The Spartan Chronicles

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

*****

Morgan Senior entered the Tactical Operations room, which hadn’t been used in over 20 years. Using the Tacs meant that Morgan Industries was on a war footing. And the last time the Morganites had been at war was during the near extermination of the Gaians over 20 years ago.

The room was dimly lit and had over 10 elaborate holo grids to display lining the walls. In the center was the main grid, which also served as a meeting table for the 15 or so ministers and generals it could seat. At this time only five, including Morgan, were present. That is all that could be quickly located after Yang’s extremely unpleasant pronouncement less than 25 minutes ago.

Morgan motioned for the slim entourage to be seated. Present were his Interior Minister, his Finance Minister, and a very junior Military Minister. At Morgan’s side was Paul Andreas, his Director of Security. When found at all, he could be found at Morgan’s side. All of his ministers were obviously agitated.

Morgan remained standing. Without preamble he started.

“I have just spoken with Ms Marlo Hollis of the Spartan Federation and initiated at trade, at great profit to us, of Morgan Processing for Plex Anthill. We will have to deal with the political ramifications of the trade at a later date. Yang, of course, will be coldly furious and will demand this base from us after the trade has taken place. This, however, is a minor issue, for I no longer care if I anger Yang.

“You have all heard the news. Yang has, and is threatening to use, a Planet Buster. Now we know where the energy Yang extorted from us went: he has used it to crash build his planet buster. Our intelligence estimated Yang was at least half a year away from completion of this dread device. So, once again, we have been the instrument of Yang’s power.

“This is the biggest threat to us and humanity in the history of humans on Chiron. He can not be allowed to have, much less use, this weapon of mass destruction. He is paranoid enough to use it and weapons like it against enemies or even ‘friends’ who do not comply with his delusional wishes.

“To counter this threat, I will initiate Scorched Earth.”

His ministers quit fidgeting. They knew some vague outlines of what this program was, but no details. It involved committing the Morganites to total war against the Hive, and depleting most of their significant economic and scanty military resources in one, hopefully fatal, strike.

“Paul, an update please.”

Paul rose from his chair.

“Thanks to our integrated datalinks due to our alliance with the Hive, we are able to easily locate most of Yang’s forces when they are not en route. Of critical importance, Yang’s Planet Buster is now located in Communal Nexus, just off our coast. Yang knows we know of its location. This is his attempt to both divert whatever plots the Spartans have cooking and to intimidate us.

“The crucial elements of Scorched Earth are our operatives and energy reserves. Our energy reserves are ample, even after Yang’s extortion. Currently, we have 2 teams in Spartan territory, 2 in Peacekeeper territory, none in Gaian lands and 11 ‘trade delegations’ in Hive territory. Interestingly, part of our work has been done for us. Spontaneous riots have broken out in Laborer’s Throng, Manufacturing Warrens, and Great Clustering within the last hour. More seem likely. It is highly unlikely that the Spartans or Peacekeepers are behind all these closely timed periods of civil unrest. It is equally unlikely that they are truly spontaneous, given Yang’s police state. There is no other explanation for this than Yang’s own Ashandi.”

Paul paused for effect. Even Morgan was riveted at the implications.

“At low cost we will instigate riots and then turn the Hive cities of Worker’s Nest, Hole of Aspiration, and Paradise Swarming. These are all former Gaian cities, and are not yet assimilated and are therefore relatively easy marks. Our primary target, however, is Command Nexus. Within the hour we will subvert this city, whatever the cost. Then the Planet Buster will be ours.”

*****

Even before Morgan had called his emergency meeting he had initiated Scorched Earth. Well-planned riots started all over the Hive. Between the riots started by Morgan operatives and the ‘spontaneous’ riots, fully one third of all Hive bases were in chaos. Some of the rioters ‘found’ conveniently located arms caches. The security officials and troops at these cities found themselves inexplicably locked in their buildings or otherwise incapacitated or hamstrung by inoperative computer systems. The result was official gridlock, chaos, looting, revenge killings, and victory for the insurgents.

By 9:00 midnight four Hive cities raised the Morgan flag: Worker’s Nest, Hole of Aspiration, Paradise Swarming, and Communal Nexus.

[Googlie]

Hargreaves walked into Marlo’s office and dropped a letter on her desk. She looked up quizically.

“From St. James. Enclosing one putatively from Santiago. Arrived for Googlie a few minutes ago. You need to read it and evaluate how much you tell Burge/Ashaandi when you two meet.

“I’m off to Morgan Processing in a few minutes, but before I go you’ll need Allardyce’s access codes. I’ve brought the transfer block.”

He pulled out the small package and activated the controls. He pressed his thumb into one of the recesses, then held it out to Marlo, who pressed her thumb into the matching recess. The bioscan recorded the unique signature of each.

He then passed it before one eye, the soft laser conducting the retinal scan, then passed it to Marlo who did likewise.

“Good luck”, he said, preparing to leave.

Just then Marlo’s assistant entered.

“Breaking news”, she said. “Four Hive bases have revolted and just declared themselves to be Morgan followers. Worker’s Nest, Hole of Aspiration, Paradise Swarming, and Communal Nexus. The Hive is in an uproar.”

“I’ll bet,” said Hargreaves. “And Morgan will need to get garrison troops in quickly to these four bases as Yang won’t take this lying down. Maybe we should think about gifting some units to them. Anyway, I must dash. I’ll commlink you on my arrival in Morgan Processing in a few hours. And get some sleep – you look awful.”

Marlo stuck out her tongue at him as he left.

Her assistant, Jennifer, coughed discretely.

“What now?” Marlo asked. “More news?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. But you should probably address the local population. They’re still leaving in droves after Yang’s broadcast and clogging up all the exits from the city. The garrison troops and police are doing the best they can, but if the danger is past then they need to return to their homes.”

“Good point,” Marlo said. “Set it up. I need to find Burge as well. Has anyone seen him?”

“Not recently in Sparta Command,” Jennifer said. “I’ll ask around. Meanwhile I’ll set up the broadcast. Give me ten minutes.”

Jennifer left to make the arrangements.

‘Bloody hell,’ thought Marlo. ‘I’m running the whole shebang. Corrie’d be proud of me. Hell, Corrie. I forgot about the letter from St. James.’

She opened the letter and read the Colonel’s message to Salvador.

‘Hmmm. The plot thickens,’ she thought. ‘It's trust Sand now. As well as Ashaandi. Hmmm.’



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited September 20, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Worker’s Nest

*****

“MOR-GAN, MOR-GAN, MOR-GAN” many of the crowd that filled the streets were chanting.

The Gaians, free of the Yang’s Punishment Sphere and Nerve Clipping for the first time in 20 years, were jubilant. Some even mentioned that they would have welcomed any liberator, even the fanatical Miriam, if she still lived.

Hive Administrator Ferris figured prominently in the celebrations. As the prime inquisitor for the Hive at Worker’s Nest, he was the most hated and was eagerly sought after. His ‘interrogation’ by the Gaians had lasted for hours and his mangled corpse now hung on a gibbet at the blasted ferrocrete ruins of the Punishment Sphere.

Andreas’ operatives, who had engineered the chaos, were more practical, however. This was not a time for celebrations, for the entire weight of Yang’s military industrial complex was a mere stone’s throw away. A defense of the three liberated Gaian cities had to be created, and fast.

Luckily, each of the cities contained the weapons and armor, and logistical support system, for two brigades. The loyal Yang supporters were weeded out and generally killed as ‘war criminals’, and those with known (as opposed to recently found) Gaian sympathies were retained and promoted. Eager, if green, recruits were easily identified. Within a day or so the specs for new fusion plasma armor would come through, and all units would be retrofitted. Offensive chaos weaponry would come later, perhaps much later.

After that, the strategy was simple: put almost all the available forces forward in Paradise Swarming, which would bear the brunt of the Hive counter attack. All other production would be turned toward defensive and anti-aircraft armaments. Then, hide behind the Hive perimeter defense Yang had been kind enough to create.

Surveying the happy throng, the Morganic probe team just let them celebrate. The cruel realities would come soon enough. Likely, it would come too soon, and be too cruel for the Gaians to contemplate.

Then again, the Gaians had lived under the tender mercies of Yang for 20 years. They knew perfectly well what fates awaited them. If they failed then they would die, and be free of Yang at last. If they succeeded then they had a chance at a real life that none of them ever dreamed could be possible.

For the first time in 20years the long-lost Gaians had in their possession the rarest of commodities: hope.

[Rynn]

Kurt knew that they were in deep trouble, maybe even in over their heads.

Sleep was out of the question – at least for both of them together. One always would have to be awake, inside the mind of the sleeping other, keeping the neural block functioning. He could sense them even now,at the fringes of his consciousness, in the middle of the night, as he sat watch while Shauna slept.

Their message was insidious and repetitive.

Shauna…..Kurt… We know you are in The Leaders’ Horde. Contact us. We know of your involvement at Laborers’ Throng. You were under the influence of the Spartan operative, Miles Cavenaugh. You are not to blame.

We want to strike a deal with you that will let you fulfil your aspirations of a free Believer society while at the same time perform a great service for your adopted faction, the Human Hive.

Contact us, we are ready. We are waiting. We want to talk with you. Chairman Yang wants to meet with you. You have a destiny in the annals of the Hive that will be heroic.

Kurt steeled his mind, and threw the protective mental shroud over Shauna.

He worried about his turn to sleep.

Sure, he had tutored Shauna in the short time since they first sensed the empaths – and she was a fast learner, but her talent was raw. And she was a reader, with strong divining skills with an immense ability to penetrate minds and read their flow as well as to map out future paths based on the probabilities of these minds spawning actions. Her neural defenses were weak.

Kurt on the other hand was trained, a projector and compellor. His ability was to force his will on others, to thought control them, and he was trained well by the guild. His compulsion abilities were what had attracted the attention of the Mindworm Brigade, and also that had made him a prime candidate as a controller when miles became available. Plus he had the headset, which amplified his talents by a factor exceeding ten.

He closed his mind to the whisperings and watched Shauna.

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

Pang Chow-Lai sat in the needlejet taking him to Great Clustering. This latest news was disquieting.

Due to the single-mindedness of the Chairman, all Empath Guild members were engaged in the effort to find and turn Shauna and Kurt, with the result that any effort they could have brought to bear on the four subverted bases was nil. Not that they could have saved all four, but surely two could have had their resolve strengthened by timely interventions of empaths.

And Shimoda’s news was bleak. Sand, his old mentor, was to be executed at dawn, which would be 3.00 local time, or in about five hours from now. Pang was a member of the Circle, a deep plant, instructed to work from within. He had been recruited by Angel, with whom he had had a tempestuous affair, before her sadism had turned him off. He had learned how to thought control her, to tame her excesses, but much of her spontaneity had been lost so their relationship withered.

Now he was going to try and effect Sand’s rescue, and maybe even Angel’s, if she still was alive.

It would be a dangerous end game.

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

Sand sat in his cell in Great Clustering, pondering the message he had received. He knew it had to be a message, as he hadn’t thought of the incident for many years, and suddenly the thought had come unbidden into his head.

Matteus

He pondered. Who had sent it to him – obviously an empath, but who – and for what purpose.

Matteus had been his loyal servant who had willingly died for him these decades ago when googlie had flamed him at the foot of the Council steps They’d been waiting – Allardyce, Burge and St James – in ambush as he descended from a clandestine meeting with Santiago. As he reached the foot of the steps, they’d emerged from behind the colonnades, Allardyce firing while Burge and St James guarded his back.

Matteus had been waiting too, and when the firing commenced, in the confusion, he’d thrown himself in front of the flamegun, allowing a badly charred Sand to escape while Googlie still vented his wrath on the smoldering corpse at his feet. Charred to a nothingness, they had then fled, and Sand had vowed his revenge on all three.

But an empath knew, and was suggesting a means of escape using the same tactic, Sand surmised. But who?

So his “death” at the hands of a firing squad would actually be some other poor unfortunate’s death, and he would be spirited away to continue the fight. An empath would have to be involved – a compellor – so that the squad and the Governor would believe him to have been executed. And a victim was necessary as the holocams would be recording everything for Yang’s subsequent review. The victim would be heavily bandaged – as Sand was – so the deception would not be difficult. The body would need to be burned, of course.

And what of Angel? The last he had seen of her had been when the medics took him to the garrison hospital – her body had been lying across the console she had been working at when the core blew. Could she be behind this? Hard to believe. It had to be the Circle.

He sat back and waited.

[Rynn]

Kurt was gently stroking Shauna’s hair as she slept, her eyelids flickering intermittently as she dreamt. Kurt was following the dream with a half mind, keeping the neural barriers intact with the other. He smiled fondly down at her.

How beautiful she looked, so serene, so untroubled, and her dream was pleasant too, uncluttered and uncompromising. The dreams of innocence and youth. ‘God I love this girl,’ he thought.

He heard a commotion on the landing outside Shauna’s small apartment, but daren’t expand his consciousness lest the searchers find him.

There was a muffled explosion outside, and suddenly the door was kicked in and two Hive troopers burst into the room, their shredders at the ready. Behind them strolled a figure that Kurt recognized. He recoiled in horror, instinctively tightening his grip protectively around Shauna, who woke up.

“You,” Kurt said, aghast.

“The same,” said the figure, doffing his cap. His head was shaven, and the scars from the operation were still visible like a crown around his scalp.

“It took three days and countless operations to reverse the nervestapling, but now I’m newer and stronger,” said Bert, Kurt’s old companion.

“How did you find us?” asked Kurt. “My block was impenetrable.”

“Too good,” said Bert. “In fact, that’s how we found you. Our neural broadcast net only encountered two barriers, so they had to be you two. You were like a black beacon ‘shining’ in the light – we simply followed the blackness until we found you. Not difficult, really.”

He looked down at Shauna, who was snuggling into Kurt for protection.

“Pretty little piece you’ve got there,” he said. “Pity we’re under instructions to deliver you unharmed to the Chairman himself. I’d enjoy getting better acquainted with her. Shauna, eh?” Bert leered down at her.

“But no time to chat. Get dressed and let’s go. We haven’t got all day.”

He stood to one side with the two guards as Kurt got up from the cot.

“At least have the decency to wait outside while we get dressed,” he said to Bert imploringly.

“Fat chance,” Bert replied. “No touch is the rule, but no-one said anything about not watching. Get up Miss.” He gestured his shredder pistol at Shauna.

She reached out with her mind, to Bert’s, and read his lascivious desire as if it were a book in front of her.

She flashed a thought to Kurt, still erecting his barrier seize the moment when it presents itself - take the guards

Focussing on Bert’s desire, she pushed back the coverlet from the bed, and sat up.

His eyes hungrily followed her every move.

Shauna swung her legs over the side of the bed and languorously stood up and stretched, turning round to give Bert a full frontal view of her nakedness.

“Is this what you want to see?” she asked

Bert drooled, and the two Hive troopers watched in suspended disbelief.

“Or this?” she asked, running her hands from her waist up to her breasts and cupping them in each hand, squeezing slightly until her nipples were erect.

Bert’s desire was palpable.

“Maybe you’d like to see me use my vibrator,” she purred. “I’ll get it.”

Bert’s jaw dropped as she turned to the small table by her cot and opened the drawer. The sweat was dripping down his face as he anticipated the show he was about to see. The two troopers were goggle eyed.

Shauna reached into the drawer, and whipped out her personal shredder pistol. In one movement she raised it to Bert’s temple and fired. His head exploded in a pulpy mass of flesh and gore and electronic wiring from his implants.

Simultaneously Kurt reached out with his mind to the two troopers, engaging them in a vice like grip of thought control.

With horrified eyes, aware of what they were doing, yet unable to resist, they each raised their shredders, pointing to the other, and fired.

Their bodies crumpled to the floor.

“Get dressed and let’s get out of here,” said Kurt.

Within minutes they had exited the apartment block, on the run.

“What now?” Shauna asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Kurt. “Stowaway maybe. Let’s try the docks. Maybe a cargo out. Or else go to the Hive itself – they’ll never think of looking for us there.”

“The docks,” said Shauna. “I know some Believer longshoremen.”

They headed to the docks.

[Rynn]

Sheng-Ji Yang sat at the head of the table. He placed the palms of his hands flat against the table surface and closed his eyes, reaching inwardly for that special place, that center of his being.

His high command watched anxiously. Smaller in number than a few hours before, they knew that they were looking right into the eye of the storm. They shifted nervously in their chairs, and looked at each other, accusingly, comrades in arms, mistrustful, yet strangely together.

Air Marshall Lew. Anticipating the command to turn his airforce against the four rebel bases. He was going to refuse, and that refusal, he knew, may cost him his life. But adamant that he would not give the order. ‘Enough is enough,’ he thought. ‘I wonder if any of the others will back me?’

General Seng, of Eastern Command. All four rebel bases were in his zone of control. He also was the general in charge of the invasion of Plex Anthill, which had been disastrous, with appalling loss of life. He fully expected to be asked to commit suicide, but was determined to refuse. This war was not of his doing. The expeditionary force that had provoked the fighting in the first place belonged to General Ng, who had been tasked with finding the downed Spartan needlejet and who had managed to inflame a minor incursion into a full scale war that they were in danger of losing.

General Ng, of Western Command. He was smugly satisfied. Not yet called upon except to provide cannon fodder to Seng, his only blemish was in being blind to the nascent Believer resistance in two of his bases. Not counting the Great Clustering fiasco, of course. But that could be firmly put on Sand’s shoulders, as he had deftly done.

Admiral Hy. Unscathed. Not yet bloodied by the battle as the expected Spartan invasion fleet had not as yet materialized. Had successfully brought the naval units out from the rebel bases before any damage could be done to the ships, he was serene in the knowledge that he was, for the present, untouchable.

Chief Science Officer Shimoda. Outwardly calm, yet inwardly terrified. He had just learned of the escape of Weiss and McCullough, and didn’t know if the Chairman knew. If he assumed Yang knew, and referred to it, and Yang hadn’t known, he could pay with his life. However if he assumed Yang didn’t know, and ignored it, and Yang did know, again he could pay with his life. His only ace-in-the-hole was the work he was personally doing in the realm of mind/machine interface which would allow the development of superior new weapons technology in the form of copters. Even Yang didn’t know that he was fairly advanced along this path. Maybe now would be a good time to tell him.

Sheng-Ji Yang opened his eyes, and let his gaze roam around the table.

“Tell me,” he said softly, to no-one in particular, “tell me why we are here?”

The silence lasted well over a minute.

“Did you not hear me? I asked a question. Must I repeat it?”

“No, Mr. Chairman,” said Lew finally.

Yang turned his gaze on the Air Marshall.

“Then tell me, old friend. Why are we here?”

Air Marshall Lew stood up and drew in a deep breath as the others secretly sighed in relief.

“Chairman Yang. Colleagues. We are here because we are in a war we cannot win. We are here because we cannot keep the most elementary control of our own population. We are here because our own pact brother has turned against us. We are here because our own Empath Guild is riddled with defectors. We are here because although we have the largest and most feared fighting machine on planet, our equipment and morale shortcomings, allied with our own ineptness, has rendered us so impotent that we have even lost our ultimate weapon, the Planetbuster, to the Morganites. We are here because we have been finessed out of Plex Anthill, once the most promising of our newer bases. Essentially we are here because we have failed in everything we have set out to do these past months.

“That is why we are here.”

He sat down.

Sheng-Ji Yang steepled his fingers and looked contemplatively at him.

“Marshall Lew. Your facility for succinctness is admirable. You have echoed my thoughts exactly.”

The others sat stunned. Where was the explosion of outrage and the hectoring of them to drive them into a frenzy of warfaring? Where was the invective against Morgan and Santiago – or at least against Burge and Allardyce?

“Since the cease-fire went into effect at Plex Anthill, why have we not offered broad terms of a truce to the Spartan Federation, as suggested by Allardyce in his transmission? Are you waiting for my lead on this?”

Yang asked the question rhetorically.

General Seng coughed for attention. All eyes turned towards him.

“Is Sparta the enemy? Or Morgan?”

“Well?” asked Yang, looking around.

Shimoda seized the moment, rising to his feet.

“Aha, the civilian,” said Yang. “He has an opinion. Let us listen.”

Coloring slightly, Shimoda began:

“We cannot afford to fight on two fronts. If we are to retake the rebel bases and reassert control, then we must sue for peace with Sparta. Our resources are stretched to the maximum as it is, and we are falling behind technologically.

“We intercepted the transmission between CEO Morgan and Marlo Hollis, who seems to have emerged as the strongwoman of the Spartan Federation. The Spartans have passed on to the Morganites the secrets to Fusion Power and Chaos weaponry.”

There was a gasp from the assembled group.

Yang stared speculatively at Shimoda.

“Why have I not been informed of this?” he asked quietly.

“The transfer of knowledge has not yet taken place, or is currently proceeding. I did not wish to alarm you unduly lest they be only rumors,” replied Shimoda, inclining his head.

“But let me continue. We need a period of sustained calm while we work on our researches. We are close to a major military breakthrough that will let us leapfrog the others – I refer to research we have labeled ‘mind/machine interface’ which will allow the manufacture and production of a new type of air and ground support craft – the copter. If we can trade for or steal the Chaos weaponry technology, we will have a military advantage until the others catch up.

“I suggest that we sue for peace with the Spartan Federation, and plan a major invasion of Morgan territory, to capture Morgan Metagenics. It is one of their lesser bases, but it is where they have built the Hunter Seeker Algorithm which would render all our bases immune to further probe attacks.

“Of course we would have to neutralize the PlanetBuster at Communal Nexus. That will be a job for the Air Force in conjunction with the infantry.

“I have taken the liberty of preparing a missive to the Spartan Junta.”

Shimoda sat down and activated his console.

The screen at the far end lit up.

Chairman Yang was surprised to see himself on the screen, and even more surprised to hear himself say:

"Your forces are formidable, members of the Sparta Junta, and I see I was unwise to test your patience. Allow me to pledge Blood Truce and make amends."

Even the expressions on his face and the ways he used his hands were genuine.

He looked over speculatively at Shimoda.

“Be careful what words you put into my mouth,” he said. “You may live to regret them.”

To the assembled group he said:

“And what do you think of our Chief Science Officer’s suggestion?”

They shifted uncomfortable in their seats, wishing that Yang would reveal his hand before asking them to commit.

Finally Marshall Lew spoke up:

“I agree with Shimoda. Let us sue for peace.”

Yang looked around the room. One by one they nodded their agreement.

His face impassive, he turned to Shimoda.

“Send the message.”

[Rynn]

Double post intercepted by HSA and killed



[This message has been edited by Rynn (edited September 20, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Marlo was sitting half asleep with her feet up on Googlie’s desk in the SAC guest office he had appropriated.

His commlink beeped, startling her, and she activated the screen.

She was surprised to see the features of Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang on the screen, and to hear him offer peace terms.

Then an unfamiliar face took his place.

“I am Sang Shimoda, Chief Civilian officer for the Hive. Chairman Yang authorized that transmission to Federation Governor Allardyce and Supreme Commander Burge a few minutes ago. I am to receive any reply. You will understand, I am sure, that he would prefer to talk in person to Colonel Santiago. Is she by any chance available?”

‘Bastard’ thought Marlo.

“No,” she said sweetly, and neither are Allardyce or Burge.”

“Then to whom am I talking?” asked Shimoda.

“Marlo Hollis, Acting Federation Governor, at your service.”

“Ah, the redoubtable Ms. Hollis. Your fame has preceded you. Have you an answer for the Chairman?”

“I will need to consult with the Junta Command. It is, what, 2.00 in the morning Chiron Universal Time. We have a ceasefire in place as of 9.00 midnight, for 18 hours. I will reply to you before 9.00 noon today, that is, within 7 hours. Is that sufficient?”

Shimoda smiled indulgently.

“It will have to be, won’t it?” he said.

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

Marlo encrypted the recording, and sent it in a secure burst to the Junta members and anyone else she could think of. She got the names largely from Googlie’s secure list.

Burge/Ashaandi
Honshu
Honshu(Motohiro)
Tucker
Atreus
Miller
Levavassier
Lockhart
Giacomazzi
St James
McMillan
Hargreaves
Bonaventura
Copy to Corazon Santiago file.

‘Too bad if I’ve missed anyone’ thought Marlo as she hit the transmit.

Her covering message simply said:

“By the authority vested in me by Federation Governor Allardyce, I will confirm the truce to be permanent unless instructed to the contrary before 9.00 noon today by a majority of those voting.”

She appended Googlie’s electronic seal

[Tokek Belerang]

Three messages commlinked their way through cyberspace to the terminal of Marlo Hollis.

"Reluctantly, but - Yea. Truce it should be - Yang has been hurt enough, and we need to be more wary of a planetbusting CEO right now."

Signed, Teresia Giacomazzi.

And the second:

"Yea."

From Patricia McMillan.

And the last:

"Nay. Every assistance must continue to be given to the usurper Haarand Ashaandi. Yang must be destroyed, and destroyed utterly. Miriam Godwinson is dead - now let us finish Sheng-Ji Yang, and Planet may gain the Peace of the Builders at last."

It came in over the commlink of Salvador St. James, but the signature said something else.

It said, Colonel Corazón Santiago.

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

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries Hybrid Tree Farm

*****

EarthLindly, what is 'tickling'?Ehm asked.

Shannon smiled. Such a simple question. The answer was easy to explain to a human. But how do you explain a concept like 'tickling' to a mindworm? Especially to a mindworm that doesn't have any nerves, at least none that a human would recognize.

Look into my mind. I am thinking of 'tickling', she replied. Shannon thought of a time when she was little back in Gaia's Landing almost 55 years ago. She and her older brother Greg, who later died during the Fall of Gaia's Landing, had been babysitting her while she was home from the Crèche. She had been teasing him mercilessly, as only 8 year olds can tease their older 14-year-old brother. Finally he broke down and gave her the attention she wanted by chasing her around the apartment to 'catch' her. After a series of bold and grand escapes, which Greg undoubtedly arranged, he finally caught her and tickled her until she couldn't breath any more. It was her fondest early childhood memory, and it always brought a smile to her face.

mmmmmmmmmm. Is 'tickling' a DNA male familial unit?

No, Ehm. 'Tickling' is the action in my memory that caused me to laugh. You know, the barking noise humans make when we are happy. The sensation of stroking certain portion of the human body is sometimes pleasurable. This perception is called 'tickling'.

May I tickle you, EarthLindly?

What an unusual request! I haven't been tickled in decades.

Yes, Ehm

Shannon sat down in the fungus by the path in the hybrid tree farm and took off her shoes. A playful smile crossed her face as she wiggled her toes in the rubbery and strangely soft fungus. Here it was intermingled with a short green grass that existed symbiotically with it. Whereas the grass used the sunlight for photosynthesis, the fungus used the dead grass mat for food and gave back nitrogen as food to the grass - a perfect circle. The green blades of grass contrasted with the variegated pink of the fungus, creating a mottled look to the field.

Ehm skittered over. He was still very small, barely over a foot in diameter. He formed a tiny pseudopod not more than 5 centimeters long and two centimeters in diameter and tentatively brushed several of the bunched 10-centimeter worms in the pseudopod up and down the underside of Shannon's exposed foot. The worms were dry. Most humans assumed that since mindworms were shiny and glistened in the sun that they were slimy, and almost no humans every tried or had the opportunity to find out differently.

The tingling shot up Shannon's leg, and instantly she burst into laughter, and was quickly gasping for breath. She flopped into the fungalgrass and let her head fall back and let the peals of hysterical laughter come out. The yielding mat of fungus accepted her form, cushioning her arching back. Soon happy tears were falling down her cheeks.

Slowly Ehm stopped tickling, so slowly that Shannon didn't even know he was stopping. He, apparently, could empathicly sense when the sensations were becoming too intense. Shannon wrapped her arms around her chest and luxuriated in the moment. She heard Ehm skittering toward her and he morphed from the fungalgrass onto her crossed arms on her chest. He formed a small knob of a 'head' at the top of his mass and seemed to be looking down at her. She looked up a little at his always slightly-agitated grey mass of worms.

Ehm, you got it exactly right. That was tickling.

Is EarthLindly happy?

Oh, yes. Yes I am happy.

*****

Shannon had been on many tours of the Morgan Industries hybrid tree farm with Ehm. Every time Lindly found something new, something subtle and amazing. Already the hybrid forest had been growing for almost 10 years. As the months and years continued the hybrid forest spread and integrated the mono Earth and Chiron ecologies it encroached upon. As it went the multiforms of plants and animals, both of Earth and Chiron origin, became more accessible to humans. The ecology was friendly to humans. Due to their symbiotic relationship both Earth and Chiron species flourished more than they could singly or alone. The result was an impressive increase in productivity for all organisms, and more resources for the humans managing it.

Even more impressive than the fungalgrass were the forests of oak and pine, intermingled with fungal stalk clusters that were up to 10 meters tall. Apparently the fungus had species that were adapted to the various climates of Chiron just like Earth species. It took years of study just to understand the metabolic processes that allowed the integrated fungus to survive, and even more to perceive the subtleties of its speciation. Once the appropriate Chiron and Earth ecosystems were mated they seemed to meld. They then adapted as a symbiotic unit, as if they were made for each other. No longer did one planet's biosytem 'win' or 'lose', replacing each other in a battle to the death. The system was truly greater than the sum of its parts. With only a little maintenance both flourished.

Ehm's home was an area that had a small labyrinth of fungus which was pink, but varied in hue from purple to slightly gray. Interspersed within the blunt and rounded fungal cylinders and branching tubules were pods of soil and crevices that supported grasses, lichens and pools of water with abundant life Earth forms. Even when the fungus was 'dominant' a whole microfauna of Earth species was present. Shannon was always amazed as she viewed the complexity. Even as a non-biologist she could perceive something beautiful here. Gaian biologists would gladly pay a month's salary just to come here just to walk for an hour in such a place.

This towering of fungus of Ehm's home reached up almost 20 meters. Shannon could actually walk within some of the larger 'halls'. She liked calling it Ehm's Cathedral, which it resembled to her. The fungal stalks tapered up to form a corridor that looked, from the inside, like a Gothic arch with a decidedly rounded organic flare. From the outside it looked like an irregular and globular mass, like most all fungus looked from the outside.

Already another day had passed. It had been a day of learning and discovery, as usual, with Ehm as her guide. He was unfailingly polite and was almost eager to explain and answer, as well as he was able, all of Shannon's questions. Some, Shannon thought, must seem as silly to Ehm as were his question to her about 'tickling'.

Shannon sat in the late afternoon sun looking off to the sinking sun in the west. She had been gone for over 2 days, and her meager store of rations was almost exhausted. If she were a biologist or an ecologist she could have simply lived off the fruitful land, but no such luck. Ehm's meals were inedible to Shannon, as they were mainly quasi-organic Chiron mobile life forms that existed as part of the xenofunus ecosystem. It would be dark in about 3 hours, and it was time to go home. Strangely, even through she enjoyed the luxurious surrounding of the MorganRitz she felt more at home out here. It was peaceful here. A sense of the Serenity of Planet that Deirdre had always told her to open her mind to started to make sense.

Almost sadly she stood up from the short 'stump' of fungus she had been sitting on and looked off into the distance toward the Metropolis of Morgan Industries. It dominated the horizon, with its towers grasping toward the sky. It was the second largest city on Planet, after UN Headquarters, and offered untold luxuries, vices, dangers, and pleasures. It was a human world; a miniature parody of the great cities of long lost Earth. In truth, it supported only 100,000 souls. The great megatropolises of old Earth had reached 120 million before Unity departed. Truly, human society on Chiron was but a shadow of former glory. This, the hybrid forest, was a world of both Chiron and Humans. This had to be humanities future, not the clusterings of old human habits, which were so hard to break. Those human tendencies had failed so spectacularly on Earth. They threatened to fail on Planet, too.

Maybe. One day.

Ehm skittered over to her and stroked her ankle, not as a 'tickle' but as a farewell. He knew she was leaving.

I have to go now.

I know EarthLindly. There is confusion. Anger. Happiness.

Why would Ehm say that? What was going on? There are many times I wish I had psi talent.

Goodbye, Ehm

Shannon started her walk back to the city. The trail was vague, being only occasionally used by the robots that harvested resources. She would have to hurry, since many parts of the city were simply not safe in the evening, especially the Delta Sector, which she would have to pass through. After 15 minutes she turned on her comm, which she usually turned off during her little sojourns with Ehm, and was surprised when it told her she had 23 priority messages and 201 secondary messages.

Good god. Shannon thought. What's happened.

She immediately played the important messages, and her shock only increased. First, Morgan had liberated the two Gaian cities Gaia's Landing/Worker's Nest and Nessus Shining/Hole of Aspiration. Second, Morgan had broken his pack with Yang and was not at war with him. Third, Morgan now had a Planet Buster. Fourth, Deirdre had perplexing new orders for her. Lastly, Morgan Senior was requesting an audience ASAP.

Looks like her days of easy and relaxing days at Morgan Industries were at an end.

This perception was strengthened when she saw a heloflyer making a b-line for her. They had found her. She stepped forward and waved. They obviously had her transponder code, so she decided to help them out.

As the helojet got closer she saw the Morgan Industries logo. It was traveling at terrific speed, too. They must be in a hurry.

So, it is official. No more gallivanting for me - back to being the Gaian Ambassador to Morgania Shannon thought.

Resigned, Shannon walked toward the landing helo, the wind from its propwash tussling her auburn hair.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited September 22, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Plex Anthill Exodus

*****

A palpable gloom hangs over Plex Anthill.

Rao sits at the now partially disassembled tactical holo table, from which he had led his portion of the Plex Anthill defense. His temporary C&C is now turning from a command center to a field hospital again, with almost a thousand wounded to be cared for. Soon it will be an evacuation center. Through it all the majority of the former Hive citizens complacently stay in line to get their evening allotments of nutrients.

The costs in the battle with the Hive had been horrific. All of the rovers and Aardvarks in Rolling Thunder were damaged, non-operational, or partially destroyed. Over half of his well-trained crews would be out of action. Twenty percent would never see action again due to severe injuries, or death. The word from 469th airborne was that the only partially operational brigade they had was their elite rovers. Their infantry was almost too badly damaged to jump. Slats’ pilots were all pretty shot up, but were mostly operational. All in all, everything was a mess.

Still, Rao reflected, their hard won victory was is now bitter, and had been reduced to dust. HQ had just sent word that Plex Anthill, taken and then defended so valiantly and paid for in blood, was to be given to the Morganites. Valor didn't matter – politics rules.

Normally this would be a time of celebration and frenzied activity, with all the wounded Spartans, Hive soldiers, and Hive citizens to be cared for. Against the odds the Spartans at Plex had won the day. That deserved a celebration. Instead there was like there was a black cloud hanging over everyone. And a faint sense of betrayal by HQ.

Once again Rao would somehow have to establish some sense of order, if only to turn Plex over to a Morganite governor. His immediate concerns was stabilizing the wounded and evacing them when possible to Assassin’s Redoubt. General Wang had issued orders to transfer the base of operations for RT to Assassin’s Redoubt too. That, at least, was good news, since The Redoubt was the closest thing to home for most of his men and women. Airborne would simply hop and scoot, who knows where. The 4th Wing would simply fly away to their next assignment.

But what of the Hive men and women that I promised Spartan citizenship? Regardless of the consequences, Rao vowed, I will NOT abandon them. They have fought too hard, and believed too much, to be abandoned.

He was alone once again, with Luong now helping the medics take care of the unending stream of wounded and dying. Fatigue was now Rao’s enemy. Sleep and rest were far away, probably days away.

Weary beyond words, in both mind and body, Rao stood and walked to the comm. He had a flurry of calls to make.

[Hydro]

Assassin’s Redoubt

*****

“How DARE they do this to me!” Kirsten Alfredsson stormed. “Plex Anthill was MY base, it was given to me! I was to be the Military Governor! They can’t just give it away!”

Helen Tobias sat at her desk, composed and reserved. Kirsten had been a royal pain ever since she had arrived at Assassin’s Redoubt – she was demanding and tried to assume control at every opportunity, even when it clearly wasn’t her place. The dinner engagements and functions Helen had invited Kirsten and her aid Sarah to had invariably been less than pleasant, with Kirsten bluntly ‘guiding’ conversations toward what she wanted to talk about, which typically involved how wonderful the person Kirsten Alfredsson was. Assassin’s Redoubt civic and business leaders had started avoiding her by the end of the first dinner party. Kirsten’s skills were well suited for the military with a clear chain of command, but her civilian skills were almost non-existent. Helen was a little worried about her quiet aid Sarah Dawson. The personalities of the two couldn’t be more diametrically opposed: where Kirsten was domineering Sarah was cooperative; Kirsten was self-centered and Sarah was genuinely empathetic toward others; Kirsten was supremely self confidant and Sarah was unsure. Sarah almost seemed to be in pain when around Kirsten, which she probably was considering that she was an empath.

“I have tried to get through to HQ, as have you, and neither of us has gotten a response. Considering what has been going on lately it is hardly a surprise that communiqués from a couple of Military Governors might slip down the list of importance,” Helen said reasonably.

“I have my commission, and I will not be denied,” Kirsten replied with a steely tone. Kirsten’s face was hardened from her rage.

Gradually, here face softened, then became almost friendly. Almost.

“Helen, my dear, could you spare an air transport?” Kirsten said sweetly.

Immediately on guard, Helen replied, “Perhaps. What do you need it for?”

“I intend on assuming command of that mysterious Hive city Zanzibar. It does not have a Spartan Governor, and could undoubtedly benefit from my guiding hand.”

Helen paused. There were definite benefits of getting rid of Kirsten. She would gladly take the cost of the transport out of her discretionary city budget just to be rid of her. Still it had to be structured in such a way so that she would not be considered an accessory, since assuming control of Zanzibar was clearly outside of Kirsten’s orders.

“Very well. You will have to sign a requisition against your city budget. Procedure, you know.”

“Yes, yes. I understand.” Kirsten said dismissively. “When can we leave?”

We?!!

“Uhm, Kirsten, what do you mean by ‘we’.”

“Sarah and me. Who did you think?”

Helen was relieved. But what of Sarah? She was a sweet girl, and was almost wilting under Kirsten’s heavy hand.

“I’m afraid that Sarah’s services have to be extended for the evacuation of Plex Anthill. Her gifts are still needed as part of the cleanup, and her orders support that,” Helen improvised.

Kirsten glowered, then nodded in acceptance. “She will be required to report for duty at Zanzibar when the evacuation in done.” Kirsten didn’t say that Sarah was a vital tool of her plan to control and subjugate hostile elements to her governorship.

“Hopefully her orders will be clarified before then,” Helen replied evasively, with a smile. “I’ll arrange for transport immediately. We’re done, aren’t we?”

Kirsten’s eyes narrowed at the recognized dismissal.

“Yes.” Then she turned crisply around and left the room.

Helen signed with relief after the door automatically closed. That woman has the potential of being marvelously effective, if she doesn’t explode or alienate everyone around her first.

Helen hit her personal comm. “Sarah, this is a message from Helen Tobias. It looks like Kirsten is going to Zanzibar. You will be staying with me for a while. Stop by my office sometime today so we can talk about it. If Kirsten asks, your assignment is to render humanitarian assistance at Plex Anthill. Call me if you have questions.”

Helen smiled to herself. Doing a good deed and poking someone unpleasant in the eye always felt good.

[Tokek Belerang]

"Vava!" Naawal Jones cried out.

Levavassier ignored her, and pushed past the stunned Hive guards into the brightly lit chamber.

"General. Field Marshal. Gavin!" he screamed.

The lone figure standing between him and the shatteringly bright light source turned around and faced him.

"Gavin!" Levavassier cried again.

The eyes of the old commander looked dark, vacant, not there.

"I think he's ours now." came a gentle voice beside him.

Levavassier looked to the side, and looked into the eyes of the spy Sand. Behind him, the spy they called Angel.

"No! I'm taking him to Command! We all need his help!"

Now the figure of Gavin Burge moved, and spoke reasonably.

"Come, come, Eugene. I'm not dead. Frankly, I don't know what all the fuss is about. Let's just get on with things, shall we? I'm sure you and I have a chess game to finish somewhere."

Chess?

"Snap out of it, Graftman." Naawal Jones said in his ear.

"But I don't know the first thing about chess." he told her as she was standing next to his bed.

Jones laughed.

"You're past it, old man." she said. "Waaaaay past it."

"I dreamed." he said.

"Yes. You did. You dreamed you were rescuing Big Bear Burge from the clutches of the Circle."

"Wonderful." Levavassier said, and got up to a sitting position.

"Meeting at eight. There's an admiral who wants to see you."

"Admiral?"

* * * * *

There was some discussion as to whether the place was called New Zanzibar or just Zanzibar. The people who lived there just called it Zanzi now. "We'll build the bar later" was the running gag.

Levavassier went by the airstrip to call on Nans Andersen. He found him fiddling with the undercarriage of his Aardvark.

"That thing ever run?" Levavassier inquired.

"Only to get Colonels out of enemy lands. Won't work for lower ranks." Nans said and got up. "Good to see you walking."

They shook hands.

"It feels good. No more crutches."

"Let's get over to the mess hall. That admiral wants to hear your story."

"Fine with me. But after that, I'd like your opinion on a job offer I have for a certain pilot."

"Sorry bastard." Andersen said grinning.

"Yeah. I hope he's stupid enough to swallow it."

"If he's Danish, you've got a shot."

"You reckon?"

They went over to the mess hall.

* * * * *

Waiting for him were Admiral Teresia Giacomazzi, Governor DeVaughn Molina (ret.), Acting Governor Vincent Meaux, and the ghostlike figure of Fungrunner Paatelainen.

"Colonel!" the admiral said. "I am honored to meet you again."

"Admiral. Thank you. Likewise, I assure you."

"I've heard of some of your group's exploits from these gentlemen, and from miss Jones earlier. I've been asked by Field Marshal Burge to debrief you on your mission in Hive lands. I suggest we do this over dinner - I imagine you could do with a proper meal."

"I could, yes, as a matter of fact. But why the hurry? I will be in Sparta Command in a matter of days."

"The Field Marshal - Gavin - was quite adamant. I'm afraid he gave no further explanation."

Levavassier accompanied the admiral to the Star of the North, where the debriefing meal was to take place, wondering whether she knew that Gavin Burge was reported dead in some Hive media.

* * * * *

Levavassier sipped his apéritif - a rather rare aniseedy concoction from back on Earth, quite potent.

"After leaving the captured Sea Base, we had a change of mind. At first we had been convinced that we could not hold onto the base, and would merely let it run on automatic in case your ships would arrive before the Hive came calling again. But we were made to think otherwise by the Hive commander, Aaron Santos."

"Ah yes. I've heard of him. Extraordinary fellow."

"Quite. Fungrunner knew him, of course. Aaron Santos was the biggest black market racketeer in Yangland - as it turned out. That's why he was in the base in the first place - making deals with whoever came calling. He told us a lot about the disposition of the Hive forces, and his story seemed to indicate that there was little risk of losing New Zanzibar, as everything the Hive had was committed to the Battle of the Plex."

Levavassier stopped, and both soldiers considered the unworthy fate that had befallen the base that had been so grimly defended. They looked each other in the eyes, and found kindred spirits. No soldier would have turned over Plex Anthill after what had happened there. No Spartan soldier, anyway.

"So we returned briefly, and left Vinnie Mo to run things. The colonel was instrumental in getting him some backup from his private network of 'assistants'."

"What was in it for the colonel?"

"A way out. We had him along for the ride, at first, as bargaining material or whatever. But he managed to convince me - in fact, Fungrunner vouched for him - that he was in it to retrieve some 'valuables' from Great Clustering. In the meantime, he could help us on the way and sneak in with us at the same time."

"And this was when the illustrious miss Jones joined your crew."

"Illegitimately, yes. A detail Colonel Santos had not informed us about - he had sprung his old crony Naawal the Black Lion."

Levavassier sighed, and finished his drink.

"That was the last of that Pernod on Chiron." the admiral said.

"Appreciated."

"Thank you. It seems to me that, in your exploits, you were faced with as much cross and double-cross as you put into it yourself."

"Admittably. I learnt quite a lot. Among other things that the notion of control is rubbery at best - utterly illusive at worst. Control by the state, I mean. A lot goes on that is utterly beyond our grasp."

"I imagine so. Please continue with your story. It is quite fascinating."

Levavassier closed his eyes.

"We landed in thick fog. There were about thirty of us, of which half were Devo Molina's men. Of which ONE was Naawal Jones, which Devo knew but I didn't. We moved by night, and always made our way to Great Clustering. We made sure to stay away from the bases, but did our best to sabotage key assets outside the bases. Sensors, bunkers, roads. But our main business was the data lines. The first sensor we found, we blew up. Leave that to Devo's boys and girls. The second, a couple of Vinnie's datajackers worked on. Consequently, the sensor grid put us at quite another location than the one we were actually at."

Levavassier grinned.

"What?" Giacomazzi barked, intrigued.

"During the battle of Plex Anthill, some of the Hive mainland sensors issued - I wish I had been there - red alerts due to a surprise attack by swarms and swarms of tartan-clad pink flying elephants singing 'O Canada'."

Giacomazzi harrumphed.

Levavassier eyed the glass of wine that was being poured for him with interest.

"But things got less fluent after that." he said.

He tasted a piece of the farm-raised salmon on his plate, and wondered briefly what the taste might have been of its relatives in the streams of Skye, before continuing.

"We were hit out of the blue, at night. Excuse the dud metaphor." Levavassier said, and paused to look at the admiral.

"Ashaandi." he continued.

The admiral leaned forward, forgetting her meal before her.

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

[Googlie]

Hargreaves had asked the pilot to detour over Plex Anthill so that he could see firsthand the devastation that the battle had wrought..

It was awesome. Battered hulks of armored vehicles dotted the landscape around the base, which itself, from the air, looked to be largely piles of rubble. In the harbor, and offshore, could be seen the wrecks of transport ships and warships, and even this many hours after the cease fire columns of smoke still spiraled lazily into the early morning air from damaged vehicles and destroyed buildings..

As they overflew the airbase, he could see the devastation caused by the artillery bombardment and by the bombing and strafing runs. He saw a Morgan transport taxiing around the potholes in the synthcrete runway getting ready to disgorge its load of garrison troops ready to assume command of the base.

A veteran of several Spartan engagements, Basil couldn’t remember ever before seeing so much destruction.

The contrast with Morgan Processing was indescribable.

As they approached over the vast solar arrays that defined Morgan Energy Monopoly, and began their descent to Processing, Basil was awed by the sheer ostentation of the Morganites.

‘Only they’, he thought, ‘could cover a continent and its oceans with solar mirrors and tidal energy harnesses.’

He reviewed his notes as they began their final descent.

The base had a population of just over 70,000 and while as a Morgan base it had a high cyclical output of 10 nutrients, 10 minerals and, as was to be expected, 47 energy credits. As he keyed in his data he saw that it would be less productive as a Spartan base. The nutrients took a tumble to only 4, and the energy to 7, but the minerals really accelerated up to 18. As he ran the simulations, Basil noted that he would need to divert human capital to foster the talents, to keep the drone problems manageable in the immediate future.

He called up the file on the Base Manager, one Cecil Krantzenstein.

Re-elected manager in the gubernorial elections of 2222, with two remaining years to serve in his current term. Ran on a platform of strong base infrastructure, and received over 70% of the vote.

Probe reports and scuttlebutt say that he was a reluctant convert to the directional change of a few weeks ago whereby many of the bases rush-built their production quotas and retooled for military upgrading. Not a favorite of CEO Morgan’s nor of Morgan Jr.

Hargreaves resolved to have an early meeting with Cecil and try to convince him to stay on.

He’d need some garrison troops. He’d sent word to the 469th before he left asking them to “drop in” to Morgan Processing after he’s taken office, and they would give him a strong counter-Yang presence in case the Hive got nasty.

And he’d given a lot of thought to renaming the base. He knew from Googlie’s files that he and Burge had talked about new base names, and wanted to get back into the mainstream Spartan philosophy and away from Santiago’s late fixation with esoteric names. Burge’s preference for the next base was one that Basil liked.

Morgan Processing would become Ruby Ridge Memorial.

As the Spartan Government needlejet came in low for its landing, Hargreaves couldn’t help but be impressed at the opulence of the Morgan base.

There seemed to be no base facility that was wanting, and there were some that from the air Basil didn’t recognize at all.

He glanced at his commlink reader and scanned the list that he had been sent.

Childrens Creche
Recycling Tanks
Recreation Commons
Energy Bank
Network Node
Hologram Theatre
Tree Farm
Hybrid Forest
Habitation Complex
Centauri Preserve

“Hmmmm. I wonder what that last one is,” he thought. “I must pay an early visit.”

Then the bonus. Morgan Processing was the home of one of Morgan’s Special projects – The Weather Paradigm. he made a note to ask what advantages that gave to the base, and to the Federation in general.

As the jet came in from the east, he saw to the south, in the bay, the four great tidal harnesses that generated much of the base’s energy. With typical Morgan efficiency, kelp farms had been established along their superstructure to provide added nutrients for the base population.

To the north were the huge solar collectors that were in the Base’s zone of control, forming part of the massive aray that stretched as far as the eye could see to the northeast.

On the base’s southwestern boundary stood a massive farm, with its neat rows of fruits trees and vegetables supplemented by the greenhouses and hydroponic tanks that kept the oxygen level and temperature constant.

The base’s sensor array could be seen to the northwest, by the airport.

What was impressive was that all the remaining land contained within the base’s zone of control was forested. “Probably part of their tree farm and hybrid forest development,” he thought.

They swept into a perfect landing and taxied to the administration building.

As the needlejet’s retractable exitway deployed, Basil saw hurrying towards the doors a somewhat portly figure impeccably attired in a dark blue synthsilk suit, with a white cotton analogue shirt adorned with a cheery red polka dot tie. He had a matching handkerchief in his hand with which he mopped beads of sweat that developed periodically on his forehead and upper lip. His shoes were shining black, of some synthleather that took a mirror like shine.

As Basil descended, the awaiting Morganite stuck out his hand awkwardly.

“Cecil Krantzenstein at your service. You must be Basil Hargreaves?”

“The very same,” replied Basil. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“This way, please,” he said, indicating a limorover that was waiting nearby. “I’ve vacated my offices for you, and I’ll take you right there.”

“Okay,” Basil replied. “But I may be more comfortable with an office suite in one of your hotels. I imagine you’ll still need your office as Manager.”

“As Manager?” Cecil asked. “You don’t wanrt to supplant me and impose military or police rule?”

“Not at all,” replied Basil. In The Spartan Federation we have Base Governors – a sort of political appointment – and Base Administrators, elected by the populace, who run the Base. I would expect you to remain with the Base Administrator title, to do what you’ve always done, and to brief me in how your customs differ from ours, and what your people will expect as Spartan Citizens with a Morgan background.”

Cecil positively beamed.

“Splendid,” he said. “I should like that very much. I’ll arrange for an office suite to be reserved at the Local Morgan Hilton. I’ll do that right away.”

He flipped his commlink open, and barked a few orders into it, then flicked it shut.

“It will take an hour or so. Would you like a tour of the base in the way in?”

“That’s be useful,” said Basil. “I’d especially like you to explain to me and to see your Centauri Preserve. I’m familiar with all your other base facilities, but have never come across this before.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” said Cecil, giving the limo driver the appropriate instructions.

Basil sank back in the comfort of the seats to enjoy the ride

[Googlie]

Double post deleted - order of the Spartan Federation Governor


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 03, 1999).]