The Spartan Chronicles

[Kuruk]

Tim Kelly, probe commander, stared through his night vision goggles at the double blast doors of the energy bank. His longetivity treatments kept him perpetually in his mid thirties, with a fit body and just a hint of gray in his hair. Despite his looks, he had been doing this for longer than he cared to count.

Next to him, Mike Sanchez looked through a set of goggles as well. Natalie Rovero, connected to a beefed up datapad via visual and neural implants, worked on the security system.

The bunkerlike structure bore little resemblance to the commercial institutions of the same name. The big, airy, customer friendly buildings called themselves banks, but the only thing that changed hands there was data, not energy. The fortified structure in front of him held the real thing. Economists had analyzed to death the significance of the change to Planet’s energy-based economy. One again, money was backed by a real commodity, not just a promise from the government. One thing was for sure, Tim thought, real energy was a whole lot harder to steal than data.

“Hard to believe they’d send us all the way out here to drain some energy,” Mike said.

“They didn’t,” Tim replied, “And the bank isn’t our main objective. We’ve got to be able to fund this operation ourselves. Someone’s trying to keep things quiet.”

“No surprise,” said Mike. Both men knew how unusual an operation in “friendly” territory was, and knew the ramifications for the Peacekeeper government if such an operation were exposed. Both knew also that their orders did not necessarily come from the Peacekeeper government. Spec Ops, though under the control of the Peacekeeper military, had close ties to the Peacekeeper National Party. Most of all, Spec Ops worked for it’s own interests.

“Almost there, sir,” Natalie said. The youngest member of the team, Natalie was nineteen and had never been to a longetivity center. She had been arrested three years ago for datajacking the Peacekeeper central datalinks. Impressed with her skills, Spec Ops had arranged for her release from prison, trained her, and offered her a job. She had a small, trim figure and neck length brown hair. She looked like a typical teenage girl from anywhere on Planet.

“I thought Spartan security was supposed to be good,” said Mike.

“Their military stuff is,” replied Natalie, “Quantum encryption, semi-sentient firewalls, chaos diffused nodes. It’s killer stuff, really, almost as good as Morgan’s Hunter-Seeker Algorithm. But this is a civilian facility, not a military one. It has standard Morgansoft security. It’s full of bugs and backdoors. They keep it that way just so people have to buy the upgrades. Piece of cake to crack. There. We’re in.”

Tim tapped his commlink. “Team, this is Lead. Security system is down. Report.”

“Rifle-One, on target.”

“Rifle-Two, on target.”

“Entry team, ready,” came the replies.

All that remained now were the two guards. Tim wondered what it was in human nature that dictated that guards must come in twos. It didn’t matter, really. Just as long as snipers came in twos as well.

“Team, this is Lead. Execute!”

The Spartan designed and manufactured Long Range General Purpose sniper rounds were fin-stabilized. The fins made them accurate at phenomenal distances, but also spread out the impact. To compensate, the LRGP rounds were designed to be fast and heavy. As a result, they really did a number on human flesh.

Nearly simultaneously, the guard’s heads disappeared in red clouds. Natalie triggered the doors and seven black clad figures entered. The entry team, six shooters and Woody the techie, was in.

Tim, Mike and Natalie watched the operation unfold through their visual implants, the feed coming from a small helmet cam that the lead shooter wore.

Immediately past the doors, on the right, was the security chief’s station, just where intelligence said it would be. The chief had just enough time to look surprised before the lead shooter raised his slimmed down Spec Ops shredder rifle and fired a three round burst into the man’s head. The team progressed forward.

Reaching the corridor, two shooters went right, to cover the guards quarters. The reserve guards had probably heard nothing, and would sleep through the operation. The rest of the team went left, toward the huge fusion batteries.

Reaching the batteries, Woody pulled the solid-state superconductor cable from his bag. In a few seconds, he had it connected to the ports. The team retreated back toward the entrance, trailing the cable behind them.

Tim tapped his commlink again. “Andrea, they’re ready for you.”

A personal transport rounded the corner and rolled toward the bank. Stolen earlier that day, Woody had spent several hours stripping the interior and constructing and installing miniaturized fusion batteries. It parked at the entrance to the bank. Woody plugged the cable into the upload port.

“Alright, Natalie,” Tim said, “Turn it on.”

Remotely controlling the computer system, Natalie started the upload. The energy transfer was the longest part of the operation, taking two minutes.

With the batteries full, Andrea drove off. Woody gathered his cable, and he and the entry team left, to disperse through the base. Five minutes had passes since Natalie brought down the security system.

“I’ll wipe the logs, and we’re out of here,” Natalie said. She cleared the past five minutes of data from the security logs and reset the system. When the reserve guards awoke, all they would find would be three dead comrades and clocks that were five minutes slow.

Natalie, Mike, and Tim turned and, sticking to the shadows, walked back down the street.

“So what now?” Mike asked. Mike had had a long career with the Peacekeeper military, but had only recently been assigned to Spec Ops. This was his first bank job.

“I bring the batteries to my contacts, who send the energy to the Energy Masters, the Morgan loan sharks. They break it into about a thousand smaller transactions and launder it. It comes back together at the Hive Central Energy Bank, just for the benefit of anyone who’s watching. Then it breaks into another thousand transactions, before it winds up in a numbered account at MorganBank.”

“And then we’re filthy rich,” added Natalie.

“And then?” asked Mike.

“Then, fully funded, we do what we came here to do,” said Tim.

[Kuruk]

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[Slats]

ABOARD FUSION INTERCEPTOR INDIGO 3

Luigi ran his critical eye over his instruments and noted with a grim nod the situation surrounding plex Anthill. So much for being sent as relief he thought.

From what he could see both Hive surface ships still lurked off the coast while some distant contacts were hovering in the clouds a fair distance away. More Hive flyboys mused Luigi. Faint, weak scattered ground contacts marked the graves of those Hive aircraft who had been less lucky. He activated the intercom to tell his pilot, Rudi Gertz, the latest data.

Up front in the c0ckpit, Rudi was a worried man. While their aircraft still had an hour's worth of fuel remaining, the airfield at Plex was in a very poor state. The plascrete runway was virtually non-existent being badly cracked and cratered by heavy enemy fire. Both of the base hangars were, according to reports from the grounded crews below, in a bad state and there might be a problem opening the bay doors at any great speed. So, instead of chancing an uncertain landing, Bert Evans, the senior officer, had ordered Indigo 3 to hold while a ' solution ' was thought of. Rudi just hoped they hurried up. The food supplies they had brought with them had just run out as Luigi scoffed the last pack of snack bars. It had been a long flight, Rudi needed some lunch.

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

PLEX ANTHILL DELTA SECTOR AUXILIARY HANGAR

The Spartan Airforce Plex Anthill detachment were clustered around Interceptor Indigo 4, deep in debate about possible methods of landing and/or getting off the ground. Various planning maps were spread around over the Interceptor's wings. Replacing the runway seemed out the question, there was simply not enough equipment and material readily avaliable for now.

" I know, " said Micheal Porter, ops officer of Pinwheel 2," We can take some of the mess hall food paste and fill in the gaps in the runway surface with it. Why I bet we could convert a rover to spread...... "

Bert looked at Porter, who promptly shut up.

Then Bernard Gauthier spoke up, " We're too busy thinking of repairing the runway ", he commented, " We should be trying to REPLACE it maybe...... "

The next 5 minutes were spent looking at maps looking for an alternate runway. The break came when Ranjit jumped up with a shout.

" Look here ", he exclaimed, " This service road here, to the north, it's used for heavy construction machinery. It runs straight for about 700 metres so it should just be long enough. "

Bert swung into action. " Right, can we get someone up top to see if this roads is intact?? Get hold of the lookouts or something, everyone else suit up and get ready, if this thing looks ok then we go hunting. Tell Indigo 3 to cover us as we roll ".

Sure enough, a runner came back to say that the road looked firm and whole.

Bert hopped over to the squadron frequency. " Right everyone, let's make this a fast taxi, follow my lead, single file ".

Finishing Pinwheel 2's startup he signaled a mechanic in the control room build into the cavern wall. Immediatly yellow warning lights flooded the bay and wailing sirens could be heard faintly over the howl of needlejet engines. Ahead, the thick bay doors retracted to reveal the main hangar bay. This area lay partly filled with rock from a cave in although a path had been cleared much earlier. This bay was also exposed to the outside ' air ' and as such the guard detail here was suited up, they waved as Bert's aircraft raced up the surface ramp.

Upon reaching the outside Pinwheel 2 turned left and using the taxiway joined the perimeter track and headed for the water pumping station which indicated the start of the service road some 150 metres away. A pair of wrecked and burned out rovers lay near the runway, a sad testiment to the losses suffered by the Spartan military so far. The threat panel lit up as out at sea the Hive surface ships detected motion and radar reflections, various active sensors swept out on the electronic spectrum like searchlights hunting for escaped prisoners from their subterranean jail. Bert nudged the throttle up higher. In the lookout positions hidden atop Plex Anthill Spartan soldiers scratched their heads as three, probably mad, military jets raced across the surrounding countryside. Out at sea, missiles began rising from the vertical launch canisters installed in the ship decks. It was already a tad late. Explosions began to tear the earth apart as Bert stabbed his toe brakes and wheeled the jet through 90 degrees so it faced up the road. Checking the rear of the jet was clear he mashed the afterburner ignition and raced up the road. Pinwheel 2 lofted into the air and stowed it's undercarriage before beginning to gain height. Behind, Pinwheel 3 was already rolling with Indigo 4 lining up. It had worked!

Joining formation on Pinwheel 2's wing came the new arrival, Indigo 3, who had been covering the operation from the air. The aircraft commlink crackled to life. Bert needn't worry about the Hive ships being able to listen in, the link was frequency agile, scrambled and coded. Virtually uncrackable. Or so he was told.

" Pinwheel 2, this is Indigo 3, Sir, you do know that the aircraft you're driving there isn't licensced and there is a speed limit on Plex Anthill transit routes ". Rudi's voice was edged with authority.

" Indigo 3, Pinwheel 2, just thought I'd take it for a spin over ", grinned Bert.

Pinwheel 3 and Indigo 4 now joned them from below. Bert already had a game plan figured out. After a brief discussion the two Fusion Interceptors banked about and with a waggle of their wings dashed off to chase the Hive aircraft hiding in the distance. The crews of both Penetrators began to prepare their weapons systems for action against the Hive vessels. For some reason both warships had now started to move and were heading west at a steadily growing speed. They were leaving!!!!

Nearly similtaneously both operations officers spotted many new contacts, quite small, nearing the shoreline. Below small rectangular looking craft were moving quickly towards the beach. Bert already knew what they were. Landing craft. The Hive ground counterattack on Plex Anthill had begun.

[Hydro]

Worker's Nest

*****

Paul Andreas examined the pineapple in front of him. He noted the variegated greens and faint yellow of the skin, and dark green of the remaining spiky-margined recurved leaves. The hues were right. He then ran his fingers over the peeling, feeling the firmness of the fruit’s flesh and the slight rasp of the husk. Finally, he picked up the fruit, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply: it had a rich, sweet citric smell.

Perfect!

Deliberately, he picked up a knife and chopped away the top and base and then the husk. Sticky yellow juice sheeted away from each slice, dripping and then cascading down to the table, forming an almost fluorescent pool of yellow. Finally, Paul cut large chunks away from the pineapple’s core and handed a piece to his assistants Miona, Steve, Li Chen, and Swana. He took the last piece for himself. Almost as if choreographed, each took a tentative bite. A series of ‘hmmmmmss’ flowed across the conference table, and each availed themselves to finish their succulent morsel. Soon all that remained was the pool of yellow amid the greens of the hull, with a knife in the center.

“Excellent, Excellent!” Paul stated approvingly. A Hive worker appeared and gave each of in the Morgan Trade Delegation a moistened cotton napkin, which each used to dab away the sticky mess from their hands and mouth. Steve, who had been a little too exuberant in his consumption of the pineapple, had to wipe some juices from the lapel of his suit.

Paul turned toward the expectant Mont Ferris, who stood almost at attention while the Morgan delegates consumed the pineapple. “Mr. Ferris, that was, perhaps, the best pineapple I have ever had. Magnificent! You have proven the worth of your produce, amply, I might add! If our quality control inspectors return with a favorable report, I am authorized to increase our orders and can arrange for regular shipments on MorganCargo for air transport. Our Master Service Agreement specifies the MorganBank credits that will be made available to your government, so all we will have to arrange is the transport schedule the volumes that can be provided.”

“This is only one of our fine products, Representative Andreas. We also could offer mangos, breadfruit, chironstrawberries, azure fruit, when in season,” Mont offered.

“Are any of these ready for inspection?” Paul asked hopefully.

“Only the most early varieties, and they are not quite ripe. I could order a squad of Agricultural Workers to search the fields and orchards to locate some, if you so desire,” Mont replied.

Paul thought for a while about the poor former Gaians of Worker’s Nest toiling in the fields, and then being asked to undertake additional labor to satisfy his whim. And for unripe fruit.

“No, I will decline your generous offer. I will task our permanent liaison to complete these inspections…” he started.

“Excuse me, Representative Andreas. Permanent liaison?” Mont interrupted.

“Why yes!” Paul boomed. “We cannot increase our orders by this magnitude without having a permanent Morgan representative here at Worker’s Nest, now can we! Of course, the contingent will be junior and will report directly to me! I trust that is acceptable?”

Mont was silent. The thought of a permanent delegation of decadent Morgites in his city was … unsettling. The Worker’s Guidance Committee would not be pleased. The degeneracy and contention they might spread among these partially assimilated Gaians is alarming. In fact, it was unacceptable.

Before Mont could reply Paul added, “It is allowed by our contract, you know.” Paul took out his datapad, keyed up the sections and gave it to Mont.

Mont looked the section over. Damn Morganite contracts, Mont fumed to himself. I’ve studied them for weeks and I still haven’t caught all the nuances.

“Very well,” Mont conceded, giving the datapad back to Paul. “But I will see to their housing and will assign a guide to ensure their safety.”

“Of course, of courses! Now, you wouldn’t happen to have any more of those fine pineapples, would you?” Paul asked hopefully.

Mont smiled thinly. “Certainly,” he said, gesturing to the Hive attendant to retrieve several from the stock that he had prepared for just such a request.

The attendant returned with five pineapples, and gave one and a knife to each delegate. Each promptly began the task of slicing off the hull, with varying success. Li Chen had her pineapple pared in minutes, and Paul a few moments later. Miona made a bloody mess of hers, but was soon digging in with delight and abandon. Steve and Shawna hacked at theirs inexpertly, shrieking with every squirt of juice or unintended fall of the knife. They eventually got some bite-sized pieces freed from the prickly hull and started to eat happily.

Mont stood back in concealed disgust and amazement as he watched the happy slurping and chewing.

No wonder these people are subservient to the Hive and Chairman Yang, he thought. One day they, too, will be Hive citizens. I will relish ‘teaching’ them proper discipline.

Mont smiled warmly for the first time in days.

*****

Mont sat in his bare office, which he shared with three others from the Morale and Inspection Committee. The obscene fools from the Morgan Trade Delegation would soon be gone. At least, all but 4 of them would be gone. Where to put these ‘permanent liaisons’? They must be placed somewhere away from the rest of the Hive citizens, and definitely away from any vital or sensitive installation. The least used, least comfortable, and most poorly maintained section of Worker’s Nest were the old Gaian towers. They had chronic atmospheric integrity problems and their plumbing was starting to fail. In fact, they were due for demolition in a decade or so. Mont pulled out his datapad and made the assignment, noting in his work justification that it entailed the minimal allocation of resources and would not jeopardize security, and would bring extra fees from the corrupt Morganites.

Would the Morganites object? Perhaps. There was a litany of reasons why this posting was essential. The Morganites he had seen had seemed none too intelligent, except for that naively wily Representative Andreas. How could one so bereft of guile seem to get his way every time? Very strange.

Before he could finish his report Paul Milton Andreas’ voice came through on his comm link, “Negotiator Ferris, come in. This is urgent! Negotiator Ferris!”

“Yes Representative Andreas?” Mont stated in a purely neutral voice, specifically editing out the intense annoyance he felt at being interrupted.

“Negoriator Ferris, two of our agricultural quality inspectors have been taken into custody and nerve clipped. NERVE CLIPPED! I DEMAND that they be immediately released! Do your hear me! NEGOTIATOR FERRIS!” Paul almost yelled.

An incident, Mont thought calmly.

“Have your escort take you to Tao East Entrance. I will meet you there in ten minutes,” Mont replied. He then cut the channel.

Mont got up and left his office. As he did so he placed a call to the Agricultural Division Security Director.

*****

Paul and his team of assistant were milling agitatedly around the airlock at the Tao East Entrance. As soon as they saw Mont approaching they walked menacingly, en mass, toward him. Mont stopped half way and let them come to him. Their Hive escort followed in their wake.

“This is an outrage!” Paul started, the veins on his temple throbbing. “My field team saw your security personnel approach two members of my agricultural field team and, without warning or provocation, wrestle them to the ground and NERVE CLIP THEM! Then they were dragged off with the rest of the workers toward the field bus. The rest of my team called in, and it looks like they are going toward your ‘Morale Enforcement Center’! Your PUNISHMENT SPHERE!?? Let me assure you that if any of my team are harmed or, god help you, put in the punishment sphere, then there will be hell to pay!”

Mont let him finish. “I recently called and there is no record of your personnel being detained. I would suggest your field team is in error.”

“Oh, really?” Paul said incredulously as he activated his datapad. “This was shot while your security detail was brutalizing my people!”

A holo formed about the datapad. Excited chatter filled the audio, with exclamations and cries to stop. The wobbly scene showed several hundred workers filing past four people, two of whom were being dragged. The two figures being dragged wore a bright yellow and a grey and navy suit. The suits stood out visibly from the rest of the Hive workers and guards, who wore muddy grey jumpers. As they neared the bus, the Gaian workers bowed and made way for the detail, which roughly dragged the unresisting Morganites onto the bus. Obediently, the workers followed as soon as they were clear. The vid then showed the buses starting to drive down the former fused road, and the jerky vid of the now abandoned Morganite field team trying to catch up. After five minutes, the busses receded toward the low-slung mound that was Workers’ Nest.

Mont looked at Paul and his group. “How long ago did this happen?”

“About 45 minutes ago,” Paul responded.

“Put on your breathmasks. This bears further investigation,” Mont ordered as he walked toward the airlock.

Mont thought calmly as he cycled the airlock. The first is that his security details were not so sloppy. Gaians were nerve clipped all the time, but not visitors. And his security guards had explicit orders not to nerve clip any citizen in view of the Morganites, who were know for being squeamish about necessary measures.

The second and more alarming thought is that the Morganites had holo recorders with them. This was a security breach, and potentially more injurious that this incident. Mont reflected that several days in the Punishment Sphere would be good for him, anyway. As Chairman Yang was quoted as saying, pain served to focus the mind.

*****

Mont summoned a speeder bus for the group, and the bus arrived from the cargo bay in five minutes. The group filed in, seated themselves, sealed the hatch, and drove over to the Punishment Sphere. It was a rather cloudy day, and near dusk. Several other surface vehicles were traveling back and forth. Mont thought this was a little unusual, since surface vehicles were rarely used except for instances such as this. Even in the fading light he could see half a dozen doubles to small busses roaming around.

It was almost dark by the time they reached the Morale Enforcement Building. A couple of lights were shining weakly from the entrance of the punishment sphere, and a few more from the hulking and decrepit Gaian-built towers. As they got near the punishment sphere was clear something was wrong. People were streaming out, and were running in all directions. They looked like fleeting shadows in the grim dark night. Mont straightened when he abruptly noticed that there were no guards present.

“Stop the bus!” he ordered abruptly. “Hold your position!”

With the road noise from the creaky bus stopped a myriad of yells and voices could be heard from all around, but most were near the Morale Enforcement Center.

“Ferris to Morale Enforcement Center security, respond immediately!” he stated to his lapel mike.

As he waited for a reply one busses near the entrance of the Center started on fire. The fire spread rapidly. The flickering light showed silhouettes on the ground, some in vague piles and others by themselves. Their uniforms clearly showed them to be the Agricultural Worker Security Personnel. None of these figures apparently had their weapons.

Getting no response, “Ferris to Worker’s Nest Security, there is a riot at the Morale Enforcement Center, send reinforcements immediately!”

“Driver, return us immediately to the Tao East Entrance!” Mont ordered.

“Now wait a minute! What about our people! They may be in there!” Paul protested.

“Then colony security will rescue them. We, however, are unarmed and in the middle of a riot. Do you seriously suggest we stay?” Mont said severely.

“No,” Paul said weakly in reply. The small and old transport quickly wheeled around and made its way back to the Tao East Entrance. As they left there was a muffled series of explosions from the center of the Morale Enforcement Center. Everyone but the driver watched in fascination as parts of the low dome tumbled inward, and bright yellow and red flame shot through the opening, only occasionally obscured by black and acrid smoke.

Li Chen said softly, “Poor Charles and Minnie. No one could survive that.”

The transport cut a corner, briefly jumping off the former road and jarring all the passengers, as they proceeded quickly toward the Tao East Entrance. As they entered their last view was of flames increasing and shooting 10 meters into the air from the expanding crevice in the dome of what was the Morale Enforcement Center.

*****

Morgan Senior waited impatiently. Finally a small holo of Sheng-Ji Yang winked into existence on his desk. Yang started to speak, but Morgan cut him off.

“Before you say one word, Yang, let me say that I am sorely disappointed in your vaunted security. Your lapses have cost the lives of two of my representatives. Moreover, you have abrogated our trade agreement through this lapse. Even more hideous, I was just informed that you have an active punishment sphere in operation at Worker’s Nest. Does your People’s Utopia need the threat of pain to enforce it? And your guards wantonly NERVE CLIPPED MORGANITES! This is unacceptable!” Morgan was out of breath, and thoroughly enraged.

“I see you have no concern for the loss of valuable Hive property and lives. How do your two lives weigh against the hundreds that have died? Have you no empathy for others?” Yang said softly, dripping with muted sarcasm.

Morgan closed is eyes, and his knuckles went white as they clutched his desk. Yet another insult, he thought, when will it end? Soon, oh, so soon!

He took a deep breath before responding. “Yang, I have no wish to continue this conversation. If you call again I will be unavailable. You may talk to my underlings, if you wish. I will call you when I wish this valuable discourse to continue.” Morgan cut the transmission.

A dark figure stepped from Morgan’s library. “Well done, Newbie! Well done! For a minute there I thought you were going to explode!” Paul Milton Andreas walked into the room. Gone were his expensive tailored navy suit and finery. He now wore the utilitarian grey of Morgan Security.

Morgan’s demeanor changed instantly and he smiled. “It felt SO good to hang up on Yang for a change. I take it the mission went well?”

“Oh, yes!” Paul boomed. “We got thing nice and stirred up! Our empaths did a fantastic job. Their guards are such dullards! Those chemical lobotomies they give them make them so nicely focused! Overly so! So we can scratch one punishment sphere! Nasty things. Very inefficient. It should be a couple of months before he gets things back in order. That officious bureaucrat Ferris should find a couple of clues implicating the Spartans, too. Hehe.”

“Are our operatives in place?” Morgan asked.

“Our ‘trade delegation’? Oh, yes. Four of our best. As ordered, they will fund a Gaian resistance cell: lavishly, too, I might add. They will be fine unless Yang brings in a level 12 empath, then it could get a little dicey. I expect the Gaians, young and old, will have no love for Yang, his punishment sphere, nerve clips, and the like. Poor Mr. Mont Ferris may have his hands full soon!”

“Well done, old friend. Just like old times? Back on Earth?” Morgan asked.

“Close, close! More to do back on good ‘ol Earth, but it is more fun here! The stakes are higher! We always were gamblers, you and I!” Paul replied with a chuckle.

“That we were. This is the biggest gamble of all, too,” Morgan commented.

“Oh, no. The biggest gamble was getting on that damned death trap Unity. That is what was a gamble. Frankly, I thought you were nuts. But you asked so nicely!” Paul said slyly.

“Well, I am glad you came. I needed all the friends I can get then and in these troubled times. By the way, I would like you to check the out a rumor I have heard. Is there a Spartan Lander getting rejuvenation treatment here at Morgan Industries?” Morgan asked.

“A Spartan Lander? Here? That would be unusual. I’ll certainly find out! I probably know him, or her! I’ll find out immediately. Anything else?” Paul said. He made his way toward the door.

“No,” Morgan replied.

“Sure thing, Newbie,” Paul said as he closed the door behind him. Silence descended on Morgan Senior’s office, and he got right back to work.



[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited September 08, 1999).]

[Slats]

ABOARD FUSION PENETRATOR PINWHEEL 2

Bert Evans was struck immediatly by the command decision facing him. He clenched the flight stick before him with anxious gloved hands. Bert could feel the eyes of his flight crew drilling into his back, awaiting an order...... Whether to dive upon the fat, juicy targets of the two Hive capital ships now pushing up the coast at about 20 knots, away from Plex Anthill, who would surely claim more Spartan lives at whatever location they were heading for. Or the strong Hive ground attack force attempting to reach the shore aboard the 10 landing craft battling their way through the rough chop of the water......
Bert shut his eys for a second and made a silent prayer that this was the correct judgement. The nearer threat must be dealt with first, Sparta must not lose a base that so many lives had fallen for already.

He jabbed the com button on his flight stick and after a pause spoke up : " Pinwheel 3, disengauge your current target locks, switch to Chaos cannon and follow me in. Those Hive troops must not reach the beach, copy? "

The reply was swift, " Pinwheel 3 copies, balls to the wall boss....... "

Bert gave a sly smile and then banked the aircraft swiftly away down towards the coast. Behind him Ken reported that the main cannon was good to go while Porter reported the landing craft dead ahead, below the scattered cloud cover. The radar tracks which marked them already burned brightly on one of the Bert's repeater screens. Bert lined up his HUD target pipper on one of the rearmost craft........ and was surprised when it exploded before he'd depressed the trigger.

" What the...... ", he exclaimed.

Porter cut him off with a cry, " Torpedoes!! From further out at sea, I can just make them out beneath the surface! ".

Bert's smile turned to a grin as a second transport erupted in flames. The submerged tin cans of the Spartan navy were truely on the ball today. He bypassed the now sinking transport and released his chaos fire at another of the flat bottomed boats making it's way through the waves. The blue beam raked the vessel's side, stripping away the hull to reveal the now exposed bulkheads beneath. Water gushed into the wound and the craft began to loll onto it's side, sinking. Bert pulled up and to the left and began to steeply climb away for another run. He craned his neck around to see Pinwheel 3 making it's run also. A fourth transport died in a stream of unleashed energy. As the pair came about the commlink burst into life.

" Pinwheel 2, this is Indigo 4, we need help, we're a small bit of trouble over here ".

Pedro Martinez's voice betrayed the true strain he was under. A quick glance at the radar in airborne mode showed NINE enemy aircraft wheeling in a dogfight with the two Interceptors. Whereas lesser aircraft would be long dead by now, the Fusion Interceptors, build for just such encounters, seemed to sear a perfect dance around the Hive jets. Bert knew that both Spartan aircraft were rapidly in danger of being cornered. Bert made his second command decision of the day. The Rolling Thunder units would have to deal with the remaining invaders. He ordered Pinwheel 3 to follow him in again, this time against far deadlier foes......

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****

The Delta Sector Nutrient Center was alive with motion, and the only area where Spartans were not scurrying around furiously was the impromptu medical center that was taking care of the wounded from the anti-aircraft brigade Blue Death. There was one obvious pattern to the movement: everyone was heading generally toward the East Cargo Bay.

“Look alive, people! We just got word from 4th Wing Pinwheel 2: there are 6 transports chock full of Hive nasties on the way!” Rao stated. The few that hadn’t figured out what was going on bolted into action, and the level of chaos increased one more notch. All the Hive workers getting their morning fungigruel watch passively from their two-thirds of the commons. They kept to their orderly lines, as they had been trained to do, and not one said a word.

From this silent contingent 15 workers, looking even more decrepit than the rest, broke free and walked into the bedlam of the improvised Rolling Thunder C&C. Mary Belfontaine was at their head, with Markus at her side. All Hive eyes turned toward the crowd and a quite murmuring started. Evidently, some sort of rule or other was being broken.

The group got within 20 meters of Rao before he noticed the unusual procession. He gave them a harried glance, then his eyebrows rose when he say Mary and Mark in the lead. He turned back to his gunner Kat, who he had been talking to before he noticed the delegation. “Kat, if you really want to be released and the med says it’s OK, then go. Your rover is a wreck, but I’m sure one of the other crews would LOVE to have you. Now go.”

Kat, her left arm in a isolation jacket and a nasty fist-sized synthskin patch that covered the back of her recently shaved head, smiled happily and saluted with her good arm, “Yes, Sir! Thank you!”

Rao turned toward Mary’s group. “Mary, I don’t have time for another Official Complaint. This is not the time. You and Markus should report immediately to Lightning. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, sir. This isn’t a Complaint detail, though. These men and women want to volunteer to be a Spartan garrison for Plex Anthill, and they represent at least 150 or 160 others who also want to volunteer. It seems that since we didn’t immediately start raping and eating the flesh of babies, as they were told would happen, that some of the Ants, er, former Hive citizens have had a change of heart. These,” Mary turned to acknowledge the nervous group, “citizens have a particular interest in making sure that Yang doesn’t get Plex back. They are all politicals, which is Yangspeak is tantamount to a death sentence.”

Rao quickly assessed the situation. He looked saw a fairly gaunt group. He didn’t like to think what they looked like before the 469th had liberated Plex. They didn’t look like the Dauntless Warrior that the Hive was famous for. In fact, they looked a little pathetic. But, looking more closely, he noticed that these Hive citizens carried themselves differently from the standard worker drone. Most looked him directly in the eye, and each stood up as straight as possible. This was not a dispirited bunch – they were almost defiant. Some of them showed obvious signs of torture or maltreatment. Particularly hideous was one man or woman, it was hard to tell, whose left side of its face seemed almost melted.

The risks of giving Hive citizens weapons and trusting them to defend Plex were significant. HQ would never approve under these pressed circumstances. He turned and directly faced his group.

“Who among you is the leader?” he asked.

The man with the melted face stepped forward. “I am, Sir,” he said in a slightly slurred voice.

“Have you fully thought through this decision? In doing this, should we fail, you will be marked for certain death by Yang,” Rao asked.

“Sir, we are already dead as far as Yang is concerned. All we ask is for a chance. If you would like, you may hold our families, what remains of them,” he said bitterly, “as hostages for our performance.” He squared his shoulders and stood at attention. The rest of the group did likewise.

Rao was silent for a second. Few Spartans would make such an offer. Rao made his decision.

“Very well, I accept your offer. Mary and Markus will take your family’s names,” Rao said. Mary and Markus looked at each other in abject alarm.

“Detail, stand at attention,” Rao ordered. The group became perfectly still. In the background a silence fell on the rest of the Hive workers who were watching the drama unfold.

“I am going to administer to you the Spartan Military Oath. In taking this oath you will become members of the Spartan Army and Spartan Citizens . You will be answerable to me as your commander until headquarters clears another. You will obey me and my subordinates,” Rao stated in a clipped voice. “Any not wishing to take this oath leave now, for once taken it is binding to the death.”

Rao paused for a moment to let those who were faint of heart to leave. Not one moved.

“Repeat after me: I solemnly swear to uphold the Spartan Constitution and the principles of the Spartan Honor. And that I shall defend the Spartan Federation from all aggressors, from without and within, even at the cost of my own life. I will follow the Spartan Code of Conduct, and follow the orders of my superior officers without question. If you agree, then respond by saying ‘I so solemnly swear’.”

“I so solemnly swear,” the group repeated seriously and without hesitation

“Then I accept you as sworn members of the Spartan Federation Army and citizens of the Spartan Federation. You will report to Lieutenant Mary Belfontaine as your commander. Mary, you and Markus take these men and women to the liberated Hive weapons locker and outfit them with plasma armor and defensive weapons.”

Mary had a stunned look on her face, and Mark was looking directly at Mary with a grin that held barely suppressed laughter.

Rao wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked like a wave of relief and hope washed across the faces of the new Plex Brigade. Or maybe it was fear.

Rao turned from the group. He had a defense to run.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited September 16, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****

"So, Lieutenant, what do we do now?' Markus asked in as innocent voice as he could muster.

"I'm not a Lieutenant," Mary said defiantly. She was walking beside Markus, with a bevy of seven Spartan privates and support personnel following in her wake. Behind them followed the Plex Anthill Brigade, now over 200 strong.

"Oh? I heard the field promotion as well as you did. You are a lieutenant," Markus stated.

"Rao doesn't have the power…" Mary started lamely.

"Right now, Rao can do just about anything he wants to, including making you a Lieutenant," Markus interrupted. "You know, I seem to remember a long, philosophical discussion we had on how being an officer really wasn't cut out for us. How neither of us really liked the idea, and how we really were not officer material."

"Markus, I really don't want to be an officer," Mary responded.

"And how we were only serving our required honorable duty in the Spartan Military before continuing on with what we really liked to do…" Markus opined.

"I am an engineer! I want to build things! Fix things!" Mary said helplessly.

Markus continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I guess you are career now. The best career officers are those who really don't want to be officers, you know, but do so in the service of Sparta. You did take command right away. It only took you, what, 15 minutes to round up some staff? I'd say you are a natural leader. Command material."

"Markus," Mary said severely, "you are NOT helping!"

"And you won't be able to associate with the likes of me, being a mere private and all. But maybe it is for the best." Markus gave a rather dramatic heavy sigh and put on his best forlorn and forgotten look.

Mary walked closer to Markus and leaned toward him. "Markus!" she hissed softly, "I order you to stop!"

Markus responded by winking at her and stating, "Yes, Sir!" His smile clearly showed he loved every minute of this.

Mary just glowered in response and they continued to walk at a brisk pace to the armory.

*****

"Luong, notify the 469th that we are expecting at least 12 Hive brigades of unknown type and strength in less than 20 minutes," Rao said as he helped set up the hologrid for the battle map in Rolling Thunder's temporary C&C center.

Luong had insisted that she return to duty, even if she was still pretty banged up. Almost all the other able bodied members were long since on their way to their posts and stations.

"Sir, they reported that they were in position 10 minutes ago. Their two infantry and single rover brigades are just inside the perimeter defense and are ready to go as soon as the Hive lands," Luong said absently as she connected some power couplings. As she did three more status lights turned from red to green. Only 4 more connections to go and they were in business.

"How could they know? I only just found out. I guess that is why they are elites and we are only armor. Just as well. We aren't quite ready anyway," Rao said as he finished another coupling. More lights went green and the east quadrant of Plex Anthill winked into existence.

Rao stood up and stretched his back, which was getting severely kinked from the contortionist stunts he was pulling. "What about communication? Is our link with Slats up? And with the 469th? We should share our data and strategy real time."

"They relayed their comm frequency and squirted their coded access authorization when they reported they were in position," Luong responded as she finished the last connections. She stood as gracefully as her thickly applied sythskin would allow. "Should I start download?"

"Yes, do it," Rao said as he watched the holo representation. Scanning the image he saw the 5 Hive foil and cruiser transports pulling into the position outside of Plex. In the skies above them, providing air cover against additional Spartan air attack on the transports, was the almost suicidal Hive airforce. Looked like Slat's boys and girls were busy, too.

Turning toward the quickly approaching transports. "Do we have any intel on what is in the transports?" Rao asked.

"The 469th reports that there are at least 3 amphib and rovers. The rest looks like infantry by the loading and equipment," Luong stated.

"Well, that's some good news," Rao commented. "Ok, looks like the 469th is going to take the first hit from the amphib and rovers. We need to be in position to relieve them before they get too pressed, and counter attack their infantry while they are vulnerable on the rocky beach just as they are coming ashore. Hold Aardvark 1 and 2 in reserve. They are to take out cripples but, if they can, any brigades we can't deal with. They are not to assist the Pinwheels or Indigos - they would get eaten alive. Clear?"

"As a bell, sir," Luong replied as she put on the hologoggles and gloves. After a moment the optical connection enabled and her fingers were quickly dancing in mid air as she made the connections to the various holo elements and spyeyes and linked them to the holotable. She squirted the orders to the three operational Rolling Thunder rover brigades and 2 Aardvark needlejets.

After a minute, icons indicating the location of the Rolling Thunder rovers and needlejets winked into existence, as did those of the 469th and 4th Wing interceptors and needlejets. Next a new symbol appeared ghosted; it was the new Plex Anthill brigade. Its status was still unknown. Lastly the Hive units appeared as general symbols. Then they resolved themselves as the feed from the 469th activated.

"Rao, here they come!" Luong said excitedly.

The line of Hive men and equipment emerging from the transports toward Plex Anthill appeared endless.

Still, we have a good chance, Rao reflected. We are only outnumbered 2:1.

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

*****

A shadow crossed the recumbent form, which was lying naked in a Morgan med chamber. The figure in the chamber was a man of indeterminate age, who had the air of timelessness and faint decrepitude of those who have had longevity treatments in the past and need it again. Although generally fit, the muscles sagged a little in his upper arms and a small, stubborn paunch was just beginning to form in his midsection. His legs were trim but a little thin. His face had a vaguely weather-beaten look, being well bronzed by the Chiron sun and now faintly but noticeably wrinkled.

The gentleman examining the sleeping man wore an expensively cut blue silk suit. He eyed the man appreciatively, as if appraising a trophy, a valued possession, or an object that was much sought after. A sallow smile appeared on his ebony face.

“Technician, administer the hypo,” he stated to the waiting doctor. If the doctor was annoyed at being addressed as ‘technician’, she didn’t show it. She quickly and efficiently walked over to the figure, pressed a pen-sized metallic instrument to his upper right arm, and stepped away to the background again.

In a moment or two the sleeping figure’s eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath. Then he let out a groan. He squinted and blinked twice and blearily looked around. Finally, his eyes focused on the dark figure nearest to him.

“Ah, I am glad you are awake. You are Salvador St. James, are you not? Also known as ‘The Gecko’?” Morgan Junior asked.

“I may be. Who are you,” Gecko asked belligerently.

“I am Nwubudike Morgan, Junior, at your service. You are a hard man to get a hold of, as I have been trying to contact you for weeks. Imagine my surprise when the agents of my father informed me you were here at Morgan Industries. A Spartan getting rejuvenation treatment at a Morgan facility? Imagine!”

Gecko could see more clearly now, and propped himself up on two elbows. He looked down and noticed, in irritation, that he was buck-naked and he had obviously not completed the treatment.

“My treatment is not done. I suppose you interrupted it,” Gecko commented.

“Yes, I am afraid so. Now, before you become even more indignant, it was in the fine print of your contract,” Junior said as he stood and got a robe from a nearby closet. He returned and gave it to Gecko.

Gecko took the robe and draped it over his form as best he could. It was a little undignified to be lying naked in front of a future head of state and CEO. “Yes, I got your messages but I was pretty busy.”

“I trust you could make a little time now? This will not take very long,” Morgan said indulgently.

“Seeing as I have no choice.”

“Affairs of state and company responsibilities have been pressing me, also. I would not have interrupted your rejuvenation if it were not important. Also, per your contract, you are entitled to compensation. I have authorized a 3-day visit to the Morgan Pleasure Dome, at a time of your liking. Hopefully this will make up for the inconvenience.”

Gecko brightened. His last experience there had been glorious. “Make it a trip for two and you’ve got a deal.”

Morgan Junior smiled. He liked this ‘Gecko’ already – a natural wheeler-dealer. “Done! Now, to business. Sparta and we Morganites have been at odds for some time. On the opposite sides of the fence, you might say. Sparta is the leader of one group, and Yang the leader of the other. My father and his council have lately realized that it is not in our best interests to remain so isolated from the other factions. Such isolation limits our options. We wish to expand our options. To such an end, I would like to propose normalizing relations between our two peoples. Eventually we may be able to enhance our mutual trade, to both of our enrichment. If agreeable, our contacts would have to be cautious at first. Such change, in my opinion, is best approached in an incremental manner. Does this sound agreeable to you?”

Gecko pondered this obviously well practiced and crafted statement. From Junior’s previous calls, Gecko had suspected such a proposal. It was clear in looking between these words that the Morganites had finally realized that they were likely to be consumed by a quickly growing and paranoid Yang. He personally thought it would be just deserts, since the Morganites had been largely responsible for Yang’s rise through orchestrating the destruction of the Gaians and giving him so much technology and energy. Still, orders were orders: drive a wedge between Morgan and Yang, at all costs.

Gecko smiled and extended his hand. “Well said! I agree with you, and will make myself available for further discussions. We have much to talk about. Normalized relations would benefit us both! Now, is it possible to continue this talk when I am done? I will be much more energetic when these last couple of decades have been washed away!”

Morgan looked pleased. “Very well. I will return when you are once again young and hale. And then we can have a proper discussion, say, over a fine dinner and wine? I am aware of some of the best amenities that Morgan society has to offer.”

Gecko recognized a friendly bribe when he saw it, and accepted immediately.

“Then have a good rest. I will see you soon,” Morgan said, and then turned and left.

The doctor approached and asked if everything was OK. Salvador nodded, and the doctor administered another hypo.

Salvador St. James then drifted off into the dreamless sleep of rejuvenation.

[Slats]

ABOARD FUSION INTERCEPTOR INDIGO 4

Pedro twisted his Interceptor onto it's left wingtip as it missed a Hive needlejet, coming in head on, with only a finger's breadth to spare. The collision alarm ceased it's incessant wailing but the threat warning panel didn't. The damn thing was about to rupture something soon if it continued analysing the numerous incoming dangers. Pedro rolled the aircraft over and chased another Hive plane downwards in a steep dive. Eyes glued to the HUD he triggered the forward chaos cannon twice but missed both times. The standard of Hive pilots was getting better, he thought.
A verbal warning from his ops officer, Paul, came just in time to jink away from a stream of explosive cannon rounds from yet another Hive jet which was now following them from behind. Pedro was just about to pull out and evade when an aircraft which looked like Pinwheel 3 also appeared on the scene from the rear, cannon blazing energy streams at Indigo 4's new pursuer. One of the shots clipped the enemy aircraft's rudder assembly encouraging it to give up it's chase and corkscrew away, swiftly followed by a vengeful Pinwheel 3.
With an audible sigh of relief Pedro turned his attention to his quarry once more. The enemy jet was just finishing it's dive having run out of height and had begun to pull up. Pedro eased the enemy aircraft into his sights, also reducing Indigo 4's rate of descent and fired....... A single burst penetrated the Hive plane's canopy and tore the two pilots and cockpit apart amid whirling energy. After a moment the headless jet exploded almost as an after thought. The third kill of the day had been made.
Pedro keyed his commlink :

" Indigo 4, splash one ".

Despite the joy of the victory Paul, in the back seat, was all business, directing Pedro onto a new course back towards the action.

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

ABOARD FUSION PENETRATOR PINWHEEL 2

Bert was regretting his career as a bomber pilot. Despite it's obvious swiftness over the Hive aircraft due to it's fusion powerplant and the striking power of it's chaos weaponry his aircraft, Pinwheel 2, was slow and clumsy compared to the super agile Interceptors. Really it shouldn't be as bad as this but Bert was loath to jettison the valuable payload stored on the wing pylons and in the belly storage bay. Two surface skimmer anti ship missiles, two electric pulse propelled active sonar torpedoes and four 75mm rocket pods. A makeshift anti ship load. And here Pinwheel 2 was in a dogfight. Bert attempted to steer after a swerving Hive jet and watched as the aiming reticle came to rest where the bandit had been 3 seconds earlier. Too slow.
Exasperated, Bert informed his crew that they were going downstairs to dump their payload in " a useful place ". Ordering the rest of the Spartan flight to cover him Bert shifted his systems out of air to air mode and nosed over hard. A brief power dive took them down and out of the furball and nearer Plex Anthill. Porter rang out from the engineering pit and informed Bert that a holo tacplan was avaliable from the 2nd Armour HQ. Bert nodded and Porter fed the data to the cockpit holo emitters installed in the control panel and a small tactical representation of the local situation floated in mid air before the heads up display. Bert noted the lead enemy spearhead approaching what was marked as the 469th's positions.

" Those leading rovers, here.... " Bert gestured with a gloved finger at the icon he meant.

Ken, who was also watching this in his weapons console nodded. An impish grin spread across Ken's face as he picked out the weapons for the job and punched up the laser designator window. He zeroed in the beams on the advancing rovers, still a couple of thousand feet below. Bert also grinned at the selection as he toggled the bay doors which open with an distant whine of motors while lowering the plane even further toward the ground and slowing using the overwing speedbrake flaps. Over to the right Bert could pick out a pair of Aardvark's wheeling above the battlefield like shiny vultures. Steering on target with his rudder pedals Bert pickled away Ken's new ' anti rover ' weapons.
Two Neptune Mk V anitship missiles dropped four hundred feet vertically before igniting their thrusters and accelerating towards their somewhat unorthodox targets leaving white smoky trails. Warheads designed to evade close in defense weapons and then cut through thick layers of armour and hull before cleaving into internal areas of capital ships had no problem utterly evaporating the rover armour sheaths. Shimmering new plating tore like paper under such kinetic energy and heat. Two Hive rovers had simply ceased to exist.
The crew had no time to admire this victory as they screamed over the Rolling Thunder rover brigades at treetop height. 75mm rockets burst like big firecrackers among the lead ranks of the Hive infantry clambering up from the beach opening gaping gaps in the formation. Lightened by a considerable amount Pinwheel 2 roared upwards, to return to battle.........

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

PLEX ANTHILL FIELD HOSPITAL

Amanda woke with the worst headache she'd ever had. She groaned loudly at the feel of her stiff bodyand lifted a hand to her sore head. A large medical patch covered her left forehead entirely. Amanda remembered her eventful flight and her sickening connection with the canopy rim. This deserved another groan.
Her groans apparantly attracted some attention as a young male medical orderly appeared at the side of her bed.

" Feeling better?? " he asked in a disgustingly cheerful voice.

Amanda pointed at her head and grimaced.

" Ah, right, I'll give you some painkillers and stimulents, ok? "

Amanda tryed her voice, which felt like a worn gearbox, " That'd be great, thanks ".

The orderly nodded and jabbed an injector against her skin. After he had drained perhaps half the contents into her arm with a grin, he left. Amanda felt the ache and pain lift from her body and head, soothed by the cocktail of drugs. Feeling ready to face the world once more Amanda heaved herself into a sitting position.
She sat in on a medical bed which was positioned against the rear wall of a stone room containing about a dozen other beds. All the beds were in use although all the other patients looked asleep. On a chair beside her bed where a set of loose pilot fatigues, her sidearm and her wrist commlink as well as her bathroom kit someone had removed from her little room near the hanger. Amanda pushed her legs over the side of the bed and dropped to the floor, almost falling over her flight boots which someone had half pushed under the bed.
The cold of the rock floor seeped up through her bare feet and into her legs. The green surgical gown she was wearing smelt very sweaty and unclean. Amanda decided to look for a shower first.

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill

*****

Markus stood amid the throng of turbulent new Spartan citizens of the Plex Anthill Brigade. To his right a young woman walked forward from the orderly line that snaked around Mark and presented her arm. Markus took his ID Reader he had appropriated from a Hive Enforcer, held it to a spot just above her wrist, looked briefly at the results, and pressed the reader to his datapad. His datapad automatically queried the Plex Anthill Citizen Registry he had downloaded from the Plex Anthill datalinks and displayed the woman's file.

Markus looked up from the display at the woman, who had vaguely oriental features and dark brown hair. "Thank you Virta Collins. Congratulations on becoming a Spartan Citizen and a member of the Brigade. Report to Ensign Rollins at the armory for your armor and equipment," Markus said tiredly.

The woman nodded briefly and made for the queue in front of the armory locker across the room. Next in line was the man who was known to the Spartans as The Man Without a Face. He walked forward and stood still, his arms at his side. Markus waited for a moment, and then looked up as the routine was disrupted. He glanced at the man quizzically.

"Present your arm please for identification," Markus said.

"There is no need," he said simply.

Not understanding, Mark commented, "I need your identification to register you."

"I have no identification."

"Just present your arm," Mark said, becoming increasingly annoyed.

The Man Without a Face dutifully presented his arm. Mark took his reader and scanned his wrist. The reader emitted a flat tone. He scanned his arm again and the reader emitted the same tone.

"Why isn't the reader working? Don't you have an ID chip?" Markus asked.

"No."

"Are you a Hive citizen?" Markus asked. Every Hive citizen had an ID chip subcutaneously embedded in their wrist.

"No."

"Then what are you," Markus asked.

"I am a NP," he responded as if that said everything.

Mark looked directly into the man's soulful brown eyes. He was perfectly calm, even if Markus was starting to lose his composure. Stress and lack of sleep will do that. "OK. Enough of this: what is a 'NP'?"

The man paused. "I take it you are not familiar with Hive society," he responded in an articulate, if slightly slurred, voice. "A 'NP' is a Non Person. There are three levels of punishment for a Political. The lowest is mind wipe and reeducation. The second is public execution. The third and most severe is Non Person. My punishment as a Non Person included being given a choice of personally executing my family or watching them be slowly tortured to death. Then my identity, the memory of my crime, the memories of all my loved ones and all I cared about was removed. I remember executing my wife and two children, but not their faces. I remember my father kneeling down before me and weeping for me just before I slit his throat, but I do not remember his name. I have lived for 18 years by taking what I need, but being acknowledged by no one for fear of also being branded a Non Person. We are recognized by our disfigurement," he raised his hand and touched is melted face, "which means no one will recognize me. No one will talk to me. No one touches me. That is a Non Person."

Markus' irritation had fled, and he swallowed hard.

"I do not remember my name, I do not have and ID chip, and you will not find any record of me in the Hive datalinks. But, you need a name for your records. I choose the name Spartacus, in honor of Sparta. May I fare better than my namesake," he said somberly.

Markus didn't know what to say, so he fell back to his standard line. "Congratulations on becoming a Spartan Citizen and a member of the Brigade. Report to Ensign Rollins at the armory for your armor and equipment."

Spartacus nodded his head reverently toward Markus and walked into the churning crowd. Markus followed him with his eyes. The former Hive citizens seemed to part as he approached and averted their eyes, perhaps out of habit. He walked in a deliberate fashion toward the armory.

In the meantime a young man with a terrific grin on his face walked forward and extended his arm without any prompting. He seemed jubilant. Markus mechanically processed the eager recruit. But he kept glancing back toward where Spartacus had disappeared into the crowd.

*****

Luong took another feed from the 469th and the spyeyes and updated the tactical map.

"Pinwheels took out a rover brigade! Ten toasty rovers!" Luong said happily through her hologoggles. Her hands were still pecking away at the air as she processed the incoming data.

Rao watched as the nearest Hive armor brigade icon exploded theatrically.

A little flourish on Luong's part, Rao thought in appreciation.

Still, there were more Hive brigades than initially anticipated: 14. Three amphibious infantry groups were jetting across the ocean and readying their siege guns. Also, a transport that was obviously carrying at least 3 more rover brigades was nearing the rocky beach. The 469th was quite ready for them, being nicely dug in within the remnants of the Alpha and Beta Sectors cargo bays. On his holomap he could also see the infantry of the 469th shadowed by the RT rovers, to provide cover in case it got a little too hot and they needed to pull out. Circling above the siege were Aardvarks 1 and 2, who were staying well away from the lethal airfight of Indigos and Hive needlejets, and were poised to swoop in when called.

The fireworks should begin any second, Rao thought.

*****

"Ready Fire! Here They Come!" Captain Nathan Gatesly warned the men and women of 469th Sacrifice Battalion.

The Hive amphibious unit almost skittered across the choppy sea on their miniature foils. As they approached the beach they literally plowed through the breakers, creating an enormous spray of ocean water that raked 10 meters into the air. Hitting the beach they didn't stop, as their personal foils instantly turned into small hovercraft. The group formed a wedge around their siege gun, which was also mounted on a slightly larger foil. En masse the wedge bounded up the low black and grey granite cliff at over 30 kmph.

Sacrifice battalion couldn't see the amphibs, but knew they were coming from the info from the spyeyes. All they could do is hold tight until they peaked over the top of the rounded cliff.

Ten seconds later their wait was rewarded: the Hive poured over the ridge, firing at their entrenched position as they came. The concussion of the missiles was deafening, and granite boulders were blasted free from the walls of the roofless Alpha Sector cargo bay. None of the missile fire hit Sacrifice Battalion, but the collateral damage and falling boulders the size of houses took their toll.

"FIRE" Nat screamed.

Blue lanced of chaos death leapt from the Sacrifice's own siege guns and small arms, lancing toward the advancing Hive, who were completely in the open and framed by the sky and blue ocean behind them. Nanoseconds later the air above and below them erupted into white energy. The discharge of the chaos gun rippled through the Hive men and the siege gun. By the time the shock wave hit Sacrifice Battalion all that remained of the Hive was ruin.

"Status?" Nat demanded.

Captain Alsobrook of Ozone Company responded, "Light sir, only 25% casualties, mostly non-terminal."

"Right. Button up! Here come the rovers!" Nat said.

On the beach a transport disgorged two rover brigades of 10 rovers each. These poured up the 30-meter ridge toward Sacrifice's position.

"Nat, Victory Battalion over in Beta reports they took out two amphibs, but are pulling back with heavy losses. They're down to 40%. RT is filling," Alsobrook said.

"Right. We'll be there soon. Tell our RT backup Lightning to be ready. We'll take one more hit, then pull back. Got it?"

"Stat."

*****

Rao looked over the battle. The Hive's mobile attackers were committed. Sacrifice and Victory Battalions of the 469th had taken a pounding, but had destroyed 3 Hive amphibious and a rover battalion with largely defensive fire. For the second time in as many seconds, Rao thanked their durable fusion armor, the Hive perimeter defense, and the superb morale and training of the Spartan troops. With them they had a 2:1 to 3:1 advantage over the Hive's best missile attack. Still, the Hive was chewing up the Spartan defenders fast. And the Hive had strength of numbers

Looking at the latest spyeye report, two more Hive rover battalions were engaging the Rolling Thunder brigades that had taken up point to give cover to the retreating 469th infantry.

They can take that hit, Rao thought confidently.

Then Rao noticed that 7 Hive infantry brigades were slowly wading ashore from their mired transports. He clenched his jaws in anticipation. Spartan reserves included a one 469th rover battalion, one Rolling Thunder brigade, a desperately crippled AAA brigade, 2 obsolete needlejets, and the untested fission plasma garrison.

I hope we have enough firepower to take them out before they get off the beach, Rao through. If not, they will slaughter us.

Beads of sweat appeared on Rao's normally calm brow.

[Velociryx]

Gavin’s arms and wrists were badly chaffed when he finally freed himself of the ropes, and he could feel the blood seeping down his arms, but it didn’t matter. Nor did the pain in his chest and the fire which ran along his ribs where Angel had caressed him with her vile gloves.

None of that mattered now. Not when he was living on borrowed time.

He smiled a thin, weary smile as he fought off the effects of the drugs. True, it would make the pain harder to deal with, but he needed that. If nothing else, it would serve as a focus.

Borrowed time.

“Get moving, old man.” He said grimly as he took a quick survey of the chamber they’d kept him in. Looking for something. Anything.

Improvise.

His life-long ace in the hole had been exactly that. His ability to think on his feet.

Not much to work with here though.

Four chairs and a flimsy table. Some crude pottery with fruit in it. A Morgan MusicMaster 3000 keyboard in the corner, and an antique roll-top desk. And the slab-bed they had him on.

Without hesitation, Gavin made for the desk and scanned the contents of the desktop. The old fashioned letter opener was the only thing even remotely useful, and he grabbed it up, tying a short length of rope snugly around his wrist as a bracelet, and slipping the letter opener between it and his arm, tucking the length of it up the sleeve of his shirt.

“Great.” He mumbled. Now I’ll take on the whole damned base garrison with my trusty letter opener.”

He continued his search.

Found all the desk drawers locked.

He sighed, and answered Sand’s question from earlier.

Old or not, his hands truly **did** seem to be made of stone. There was no time for subtlety, so he attacked the drawers savagely, ripping them completely from the desk, and mangling the flimsy locks.

Jackpot.

He had no idea what level of security the badge in the top drawer might grant him, but if it was down here (wherever **here** was….he reminded himself that he had no idea even what base he might be in), chances were good it would get him all the way to the surface. Now, if he could just find a disguise…..

No time for that though.

Time to get moving. Make the most of that “borrowed time.”

On the way past the table, he snagged an apple and bit into it deeply, savoring the taste of the fruit.

Delicious and it made him smile.

It also put a curious tingle at the back of his neck, and he could have sworn for half a second that he heard some far off voice saying: “Don’t eat the fruit!”

He cocked his head to one side and listened for a moment.

Nothing.

He shrugged as he slid the ID badge over the sensor. Probably just the drugs they had him on. Making him hear things.

The door opened, and he moved out of the room that had once held him, becoming in that moment, Predator, rather than Prey.

&&&&

Ashaandi surveyed the field reports from Plex Anthill and sighed. They were good, stout warriors, but the latest reports had Yang’s forces outnumbering them to such a degree that surely the Spartans could not hold out.

He tapped his Comm-Link, waited for the secured line, and then entered a carefully memorized thirty-six-digit code.

Less than ten seconds after he’d typed in the last digit, the response code came back.

Draekin.

He had always been a master of efficiency.

The viewscreen remained dark, but he could hear his most trusted Lieutenant’s breathing, strong and steady as always.

“You called, Master Ashaandi?”

“Yang’s forces against Plex Anthill are strong.”

“Overwhelmingly so, it would seem.”

“Are your ghosts still active?”

“Of course, Master.”

“Use them….I want you to focus on industry. Bomb the production centers and shut them down, even if only temporarily. Rile up the dissidents and drones in all the bases immediately surrounding Plex Anthill. I want them paralyzed for the short term. The attack will falter, and no reinforcements will be forthcoming, as they will all be too busy. It will be give the Spartans time to consolidate in Zanzibar and Plex, which will seal Yang’s fate.”

“Consider it done, Master.”

Next stop was Honshu.

God how he hated that man, but…. Hatred or no, he had resources.

Honshu answered right away, and seemed anxious to talk. “How goes the defense?”

“As well as can be expected, but not well enough.” He said gruffly.

Honshu nodded.

“You know I wouldn’t ask this if there were any other way….”

“You want my Fire-Eaters.”

Honshu’s Fire-Eaters. One of the most colorful units in the entire Spartan military, and the only privately maintained unit in the entire army. It was a small unit, but outfitted for multi-role functionality.

“What is their current configuration?”

“They’ve got polymorphic armor…..stuff we found Zakarov experimenting with when we captured the last of their bases. It’s been slow going, but we’ve been making some strides with it. Amazing….the University was tinkering with this stuff ages ago, and we’re only just now figuring out how it works.”

“What does it do, exactly?”

Honshu smiled. “I’ll send you the specs on it, but suffice it to say that I can turn my AAA Fire-Eaters into ECM Fire-Eaters in just over thirty-minutes, and I don’t have to bring them into the command center to do it.”

“They can do it that quickly? In the field?”

Honshu nodded, and as much as Ashaandi hated to admit it, he really was impressed. A force like that could be just the thing to….

“How many do you have?”

“Two hundred and seventy three, including officers. A small unit, but they pack a punch. Just outfitted them with the latest in Chaos Weaponry.”

Silence lingered.

“You need but ask.” Honshu said in a moment, a slightly smug smile on his face.

Ashaandi forced a return smile onto Gavin’s face, but inside he was seething. Pompus Ass of a man! One day…..

But he put that thought out of his mind for the moment. There was a desperate battle being fought in Plex, and they needed any help he could give them.

“Can you slip your forces in?”

I can have them parachute into the base under cover of darkness day after tomorrow….can the Plex defenders give my boys a little air cover”

“If they know what to look for, yes.”

“It will be a Hivean Mk-9000 Mini-Transport jet.” Again, that faintly smug, satisfied smile.

Ashaandi/Burge nodded. “I’ll inform the base defenders.”

“Tell them something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell Rao I’m proud of him….and that I could learn a thing or two about building a base defense from his performance.”

Honshu ended the transmission before Ashanndi could respond, and it made his blood boil.

“The **nerve** of the man. Such behavior towards a superior officer was…..well. Suffice it to say that Angel would enjoy her time with him….someday.”

Next call, to Field Command in Plex Anthill.

Rao came on the line after several minutes, and was sweating profusely.

“Hot day, Commander?” He asked gruffly, in Gavin’s voice and laughed a short, barking, cynical laugh.

“It is that, sir, but we’ve won the first round.”

The commander of the Spartan Military nodded sagely. “Excellent.” And, I wanted to congratulate you on that…..I know the next few days will be hard ones, but I’ve also got complete faith in you and your men.”

Rao forced a smile, saying nothing, and he could read the man’s thoughts clearly enough. He wanted reinforcements, not pretty sentiments.

“I’ve also got a present for you.”

That got his attention.

“Reinforcements?” He asked hopefully.

“Yes. Not many, mind you, but they’ll be paradropping in day after tomorrow.”

“Who? Who are they?”

“Honshu’s Fire-Eaters.”

Rao smiled. A small unit, true, but their presense alone would help keep morale high. They were a tremendously talented lot.

“Honshu sends them with this message: That he could learn a thing or two from you about running a defense.”

Battle weary or no, Rao beamed briefly at that. High praise indeed.

“Be on the watch for a Hivean Mk-9000 making a low overfly day after tomorrow, sometime after dark. Can’t give you more specifics than that, but keep your planes limping along at least til then, to give them a bit of cover….they’re all yours after that.”

Before Rao could respond, he ended the transmission and smiled with satisfaction.

It was coming together.

One last call, again on a secured channel to the sub-transports. He expected, nor got any reply at all.

“Defense of Plex is proceeding as expected. Continue silent running until my signal. Last transmission until show time.”


&&&&