciousness.

She expanded her mind, trying to take it in, savoring it.

As they walked, Julia was suddenly aware of a more familiar sensation.

She stopped, and took Dierdre,s arm.

“Mindworms,” she said, drawing her shredder pistol, and twirling the control unit to flame.

Deirdre turned.

“It’s OK,” she said. “It’s Alphonse.”

“Alphonse?” Julia shot back. “Who the hell is Alphonse?”

“Put the gun away, Dear”, Deirdre said. “Ive had him since he was a hatchling.”

Ou from behind one of the ruis came Alphonse, skittering over the ground, up to Deirdre. She reached out and stroked his tendrils fondly. He seemed to shimmy with pleasure.

Julia was entranced.

She sensed the presence in her mind.

“Welcome we. Much pleasure earthdeirdre and earthdeirdredaughter.”

There was that phrase again, Julia thought.

“Follow. Alphonse lead.”

The mindworm skittered away.

Dierdre walked after him.

Shrugging her shoulders, Julia followed.

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

Alphonse led them to the base of one of the flying buttresses that supported the arc of the roof.

As he approached the metallic wall, skittering excitedly, Julia was aware of a hum beginning to surround her consciousness, and a deep, low rumble pulsing through the ground as they walked. She’d heard oldtimers talking about what they experienced as they approached a monolith, and this was exactly what they were describing.

They neared the wall until it seemed that Alphonse would crash right into it, then an opening appeared. One moment the wall was completely blank; dark and cold to the touch. Then soundlessly an iris opening peeled back to reveal the interior, and a soft golden light beckoned them in.

Alphonse coiled to shrink his size, and squeezed through, and the women followed.

The door shut behind them.

They were in a wide passageway that seemed to run the length of the roof supports aligned as they had seen them from outside. It reminded Deirdre of the concourse to a theatre in old Scotland.

The walls were bare, but warm to the touch, and seemed to disappear into infinity.

Again, Alphonse unhesitatingly wnt right up to one section, which irised as had the previos, and entered. Deirdre and Julia followed.

They felt the sensation of descending, and both sensed the presence of Planet getting stronger.

The thought came unbidded: “we are waiting.”

The sense of motion ceased, and again they were looking out at what seemed to be an endless corridor, but one that had branches veering off at intervals.

Alphonse skittered off as if sure of where he was going, so they followed.

They branched a coupe of times, then came to another seemingly dead end, which the mindworm unerringly went right through the now expected emerging opening.

They followed, and stopped dead in their tracks.

“Welcome, we have been waiting” said the familiar voice.

“Hello Corazon”, said Deirdre.

[Hydro]

Dear Nyoman,

No need to apologize for the delay. We are all more than a little overworked here at Plex. I was amazed at how you and your team handled the pandemonium at the field hospital, with the hundreds of wounded Hive and Spartan solders and then the avalanche of poor and neglected Hive citizens. It is too bad there isn’t a way to hold Yang responsible for his horrors. It really breaks my heart to see those poor souls. So many are just starving for a little human touch, anything. It is amazing what a kind word or just a smile can do. That young girl I brought to you, Mara, is doing so much better after just a few days. Between your medical care and my TLC I think she’ll be fine.

I hope Frog’s (where did he get that name? a good story, hmmm?) report to your CO helps. I know that Captain Kosarau submitted a report to HQ about our problems, too. Have you heard the rumor that Googlie is sending a pair of women to take over Plex Anthill? The men have muffed it, as usual, and we have to bail them out again (smirk).

Your message said I should contact you at Hawk. Are you leaving soon? I hope you can stay for a little while at least. The RTs are throwing a bash at the east cargo bay, and you and Frog are officially invited as my personal guests. One of the XOs from Knife Strike dreamed it up as a morale booster, got Rao’s approval, and organized it. It is going to last 24 yours so everyone can attend when their duty shift is over! I can guarantee that the Hive Nutrient Workers will NOT be preparing and serving the food and drink!

Now, about Rao. Now that I think about it, he does have a certain dark good looks about him. Must be his continental Indian heritage: dark brown eye, almost chocolate brown skin, black hair, and lithe frame. To be honest, he is more of a father figure to me. Do you like older men? He is available, as far as I know. I would be happy to introduce you, if you’d like.

Markus says ‘Hi’ back, by the way. I hope you get to know Markus as well as I have. We go way back, and he is my best friend. I can tell him anything. Well, almost anything - not girl talk! When I try he just blushes.

Love,
Mary

P.S. – Markus and I are going to try to get Mara sponsored and adopted by Markus’ parents back in Assassin’s Redoubt. Markus is so cute – he is already treating Mara like a kid sister! I sure hope it works out. We’ll both be crushed if it doesn’t.

[Hydro]

Duplicate post. Deleted.
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 13, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 13, 1999).]

[Rynn]

After the 20 minutes of fidgeting, the group broke up for small tactical discussions while the tape rewound and played randomly generated sentences. Kurt made a point of heading towards the group where the girl went.

They were discussing the clandestine production and distribution of discfleks that would contain selections from the Conclave Bible. Kurt was out of his depth, so he just sat back and listened.

Shauna was her name, and she worked in the regional office of the Ministry of Zeal. The ministry’s task was to educate, inform and motivate, and it was responsible for producing the slogan posters and vidclips and the training holos that formed compulsory viewing for all hive citizens.

She dominated the discussion, and her suggestions were always adopted. Kurt watched to see if she if she were using her empath powers to steer the acceptance of her group, but it appeared not to be the case. Her arguments were cogent and extremely well presented. It helped, of course, that it would be she who actually produced the bootleg fleks.

After the small break-out meetings had finished, they keyed in a particularly rousing exhortation from the public speaker, and under cover of the bombastic rhetoric they joined hands and quietly sang one of the old believer hymns, “Hope of Chiron.”

Kurt didn’t know the words, but hummed along. The joy of the moment was not the inspirational singing of the hymn but the holding hands with Shauna. The moment their fingers touched produced an explosion of joy in his mind, making him almost dizzy. The unspoken thought passed between them: ‘We’ll walk home together afterwards.’

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

They sat on the hillside by the Fellowship City road to the east of the Base, with their backs against a large rock. Below them, on the coast, was the giant industrial complex of the borehole that supplied much of the minerals and energy needed for the Naval Yard’s operations, and which employed a good part of the Base’s population. It was on the western side of the peninsula that ran south of the Base, sharing the peninsula itself with the Tree Farm that was growing genetically enhanced pondorosa pines.

Across from them, due north of the base, were the food-producing farms, and with typical Hive efficiency the hillside was dotted with the giant solar energy collectors, with their dishes oriented to the south west. The late evening sun was glinting off them, throwing reflections up to the thin clouds that were gathering to herald the beginning of the late evening calm after the prevailing winds had died down.

The road to Fellowship City was bustling with traffic as the commerce between the two bases was at a high level. Although a smaller base, at just over 40,000, Fellowship City produced an abundance of farm produce, being situated on a river, and there was a constant stream of vehicles bringing that produce to the Leaders Horde processing plants to feed their larger population base of 70,000. The traffic in the reverse direction took out the manufactured goods and some of the surplus mineral production.

The Naval Yard, at the southwest quadrant of the base, was teeming with activity. One of the huge AAA cruisers was in for an armaments refit, and this was keeping scores of engineers busy, swarming over the vessel.

Looking west, to the setting suns, over the scene, Kurt felt that this would be a wonderful place to put down roots.

They talked.

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

Shauna laid down the groundrules.

“If we are to see each other, we must agree never to enter each others’ minds univited. The corollary is, we must never erect neural blocks against each other.”

Kurt nodded. That made sense. If two empaths were to get close to each other, to date, to develop a relationship on a deeper level, they could not afford spying or barriers.

“And if you do either, then the relationship terminates immediately” she continued. “We can have secrets from each other by requesting privacy, but not by enforcing it.”

He nodded. He was new to the whole concept of dating, let alone with another empath. Oh, there had been women – for an empath this was easy. Subconsciously he had trolled their minds and given them what they were each looking for: the macho soldier; the orphan; the introverted thinker; the misunderstood philanthropist the extroverted part animal. And they were always satisfied, as he also knew exactly what they were looking for in sex, and made sure that their needs were met before his own.

It would be more difficult with another empath, under these groundrules, he realized.

Her next question took him by surprise.

“Have you ever been skydiving?”

“No”, he replied. “I’ve never even been in a plane.”

“No, not that kind of skydiving. I mean neural skydiving. It’s fun.”

Kurt looked at her dubiously.

“Come on, give me your mind” she said.

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

He reached out, and was engulfed in her consciousness. They intertwined their thoughts and their minds meshed.

He was she, and she he.

They soared, sweeping high above Planet, teasing the edge of its own sentience and being tickled in turn by the wisps of planet sentience carried through the spores and grasses.

They sensed down and saw the base stretched out before them, with streams of consciousness rising like the signatures on an infrared map.

They swirled, and picked up the mass of thought from a needlejet commercial transport, and at Shauna’s gleeful bidding soared alongside sensing the passengers fears and thoughts; the youmg girl whose first flight this was staring apprehensively at the ground below; the young lovers holding hands in the back, thinking sweet anticipatory thoughts of each other; the worried pilot calculating how to make up the time lost from the late departure so as not to incur demerit points.

They swooped on, their thoughts tumbling incoherently together as Shauna returned them to the hillock with its rocky outcroppings.

“Wow.” Where did you learn to do that?” asked Kurt, somewhat disoriented and almost dizzy from the adventure.

“Oh, I used to do it as a kid” she replied. “I was a precocious talent, and every now and again at the creche the crechmistress would lock me in the ‘Hole’ we called it.” She shivered. “A kiddie version of the Punishment Sphere we’ve all been warned about. It’d be for half a day, to punish individualism. This was my escape outlet.”

“You poor thing,” said Kurt. “Tell me about your childhood. Did you always know you were an empath?”

“From an early age,” she replied. “Although I didn’t know what it was at first. My grandmother was Jessica, one of Sister Miriam’s closest friends, and she had some super ability to understand mind worms. She undertook to take on their training, and apparently eventually almost looked like one herself from the shoulders up. I never knew her. She was killed by the Hive invaders – flamegunned – well before I was born.”

Kurt winced. That sounded awful.

Shauna continued. “But not before she had my mother. The talent passed on to her, and she was special.” Shauna smiled wistfully. Then she forewarned her friends of the cleansing. It happened just as she foretold. We all had to paint a sign if the fish on our door, and one night the Hive troopers came round and carted off all the adults from these marked houses. The children were taken too, but straight into the special creches that they’d built just for this purpose.”

“I remember that” Kurt said somberly. “I never saw my parents after that night.”

“Me neither,” said Shauna.

“What then?” Kurt asked.

“Well, at the creche I realized I was something special. I excelled at all the reaction tests – the simulated sword fights – I was always parrying even before my opponent had began the stroke. At holochess I was always winning, always knowing the players moves even before they took shape.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling” said Kurt. “Same here. Nobody’ll play poker with me anymore because I know what they have in their hands. The squad used to love when a rookie came to camp, and we’d square off. They’d bet loads on me and I always delivered. Eventually they recognized me as an empath and stopped playing.”

“Same with me” she said. “Although they punished me for being different. It’s what drove me to rebellion.”

“I’m glad it did” said Kurt. “Or our paths would never have crossed.”

They looked at each other. The invitation was mutual.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss as they fell into each others arms

[Googlie]

I studied the note impassively.

‘Who was behind this?’ I wondered.

Someone who wanted us both out of the way for six weeks, that much was sure.

But naïve, to think that we might even be swayed by it.

But it sounded plausible enough.

I read it again.


To: Wing Commander Scott Allardyce (Ret.)

From: Kendra Ossenton, Chief Surgeon

Subject: Longevity Treatment

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

Our records show that your last longevity treatment occurred in MY 2115, and that for the past four decades you have been administered under the ten year program.

In other words you undergo treatment every ten years, which keeps your physical appearance and fitness level within 5 years either side of simulated age 55, as befits a senior commander in the armed forces.

Your next course of treatment would routinely be scheduled towards the end of the current Mission Year.

However recent tests on LRs under the ten year program have shown that the longevity renewals have come only just in time to forestall major irreversible degenerative DNA breakdown. It appears as well that postponement by even one or two weeks greatly accelerates the degenerative process.

Our research pinpoints a batch of contaminated ammoniacs used in the regeneration tanks ten years ago, with a delayed virus introduced externally which has now mutated.

Accordingly I have scheduled your initial appointments in two days time, at noon, with the full treatment scheduled to commence in two weeks time.

I urge you not to delay this treatment – it is your own life that you would be gambling with.

As always,

Kendra Ossenton
Chief Surgeon
Sparta Command


I held in my hand an identical note to Burge, except his appointment was for 9.00 on the same day as mine for noon. With his permission I was intercepting all Gavin’s mail of a non military nature to let himm focus singlemindedly on the invasion planning.

I attached a note to Burge’s:


Gavin,


We may have to break our usual precedent and be done independently this time. I fear that the Federation cannot do without us both simultaneously.

Scott

In prior years we had chosen to undergo the treatment at the same time. That way we aged gracefully together and suffered the taunts and catcalls of our peers as we emerged from the tanks ten years younger. The first couple of times we had taken a 30 year reduction, having let ourselves age to simulated age 75, and emerging a youthful 45. After that experience we had adopted what was called the ten year program – live ten years then tinker to reset the clock ten years. More frequent visits, but less traumatic.

Then this. ‘Hmm. Introduced externally the note had said. I wonder what that means. Someone trying to get at us.?’

‘Sand, maybe? Did this have anything to do with the timing of the Hive incursions?’

Then the thought struck me:

‘I wonder if Salvador St James has one too?’. Traditionally we were all three processed together.

I picked up the commlink and dialled.

[Googlie]

Hargreaves came into my office.

"Scott", he said, "bad news. Fleet Anchorage just refused to declare."

"That's just great," I replied, just a little preoccupied.

"What about the three resignations from the Sea Bases? he asked.

I looked up.

"Appoint Naval Commanders", I said. Let them choose Administrators - maybe their XO's - they can home their fleets there.

"Southern to Fleet Anchorage, Giacomazzi to Fleet Base, and who for Sea Outpost? Let me think...has Baldwin oathed?"

"Not that I'm aware of', said Hargreaves.

"No matter," I replied. "I'll vouch for him. Appoint him Governor of Sea Outpost."

The orders were posted that day.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 13, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries, Gamma Sector

*****

'Nights in Morgan Industries are always spectacular,' Shannon Lindly thought as she carefully made her way back to her hotel room. Skyscrapers and megaplexes, the largest on planet, framed the skyline. Some high rises, like Airview Domiciles, Inc., were so tall and thin that they seemed to defy gravity. Other buildings were simply massive, like the megaplex MicroTrade, Inc., which sat in Gamma Sector and took four full city blocks. The architecture was a wild mix of retro-American Minimalist mirrored glass cubes, gothic revival with faux flying buttresses and tall, pointed stain glass windows, broad step pyramids with Egyptian motifs, gold-guilt baroque style buildings, Greek columnar edifices, and dozens of others. In the night sky the city's silhouette appeared like a jagged aggregation of geometric shapes, all illuminated garishly and highlighted with thousands of pinpoints of light. The air around Morgan Industries literally glowed.

Closer in it was even more frantic and less harmonious. The city streets were dominated a flurry of personal, commercial, and public vehicles, all racing toward their destinations at speeds which seemed to Shannon to be suicidal. Pedestrians were accosted with constant holoads and pitches. Some holoadds actively searched out pedestrians and temporarily enmeshed them in a 'holo experience', which always had a byline or a catch. Some of the more popular holoads actually had a line form for the 'free' entertainment, much to the delight of the ad agency, marketers, and manufacturers. Shannon had been shocked when the first of these types of ads 'assaulted' her. She was taken at unawares and she briefly panicked as the holo engulfed her. The holoads were short, typically less than 30 seconds, so her captivity was short lived. Thereafter she avoided the telltale-floating ball of light that signaled a hoload was approaching.

Moranite society was a mass of contradictions from Shannon's Gaian point of view. Poverty and economic oppression mirrored decadent wealth: Gaian society was much more egalitarian. In Alpha Sector, the heart of the city, everything was new, clean, and meticulously maintained. The buildings and people veritably reeked of wealth, and excess. Beta Sector housed the palaces and villas of the Morgan elites, and access was tightly controlled series of gated subcommunities. Delta Sector was the largest of the districts and was where the citizens and indentured citizens lived and worked. Gamma Sector contained low-end commercial and industrial activity, and was considered the base of the city. And it showed.

Being relatively new to Morgan Industries, and on a tight budget, the proto-Gaian ambassador to Morgan Industries had set up shop as close to Alpha Sector as she could. Everything was hideously expensive, so she had had to settle for a Morgan Econosuites in Gamma Sector. It was at least 35 minutes away from the Morgan Government Palace in Alpha by public transportation, but it would have to do.

Shannon exited the relatively new citizen-tram. She had taken a day-long sightseeing tour to get acquainted with this new city. It was nothing like Velvetgrass point, which seemed primitive and parochial by comparison. In many ways, Shannon was envious, since even the best Gaian lab couldn't compete with one of the corporate labs controlled by Morgan or his CEOs. In addition to establishing a formal relationship with Morgan, Shannon Lindly's private goal was to establish commercial and scientific relations for the benefit of her faction and to satisfy her interest as a scientist. Since being 'elevated' to politics by Deirdre, her first love, high-energy physics, had been sorely neglected.

None of that mattered right now. She was exhausted, and only wanted a long, hot bath to relax and continue her preparation for her diplomatic post. Tomorrow she would present herself, unannounced, at the Morgan Governmental Palace.

Shannon arrived at the door to her 'suite', which was consisted of 3 rooms and maybe 45 square meters. She pressed her palm to the door sensor and waited for it to open. It remained shut. Perplexed, she tried again. Still, it didn't open.

Concerned and a little annoyed, Shannon stormed to the elevator, took it from the 12th floor to the lobby, and accosted the host at the desk. He was dressed in a fine white starched white high-collared shirt and slacks. The collar had the company logo on it, as did the earrings in each ear.

"May I help you?" the Host asked solicitously.

"Yes, you may. My palmkey doesn't work. I'm very tired, and just want to get a hot bath, do a little work, and go to bed. My name is Shannon Lindly," she said as she gave him a copy of her ID crystal.

The Host took it without comment and dropped it into the reader. He quickly acquired a pained and slightly surprised expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Madam. Your accommodations with us have been cancelled, and your credit account closed. Additionally, I am instructed to inform you that by accessing this datacrystal to the MorganNet you have activated a priority Morgan security program. Please, do not be alarmed. I am sure everything will be resolved momentarily to your satisfaction."

The Host's body language clearly showed Lindly that this was anything but normal.

"My account closed? That has all my credits. There must be some mistake."

The Host activated his reader again. "No mistake, Madam. There is no mistake," he said sadly.

'What will I do? This is a disaster?' Shannon thought.

"Can I retrieve my belongings?" she asked.

The Host activated a scanner, "Normally I would say certainly, but it seems that they have already been removed from the room."

"Everything!??" Shannon almost shouted.

A flashing red light on his data panel caught the eye of the Host. He pressed it, and a private holomessage flashed through.

"Madam, Morgan Security is here to see you," he said tightly.

Three men and one woman entered the lobby of the Morgan Econosuites. Each was walking with an easy, deliberate pace. Shannon felted trapped.

"Shannon Lindly?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I am Shannon Lindly" she replied. 'What else can I do' she thought.

"You are the representative from Gaia?" she continued.

"Yes."

"Please come with us. Nwabudike Morgan Senior has personally instructed us to escort you to his suite at the Morgan Governmental Palace, where you may stay as his guest. At a time of your convenience President Nwabudike Morgan Senior asks that you consider meeting with him to discuss affairs of state and any other topics you might consider appropriate. In the meantime, all of your necessities will be taken care of. A limousine is waiting outside at your pleasure. Your possessions are already in your suite. Are your ready to depart?"

Shannon was speechless. A disaster had, apparently, turned into amazing good fortune. There was only one answer:

"Yes."

[Hydro]

MicroTrade Megaplex, Morgan Industries

*****

"We need to find someone with whom we can use to initiate relations with the Spartans. Of the candidates you have identified, which have the highest authority within the Spartan society, or preferably the Junta," Morgan Junior asked his staff.

"Our list is small, sir. We have several trade contacts, but even those are limited. Certainly, there have been no official contacts since the Hive 'asked' us to break off relations 17 years ago," Sebastian replied.

"You have not answered my question. Who on the list you have assembled is well placed in Spartan society," Morgan insisted.

Silence.

"Very well. It seems I shall have to pursue non-standard channels. You may leave."

His three aids gathered up their datapads and hardcopies and filed out of the room. Their patent leather heels clicked on his marble floor, which echoed through Morgan Junior's cavernous office. Soon they were gone.

Junior paced over to his desk and sat down in his leather highback chair.

"Activate Morgan Industries Datalinks, Government access. Restricted information, Immigration records. Authorization Nwabudike Morgan Junior. Activate retinal scan and DNA check."

Morgan junior turned to face the Datalinks scanner.

<…Immigration authority, restricted records. Clearance authorized Nwabudike Morgan Junior. Please state request…>

"List all Spartan Federation citizens that have passed through Morgan Immigration in the last 30 days."

<…Thirteen citizens of the Spartan Federation have entered Morgan territory in the last 30 days…>

"Hmmmm. Only thirteen. List names."

< Twana Orleans
< Cheng Soong
< Mali Santos
< Roger Anderson
< Andrew Sosak
< Scott Reed
< Balinana Chernenko
< Jennifer Keene
< Steve Dwyer
< Richard Campbell
< Salvador St. James
< Patricia McMillan
< Christina Cragen

"Enhance number 11."

"Salvador St. James. Excellent. Download communication ID."

"Send an encoded message to Mr. Salvador St. James. Full holo. Full encryption:

Dear Mr. Salvador St. James,

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nwabudike Morgan Junior, CEO of MicroTrade, Incorporated and son of Nwabudike Morgan, President of Morgan Industries. I understand that you and a friend recently had the opportunity to visit Pleasure Dome, Limited, here at our glorious city of Morgan Industries. I can only hope that you enjoyed your visit, and I trust you will visit us again. My father and I have become increasingly distressed at the lack of civil discourse between our peoples, and your visit shows that some within the Spartan Federation still view Morgan Industries with some favor. I would be greatly honored if you would consent to be my guest here at MicroTrade. Understand that this is a purely 'unofficial' engagement. However, I believe that we will have much to discuss. The world is becoming an increasingly hard place, Mr. St. James, and Father and I believe that one must increase communication and understanding to avoid potential conflicts.

I look forward to meeting with you.

"End recording, and send immediately," Morgan Junior ordered.

[Timexwatch]

0701 Hours
Great Collective Drone Quarters, Tao Sector


Twain flinched. This was no time to choke. Within a split second him popped out from behind a junction bulkhead, gun blazing. He aimed at the lead patroller, hitting him with a three round burst that ripped apart his ribcage. Like a rain of flesh, blood and bone flew instantly. The lifeless corpse flew back withing a second or two, stunning the following patrollers. He quickly aimed at the second, quickly blowing through the neck.

His eyes then followed the third body. "Godammit!" he thought in an instant. It was a security genejack. They were genetically engineered to be strong, obediant and resistant to attack, albiet dumb to due primitive techniques. They were meant as security enforcers. Instants after his two compatriots fell, he pushed them out of the way with a push and then gave a loud grunt. Twain paused for a moment, then unloaded into the genetic monstrosity. Five rounds ripped across the abdomen of the genejack. But they barely phased him. It's rib cage was like a wall of plasmasteel. The being stepped back momentarily, growling and cupping it's hand over an abdomen wound. Twain switched to fully automatic fire and let loose a volley of bullets. One, three, six, twelve, twenty, fourty rounds were emptied into the guard. Then an omnious *click* sounded from his magazine.

"Oh god" he mouthed.

The genejack was bearing down on him, brandishing a nerverod, stumbling a remarkable distance. It was only five feet away. Not enough time to reload. Adam knew there was only one thing to do. With a flick of his arm, he brought the butt of his gun to his hands. Steadying it, he then brought it over his head, bringing it to bear like an axe. He gathered himself, and then rushed forward, letting out a bloodcurdeling yell.

An instant later he slowed, braced himslef, and then stepped and swung. The instant it connected, he heard the one of the most awful sounds a human could make, the crushing of bones and flesh. He heard the awful sound. It was like a horrid symphony of pain for a split second. Then the symphony disentegrated into a cacophony of pain and death. He had virtually smashed to pieces the lower jaw and left cheek of the guard. The blow had stunned the nearly two meter tall abomination.

Acting on the intiative, Adam followed through with a tackle to the stomach. The bum rush threw his adversary off blance. The guard came tumbling down, catching his last two compatriots under foot. Adam came crashing down with his prey. After the lound *thump* of nearly 270 pounds of flesh tumbling down came the cries of pain and suprise from the two rear security personel.

Within moments the Spartan recovered. He guided his hand down his leg to his boot sheath and slid his knife out. Drawing the hilt of his knife into his right hand he reached for the neck of one of the flailing guards. Holding it, he quickly slashed the throat of one, then he moved reflexively onto the other. The deadly blow suprised them both. Bloody gurgles eminated from the throats of both where screams of both should have been. Both eyes were became locked in an icy stare, moving to the sight of Adam. They became small and helpless, like a child's. Adam leaned back on his haunches. He gazed into the eyes of his victums. They were becoming glassy, distant. He felt a tinge of remorse creep in, but dismissed it. Nobody would cry for them. Nobody would care. He thought maybe he was having an attack of consience; it had been nearly two years since he killed anybody hand to hand. Adam quickly snapped himself back to reality. He started to calculate how to dispose of these. He thought for a moment. There was no way to do it quietly. Not now. He stood and removed his pack. He unzipped the main bag and pulled out a block of plasma napalm explosives. He quickly removed a timer from an adjoining space and connected the clock and timer. He punched in 5 minutes. Plenty of time to get to a transport tube or access duct.

Whem this stuff goes off, he thought, this place will take hours to cook off......



[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 14, 1999).]