The Spartan Chronicles

[Tokek Belerang]

The comm beeped. Levavassier eagerly hit the touchpad, expecting Googlie to come on. But it was the Gecko.

"Oh. Hello." he said.

"What a warm reception." the Gecko frowned.

"I apologise." Levavassier said, and explained.

"I see." the Gecko said. "Well, I commend you for your reaction, even if it turned out to be premature. You've become quite the democrat."

St James paused, then posed a question.

"What do you know of a man named Ishmael Skye, Eugene?"

"Can't say that I do, at all. What's the connection?"

"I'll answer that in a moment. Does the term 'Inquisition' mean anything to you, other than in its historical sense?"

"Not really, but... Would you mean something or someone called The Great Inquisitor?"

The face of the Gecko became more intent.

"Please elaborate." he said, with Levavassier already mimicking him inwardly.

"Nothing much. Wheels within wheels, but it appears the UoP are under fire from some kind of cult of that name, to release Corazón Santiago into their custody."

"Thank you, Eugene, that is most helpful. The Inquisition is one of Dread's brainchilds. This Grand Inquisitor sounds just like the megalomaniac that Dread would enlist. He himself is, I presume, deep in Hive territory, active or not. But this illegitimate cult of the Great Inquisitor may very well be the twisted end-product of Dread's design to set up an internal service."

"Back to your man with the Moby Dick name?" Levavassier interjected.

"Ishmael. Ishmael Skye. Talk about twisted, Eugene. I only know of him as a distant relative of Deirdre's, who somehow ended up in Spartan lands. Someone of immense psi talents, it seems. I have received some communications on him from Lindly and Stephen, hence my questions."

"I will get onto Googlie and inform him of the connection to Ishmael. Does Atreus know? Hold on."

"What is it?"

"He's on our files. He's got something to do with the psi corps. I can't get any further, it's blocked."

"On our files, indeed! Good thinking, XO. Eugene, I mean."

"I'll get this on to Googlie. He can decide on a move towards Atreus."

"Very good. I'll leave you to it. I must leave for Morgana again soon, but I'll be in touch."

Levavassier signed off, and straight away began composing a code blue for Googlie.

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

[Timexwatch]

0700 Hours
Great Collective Drone Quarters, Tao Sector


It was eerily quiet. But that was to be expected. It was the dormancy period according to the pubic vid screens that seemed to line the halls every 20 or so feet. Apparently being outside quarters called for 5 "cycles" (day he assumed) nutrients. The countdown remained fixed at the bottom right hand corner of the screen, while messages like "Unity is preace" and "Only collectively can we gain Utopia" ran as sickeningly ironic marquees across the bottom of the screen. This sector had approxamately 1.29 hours left in it's 5.5 hour dormancy period. Plenty of time to get out, if only he could avoid the police patrols. Avoiding them was of paramount importence because of several reasons. First, there was little in the way of cover to avoid fire. All the halls were dark, slightly humid and straight. The grid system ran for kilometers around the city's command center, like a twisted spider's web. Many of the habitation areas and industrial plants were subterranean, while many of the administrative buildings and various other edifices were above ground. The largest building was the city governer's complex. It is an huge, monolithic structure, a giant tube that starts several hundred meters underground and extends dozens of floors above the surface. Adam had only seen holovids of them. The nexus was the aforementioned shaft. It was like a dungeon. It was frightening to be in one. The top was a stained glass skylight emblazoned with the emblem of the Hive in it's colors, dark blue and purple. The colors blocked almost all natural light from entering. Each floor was a ring around the middle, lit by only small florescent lights that barely lit the area they were placed in. Footsteps echoed off the dingy grey pillars of Chirion marble, and were heard hundreds of meters down. The walls were polished black granite, causing shadows to become faint dopplegangers whenever someone treaded. Uncharacteristic of the rest of the colony were the tapestries hanging from the four points of each floor. They were exquisite in their complexity and enimatic in their foreigness. Each one was created with the finest stitching and durable material. Each floor had one. They were complex patterns of color, shape and design, all were flowing toward the center, never containing any flat or sharp edges. It is said that Chairman Yang, despite his calousness and hipocracy, often saw them as poetry that embodied the ideals of his utopia; Free flowing, tranquil, unified.

Several minutes passed as he slowly treaded down the halls, his modified shredder rifle to his shoulder. He personally modified it himself, rechambering it from an impact rifle to a shredder rifle, reducing the barrel, shrinking the stock and increasing it's ammunition capacity. The Spartans lacked good close-quarters urban combat weapons. Adam even had the old United States Marine Corps saying paraphrased and etched on it: "This is my weapon. There are many like it, but this is mine.". Ironic, considering his was one of a kind.

Suddenly he pulled himself out of his daydream. He heard boots coming. Several boots. Hive policemen. At least five were coming around the bend. He forced himself to the wall and steadied his rifle......

[This message has been edited by Timexwatch (edited August 12, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

Arihclinn sat down behind his comm, and began sketching the outlines of his report. Being more or less 1st Wing's official scribe, the task of composing the field reports of 1st Wing exploits often fell to him.

As usual, he began by summing up active duty operations. It helped that the Cyborg wasn't with them anymore - a lot less out-of-procedure shenanigans to cover up. Driss considered himself quite the cowboy, but he was nowhere near a match for the big man.

1st Wing had done its share with a vengeance - everyone had been very keen to make up for the below-par achievements in the Fort Soup fracas. Those had, quite frankly, cost lives. But this time, it had been tight, efficient, professional. Levavassier had turned the unit around, and without sacrificing its libertarian spirit. He'd just made sure everybody would be able to do what they were so good at.

And the Gecko? Not a fixer, no. A teacher. Life was a long, gentle lesson for the Gecko. A humanist. But not a leader.

Ah, well - back to work.

Arihclinn finished up the report of the evac flights, and turned to the wrap-up in the captured enemy base. Full marks for the field hospital team. All cazzies (Arihclinn had no qualms about using the term in an official report) had been treated to satisfaction, and could vouch for it from their recovery stations back in Sparta.

So, everything registered and accounted for. But Arihclinn had decided to enter a little note of himself, and he tapped in a few returns before beginning.


Addendum

Policy makers in Sparta should take note of the different circumstances in Hive bases, as compared to University bases. The social incorporation of Hive bases, if Plex Anthill is anything to go by (at this early a stage), should be rather easier than we experienced in the aftermath of the UoP campaign. On the other hand, the effects on Sparta could be much more profound.

Although Hive society as a whole is autocrat pur sang, Plex Anthill, in this amateur politicologist's view, is different. It is an oligarchic society that has suddenly and forcefully seen its small, dictatorially empowered ruling class removed. At the meso-level, Hive society is oligarchic: governor, chief of police, chief overseer, chief of civilian watch, chief of supply office - there you have the quondam rulers of Plex Anthill. Although subject to chairmanesque terror themselves, to the citizens of Plex Anthill they were all-powerful.

These citizens will take kindly to a gentle master's hand - but be aware that it does need to be masterful, indeed!

Which brings me to my other point. The social emancipation of these citizens - should we remain in the fortunate circumstances that we can attempt such a process - will be more demanding of Spartan society than in the UoP case, when it was virtually a non-problem. Now, we have a mentality gap - a brainwash needs undoing. A caveat to those who will be establishing a new rule here.

An attractive opportunity, therefore, with a notable complication. I would sum that up as a challenge, and a worthwhile one.

Yours faithfully,

Arihclinn O'Cathaoir (Captain)
1st Wing
Triage Section; senior surgeon

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

[Paula Forbes]

Tape 2225/19/33/spa.san © MorganNews

Run::

“We now bring you this special message.

__________________________________________________ _

Citizens of the Spartan Federation

Firstly, I am alive.

I am alive and held in custody at a location known only to a handful. Even I do not know where. I am in good health, and await my release.

A resistance faction that has lain dormant since the inclusion of the five University of Planet Bases into our society has abducted me in an attempt to barter my freedom for the return of University control over one of our Bases – Fort Superiority.

The Junta must needs do what it must to govern the Federation, and if this entails my continued incarceration, or effecting a barter to arrange my release, so be it.

I ask you to support the Junta in the present testing times; to give your unwavering loyalty to Federation Governor Allardyce and Supreme Commander Burge. They need your support as they steer our Federation through these troubled waters.

I will be back with you, at the helm of our Federation, soon.

Remember, only the strong survive.

I am Colonel Corazon Santiago, bidding you goodnight.

__________________________________________________ ___

Now we return to our regularly scheduled programming.”

Tape ends::

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

I looked over at Peter.

“At least we know she’s still alive.”

“When did we get this tape, and from whom?” he asked.

“Dropped off this afternoon”, I replied. “Dropped off by a young girl, called herself Anastasia. Said Googlie would vouch for its authenticity.”

“And he did?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I called him and he confirmed it. Seems Anastasia is some kind of runner for the UoP resistance.”

We closed down the studio at Sparta Command and prepared to leave for Morgan Industries.

[Googlie]

The chronometer repair stallowner looked up at the shadow blocking out the early evening sun.

Anastasia looked down at him.

“She must be moved. Our security is compromised.”

The shadow departed.

He picked up his commercial commlink, and dialed in a number.

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

“Morgan SolarCorp, How may I direct your call?”

“Alexei Zyuzin please”

“One moment please”

The wristcomm pulsed.

“Alexei here.”

“Alexei, Boris here. The solarfleck battery units are malfunctioning again, we need to change the specifications.”

“Ok, I’ll get on to it.”

Alexei dialled up a number.

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

“Please record your message now.”

Alexei said:

“This evening’s performance of Swan Lake has had to be canceled due to the indisposition of the leading ballerina. It will be rescheduled for a later date.”

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

Tanya saw the ‘call waiting’ message. She dialled in.

“Hmm,” she said, then her fingers flew as she erased the drop box electronic personality and deactivated it, substituting the blind that would lead any tracer or hacker directly to Yang’s office. Then she erased her own electronic signature. Finally she activated the ‘destruct’ sequence.

Halfway across the base of Parade Ground a small solar panel overheated and malfunctioned. The current sizzled and weaved through the base’s switchboard facilities until it reached the node pattern of Morgan Communications Corp. There it flared.

Suddenly the circuitry for one of the electronic PO boxes - a call center record and hold facility – fused into a molten mass of wires and network nodes.

‘University technology is so wonderful’ Tanya thought, as she sat back to review her handiwork.

Then she turned to another commlink unit, and punched in a sequence.

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

Natasha was sitting in the shade of her rover peeling a mango when she heard the ping.

She jumped to her feet, and pulled the datapad and antenna from the case stowed in the rover. She set up the solar panel, and consulted her wristpad. She’d preprogrammed the coordinates. She aligned the dish antenna to the area of the Chiron sky where the Spartan satellite would be passing, and keyed the command.

The transmission burst was instantaneous.

She shut down and stowed the antenna, and held her wristpad to the infrared port on the datapad. Folding the solar panel she then stowed the unit back into the case and stowed it in its recepticle in the rover.

The lettering on the case read “Hazardous – Fission Waste. Do not expose to sight or touch.”

Then she read the burst message on her commlink. She knew she had about five minutes before it disappeared.

She called over to Boris and Gregory:

“Action time – Plan B. The lady needs to be moved.”

They grumpily rose from their snoozing positions, and they boarded the rover.

A few minutes later they felt the familiar pulsing and were aware of the faint hum emanating from the monolith. They approached warily – they had seen the odd mindworm, but it had scurried away at their coming, but it was prudent to always be on the alert.

The entrance noiselessly swung open at their coming. That always amazed them. Even the best scientists in the old UoP were never able to replicate the monolith’s technology.

They entered.

“Colonel, its Natasha.” Natasha shouted into the cavernous room.

“Tasha…asha…sha..” the echo came back.

Then silence.

They looked around.

Although large, there was no place to hide.

The walls were smooth to the touch, and seamless. A single chamber, imside the monolith, impossibly large given the monolith’s external footprint.

There were no corners, no areas of shadow.

In fact the soft glow generated in the chamber by the monolith itself clearly illuminated the chamber right up to its curved ceiling.

Colonel Corazon Santiago had disappeared.

[Googlie]

She passed me her disc.

I opened the console and swiped it through my personal port, the transfer being instantaneous.

"Ten credits it is."

Ten credits was enough to let someone live like a Lord - or Lady on Chiron. It would buy luxury for 100 years, or would buy enough longevity treatments to live comfortably for 300 years.

"And worth every sou", I added.

"Even I could not tell the difference."

The chameleon actress pocketed her disc and smiled.

"I am a unique Talent, Governor Allardyce" she said proudly. "Only Corazon herself could know it wasn't she".

"Hide yourself well, Alexis", I said. "Your life is now in danger. Trust no one."

She nodded and left.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 12, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Liberated Plex Anthill

*****

“Reporting as ordered, Sir,” Mary and Markus said more or less in unison. They stood in front of Captain Rao. He was busy coordinating Delta Sector of Plex Anthill, and was spread pretty thin. His formal summons was unusual, and a little worrisome.

The normally unflappable Rao looked a little frayed. “I should put you both on report! You left your posts at the Delta Sector feeding den! You were the only authority there, and these Hive ‘citizens’ fall apart when there isn’t someone in authority ordering them around at all times. I can’t have you traipsing around, even if the cause was good,” Rao fumed, softening a little.

“Still, I got your report. Good job. One of hundreds,” Rao stated irritably. “Things are starting to fall apart. We just don’t understand how Hive society works. There are too few of us, and we can’t be there to tell every single Hive worker what to do. If we don’t, they just stand there. Yesterday, the morning shift arrived at the Feeding Den and there was no food! It turns out no one had explicitly told the Nutrient Workers to start cooking, so they just stood there. The hundreds of drones almost rioted, and went hungry. I’m at wits end, and have asked HQ to get some psych specialists down here. And that is more for me than the Hive citizens.”

“Oh, and you might as well get comfortable. What’s left of Rolling Thunder has been assigned garrison duty by Field Marshal Wang. It seems the 469th is being prepared for other purposes. Spread the word. Also, if you have any suggestions, I am all ears. Actually, I’m a little desperate.”

Recovering from the dressing down, “No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Mark replied.

“Dismissed,” Rao said, plowing into his work.

“Sir? I have a request,” Mark asked.

“Yes, what is it,” Rao said, not taking his eyes off his datapad.

“We’d like to move Mara Hollin to Assassin’s Redoubt,” he ventured.

“Who is Mara? What brigade is she in?”

“She is a girl here at Plex Anthill. She was in our report.”

Rao sighed. “I really don’t have time for this. Contact Military Governor Tobias through Assassin’s Redoubt’s Governmental comm channel, and tell her I told you to call. But I’m not sure she will have any interest in Hive refuges.”

“No, sir. I propose that she live with my parents. They always wanted a girl, and they are so lonely now that I am gone. I’m sure they’d agree,” Markus enthusiastically explained.

“Do what you can. Are you done?”

“Yes, sir. And thank you, Rao,” Markus said with a smile. Mary squeezed his hand as they left.

[Hydro]

Electronic Message, Sparta Command

*****

* Urgent Communiqué to Spartan Federation Governor Scott Allardyce
* Date – M.Y. 2225 7.14:0840
* Ref ID – 22134-AR-XXX
* Authorization – Military Governor Helen Tobias, Assassin’s Redoubt
* R.E. – Required Oath of Loyalty to the Spartan Junta for Spartan Governors

I have received your directive dated 7.14.2225 requiring an oath of loyalty to the Spartan Military Junta and the suspension of civil liberties.

Pursuant to the oath of loyalty: I, Helen Tobias, appointed Military Governor of Assassin’s Redoubt, do hereby swear an oath of fealty and support to the Spartan Junta and acknowledge the necessity for the suspension of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms of MY 2199. I will do everything within my power to further the noble cause of the Spartan Federation, and will act in accordance with the directives of the Junta.

Signed,
Helen Tobias, Military Governor, Assassin’s Redoubt

[Googlie]

Betty Stevens and her Administrator, Otto Perez sat in Betty’s dining room. It doubled for the Boardroom of the Fort Legion Government House which in reality was Betty’s farmhouse.

They were looking at the large vidcom screen at the end.

“What do you think, Otto?” Betty said.

“I dunno” was his considered reply.

“Me, I’ve got nothing but admiration for Allardyce and Burge. We’ve certainly noted a difference here – people are walking taller – strutting almost – with a pride in their step that just wasn’t there before.”

“And the polls are way up,” Betty said, activating a key command on the console. “We’re benefiting too.”

The graphs came up:

‘In your opinion what kind of job is your Government doing:

- Federally
- In Fort Legion

Federally:***xcellent***19%***Better than expected***27%***About as expected***42%***I’m disappointed***8%***Turf them out***2%

Fort Legion: :***excellent***24%***Better than expected***37%***About as expected***36%***I’m disappointed***3%***Turf them out***0%

They pondered the figures.

“But you’d expect two things”, said Betty:

“One, we’ve moved to a police state – and some of Honshu’s men are already patrolling the streets – so how free will people feel to voice their real opinions;

“and, two, there has historically always been a halo around strong, decisive government.”

“Good points”, said Otto. “But I am prepared to take the oath. Santiago’s disappearance really was a non event here. I think we’re better off with the changes, and so do our citizens.”

“I agree”, said Betty. “I’m going to swear.”

They sent their assent to Federation Governor Allardyce.

[Paula Forbes]

Paula normally liked to fly the other carriers, as she felt that with her reporter’s sixth sense she could sniff out likely stories from the other passengers.

But this time she needed to relax and unwind, so she had booked herself and Peter to fly First Class on Morgan Airlines. Air Sparta was okay as far as getting from point A to point B efficiently, but nothing could beat the luxury afforded by Morgan Airlines.

She and peter sat across the aisle from each other, in the sleeperettes, fully reclining seats that could mould themselves electronically around the passenger’s body, changing subtly every fifteen minutes or so to relieve any pressure points that might be developing.

At the rear of the First Class cabin was the usual washroom with all facilities that a traveler could ever need, and opposite that the shower. Paula had just emerged – an ion shower, that moved over her with the efficiency of a former-sweeper, rearranging the molecular structure of her aura to remove those particles and even molecules not identified with her unique signature. It had been coded in on check in, and now she was sterilely clean.

She relaxed in her seat. It was a six hour flight, about half of it over Spartan territory and just less than that over the Emerald Isle. They flew at 20,000 meters, at just barely subsonic speed.

The pre dinner drinks were arriving. The cabin crew were uniformed in green silk kimonos, the men in collarless cream silk shirts and impeccably pressed navy slacks. Their patent leather-analogue shoes were polished to a mirror shine.

Paula ordered a strawberry daquiri, and Peter a more traditional fungal gin. Dinner promised to be heavenly, with smoked Chiron mackerel and a synthsteak beef wellington. The wine was already decanted and sitting on the serving trolley.

They passed over Pointa Nor and then crossed the coastline as they exited Spartan territory.

The flight was uneventful. Flying east-west was always preferable, into the prevailing winds, although the fission-powered Penliner flew well above the transcontinental wind drift. The first once or twice the view below of the great fungal wall and the phenomenon labeled “the Borehole Cluster” had been interesting, but now this was snooze time.

They commenced their descent as they crossed the Morgan coastline at Morgan Aerospace. The giant tidal harness energy collectors were impressive from that height, and Paula was always awed as the flight flew lower over Energy Monopoly. The endless arrays of echelon mirrors and solar energy collectors stretched as far as the eye could see, even from the 10,000 meter level down to the 5,000 meter level as they descended.

MI itself was impressive after the sparse functionality of the Spartan Bases.

Towering skyscrapers, with streets and rivers pulsing with energy and activity. The Morganites weren’t wasteful with energy, but weren’t afraid to spend it, Paula thought as the plane began its final approach into the commercial airport.

The wheels touched down, and the big Penliner taxied over to the terminal.

Paula noted with satisfaction that the MorganNews limo was waiting for her and Peter to whisk her home

[Kuruk]

Warren O’Brien angrily strode through the door of the Spartan Internal Security Force chief’s office. The raised-fist emblazoned door barely had time to open before the general was in the room, his eye’s angrily searching for a target.

He fixed his gaze on the SISF chief, Hector Marcos.

“I want your men off the streets, now!” the general demanded.

“Calm down general,” Marcos replied coolly, “We both know that I am acting on orders from Sparta Command. ‘To All citizens…’” the captain began to recite.

“I’ve read the damn announcement, unfortunately,” said Warren, cutting off the police chief, “There is a difference between maintaining order and fascism.”

“General, I have been instructed to impose police control.”

“Control!” Warren exclaimed, fighting to keep his voice below a shout. He slammed his datapad on the captain’s desk and flipped on the news feed. The local Morgan affiliate had been running the drone story all morning. “You call this control! Executing citizens in the street?”

“I know what the news reports are saying, sir, but those drones violated curfew.” Said Marcos.

“They didn’t know there was one! The curfew announcement went out at 0700. The drones were killed at 0712. They didn’t have a chance to get back to the drone quarter. Your men were out for blood, chief!” All efforts at self-control had been abandoned. The general was inches from the security chief’s face, screaming in his best drill sergeant’s voice.

“There may be some unfortunate incidents, sir, it is best to stop the riots before they happen,” replied Marcos.

“Your Security Forces are the only ones rioting, chief. You have one hour to return to a normal state of affairs, or I’ll have the Marines ‘impose control.’ Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the security chief.

General O’Brien softened his tone, just slightly. “Have some faith in the Spartan people, chief. They know how to behave themselves.”

Without waiting for a reply, the general turned and stormed out of the office.

* * *

Back in his office, Warren was drafting his message to Sparta Command.

To: Federation Governor Scott Allardyce, Field Marshall Gavin Burge
From: General Warren O’Brien, Commander, 2nd Amphibious Corp Division and Base Governor, Admiralty Base

Esteemed Joint Commanders:

I hereby pledge renew my oath of fealty to Sparta.

I feel you should know that it is only with the greatest reluctance that I accept the extreme measures you have taken in the name of security. I urge you to reconsider these measures, and lift them as soon as possible. I fear that your actions may pave the way for a threat much greater than that from our external enemies.

However, I understand that unity is needed more now than ever. You will have my full, if reluctant, cooperation for as long as you deem necessary.

Know also that the 2nd Amphibious Corp Division stands ready for the attack on Great Clustering.

In utmost respect,

General Warren O’Brien


* * *

Down the hall, Chief Hector Marcos was busy drafting a message of his own.

[Googlie]

Basil Hargreaves and I were taking stock.

“Final count?” I asked.

“Disappointing,” he replied. “Or an opportunity. Depends on your point of view, really.”

“Numbers.” I snapped. I liked Hargreaves. He was a great XO, efficient, trustworthy, loyal. But every now and again he waxed philosophical, and liked to debate the great issues of the day. This was not the time for that.

he sensed my impatience.

“Oh, right” he said.

“13 of the original 17 Spartan Bases declared, 2 resigned and we’re still waiting to hear from 2. All but one of the 5 old Yoop bases resigned.”

That got my attention.

“Who didn’t?” I asked.

“Fort Survivalist.”

Aha, I thought. The first one taken and the closes to the Spartan bases. We had used a forced assimilation technique there – moved out over 2 thousand of their people to jobs around the Federation and moved a like number of our own people in. Probably just ensuring that the yoopers had a resistance cell in every Spartan base I thought cynically.

“The Governor resigned, but the Base Administrator didn’t"

“That’s Kirsten Alfredsson, isn’t it?" I interjected. "One of our best.”

He nodded.

“What about the sea bases?”

His face tautened.

“Only Hydrorock. We haven’t heard from Fleet Anchorage, but the other three have refused.

“Oh, but another Administrator swore, but the Governor resigned.”

I replied: “Probably a power hungry pup. Nevertheless let’s reward him. Make him Governor.”

Hargreaves’ distaste showed.

“Her. Hommel’s Citadel. Petra de Groot.”

“I remember her. First class administrator. Trained for the Airforce but some kind of unusual ear problem grounded her. Very talented. She’ll do well as Governor.”

“How about the military?” I asked. “Any of them replied – not that they need to, Gavin’s quite open about that. Call of Duty, and all that stuff.”

“One or two”, Basil replied, "but more those that wanted to personally."

I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I haven’t seen yours yet, Baz.”

He blushed crimson, and stammered:

“Bu…bu…Sir, that’s…unfair.”

“Just teasing, Baz,” I said. But I knew his signed oath would be in my hands within the hour.

"Who specifically?" I queried.

He listed them:

"General O'Brien, Admiral Giacomazzi, Slats of course...that's about it."

"And Honshu's given his personal pledge to Gavin," I added. "I don't want him in Sparta Command."

What about the Yoop bases”, he asked.

“I’ve a mind to put them under direct Federation control” I said. “Maybe have General Honshu garrison them and take over their administration. All but Fort Survivalist. We need to reward loyalty.”

“There’s one other thing” Basil said.

“Yes?”

“Plex Anthill. Things are a mess there. You’ve read the report?”

I nodded.

“It’s more civic administration than government”, he continued.

I pondered.

“Baz, what would you think of putting under direct military control, but putting in our best administrator to run the place. Say someone like Kirsten Alfredsson. She’s run the administration of a captured base already – she’ll know the ropes. We’ll have her report to the ranking local military commander, but give her executive powers in all civilian matters – dotted line to me.”

“I like”, he replied. “But what of Fort Survivalist?”

“Add it to Honshu’s list”, I replied.

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited August 12, 1999).]

[Tokek Belerang]

Levavassier looked at the man standing in front of his desk.

"Good afternoon, mr Delcampo. My secretary tells me you have a complaint to make."

"I do, sir, yes." Len replied stiffly.

"Were you in the army by any chance, mr Delcampo?"

"Yes, sir, I was in the 47th."

"Ah. I was wondering. Under Field Marshal Burge."

"Never got to meet him, sir."

Levavassier, caught unawares, chuckled. He looked at Delcampo, and his eyes betrayed the joke. Well, not a dummy, then.

"You may yet, Mr Delcampo, who knows. Tell me of your complaint."

"Yesterday, I was in the holo theatre, sir, with my wife and daughter, and my daughter's fiancé, Tom. Gaian Exodus, you know, sir."

Levavassier nodded. He didn't know, as he hadn't had the time to go and see the show.

"As we came out, we decided we'd have a drink in one of the pubs before we'd leave base. We're on a terraformer crew, you see, Tom and me, and we don't have many opportunities for a night out on the town. In the pub, some guys started giving Tom a hard time for not being in the army. Now that's a tender point with Tom, you see, as he was turned down for active duty on account of an allergy he has. Fungus gets to him that way, you see."

Levavassier thought it time for a nod again, and he duly nodded.

"Anyway, Tom took it quite well at first, but then they said something about my girl, Lise, and it wasn't nice. That's when Tom and I got up and settled things, what perhaps we shouldn't have."

"Erm, yes." Levavassier interrupted. "You seem to have issued some stern warnings to the offending threesome. That is, after you had, let us say, decked them. Correct?"

"Yes, sir, I'll not make excuses for that. We lost our temper, and we'll take responsibility. But what happened next, I consider unfair, sir, and that's why I'm here."

"The men came back, had police with them, and arrested your son-in-law to be."

"Yes, sir, and only him. I asked several times why I was not arrested, but was denied an answer, sir."

"I see. Mr Delcampo, I intend to deal with this. To that end, I have asked the other participants in these events to join us. I am now going to ask my secretary to send them in. That is, if you have no objection."

Levavassier eyed Delcampo with interest. The man did not flinch for a second.

"None at all, sir. Let's have this out in the open."

"Very well. Helmut, you may send in our other guests."

First, Tom Meadows came in, a slight bruise on his lip. Len smacked him amicably on the shoulder, and Tom grimaced painfully, but grinned nevertheless. Next, a close file of five men, two policemen and three civilians. The latter were slightly worse off than just bruised, but nothing serious.

"We all know why we are here. I have just heard mr Delcampo's story, and I have seen mr Meadows' verified testimony. I am also familiar with the police report on the matter. For your information, gentlemen, mr Delcampo's statement has been consistent with mr Meadows' testimony."

Levavassier looked round the group. Delcampo and Meadows looked self-assured, the policemen slightly nervous, and the three others, well, arrogant as anyhting. Easy, Eugene, he thought.

"Which leaves me with the fact that mr Meadows has been held under arrest without a magistrate's order. Pursuant from the recent measures taken by the temporary government, officers Larsson and Herrera, you have the authority to do so. Do you have anything to add to your reports?"

They looked at each other.

"No, sir." Larsson said.

"Very well, Then I will consider them final."

The officers looked relieved, and Delcampo and Meadows a bit alarmed. But Levavassier continued.

"I have received an independent witness statement, delivered to me this morning, which states that these three men here" - Levavassier indicated them with a dramatic flourish - "have uttered taunts and challenges of a racist, bigoted, and obscene nature. Especially the references to miss Lise Delcampo were, and I quote, too filthy for words. Everything appeared to stem from mr Meadows not being a soldier, at his age, and that this theme kept recurring. The witness has assured me that he would have, and I quote again, flattened these sick bastards long before mr Meadows and mr Delcampo did. Now. Gentlemen, any comments?"

"Those are lies, sir. We never did anyhting of the kind. Whoever said that is a filthy liar himself."

"Your name, please?"

"Corporal Ryan Beltzer, sir."

"Soldier? Where do you serve?"

"General Honshu's regiment, sir. All three of us do, sir."

"I see. Would that have anything to do with the matter at hand? The taunts as to mr Meadows' unwillingness to fight for Sparta?"

"No, sir." he said, but it came out hesitantly.

"Excuse the interruption, sir, but that is not relevant" Larsson said.

"How not so?"

"These man started a brawl, sir. Everyone we asked can verify that they threw the first punch."

"How was this brought to your attention, officer?"

"We were advised by these men, sir."

"And where did this advisement take place?"

Slight pause.

"We were at a meeting, sir."

"Yes... A meeting of... where is it... oh well, some kind of rally of supporters of General Honshu's political movement, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Now. Back to the case in hand, being mr Delcampo's complaint. Based on the evidence in hand, and the additional evidence delivered to me this morning..."

"Who was that witness? Whoever it is, lies!" Beltzer interjected.

"Ah, yes. I was coming to that. This witness is Captain Driss El-Khaled, acting XO of 1st Wing, twice decorated. He happened to be in the pub at the time of your little tête-à-tête. He came to me personally to report the incident, after he had been refused to enter evidence at the police station."

Silence.

"Mr Beltzer, mr Nakajima, mr Visconti - if you show your faces in Hawk of Chiron again, you'll be sorry for it. Now get out of here, and you'll find two friendly police officers - we do have some of those, as well - quite ready to get you on the next transport out."

"Officers Larsson and Herrera - you have managed to strike up counts of gross misconduct, abuse of power, and allowing your personal political motivation to interfere with police work. You are hereby suspended for one month, half pay, and this incident will go into your records. You will be reinstated in a junior rank for one month after your suspension. Your cases will then, and only then, come up for assessment. You will hand in your padges and your service weapons on your way out. Dismissed."

"Mr Meadows, I apologize. And to you too, mr Delcampo. Any expenses you have incurred as a result of this incident, will be fully compensated by the governor's office. Have there been such expenses?"

"Well..." Len answered with a grin, "We did knock over our drinks when we jumped up to get at those three, but... I reckon that was our own fault. We should have put them aside."

This time, Levavassier contained the chuckle.

"I see. But still, you have suffered a grievous loss. Allow me to offer you a slight compensation in the officer's mess, and we'll consider this nasty business behind us, shall we."

Tom and Len agreed readily. They followed Levavassier outside, and Len landed a friendly punch on Tom's shoulder.

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

[Kuruk]

Traci Freeman drummed her fingers impatiently, waiting for the network node to finish uploading into her datapad. The outdated technology seemed to take forever. The Peacekeeper National Party headquarters desperately needed new hardware, but energy was tight. The PNP had done poorly in the last elections, and fundraising was difficult with few visible politicians. The military commanders usually pitched in a few credits, and some of the energy lost to “inefficiency” found it’s way into the PNP coffers. Still, what energy there was needed to go to campaign financing, not new toys.

The upload finally finished, and Traci scrolled through the messages. Delete… Delete… Ah. She opened the message from General Erickson.

“Anything interesting?” asked Steven Chan. Chan, though he lacked the charisma to run for office himself, was the brains behind the PNP.

“Message from General Erickson. He says he anticipates moving a force toward the Spartan Federation within the next two weeks. Officially, it’s to help maintain Sparta’s internal security. He doesn’t anticipate entering the war effort on either side.” Traci replied.

“Good. Be sure to thank him for the information, and for his recent donation,” Chan said.

Though the PNP held little voting power, it had found itself with a considerable advantage this session. With power split between six different parties, no one group ever held a majority on the Governor’s Council. Coalitions and alliances were the key to passing legislature, and the PNP had found itself in the enviable position of being the deciding vote on military issues. The PNP’s right-wing ideology attracted a many Peacekeeper military officers, and their current positioning had given them invaluable sources of information. It had also left the PNP’s fingers on a number of triggers. It was an advantage they intended to press to the fullest.

“He asks if there is any news from the commissioner,” said Traci, reading further down the message.

“Tell him that Lal is very distraught at the recent political moves by the Junta, but that he is still searching in vain for his backbone. Also, tell him that we anticipate the new military production orders to be approved,” said Chan.

“They’re going to go through?” asked Traci, a little surprised.

“We’ll see to it. Message the governors at Headquarters and Criminal Tribunal and tell them that if the military spending bill goes through, we can certainly vote their way on the new energy allocation bill.”

Traci couldn’t help smiling. Messages and backroom meetings got more done in minutes than hours of debate at UN Headquarters ever did, but Chan was a master at it.

“Oh, and Traci? Tell our friend General Erickson to be careful when dealing with those barbarians.”

[Rynn]

Sarah was disconsolate.

Googlie had entrusted Alphonse to her care, and they had seemed to mesh well together. Now he had disappeared, and she had no inkling where he was.

Casting her neurally enhanced exsensper net wide, she could find no trace – no whisper of him even.

And it hurt to initiate a broadcast extra sensory perception net search. She got caught often in the babble and cacophony of a myriad minds, and searching for a particular signature was tiring mentally.

She caught herself occasionally eavesdropping, acting like a mental voyeur, as particularly strong thoughts projected themselves into her net – a couple making love…..a criminal about to commit a mugging….and carrying through with it……a soldier screaming psychically at the injustice of an order.

But no Alphonse.

And now this.

Orders to report to the Federation Governor, Scott Allardyce.

Probably about Alphonse.

Oh heck.

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

Allardyce was in his office when Sarah was shown up by the guard.

He looked up.

“Sarah, how are you? Has Alphonse turned up yet?”

So he knew.

“N..no, Sir” she stammered, afraid of what was to come.

Goog;lie’s answer floored her:

“No matter – he’s a big boy, can take of himself – don’t worry about it.

“The reason I called you here, Sarah, is that I’ve detached you from the empath Squad and assigned you as the aide to Administrator Alfredsson. You’ll like her. I’m assigning Kirsten Alfredsson to Plex Anthill to get some order into that captured base, and the military there have said they need an empath. Altreus is somewhere inaccessible right now, and I don’t have time to dilly dally, so pack and join kirsten in a couple of hours at the Aerospace Center. There’s a military transport waiting to fly both of you and your equipment there.

“And by the way, congratulations. You’re a Captain now.”

He handed her the epaulettes.

She was stunned. Completely bypassed the Lieutenant rank.

“You’ll need the rank to pull some weight when you are there. You’ll be above the local police chief. Liaise closely with a Captain Rao of the Rolling Thunder when you get there. He’ll be useful. Now you’d better get packing.”

Sarah saluted smartly, turned on her heel, and left