The Spartan Chronicles

[Kuruk]

Steven Chan approached the door to Lal's private office. He walked almost reverently, and couldn't help but feel somewhat in awe of the legendary politician. Though he was often criticized for being indecisive, Pravin Lal had managed to build a political empire that rivaled any that had ever existed on Earth. His United Nations Party had held power since the Landing, and, despite his perceived flaws, the Commissioner had never failed to win less than seventy five percent of the popular vote.

The door was emblazoned with a large UN symbol, salvaged from the Peacekeepers original landing pod, and one of the few relics from Earth still in existence on Planet. At the door, a uniformed guard acknowledged Steven with a slight nod. The guard tapped a code into his datapad, and the door slid open.

Pravin Lal was seated at a large desk, his fingers tapping quickly at a datapad. He looked up as Steven Chan entered and smiled.

"Steven, welcome," the Commissioner said. He gestured toward a chair. "Please, sit."

Steven sat in the chair. A steward emerged from a side door and efficiently began pouring drinks for the two men.

"So, how are you?" Lal began.

"Very well, thank you," Chan replied, "Yourself?"

"Fine, all things considered. I saw on the newsfeeds that Marcy has been promoted to director of her lab."

"Yes. It means we see even less of each other, unfortunately."

"And your daughter Michelle, what is she up to?" asked Lal.

"She took an internship with Morgan Advertising. I keep trying to nudge her toward politics, but she seems to be enjoying herself greatly," replied Steven.

"Well, tell her that if she can write some decent slogans, I have a job for her. None of our ads for the next campaign have tested above sixty percent in the focus groups. People like them well enough, but they just aren't producing the neural responses we're after," Lal said. Both men were aware of how quickly the conversation had shifted back to politics.

The steward finished pouring the drinks, and disappeared out the way he had come. Let the game begin.

Lal sighed. "You are undoubtedly aware of the situation in the Spartan Federation?"

"Only from what I have seen on the news holos," Chan replied. No sense showing his cards before he knew the stakes.

"I never ceases to amaze me how readily people will resort to tyranny. After all our efforts to bring democracy to humanity," the commissioner said.

"Perhaps the diplomatic channels?" Chan prompted.

"Yes, perhaps. The facts of the matter are that we need the Spartans as allies. We cannot fight the Hive, and if Yang sees we are an easy target, he will not hesitate. Our diplomatic leverage is weak, and we must do something to improve it before we can hope to negotiate with Sparta. There are other methods, of course, but the Ethics Committee would feed me to the mindworms if it appeared that I was responsible for a Pact violation" Lal said.

"If there is anything at all I can do to help, you have but to ask," Chan said. I'll see your bet, and raise you...

"I know that you have certain connections that I do not. If we could only gain some advantage, some leverage in our bargaining with Sparta..." Lal said.

"I see," said Chan, "Unfortunately, most of the PNP's resources are occupied working toward the next campaign."

"I see," said Lal. He sighed. The old politician's eyes had a look of resignation. He would lose the hand, and he knew it.

"The PNP finished second in the governors race at UN Disaster Relief, did it not?"

"Yes," replied Chan, "A close race." Mentally, Chan began counting his winnings.

"I need a new ambassador to the Morganites," Lal said, "I believe Governor Johnson may be the right candidate. This would of course leave the PNP in control of Disaster Relief."

"I understand," Steven Chan said, "You have my pledge, Commissioner, that the PNP will do all in it's power to bring democracy to Planet." He extended a hand toward Lal.

Lal weakly shook it.

"Thank you Steven. Please use your utmost discretion."

[Hydro]

University Base?

*****

The datapad on my waist beeped.

I ignored it.

It beeped again, and also vibrated insistently.

I turned off the interactive holo and took off my VR goggles and gloves.

'What is it now,' I thought irritably as I grabbed my datapad to shut off the incessant noise. 'Can't it see I'm busy!'

The pile of holopads, which had links to my latest project's genetics results, lined my desk. I was getting way behind in my review schedule. The new Fusion Lab at University Base was surely a boon and a curse. A boon, since it massively increased my research into recombinant DNA and its application to the Human Genome, and also a curse because the increased workload is killing me. Adding to my woes was the fact that I was senior enough to get stuck with all the assessment and review, but none of the real interesting work, but junior enough that I couldn't pawn the drudgery off on others.

I activated the datapad.

<…Andre Zahrenov, your board meeting with the University Genetics Council starts in 20 minutes. The location has been changed to Mendel Sector of the University Base Fusion Lab, Main Meeting Room 23, Level 3B…>

'Mendel Sector? Damn. What time is it? Time flies when you're having fun… ' I thought as I pondered the sea of holos waiting for me, beaconing me, taunting me!

I prepared to leave. 'Another meeting is sure to increase my productivity,' I fumed. 'They had better have my favorite kind of chocolate donut. Or at least some Chiron Crunchies.'

'My coat, where is my coat. I can't go to the meeting without my Vice-Deputy Director of Genetics white labcoat. Officious bastards. Ah, there it is, under my palm. When did my palm die? All my plants die. Mmphf, a geneticist that can't keep a plant alive. Very amusing. Now my datapad. Got that.'

My thoughts were racing around the office as fast as I was. I was a little late, as usual. That is why I programmed my datapad to be SO annoying. Otherwise I would be late.

'OK. Datapad, coat, what else? Better review the agenda.'

I put on my coat and paused by the door, and started to activate my datapad, then noticed I hadn't turned it off. Hmm, bad form. I punched the link on my reminder message and scrolled through the agenda. Well, not too bad. I didn't have to make any presentations, but I did need to scan Jeffrey and Libby's work.

'No problem,' I thought, 'I can do that while walking to the meeting.'

The door for my office opened soundlessly as I approached, and I turned left down the hallway. Even absorbed in my review I couldn't help but notice how spacious and efficient our state-of-the-art Fusion Lab was. The hallways were finished in a sterile-looking off white ceramic that deadened noise, and was easy to maintain. Even aesthetics had been attended to, since the hallways curve slightly so that you couldn't see just how almost endless they are. There was no illumination, since the ceramic panels seemed to phosphoresce, yielding a pleasant shadowless lighting. A UoP invention? More likely it was a Morgan invention, from our theoretical work. At least those blood-sucking Morganites paid their royalties, if it was in the contract, of course. I turned back to my datapad and hurried down the hallway.

'Well, it looks like Jeffery and Libby have an update on the recombinant clone problem,' I thought as I perused their document. 'Made some progress. This latest batch seems better, at least. I wonder if they have consid OOPPHF'

I stopped abruptly, having run into someone, and I dropped my datapad, which clattered to the floor.

Startled, I looked up. A Bob looked back, and then withdrew, cowering against the wall. I couldn't tell which kind of Bob, though. He was pushing a broom through the halls and collecting any trash in the area. We didn't really need that done, since mechanicals are so much more efficient, but it was all a Bob is good for.

"Turn around, Bob," I ordered.

Reluctantly, the Bob turned around, this third leg dragging uselessly along the floor as he turned. He had his face turned toward the floor and he backed up from me a little. I saw that he was Bob 23. Ok, that explains it.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"I'thhh clleaaning florthh," he said wetly, eyes averted.

I looked him over. He wasn't too bad for a Bob, especially not a 23. His coveralls showed his vestigial arms, in addition to the two that worked. His fingers tightened rhythmically on the handle of his old fashioned mechanical broom. He did lean to the left, but that was a normal part of a Bob's physiography. We did that to make room for the extra ligaments and shoulder blade. Too bad it didn't work.

I scanned the hallways, in front and in back. All was clear.

"Bob 23, extend your right arm, and put your palm up," I said clearly in a neutral voice.

Bob slowly let go of the broom handle, which then clattered to the floor. Bob 23 was startled at this. He slowly extended his arm and opened his palm, as if taking the time would make me forget what was necessary. He screwed shut his good eye so hard that his generous cheek seemed to meet his eyebrows. An anticipatory tear rolled down his cheek.

I put my hand in my labcoat pocket, found what I was looking for, and placed it firmly in Bob's hand, then closed his fingers around it. Bob stood still for a moment, then gasped. He must have been holding his breath. Then slowly opened his fingers and looked in his hand.

A crooked smile formed, or what passed for one on his face. He immediately brought his hand to his mouth, and started chewing. Smacking and gurgling, he looked briefly at me, and then started capering around. He reached out and reverently touched my hand, which I didn't withdraw. He gurgled over and over, "Thanxs you, Mastea, thanxs you."

Who knew a sugar cube could do that?

"The hall is clean. You've done a good job. No pain stick for your today."

His saliva grands must have been in overdrive, since a large dollop of saliva dripped from the abscess through his left cheek, rolled down to his chin, and impacted the floor with a wet splat. It was tinted with blood.

Interesting.

No more time for clones, I have to get to my meeting.

I picked up my datapad from the floor and hurried down the hallway, not bothering to review anymore. I didn't have time. As I approached the Tubes I heard a strange low thumping. I was going that way anyway, so I kept my eyes pealed.

The gently curved hallway showed me the source of the sound not more than a minute or two later. It was an Alice. She was standing by the ceramic walls by her pushcart, smacking her tall, elongated head against the wall. Her entire 2.5-meter willowy frame reverberated with the rhythmic impact. It was a wonder that it didn't break her birdlike neck.

I toggled my datapad to record mode, "Note to Jeffery: another Alice has regressed. Suggest sending her line to recycling."

As I entered the Tube and turned around I could see the front of her head. Her large, bulbous eyes were glazed over. Too bad. That line had had so much promise.

*****

"Well Libby and Jeffery, you're making fine progress. I congratulate you and your team, and know that you have my full support in your efforts," I enthused. They had done a great job. Some of their new lines were significant improvements of their old ones.

"Thank you, sir," Libby responded, beaming. "We certainly don't deserve all the credit; we'll share that with the team. However, we have found an innovative use for our washes that I think you'll be interested in. It touches on the problem you noticed with the Alice line."

"Anything to keep me away from the paperwork," I responded, and that got a couple of appreciative chuckles.

The rest of the Council begged off, but since this had direct bearing on the team's progress I used it as an excuse to delay my project holo reviews. We took the Tube over to Bio, and Libby took Jeffery and me through security, where the guard was asleep, into the ChironBio wing. I hadn't been in the main lab before, and it was rather peculiar. The main room had the standard banks of datalink ports and remote equipment. In the central portion of the expansive room there was a 10 meter circular chamber with reinforced glasssteel all the way around. I approached the chamber and looked in. The floor of the chamber was a good 2 meters below ours, and there were holes roughly the size of melons along this perimeter. It looked a lot like a surgery observation room.

Two men and two women walked into the room from a side entrance, visible from across the glass enclosure. They walked over to our group with big smiles on their face.

"Hello Doctor Zahrenov! Libby told me she might be able to convince you to view our experiment. I'm glad you could make it. It turns out your little clone problem is our solution. We have been working for months on experimental animals and have had nothing but failure. I'm sure this will be more successful. Do you need a little background before we begin?"

"I am reasonably familiar with your work, and am quite interested. I don't quite see how our clones can help, however," I replied. She certainly had piqued my curiosity.

"Well, it is quite innovative. We are just about to begin, so please stand near the observation window."

We moved as a group toward the window. One of the men split off and went to the nearest Fusion Lab datalinks and activated the console. There was immediate activity in the chamber, as one, then two, then a dozen clone heads appeared through the holes along the base of the enclosure. Some of the clones I immediately recognized, like the glassy eyed Alice. There were a couple of Bobs, who were moving around uncomfortably, not understanding, as usual. One of our most embarrassing failures, a worker prototype Richard 01, was thrashing violently. I had just ordered the entire cell culture for that line destroyed. Even a couple of our now elderly but pliable Simons were put in. All the researchers were chatting excitedly.

"We are about ready to go. Please put on these metal inhibitors, since the specially engineered glass may not be a foolproof filter," Dr. Amy Daran explained.

I took the metal mesh, which looked a lot like a hair net. I don't have much hair left anyway, so I had no trouble fitting it and getting it snug. Libby, with her billowing red main, struggled a bit until Jeffery helped her with the back.

"OK, Gerald. Start up, and activate recording devices," Amy ordered.

I moved toward the glass to get a better view. Nothing happened for a moment, then I felt a little ill at ease. The clones started moaning, mewing, or screaming. A few, like the stoic Bobs, were silent. Alice's screech was not entirely blocked by the glass, or perhaps it was recorded and piped in.

Then I noticed a trap door opening in the ceiling, and pink confetti started falling out. As the confetti hit the floor it began to writhe, then form a ball.

It was a mindworm, probably a hatchling.

The mindworm immediately split into pieces and crawled with frightening speed to the clones. The clones' reactions were interesting. Alice just kept on screaming, until the mindworms jumped and started to burrow into her ears, nose, and mouth. Several bored their way through her huge eyes, causing them to burst. She thrashed her head back and forth in a futile effort to remove the worms. The Bobs just looked at the mindworms at they approached, moving back and forth a little, their eye getting wider and wider they approached. As they began to spring they closed their eye and started mouthing 'Mastea! Save me! Mastea! Poo Bob!' and the like. The worms crawled into their mouths and ears. Finally, after a mere five or so minutes, the clones slipped into a terror coma and ceased moving. Their heads were covered in writhing worms, which were still burrowing in. Small rivulets of blood flowed out from their orifices, creating small pools under each head as it lolled to the side.

Amy turned toward us, "Truly amazing! The best results so far! Your clones will probably advance our mindworm-breading project by months!"

"Yes, very impressive," I replied, as I started to take off my neural inhibitor.

"No, Doctor, don't do that until Gerald gives the all clear," Amy said.

I stopped, not wanting the backwash of the worm terror to seep into my psyche. "What is the signal?"

"Gerald will have a area-wide bell sound. We want to keep it simple." she replied happily.

RRRRIIIIIINNNGGGG

*****

RRRRIIIIIINNNGGGG

<…SNORT…>

"Uh, what?" I said as I woke up. I looked around groggily.

My office was a little dark. Where am I?

Unsteadily, "Lights, full," I told the room. Instantly the room was fully lit up.

What was going on? I'm not in my office.

RRRRIIIIIINNNGGGG

That was my insipid datapad. Blasted thing! I grabbed it from my waist and activated it.

<…Andre Zahrenov, your farewell ceremony from with Military Governor Helen Tobias will occur in 20 minutes. The meeting will occur at…>

"Stop! Yes, yes, I know," I yelled.

What a vivid memory: a memory of happier times. I'm not at University Base. I'm at Assassin's Redoubt, under Spartan control, finishing up my Tree Farm project. They are my employers, not my colleagues as in times past. The University of Planet ceased to be almost 20 years ago.

A usual, I don't have much time to waste. Gotta get cleaned up for my sendoff. The Spartans are big on ceremony, especially the military types. No use avoiding it. Can't say I have much to complain about. I've been treated well as a senior scientist. Some Spartans even call us former-UoP scientists pampered, and I suppose they're right.

Still, not all UoP scientists were well treated. One scientist in particular had been singled out: Doctor Amy Daran in the UoP ChironBio group. It seemed the Spartans thought her activities were 'crimes against humanity' and 'genocide'. Against clones? HA! It is very ironic that the same people who will happily use an army and kill 10,000 civilians during wartime will get squeamish about some excess clones! They were nothing more than property! And defective clones at that. Even the Gaians would appreciate the fact we were recycling, and making mindworms to boot! Absolutely amazing! The sad thing was that she and her staff were executed by firing squad after a highly publicized show trial. The MorganVids portrayed it using the approved Spartan spin, proving how corrupt and unethical the now defeated UoP was. Sickening. The lone voice of protest came from the UN representative, who said that her crimes were heinous but that they were opposed to the death penalty 'as a matter of principle'. Obviously, he was happy she was going to die, too. No Spartan dissented, nor did anyone from the conquered University. They were too terrified.

Well, time is fleeting and I'm almost ready. Gotta run! It wouldn't do to be late to my party, since the Governor would skin me alive.

Metaphorically, of course. After all, I'm not a clone.

[Veracitas]

Sorry, this chapter was a bit rushed. I had to tie loose ends before my departure.

---

Chapter the Sixth

"HATE! I sing my words, I've thought that feeling,
With your life's dead bodies everywhere..."

--KoRn, datalinks

---

Catherine's rationale told her she was only in a dream, but her senses told quite a different story. Once more, she was in the labyrinth, and before her stretched countless pathways to places she could not even imagine. Once more, the sound and the feel of a thousand eerie voices speaking at once assailed her senses. Some of the pathways before her were blocked by immovable stone, whereas others could be seen through the veilèd transluscence of the something that pervaded throughout the air. Some of the pathways were quite clear, but all of those were clearly undesirable paths. In each path that she could see, there was a dead body laying face down on the cold stone floor.

Once more, she could feel the presence. It racked her mind and soul knowing that it was there, but not being able to see it. Down the next corner, perhaps? Down around that tortured bend?

Once more, she could feel herself being driven to the brink of sanity.

"What do you want? What do you want from me!?" the deranged scream echoed throughout the labyrinth.

WE WANT YOU, EARTHCATHERINE.

The voice invaded her mind. She tried to block it out, but it was far stronger than she. The dark figure materialised before her eyes. He stood there, gazing at Catherine with his cruel stare.

welcome earthcatherine, first clairvoyant among the earthbeings. we have been waiting these long millenia for you, the voice rasped in her head. To Catherine, it sounded so inhuman...so...cruel. The voice was dry and raspy and altogether thoroughly unpleasant to listen to.

We? thought Catherine, Does he mean the voices?

yes, earthcatherine, the voice responded, we are Planet.

"Of course, you can read my thoughts," Catherine said, feeling somewhat less anxious at having found the target, but not at all relieved to find out what it was.

before you, earthcatherine, the figure continued, lies--only partly--the possible course of events to come. there, the figure pointed to one of the paths with his thin, bony hand, that was the path that humanity had been travelling, to certain doom--before the coming of the clairvoyant. the return of the clairvoyants after millions of years of slumber has distorted the one true path. before you, you see countless pathways, but even this is the smallest fraction of the full picture. in time you will learn, earthcatherine. the coming of Messiah is nigh.

Catherine looked at the various paths and back at the curious figure: "And who are you to tell me this?"

you may call me Lord Moor, earthcatherine, responded the figure, i am Planet...I am GOD!

The presence dissipated into the misty air, leaving an eerie silence in his wake. Catherine shivered. She looked at the various paths. A dead body lined each pathway as far as her eye could see. Each one was the same, she could tell. The body was clothed in an elegently decorated, dark blue officer's uniform. The body itself was well-built, though with a residue of old age. Even the longevity treatments did not thoroughly wash away the decay of death. The hair was dark brown--almost black. From only looking at the exposed portion of the back of his neck, Catherine admired the fine tune of the muscle tones.

Slowly, Catherine traversed her way to one of the paths--she had picked the "one true path" subconsciously--and kneeled down over the face-down figure. She took the corpse by the arms and gently turned it around.

Catherine saw the dead eyes of her father staring up at her.

---

Captain Paul Mitchell entered the lobby of the Department of Inquisition in downtown Sparta Command. He had never felt good about the place (though it would invariably claim that its inquisition tactics were thoroughly "humane"), and today, it felt far more eerie and darker than ever. There were vicious rumours floating around that the Grand Inquisitor was "not in his right mind," lately, and that he had been "mind controlled." However, they were just that: rumours. Mitchell had never been much for rumours.

"May I help you, sir?" the woman at the front desk asked.

"Captain Paul Mitchell to see the Grand Inquisitor in reference to a Captain Paco Elyias," he replied laconically.

The woman quickly typed in something into her computer. After reading a few lines, she looked up: "You're early, Captain Mitchell. But the Grand Inquisitor says he has time to receive you. Right this way."

They walked down to the end of the hallway where stood two armed guards at attention, bearing the Spartan insignia as well as the sickle of the Inquisition. "Our guards will show you to the Grand Inquisitor," the woman told Mitchell.

One of the guards broke away and continued down the hallway, gesturing at Mitchell to follow. These swine have no discipline, Mitchell thought. The two of them wandered down the steps of the Department, and Mitchell wondered at the primitiveness of it all. What an archaic building, he thought, it belongs in a museum.

They finally reached the door to the Grand Inquisitor's office. The guard went in to announce him. He returned, saying, "Enter, Captain." (What swine!)

Mitchell noted idly in passing that the door had only recently been broken. It was fixed now, though hanging more loosely on the hinges than the original architect had designed it to be.

"Welcome, Captain Mitchell," the Grand Inquisitor said dryly, getting up from his huge wooden chair. The flowing robes fell into place on his thin body. "I see you have come to check on Captain Elyias?"

Mitchell felt uneasy. There was something different about the Grand Inquisitor this time--something eerie and not quite right. His eyes seemed lifeless. Maybe the rumours are true, he thought. But then, he berated himself: Don't succumb to such foolish superstition, Paul. Mind controlling indeed!

"Yes. One of my empaths told me that what he had revealed from just a glimpse at Captain Elyias was troubling. I am here to explore the matter. Further, I would like to take him out of his cell here and into the Department of the Psionic Forces, where we may conduct a more thorough investigation and put him in better care," Mitchell replied, equally as impassively.

The Grand Inquisitor laughed (a strange, almost forced laugh): "I don't think that you could call Captain Elyias's lodgings a 'cell.' He is quite well cared for, here. He is not quite a prisoner, you know, and we are only keeping him detained because your empaths asked it to be done. He was only going through routine checks after returning from that expedition into the Great Dunes when someone 'picked up a suspicion.' Personally, Captain, I think the Psi Corps is taking this matter far too seriously."

"Perhaps, but I trust the judgement of my empaths. If they have well-founded suspicion, then I will look thoroughly into the matter," replied Mitchell.

"Very well," said the Grand Inquisitor, "this way to his 'cell,' if you will."

They walked up one more floor. As Mitchell peered into the hallway, he could see rows of synthemetal doors.

"This is our low-level security ward," said the Grand Inquisitor. "Here we keep the likes of Captain Elyias, and what not. The lodgings are quite comfortable, actually."

The Grand Inquisitor approached one door--number SL278--and entered in a code. They waited as the computer checked for possible threats within; then, the door opened. Captain Mitchell walked in.

Mitchell was surprised and impressed at the good taste and quality of the upholstery and general design of the room. Though much of it was metal, there was even some wood (a much sought after and prised commodity on Chiron) that furnished parts of the room. It was dark and a bit chilly, but not too overbearing for a 'cell.'

Captain Elyias was lying on his bed watching a Morgan holovid with a beer in his hand. He was too engrossed with the holovid that he did not notice his visitors.

"Hello Paco," said Mitchell, "long time no see, eh?"

Startled, Elyias almost dropped his beer. He stared at the visitors, looking astonished. "Well well, if it isn't the empath! Hello Paul. Yes, it's been a while since the academy. Have you come to check up on me like that other empath did? Well, Paul, what is all this fuss about?"

"The psychologist discovered something troubling about your behaviour when he examined you. The empath that he referred you to also discovered something troubling. I am here to find out what precisely this matter is," said Mitchell.

"Is that all?" asked Elyias. "I am locked away in this dungeon because of a hunch? Doesn't this violate my rights, or something?"

"It is for your safety, Paco. The doctor is afraid that you might lose it and go on a bloody spree at any moment." Mitchell's gaze sweeped the room: "Anyway, I wouldn't quite call this a dungeon. I wouldn't mind at all staying here for a while. If it were possible, I would swap places for a few days."

"Yeah, I guess," replied Elyias. "Except that they don't have windows. You can get quite depraved down here."

"There isn't much of a view anyway," said Mitchell, "just the smog of our mother metropolis. Anyway, to business. I will need to enter your mind, Paco."

"So, you're going to take the rôle of Inquisitor with me? Well, do what you must, but I think this is all folly. Just try not to mess around to much in there," Paco said in resignation.

"Don't worry," Mitchell said, "I'll try to stick with relevent information. I won't pry too much into your private life."

"Is there anything I have to do?" Elyias asked.

"No, just lay back and relax," replied Mitchell.

Mitchell was acutely aware of the Grand Inquisitor's eyes on his back. Well, let him see. There's nothing to hide, anyway. Mitchell concentrated, extending his awareness out to Elyias. He quickly ventured through ordinary things, keeping his promise not to pry too much into Elyias's private life without jeopordising the search. Mitchell found the normal things: mother, father, a brief glimpse at a woman (wife? girlfriend?), friends, creche schooling, military ambitions, promotions, &c. He tried to concentrate on one period: First Expeditionary Force, or XForce. Elyias had just recently obtained command of that highly respected military force. One of his first assignments had been to study unusual activity (possibly the Peacekeepers?) in the Great Dunes.

Mitchell rummaged through that expedition, and then, he found it. It was almost like a hole in his memory. Not really a hole, but a false image superimposed over the truth. He tried searching for what lay beneath, and was suddenly struck by a horrific image: mind worms...everywhere! they're crawling all over me...help! Dark figures in the distance...calling...pain! Save us...SAVE US! PAIN!

"Are you ill, Captain Mitchell?" asked a voice that Mitchell could scarce identify. Suddenly, he realised that he had been writhing on the floor. "Would you like a doctor?" asked the very same voice. Mitchell looked up. The lifeless eyes of the Grand Inquisitor stared back at him.

Mitchell stood back up. Elyias was staring at him, his eyes wide in confusion and perhaps fear--he had felt something too, but not quite as strongly as Mitchell. "I will be fine, thank you," Mitchell replied. "I will need to take Captain Elyias back to the Psi Corps lab for further examination. This is most 'troubling,' indeed."

---

Atreus stared into the distance. The communiqué lay on the desk (if a collection of mind worms that happeend to be piled higher than the others could be called that) in front of him. So, that damnèd Burge wants to make himself tyrant, does he? Atreus thought, Well, we'll see.

Atreus was troubled. Both by this sudden rise of tyranny as well as the continued pursuit of the invasion on the Hive. Now, Atreus had to decide what to do. Would he follow Burge? Surely not. Atreus and Burge had their striking disparities in ideology. In the best of times, they had an indifferent relationship between themselves. Now was certainly not the best of times.

Burge continues this foolish invasion to rid himself of his enemies abroad. Does he not see that he is walking into a worm pit?

Now, Atreus, contemplated what his own actions would be. His most powerful resource was the psi corps, which now counted twenty empaths among its ranks. The circle of the original four had been greatly expanded since Atreus's take over. He had personally gone through the profiles of numerous officers and weeded out the closet empaths. That would mean that the Spartan Psi Corps had the potential to control about six or even seven mind worms at the Boil level (with about two or three empaths handling each)--if the Spartans possessed such a sizable mindworm cache. The Isle of the Deep and its Mature Boil mind worm contents would certainly enhance the Spartan's Psionic power greatly.

Would someone dare attack me? thought Atreus. Why does this thought persist that I must send the Empaths down to the invasion force? Is it because I know I will die whether they are with me or not? Is it because I know that they cannot help stop or alleviate the pains of the inexorable future?

Somehow, Atreus knew that something powerful was coming--something that his empaths could not stop. They would only be caught in the middle and perish. They would be of much more use--and safer--down with the invasion force. If they were to die, the Spartan Psi Corps would be set back at least fifty years.

Atreus was resolved. He dispatched a communiqué to the nineteen other empaths of the Psionic Corps. As he signed it, he felt as if he were signing his death warrant.

---

To: Empaths of the Spartan Psionic Corps
From: Field Marshall, Lord Atreus

Fellow Empaths,

It is with pride that I send you into the battlefield. We have worked long and hard to build the strength of the Psi Corps to its present power, and now, we may show the world the awesome power of the Psionic Force.

As you know, our belovèd country has been suffering greatly from the pangs of domestic strife and the enmity that plagues the foreign diplomatic channels. It is my decision that the Psi Corps can best serve its country not on the home front, but rather, on the Hive front.

Thus, all but three of the Empaths of the Psi Corps will join the expedition that has already accomplished some amazing feats in the Hive lands. You will gather at Ironholm, where a Mature Boil Isle of the Deep will rendez-vous with you to take you into Hive territory.

I, along with two others, will stay behind to manage the home front. I have sent an attachment with further instructions to the other two Empaths.

Good luck,
Lord Atreus, Field Marshall

---

The thirteen Chosen stood in a circle around a glowing disc on the floor in their council chamber. Through the disc could be seen an image of a Hispanic woman in Spartan military outfit. Mind worms were crawling all over body. The picture was silent, but the agonising screams that soundlessly departed from the woman's mouth hardly needed to be enumerated. In a place halfway around the globe--in a room not too far different than the one that the Chosen now stood in--the Chosen were animating mind worms that now devoured the woman.

Ishmael was pleased: the thirteen most powerful empaths on Planet had finally managed to kill that damnèd Santiago, opening a Pandora's box in the core of the Spartan Federation. Ishmael lowered his thought barrier just enough for the others to hear him: We have now taken our first step towards the complete eradication of the lesser humans. We have taken our first step towards Godhood.

The meeting dispersed, and each of the Chosen retired to their individual coves. Ishmael wandered towards the throne room. He stared up in awe at the power that the throne exuded, envious. Was it that easy? Ishmael thought. If it were that easy, we would have overrun this planet a century ago. Have I really killed Santiago or is Planet playing tricks on me?

DO YOU DOUBT MY JUDGEMENT, EARTHISHMAEL? the voice boomed in Ishmael's head. Ishmael fell to his knees.

"No, Lord Moor! I would never presume such a thing," Ishmael cried out, pathetically.

Lord Moor's dark, penetrating stare held Ishmael captive. For the life of him, he could not move. EARTHISHMAEL, THERE IS STILL MUCH THAT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND, BUT YOU WILL COME TO LEARN. I HAVE A NEW TASK FOR YOU. YOU MUST KILL THE SPARTAN FIELD MARSHALL, EARTHATREUS.

"I understand and obey, Lord Moor," Ishmael replied, trying to recover from the sheer agony of the presence.

The presence dissipated, leaving Ishmael weeping.
[This message has been edited by Veracitas (edited August 16, 1999).]

[Evil Knevil]

...this is the H-J shredder pistol. This shall be your standard issue.
You may ask why we are using Twenty First century technology in the battle for space. This is simply due to its remarkable close quarter.......

Peter was extremely bored. He had sat still for more than an hour, while the damn professor droned on and on about equipment he already knew about.

He was going to literally die by the time the boffin managed to get to the important details. Such as the new Space suits. He glanced at Charlotte, she was sitting ramrod, as usual. The new navy blue uniform fitted her perfectly, just fitting to her breasts to magnify their shape......

His mind was wandering again. It had better not do that when they were doing sub-orb next week. Hopefully he would be chosen. The first man in space..... but not even orbit yet. But he was sick of these irrelevent lectures, he did not want to fight in space!

The only way to get a chance for space was to transfer to the Spartan Space Warfare division. A 2nd Lft in the airforce, he was only interested in the flying, not the killing. He was certainly good at the flying . So good that he was even considered for transfer. But if he had understood the amount of crap that he had to put up with, he would never of considered doing this. He ached for the thrill of flying. But he ached for space even more, that was what drove him.

Even today all he wanted was to be able to glance at the Antares rocket that had propelled monkey's into space. He had begged for another underwater test, but he was thrust with even more theory.

Soon, after the first man was put into space, the Hive would follow. Then it would be war.

[Tokek Belerang]

Dearest Mary,

I'm dreadfully sorry, but Frog and I won't be able to make it to the RT party (nice rhyme), as we're tied down at the Hawk for maintenance chores. I was on my way out when I wrote you my letter, and I'm back at base now. 1st Wing operates under a voluntary 10% budget cut, which means that every now and then the surgeons get to operate on fusion drives instead of bodies. So we're under Sheila Cartesius's command now, up to our ears in grime.

We're also quite excited because the Gecko has resurfaced. They say he's to become the Spartan ambassador to Morgana. Hmmm, I rather enjoyed the medical conferences in Morgan Industries - now THAT was a treat.

Good on you, taking care of Mara like you did. The Cyborg, that big softie, has been making inquiries for a little boy named Kenny, also from the Plex.

Don't you agree we ought to rename that place? Something like The Rites of Spring would do, I'd think, and it would show The Hive exactly what we think of them - if they know their Stravinski. Yang probably does, he being all refined, and everything.

Ah, Rao. So he is Indian. An atavism, perhaps! My heritage is Balinese, you see, and the peoples of the Emerald Girdle share quite a bit of history with the subcontinent.

As to the Frog - it's The Frog from the Bog, in full, and I think it is because he is half Irish, half French. It could also be because we had a Gecko already, and a Cricket (that's me), and a Frog was a nice addition - more sounds of the night, I suppose. Frog's our most recent recruit, but he's a Lander! I think he was quite young when he boarded the Unity.

Regards to Markus - hold on tight there, Mary. I see a lot more than you let on, and I know about these things - I'm a real psi girl!

Again, sorry about the party. Frog sends his regards to that lovely young couple from RT (See? See?), and asks, like I do, for a rain check. Hopefully soon.

Love,
Nyoman

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

[Tokek Belerang]

St James ignored the message form Nwabudike Morgan jr, and went straight to the comm request from Googlie.

"Salvador St James, to Scott Allardyce." he said.

Googlie came on after a couple of seconds. St James patiently waited for his friend to stop laughing.

"OK, Googlie. Make the crack, and we can get on with it."

Googlie was undeterred, and made the crack.

"What's up with you? Trying for the lead in a Hornblower remake?"

"Thanks. I suppose I don't need to answer your question?"

Googlie cleared his throat.

"Eh?"

"The longevity scheduling."

"Ah. No, you don't look like you would need one. Reconstruction, perhaps, but not longevity."

"Still, I've been scheduled. At the same time as you and Gavin."

"Right."

"You know how I feel about Honshu, Scott."

"Yes, I do." Googlie said noncommittally.

The Gecko peered at him.

"He's a busy man, these days. I wonder if Kendra Ossenton has been to one of his rallies lately. She used to, when he was just starting."

"I see." Googlie said. Ossenton and St James had never seen eye to eye a lot - a classic conflict between a civilian and a soldier, occupied with the same thing - medicine, in this case.

"What's troubling me, Scott, is that my brush-up schedule was neglected by the Surgeon's Office - until just now. Coincidence?"

They went on to chat about odds and ends, Ian's progress, St James perhaps joining the diplomatic ranks, the possibility of putting together a Spartan cricket test side.

"What's true about the dancing naked among the trees bit, by the way?"

Googlie returned the Gecko's grin.

"Later, Geck."

"Later. Geck off." St James said, still chuckling, and turned to Morgan jr's message.

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

[Googlie]

“Deirdre” she said, “I wondered when you’d come.”

Deirdre raised an eyebrow speculatively “Planet?”

“Yes, we’ve been having some interesting conversations” said Santiago. “Difficult at times, as the sentience is advanced but the communicative ability is weak. But you know that. Of all of us you were the one most in tune with Planet. You’ve heard the Voice.”

Deirdre nodded.

“I first heard Planet call me when Unity was approaching, through the fabric of space itself. When I first laid eyes on Chiron I sensed Planet in my mind, sentient, waiting, watching. It’s colored everything I and my followers have done since landing. But I’m delighted to hear from Scott Allardyce that you too have been embracing Green policies for a number of years. But how came you here?”

“I’m not entirely sure”, she replied. I was captured by some UoP independence movement just before the Nuke attack..”

“Nuke attack?” Julia exclaimed. “What nuke attack?”

Santiago explained, then continued:

“Anyway, I was taken to a monolith just between Sparta Command – our HQ – and Hero’s Way Point. The Yoopers seem to have a way of opening and closing access to these Monoliths, because I wasn’t able to exit at any time, but they could come and go.”

“So how come you’re here?” Deirdre asked, “if you couldn’t get out?”

“I’ll get to that”, she replied, and continued:

“I was getting fed regularly, then one day, just after the blast, the access opened and instead of the guards, this mindworm appeared. I was petrified, but it succeeded in persuading me it was friendly.”

“Ah, Alphonse” said Deirdre.

“Alphonse?” queried Corazon. “You know all the mind worms personally

Deirdre sighed. “Just a private joke – me and Scott”, she said.

Santiago continued. “Well, anyway, it – he – made it known he wanted me to follow him, so I did, right through the wall into a tunnel that sort of moved as we moved. At one time I was in a different monolith for a couple of days, and had a visit from one of my Generals – how he knew where I was I’ll never know – more of Planet’s doing, I suspect. Then we moved again, and earlier this morning I arrived here. I knew we were close, and I suppose that Planet has arranged this for some purpose.

“I definitely need somewhere to hole out for a time to see what way the wind is blowing back in the Federation. I hear that my old friends Allardyce and Burge have assumed command as a joint dictatorship of some kind – that will provoke some opposition. I’ll see how that plays out, find out who is loyal, and plan my return from exile.”

“You’re welcome to set up a government in exile at Velvetgrass Point,” said Deirdre. “I owe you that much after all you’ve done for me in the past.”

“Why thank you – I might just do that” was Corazon’s response.

‘What is this place, anyway?” Deirdre asked. “And what is its relationship to the Monoliths?”

“Oh, I thought you knew that” Santiago said. “Before the lifecycle became distorted there was an alien race on Chiron. They were Psi-energy adepts and worshippers. The monoliths are situated at their old Psi fluxpoints, where the energy runes crossed. Sort of junction switches.”

“And this complex? What was it?” Deirdre asked.

“This was their temple.” Corazon replied. “This is Planet’s soul.”

Julia shivered.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Admiral, a message from the Lycurgus."

Teresia Giacomazzi looked up from her comm.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Movement in the fungus, sir. Definitely human. Possibly Hive."

"Have the Glory come about, ensign. Proceed to the Lycurgus."

"Aye, sir."

Giacomazzi got up, and left her Admiral's cabin to go to the bridge of the Star of the North. A missile cruiser, not eligible for upgrading under the Chaos programme for a while, and with a crew that was, well, not quite up to snuff. During the last time that Hercules had been in perihelion, the Star had been in the dock, getting a synthmetal coat. Giacomazzi had been gritting her teeth while she was out on the Glory of K'el, the spirited little impact foil, chasing Isles in the fungus. She'd come back with a veteran crew, and credits in the bank for Sparta. When Hercules was up, you had to be out there, period. But that had been under Trawler McMillan, with Teresia just a humble foil captain. Nevermore!

"Coming up on the Lycurgus, sir. The captain reports a probable sighting of a Hive transport."

"Escorts?"

"None that he was aware of, Admiral."

Teresia pondered the situation. It was fairly standard, but she'd learned it paid to go over every aspect thoroughly, before deciding on a course of action.

They were outside the main fly routes, so it was possible that the recon planes of 4th Wing would have missed a Hive detachment out here in the fungus. How many bogeys, then? Information on the Hive navy was sketchy at best. It wasn't really up to scratch, it seemed - about at a par with its Spartan counterpart. A lone transport? They were close enough to the Spartan coast to warrant a concern about a possible invasion force.

"Bridge, as follows. We'll go in with the Star. If we meet with opposition and prove to be outgunned, we will retreat to the Glory's present position, where the Glory will have held. We will try to put them between us. The Glory must stay between the transport and the coast at all times. Ensign, CB that to the Glory, if you will, and notify 4th Wing command."

"Aye, sir." said the ensign, and prepared to transmit the Code Blue.

"Ahead, and in." Teresia said, and sat back.

The Star of the North went into the fungus patch, and right away the sensors began screaming.

"Report!" snapped Giacomazzi.

"Hive transport vessel, no armor, low in the water. Probable cargo - consistent with three units, sir."

"Keep looking. We can catch her anytime we want, now."

"Hive Impact cruiser, plasma steel armor!"

"Fire." Giacomazzi said, and the missile guns opened up.

"Got them. We came up on their back. We have a hit bogey. Damage to superstructure and hull."

A shock went through the Star.

"Impact volley taken - not a clean hit. Damage to aft superstructure, hull 100%."

The Hive cruiser took another hit from the Star's missile guns.

"Further damage to superstructure and hull. She's crippled all over."

"Aim the next volley to the same place as the first. Don't spread. Hammer." Teresia said irritably.

The Star shook again, taking a full hit from the impact guns on the bogey's deck. Almost simultaneously, the Star fired its third and decisive volley.

"Bogey down. Bogey is down."

A cheer went up on the bridge. The Star quickly came about to follow the Spartan transport. They found her running parallel with the coast, and the Glory of K'el's punishing guns. The transport went down.

"That second volley should have done them in, people. We took one blast too many because we spread our fire. One thing, people. When you've hit someone in the eye, you don't go for the other eye next. You hit the same one, again. That's how you bring people down. Commander Lewis, you have the bridge."

The Admiral left the bridge, to find an appointment as governor of Fleet Base waiting for her.

The ensigns at the detection screens looked at each other.

"That was an invasion force. Not much of one, but enough to do a lot of damage. And divert troops from the front." one said.

"Yeah, and she just walks off like it was nothing." said the other.

Overhead, planes from the 4th screamed through the sky. They came back to their base with images of the wreckage of a cruiser, a transport, two infantry units, and a couple of rovers. The Admiral was making her mark.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 17, 1999).]

[Googlie]

"Gavin", I said. "We need to talk."

Burge looked up from the map, saw it was me, and his features relaxed somewhat.

"I knew it was you", he said. "Nobody else gets past Elizabeth without knocking. What's on your mind, old friend?"

We moved over to the couch under the window, and sat down.

"I talked to Salvador" I began.

"And…how is the old coot?" asked Gavin.

"Fine, fine" I replied. "He's not so worried about the possible regeneration treatment tampering as I am. He thinks that it may be some collusion between Honshu and Kendra. I'm not so sure. I know St James and Ossenton have never gotten along very well.

"In fact, I'm looking for a period of time in the near future when I can go under for three or four weeks - won't be the full treatment - that's a three month job while they grow the replacement limbs, but maybe just an organ makeover. Trouble is, there's never a good time."

"I know," Burge said. "To be honest Googlie, I'm tiring of the constant regeneration treatment. I'm almost ready to live out another ten years aging gracefully then redo the five years each side of age 65, and move gracefully into retirement. There are so many things I want to do that don't involve commanding the military. I may just skip this scheduled treatment."

"But Gavin, that's a tremendous risk. What if the report is right, and there has been tampering. You could be lost to the Federation just when it needs you most."

"What are you suggesting, Googlie?"

"Stagger. You and I stagger our treatments. I'll go first, take a minimalist approach - just organs, then come out, overlap by a week, then you do the same. At least it'll nullify any virus that might have been implanted. In the next four weeks the invasion will have taken place, maybe the Hive will even have sued for peace. We'll reinstate democracy, and you can install Corrie back as leader. You can then retire for a month for the treatment while the celebrations are ongoing. Under the Colonel I'll continue to handle the administration, with Honshu leading the military, then you can return either to your former role or elect retirement. I imagine Honshu would by then be willing to hand over to a younger general."

"Hmmmm. I'm not sure," he said in reply. "Too many loose ends for my liking. What if we can't find the Colonel, or if the Yoops refuse to deal in good faith? What if some of the young turks stage a coup while I'm under - you and Honshu have never gotten along? What if Corrie returns but wants revenge? We all know how paranoid she can be.

"No, Googlie, I think I'll just take my chances with the supposed virus."

I shrugged. There was no arguing when he was in this preoccupied mood.

"Okay," I said. "Have it your way. There's a couple of other things though."

"Shoot," said Gavin.

"The push that Corrie put on to the Governors a month or so ago is bearing fruit in many of the Bases. Two Secret Projects are about finished - one in a couple of days - The Cyborg Factory down at Fort Soup. I think that you should be there for the ribbon cutting and speechifying. I know you hate that sort of thing, but it's necessary. Got to keep the public profile up."

Gavin looked at me askance. "You know that's not my long suit," he said. "In fact, that's something I've been meaning to ask you about. I think we need a capable PR spokesperson to handle the media and generally brief us on protocol and behavior. We're generals, for Chiron's sake. We need coaching. Who have we got that we can second?"

I pondered.

Could we induce Paula Forbes to come over for three months. She'd be ideal. I probably could sweet talk her into it.

"Paula Forbes?" I ventured.

"Hmmmm. Knows her stuff, that's for sure," Burge said. "But I don't think so. Needs to be Spartan, to think like we do. It's for the benefit of our own people firstly, then the rest after that. Think again."

He had a point.

"One of the Governors, then" I said. "They are used to dealing with press - and they're politicos."

"Who?" he asked.

I ran through them in my mind. One name kept popping up. Marlo Hollis. Sparta Command's Governor.

Marlo was a Lander, one of Corazon's closest confidantes. She had been one of the first to undergo the regeneration treatment, and now she kept herself as a svelte simulated 35 year old. She had held many posts in the government over the 125 years since Planetfall, not the least of which was that of Head of the Sparta News Bunker - the vidshow news station that had flourished at the turn of the century before MorganNews, with its superior technology and ampler assets, had 'stolen the show.' Yes, she'd be ideal.

"Marlo Hollis" I said.

Gavin flinched slightly.

"You're right," he said. "It'll be a mite painful, but she is the best suited for the job."

Burge had had a tempestuous fling with Hollis a few years back that had left a few scars on both psyches.

He continued: "Have her start tomorrow - she can brief me on the ribbon cutting protocol. Who will you appoint as governor in her place - Alfredo?"

"No," I replied. "I thought I'd do the job."

Gavin looked at me somewhat suspiciously.

"Hmmmm. I see. Now what was the other thing on your mind?"

I answered "There's another sort of ribbon cutting, except it's an inaugural demonstration around another of our Secret Projects maturing. This time in Fleet Anchorage. They're about to roll out the blueprint and pilot demonstration of The Citizens' Defense Force. I think I should be there."

"Good," said Gavin. "It'll get you out of my hair for a day. See to it. When's the demo planned for?"

"Tomorrow," I replied. "I've already made arrangements to leave tonight."

Burge regarded me speculatively.

"So who is running this Junta?" he asked. "No, don't answer. I may not like it."

I grinned and executed a sloppy salute, and left.

[Slats]

ABOARD FUSION INTERCEPTOR INDIGO 7


Lisa Mayberry was hunting. She was also very annoyed. Her prey was hiding very well.
Below her an unknown number of Hive infantry was hiding in a large cluster of xenofungus south east of Fort Superiority. Having made nuisances of themselves by attacking the local Spartan ground troops it had finally been decided to end the problem once and for all.

Behind her own aircraft, Indigo 7, Pinwheel 1 and 4 glided along with full loads of contact fused unguided napalm bombs in the bright afternoon air. If only we could find them, thought Amanda as she swung her needlejet around on another pass of the fungus. She turned in her seat and looked at her ops officer, Octavio Rodriguez.
Octavio just made a face. No sensor contacts. These Hive rats hide well, cursed Lisa.

She pressed the comm stud on her control stick. "Pinwheel flight, this is Indigo 7, over ".

"Indigo 7, this is Pinwheel 4. No sign yet?? ".

" Negative Pinwheel 4, nothing so far. "

" Roger chuck, keep looking ".

Lisa made a note to give Dusty a talking to when they got home. Chuck indeed.

" Pinwheel flight, Indigo 7 is making a strafing pass to try and scare out some quarry ".

" Confirmed Indigo 7, watch that pretty butt of yours down there ".

Lisa decided to change Dusty's talking to a good kicking as she aimed the target pipper for her nose chaos cannon at the thickest clump of fungus and mashed the gun trigger. Helix-like deadly blue swirls disappeared into the thicket. And was replied almost instantly by a dozen streams of small arms and energy fire from previously hidden positions.

Bangs and thumps echoed within Indigo 7's ****pit as enemy rounds struck home against the fuselage. Octavio cried out a warning as amber lights pulsed on the damage control board. Lisa took the hint and banked quickly away from the area pursued by squirts of tracer fire. She didn't bother trying to return fire. She didn't need to.

A Hive trooper leapt to his feet below from here he'd been cleaning his impact rifle as firing rang from the company positions close by. He never got the chance to find out what was happening as a Spartan napalm bomb tapped him on the shoulder and interrupted his train of thought.

Overhead Lisa smiled at the explosions.

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


LATER THAT DAY, SPARTA COMMAND

Penetrator needlejet Pinwheel 5 sat glistening on the plascrete apron of Sparta Command Aerospace Complex. It's steely flanks ran with light rain which covered the area like a thin, wet cloak. The factory fresh aircraft, just delivered, awaited it's new masters who strode from the doorway of the crewbus which had dropped them off. Three green rookies who would finally get to fly a different and more modern type of aircraft then their little fission trainers, the small craft that had won them their wings.
Suited up and sealed in their helmets from the cold poisonous air the three bulky figures stopped to consider their new steed. Breaking out of their temporary trance the new crew moved into action.

Mario Bendetti began his walk-around pre flight check. As the new pilot it was his primary rule to make sure the jet stayed in the air. Craig Oliver and Lynn Goldman, as weapons and operations officers respectively, popped the aircraft's canopy and seated themselves at their consoles to begin booting their systems up. They exchanged nervous glances as their hands danced over the touch panels and interactive displays. Outside, Mario met with their new, weather-beaten mechanic, known simply and only as Joker, although none of the crew had heard him say anything remotely funny yet. The two shook hands and Mario handed over the weapon safety pins that he had removed from the aircraft missile racks. After a final kick of the undercarriage tyres Mario followed Joker up the access ladder into the ****pit.

As Joker stowed himself in a recess between the weapons and operations consoles while Mario hopped into the pilot's seat and hit the electric systems master switch while the onboard computer did the pilot console checks. Outside two groundcrewmen rolled up in a little yellow starter cart and connected power leads to an access port on the plane's belly. With a rotating hand signal Mario stabbed the engine start panel and the needlejet's engines jump-started onto the onboard fusion power plant feed with a howling scream.

" Engines rev's and pressures are green " murmured Lynn.

Mario nodded to the groundcrew who disconnected and disappeared back into the rain. With the canopy cycled shut Mario taxied the jet to the edge of the apron and called the airfield tower.

" Good Evening Sparta Control, Pinwheel 5 requests takeoff clearance and vector to Admiralty Base via Hommel's Citadel and Parade Ground, over ".

" Pinwheel 5, you are clear for takeoff on runway One-Four, wind is from the NE at 18 knots. You're clear all the way out with no traffic at this time; S.A.C can be contacted on channel 9 if needed, Citadel Control will contact you upon airspace entry, thank you and goodnight. Godspeed ".

" Goodnight, Sparta control, Pinwheel 5 is rolling. "

Mario gunned the throttles and taxied to the end of the main runway where after running up to a final power check and orientating along the centerline, a final systems check took place. Upon completion Mario locked the flaps to maximum lift position and slid the throttles slowly to their stops while releasing the wheel brakes. Pinwheel 5 rotated off the ground and into the night air.

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

A long 5-hour flight later, only 30 minutes out from Admiralty Base, Craig stuck his head out of his weapons pit.

" Hey boss, I got something on the side-look radar, faint surface contact but it's there, bearing 94 degrees,
Eleven thousand meters ".

" OK, crew decision, do we go? " commed Mario.

" GO! " shouted Craig and Lynn simultaneously.

" Go, I guess… " said Joker. Everyone looked at him. " OK, GO! " he bellowed.

Mario shrugged and threw the jet into a steep turning dive. He punched on the FLIR ( Forward Looking Infrared Radar ) and examined the screen.

" No friendly IFF " commented Lynn.

Suddenly alarms hooted and visual indictors pronounced a missile lock and launch by a Hive Type 23 handheld naval missile launcher. Mario slammed the plane into a left sideslip and dive while Craig punched a salvo of chaff and flare and flicked the ECM ( Electronic Counter Measures ) mode to active. Electronic noise filled the local spectrum.

Confused by three different sources the missle went wild and veered away before detonating with a short flash in the dark.

" Definitely not friendly then " chuckled Craig.

" Well done Sherlock " said Lynn dryly.

" Has to be a skimship with missiles that small " he responded.

" Affirmative " conceded Mario. " Coming back around again, prepare to fire ".

" I'm going over to IR seeking missiles instead of radar guided, the target signature may not be strong enough to get a solid lock and even that may slip " Craig advised.

" It's your call " Mario replied.

Craig flipped the master weapon arm switch and selected the pair of wingtip mounted missiles from his inventory screen.

" Weapons are hot and their all yours pilot. "

Mario kept the now lit missile aiming cursor centered near the faint track of the boat below until the targeting computer automatically proclaimed an acceptable chance of a hit and gave a green HUD
( Heads Up Display ) light.

" Missiles away! "

Blindfiring the missiles without guidance from the parent vessel lowered the chance of a certain kill but meant the position of the jet was still hidden during launch as no strong radar pulses or laser designators had to be aimed. Still the skimship engines were easily the hottest objects on the ocean surface and the couple of missiles had no trouble pinpointing and accelerating towards the watercraft, both missiles proximity detonating 8 feet overhead. Red hot shrapnel seared through metal, plastic composites, flesh, bone and then engine fuel which resulted in the entire ship being consumed in the hot, fiery death of it's own propellant.

Overhead Pinwheel 5 dipped low over the site and then thrusted up and away into the cloudy heavens.



[This message has been edited by Slats (edited August 21, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

"Wait here, Kenny." the Cyborg said.

Kenny obliged, and stood. Bones and skin under a 4th Wing cap. He reached into his pocket, and got out a bag of assorted candy.

The big pilot moved away over the helipad, and disappeared down a ramp.

Kenny selected a blue lollipop, and stuck it into his mouth. He climbed back into the Cyborg's rotor, and looked about him. He heaved himself into the pilot's seat, taking his lollipop in one hand. Once in the seat, he stuck the candy back in his cheek, and sucked noisily.

He pulled at the colored markings on his jumper, and felt one come off. He checked the inside of the marking, and saw a little gray strip attached there.

He fumbled the strip loose, and slipped it into one of the slots on the main console. It got sucked right in, and there was a short tweedledee-beep sound.

"Get down from there, you rascal."

Kenny readily obeyed the Cyborg, and got out of the chopper.

"Run along to Auntie Nyoman over there. She'll show you the holovid games."

"I've already played those." Kenny intoned.

"I got you the new 469 title." Hendrikus said.

"Whoa. Cool." Kenny said, and ran off.

"And don't you touch my high score." Hendrikus mumbled to himself, and fired up the rotor.

Just outside the base, the electronics of the main console went haywire, and gave out. Backup systems ran briefly, then crashed as well. The Chaos Rotor went into a spiralling dive, and crashed into the fields of a mech farm.

Not long before he would have met his first Hive opponent in an all-out air battle, the Cyborg fell victim to a Hive plot of a quite different nature. He died in the crash - there wasn't much left of anything when the first civilian rescue teams arrived on the scene.

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

[Tokek Belerang]

"Patricia McMillan, to Nwabudike Morgan jr. Concerning invitation to Salvador St James."

The comm remained unmoved. Muzak, however, played over the sound channels. Ghiaurov - the 23rd century's Mantovani. How gross, Tricia thought.

A well-coiffed woman appeared on the comm.

"Good morning. I am Shauna Goodfellow, mr Morgan's personal assistant. Mr Morgan is quite busy at the moment. Are you mr St James's assistant? If so, perhaps we could schedule..."

"I am not mr St James's in any capacity. I would appreciate a few moments of mr Morgan's time, regarding his communication to mr St James of yesterday. If that is not possible at this moment, then mr Morgan may contact me at his convenience."

"I understand. If you'll excuse me for one moment, I'll check with mr Morgan." Shauna said, unmoved but marveling inwardly at the Spartans' inexhaustible capacity for the brusque.

A few moments later, Nwabudike jr came on. Funny, Tricia thought - I would have expected him fatter.

"Ms. McMillan. Good morning. How can I help you?"

"Good morning, mr Morgan. I'm calling to inform you that Salvador St James has been unable to respond to your invitation, due to a tragic accident that has befallen one of his former pilots."

"The chopper pilot? Please relay my condolences, ms. McMillan."

"I will do that. Thank you."

"That was quite an accident. I do not mean to pry, but has there been any progress in the investigation into the circumstances surrounding his death? I understand sabotage is not at all unlikely, and even that an adopted Hive child may have been involved."

Tricia felt caught out. Silly to expect that a Morganite would not know. It would probably be on Morgan News, next.

"I'm not aware that there is any progress. As far as I know, the cause of the malfunction is as yet unknown."

"I see." said Morgan jr, with perhaps a tinge of disappointment.

"I assume that mr St James will reply to you in person after the funeral."

"That is quite acceptable. Thank you, Ms. McMillan."

"Mr Morgan? A word to the wise?"

"Yes?"

"When dealing with a Spartan, and especially Salvador St James, it pays to be quite direct in your approach. Beating around the bush is anathema - as are open-ended overtures."

"Such as mine, yesterday. I see. Thank you for your advice."

"You're welcome. I will leave you to your busy schedule now, mr Morgan."

"Until we meet again, Ms. McMillan."

In her suite in Pleasure Dome, Tricia realised that Morgan's puppy might be an overgrown brat to the outside world, but that his communication skills belied that notion to a quite considerable extent. Plus, he was quite a skilled charmer.

In his office, Morgan jr ordered one of his aides to dig up everything there was to be known on Patricia McMillan.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 19, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Deirdre looked at Santiago.

“So if I understand you correctly you would like to lie low for a couple of monmths to test the loyalty and dedication of your senior commanders?”

“That’s right,” she said. “If you could offer me sanctuary – perhaps a base of operations for a time – an assistant or two – until I see which way the winds are blowing.

Deirdre replied: “You are very welcome to return to Velvergrass Point with me, and we will provide you with office space for a headquarters. Or you may remain here if you wish. Our colony convoy is just on our heels and I think that they will find these ruins an ideal spot amongst which to found our fifth base.”

Santiago raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Fifth? I had not even known of your being alive until a few weeks ago, and already five bases?”

“Yes”, Deirdre replied. Velvetgrass Point was founded several decades ago, and was our sole location for a number of years, secluded as it was in the interior of this continent. But a few years ago we took a decision to diversify our population base, and last year we established on the southwest and southeast two bases on the coast – Chiron Preserve and Song of Planet. Only this morning did I get final notification of our fourth – Garden of Paradise. Already I think that this one shall be called Temple of Chiron. That would be appropriate.”

“I think that I would like to stay here” Santiago said.

“Done” said Deirdre. I’ll talk to Hector - the trailmaster - immediately and one of the early buildings can be the Spartan Consulate. In fact, I’ll assign Julia to you as an aide – I’ll transfer her airwing here for dispersal purposes. She’s within easy distance of Velvetgrass and Song of Planet. You two have much to talk about in any event.”

“So you’ve told her?”

“No” Deirdre replied. I thought it best to come from you.”

Julia looked on nonplussed.

“Let’s move to the outside then,” said Deirdre. “I’ll show you around.”

“If Planet lets us out” said Corazon. “I’ve pretty much gone where directed recently.”

They made their way to the surface without incident, and moved outside where they saw that Hector and the advance scouting party from the colony convoy had already arrived.

Deirdre explained her requirements to Hector, who took Santiago’s sudden appearance totally in his stride.

“Where would you like your consulate to be, Ma’am?” he asked.

“Where will your Base centersquare be?” she replied.

“Well, looking around I’d say that the elongated front of that massive ruin you came out of would be one side of the main square. The Command Center and any government offices would be opposite.”

“Then I’d like to form one side,” she replied, “with easy access to both the temple and the government offices.”

“Temple?” asked Hector.

“That’s what it was,” said Deirdre. “And that’s what we’ll call the base – “Temple of Planet.”

Hector nodded.

“and see that she has all the equipment she needs to run a fully functioning consulate – a Government in exile, if needed. Liaise with Julia here – she’s staying on as the Colonel’s aide pro tem. And as base Governor. And as Chief of its Air defense Corps. Hector, you’ll be base Administrator for a few years until we’re ready for the next expansion phase. The colonists will accept your leadership – heck they’ve been doing it for two years on the journey.”

Hector nodded again. This was going to be a toughie.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 19, 1999).]

[Kuruk]

Warren O’Brien awoke to a beeping in his ear.

He stumbled out of bed, looking enviously at Heather, still asleep. He quietly cursed the aural implants. If he was going to be awake at such an ungodly hour, someone else deserved to be as well. He pulled on his uniform and grabbed the datapad they kept next to the bed.

“Yes?”

“General O’Brien, sir!” The holo showed Paul, his aid, saluting sharply.

Warren returned the salute.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Sir, I think you should get down here.”

“More Hive?” O’Brien asked. Admiralty Base had been at a state of emergency since the Hive skimship had been spotted that day. The Marines were at full alert, and Marcos’ SISF, the bases garrison units, had traded their nerve sticks and stunguns for lasers and plasma armor. They were now patrolling the streets full armed.

“No, sir. SISF,” Paul replied.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Sir, we really need you down here.”

“Alright,” said Warren, “Give me a few minutes.”

He headed for the tubes.

* * *

“Paul, what in Planet’s name is going on?” O’Brien stormed into the command center.

“Riot in beta sector, sir. Off duty SISF jumped a private on his way back to the barracks. He was rushed to the hospital, and his brigade stormed beta sector. Marcos’ troops were waiting,” Paul appeared very distraught.

The holo on the command center’s main console told the story better than Paul could. Angry Marines, looking ready for battle, were massed at one end of beta sector. The streets were blocked by impromptu barricades, behind which the SISF stood, clutching their police issue laser rifles and looking as eager for a fight as the Marines. Here and there, a few opportunistic drones took advantage of the situation and smashed windows or ran by the cameras holding new holoprojectors. Minor fires burned all over, the largest coming from an overturned personal transport. Both sides looked like fungus ready to bloom, an unknown force all that was holding them back.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Not yet, but Marcos won’t pull his troops out, and no one can get the Amp Corp guys to disperse.”

“Get me Marcos,” Warren said.

The holo of Hector Marcos appeared. He was surrounded by what looked to be a weapons depot. His face smiled, but his eyes were hard and angry.

“Chief, are you trying to burn this base down? Because that’s what’s about to happen out there,” Warren said.

“Your men are rioting, General. Mine are the ones trying to restore law and order,” Marcos said.

“Wormcrap! This was staged. Pull your men back now!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have jurisdiction here, General. Your men are stationed at Admiralty Base. Mine are responsible for it’s security. Right now those are criminals, not Marines. If you don’t order your men out, we will open fire.”

“You’ll turn the base into a bloodbath!”

“It will be you responsibility, not mine. Marcos out.”

Warren watched the angry mob on the holos. He turned to Paul.

“Put me through on the division’s comm net.”

The General began. “This is General Warren O’Brien, your base governor and commanding officer. All members of the 2nd Amphibious Corp Division are ordered to vacate beta sector and return to their barracks at once. Repeat; return to the barracks in a swift, orderly manner. Any member of the 2nd division not at their post or barracks within thirty minutes will be in violation of a superior’s order, and will be charged accordingly.”

Warren flipped off the comm and turned to Paul again.

“Seal off beta sector. I want guards at all sector boundaries and all inter-sector tubes shut down. Put some patrols out in alpha and delta. I’ll be in my office”

Dear Planet, Warren thought as he walked toward his office. As if the Hive wasn’t enough.

[Rynn]

“Now it’s my turn,” said Kurt.

They’d finished dinner and returned to Shauna’s cubicle. Not that dinner had been anything to write home about, but a date was a date.

They’d agreed to see each other after their last meeting – they had both experienced the enhanced arousal that the kiss had given them, as empaths. They had greedily drunk from each other’s very souls in the moments of that embrace two nights before, but had broken away, reluctantly, while they still had some control of their emotions.

Kurt had walked her home, to the small tower block that sat incongruously among the flatter domes of the typical Hive habitation complexes. As one of the old original believer buildings it was primarily above ground, and many Hive citizens were terror struck at living in the sky rather than among the more comfortable confines of a below the ground complex.

Not Shauna, though. Although her assigned living space was little more than a closet sized room with a folding bed and a folding table, with communal washroom facilities, it had a window. Shauna loved that window. Hours she could spend, sitting by it, looking out, reaching out with her mind to capture the sights and sounds and thoughts of the people of The Leaders Horde.

Tonight though was going to be different.

Kurt had arrived just as dusk was settling in, and they had gone down to the basement floor commissary for their meal. It was self service, with drones only clearing tables and setting out the trays and food receptacles. They also topped up the various vats from time to time.

The choice tonight was beef stroganoff with noodles or Salmon steak with boiled potatoes. Shauna was quite excited, as she rarely had company. This would mean that they could have one of each, and share, thus getting twice the satisfaction. She went first, collecting a tray and slotting in the compartmentalized receptacle. She selected ‘coke’ from the drinks dispenser, and inserted her drinks token. The measured amount of iced water poured out, followed by a crystallized dollop of the coke analogue, which quickly dissolved and effervesced into a fair imitation of an old terran coke. Kurt did the same.

Shauna slid her tray to dispenser one, which had been identified as being the salmon and potato meal. She inserted her food token, and the pastes swirled out, looking very alike, followed by a thicker spray of pink flecks and flavorings over one swirl, and a gentle dusting of a powdery substance over the other. This gave them a vaguely pinkish and white color in their separate swirls. Kurt chose the stroganoff and from dispenser two came the swirls looking identical to Shauna’s, except for the final flourish of a brownish gravy topping on one swirl and a creamier topping on the other that looked like it had some herb sprinkling.

They sat down to eat, and shared dinners, eating with their own personal forks that they carried with them at all times. Kurt didn't seem to have much of an appetite, muttering that he rarely tranced on a full stomach, but Shauna had no trouble scoffing both platefuls. Kurt admired her appetite and said so.

“Well I’m not going to see it go to waste,” she said. “It’s not often I go to sleep at night with a full stomach anyway, so I’ll seize the moment.”

Kurt nodded, and watched her eat the pastes with obvious relish.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

After dinner, they had gone back up to Shauna’s small apartment and locked the door.

Kurt pulled his backpack from on top of the bed and rummaged inside. He unpacked the various pieces of equipment he had brought and laid them out for assembly, while Shauna watched in fascination.

Ready, he reached up with his left hand and swept his hair back from his forehead on the right side.

With his right thumb and forefinger he reached up to his hairline above his right eyebrow and pinched the skin together. Satisfied he peeled it away, and Shauna watched intently as the synthskin peeled back to reveal a metal plate underneath pockmarked with nodes and connectors.

Kurt reached down and took the headset and placed it over his skull, maneuvering it into position so that its sensor filaments matched his receptors. Satisfied, he locked them in place.

He activated the controls, and the filament probes entered his skull, connecting through the nodes and reaching for his neural synapses. Kurt gave a small grunt of satisfaction as they locked on.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded.

He reached forward and plugged into the socket. Simultaneously Shauna flicked off the Vidcom/televisor unit. Any energy surge would be all but imperceptible.

They lay back on the bed and held hands.

“Come on in,” he said.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Somewhat shyly she expanded her thoughts, reaching, probing, to seek him out of the myriad of minds and thoughts swarming around The Leaders Horde. She vaguely knew his signature, but then recognized it.

She joined.

He sensed her approaching, and flattened the waveforms of his thoughts so as not to swamp her as she joined him. Her mind opened to him and his to her. He searched in turn until he sensed the tendril of thought and consciousness coming from her, and reached out and intertwined with hers, spiraling round and bringing it into his mind.

She became more comfortable with the sense of being completely in his mind, and relaxed.

That’s better. Kurt said, as she felt a sense of reassurance washing over her.

Where do you want to go?

I don’t know. Where do you usually go like this?

To Sparta. It’s where the neural enhancer is programmed for although I can range pretty much anywhere on Planet.

Woe. That’s impressive. I can’t get much further than The Horde’s perimeter.

It’s the Neural Enhancer. I’m pretty weak too without it. Are you ready?

Lead on.

Kurt let his mind soar. He reached out and swept northwards and eastwards, using his imagination to send his perception out over The Hive, through Laborers’ Throng and past Plex Anthill

Shauna was swept along, feeling somewhat dizzy as the sensation of thousands of thoughts and minds brushed past her in her sweep, she knocking them aside in her haste to barge through. Of course it was Kurt ruthlessly pushing them out of the way, but she was so intertwined with him that it felt as though it were she.

They moved through a blankness, suffused with faint whisperings and chitterings, interspersed with an occasional sough and sigh as if it were a being with the weight of generations on their shoulders.

Shauna wanted to stop and explore, but was relentlessly carried along in Kurt’s wake as he sped over the ocean to Spartan territory.

He paused to collect his bearings and then veered his consciousness over the coastline towards Fort Superiority.

There he paused, and let his mind roam.

With Shauna alongside him he stretched his awareness, probing and searching, looking for signatures that might betray the personas of those thoughts that were massing in his head.

What are you looking for?

Another empath. Its wonderful when you make contact. The surprise and wonder they show when they realize that we’re not just from across the street.

Then he locked on.

Got something. Hang on.

He zeroed in on the thought profile that he was reading and rode it down to the source. He paused at the edge of awareness, then flicked a minute tendril of neural interrogation to the mind. Sensing just a slight opening – preoccupation – he stealthily inserted himself into the consciousness, and lay dormant for a moment or two, while the host mind grew comfortable with the nagging suspicion of a presence.

Relaxing, he explored, cautiously becoming one with the host, and subtly moving in so that he was thinking its thoughts and seeing its sights.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He was lying on his back on the bed, naked and sweating. Kneeling astride him, straddling him, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The sweat was slick on her body, running in little rivulets down her breasts and forming little droplets on her nipples as they then plopped on to his chest.

He was timing his motion to hers, and was hoarsely saying:

“Lisa, Lisa, wait for me…..”

MILES? Miles Cavenaugh.

Panic. Incomprehension. Confusion. Blankness. Awareness. Danger – retreat get out help me Shauna I’m locked in he won’t let me go Oh God this is going to hurt let go Shauna get out get out Oh God oh God

Kurt? Kurt it is you. You Bastard. You and that junkhead Bert you frigging sadists. You bloody well killed my clone – and don’t think I didn’t feel it either. And he killed my buddy and commanding officer. I promised revenge and by god I’m going to get it. I have you now Kurt. Ah Kurt, you’ll be wearing the Neural Enhancer, won’t you. I know you would. Oh, and you’ve got company. No don’t hide. We haven’t met … ah, Shauna’s the name. Who am I…I’m one of Kurt’s experiments turned sour. I promised myself revenge. And now’s a good time. Two for the price of one. Kurt, try this for size.

Kurt screamed as the neural lance shot through his mind tearing through the synapses, leaping over and around the interstices and bypassing the blockers that the surgical modifications had established.

In the sudden shock of the pain and agony in Kurt’s mind Shauna catapulted free.

She sat up dazed in bed, and looked at Kurt writhing in agony on the bed, his body jerking spasmodically as the neural lance twisted and turned in his mind. She felt his pain as an overwhelming suffocating blanket and knew with a certainty that he was going to die there and then if she didn’t do something.

She reached over and yanked the connection from the energy outlet, and watched in satisfaction that the paroxysms grew less frequent.

She reached out with her mind to Kurt, and gently probed to see if she could detect any damage.

Then her mind filled with dread.

Shaaaaunaaaa. You can’t escape me. I’m with you now, in your mind. I can control you, you know. Remember that now Shauna – it’s how I felt for weeks. Kurt was my controller you know. Oh yes, he’ll have told you it was Bert – if he’s told you anything…….no, I see he hasn’t. I was controlled, Shauna. I had no will power. I am an empath, Shauna, enhanced permanently. Unlike Kurt. He needs the Enhancer for distance and clarity. I have it built in Shauna. Try it. Put out your hand and take it from his head. The sensors will retract.

Shauna felt her hands moving of their own volition. She disengaged the headset from Kurt, and as Miles had said the tentacles retracted.

Put it on, Shauna. It’ll feel uncomfortable at first, but the power it’ll give you is worth it. Connect the energy supply and put it on. Come to me.

Shauna leaned forward and reestablished the connection, then fit the headpiece over her head.

The filaments sensed the host skin and lanced out. In the absence of nodes they penetrated directly, unerringly searching through the cortex to the synapses. The droplets of blood fell unheeded from her temples dripping on the bedspread.

The link was immediate.

You don’t understand

What don’t I understand?

He’s changed. He has deserted the hive empath corps.

What do you mean deserted.

He nervestapled Bert, the one that controlled your clone. He has joined the believer resistance to the Hive. He is not your enemy.

You’re lying. No, you’re not lying. I can tell. You believe this. Connect him. Let me see for myself.

Shauna reached out with her mind to Kurt. Gently she cradled his unconscious mind in hers and brought them both together to Miles

Here he is. He’s not conscious.

Better that way, come with me.

No, we agreed, Kurt and I, that we wouldn’t enter each others minds unbidden.

Don’t do this to me. I can force you, you know. I said come with me. You need to see how he ticks to reassemble his mind.

They probed. Shauna saw his background, his fears, his hopes, his love for her, his desire to strike a blow for goodness and justice.

Miles saw that too.

You’re right. He is turned. Let me think.

That presents a wonderful opportunity.

You both want to strike a blow for the believers don't you?

Of course. you can see that. You read us like a vidshow.

Here’s what I want you both to do. Strike that blow for the believers. Sometime soon we’ll need a massive diversion at The Leaders Horde – confusion, panic, maybe some wild shootings, that kind of thing.

When?

I’ll let you know. I’ll send you a codethought. Remember what I was doing when you both entered?

Yes – you were having sex with someone – I couldn’t detect who.

No, that is my trance inducer, and that’ll be the codethought. When you get the image in your minds – together, it’ll be time. Discuss it with Kurt. And have him try to get you fitted for a Neural Enhancer too. You’re powerful without one, but awesome with it. I’m glad you didn’t come in this time fighting – I don’t know if I’d have been able to resist.

That’s interesting. I’ll talk with Kurt.

Oh, and by the way, her name is Lisa. And she is the most beautiful girl on planet. But Kurt’s a lucky man – you’re a close second.

He cut the mental link.


[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited August 19, 1999).]