The Spartan Chronicles

[Tokek Belerang]

"Well, I'll be..."

Eugene Levavassier looked at his commlink in amazement.

Hello Eugene darling. It's been too long. What would you say to Champagne and lobster on me, at the Nessus Savoy? And by on me, I mean exactly what you think I mean...
Ta ta,
Jewel

"This time you've crossed the wrong bloke, chum." he said, as he dug up the blah screen for the message. Date blah, sender blah, jackpot. CBB - Code Blue Breach. Someone had been into the message, and hadn't been careful enough about it. A simple - okay, maybe not so simple - tripwire loop had been activated when the Code Blue message had been handled by someone other than the recipient, from somewhere else than the recipient's commlink. Just something the Gecko and he had cooked up on a lazy afternoon, and now it had worked.

"Okay, my lad, show us your baby blues, why don't ya..." Levavassier murmured, scrolling down.

"HQ. I knew it. Right up to HQ. The bloody thing was sucked straight through HQ, and they thought they'd get away with it. Numbers now, get me numbers, get me addresses..."

He found them. Or rather, he found the place where they should have been.

"So they noticed, after all... Must have been quick, though - this baby was long gone after they could have... An automatic. They used a counterprotection. But if it was automatic, and it hadn't entirely stopped the message, had just managed to stop its address signature from getting along... Think, damnit..."

He took a breath, and continued to think out loud.

"If it was an automatic counterprotection, and it didn't function one hundred percent, then it must have left traces. So I'm not looking for what there should have been, but for what was put in instead. So..."

His fingers hit the touchpads in rapid succession.

"Cross-reference with all known counterprotective measures. If nothing, search for known viral blockers... Holy Zak. Holy Zak on a bloody rocking horse."

The comm had flashed, and produced a few lines of text.

Near match: Hive probe counterprotection sequence alpha seven prime nine. Evolution patterns match. Likelihood: ninety-seven percent. Last known use of the sequence subgroup: operative Sand

Levavassier's thoughts raced. What could he do? The commlink was his first, overhwelming thought, but it was compromised. Unless he could get onto someone directly, but even that could be monitored. Wait, wait, wait. Outside lines. The outside lines were on a different circuit.

He knew exactly who to call. One thing this man doesn't like, the Gecko had said, and that's being out in the open, with everyone watching. Well, there was one way to make that happen.

"Hi, Peter. Good to see you. Listen, I need a favor. Something came up, and I need to speak to Paula directly. Can you do that for me?"

He couldn't. She was on her way somewhere important. Could he relay a message? Levavassier agreed, cursing inwardly.

"Here's the story, Paula. I think you'll agree it's a bombshell. This could land the Hive in economic sanctions for centuries, and spark a revolution right in their own territory if things get out of hand. What they are doing, is using their probe team operative Sand, who has infiltrated Sparta HQ right to CinC's cabinet, to get US to nerve gas THEIR people in Deep Clustering!"

And he explained the rest. Now what could possibly induce Morgan News not to run that story?

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 04, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Paula Forbes]

The Morgan Commuter shuttle flight from UN HQ to Morgan Industries touched down at UN Settlement Agency and Morgan Bank en route.

As I stretched my legs at the Agency I checked my mail using my commlink remote. I saw that Peter was desperately trying to reach me.

I dialed him up, and luckily caught him as he was heading out for lunch. He relayed Levavassier’s message but was unable to answer any of my questions. I debated whom to call just as the preboard announcements were being made. Only one person could help at this time, and that was my best friend, Jeneba. She was based at Morgan Pharmaceuticals.

I placed the call, and she agreed to meet me off the plane at Bank. The borehole collapse story would have to wait.

Somewhat flummoxed I reboarded and took my seat, and pondered the situation.

Peter received the call directly from Levavassier himself, so it was important enough for one of the Spartan brass to bypass their usual channels;

There was no proof of tampering, only one person’s word, so it might be a plant – perhaps even to poisen Hive – Morgan relations. Was I a pawn in a planetwide political game?;

If true, it was an atrocity far worse than nerve stapling your own citizens;

Nobody messed with Sand;

If true, it would knock the borehole story right off top billing;

Commercially, a story of this magnitude should be spun out to increase viewership, with some teasers and appropriate elisions;

It needed researching efforts more than I was capapble of singlehandedly achieving;

Joe Carter wouldn’t authorize a last minute change in material – if I went with this this evening, I go alone;

Jeneba will be good to talk to.

Jeneba was my best friend, a bright young scientist working for Professor Kai’s group at Pharma. She had told me the last time we met that she was going into training as a mindworm trainer – whatever that was – and that this was a significant promotion ordered by CEO Morgan himself. She was a logical thinker with a brilliant mind who seemed every now and again to go with intuition that always bore fruit. Nobody could beat her at poker at the University of Morgan Industries, and words soon spread around MIU not to engage in these types of games with her.

Some said she was an empath.

I looked forward to discussing my dilemma with her and getting her advice.

The shuttle droned on, crossing the ocean separating the PK territory from Morgan's

[Slats]

I commandeered a recon rover and drove at breakneck speed from the Aerospace Center where the SAC was headquartered downbase to the Citadel, Government House.

I was determined to get back to CS within the hour even if it was in person, with nothing to report. I couldn’t trust the commlinks, even blue coded.

I reached the Citadel, and jumped out, leaving the rover by the entrance. Immediately two garrison troops came over to intercept me, but backed off when they saw the scrambled eggs on my cap,

“Keep an eye on the Rover, boys,” I said. “Don’t let it be filched.”

“Sir, yes Sir” was their enthusiastic response, glad to have something other than ceremonial guard duties to perform.

Santiago’s aide met me in the hallway.

“Marshall Miller, have you an appointment?”

I brushed by.

“Later, Ayola, later. Do the paperwork afterwards. I’ve got to see CS now.”

“But she’s….”

I opened the door and entered Santiago’s quarters. She was composing something on her console. I moved over and hit the delete key.

She whirled on me.

“What the hell… Miller. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Colonel,” I said, “whatever you were about to send you can’t. Our security’s breached right up to Chief of Staff level. I never did receive your request – it was intercepted en route and deleted, as were several others. We only found out because Googlie’s password had to be changed to mine so the loop stuttered and couldn’t reroute. It deleted and sent instead. Someone’s been reading your war communiques”.

“And I bet I know who,” she spat. “Yang, that’s who.”

What did you want anyway?” I asked

“I want a full scale invasion and capture of Great Clustering”, she said. “Yang must not be allowed to build a nuclear missile capability. I want an invasion planned and executed, and either that facility destroyed or captured.

“Burge will lead it. You’ll provide air support. Get the Rolling Thunder involved and the 469th. And the navy too to provide some bombardment capability as well as clearing the area of any Hive ships – but that might take time to deploy them.”

“What about probes?” I asked.

“I don’t know how ready they are”, she replied. “I haven’t heard from Lord Atreus for a few days, I don’t know what he’s up to.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked somewhat plaintively.

“Get Burge. Tell him to plan the assault. Be his XO if necessary. But time is of the essence. I want a beachhead on Hive territory within the week and Great Clustering’s capture within ten days. That’s how long I think we’ve got until he unleashes that moster right at us.”

I shivered.

“I think Burge and the 47th are somewhere south of Fort Soup,” I said.

“Call him in.” she replied. I want this war cabinet filled with the chiefs of staff tomorrow evening at the latest. It’s time we gave Yang a kick he’ll remember.

“I’m counting on you, Miller. It’s your first test as a member of my team. Now get to it.”

‘How?’ I wondered as I snappily said “Yes, Ma’am” and saluted.

[Slats]

How indeed? How could I get word to the various commanders that the CiC wanted a war cabinet meeting ASAP?

The system was compromised.

But did that matter? All I’d be transmitting would be a simple burst that CS wanted to meet with us. Would that tip off the Hive operatives that something big was being planned.

I mulled these over as I drove at a more leisurely pace back to SAC headquarters at the Aerospace Center.

Then I had a brainwave.

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

Burst transmission

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

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

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

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

Do not reply. Just attend, or be represented.

Corazon Santiago

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

That should do the trick, I thought.


[This message has been edited by Slats (edited August 04, 1999).]

[Hydro]

South of Ft. Superiority, 'Lightning Strike' Rover Division

*****

The command rover of the new Lightning Strike Division was heading south at breakneck speed. Time was of the essence.

"Sir, word from the 47th," Gerald said from comm., unusually serious, "They are severely outnumbered and are under heavy attack and have mostly retreated back to a monolith, which they're using as a bunker. They hold the ridgeline with some artillery and infantry near the road. I couldn't make it out, but they mentioned something about scorched earth. What should I tell them?" he asked plaintively.

"Tell them to hang on, and don't engage. We'll be there in 20 minutes." Captain Mel Cassaroni stated. "Just hang on…"

*****

The sound of missiles and artillery echoed through the small valley. To the north a Spartan infantry unit and artillery held a rocky ridgeline, which were the last garrisons on the road between the Hive forces and Ft. Superiority. The Spartan infantry brigades were clustered at a monolith, which was acting simultaneously as a bunker, repair facility, and hospital. Arrayed against them on the south side of the monolith were at least 8 Hive fission missile plasma brigades and a single fission missile rover brigade. The scorched remains of two other Hive brigades littered the open ground around the monolith. Hiding south of the Hive infantry was the crippled rover brigade, evidently licking its wounds after its last attack. Throughout it all the Spartan artillery used its elevation to inflict a punishing toll on the Hive, and prevent them from repairing or reorganizing.

All the Spartan units had taken a beating, and the Hive was arrayed for a final, decisive assault. Infantry ringed the monolith on three sides. Numbers were telling.

"Gavin, you there? We're coming over the ridge. Hold back if you can, we'll take the first hit," Mel shouted into the comm., making sure she was heard over the artillery and road noise.

Mel started issuing final orders. She had 8 rover brigades at her disposal, including one largely unarmed fusion garrison 'Ironclad' that she had appropriated from Ft. Superiority and one mobile fusion chaos artillery brigade 'Minuteman'. The rest were all fusion chaos rovers. All had excellent to crack crews.

"Ironclad, get down to the monolith and act as garrison to take the heat off. The 47th has been taking a pounding. Minuteman, station at the top of the hill on the road and give the strongest Hive brigade a good pasting. The rest of us will follow," Mel ordered.

Ironclad rovers took point and charged over the ridge and disappeared into the valley. The other six rover brigades followed. After they had past, Minuteman stopped, put down their recoil legs, and started firing. The combined artillery fire from the 47th and 2nd Armor made the ground around the Hive look like it was being hit with huge raindrops, except that these raindrops created craters 2 meters in diameter. The noise was deafening.

With the start of additional artillery, the Hive noticed 2nd Armor had arrived and started to reform. While their deployment was perfect for encircling and obliterating infantry, they were in the open and too spread out to support each other against fast moving rovers. The Hive infantry nearest the road started to pull back, which would require attacking rovers to significantly reduce their maneuverability by leaving the road.

"Comm, does the road go to the monolith?" Melanie asked.

Gerald tweaked his skyeye and responded, "No, Sir. The road passes to the west side of the monolith. It looks like the road south of the monolith is destroyed, sir. That must be what they meant by 'scorched earth'." Gerald paused. "Ironclad just formed up with the 47th. Some of them are pulling back. God, but they are beat to hell. Ironclad and one infantry brigades are holding at the monolith."

"Are we within range yet?" Mel asked, although she knew the answer.

"Negative," Gerald replied, absorbed in the spectacle in front of him.

Artillery fire now concentrated on the two nearest Hive infantry units, blasting holes in their line. Fission plasma armor is no match for fusion powered chaos guns.

The two closest Hive infantry, now significantly weakened, started firing on Ironclad. Missile after missile struck the armored rovers. The first volley inflicted significant damage. As the second Hive brigade let loose great plumes of smoke rose from damaged rovers. Several exploded from direct hits. Mud erupted in geysers as missiles missed, and blew rovers over from proximity detonations. Ironclad was taking a beating.

Expended, damaged, and largely immobile, the Hive infantry now was at the receiving end as the rovers entered range. Chaos energies tore apart the ground and the air, the blast of which tore man and machine apart. The two lead brigades, Patton and Rommel, made quick work of the infantry.

"Sir!" Gerald exclaimed, "Looks like they're retreating! They're heading into the fungus!!"

"Can we catch any?" Mel asked.

"We can get the rover brigade, easy. To get the infantry we'll have to come within range of their guns." Gerald looked up at Mel expectantly.

Mel thought for a moment. Chasing the infantry into the fungus would remove their one advantage: mobility. The 47th was shot to hell, and together we are the only defense between whatever is south of here and Ft. Superiority. The choice was easy.

Mel got on the comm. line. "'Genghis', take out that crippled rover group. The rest, fall back to the monolith," Mel ordered.

"Gerald, get Gavin on the line. We need to talk," Mel ordered.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 04, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited August 05, 1999).]

[Hydro]

MicroTrade Incorporated Megaplex, Morgan Industries

*****

Nwabudike Morgan, Junior's inner sanctum was anything but peaceful and serene. At least 15 of his most trusted advisors, functionaries, and operatives coursed through the room. The normally quiet cavernous office was filled with visual updates, news channels, microcam displays, skyeyes and holos, all of which were gathering information. Morgan Junior was desperately trying to find out what was going on.

While his aids scurried about, Junior looked out of his holowindow toward the west. A haze of acrid smoke obscured the evening sky. In some areas a raging fire lighted the smoke from below, creating an eerie blackish orange glow. It looked like a large portion of Delta Sector near the new fungal growth was dark and without power, an ominous sign. The skies were alive with aircraft that could only be emergency vehicles. In short, Junior's beautiful skyline was ruined.

And in the background, the fungus continued to grow.

Two aids silently approached junior, one on each side.

"Well," Junior prompted. He turned around to face his aids. Blood still stained his silk ruffled shirt.

"Our information is preliminary, and it was the best we could get on short notice…" the first hedged.

Morgan's eyes narrowed, his fury building. In an even, measured voice he said, "Tell me what you do know, and cease the equivocation."

"Uh, well," the first aid said, flustered, "we have confirmed that the borehole has been, uh, 'consumed', by a fungal growth, the likes of which we have never seen. There have been outbreaks of fungus before, but never anything this fast or complete. One commentator used the analogy of a scab forming over an open wound, probably one of those green crazies. Of course, it is a total loss, and will cost Morgan Mining a fortune, and Morgan Insurance a bigger fortune. Luckily, this disaster does not affect our holdings." The aid handed Morgan a datapad, which he immediately put aside for later perusal.

"As to the voices we all heard, the eco crazies are babbling about the revenge of the planet and an upcoming holocaust if we do not change our ways," the second aid said, mockingly. "The truth is more obscure - we just don't know. We could assign some of our researchers to it, or sponsor a Morgan University research program, it you like."

"That would be unproductive and wasteful. Continue," Junior replied.

The aids looked at each other. Finally, sensing Morgans growing wrath, the second aid hesitantly said, "There have been reports of widespread death and mindworm attacks throughout Delta Sector. Rumor has it that the city garrison tried to contain the mindworms that came from the fungus, but broke and ran. Sir, there are reports that mindworms were running rampant through the streets of Delta Sector. Civil order has broken down in as indentured workers flee. The City Manager hasn't released the figures yet, but it looks like," the aid swallowed hard, "over 10,000 people were killed by mindworms." The horror in his voice was palpable.

Junior met this announcement with stony silence. Neither aids uttered a word and were perfectly still.

Finally, Morgan Junior spoke, "Were any of our assets damaged or indentured workers killed?"

Both aids were dumbstruck for a moment. Finally, the second aid ventured, "Unknown at this time, sir."

"Find out. You may leave," Morgan said as he turned back toward the west-facing holowindow.

Both aids left, and took their entourage with them. As soon as they had departed all the vids, holos, and reports shut off. Silence descended on Morgan Junior's office.

Night had fallen. The lights of Morgan Industries lit up the skyline, except for the black blot that was Delta Sector. Fires continued to rage, and the pall of smoke still hung heavily on the city.

Slowly, a smile replaced the brooding frown and squinted eyes: a smile of anticipation.

"Yes, I believe there is advantage in this, great advantage" Morgan Junior said joyfully to himself.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Good thinking, Cory... Formal dress, I suppose." Levavassier murmured.

"And stop talking to yourself, Eugene." he added.

"Peter." he said to his commlink.

"Eugene. I'm sorry. We're not altogether sure as yet whether we should run this. We need corroboration, research. Facts. It's just your word."

Deep breaths.

"Try this one." he said, and flashed Corazón Santiago's message over the commlink.

"Yeah, and?" Peter said after a few seconds.

"What's that look like to you?"

"Farewell to the old fart? Off to the great velvetgrass wickets?"

"Yeah, and freebie senior flying lessons, as well. Who would be in the Spartan war cabinet, Peter?"

For a moment, eyes met questioningly. Then Peter sighed.

"I'll let you know. Thanks. I'm beginning to believe you. Nice country you got there, man. Whew."

"Oh, we have, Peter, we have. And we're not going to stand by and watch while some slime balls destroy it. Now go and be a goddamn journo."

"Yeah. I guess." Peter said, and terminated the link.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 05, 1999).]

[Timexwatch]

2200 hours
Somewhere near Great Collective

"Conn, Sonar, the contacts are entering the fungus. Mike 1, 2 and 3 are gone. Mike 4 is about to enter the fungus."

"Acknowledged." Commander Angeles said calmly.

She turned head toward the tall, somewhat lanky man in the sitting in the chair in the corner of the bridge. He was dressed in dark, specops camoflage and it was apparent that he had a sidearm in his sholder holster. His dark auburn hair clashed with the hint of gray around his temples and he seemed to have a slight facial tic on his left cheek, probably from what ever caused the scar on that same cheek. A dark, cynical air seemed to permeate the air about him. She wasn't told who he was exactly, or about his mission, but she figured him be an empath, or maybe part of some intel unit. Intel was more likely. He probably wasn't just the usual spy or intel ***** that swaggered across the gangplank every so often. He had something damn special in mind considering the amount of fireworks he brought on board. 5 blocks of dueterium explosives. 4 blocks of plasma napalm explosives (Nicknamed Bar-B-Q sticks by the old guys from back earth). 10 plasma gernades. 1 gauss pistol. 1 impact rifle. Several other firearms and electronic equipment. And for some reason, a knife with the inscription "Mi Corazon". Whatever was going to get hit, it would be hit hard.

Suddenly, in the midst of her glance, the operative looked up at her and gave a small smile. Ever since coming on board, she had seen him stealing small glances at her. But so did every other man on the boat. She was the only woman on the sub, and Captain, nonetheless. She demanded respect from every man. If a midshipman ever looked cross-eyed at her, she had her XO wring him out. She wouldn't do it herself, of course, it was naval tradition to love the captain and have the XO meat out punishment. And on a submarine there has to be unity. Or else you end up as just another bump on the ocean fool or piece of junk that washed up on the beach. Unfortunately that didn't happen always. Many of the sailors were the dregs, skilled, but rejected from the army, air force and even the regular navy. Morale was sometimes a problem.

A minute passed silently.

"Sonar, has Mike 4 entered the fungus?"

"Yessir"

"Excelent" she commented.

"Conn, take us out of the rest of the fungus. Engage the fungicidal sheath." she ordered.

"Yes, Captain. Sheath engaged. We are beginning to break up the fungus."

"Go to 1/3, go to periscope depth."

"Ayeaye captain."

The boat lurched slightly forward as the command was given to proceed to go to one-third. The lurch when exiting fungus was a habit of this ship. The original Spartan naval architects had a lot of trouble coping with sea fungus. It did everything from foul-up the screws to breaking off dive planes on the first subs. Ships such as the first sub, the Santiago, and the Thresher were lost at sea due to fungal accidents. She thought that it was ironic that the Thresher's namesake had suffered a similar fate several hundred years earlier. But as time wore on, "accidents" decreased somewhat. The hull was still weak compared to other naval ships-of-the-line. It was fragile. One or two good hits would sink her. The screws formerly seen on subs were slowly being replaced by ramjets or pumpjets which were fast, but tempermental and noisy at high speeds. A special system, called Calamari, was designed to spurt fungicide in the path of a sub. Also useful, but noisy. All these innovations and improvements had changed the dimension of undersea warfare.

Another long minute passed before the ship was clear of the barrier.

"Periscope depth, sir."

"Excellent, all stop."

The call of all stop echoed through the conn.

Angeles pulled down the periscope.

[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 05, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

The career of Gaian Exodus in the Hawk of Chiron hologram theatre had been a whopping success so far, and it did not look like it would be ending soon. People came in from other bases to be a part of it, and there was a packed audience night after night. Jeremy led Roxana through the rows of booths, and glowed at hearing her excited cries as it became clear to her that they would be part of Deirdre's entourage in the lead Isle. If you got your tickets through 1st Wing, you could be sure you would be seated 1st Class. Crushed velvet seats, complimentary drinks, and - oh heaven - the envious looks of everyone who knew you. They sat down, and after a few minutes of booming commercials for Exodus merchandise, they found themselves on a little hill in the fungus, part of a semicircle of people that faced the most regal lady they had ever seen. The wind tugged at her locks - never mind that you couldn't breathe anywhere on Planet outside a suit or a base - and made her clothes flap, and stick real close to her body. Roxana put a finger under Jeremy's chin, and nudged it upwards. Lady Deirdre began to speak in a sad voice, but Roxana was already looking around, and saw several of her friends standing at the foot of the hill, in the commoners' ranks. All Spartans were equal, yeah - but not in a Morganite production they weren't.

Standing by the entrance, a gentleman in a well-tailored suit had watched Jeremy and Roxana go into their booth. After checking a minute 'puter on his wrist, he left the complex, and entered a tubelift going up, then changed for another going to the Aerospace Complex.

Jeremy walked into Nr 1 hangar a little after seven. He checked the undercarriage of the Meknes, and whistled cheerfully. He walked toward the back of the hangar, went through a side door, and headed for the ops building. Once there, he faced the retinal ID for the obligatory two seconds and walked past the guard - exchanging jibes briefly - and went up to the CO's office. He found Levavassier working at his desk, his back to the door. So much the better. Soundlessly moving, he got right behind Levavassier and used his 'puter to squirt a pellet of nerve gas into the man's back. Levavassier slumped, and Jeremy reached over him to get at the CO's commlink. Time to erase some traces. He tapped quickly, found what he was looking for, and deleted. All done.

But just then he looked at Levavassier's corpse and noticed something odd. The hair, the ears… Quickly, he took the dead CO by the shoulders, and pulled him back and turned him around. He then stared into the lifeless face of chairman Sheng-Ji Yang.

"Guess what, bozo! You're on TV! Smile!" the commlink blurted.

The chairman disappeared under his hands. On the commlink, two conference screens flashed. Eugene Levavassier, Sparta Command Network Node, and… Peter Dooley, Morgan News.

"Yeah, that's right. Camera's right in front of you. And guess what's on the controller's computer log I have right here? Oh goody, it's all there. Nice job on the retinal ID, by the way. Too bad it also did a DNA scan, and you hadn't factored that in, had you? That's what triggered this little charade."

Levavassier stopped as he saw the Hive probe team operative slump over the desk. Suicide sequence activated. Tragic.

"We've forced this on them, Peter. We're after them, and they have to move too fast."

"Gotta go, Eugene." Peter said.

"Yeah, be my guest." Levavassier said cheerfully.

------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 05, 1999).]

[Rynn]

The plane – a converted penetrator, touched down smoothly and coasted to a taxiing speed and rolled to the terminal. It held 24 passengers in a crush, a dozen more generously with two seats per person. This morning’s load had been light, about seven of us.

Jeneba met me when I stepped through the immigration control scan. If she hadn’t yelled my name, I’d never have recognized her. I supposed she was used to the weird looks people gave her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her face.

The complete left half her head was missing, replaced by an assortment of node implants and grafts. A metal plate ran from the crown of her head through her orbital and terminating at her chin, and was bristling with connectors and exposed wiring. Her left eye had been replaced with a prosthetic visual unit which enabled full spectrum vision when vision activated or full sensory perception when sensor activated.

I stared.

She did a twirl.

“Like the new me?” she asked, a tinge of bitterness mixed in with some obvious pride. “I’m the mindworm broodtrainer mark I”

As she turned, I gawked. From the right, she was completely normal, and beautiful – the Jeneba I remembered from our days at the University. From the left she appeared as a cyborg right off a holovid set.

She took my arm and hustled me to her PTV.

The Personal Transportation Vehicle hummed to life as Jeneba eased it out of the civilion sector of the Bank Aerospace Complex.

“So what’s so hush hush that you had to drag me 100 clicks from Pharma to meet you here?” she asked as soon as we were underway.

I told her, finishing up with my confusion and plea for help:

“So you see I don’t know if Levavassier’s sources are planting a story, or if there really is a story there.

“If it’s true, that Hive agents have planted nerve gas on Spartan troops planning to invade a Hive base, then that will be an excuse, backed by every other faction, to use their new doomsday weapon, the Planetbuster, on the Spartans.

“On the other hand, if it’s not true, but a plant, and we run it, it would create such drone riots in every Hive base that they might have to resort to nervestapling to subdue them. That would render them easy prey for a Spartan probe team.

“So I don’t know what to do. I feel that this has more political implications than usual.”

“Hmmmmm,” she said. “Let me think a minute.”

I waited. She suddenly punched in a code to the PTV’s console, and the little vehicle accelerated then veered left down a side lane.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“”To somewhere you must swear you’ve never seen and don’t know about.” She said. “If you can’t do that, then you’re on your own.”

I gulped. “Okay,” I said.

She turned into an unmarked gateway to a large, nondescript building that looked like a deserted warehouse.

The PTV petered to a stop at a vehicle entrance port, and Jeneba turned her PVU to the scanner. It read the prosthetic visual unit coding satisfactorily, and the port door lifted silently upwards. The PTV entered what seemed to be a large elevator, which indded it was.

Machinery hummed, as the portal closed, and we seemed to descend forever.

As it stopped, and as the portal opened, I gaped in astonishment. The PTV shunted to a stall nearby, and I took in the magnitude of the place. We were at one corner of a room that seemed to be hundreds of feet long and hundreds wide, teeming with white lab coated figures hurrying hither and yon.

“Where are we?” I blurted to Jeneba.

Her reply floored me.

“This is the research site for a special project we are working on. It is codenamed ‘the Hunter Seeker Algorithm’, and it is almost completed. I’ve commandeered a noderoom to use, and we’ll see what we can find.”

An attendant spotted her, and led us to a small office on one wing. He left us there.

Jeneba settled into the chair, while I lounged against a wall. She explained what she was doing, for my benefit, as I watched.

Pulling a visor and headpiece attachment away from a wall, she swiveled it in front of her. She carefully reached up to her left eye, and opening her eyelid wide inserted the probe into the prosthetic. With a quiet whirrrrr the unit engaged. Next she put the adapted visor over her ramaining eye, and took the headpiece attachment and fitted it to the visor. I saw filament probes snake out and attach themselves to sensors embedded on her neural plate.

She explained :

“I’m connecting the Cranial Interface Unit now. This CIU will bypass some of the sensovisory channels and enable me to connect directly into the network node both in Morgan Industries and Planetwide. We don’t have full Planetary datalinks yet, but this is a good approximation.

“I’m tracing the call you made to Peter. Ah, got it. Locked on. Now I’m accessing Levavassier’s to Peter. Hmmm. Unsecured. Hmmm, this is interesting. There’s an earlier vidcom attempt from Levavassier to a new Spartan general – no, Air Marshall – that side looped inexplicably to their Fort Superiority…ah, got it…locked on….Wow, its crosslinked to a source at the Hive’s People Teeming..wait…..got it. Now that’s interesting..there’s a branch back to Sparta Command…..WOW, right into Santiago herself…..uh oh, I’m being traced……exiting……..I’m following the other branch……..OH, that’s interesting, it leads into Thera, Lord Atrius, place – uh oh, I’m blocked. Can’t get any further in...backing out....back at Santiago's.....ah hah..line from here ...right to The Hive itself....going in,.....oops..I'm on a secure line.unscrambling...this one's tough.....oh hell, it's the Ashaandi Circle...can't get any further...****, that hurt ...I'm getting neural blocks...they're on to me......can’t get back….hang on………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jeneba’s body slumped over, her head thudding against the desk, pulling nodes from their sensors. The visor shattered, sending small shards of plastisteel into her face. Small drops of blood appeared.

I stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

I opened the door.

“HELP..HELP” I yelled.

Nobody came.

[Kuruk]

Nadia Dimitriov made her way slowly to the small, open area at the rear of the transport bay. She turned, slowly, and paused before speaking, as if to savor the moment.

"I have just received word from the probe team," she began, "The perimeter defense has been breached. We will begin the assault in thirty minutes." She paused again before continuing, "This will be a glorious day for Sparta, one that will live in history."

She looked out across the sea of faces.

"You have thirty minutes to prepare. I suggest you do so."

"Belay that order!" Came Royce Armstrong's booming voice.

Royce stood at the other end of the transport bay, near the large cargo doors. Behind him was a platoon sized contingent that Orlando Lopez had managed to gather. The cargo doors could be opened one of two ways: Through the control room, or with the emergency override. The latter was now jealously guarded by Royce and his platoon.

Nadia's eyes met Royce's, and there was a tense silence. Nadia spoke first.

"Sergeant, stand down. I order you and your men to disarm and turn yourselves in to security at once."

Royce did not acknowledge his superior. He spoke instead to the absolutely silent marine company, his deep voice echoing through the cargo bay.

"Captain Dimitriov is attempting to commit an atrocity. The gas munitions have been altered, and are now nerve gas. If this assault goes forward, it Hive will respond in kind. This conflict will escalate from a war of defense into a war of extermination."

Nadia spoke to the company as well.

"Destroy these traitors."

The deathly still silence hung in the air for a fraction of a second before the transport bay erupted.

It was impossible to say who fired first. All anyone could remember was that the firefight began with an exchange between Royce's platoon and a small contingent near Captain Dimitriov. It spread quickly. Most of the marines did not choose a side. The simply reacted as they had been trained, and returned fire from wherever it came.

Nadia bolted from the cargo bay, heading toward the control room. Though he knew he was more valuable defending the emergency override switch, Royce pursued her. Something inside of him made him follow, telling him that he was the only one that could ensure that justice would be served. He crawled on his hands and knees between the track sleds, making his way to the rear of the transport bay. He heard a hissing sound above his head, and knew immediately that it was a gas round. Still crawling, Royce grabbed his gas mask.

A white cloud was quickly obscuring the transport bay. The fog eddied and swirled around Royce, occasionally bursting forth in gusts as chaos rounds exploded. Still, Royce crawled on.

He reached the rear of the bay and stood, sprinting down the corridor to the control room. As he rounded the corner to the control room, his mind seemed to process events much faster than his eyes saw them happen. Everything appeared in strobelike slow motion.

He saw Nadia reach the ship's security team guarding the control room.

He saw Nadia drop to her knees.

He saw Nadia place the barrel of her flechette pistol in her mouth.

Without hesitation, Royce raised his pistol and fired. Nadia's gun, and the hand that held it, disappeared in a cloud of blood. The security team moved in quickly, attaching neural restraints to Nadia's neck.

Royce's knees gave out and he fell back against the wall as the reality of what the marines had almost done finally sunk in.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Salvador?"
"Si, Señora?"
"What would they be doing in Sparta right now?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Nah... Just being rhetorical."
The tall woman smiled a mischievous smile. Her wild blonde hair flashed in the sunsshine. She was dipping a slender foot in the water, and she had a glass of cold, richly colored rosé grenache in her hand. She and the man next to her were both dressed in shorts and T-shirts. The expensive Morgan Primes - ubiquitous in this place - stuck nonchalantly on their heads.
"I guess XO is having a ball." the man said.
"Yeah, him and Teresia."
"You mean, together."
She giggled.
"I should think not. How that woman ever begat a child, I'll never know. Ugly as a dog, and with a worse bedside manner."
"Now, now."
"Think they will have the shrimp again tonight?"
He smiled. So good not to have to worry about anything but shrimp, rice wine, another book to read.
"If not... who cares?"
"Hmmmmmmm... yeah."
An outrigger canoe drifted by, the fisherman waving cheerfully.
Staying here cost a bundle. But it was an excellent hideout.
"Doesn't it ever bother you that the war is still on?"
"Bother? No. I sort of knew it might be."
"That's not what I mean."
"It's still my answer. I had a role to play in that war, and I played it. But it was not a role that could bring the end of that war about. I may have put others in positions from which to do that. Or attempt it, anyway. But I woke up one day, surprised at the conclusion that I was in the happy circumstances that I could take myself out of that war. And then I decided I would. I have done my part for Sparta. Lifetimes over."
"What made you join the Spartans?"
"The feeling that Santiago was right."
"In what way?"
"That a man, a woman, should be the master of their fate. Should be free. And see, now I am free."
"Won't you ever go back?"
"In some capacity or other, I may."
"Would it be because of Honshu?"
"Honshu is an intellectual adolescent. Simplicity turned inside out. He doesn't understand the power of compromise, the synergy of mitigation. He is a dangerous, dangerous man, and he attracts foolish people, and revels in that. Corazón, for all her shortcomings, cares more about her people than about herself. It is not that way with Honshu."
"The way you see her reminds me of Deirdre."
He turned his head towards her, and ran a tender finger over her freckled face.
"They are not at all unalike. But I am not an expert on Deirdre. That's Googlie's department. I always preferred blonde."
She harumphed.
"And thanks." she said with mock derision.
"I'd like not being pushed into the water now." he said.
"Oh?"
But she desisted.
"Don't you miss Googlie? And Gavin?"
"Oh yeah. Sure I do. But we've always each made our own choices. This is no different."
"Aren't you bothered they stopped looking for you so soon?"
"Well, they found the 'jet. What little was left of it. With plenty of traces of my DNA in the debris."
"The news said it wasn't conclusive."
He shrugged.
"So. When will you go back?" she asked.
He laughed out loud. This was her way - scattered questions, then the big one.
"I don't know..." he said, and then said what had suddenly come into his head, "I don't know that I even will."

They looked at each other. A waiter in flipflops walked up and brought them a bucket of ice water with a new wine bottle in it.

"That will do." she said, first looking at the bottle, then at him.


------------------
Numquam turbae misceri
[This message has been edited by Tokek Belerang (edited August 06, 1999).]

[Hydro]

The Hive

*****

Chairman Sheng-ju Yang is seated in his stark office. It is a fairly small room, measuring barely four meters square. The walls are a dull white, seeming to blend together with the indirect lighting from an indistinct source. Yang’s desk is little more than a table supported by improbably thin legs, giving the impression that the surface is floating in the air. Embedded in the surface of the desk is a control console, which at a wave of the hand becomes an opaque white to blend with the desk surface. Yang’s desk faces the entrance. To the left and right of the entrance are small panels that activate hard benches that slide silently from the wall. These utilitarian ‘chairs’ are for his infrequent visitors.

In this room there is no color, no texture, no feature to draw the eye from Yang, who seems to be the center of the universe. In this room, Yang is the center of the universe.

The walls have no decoration besides the following unattributed quotations, which are directly above Yang in 2 centimeter grey lettering. Strangely, they do not detract from Yang as the center. Yang carefully chose these to ensure that any visitor or functionary understood his necessity.

* There is nothing in the universe that I fear but that I shall not know all my duty, or shall fail to do it

* Work helps to preserve us from three great evils – weariness, vice, and want

His one-piece utility jumper adheres to his fit form perfectly, without a single crease. Yang is sitting ramrod straight, and has miniature VR goggles and gloves on. Occasionally his fingers tap at the air, moving precisely and quickly.

The view through Yang’s VR shows a three-dimensional landscape depicting symbols representing governmental and societal functions, and the links between them. Yang taps symbol he sees as the Hive government. The symbol unfolds to show symbols representing city status, production, research, economy, and intelligence. Yang taps the intelligence icon.

A linked menu unfolds in Yang’s mind, presenting him with data options.

Intelligence Report for 9.21.2225. Select Faction:

 Spartan Federation
 Morgan Industries
 Peacekeepers
 Gaia’s Stepchildren
 The Hive

Yang taps Spartan Federation, and then selects the executive summary.

Status: Three operatives Dragon, Wind, and Yin active. Operative Circle compromised and self terminated. Microthermal scrambler activated by Circle, 99.4% percent probable non-recoverable thermal destruction of all higher brain functions. Sand is currently directing the efforts by Wind and Yin. Deep operative Dragon advised of current initiatives, but per order of Yang 3.5.2184 has remained independent. Operative Yin reports that several co-opted Spartan loyalists have been discovered or captured. Details not available. Cells operating Spartan loyalists have a 67% chance of remaining undiscovered and a 98% chance of self-termination if link identified.

Satisfied, Yang closes his eyes and removed the VR goggles, and then removes his gloves. His internal chronometer, he has not required a mechanical timepiece in 140 years, tells him he has 7 minutes until his meeting with the applied scientists and engineers who are responsible for constructing his brainchild: the planetbuster.

As Yang left his office he mused: Given the correct circumstances and environment, any amount of force is appropriate and will be welcomed. The key is to create the environment and nurture the circumstances.

The door silently closes behind Yang as he strides to his meeting.

[Paula Forbes]

“Just who the hell are you?” the bearded white coated figure shouted as he approached. He had an ID clipped to his lapel with the word Director prominently displayed. Jackpot.

“Paula Forbes, anchor, MorganNews” I replied, “Here to interview you on the Hunter-Seekor Algorithm project” I said, pointing my stylus at him as if it were a micromike.

He stopped cold in his tracks and visibly blanched, all bluster gone.

“B.b.b..ut how did you find out” he stammered.

“Never mind”, I said, taking his arm. “I’m not really interviewing. I just needed to get someone’s attention. I have a sick friend in here who needs attention.”

I led him into the room.

“Jeneba, sweetheart” he exclaimed, rushing to her side. He turned to me “This is my daughter.”

‘Funny’, I thought. ‘In all the years I’d known her she’d never talked about her father. “Something in the government” she’d always said.’

He seemed to know what to do.

I watched as he carefully disengaged the PVU attachment and released the clamps, and disconnected the remaining probes from their sensor nodes. I handed him some tissues to wipe the blood smears from her face.

He cradled her head in his arms. “What was she doing?” he asked.

I pondered how much to tell him, then decided, everything. I spilled the story. I had recorded Jeneba’s running commentary of her wild ride down the network nodes.

“This is deep”, he said. “Morgan needs to know. Santiago’ll believe him. If her staff has been infiltrated she won’t know who to trust.

“Atreus as well, eh? Means that a Spartan empath would automatically be under suspicion. Would the CEO authorize a loan of our best?”

“Who’s that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Why Jeneba, of course. Who else”.

“Paula”, he said, turning to face me. “How well do you know Googlie Allardyce?”

The question caught me of guard. I blushed crimson, and stammered:

“A..bb.bb.bb..a..quite well, really.”

He snorted. “That well, eh? Good.

“Gatecrash his Roast and take Jeneba with you. Make up some plausible reason for that – her Gaian training perhaps – that’ll pique Googlie’s interest. But get her in there where she can do an empath sweep of the junta and their staffs. She’ll identify any rogues. Work out a code of some sort between you so that you can “paint’ them. Can your Levavassier be trusted?”

“I’m pretty sure”, I said. “If he is a plant, then I think it’s a dupe plant. Peter, my sidekick swears by him.”

Jeneba was coming round.

“Dad,” she said. “Paula. What happened.”

I replayed the recording for her. That apparently brought clarity back for her.

“The Circle of Ashaandi detected me. They neural bombed me’, she said. “Dad, are my links ok?”

His hands examined her implant nodes, the neural plate, the receptors.

“All in working order as far as I can tell,” he said. “How’s the PVU?”

“A bit tender,” she replied. “Must have twisted a little when I thunked my head on the desk. That’s the trouble with prosthetic visual units – they are delicate instruments.

“What now”, she asked, looking up at me.

“We’re going to a party” I said, “at Sparta Command.”

[Googlie]

Santiago’s cover was blown.

I looked at the saved file on my commlink:

“Googlie, Corrie here. We need to meet before you go to Velvetgrass Point to give you an in depth briefing on my expectations of The Lady Deirdre Skye. 6.00 tomorrow evening. My office is being debugged, so let’s use the War Room. If it’s not secure then nothing is.”

I had taken that at face value – a briefing.

Then had come Paula’s. I looked at it:

“Googlie, darling, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I need a huge favor. Your retirement bash tomorrow, I need an invite – with a friend – you’ll like her – she’s Gaian trained and can give you all sort of gossip on what you’ll face in your new job. Oh, say you will invite me, please? I’ll find a way of repaying you somehow, I promise.”

‘Hmmm. Indeed, you will’, I thought as I commlinked an invite to her to be my date tomorrow.

So it wasn’t going to be an in depth briefing on SC’s expectations of me in my new role. It was going to be a surprise retirement party.

I hated these kind of parties. Probably be a roast. Gavin would dig up some dirt on me – Gecko too. They’d make me squirm. Wonder if Atreus would be there. Well, at least I’d get to talk to Paula’s friend. Wonder what she meant “Gaian trained” – trained in what?’

Idly, I let my thoughts roam.



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