The Spartan Chronicles

[Hydro]

Worker's Nest

*****

Mont Ferris stood on the hot tarmac, resolute in his official Trade Delegation suit. The bright sun from the cloudless blue sky made his grey clothing seem lighter than it really was, making Mont seem like a kind-of white monolith. His frame was spare, as was only fitting, since excess consumption of nutrients was wasteful. His two aids, in similar attire, stood to each side. All three looked vaguely off into the horizon toward the west-northwest.

Starting at the edge of the former-fused tarmac the rich and productive farm fields of Worker's Nest were tended by a limited number of mechs and a large contingent of Hive Agricultural Workers. The Worker's River flowed slowly through the extraordinarily fertile shallow river valley. Languid and placid, the river brought increased moisture and humidity to the hot climate surrounding Worker's Nest. In short, it was a perfect agricultural community, and it had been for over 30 years.

North of the manicured and pruned fields of primarily Earth grains and vegetables lay the abundant forests, which were heavily harvested and tended by the Forest Workers. The trees were husbanded as a resource, but were used as was seen fit by the cabal that lead Worker's Nest. Few of the broad and expansive native live oaks or formerly common white pines now remained, as they had been long since replaced by fast growing and more efficient monoculture scrub pines and bioengineered cedar.

The trio began to sweat, first at the temples where beads of sweat formed inside and outside of their breathmasks. After 30 minutes the quickly rising temperatures of the late morning near Chiron's equator during midyear began to tell, and their clothes darkened along the torso and back. Both of the aids finally broke down and started to fan themselves as best they could, as they became increasingly uncomfortable. Mont stood still to set the example, as was his duty.

Finally, a miniscule silver spec appeared on the horizon. It grew rapidly and after several minutes the modulated throb of the fission drive could be clearly heard. As it approached there were a series of sonic booms as the aircraft decreased in speed, and finally one last boom as the plane decelerated below the sound barrier. The pilot banked north then south again to approach the landing strip. As it approached, the plane's nose edged up and the landing gear descended from the fuselage. It made a perfect landing, coasted and slowly edged over toward the waiting Hive representatives.

By anyone's estimation, the fission jet was sleek. Although all aircraft had to conform to the laws of aerodynamics, this one did so with a certain flair that was not evident in other makes. MorganAir Corporation prided itself on making the best and most luxurious, and most aesthetically pleasing, aircraft on Chiron, and this chartered corporate jet was no exception. As the jet pulled up the name Morgan Industries, in bright yellow on a field of white, could be seen emblazoned on the side in large italicized letters.

The jet slowed, then stopped. After approximately 5 minutes a tube formed around the front hatch, extended to the ground, and then seemingly inflated. Within 30 seconds a full set of solid-looking stairs with handrails had formed. A black line defining the oval hatch darkened, then the hatch apparently slid to the side, revealing the darkened interior of the plane.

Excited chatter from within the plane exited before any passengers. A large man with ebony skin in a conservative navy blue suit lead the way down the stairway, followed by men and women dressed in an array of colors and styles. The man in front was over 2 meters tall and massed easily 100 kilograms, and had had to duck low to exit the plane. He practically bounded down the stairs onto the tarmac. As he got to the bottom he grinned broadly and approached the Hive delegation.

The Morgan representative extended his hand as he approached. "Hello! I am Paul Andreas, Paul Milton Andreas, at your service! I am the trade representative of Morgan Industries! I presume you are the honorable Mont Ferris?" Paul boomed.

Mont took Paul's hand for the requisite handshake. Paul had a crushing grip and pumped his arm furiously, and Mont returned the favor as best he could. Mont was feeling like his hand would be pulverized when Paul, mercifully, disengaged.

Mont looked over the horde of Morganic representatives exiting the plane with increasing alarm.

Mont looked at Paul. "I was informed that Morgan delegation would consist of 3 negotiators and 2 inspectors. I see 16 people, with more coming down the ramp from your aircraft. This is most…irregular. I am afraid that we are not prepared to accommodate this many individuals, since the proper authorizations have not been acquired, nor are 'guides' available to be assigned to the Morgan representatives. And we have no accommodations that are…suitable… for your associates. I'm regret to inform you that we will have to decline the presence of the unnecessary staff.," Mont explained succinctly.

"Now, now, what are a few more people? Surely you can understand that…" Paul started.

"I'm regret to inform you that we will have to decline the presence unnecessary staff," Mont reiterated forcefully.

"Well then," Paul continued, suddenly becoming less boisterous, "then I will have to point out that according to the Hive-Morgan Master Agricultural Agreement that periodic inspections of proffered trade goods are authorized without prior notification according to Title 17, Chapter 2, Section 2.3-2.65 revision 2 of 2119. Moreover, expansion of trade relations may be initiated at any time and validated at a future date according to Title 19, Amendment 23 of Chapter 235, Sections 293 and 9858.2-8."

Mont was silent, thinking quickly.

Paul didn't give him the chance. He pulled his data pad and hit a few keys. "Since you may have missed the nuances of the Morgan contract, I have pulled them up for you. You are free to inspect them at your leisure, or call them up on your own datalinks. I will assume you are not suggesting an abrogation of our trade treaty? It was negotiated by the directly by the representatives of Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang, himself."

Cross Yang! Mont thought to himself. I will have to improvise.

"Very well. I concede the point. There will, however, be a significant delay while the appropriate preparations are made," Mont Ferris stated.

"I understand," Paul replied beneficently, "until proper clearances are acquired some of us will base ourselves out of our jet. It is quite comfortable, I assure you." Paul chuckled to himself.

Mont tried to reassert control. "I will have a security detail guard it at all times, to ensure your safety. In the meantime, I suggest that you and the other four authorized representatives follow me to the east entrance of the Tao warren of Worker's Nest. Have the non-essential elements of your delegation reboard your aircraft and my two aids will ensure their safety."

Mont Ferris' two aids exchanged pained glances: they now had 7 hours of merciless sun to look forward to.

"Agreed," Paul stated with a smile. He turned toward his group, who were watching with great interest from the base of the airplane stairway. "Miona, Steve, Li Chen, and Shawna, follow me. The rest, please reboard and await instructions."

A small and inappropriate cheer broke out from among those slated to go back onto the plane.

"Now, none of that! I'll call when I find out. You've got a lot of work, so get to it," he remonstrated them.

Paul turned back toward Mont. "Well, let's get on with it! We have a lot of work, too! I would not have gotten the authorization for the extra staff if I weren't pleased with the quality Worker's Nest products, particularly your fine produce. A favorite of mine are the Chiron pineapples! It was my hope to expand our trade."

Mont perked up at that. Yes, that would be of benefit.

"Then let us go toward the Tao East Entrance. I am sure you would like to escape the heat for the cool fastness of our warrens," Mont suggested.

"Oh, no need! You see, I am perfectly comfortable, as are all my people. Our apparel is fully climate controlled and will maintain a temperature of 25 degrees Celsius," Paul responded.

Mont looked him over. Not a trace of sweat. Amazing decadence .

"This way," he said simply as he turned 180 degrees to exit the tarmac. Mont's two aids stayed in place and Paul's four associated immediately followed.

As the made their way on the ferrocrete walkway Paul looked around to examine his surroundings. This was an almost tropical area, lush and green. The farmland they had passed over was far superior to anything that existed in Morgan territory. Yang was very fortunate on that count. Also, the impressive system of array solar collectors and hydropower plants on the river must produce an impressive amount of energy. This is a productive city.

Surveying the city itself he could not help be feel profound disappointment. He had been to numerous Hive cities and the all were pretty much similar at the surface and below ground. All had an almost modular grid like pattern, made for efficient expansion. And also made for easy compartmentalization in the case of disaster or invasion. This made them extremely difficult to breach - a natural defense system. The result is that the surface was unimpressive, or even ugly. He frowned as he surveyed the few features that were of notice.

First, there was a cluster of strange and oddly brown rounded towers in the center of the complex. Very un-Hivelike. Immediately next to them was a large, low dome of dark brown ferrocrete, which contrasted in a negative way with the towers. Besides that there were several low ferrocrete cargo and transport bays and a couple of hab entrances. A couple of sensors pocked the ground in a grid-like pattern, as did a former-built road system. Everything looked well maintained, but dull and lifeless.

Paul couldn't suppress his curiosity any longer. "Mr. Ferris, what is that building over there?" He pointed to the south.

Mont looked where his was pointing. "That is our Morale Enforcement Center," he replied simply.

"Really? That big tower?" Paul asked.

"No, the Morale Enforcement Center is the dome," Mort explained. "The towers are all that remains of the decadent Gaian society that the Hive generously took guardianship of when they were abandoned by their faithless leader. Since then we have worked hard to help the deluded followers of that failed faction to understand the true beauty of Hive society. The Morale Enforcement Center assists us in this task, and it has done so for the last 30 years."

Interesting response Paul thought to himself. He watched with interest as a tracked bus approached the dome. It stopped and a phalanx of Hive solders created a human hallway between the door from the bus and the entrance to the dome. The door on the bus opened and workers in jumpers filthy with dirt ran from the bus to the dome, holding the hands over their mouths. They ran single file, and fast. Not one had a breath mask on.

"None of those people has a breathmask?" Paul commented to Mont.

"Not having one improves efficiency by eliminating an unnecessary action and by enhancing the necessity of entering the Morale Enforcement Center. The degradation of their health is acceptable," he stated, unconcerned.

As Paul watched the drama a figure, apparently an older woman, fell heavily on one of the solders. The citizen in back of her also fell. The solders then took their rifles, Paul couldn't tell what kind, and used their butts to pummel the two who fell. Paul stopped walking and stared in partially horrified fascination.

A hole opened up in the solder's line as more assisted in the beating. A smaller figure at the door of the bus hesitated, the dashed through the hole in the line toward Paul's group. Three soldiers broke off in pursuit.

Paul automatically started to move toward the fleeing citizen, but a hand restrained him. It was Mont's hand. Paul looked toward Mont.

"The soldiers have the errant citizen well in hand. You need not assist," he told Paul, completely misunderstanding his intent.

Paul stopped. The Hive citizen got within 5 meters of Paul's group before the soldiers got a hold on the drone's jumper and yanked him off balance and toward the ground. He fell, rolling further toward Paul, whose group backed up as the soldiers bore down on them. The young man tried to get up, but was tackled by one of the police. He tried to twist free, but by then another soldier had piled on. Still he fought.

Suddenly, as if by unspoken command, the three soldiers got off and formed a ring around the now dazed young man. Paul could see that his head was partially shaved, and that there were curious scars the size of a peach pit in a ring around his temples and at the base of his neck.

Oh my god Paul thought to himself.

The soldiers reached into their belts and took out a short staff. By now the young man had recovered and he backed away from the two soldiers in front of him, right into the one in back. His eyes were wide with panic, and he had a look of abject terror in his face. That soldier jammed the stick into his torso with full force.

The boys' body immediately arched upward, his legs curled, as did his arms and fingers. His head was thrown back and his mouth opened in a silent scream as the electricity coursed though his body. The soldier in back pulled the stick away and the boy stopped convulsing, and the second stepped forward and repeated the treatment. Then the third. Finally the boy lapsed into unconsciousness even though his body continued to involuntarily contort as muscles were forced to contract unnaturally. Paul heard a bone snap, then another.

Satisfied, the soldiers grabbed the boy by the tunic and dragged him back to the quickly emptying bus.

Sick to his stomach, Paul recognized those scars. Only one device created skin damage in a pattern like that, and made people risk such a dire punishment.

A punishment sphere.

[Timexwatch]

2145 Hours
Great Dunes
Subterranean Outpost Sandspider



The young private leaned back in his chair. Yet another day of listening duty. He sighed. It was slow going in the southern tier of the Great Dunes and it was approaching summer in his neck of the woods. It was always unbearably hot, no matter what the time of the day it was.

Behind him a door eased open. The captain stepped out of his quarters holding a mug of black coffee. The strong smell wafted into the control room. The private turned around and nodded. There were no need for formalities; the whole crew of six were all friends, so they dispensed with the formalities. The captain sat in the chair adjacent and called up the status reports for the day. It was the usual stuff, ground sonar readings, weather readings, radar scans, etc.

Private Ryan turned slowly toward his screens again. The faint glow of the panels illuminated his soft features. He was relatively fresh out of the academy, specializing in communications and electronics. He imagined himself in some mobile brigade or command unit. Not stuck in a backwater listening post near the border of a faction that would crap their pants handling a bread knife. He leaned back to yawn, but out of the corner of his eye he saw that the sonic sensors were beginning to pick up vibrations from a tracked vehicle, bearing west. After several seconds, the computer calculated the contact's speed at about 20 miles an hour. The private tapped the captain, pressed a button on his console and then switched on the comm system...

[Tokek Belerang]

Dear Salvador,

My long-time friend and mentor! Listen, if you will, to a striking tale. Remember that fateful night, before the Unity launched? We had a brief but animated talk in the corridors of the Control Center, and it was at that time that you pledged your fidelity to the Spartan cause, and agreed to enter our plan to take over the Unity.

Many more talks, that night! In one of them, I was not convincing enough. As a result, someone who knew of our plans refused to join our struggle. I was at that point unable to take drastic measures, as you may understand, and I was deadly afraid that our plans might be thwarted by this misfortune.

As it happened, this man did not turn us in, or give away the plot in any other way. He kept the information to himself, and put it to good use when the Unity was thrown into havoc as we stirred into action. Putting information to good use has stayed his hallmark, and he has become quite successful. You met him in the Bunker, I believe, where he hinted as to my whereabouts.

We are talking about Sand, of course, the mystery among mysteries in the Circle of Ashaandi. I struck a deal, Salvador, and he has honored his part of it so far. I am safe, and in a position to return to Sparta if I should so desire. The other part, my part, is to support the Circle's takeover of the Human Hive in the planetary council.

Why? I preferred the Circle, and still do, to Sheng-Ji Yang, who is a megalomaniac and a despot. He cares not for people. Sparta will be better off, Planet will be better off without the likes of him ruling any of us. Our relations with peace-loving neighbors like the Gaians, the Morganites and the Peacekeepers are threatened by the Hive's expansionism and unfettered meddling.

I am not saying we should be peace-loving forever ourselves - we must defend ourselves against any who would deny us our right to be Spartan, and to live as we see fit. But for now, I feel we can gain most by striking a peace, and developing our society. There is a large gaping wound in the center of Spartan territory, and it is begging to be inhabited. We should turn our attention once more to settling, to the frontier of civilization.

It is in that latter area that I see my own greatest value to Sparta as well. Should I be in a position to return to the leadership of Sparta - and that would take more than your vote only, as you know - I would make colonization my main policy issue. I envisage a different command structure, one in which the nominal leader - I, perhaps - would be a Head of State, but not an autocrat like before. That was suitable to the frontier state, when we were striking out to new paths, new opportunities, new societies. The person of Corazón Santiago, also, was suitable to the frontier state.

I propose that I be reinstated as leader of Sparta, but in a primus inter pares role, who will represent the Junta in the Planetary Council, but will not be in any way above the Junta. I would, in fact, take on Scott's role now, as Civilian Governor of Sparta, and as member of the Junta qualitate qua. The Junta would decide affairs military, and I, with my base governors, would decide affairs civilian. We would also reinstate democracy, but would still elect our highest leaders by proxy - indirectly, by the military and the elected representatives jointly.

This will require, for now, the votes of Gavin, Scott, you, and Honshu. I would ask you to trust Gavin unconditionally in the near future - you will see him again in a very short while. I feel that we should retain our newly won Hive possessions in any peace negotiations - tell him that for me, please.

As to a proof for the authenticity of this document - there isn't any, I'm afraid - but none, elegantly enough, will be needed. Consider it a foretelling of things to come - things may soon develop as I have described just now. Use that knowledge to your advantage, Salvador - and be a friend to Gavin as you are to me. You are one of the ablest politicians I know - please let that be an asset for Sparta for a while longer.

Yours as ever,

Corazón Santiago

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

[Kuruk]

General Torkel Erikson stared down the field, clutching his shredder rifle. Next to him, Andrea “Locust” Shaw, the chopper pilot, did the same. Both pairs of eyes were fixed on a patch of fungus 50 meters down the slope.

Without warning, a blue-clad figure stood and raised an impact rifle. Andrea and Torkel opened fire, and two bursts of shredder pellets caught the Hive infantryman in the head. As he was falling, two more figures emerged from behind the fungus, sprinting for the cover of the trees nearby. The two Peacekeepers turned and opened fire, Andrea on the lead soldier and Torkel on the rear. With their final shredder rounds, they dropped the two Hive troopers.

Torkel and Andrea stood as the image dissolved. The Chironian landscape dissipated to leave a bare room with metal walls. Woody Edwards, one of the probe teams techies, sat at a node console. Natalie Rovero, the team’s other techie, Travis Richards, the munitions specialist, and Mike Sanchez, the team’s psychologist, leaned against a wall, waiting for their turn on the range.

“Not bad, sir. Ninety-one out of one hundred hits, eighty lethals, sixty-nine headshots. You’re getting better,” Woody said. The general’s marksmanship had improved greatly since the probe team had joined his division. He was still now where near any of the team members, even the “non-shooters” assembled here. The other team members were practicing a takedown exercise in the other holo room, moving through a simulated laboratory in a mock assassination. Torkel hoped to Planet that wasn’t the team’s mission.

“Yeah, it’s nice to get some practice again,” the general said. “I’m going to miss it when you guy’s leave. Any idea how much longer you’re joining us grunts?”

“Couldn’t tell you even if we did know, sir,” replied Mike, a not so subtle reminder that the probe team was not officially heading toward Spartan territory, and for that matter did not officially exist.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Torkel. “How can you guys stand that, anyway? All this short-notice stuff?”

“You get used to it,” replied Travis. He and Natalie stood to take their turn at the shooting sim.

“Where ever it is, I hope they have a chopper,” said Andrea, “I’m going to get groundsick.” The team had no copter of it’s own for support reasons, but Andrea was an expert on the UN’s Unity chopper, and had more time in Spartan aircraft than many Spartan pilots.

“Well, like I said, I’ll miss having you guys around,” said Torkel.

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Woody, firing up the holo. “We can take care of ourselves.”

[Paula Forbes]

Peter was waiting for me as I descended the ramp from the plane.

"Got your mail and your change of clothes, you're leaving again," he said.


I sighed.

"Where to this time? And for how long?"

"Velvetgrass Point," he said. "And I'm coming with you, plus a holocam crew. For a month. Docugram on the revitalized Gaians. CEO himself appointed you. Said it was in his grand plan."

"I hope you've got more than a change of clothes," I said.

"Yup, two suitcases full, plus a slew of new purchases - safari gear, beachwear, I used my imagination as to size and style," he leered at me winking.

"When do we leave?" I asked.

"Next half hour. We've got one of the new Morgan Industries corporate needlejets at our disposal, and the camera crew are loading our stuff now. Gate 4."

'Well, it is different,' I thought. 'Almost as good as a vacation.'

"Let's go then," I said resignedly.


[This message has been edited by Paula Forbes (edited August 31, 1999).]

[Rynn]

They were atching MorganNews in Shauna's living quarters when they both felt Miles presence in their minds.

Great work on the borehole. Utter confusion around the base. I'm going to just lay low for a bit and try to contact our Spartan empaths.

I suggest that you two do the same - lay low. Be as normal as possible. Kurt - might mean that you need to get a job. I expect that it's a strugle for Shauna to feed you on her allowance.

Don't overuse your empath powers to bamboozle people - it may tempt the base authorities to bring in an empath if queer things are happening continually.

I'll be in touch

The sense of presence faded.

Shauna looked at Kurt.

"Smart advice. We need to concoct a background for you, though, to get you a job here."

They worked on their story line.

[Tokek Belerang]

Santiago's letter was hand-written. St. James had recognized the spidery, masculine hand immediately, and had at the same time felt a nagging suspicion. He had run all kinds of tests on the document, and they were all positive - Santiago's DNA in skin traces, Santiago's handwriting down to the pressure points in the individual letters, all of it Santiago.

And yet.

One thing, though, was true. It did not matter whether it was real. It outlined exactly what he would have done anyway. Trust Gavin. Trust Santiago. Trust Sand. He sighed, realized with a pang that he appreciated the little compliment about his political skills, and had a déjá-vu flashing by. The Unity. The Control Center. Santiago's little smile, and then his promise, which she turned into an oath. Same thing exactly.

It could be true. It should be true.

He mailed the letter to Burge, Allardyce, and Honshu, through all possible channels. Never mind if this got out. It would be a good test of faith.

He walked out of his hotel and got into a waiting PTU that would take him directly to his private Morganite physician. Dr Budiman would be screening him for possible longevity tampering, and he would be out of the running for an indeterminate time.

St. James looked at the Morganite splendor rolling by, and felt impatient again for the first time in a long while. He would be away for quite a stretch.

Well - trust Gavin, then.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited September 01, 1999).]

[Velociryx]

“Halt!” The guard at the north gate of Fort Superiority shouted in a harsh, commanding voice.

The shadowy, slightly hunched figure stopped. Wavered slightly, as though unsteady on his feet.

The guard took half a step forward, Impact Rifle glistening in the moonlight. “State your name and business.”

The man tried to speak, but what escaped him was a low moan.

He looked up imploringly, revealing his face to the guard for the first time.

“Sweet Jesus.” The man whispered, quickly crossing himself. And then, “Johnny, Drake, I think you guys had better get down here.”

That was how it began.

The return.

The figure in the darkness was rushed to a hospital. Examined closely, and under extremely heavy guard. It seemed that the leadership of the Junta had been under all sorts of attacks these days, and the security forces were taking no chances. They even brought in a fledgling empath to scan him, just to make sure he was who he looked like.

Harrand Ashaandi had no trouble at all in fooling the young Empath. It was actually rather enjoyable, and he knew as he lay in the bed, letting them tend to his numerous wounds (including the shallow-but-nasty gash across his throat delivered by Angel and her greatly feared gloves), that he would enjoy being Gavin Burge.

He closed his eyes, and mentally counted his wounds. No one but a fellow assassin could understand the artistry behind an impersonation such as this. The lengths that had to be gone to. The pain and suffering to be endured in order to pull of the most masterful of impersonations.

He mentally counted his wounds.

Three broken ribs. Several lacerations on his chest and throat, courtesy of Angel’s dreaded gloves, skinned knees and elbows, bruises on most of his body….indeed, Sand and Angel had prepared him well. It looked like he’d travelled through Hell itself, and somehow emerged on the other side.

He smiled sleepily as he watched the doctors scurry around him. Even if they notced the smile, they’d just think it was the effects of the painkillers they were pumping into him. It all blended together, this wonderful fabric of deception….

He slept.

Gavin was dreaming.

Dreaming of retirement on Velvetgrass point. Of kelp-farming with his old friend Allardyce.

In his sleep, he smiled, but the smile faded quickly, for in the dream, the sky filled up with dark and angry clouds, and those clouds began to mold themselves into specific shapes.

Faces, actually.

Sand and Angel.

He woke up then, and would have sat up on the slab they had him on, if not for the restraints.

“Nightmare?” A seductive female voice purred, ans she uncoiled her lithe body from the chair she had been lounging in and glided across the room toward him.

He nodded slightly. Didn’t really matter if they knew it was getting to him or not….it wouldn’t change their plans for him.

**No!** His mind screamed! **You can’t start thinking like that! You’ve got to….find a way! Find some way to get yourself out of this. Get back to Sparta Command and warn everyone!**

Slowly, sluggishly, his mind began churning in that direction, fighting the fear that was slowly grinding away at him, and the drugs they’d been feeding him in liberal amounts.

So sluggish. So tired. And so hard to think….it was disorienting, being flat on his back in a mostly darkened room.

A face appeared over him, almost seeming to float.

Angel. Had she crossed the room so quickly?

He flinched, and tried to sink into the synthsteel slab, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

“Shhhh….there now, my sweet, gentle old man…..” She whispered almost lovingly to him as she gently kissed his neck. “You won’t be afraid for long….I promise you that….” And her gloved hands lightly caressed his chest, opening up the flesh there and spilling his blood.

He closed his eyes and a tear rolled down one of his cheeks. He fought against a whimper of terror and pain, but it came out anyway. She was just so…..seductive and evil in the same breath, and those gloves! Perhaps the diamond shards had been dipped in some kind of slow acting poison or something, because it was an almost breathtaking pain. Sharp and all but unbearable, each time she caressed him.

**I’m dying.** He thought weakly, as Angel smiled almost sweetly down at him, her hands poised to touch and caress again.

He braced himself as best he could.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited September 01, 1999).]

[Hydro]

The Hive

*****

Sheng-Ji Yang strode into his spartan office. After he entered the door closed silently behind him, shutting out almost all noise to his inner sanctum. He stood still for a moment, looking at his desk. A brief flicker of emotion, a combination of rage and dispair, washed across his implacable face. It quickly passed as Yang reasserted control.

Disharmony.

Dissidence.

This news is unsettling, he thought. I must renew my center.

Yang paced to the left side of his desk, gracefully lowered himself to the floor, and effortlessly assumed the lotus position. He placed his hands palm down on his knees, took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.

Focus

His breathing slowed.

on the core

Yang sequentially shut off all exterior sensations: first the vestiges of light and signals his optic nerves sent his brain, then the soft sigh of the air exchanger, then the touch of the cool floor and even the touch of his hands on his knees.

Focus on the core

Finally, the slow breathing and the beating of his heart were quieted, then screened out. Then nothing remained.

Except the light. Yang focused on the light, willed it, and it came. The light twisted under Yang’s guidance, forming an imperfect sphere. Satisfied, Yang metaphysically stepped inside his Center.

Inside all Yang could sense were his meticulously ordered thoughts and experiences. All was in order, awaiting his inspection, everything except one piece. Yang willed that piece to him, examining it, dissecting it, understanding it, destroying it. There was joy in understanding. Hope in destroying.

Order was restored. The Center was sound.

Yang willed the light to contract, and it did so. As the light diminished and finally disappeared Yang’s senses returned: first awareness of his rhythmic heartbeat and breathing, then the cool caress of the air on his skin, then the low pulse of the air exchanger, then the dark reddish vision through his closed eyes.

At last Yang was at peace, and his Center returned.

The one piece that had cause disharmony had been subsumed.

Yang opened his eyes, unfolded his legs, and rose. He turned toward his desk, pulled back the chair and seated himself.

The path was now clear. Order must be maintained, and chaos eliminated. Those who disobeyed represented the forces of entropy and chaos.

Sand has disobeyed my summons twice, Yang thought serenely, The day will soon come when his usefulness will be at an end.

[Tokek Belerang]

The empath sat down on the quay by the Lycurgus. A small group of officials looked on, and behind them were rows upon rows of security forces. Guns were trained on the Lycurgus from every possible corner. All of Deep Community was looking at one thing only, and that was the battered-looking transport docked in its harbor.

The empath got up.

"These people are who they say they are." he said.

"Are you absolutely sure?" one of the officials asked.

"Yes. On board is a Spartan colonel, a regular transport crew, and a contingent of former prisoners. With the exception of the colonel, there are no people on board who constitute a security risk. My psi scan was quite conclusive. The evidence was overwhelming."

"I see." the official said, and looked at his colleagues.

Dubious expressions all around.

"Well, governor?" asked a stern voice.

The person who had spoken was a military man - rank rather than file, by the looks of him.

The official cleared his throat.

"I'd say we have an opportunity, Colonel."

The colonel eyed him appreciatively.

"I agree." he said with a slight nod.

The governor turned around.

"The group's leader may leave the vessel with two aides, as requested. The Spartan colonel may then be turned over to base miltary authorities, along with the vessel's original crew." he announced.

Presently Fungrunner Paatelainen stepped through the iris doors, and in his wake were the impressive DeVaughn Molina and the diminutive Vinnie Mo.

"Gentlemen. Welcome to Deep Community."

Fungrunner and the governor shook hands.

"Erkki Paatelainen." Fungrunner said.

"Better known as Fungrunner, or The Moonshine Man. Not a stranger to the Human Hive, or so I hear."

Fungrunner smiled faintly.

"My aides, DeVaughn Molina and Vincent Meaux."

"Delighted, I'm sure." the governor said, eyeing Molina with suspicion.

The little group moved away to the port's exit gates. Behind them, Eugene Levavassier and the Lycurgus's crew were marched off to an uncertain future.

* * * * *

Deep in the belly of Deep Community sea base, watertight doors were slamming shut. Emergency lighting came on. Or rather, came off, as for some reason the lights were running at one tenth power. Commlinks crashed. Commlinks crashed? Morgansoft C-link software never crashed! But it did at Deep Community. Massively.

Communications, in short, came to a standstill.

"What's happening?" the governor asked in a panicky voice.

"Nothing much." his assistant muttered while peering at the insides of his commlink.

"Get me Colonel Santos." the governor said.

The assistant looked up.

"Commlinks", he said slowly, as if talking to a petulant child, "are down."

And he added the kind of look that could say 'I could no more get you Colonel Santos than I could summon a herd of prime Libyan camel mares out of thin air right now. Get it, Smarts?' without actually saying it.

"I'm sorry about this..." the governor began to say to Fungrunner, but then he eyed him a bit uncertainly.

"I'm sure it will all be resolved." Fungrunner said, and took a sip of his drink.

Fungigruel root beer. Blechhh...

The governor looked about him.

Impotence. What was happening?!?

A commlink bleebleeped, and the governor looked up happily.

"I think that's mine." mr Meaux said.

"Yours? But..."

"Meet the new governor of Deep Community, governor." Fungrunner said.

The governor stared into the smiling face of DeVaughn Molina, all perfect white teeth and one tiny, glittering diamond.

"I think I'll call it Zanzibar. I've always loved that name." Molina said dreamily.

* * * * *

Using the clothing of Levavassier, Paatelainen, Molina and Vinnie Mo as transmitters, the datajackers on board the Lycurgus had taken over base defenses, much as they had done to the Lycurgus before.

Now, Levavassier faced Santos in the same room as the governor and the three representatives had been in before.

"The empath?" Santos inquired.

"Some of it was real. The crew didn't know, and some of the crooks are real crooks. Myself and the others, we are well-versed in psi combat. On the receiving end, mind you. Experience does a lot against psi. Our elites are hardly affected."

"And you are elites." Santos said.

It was insult nor compliment.

"In a way, yes." Levavassier said.

"What do you intend to do? You cannot expect to hold onto this base with the forces you have."

"Correct. But I expect to hold out long enough for North Fleet to arrive. In any case, we'll be out of here before any of that. A base can run itself for a while, especially with a little help."

Levavassier looked at Vinnie Mo, who was up to his ears in commlink wiring.

* * * * *

The Lycurgus took its leave of Deep Community not much later. The first remote-controlled base in Planet history, it lay waiting for either the Hive to relieve it, or North Fleet to definitely claim it for Sparta.

He looked round at his crew, now a few less due to a little clean-up to get rid of the decoys they had needed for the hoax - Naawal Jones and her ilk.

"Guerrilla time, huh." Molina called over from his corner.

"You got it, chief." Levavassier said.

The Lycurgus bounced on, riding the swell, to the Hive coast, and who knew what exploits.

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

[Velociryx]

Gavin looked out the hospital window and reveled at the sight and feel of the sunlight. It was going to be a very good day.

His ribs still ached vaguely, but the medical advances the Spartans had made since planetfall had actually been quite remarkable, and their accelerated healing techniques had him feeling nearly as good as new inside of 72 hours. Now, he was getting restless. There was much to do.

An important victory to win.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking at the door.

“Yes….come in.” He said in Burge’s deep, gravelly voice. It made him smile.

Elizabeth opened the door and stepped in, almost shyly.

He held out his hands to her, and she took them, her smile growing. “I got word you’d made it back last night…..it took me forever to get here….”

He shook his head and favored her with one of his rare smiles. “I’m glad you made it….and I’m feeling better already. In fact….”

He was cut off in mid-sentence by a familiar-but-not-familiar voice, and he had to do a quick scan of Burge’s memory cells to scare up the name. Only took three nanoseconds though, not even noticable.

“So, the old man still has a bit of fight in him after all, eh?” Sparks Wheeler said as he bound into the room. “And good God man, you’re looking well! Already out of bed and everything!”

Gavin nodded. “I am….and you know, I’m actually feeling like a million bucks, as the old Earth phrase goes. I’m ready to get this invasion on track and send Yang packing. C’mon you two…let’s get out of here.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “But the doctors said you should….”

Gavin shrugged elaborately. “Am I, or am I not pretty much running the country these days? I don’t think the doctors will try and stop me.”

Without waiting for a response from either of them, he guided them out in the hall and past the open-mouthed doctor, silencing him with a stern look.

Once they’d passed the doctor near his door and the trio of bewildered guards that had been assigned to guard his room, he chuckled and slapped Wheeler on the shoulder, slipping his other arm around Elizabeth’s waist. “David, you arrange transport for us, will you? I’d like to be in Sparta Command before the suns set today.”

David nodded, and then stopped walking abruptly. Turned and saluted him. “I just wanted to say, sir….it….it’s good to have you back.”

Gavin smiled. “And it’s good to be back, I’ll tell you that. There’s a lot to do, and we don’t have much time…..but we’ll make it….you know how I love to improvise.”

Wheeler beamed and nodded, then turned to go. “I’ll contact you as soon as it’s arranged.” He called back over his shoulder.

Of course he would.

He turned his attention to Elizabeth….pretty girl, really, and favored her with another smile. “And you, my dear….you look famished. Shall we get something to eat before we depart?”

Elizabeth returned his smile and nodded.

They walked out of the hospital together.

@@@


Dinner itself was wonderful, and they never actually ordered any food. A dimly lit café, table in the back, and a bottle of Fungal Gin between them.

Elizabeth was utterly captivated. She had always hoped secretly that maybe he would notice her, but he just seemed so….

And a lot of her friends would laugh at her for being so attracted to a man so much older, but there was something about the way he….

She couldn’t finish a single thought in her head when he watched her with those eyes. Ancient eyes. The eyes of a hunter, and they penetrated her. Utterly shattered all her defenses, and oh God, now his hands were caressing her cheeks, reaching across the table to pull her face closer to his….

Their lips met and she trembled. Something inside her wrenched horribly and she blinked back unexpected tears.

**Tears? Where the Hell did….**

Gavin was looking at her strangely.

She tried on a tentive smile, but suddenly, she found herself afraid.

“What is it?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

No.

It was not Gavin.

Only someone who had harbored a secret crush on him for years could have known. It was not something even the Empaths could have picked up on, but she could see it now. It was a mask. A lie. And the fear in her grew.

Whoever he was, he had fooled them all. The doctors, the soldiers, the Empaths, and even Wheeler, but he could not fool Elizabeth.

It was the little differences, really. The nuances. Things like smiling slightly more often than Gavin would have. Or actually mentioning his skill of improvising (a thing he made a point to almost never talk about). Or putting his arm around her waist at the hospital. Kissing her.
Even if Gavin ever wanted to, he never would. It was his way. He was too in-control of his emotions to ever do such a thing. He could not be tempted, which was one of the things that made him a good soldier.

“Elizabeth, what is it? What’s wrong?” The-thing-that-looked-like-Gavin asked again, rising slightly from his chair.

She had to think quickly. Had to recover. And then get away.

She shook her head. “N…it’s nothing Gavin….I just….I don’t know….the smoke in this place must be getting to me….I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded, concern still etched on his face, and she hurried to the ladies room.

She did not look back

Did not see the scowl crossing Gavin’s features, nor the dark glitter in his eyes.

@@@

He rose fluidly, almost languidly, and followed her.

She knew.

Somehow, despite how careful he’d been, she knew.

He smiled.

Not for long though.

She was heading to the ladies room. Thinking of course, that she would be safe there. (And he smiled a thin, fierce smile at that. Why was it that ladies thought they could hide and be safe in there? It was sad and amusing, actually). Maybe crawl out the window and go tell someone. As if anyone would believe her. Still, it would complicate things. No….better to just be done with the problem now.

He morphed his features subtly as he walked, and by the time he reached the door of the ladies room, he was an attractive woman. Thanks to the poor lighting and haze, no one noticed his transformation.

Confidently he opened the door and did a quick scan. They were alone.

She was splashing water on her face and rubbing her eyes when Ashaandi entered. She gave him/her a fleeting glance, but nothing more.

Never even looked up again until he was right behind her with a hand on her throat.

The whimper was choked off almost before it began when his forearm locked down across her windpipe. He stayed in his feminine form, but allowed his voice to change back to Gavin’s.

“I’m sorry my sweet….you and I could have had such fun together this evening….but, since you’ve discovered me, of course I cannot allow you to live.”

He locked eyes with her in the mirror, and saw the unbridled terror on her face.

Beautiful.

Simply beautiful.

Before she could even think to respond, he wrenched her neck savagely to one side, listening with a satisfied smile to the distinct cracking noise, and then pulling her close to him, and beginning to morph again…..

@@@

Nobody paid any attention at all when the tall, 300 pound plus woman waddled awkwardly out of the ladies room and shuffled outside….

@@@

He buried her in the fungus south of the base, and made it back a full forty minutes before Wheeler called to say he’d arranged transportation.

He was clearly disappointed that Elizabeth had not made it back from her shopping trip, and was apparently ignoring their calls to her comm-band, but duty called, and they had to depart, so he and David went on without her. Still, it was most unlike her. He’d have to have a long talk with her when she finally did turn up.

Ashaandi smiled wanly as the needlejet soared off toward Sparta Command.

Sometimes he amused himself.

@@@

“Are your hands still made of stone, old man?” Sand asked him with a sneer. Angel had to leave abruptly, and Sand picked up right where she had left off. There was to be no rest for him. None. They would take turns tormenting him until it was fatal.

He nodded feebly. “Why don’t you sober me up, untie me, and find out, you rotting bas….”

Sand shook his head. “Temper, temper, my old friend….and I think I will not risk that. You’re a wiley one.”

Sand drew closer, then spit in Gavin’s face. “And believe me, old man….I have never forgotten all the scars you and Allardyce left me with.” He drew a long, wickedly curved knife out, which gleamed and glittered before him. “And I intend to get revenge for every last one of them.”

Gavin nodded again. “I know….how hard it must be for you…”

Sand cocked his head to one side, eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

**Oh I’ve got you pegged.** Gavin thought darkly. **I know more about your psyche than you do, you blithering idiot.** Drugs or no, he was at least coherent enough to know that.

“You must have….slipped far.”

Sand shook his head. “No….my skills are sharper now than they ever were…..you’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

Gavin coughed weakly, reinforcing the image that he was utterly helpless. “Ashaandi must not…think so…not if you’re….reduced to torturing a he….helpless old man….”

Sand froze, and then his entire face twitched.

“You think I can’t take you? Even if I untied you? Is that what you want, old man? To die on your feet?” His face was so contorted with barely controlled rage that it almost made him look comical.

It was a fine line to walk. And only he or Allardyce could have pulled it off. Only they had that kind of connection to him.

Of course he would not untie him. That was too obvious. But if his temper got the better of him….

“What do you take me for, you out-dated relic!? Do you really think you can goad me into untying you?"

Sand threw up his hands in disgust and stormed out of the room, cursing loudly the whole time, and Gavin smiled.

“Gotcha.” He said weakly, and began struggling like mad against the ropes. He knew he didn’t have much time.

[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited September 01, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Velociryx (edited September 01, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****

“Get that below, NOW,” Rao bellowed through his breathmask, pointing at a Thrasher needlejet that Slats had just given into Rolling Thunder’s care. Now Rolling Thunder had three of the obsolete fission missile jets, although it would be two again if it weren’t taken deeper into the bowels of Plex Anthill. The East Cargo Bay was a mess, with half of the ceiling caved in due to the unending Hive naval missile barrage. Granite and ferrocrete debris littered the floor, which now ranged from rough to impassible. Six hours ago the atmospheric integrity of the bay had been compromised, and two hours later the ferrocrete supports over the secondary passage had given way. The hazy blue sky, now obscured by dust, debris and smoke, could only barely be seen through the ruptured roof. What remained of the ceiling did not look like it would stay in place much longer.

<…thowack, thowack…>

A cascade of body-sized granite boulders were jarred free of the ceiling and wall, and crashed into the floor by the now choked secondary entrance. A crew of ‘Ants’, as the Spartans now called the Plex Anthill citizens, quickly moved over to the Thrasher with a hoist to get it below. A few Spartans from Rolling Thunder supervised them to make sure they didn’t do anything ‘unfortunate’. Sabotage, or a simple lack of direction resulting in mistakes, had been on the rise lately.

“Forward, get that rover out into the open where it can do some good,” Rao continued. Three of the rovers that were part of the Blue Death rover brigade appeared out of the corridor from Delta warren into the East Cargo Bay of Plex Anthill. They were towing the rover that had been refitted with the missile battery. It was almost comical with the infantry missile siege gun mounted where the chaos turret normally would be. At times, as the towing rover advanced trough the rubble-strewn cargo bay, it looked like the top-heavy contraption might fall over onto its side. Somehow it seemed to stay upright, but the crew still held their breath when the rover’s huge tires lurched over a particularly large chunk of debris.

The towing and the towed reached the main bay doors. Rao signaled for them to open.

The doors shuddered but remained shut, although the high-pitched whine of hydraulic lifts increased as time passed. Then there was a sharp crack, and the whine abruptly stopped.

Rao cursed under his breath. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered.

He called up the lead rover in the tow group. “Kat, I want you to blast the doors, wide dispersal, lowest setting. We have to get those doors out of the way!” Rao said in frustration.

“Roger that, stand by,” Kat responded. Shortly, the low humm of the chaos gun capacitor warming up was heard. After a few minutes the humm reached a crescendo and then died away.

“Ready, sir,” Kat informed Rao.

“OK people. Take cover. This may or may not work, but it will probably bring part of the ceiling down,” Rao said as he made for an alcove. The rest of his crew followed him, and the Ants that were dragging the Thrasher below.

Rao looked around the bay, and all was clear. “Fire at will, Kat.”

Almost as he finished, the chaos gun fired and the air around the door seemed to explode, as did the sythsteel of the door. The cascading chaos spread from this focus into a sphere, which touched the floor and extended 8 meters to the top of the cargo bay door. Portions of the door at the center of the chaos sphere appeared to warp and melt from the energies unleashed, and the shock wave from the air’s energy front finished the job. The doors literally blew apart in all directions, taking part of the floor and a small section of the ceiling door housing with it.

After the flying synthmetal, rock and ferrocrete debris settled down, Rao cautiously looked out from his alcove. The ceiling wasn’t affected. Apparently, the chaos gun of one rover, which was 1/10 the firepower of a rover brigade, didn’t come near the destructive power of the Hive naval artillery.

Rao looked outside of the bay for the first time in days. It was clear that what the Spartan’s chaos guns hadn’t done, the Hive’s needlejets and naval artillery were finishing. Outside was a maelstrom of smoke and craters.

“Move it out,” Rao said without looking back.

******

“We’re done sir,” Lou said proudly. He stood beside the 10 rovers of the elite Blue Death brigade, nine of which were slaved to the rover with the anti aircraft rig.

“Are the crews ready?” Rao asked.

“Yah, ready to go. The best RT gunners are in their turrets, each tracking and assessing targets. The spyeyes are up, and we are linked to tracking at HQ. Do we have a go?” Lou responded.

“Yes, go,” Rao said, and Lou turned to the anti aircraft rig. All had agreed that Lou should have the honor gunning My Baby, as he called it affectionately. Especially since he was one of the best gunners in Thunder.

Good luck, Lou, Rao commented to himself..

“Everyone else, back to the bay. And have an advance team ready for evac, should we need it,” Rao said as he made his way back to the bay. Behind him the rovers powered up, and started active scans of the area.

After activating fire control they will be the brightest things the Hive sees, on the ground or in the sky, Rao thought as he entered the remains of the East Cargo Bay. This had better work.

*****

“Two, no three bogies coming in from the south. Looks like their making a B-line for the rovers. Slat’s boys are busy repairing – they are pretty beat up after fighting 3:1 odds for the last week,” Mary stated, relaying word from C&C.

“Can you put it on holo?” Rao asked.

“Yah, I think so,” Mary said, altering the comm settings to accept the direct feeds of the backup skyeyes.

An image winked into view in the cabin of Rao’s command rover. I showed the stationary rovers as sitting ducks, with three birds of prey swooping in for the kill. In the background, in the Central Chiron Sea, sat a Hive cruiser and destroyer, who had temporarily stopped the artillery bombardment for their bombers.

Rao looked closely as the three Hive missile jets approached. They came in flying north over the base, did a hook, and then came in a full speed. Even to Rao’s inexperienced eye the formation was far from perfect. The three planes visibly changed position with respect to one another, which is potentially dangerous when flying in tight formation. These pilots were probably either green or just past green. They were not using the terrain to their advantage, or what was left of the terrain after the bombardment of the last week or so.

The rovers just sat there until after the jets had committed. Then the missile turret swiveled around and upward, but didn’t fire.

Everyone in the room, Rao, Markus, Mary and three other commanders held their breath. Why wasn’t Lou firing? Was there a malfunction? they thought with alarm.

The lead missile needlejet opened it’s bay and a series of missiles cruised out from their housings, and they flew straight toward the ‘defenseless’ rovers. After unleashing his payload he pulled up, his belly exposed to the non-responsive rovers.

Then the missiles launched from the rover, first at the now vulnerable jet and then at its munitions. Fusion powered-missiles were much faster and deadlier than those of the jet, and they easily took out almost the entire incoming salvo. A couple of near misses damaged three of the support rovers. The Hive pilot must have noticed that the missiles had acquired him for he took evasive action and retreated out to sea. But the missiles were gaining fast.

Seeing the return fire, the remaining two needlejets coordinated their missile strikes, fired, then pulled off in opposite directions. Lou’s missile gun erupted in fire even more furious than before. Lou targeted most of his missiles on the retreating planes, and only one third against the incoming Hive missiles. The ineffectual chaos turrets from the rovers supplemented defensive fire.

Lou’s missiles arced up and away, tracking and gaining on the two retreating Hive jets. The spread of Hive missile entered the kill zone. Some were intercepted or were vaporized by defensive missiles or the coursing energies of the chaos guns. Most, however, got through, and exploded just before impact or after penetrating the ground. Energy erupted in crimson white flashes, washing over the rovers, which were thrown down from the airbursts then up from the ground shots. A couple of secondary explosions rippled through the sheets of dirt and rock, indicated some of the armored rovers had succumbed to the onslaught.

The skyeyes tracking the retreating aircraft noticed a small yellow burst of light over the ocean, which streaked toward the ocean in a parabolic arc. This was followed by a similar burst to the east and west of Plex Anthill.

“Targets a confirmed kill, sir,” Mary said simply. Already the response team was on the way. The dirt, stone, and finally the dust settled and showed the wreckage of 8 rovers. Two rovers had vanished entirely.

There was no cheering as the flamed Hive jets impacted into the ocean.

*****

“Rao, there’s a vid for you,” Mary said from the comm center in Rolling Thunder’s temporary HQ in the Delta Sector Nutrient Center.

Rao waved her to patch it though. Slats appeared on in a miniature holo. “I just heard your boys splashed three Hivers. Good job. That will give my interceptors a chance to repair before going up again. It was getting to be a near thing. You have probably saved their lives.” He paused, “I heard it was pretty rough on the crews. How are they?”

“Of the 50 crew on the 10 rovers, 17 are dead and 18 are seriously injured. Everyone else is in the infirmary and still pretty badly hurt. I’ve never seen rovers thrown into the air like that,” Rao finished somberly.

“Is there anything I can do?” Slats asked.

“Yes, there is. Take out the rest of those jets, and TELL HQ TO TAKE OUT THOSE DAMNED CRUISERS!” Rao yelled, seriously losing his cool.

Slats was a little taken aback, “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied stiffly.

Rao signed, “I’m sorry, Slats. I shouldn’t have flamed at you. I know you and yours are doing all you can. It just seems that no one is listening upstairs.”

Slats hard expression softened a little. “You’re not alone on that. There is a lot going on. Did you hear that Deep Community was captured?” Slats said, trying to lighten things up.

“No. We’ve been a bit busy. It is good news, though. I didn’t think amphib or our navy was nearby. How did that happen?” Rao asked, his curiosity piqued.

“No one will say. The new governor, someone named Molina, proclaimed it in a general broadcast, renaming the city Zanzibar, of all things. Very mysterious. I was wondering if you could send on of your Aardvarks over there to help the garrison? Yang must be having kittens by now. You can bet Yang isn’t going to take that lying down,” Slats said.

“Good idea. I’ll bet HQ hasn’t thought of that yet,” Rao stated acidicly. “I’ll send one right away. In fact, I’ll send the Thrasher you just gave to Rolling Thunder. Against the Hive aegis cruisers that are pounding the crap out of us they are totally useless.”

“Sounds good. Stay in touch,” Slats said as he signed off.

*****

Mary was sitting on the floor at the base of Lou’s low-slung cot. Although he was off the critical list, he was still badly hurt and had been comatose ever since he had be extricated with his crew from the overturned and mauled rover.

Mary reached out to brush a stray lock of his non-regulation blond hair off his face. She was careful not to touch his face, which was a mass of ugly purple and black bruises. Part of the left side of his body was wrapped in an expanding sythskin, which was biogengineered to regrow the seared and blasted skin and musculature. All things going well it should be regrown within a week. The laceration to his liver and one of his kidneys and the punctured lung would take longer to heal, however.

Lou’s eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath. As soon as he did his face bunched up in pain.

“Take it easy, Lou,” Mary said soothingly. “You have a half dozen cracked ribs. Just breathe normally and you’ll be fine.”

Lou nodded weakly as he screwed he eyes shut. After the wave of pain passed he opened his eyes again and looked toward Mary. His eyes questioned her.

“You did it Lou! You’re a hero! Your hair hair-brained idea actually worked! Three, THREE, jets were splashed!” Mary said happily.

Lou managed a pale smile. Mary reached out and held his good right hand, and he grabbed back.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Markus or I will be here when we can,” Mary said.

Lou nodded sleepily and his grip eased.

Mary got up to look for more friends that were hurt. She saw Markus ministering to Luong. She was not too badly hurt. They were having a good laugh over something, probably over the fact that Luong had been Markus’ medic after the mindworm attack and that she had stripped him naked. It was all very professional, of course. Mary had the incongruous and jealous thought of Markus volunteering to strip Luong naked. She quickly looked away and saw Marlo moving a little on a nearby cot.

Looks like Marlo is waking up, Mary thought as she walked over. So many hurt friends, so little time.

[Hydro]

Ft. Superiority

*****

Old and dilapidated Unity rover brigades and garrisons began arriving at Ft. Superiority for upgrade. All were given the latest chaos fusion weaponry. A few of the elite units were given anti-aircraft, surface-to-air, or amphibious ability and training. In the weeks following the assault and capture of Plex Anthill Ft. Superiority was a madhouse, with well over 20 infantry and armor brigades, the number rising every day. That did not even count the aircraft of the 4th Wing under Slat's Command.

One by one the infantry and armor at Ft. Superiority received 'orders' or went on 'patrol'. All they were told is to meet a contact at a specific coordinates outside of Ft. Superiority. Since it was not unusual for commanders to be circumspect in their orders, it was not thought to be unusual and it certainly was not questioned. It happened so gradually that no one thought much of it.

But after a week, Ft. Superiority was almost deserted.

Where had everybody gone?

[Hydro]

Assassin's Redoubt

*****

The slim military air transport crossed the Emerald Isle Straight and flew toward Assassin's Redoubt. Of Spartan manufacture, it was functional but unlikely to win any awards for its technology, innovation, or aesthetics. These small passenger jets were preferred by the Spartan Military since they were of local manufacture, they were reliable, and they cost less than half of the Morgan Industries equivalent to purchase and maintain. The exterior was painted in a dull grey with some black accents. On the tail was emblazoned the Spartan symbol: a black hexagon with a downward-pointing arrow in the center on a field of white.

Making an easy circle, it accepted the guidance of Assassin's Redoubt's flight control and edged town toward the landing pad. It touched down with pinpoint precision, its fission engines barely straining to counteract the kinetic energy of the craft. As it pulled to the terminal and stopped, three figures emerged to greet the passengers. Simultaneously the oval shaped door opened and a mechanical set of stairs unfolded from the plane's fuselage. Two figures emerged from the plane and descended on the runway.

"Ms. Kirsten Alfredsson?" Military Governor Helen Tobias of Assassin's Redoubt asked. "Welcome to Assassin's Redoubt. Sorry about your diversion to Assassin's Redoubt, but Plex Anthill is a little to hot for civi aircraft right now. Allow me to introduce my two aids: Coronal Hessain Massane and my civilian advisor Carmine Swenfurth."

Helen turned to acknowledge her two aids.

"I'm pleased to meet all of you. My assistant is Captain Sarah Dawson, who will be instrumental in instilling a little order at Plex Anthill, once we can make it there. Isn't that right Sarah?" Kirsten asked.

Sarah looked distinctly uncomfortable, and not due to the air temperature. She smiled and, specifically not looking at Kirsten, replied, "Yes, that's right."

"We met on the plane ride, and I have been telling Sarah here what I expect her to do. I don't expect our drone problems to last very long," Kirsten commented confidently.

Helen immediately noticed the tension between the two, and quickly changed the subject. "Well, in the meantime, both of you are our guests. Why don't we get out of this hot sun, shall we?"

Before they could respond she turned and the led the entourage back to the terminal.

"Have either of you had lunch? I don't have any city functions this afternoon so I would be delighted to have the chance to get to know my new Governor and neighbor to the south. You have your work cut out for you at Plex Anthill. We've all seen the vids and are keeping up on what news is coming about the Hive counterattack. Even after the Hive is forced out it should be a challenge with all those brainwashed Hive citizens. We had our unrest and problems here at Assassin's Redoubt a number of years ago, but that is all behin…" Helen started.

Kirsten jumped right in. "Yes, we must have an iron hand, don't we? Citizens respect a strong leader. If they don't, then fear will do. With my little empath here at my side I think that I will be able to persuade nearly anyone of anything. Isn't that right, Sarah?"

"Ah, sure," Sarah replied.

Carmine looked alarmed, and glanced briefly but penetratingly at Sarah, but quickly looked away. She also edged away from Sarah.

As the group filed into the small terminal Helen looked unflappable, Kirsten supremely confident, Hessain inscrutable, Carmine slightly afraid, and Sarah miserable.

[Hydro]

Flight to Zanzibar

*****

"Zanzibar to unidentified aircraft, identify yourself! Immediately!" Vinnie Mo stated over the comm. The situation had been pretty dicey since the Fungrunner and Molina had left with Levavassier on the transport Lycurgus, with only Naawal Jones and a couple of flunkies to help. Even with absolute control of the comm systems and the computer control systems they were barely getting by.

The initial euphoria of the takeover of Deep Community had quickly given way to the unpleasant practicalities of administering, and defending, a somewhat hostile city. Sea bases are, by definition, compartmentalized, so Vinnie and his cadre of impromptu administrators had been able to 'convince' those on the fence or who didn't care to cooperate and then segregated the unruly Hive citizens in secure areas. Their control of the electronic and computer systems was key in this. They had even convinced the minimal garrison to switch sides through a combination of threats, intimidation, and raw bribery. Moreover, they had used the appropriated energy they had 'found' in various Hive businesses and governmental agencies to create and additional garrison. It seems that the Hive 're-education centers' were full of Hive dissidents that were none too eager to return to the tender embraces of their Hive tormentors. This was especially true since those tormentors now occupied the cells and persuasion centers that they had once administered with so much zeal. There were lots of volunteers to be the new guards. Vinnie looked the other way when 'incidents' and 'accidents' occurred to the former Hive guards and administrators. Considering his background, Vinnie could empathize and secretly supported them.

"Zanzibar, this is Nans Andersen in Aardvark 3 from Plex Anthill. As it seems that I have a little free time, how would you like some help? My orders are a little vague, so maybe we can work something out. I am transmitting my authorization and orders now," Lars said.

Vinnie examined the authorization, and it seemed to be authentic. Vinnie really didn't know, not being regular military. He decided to take a chance.

"Permission granted, pilot Andersen. Welcome aboard. Please report to me after all is secure," Vinnie responded.

Well, things are looking up he thought.

*****

"We're glad to have you, Nans," Vinnie said with a big smile, extending his hand.

Nans was almost a half-meter taller than the diminutive Vinnie. He took his hand and shook it warmly, returning the smile.

"I have to say, I'm dying to hear how you 'acquired' this base all by yourself, assuming you'll tell me," Nans suggested.

"Why, that wouldn't do at all! I prefer my associates to be a little in awe of me, preferably thinking I have super-human powers," he joked. "Let's just say that I had a little chat with the central computer and that we have an understanding."

Nans liked him already. "So I can stay?"

"By all means. In fact, I have a job for you…"